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animasolaoriginal · 7 months ago

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(4) I n n o c e n c e L o s t

He finds her in a brothel of all places. A chance encounter, but one that will change his life – and hers – forever. – or: A story about a cowboy who falls in love with a prostitute, who happens to be so much more than that.

GENERAL TAGS: NSFW! Explicit! Size difference, age gap, slow burn romance. Cowboys, outlaws, prostitutes. Historical inaccuracy. Horses, guns, violence.

Chapter 1▫️2▫️3▫️4▫️5▫️6▫️7▫️8▫️9▫️10▫️11▫️12▫️13 ...

Chapter 4: The Truth

m!OC x f!OC -- WORDS: 5.4k -- READ ON AO3

when a girl learns more than she can handle

Chapter 3 -- Chapter 5

Additional warning: there's sexual assault ⚠️ in this chapter, just a small scene, but I'll tag it nonetheless. Nothing too graphic, but the implication is there! Read at your own risk!

There are eleven people in this camp, Nebbia included, but there are more than a dozen horses, and she's only managed to take care of half of them before Ben beckons her into the shade near the tree line, close to where Thunder grazes, and presents her with food.

And only then does she notice that she's starving. She takes the steaming bowl with shaking fingers, not caring how dirty they are. Horses can be surprisingly dusty, and she can only imagine them running through sand storms or muddy terrain.

The mountain of a man sits on the ground, leaning against a log, his long legs stretched in front of him, one knee angled, his own bowl in one large hand while he pushes the soup's contents around with a spoon in the other. She settles next to him, bringing the stew to her nose and inhaling deeply. Vegetables, some sort of meat, a hearty broth, all so savory and delicious smelling, she feels her mouth watering just staring at it.

“So Ginny is the cook?” she asks with a side-glance. “And Milly the washer, the Stacys work in the supply tent, you are the horse guy,” she keeps listing. “Mitch runs the place and Steve... helps him? What do the three other men do?”

He watches her with an amused glint in his dark eyes. “They mostly sit around and drink,” he says with a deep chuckle. “They're more useful on... well, for other things, outside the camp.”

Nebbia stares at him, so many questions burning under her nails. But for now she focuses on the food, bringing the bowl to her lips and taking a cautious sip. Humming softly, she closes her eyes as the warm liquid runs down her throat.

“Also we do switch our chores, you know?” he adds while she enjoys her food. “I cook sometimes, or provide the meat. And I can stack boxes, too.”

She looks at him as she lowers the bowl and smirks at him. “Have you ever washed clothes over a washing board?” she teases lightly. “Or in the creek?”

“Milly never let me,” he replies with a wink. “And I do not want to mess with that woman!”

A laugh spills from her lips before she rolls her eyes. “Sure, Ben,” she says, holding his amused gaze. “You're afraid of a tiny little lady?”

“Those are the worst,” he chuckles, gently poking her with his elbow. “Right, short stuff?”

She shoots him a dark glare, but can't keep the smile down. It feels so easy to joke with him. “Oh, right you are, mister mountain! We're ankle-biters, after all!”

He nudges her again, giving her another wink before he goes back to eating his soup. She keeps looking at him as she does the same. They eat in comfortable silence, surrounded by the buzzing of insects, the neighing and snorting of the horses, and the bird song in the trees behind them. It's so peaceful, and she still wonders what the catch is.

How did she go from worrying about doing her job right and not dying doing it, to casually sitting on a meadow with this large man who is still technically a stranger to her – and despite it all, it feels right. Feels good. And she realizes she has missed being so... carefree. She hasn't been carefree since the day the Madam has told her she had to start serving men now.

Without training, without proper warning. That first night, with her first cock in her throat, she has wanted to die, to never do this again, because it had hurt so bad and was awful and dirty, and she has been so ashamed of it, disgusted by it. So much so she has scrubbed her tongue afterwards until it has bled.

And even though she has endured it, it never got easier, she always cared about it, about trying to make it better for herself, about doing a good job, about holding it together until the customer was gone. Then she would worry about the next one, and the next... An endless cycle of worries, and she only learned to hide her true feelings better, to pretend she didn't care.

But now she is here, worry-free, for now at least, sitting in the shade, eating a hearty meal, next to a nice man for once. And it all feels too good to be true...

“Penny for your thoughts?” Ben whispers beside her, leaning towards her. She flinches and almost drops the bowl.

“Uh, nothing,” she replies, giving him a weak smile, trying to focus on the stew in her hands.

“Really?” His voice is a low hum in the air.

She takes a deep breath. “What's the catch?” she then blurts out, putting the bowl to the ground next to her as she turns to him, eyes wide, eyebrows raised in worry.

“The catch?” he asks, deep lines on his forehead.

“This is all... well, it feels so different, so nice, so easy. And life isn't supposed to be that easy, is it?” She fidgets with the hitched-up part of her skirt, pulling her knees to her body and hiding them under the wide material.

“You sound awfully bitter for an eighteen-year-old,” he muses, scooting a little closer to her until she feels the warmth of his hip against hers. “But you're right, life isn't as easy as we sometimes wish it would be. But it's easier here, I promise. You're not alone, you're not forced to do things you don't want to do,” he adds, tilting his head to her as she cautiously turns hers towards him, meeting his gaze. His brown eyes are gentle, warm, inviting, she can't look away. “You can ask for help here. You can say no...”

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, contemplating his words, still fixated on him, and the elephant in the room. “What do you do, Ben? Outside the camp?” she then whispers, watching him frown slightly, before he looks away with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Trying to make a living,” he then says quietly, his eyes wandering over the camp and the house in the distance, while hers wander over his body, the gun on his belt, the cowboy boots, the muscles in his exposed forearms. “With any means necessary,” he adds, causing a shiver to run down her spine.

She stares at him, torn between wanting to feel scared of the image that pops up in her head (Ben holding a gun to another man's head, his face hidden behind a bandana, his other hand closed around a sack of money or other loot) and wanting to justify his actions, wanting to see reason, to understand it. Making a living... by taking it from another? She remembers the supply tent, how well stocked it was, his room full of little boxes and trinkets, how much money he's spent on her last night.

“So, I was right?” she then whispers, licking her lips as she looks him over. “You are the type I would encounter on a Wanted poster?”

