#red dead fanfic

[twola]

Devil's Backbone - Interlude I

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC/Reader POV 

Tags: Longfic, Slow Burn, Smut (18+), Violence, Canon-Typical Injuries

Limpany’s burning was a lot more than meets the eye. Deception, greed, and murder follow everyone touched by Leviticus Cornwall. A story where the Van der Linde gang gets even more inescapably involved in Cornwall’s dealings, with the survivor of the massacre at the heart of it all. Slow burn. Pre-Blackwater and beyond.

Interlude I: Saint Denis, 1888

CW: Nudity, smut, sex work, and terrible 19th-century ideals about women

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“I told you, rent is due on the first of the month. If you ain’t got the money, you ain’t got a room.”

The worn leather bag is dumped unceremoniously at your feet. You hold back an indignant cry at the rough handling of your items, all you have to your name. 

“Please, I just need a couple of days. I’m sure I can pick up some laundry or cleaning jobs.” You plead, but your once landord has no pity for your situation.

The haggard old man raises his hand to silence you. His knuckles are gnarled, his beard yellow and patchy - probably from the drinking he did at all hours of the day. Alas, there were only so many places a near penniless young woman could rent a room by herself. These places had a certain kind of proprieter. This one being a nasty old drunkard that you were half certain spied on the poor women that paid for rooms in the boarding house.

“No money, no room.”

“I have nowhere to go.” You say miserably, the small satchel at your feet being the extent of your worldly belongings.

“Go on down Rabulione Street. Talk to the madam there.”

A pit opens in your stomach when you realize the building the old man refers to. Its a couple of streets away. Red curtains in the windows. Men entering and leaving at all hours of the day. A mean looking guard at the door.

“That… that’s a whorehouse, sir.”

He sneers down at you, “You heard me. What else are you gonna do? You ain’t got no husband, ain’t got no daddy, ain’t got nothing. And nothin’ can’t pay rent. At least use the cunt you’ve got there between your legs.”

To that, you cannot respond, utterly shocked. The old man takes the opportunity to grab your bag and drag it down the hallway, and it takes half a second for you to come out of your daze. Not quick enough, however, to prevent him from tossing the bag out onto the stoop of the building. Out into the shaded street, somehow always damp, as you dash to pick up the back and not ruin everyhting inside. The door slams behind you. 

Sighing, you close your eyes, breathing in the hot, humid air of South Lemoyne that seems to stifle one’s lungs. Knowing there was nothing left for you at this boarding house, you shoulder your bag as you step out into the street, doging a cart as it clambers down the cobblestones.

Two rights and a left. You are ignored by people going along their day. Perfumed women with parisols and coifed hair. Men wearing starched shirts. Men also wearing dirty, old rags that smell of fish and the stench of the canning factory. Without even paying attention to where you were going, you find yourself in one of the courtyards off the streets, a bit quieter than the main thoroughfare.

You peer through a wrote iron-gate in the interior courtyard, where petticoats and unmentionables hang on wire across the yard. 

A dark-haired woman, not much older than you, dressed in a corset over a lacy chemise, sits on the stone bench next to the water pump. Water spurts out into a bucket as she pushes and pulls the handle. When the bucket seemingly has enough water, she pulls a rag out from between her breasts.

She sighs, spreading her legs and hoisting her skirts up, taking the rag and wiping herself mindlessly. Your stomach falls to the floor when you realize what she is doing, cleansing her womanhood of her previous customer. With a weight in your chest, you watch as she sighs again and tosses the rag into a pile of dirty laundry as she pulls her skirts back down to cover herself.

You step back from your vantage point, holding your bag close to your chest as you blindly rush out of the alley, back to Rabulione. Was this your future? You had nothing. Papa left you nothing when he died, just enough money to get you out of Richmond and on a train. Just enough to get you to Saint Denis.

Your stomach pangs - from hunger, or fear- you weren’t entirely sure anymore.

-

It’s quite by chance, you think at first. A stumble when getting off the trolley. Dragging around your bag and losing your footing. Thinking you would be falling to the ground roughly, you braced yourself for the inevitable pain.

But it doesn’t come. Instead, a pair of hands catches yours, steadying you while your bag falls to the ground. Once you catch yourself on your feet, you look up to who had saved you from a painful landing.

A young man with dark hair, clean-shaven. A silken waistcoat buttoned nicely over his torso. New looking clothes, clean pants and shoes. He smiles gently at you as he holds your forearms.

“Are you alright?”

You nod, blushing as you draw your hands back out of his grasp. He immediately reaches over and grabs your bag from the ground, pulling it over his shoulder.

“Oh, thank you sir. I apologize for being quite clumsy.”

“Nonsense, ma’am. Let me help you.”

The man holds out his hand to you to guide you away from the trolley stop, back to the side of the street with less people and movement, “Can I walk you somewhere, a hotel?”

“Oh, I.. I actually… well-” You blink, and know in that instant you can’t tell him you are a homeless vagrant. Not while he’s still holding your hand gallantly, holding your bag and waiting on where to take you. You have no other choice, other than the house on Rabulione.

God forgive me for what I’m about to do-

“I was robbed, sir, on the road outside of town. I was travelling to town and my coach was attacked by outlaws.” You claim, pulling the first thing you can possibly think of from your head, “They took the rest of my bag and my money…”

“Oh, mercy, here, you poor woman, let me take you to the saloon at least - get you a meal.” The man blanches, taken aback at your sob-story. He places your hand upon his forearm, winding your arm around his, “Come, the Bastille is right over here. Are you from Saint Denis?”

You shake your head, a blush painting across your face as this man, seemingly well off and put together, walks you down the street in Saint Denis as if you were some sophisticated woman instead of a peniless orphan, hours away from going to a whorehouse.

“Here, let me get you dinner. Sounds like you could use a whiskey too.” The young man smiles at you as he holds open the door.

-

One whiskey turns into two. Into three. Turns idle chatter into innocent flirtation turned into a hand placed on your lower back. Turns into you leaning into him, inhaling his scent of fancy cologne. Turns into him inviting you back to his apartment on Milyonne. Not that you had a choice of much else, but the blanket of whiskey and the attention of a good-looking man has you agreeing with him, taking his extended hand, and walking down the streets lined with gas streetlamps until you reached the door where he ducked inside.

His apartment is everything the flophouse you were staying in was not. A bedroom. A sitting room with a couch. A desk in the corner, filled with books and paper. Electric sconces on the wall. You marvel at the grandeur of it, and quickly kick off your shoes when you realize there is a rug, a rug of all things atop the hardwood floor. Frederick places your bag on a small sidetable next to the couch before returning to you.

“If may be so forward….” 

With one quick step, Frederick presses against you, cupping your face in his hands, and leans down to press his lips against yours. You’re shocked at first, and it takes you a moment to return the kiss. But you do, your hands timidly finding his ribcage. He’s a slim boy - soft and lean in places, his body had not been carved by the harshness of field work. 

His hands work down to lay on the small of your back, and he presses you closer to him so that you can feel the hard line of him against your belly. You shiver with a new feeling: was this want? Was this the unholy feeling that your father’s fire and brimstone cursed?

It settles low in your belly, a smouldering flame that grows and grows. Frederick pushes his hips against you briefly, as if to get some kind of relief, and moans into your mouth as he does so.

That was a new feeling. That smouldering fire in your gut blazed in a wave that made your blood sing. You can feel moisture collect between your legs, sticky in your drawers. Frederick’s lips move from yours to trace along your jaw to land upon your neck.

“Can I be forward again?” He whispers into your skin.

“Yes-” you gasp as he suckles on your neck, and your knees go weak for a brief moment. Your hands clutch at his forearms, and by a force utterly foreign to you, your body moves against his, your hips pressed forward.

Frederick groans aloud, pulsing his hardness against you, and his hands skitter to your back, where he begins to pull at the laces of your dress. 

The old, frayed cotton dress flutters to the floor at your feet. Instead of continuing to strip you, Frederick kisses your cheek, taking a step back and unbuttoning his shirt, shrugging it off, and tossing it to the floor. He’s breathing heavily, hands shaking slightly as he goes to unbutton his pants.

You kick your shoes off, knowing where this is going. You may be young and inexperienced, but you can tell this man desires you fiercely. This man of means, does he have an apartment to himself? The way he dresses? If you lay with him, he will feel magnanimous to give you a little something and save you from the streets.

He pushes his pants and drawers to the floor. A thin trail of hair spreads from his navel into volumnious curls at the base of him. His cock springs upward once release from its confines as he stands there next to the bed. Expectant. Excited. Aroused. He steps closer to you, pawing at your hip through your chemise.

“You’re beautiful.” He moans into your ear, guiding your hand to his cock, ruddy-red with blood and encircles your fingers around it. With his hand over yours, he guides you to stroke him, gently, back and forth, back and forth.

He lets out a long, hot breath as he guides you to pick up the pace, and as you grip his girth, he shakes with thinly veiled arousal. His other hand paws at your hip, grabbing your ass cheek and squeezing hard. It is several moments of this before he reaches for you again.

You blush as he pushes down the sleeves of your chemise, baring your breasts, down to your belly before catching on the waistband of your bloomers. He pauses, leaning in to kiss you once more before his hands weave into the cotton of your bloomers and pull them slowly down, over the swell of your hips, until the fabric of both your chemise and drawers fall to the floor, leaving you as bare as him.

“Even more beautiful,” Frederick whispers as he traces his knuckle down your décolletage, grazing your nipple, which pebbles with gooseflesh at the soft touch.

“Come to bed, Ruth.” 

He’s sweet. Almost as if we were together.

Frederick leads you to his bed, larger than any you’ve ever slept in yourself. A gentle hand on your hip guides you to lay in the soft sheets, the exorbiantly clean cotton. He hits a switch on the wall and the overhead light goes out. Your heart pounds loudly between your ears. Christ, let this gamble be worth it, you plead to some deity above as you stare at the brass light fixture on the ceiling. How, even off, it glows ever so faintly. How the polished metal gleans with reflection of light from outside the window.

His hand probes between your legs, and you immediately return to yourself, shivering as you bite back a moan. Regardless of your fear, trepidation, and hidden wishes, you cannot help succumb to human pleasure. Many moments pass, where he ruts against your thigh as you mewl as he slips his fingers inside your body. 

Frederick covers your naked body with his - thin, wiry, the frame of a man who never knew the toil of manual labor. The moisture that gathers between your legs easses the way for his fingers. He groans when he pulls them out, climbing fully atop you and spreading your legs.

You suck in a breath, your nails digging into his shoulder as he presses his cock inside. Tears prick at the back of your eyes as he pushes further in, he groans in your ear as his length slides completely within your core, filling you. 

Your eyes squeeze shut as you grow used to him, and it is not until you feel him gently tap your chin that you open your eyes again.

“Look at me. You’re making me think you’d rather be somewhere else.”

He smiles down at you, brushing back that blonde tendril of hair that incessantly curls over your face. 

You don’t know what to do, and in an attempt to keep your wits about you, you arch your back, causing your hips to tilt, taking him in even deeper. You mewl at the stretch, and he swears, dipping down and taking your lips in a desperate kiss. Frederick begins to thrust his hips against yours slowly, gently, fully.

Pain slowly dissipates, making way for pleasure, burning up your spine. That slow-burning flame flickers through the night, where you and your bedmate spend the next hours exploring each other’s bodies.

-

“Ruth.”

You blink awake, but your eyes flutter closed again with exhaustion. This bed is so comfortable, for once.

“Ruth…” A warm touch of a knuckle brushes down your spine. You smile against the pillow.

Your eyes shoot open a moment later when you realize that you’re naked; with a bedmate and between your legs is sore as anything. You rocket up to a seated position, gasping, finding that next to you, the young man from last night reclines against his pillow, equally naked, his dark hair mussed. His eyebrow remains cocked, and your movement has pulled the sheet down his frame, the sparse dark hair trailing down his chest to his stomach, fanning out in wiry curls at his…

His gaze lowers from your eyes to your chest.

You smack your hands over your breasts, realizing that they are entirely on display. 

Frederick chuckles under his breath, pulling the sheet back up and holding it for you to cover yourself. “I’m sorry… couldn’t help it.”

You snatch it with one hand, the other moving to try and tame your curls, wild from last night's activities. A pit in your stomach opens up as more and more of the night flashes in your mind’s eye.

“So…” Frederick pulls himself up and out of the bed, stretching his back for a moment before looking around amongst the piles of clothing on the floor.

You hold the sheet to your chest, trying to hide your naked body. Oh, God, here it comes. Here it comes where this man kicks you out of his bed and apartment, where you are in the same predicament as you were yesterday, having given up your maidenhead for nothing.

“Do you want to get breakfast?”

“I don’t…. What?” You blink, ready to tell him that you have nothing, no one, that you were no better than a whore-

“Come on, let’s get dressed. There’s a coffee stand down at the market that makes the best pastries. My treat.”

Frederick pulls on his pants from where they were on the floor and opens the wardrobe to get a new shirt. You stare at him as he pulls his arm through one sleeve of a checked blue shirt.

“Are you alright?” He smiles at you, before stopping, frowning with his shirt halfway on, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No,” you shake your head, biting back the blooming soreness in your hips. You shrug your chemise on over your head and start to redress. By the time you are decent, Frederick is waiting in the sitting room for you.

“Come on, we can get coffee, and I can take you where you need to go.” Frederick extends his hand out to you gentlemanly. That half smile remains on his face. “Though I’m hoping this isn’t the last time I see you.”

The brittle porcelain of your facade cracks. “I… have nowhere to go,” you exhale as your eyes water over. “I, I have nothing - I wasn’t robbed-” your shoulders begin to heave as you try to stifle the sob clawing out of your chest. Your hands clench at your sides, grasping at the fraying cotton of your dress as a hot tear tracks down your cheek.

You are greeted with silence, and that pit in your stomach widens. But then Frederick’s hand closes over yours, pulling it up between you, and you look up at him incredulously. “I have nowhere-”

“You do, You can stay here with me.” He says, rubbing your thumb gently.

You look down at his hand, his fingers wrapping around yours. “I have nothing.”

He lifts your hand to his and kisses the back of your palm. “Stay with me,” he repeats. 

Its like the rest of the world around you fades away. You look up at Frederick in this opulent apartment. How he smiles at you so fondly. The feeling of his lips on your hand. The sound of his voice moaning your name last night in his bed. The blazing path he carved inside your body, that you feel even now.

“Alright.” You whisper, and Frederick leans in and kisses your cheek.

“You bled last night. You hadn’t laid with a man before, had you?”  Frederick asks quietly, still holding your hand.

Utterly humiliated, you stare at the ground as a hot blush blazes across your face.

“You don’t have to share my bed. I’m not forcing you to sleep with me for you to stay.” Frederick nicks his head toward his bedroom, then toward the couch in the sitting room.

“Why are you doing this?” You look at him incredulously. Men weren’t supposed to be kind. That’s what Papa told you. Oh, Papa would be so disappointed in you now…

“I woke up this morning and thought it was a dream at first, that this beautiful, perfect girl spent the night with me. And I looked over to find that it was true.”

You blush. Frederick reaches up and gently, slowly, tucks that wayward tendril of hair behind your ear. 

“Maybe I’ve been studying too hard the last couple of years. I…” He, too, blushes slightly. “I hadn’t lain with a woman before. Other things, sure, but not like last night.” 

Oh, he was so endearing. You can’t respond for fondness. Frederick squeezes your hand. “Will you stay, ma’am?”

“I have nothing to give you, sir.”

“Your company is enough.” He smiles, taking your hand and quickly kissing your knuckle before letting it go.

Half a smile creeps across your face.

-

It is only a few days of you sleeping on the couch in the sitting room before you quietly pad toward the bedroom door in the middle of the night, pushing it open quietly and sneaking inside.

The light is on, however, catching you by surprise, as Frederick sits in his bed reading a book, clad only in a union suit.

He looks up, and you’re mortified, thinking you’d find him asleep at this late hour. You thought you would just sneak into the bed and work from there. You certainly did not expect to have a conversation about it.

“Ruth?”

“I…” you trail off and swallow your fear down. You gather your thin chemise in one hand and crawl into bed, settling next to Frederick. He smiles, closing the book he was reading and placing it on the nightstand.

You’re sure the flush on your cheeks blazes scarlet in the light of the sconce on the wall. Deciding to go for broke, you pull the ribbon from your hair, letting the curls cascade over your shoulders. Frederick watches, entranced. 

“May I kiss you, sir?” You ask as you turn toward him, timidly.

His hand immediately cups your cheek. “Please do, ma’am. I’ve been wishing for it.”

He meets you as you lean into him. He meets your fervor, never overpowering, never taking control. He lets you set the pace, set the tempo. He lets you open your mouth to him first. He lets you press your tongue against his first.

He simply, loosely holds your waist as you slide yourself over him. He holds your hand as you pull your chemise up and over your head with the other one. He lets your fumbling fingers unbutton the pearled buttons of his union suit before shedding it also.

And when you ease yourself onto his length, he lets you rock your hips at the speed you control, kissing up and down your neck, and you find what pleases you. He moans your name as the night goes on, and when you and he are spent, he draws you into the tenderest of embraces. 

The next morning, you awaken intertwined with him, and for the first time since Papa died, you feel safe and wanted.

-

April, 1891

Saint Denis, Lemoyne

Dearest Mother,

I know this news may be irksome to you, but I have married Ruth here in Saint Denis. As much as you wanted, nay, pushed for some society woman, there is no room in my heart for anyone other than her. 

She may not come with the pedigree of a name you were so fervent on procuring - but she is the most supportive and loving of women. She is already the best wife a man could ask for, and with God’s blessing, she will make the most wonderful mother to our children.

I am taking a leave of absence from the firm. The practice of law is soulless, and I cannot hope that this is going to be the rest of my life, idling away after paperwork in Saint Denis. I yearn for, nay, need something more than this. I am taking Ruth, and we are headed west.

Father would have understood.

We will visit Philadelphia and you when our travels take us back eastward.

I pray for your continued health and hope that the rheumatic cough you spoke of in your last letter has passed.

Your son, Frederick

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

˖✧ The Jackpot

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Summary: You join Arthur and the boys for a job on the Grand Korrigan riverboat where you act as Arthur’s lap girl. The man in question is more than excited about this decision. ✦ Warnings: Guns, mention of shooting, swearing, SMUT, oral (reader receiving), edging if you squint, unprotected p in v ✦ Words: 3,8k ✦ a/n: A big heartwarming thank you to @zae-heeyyy!! Who took the time to correct my dumb spelling and give me her thoughts on this before publishing it! Please go check her work, I swear it won't disappoint! Also: pictures are not mine! I usually try to use a pic for Arthur from my own playthrough but I'm fcking stuck on Guarma rn. Found them on Pinterest.

Dim lights are flickering all around you, making the golden ornaments of the luxurious place you're in shine like a thousand stars. You couldn't believe this gigantic reception room, gratified by a bar, a grand piano, and of course, three elegant poker tables, was actually floating on water right now, as you were on the Grand Korrigan boat, the jewel of its kind, den of the richest gentlemen in St. Denis, in search for some amusement and of course, even more money.

Trelawny and Herr Strauss had plotted a well-crafted deal that could earn a lot of money for the gang. Along with Javier disguised as one of the guards, Arthur would act as a new wealthy businessman who had just made a fortune in oil. Strauss would give him signals during his poker game, which guaranteed him to win considering Trelawny had made a friend out of the dealer.

You? You'd play his mistress, sitting on his lap during the game to make the scene look more convincing. On top of that, you had been able to hide a little gun in a hidden pocket in the underside of your dress, guaranteeing some extra protection, which wasn't a bad idea considering the Grand Korrigan was heavily armed and neither Arthur, Trelawny nor Strauss had one.

So here you were, thriving in your role, comfortably sitting on Arthur's lap, hands wrapped around his neck, both legs hanging on his left side. His arms were enveloping you, hands resting on the edge of the table as he was focusing on his cards.

Well, more like trying to focus, actually.

Maybe it was because you two had started a quite passionate relationship a few weeks ago, sneaking in each other's tent, simple kisses and whispers in the night quickly turning into something more, the both of you having cravings to fulfill.

Maybe it was because Trelawny, the damned man, had chosen a particularly suggestive dress for you to wear, comforting your play considering wives weren't allowed at the poker tables, only work girls and such, your cleavage on full display for his immoral eyes.

Maybe it was the way he could feel the round and warm flesh of your ass even through the fabric of your clothes, right where he wanted to, making his brain impossible to function properly, desperately trying to keep the hardness between his legs to stay in line.

Either way, Arthur had to make enormous efforts to focus on the job and was frankly relieved Strauss was telling him what to do; despite being a pretty good poker player, he would never have been able to win the easiest of games in this state.

Strauss told him to go all-in. He did. You smiled, you would have lied saying you weren't enjoying yourself right now. You had known far worse jobs than playing Arthur's lover. Much to your surprise, he had played a really convincing character through the night too, his usual mumbling far gone, replaced by a bright and confident speech and a cheeky grin that was making you want to kiss it even more. In fact, you wanted to take care of him just to see this cocky smirk flatter under your touch, replaced by a pleasured expression on his handsome face.

It was easy to say both of you were acting pretty good, but inside felt like two teenagers in love.

Arthur had won another hand, men were starting to leave the table, angry. It was only you both and the target now, an opulent man known as Desmond Blythe, loaded with money thanks to his hosiery business.

You pulled a cigarette out of Arthur's pocket along with a match, and you felt his breath hitch for an instant when you slipped your hand in it. Rubbing the match against the wood of the table, you lighted the cigarette casually, little flame illuminating a thin grin on your lips. You took a small drag on it to make sure the tobacco had plainly burnt, then you placed the cigarette in front of Arthur's lips, holding it for him between your index and middle finger, so that he could smoke on it while keeping both his hands on his cards.

It was downright one of the hottest things anybody had done to him and he was starting to lose it. Wrapping his lips around your offering and smoking a long drag, he allowed himself to avert his gaze from his opponent for a few seconds, planting his turquoise pupils into yours.

His eyes were half-lidded, long lashes accentuating the languorous gaze he was giving you. Your heart started racing. The power this man had on you was insane, but if only you knew what you were doing to him in return. You had a glimpse of it though, right there in the depths of his two blue diamonds, this so distinctive dark glow of him, direct window on the sinful pit of his urges.

You were sure your own eyes were mirroring it. And it got worse when, after exhaling some smoke, he quickly kissed the palm of your hand, indicating he had smoked enough, the warm sensation of his chapped lips on your skin giving you goosebumps. His eyes went back to Blythe, and you exhaled as if you had been holding your breath during the whole time you had locked eyes.

You retrieved your hand, taking a drag yourself on the cigarette after him, loving the idea of sharing it with him, of putting your lips right where he did a few seconds before, your biased brain telling you you could taste sweet remnants of him there.

Another all-in, another hand won by Arthur who couldn't stop himself from smiling this sly cocky smirk, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Shit, shit!" Blythe shouted, hitting on the table with his fists furiously.

"I guess ma luck held... Is that you done?" Arthur asked him, his tone triumphant while bending over the table to gather his not-so-well-deserved chips. "Or, do you got somethin' else to play with?" He added more lowly, his baritone voice almost making you shiver just hearing it.

"Meaning?" Desmond questioned back, visibly frustrated. Looked like frustration was a popular feeling around this poker table tonight, about the game or other things...

Arthur had gotten up from his chair and you too, now standing by his side, partially glued to his body as he had snaked an arm around your waist while finishing to put in order his chips. He answered using the same taunting, arrogant tone as before.

"Well, I heard there was some big boys on this boat, maybe that's not you, no offense-"

"Sit your and your whore's hillbilly asses down." The rich men cut him off, voice dark and serious.

