Synopsis: Tilly, Sean, and Mary-Beth get a front-row seat to Arthur and Y/N's budding romance, until camp drama forces the pair to escape on a short, quiet ride of their own.
paring: Arthur x fem!outlaw reader
warnings: brief mention of a wet dream, brief mentions of Y/N's arranged child marriage.
wc: ~2.3k
Wednesday, June 28th, 1899
I keep thinking about Y/N. Everything about her is so…what’s the word. Addicting, maybe? I wanna need to know more about her, even the ugly parts. When she told me about her arranged marriage, I felt my blood burn in my veins. I’ve never been so angry. Who would willingly pawn off their child? There’s more to it; there’s more to her.
I’m noticing that she’s on my mind all the time. When I’m doing chores around camp—Y/N. When I’m on the trails with Boadicea—Y/N. Even when I’m sleeping, she’s in my dreams. I feel like a young boy all over again. I wake up, drenched in sweat and my blanket a…mess. I am a grown man. I shouldn’t be having these, mishaps.
I stare. It’s rude, I know. I feel my cheeks ignite whenever she does, well, anything. I even fantasize about her. Like, what it would be like if we had met earlier, before Mary. Before Eliza. Would we be married? Have children? Would she be different? Would I be different?
Anyway, the other day, Trelawny introduced me to his friend, Alden. He mainly works at the train station in Rhodes, but he also hands out information on passing stagecoaches. Perfect for building up my funds. Trelawny and I robbed one together, and then I robbed another when he left.
Ring fund: $100 / $460
“Arthur!”
Dutch’s arms were spread wide in an open embrace as his honey soaked voice rang through Arthur’s ears.
“Dutch.” Arthur’s voice was gruff, and didn’t match the small smile spreading onto his face. He looked up from his spot, criss-crossed and leaned up against a tree.
“Writin’ again, are we?” Dutch rested his hands on his hips, jutting one of his legs out in a casual manner, leaning against the bark.
“Always. Let’s me collect my thoughts.” Arthur quickly tucked away his journal. “What do ya need?”
“Arthur,” Dutch’s face turned to one of hurt, “you think I would come over to my most reliable man, my son, only when I’m in need?”
Arthur thought for a moment, his eyes shifting around for an answer before looking back at Dutch. “Well…”
A smile spread across Dutch’s lips. “Son, you do so much work around here, keepin’ us safe and all.”
“A lot of people keep us safe, not just me.”
"I know that.” Dutch sighed. “You’re a hard worker, but…I’ve noticed you haven’t been donatin’ all that hard work to the people you keep safe.”
Arthur’s brows furrowed. He let out a scoff. “Yer kiddin’ me?”
Dutch put his hands up in surrender. “We need all the money we can get. If you want, I can take your money and put it in the box for you.”
Arthur raggedly huffed and dug into his satchel. Well that goes twenty from the fund. “I got it.”
"Good son, good.” Dutch sauntered away to his tent, probably to read some Evelyn Miller.
Arthur shook his head as he stood up from his comfortable position. He felt his bones ache and softly crack as he rose. I’m gettin’ old.
"Hey, Arthur.” With a cigarette between your index and middle finger, you planted yourself right in front of him.
"Hi, yer doin’ alright?” His voice dripped with genuine concern. You handed him your cigarette and he took it without hesitation and took a drag.
You shrugged. You watched as his lips curled around the tip as he inhaled the sweet tobacco. Then, you realized this was probably so odd that you were staring right at his mouth, and ignoring his question altogether. “I’m fine.”
Arthur turned his head and blew the smoke out, careful not to blow it right into your face. He passed the cigarette back to you. “Yeah? Yer, uh, monthly. It’s alright?”
You smiled so wide you felt as though your cheeks were about to pop off. He really cares about this stuff, huh? “Oh, yeah. It’s all done, so…”
"Oh, well…”
"Yeah.”
There was silence for a moment, the two of you not knowing where to look, but the ground did seem to be interesting enough.
You let out a heavy sigh. “So, uh, do you have any plans today?”
"Why? You want me to pick yer brain again?” Arthur tilted his head playfully.
"If you were going to pick any brain, I would want it to be mine.”
Whoa, that was bold.
Arthur let out a small, breathless laugh and looked down at the ground once more. The heavy brim of his hat shielded his face, but you could still see his wide, unstoppable smile.
Sure it was bold, but he sure as hell liked it.
From across the camp, Tilly and Mary-Beth were sitting by their bedrolls. They were attending to their chores, but why would they do that when one of Mary-Beth’s romance novels was playing out live?
“Look he’s laughin’!” Mary-Beth let out a giggle as she kicked her legs happily.
Tilly shushed her. “They’ll hear you.”
“They’re all the way over there, I reckon they won’t hear.”
They watched as Arthur looked back up at you, a pink flush to his cheeks as he leaned against the tree.
"He’s red! Tilly, he’s all red!” Mary-Beth sat up straighter. “Oh, now she’s laughin’! This is too good!”
Tilly rolled her eyes, but she was wearing a small smile. She looked down and continued with washing clothes. “Mary-Beth, you should really do your chores, if Grimshaw—”
Mary-Beth gasped. “Tilly! He stepped closer to her! Are they gonna kiss? Oh, Tilly, they’re gonna kiss!”
Tilly’s eyes shot up from the washing board. “Oh my, they might…Mary-Beth, they might!”
“Arthur!”
Mary-Beth and Tilly groaned as Dutch’s booming voice cut through the air. He walked right towards the two of you. From across the clearing, the girls watched as you and Arthur quickly stepped back from each other, looking over at Dutch.
“Ugh, really Dutch?!” Mary-Beth groaned. “Couldn’t you see what was happening?!”
Tilly shook her head, then looking back down at the washing board in front of her. “Even if they were gonna kiss, it wasn’t gonna happen in the middle of camp, especially during the day.” She looked to Mary-Beth, spotting her disappointed expression on her face. “Dutch is a sad, angry man, Mary-Beth. As long as him and Molly ain’t doin’ good, then nobody ain’t doin’ good.”
“We need to help them.”
Tilly whipped her head toward Mary-Beth. “Help Dutch and Molly? That’s not gonna happen.”
Mary-Beth huffed. “No. Arthur and Y/N. We need to help them get together!”
“And how are we gonna do that? We can’t force them.”
“Force who?” Sean suddenly popped up from behind a nearby tent, holding a half-empty bottle and grinning like a madman. “Are we forcing someone to do something?”
Tilly rolled her eyes and brushed Sean away. “Go away, Sean. It’s none of your business.”
“Oh, come on, ladies, don’t be like that,” Sean chuckled and looked across the clearing. His eyes locked onto Arthur and Y/N, who were currently slowly stepping away from an annoyed-looking Dutch. “Ah. I see. It’s the lovebirds, is it?”
Mary-Beth’s eyes went wide. “Sean! Keep your voice down!” She said in a quiet hush.
"Oh, please. The whole camp knows Arthur’s completely sweet on her.” Sean scoffed, taking a swig from his bottle. “Tell ya what, for five dollars, I’ll go over there, pretend to trip, and knock ‘em right into each other’s arms.”
Tilly grabbed a wet towel and slapped it hard against Sean’s shin, making him let out a high-pitched yelp. “You do that, Sean, and I bet Arthur will shoot you. Sit down and shut the hell up!”
Sean hurried and sat down taking another swig of his drink. “I can’t blame Arthur, Y/N’s beau—ow!” Karen slapped the back of Sean’s neck with a wet towel of her own, and continued to walk by.
Tilly and Mary-Beth try hard to hold in their laughs, but it’s useless. Soft giggles erupt from them.
"That’s what you get.” Tilly chuckled.
Sean grumbled. “Shut up.” He rubbed his neck, the sting spreading along his shoulders.
Across the camp, the target of their gossip was currently enduring a lecture. Dutch paced between them as he droned on about “faith” and “loyalty”.
Because Dutch was entirely lost in his own words, he didn’t notice what the “lovebirds” in front of him were doing.
Arthur caught your eyes from under the brim of his hat. He let out a tiny puff of exhaustion through his nose. You bit the inside of your cheek, a silent laugh bubbling up in your throat as you subtly shifted your boot to tap against his boot under the grass. Arthur’s eyes brightened at the touch, a heavy flush creeping back onto his neck, but he didn’t move his foot away.
Tilly let out a sigh. “Mary-Beth, Sean, look at that. We don’t need to do a damn thing.”
Dutch strutted away, and the two of you looked up at each other.
“Finally, Dutch shut his mouth.” Mary-Beth’s eyes were still trained on Arthur and Y/N.
“Probably something like, ‘Arthur, son…’” Sean started, with a horrible Dutch impression, but was cut-off by his own laughter.
“Shush Sean!” Tilly and Mary-Beth hushed Sean. He huffed and crossed his arms.
Mary-Beth groaned. “Here comes Micah.”
“Aw, dammit.” Sean said, but quieter this time.
Micah sauntered past the tree and stopped right in front of Y/N, tipping his hat with a greasy grin that made Tilly, Sean, and Mary-Beth instantly sneer.
“I haven’t heard from him in a while.” Tilly observed. “Well, ever since Y/N punched the ever-living shit out of him.”
“Me too. I wonder if his voice is different.” Mary-Beth added. The three laughed softly and watched.
“Well look at you, pretty lady,” Micah’s voice carried over the breeze. “I forgive you, really. Are we alright?”
The group couldn’t hear what you said in a reply, but you and Arthur had your arms crossed and your body language was screaming “don’t bother us”.
"Spending all your daylight hours with old Morgan here, I see.” Micah’s voice rasps. “You’re wasting your time.”
Arthur’s entire posture shifted in a fraction of a second. His broad shoulders squared, his jaw tightened into stone. He didn’t say a word, and he stepped directly between Micah and Y/N, his frame blocking her from Micah’s view.
Mary-Beth gripped Tilly’s arm tightly. “Oh, look at that!” She whispered, her hopeless romantic heart soaring.
"Step back, Micah.” Arthur’s voice was low, a gravelly vibration that promised violence if Micah took even a half-step closer.
Micah’s eyes glared into the stone-cold expression on his face. He raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender, his smile never faltering. “Just makin’ conversation, Morgan. No need to get you feathers ruffled.” You stepped out from behind Arthur, so Micah knew you weren’t hiding, and stared daggers into Micah.
Micah’s smile soured into a sneer, his eyes flashing a spark of anger, but he knew better than to challenge the both of you. “Suit yourself.” He muttered, tipping his hat mockingly. “Have fun playin’ house.” He turned on his heel and sauntered off toward the campfire, spitting into the dirt.
Arthur didn’t relax until Micah was completely out of earshot. He let out a heavy breath. He turned back to you, his eyes scanning your face with that familiar, intense concern. “You alright?”
You nod and gave him a small smile. “I’m fine.” Though your heart was thumping out of your rib cage. “Just sick of looking at him.”
Arthur laughed and nodded, adjusting his hat as the flush began to creep back into his cheeks, replacing the deadly pale look he had just worn. He cleared his throat, glancing toward the hitching post.” Come on. Let’s get out of here for a bit. Boadicea’s been cooped up, and I reckon you could get away from here.”
Your smile grew, the tension completely melting out of your shoulders. “I’d love that.”
Half an hour later, the stifling atmosphere of Clemens Point was miles behind you. The only sounds were the steady rhythmic clopping of horseshoes against the dirt trail and the gentle rustle of the trees bordering the flatlands.
Arthur rode closer to you, his eyes constantly scanning the tree line, still acting as your unspoken shield.
"Dutch was giving you a hard time earlier, wasn’t he?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence.
Arthur let out a rough huff, shaking his head. “Ah, Dutch is just…caught me with a little extra cash on me and thought its place was in the camp box. Gave ‘em twenty.
You sighed. “I’m sorry, Arthur. You work harder than anyone in that camp…hell you work harder than anyone I’ve known. You should be able to keep what you earn.”
Arthur went quiet for a moment, guiding Boadicea over a small ridge. When the trail flattened out again, he looked over at you, a soft, incredibly genuine expression in his eyes.
“Don’t you worry about it.” He said softly, his voice warm and dropping into a gently register he only ever used with you. “Trelawny and I ran into some good luck with a couple of stagecoaches the other day. Even after Dutch took his piece…I still managed to put a solid eighty dollars aside.”
You blinked, surprised. “Eighty dollars? Arthur, what are you saving up for?”
Arthur quickly looked back at the traile ahead, a bashful smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his ears turned a slight pink. He subconscously patted his satchel at his hip, where his journal, and his secretly fund count, rested safely.
"Just…for emergencies…or somethin’…” he murmured, his voice thick with a tenderness he couldn’t hide. “Just…want to make sure that when the time comes, I can take care of the things that actually matter.”
You let him ride ahead, a flutter rising in your chest.
a/n: I know this isn't a pride fic, but happy pride month! An official pride fic is in the works! <3
Synopsis: Your daughter, Daisy, and Jack invite Arthur to join you and Abigail on an outing to town, but the peaceful day takes a turn when an unexpected letter from your past arrives.
paring: Yearner Arthur X Single Mother Reader
warnings: Fluff with Angst. No use of Y/N, past toxic relationships.
wc: ~2.8k
It was a beautiful morning. The birds were singing, the sun was shining, and my head felt like a hundred pounds. I didn't get a wink of sleep. I kept on thinking about that sweet kiss she gave me. I know that sounds silly, having my head all tangled up just by a little old kiss, but I haven't been kissed proper in a while. Especially by a pretty lady, no less.
But why did she kiss me? That was the thought that swam through my head all night. She played me like a fiddle last night, and I need to know the truth.
I begrudgingly sauntered out of my tent, the sun making my head pound something vicious as I squint at the bright rays.
It's only seven, why is it so goddamn bright?!
I groan, rubbing my temples and fetched some of the coffee that was still brewing in the percolator. The warmness of the beverage spread across my metal cup, reaching my fingers on the handle. It was still surprisingly hot for being made an hour ago. I lifted up my cup to my chin just before I was interrupted.
"Uncle Arthur!" A little voice called out.
I looked down to see Jack and Daisy, who was wearing the skirt you were sewing just last night, standing right in front of me.
I laughed softly, my voice still gruff from my slumber. "Well hello you two. Whatcha got goin' on?"
"Mama said she'd take me and Daisy into town today!" Jack bounced up and down with excitement.
Daisy bobbed her head so hard her hair flopped around. "Yeah!" Her tiny finger pointed across camp. "Mama's coming too!"
I looked to where Daisy's chubby finger directed me. You were sat on the log by the fire, talking with Abigail. The same log you were sitting on sewing the skirt Daisy is wearing just now, and the same log we were sitting on when you kissed me.
The scene replays in my head like it's my favorite motion picture. Or a really good part of a book. I can imagine it vividly, your soft hands on my rough, scarred up face. Your sweet lips on mine. It was addicting, and I craved it more and more, making my chest ache with each thought of the sensation.
I turned back to the kids and placed my cup down on the ground. I knelt to the children's level, a bright, warm smile etched onto my face. "I love to hear that. You better not have too much fun without me!"
Jack gasped loud and dramatically. "I'll ask mama if you could come!"
Daisy bounced, her feet barely leaving the ground. "Yeah!" She clapped enthusiastically.
"Oh, I wouldn't want to bother you guys on yer trip." I chuckled softly. I didn't know if I wanted to avoid you or spending every waking second with you.
"I'll go ask!" Jack ran off toward Abigail. I could still hear him giggling as he sprinted away.
Daisy watched him run away, but then looked up at me. "Arthur?"
I loved the way Daisy's little voice said my name. "What hon?"
She lifted her chubby little arms up in the air toward me. "Up?" Her little voice asked, but I knew damn well it was a soft demand.
I didn't even hesitate. I've done this so many times that it felt natural. I scooped her up and stood up from my kneeled position. She felt like nothing compared to the hay bales around camp or the carcasses I was used to slinging over my shoulder. She immediately wrapped one arm around my neck, her small fingers wrapping around the collar of my shirt, while her other hand pointed at her skirt.
"Look! Mama fixed it!" she beamed.
"Well look at that, Miss Daisy," I chuckled, adjusting her in my arms slightly, "yer mama did a real good job there."
I looked over right across the camp to you. You'd stopped talking to Abigail and looking right at me. You had a soft, smile playing on your lips as you watched your daughter nestle against my chest. I felt my heart do a flip, a dangerous little flip, and I felt as if a fire was on my face.
I quickly tried to look away, to focus on the dirt that splayed the ground, my abandoned coffee cup, the pile of horse shit by the posts, anything. But my eyes couldn't ignore how your smile grew just a fraction wider when you saw how hard I was trying to play it cool. Way to go, Arthur.
"Arthur! Arthur!" Jack's voice broke my thoughts as he came skittering back across the grass, dodging Pearson as he was picking up the percolator, and skidded to a halt right at my boots. You and Abigail were walking a few paces behind him, a knowing look on her face that made me want to pull my hat down over my whole body if it was possible.
"Mama said yes! And Daisy's mama said yes too!" Jack cheered, pulling the leg of my pants. "So are you coming?"
"Is that so?" I managed to rumble, my voice sounding a little choked. I cleared my throat, shifting Daisy a little higher on my hip to give my hands at least something to do.
By then, you and Abigail had reached us. The scent of the morning campfire followed you both, but as you stepped closer, all I could focus on was the faint scent of that perfume you wear. My mind threatened to trip right back into the memory of last night, but I forced my brain to stay in the present. In reality.
"Mornin' Arthur." Abigail greeted. She looked at Daisy laying her head against my chest, then looked at you, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth before turning her attention back to me. Jack says you were worried about botherin' us. Since when do you care about bein' a bother?"
I shrugged trying to muster a believable excuse rather than, "'Cause I'm confused, and my heart hurts, and my head is still throbbing, and I'm tired, and I can't stop thinking about that damn kiss and I don't think I ever will."
"I just...figured you ladies wanted some peace and quiet away from he camp." I mumbled more cowardly than I wanted it to come off as.
You let out a soft laugh. "Arthur, we're bringing two toddlers. Do you think we are going to get some peace and quiet?"
I let out a defeated grunt mixed with a small chuckle. "Yeah, well...guess I didn't think that one through."