He looks at her, his face unreadable, eyes hard and slightly darker, his jaw clenched. Without saying anything, he tilts his body to the side and puts his hand into his back pocket, fishing out a folded piece of paper – that he hands to her.

She frowns, takes the paper and slowly unfolds it. The page is weathered, yellowish, crinkled. Its edges are sharp and rough as if it's been looked at a lot. And there it is, Ben's face, pencil drawn. He looks a little younger there, his hair a bit thicker, the beard less full, the shape of his jaw more defined. The eyes are the same, hard and deep, only with less lines around them.

There are words over and under it, but she can't read them, yet she assumes this is a Wanted poster, maybe it says Dead or Alive, listing his crimes in dark font she can't make out. She traces a finger over the picture of his face, trying to process what this means. He's an outlaw. A criminal. Wanted by the law. What did he do?

“I have another one,” he says quietly, watching her closely. “It's even older than that, about twenty years old.” She looks up at him, raising her eyebrows. Wordlessly he fingers another folded piece of paper out of the chest pocket of his shirt and holds it between his index and middle finger, asking her to take it. “It might surprise you...”

She doesn't know what to expect, but she takes it, unfolds it, looking between him and the even more yellowish paper, even more used than the other one that lies on her knees, Ben's drawn face looking up at her while the real one has his eyes fixed on her hands.

Inhaling deeply, she flattens the paper, more words on the top and the bottom, but this time there are two pictures on it. One of Ben, looking even younger, with just the shadow of a beard, nothing more than stubble, hollow cheeks and a straight nose, his face hard and his eyes even harder. And next to him, in the other picture, she sees...

Herself.

Her eyebrows furrow. It's a girl, with long wavy hair in a side braid (just like she has now), draped over one shoulder, a round face with a pointy chin and high cheekbones and a small nose, beautifully arched eyebrows and full lips, and eyes that pierce her soul. Even in the sepia tone of the aged paper and the fading black print, they are lighter, almost shimmering in the way they're drawn. Her eyes.

She looks up at Ben in slight surprise. “Is that...”

“Your mother,” he says softly, gently taking the paper from her shaking hands, now tracing his rough fingertip over the edges of the girl's face on it.

Nebbia doesn't know what to think. Seeing her mother on a Wanted poster does nothing to her. Somehow it fits the image she has of her, an outlaw would also abandon her child in a brothel, right? Something hot twists inside her stomach, something bitter at the edge of her throat.

“We were... a good team,” Ben continues with a smile, oblivious to her lack of reaction, as he stares at the drawn face in front of him. “They never got us, not for long anyways.”

“What did you do?” she whispers barely audible, leaning slightly closer to him as if the horses could listen in to their conversation. As if the camp surrounding them didn't already know what they were discussing. The camp of outlaws.

Ben looks up at her, quiet for a moment as his eyes wander over her face, the same face as on the paper in his large hands that he slowly, carefully, lovingly, folds up again without looking at it. “Taking from the rich. Sharing with the poor.”

He makes it sound so... poetic. “You've been robbers. Thieves,” she says, not even putting it as a question. “You're outlaws, wanted by the law...”

There's a twinkle in his brown eyes, before his lips tilt into a smirk. “Yes,” he replies quietly, holding her gaze. “Does that scare you?”

It should.

But then she thinks back to her initial thoughts about the man sitting next to her. Good guys, bad guys, does it even matter? In a world where a sheriff can treat her like the whore she's been, leaving her bloody and bruised, while an outlaw like Ben has treated her with so much respect she almost wishes he'd be a little rougher with her. Does it make sense? Probably not. Does it matter? Not really.

“No,” she says, as steady as she can manage. “You've not given me any reason to be scared.” Yet.

His smile is dazzling, his lips curl up over straight teeth, one very visible dimple on his bearded cheek, the lines around his eyes deepening. “And you don't have to worry about anything, sweetheart. No one's gonna harm you, me included.”

The corners of her mouth twitch, and she can't help it, she smiles back, her cheeks warming up, before she slowly lowers her eyes back to the poster on her knees, Ben's stoic face looking up at her. “What... what does it say?” she asks after a moment of silence, her finger tracing the letters she cannot understand.

He watches her, his smile fading. His hot breath hits her cheek as he exhales loudly while leaning over her, his arm draping around her shoulder before he takes her hand into his gently, guiding her finger to the top text. “This says WANTED,” he whispers, and she shivers as she feels the roughness of his beard against her cheek, while he moves her finger along the edges of the large letters. “That's my name,” he continues, showing her the line of letters beneath the title.

She holds her breath, the warmth of his touch making her feel dizzy. Her eyes wander from how his big hand holds her smaller one to his drawn picture. He moves their joined hands lower, to the lines below his face. “That's the reward.”

“How much is it?” she breathes, not daring to move much.

He huffs a laugh, his jaw moving against her cheek. He's so close, his touch gentle, his body leaned over her as he holds her hand, embracing her comfortably. “$1000.”

“Is that a lot?”

“Yes, quite the sum,” he replies, almost sounding proud. There's smaller lines of text below that, and he slowly drags her finger over each word as he lists them. “These are my... felonies,” he says quietly. “Stage coach robbery, train robbery, bank robbery, horse theft, trespassing, property destruction.” He pauses, her finger pressed to the last word. She can make out six letters.

She waits, breathing shallowly against him. “What's the last word?”

He inhales deeply, slowly letting go of her hand and leaning back, retrieving his arm. She watches him as he takes the paper from her, folds it back together, then slips it into his back pocket. Out of sight, out of mind. It still chills her to the bone when he stands up, looks down at her with dark eyes and replies: “Murder.”

A little gasp escapes her. Her eyes wander over his hands, those large hands, long fingers, with veins and tendons moving under tanned skin, the calloused feel of them, full of scars and scratches. And she hears the crack of a nose as he's slammed the same hand, a brutal fist, into the other man's face. Because he's called her a whore.

She doesn't know how she feels about it. He's a strong man, she's seen his muscles, felt his strength, witnessed his brutality, violence, but when she looks into his warm eyes, she cannot picture him murdering someone. Her mind still gives her possible images.

Bullets flying through the air in quiet hisses, wood splintering, meaty thuds when they hit their target, shouts, yells, cries of pain. Blood seeping into the dirt.

Her eyes move to the pistol peeking out of the holster on his hips.