You felt Arthur's hand grip tighter on your waist. For a faint moment, you thought that his cover would collapse, considering how tense he had gotten hearing him calling you a whore. But the way he was still smiling was almost even more scary, it was a false, threatening one. The kind of smile that hides a cold anger, boiling silently inside.

"Why?" Arthur simply answered, tone brilliantly contained considering the way his muscles were flexing on their own under his fancy suit.

"I got a watch... An expensive one, swiss... a Reutlinger no less. It's in the safe, upstairs. It's worth more than you."

You forced yourself not to cross eyes with Arthur. Your target. He had just confirmed what you were all here for. Perfect, just a bit more of this whole play and Arthur would be able to access the strongbox.

"Okay, I trust ya." Arthur consented while sitting back on his chair, placing you with his two big hands back at your place, on his lap. You were definitely loving this job. You'd have to thank Trelawny for it, someday.

The rest of the game passed just like before, your outlaw ultimately winning once more thanks to your colleague's little trick. Desmond was furious, and you obtained your goal.

Arthur happily got up once again, gently helping you stand, one of his hands naturally resting on your shoulder. Before following the gentleman who was supposed to bring him to the safe, he bent over to you, head brushing against yours, his stubble and hairs tickling your cheeks. He whispered in your ear, voice deep and hoarse, this one voice that was always making your head turn.

"When we're finished here, I'm gonna take care of ya, darlin'."

You sighed, cracking up a sly smirk, your cheeks turning a bit red. These simple words were enough to make the heat between your thighs make itself known; crying out for attention. Being so close like this was allowing you to breathe in his scent, its combination on top of his breath on your ear was a dangerous mix for your sanity. You took the opportunity of having his skin so close to your lips to place a small kiss on his neck, right below his own ear.

Arthur smiled at you, his bright blue eyes sparkling as he took a last look at you before walking off. You sighed softly again, already missing his presence. The wait for some time alone was only making your own needs grow.

You were only hoping the job would end up smoothly.

Of course, it didn't. 

Desmond, sore loser, had accused Arthur of cheating. That and the fact that the guard Javier had knocked off to steal his clothes had appeared out of nowhere yelling to shoot him had set things on fire on the Grand Korrigan, the boat now witness to a heated shooting the Van Der Linde Gang was known for.

You had instantly pulled out your hidden gun and helped Arthur clean up the place thanks to Javier who had thrown him a rifle. The night had ended with your incongruous team jumping straight in the water, swimming back to the shore, a quite odd and armed to the teeth fish shoal. At least, everyone was alive, and you even had obtained a pretty decent amount of money, not even mentioning the watch Strauss had authenticated as a real Reutlinger. Arthur had quickly taken back the precious object from his greedy hands, "well give it back then", which made you laugh to yourself.

True to himself, your cowboy had instructed everyone to separate and get out of the shore, as always after a job. You were all quite a sight, soaked to the bones. As you were greeting everyone a good night, Arthur silently walked to you and grabbed your hand. Even with the water you both had leaking from your clothes to your skin, you could feel how warm his hand was, contrasting yours which was completely freezing cold from having swam in the icy waters. You wondered if this man was even human.

"But you, Miss, are comin' with me." He playfully informed you, not leaving you any choice.

It was not as if you wanted to go anywhere else anyway.

"Really now? What d'ya have in mind, cowboy?" You asked him with an equally mischievous tone on your own, your eye glued to the way his hair looked completely soaked, subtle rivulets sliding all the way from it to his neck.

"Maybe we could pay ourselves a well-deserved night in town..." He proposed, voice turning more and more into a low growl as he was letting his desires take the lead on his reason.

"I would love that." You simply agreed, before getting closer to him, tilting your head up to bring your lips to his. He gladly let you, one hand still holding yours, the other gently landing on the side of your face.

The walk to the La Bastille Saloon was supposed to be a short one, but you both looked like you couldn't wait to be there before teasing each other. You would sometimes stop walking to just attack his neck, lips merciless as you sucked and kissed him there. Your taunting acts were often met with his equally heated answer, one of his palms ending on your ass, or your thighs, your wet clothes transparent and glued to your curves not helping him to keep his touch away from these places of your body. Arthur's breath sharpened as he called you his lil minx, and no, darlin’, we can't just do it on the streets.

Finally, after having shocked the barman by arriving at such late hours in completely soaked clothes, which honestly just made the both of you laugh mischievously, you reached your love nest for the night.

And what a nest! Silk sheets, canopy bed, sumptuous decor glistening with the dim lights of the chandeliers. Even the floor looked comfortable, carpeted with some fancy patterns, matching the couch and bed's color. Red, just like passion, just like lust. Red, like the color of your cheeks right now as Arthur had closed the door and was already on his knees, placing you on the edge of the mattress. Red, just like what Arthur was seeing right now, hungry hands pulling your dress up, positioning himself between your thighs.

You looked down at him, his darkened eyes looking at you. You noticed he had ripped off his fancy tie, needing to breathe properly, the heat between you both already making him suffocate. In those moments, his beautiful pupils were always shining with a more murky color, his usual sky blue turning into a more cobalt one. They were staring intensely into yours, expression questioning. A silent demand. You nodded positively, quietly answering. Dooming yourself.

The moment you did, he buried his head between your legs, left hand resting on your hip, holding you gently. His lips started kissing softly on the fabric of your undergarments. His other hand quickly came, helping him in his task by pulling it to the side, granting him access.

The moment his lips met your folds, you let out a moan, unable to resist the feeling he was giving you. He was loving it, his ears getting redder as he was more and more aroused himself. He was so big between your thighs, his shoulders were spreading them almost completely open.

He licked in a long, slow movement all the way to the top of your pussy, making you sigh in pleasure already, hips jerking against his head, begging for more.

"Easy, girl... I've got ya." He soothed you hoarsely, left hand holding you more firmly to prevent you from crushing him totally. Nevertheless, he took your eagerness into account; he couldn't deny you anything. Not when it came to sex. Not when you were so beautiful in this ostentatious dress. Not when he had grown more and more found of you, even if he was refusing to admit it to himself completely for now.

He brought his lips on the top of your core, tongue gently circling around this so special knot of nerves, his stubble scratching pleasantly against your skin, bringing you even more sensations.

It was already so good, Arthur's mouth showing you no pity, licking, sucking, kissing, as if you were becoming the only food he could ever feast on, the only oxygen he could breathe with. The sight of his broken nose buried beneath your skin, as if he was searching to go even deeper within you was almost too much for you to handle. Your hands that were gripping the sheets had now found the top of his head, spurring him to continue, please please please, Arthur, more, or you could have died right here on the fancy bed of the La Bastille Saloon.

Arthur's tongue answered your begging call, lapping your sensitive spot faster, harder. How the Hell was that man so good at pleasuring a woman? That, sinful, dirty man, just like the sounds you were letting out right now.

Your vision started to blur, the back of your head sinking onto the mattress, your back arching deliciously, and you were going to let him know just how close you were until he stopped all of a sudden.

"A-Arthur!" You protested, head snapping back at him, eyes pleading, tone both offended and needy as his name had sounded more like a whine when it had felt from your mouth.

He smiled cockily at you from where he was, his mouth looking wet with your arousal. He loved it, he loved being responsible for it.

"I'm here, girl... I jus' need ya too much right now. Lemme just..."

His voice was now a low rumble, coming from the depth of his chest. You watched as he quickly ripped off his clothes with little care for them. Trelawny would have shouted at how he was treating one of the most expensive suits he had ever brought.

But he didn't care about the suit. And neither do you, as your eyes were devouring every inch of his flesh that was appearing under them. The sight of a completely naked Arthur always had the same effect on you, no matter how many times you already had seen it.

His muscular body looked like it had been carved by Angels. No, more likely by an angry, dark God, who would have sculpted him from a hard and brutal material, his many scars and blurs a remnant of it. You could almost picture his tools molding your lover's broad chest and shoulders with sharp, furious hammer blows. His powerful arms and legs had received the same treatment, as if the deity wanted to pass on all of his brutal force into his creation. And his cock was definitely no exception to it.

And yet, this massive force of nature was blushing under your gaze. He couldn't have resisted the hurtful sensation of emptiness around his shaft, one of his hands now giving himself a few strokes to try and relieve some of it. His eyes closed in a frown for a few seconds, your pussy burned at this unholy scenery he was offering you.

You were in such a state of need it was almost depraved. You quickly got rid of your own clothes, tossing them somewhere on the floor of the room, needing to share this intimacy with him, to feel his skin against yours.

"Oh, please... Arthur, jus' take me..." You asked yourself before he could probe your adequation. You knew him well now, you already knew the next words he was going to speak would be another demand to make sure you truly wanted this.

He seemed to enjoy how you had forecasted it, his eyes opening again to look at you, his cock hardening even more, precum slowly leaking from its top, wasting all the efforts he had done to relieve it a bit.

"If that's what you want darlin'... I'm your man." He answered in a growl, climbing next to you on the bed.

You weren't sure why but his last words had made your heart swell in your chest. You were sure, deep down inside of you, that he meant it in another way. He really had become yours, and you, his. Lost in your thoughts, you let him handle you gently, placing you on your belly against the silk sheets, lying himself on top of you, legs between yours.

You slightly moved your rear up against his erection, earning a grunt of pleasure from him. Saying he had loved it was an understatement; he had been thinking about doing this with you since you had sat on him on the riverboat.

Using his right hand, he placed his cock against your entrance, and finally started pushing, your pussy already ready for him thanks to his ministrations, your mouth mewling at the sensation. Your perfect, hot walls were finally enveloping him, and he tried his best not to come just from that intense feeling alone.

He was so big and tall behind you, his head could reach yours and he buried it onto the crook of your neck, his hair still wet offering you a cold feel, contrasting with his whole hot chest pressed on your back, making you feel as if a literal inferno was burning it. He slowly started to pull back, only to shove himself in you again, starting a slow but intense back and forth.

"God, damn it... 'Feel so good girl..." He mumbled against your skin, his arms encircling you from both sides, caging you under his tall figure.

You sighed at his praise, wanting to answer something to compliment him back, but he snapped his hips just at the same time, making you shut your eyes close, and moan louder than before. Your voice was starting to crack under the amount of pleasure he was bringing to you, hard shaft brushing this deep spot within your core every time his hips moved, hitting just right where you needed him to.

He had noticed, and it was only making him lose his mind even more, unable to keep his pace slow, letting his body unleashed. He had waited this whole night to bury himself in you, listened to this moron calling you names without having the right to punch his goddamn idiotic face. He couldn't hold anything back anymore.

He started thrusting more frantically, pistoning his cock in and out of you so fast and hard he was now fucking you onto the bed. His right hand grabbed a fistful of your ass, the feeling of it colliding with his pelvis with every thrust making him insane, the other one next to your left shoulder, preventing him from crushing you completely.

You could feel it, the familiar feeling, the divine relief, building more and more thanks to him, the pace increasing your pleasure. Feeling how impossibly hard his sex had gotten in your cunt, you knew he was close too. This simple fact was the last push to your deliverance.

"A-Arthur! God, yes!" You screamed, unable to form any coherent thoughts, existing simply for this, for this moment with him, naked on the bed of this saloon. Just you and him.

"Oh, darlin’, shit!" Your orgasm had made your walls clench even more around his dick, exploding his limit. He quickly removed himself from you, and finished at the last second on your back and ass, his burning release painting your skin in flaming spurts. His very own sinful art piece.

The room felt silent again. The air stifling from your lovemaking, the only sounds being heard were your sharp, quickened breaths. Arthur took a few seconds to collect himself, feeling better and so satisfied, almost euphoric. Turning your head to the side, you took a glimpse of your lover's gorgeous state. Hair messy, cheeks and ears crimson, sweat dripping everywhere on his skin, chest rising and falling in big, profound exhales.

He then grabbed a piece of fabric from one of the wardrobes to gently wipe off his seed from you, and tossed it away, wanting nothing more but to rest against you now. A perfect contrast, from an agitated, stormy sea to a quiet, secret cove. As if you were the only one who could see him like this, vulnerable, loving even.

You watched him lay by your side on his back, your head still feeling dizzy, slowly coming back from a world of fantasies. You snuggled against him, resting your head on his chest, and he wrapped his arms around you, feeling spent but so, so happy. And you felt the same. Still naked, skin against skin, heart beating together, just the two of you.

Tonight had been quite something, and despite having won a few thousand dollars, it was definitely not money that was making Arthur feel like he had hit the jackpot.

[elliesplug]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

charles smith x reader

summary: what its like to be charles' one and only

warnings: no smut but slightly suggestive parts, reader referred to as "ma'am" once

⋆.˚ ��ৎ— Charles is the kindest lover ever!!

⋆.˚ ୨ৎ— Acts of service, gift giving, and physical touch final boss.

⋆.˚ ୨ৎ— He always puts other people’s needs before his own. Do you need something from town? He’s halfway into town before you can even finish speaking. You’re feeling hungry? He’s already grabbed his bow to go hunting. You mention that you’re feeling any form of physical pain? Don’t worry at all because Charle’s soft hands are delicately massaging your ache away.

⋆.˚ ୨ৎ— Charles remembers everything. He never forgets a single detail about you. One time he overheard you mention to Tilly how badly you wanted a few strawberries to snack on. The next day Charles is riding in on Taima with a barrel full of the most beautiful and luscious looking red berries you’ve ever seen, despite them currently being out of season. He remembers all the stories you told him, even if you were the one to forget that you’ve already told him that. It’s the sweetest thing ever when he finished the ending of your stories. 

“Oh goodness did I already tell you that? I’m sorry for making you sit through all that again.” You say with a laugh.

“Don’t apologize. I’d gladly listen to that story 1 million times over if that meant I got to hear your voice for a second longer.”

⋆.˚ ୨ৎ— Another time Charles was admiring you as you both were sitting by the fire. You held a rough and worn out paperback version of your favorite book. This had to be your 10th re-read over the years of you having it. A mental note was quickly made by Charles of how distressed the current state of your paperback was. The next day you wake up to the smell of a warm cup of coffee that’s sitting next to a beautiful hardcover detailed with fine gold patterns. At the top of the hardcover there laid the title of your favorite book. You smiled to yourself as your fingers repeatedly ran over the golden prints. Your senses were cheerfully greeted with that new book smell he knew you adored so much.

⋆.˚ ୨ৎ— This man adores taking baths with his lover. It’s usually not even sexual. He just enjoys the comfort of being that close to you. The warmth of your bodies and the warmth of the bubbly water is more than enough to keep him happy for the rest of his life.

⋆.˚ ୨ৎ— If you’re in town with Charles and you even glance or touch something you like Charles is buying it for you. 

“Charles, c'mon you know I don’t need that. You know I can’t just let you spend all your money on me.”

Charles replies with a smug smirk across his face, “Good thing I wasn’t offering then. Looks like you’ll just have to accept it now, won't you?”

You happily gift him a kiss on the cheek in return to show your gratitude as you leave the store with your new present in hand. 

⋆.˚ ୨ৎ— Charles ALWAYS knows when something is wrong. He can tell when you’re having a rough day, when you need comfort, when you’re stressed, and when you need the space to be alone. You don’t ever need to communicate to him what mood you’re in because he already knows. He never takes it to heart when you need to be left alone and he’s the best at making you feel better, whether that be from afar or between his strong arms.

⋆.˚ ୨ৎ— Not huge on PDA but he loves when you hold onto his arm as he guides you through the town. When he’s in private he can’t keep his hands off of you, though. Around the campfire his hand will rest on your thigh. While you’re asleep his broad chest is attached to your back as he holds you. Physical intimacy is very important to him.

⋆.˚ ୨ৎ— Takes off your boots and litters soft kisses across your legs every night before you both go to bed.

⋆.˚ ୨ৎ— He’ll tell the whole gang that he has to “go hunting” or that he “needs to go into town” just so he can steal you away for a bit. He’ll take you on cute dates to your favorite restaurant or skinny dipping sessions at the lake as the warm sun sets behind you’re joined bodies.

⋆.˚ ୨ৎ— If anyone at the camp even tries to disrespect you he’s running at your defense. One time Micah rudely commented on something you were wearing and before you could even blink a loud slap was laid across his cheek by Charles.

⋆.˚ ୨ৎ— He likes keeping to himself but always opens up to you. The rest of the gang is in shock on how you were able to crack him open. Charles is quiet, not shy. It’s his choice who he decides to let into his life and you are more than thankful that you were that one that he chose.

⋆.˚ ୨ৎ— You always stay up talking by the fire late at night, even when everyone else returns to their tents.

⋆.˚ ୨ৎ— He would never ever let you see him fight. This man is not insecure in most aspects of his life but he has a strong fear that you’ll perceive him as the violent man that the world paints him out to be.

⋆.˚ ୨ৎ— After every fight you clean him up even though he always suggests that it’s not necessary.

“You don’t need to do that, my love. Don’t need you getting dirty or making a mess cause of me.” He tells you.

You roll your eyes in response. “You say that every time, Charles, you sound like a broken record. Lucky for you it’s a good thing that I wasn’t offering. Looks like you’ll just have to accept it, remember? Now sit.”

A laugh escapes his lips before he replies, “Yes ma’am. Whatever you say.”

⋆.˚ ୨ৎ— He takes you to Canada and you both spend the rest of your days happily married and together!!!

[saddleups]

𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐒.

★ STATUS . . . ongoing, arthur morgan x f!reader. 18+ smut mdni !!

★ CW . . . voyeurism, female masturbation, male masturbation, arthur's kind of a meanie.

★ SUMMARY . . . recently welcomed into dutch van der linde's gang, has a tense first encounter with arthur morgan, who is suspicious of her and questions her trustworthiness. after a sharp exchange, she withdraws to her tent to find solace. meanwhile, arthur, tasked with returning her forgotten journal, approaches her tent but hesitates when he sees the intimate silhouette of her body through the illuminated canvas.

★ AUTHOR'S NOTE . . . really don't know what washed over me. this was initially meant as a drabble , but somehow bloomed into what is going to be a continuing story. as the start of the story, it's loaded with "setting the scene" mostly to establish a dynamic between the reader and arthur. however , it does get spicy towards the end ;)

An orphan, a wanderer, and most notably, a thief for hire. Your occupation brought you countless adversaries, shaped by a lifetime of hardship. The Wild West wasn’t forgiving, especially for someone like you. It forced you to compromise whatever moral compass you’d developed, exchanging it for a life filled with unsavory characters. Your skills became notorious in Lemoyne, earning you a wanted poster of your own—though the paltry $3,000 bounty made you wonder if the authorities truly knew your worth.

One man, however, saw your potential: Dutch Van der Linde. Knowing Dutch’s reputation, you were well aware there was no honor among thieves, but the price he offered for your services was one you couldn't afford to refuse.

"I'm a man who keeps his word," Dutch said, locking eyes with you. You stiffened momentarily, your guard raised.

"And if you don’t, I’ll have you dead," you warned, your voice steady.

Dutch chuckled, raising his palms in mock surrender. "I'll take you to my camp, introduce you to my people," he said, patting his chest for emphasis. "I take care of my own. I'll take care of you too, ma’am, ya hear?"

You clenched your jaw, swallowing hard before releasing a sigh. Camps, people—these weren't things you were accustomed to. Yet, the promise of a warm fire and a decent meal was hard to ignore. Stepping forward, you motioned with your boot. "Be a gentleman and lead the way."

Dutch quickened his pace, guiding you to his horse. Retrieving your own, you both rode off toward the confines of Clemens Point.

As you arrived at the secluded camp, the thick forest enveloped the intimate commune. Pulling on the reins, your horse came to a halt behind Dutch’s. He dismounted and extended a hand to help you down. You ignored his gesture, earning another chuckle.

"Your independence is admirable," Dutch said, amused. "Maybe you'll set a good example."

"I won’t be staying long," you replied curtly.

Dutch nodded, unfazed. "Come on, now, lemme introduce ya."

You followed behind him, scanning your surroundings, planning your escape if needed. Clemens Point had its rustic charm, much like the rest of Lemoyne, but it wasn’t a place you intended to linger. As you approached the heart of the camp, the residents began to take notice. Some watched from a distance, while others stepped closer. You stayed close to Dutch, observing the crowd.

"Bring a lady for the night?" one man jeered. You tried to get a glimpse of the man behind such a crude remark, catching only the sight of a weathered hat adorned with a feather.

"It ain’t like that," Dutch countered.

"Well, if she’s with you, she sure ain’t cheap," the man sneered.

You felt anger flare in your chest.

"Arthur!" Dutch barked.

So, that was his name—Arthur.

Stepping out from behind Dutch, you made yourself visible to the Van der Linde gang, especially the man at the center of it all.

He was tall, built like a seasoned gunslinger, with the brim of his hat pulled low, hiding much of his face. But from your shorter vantage point, you could see beneath the brim—strands of sandy brown hair fell just above his eyes. You squinted, trying to get a clearer look at the man responsible for the comment.

"My, my," Arthur drawled, his voice low. "What do we have here, then?"

You stared Arthur down, unfazed by his comment. “What you have here,” you said, voice dripping with sarcasm, “is someone who doesn't take kindly to men who don’t watch their tongues.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Bold. I like that.” He crossed his arms, eyeing you with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “But talk’s cheap out here, darlin’. You gonna back it up?”

You took a step closer, not backing down. “Guess you’ll find out soon enough, cowboy.”

Before things could escalate further, Dutch stepped in between the two of you, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “Now, now, let’s all calm down, shall we?” He chuckled as though this kind of exchange was nothing new. “Arthur, meet our new friend here. She’s more than capable, I assure you. She’s got quite the reputation—thief for hire, and from what I’ve heard, she’s damn good at it.”

Arthur’s gaze flickered to Dutch, then back to you. His smile faded, replaced by a skeptical scowl. “A thief, huh?” He tilted his head, clearly unconvinced. “And you’re just gonna bring her into camp, just like that? You don’t think maybe we oughta vet her a little first? Or better yet, see if she’s worth her salt?”

Dutch sighed, clearly accustomed to Arthur’s protective nature. “Arthur, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I wouldn’t bring someone into our fold if I didn’t believe in their abilities. You, of all people, should trust me on that.”

Arthur scoffed, shaking his head. “It ain’t about trust, Dutch. It’s about common sense. You’re always bringing in strays, but how do we know she’s as good as you say? How do we know she ain’t just gonna take what she wants and bolt?”

You folded your arms, feeling the heat of Arthur’s scrutiny, but before Dutch could respond, you cut in.

“If I wanted to bolt, I wouldn’t be standing here listening to you question me like some washed-up lawman,” you said flatly. “And as for being good at what I do… Why don’t you give me a chance to prove it?”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable for a moment. The tension was thick between the two of you, the unspoken challenge hanging in the air.

Dutch clapped his hands together, cutting through the silence. “See? That’s the spirit! Let’s not get too hung up on doubts and suspicions. Besides, Arthur, you know better than anyone—we all had to start somewhere.”

Arthur shook his head, still unconvinced, but his tone softened slightly. “Fine. But if she messes up, Dutch, it’s on you.”

Dutch grinned. “I’ll take full responsibility. You’ll see, Arthur—she’s gonna fit right in.”

Arthur gave you one last look, his blue eyes hard, but he stepped back, leaving the matter for now. “We’ll see,” he muttered, turning his back to head deeper into the camp.

As he walked away, Dutch leaned in close, speaking just low enough for you to hear. “Don’t worry about Arthur. He’s always cautious with new faces, but once you prove yourself, he’ll have your back. Just give it time.”

You nodded, though your eyes remained fixed on Arthur’s retreating form. “I’ll prove myself, alright. To everyone.”

Dutch patted you on the back, his voice light once again. “That’s the spirit. Now, let’s get you settled in.”