"Clearly." you stepped in, reaching out to smooth down a stray lock of Daisy's hair. your fingers brushed against my collarbone for a split second, and I swear I felt my heart stop beating. "Besides, we could use a big, strong cowboy to help carry things. Maybe keep the kids in line."
Daisy clapped her hands and bounced in my arms. "Yeah! Big cowboy!"
"See? It's unanimous." you tilted your head up to look at me from under the brim of my hat. Those eyes were just as sharp as they were last night, dancing with that same playfulness that had turned me inside out. "Unless, of course you're too busy 'scouting'". your fingers air quote.
Abigail let out a sudden, muffled cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, but I chose not to meddle.
I swallowed hard, finally looking directly down into your face. "I ain't too busy. I'll get the wagon all ready."
"Yay!" Daisy cheesed as I passed her to you.
I hitched the horses to the wagon, making sure everything is tight and ready to carry all five of us. It's a big load, but I know that these horses are strong and capable.
"Are y'all ready?" I yelled out. The kids bounced and danced in joy.
"Yeah!" Jack and Daisy exclaimed in unison. I lifted both the kids up in the wagon as Abigail was climbing up herself, making sure Jack and Daisy were all situated.
"Wait, Miss..." Ms. Grimshaw ran toward you, right before you stepped up onto the wagon. "A letter came in for you." Ms. Grimshaw handed you the envelope. It wasn't uncommon for you to receive mail. You usually got letters from old friends, or from your parents asking about you and Daisy.
I remember you telling me you had a rough relationship with them, even not telling them about what happened with your husband. So, you either don't respond, or respond to them with vague to no answers about your marriage.
I see your brows scrunch up in confusion as you ripped open the envelope. Your eyes scanned the writing on the paper, and with each sentence I see your brow raise—now your expression turning into one of fear. Of sickness.
"Hey, you alright?" I asked, making you jump slightly and whip your head toward me.
"Fine." You slipped the letter into your pocket in your skirt. "Just fine." You gave me a small reassuring smile, but I knew that smile. I knew it because I do the same thing when something is not "just fine".
I helped you up the wagon and settled right next to you. "We all good to go?"
"Yes!" The kids cheered, their hands up in the air.
I let out a loud laugh at their excitement. "Alright then." I snapped the reins against the horses to command them to go, and began to drive us into town.
"I'm gonna get candy!" Jack was running every which way in the general store in Valentine.
"Gonna get candy!" Daisy parroted.
"Jack, don't run." Abigail scolded Jack and lightly grabbed his shoulder.
I noticed the blank expression on your face. It was weird to figure out what you're thinking about right now, but if I had to guess, whatever was in that letter dampened your mood.
Then, I saw a tear form in your eye and travel down your cheek. You quickly wipe it away and sniffle softly. Now I need to know what the hell was in that letter.
"I'm gonna step out for a second." I heard you say to Abigail before you walked out the door of the store. My gaze followed you and before I could even think, my feet guided me outside right after you.
The bell above the general store door gave a sharp little jingle as I stepped out onto the wooden porch. The Valentine mud was already churning up from the morning wagons, and the air smelled of wet earth and horse manure, but the moment I spotted you leaning against the store's hitching post, the rest of the town faded into mere background noise.
You had your back half-turned to me, your shoulders trembling just a fraction under your knitted shawl. You were trying too goddamn hard to swallow down your tears, your knuckles white where you were gripping the wooden rail.
I cleared my throat to let you know I was near before speaking. "Hey." I rumbled softly, stepping up beside you. I kept my distance by a foot or two, resting my own hands on another post. "Hey. Look at me."
You wiped at your face again, a hasty, frustrated gesture, before you finally turned your head. Your eyes were rimmed with red, and seeing you look that fragile made a hard, heavy knot form right in the center of my chest.
"I'm fine, Arthur." you sniffled, your voice cracking.
"Don't do that." I said, my voice low, but not threatening or rough. I leaned in a bit closer, blocking you from the folks walking down the main street. "Don't give me that 'fine' nonsense."
You let out a shaky breath, your gaze dropping down to your muddy boots. Your hand instinctively went to the pocket of your skirt, your fingers brushing against the crumpled envelope.
"Is it yer folks?" I asked quietly. "They ask about...him? Did they track you down?"
You shook your head. You pulled the letter out, the paper already damp from your hands, and handed it over to me without a word.
I unfolded the page. My eyes scanned the messy handwriting, and as I read the words, the blood in my veins felt like it turned straight to ice.
It was from your ex husband, and boy he was mad. Threats were thrown around all willy-nilly, words were strewn together that only made it seem that he was fuming when writing this. He demanded to see Daisy, his "own blood" as he called her. He called you names. Awful names. My hands shook the more I consumed what was on the page.
I folded the paper up, slow and deliberate, and slid it into my own vest pocket. Then, I stepped right into your space. I didn't care who was watching from the street. I reached out, my calloused hands cradling your face, my thumb wiping away a fresh tear before it could fall.
"Listen to me," I growled, looking straight into your eyes so you could see I meant every word that came out of my mouth. "He...he ain't touchin' her. Ain't gettin' anywhere near you. You hear me?"
Your lower lip trembled, your hand coming up to rest over mine where it held your cheek. "Arthur, if he finds out where the camp is—"
"Let him try." I interrupted, my voice as steady as iron. "I'll deal with him. You and Daisy are with me. I'll put a bullet in his goddamn head before he ever takes a step toward you or yer little girl. Understand?"
You stared up at me, your eyes searching mine, looking for any hint of doubt. But there wasn't any. I mean every syllable. I'd happily burn the whole state of New Hanover to the ground before I let that bastard even glance at you or Daisy.
Slowly, the terror in your eyes began to ease, replaced by a quiet relief. You let out a long, shaky breath against my palm. "Okay." You whispered, your voice small, but steadier than before. "Okay, Arthur. I understand."
"Good." I rumbled, giving your cheek a gentle caress, before reluctantly let my hands drop back to my sides. The sudden lack of contact made my skin feel cold, but I forced myself to step back an inch to give you some room to breathe as you wiped the last of the moisture from your eyes. "Now, fix yer face, Abigail's gonna wonder what's takin' us so long."
A tiny, breathless laugh escaped you, one of the most beautiful symphonies I've heard. "Since when do you care about what Abigail—you know what no—since when do you care about what anyone thinks?"
"Just since...well..." I rubbed my neck and looked down at my boots. I can feel my cheeks start to get feverishly hot, yet again.
You smoothed down your shawl, taking a deep breath to settle yourself, and gave me a smile, but it wasn't fake this time. It was real. Soft, grateful, and entirely aimed at me, and me only.
"Thank you, Arthur." you said softly.
I just nodded, not trusting my voice not to choke up, and turned to push the general store door open for you. The little bell jingled above us, plugging us right back into the loud reality of parenthood.
"Look, Mama!" Jack's voice boomed from the back aisle the second we stepped inside. He was holding up a peppermint like it was a trophy to Abigail. "Can I get it? Please?"
Abigail shrugged and smiled. "It's your money ain't it?"
"Oh, yeah!" Jack ran up to you and I. "Uncle Arthur, look!" He held up two quarters. "Mr. Pearson gave me these quarters before we left. I can buy me and Daisy something!"
Arthur smiled, despite the heavy conversation that happened outside. "Look at that! Pretty nice Jack. Do you know how much two quarters are?"
Jack placed a hand to his chin, trying to dig the answer out of his brain. "Fifty?"
"That's right. Yer a pretty smart cookie, huh?"
Jack flashed me a proud smile. "Hosea taught me."
"Fifty!" Daisy parroted, handing a chocolate bar to you.
You took it and smiled. "Thank you sweetheart." You held onto it as you watched Daisy stumble away.
"Candy!" Daisy cheered, grabbing another chocolate bar, now handing it to me, pointing it at my vest pocket, right where that threatening letter was currently burning a hole against my ribs.
I smiled and took the chocolate from Daisy, then glanced back at you. The worry was still there, of course it was. It lingered deep in the shadows of your eyes, but the paralyzing fear you felt outside was gone. You knew you weren't carrying the weight of the world on your own.
I caught your eye and gave you a slow, reassuring nod.
"Let him come." I thought as I grabbed the chocolate bar out of your hands and placed them on the counter to pay. "Yer ex should be careful. I'm right here."
Running from a toxic marriage, you found a sanctuary among the outlaws of the Van der Linde gang. For you and your young daughter, Daisy, the Van der Lindes became a home, anchored by a certain rough-around-the-edges cowboy, whose gruff exterior hides a strong, loyal heart. What starts as a late-night campfire kiss, quickly evolves into something much more dangerous when your past tracks you down. Faced with a looming threat to you and Daisy, Arthur promises to keep both of you safe.
Series Paring: Arthur Morgan x Single Mother reader
Series Themes: friends to lovers, slow burnish?, fluff, angst, smut. sexual themes, mentions of child death and grief. MDNI.
Synopsis: A bittersweet afternoon by the lake ends in blood when you accompany Arthur to the Downes ranch.
paring: Arthur x fem!outlaw reader
warnings: Mentions of child marriage and arranged marriage, violence, blood, illness.
wc: ~4.6k
Sunday, June 25th, 1899
I’m not a smart man, but I’m not dolt either. I know women bleed every month, hell I think every grown man knows that. Right?
Why are women ashamed of it? Maybe I’ll ask Y/N. At a different time, of course.
I had a good time at the march with Y/N. All the women’s passion, including hers, was powerful to watch. I’m not one to vote, but it makes me kinda hot for voting rights.
Strauss had given me a job to reclaim some debt. A man named Thomas Downes. I hate this loan crap, but I do get a decent cut from helping out. All for Y/N’s ring.
Speaking of which, I found $10 in my pocket.
Ring fund: $10 / $460
“Hey, Arthur.” Your voice rang through the air, strolling up to Arthur, who is sitting up against a tree.
Arthur quickly shoved his journal into his satchel. “Hey, Y/N. How’s yer…uh…”
You sighed and sat beside him. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Well…it’s a son of a bitch.”
Arthur let out a quick laugh. “Yeah, I bet. You women are strong. I can’t even imagine goin’ through that.”
You shrugged and looked out at everyone in camp. Some people were eating, others were tending to their daily chores. Arthur glanced over at you, tracing your face with his eyes.
Arthur opened his mouth to talk, but heistated. He wanted to spend the day with you, learn more about the girl he has growing feelings for, but he didn’t want to come off too excited or weird you out.
While he was in his thoughts, you had turned your head back to him. “You look like you wanna say something.”
How did you know?
Arthur cleared his throat. “Maybe I do.”
“Then say it.” A small smile grew on his face. This made Arthur’s chest swell and his nerves subside.
“Have any plans today?” Arthur’s gruff voice was unusally small and timid.
“No. The girls all have chores to do.”
“And you don’t?”
You sighed. “Well, I do, but—”
Arthur laughed. “You’d rather spend it with me, right?”
“Of course, Arthur.”
Arthur smiled so wide it hurt his cheeks. “Great! I’ll get Boadicea all ready, you get H/N, and let’s go!” He lept up to his feet in a flash.
You giggled and followed his lead. “Woah! Someone’s excited!”
“When it’s spending time with yo—a friend, and not spending time in camp till I die, then I’m in.”
You caught his slip-up, but chose not to meddle him. You just wanted to enjoy this time out, nothing crazy happening, with Arthur. A nice, relaxing day. With a handsome man no less.
Arthur already slung his saddle onto Boadicea and giving her a good brush, making her all pretty for this escapade. You did the same with H/N, patting his neck affectionately.
“I also wanted to thank you for that chocolate bar. I haven’t had chocolate in a long time.”
Arthur’s attention moved from Boadicea’s mane to your face, which was still looking at H/N. “Why is that?”
You stroked H/N’s his long and flowly mane. “Just haven’t had the means to get it, ya know.” You looked to Arthur. “I would’ve rather spent my money on food instead of treats.”
“I stole it.” Arthur said in a deadpan manner. “You think I bought chocolate?”
You barked out a laugh. “You stole some poor sap’s chocolate!”
“And I’ll do it again, too!”
Both of you erupt in laughter.
You shook your head, wiping a tear from your eye as you swung your leg over H/N’s saddle. “Mister Morgan, you are menance to society’s confections.”
“Just doing my civic duty, miss Y/N.” he chuckled, tipping his hat before effortlessly mounting Boadicea.
As you both trotted out of camp, the heavu tension of the past few days seemed to evaporate into the morning air. Arthur lef the way, his broad shoulders relaxed, occasionally looking to the right of him just to check on you.
Or maybe just to admire you.
After an about half an hour of easy riding, he pulled Boadicea up by lake. He dismounted her and rushed over to help you.
“Maybe we should sit a bit underneath those trees.” Arthur dismounted and offered you a hand down. His grip was warm on your waist as he guided you off H/N. “Get you out of the sun. Can’t have our bravest member burning to a crisp.”
You laughed softly as your feet hit the ground. “I am the farthest from the ‘bravest leader’. I can name a bunch of people that are brave.”
Arthur took Boadicea’s and H/N’s reins and tied them to a nearby stump. “Am I on that list?”
“Right on top.” You smiled and reached up to flick Arthur’s hat playfully, before walking to the spot underneath the trees.
Arthur didn’t have time to react to your playfully gesture. His ears turned a slight shade of pink and he could feel his cheeks burning up, and it wasn’t because of the blistering sun.
Arthur straightened his hat and cleared his throat, taking a deep breath before turning around to face you. “Right on top, huh? I’ll take it.” He sauntered over and sat down next to you. “Though, I reckon yer braver than you give yerself credit for. Not many folks could stand up in the middle of Rhodes and protest whats right. You told a bunch of angry men to go to hell and looked good doin’ it.”
You tilted your head towards him and smirked playfully. “I looked good?”
Arthur froze. He hadn’t meant to let that part slip out loud. He blinked, staring at you for a second. He quickly looked away, rubbing the back of his neck as his then pink ears turned a vibrant red.
“I—well,” Arthur stammered, “I mean…you didn’t look bad. Just…social justice, it suits you all.”
“Yeah, alright. You looked real good, Y/N. Real good. Prettiest woman in the whole country, if I’m bein’ honest.” Is what Arthur wanted to say.
He picked up a piece of long grass, twirling it between his calloused fingers as he looked out over the sparkling water. The breeze rustled the willow leaves above, casting dancing shadows across the two of you.
Arthur continued, his expression turning a bit more serious. “When I saw you up there, speakin’ yer mind, standin’ up for what’s right, and not carin’ what any of ‘em small-minded bastards think, it makes me think about things. About how a person can change the world, or at least make a dent in it.”
He turned to look to see if you were listening. And you were.
With sparkling eyes traveling over his rough exterior, he knew you were waiting for him to continue. “Just…I’m glad that I crossed paths with you. Yer like…it’s like lookin’ at somethin’ entirely different. Somethin’ better, I guess.”
Arthur leaned his elbow on his knee, the air between you had shifted into something thick and heavy. Something incredibly intimate.
“So,” Arthur began, taking his hat off and wiping the sweat off his brow, “Am I makin’ a total fool of myself yet, or can I keep talkin’?”
“Arthur,” you placed a friendly hand on his knee and Arthur almost combusted right then and there, “I’d never tell you to stop talking.”
Arthur removed his elbow from his knee and placed his hand on top of yours. “Then, let me know more about this justice fighter.”
You let out a cackle. “If justice fighter means a woman with a $10,000 bounty, then sure.”
Arthur tensed at the mention of her bounty. You act so calm about it. If he had a bounty that big on his head he’d be scared shitless, always looking behind his shoulders for any bounty hunters or Pinkertons.
“I mean it, Y/N.” Arthur tilted his head and gazed at you. “I feel like I’ve know you my whole life, but I don’t know a damn thing about you.”
You leaned your head back against the thick trunk of the tree, staring up at the sunlight filtering through the leaves. Your smile turned tighter, more fragile. You didn’t know if you were ready to let your past ruin this perfect afternoon.
“Oh, come on, Arthur,” you turned your head to the side and gave Arthur a small smile, “we came out here to get away from camp, not to talk about boring old me. Besides, there’s not much to say, just a runaway that jumped from place to place.”
Arthur didn’t blink. His blue, diamond eyes stayed locked onto your face, enitrely unmoved by the distraction. He moved his fingers and laced them through yours. His heart was pounding, and he was confident you could see it popping out of his chest.
You looked down at your interlaced hands, then looked up back into the sky.
“Nice try.” Arthur murmured gently. “Yer hidin’ somethin’. I can feel it.”
He paused, his thumb mindlessly tracing a slow, reassuring circle over the back of your hand. “I ain’t tryin’ to pry, but if there’s folk lookin’ for you, I need to know what we’re, yer, up against. You don’t gotta carry it by yerself anymore. I’m here.”
You didn’t look back at Arthur. He bit his lip, before coming up with the brightest idea. “What if I tell you a little about me first?”
Your eyes shifted to Arthur’s face and he took that as a “yes, please”.
While still holding your hand, and his heartbeat in his ears, he began. “My Ma died when I was young. My Pa, he was a bad man—well, he was an outlaw too. If I’m callin’ him a bad man what does that make me, right?” Arthur let out a quiet, self-deprecating chuckle before continuing. “When I was eleven he was arrested, saw him swing.” He took off his hat and nudged it at you. “This was his hat. Kept it all these years.”
You looked down at the old, weathred leather of the hat in his hand, then back up to his face. The fact that this dangerous man, outlaw, had surivived all of that, only to become the gentlest soul you’d ever met. It made something ache deep in your chest.
Arthur placed the hat back onto his head. “Then when I was fourteen, got picked up by Hosea and Dutch and the rest is history.”
You took a soft breath, your fingers tightening in his. “You saw so much.”
Arthur let out a low huff, looking down at your hand still encased in his. “Yeah. Saw too much. But Dutch, Hosea, they saved me. Taught me to read, to write, how to be somewhat of a man. They’ve been the best dads I could ever dream of. I owe ‘em everythin’.”
“Oh Arthur,” you pouted, “have you ever told them?”
“Hosea, but Dutch, no. He’s not one for all that…sappy crap.” Arthur looked away bashfully.
You let out a soft, bittersweet chuckle, nudging his shoulder with yours. “Well, Dutch might put on a tough exterior, but I think he knows how much you care, Arthur. You show it every single day.”