The barrel of a gun pressed to someone's temple, a strong hand holding them in place. Whispered threats, wide eyes of the victim, and then a finger on the trigger, bending, pressing down. Muffled cries, the echo of a gunshot, then sudden silence. Blood everywhere.

She swallows hard and looks down, hugging her arms around her knees. A shadow looms over her, and she lets out a little shriek when Ben crouches down in front of her, his large hands on her knees, his eyes boring into hers.

“Don't be afraid of me,” he whispers, eyebrows furrowed. “And don't trust these words. There's always more to a story than a simple word...”

Tell me then, she thinks, her lips trembling, unable to get the thought out.

“I'll tell you another time,” he says softly, as if reading her mind, one hand moving up to cup her cheek, his thumb wiping over the corner of her mouth. She holds her breath, her heart thundering inside her chest. “Okay?” His question hangs in the air.

Are you okay with not asking any more questions for now?

She nods into his hand, and he smiles slightly, then leans up and presses his dry lips to her forehead before he straightens and holds out his hand to her. She looks up, confused, flustered, not sure how to act, but she grabs his hand and lets him pull her to her feet. He holds it for a moment longer, watching her closely.

“Alright,” he then says, letting go of her, rolling his shoulders. “Let's get back to work, hm?”

The sun is setting behind the house, tinting the whole camp in an orange hue. The horses have been fed and brushed, some of them have braids in their manes and tails now, and she looks back at the fifteen horses and recites their names in her head. She's always been good with names somehow.

On the other side of the meadow she sees Ben carrying a sack of feed towards the troughs. She gives the little chestnut girl named Foxie, who snorts and bows her head as she smiles at her, a last pet, a last praise (“Good girl, Foxie.”), and then makes her way to the tall man who dumps the sack with a low groan to the ground.

“Looking good,” he growls in his deep voice, rolling his shoulder as he takes a look around the meadow and the happy horses. “Not sure Bill will appreciate what you did to his Libby, though,” he adds with a smirk, and she looks back to the tall mouse gray mare whose black mane is decorated with little wild flowers and braids.

She huffs a little snicker, blushing slightly. “Might make his ride to the brothel more pleasant,” she says under her breath, and Ben looks at her and barks a loud laugh, his large hand coming up to pat her back playfully, causing her to stumble slightly.

“Good one,” he croaks out, shaking his head, his hand still resting on her back. “You're a feisty one, eh, Miss Nebbia?” he jokes with a wink.

Her cheeks burn up even more as she looks away, feeling the warmth of his touch through the thin fabric of her blouse.

“You'll fit right in here with us,” he says softly and leans slightly over her, his hand sliding down to her lower back.

She turns her head to him, giving him a timid smile. His brown eyes glow in the light of the setting sun, causing her to stare at them longer than is necessary. Appropriate. He nudges her side with his fingers and smirks at her, then lets go and walks past her.

“Come on now, I think you deserve a wash,” he tells her.

Her heart skips a beat as she thinks back to last night, sharing a bath with him. Even if it has been rather innocent, with both of them on either side of the tub and only the occasional touches (You had your foot on his cock, she remembers with a little gasp, is that considered innocent?), it hasn't left her mind, and the want is still there. The want for more.

Nebbia follows him back to the house, but instead of entering it, he takes a turn to the left and rounds the corner. She can see the sheets and clothes billowing in the soft evening breeze near the creek, a little behind the house, and Milly walking between them checking if they're dry already. What she hasn't noticed before is another area further to the left, fenced off with tarps, nestled between two large pines.

Ben stops in front of it, watching her closely. Once she approaches him, standing small before him, looking up with a curious furrow in her brows, he gives her a smirk and raises one corner of the tarp, showing her what's behind them. She frowns further. It's not what she has expected.

It is like somebody took a wooden barrel, sawed it in half and presented the new pieces as tiny bath tubs. She might fit into it if she squatted, but she couldn't see Ben fitting anywhere near those tubs, unless he'd use it as a foot bath. Her disappointment must have been visible on her face.

He laughs softly and leans closer. “Sorry, darling, looks like you gotta do that on your own this time.” Her head snaps to him, her lips parted. It's almost creepy how easily he can read her.

His large hand closes around her smaller one as he pulls her past the tarps, letting them fall behind them. The area is small, only the barrel tubs and a small fire-pit between them with a large pot full of water on it. It smells like soap and flowers.

“Looks like Milly has it all ready for you,” he says softly, testing the water with his pinky, raising his eyebrows in confirmation, nodding to himself. “Just get in the tub and use the ladle here,” he points to a large wooden ladle hanging from the pot, “to pour water over yourself to wash. Leave it in the tub when you're done. You think you can do that?” he asks with a teasing smirk.

She stares at him, then at the set-up around her, ignoring the tease in his voice. Her eyes wander to the second bath tub. “Will you... join me?” she whispers quietly, stupidly hopeful.

He scoffs a laugh, his hand on her shoulder. “No, this is for the ladies only. Us filthy men will wash in the creek. Milly's made that very clear.” She looks at him, smiling tightly, trying to hide the pout threatening to take over. He seems to notice the struggle and squeezes his fingers into her collarbone gently. “Have fun, sweetheart.”

With that he leaves her standing there, beside the steaming pot of water and the strange little bath tubs. The tarp flaps down again after he's gone. An unsteady breath escapes her. She feels strangely empty without him, alone, cold despite the fire burning beneath the pot. Somehow she's gotten used and accustomed to his large presence, and without it, she can barely breathe.

And it hasn't even been twenty-four hours.

She's spent the entire day with him, or in his close proximity, and last night has been... so intimate, even though nothing has happened (sexually), but he has been there, treating her right, being nice, giving her hope. And he took her with him, allowing her a chance, letting her sleep in his bed, inviting her to meet his people, fighting for her honor, giving her something to do, making her feel like part of something.

But she isn't part of anything if he's not here. It's a strange revelation, and she wonders how she's become so dependent on him, on anyone, when all her life she's been alone, despite being surrounded by so many people. The girls at the brothel haven't been friends, nor family, Madam Claire was not like a mother, more like a... mistress, not giving praise, but demands. Mary has been the only one who's looked out for her, at least a little over the last two years, checking in occasionally, and Nebbia realizes with a heavy heart that she may never see her again.

She wonders what she's doing right now, but then she knows what she's doing, or going to do this night. The same as every night.