Your shoulders relax slightly when Dutch introduces you to another, kinder member of the camp—Mary-Beth. With a warm smile, she takes it upon herself to show you around. As she guides you through the camp, she explains the delicate intricacies and rich history the Van der Linde gang has accumulated over time. Her warmth is disarming, and though you find her friendliness endearing, your guard remains firmly in place.

As the day gives way to night, the camp grows lively. The smell of roasting meat fills the air, and the sound of laughter and clinking bottles echoes around the fire. Everyone seems to be enjoying the night, drinks in hand and plates full. You sit beside Dutch, notebook in hand, writing down the events of the day—your observations, the faces you’ve encountered, and your thoughts on the gang’s dynamics.

Dutch glances over your shoulder, a grin tugging at his lips. “Writing a novel already?” he teases.

You smirk but keep writing. “Just taking notes, is all.”

With a chuckle, Dutch pats your shoulder. “Well, don’t let me interrupt your musings. I’m gonna get myself another drink.” He stands, leaving his spot beside you empty for just a moment.

Before you can settle back into your thoughts, Arthur takes Dutch’s place without so much as a word. You immediately tense, looking up from your journal in annoyance.

“I didn’t invite you to sit,” you snap.

Arthur leans back, crossing his arms, clearly unbothered by your protest. “I’m just doin’ my due diligence,” he says with a casual shrug. “Lead enforcer and all that. Gotta make sure you ain’t some rat lookin’ to get us all killed.”

You narrow your eyes at him, anger bubbling up. “A rat? You don’t know a thing about me.”

“I know enough,” Arthur retorts, his gaze hard. “You waltz in here, Dutch vouches for ya, but me? I don’t trust anyone that quick. Seen too many faces come and go. Some good, some… not so much.”

You bite your tongue, forcing yourself to stay calm. “I don’t have anything to prove to you, Arthur.”

His stare lingers on you, unflinching. “Maybe not. But until I see otherwise, I’ll keep an eye on you.”

The tension between you is palpable, and despite the fire’s warmth, you feel a chill settle in your bones. This is why you hated dealing with people. No matter what you did, someone was always suspicious, always trying to dig into things that weren’t their business. You snap your journal shut, your patience worn thin.

“I’m done here,” you mutter, standing abruptly. “I didn’t come here for this.”

You walk away from the campfire, the weight of Arthur’s gaze following you as you disappear into the shadows. As you distance yourself from the group, you hear a voice call out.

“Arthur, you really can be an asshole sometimes, you know that?”

It’s Hosea, who had been watching the exchange from a distance. His tone is firm, but there’s an edge of disappointment in it. Arthur grumbles in response, shifting uncomfortably.

“Just doin’ my job, Hosea,” Arthur mutters defensively, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes—regret, maybe.

Hosea shakes his head. “Yeah, well, you could stand to be a little more welcoming.”

As Hosea walks away, Arthur notices something on the ground beside him—your journal. You must have left it behind in your rush to escape the conversation. He picks it up, flipping it over in his hands, his expression softening for a brief moment. He exhales a long breath while he debates with himself, glancing in the direction you disappeared, wondering if he should bring it to you.

Storming away from the campfire, you mutter under your breath. "Should've known better than to get mixed up in this." The tension Arthur brought upon you still burns in your chest. Now, away from the glimmer of the camp you question why you even agreed to Dutch's offer.

Quickly the weight of reality sets in. The promise of money looms heavy, more than you've ever made in one place. Enough to change your life, if things go smoothly. And then there's the camp —more than just a place to lay your head. It has food, shelter, warmth, and plenty of drink, luxuries you haven’t had in a long while. The thought alone makes your stomach growl, reminding you of the times you’ve gone hungry for days on end. A little discomfort with people like Arthur might just be the price you have to pay to survive this.

With a resigned sigh, you make your way toward your tent, situated near the lake, away from the central campfire. The sounds of laughter and idle chatter slowly fade, replaced by the gentle lapping of the water and the rustling of the trees in the night breeze. The solitude brings you a moment of peace.

Inside the privacy of your tent, you begin to undress. Shedding your coat, shirt, and pants, you remain in your undergarments, your body finally relaxing after a long day. You sit down on the edge of your bedroll, running a hand through your hair, letting yourself unwind. The faint sounds of the camp are distant now, just a quiet hum in the background. For the first time all day, you feel like you can breathe.

You sink deeper into the quiet, trying to escape the frustration that still simmers after your run-in with Arthur. His suspicion and brash attitude had only amplified the uncertainty you already felt about your place here. But in this moment, alone in the privacy of your tent, you allow yourself a rare moment of vulnerability.

The day’s exhaustion has left your body aching, and as you lie back on the bedroll in nothing but your undergarments, your mind drifts, seeking comfort in the solitude. The warmth of the lamp glows around you, its light illuminating the canvas tent, casting your shadow against the fabric walls.

Meanwhile, outside Arthur approaches the tent with your journal firmly in his grasp. His steps are quiet, almost hesitant has he nears. From the outside, the soft light from your oil lamp betrays the outline of your figure through the thin material of the tent. He pauses, eyes narrowing as he makes out your shape, it stops him in his tracks.

"What in the hell is she up to?"

As the glow from the lantern outlines your curves, you move with an intensity that betrays the calm facade you usually project. Your guard is down, and in this moment of vulnerability, your form is unmistakable. Your hands roam freely over your body, pressing, squeezing, tugging at the fabric of your undergarments. Even in solitude, you tease yourself, building anticipation for the release that awaits.

Your fingers reach up to hold your breasts, pinching the hardened buds as a loud moan escapes your lips and echoes through the tent. Arthur watches silently from outside, his breath catching as he realizes what's happening. His initial intention of returning the journal completely fades away as he becomes transfixed by the intimacy of the scene unfolding before him. He feels like an intruder but can't bring himself to look away.

Lost in pleasure, you lie back and let your hand trail down to your center, seeking refuge in the coarse hair. Gripping tightly, you insert a single digit into your core and feel a rush of wetness surround it as you sink deeper and deeper. Your breathing quickens and unbeknownst to you, the quiet rhythm of your movements is not confined to the tent. You whimper for more, "ple-please, give it to me. i want more," caving release from the stress that has consumed you since arriving here.

Watching from afar, Arthur feels his primal instincts kick in but fights them off with all his might. His sense of honor wavers as he struggles against his own desires. The tightness of his jeans and gun belt only add to his physical discomfort as he closes his eyes tightly, trying to resist temptation.

Meanwhile, inside the tent, you continue to lose yourself in ecstasy, completely oblivious to anything else in the world. Your moans grow louder and more desperate as your fingers quicken their pace inside of you. The sounds of squelching flesh mixed with your cries fill the night air as you beg for more.

Arthur finally gives in to his conscience and with one last look at the tent, he pulls away and retreats into the darkness. "The hell you doing, you pervert?" he curses himself as he walks away, leaving you to your privacy and pleasure. The intense moment has passed, but the memory lingers in Arthur's mind, igniting a curiosity about what else lies behind that sharp tongue of yours.

A man still had his urges.

Your journal finds its temporary home in Arthur's pocket. The heat of the moment lingers in his chest, an ache he can’t quite shake. His body tenses, and the desire to escape the situation grows stronger with every step. He moves quickly through the camp, intent on retreating to his own quarters and pushing away the thoughts still buzzing in his mind.

But just as he rounds a corner, he spots Dutch leaning against a post, nursing a drink and chatting with one of the gang members. Dutch’s keen eyes lock onto Arthur almost immediately, and before Arthur can disappear, Dutch calls out.

“Arthur!” Dutch’s voice cuts through the campfire chatter. “Where’d our new friend wander off to?”

Arthur stiffens, his eyes darting briefly before he forces himself to face Dutch. “She, uh… she’s at her tent,” Arthur mutters, his tone gruff as he shifts his weight awkwardly. Hands firmly grasp his gun belt and a satchel that once sat on the side of his hip is awkwardly placed at the center of his core, disguising what throbbed underneath.

Dutch raises an eyebrow, clearly sensing something off. “You sure about that? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or… something else.” There’s a smirk tugging at the corner of Dutch’s mouth, amused by Arthur’s discomfort.

Arthur avoids eye contact, the urge he’s trying to suppress making it difficult to keep his composure. “Ain’t nothin’. Just tired, Dutch. Been a long day.”

Dutch takes a swig of his drink, watching Arthur closely, clearly enjoying the rare sight of Arthur flustered. “Right, right. Well, if you see her, let her know she’s always welcome to sit by the fire.”

Arthur grunts, eager to end the conversation. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Dutch takes another sip and, with a knowing chuckle, waves him off. “Get some rest, Arthur. You look like you need it.”

Without another word, Arthur quickly shoos Dutch away with a curt nod and makes a beeline for his tent. The moment Dutch turns his attention back to the campfire, Arthur lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his footsteps quickening.

Finally reaching the safety of his own tent, a shaky hand, Arthur pushes through the canvas flap. He collapse onto his cot with heavy breaths. Images rush through his mind like a raging river - your body outlined in flickering light, the softness of your movements, and the burning desire that he can't seem to shake.

He lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling with shallow breaths as he replays the memory over and over again. His fists clench at his sides, frustration and longing coursing through him. It's been too long since anything has affected him this deeply.

As someone no stranger to temptation, Arthur knows the pull of the flesh all too well. But this moment with you felt different - more intimate, more real. The vulnerability he saw in you makes it impossible for him to simply brush off the encounter.

Running a hand through his hair in frustration, he tries to push the thoughts away, but they cling to him like thorns. The tension in his body only grows, refusing to let go even in the quiet of the night.

"Damn it," he mutters under his breath, rolling onto his side in an attempt to distract himself. But it's no use - your silhouette, bathed in lamplight, is burned into his mind.

Sitting up abruptly, Arthur grips the ends of his cot tightly as he stares at the ground beneath him. He lets out a frustrated sigh and runs a hand over his face, trying to rub away the persistent thoughts. But they only intensify in the darkness of his tent, driving him to take action.

Without hesitation, he untucks his flannel and removes his gunbelt before freeing himself from his trousers. His arousal is already evident as his length throbs against his palm. Unlike you, who sought relaxation in these moments alone, Arthur seeks indulgence.

Spitting into his palm for lubrication, he grips his cock tightly and sinks his weight onto the cot, groaning at the sensation. His ankles are freed from his trousers as he spreads his legs wider, giving himself more room to move. With each stroke of his hand, he can feel the tension slowly dissipating, replaced by a raw need for pleasure.

His hand moves with urgency and desperation, his thumb frequently visits the tip of his cock gathering the liquid before slipping it down his length. The sounds of your pleasure entertain his memory, your gentle pleas for pleasure make him whimper, "take it, woman. t-take it all." He feels like a fool but he can't suppress the praises he's eager to provide, "like a g-good girl."

His moans were deep and gravelly, resonating with the same desperate desire that you had been yearning for. As he released his essence into his palm, the sticky substance leaked between his fingers. He caught his breath with his eyes tightly shut, murmuring a curse under his breath, "damn woman." Somehow, this was all your fault.

Arthur reached for a handkerchief to clean himself off, wiping away the evidence of his passion. He adjusted himself before settling onto his cot with a sense of contentment, ready to spend the evening in peaceful slumber. The quiet rustle of the sheets echoed through the room as he settled in, still feeling the lingering effects of your intense encounter.

NEXT CHAPTER.

[esquilone]

No one can change my mind, he's definitely a PUMA

[kunnus]

In the Quiet

Arthur Morgan x Belle Nelson (oc)

Belle reads to Arthur on a quiet afternoon, but he’s more interested in listening to her than the story itself.

An : This is a story I’ve been keeping to myself for a long time, and now I’m finally ready to share it. I hope you all enjoy reading about Belle and Arthur!

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over camp as Belle made her way toward the wooden fence where Arthur stood. He was leaning against it, one arm draped lazily over the top rail, his hat tipped just low enough to shadow his eyes. From the way he held himself, she could tell his mind was elsewhere—lost in some thought he’d never share aloud.

She hesitated for a moment, then tightened her grip on the book in her hands and stepped closer.

“Arthur,” Belle called his name softly, her blue eyes shining with quiet excitement.

His gaze flickered toward her, slow and steady. He didn’t say anything—he rarely did unless there was something worth saying—but his eyes lingered, waiting.

Belle shifted her weight, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I want to read you something.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow but gave a small nod, wordlessly telling her to go on.

She exhaled, flipping the book open to a marked page. The passage had stuck with her the first time she read it, and for some reason, she wanted to share it with him. Maybe he’d think it was foolish. Maybe he wouldn’t care. But Arthur was one of the few people who never dismissed her for loving stories, and that was enough.

So she started reading, her voice carrying the weight of the words, letting them settle into the quiet between them.

Arthur didn’t interrupt, didn’t shift away. He just watched her, listening—not to the book, maybe, but to her. Watching the way her lips moved around each word, the way her eyes flickered with quiet emotion. Belle wasn’t sure what he was thinking, but he wasn’t looking away.

When she finally reached the end of the passage, she closed the book and looked up at him expectantly.

“So…?” she asked. “What do you think?”

Arthur was silent for a long moment before his lips quirked into something just shy of a smile. “Sounds good.”

Belle let out a soft laugh. “That’s all?”

He shrugged. “I like hearing you talk more than hearing you read.”

Her breath caught in her throat for just a second, warmth creeping into her face before she quickly turned away, pretending to focus on the setting sun. “That so?”

Arthur didn’t answer, but when she leaned against the fence beside him, he didn’t move away either. Instead, they stayed there in the quiet, letting the moment stretch between them—unspoken, understood.

[wisteriadumster]

Warmth ❥Arthur Morgan

ARTHUR MORGAN X FEMALE READER

CW➻❥ I pulled an all nighter man like yall fuck that’s what’s up

WC➻❥1265➻❥ this isn't well proof read so any mistakes or odd things are purely accidental

Summary➻❥ you’ve just arrived to Colter and once the cabin is empty, Arthur has an idea on how to keep you two warm.

*✧･ﾟ:* WisteriaDumster original work.*:･ﾟ✧

You shivered into the abandoned cabin, doing your best to escape the frigid blizzard that tortured the old town. “How long you think we’re staying here for?” You adjusted your scarf, “I ain’t too sure but not long, couple days.” Arthur replied, you followed him as he entered the room Grimshaw had assigned for you both.

The bed was small, but you could cuddle up together to keep warm.

You hugged Arthur, wrapping your arms around his torso. He hesitantly accepted the hug and draped his arms over your waist, his hands gripping your body.

Your face was nuzzled into his shotgun coat, the texture rubbing against your cheek.

In the main room you could hear a conversation between Hosea and Dutch, “think you should go talk with them?” Arthur pulled you off him, looking at you, “I suppose you’re right ‘bout that.” He caressed your cheek and walked out of the room.

You had followed behind and were sitting with Molly. “How are you Miss O’Shea?” She closed her pocket mirror, “I’ve lived better ya know?” She adjusted her head scarf.

“Miss O’Shea,” Dutch stepped in, “would you like to come with me to check on everyone else?” His smile was sly, “I’d rather stay here, and be out of the storm,” she admitted, “I insist.”

The cabin had slowly emptied, Dutch had convinced Molly to leave with him, and Hosea was off to go check on different gang members.

You sat by the fireplace with Arthur, wishing the fire would engulf you with heat. “Darlin’ I have an idea on how we could keep some heat around,” you raised an eyebrow, “and what would that be?” He stood from the chair, he walked to your chair, towering over you as you looked up.

“We should have about ten minutes before anyone comes back,” he hinted. Your lips curled into a smirk as his idea, “quite risky don’t you think?” You stood up, “well I’ll be quick.”

His hands wrapped around your ass, suddenly lifting you up against his body.

You cupped his face, connecting your lips with his. One of his hands gripped and dug into your ass cheek, his legs stumbling, searching for a place to set you down. You pulled from the messy kiss, hot breath escaping your mouth. Arthur kicked down the chair you had been sat in just moments prior, he walked to the old table that laid against the wall.

He set you down, a hand holding your hips as you continued the heated kiss. His free hand was digging through the layers of clothing on your body, searching for an entrance.

“Darlin’ I hope you don’t mind,” he pulled back from the kiss, his forehead pressed against yours. You opened your mouth to question Arthur, a sudden rip of your underwear answered you. “I’ll sew it later,” you smirked and pulled him back into the kiss.

Arthur pushed his hand through his jacket, his gloved fingers pushing the button of his pants through the yoke. You uncupped his face, your hands pushed past his hand and undid the buttons of his union suit. His hard cock pushed out, waiting for what it had been desiring.

Arthur pushed your skirt and coat up your legs, his cold leather gloves made your warm skin shiver. “Arthur,” you looked at him, “take those gloves off please.” He obliged and pulled the gloves off, dropping them onto the small table beside the one you currently sat on.

Arthur’s calloused hands gripped your thighs and pulled you closer to the edge of the table.

Slowly he entered, you gasped as his cold dick hit against your warmth. You wanted to moan but you had no protection from the walls of the cabin, Arthur wrapped an arm around your back and pulled you in, thrusting slowly as his cock adjusted to the sudden temperature change. “Fuck” you shuddered against his lips as his hips rotated against yours. Your head rolled against your shoulders, falling against your back as Arthur quickened his pace.

“We surely ain’t got long Sweetheart,” he began kissing at your neck, “I don’t need long.” You managed through muffled moans, you bit your lip to contain yourself, your hands white-knuckled the edge of the table.

Arthur’s pace was consistent, hitting your walls just right. His lips vibrated groans against your neck, one of his hands released its grip against your thigh and tilted your head back towards his. His eyes fluttered with lust before he pulled you back in for unfinished kisses, his hands travelling into your hair, intertwining itself with the locs.

“Fuck Sweetheart,” Arthur groaned.

Your legs felt shaky, your body struggling to keep itself composed at Arthur’s increasing speed. The adrenaline from the chance of being caught made your heart race, as every thrust made you want to scream a moan, scream Arthur’s name.

A final thrust and his tip itched you exactly where it had to be to trigger your orgasim. You sprung up, throwing your chest against Arthurs, yours hands clawing at his back.

You moaned into his shoulder as your legs quivered, a wave of every emotion covered you as each muscle in your body tensed and released within seconds.

Your own orgasm vibrated against Arthur, a deep and raspy groan eluded from Arthurs chest. His body was heavy against your own. As the climax of your orgasm was ending, he continued thrusting through it, prolonging its inevitable end.

“Arthur,” you shake against him, coping through the pleasure you had felt and the pleasure you were still receiving. “I’m almost there Darlin’ just be a good girl and don’t move,” he mustered through a moan.

Within a few more intense thrusts and you doing your best to stay still and quiet, you felt and heard his own orgasim. A deep groan rumbled from his chest as he panted.

Two fingers lifted your chin up, his eyes twinkling with love, his lips slowly connecting with you for an intimate kiss.

The sound of a conversation began to enter your ears, “Arthur,” you pulled from the kiss. He looked at you and looked as your finger pointed towards the door, Arthur understood and helped you off the table.

You were quick to help him clean off and rebutton his clothes.

You pushed down on your skirt and went to your room, searching for your sewing box.

Arthur fixed the chair he had kicked down, he leaned in the doorframe of your room.

“Need help?” He cleared his throat as he watched you search through nightstand drawers, “how well can you sew?” You grabbed the small metal tin, “not as good as you Darlin’.”

“Arthur,” The door creaked open, Dutch brushed the fresh snow off his jacket, “we’re gonna go find Micah, you comin?” You made eye contact with Dutch, “Arthur you should go, I won’t freeze.” You smile, Arthur looked between you and Dutch before nodding at you and turning around.

He grabbed his gloves that laid on the table, he looked at you once more as he put them on, a small smirk sneaking through his lips for a moment. You smiled from his contagious look, your cheeks feeling flush as you thought of what had happened only moments before.

With a growing discussion the door slammed, leaving you alone.

You sat on the bed, turning your body away from the door as you hiked your skirt up. Examining the rough rip Arthur had left, you smiled at it.

You popped the top of the tin off and began setting up the needle and thread.

[alottanothing]

This is for @twola, who, about a week ago was having a bad day and wanted someone to write a snip of Arthur beating the shit out of someone who made the reader cry; with the addition of some smutty goodness, of course.

Well, this is the first time I've written publically for our dear cowboy Arthur Morgan. And I simply cannot write anything considered a 'snip'. So here's what my brain calls a snip; over 5k words just for you, twola. I hope this makes up for the bad say you had last week. :)

And shout out to my partner in writing crime, @itswormtrain, for making this readable!

Warnings: mentions of blood, violence, smut (18+ MDNI), oral (f!reader receiving)

The sun was beginning to set over the peaceful hills and sprawling trees of Cumberland Forest. Those lingering traces of daylight caress the rugged terrain with whimsy, casting shadows that dance over the dirt path under the hooves of your young stallion. Nature seemed to pause in reverence as the sun gracefully lowered itself behind the distant mountains; the only sound was that of your horse's steady walk and the murmuring babble of the Dakota River in the distance.

It had been too long since you’d enveloped yourself in such tranquility, seemingly always at the receiving end of Miss Grimshaw’s scalding. Any anticipation of exploring the wilderness or going on jobs with the guys was always overshadowed by the necessity of chores.

When you’d joined the ranks of the Van der Linde Gang, you had hoped you’d garner a little more excitement than a seemingly endless cycle of laundry, cooking, and mending. Sure, the mess in Black Water and the threat of the law constantly at everyone’s heels was a form of excitement, concerning, but still excitement. Though, things had died down since all that, and Horseshoe Overlook was truly an awe-inspiring place to call home for the time being. Even so, camp chores remained deeply understimulating.

In truth, you were just antsy; you always were when Arthur was away for more than a couple of days. Your mind always thought the worst, despite knowing your handsome outlaw was more than capable of handling himself on jobs and in the wilds. But that nagging concern never ceases to occupy your mind. His absence at camp was never more cumbersome than when Grimshaw was barking out instructions, or when Uncle’s drunken singing was so off-key, it scraped against your brain like a rusty old knife. You simply couldn’t stand it anymore; you needed peace and quiet—something to scratch that itching thought in the back of your head.

Admittedly, you hadn’t planned to venture so far from camp, or any sort of civilization for that matter. The towering ramparts of Fort Wallace were in your sights before you decided to turn back. Were it not for the shotgun secured in its holster on your saddle, the late hour would have left you feeling considerably more anxious. Arthur had taught you well, and instilled in you enough confidence not to worry as you trot down the dirt path toward Valentine.

There wasn’t a single soul to be seen for the majority of your journey; your only company that of your horse and Mother Nature’s comforting embrace. You almost hated the far-off glow of a town in the distance, over the crest of a hill. Soon you’d be back at camp with nothing to do but laundry and fret over your lover's absence.

“Pardon me, miss.” You nearly jump from your saddle hearing the strange man’s voice. “Thank god for you, would you mind – too terribly – giving me a ride back to town?”

Your heart skips a warning in your chest as you look around, where did he come from? The question dances in your head as you fight to form the words you want. This was O’Driscoll country—a notion you were suddenly very aware of, and your eyes glance at the rifle still tucked securely in the holster on your saddle.

“I was thrown from my horse, ya see—wild beast took off without me. ‘Fraid I hurt my ankle when I fell.” He explained, garnering a wave of sympathy that clouded the caution in your gut.

The stranger wasn’t dressed in the usual black and green of Colm’s gang: just simple trousers and a dirty work shirt and boots. What could it hurt?

“Yeah, alright,” you said, giving the man a faint smile.

“Oh, bless you, miss. Bless you,” the look of relief on his features did well to settle the remainder of the apprehension swirling in your stomach.

With a firm grip, you steadied your horse so the man could climb on, offering your hand to help him up.