Arthur didn’t answer. He just looked over the crystal-clear water of the lake. There was a gentle silence settling over the two of you. The mountain breeze was cool, rustling the willow leaves above and offering a brief escape from the rest of the world.
But Arthur hadn’t forgotten why he brought it up. He turned his head back to you, his blue eyes locked onto your face. “Fair is fair, Y/N. I laid out my ugly past, what’s yers?”
You swallowed hard, the warmth of his hand over yours being the only thing keeping you anchored to the spot. “My family isn’t like yours, Arthur. My father, I think he wanted a son. He taught me how to hunt, to shoot—that’s why I’m so good at shooting, learned it from my old man.”
“I reckon that’s a good thing.” Arthur added.
You nodded in agreement before continuing. “My mother, on the other hand, was a proper lady. Still to this day I don’t know how my parents ended up together, they’re just so…”
“Opposite.” Arthur answered for you.
“Yes. Opposite. So opposite. Completely different sides of the universe—opposite.”
Arthur chuckled softly, his eyes never leaving yours.
“My mother, she wanted me to be a ‘proper lady’ just like her. She never wanted me to rough it out like a boy. From as young as I can remember I always felt like I was living some sort of a double life. I love being feminine, but I also love being masculine. If that makes sense.”
Arthur shrugged. “Makes perfect sense to me. A woman is allowed to wear a pretty skirt, but still go out and shoot better than any man.”
You let out a breath of relief. Relieved of what? You don’t know. You knew that a man like Arthur Morgan didn’t have a place to judge, but it felt nice getting that off your chest.
“I remember at seven she started teaching me proper table etiquette, sitting up nice and proper, scolded me for getting my tights dirty when playing outside. I had to be this perfect…woman ever since I was a child.”
It was your turn to look across the water. You watched a duck and a mallard peacfully swim by. You felt jealous of them. They didn’t had to have hard conversations like this one. “When I was fourteen, my mom conivenced my father to trade our Turkoman and Arabian horses to this family.” You paused before looking back at Arthur. “They decided to trade me with them too.”
Arthur’s face turned into one of confusion. “What do you mean by that?”
You sighed, feeling the weight of tears in your eyes. “They…they arranged for me to marry.”
Arthur’s eyes went wide as saucers. “Marry?! At fourteen?!” Arthur shouted and looked out at the water in frustration. “What kind of sick, backwater bastards—”
He turned his head back to face you, but cuts himself off when he noticed that a single tear spilled over onto your cheek. His expression softened. “Oh, I’m sorry, Y/N.”
You shook your head and sniffled. “It’a fine. I mean, it’s not fine, but…it’s fine.” More tears start to fall and run along your cheeks.
Arthur hiestated for a moment, not wanting to over step a boundary, but he felt in his heart, his soul, that what he was thinking was the right thing to do. His arm stretched out to your face, softly wiping away the tears that have fallen on your soft cheeks.
You shot a surprised stare at Arthur, but didn’t dare to stop him. For a man with such scarred hands, he moved with a gentleness—grace. His knuckles burhsed softly against your cheekbone.
“Don’t do that, Y/N. Don’t go tellin’ yerself it’s fine when it really ain’t.”
He let out a slow breath through his nose before he finally let his hand drop back down. He immediately reclaimed your hand on his knee, his fingers lacing through yours again and giving it a firm squeeze that grounded you in the earth both of you sat on.
“I’m sorry for hollerin’.” Arthur looked down at your joined hands. “I just…just the though of anyone puttin’ a child though that nonsense. It makes my blood boil. Yer folks should’ve been protectin’ you.”
You let out a pity laugh, sniffling and wiping the excess wetness from your cheeks with your free hand. “Yeah, well what can you do. Anyway, I ran away from home and ran into a nun. Stayed there for a couple years, until I escaped the church and then ended up with Wade.”
“Wade?”
“Oh, Wade Creed, my old gang leader. He picked me up when I was seventeen.”
“Hm.” Arthur nodded. He wanted to know more, but he didn’t want to pry, or make you feel like you’re being interrogated.
“Wade, he was…complicated.” You added, your eyes drifting over the water. “He…well, he was kinda like Dutch.” You shot a look over to Arthur. “They would’ve been the best of friends.”
Arthur chuckled softly. “You think so?”
You nodded. “Yeah. He was a dreamer, to put it nicely. And I think that’s why everything happened the way it did.”
Arthur cocked his head, his brows scrunching up in confusion. “What happened?”
“Oh, it’s a long story.”
“I like long stories.” Arthur said with a boyish smile.
You shook your head. “Maybe some other time. I left when things got out of hand and that is what leads me to this story now.”
Arthur’s smile grew wider. “This story? I’m a story now?”
“Well, in my book, yes.” You returned the smile. “You, Dutch, the gang, the new friends I’ve made.”
Arthur looked down to hide the obvious blush that had spread across his cheeks. The sounds of the nature around them, birds, squirrels, the water, all filled the silence.
“Well,” Arthur began, “I reckon I like this story.”
“Well, I better keep writing it, huh?” Arthur noticed your pink-tinted cheeks.
Arthur’s smile was soft, his chest rising and falling with a quiet, contented sigh. “Yeah,” his blue eyes locked on yours, completely captivated by the pink tint of your cheeks, “You better.”
You let out a breathy laugh, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you two are sitting, how his broad left shoulder was pressed against your smaller one, and how tightly your fingers were still intertwined together.
“We should probably think about headin’ back.” He looks up at the sky. He remembered that loan Strauss wanted him to pick up. “On second thought, wanna run an errand with me?”
You shrugged. “Sure. Where to?”
Arthur sighed as he stood up from the ground. He reached a hand out for you to grab. You grabbed his big hand that was once wrapped in yours, and he pulled you up. “To pick up a loan from a little house near Valentine. It’s not too far from here.”
“A loan?” You untied H/N from the tree stump.
“Yeah,” Arthur swung his leg over Boadicea’s back, “I collect loans for Strauss. It’s dirty, petty work, but I get to keep some of the cut.”
You mounted H/N with ease. “Ah, I see.”
“And no one does it but me. I’m the big, scary man in camp.” Arthur gruffed, but it was true. No one else was fit for it. Hosea would rather die than get involved, and Dutch, well, was Dutch.
“Work is work, right? Poor taking from the poor.” You commented, pushing your horse forward next to Arthur.
Arthur sighed. “I hate doin’ it. But Mr. Downes owes us some money.”
There was a churning in your stomach ever since you left the lake. Maybe it was the thought of punishing people who were just trying to survive just like were?
“Arthur, I have a bad feeling about this.” Your voice was shaky and timid. Your hands were sweaty and had a hard time gripping H/N’s reins.
“It’ll be alright. I’ll get the money and we’ll go back to camp. Simple.”
“I don’t know…” You murmured under your breath.
“Y/N, I’ve been doin’ this.” Arthur turned his head to the right to look at you. “Ever since Blackwater, before you joined us. It’ll be fine.”
You bit your lip. You didn’t want to annoy Arthur with your anxiety, but you still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong.
The Downes’ ranch was quaint with a tiny garden as tiny as the house attached to it. As you both approached further, you saw a thin, frail man working in the garden.
“Now, I’m gonna be real scary. Yellin’ and everythin’. That’s the only way they give me their money.” Arthur warned as he swung off Boadicea.
“Want me to come too?”
Arthur shook his head and waved you off. “No. Stay with the horses.”
“Alright.” You couldn’t hide the weariness in your voice. “Be careful.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Arthur nodded and strode to the garden.
Arthur cleared his throat. “Mr…Thomas Downes.”
The man, Thomas Downes, looked up from the fruits he was tending to. “Oh, yep, that’s me.” He was ghastly white and his eyes looked sunken-in, like he hasn’t slept in days. Weeks even.
Arthur stepped closer, his stature completely covering Thomas’ shadow. “You owe me money.” His voice was as sharp as a dagger.
Thomas shook his head frantically. “Oh, no-no, I’m…I’m…” He tried to push Arthur back, but he wouldn’t budge.
“Come here, you maggot.” Arthur pushed Thomas up against the fence and trapped him against the wood.
You gasped. You felt so sick you could’ve vomited right there. You’ve seen gore. You’ve seen people’s heads shot off as their brain matter splattered all over you. You’ve seen gross things. This though, was just as disgusting.
In your mind, you kept repeating: “It’s Arthur’s job.”, “Arthur has a job to do, he’s not like this.”, but you couldn’t believe it when you saw Arthur raise his fist and start beating the man.
“I’m workin’! I’m workin’ as hard as I can!” Thomas yelled in agony. He was slouched on the ground now, his face was already bloodied and marked up with black bruises.
“Why’d it have to come to this, huh?” Arthur’s fist collided with Thomas’ face again. “You ain’t such a do-gooder, are you? If yer runnin’ out on debts!” He punched him once more.
Thomas wheezed as he tried to catch his breath. “I’m…I’m not runnin’ anywhere. I…I-I’m doin’ my bes—”
Arthur yanked Thomas up by the collar and slammed him into the fence. “How’s that debt lookin’ now? You borrowed money from my business partner, Herr Strauss. You owe him. You took the money. And now he wants it back.”
Thomas had been trying to catch his breath for so long that he began a coughing fit, coughing up some blood and accidently spitting it into Arthur’s face. Arthur groaned and wiped his face off with disgust. He shook Thomas against the fence. “Where’s our money?”
You covered your mouth with your hand in shock. It was a depressing sight. This man who was clearly ill was being beaten by the bank…of sorts.
Thomas fell to the ground and began to cough violently. Arthur backed up when his wife ran up to him.
“Thomas!” She had tears in her eyes, and her scream for him was bloodcurdling. She knelt beside him and cradled his head.
“What are you lookin’ at, woman?” Arthur spat, his hands shaking and covered in Thomas’ blood.
“My-My husband isn’t well.” Tears welled up in her eyes, looking up at Arthur. “If we could just have more—”
Arthur shook his head. “Like I said, we ain’t nobody’s idea of charity. Get us the money!”
“Arthur!” You ran up to him. “Let’s just go.” You grabbed his arm to pull him away.
He glared at Thomas’s wife. Tears fell from her eyes as she patted her husband’s wounds.
“Arthur, come on. Forget about it.”
Arthur looked back at you and you shot him a nasty glare and nodded to the horses. He sighed and walked away with you.
The ride back to camp was silent. The contrast between this and the conversations at the lake just an hour ago was dizzying. Your stomach was still tied in a sickening knot, the image of that man slouched against the fence burned into your mind.
Arthur didn’t look at you. He wouldn’t even steal glances. He kept his eyes locked firmly straight ahead, the heavy brim of his outlaw father's hat completely shadowing his face.
The only sound between the two of you was the rhythmic pounding of the horses’ hooves against the dirt path. It was heavy and agonizing. You were a couple paces back, and had a clear view of the rigid lines of Arthur’s broad shoulders that radiated a lingering adrenaline, but the slight slouch resembled a suffocating…shame.
You had a couple more miles of riding, and you knew you didn’t want this to cause any awkwardness between the two of you. “Arthur?” you called out softly over the wind.
Arthur didn’t answer.
“Arthur?” You called out again, but a little bit louder.
You saw his shoulders tense at the sound of his name. “No, Y/N.” His voice was low and defensive. He didn’t sound like the Arthur you knew.
You and Arthur swung off your horses back at camp. You wanted to talk to Arthur about what had just happened, but he made a beeline toward Strauss.
Strauss looked up from his book when he noticed Arthur’s presence in front of him. “Ah,” He set the book down next to him, “how did you get on.”
“Not so good.” Arthur grumbled.
Strauss seemed to sit up straighter. “Oh?”
Arthur leaned in close, his voice low. “He’s almost dead, and they, the Downes family, they seem more or less destitute.”
Strauss didn’t know what to say, he just kept Arthur’s now deadly gaze. “You were a fool for lendin’ them the money.”
Strauss let out a nervous, breathy laugh. “Well, people who aren’t desperate don’t seem so interested in my propositions.”
A low growl slipped past Arthur’s lips as he tried not to roll his eyes at Strauss’ comment. “Of course.”
Arthur shook his head at Strauss and turned back, almost running into you. “Whoa, Y/N, why are you on top of me?”
“Sorry, didn’t know you would turn around like that.”
“Hm.” He turned back and looked at Strauss. “Did you hear any of that?”
“A little. You feel sorry, Arthur.”
Arthur let out a small laugh. “Yeah, well that doesn’t make the act any better.”
“No, but at least you have compassion.”
Arthur laughed for real this time, the laugh you heard earlier that morning. “Thanks for makin’ me feel a little more human.”
You gave a half smile and nodded. “Yeah, well, that’s not the reason why I was ‘on top of you’.”
“Alright, so why were you on my tail?”
You dug into your satchel and pulled out a half eaten chocolate bar, the chocolate bar he’d given you yesterday. “I ate half, obviously. I figured we could share the other half, given the day ended pretty shitty.”
Arthur stared down at the crumpled wrapper in your hand, completely speechless. His eyes flickered from the chocolate up to your face, searching your expression for any sign of hidden judgment.
You nudged the chocolate bar toward him. His broad shoulders dropped with a sigh. “Yer a dream.” A genuine smile broke through the gloom that had been on his face.
He reached out, his calloused fingers brushing against yours as he carefully took the remaining piece of chocolate. He broke it into two, handing the larger half to you. Arthur popped his half into his mouth, the sweet, but tart flavor of the dark chocolate dancing on his tongue. He leaned against a nearby tree, looking out over the camp as the evening lanterns began to flicker to life. The shame that had followed him from the Downes ranch didn’t disappear, and he feel like it never was going to, but with you standing next to him, it didn’t felt like it was going to crush him.
“Just wanted to remind you,” you said quietly, chewing on the soft chocolate, “that the man who was beating a sick feller, that’s not you, Arthur.”
Arthur’s jaw tightened slightly. He looked down at you from under the brim of his hat, his eyes incredibly soft. “No. No, Y/N. It’s me. And this,” he motioned between you and him, “the Arthur here, is me too.”
Synopsis: At the mayor's party, Arthur has one job: Look for valuables. But when she catches his eye, his objectives get blurred.
paring: Arthur X Mayor's Daughter Reader
warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUTTTT. Porn with plot. No use of y/n, uses of: "dirty/good/bad girl", "evil woman", "sweetheart", age-gap mentioned (everyone's 18+ of course!), flirting, cock worship, cock slapping, handjob, come eating, brief oral M receiving, rough P in V, squirting.
wc: ~4.6k
"Remember why we're here, fellas," Dutch's voice was low and gravelly, "look for any opportunities, as well as anything we can stash in your pockets."
Bill let out a low chuckle, but Hosea and I stayed quiet. I felt that Hosea had the same churning in his stomach as I did.
Dutch had recently gotten us friendly with Angelo Brontë, an intelligent, quick-witted Italian businessman. I couldn't blame Dutch for that, we needed to rub elbows with Brontë to get Jack back.
But getting invited to the mayor's party and actually attending? To me, this was overstepping a boundary I would rather not cross.
All Dutch saw was open doors and money signs, of course at the expense of his men. He's been different, not the same man that I once knew, not the same man that I considered a father.
We were guided to the gardens of the mayor's mansion. It gleamed under the sparkling golden porch lights. The room buzzed with pompous conversations between pompous men and women that held glasses of champagne that were probably worth more than my life alone.
I fought hard to hide my disgust, but what can I say? I turn my nose up at arrogant rich people like they turn their nose up at me.
Dutch sidled up to Brontë doing what he does best, schmoozing. That's one thing that hasn't changed about Dutch.
I rolled my eyes before getting back to what I was here to do. Steal, which is what I do best.
I stuffed my hands in my pant pockets and tried to exude the same important demeanor I saw the other men here have, but I knew I couldn't fool anyone. I slowly strolled through the party-goers on the terrace, looking down so I didn't step on any fancy shoes or somehow ruin their elegant tuxedos and dresses.
But then, as I looked up from the ground, I saw her.
It was like the thick pollutant air became thin. Like the bright, sparkling, golden lights became brighter than the sun. Almost like a spotlight at the theater.
And I stood there like an idiot.
She looked like she belonged, adorned with elegant gown and heels like the other women here. Her hair was pinned in a neat updo, not a single strand falling out of place. She stood by the grand staircase with an effortless grace, smiling at something a man who was talking to her had said. I saw the people congregated on the terrace gazing at her and whispering to their friends and spouses.
Then it dawned on me:
You belonged because you were part of the wealthy and powerful. Your family were the ones on the tippy-top, along with the other people who were at the top, but you probably didn't bunch yourself with the brutes of the middle-high class.
Nonetheless, a prime target for me.
I found my in when the man that was talking to her walked away. I noticed her disgust and her eyes rolling to the back of her head when the man was gone.
I sidled up to her like Dutch to Brontë. I felt my nerves tingle with...fear? No. With...well, I don't know. In these moments where I am surrounded by people who had more worth in their fingernail than me I felt my tongue twist and the words in my brain getting tangled in that tongue twist.
I cleared my throat moving closer to her. "Evenin'." I gave a slight nod.
She gave me a small smile, looking up at me. "Evening." Her eyes glanced up and down my attire which was the equivalent to a costume to me. "I haven't seen you around here before."
I shifted under her gaze, becoming stiff and consistently more aware of how out of place I must've looked in my suit that was too tight across my chest and shoulders and too striking for my taste, but Dutch swore I should have it. Jesus...
But something about your gaze was different from the rich assholes that were here. Instead of clutching your purse close to your body or turning the other way, you were intimidating me. You were sizing me up.
"N-no, this ain't my usual sort'a...event." A breath that was strangled within my lungs slipped out in a painful sigh.
"I can tell." She admitted, which did not make me feel any more confident. "But don't worry, most of these fools don't care to notice, even if they make sure to show it."
I cocked my head, my brow rising. "You think so?"
She nodded knowingly. "They're either too drunk, or the men are face deep into a women, who aren't their wives, pussy."
A rough bark escaped me. I was pleasantly surprised by her bluntness. All of the rich women here would never dare to speak her sentence, let alone stay around another woman who was so unapologetic.
I glanced around to see if I can see what she meant. And once her sentence filtered through my head I could see it, like it was a secret message that I was just waiting for.