It feels unreal to be away from there. Inhaling deeply, the warmth of soapy, flowery steam filling her lungs, she starts undressing, layer after layer, thinking about what she would be doing if she were back at the house.

Preparing for the night, making herself look presentable (knowing it wouldn't matter after the first client who will leave her covered in cum and saliva, her hair messed up from being gripped so hard, her rouge and lipstick smeared from being handled so roughly), and she'd wait, kneeling in front of the armchair by the fire, listening for those footsteps, waiting, waiting for the door to open, for the next customer to walk in.

And she can't even imagine how she would wait lying on the bed, waiting to be claimed, trying to fulfill her new role as a real lady of the night now that she's of age and ready, or expected to be ready. Luckily she may never find out what it will be like to have a random stranger take her however he wants, doing absolutely anything with her just because he's left some dollars in the greedy hands of Madam Claire.

She's been so lucky that the first man to barge through her door on the night of her initiation has been Ben.

Exhaling deeply, she feels a shiver rushing down her spine as she thinks of him, the mountain of a man, so much bigger, taller than her, the gentle giant, his large hands holding her safely, everything about him gives her peace, calms her down, except for the little throb between her legs and the rapid beat of her heart whenever he's close to her.

With her mind occupied with his brown eyes, his handsome face, the sound of his beard scraping over her skin, the strong twitch of the muscles in his arms, she steps into one of the wooden tubs, kneeling down in it, and starts pouring warm water over her stiff neck and shoulders, calming under the warmth and smell of it.

She doesn't notice the flap of the tarp being pushed back until it is too late.

⚠️ A large hand presses to her mouth, and she gasps against it, eyes wide as she stares up at the intruder. It is not Ben. Her heart beats so hard it hurts in her chest, panic gripping at every single nerve and muscle. She flails, struggles, writhes in the strong hold, tries to kick and get away, but the tall man (what's his name, one of those three?, she can't remember) grips her, lifting her up effortlessly, dragging her out of the tub.

Her feet scrape over the ground as she sinks her nails into his wrist, blinking rapidly, trying to see who the attacker is, she's usually so good with names, but she can't remember, can't think. Screaming into the hand on her mouth, she keeps kicking, until she gets kicked in the stomach. All air leaves her, all fight gone as she convulses in pain, stars dancing behind her eyelids.

She's thrown into the dirt, chin hitting the hard earth, causing her to groan, not immediately noticing that the hand is gone. A heavy boot presses between her shoulder blades, pushing her flat on her stomach, before a big hand grabs her wrists to hold them behind her back, the grip brutal, unyielding. She can't move, only kick her legs helplessly before she feels a knee pushing them apart.

Panicked wails escape her, and another hand grips her hair, twists it, almost rips it while the braid comes undone, presses her cheek into the ground, keeping her still, but only for a bit, as her attacker realizes he might need a hand to do what he wants to do. She's not stupid, she knows, she feels her hips being lifted, ass up, her knees pressed into the soil beneath her, hands held behind her back, a body pushing between her thighs, something hot and heavy slapping against her sex.

Whimpers, silent cries, hot tears streaming down her face. Not like this, she thinks. Please... not like this... “B-Ben...” she gasps, trying to think of him, imagining how he would take her for the first time. Definitely not like this, pushed into the dirt, held in an iron grip, exposed and helpless. A body to use, and nothing more. He'd treat her right... “Ben...”

“Shut up,” a low hiss comes to her ear, a rough voice, she has no idea who it belongs to, and then suddenly, a sharp pain on her butt cheek as a hand like a branding iron snaps against her soft flesh. She screams into the dirt, squirming helplessly. A grunt fills the steamy air, it's gotten darker around her, not just because she can barely breathe in her position, with the pain of the slap throbbing through her body, but the sun is gone. It's dark and hopeless. Something hard pokes at her entrance.

“Ben!” she cries out through a curtain of tears, with the last bit of strength, courage, she can muster. The person behind her pauses, curses, and suddenly she's being pushed further into the ground, dirt scraping over her bare breasts, then hurried, receding footsteps, the tarp flaps, cold air brushes over her raised ass.

She falls to her side, still in that awkward position, massaging her hurting wrists behind her back, breathless, unable to do anything else. /⚠️

And suddenly he's there, his large hands picking her up carefully, lifting her onto strong arms, pressing her to his warm chest. “What happened?” she hears his deep voice. “Who did this?”

She blinks, feels him scraping dirt off her cheek, wiping at her tears. Her arms wrap around his neck as she holds onto him. “I-I don't kn-know...” she stammers, shivers. He inhales deeply, a rumble through his chest.

He sets her down for a moment, on trembling legs, it's cold, but her skin burns. Wrapping a blanket around her, covering her up, he picks her up again, cradling her in his arms as he carries her out of the bathing area, towards the house. “Are you hurt?” he whispers, his voice strained, as if he's holding back his anger.

A fist in another man's face. She flinches at the memory.

“N-no,” she breathes, leaning against him, cocooned in the blanket, unable to touch him. “They left before –” they could soil my innocence, she thinks in both terror and relief.

Her eyes wander up to him. Even in the dark she can see the muscle moving beneath his skin as he clenches his jaw tightly. He brings her to his room, not saying anything, sets her down on his bed, covers her in even more blankets. She tries to free her hands, and when she manages to slip one out of her cocoon, she grabs his wrist, holding him back, looking up in desperation. “Don't leave,” she murmurs under her breath.

He stares at her, his face hard, like the one on his Wanted posters. Murder. The word echoes in her head, and she can see this man looming over her doing just that. But she isn't afraid of him, she's... glad. In a twisted sort of way. Knowing what he is capable of. The strength in his arms, his body.

But when he closes his long fingers around her hand and sits down on the edge of the bed, she's relieved he doesn't follow the urge to repeat the crime she has yet to learn more about.

Struggling out of her blankets, she breaks free and throws herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, presses into him, desperate to feel his warmth, his strong hands on her, comfort, ease, reprieve. He slowly curls his arms around her, one hand holding onto her waist, the other cups around her shoulder, as he embraces her tightly, leaving no room for sorrows.

A tiny voice in her mind complains already. Nothing happened. Stop whining about this. You're fine.

But she doesn't feel fine, because something did happen. She was attacked, inside the camp that was supposed to be her new home. In the rare moments where she was alone, without Ben. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours since she left the safety of the house to live in the real world...