And that act of kindness was your mistake.

His grip on your wrist was like a vice, painful, as he yanks you from your horse's saddle, your boots nearly getting hung on the stirrups. A sinister laugh echoes through the tall trees, splitting the serenity with the jagged sound of malice. Your stallion rears and cries, spooked by the abrupt movement, but the stranger is quick to steady him, forcing your horse into a full gallop toward the glow of Valentine leaving you where you fell.

When the shock wears off, you aren’t sure which was stronger, the wave of anger that envelopes you, or the sudden fear of solitude that brings forth the steady stream of tears down your cheeks. Both feelings were justified, you figure. That, and how utterly foolish you feel for trusting a stranger.

You knew better. Your time with the Van der Lindes taught you not to trust anyone, at least not someone on the side of the road pretending to be hurt. That was the oldest trick in the book. One you’d used several times to con someone out of something. Now, you were out a horse and a shotgun.

When the landscape grew darker as night fell, those shadows that you once looked on with awe and majesty, now loom sinisterly.

Stupid! You scolded yourself, more tears searing down your face. It would be dawn before you made it back to camp on foot; if you made it back to camp at all.

Without the security of your shotgun at hand, your confidence in making it home unscathed was growing short. Animals lurked in the trees around you; monsters both beast and man would undoubtedly set their teeth on you if they found you alone and without the means to protect yourself.

A shiver surges through you, a combination of the onslaught of fear and the chill from the mud you’d landed in. If you’d been riding with Arthur, no one would have the gall to steal from him. And if they did, they surely wouldn’t live long enough to get far out of reach.

You wipe the mud from your hands to your skirts before swiping at the tears staining your face. Maybe someone from camp would notice you hadn’t returned yet and send someone looking for you. Why hadn’t you asked someone to ride along with you, Mary-Beth would have, and she would have appreciated the quiet you wanted. But no, all you needed was the shotgun… How foolish you were.

With a sigh, you work yourself to your feet, boots, and skirts caked with mud and dirt. Even with the weight of self-pity beckoning you to stay planted on the side of the road, the rage put fire in your steps. You would make it back to camp, feet surely blistered, if only to lessen the embarrassment of being robbed.

Anger proves to be a useful motivator as you trek down the road before you, lit only by the white light of the moon. The tears had stopped, but they threaten to spill again simply from how much your feet hurt. That glow seemed to have tricked you; Valentine wasn’t close at all. All there was was trees and rocks and dirt in every direction. You were utterly alone; lost in the wilderness with only thoughts of your naivety to keep you company.

Suddenly, the sound of hooves pounding against the earth resonates through the stillness of the wood, sending shivers down your spine and provoking a new wave of tears. With every nearer beat of the rider’s approach, anxiety constricts your heart, sending a whirlwind of possibilities into your mind. Images of dark strangers conjure in your thoughts, each with a fiendish smile and a revolver on their hip, a green bandana tied around their neck. All your anger drains, as you feel fear creep deeper into your being. You wish you still had your shotgun.

“You need a ride, miss?”

Relief crashes into you like a wave against stone; you know that voice, deep and comforting—kind (to you, at least). This time, it was joy bringing tears to your eyes.

“Y/N?” The look of surprise was to be expected on Arthur’s face as he beholds the sight of you, muddy, with tears staining your face. “Darlin’, whattaya doin’ out here?”

Immediately he jumps from his horse, warm hands gently holding the tops of your arms as he gets a better look at the state you’re in. All traces of his hard exterior are swept away, leaving the softer, more compassionate man you fell in love with.

“Camp was driving me crazy without you. I just wanted to take a ride, but some asshole stole my horse—yanked me off my saddle an’ everything. S’why my skirts are all muddy.” You explain, fighting more tears.

Some of the softness fades, still, his voice is gentle when he speaks again.

“Did he hurt ya?”

You shake your head, “no.”

The pad of his thumb dances over your cheek tenderly as he tilts your chin to look at him.

“Darlin’, ya been cryin’.”

“’M just cryin’ at my own stupidity, is all.” You tell him. “Should’a known better than to trust a man alone in the woods.” 

Arthur takes a deep breath through his nose, nodding.

“D’ja at least get a good look at ‘im?” he asks.

“Mhm,” you nod. “He took off towards Valentine.”

Arthur glanced south and nodded too, “Then I reckon that’s where we’ll find him.”

He places you on the saddle and mounts just behind you, drawing you close to his chest as he gives his loyal mare a gentle kick to urge her back onto the road.

With Arthur's arms around you, the darkness of the forest shifts back into the realm of tranquility. The menacing silhouettes of the towering trees became that of gentle giants, swaying gracefully in the night breeze. No longer did the whisper of rustling leaves hold a feeling of foreboding. The forest, in the ethereal silver glow of the moon, was a picture of peace and beauty once more.

Despite what had happened, even Arthur was a beacon of serenity. He hums as you both ride. It’s the same tune Uncle was singing when you left, only Arthur’s melody instills you with a sense of calm while Uncle’s attempt had you on the verge of threatening to remove his tongue. Every so often you feel his lips press to your scalp, leaving soft kisses in your hair and each one helps to remedy every sour thought plaguing you. It never ceases to amaze you just how tender your outlaw could be. To the civilized world, he was quite literally the poster of cruelty and evil, but for you, he was your knight in shining armor.

Valentine was quiet when the hooves of Arthur's horse turn down the main thoroughfare. The muddy roads, churned up by hooves and wagons, were dimly lit by the flicker of oil lamps. In the distance the stirring of livestock in their pens echoes through the stillness of the air, the only other sound coming from the saloon in the middle of town.

Smithfield’s always seemed to clamor no matter what time of night it was. Debauchery never slept, you guessed. The clinking of glasses and the lofty tune of the piano can be heard as you pass the sheriff’s office, a symphony of merriment in the still night air that lent such disregard to the tired citizens of Valentine.

A few men stand outside, bottles in hand as they lament lost love and glory, belching and hiccupping into the cool air. Horses tied to the hitching post whinny and jerk at reins keeping them in place, and there among them was your stolen stallion.

Arthur steers his mare to the front of the saloon, his heavy boots landing with a squelch in the mud as he dismounted. He helps you down, strong hands circling your waist and steadying you in the soft earth.

“I’ll be right back, darlin’,” he says and tips his head toward your horse. “Get yer boy, Imma go take care of some business inside.”

Before you can utter a word he stomps up the stairs of the saloon, his frame taking on the posture of The Enforcer as he pushes through the swinging doors.

His face wasn’t unknown here, it was only a couple of weeks ago he and a few of the other men from camp had gotten into some trouble. You weren’t there to see the fight, but you’d heard all about Arthur’s trip through the window—now boarded up and waiting to be repaired. This time, you hoped it wasn’t your handsome outlaw cast through the pane of glass.

While Arthur is inside, you deftly untangle your horse's reins from the post, gently stroking his mane to soothe his soft whinnying. You smile when he nuzzles you back, happy, it seems, to be back in your care.

“Was that awful man mean to you?” you ask softly, rubbing the coarse fur of his strong neck. “Arthur will handle it, don’t you worry.”

As if on cue, the jovial commotion in the saloon ends; the happy voices now holding anger or shock. The piano playing is lost to the disgruntled sounds inside and a moment later, the man who nearly ruined your night is thrown through the doors.

His bruised form topples down each step before landing in the mud. You watch, unable to quell the sense of pride that surges through you as you watch Arthur swagger through the saloon doors and down the steps, spurs jingling. The confidence he holds as he looms over the thief settles over you warmly. This act of violence was in the name of chivalry; the man deserved whatever justice Arthur planned to dish out.

“Didn’t need ya to point him out after all, darlin’.” Arthur's words fell from his lips with the ghost of a grin, pleased with the opportunity to put your attacker in his place. “This feller was inside boastin’ to the whoooole saloon ‘bout the horse he stole from a helpless young woman just outside of town.”

Arthur kicks the man as he tries to stand, the thief falling back into the mud with a groan. Folks begin to gather on the wooden porch of Smithfield’s, their faces twisting in looks of both concern and excitement as they watch your handsome outlaw and the man who’d stolen your horse.

“See, normally I don’t waste my time dealin’ with dim-witted horse thieves. Hell, on occasion, I am one. But you see, that weren’t just any helpless young woman ya stole a horse from… that was my woman.” Arthur deals him another kick to his gut, knocking the wind from his lungs a second time as he tries to stand.

“An’ if it ain’t clear already,” Arthur says reaching to pull the man from the ground and holding him by the lapels of his jacket. “I don’t take kindly to anyone hurtin’ my woman in any way. Ya understand?”

The deep timbre of Arthur’s voice works over your skin leaving goosebumps in its wake. He looks so fierce in the flickering light of the oil lamps, the brim of his hat shielding his eyes from you, though you know they were cold, focused on the man in his grasp.

No coherent words fall from the thief's mouth as Arthur holds him nearly off the ground, only a moan of anguish, surely from the two kicks he’d suffered.

“Nod if ya understand,” Arthur demands with a shake.

Anger churns on the thief’s face, but he nods, slow, jaw clenching as he musters the gall to fight back.

“Fortunately for you, all I’m lookin’ for is an apology…” Arthur tips his hat in your direction. “…to the lady.”

The man’s dark eyes glance your way and he sneers, shaking his head with a mirthless chorttle.

“I ain’t apologizin’ for nothin’, especially when your woman is stupid enough ta get her horse stole in the first place.” 

If you cared even slightly about the fate of the man who’d stolen your horse, hearing those words escape his mouth would have caused your stomach to drop knowing the sort of fire he just ignited. But, you want nothing more than for Arthur to beat him into a bloody pulp.

To your surprise, however, Arthur remains steadfast, but his voice is increasingly more sinister when he speaks.

“Maybe ya didn’t hear me. An apology. Now.”

“No.” The thief spat, a fiendish smile turning his lips.

With lightning speed and unyielding force, Arthur’s fist collides with the man’s jaw, unleashing a thunderous crack that has the onlookers gasping. The sudden impact propels the thief backward, his body crashing into the cold mud for a third time.

You expect him to stay there, really if the man had any wits about him, he would have. However, despite the two kicks and the blow to his face, the thief rose from the mud, foolish determination etched onto his bloodied features. Arthur almost scoffs and wastes no time proving the extent of his strength. He strikes him again, obliterating the remnants of the man's fractured jaw, the sound resonating with a deafening crack.

No one rushes to the man's aid when he falls to the muddy earth for a fourth time, wailing in anguish at his shattered jaw. Arthur stands over him, tall and formidable, his presence almost challenging the man to get back up, your outlaw more than prepared to deal out more justice.

“Should’a apologized…” Arthur chides. “If ya had, maybe ya’d have use of that jaw’a yours right now.” 

The man groans in agony, writing on the ground as he holds his broken jaw. 

“But I had ta keep ya from speakin’ ill’a my woman like that. I certainly don’t appreciate when slimy fellers like you use her kindness against her.” Arthur slowly circles the man like a fierce wolf circles their prey. “Then ya had ta go leavin’ her out in them woods, faaar from any sort of civilization, all alone. An’ well. I ain’t takin’ no apologies for that.” 

He stops, one leg on each side of the thief before dropping to his knees, fist poised high over the old leather hat on his head. Arthur didn’t leave your attacker with only one more punch; the man under his weight had committed the ultimate sin in your lovers eyes. He’d hurt you, a crime that warranted the ultimate punishment.

The sound of each punch reverberates through the air as Arthur’s fury drives him to deliver decisive blows. As you watch, pride swelling in your breast, you swear each hit lands with such intensity the ground beneath you trembles. All the folks gathered to watch pass whispers while looks of shock mold their features. Come the morning, the town would be talking again about the stranger who liked to stir up trouble in the sleepy city of Valentine. 

When Arthur finally stands, flexing his surely aching knuckles, the man beneath him is unrecognizable. Blood and bruises distort his face, teeth missing from his gaping mouth. His limp body is unmoving in the mud and you haven’t a care whether he was dead or alive. 

There is a hint of shame on his expression when he drew himself back into your orbit, the coldness in his eyes warming in your presence.

“’M sorry, darlin’.” He says refusing to look you in the eye. In an instant, the Enforcer was gone, leaving only your kind knight in shining armor standing before you, his knuckles red and bloodied from dealing out justice.

“For what?” you say taking his injured hand in yours, wiping the blood from the cuts with a clean section of your skirt.

“For what I done.”

You shake your head and tilt the brim of his hat, looking to meet his lowered gaze. “All you done, Mister Morgan, is protect your woman. Ain’t a lick of shame in that.”

He grins softly, gently caressing your chin and cheek with his clean hand. His expression meets yours completely.

“’M just glad I happened upon ya when I did.” He murmurs and you step closer to him.

His gentle eyes, painted in a delicate watercolor palette of blue and green, softly convey the deep love he possessed for you, along with the ever-lingering fear of losing you. The exquisite blend of tenderness and vulnerability was something seldom seen by anyone other than you. And each time those meticulously built walls of his came down,  you were honored to behold the part of him he kept hidden from everyone else.

“Me too,” you whisper, hoping the look you give him in return conveys the same sentiment.

The lives you lived held no real guarantees apart from a bullet or a hanging rope. You learned quickly to never take for granted a single moment, and this one you certainly weren’t.

“You ready to get back to camp now, darlin’?” he asks, fixing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Camp… you almost grimace at the thought of returning to the mediocrity of it all.

“Actually.” Your eyes glance over to the hotel across the way, mischief coating your smile. “Was thinkin’ I should reward my rescuer.”

His brows furrow following your glance, oblivious to your meaning.

Before he can open his mouth to form a question, you kiss him, wrapping your arms around his neck, stretching on your tiptoes to gain the fullness of his kiss. As if on instinct his arms weave around your waist, your feet coming off the ground as he pulls you in closer to deepen the draw of your joined lips. It’s slow and lazy and perfect, his mouth undemanding but firm against yours, making you melt into his very being.

Your head is spinning when he pulls away, placing your feet gently back into the mud, and you can’t fight the smile unfurling over your wet lips.

“I’ll buy us a room at the inn,” you say, batting your eyes coyly. “S’ the least I can do for my knight in shining armor.”

Arthur laughed, heartily. There is an undeniable charm to the sound of his chuckle, as it cascades through the air, enveloping you with an infectious happiness each and every time you hear it. As his eyes hold yours, a playful glimmer twinkles behind them as he swiftly deciphers your not-so-cleverly veiled plan.

“A knight, hmm?” his brow lifts onto his forehead in a deep arch, his smirk firm on his lips.

You nod, “In shining armor.”

He chuckles again shaking his head before scooping you into his arms with ease. You gasp at the swiftness, and laugh too, draping your arms around his neck before planting a kiss on his bearded cheek.

“Well, then, I reckon I should play the part, shouldn’t I, sweetheart?” he says as he steps around your fallen, broken-jawed adversary on his way to the Saint’s Hotel. “Ain’t never been a knight before, just a dirty ol’ outlaw.”

You laugh and roll your eyes. 

He whistles as he trudges through the soft earth for his horse to follow and his loyal mare falls in close on his heel. Your horse follows too, nearly as inseparable from his horse as you were with Arthur.

“Ya ain't old, and ya ain’t dirty…need I remind you who's got mud all over their clothes?” you say kicking up your soiled skirts to get his attention. He just laughs.

“Maybe ya forgot already, but I was on my knees in the mud beating the life outta that fool who robbed you. That makes me just as dirty as you. ‘Sides, I reckon neither of us will be wearin’ them for much longer anyhow.”

His comment, and accompanying bravado surges through you like more wildfire, adding to the flames he’d already been fanning since throwing your attacker through the saloon doors. Arthur’s confidence in his ability to have you swooning with only the low smokey sound of voice and the words he spoke had grown exponentially. Which was both something of a blessing and a curse. You enjoyed the days of flirting and seeing him grow red in the face from your flattery. Now he made you putty in his hands with a few words and a coupling smile.

For that moment, however, you decide it’s a blessing; he’s your Savior in Spurs—a cowboy casanova.

You toss a coin to the innkeeper from the pocket of your skirts and he casts you a key that you manage to catch as Arthur wastes no time making his way upstairs.

In truth, the Saint’s Hotel was no paradise; with its meager accommodations and thin walls, it was hardly a place to find rest. However, that night, that illusion of privacy might as well have been nirvana. You could hardly recall the last time the two of you had a chance to make use of actual walls instead of the canvas flaps of Arthur’s tent. Here, the neighbors were strangers who wouldn’t be casting you looks over the fire the next morning, knowing far too much about what you and Arthur had gotten up to in his tent. You were going to savor every tiny detail unabashedly while you could.

The fire was already burning brightly in the fireplace, warming the room from the cool mountain air outside the windows, adorned with sun-rotted lace curtains. The wooden floor creaked under each step as if to voice its displeasure at the neglect it had suffered over the years. The faded wallpaper, once bursting with colorful patterns, now barely clung to the walls, faded and dusty. The bed, while made with threadbare quilts and pillows, appeared sturdy enough not to break under both your weights, and that was all you truly cared about.

Your boots are the first to come off once Arthur places you back on your feet, discarded with a couple of eager kicks before his hands reach for the fastenings of your skirts. Yours wind around his neck, burying your fingers in his honey-brown hair as you kiss his soft lips.

For all the violence they inflicted mere moments ago, Arthur's hands were so very gentle, plucking at the ties holding your skirts in place, and again as his deft fingers loosened every button of your blouse with practiced ease, leaving you in just your chemise. Despite the warmth of the fire burning in the room, a chill works through you and you sigh, more gooseflesh prickling your skin as Arthur moves his hand to the globe of your breast, thumb sweeping over the covered peak of your nipple.

His featherlight touches make your mind a dizzying vortex of desire. This man, who uses his hands to deal out death sentences, only ever uses them to worship you. His mouth, which often spits out sarcasm and cruelty, paints your skin with tender presses and undeniable words of adoration.

Your hands snake from their place in his hair to the buttons of his blue work shirt, loosening only a few before he swats your hands away gently causing a whine to sound in the back of your throat. He meets your furrowed brow with smirk and a quick peck on your lips before moving your hands back where they were. 

“Feels good, you doin’ that,” he tells you. 

You gently scratch the hair at the nape of his neck. “This?”

“Mhm…” he leans to kiss you again, a slow, worshipful act as though he is trying to memorize every detail of your mouth against his. 

Desire thrums through you ever hotter. You need him. 

“Arthur…” you breathe in weak protest as his lips scour down the column of your neck, his hands pulling your chemise from you. “…I’m s’posed to be rewardin’ you.”

You feel him smile and shake his head as his kisses venture further across your collarbone. When he relieves you of your bloomers, you shiver and moan at the feeling.

“Don’t need no reward, darlin’.” He whispers against your skin between kisses. “Think its you that needs taken care of after whatcha been through.”

Calloused fingers spray over the small of your back as he brings you against him, the hardness in his trousers pressing against your bare form. You feel your own arousal coating your thighs, warm and wet, and begging for the feel of him inside of you.

“Will ya let me do that darlin’? Take care of ya?” his hands explore as he speaks, trailing down your spine before cupping your back side with a little squeeze. 

Your head falls back with a ragged sigh, fingers tugging at this hair. As much as you want to tease and dote on him and show him how grateful you were for his timing, you can’t think when he has you like this: naked and vulnerable to his touch, mind cloudy with desire. 

“Yes, Arthur. Always.” You murmur, lost in the blissfulness of his touches. 

As if you weigh nothing, he takes you in his arms again, hoisting you aloft, and carrying you to the bed where he lays you so tenderly over the threadbare coverings.

You watch, heart pounding against the cage of your ribs as he quickly sheds each of his layers. It is a show you have seen a dozen times and helped with a dozen more, still, your lust-blown eyes gauge him with reverence and awe.

He is truly magnificent, your handsome outlaw; strong shoulders and wide chest dusted with coarse hair your fingers yearned to comb through. Warmth drifts through your body as you drink in every inch of him, eyes landing where his cock juts from dark curls proudly and your cunt clenches in anticipation.

“C’mere, sir knight…” you say stretching across the mattress, smiling, and batting your lashes. “…come an’ claim yer prize.”

Arthur chuckles heartily as he climbs into bed, and you welcome the press of his weight with a happy sigh. He teases your lips with his own, soft kisses that leave you wanting before the press of his tongue coaxes your mouth open. You reciprocate, drinking from his mouth with hungry groans.

Heat pools lower and lower where you want him most; feeling the long pulsing line of him against your thigh was like torture, causing another whine to escape your busy lips.

“Please…” you sigh, a slow undulation taking your hips in search of some form of stimulation.

Once more he obeys, his mouth laying a hot trail down your sternum, stopping to draw your nipple between his lips before traveling further down. The sensation of familiar, calloused palms gliding down the stack of your ribs as his kisses continue their way down, squeezing the swell of your hips and kneading the softness of your thighs have your quiet moans echoing through the room.

Arthur dips his mouth to your center abruptly and draws his tongue up through your slick folds, tasting just how much you need him, and he groans.

“Mmmm, darlin’,” he murmurs before swirling his tongue over the bud nestled at the apex of your cunt. “I don’t do this enough…”

You gasp, a flash of heat pulsing through your center, head rolling against the pillow. He didn’t do this enough, then again, the two of you rarely found yourselves so alone together. And there was barely enough room for the two of you on Arthur’s cot anyway, let alone room to explore other methods of pleasure.

He intensifies his exploration, drawing his tongue over you in wide flat strokes, while your thighs come to moor on his shoulders, heels digging into his back. You feel his shoulders roll as he dedicates himself fully to his task, thrusting his tongue into you, filling you with warm velvet before abandoning your core for the silky nub crowning it. Arthur's tongue curls against it until you shiver and gasp.

“A-Arthur…” your breath hitches, hooking your fingers into his hair.

A low purr rumbles through him as you press against his face, hips rolling in rhythm with his ministrations. Your lover sweeps his tongue over and around your clit repeatedly. Sensation swells low in your belly, feeling yourself nearing the ultimate peak and you tug his hair ruthlessly wanting more. Needing more than just his mouth. His truly wonderful mouth... 

“C’mon, darlin’,” he mutters against your dripping cunt, the gust of his breath billowing over your heated center causing you to shutter.

Without fanfare a wide finger dips into your core, then another, making your back arch and a loud moan spill from your lips at the delightful stretch. For only a moment, your cry reminds you of the paper mache walls surrounding you; no doubt everyone in the Saint's Hotel knows what the two of you are up to, but you cared little with Arthur between your legs eating you out like he was made to do so.

Stars dance in your eyes as you skirt the edge of your undoing. He growls encouragingly when you flutter in warning against his lips and around his fingers.

“That’s it…” he murmurs, voice low and utterly sinful. You can even feel his proud, smirking lips against your center, the image alone snapping the spring coiled low in your belly.

Ecstasy hits you like white-hot heat, tunneling your vision as you jerk against his face, heels digging into his back. His name falls sloppily from your mouth in a flurry of mixed vowels and sounds that hold no cohesive meaning, each one melding into throaty moans.

“That’s my girl…” He grins, removing his fingers to lap up all the juices of your arousal as you ride out your orgasm against his face.

Slowly you come back to yourself, the tremors of aftershock fading as your breath and vision catch up to you. Arthur remains content between your legs, gently kissing the soft skin of your thighs, once more humming the tune he’d serenaded you with on your way into town.

When he smiles at you, lips and chin shining with your nectar, love burning behind his blue-green eyes, you pet his hair, holding that gaze with the same reverence. Slowly a smirk unfurls on your lips.

“Like I said, knight in shining armor.”