For instance, a very important man, probably a politician of some sort, letting his hands ghost another woman's hip, before sauntering over to his unknowing wife by the fountain.
"Yeah," I muttered dryly, "place is full of snakes."
She swirled her glass gently. "So tell me, are you a man of infidelity, or are you a drunkard?"
A slow smile spread across my face as I shook my head. "Neither. I ain't got a woman waitin' for me and I'm not drunk. Yet."
Her smile grew wider. "You're one of the few then."
"Guess I am." I took a step closer, a step that I wouldn't have dared to take a couple seconds ago.
The noise of the party seemed like it faded, even though I knew the reality was that it was the same volume. But the orchestra, the whispers and laughters from other attendees, none of that mattered right now.
Even though I don't know her, I could tell that my assumption of her was wrong. She has status, but doesn't act like she does. Which is weird, but refreshing.
"You know," I started, but without thinking of the words that were coming out next, "you ain't like these people either."
It felt like us, two strangers from completely different worlds, realizing they speak the same language.
She was now the one who cocked their head. "And how so? You don't know me."
"Yer right," I admitted, "I don't know you. Still most folks here? Seems like they talk with their mouths full of white lies. Without knowin' me you spoke your mind, without all that sugarcoatin' bullshit. It's admirable."
She smiled, but I continued. "And you ain't starin' at me like I'm dirt under your shoes just 'cause I'm not wearin' gold cufflinks, or...somethin' like that." A beat of silence passed before I finished my sentence. "So yeah, different."
She let out a warm chuckle before taking a sip of her champagne. I watched her lips pressed gently to the rim of the glass and how she probably wouldn't even flinch at the champagne's price tag.
All of Dutch's nonsense, the stealing, the opportunities, all vanished. I was just...talking. Talking to you.
A waiter carrying a serving tray passed by us and I, without thinking, reached out a plucked a fancy-looking sandwich from it. It was a poor excuse of a sandwich, if I could even call it that. It was basically a crumb of bread with a slice of cucumber on top.
I popped it in my mouth like I belonged, pretending it was a normal dinner fair instead of rich people silliness. It tasted sad, but free food, right?
"So, how do you find yourself here?" She asked me, her eyes looking up at me through her eyelashes.
I chewed slowly, buying myself time to quickly conjure up an answer.
The truth? Dutch, yeah THE Dutch Van Der Linde, sent me and some of his other men to rob the shit out of you rich folks.
But I couldn't say that, of course.
So I swallowed and leaned one shoulder against the marble handrail of the terrace's balustrade, feigning the casualness like this was any other social gathering for me.
"Got invited, " I shrugged like it was no big deal, "Friend of mine's connected." I am not exactly lying, but I'm starting to become one of the rich men here telling white lies.
I shrugged again. "Never been to one of these things before. Figured...why not?"
She raised her eyebrow at me. You saw right through my bullshit. "You know someone here?"
Ouch.
I hesitated. "Yeah. Know someone who knows someone." My voice dropped to a quiet register. "Sorta."
"Hm." She took another sip of her champagne. I watched her fingers curling around the stem of the glass with elegance. The way her eyes traveled down me yet again made my skin prickle.
I shifted on my feet. This social tension? Worse than any standoff or bullets that grazed my head.
The silence stretched for what seemed like days before I exhaled through my nose and decided to take a gamble. "Yer gonna ask if I'm here to steal or somethin'?"
What came over me?
Maybe guilty conscience?
I am talking to this gorgeous woman, in her gorgeous dress, at this...godforsaken party, here to steal from people like her.
Her face twisted into one of confusion. Shit. "Now why would I ask that?"
"W-well..." I trailed off. I felt my ears get hot and my cheeks get rosy and even hotter.
A smile broke onto her face. "But you'd be stupid if you didn't come here to steal something."
Oh?
You were right. But I wasn't thinking about the abundance of items and paperwork to steal right now.
"Maybe I'm not going to steal," I began, "or maybe I just haven't decided yet."
I tilted my head, now taking my time to study her. "Why? Yer gonna turn me in?" That sentence sounded intimidating in my head, but when it came out of my mouth it was laced with flirtation.
But her smile never wavered and parroted back. "Maybe. I just haven't decided yet."
You were playing with me. That smile, the glint in your eyes that I couldn't ignore, the teasing lilt in your tone. You were flirting back with me. You dirty girl.
I leaned in and lowered my voice so only she could hear. "Well then, better keep me entertained so I don't actually steal somethin'."
"Or if you do make up your mind, I'll just pretend I didn't see." She takes another sip and held her eye contact with me above the rim of her glass.
You would cover for me? And that lustful gaze with your sinful eyes. You're a bad girl. A very bad girl.
All of a sudden I felt like I didn't have control of myself. Once she finished drinking, I reached out and took the champagne flute right from her hand and took a sip myself, right around where her lush lips had been.
My eyes burned holes into hers as I drank. The look of pure shock on her face turned into one that was...intrigued? It was hard to tell in the moment, but I saw the smirk on her lips and heard the low chuckle escape from her sweet lips.
The champagne tasted sweet, or maybe that was what I imagined your lips tasted? Anyway, what mattered was your reaction and that I didn't make a complete ass out of myself.
The action repeated in my head as I continued to drink. It was awkward and odd. No one does that. But I'm glad she didn't seem to mind.
She was holding my stare with no fear or judgement painted on her face. Just...amusement, like maybe something hotter was brewing underneath.
I lowered the glass and handed it back to her without breaking eye contact.
"You're fun." She smirked. "I've never had a man tickle me this much before."
You think I'm fun just 'cause of this? I haven't even showed you my full potential.
"You ain't so bad yerself." I murmured before quickly adding. "I mean, you got taste."
She raised a brow. "Just 'cause I find you fun?"
"Well...I mean...no. No, that's not what I meant." I stuttered and stumbled over my words. Jesus Christ, pull it together. "Yer just funny. And pretty too."
Her face lit up just like the twinkling lights on the terrace. "There it is."
I blinked. "Huh?"
"Answer me this, did you come here to steal or just to flirt around with the mayor's daughter?"
THE MAYOR'S DAUGHTER?!
My face might as well been translucent. I probably look like a corpse standing there dumbfoundedly while all the blood from my cheeks pooled to my feet. "Well, I-I didn't know you were the mayor's daughter." I wished I could've just disappeared into the night sky.
I saw her smile again. She grabbed my hand and started to lead me. I didn't know where she was dragging me off to, probably to her daddy so she can see me swing.
"Can I ask where yer takin' me?" I peeped out, scared to know the answer, and possibly my inevitable fate. She led me inside the mansion and into a hallway that greeted us with a long, narrow staircase.
She looked back at me. "You wanted to steal something, well in that case I want something too."
"W-What? What do you mean?" My voice was barely above a whisper.
Once up the stairs, she ushered me into a small study. Next to the door, there was a desk with stacks of papers and books upon books strewn across the top. I could practically hear them scream my name. I glanced back at her, my heart was slamming against my ribs. She closed and locked the door behind us, shutting out the party below.
She stepped forward, blocking me from the view of my treasure. "You want things of value, big boy," she purred, a wicked smile spreading across her face, "well then you need to fuck me."
Fuck you? You want me...to fuck you.
"What?!" I sputtered out.
I don't think I even could. I mean, I haven't laid with anyone since, well, since Mary. I wouldn't be up to par with the high-class men you hang around with. What if I finish too fast? What if I don't make you come?
She looked up at me with pleading eyes. "Are you gonna fuck me or not?"
"I don't...I don't even know yer name."
"Is that really that important? I have what you want, and I can tell you don't pass up a pretty lady." She wrapped her arms around my neck. "And, here I am, a pretty lady throwing myself at you."
I let out a shaky breath and let my hands hover over her waist. She pushed me up against the door with a soft bump.
"Have you had sex before?" She asked bluntly.
"Yes."
She smiled. "Good."
"Good?" My hands were shaking and my legs felt like jelly.
She lowered herself down to her knees, letting her hands trail down my body and finally gripping onto my hips once her knees hit the ground.
She looked up at me with those big, innocent eyes and rubbed her face against my growing arousal. I huffed, biting my lip and looking up at the ceiling.
If I look at you I'm gonna come, and I cannot come yet. We just started and you would most likely kick me out. I'd have to kiss everything goodbye.
She moaned softly into my clothed, pulsating cock, begging to be free. I let out a shaky breath before looking down at her. "Take me out..."
"Mmm, but I'm not done yet." She groaned into my cock. My head shot up again, leaning against the door.
I thrust my cock into her face, just desperate to get more friction. I was embarrassingly hard, uncomfortably hard.
I felt my precum leak out onto my pants. She let out a surprised gasp, before giggling softly and unzipping my zipper and letting my heavy cock spring free.
I looked down at her admiring my cock, examining it like she didn't know what she wanted to do first. Her eyes were wide and sparkling as she took my base in her hands, her grip firm against my hardness.
I let out a low, ragged hiss between my teeth as she began to stroke me, her hand sliding up and down the length of it with a slow, agonizingly steady rhythm.
I was right. You are a very dirty girl. A very dirty girl rubbing your pretty face on my big cock, stroking my big cock with your cute feminine hands.
Every stroke, up and down, pulled a tight shudder right out of my chest. I tried to look away, tried to anchor my hands...anywhere, but my eyes kept dragging themselves right back to her on her knees. Watching her delicate hands moving in unison against my thick heat was intoxicating.
You were ruining me in the middle of your daddy's study, and you love every minute of it.
"You like that, huh? You like when I stroke your big cock, yeah?" she purred, her thumb tracing over the slick ridge of my head, catching my leaking precum and smearing it down my shaft to make her strokes smoother.
"Ah...f-fuck." I growled. My hips jerked forward instinctively, chasing the friction of your palm. My whole body was wound up like a spring, my muscles shaking from the immense pleasure. "You...you gotta slow down there..."
"Why? You're gonna come for me, huh?" She looked up, not slowing down.
"If...if y-you keep going at m-me like this." I responded in weak breaths.
"Don't come unless I say, alright?" She tossed back her hair and took me in her mouth, using one of her hands to stroke the rest she couldn't fit.
I moaned in response. I couldn't form sentences without me sounding like a complete, stumbling idiot.
She came off my cock with a pop. "Don't come..." She sang. She replaced her mouth with her other hand again.
My jaw clamped shut, a desperate grunt caught in the back of my throat. I am an outlaw who spent his whole life running from the law, but right now, I was completely paralyzed and pinned to the door by a direct order from the mayor's daughter.
You're torturing me. You know exactly how close I am. You evil woman.
I felt a rush of pleasure fluttering in my lower stomach as I began to thrust more frantically in her hands. I moaned and whimpered in an embarrassing manner.
And I came.
Then she stopped.
The warmness of her hands, instantly gone from my throbbing cock. My head shot down to her.
"I told you not to come."
Smack!
The sharp, stunning slap against my sensitive, throbbing cock made my head shoot straight back against the door. A loud, breathless groan ripped from my lungs, my teeth grinding together do hard I'd thought they'd shatter and fall out.
She slapped it again and I felt like my legs were going to buckle underneath me. I tried to keep my footing, my knee shaking like leaves.
You're slapping my cock, watching swing back and forth. You're punishing me...like I'm some sort of animal. Is that how you see me? An animal?
"I give you an order, and you just take what you want anyway, huh?" She smiled up at me, despite the abuse she had endured on my cock.
"I...I told you..." I wheezed out, my voice rougher than gravel, "I couldn't...couldn't help it."
She let out a soft mocking chuckle, then licked my come off my head and my shaft, glancing up at me to make sure I was watching.
And I was sure as hell watching. I couldn't have looked away if the building was burning down around us. Or even if her daddy walked in.
My mind completely short-circuited. The sheer audacity of it, the absolute filth of her, a woman who was supposed to be the mayor's pristine daughter was doing to me, made my still-hard cock even harder, if that was even possible.
She sucked the come off her fingers, her tongue swirling around her digits, making sure she didn't waste a single drop.
I need to fuck her now.
I lifted her up from the ground, earning a gasp from her. I wrapped my arm around her, and with my free one, wiped off the papers and books off the desk and placed her down on her back.
"I need to fuck yer pussy," I grunted, "come on, pull up yer dress for me." She laid there on her back, a smirk spreading over her pretty face as she looked up at me.
She didn't hesitate. I could see her hands trembling slightly, but she reached down, grabbing the hem of her expensive gown and bunching the heavy fabric up around her waist, exposing her lace undergarments and the soft skin of her thighs.
I didn't waste a second. I hooked my fingers into the lace, ripping the delicate fabric right down the center with one violent tug. She let out a sharp gasp, her fingers digging into the edge of the desk behind her as I wedged myself between her knees, forcing her legs to open wide.
"Yer cunt is drippin' for me, sweetheart." I gently spread her cunt open with my fingers. Her legs trembled slightly as she let out soft whimpers.
"Yer ready for me? Ready for this big cock, huh?"
She nodded eagerly and wrapped her legs around my waist to pull me in. I lined the head of my cock right against the opening of her wet cunt. Her breathing turned shallow and frantic as she felt me pressing to get in. She whimpered like it was some sort of a plea.
I didn't give her a chance to do anything. I gripped her hips with force and buried myself inside of her in a sharp, deep thrust.
A guttural, animalistic sound tore from the back of my throat as her cunt completely encased me. It was a total eclipse of my senses.
I didn't give her a second to adjust to the size of me. I drove into her again and again and again, each time harder than the last, my hips slamming against her making loud smacking sounds of our skin slapping together.
The mahogany desk creaked violently beneath her, shifting a few inches against the floorboards, but I couldn't care even a little if the piece of furniture shattered under us.
She let out a loud, high-pitched broken cry as I continued to pump into her with relentless rhythm.
I panted, barely able to speak. "Yer tits...mmm...yer tits bouncing each time I pound into ya..." I let out a ragged laugh.
"W-wait...I'm...!" She choked out, her hands flying to my chest, her fingers digging through my suit jacket.
"No." I growled and pinned her wrists against the desk on either side of her head, locking her in place.
"You dirty girl...takin' me on yer daddy's desk." I growled as I felt my thrusts become sloppy. "You like that don't you? Huh? That yer daddy will sit here tomorrow and not even know what you did. Hm?"
She didn't answer, just moan and cry out as she dug her nails in my hands. Her legs began to shake and I felt her cunt pulse on my cock.
"Yeah come for me...doesn't mean I'll stop." I growled out and forced my thrusts to become as rough as they were when we started.
She didn't answer with words. She couldn't. Only with cries and broken moans.
"Rub yer clit for me." I demanded. "Come on, be a good girl a rub yer swollen clit."
Her hands were shaking as I released her wrists, allowing her to reach down between our bodies. Her delicate fingers found her clit right near where my shaft of my cock was still driving inside her.
The second her fingers touched herself, a piercing cry left her throat. She started rubbing in a desperate rhythm, matching the pace of my hips.
Look at you. I wish you could. The mayor's precious little girl, fucking an old, perverted outlaw.
The sight of her undone state against the creaking desk sent a massive wave of heat straight to my gut. My thrusts became deeper and the smacking sound of our skin meeting was bouncing off the ceiling of the silent study.
"Yeah, just like that." I growled, hitting her deepest spot over and over. "Make yerself come all over my cock."
Her fingers moved faster as she pushed herself closer and closer to the edge. Her walls were clamping down on me again like a vice. She was breathing in short hitches, her head tilted back, her chest rising and falling.
"I'm coming...I'm coming!" She screamed out like a helpless surrender.
Her hips jerked upward against mine. I could feel the intense pressure inside her, a heat that began to pool right where we joined.
"Come on, sweetheart." My hands squeezed the meat of her hips so hard my fingers sank deep into her skin. "Give it to me."
With one final, frantic circle of her fingers, her whole body went rigid. Her eyes rolled back, her legs locked tightly against me, and a wail escaped her mouth.
A sudden torrent of fluid erupted from deep inside her, a soaking rush that drenched my cock, as well as the front of my pants and the desk under her. The force of her release gushed over my skin, a wave of wetness that made her cunt slick. The fluid began to pool under her lower back, some dripping onto the papers I'd thrown on the floor.
The spasms of her squirting cunt wrung the absolute life out of me, dragging me right over the edge before I could even draw another breath. I let out loud moans, my jaw locking so hard my teeth clicked together. I drove myself into her one last time, bottoming out completely against her pelvic bone.
My own release tore out of me in massive white-hot pulses, shooting deep into the very depths of her womb. I pumped myself empty into her pulsing cunt while she lay there completely breathless, her hand dropping limply away from her thigh, weeping and trembling.
"So." Her voice was timid.
"So." I repeated back.
It was silent for a moment before we both burst into quiet laughter.
"That was fun." I said quietly.
"I knew you were fun."
I smiled. "Yeah, you knew."
I pulled out of her earning a moan from both her and I. She slid off the desk and straightened out her dress before moving to the door.
"Wait!" I called out.
She looked at me with a smile. "I'm gonna change. Take whatever you want." She unlocked the door and walked away.
So I was standing there, in the mayor's study where I fucked his daughter and made her come so hard she marked her territory. I gathered some of the books off the floor and picked up the wet papers and stuffed them in my pockets.
Before I left, I looked down at my clothes. I couldn't do anything about the wet spot soaked into my pants, but I couldn't care. I was wearing the mayor's daughter.
a/n: I had so much fun writing this! :) Chapter 12 of My Mouth Is Clean, My Hands Are Dirty should be coming out next week!
Synopsis: You, a single mother, is sewing up a skirt for your daughter when Arthur comes back from a scouting trip.
paring: Yearner Arthur X Single Mother Reader
warnings: Fluff, but a little spicy hehe. No use of y/n, awkward flirting, friends to lovers?, pining, sexual tension.
wc: ~1.4k
We picked her and her daughter up before the failed Blackwater heist. It's been hard, on all of us, but I can't imagine how her and Abigail feel. They had little ones in this dangerous life, always moving, always worrying about if all of a sudden there is going to be gunfire.
I bet it's scary. I'm a grown man who has been surrounded by this life since I could remember and I'm still weary.
I remember when she told me about her husband, if you would even call him as such. She had told me a little after her daughter was born, her husband began to pay closer attention to the working girls at the saloon than his own wife and child. Eventually, one morning he didn't come home.