A new wave of hot tears spills from her lashes, soaking into the collar of his shirt, her tiny sobs swallowed by how she presses her face into his neck. She feels him inhaling deeply, his grip on her tightening, trying to squeeze every bad thing out of her.

“Shh, it's okay,” he hums against her, his rough chin pressed to the top of her head. His voice and words sink into her cold skin, heating her up from within. “I've got you, baby girl.”

Chapter 3 -- Chapter 5

END NOTES: Oh the trauma (and all of it just so I could make Ben call her baby girl)!

I gotta say, I love me some dependency and hurt/comfort, even though I'm sorry for what I make happen to poor Nebbia. But it's needed to have these lovely bear hugs...

By the way, I was debating back and forth about the reward sum (again something that comes up once and doesn't matter but I still fixate on it every fucking time): When I played RDR2, all those bounties only ever gave $100 tops, and when looking at the Wanted posters of Dutch and Co. they had much larger sums, but they've been at it a long time, and ooh the stuff they did. But Ben? I didn't want him to be as cold-blooded as the people in the game, but still a criminal worth something, so in the end I settled on $1000. Might make sense, might not, does it matter? Not really. Just sharing my thought process here again, forgive me.

Anyway, back to the growing relationship between Ben and Nebbia. The plot is finally thickening and more things will happen! Stay tuned!

Picture credits to their respective owners. I don't own anything. I gathered these from all around the Internet. If you see your picture and would like to have it removed, please tell me!

Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Friday!

AO3 -- MASTERLIST -- INSPIRATION POSTS

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azures-bazar · 2 years ago

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Fairest of Them All

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

I'm even roasting French champagne here lol

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

Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader

Word count : 2.5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Am I late ?" you asked

"Certainly not."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jesus Christ…" Arthur mumbled

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

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

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

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

"‘Scuse me." Arthur said, walking away

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

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

"Sir." you smiled back

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

"Thank you, Sir."

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

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

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

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

"Me neither."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is there someone here ?"

"Get down !" he whispered

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

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

to be continued, maybe -

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #chapter 4 #arthur morgan #the gilded cage #cute #historical fashion #rdr2 #red dead redemption fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #saint denis #you are beautiful and deserve love #red dead redemption 2 #azurestales

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annasinterests · 11 months ago

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current obsession: arthur being stuck between john and dutch on bronté's couch.

the way dutch and john are both able to spread their legs meanwhile arthur is just totally squared with his hands on his knees. i mean. just look at his shoulders. his face!!!!! he's so unamused!!!!! and the fact that dutch is making a little joke and only john looks at him because arthur is absolutely having none of this entire situation LMAO

i wish the quality was better but i took this screenshot during a cut scene so y'all bear with me on that lol

#arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #chapter 4 :((((

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nightmare-galore · 10 months ago

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Have you stop and see how mesmerizing the Grand Korrigan is?

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #scenery #st denis #rdr2 photography #rdr2 photomode #chapter 4 #I was shocked when I got the red wittemore outfit he's so fkn hot

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saiyan-druid-art · 2 years ago

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If John & Dutch made it to A Fine Night of Debauchery...

(Click for better quality!)

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river-of-wine · 1 year ago

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This Barbie lies to the cops

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #molly o'shea #MOLLY MONDAY!!!!#chapter 4 is a realistic version of the mojo dojo case house #lyrics in the first piece are from high horse by the crane wives!!#sketches #my art

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sushisocks · 1 year ago

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Hey there! I believe you said in another post that the final confrontation would be unlikely to happen if lenny and sean were alive, so i'd like to ask if you could expand on that pls(if u havent already and i just didnt see it lol)

Btw on a side note im actually super invested in your sean content😭😭the fandom seems to only talk ab him to label as an idiot, so as a fellow sean lover the way you characterize him has me so in love❤️❤️❤️❤️

Oh Anon you are SO LOVELY!!! Thank you not only in giving me the opportunity to rant more about Sean and Lenny (which I am always so willing to do), but also for your super kind words!! Sean is very dear to me, and I'm glad my reading into him as much as I do strikes a chord with other people ;;u;;

The way the general fandom often characterizes him isn't very surprising to me, given his personality & the surface level impressions he gives, but maybe for now I'll save THAT rant for another time, else we stay here forever lmaoo

So, to start answering your question, I believe you're talking about my post from a few months ago, where I talk about how I believe Sean & Lenny would've sided with Arthur & John if they'd lived to see the final confrontation. In it I mention how I find that final confrontation a lot more unlikely were Lenny & Sean to survive that far and stick around for the entire thing.

Now, WHY do I believe this? I touch on it briefly in that original post, but let's really get into it here!!

Okay to start off, there's a LOT of ways I see things going, in regards to Sean and Lenny, were they both to survive, because it adds SO MANY variables, but let's start at the very top.

At a meta level, it is important to recognize that RDR2 is a prequel to RDR1. This meant from the get that RDR2, as it is canonically, was bound to a certain outcome, to set up for RDR1. This ALSO means, that every step from the start of RDR2 was very much there not only to lay the groundwork for the end of RDR2 but also add another emotional layer to RDR1. This is all certainly things we are aware of already, but I think it's important to have that context in mind while we talk about alternative outcomes.

Because, see, Sean and Lenny HAD to die for the outcome in RDR2 to be the one it is. Not only them, but Hosea, Kieran, Molly, and Susan's deaths are ALL integral and important to the story, they ALL make a difference and contribute in pushing the story a certain way, and in reinforcing the steadily increasing hopelessness which infest the gang from Sean's death and out.

So if we're like "what if none of them died?" there are suddenly a LOT of new variables for every mission and every scenario we know from the game, which need to be considered. This is true EVEN if the change in survival count is only reduced to Lenny & Sean.

How different do you not think Shady Belle would have felt, initially, without Sean's death hanging over it? What about the bank job -- would Lenny & Sean end up on the boat to Guarma? What would've happened to them there, then? Would either of them be caught by the Pinkertons instead, with John or in his stead maybe? What other options would there have been, where would they end up at the end of that?

And already here we have to consider how those experiences might've impacted them psychologically, because of who they are.

In the post I mentioned earlier, I talk about how Lenny is new to the gang and probably isn't as stuck in it mentally as Arthur and John, nor do Sean and Lenny have the same emotional attachment/baggage in regards to Dutch. They're loyal of course, because they feel a sense of obligation to the gang, because it provides them with safety, friends, and allies, in an otherwise unkind world.