[only4miller]

WRANGLERS

pairing: modern!sadie adler x f!reader

warnings: really descriptive filth, fingering (r receiving), risky sex, pet name/s (princess), slight praise, not lore accurate sadie (i think), MINORS DNI! (let me know if i missed any.)

summary: You thought Wranglers were definitely your girlfriend's signature jeans, and now, you want to start wearing them too after realizing you look like a goddess in them. She brings you to a Western boutique nearby and you try on a few pairs. Long story short, the both of you get carried away in the dressing room. (requested by @preghero)

a/n at the end.

The warm glow of the sun fought to shine through your stained bathroom windows. Warm water ran down your body as you took an early morning shower to ease the tension in your muscles after a long rough night with Sadie. Sighing, you turned the faucet off; wobbling out of the shower.

Walking out of the bathroom, you rubbed your hair with a towel. You chuckled looking at Sadie — who is still plopped on the bed — with her face flushed red, the sunlight hitting her face just right so that you could see the freckles on her face. Your eyes trailed upwards, observing the scar above her right eye. Her mouth and chin were glistening wet with the release she had chased out of you moments ago. You chuckled to yourself as she tilted her head to look at you. “You gotta wash up, Sadie,” You remarked as you hung the wet towel over the clothes rack.

Sadie lazily stood up from your shared bed and walked over to you; her arms finding their way around your waist, pulling you into a hug. You turned around to face her, wiping the stray strands of hair away from her face so that you could see it clearly. You place a small peck on her cheek, your lips glossed with your spend as you lightly nudge her into the bathroom.

This earned a chuckle from her as she walked inside the bathroom and shut the door. You smiled to yourself as you opened your closet, grabbed matching underwear then looked for something casual to wear. As you went through your shared closet, a pair of bootcut Wrangler jeans caught your attention. You pulled it out from the closet and held it in front of you. 

It was a dark blue denim, similar to what Sadie usually wore. You flipped it around, examining the back. You placed it in front of your waist as you walked in front of a mirror, seeing if it would suit you. “She won’t kill me if I borrow this, right?” You mumbled to yourself as you tried to decide whether you should wear it for today. You lightly shrugged, satisfied with how it looks on you.

You wiggled around as you tried to put it on. This pair was a tad bit tight but damn did it look good on you. You hummed in contentment as you reached over to a separate drawer, opened it and pulled out a matching belt. You walk back to the mirror and put the belt on, smirking and turning around as you check yourself out.

“Well, don’t you look gorgeous, princess?” You jumped a little as you heard Sadie’s voice behind you. She had a towel wrapped around her hair but none around her naked torso. You paused as you watched the water trickle and drip down her body. “I just wanted to try your jeans on,” She looked back at me, eyeing me up and down before a smirk formed on her face. “You look absolutely stunning in them.” Her eyes are still glued on me, she was thinking about something else.

“What do ya say I get you your own pair?”

Your face lit up, “What? Really?” Sadie nodded as she put on her shirt and I squealed. She raised her eyebrows, staring at you in disbelief and amusement. “A few days ago you were bashing me for wearin’ the same kind of jeans every day, and now you want ‘em?”

Chuckling, you looked at her, “Hey, I just realized that they look amazing on me, alright?”

Sadie rolled her eyes and scoffed before speaking, “I know a place.”

“Geez, of course you do.” 

“Do you want ‘em or not?” 

You playfully rolled your eyes, scoffing as you turned your back to Sadie. You sat on an empty chair while you waited for her to finish getting ready. She pulls out a white button-up shirt and matching black denim pants from your closet. You whistled as she put the pants on, your brows wiggling up and down suggestively. Sadie turns to you, raising an eyebrow in amusement. You laughed hysterically at her face as you stood up and walked to the door.

Sadie led you to a local Western boutique just a couple blocks from your shared apartment. It had luscious vines with blooming flowers running along the side of the walls. Fairy lights ran along each corner and crevice of the store, illuminating the room in a warm yellow glow. The racks were filled with various Western wardrobes, ranging from accessories to shirts and jeans.

You strolled around the aisles, dragging Sadie by her hand. You roamed around the different racks and shelves before your eyes landed on a rack with jeans hung on it. You walked briskly towards it, eyeing a few pairs. “Sadie, help me look, will ya?” She chuckled at you before looking through the rack as well. She pulled out a couple of pairs, holding them out before she hung them over her arm.

“I’m gonna try ‘em on,” You told her as you turned to look for the dressing rooms. You found one near the accessories section and you started walking towards it. Sadie followed suit behind you, her chosen pairs still hung on her arm.

She stalled at the door frame of the dressing room, waiting for you to try the pants on. You looked at her as if expecting something. “What?” She asked, seemingly clueless. “The door genius, are you gonna let everyone see me undress?”

She chuckled and turned around to close the door; not before she walked into the dressing room with you. You opened your mouth to protest but she cut you off before you could. “What? You actin’ like I haven’t seen ya undress before,” You playfully rolled your eyes as you unbuckled your brown leather belt, setting it on a hook behind the door. You inserted your thumbs in the gap between the side of the jeans and your waist and pulled it down until it reached your ankles. You grabbed the jeans before hanging them on the same hook behind the door. You grabbed a pair from the ones you chose as Sadie looked at you expectantly.

She whistled as she watched you put it on, it hugged your curves just right. Her stare was primal; like a predator seeing its prey. She couldn’t help but stare in admiration and lust.

The jeans were tight enough that your ass and thighs stood out, arousing her. The belt you matched was absolutely not helping with how much she wanted to fuck you right then and there. She tried to keep the feelings at bay but the longer she stared at you as you checked yourself out in the mirror, the more she just felt even more hot and bothered. Sadie walks closer and places her hands on your hip, grabbing your attention.

Turning around to face her, you ask, “Hey, do you like this one?” She pauses, her hands now wandering to your waist, “What do you think?” she asked — however, you both knew the answer to that. Her eyes never leave your body; wandering up and down as she took in every inch of you. Your face is flushed as her hand raises to cup your jaw.

Then you blink and her mouth is latched onto yours like a leech, teeth nibbling at your tongue and lips. She pushed you onto the wall, sending a loud bang but neither of you cared when she had you in such a vulnerable position. Her hand flattens against your back as she pushes you against her body. The buttons on your shirt came off as she worked her way through your clothes. Your chest heaved up and down; Sadie quite literally took your breath away.

You felt heat pool between your legs as Sadie fumbled to unbutton your jeans, her hands clammy. She pulls away from the kiss, eyes glaring at you through her lashes. “You have no idea what this does to me,” She says as she finally unbuttoned the jeans, watching it drop to your ankles. Your breath hitches as she brings a finger to your clothed core, teasing your throbbing cunt. You shudder under her touch, thighs pressing together as your cunt hugs around nothing.

As unruly and humiliating as it is — the noises you make as her middle finger hovers over your wet slit; you didn’t care. The muffled sighs and the constant banging on the wall due to being repeatedly pinned to it sent shivers down your spine. “Right here? What if someone sees or hears us?” Your whisper is barely audible as Sadie locks her lips on the sweet spot between your neck and shoulder. “I don't care if you don't,” Was all she could muster as she inserted her digits into your cunt, pulsing with excitement as you grabbed her arms for support when she rams her fingers in at a godforsaken speed and intensity.

A broken yelp escapes your lips but she is quick to use her free hand to cover your mouth; muffling every noise that slips out. The exhilarating fear and excitement of getting caught sent you into overdrive. Your legs tremble underneath you as she maintains this relentless pace; her palm hitting your flared clit as she moved her fingers in and out of your throbbing pussy. 

The muted repetition of Sadie’s name echoed as she fingered the living daylights out of you; “You need to stay quiet princess,” Your back involuntarily arched as she coaxed you to stay quiet. Your muffled moans start to break into sobs, the tip of her fingers threatening your cervix.

Footsteps and various conversations could be heard outside of the dressing room and you couldn’t help but wonder if they could hear you. The cramped space and the lingering smell of sandalwood and leather just made this all the better. She clashes her mouth with yours; feeling the shiver of your lips as you neared your climax.

She hummed against your lips, moving her fingers faster. “Good girl, you wanna cum?” Her Southern drawl pulled you out of your trance. You nodded, unable to speak clearly. The thrill of cumming in a public dressing room with a lot of people present outside sent shivers down your spine but you couldn’t care less. 

Your walls clench around her digits as she maintains the agonizingly fast pace. Your face distorted in pleasure as your climax washed over you like a surging wave. A silent whine slipped out of your mouth as your chest pumped; heaving up and down. Sadie chuckles softly into your mouth, a bead of sweat dripping down her forehead. Your release coats her fingers before dripping on the jeans that gathered on the floor. “Fuck,” A mere whisper escaped your lips before a knock banged on the door. 

Gasps and pants fill the gaps of silence as you wait for the person to speak.

“Hello? Are you done, miss?” A sweet but old voice calls out. You scramble to stand on your two legs, Sadie brings her cum-coated hand to her mouth and licks it clean, eyes glued on you. “Just a minute!” You say to the woman outside the door of the dressing room, trying to sound as calm and collected as possible. You put your pants on and fix your clothes and hair before opening the door, “Sorry for the wait, we just had a bit of trouble with trying the jeans on,” 

“Oh, that explains the rustling,” You bit your lip at the comment before awkwardly chuckling and grabbing Sadie’s hand. “My girl here didn’t find anything that suited her yet, but we’ll come back though.” She says to the old woman, to which you nodded to.

Note to self: Have Sadie Adler fuck you in risky places more often.

a/n: oh my god, i am so sorry that this took me so long to upload. we just finished a lifetime's worth of projects and deadlines. anyway, this is my first smut fic ever so i encourage you all to tell me what to improve, i appreciate feedback !!! i hate this but like ermm might as well kms /lh

[rosedorada]

THE COWBOY YOU ARE | J. Escuella

javier escuella x f!reader

tags ; smut, cursing, riding a cowboy (iykwim), cowboy hat rule (look it up), afab anatomy , dry humping, p in v, switch!javier, switch!reader, teasing, cockwarming but only for a few seconds

wc ; 749

a/n ; save a horse, ride a cowboy ;) | my first smut on this app, so why not make it my boy javier

if wear the cowboy hat, you gotta ride the cowboy.

“You’re treading on thin ice, princesa” Javier sets his hat down on the table and huffs as he sits down. [ princesa - princess ]

“Is it so bad,” You sit down on his lap, “that i just wanna wear your hat?” Your hand goes to grab it and he swats it away.

“You know what happens when you wear my hat.” He warns you. Of course you knew what happened when you wore his hat, that’s why you wanted to wear it.

“Yes, Javi, I know what happens.” You grind down onto his lap and he swallows down a groan.

“Mierda, oh go-“ Javier bites down on his hand as you continue to grind down on him. The entire camp was either asleep or just in their tents doing stuff. So, you two were pretty safe out here for a bit. [ mierda - shit ]

“Shh, Javi.” You slowly reach for his hat with your right hand. Putting it on your head once you had a secure grip on his hat. “Oops…”

“You did this on pur-“ You grind down on his dick again, stopping him mid sentence. “God.” He whines and bucks his hips up against yours. That was your breaking point.

✭ ✭ ✭

“Javier-“ You manage to moan out his name as he kisses up and down the upper half of your body, leaving your jeans buttoned almost on purpose. You grip onto his hair, ruining the low ponytail he had it in.

“You don’t know what you do to me, especially when you do this.” He stands up, fixing the brim of his hat that was on your head. “I wanna see you ride me like the cowboy you are, since you’re obviously one now.”

You rubbed your thighs together for some friction, anything, to soothe the ache between your thighs.

Javier seemed so dominant until you slowly sat down on his dick, every time you’d grind down he was a whimpering, whining mess. Gripping at your hips, helping you ride him.

“Por favor, te necesito... Necesito esto.” Javiers nails dug into your hips, making you moan a little too loud. [ please i need you… i need this ]

When you both bucked your hips at the same time, it made your vision go white. It practically made you scream out in pleasure.

“Javi,” You throw your head back as you claw at his chest. “God… you’re so-“ You struggled to talk in between moans and whines that would escape every so often.

Javiers hands slowly slid up your body, cupping one of your boobs. His calloused thumb sliding over one of your nipples, making you shiver. “You don’t know how much… I- dios… worship you.” [ dios - god ]

It was true. As his hands went up to your face he flicked the brim of his hat up, exposing more of your face. It was red and had a thin layer of sweat covering it.

“I’m close-“ You struggle to moan out the words, gripping and clawing at Javier’s chest.

“So am I, hermosa. Just… mierda… a little bit longer.” He let’s out an animalistic groan as he looks down and sees where you two were connected. [ hermosa - beautiful | mierda - fuck ]

You eventually dive down and start kissing him once his moans and whines got too loud. He got more aggressive with his thrusts, though they were sloppy it still bucked your body upward.

Javier takes both of his arms and gropes your ass needily, like he was a starving man and you were his first meal.

He dips his left hand down to play with your clit, leaving you a moaning mess. Javier seeing you come undone this fast and this easily made him rut into you.

“Ple- please… I-“ Javier manages to groan out, “Inside…” He started panting, “you… p-please.”

“You can…” You grip onto his shoulder, feeling him thrust one last time into your throbbing cunt until he eventually came.

Javier puts his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his sweaty body. His face was slightly flushed, and his lips were swollen. He was trying to catch his breath but he had the most intoxicating smile on his face.

“So… how was the ride?” He looks up at you with hooded eyes, obviously trying to joke around.

You roll your eyes, kissing his forehead and pushing the stray hairs off of his forehead before getting up off of him to lay beside him.

[annwrites]

⸻ colter. ⸻

· pairing: charles smith x fem!reader · type: part of a miniseries · summary: while the van der linde gang finds themselves stranded at colter, you go to charles to keep you warm & safe during the blizzard. · tags: forced proximity, angst, mutual pining, cuddling, fingering, p in v sex, creampie · word count: 3.6k · ꒰a/n꒱: i've wanted to write something for charles for a long time & got inspired to churn this out while reading where the lost wander by amy harmon.

“Charles,” calls a quiet, demure voice from the open doorway, where winter winds howl and crest over the snow-capped mountaintops that surround this dilapidated excuse for a camp. Though, it is better than the alternative. None of you would have made it much longer, given the harsh conditions the wagon train now finds itself under.

Young Jack is too small and soft for such circumstances. And Davey, by Charles’ estimations, may, quite likely, breathe his last tonight. He does not speak such thoughts aloud, however. Spirits are low enough as it is. He will not be held liable for further decimating what little hope is now left.

He turns from the rickety wooden bunk he has just tossed his leather pack down onto, to find you staring at him with wide, frightened eyes, set above gaunt, hollowed cheekbones.

You haven’t been eating. Not as much as you should be, that is. It seems that unless he, or Mary-Beth, can coax you into taking sustenance, you all but forget you are meant to ingest as much in order to survive. You do not think of such things now. Not after what you have endured. It is no matter whether the sight of you like this—one who he still hardly even knows (even if he feels entirely otherwise)—cuts him deeply, like the sharpened edge of a hunter’s blade. He worries that you do it to punish yourself for still breathing, while your family rests six feet beneath tilled, earthen soil hundreds of miles from here.

He tried telling you one evening, as you nursed a bowl of broth he boiled for you from venison bone, in an attempt to try and calm your aching stomach, that they would not want to see you like this.

You had replied, simply, that they will no longer see anything at all.

He had not known how to reply…so he didn’t. Perhaps he should have. He thinks there are many things he should do differently when it comes to you. But when they have passed through towns, and traversed well-worn trails created by others seeking to make a new life for themselves in this strange land, he is met with scornful expressions and wary temperaments from those who do not look like him.

To couple their assumptions of him with the sight of a white woman clinging to him for protection and safety she now no longer receives from any other… He fears himself a coward for so often turning away from your awaiting, adoring eyes when so many others’ are upon him.

He is efficient on his own, but he admitted some time ago—begrudgingly—that this new world may be the least bit safer for him to travel along with welcoming companions at his side. So, he endures it.

“Yes?” he replies, watching as you shut the door behind you before traipsing forward.

Your boots, which he does not deem fit for winter weather—perhaps he should go hunting at first light, and take the pelt from his game to fashion you a warm pair of moccasins instead—scuff against the bowed planks of wood beneath your feet as you come closer.

Javier and Lenny talk quietly amongst themselves to give the two of you a moment of privacy.

You gaze up at him from beneath wet lashes, and he notes how you shiver against the chill which envelops the drafty cabin you find yourselves in. You should instead be with the other women, seated before a wood stove, or hearth, warming yourself until your bones stop aching and instead relax, and the warmth eventually lulls you to sleep.

“Can…can I sleep with you? Here?” you ask with a hopeful tone.

The men quiet for a moment, and he knows that they are listening, wondering if a soft young woman, with milky skin and an innocent disposition, will be joining them tonight. Though, that is not right. You are not here for them. You are not here for anyone except him. Not even for Mary-Beth do you stay with the gang, even if she is the one who found you, and brought you into their rag-tag fold of compatriots.

You come impossibly closer until your breasts are brushing against the wealth of his chest. “Please. It’s so cold. I’m…scared.”

He is a strong bull of a being. And yet, you always serve to decimate him to his basest form: a man who weakens to a woman’s touch, voice, and wants.

He knows you do not do it on purpose. That you are not so much as aware of the hold you have over him. He thinks that serves only to draw him in impossibly closer.

“You’re sure you don’t want to stay with the women in the other cab—”

You shake your head fervently, and he knows there will be no talking you out of this. Your mind was already made up, in terms of where you want to be tonight, before you darkened their door. Before you ever even asked him if he would have you.

Because you know that he will.

“No. I want to be with you.”

He does not understand why you have made him your chosen protector, but neither does he know how to shirk such a position, either. He does not want to admit that he doesn’t wish to—that it makes his chest swell with pride in knowing that you see him as a towering form of solidity; an immovable force. That a woman like you could see a man like him as being worthy of your love...is still yet unthinkable. Even if you have not yet verbally offered it to him, you have done as much in countless other ways.

It does not need to be said, for that is not how the two of you communicate. You do so in a platitude of other ways.

He feels it in the soft brush of your hand against his when you walk by to retrieve requested supplies for Susan. Sees it when you watch him observantly as you tend to the horses across the camp; brushing them down with handfuls of hay to keep their coats healthy and clean. Heard it one evening, after all had drifted off to sleep while he stayed up to keep watch—a fact you had been acutely aware of: his waking state—as you whimpered his name with your hand between your thighs in the dark of your tent he had pitched for you just that morning.

He had spent the rest of the night being as observant as he could, between thoughts of sinking between your legs and making love to your mouth with his own.

He nods, just once. “Alright.”

The front half of you is burrowed into Charles’ chest, while your back faces the wooden wall behind you. Charles had deemed that he would sleep on the edge of the bed while you did so on the in, not trusting Micah—who snores loudly above the two of you—from trying to do something untoward. If he were to wake, only to find that scum’s hands on you, he would be losing far more than just the aforementioned limbs for trespassing upon a body that is not his to have.

He has noticed how the lousy excuse for a man looks at you, and it sets his blood to boiling, like that of a pot of Pearson’s coffee over a cookfire.

Charles has cautioned you to keep your distance from him, and you have thankfully obliged. You are not a stupid girl, he knows, but he cannot be too careful when it comes to matters of your personal safety. Though, he does admittedly always try to keep a watchful eye over you when able.

You nuzzle closer, and Charles tightens his beefy arms around you, ensuring you remain contentedly warm as you dream.

He is exhausted himself, but to have you so close like this…it makes rest nigh-on impossible to find.

You are stripped down to only your shift, leaving naught to the imagination. He had tried to encourage you to wear more layers to bed, but you had insisted that if there were too many, you would be too uncomfortable, and would not be able to sleep. He wonders if you did not just wish to be as close to him as you could possibly manage without undressing entirely.

One of your legs is slipped between each of his, and his erection rests just above your slightly-bent knee while occasionally stirring, looking for a way inside of you to keep warm.

His shirt is unbuttoned, granting you full access to the heat of his brawny chest, which your face is half-buried in. Each of your small palms are pressed against his heavy stomach, and they leave sweaty imprints from where they lay against his dark skin.

You stir, so he slips a hand into your hair, then gently massages your scalp to coax you back to sleep, which you desperately need.

And then the calm silence is interrupted by the whisper of your voice. “Charles.”

He groans quietly. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”

You wriggle in his grip, ensuring every inch of your body meets with his own. “Can’t.”

He rolls his eyes. You are always impossible at the worst of times. “Try.”

You slide your hands up his chest until one rests above the carotid of his neck; allowing you to feel the way his strong pulse hammers beneath the thin layer of skin. And that is where your opposite palm is to be found: lying above his heart. “Why aren’t you?”

Because I can’t stop thinking of the countless ways to have you. Even if it is a fool’s fantasy.

“Is it your hand?” you press with a tone of concern.

He shakes his head. “It’ll be fine.”

You circle your hips and he grits his teeth. You are stoking his temper now, like the coals of a previously-dwindling fire that is now trying to be brought back to life. As well as his libido.

“Y/N,” he starts, until you crane your neck back to meet his dark eyes.

“Do you think Davey will die?” you ask worriedly.

He sighs. “Maybe.”

Your eyes roam along slowly, until they are looking upwards at he who lies above you. “It’s all his fault this happened. That…poor girl in Blackwater.”

Charles shooshes you soothingly while running a palm down your back. “It’s over now. Nothing that we can do. We just have to survive this storm, and once it breaks, we’ll be on our way east.”

“We’ll stay together.”

You do not voice this as a question. Because he knows you are not asking.

“Please,” you breathe as the bridge of your chilled nose swipes along the length of his neck. “Don’t ever go where I cannot follow you.”

He turns further onto his side, and heat pools between your thighs as the weight of him settles atop you.

Charles smooths tangled stray hairs from your face and he shakes his head. “You don’t need to worry about that right now—”

“Promise me,” you demand while cradling his face between the soft skin of your heated palms.

He grows silent as you wait quietly in anticipation. The cabin groans beneath the force of the freezing tempest outside its door, but you know you are safe so long as Charles is here beside you.

“I promise.”

You snatch those words from the charged air between you before they can float away and leave you wanting, and you clasp them away inside of you where they can never leave, like a mother would her children’s photographs inside a golden locket. Something so small, where an entire world of precious things is beheld.

You move your hand higher, until you’ve buried your fingers in the coarse, tangled hair at the back of Charles’ head, and you press your lips to his as your eyes slide closed.

He pulls slightly back, and you whine at the loss of contact between you. “Stop. You know we can’t—”

“Says whom?” you demand.

He sighs in exasperation while running a callused hand down his tired face. “Society, Y/N. And—”

“I did not know you to be a man who much cared what others thought of him. So, you can take me into your bed, just not in that way. I had thought I lost everything, until I found you, Charles Smith. I want to be yours. No,” you say, interrupting yourself. “I am yours. Whether you desire it or not.”

You’ve left him speechless; just declaring yourself as belonging to him. You do not so much as ask to. Maybe because you had considered it to be an already settled matter. He knows you are awaiting further objections to come from his lips. And if things were different—if you weren’t twined so closely together like this in the dark of night in the middle of a blizzard—perhaps he would have better prospects of forcing you to see the matter which lies between you more clearly. But you have him exactly where you want him. He is in no position to even attempt at making you consider otherwise.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he insists, doing his utmost to make you see sensibly.

“I know plenty,” you hiss while sliding your limbs around him, as if he is liable to go anywhere anytime soon.

Even if the sun were shining, the birds were singing, and grass spread across the ground outside as far as the eye could see, he fears still he would not leave this bed. Though, it is not the bed that keeps him from venturing. No, just the woman who lies in it, demanding him as her own.

You try to tug his lips back to yours, but he holds firm, even if he can feel his resolve giving way, like a mountain about to be blown to pieces by a chunk of explosive dynamite.

“You need sleep,” he presses.