She had told me she didn't care if he ran off or wound himself dead. I laughed.
From then on, she said her and her daughter survived on the streets, kind people that offered their home to them, and hopped from church to church to use their facilities.
Now, her daughter is three, just a year younger than Jack. Her daughter runs around, plays, dances, sings—things that she said were far and few between when they were on their own.
But whenever I see her, I can't forget what her husband had done. A real man, hell a real person, doesn't do that to someone they love.
Even when they were still alive, I frequently visited my son and his mother. I never not just didn't show up. But then I think about it some more: I was young, younger than her husband was. I was nineteen and he was in his thirties. How pathetic is that? A grown man leaving his family, just like that.
Anyways, even if her backstory wasn't as tragic, I would still have the same respect for her. Parenting is hard, any fool can see that. She rarely got time for herself, and is always up at the earliest hours of the morning sewing clothes for her little one. She always says "I turn around and she's growing out of these!", it's endearing to say the least.
To say I wasn't sweet on her would be ridiculous. I found everything about her to be so...flawless. The way she interacted with everyone in camp, the way she tended to her daughter, hell even the way she walked looked graceful. It sounds silly, I know, but I just can't help but let my eyes wander to her.
Tonight, well this morning, wasn't any different. Most of the camp has gone to bed, drunk slumped up against a nearby tree, or quietly sitting at the table near the fire. She had placed herself on the log by the fire so she can see the tiny skirt she was sewing together...again. I've noticed she had been sewing this specific skirt every couple weeks now. I've also noticed it was her daughter's favorite because she worn it all the time.
I plopped down on the log next to her. "Hey." I said gruffly, I cleared my throat.
She looked up from her project. "Hey, Arthur. Came in late I see."
"Workin' late I see." I rebutted as I dug out a cigarette from my satchel. I lit the tobacco with the dying campfire that was dancing with life before I left.
She sighed and looked down at her daughter's skirt in her lap. "I need to get this done tonight. She's been asking about this skirt."
I laughed. "This specific one?"
"If she found out how bad I wanted to chuck this skirt into the fire she would have a fit." She held up the skirt for me to see. "Look! It's barely staying together. I swear this girl is going to wear this thin."
I nodded and took a drag from my cigarette. "That's pretty bad."
"Thank you!" She let out an exasperated huff. She placed the skirt back down on her lap and began sewing again. "What were you doing out so late?"
"Just scoutin'. We can't stay at Horseshoe Overlook forever. I just lost track of time."
"I see..." She responded, her fingers working overtime on the fabric, "I would take that over this."
I snorted. "You would take scoutin' over sewin'?"
"Yeah, especially when it's this godforsaken skirt." She gritted her teeth, but I hear the slight playful undertone.
"I guess yer right. It was a pretty night out to go ridin'. Do you know how to ride..." I could feel my cheeks get hot before I quickly added, "like a horse."
She looked over at me. "What else would I ride?"
"Uh..." I rubbed the back of my neck with my free hand, "nothin' sorry, just...tired."
I could see a smile spread on her lips. "I do know how to ride a horse. My pa taught me when I was young."
I nodded taking another hit of my cigarette. She motioned for it and it took me a second to understand what she wanted. I handed it over to her and watched her sweet, soft lips, the lips that I wanted to collide with mine and move with the same grace she carried, wrap around the paper and inhale.
I watched as she blew the smoke from out of her nose. It was single-handedly the most attractive thing I've seen in awhile, and I know that it'll be replaying and replaying in my head for days, even months.
When she passes back the cigarette, her eyes met mine and instantly figures me out. "Were you watching me?"
I blinked. "No. I just want my damn cigarette back."
She smiled wide. "You were, you liar!"
"I was not." I said, but the smile in my voice failed to conceal the truth.
I reached for my cigarette, but she jerked her arm back. "You'll only get this if you tell me the truth."
I scoffed as a smirk grew on my lips. "You ain't gonna parent me, give me my cigarette back."
I scooted closer to her and reached for it, but she now moved it above her head. I backed away slightly and let out a huff. "Yer a cruel woman."
I reached up and grabbed her wrist lightly and pulled it down to me, but she didn't give up my cigarette. I looked directly into her eyes before guiding her wrist to my mouth and took a puff.
I turned my head and exhaled the smoke out, as to not blow the smoke into her face. When I faced her again, my voice was dripping with sarcasm. "I was looking at you now."
She let out a laugh and held out my cigarette for me to take. "Well played my friend, but I still think you were looking at me."
"And what if I was? Would you mind?" The words slipped out of my mouth faster than I could even process what I was saying.
Her smile didn't waver. "Alright, Mister Morgan."
Mister Morgan. My cheeks were as hot as the fire, or what was left of it.
I let out a laugh. "Wh-what...?" I sound like a fool!
"What happened to all that confidence just now, hm?" She playfully spat back.
"W-what do you mean? I am confident, I have confidence."
"Arthur," She placed her sewing equipment down on the ground next to her, "You just took a drag of your own cigarette from my hands, then all of a sudden you're red as a tomato and stumbling over your words."
"Uh...I—"
"Arthur, I'm not an idiot."
"Oh, of course yer not."
I wouldn't believe what happened next even if my future self had told me. She grabbed my face, with such care, and leaned in pressing her lips against mine. My eyes were wide and my body went still. I've kissed many women before, but all of a sudden I was inexperienced. I didn't know what to do with my hands, where she liked them to be when she gets kissed. I don't want to impose and place my hands where she doesn't want them to be.
So all I did was close my eyes and feel her sweet, soft, graceful lips against mine which were the opposite.
She pulled away and rubbed my cheeks with her thumbs. She got up and grabbed her sewing stuff from beside her.
"I'm going to bed." She stated. "Have a really goodnight Arthur. I know I will."
I cleared my throat. "Y-yeah. Goodnight."
She began to leave until she turned back to me. "And you were looking. I saw you, ass." She smiled and walked back to her and her daughter's shared tent.
a/n: a mother fic on mother's day weekend? it's like i planned that or something...
also should I make this like a little series?? i had so much fun writing this.
Synopsis: You teach Arthur how to dance for the mayor's party.
paring: Arthur X Reader
warnings: SWEET SWEET FLUFF TO MAKE UR TEETH ACHE. no use of y/n or gender specific pronouns, uses of "my love", "sweetheart", "honey", "darlin'".
wc: ~1.2k
"Come on Arthur, at least try." I stood with my hands on my hips. I was annoyed to say the least.
Dutch had gotten us an invite to the mayor's party via Angelo Brontë. Sure the event is to schmooze and rub some elbows to get some jobs, but I was still excited to get all dressed up. I usually never have the opportunity to do so.
With this invitation, Dutch had instructed those who went get proper clothes and tried to fit within the social norms of the rich society, which meant I had to teach my boyfriend, Arthur, how to dance.
Coming from a rich family, I knew how to fit in with these snotty assholes. I knew what to say, how to say those things, when to laugh—it all coursed through my veins, like it was still part of my everyday life.
"I am tryin'!" Arthur retorted as he let out a frustrated huff. To me, it seemed like he was half-assing it just so he could get out of his, "godforsaken" (his words), suit and back into his Levis. But I was determined for him to walk out of this room knowing how to waltz.
I rolled my eyes and stepped into his space once more. I firmly grabbed his hands to keep him from pacing. The orange setting Saint Denis sun was beginning to dip and shine through the windows of the room I had rented out for us.
"Arthur Morgan, you are a hardened criminal who has escaped the law, countless times mind you, a sharpshooter, an artist—"
"I ain't close to what an artist is." Arthur interrupted.
"I've seen your drawings, my love, you're an artist. Anyways, a sharpshooter, an artist, a friend, brother, hopeless romantic—"
"I ain't—"
I placed a kiss on his lips cutting him off. "Honey, between you and I, you so are. It's okay, embrace it sweetheart."
Arthur's cheeks turned slightly pink before he shook his slightly. "Okay, well all of that doesn't mean I'm a good dancer."
"No, but you're all of those things so why can't you be?"
Arthur let out a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a Goan, finally letting his hands go limp in mine. He knew when he was beat. He looked down at me, his jaw finally softening as he took in my sheer determination.
"You got a way of makin' things sound so simple." He muttered, though the edge of his mouth was twitching upward.
"It is simple. Just, follow me."
Arthur sighed, that deep, chest-rumbling sound that usually meant he was resigning himself to whatever trouble I'd cooked up for him. He adjusted his stance, his boots clicking softly on the floor.
"Follow you," Arthur repeated, "I've been doin' that since we met. I suppose it ain't led me off a cliff yet."
"You're so dramatic." I took his hand and lifting it until our fingers intertwined. I placed his other hand back on my waist.
"Now," I said under my breath, stepping closer until the toes of my shoes brushed his, "I'm going to step forward with my left, and you're going to step back with your right. On three. Ready?"
Arthur nodded and looked down at his feet.
"Okay. One...two...three."
We moved. It wasn't exactly there effortless glide of a Saint Denis socialite; it was more like a toddler trying to walk. Arthur was stiff, his muscle coiled tight, like he hadn't danced a day in his life (and trust me, I've seen him dance. He can dance). He stared down at the floor with such intensity I thought he might burn a hole through the wood.
"Arthur," I chided gently, nudging his chin up with my hand, "look at m. The floor isn't going anywhere."
Arthur's blush on his cheeks only became deeper. And he doesn't say he's a hopeless romantic. The frustration was still in his eyes, but it was being overtaken by the quiet, steady devotion that he tried to hide within his gruff exterior.
"I feel like a real fool." He admitted, his thumbs tracing a nervous line against the fabric of my clothes.
"You look like a gentleman," I rebutted, "and you're doing it. Look, we're moving."
I began to hum a melody, nothing fancy, just a simple three-four beat. Gradually, the tension started to drain out of his shoulders and legs. His steps grew less stiff, his weight shifting more naturally to match mine. He even managed a small smile when we completed a full rotation without him stepping on my toes.
"There." I said, leaning my head forward to rest against his shoulder. "The Mayor's guests won't know what him 'em."
Arthur let out a soft hum, pulling me closer, if that was even possible. "I bet they'll be too busy lookin' at you to notice me fumblin' around, darlin'."
"Oh, I don't think so," I looked up at him, "You're a natural if you just let yourself go, Arthur."
"I guess..." He mumbled. I smiled and pressed a sweet kiss to his nose, and his cheeks gotten redder.
"Stop that..." He looked away at the ground next to us.
I giggled and showered Arthur's face with kisses. He groaned, a rumble of mock-protest vibrating in his chest, but he didn't pull away. He couldn't, not with his arms wrapped around me and his heart beating out of his chest that he could've sworn I could see it pounding out of his suit.
Every time my lips hit his cheek, his forehead, or his jaw, he'd duck his head, trying to hide a boyish, bashful grin.
"Quit it..." Arthur started, "you're gonna...you're gonna mess up my hair." He stammered, though his grip on my waist anchored me agains him.
I let out a laugh. "Outlaw Arthur Morgan is worried about his hair?" I teased against his skin, planting one last, lingering kiss right on the corner of his mouth. "What would Bill or John say if they saw you right now?"
"They'd say I've gone soft." He muttered, now looking back at me. The orange glow of the sunset was fading into evening. His eyes were soft, devoid of the cynicism that sat there. "And, I guess they'd be right."
Arthur let out a long, slow breath, and for a moment, we just stood there. We began to sway to the sound of the Saint Denis night.
"You really think I can pull this off?" Arthur asked quietly. "Not just the dancin', but the...actin' like I actually belong there?"
I pulled back just enough to look him square in the eyes, my hands sliding up to cup his face. "Arthur, believe me when I say this, those people spend their lives behind masks. They're fancy dresses, fancy shoes, fancy hair, fancy parties. Everything is fake. It's all a facade."
He nodded and let me continue.
"Arthur, out of everyone in my life that I had meet, you're the most honest person I know. You don't belong there, because no one belongs there, even those assholes who claim they belong there. You just have to be there with me. We're just two more guests playing the part, like everyone else. And once we're done, we can stop playing pretend and go back to being us."
He looked at me for a long time, as if he were memorizing my words. Then, he learned down and pressed a soft kiss to my lips. I leaned into his lips, moaning softly against them. We we pulled away, he now cupped my cheeks.
"As long as I'm with you," he whispered, his thumb grazing my cheekbone, "I reckon I can handle a few snotty assholes and a waltz."
a/n: I'M FINALLY DONE WITH MY THIRD YEAR OF COLLEGE (YIPPIE). EXPECT MORE LONG POSTS HEHE
Could you do something for Charles Smith a loud, snarky reader? picture Tony Stark type yammering and arguing. I feel like it could be a very comedic contrast for Charles
OOOO YES!!! I LOVE THIS REQUEST AHHHHH!!!
Oh, for a Plan to be a Sonnet
pairings: Charles X reader
warnings: FLUFF. no use of y/n, established relationship.
wc: ~1.3k
You huffed as you swung off your horse and into camp, with Bill following close behind. You didn't even wait for the dust to settle before your hands were up in the air, gesturing wildly at the empty space behind you.
Your eyes were darting around in search for your boyfriend Charles. When your eyes final met him, he sat on the long log by the fire and had his head buried in his work on one of his arrows. You stomped towards him.
"I'm officially done, Charles!" You announced as you plopped down next to him. "I'm hanging up my hat," you threw your hat to the ground, "and moving to a deserted island where the only company I have is a coconut, because at least a coconut has the decency not to argue with me!"
"Can I come?" Charles didn't look up from his work.
You slapped him against his shoulder.
Charles head shot up and turned to you. "I take it the scouting trip with Bill didn't go according to plan?"
You let out a sharp, theatrical laugh, tossing your head back. "Charles, in my head, the plan was a masterpiece of efficiency. It was beautiful poetry, a sonnet. Music, even. Bill's plan, however was a 'see man, shoot man', and then, 'wonder why thirty more men showed up.' I'm honestly impressed he manages to put his boots on the right feet in the morning."
Charles let out a soft laugh, but before he could respond, Bill overheard your rant and rushed up to you.
"Hey!" Bill spat. "Don't you go blamin' me for your own loud mouth!" He barked, his face turning bright, beet red. "We got the job done, didn't we?"
You looked up at him with daggers in your eyes. "Bill, you ignorant fool! You barely think, don't you? You could've gotten us killed!"
Bill leaned in, his voice low. "If you spent half as much time shootin' as you did analyzin', we would've been back earlier!"
You shot up and stuck a finger in Bill's face. "For the record, Bill, my mouth was trying to explain that sound travels. You think you just shot one man, but you rang the dinner bell for every O'Driscoll within five miles."
"Why you—" Bill started as he stepped forward with a huff.
Charles stood up between you and Bill, his tall, big frame acting as a barrier.
"That's enough, Bill." Charles said, his voice smooth and calm. "Everyone's in one piece. Let it go."
Bill wanted to argue, but staring up at Charles was a losing game. He muttered something under his breath before stomping off toward the stew pot.
You let out a huff and Charles took your arm and lead you out of camp. He usually does this so you can let off some steam. It got way to hectic at camp with everyone and their business. It was nice to step out for a while to recollect.
After a few seconds of walking along the outskirts of camp, you leaned your head against Charles's shoulder, the heat of the previous argument beginning to dissipate into the cool evening air.
"He's exhausting, Charles." you muttered.
"I know that." Charles responded.
"It's just…when I talk to him I feel like I'm talking to a wall. A very angry, very sweaty, and for some reason red, wall. I think it's due to blood pressure, I don't know. I don't like it."
Charles let out a small chuckle. He shifted his arm so he could pull you a little closer to his side. "Bill…well…Bill is Bill." The sheer diplomacy in his voice making you snort. "But you know he doesn't have your patience."
"But for this it's different. It's life or death!" You insisted, though the bite was gone and replaced by the familiar comfort of Charles presence.
You looked up at him and squinted your eyes playfully. "And don't you start with the middle ground talk. I'm the genius here, remember? I'm the one who figured out how to fix the wagon's axle last week."
Charles smiled. "I know, you are smart." He stopped near a cluster of trees, turning to you. The dappled light from the rising moon caught the steady, amused warmth in his eyes. Charles reached up, his large, calloused thumb brushing softly against your cheek. The gesture was grounding and made your brain stop whirring. You felt your cheeks and your ears burn up.
"You're most brilliant person I've ever met." he murmured, his voice dropping into almost a whisper. "Most people here don't know what to do with someone who thinks faster than they can blink. But I think that's what attracted me to you."
You looked down at the ground. Your smile widening with Charles's words.
"You're so strong, and logical. You think before you say or do anything, and I think more people can learn from you than anything."
You shrugged slightly, the smile never leaving your face. "Well in that case, I should probably tell you my plan for reorganizing the camp's ammunition storage."
Charles let out a quiet laugh, and leaned down to press a brief, firm kiss to your lips. Your eyes widened at the action, before closing your eyes to enjoy the intimacy.
When he pulled away, Charles still had his hand resting on your cheek. "Tell me all about your plan. We can walk slow back to camp."
"Before I tell you that, can you kiss me again?" You asked, looking up at him with big, begging eyes.
Charles smiled wide. "You don't have to ask me."
He leaned in and kissed you, this time slower. His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck and pulled you flush against him. The feeling of his lips on yours made your mind go completely blank, blissfully silent. He was the only person that could make you feel that way.
He hummed softly as his lips moved in perfect rhythm and his hand that rested on the back of your neck massaged your scalp.
When he eventually broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours. You could feel his steady breath, a sharp contrast to your own slightly hitched racing heart.
"Wanna tell me about your plan now?" His voice was beautiful and breathless.
'What?" You asked and shook your head to clear your confusion.
Charles let out a small laugh. "About reorganizing the ammo."
"Ah, yes." You smiled. He gave you his arm so you could wrap yours around it.
"Want me to start now?" You asked as both of you headed back into camp.
"Yes, walk slow." Charles reminded you.
You nodded and slowed down your steps. You sighed and gazed into his sparkling eyes,"Yes. Okay, step one: we stop letting Bill…"
a/n: I had so much fun writing for this request!