But what then happens when that changes?

How do you expect Sean and Lenny to respond when the gang starts turning on itself? When Dutch visibly starts losing it? When people start snapping at each other and threatening one another in the middle of camp?

(I have a half-formed thought here about how people would ABSOLUTELY be snapping and talking down to Sean in a way more cruel way towards the end of the game, for trying to keep things light and easy, yknow, fulfilling his role in the gang. I can only imagine what that'd end up doing to him, tbh.)

And, I'll be repeating myself from other posts here, but how do you think Lenny, a young black man painfully aware of the social structure as it exists in America at that point in time, would react to realizing what Dutch's plan with the Wapiti is? Same goes for Sean, who has SEVERAL instances through the game showing him just as politically aware as Lenny - certainly moreso than Arthur.

Would the outcome for the Wapiti tribe be the same, do you think, if Charles had more people than a very sick and tired Arthur to lean on, willing to help? Would Lenny in particular want to stick around to see Dutch attempt to drive the tribe into the ground for his own gain?

Also, I'm sorry but like, Lenny has a camp interaction with Dutch where he disagrees with him (about Miller, Dutch's favorite author) and explains why in a very well-articulated manner. In one instance, Dutch gets straight up offended by it, bcz Lenny can argue very well (and is RIGHT mind you lol).

I do absolutely believe that Lenny would not just sit around quietly in Beaver Hollow. I'd expect him to be among the most vocal in their discontent with the situation, and probably the best at arguing against Dutch.

That is, up until a certain point. Lenny is a young black boy, and Dutch is a white authority figure. Watch Dutch snap and yell at him, like he does John in Ch6 for example, and see how much longer Lenny sticks around fr. The trade is loyalty for safety and the same in kind. Why do you think members start leaving when things start looking their worst? And don't you think Lenny would be among the first to see the writing on the wall?

Though that is hinging on that very specific vibe in Beaver Hollow, where they're all scattered and losing their ties to one another. Add then in Sean, who is VITAL as social glue, and for making conversations easier. If he, and Lenny, and Mary-Beth, Tilly, Arthur, Charles, etc etc, insert your favorites here, managed to retain some of that community feeling, despite it all, then I absolutely see Lenny sticking around for them.

Same goes for Sean, tbh. I can see him leaving earlier, bcz the trade stops being equal and bcz he's not being taken seriously, and I can see him staying, for his friends.

There IS also a version of things where things are similar and I do see Sean siding with Dutch; but that is a very sad and lonely Sean, who is VERY different from where he's at in Clemens Point, and I think that's an unfair perspective to take for him in general.

Okay so, now we're back to that final confrontation, after I said I found it unlikely, why is that? Because, with every question I've posed thus far, about what Lenny & Sean's reactions might've been to canon events after their deaths, I have essentially presented a variable that comes with their survival to those points. Them being there for it, HAS to mean a change, has to mean something different happens, because their deaths are direct contributors to the path we already know the story takes WITHOUT their presences.

Now, what are those differences and changes? I honestly can't answer; something being different earlier or later can butterfly-effect into something completely new or remarkably similar to what we already know. I could sit here all day and wax poetic about all the different options and possibilities for where things could go, were ANY character to survive past their death point, BUT thankfully, that is what fanfiction is for, lol.

I hope this satisfied some of your curiosity, dear anon!! It was a lot of fun for me to write and think about, so thank you very much for asking!!!

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption meta #rdr2 #sean macguire #lenny summers #dutch van der linde #arthur morgan #rdr thoughts #teki talks #long post #im sorry this took me a while to answer i had to sleep and then do my irl things and then Stew on this for a while #i hope this all made sense tbh idk if i lost the plot at some point in there. im SURE there's a tangent or two but yknow #ALSO if youre interested in reading a potential take on how things couldve gone if Sean and Lenny survived to chapter 6 #my fic Attentive Vigor is a soulmate au game rewrite where their survival is VITAL for the ending to be different from what we know #im almost finished with it! 4 chapters left that im really excited to share #if you like macsummers and sean whump it's got a lot of that after you get past the initial chapters lol #had to do a lil plug lol bcz this topic hits v close to home after all #asks #rdr asks #meta asks

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charredhare · 2 years ago

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HOLY SHIT THESE SAINT DENIS KIDS???

"lookin for the nearest whorehouse?"

"as if he even likes ladies!"

THEY'RE GOING "i know what you are" TO ARTHUR THAT'S INSANE.

#cowboy #cowboys #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur #saint denis #rdr2 chapter 4

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cosmic-cube-keeper · 1 year ago

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"...he said the quiet part out loud..." 😱😱😱

#red dead redemption 2 #micah bell #arthur morgan #leopold strauss #chapter 4: shady belle #he admits to being the snake we all know he is

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azures-bazar · 2 years ago

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Heavenly

My god this one was a tough one ! Writing smut content in another language feels hardcore, I'm sorry if it came out disastrous. It was a serious challenge for me !

Despite being mostly inspired by Cigarette After Sex's song, I wrote all the "hot" parts while listening to Spring 1 from Max Richter. Made me feel inspired as I'll be probably using this tune for my wedding :')

Please excuse my awful mistakes and probably wrong words, English is not my first language.

Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader

Word count : 2.8k

Short summary : The party is now over, but Arthur wanted some privacy. Instead of coming back to camp, you spend a night at the Bastille saloon.

Warnings : ⚠️ 18+ please if you’re a minor DON’T READ ⚠️ overall sexual tension, nsfw, smut, undressing, unprotected sex, explicit content, fingering, spanking, equal dominance

A/Note : Part 2 of Fairest of Them All !

Tags : historical underwear, Arthur loves you, fluff, he does it calmly, mutual trust, passionate love, consent, cigarettes after sex (literally)

******

"You sure ?" Dutch asked. "It should be better for you two to get back to camp."

"We’re gonna be fine, Dutch." Arthur answered. "Night’s gonna be short anyway."