“I need you,” you whine obstinately before  twining your fingers between his own and leading them down, between your spread thighs.

The heat of you is impossibly warm, and he is reluctant to refuse you any further now.

He has wanted to have you like this for so long. Like this and more. And to have you so desperately offering yourself up to him in such a way... He fears that hand of his is already infected, and said infection is spreading through his bloodstream, sending him into the recesses of his feverish mind. That none of this is real.

But if that is the case, he is prepared to die a very happy man.

“Please,” you beg while your hips undulate against him, beckoning him to touch you as he may.

Charles gently prods against you with his index and middle finger, and is taken aback to find you entirely bare between where you are spread open for him.

His eyes flit to your own and you nibble on your lower lip sheepishly. “Oops.”

He nearly snorts. Perhaps you are not as innocent as he has spent so much time assuming.

You throw one of your legs over his hip, and your own smarts for just a moment at how wide you are now spread open for him; at how large his body truly is.

You lean forward and press your lips to Charles’ once more, and his fingers slide between your wet folds, causing his cock to twitch between his legs. He is shocked by how eager you are to let him have you. Particularly with an audience present. Though, their snores and heavy breathing indicate that they are entirely unaware of what is transpiring mere inches from where they lie.

Charles circles your sensitive bud with the pad of his thumb, and you gasp against his plush lips while a chill runs up your spine.

He slides his hand along the soft inner skin of your plump thigh while painting a wet trail with his fingertips. “We should not do this here,” he states while beginning to tease you once more.

“There is nowhere else to go,” you whisper while sliding your hands along his shoulders, and down his arms, wanting more of him. Wanting him out of his clothes as well.

“They could wake,” he argues.

“Let them,” you say with a shrug before shimmying out of your shift and tossing it to the foot of the bed.

He pauses while leaning back—the bed creaking beneath his weight—as he studies the unabashed sight of your naked, womanly form.

You cup his cheek, bringing his attention back to you. “Please. I want it to be you, Charles. Take…”

He shakes his head, prepared to interrupt your offer—knowing where you are heading: the cliff you step toward the edge of.

“Take my innocence,” you sigh—a mere prayer.

You run a palm over his erection, and cup it firmly in your feminine hand. “I am yours already. So take the rest of me along with it.”

He mutters a low curse while sliding his hand along your naked hip, then grabbing a handful of your backside.

Your heart flutters in your chest, near to bursting with love for the man whose bed you warm.

He crushes his lips to yours once again, and slides his trained tongue along the inside of your mouth, as if he is first making love to it, so as to garner an idea of how the rest of you might be. You moan quietly and paw at his chest and stomach, wanting desperately for more of him to fill you where you are still yet empty and waiting.

It is in your nature, you realize, to never feel as if you have had enough of him.

You would crawl inside his body if you could, where you will be always safe and warm and never parted.

You think, sometimes, that you were once created as a whole, but split apart when you came to Earth to be planted in your mother’s wombs, but forced, nevertheless, to travel uncertain paths until you found that which had been always missing since your first breaths were drawn in the cold, unforgiving light of day. And then you cried and wailed for that which had been so cruelly taken away from you, fearing it forever lost…until you found each other once more.

Charles bows his head while moving his hand higher, guiding your back into a graceful arch, and then he takes up one of your taught nipples between his teeth and your body shudders in ecstasy.

You wrap your arms around his neck and hold him still as he drinks in every inch of you with his mouth and teeth and tongue, memorizing that which he’d been without for so long, even if he had not known exactly what was lost to him until it was inevitably discovered at last.

He trails his tongue through the valley between your breasts and up your neck as he surveys a new, unexplored virgin land none other has so much as beheld with their mere eyes.

“I’m yours,” you whisper before closing your eyes. “All yours.”

Charles reaches down and undoes his trousers, ready to free himself before joining the two of you together, but he must give you one last chance to renege.

“Are you sure?"

You cup his cheek in your hand and nod while gazing into his eyes. “Please, Charles. My heart is yours. As is my body.”

He maneuvers his legs until he has removed his garments, leaving himself as bare as you, and then he takes himself in-hand, and, with your leg still thrown over his waist, he rubs the weeping tip of himself against your entrance, and then he stills.

You have no protection here.

He deflates entirely, even as his erection strains to be inside of you, as if it has a wit of its own.

“I don’t care,” you state plainly, as if you have read the source of hesitancy within his mind. And with that, you sink down along the length of him, until you are one.

The two of you are wrapped impossibly tight around one another. Your limbs are twined around the other’s naked form, refusing to so much as give an inch, lest you disappear entirely, confirming this to have all been a mere dream. Your lips stay planted upon each other’s as well, only occasionally parting as you heave for breath in your excursions.

Charles’ right arm is snaked beneath you and around your waist; his palm splayed against your back, while his other cradles the base of your skull to keep you close. Meanwhile, your right arm is thrown haphazardly over the thickness of his side while your opposite hand clutches at his chest as he eases in and out of your slick entrance.

You can’t understand how something can feel so wonderful; how it is possible. If this is how it is to make love…why would anyone ever do anything else? Including eating, drinking, bathing, or so much as leaving their beds. You wish to be like this always with him.

In this moment, you know with the utmost certainty, that he is that missing part of you you had spent so long searching for. Ever since you were a girl and you felt—as you gazed out across the golden, amber valleys of wheat, and over wide, raging rivers of clear water of your childhood home—that something more was waiting for you in the great unknown, that it was him all along.

It was he who was calling to you, and tugging at your heart strings, wanting for you to come to him.

You’re whole at last.

As his body shudders against your own and you come undone in his arms, feeling like you have just touched the heavens with the tips of your fingers as he spills his seed inside of you, you know that neither of you will ever be alone again.

[twola]

Next chapter is up, 4/12!

Limpany’s burning was a lot more than meets the eye. Deception, greed, and murder follow everyone touched by Leviticus Cornwall. A story where the Van der Linde gang gets even more inescapably involved in Cornwall’s dealings, with the widowed survivor of the massacre at the heart of it all. Slow burn. Pre-Blackwater and beyond.

Chapter I: Limpany Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V

Chapter II : Diablo Ridge Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V

Chapter III : Owanjila Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VII Interlude: Saint Denis, 1888

➵Related Art➵ Calluna Warm Prairie Breeze Under the Cypress Shade Like So Many Times Before Intertwined Ruth Ruth II

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

Rye Whiskey

♢ Summary: Celebrating Sean's return to camp includes a drunk Arthur, which allows you to discover this whole new side of him. ♢Words: 2057 ♢Warnings: None except for the whole alcohol/drinking theme, basically it's just a one-shot of a fluff idea I had watching the video of drunk Arthur saying nonsense to Saddie. ♢a/n: I recommend reading it with the mindset that Arthur is in the same state as in "A Quiet Time" and listening to Rye Whiskey to put you in the mood! Wrote a little sequel for this! Read it here. ♢Credits: These gorgeous dividers are from @cafekitsune!

♪ "O Mollie O Mollie, it's for your sake alone,

That I leave my old parents, my house and my home!" ♪

Even if one didn't know Sean had returned to the gang, they could have noticed it right away hearing his cheerful singing, his thick Irish accent rolling the words even more musically. As the main entertainer of the gang, he was absolutely delighted to have a party thrown for him, and honestly, his big toothless smile made your heart feel warmer. Tonight, in the fresh air of New Hanover, it was only laughter, guitar notes, and drunken sounds that were echoing through the camp, everyone finally having a real good time since they had settled at Horseshoe Overlook after such a long period hidden in the ruthless cold of the Grizzlies.

You were sitting around one of the campfires, with Javier, Sean, Uncle, and John. Karen had also joined, gladly sitting on Sean's lap with a bottle in her hand; you were sure there was something between them, and the poor man probably deserved some sweet time after what he had been through. Talking about bottles, the floor was flooded with a large amount of them around your little singing group, almost like a big pond of green shining glass you all fed every few minutes when someone would empty one.

You had your fair share of drinks already, a slight blush burning your cheeks, the alcohol keeping you warm under the night's cold breeze and happy despite the gang's precarious situation. Funny, how whiskey would make everything easier and more entertaining, no matter who or where you were looking at.

Alright, you had to admit it, maybe you were a bit tipsy, but so were John, Javier, Sean, and Karen, their happy faces softly lit by the golden flames. But Arthur, -Oh Lord, Arthur was far beyond drunk, he was wrecked. Looking at him from where you were sitting and singing along, you could see just how much of a mess he was; at least three of his shirt's buttons were undone, said shirt opened messily; his hair scattered under his hat and looking a bit sticky, almost as if he had put his whole head into a barrel of beer; he had a constant smile on his face, and his body was swaying slightly as if he was an unstable bottle being tossed around by the waves of a tormented sea. You chuckled to yourself; he was quite a sight to see, and you wondered if you actually had ever seen him that drunk. A few weeks back, Lenny had told you about the wild night he and Arthur had at Valentine's saloon, but the man in question had slept in jail and came back to camp completely sober, which made you unable to see his incredibly drunken state and made you wonder what the hell he must have done to end up in said jail.

♪ "If the Oceans were whiskey, and I were a duck, -Quack quack !-

I'd dive to the bottom, and get one sweet sup !" ♫

You chuckled at how Arthur had added the quacking part, finding it quite endearing. It was almost as if it was a whole new side of him, and you couldn't stop watching. His deep voice sounded surprisingly good as he was singing with the others, and you caught yourself liking hearing it. After all, you always had a sweet spot for him, so you wouldn't complain about having the opportunity to look at him as much as you wanted without him noticing it (or at least, being too drunk to understand what exactly was happening). His bright blue eyes, sparkling with the orange ashes of the fire, along with his light brown hair and stubble, his black opened shirt, his thin lips curled into this big stupid smile... It was all making your heart melt more and more. You almost lost it when he started drinking again, roughly grabbing a nearby bottle, probably without even knowing what it was containing, and bringing it to his mouth, the golden liquid sliding in his throat, making his Adam's apple bob, some glistening drops of it flowing from the bottle all the way down his scarred chin, then his throat, ending up lost in the dark hairs of his chest.

You're suddenly pulled out of your starring trance by his loud voice cutting through the song's lyrics: "Lenny, mah boy! Come and sing with us."

"Arthur... You had too many drinks again..." Lenny answered with an amused giggle as he was passing behind him, catching his inebriated eldest as he had got up to greet him, but ended up stumbling on the way and almost tripped on him, it only made Arthur laugh at himself.

There was no need to specify that Lenny had trouble holding him upright, Arthur being under normal circumstances quite a weight to carry, and even more so when he was in such a state not making any effort to prevent his face from kissing the ground. Quickly, you got up yourself, and took a few steps towards the men, helping Lenny on his difficult task.

"Look who it is... Miss Y/L/N !" Arthur greeted you with foggy eyes and a wide grin as if you two hadn't seen each other for years when you had talked only a few hours ago. He instantly put one of his arms above your shoulders and the other around Lenny's. "C-come ooon, let's dance !"

Lenny sighed before laughing a bit, letting Arthur bring him into his drunken enthusiasm; you chuckled along with him, not complaining about being so close to the handsome cowboy you had your heart and eye on for a while, even if he was barely able to register what he was actually doing and with whom. As Javier started playing a lively song, Arthur, Lenny and you were throwing your legs up in the air; you laughed some more noticing how your favorite cowboy had a hard time actually following the rhythm. You couldn't believe just how euphoric he was tonight, almost as if the bottles had turned on a switch in his mind, making him go completely wild without any of his usual gruff restraints. Maybe that was what the alcohol did to everyone. Maybe that was what it was doing to you right now but you couldn't be sure if it was, precisely because you were happily drunk and carefree.

The night continued and you blushed realizing Arthur hadn't let you go, his arms always ended up around your shoulders or on it as he was sometimes leaning against you. His manly scent, a sweet mix of smoky tones brought by tobacco and gunpowder, and woody ones, supported by pine and leather traces. Your head was starting to feel dizzy just by smelling it, your mind even more intoxicated by it than the alcohol you had been drinking all night.

"Maybe..."

You brush away your thoughts, he was really drunk, and he could have been like that with anyone. You spent the rest of the night having fun, drinking some more, laughing, singing, the whole gang having more and more fun as everyone had loosened up thanks to the booze. However at some point, the main man of the party, Sean, disappeared with Karen, and people started going to bed. After all, it was almost morning already, the stars of the night not as bright anymore as they were around the middle of the night, subtle sun rays making their presence known behind the outlines of the mountains, but not appearing just yet.

It was now only you, John, and Arthur left around the campfire, the dark-haired man looking down at his brother at heart, an amused grin on his face. Arthur was half asleep at you and John's feet, bottle in one hand, his other arm curled up around your leg. With all the proximity and physical contact he had given you through the whole night, your heart and body had gotten warmer, and you had to make enormous efforts to keep your thoughts in line, not wanting to have any false hope about him and his behavior.

"He's so goddamn drunk... " John sighed.

"Clearly."

"Come on, let's carry him to bed." John said to you, getting up with difficulty from the log you both were sitting on.

"Aah, you guys are no f-fun!" Arthur protested, his voice even hoarser than usual due to his intoxicated self. "Come on, one more drink!"

"Nope, you're going to bed." John's own croaky tone answered his partner. He then looked at you while bending down, expecting you to help him lift Arthur's poor body.

You leaned over, helping John. Arthur was barely able to walk, leaning heavily on you and John, one of his arms above John's shoulder just as earlier with Lenny, but his other one around your waist. Your cheeks burned. Even if it was just drunken attention... You liked it.

The three of you started to walk to Arthur's tent, as fast as you could considering his feet were more brushing the ground than actually stepping on it. You just weren't capable of having any coherent thoughts at this point, your whole being living for the warm sensation of his big palm on your waist, feeling how his fingers were gently rubbing against your clothes.

"You two... Are the b-best..." Arthur slurred out in a rough voice when you had reached his tent. As gently as you both could, John and you were trying to lay him in his cot.

"Yeah, yeah. Goodnight, Arthur." John answered with an amused chuckle, placing one of his legs in its rightful place on his bed.

"Y/N, you're beautiful..." Arthur added in an almost unintelligible rumble, as you were pulling back from him. "I l-love you."

Your jaw dropped. What did he say? Did you hear that right? You froze, eyes glued to the outlaw, who was already turning around to sleep on his stomach, lips parted, a light snore emerging from his noose; he had instantly fallen asleep as if he had permission to now that he was in his cot.

John looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Don't take it seriously, Y/N." He advised you. "He already told that to Abigail and Karen before, even Saddie if I reckon right."

"Oh, erm... Alright, I won't." You answered your friend. Honestly, you probably would have slept better not knowing that; a sharp little sliver of disappointment subtly piercing through your heart. "Goodnight then, John."

"Goodnight, Y/N, thanks for the help." The scarred man greeted you before heading to his own tent. It was so late, you were sure Abigail would reprimand him for that tomorrow morning.

But that was John's problem, and you already had one yourself.

You took a last look at your sleepy cowboy before walking off to your own tent. He looked cute like this, hair messy, clothes completely disheveled; even his snoring was pretty endearing to you. You reluctantly turned your back to him, resisting the urge to actually lay with him in his cot. After all, he wouldn't have complained, wouldn't he? He probably wouldn't even have noticed... These thoughts got stuck in your brain as you lay in your own cot, pretty tired yourself after partying all night, your spirit slowly drifting away in the realm of dreams, sleep troubled by blurry visions of what had happened during the night, a beautiful, charming, stupid smile keeping on reappearing from time to time in your slumber.

Arthur opened his eyes. "It hurts"; were the first words that came to his mind. His back, his neck, his goddamn head, everything was hurting him. Getting old was definitely not a piece of cake. He rubbed his eyes, which felt dry and burnt, just like his thorny throat, even if a slight string of saliva had slid from his mouth. Getting that drunk was definitely too frequent for him lately, the other night with Lenny still engraved in his memory and his tired body, fed up with his poor drinking decisions. He slowly got up, rubbing his face, carefully avoiding his gaze from looking at the sun, its light way too powerful for him in this hungover state.

Looking around the camp, he smiled internally seeing Karen emerging from Sean's tent. Little bastard had gotten himself a good time last night. While thinking back about what happened, he had a hard time remembering all of it, as often when he was that drunk. Maybe it was better that way, considering his impressive capacity to get in trouble and make a fool of himself in those kinds of situations. However this time, something was lingering in the back of his mind.

You.

Your delicate smell, how the soft fabric of your clothes felt under his fingers, how your voice sounded into his ears, how smooth and mellow your leg was. How the hell did he knew about all that? He focused, frowning, trying so hard to remember what had happened, but all he had was these sensations, those pleasant, haunting sensations. He couldn't help but feel flustered all by himself, sat on his bed, cheeks getting slightly flushed, just imagining the reasons why he suddenly knew so much about the grain of your skin and the warmth of your body against his;

He prayed deeply he didn't do anything stupid with you; Lord knows how important you were to him. Hell, he had thought about you a lot already, thought about offering you flowers or maybe a nice jewel, something that would be as pretty as you even if to him, no physical object could ever compete with your astonishing beauty and your adorable, sweet, sunny personality.

But before all that, he needed to have a few words about last night with you. Probably would stumble on his words, look like an idiot again, but at least he would be able to be close to you, just like in those sweet lingering memories in his head.

Sequel here.

a/n : Alright so... Here it is! My first one-shot ever. Please, if you notice anything, any mistakes, or a weird-sounding sentence: let me know! English isn't my first language and I'm actually anxious as hell to publish this! Anyway, thanks for reading this until the end and take care <3

[makriiii]

Master list: Caught

I wanted to compile my so far ongoing series for you guys, avoid all the scrolling through my messy page 😩

Summary: You rode up in the mountains after your gang - the O’Driscolls - planning to rob a train belonging to a Mr. Cornwall. Come to find out, the O'Driscolls werent the only ones who were preying on this train.

Tags: 18+, Angst- lots of it- Nsfw, mentions of blood and gore, slow burn, enemies to lovers, eventual smutt, eventual fluff, cursing, guns. The typical wild west.

Authors notes: Personally, I am one who really likes to immerse myself into the story, so I do like to write out a bit more detail - the story starts out a little slow but picks up pretty fast. I'm also going through and re-editing each chapter, slowly but surely. Im adding extra bits and peices to make the story flow better. 😋

Total word count: 57.7k.

Average chapter word count: 2k-4k.

Last updated: 29 Sep 2024.

Status: In progress.

Caught

Ao3 or Wattpad

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

XVI

XVII

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♡

I'll, of course, update the list as the series goes on 😉

[appalachiancowboy99]

Gif by @itspapillonnoir Hi, Everybody! Welcome to my little slice of Red Dead Heaven. I'm still new to this whole writing thing, so if you wanna check out my work below, please do :) If ya have any comments or suggestions, please don't hesitate to send 'em my way! Y'all go have some fun now, ya hear?

Appalachian Natural Disaster and Relief Links

Asks and requests are open!

Masterlist

One-Shots:

Arthur Morgan x Curvy!FemReader, MDNI (Minors DO NOT Interact)

Prompt List (WIP)

Fireside

Getting away from camp for a little peace just isn't enough. Arthur's dying to get a taste of that sweet honeypot right here in the open.

After Dark

Arthur comes back to camp later than usual, with nothing but an ill temper and the need to release his pent-up frustrations.

A Cure for the Common Cold (WIP)

Doc says you've come down with a nasty cold. There's no cure for such an ailment, but Arthur has a trick or two up his sleeve to remedy your needs.

Series:

Arthur Morgan x CurvyFem!Reader, MDNI (Minor DO NOT Interact)

The Heart of an Outlaw (WIP) - (possibility for side one-shots, if requested!)

Arthur works through the challenges of being married and bringing a child into the world.

[esquilone]

- Winter Violets II

──────────୨ৎ───────────

RDR2 | Charles Smith x F! reader

❤︎ Summary: After everything that happened with the gang, Charles Smith sets out for Canada in search of a new beginning. Far from his past, he dreams of a peaceful life, maybe even a family. Riding along the vast, silent roads of Canada, he never expected to find anyone. But then, he heard it. A call for help. A voice lost in the wind. When he stopped to help you; a woman, he thought it was just a fleeting moment. But when, months later, your paths crossed again, something felt different. It became clear that this was never just a coincidence. Could there be something more to it?

❤︎ Genre tags: Explicit (not in this chapter)

WARNINGS ⚠️ : mentions of violence against women, blo0d, corpses and mention of cannib4lism (supposedly). Nothing too extreme.

Author's notes: this text hasn't been completely revised yet, I'm probably going to avoid Canadian accents because I don't know if they make the texts strange or something... but since it's set in the South, where people don't have such strong accents, it won't be strange if I take out some accents, I'll try to keep some dialogues, I hope you like this chapter, the hardest part for me is organizing it and putting it into English. c:

FIRST PART HERE! 01

Chapter 2

Time had passed since that night when you and Charles shared dinner. Mornings had returned to their usual silence, and your routine hadn’t changed much. But then, small details started to bother you.

First, there were the footprints near the fence. Not Charles’s from that day—these seemed more recent, and you knew how to recognize his. These were different, neither his nor yours, and there was more than one pair. They had appeared in the dead of night, close to the chicken coop.

Then, there was the constant feeling that someone was watching you.

You brushed off the thoughts and went about your routine. Morning arrived lazily, bringing with it a thin mist that lingered over the trees. You opened the front door and took in the fresh air, the scent of damp earth and wood filling your lungs. The wind rustled the leaves, making tiny hairs on your skin stand up, as the first rays of sunlight touched the porch.

It was always like this. Silence, routine.

With a sigh, you adjusted your skirt and went to fetch water from the storage outside. The rope creaked slightly as the bucket rose, rough wood scraping against your palm. With effort, you poured some of the water into a watering can and made your way to the backyard, toward the garden. The plants were lush, their green leaves gleaming with droplets of morning dew. You moved between them, carefully watering each one—mint, rosemary, thyme… The scent of herbs blended with the damp soil, bringing a comforting sense of peace and lifting your mood

Once you finished, you sat on the porch, pulling out your sketchbook. The pages bore faint smudges of graphite from your fingers and small stains of watercolor—remnants of hours spent capturing the tiny details of the world around you.

Today, you chose a raven.

It always appeared nearby, perching on the trunk of a dead tree by the fence. A solitary creature, always watching, as if it knew something you didn’t. Maybe it understood how isolated you felt—just like it. The only difference was that it was freer than you. Perhaps that was why it came to visit you from time to time.

With light pencil strokes, you started with its wings, then its sharp, attentive eyes—so dark yet intelligent. You lost yourself in the details of its feathers, the shape of its beak, the elegant curve of its neck.

Time passed without you noticing.

You only realized it when your stomach growled.

Setting the sketchbook aside, you went to the kitchen. The scent of coffee still lingered from earlier, mixed with the faint aroma of bread you had baked the day before. You grabbed a cast-iron pot, tossing in a few pieces of potato and carrot, stirring slowly as the soup warmed.

The kettle whistled on the stove, steam rising steadily. You set aside some chamomile tea, letting the leaves steep into the hot water.

Washing the dishes was an automatic process—your hands in the icy water, the soft clinking of plates, the soap bubbles sliding between your fingers. But your mind kept drifting back to the footprints near the house… It was strange.

You tried to ignore it. Maybe they belonged to travelers passing through. Maybe your imagination was playing tricks on you, and they were just your own footprints.

But when you went into town, an unexpected warning left you uneasy:

— Miss, be careful when you head back home. — The old postman adjusted his worn hat, glancing around before lowering his voice. — There are some strange men about.

— What do you mean? — You frowned, gripping your bag of supplies.