Finals for me are THIS WEEK (AH!). EXPECT MORE LONGER POST SOON HEHE.
warnings: SMUT/tiny bit of angst at the end. porn with a plot, age gap (everyone is 18+, of course!), no use of y/n, uses of "Whore", period-accurate lingo (kinda), power imbalance, mentions of boot grinding, masturbation and mutual masturbation, p in v.
wc: 2.6k
It was still normal for a woman my age to have crushes. We girls would gather around, and turn back into our little schoolgirl–selves—giggling, kicking our legs, and twirling our hair.
All of these crushes were frivolous, of course. Stage actors, like John Drew or Maurice Barrymore, or the men we had the pleasure surrounding ourselves with were the main topics of our conversations.
Yes, I would agree the previous mentioned were nice (they were charming, for sure), but I had my gaze fixed on a particular man.
That man, that particular man, was Dutch Van der Linde. The leader of the Van der Linde Gang, the hardened criminal, the bounty that every bounty hunter yearned for. I guess I would consider myself a bounty hunter then.
Whenever I would spot his rugged, handsome face adorned on a bounty poster pasted onto the bulletin board in town, I would rip it off without anyone noticing and stuff it in my bosom for safekeeping.
Then, when I arrived home, I would run off to my room and dig the poster out, that was now crumbled from being shoved in the keeps of my bosom, and touch myself.
I would peel away my clothes and reveal my bare sex to my four walls and gaze into the picture, into Dutch's eyes, and rub my clit raw. The big words:
WANTED
DEAD OR ALIVE
Made my cunt clench and tighten. The thought of some dangerous man, Dutch, watching me, licking me, fucking me, all the while I was exposed fully in my room, made it tough for me to hold in my climax.
My juices would drench my fingers, pruned from the hours prior, and stained my pure sheets. I would lie there, with sweat dressing my chest and my hair a mess, and imagine laying beside him—with his rough hands grazing my bare breasts and pinching my rock–hard nipples.
This crush stayed between me and my journals, the very one you are reading now, and never to see the light. If my friends found out that I liked an outlaw, especially someone like Dutch who has a bounty higher than what we can count, I would become a laughingstock and have mine and my family's reputation shredded before I even have the chance to live!
Not only that he was a criminal. Dutch was older than me. Way older. With him almost being 20 years older than me, my friends would definitely think I'm strange.
I say, let them think I'm mad! What is their judgement to me?! I dream of him, his rough exterior, his sharp features, his cock and how big it could be (for a man like him, he had to be endowed). I am in love with Dutch Van der Linde! I will scream it from the highest hilltop of this country if I have to!
I knew this silly crush would never to be pursued, and that I have to "get a husband instead of daydreaming", per my mother, but I cannot fathom just walking away from Dutch. All those fantasies of him and I, all those times I've rubbed the folds of my pussy against my pillow and imagining it was his face, his knee, or his boots; all those times I've stayed up hours into the morning forcing myself to come one more time for him.
I cannot bear to let my feelings for him wither away into the universe! I dare not!
Out of all my years of living on this holy Earth never did I think this would have happened. I didn't even have time to collect my thoughts.
The Van der Linde gang rolled into town. Every man and woman kept up their walls, hid their wallets and children, while I tided up my hair and straightened my dress with hearts in my eyes. I felt like a goddamn fool! Hopefully no one or my mother noticed.
Men as dangerous as Van der Linde and his men just have this spark in them. Their attitude radiates off them, their poise, their manliness drips off of them like the sweat I would love to lick off every single one of them.
But even though I gazed at the other men, my eyes always ran back to Dutch. I was spellbound, transfixed on his shoulders, his virile, commanding gait, the smoke from his cigar that was smoothly running out of his mouth when he talked to the younger man (who was closer to my age than anything) next to him.
I felt voyeuristic, dirty. I've sculpted the curve, length, and girth of his penis in my mind with my dainty, pruned fingers every night. And even though he still does not know that, I felt as though he could read the history of the darkest nights, of my inexperienced fingers twiddled my virgin cunt to the faded ink of his bounty poster.
When he passed by, I swear his eyes locked with mine. That look bolted my feet to the ground. I gave him my best smile, the one I had countlessly practiced in the mirror while my skin was still flushed from my orgasms; I hoped my smile looked like innocence than the invitation that it was, but I cannot control my sensual, hungry eyes.
Dutch tipped his hat at me and I swear I saw Heaven itself, even though I'm far from Heavenly. I felt the blood rush to my cheeks and my pulsating pussy. He definitely saw the heat of my shame, for he gave me a smug smile that made me pulse thrum with violent life. Dutch and his friends swung off their horses and walked into the town's saloon.
That day, I had previously taken one of his bounty posters from the board and stuffed it into my bosom, as per my ritual. But this was my chance to him. I uncovered the now crinkled poster from my breasts and walked inside the saloon.
It was comedic to say the least. The saloon was packed, but where Dutch and the Van der Linde boys were seated, townsfolk had migrated to the far opposite side. The piano was playing softly in the background to maintain the normalcy, but only a simpleton couldn't tell the tensions were high.
But nonetheless, I strode towards Dutch—letting my feet do the thinking—and found myself standing in–between his legs. There was a phallic arrogance to the way he sat, his legs spread wide, claiming all the space he could in the saloon.
I will never forget the way he swiftly looked up at me, like women like me just approach him every day.
I stood there, like an idiot, before I spoke. "Hi, Mr. Van der Linde," (God, that sounded so good coming out of my mouth), "I'm–well, I...could you sign this?"
I thrusted the poster at him, nearly hitting his nose. His gaze was steady on me, until he took the paper from my trembling hands and asked the younger man next to him for a pen.
"This is the first time someone has asked me to do this," he said with a melodic grumble, that I could only imagine vibrating between my cunt's folds, while he stained the poster with his perfect John Hancock, "I didn't know I had fans."
I let out a stupid, awkward laugh. "Yeah, well, I just..."
He then smirked and handed back the poster, our fingers brushed for a spark. "Here."
And what couldn't I do but flash a sparkling grin. "Thank you, sir." I didn't stammer like a fool this time. I felt the heat cross the back of my neck now.
I spun on my heels to leave his sultry presence, but his voice stopped me by the scruff of my neck.
"You're in an awful hurry, miss."
I turned, my heart was hammering against the singed poster that I had clutched to my chest. He hadn't looked away. He was leaning back now, his spurs jingling as he crossed one leg over the other.
Dutch sighed, a truly beautiful sound I wish you could've heard it. "A woman who carries a man's death warrant usually has a more interesting story than a mannerly 'thank you'." He mused. "Why don't you sit? Tell me what a lady of your..." at this moment he looked me up and down at my fancy–looking dress, "stature...finds so fascinating about a man the law wants to see swing."
You would think I was a trained mutt on how fast I sat down in the chair across from him. It was truly beautiful to be honest. From there on, I told him that I found his face intriguing. Why did I pick those words? I do not know, but it made him laugh, and that what matters.
I was stroking his ego as sloppily as I wanted to stroke his cock. I played the game feverishly; I touched his arm, giggled, stroking his ankle with my foot—using my sinful, feminine prowess. And it was working. Just because I was inexperienced, that doesn't mean I don't know how to dot the I's and cross the T's.
He ordered us whiskey, such a gentleman I know. We drank, and we drank, and we drank, the hard liquor sever my throat. The younger man had left, which just left him and I sitting at the table.
In my foolish, drunken stupor, I had confessed to things I have done with his poster. That I looked into his—well the poster's eyes while fingering myself, that I had kept his poster secure in my bosom, grinding my pussy against his imaginary face, knee, or boot, and that due to my multiple orgasms, my fingers would be pruned and sucked from youthfulness.
Dutch's cheeks were flushed (from the confession or the alcohol I could not tell). As soon as I knew it, we are stumbling up the saloon's stairs and found an empty room after we walked in on a working girl and her John.
He had ravishingly slammed me up against the thin, wooded wall with a force that nearly rattled my teeth. His lips were a fire on the side of my neck, his slobbery kisses marking me. His lips felt like a dream against my skin.
"Mr. Van der Linde..." I breathed out like a prayer. I sounded like a whore.
I was so caught up in the moment that I didn't care when I felt my lace snap and my buttons pop off my dress. Dutch had made a decent sized rip that was hard to convince my mother that it was just a snag. He unwrapped me, and I was yet again exposed for four walls, but with a plus one.
Dutch moved us from the wall, shoving me onto the bed. I collected myself, my naked body, and looked up from him with the same sensual eyes I was outside of the saloon.
I watched Dutch slide off his jacket and unbutton his vest. He removed his hat and placed it on the dresser behind him. I laid back on the bed with a wide grin on my face.
"I want you," Dutch started as he unbuttoned his shirt, "I want you to show me those fingers in action. I want to see exactly how you look when you touch yourself to me."
I hesitated at first. I had never done something reckless like this before. But the sight of Dutch actually standing in front of me persuaded me to continue. My hands clumsy traveled down my body and to my already drenched cunt while my eyes stayed lock on his.
I bit my lip as I slowly entered two fingers myself. My head fell back onto the stiff bed underneath me, as my fingers traveled up to my clit.
I heard Dutch's belt unbuckle and the metal hitting the ground with a harsh sound. But that didn't stop me. I saw him, rubbing himself through his underwear as he examined me, my pussy. It was almost like he was analyzing it and taking notes for hopefully a later.
Dutch whipped out his cock, the same cock I had sculpted in my mind, but it was far better, far bigger. He began to move his hand up and down, stroking his hard length, slow and deliberate, reflecting my own. He moved to sit down at a chair that was already facing the bed, reclaiming the same naked arrogance he'd worn downstairs.
The only sound in the room was the rhythmic friction of skin on skin hitched breathing, or our soft moans. I ground my hips into the sheets, my history finally being written in the light of his sick gaze.
"You're glistening." He said to me in a low tone. My breath came in ragged, shallow hitches as I peered over myself and watched his hand, those seasoned, weathered fingers, stroke his length I had only ever dared to imagine. Every time I felt my cunt pulse under my touch, I saw his jaw tighten.
"You're doing so well..." He grumbled, "Show me more. Show me how you come for me."
That broke me. I let out a sound that the working girl next door would make. My fingers moved faster and deeper as I arched my back. My heels dug into the mattress and my toes curled.
Just as my world began to blur into a haze of whiskey and my mind-shattering orgasm, Dutch stood. The chair scraped harshly against the wood floor. He didn't wait for me to finish. He moved toward the bed with his commanding gait as his shadow falling over me like a heavy, velvet shroud.
He pushed into me, his cock filling my pussy. I let out a loud, and looking back at it, embarrassing, squeal. Dutch place his hands next to my head as he thrusted in and out, in and out. I grabbed his forearms to anchor myself from the sudden movement, my fingers digging into his skins as if to ensure he could never leave.
My moans mirrored each one of Dutch's thrusts. His cock felt like it was in my stomach. Our breaths mingle sin the heat of the room, dripping with the whiskey we had drank.
"I'm close." Dutch murmured in my ear. I just moaned in response. He continued to pound into me, gazing into my eyes as he came inside my virgin cunt.
The rhythmic friction had died down. Dutch collapsed against me for a beat before he eventually slid out of me and rolled away. I laid there, my chest heaving, and sweat dressing my chest like it does when I am alone. I closed my eyes and fell asleep.
I never saw Dutch after our affair.
I had woken up around seven in the morning. Dutch was no where to be seen, but had left money on the dresser to pay for the room.
I still think about Dutch and his cock that fit my cunt perfectly, how we fisted his length as I rubbed myself, how he examined my pussy that was on display for him, and how he forcefully pushed me up against the wall.
I wonder if he thinks about me, if I'm the best he's ever had.
I still take his posters off the board, stuff them into my bosom, run off to my room, and rub my clit raw while looking into the poster's eyes. But it isn't the same.
a/n: FINALS ARE COMINGGGG AHHH so I might just post stories like this until they're over.
I'm almost done with school I can't wait oh my god.
Synopsis: Arthur helps a young couple in love, while you prepare for a Suffragist rally.
paring: Arthur x fem!outlaw reader
warnings: period-typical violent, sexist language, historically accurate outdated rhetoric against periods, BUT Arthur says the "L-word".
wc: ~7.6k
Saturday, June 24th, 1899
After puking my brains out, Dutch thought it was best to rest for a few days. I wonder if he still thinks it was the moonshine, or if I’m full of shit.
I have been taking it easy for the past couple days, and I haven’t even touched my journal since then.
Looking back on my last entry, I am embarrassed. If you ask me how I feel about Y/N, I will say I love her because she is such a good person. Not as in: “In love”, as in a romantic sense.
But it would be silly of me to disagree with my past comments about her appearance. You would have to be as blind as a bat to say she is ugly. She is mighty pretty.
Don’t know what came over me on Wednesday, but
“Arthur!” Dutch’s voice rang through the open center of the camp. Arthur shut his journal and slipped it under his cot. He stands up from his cot and meets Dutch halfway.
Dutch rested his hands on his hips. “I need you to go to Caliga Hall, right next to Rhodes. See what you can find out about the Grays.”
“Alright. Sounds simple to me.” Arthur mumbled.
“And Arthur,” Dutch moved his arm and placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, his voice dropping into a whisper, “only you. I don’t want you to get distracted.”
Arthur’s brows drew together. “What are you sayin’?”
“I’ve just been noticin’ some things. That’s all.” Dutch patted Arthur’s shoulder and strode away, his hips unironically swinging with a swagger he thought he had.
Arthur shook his head and walked towards the percolator, digging out his metal mug and filling it up with the warm, fresh coffee. As he stands up from pouring his beverage, he heard soft footsteps behind him. His head whipped around to see Y/N walking towards him, rubbing her lower back.
“Hey, Y/N. Yer back feelin’ alright?” Arthur asked.
You sighed. “Yeah…I think I just slept on it wrong.” You kept massaging the spot with your knuckles.
Arthur just stared more intently. “Do ya...need any help?”
You looked up at him and let out a small laugh. “I’m fine. Thank you for asking.” You grabbed your own metal mug from your own satchel and pour the coffee into it. “I should be asking you if you’re alright. I haven’t seen you after you mentioned that you threw up.”
“Yeah…I’m fine. Just an off day, maybe.” Arthur’s voice faltered.
You took a quick sip of your coffee before responding. “Yeah, we all have those days. I’m just glad you’re feeling better.”
Arthur’s lips curled up into a smile. He opened his mouth to thank you, but Dutch rudely interrupted from across camp.
“Arthur! This is what I meant by distracted!”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “I have to go and do Dutch things.”
“Ha! Have fun.” You sassily remarked.
Arthur smiled at your wit. “I’ll sure try.”
“Arthur! Go!” Dutch commanded.
“Fine, Fine.” Arthur mumbled. You let out a laugh.
Arthur lightly jogged over to Boadicea, swiftly hoisting himself over her back. You stood there, sipping your coffee watching his actions, ultimately watching him ride out of camp.
You stared at the empty space where he once was and turned back to your tent. But before you could peacefully retreat back to your “room”, you felt your body collide with another member.
“I am so sor–“
Your voice died in your throat as you looked up to meet Molly.
A dark, steaming stain was already spreading across the front of her white blouse. She gasped, the sound sharp enough to cut glass, and she looked down at the ruin of her outfit as if you’d just shot her.
“Molly, I am so, so sorry.”
“You clumsy…fool!” Molly hissed, her Irish accent thickening with her temper. Her gaze was now directed at you, her eyes full of pure, undeniable resentment. “Were you so busy staring at Arthur’s back that you forgot how to use your eyes?”
You couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle. “What? No.”
Molly huffed. “Now someone will have to get this out. Don’t you know how expensive this is?”
"No ma’am.” You answered truthfully.
"It’s worth more than your whole life!” Molly exclaimed. She stomped off into her and Dutch’s shared tent grumbling about your incompetence.
"Yikes…” You mumbled.
"Mhm.” Javier quietly agreed from his bedroll nearby.
Caliga Hall was a sort of secluded plot of land, with the plantation house being right in the middle of the plot and drowning with guards clad with their rifles and pistols.
Who did the Gray family think they are, huh?
Arthur rode up to the entrance, the guards pointing their rifles with a practiced simultaneous click.
"What do you want, boy?” One guard spat. “This is private property, interlopers are not permitted.”
Arthur leaned forward on Boadicea. “This here the Gray plantation?”
"Yup. Caliga Hall” The other guard, who was way calmer and carried less of a complex than the other, answered.
"And that’s as close as you’re gettin’ to it.” The first guard snarled.
Arthur shrugged. “Well, that ain’t gonna work. Sheriff’s orders. He wanted me to have a word with some folk on the property.”
"I’m recently deputized, you see.” Arthur pointed at the shiny sheriff’s badge clamped onto his shirt.
"Deputized?!” The spiteful guard snapped. “And I suppose Leigh was drunk when he did it.” He growled. “Look, you can come in, but you ain’t talkin’ with me.”
Arthur tipped his hat. “Obliged.” He rode more into the Gray’s property. Now was the hard part. Finding someone that was willing to talk.
Arthur scoped the area, sighting a lot of men who were gardening or sweeping the back porch. He didn’t want to take these honest(?) men out of their honest work, but a job was a job.
Arthur swung off Boadicea and motioned to one of the workers nearby. “Hey, can you talk?”
The tired-looking worker turned towards Arthur. “Does it look like I can talk?”
"Well, no.” Arthur answered.
"If you want a talker, try Beau Gray out by the store houses. Man won’t life a hand, but boy can he sure move his lips.”
Arthur looked towards the store houses, noticing a young man leaned up against the wall reading a book. “Alright.” He turned back to the worker, tipping his hat. “Thank you, sir.”
"Mhm…” The worker mumbled, looking back down at whatever he was working on.
"Come on, girl.” Arthur cooed at Boadicea, grabbing her reins and leading her to Beau.
Beau hadn’t noticed Arthur walking up, his head buried in his book. It wasn’t until Arthur spoke up when Beau jumped slightly and looked up from his novel.
"I see you at the Sherriff’s office.”
"Excuse me, friend.” Beau began.
“We friends?” Arthur puzzled.
Beau shut his novel. “Not yet, but here’s hoping.”
Arthur shrugged and let out a small chuckle. “I guess.”
“We don’t get a lot of traveling men here,” Beau started, “then suddenly there’s a whole phalanx of mysterious, but strangely helpful Yankees about the place.”
“Is there?” Arthur asked with a bit of sarcasm.