Arthur had spent about ten or fifteen minutes trying to convince Dutch not to drag the two of you back to Shady Belle. He did not want to come back, not after this boost of hormones had occurred since he had seen you in your beautiful red dress. At first, he had been conquered by your beauty, your gesture, your attitude. But things had escalated quickly when he kissed you so passionately in the Mayor’s office, as his hand firmly gripping your left thigh. Only Bronte’s man dragged him out of his deepest desire to have you for himself on the desk, he was doing his best not to show anything to Dutch, Hosea and Bill. Actually, the latter had already noticed the way Arthur acted, widely smiling while blushing, his eyes twitching, discretely wiggling his hips.

"I want the two of you back to camp tomorrow." Hosea said, staring at you, somewhat aware of what was about to happen

"We’ll be back in no time." you smiled

"Don’t worry, ‘Sea." Arthur chuckled as you placed your hand over his arm

"I’m always worried when the two of you aren’t around. Please, don’t get into trouble."

You and Arthur nodded as you got inside a stagecoach. You quickly gathered your large skirt in order to allow Arthur to come in, he sat in front of you after telling your destination to the coachman. You could tell how much Hosea was worried about the two of you not coming back to camp, but Arthur’s decision was taken out of respect for all gang members. He did knew this night was going to be yours. Despite you and Arthur had made your best efforts not to make your relationship too obvious, most folks knew that you were not playing chess with Arthur when the two of you were in his bedroom. You already had time to try deeper pleasures with him, and John was the first to complain about how noisy you two were.

"Well, m’lady, tonight’s your night." Arthur smiled

"Our night."

Arthur nodded. The two of you remained somewhat quiet in the stagecoach until arriving at the Bastille Hotel, a short journey which only lasted for about ten minutes or so. Nobody really paid attention to you going inside the saloon. You would have wanted to have access to the upstairs rooms by taking an outside staircase, but there was no much choice. Arthur left you alone for a few seconds, quickly renting the room for a few dollars, grabbing you under his arm to lead you upstairs. Right after you approached the door leading to your room, Arthur proceeded closing the corridor’s large velvet curtains, allowing you some more privacy and an easy access to the bathroom, quickly kissing you on his way to your room’s entrance.

"After you, Miss." Arthur opened the door

You walked in, trembling of excitement. You shivered as you heard Arthur come inside, closing the door behind you, feeling this absolute need to jump on him and passionately live this night without even regretting it. You had struggled so much during this evening, the single sight of Arthur wearing his beautiful tuxedo suit, his hair perfectly brushed and his beard trimmed for the occasion made it hard for you not to, at least, clap your hand on his bum. Arthur would not have minded, he enjoyed it anytime you did it.

Arthur locked the door, moving behind you with a large smile. After kissing the back of your neck, he carefully untied the back of your bodice, making sure not to tear it apart. It would have been a shame to ruin with such a beautiful dress ! He wanted you to wear it again, knowing you would look fantastic whenever you would put it on. Arthur then proceeded taking your skirt and two petticoats off, making his way to the crinoline, feeling a little frustrated.

"Christ sake." he grumbled as he untied the ribbon holding your crinoline, making it fall on the ground

"What’s wrong ?"

"Why do they keep ‘em women under so many layers ?"

His remark made you smile, you turned around as soon as you knew you there was nothing much left to take off anymore but your corset, drawers and chemise. Arthur’s eyes were shining, so many emotions made their way to you ! His smile made you burn from the inside, you could not help but calmly place your hand between his legs, causing him to bite his lower lip as you lightly clenched your fist on his crotch, finding it aroused, causing him to moan.

"You’ve been such a good boy tonight…" you smiled

"Ain’t that right, girl… now lemme get this corset off so we can have some fun."

"Don’t feel pressured to do so."

"I ain’t pressured, ‘would be a shame to have you hurt tonight."

Arthur gently turned you around for you to face the bed, proceeding to carefully untie your tight corset. He did not understand how you, women, could breath under such a tool, whale-boned shift, making some of you faint on occasions ! You sighed of relief when Arthur untied the laces of your golden corset, turning around to allow him open the iron busk, it took him quite some time. In fact, Arthur was trembling as he could no longer hold it any longer, and the excitement of having you before him, only for him, without the pressure of the rest of the gang, felt like real freedom. This was going to be his night, your night. He even smiled as you moaned one more time as the corset fell on the ground.

"My god, Y/N." he said, totally charmed. "You’re so beautiful…"

"Is that so ?" you smiled, proceeding to take your drawers off

"I wouldn’t be there otherwise."

You smiled, Arthur quickly took his jacket off and threw it aside, tearing his bowtie apart, not even able to hold his excitement. You helped him take unbuttoning his vest, then his shirt, carefully moving to his pants and his union suit. Oh, dear ! You had probably never seen Arthur so aroused by your presence, and this was not even the first time the two of you had sex ! Arthur threw what was left of his clothes on the ground, lifting your chemise, leaving the two of you completely naked. You turned your head up as your left hand gripped onto his crotch area.

"Show me what you got there, sweetheart." he smiled, gently pressing his large hands on your breasts

"Sure thing." you groaned, bitting your lower lip as you tightened your grip onto his groin

Arthur moaned again and calmly pushed you on the bed. He wanted it to be memorable, he wanted it to be beautiful. He wanted it to be perfect, harmless, fun and relaxing. He wanted to give himself to you. Two of his fingers made their way down to your clit, he rubbed it in such a gentle way that you could not help but shiver and spread your legs widely to greet what was to come. These two fingers made their way inside you, leading you to moan loudly.

"You’re alright there, girl." Arthur said, climbing on the bed to be over you

You did not even realise Arthur was often saying this same sentence to his mare… it did not matter much. You were his girl. His unique, perfect, adorable girl, just like he was your boy, your man. Your hands started playing with his groin, moving back and forth as Arthur did his best to stay focused on pleasing you. It tickled so much that you could not stop your waist from lightly wiggling back and forth. You wanted more, you could not deny it, neither could Arthur.

"Easy there girl." Arthur cooed

He bent down a little to cover your chest with kisses, gently bitting your nipples before allowing his whole body started rubbing yours. He held himself to badly, not wanting to finish this special night of yours without, at least, getting inside of you. His tongue drew circles in your neck as you grabbed his hair. You passionately kissed him as soon as he looked into your eyes. Nothing could beat this moment between the two of you. These cellos the two of you had danced on still played in your heads in a heavenly manner. You were caught into a marvellous symphony, the symphony of your love.

"I love you, Morgan." you huffed

"I love you too, Y/N."