— A house was burned down this week. — He let out a sigh, shaking his head. — And a ranch was raided. Livestock killed and stolen, tools gone… — His calloused hands clutched the bundle of letters against his chest. — Just stay alert.

A chill ran down your spine. You knew the region could be dangerous, but something like this hadn’t happened in years.

— Have these men been seen around here?

— Not yet. But if it’s anything like last time, they start in the outskirts and then move in deeper.

You swallowed hard and thanked him, grabbing your packages and walking away with hurried steps, ready to go home. You knew the postman as well as your father once did—he wasn’t the type to lie. But the region wasn’t dangerous, and if something like that had happened, it was probably farther away.

The house was peaceful. The only sound was the occasional creaking of wood under the heat of the oil lamps. You were finishing your meal, the last remnants of dinner still warm on the plate. A simple meal, but satisfying. With a sigh, you pushed the chair back and gathered the dishes. The water in the basin reflected the soft glow of the flame as you washed everything, feeling the lukewarm touch on your fingers. The movement was automatic, almost soothing.

It had been a long day.

After your visit to town, the conversation with the postman kept echoing in your mind. He had always been a kind man, not one for many words, but today… today, something felt different.

“Be careful around these parts. I’ve heard of some strange folks lurking around farms. Just stay alert, alright?”

You knew how to take care of yourself. You always had. But for some reason, his warning wouldn’t leave your mind.

With a sigh, you grabbed a towel and went to the room you used as a bathroom. The water in the bucket was cold as it ran down your skin, the shock sending a shiver up your spine. You rubbed your arms, your face, letting the coolness ease some of the tension.

When you were done, you put on your pajamas—a long-sleeved cream-colored blouse with delicate blue bird and leaf details, along with thick fabric pants, comfortable against the night’s chill. You turned off some of the oil lamps on your way to the bedroom, leaving only one lit on the bedside table.

The old double bed was made of dark wood. You lay down on the sheets, staring at the ceiling. The silence around you felt heavier that night, pressing down on your shoulders like an invisible warning.

A strange chill in your stomach.

Maybe it was just anxiety… but why?

You pulled the thick blankets over your body, a nearly childish gesture, seeking comfort in the warmth of the soft fabric.

“Don’t be silly. Everything is fine.”

Even so, you clutched a pillow, hugging it against your chest. Your eyes slowly drifted shut, but the silence didn’t bring rest.

Then…

A noise.

Low, coming from outside.

You opened your eyes slowly. Your heart jumped in your chest, alert to any sound.

It was quick—maybe the wind, maybe an animal.

You took a deep breath, trying to ignore it. Maybe it was just your imagination.

Eventually, sleep won over, but it didn’t last long.

An hour later, your eyes opened again.

Your throat was dry.

You sat up slowly, feeling the cold wood under your bare feet. You grabbed the oil lamp and stood up, pulling a sheet and a blanket over your arms, trying to shield yourself from the sharp wind creeping into the house. Even though you were used to solitude, something about that night made your body tense with unease.

You walked to the kitchen, trying not to think too much about the strange discomfort weighing on you.

The water bucket was still near the sink. You picked up a clay cup, crouched down, and dipped it into the dark, cool liquid. You drank slowly, feeling it run down your throat, refreshing—but not enough to chase away the restlessness.

Cup in hand, you walked slowly through the house, your thoughts scattered.

For a brief moment, you thought of Charles.

His calm demeanor, his sharp eyes. The way he always seemed to sense when something was wrong.

Maybe it was just paranoia, but a part of you wished he was around.

And that’s when you saw it.

You stopped by the window, the cup still between your fingers. Outside, under the pale moonlight, the chicken coop was open.

Your heart pounded harder.

The fence stood dark and empty, the small door wide open, swinging slightly with the wind. You frowned. You were sure you had locked it before going to bed.

A sense of unease crept over you.

Setting the cup aside, you took a deep breath and walked to the back door. Your hand hesitated over the handle for a second.

Then, slowly, you turned it…

And stepped outside.

The moonlight bathed you as soon as you opened the door, and you clutched the blanket tighter around your shoulders and arms while your gaze swept across the property, stretching out in moderate size. The dewy grass and the almost absolute silence only intensified the feeling that something was out of place.

You walked with careful steps, the sound of your footsteps blending with the soft whisper of the wind. As you neared the chicken coop, the dim light revealed its simple structure and the animals resting inside. For a moment, everything seemed normal. You closed the coop door with an almost automatic gesture, but the lingering sense that something was wrong persisted.

As you made your way back along the dirt path, a low, indistinct noise—perhaps the rustling of leaves or a distant groan—made your heart race for a brief moment. A shiver ran down your spine. It wasn’t the paralyzing fear of living alone, but rather a vague, inexplicable discomfort, as if the silence itself had become suspicious.

Keeping your eyes sharp on the darkness around you, you decided to return to the warmth and safety of the house. You shut the door firmly, locked it, and, for a brief moment, stood in front of it, trying to convince yourself it was just your imagination.

Back in your room, you lay down in your parents’ old but cozy bed. The soft sheets and thick blankets had been carefully arranged. As you settled in, your thoughts tangled together—the image of the chicken coop, the strange sound, the vulnerability you couldn’t quite explain.

You closed your eyes and hugged the pillow against your chest, trying to surrender to sleep, hoping that the cold and the silence of the night would fade into nothing more than another small detail of your solitary routine.

Two days after that unsettling night, at dawn, you woke up with the vague memory of the strange sound and the eerie sensation you had felt. Still dwelling on it…

With your mind full of thoughts, you decided to face the day with your usual chores. First, you headed to the backyard to tend to the chicken coop. Dressed in simple clothes and still wrapped in the lingering warmth of the blankets you had used to ward off the wind, you began scattering feed for the chickens. As your careful fingers let the grains fall to the ground, you couldn’t help but notice something felt different. Normally, the soft rustling of feathers and the comforting clucking would fill the air. But today, something was off.

After feeding the animals, you went to collect the eggs to bring them inside. The nagging feeling wouldn’t leave you, so you decided to count the chickens.

Your heart picked up its pace.

Two or three were missing.

The realization left you stunned. In this region, you were sure there were no predators that fed on chickens—no foxes, no wild animals you knew of.

What?

The discomfort grew as your sharp eyes scanned the perimeter of the coop, searching for any sign of what might have happened. Nothing pointed to an intruder or an opportunistic animal. And yet, the unease remained.

Without wasting any time, you secured the coop firmly and, trying to regain your composure, continued feeding the remaining chickens. Then, with slightly trembling hands, you gathered the eggs and carried them inside, where you prepared your simple meal. But the feeling of loss and the mystery of the missing birds clung to you.

After finishing your chores, you returned to the backyard to water the garden. As you poured water over the plants with the same delicate care as always, despite your unease, your mind drifted between doubts and a faint fear you couldn’t quite understand.

The cold seeped into the skin like tiny, invisible blades. It was nothing Charles couldn’t endure, but still, he pulled his poncho a little tighter over his shoulders before crouching to check one of the traps he had set near the river.

Nothing.

Straightening up, he cast his gaze over the gray sky stretching above the open landscape. The wind howled strong that morning, shaking the trees around the camp, making Taima snort softly in annoyance.

— Yeah, I don’t like this weather much either — he muttered to the mare as he knelt to tend to the nearly extinguished fire.

He hadn’t slept well the night before.

Something about the silence in the region felt… off. Not that he believed in bad omens, but years of a wandering life had taught him to trust his instincts.

And his instincts told him something was out of place.

He shook his head, dispelling the thoughts. The day demanded work. He stood up and walked over to the small pile of hides and furs he had set aside for sale. Local traders paid well for good material, and he already had a decent amount to bargain with.

Taima followed him as he prepared to leave. Charles ran a hand along the mare’s neck, feeling the warmth of the animal against the cold skin of his own hand.

— Come on, girl. We’ve got work to do.

He mounted the saddle, adjusted the gloves on his hands, and guided the mare onto the dirt road leading to the small town. The plan was simple: sell the materials, get supplies, and maybe have a word with the gunsmith about new arrows. But as he moved farther from the camp, the strange feeling from the previous day settled in the back of his mind once more. He wasn’t the type to get carried away by paranoia, but something about that quiet land felt off.

The forest at dawn was a place of silence and expectation. He rode Taima naturally, taking in the fresh scent of damp earth and pine resin in the air. The mare’s gallop was firm and rhythmic as he guided the animal through familiar terrain, passing moss-covered rocks and streams winding through the trees. The cold wind cut across his face, but he was used to it. In Canada, the cold was a constant presence, even in summer, and he had learned to live with it. After all, he was an American.

Hunting required patience. He dismounted, tied Taima to a low branch, and proceeded on foot, stepping carefully through the sparse grass that still remained in some spots. The tracks were fresh—deer. He crouched, studying the signs closely: deep marks in the soil, some leaves grazed. Ready with his bow, he moved forward in absolute silence.

When he finally spotted the animal, his body reacted instinctively. He pulled the bowstring back slowly, feeling the tension in his fingers, and aimed precisely between the deer’s ribs. He released the arrow. The impact was clean; the deer leaped once before collapsing to the ground, panting. Charles walked over to it and, with a swift knife stroke, ended its suffering. Skinning and cleaning the kill was part of the routine. With expert skill, he removed the hide, separating meat, bones, and organs, making use of everything he could. His hands were stained with blood as he secured the hide to Taima’s back and prepared to return. Along the way, he caught a few more rabbits, easy to snare with simple traps. All of it would fetch a good price in town.

The small village was busy, at least by local standards. Simple wooden houses, a general store, a blacksmith, and a saloon clustered around the main road. Charles dismounted and walked straight to the gunsmith, where he sold some of the feathers and pelts he had gathered.

As he waited for payment, he overheard conversations around him.

— Have you heard? — a man’s voice asked another.

— What? Heard about what? — the other responded, confused.

— Another cabin burned down this week… — one of them murmured.

— They took everything before that. Left nothing behind, not even the horses. Lucky for the owners, they weren’t home at the time.

Charles didn’t react, but he listened carefully.

— Must be just some drifter, people without a place to go — another said, trying not to show concern.

That was unusual. Sure, there were always thieves and outlaws, but frequent arsons and looting weren’t common in such a peaceful region. It wasn’t for nothing that he preferred to travel through those parts. He received his payment, left the shop, and led Taima out of town.

As he rode back along the path near the river, the sound of running water caught his attention. But that wasn’t what made him stop—it was the figure kneeling by the riverbank, washing clothes.

You.

Your bare arms worked against the soaked fabric, scrubbing with determination. Your hair was tied up carelessly, a few loose strands falling over your face. And yet, you looked so… right.

Your movements were practical, habitual, as if you had done this all your life. The simple dress you wore was already a little wet near your ankles.

Charles dismounted slowly, watching. He hadn’t expected to run into you so soon again. You hadn’t noticed him at first, too focused on your task. But then, you felt it. A slight shiver on your skin, a strange intuition. When you tilted your head and looked to the side, your gaze met his.

He didn’t speak immediately. He just stood there, his mare drinking from the river beside him, observing. You blinked, surprised, then sighed.

— Are you following me, Charles? — your voice was light, almost playful, but with a hint of suspicion.

Fool.

But even without looking, he could still hear the rhythmic sound of clothes being wrung, water dripping, and wet fabric sliding against the stone.

— So, did you find any work? — your voice sounded casual, but there was a slight nervousness in it.

Charles lifted his gaze again, a little surprised. You had never been rude to him, but most of the time, you seemed to avoid him, as if his presence bothered you in some way. At least, that was the impression he had. You rarely looked at him directly, and now, striking up a conversation out of nowhere, had caught him off guard.

You were still focused on the clothes, running your hands firmly over the fabric, not meeting his eyes. The white foam dissolved in the current, disappearing downstream.

— Picked up some small jobs. — he answered, rubbing the back of his neck, now without the poncho since it wasn’t as cold anymore. — Leather, feathers, a bit of hunting. Whatever I can sell and trade for other things.

You nodded, lifting the soapy cloth to rinse it in the clear water. The rolled-up sleeves of your blouse left your forearms exposed, and as you pressed the fabric against the stone, a thin stream of water slid down your skin to your elbow before dripping into the river.

Charles noticed it and, for an instant, his gaze lingered there, distracted. But he quickly pulled himself together when he realized you were watching him from the corner of your eye.

— And you? — he asked, breaking the tension.

You shrugged, raising the garment to wring it firmly between your hands. The sound of wet fabric snapping under your fingers echoed softly.

— The usual. Taking care of the house. But there are things that need fixing.

He tilted his head slightly.

— That doesn’t seem like work you should be doing alone.

You smirked, leaning forward to wet another piece of fabric, your hips naturally following the motion.

— That’s exactly why I asked if you were still looking for work.

He stayed silent for a moment, just watching you. It wasn’t the first time someone had offered him a job like that, but coming from you, the proposal felt different. It wasn’t out of pity, nor because you saw him as some desperate outsider. It was simply practical—you needed help, and he knew how to do that kind of work.

You let out a small sigh, tossing another drenched, wrung-out piece into a basin on the rock.

— The fence is a mess. I need to reinforce some parts before something decides to get through. I couldn’t do it alone.

Charles glanced away toward the water before nodding slightly.

— I can take a look.

You smiled slightly, returning to scrubbing the clothes against the stone. This time, without realizing it, Charles watched for a little longer than he should have. After wringing out the last piece of clothing, you tossed it onto the pile you had made on the rock. The sun was already strong, and the water slowly dripping into the river darkened the soil below, forming small puddles between the stones.

You picked up one of the buckets and poured the remaining water onto the ground, watching the muddy stream slide until it was absorbed by the earth. Then, without much hurry, you placed the clean clothes inside the buckets, stacking them carefully to keep them from falling on the way back.

— If you want to stop by later, it can be in the morning or after lunch. — you said, picking up the second bucket and lifting it.

Charles gave a slight nod.

— Alright.

You didn’t prolong the conversation, just adjusted the handle of the bucket on your forearm and started walking back home. The sound of dry leaves crunching under your boots mixed with the soft murmur of the river behind you, where Charles remained, watching as you walked away.

He stood still for a moment after you left, observing the slight sway of the bucket as you moved. Then, he sighed and turned, heading toward where Taima grazed calmly near the closest tree. He patted the mare’s neck before adjusting the reins, mounting without haste. His plan was to return to camp and get things organized before anything else. The new pile of hides he had prepared earlier needed to be tied and stacked properly for drying, and some arrows had to be replenished.

The way back was quiet, with few sounds besides the hooves against the dry ground. Charles thought about the town, about the comments he had overheard earlier regarding strange happenings in the area. People disappearing, animals found dead without explanation… He didn’t like paying attention to rumors, but something about that kind of talk unsettled him.

At camp, he dismounted and got to work. He set aside wood that was still usable for firewood, checked the hides, and sharpened his knife. It was a silent but useful routine. While organizing the furs to sell the next day, he found himself thinking about you—about the way you scrubbed the clothes against the stone, how your body moved so naturally. How, for the first time, you seemed less distant or uncomfortable when speaking to him.

After a while, he pushed those foolish thoughts aside and finished what he had to do. Tomorrow, there would be work.

The morning sun cast a soft light over the land as you stepped outside. The fresh breeze carried the scent of damp earth, and a few light clouds floated across the sky.

You wore a simple dress, made of soft, lightweight fabric, without the excessive volume some women in town preferred. The delicate fit accentuated your silhouette without constraining you, allowing you to move comfortably. The short sleeves left your arms free for work, and as you walked through the yard, the fabric brushed lightly against your legs.

You headed toward the area where you kept the tools, needing to organize a few things before Charles arrived. The thought of seeing him again brought a strange nervousness—not quite anxiety, but a different sensation, hard to define. As you sorted through some stacked wood and checked the nails and hammers, you heard a sound in the distance. Hooves and firm, steady footsteps approaching along the dirt road.

You turned slowly, and there he was.

Charles walked with his usual calm posture, guiding Taima beside him. The sun cast subtle shadows across his face, and he looked completely at ease in that landscape, as if he belonged to that kind of life.

You opened the small back gate and held it for a moment before stepping aside, making room for him to pass.

— This way. — you said, pointing toward the fence.

He simply nodded and entered. You led him to where the damage was most evident, quickly explaining what needed fixing. Charles listened without interrupting, observing the damage attentively.

When he began sorting the wood and organizing the tools, you returned to your own tasks. You cleaned up around the porch, checked on the chickens, and after a while, walked over to Archer, your horse, who was resting near the side enclosure.

— It’s a beautiful day, huh, boy? — you murmured, running your hand along his neck and giving him a few kisses. Archer snorted softly and shook his head, as if responding to your affection.

The early hours of the morning passed peacefully. The sound of wood being cut blended with the wind, and you noticed that Charles worked unhurriedly but with precision. He didn’t waste movements. You watched him for a moment, observing him without realizing it. There was something fascinating about the way he handled the tools, the quiet strength behind each action.

After a while, you went back inside. But as you passed through the kitchen, you felt a slight discomfort seeing him out there, working alone since early morning. He hadn’t asked for anything, but still…

Without thinking much about it, you grabbed a mug of hot coffee and stepped outside again.

You walked over to where he was, the strong, bitter smell filling the air between you. Charles noticed your approach and looked up, a bit puzzled to see you standing there, until he saw you holding the mug with both hands. His face didn’t show much expression, but the way you slightly lowered your head, as if unsure about the gesture, made him accept it without hesitation.

— Thanks — he said, taking the mug from your hands.

You nodded slightly, stepping back as he took a sip.

You leaned against the porch wall, lightly crossing your arms, unaware of the naturally feminine grace of the gesture. The morning breeze played with a few loose strands of your hair as you looked at Charles, still holding the now-empty coffee mug.

— So? — your voice came out softer than you expected. — What do you think needs to be done? Can we fix the fence, or will we have to replace something?

Charles lowered the mug and looked at the enclosure, as if analyzing every detail again. He stepped closer to the structure, tapped one of the wooden posts lightly, and frowned.

— I think one side of the fence is hollow inside — he remarked. — The wood is rotten in some spots. If we just reinforce it, it might not last long. Better to replace this part altogether.

You sighed and uncrossed your arms, nodding.

— Makes sense… Is it a lot of work?

He shook his head.

— Nothing a bit of new wood won’t fix.

You thought for a moment before offering a small smile.

— Well, we have a carpenter in town. We can go there today with the wagon.

Charles just nodded, as if he had no issue with that.

— Then let’s make a list first — he suggested.

You agreed and went inside to grab paper and a pencil. Charles followed shortly after, and the two of you sat at the table. As you wrote, he suggested the necessary materials: wooden planks, nails, some hinges for reinforcement, and a new latch for the small gate.

— This should be enough — he said.

You checked the list, gave him one last look, and then stood up.

— Alright, I’ll get the wagon ready.

Outside, you let out the other horses, who were already waiting patiently, and adjusted the wagon’s harnesses. Charles helped secure everything in place, checking the fastenings while you tied a final firm knot.

Before getting into the wagon, you quickly passed through the porch and went inside, heading to your room to adjust your outfit. You chose an aquamarine-blue dress—your favorite color—made of soft, lightweight fabric that fit well without being too extravagant, something more appropriate for going out. The sleeves were rolled up just above your elbows, and the small lace-trimmed buttons down the front gave it a discreet yet practical touch. You put on a delicate hat, tying it under your chin to keep the wind from blowing it away.

When you returned, Charles was already sitting on the wagon bench, holding the reins. You climbed up beside him, carefully gathering the skirt of your dress so it wouldn’t get caught on the metal parts, and settled into the wooden seat.

— Ready? — he asked.

You held your hat against your face to shield yourself from the wind and nodded.

— Ready.

Charles clicked his tongue and pulled the reins, making the horses take their first steps. The wagon began moving smoothly along the dirt road.

The journey was peaceful, with only the sound of the wheels creaking against the ground and the rhythmic trot of the horse. You gazed at the landscape, enjoying the crisp morning air and the scent of damp earth.

— Thanks for helpin’ with this — you said, making conversation.

— It’s no problem — he replied simply.

Silence settled for a moment, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You adjusted your hat and glanced at him from the corner of your eye.

— Have you worked much with wood before? — you asked, your voice carrying the subtle lilt of your Canadian accent.

He nodded, eyes fixed on the road.

— A little. I’ve built cabins, reinforced some fences… Things like that.

— Damn. — you admitted, absentmindedly playing with the brim of your hat. — So you must know exactly what you’re doing.

He gave a faint, almost imperceptible smirk.

— Enough to make sure the fence doesn’t fall on anyone.

You chuckled softly, and the sound seemed to relax him a bit. The silence between you wasn’t awkward, just a natural pause. You liked that about him—how he didn’t feel the need to fill every second with words.

— Have you ever stayed in one place for long? — you asked after a while.

He thought before answering, his eyes narrowing slightly under the sun.

— Not often. The longest was about six months, and another time maybe five. Depends on what I’m doing. But staying in one place too long ain’t always easy.

You absorbed those words, wondering if he was only talking about work or if there was something deeper behind his answer. You didn’t want to push.

Give him space. It’s not even your concern !!!

The town wasn’t large, but it was bustling that morning. Merchants arranged their stalls, children ran through the alleys, and the scent of freshly baked bread drifted from a nearby bakery. You guided Charles toward a small carpentry shop at the end of the main street. He pulled the wagon up beside the weathered wooden entrance. You stepped down, smoothing your dress and adjusting your hat before heading inside.

— I won’t be long — you told him.

He simply nodded, staying beside the wagon.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of cut wood and varnish. The carpenter, a stocky middle-aged man, looked up as you approached.

— Ah, good mornin’, miss! What can I do for ya today? — his voice carried the rough drawl of a seasoned craftsman.

You pulled the list from your pocket and handed it to him.

— I need these wooden planks and some nails.

He skimmed through it quickly and nodded.

— I can get that together for ya. Need help loadin’ it up?

— No, thank you. I have someone helpin’ me with the wagon.

The carpenter headed to the back of the shop to gather the materials. Meanwhile, you glanced around, taking in the shelves stocked with tools and carved wooden pieces.

After a few minutes, he returned, carrying the planks and other supplies.

— Here ya go. I’ll have one of the boys help load it up for ya.

You smiled in gratitude.

— Thank you.

While you waited, you chatted with him about the farm, mentioning the work that needed to be done. He listened attentively before crossing his arms and letting out a small sigh.

— Well, just be careful on the road. Ya know how things are these days—never know who might be lurkin’ around.

A small chill ran down your spine, but you kept your expression neutral.

— I always am.

He nodded, and soon the helpers loaded the wood onto the wagon. You thanked them and said your goodbyes before heading back to where Charles was waiting.

Charles stood beside the wagon, his posture relaxed yet attentive. When you approached, he lifted his gaze to you, and for an instant, your eyes met. There was something about him… a quiet kindness that contrasted with his strong appearance and the way he always seemed prepared for anything.

— All set? — he asked, his voice low and calm.

You nodded as you climbed onto the wagon.

— Yes. They’ve loaded everything. We can go.

He got up beside you, took the reins, and with a soft click of his tongue, made Archer start moving.

The ride back began smoothly. The wagon swayed slightly with each bump on the road, and you adjusted your hat to keep the sun from shining directly on your face.

— The carpenter said to be careful on the road — you commented after a while.

Charles glanced at you from the corner of his eye before turning his attention back to the trail ahead.

— And he’s right. It’s always good to stay alert.

You held your hat against the wind, watching the trees slowly pass by.

— Have you run into any trouble around here?

He shrugged.

— Not much. Nothing serious, but I heard some talk last time I was in town.

— What kind of talk?

He pressed his lips together slightly, as if deciding whether or not to tell you.

— Strange folks passing through these areas. Unusual movement.

You frowned.

— Bandits?

— Maybe. Or just people looking for trouble.