“What exactly are you doing here?” Beau inquired.
Arthur answered. “I’m just looking for work.”
“Well,” Beau placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, turning the both of them to face the open yard and not the house, “looking for something. Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”
“What?” Arthur sputtered. “What secret?”
Beau leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a quiet register. “I’ve got a secret of my own.”
“Are you secretly normal?” Arthur quipped.
“Excuse me?”
“Uh, never mind.”
Beau turned to face Arthur. “I love her, you know.”
Arthur looked around. “Love who?”
“Penelope.” A dusting of pink appeared on Beau’s cheeks. “But it’s impossible…”
Arthur straightened. “Well,” he sighed, “love tends to be complicated.”
“She’s a Braithwaite. I’m Beau Gray, son of Tavish Gray, nephew of Leigh Gray, the sheriff, grandson of…” Beau yakked.
Arthur stood there listening to Beau’s ramble rather unenthusiastically.
“We Grays have been loyal to the State and murders to the Braithwaites for so long now…no one can even quite explain why. Beyond blind loyalty and stupidity.”
Beau slowly walked in front of Arthur, gazing out in the distance before continuing. “I’m supposed to be loyal to some nonsense, while she…well, she’s amazing.” He turned back to look at Arthur. “She’s like a woman from the future. She’s like…tomorrow, it tomorrow turns fine.”
Arthur relished in Beau’s theatrics. “Well, I’m sorry for your predicament.”
Beau rushed back to Arthur. “Would you help?”
Arthur waved his hand. “I don’t wanna get involved in gang feuds. It seems, unseemly.”
“I–I’ll pay!” Beau blurted out almost too loud. Arthur felt his ears perk up. Beau continued. “I’ve got money. We Grays, we’ve always got money…no brains, mind, but money.”
Arthur shrugged. “Aright. What do you want me to do?”
“I know she loves to sit out in the gazebo, on the edge of the Braithwaite property.” Beau handed Arthur an envelope and an expensive-looking pearl bracelet, the piece of jewelry making Arthur almost drool.
“Take her this letter, and this bracelet. Please. Look out for the guards, they’re worse with strangers than ours are.”
Arthur nodded, shoving the letter and the bracelet in his satchel. “Alright. I will.” Arthur started to walk back to Boadicea.
Beau smiled. “So long! And good luck! Thank you!”
Arthur waved before riding out of the Gray’s property.
Mary-Beth was sitting at the wash bin, scrubbing the hell out of Molly’s shirt. She growled. “This is goin’ to take the whole day!”
“I still feel bad.” You confessed, sitting on one of the stools nearby.
“It’s not your fault. Not like you did it on purpose or anything.” Mary-Beth scrubbed the shirt against the metal grades harder.
“But just the way she acted. Over a blouse?” You questioned. “I mean, sure, I had nice things before, but I would not be making a fit over a blouse.”
“That’s, well, Molly.” Mary-Beth commented. “She’s a high-class woman.”
You let out a laugh. “And she’s here.”
Mary-Beth took a break of her frustration to laugh a little. “Yeah, I know. Sounds silly, but she says her family comes from wealth.”
“For some reason, I just don’t buy it.” You quipped. Mary-Beth laughed slightly.
Mary-Beth sat up straight, resting her hands on her hips. “How’s your back doing?”
“Eh,” You answered. “I think I just pulled something.”
Karen pipped in. “These bedrolls are rough on ya. Pearson might have some tonics or something for ya.”
You nodded. “Yeah, I’ll go over to his cart and take a look.”
“If you’re going to get something over there, Pearson has this amazing lavender oil. Helps me when I have aches.” Abigail suggested while she was walking by the group of girls.
You excused yourself from the women, the dull throb in your lower back making every step feel like you were wading through deep mud. You made your way over to Pearson’s wagon, hoping to find that oil Abigail mentioned.
Pearson was busy wrestling with a large haunch of venison, his back turned to you. You began to quietly sift through the crates of tonics, but your hands felt heavy and uncoordinated. You spotted the lavender oil, reaching for the small bottle, but your fingers fumbled the glass. It didn’t break, but the loud clack as it hit the wooden shelf echoed like a gunshot in the midday heat.
“Everything alright over there, Miss Y/N?”
The voice didn’t belong to Pearson.
You looked up to see Dutch standing outside his tent, his arms crossed over his chest. From inside the tent, you could hear the muffled, sharp sounds of Molly’s voice still complaining, probably about what happened that morning.
Dutch walked over, his eyes scanning you with a clinical, cold intensity. “You’re looking a little…frayed at the edges today.” He remarked, his voice dropping into a smooth baritone.
You laughed softly. “Yeah, I’m fine Dutch.” You snagged the bottle and trying to look more stable than you felt.
Dutch stepped closer, moving more into your personal space. “We are in a delicate position here. The Grays, the Braithwaites…the Pinkertons. I need everyone at their best.”
Wait. The Braithwaites?
You nodded, holding the bottle close to your chest. “Oh, I agree sir.”
Dutch paused, his gaze flickering towards the road Arthur had disappeared down earlier. “I’ve noticed Arthur has been a bit preoccupied lately. And now I see you, fumbling around here.”
He placed a hand on the wagon, leaning in. “Don’t let your….” He hovered a hand over all of you. “…distract the men who are out there keepin’ us fed. We are a family, but a family is only as strong as its most reliable members.”
Dutch gave you a patronizing pat on your shoulder, the same one he’d give Arthur, and turned back toward his tent without waiting for a reply.
You scoffed and shook your head in disbelief at the interaction you just had.
“Y/N!” Sadie exclaimed jogging towards you. She noticed your disgusted expression and her tone shifted instantly. “What’s wrong?”
You shook your head, changing your expression to a neutral one. “Oh nothing. What’s going on with you?”
“I was out with Charles near Rhodes, and I heard that there’s gonna be a Suffragist rally later today!”
You gasped. “Really? Are you gonna go?”
Sadie’s voice dropped. “Unfortunately, I can’t. Ms. Grimshaw has cursed me with chores, but I thought you would like to go.”
You nodded eagerly. “Definitely.”
“I think I overheard one Suffragist say it’s gonna happen around two. Have fun and tell me all about it!” Sadie walked to an empty bucket on the side of camp.
Arthur took Beau’s warning, carefully sneaking around the whole Braithwaite perimeter.
“This is crap.” Arthur muttered under his breath as he sidled the edge of the property.
The beautiful gazebo that sits right on the water comes into view, of course surrounded by guards.
Arthur lowly growled. “Dammit.”
He crouched and ran in between the bushes and other shrubbery that decorated the plot until he reached the side of the gazebo.
His back made a THUD as he slammed into the hard, white wood. He could hear a woman gasp.
Arthur heard clacks of heels against the floor of the gazebo, before seeing a kind face peering over the ledge. “Hello?”
Arthur looked up coyly. “Uh.” He let out a small chuckle. “Hi, are you Penelope Braithwaite?”
“Why yes, I am.” Penelope answered, her voice still calm and soft.
Arthur stood up, brushing himself off. He climbs the steps of the gazebo and to Penelope’s side. “I’ve got a letter for you.” He opened his satchel and pulled out Beau’s envelope and the pearl bracelet. “And a gift.”
Penelope took the items and let out a surprised gasp. “A letter and a gift? We don’t even know each other?”
“Well,” Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, “it’s not from me, it’s from–“
“From Beau!” Penelope giggled holding the items to her heart. “Oh, he is so–“
“Strange?” Arthur interrupted.
Penelope opened her mouth, letting out a hesitant sigh. “Well, yes, he’s a little strange, but also so human.”
Penelope sits down at the small table, patting the space across from her. Arthur took her offer and sat down.
“The rest of our families are stuck in the Dark Ages, or well, I don’t know…cave people, perhaps.” Penelope played with the wax seal pasted on the envelope.
“What do you mean?” Arthur asked.
“Beau’s different, but if they find out…they’ll kill him, and send me to live someplace awful…like Ohio.” Penelope’s face scrunches up in disgust. “Have you ever been to Ohio, sir?”
“No.” Arthur grumbled.
Penelope sets the envelope down the on the table in front of her. “Well, neither have I, but my uncle has a factory there. He was sort of the black sheep, on account of having left, but now they tolerate him, because he’s a vicious snob.” She sighed. “Families are…are…well, they’re something else! Have you got a family sir?”
“Hm…” Arthur thought for a moment, “no not really.”
“Well,” Penelope began, “they tolerate him, because of the money, but me, with my ideas above my station, they can’t stand.”
“Wow, I’m…” Arthur started, but stopped for a second. “That sounds pretty complicated. I…I don’t know quite what to say, to be honest with ya.”
Penelope smiled slightly, her posture straightening in her chair. “Well nothing to say, except I hope they all rot.”
Arthur’s eyes widen in shock at her words. He didn’t expect such a soft soul would bare those harsh words.
Penelope caught Arthur’s expression, she laughed softly. “I–I don’t…well, maybe a bit. But here,” She slides over a similar envelope Arthur had given her, “if you see Beau again, will you give this to him?”
Arthur nodded. “Sure.”
“Thank you mister…?”
“Morgan. Arthur Morgan.” Arthur reached a hand over the table, and she took it in hers, giving it a firm shake.`
Arthur turned to walk back to Boadicea but stopped himself midway. He turns back to Penelope. “I actually, have somethin’ to ask ya.”
“Yes?” Penelope’s soft voice answered.
“I’m–there’s this woman. A fine woman. And I don’t wanna mess somethin’ up.” Arthur confessed. He could unconsciously feel his cheeks burn.
“You want to know what’ll woo her?”
“I guess. She’s not a fancy lady, so…” Arthur added.
Penelope shrugged. “Beau was just himself. So, I guess be you?”
“Be myself? That's borin'…” Arthur mumbled.
Penelope retorted. “Well, it’s the truth.”
Penelope looks off into the Braithwaite property. “You could get her something. Like a gift?”
“A gift?” Arthur’s ears perked up. He hasn’t gotten a gift for someone since Mary. Is he even cut out for it? Yes, he’s a grown man, he can handle buying a lady a gift.
“Alright, thank you.” Arthur tipped his hat and snuck away in the same direction he came.
“A gift? Where can I find a gift?” Arthur whispered to himself. He could go into Rhodes…no too close and not so special in his eyes. Valenti–nope. Then it hit him like a ton of bricks. A rich, flourishing town he had heard about in the papers: Saint Denis.
Arthur arrived in Saint Denis, and boy was it different from any civilization he has been submerged in. Bustling townsfolk moving through the cobble streets and manicured sidewalk, the big, styled houses with rich men and women parading out of them, and the nice, healthy smell of the smog coming out of the nearby smokestacks. What is civilization without a good coat of toxic soot.
“Where would I find something nice for Miss Y/N, girl.” He patted Boadicea on the neck. She just whinnied back.
Boadicea’s hooves steadily clacked against the cobble as Arthur scouted out potential shops. Would she want? She’s a woman, of course, but she’s not like any ordinary woman. She’s a special woman. And a special woman should be given something special, not just some stupid piece of crap jewelry, something that’ll die, like flowers, or a bottle of whiskey.
As Arthur turned the corner, a sparkle in the light caught his eyes. He swung off Boadicea in the middle of the street and pressed his face up against the glass. Sitting behind the glass, a beautiful ring sat in a velvet-lined box. He didn’t even realize that he had left Boadicea in the middle of the road, until he heard a man grumble angrily. He quickly doubled back and grabbed Boadicea’s reins, tying her to the nearest hitching post and walked inside the jewelers.
When Arthur’s heavy boots hit the wooden floors, a bell rang though the shop. An older, put-together man popped his head from the back room and hurried to the front counter.
The man wringed his hands together. “Hello sir, what brings you in today?”
"Lookin’ for something for a very important lady, and that ring in the window there caught my eye.” Arthur answered a bit nervously.
“Ah I see. Well sir, how important is this lady to you?”
“Well,” He hadn’t quite thought about it. He knew lying to himself will only bring more trouble, and not admitting that you’re on his mind all the time would be the biggest lie of them all, “she’s a special woman, not some regular, ordinary woman.”
The man gave a small nod. “Alright, are you in relations with her, or is she your mother?”
Arthur scrunched his nose slightly. The thought of him thinking that way about his own mother, rest her soul, is disgusting. “Now, why would I talk about my mother like that?”
The man puts his hands up, defensively shaking them. “Some folks love their…never mind.”
“I’m looking for a lady that I…well, that I love.” Arthur confessed, his voice faltering as his sentence went on.
“Alright then.” The man takes the ring from the display. “Do you know her ring size?”
“Ring size? No.”
The old man mumbled something, but then sets the box on the counter in front of Arthur.
The ring wasn’t as extraordinary as it seemed like it was from outside, which made Arthur’s mouth turn into a slight frown. If he was going to get you a ring, it must be an extraordinary ring, goddammit!
“Uh, is there another ring that is a little more…fancy?”
“Fancy? Yeah we have fancy rings.” The man bent down and unlocked the case behind the counter. He placed the set of rings down in front of Arthur. “These are our sapphires,” the man pointed to the sparkling blue gems on the left, “and these are our diamonds. This is one carat, and this is two.” The man pointed to the rings on the right.
Arthur’s eyes glided towards a diamond so large it looked like a piece of fallen star. “Which one’s this one?” He pointed to the one farthest to the right.
“The two carats, sir.”
“How much?” Arthur pulled out the stolen money clip that was rightfully yours, but never gave it back, from his pocket and shuffled though his money.
“$460, sir.”
Arthur stopped dead in his tracks. “Four hundred and sixty!” The man’s eyes bulged out of his head. Arthur felt his ears become sweltering hot. His voice dropped to a quieter tone. “That is quite expensive, ain’t it?”
“Not for this kind of ring, no.” The man answered shortly. “For this many carats, as well as the style of the band, it’s a fair price.”
Arthur bit his lip. He needed to get this for you, but nothing can buy his beautiful fantasy of him giving it to you, you probably giving him that cute smile that you always do, and instantly slipping the ring on your perfect finger. Maybe even a kiss? No, he was getting to ahead of himself, especially right now in the middle of this random shop in the soot filled town of Saint Denis.
“I can’t do that right now.” Arthur’s voice dropped low, his shoulders slumping to match. The grown man who can buy a woman a gift who had walked in now felt like a small, vulnerable boy.
The old man sighed, but then boxed up the ring. “Here’s what we are going to do, you would have to come back anyway because we need her size, but I’m allowing you to come back when you have the funds.”
“R-really?”
“Yes, can I have your name?”
“Arthur Morgan.”
The man jotted down Arthur’s name on a piece of paper and then locked up the box in the compartment in the counter. “When you’re ready to purchase it, just tell me your name and we can go from there. But you will have to purchase the ring within this year, or else it’ll be back up for sale.”
Arthur nodded. “I understand, sir. Thank you.”
“Eh, no problem. I was in your position too one day. I was abou–“
“I actually have something to drop off so, I can’t talk.”
“Oh, alright, well, have a good day sir.” The old man muttered.
“See ya again soon!” Arthur waved as he walked out.
“Alright, how do these look?” You posed for the girls at camp. You had gotten a pair of white pants from the store in Rhodes, without Arthur knowing of course. You didn’t want to be wearing the same clothes over and over again, and some retail therapy is always fun.
Mary-Beth looked up from her novel. “I love them! They look really good with your shirt!”
“Why thank you.” You gave a small, playful bow.
“Yeah, I love them too, it’s a nice change!” Tilly added. Molly’s now clean shirt was drying off next to her.
“Also, wearin’ pants to Suffragist rally? That’s a huge statement.” Mary-Beth commented. Tilly just nodded.
“I think so too, but I wear pants all the time, so not much of a change for me.”
“Which reminds me,” Mary-Beth started, “why don’t you wear skirts or dresses? Do you like them?”
“Oh yes. I love fashion, but wearing pants is way more comfortable, especially with all the riding I do.”
Mary-Beth nodded and crossed her arms in thought. “Huh, I didn’t think about that.”
“Will we ever see you in a skirt, Y/N?” Tilly asked.
“Why? You wanna see me in one?” you playfully teased.
Tilly let out a laugh. “Why yes I do. I think you would look mighty pretty.”
“I’m glad you think so, Tilly. I might wear one in the near future, but right now I’m going to ride my pants-wearing self to Rhodes.”
“And I reckon a certain someone in camp might just lose his ability to speak entirely…” Mary-Beth mumbled. Tilly let out a loud laugh and playfully hit Mary-Beth’s arm.
You smiled softly and cocked your head. “What was that?”
“Nothing!” Tilly and Mary-Beth said in unison. They waved and said their goodbyes. As you were brushing H/N and about to mount, Abigail stopped you.
“Y/N, how are you feeling? Did that lavender oil help ya out?”
Your ache has subdued quite a bit since massaging the smooth oil in. “Yeah, thanks for telling me, Abigail.”
“Of course, us girls have to look out for each other. Have fun.” She smiled and walked back to tend to Jack.
You swung onto H/N and rode out of camp.
The red dust of Rhodes seemed to hang in the air like a thick, dry curtain, which seemed to make the humidity too much to bear. You tied H/N to a low-hanging branch, your hands fumbling slightly with the reins.
You walked towards a small cluster of women at the entrance of town, the pain in your lower back suddenly surged. The sun felt like a physical weight on your shoulders, and the sharp rhythmic sound of nearby horses galloping through town, felt like they were galloping directly against your skull and your lower abdomen.
An older woman wearing a sash saying, “VOTES FOR WOMEN” across it in big letters was standing on top of a soapbox, her voice proud. “…we aren’t just ordinary women. We are women who aren’t afraid to fight for our sisters, our mothers, our past, present, and future!”
The other women in the group howled and clapped. You cheerfully followed along. The woman on the soapbox smiled at your appearance, taking in your bold choice of wear. “Now you look like a woman who’s ready to fight.”
“Something like that. Anything to treated be equal.”
“That’s the spirit.” She steps down, the other women talk amongst each other. “I’m Olive Calhoon.” She whipped out her hand.
“Y/N.” You gave her a firm handshake. “I can’t wait to rally with all of you.”
“Great! We’ll start in a moment, I want to make sure everyone is here and ready. Is this your first rally?”
Splayed on your hands and knees, you were busy at work on a big, pure, white sign.