Arthur was quick to rise a little, allowing his groin to make his way inside of you. You left out a loud moan and Arthur started swinging back and forth above you, gently enough not to harm you. Your very first time with him had been quite rough as you did not really had the opportunity to know more of each other in terms of sex, he was completely panicked when you told him it was painful. In no way was he going to do the same mistake. This was your night.

"Good girl." Arthur whispered

You started sweating as Arthur moaned above you, kissing you so passionately while rhythmically moving his hips for you to feel him inside you. You adored it, every moment of it. Such moments were heavenly. He was so gentle with you, but skilled enough to made you reach what was close to an orgasm. You kept moaning, spreading your legs wide for Arthur to perform other moves than a classic set of thrusts. In fact, you even told Arthur to switch positions by giving him a loud spank.

"There, boy." you smiled, giving Arthur a taste of his own medicine. "Lemme take the lead."

Arthur bit his lower lip, moving back a little. Between two kisses, he proceeded lying beneath you, allowing you to take the lead. He secretly enjoyed letting you be above him, he loved sharing his dominance with you. When you were over him, he was at your entire mercy, helpless, unable to leave… and he loved that. Your boy, a thirty-six year old man ready to do anything to please you.

You crouched above him and started moving up and down, making sure you contract all your pelvic muscles contracted enough to make Arthur feel more pressure and excitement. You saw him ecstatically moan as one his hands clung onto his pillow while the other one held you by the hip, begging you to keep going while bitting his lower lip. You felt like burning when you notice his sweaty face, his arched eyebrows and a slight dribble of saliva at the corner of his half-opened mouth.

"Ah, darlin’…" he moaned

"Yes, cowboy ?"

"I want you so badly… so, so badly…!"

You kept moving up and down as Arthur’s moans got louder, causing you to refrain yourself. You bent over to kiss him, he bit your earlobe afterwards. You felt like you were about to enter in the most beautiful and relaxing trance, better than the ones you experience when being drunk. Arthur moaned as you wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth.

"Let’s try something else…" you said, some pain in your thighs. "My legs hurt…"

"Sure thing, darlin’…"

Arthur helped you moving aside and settled you back beneath him, proceeding to lift your legs above his broad shoulders while moving inside of your vagina with a loud moan. The heat coming from your fusing bodies had invaded the room as you two had been enjoying yourselves for over than thirty minutes. You kept moaning, begging him to keep going as your fists clenched on the cotton and brocade bedsheets beneath you. Arthur’s rhythmic thrusts almost made you reach it. Reach seventh heaven.

"Aah, I’m close… I’m close…" you groaned

"H-hold on for me, sweetheart… hold on…!"

Holding on was the best the two of you could do to make this night even more memorable ! Arthur kept going as you could no longer contract your pelvic muscles, he went faster than before. You kept sweating, your moans turning into screams of pleasure you could not even hold anymore. You felt Arthur’s hardened groin move deeper into you, it made you drool. Bubbles and butterflies invaded your stomach as you were about to climax, still doing your best not to start squirting, clenching your fists enough to avoid this moment to reach its end.

"Almost… a-almost…!" Arthur groaned

Arthur's groin felt larger than ever, he did his best not to cum, he did not want to give up yet. However, after some more seconds holding it, he lost control of his own cock, unable to keep going, giving you a last thrust while screaming himself. The two of you shared an orgasm at the same time, moaning so loudly that some people of the saloon might have felt alerted by the noise coming from your room. Arthur moved away from you, his cock still hardened, struggling to remain on all fours as you were heavily panting beside him. He wanted to look at you, admire you. He fell on the bed beside you, lying there for a few minutes.

"Damn it, that was good." you groaned

He proudly nodded, happy of what the two of you had given each other that night. Arthur was the first to get up, trying his best to calm his emotions down as he gently invited you to go to the bathroom. You shifted from the bed, not even bothering about being naked, grabbing his hand as the two of you made your way to the bathroom across the corridor. You did not expect him to have paid for a bath, but in no way could you imagine sleeping in your own sweat.

The tub was large enough to fit the two of you. Before coming in, Arthur proceeded smoking a cigarette. It was mostly a routine, having a cigarette each time you had sex. He quickly joined you, feeling the need to wash away all this sweat covering him from hair to toes. Arthur felt relaxed by looking at you, gently applying the sponge on your shoulders. At this moment, despite feeling overwhelmingly exhausted, he just wanted to look at you for the rest of the night. Your cheeks were still a little red after having sex, Arthur could not help but smile at you while winking.

"You’re beautiful." he whispered

"You’re sayin’ this because you’re tired."

"Nah, I’m honest. You’re really beautiful."

You blushed, unable to face Arthur who is about to make your heart melt with his puppy eyes and his smile. He noted your sudden shy attitude, acknowledging you were completely charmed by him.

"How should I call you now ?" he asked. "Miss Viola Bronte ? Miss Y/N Y/SN ? Or maybe Mrs. Kilgore ?"

"M-mrs. Kilgore ?" you stuttered

"I think these names suit you… even if I believe the best fit would be Mrs. Y/N Morgan."

Your eyes widely opened as you were not sure about what Arthur just said, shrugging a little while looking into his eyes. You were not sure about how you could react to such thing. Mrs. Morgan almost sounded like a marriage proposal !

"I… I like Mrs. Morgan." you smiled

"Me too. Suits you well."

Arthur felt happier than even. What he had just told you was a way for him to ask if you would have wanted to be more than a casual love interest. He wanted to know if you would go beyond your current relationship, take a step further. And you said yes, you did. But he was certainly going to make another move on a future occasion for you to have your mind cleared out. He had already bought everything on purpose.

You unexpectedly fell asleep while bathing. Arthur sighed as he looked at you, rubbing your eyes while being woken up each time your head was falling forward. He got you out of the bathroom, wrapping you into some warm towels the saloon could provide you, kissing the top of your head while making his way back to your bedroom, carefully avoiding to be spotted naked with you firmly held against him. He kept you close to him, holding you onto his chest as he snuggled beneath the blankets, kissing your forehead. It woke you up a little.

"Get back to sleep, sweetheart." Arthur cooed

You looked at him for a second or two before your eyelids felt heavier than before, nuzzling against Arthur’s chest. He felt tired too, yawning a little while rubbing you hair behind your ear.

"Sweet dreams, Mrs. Morgan." Arthur whispered

Mrs. Morgan.

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