Silence settled between you again, but this time it was heavier, as if both of you were considering the possibilities.

The wind blew a little stronger, and you pulled your shawl lightly over your shoulders. Still, even with that lingering sense of caution in the air, there was something comforting about Charles’ presence. The road was long, and you’d likely arrive home around five or six in the afternoon, but his company made everything feel a little easier. Even though you barely knew him.

The wagon followed the dirt road, rocking slightly over each uneven patch. The afternoon sun gilded the landscape, filtering through the trees and casting soft shadows on the ground. The wind was warm but pleasant, making the loose strands of your hair escape from the improvised bun, fluttering around your face.

You tucked the strands behind your ear, an unconscious gesture, as you observed Charles beside you. He guided the wagon with ease, holding the reins firmly but without urgency. There was something about him — the steady posture, the sharp eyes on the road, the way he seemed to belong in that setting, as if the natural world was more of a home to him than any town or city.

The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but your curiosity began to grow. There was still so much you didn’t know about him:

— Charles… — your voice broke the calm. He tilted his head slightly to show he was listening, though his gaze remained on the road.

You hesitated for a moment, adjusting your hat against the setting sun hitting your face, before asking:

— What’s your full name?

Charles blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question. His fingers adjusted the reins absentmindedly before answering.

— Charles Smith. — The response was straightforward, but he noticed your expectant expression and sighed, relenting a little more. — My full name is Charles Chatunka Smith.

— Chatunka?? — you repeated, tilting your head. The sound was different, unusual—at least to you.

He nodded, still focused on the road.

— My father was African American, my mother was Lakota. The name came from her.

His explanation was simple, but there was something beneath it—something that suggested Charles wasn’t a man who often spoke about himself.

— It’s a beautiful name. — You smiled, and he finally glanced at you, seeming a bit surprised by the comment. — I think it suits you. Simple and mysterious. — you added.

He didn’t respond, but his lips curved slightly into what could be a subtle smile.

— And you? What’s your full name? — He looked at you now.

You told him, and you saw Charles nod slowly, as if committing it to memory.

— Beautiful… — he remarked, and this time, it was your turn to be surprised.

You smiled softly and looked away, feeling your cheeks warm slightly.

— Thank you…

The conversation continued, flowing naturally. You spoke more than he did, even though you were naturally shy. But there was something about Charles that made it easier to keep talking. He listened attentively, responded when necessary, and his calm demeanor contrasted with the chaotic world around you. He paid close attention to details—something rare. At one point, you laughed at something you had said, brushing your hair away from your face again. The sound was light, more relaxed than you expected. And for a moment, Charles observed you—his dark eyes capturing details: the curve of your soft lips, full of life, the sparkle in your eyes, the delicate way your fingers moved the loose strands. But he quickly looked away, focusing back on the road ahead. Silence settled between you again, but this time, it felt more comfortable. The road stretched long before you, and you traveled it without much hurry.

The road narrowed as you approached the area where your house was. There wasn’t much left… just a few more hours and you’d be back. That was when Charles started to slow the horse’s pace, his gaze locking ahead.

— Something’s wrong…— he muttered, his deep voice tense.

You followed his gaze and felt a shiver run down your spine. Further ahead, three men stood in the middle of the road, armed and wearing predatory expressions. A few more were scattered around, circling an overturned wagon on the side of the road. Another empty wagon. The thin smoke in the air made it clear it had been burned on purpose.

Charles pulled the reins to a stop and remained still for a moment, his muscles tensing.

— Well, well… what do we have here? — one of the men said, walking toward you with a rifle slung over his shoulder. He glanced at the loaded wagon and whistled. — Looks like you folks found yourselves a nice treasure.

You swallowed hard, feeling your heart pounding.

— We're just passing through – Charles said, his voice calm, but controlled. He didn't make any sudden movements, keeping his hands visible.

Another of the men laughed, approaching from the side.

— In passing? And carrying all this? Hm... I don't know, it seems that maybe we need to charge a toll.

— Hey, you guys there! Get off the wagon, now. No cute.- the other thief shouted.

Charles exchanged a quick look with you, which seemed to be stiff as a rock, before letting go of the reins slowly and going down. You hesitated for a moment, but the way they screamed and talked made you immediately follow him. Charles in front of you, like a shield.

— Look at that… Obedient ones. That makes things easier.

Another man laughed, tapping his gun against the palm of his hand.

Charles remained firm, but you saw his jaw clench. Then, the first man tilted his head and looked directly at you, the way his eyes slid over your body making your stomach turn.

— Well, well… what’s a pretty little thing like you doing here? — his voice was laced with fake concern.

— Come on, sweetheart, no need to hide behind him. Step forward, let us see you properly…

You could feel your blood rushing faster than normal.

— And what’s a little thing like you doing running around with him? — The man’s voice was thick with disdain and cruel amusement, clearly referring to Charles’ skin color. He didn’t even bother looking at him, his eyes shamelessly roaming over you instead.

You frowned, feeling a chill down your spine, but before you could respond, he took a step forward, tilting his head with a crooked grin.

— A pretty thing like you… You could be keeping much better company. — His gaze swept up and down your body, lingering on your hips. He slowly licked his teeth. — I bet plenty of men out there would love to have a woman like you.

Your fingers clenched involuntarily around the fabric of your skirt, and you swallowed hard, instinctively looking away. Coward.

Charles remained motionless at your side, but you noticed how his body stiffened. His shoulders tensed slightly, the muscles in his jaw standing out beneath his skin. The fingers near the shotgun at his belt turned white from how hard he was gripping them.

— Come on now, darling, no need to hide behind him. We just wanna talk… — The bandit laughed, and the others joined in.

— LEAVE SHE ALONE!! — Charles growled, his voice filled with fury, his fists clenched at his sides. His tone startled you a little.

The bandit merely raised an eyebrow, studying him with pure contempt, as if Charles’ anger was insignificant. A sneering smile curled at the corner of his mouth.

— Oh… The mutt knows how to growl.

Charles still hadn’t moved, but his silence was as heavy as his presence. It was like a storm about to break — a silence thick with something dark, simmering beneath the surface. You could feel the tension radiating off him, even without looking directly.

— Relax, redskin, no need to get all worked up. — The man taunted, throwing his head back. — We ain’t gonna hurt your little lady… Maybe. — The laughter that followed made your stomach churn.

You frowned at the man’s words, discomfort growing in your chest. But when he licked his teeth again and let his eyes wander over you once more, this time pausing at your chest, watching the way it rose and fell with each breath, before stepping closer, a cold shiver ran down your spine. You felt nervous.

His eyes locked onto yours, sensing your discomfort. A filthy, twisted smirk formed on his lips.

— You know… I think we could just take this wagon. But… — He made a dramatic pause, pretending to consider, then chuckled, throwing a glance at his men.

— I could do better… I could kill you both, burn your bodies, devour you. This red one first, of course… and you, my love… — He left the sentence hanging, taking another step closer, his mocking tone laced with something darker.

Your body stiffened. Fear exploded inside you in a way you hadn’t expected. Your father had taught you to carry a gun, to never be weak… but now? It had been so many years since you’d seen or heard of a robbery. And you never thought you’d feel like this. That you’d shake inside like this. But these men were strange.

The bandit’s grin widened when he noticed your silence. But before he could step any closer, Charles moved. He stepped forward again, placing himself directly between you and that man. The bandit took a step back, annoyed, and then, in an instant, drew his gun and aimed it straight at you.

Your heart leaped in your chest, your legs seemed to go weak. The world felt like it was spinning as you lowered your gaze to the ground, trying to control your breathing. Fear crawled inside you like poison. Charles, however, did not move. He did not blink. He just stood there, between you and the gun, his body rigid as stone.

The gang leader sneered:

— Hey, Darkie, she ain’t worth dying for. Just another little bitch!

Charles’ breathing turned heavy. He did not hesitate. The bandit beside him got distracted, glancing at one of his men rummaging through the wagon’s cargo.

It was his mistake.

In a swift and precise movement, Charles drew his gun and fired. The first bandit fell backward, a large, dark hole in his chest. Before the others could react, Charles moved like a predator, drawing his revolver and firing two more times. Another man collapsed, bleeding from his neck, and the third shouted in surprise before running into the brush, heading toward the trees—but Charles shot him in the head before he could escape.

The scent of gunpowder filled the air. Silence returned to the road.

You shivered. Your chest rose and fell uncontrollably, your vision blurred by the shock. You barely recognized yourself. This was a peaceful region. You had never seen anything like this up close. You didn’t even notice the few minutes passing as he walked quickly toward you. Charles turned to you, his dark eyes scanning your face carefully. His breathing was still slightly quickened from the fight, but there was something else there—concern.

— Are you alright? — he asked, his voice low, rough, but filled with care and worry.

You blinked, the sounds around you seeming muffled, distant. The world still felt unstable beneath your feet, the air still heavy with the scent of gunpowder and dirt. You wanted to answer, but your throat was dry. Charles didn’t touch you right away, respecting your space. But when you took a step toward the wagon and your legs wobbled, he stepped in a little closer, his hand hovering near, ready to catch you if needed.

Your body trembled. You knew you should move, get out of there, but each step felt slow, like walking through quicksand.

— Take a deep breath — he murmured beside you.

You tried, but the air felt shallow, weak.

— I… I’m… — The word came out so faint that you doubted you had spoken at all. Still, Charles nodded, patient.

— Stay calm, try to relax. You’re okay.

He extended his hand, not to force you, but to offer the choice. You hesitated for a second, then let your fingers touch his arm, feeling the thick fabric of his shirt against your skin. Charles didn’t move right away, just letting you take the support at your own pace.

When you finally managed to climb onto the wagon, your movements were still hesitant, almost mechanical. You sat down slowly, your back meeting the wagon’s hard wood.

That was when a distant sound cut through the air—wheels and hooves approaching.

Charles turned his head toward the road, eyes sharp. You heard it too, even in your dazed state.

A second wagon came into view, carrying two men and a woman—probably local farmers. They slowed their pace when they saw you, their faces tense as they noticed the bodies on the ground and the lingering tension in the air.

— Shit… Everything alright here? — one of them asked, gripping the reins more firmly.

Charles nodded slowly but didn’t fully relax.

— Some men tried to rob us — he answered.

The newcomers exchanged concerned glances.

— Did you kill them?

— Didn’t have a choice — Charles said simply, without any pride in his voice.

One of the men sighed and shook his head.

— This is happening more and more… We’re heading into town. We’ll let the law know. They need to be aware these bastards are lurking around here.

Charles nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

— Appreciate it.

They exchanged a few more words before moving on. You remained where you were, eyes still fixed on some undefined point, the men’s voices mixing with the echoes in your own mind. Charles then climbed onto the wagon beside you, adjusting the reins. The horses were still restless, and he ran a hand along one’s neck, murmuring something low to soothe them.

You felt the wagon begin to move, the wheels creaking against the packed dirt road. The familiar sway should have been comforting, but everything felt off, like you were still trapped in the moment that had just unfolded.

The way back was silent.

You didn’t know how much time had passed, but seeing your house in the distance brought a strange sense of relief. As soon as Charles stopped the horses in the yard, you stepped down slowly, your legs feeling a little steadier but still uncertain. Without saying anything, you walked to the porch and sat down with a short sigh, trying to regain your composure.

Charles watched you for a moment before tying up the horses and following. He didn’t want to invade your space, but he also didn’t want to leave you alone in that state.

— Do you want some water?

You blinked, pulling your eyes away from the ground.

— What?

— Water. — He repeated, pointing to the bucket nearby, the one you had filled to pour into the house’s water filter.

You hesitated but eventually nodded.

He poured some and handed it to you. Your fingers brushed against his as you took the cup, and you noticed that he was warm, strong, yet at the same time, not intrusive. It was a strange contrast, but comforting.

— T-Thank you. — Your voice came out quiet. You took a sip, feeling the coolness spread through your chest.

Charles then sat beside you on the porch, his weight making the wood creak slightly beneath you both.

He didn’t speak immediately, just looked ahead, toward the golden horizon of the setting sun. You knew he wanted to ask something, but he seemed to be giving you time.

You swallowed hard, still feeling your pulse racing.

— I… I didn’t expect that. — You admitted, your voice coming out almost in a whisper.

Charles turned his head toward you, his dark eyes studying you carefully.

— No one does. — He replied, his voice deep but calm.

You lowered your gaze to the cup of water in your hands, your fingers trembling slightly around it.

— I’ve seen things like that before, when I was younger. — You inhaled, hesitating. — But… it’s been so long. I thought…

You stopped because even you didn’t know exactly what you had thought. That these things didn’t happen there? That you’d be more prepared?

Charles didn’t push you to continue. Instead, he gave a small nod.

— They were cowards. — He said, his voice firmer now. — Men like that… They live to scare others.

You took a deep breath, trying to hold onto his words. But a part of you still felt uneasy, a lingering trace of fear clinging to your chest. Your eyes met his, and you noticed the tension in his broad shoulders, the way his hands were clenched against his thighs. Charles seemed calm, but you knew this had angered him.

Then, without thinking too much, you reached out and touched his arm.

The touch was light but enough to make him look at you.

— Thank you. — You said, and this time, your voice was steadier.

He blinked slowly, then shook his head.

— You don’t have to thank me.

But you did.

Because, as much as you felt guilty for what had happened, as much as you hated the idea of feeling so vulnerable, you knew that if Charles hadn’t been there, things could have ended much worse.

You swallowed hard, letting out a sigh.

— You… are you okay? — The question came out almost hesitant because you weren’t sure if he would even care to answer.

Charles raised an eyebrow, as if he hadn’t expected that question.

— I’m fine. — He said simply.

But you noticed the way he lowered his gaze for a moment, as if he were reconsidering everything.

You pressed your lips together, feeling a slight heat rise to your face.

— You… well, I just wanted to… — You stopped, trying to find the right words.

Charles frowned slightly, and then he noticed something—your hand was still resting on his arm.

Your face grew hot, and in a hurried motion, you pulled back, embarrassed.

He didn’t laugh or tease. He just watched you for a moment before letting out a soft sigh and turning his gaze back to the horizon.

The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy with something unspoken.

After a while, he finally spoke:

— You should get some rest. I’ll stay around and finish unloading the wagon.

You nodded slowly.

— Yeah… I think I will.

The last hours of that day passed sluggishly after that. You tried to go back to your unfinished tasks, acting as if nothing had happened, but the feeling of unease never left you. During the day, you kept yourself busy to stop thinking, but at night, every creak of the wooden house made your body tense up.

In the end, the decision came almost impulsively.

You found Charles in the late afternoon, near the fence he had started inspecting earlier. The low sun cast long shadows over the field, and he was finishing securing some planks when you cleared your throat. He glanced over his shoulder at you, his dark eyes studying your expression.

— You should stay here.

The way his brows furrowed and then arched showed exactly what he thought about that unexpected invitation.

— What? — His voice carried both suspicion and confusion, and you felt a slight warmth rise to your face.

— I mean… — You crossed your arms, looking away for a second. — You’re going to help me with the fence, right? So… it doesn’t make sense for you to keep coming and going with those dangers out there.

Charles kept his gaze on you for a moment, as if trying to make sense of the situation.

— Are you sure?

The question made your heart race, but you stood your ground.

— Yes. Just for a while.

He wiped his hands on his pants and tilted his head slightly, as if still thinking it over.

— I can set up a camp outside. I don’t want to be a bother.

You frowned, letting out a frustrated sigh.

— You don’t have to sleep outside, Charles. I have a spare room.

He remained silent for a moment. You could tell he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea, but before he could argue, you crossed your arms, trying to hide the nervousness in your voice:

— Look… I’m not the kind of woman who scares easily, but… after what happened, I don’t know. — You glanced away for a second before looking at him again. — I’d rather know someone is here.

This time, Charles didn’t answer right away. You noticed the tension in his shoulders, as if he were processing your vulnerability.

In the end, he nodded slowly, though somewhat uncomfortably.

— Alright.

(…)

When night fell, you led him inside the house. The wooden floor creaked beneath your feet as you guided him down the hallway, stopping in front of a door.

— Here. — You pushed the door open and stepped in first, lighting a lamp to illuminate the small room.

It was a simple but comfortable space. A modest bed, an old dresser, and a chair near the window. You remembered sleeping there years ago before moving into your parents’ room.

Charles stopped at the doorway, observing the space as if unsure what to do.

— Are you sure about this? — He asked once again.

You rolled your eyes, already tired of his insistence, and looked at him innocently, like a pouting child.

— Yes, I already said so. Now, just come in.

He hesitated before stepping inside and placing his small bag of belongings on the chair. You left for a moment and returned with clean sheets folded in your arms.

— You don’t have to do that. — He said as he watched you approach the bed.

You ignored him and started laying out the sheets, smoothing the fabric with your hands.

— I like things clean. — You answered simply.

Charles sighed but didn’t argue further.

When you finished, you stepped back and wiped your hands on your apron.

— There. Now you have a place to sleep.

He looked at the bed, then at you, and let out a low sigh.

— Thank you.

You just nodded before stepping out and closing the door behind you.

Later, when the smell of food filled the kitchen, you called for Charles.

He was in the room, occupied with something—maybe organizing his belongings or just finding something to do to keep busy.

Hearing your voice, he stepped out, running a hand over the back of his neck, looking slightly out of place inside the house.

You both sat at the table, and for a while, the only sound was the clinking of utensils against the plates. You weren’t sure how to start a conversation after everything, but deep down, you felt like you needed to.

— A few days ago… the postman mentioned something to me. — Your voice was calm but carried a certain weight. — He said he heard stories about ranches being raided… burned.

Charles lifted his eyes from his plate, attentive.

— Is that so?

You nodded slowly, twirling your fork between your fingers.

— I didn’t think much of it at the time… I thought they were just rumors, you know? But now… after what happened… — You hesitated for a moment before continuing. — It doesn’t feel like just a distant story anymore.

Charles set his utensils down, the muscles in his arm tightening.

— I heard something similar when I went to sell pelts. But I didn’t think it was real.

— I thought the same. But now I know it is. — You let out a sigh, running a hand over your face.

Silence settled between you for a moment.

— D-Do you think they’ll show up around here? — Your voice came out almost in a whisper.

Charles thought for a moment before answering, his voice deeper than usual.

— I don’t know. But… if that’s the case, it’s best to be prepared.

You swallowed hard, feeling a chill run down your spine.

— But calm down, you’ll be fine. — He looked at you as he spoke.

The thought of being alone in that house, with the risk of men like them coming back, made your stomach twist.

And in some way, Charles’s presence there made it all feel a little less frightening.

You ate slowly, taking small bites of food, chewing delicately. Every now and then, you lifted your eyes to Charles, glancing at him briefly. He was a big, strong man, with a calm demeanor but always alert to everything around him.

For some reason, you found yourself staring more than you should. But whenever you realized it, you quickly looked away, focusing on your plate as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

In the corner of the table, resting on a chair, was a worn-covered notebook and a pencil. You pulled it toward you absentmindedly, flipping open to a random page and beginning to sketch as you continued eating. Your fingers traced small, unfocused lines, a habit of yours whenever you wanted to keep your hands busy.

Charles noticed.

— You draw? — His voice broke the silence, low and curious.

You stopped for a second, lifting your eyes to him, feeling a slight warmth rise to your face.

— Ah… — You hesitated, gripping the pencil a little tighter. — Yes… a little. Since I was a child. My father used to say I had talent, but I never took it too seriously.

Charles observed the notebook for a moment before nodding.

— That’s good.

You smiled shyly, scribbling a little more before looking up again.

— What about you? Do you have anything you like to do? Any hobbies?

He chewed another bite of food before answering.

— I like hunting. It’s what I do best.

You chuckled softly.

— Yes, I noticed.

Charles gave a small smile.

— I also work with herbs. Learned a lot from some tribes I met… and I learned more about different kinds in Canada.

Hearing that, you tilted your head slightly, curious.

— What did you like most about Canada?

It took him a moment to respond, his eyes seeming to travel to a distant place in his memory.

— The peace. The clean rivers, the vast forests… the privacy. — He exhaled, almost as if he could smell the damp earth at that moment. — The snow in winter. It’s different from anything I’ve ever seen.

You smiled, picturing the scene he described.

For a while, silence settled again—comfortable, yet carrying something unspoken. You hesitated before speaking, and when you finally found the words, your voice came out softer:

— Thank you… for today. Again…

Charles lifted his eyes to you.

— You don’t need to thank me. You already did, and now you’re letting me stay.

— I do need to. — You lowered your gaze to the notebook, your fingers tightening around the pencil. — That man… He looked at me in a way that made me feel… dirty.

Your stomach turned at the memory—the way his eyes roamed your body, as if you were something to be taken, consumed. For a brief moment, you wondered if your clothing had been… inappropriate.

But Charles, noticing your discomfort, cut off your thoughts, almost as if he had read them.

— It wouldn’t have mattered what you were wearing. No bastard should look at a woman like that.

Your head snapped up in surprise at his words, and Charles seemed to realize it too, running a hand over his face and exhaling lightly.

— Sorry about that. — He looked embarrassed, which was… kind of cute.

But instead of scolding him, you laughed. It was a soft laugh, but genuine.

Charles looked at you for a moment, as if your laughter had caught him off guard. Something inside him stirred at the sight of you smiling like that. You noticed his gaze lingering on you, and suddenly, you felt a little nervous.

Maybe it was because it had been so long since you’d had a conversation like this with a man. He seemed to hesitate before asking:

— Don’t you feel strange… with me here? I mean, I respect you, but… aren’t you afraid of what people might say?

You blinked a few times before answering, and when you did, your voice was firm:

—huh?¿….I think it’s ridiculous to judge someone by their appearance.

Charles remained silent for a moment, just watching you. His expression seemed… admiring.

You noticed and felt a small wave of nervousness spread through you. Shifting your legs under the table, you averted your eyes, not entirely sure why you were reacting like this. Without prolonging the conversation much further, you began gathering the plates. Charles stood up to help, picking up the cups and carrying them to the sink. Together, you cleaned the table and organized everything without saying much more.

Once everything was in place, he stepped back, adjusting the sleeves of his shirt.

— Good night.

— Good night, Charles.

You watched him leave the room, and for a moment, you stood there, thinking. Then, deciding it was time to rest, you walked to your bedroom and closed the door behind you. The wooden floor creaked lightly under your bare feet.

Passing by the mirror, you stopped for a moment, looking at yourself. Your face seemed… lighter. Maybe it was the relief of being home, of having someone there. But there was also a certain tiredness in your eyes.

You turned toward the window, closing it slowly. Then you walked to the bed, adjusting the blankets and pillows. The room was cozy, lit only by a dim yellow light.

Before lying down, you picked up your sketchbook once more. Running your fingers over the worn cover, you opened it to the last page you had been drawing on.

Sighing, you placed it inside the drawer of the nightstand. You closed your eyes for a moment, feeling the warmth of the blankets wrap around you.

Tomorrow, there would be much more to take care of…

WOW, I STARTED THIS LAST FRIDAY AND I ALREADY FEEL EXHAUSTED! I did some research, but I’m not sure if all my sources were reliable. I looked into racism in Canada during the XX century, and it seems that in many ways, the country was quite racist, especially in the South, where there was more American influence. I also researched Charles’s mother and found some indications that he might have inherited her last name, but I didn’t find any official confirmation! If I made any mistakes here, I sincerely apologize. If you’d like to comment or clarify anything, feel free to send me an ask (anonymous or not, whatever makes you comfortable).

Either way, I hope that anyone reading this chapter remembers to like or reblog my work!

Bye bye ~ ~

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People who asked to be mentioned: @photo1030 @aotlover2002 @latvsflwrr @zizizi-blogs @millieisawriter (I had commented on something like that months ago, I think)