“What are you doing?” A man behind you asked.
“Ugh, not you again.”
“Just answer me.” The man demanded.
You sighed. “I’m making a sign.”
“Well, I can see that. For what?”
“A rally.”
"Ugh, is that for that stupid woman’s thing?”
You tossed your pen on the ground “It’s not stupid, it’s revolutionary!”
The man let out a chuckle. “Revolutionary? It’s just some crazy women with even more crazy ideas! What is it with women not wanting to accept their places?”
You stood up and began choked the man. The other men in the gang all stood up and watched. Some yelled in praise, the other’s grumbled.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Wade rushed over and pried your hands off the man. “What’s going on here?”
“She’s a crazy bitch!”
Wade raises his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, let’s settle down here.”
“He’s the crazy one!”
“Y/N, stop.” Wade placed a reassuring arm on your shoulder. “I’m sure he didn’t mean anything he said.”
“Right, I was just joking. No need to get emotional.”
“You mother–“ you lunged at him, but Wade held you back.
Wade softly rubbed your shoulder. “Y/N, stop.”
"But Wade–“
Wade took you by your arm and walked you away from him.
“Wade, he started it. I was minding my own–“
“It’s always fightin’ with you two.” Wade grumbled, his voice low to not have the others hear.
“He’s an asshole.”
“He is not.” Wade’s voice is strict. “You see, Cr–“
“Yes.” You answered.
“Oh wonderful!” Olive exclaimed. “Do you want to drive the wagon?”
Arthur rode into Calliga Hall and right to Beau, who was in the same spot as before with his head buried in his novel.
“You got my money?” Arthur swung off Boadicea.
Beau looked up quickly and dug in his pockets. He gave Arthur a couple of coins. “Did she give anything for me?”
Arthur counted the small number of coins and sighed. “Yes.”
“Well, might I have it?”
“Sure, but it’ll cost…” Arthur paused and then let out a defeated sigh, “oh, I can’t be bothered.” He dug into his satchel and handed over Penelope’s envelope.
Beau took it and held it close to his heart. “Thank you, Arthur…you’re…thank you.” He rips open the envelope and reads it line by line.
“My God…what a woman.” Beau shook his head softly. “She’s…wait…this’ll get her killed for sure.”
“What is it?”
Beau looked up from the piece of paper. “Women’s suffrage. Round here, they don’t even like men voting. They’d being back the monarchy given half the change. Progress is a dirty word in these parts…unlike incest.”
Arthur shook his head in a shocked manner. “Excuse me?”
Beau moaned softly. “I don’t wanna marry my cousin Mathilda! I wanna marry Penelope! But they’re gonna…they’ll kill her at one of those rallies they’re holding. They’ve done it before.”
Beau turned to Arthur and shook pleading hands. “Mister, you gotta help. Please.”
Arthur hesitated. “Fine. Just no more running around with letters.”
Beau let out the breath he was holding. “Oh thank you! Come on, we’d better get going.”
“Easy, boy. Calm down.” Arthur’s voice was stern as Beau was frantically riding his horse through Lemoyne.
“I can’t be calm! If we don’t get there in time, my true love may be shot!”
“If she wants to rally, you got to let her rally.”
Beau looked back at Arthur. “Good as the cause is, I can’t let her become a martyr to it.” He looked back at the trail. “I want to marry a flesh and blood woman, not a statue in her honor.”
Arthur let out a laugh at the young boy’s naivety. “I’m sure they know what they’re–“
“They’re they are!”
They rode up to the crowd of cheering women. Some had pickets, some had sashes that said “VOTES FOR WOMEN” that matched the woman who was standing on a soap box.
“Penelope!” Beau called out. Penelope turned around, her eyes lighting up when she met her lover.
“Beau, what are you doing here?”
Beau grabbed her hands. “I cannot let you through with this. You’ll be killed.”
Penelope smiled softly and rubbed Beau’s hands. “I’m prepared to die for the cause, Beau. You know that.”
Beau turned his head toward Arthur. “Do something, please.”
Arthur backed up slightly. “Do what? Fight this mob? They’d eat me alive.”
Beau groaned and turned to Penelope. Arthur looked around at the crowd of women, until a familiar face had caught his attention.
“Y/N?”
You turned around to the sound of your name being called. Nothing could have prepared you for Arthur to be standing there.
“Arthur?”
Arthur walked towards you, taking in your new clothing. “What are you doing here? You could get yerself killed.”
"Isn’t it obvious why I’m here?”
"Well…yeah.”
You let out a soft laugh. “I see you saw my pants.”
“Yeah, they’re nice. You look…good.”
You smiled. “I decided I needed new ones. I kinda went out without you knowing, but it’s my clothes and I can get them whenever I want to.”
Arthur nodded. “That’s right.”
You matched his nod. “Yeah.”
You and Arthur stared into each other’s eyes. It felt as though you two were the only ones there, that you were somewhere else, somewhere more peaceful.
It was broken by Olive, who had stepped off her soapbox once more. “Y/N, who’s this?”
You snapped out of your daze. “This is my friend, Arthur Morgan.”
Arthur tried not to physically wince at the word: friend.
Olive smiled. “Welcome, Mr. Morgan. Would you like to ride besides us? It would help to have a man by our side.”
“Well, I ain’t never been in a protest march before,” Arthur looked back at you, your smile and dedication to this cause persuading him, “I’ll do it.”
“Great!” Olive turned to the crowd of women. “Alright ladies. We know out song is a good one, and we know out cause is a pure one.”
You got up onto the wagon and held its reins in your hands. You looked down at Arthur sitting on his horse next to you on the ground. He smiled up at you.
Olive gave you the go-ahead. You whipped the horses, and the wagon begins to move. As the wagon moves down the trails of Rhodes the women sing merrily. The majority of townsfolk was standing on their porches booing and delivering crude gestures, with one flipping off the women.
You stood up in your seat and returned the finger back to the man. Arthur laughed proudful at your action, but then noticed something. Not that he was looking, but on your butt there was a medium-sized, dark red spot. Maybe she sat in something? Maybe the red dust?
“Head home! Head home!” A heckler yelled from his porch.
“Oh, do give it a rest, you sorry fool!” Olive yelled back and leaned over towards you to talk to Arthur. “Mr. Morgan, I give you the male of the species.”
Arthur let out a laugh. “That’s a pretty dumb specimen, I grant it.”
Olive lightly hit your arm. “Stop just past the bank.”
You nodded and pulled perfectly next to the bank. Adrenaline flowed through your veins, so much so that your legs were like jelly.
Olive hopped down from the wagon. Multiple male hecklers were yelling things like “You don’t even know what you’re saying!” and “You should be home with your children!” But that didn’t stop Olive.
Olive stood up on the bank’s steps and started a speech with her booming voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is a great day for all of us. For today is the day we begin to live as equals.”
“Equals? Ha!” A nearby man squawked.
“Yes, equals, sir. Fair and equal. Fair, equal, and free, just as the Founding Fathers intended.”
“Founding Fathers, not Founding Mothers!” Another man yelled.
You made your way through the now big crowd of people that were surrounding the bank. Arthur rushed up to you.
“Arthur! Wasn’t that great!” You gushed.
“Yeah it was, really fun, uh, Y/N–“
“God, it feels good to be a part of something good, doesn’t it!”
“Y/N, I–“
“I think I want to this again. Can we do this again Art–“
“Y/N, I think you sat in something.”
“Huh?” You tried to look.
“Yeah there’s a big red spot on yer…uh…”
Your eyes went wide. Oh no. No. No. No.
“I have to go.” You pushed Arthur aside and ran towards the saloon.
You pushed through the saloon doors, creating a loud BANG that made everyone look up from whatever they were doing. You rushed up to the bar and waited for the bartender to serve you.
The bartender sauntered over while cleaning a glass very precisely. “Welcome, what can I do for you.”
“Can I have a hot bath please?”
“$0.25 please.” You dug a quarter out of your pocket and slide it across the bar.
“One hot bath coming up. I’ll let you know when it’s ready for ya.”
You nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
You leaned against the wall to hide your stain from the bar patrons. The throbbing in your head only got worse, making it feel like a thousand pounds. To prevent yourself from bawling your eyes out, you began to look around the bar, watching men and women flirting and schmoozing. It was pathetic, but also, kinda sweet.
You then looked to your left at a nearby corkboard. You tilted your head slightly and ripped off a bounty poster that wasn’t yours.
It was an old flame of yours. The poster read:
WANTED
DEAD OR ALIVE
GENE “BEAU” FINLEY
CHIEF AMONG A CREDULOUS POSSE OF MERCNARIES
SOUGHT FOR ORCHESTRATING BANK ROBBERIES
ACROSS THE SOUTH. THIS GARISH UPSTART IS OFTEN SEEN SPORTING AN EXTRAVAGANT TAILORED SUIT.
HE AND HIS HEAVILY ARMED BAND ARE SAID TO OCCUPY A DILAPIDATED COLONIAL PROERTY IN BAYOU NWA.
WITH THEM ARE CAPTIVES INCLUDING SOME PREDATORY SPECIES
You let out a laugh. “Oh my God…”
“Ma’am, your bath is ready.” The bartender called out.
“Alright, thank you.” You shove the poster in your satchel and make your way into the bathroom.
You bolted the door behind you, the click of the lock finally allowing the breath you’d been holding to escape in a shaky sob. You didn’t even look at the steaming tub yet. You turned, catching a glimpse of yourself in the nearby mirror.
You looked like a ghost. Pale, sweat-beaded and dripping down your face. You felt as disgusting as you looked.
You slipped off your pants and see the pool of blood that was just waiting for you. And just in that moment, it felt like all your symptoms went away in that moment. Your aching back? Gone. Your pounding head? Gone. Your cramping abdomen? Gone.
You slipped out of your shirt as well as your undergarments, and submerged yourself into the boiling, hot water. You sighed and let the water rise to your nose.
“Ma!” You ran into the kitchen. Your face was pale, and your voice was trembling.
Your mother stopped her scrubbing of the dishes and wiped her damp hands on her apron. “Quiet, Y/N,” she said, her voice a low, strict command. “Do you want your father to hear you carrying on like a banshee?”
“I’m bleeding, momma!” Tears flowed down your face.
“Bleeding? Where?”
“Down there!” You hollered.
Your mother’s face went rigid, all the warmth draining from her features as she realize exactly what you were hollering about. She didn’t pull you into a hug or tell you it was going to be alright. Instead, she moved with a sudden sharp efficiency, grabbing you by the shoulder and pulling you into the hallway.
“Keep your voice down!” she hissed, her fingers digging slightly into your arm. “There is no need for the whole of the country to hear of your business. You are a woman now, Y/N, and that means you’ve got to learn the value of a quiet tongue.”
Your mother dug through a small box on the bottom shelf and pulled out a bundle of cream-colored flannel.
“It’s a curse passed down from Eve herself.” she started, her voice dropping into an almost mournful tone. “From this day on, you are never to let anyone see a spot on your skirts. Understand?”
You nodded softly. She handed you a set of the flannel. “You wash these in cold water, you hear? Cold, or the stain will set and tell on you. If you’re careless, people will think you are common. And a common woman is a woman with no husband.”
Later that night, you are lying awake in your bed. You cannot sleep, today was a big change for you, but you couldn’t figure out why.
When your eyes was just about to close, you hear soft, muffled voices from the outside of your room. You stealthily climbed out of bed, tiptoed to the door, and pressed your ear against the door.
“She has gotten her monthly. I think she’s ready.” Your mother’s voice was a soft whisper.
Your father’s voice was a similar tone to your mother’s. “I don’t know…”
Your mother’s voice stayed the same, but the tone became sterner. “They want the horses, we’ll give them the horses. I could care less about the horses. This could be a great opportunity for our daughter. Just imagine it, her living the lavish lifestyle, not having to worry about money, or courting some hillbilly.”
“I want her to decide.” Your father’s voice rose in volume.
“Shh! She won’t think for herself in the future. Just think, she’ll be all set up.”
Your father sighed. “Fine.”
You slowly tiptoed back to your bed and turned onto your side. You had just turned fourteen and your world had suddenly shifted.
You climbed out of the bath, the water much cooler than it was when you got in. You grabbed some of the soap and a lot more of the water and scrubbed and scrubbed the potent red until it was a light pink.
After countless tries getting out the stain, you decided to give up for now and just do it at camp. You slipped on your pants and your shirt and walked out of the bathroom.
Arthur was waiting for you outside the saloon, his foot rested up against the exterior wall. When you exited the saloon, Arthur rushed to your side.
“Hey, what’s wrong are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just wanna get to camp.” You answered shortly.
“Alright. Wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?”
“No, Arthur.” You felt your headache coming on again. You placed a hand to your forehead. You felt yourself burning up.
Arthur nodded. “Alright, well you can tell me anyth–“
“Ugh! Arthur just shut up, will ya!”
Arthur’s face dropped. “Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry.”
Arthur led you to your horse that was still tied up to the branch. He helped you onto your horse, then he swung onto his.
The second you two stepped foot into camp, you swung off H/N and disappeared into your tent. Arthur’s brows knitted and he continued to swing off Boadicea and to tend to her.
A couple hours later went by and Arthur hadn’t seen you all evening. He didn’t want to barge in on you since he didn’t want you to blow up on him like you did in Rhodes. He truly did not want to make you upset.
So, he decided to go to any of the women who were available to talk, and that happened to be Tilly.
Tilly was sat down reading a novel. When she hears footsteps approaching her, she looks up from her pages. “Hey, Arthur.”
“Hi Tilly,” Arthur started, “I have a question for ya.”
Tilly put down her novel. “Alright.”
“What’s up with Y/N?”
Tilly’s brows furrowed. “What’re you sayin’?”
“She’s just been acting strange all of a sudden. When we were at the rally, I told her that she must’ve sat in something, she ran off to the saloon for about a good hour, then when I asked her what’s wrong she tells me to ‘shut up’. I don’t know what I did wrong.”
Tilly thought for a moment, then her face light up. “Arthur, it’s her monthly.”
Arthur’s face went white. “Oh, uh, well…that explains the spot on her pants.” Arthur dug his face in his hands. “I feel like such an idiot.”
“Well, did you make a big spectacle out of it?” Tilly asked.
“No, but I did tell her about the spot.”
Tilly sighed and rubbed her temples. “The poor girl was wearin’ white too. She’s likely mortified.”
Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, looking pained. “I just wanted to help. She wouldn’t even look my way on the ride back.”
“I know, Arthur, and she knows too.” Tilly reassured him.
“What can I do to fix this, or make her feel a little bit better?”
Tilly sighed. “Well, every woman is different, Arthur. Some want lavish gifts, others just want to be left alone.” Tilly looked over at your closed tent.
Arthur dug into his satchel to try to find something to give to you to make you feel better. He pulled out a semi-melted chocolate bar. “How about this?”
Tilly smiled. “That’s thoughtful, Arthur.”
Arthur smiled and headed towards your tent. He carefully opened your tent flap and peaked inside. You were laying on your bedroll sleeping peacefully. Arthur crept in and placed the chocolate bar on your makeshift nightstand.
Arthur stood back and took a look at is work. It was missing something. He pulled out his journal and pen from his satchel and began to write.
For your woman troubles.
Arthur Morgan
Arthur shook his head and scribbled out “troubles”
For your woman troubles.
Arthur Morgan
Arthur groaned quietly and scribbled out “woman”, just to leave “for you”.
For your woman troubles.
Arthur Morgan
He smiled softly and looked at your peaceful, sleeping body. He let out a soft giggle and tucked the paper underneath the half-melted chocolate bar.
Hopefully that would make Y/N feel just a tiny bit better.
a/n: I stayed up into the early hours of the morning writing this :/
Sparks fly when you and your best friend, Arthur, have the night shift. Ms. Grimshaw notices your closeness and you suspect gossip is being spread about your growing romantic relationship with Arthur.
Will you ever know if you are subject of the gossip mill? Will you and Arthur ever publicly confess your love for each other?
Series Paring: switch!Arthur Morgan x fem!outlaw reader
Series Themes: friends to lovers, porn with a plot, teeny tiny fluff, switch (but more focused on sub) arthur morgan, sexual themes, semi-public sex, mentions of BDSM. MDNI.
Synopsis: You and Arthur have a steamy night in Saint Denis and decide to tell the camp about your relationship.
paring: sub Arthur x fem reader
warnings: tiny SMUT (right in the beginning, so hold your horses). no use of y/n, uses of "honey", "sweetheart", "good boy", "whore", sub Arthur (AHAH), dirty talk, BDSM mentioned but not practiced
wc: ~1.4k
Arthur slammed you against the wall of the hotel room he reserved in Saint Denis, forcibly kissing your soft lips and huffing and moaning sweet, dirty sounds. Your hands were cupping his face, but are not scared to let your hands wander down to his neck and his slutty, exposed collarbone that was peaking out.
His gun belt and hat had been already slung off and sitting on a lonely chair that was placed in an odd position in front of the bed.
Matching your hands, Arthur's lips trail down to your neck, his moans becoming whinier and more pathetic as his passion grows.
"Such a beautiful woman," Arthur mumbles on your neck in between kisses, "you're so good to me..."
His large hands, calloused and scarred from the years of his work, found your hips and pulled you towards him with a frantic sort of hunger. He pulled him and you to the bed.
Arthur flops onto the bed and unzips his pants. You began to slip off your womanly garb as well. You thought to yourself that taking off this many layers of fabric wasn't ideally sexy, but Arthur would say otherwise.
Arthur has whipped out his flaccid cock in front of you too many times to count in the past couple weeks, but it never ceased to make your mouth water. You could probably imaging your eyes widening too.
He grabbed the base of his cock with a manly sort of confidence, lightly pushing it down and letting it bounce back towards his stomach. "C'mere."
You climbed over him on the bed, Arthur now lies flat on his back. "Please baby, use my cock..." He whimpered. The man who could (and has) killed more than twenty men in one sitting is the man who begs for his lady's pussy.
You, wanted to be nice and not to tease him so much. Stakes were high at camp and being quiet was far too hard, especially with Arthur writhing underneath you. You wanted to use his cock, you wanted to hear him be loud, free, unafraid from the always listening ears lurking around at camp.
It was funny. Just a little while ago, Arthur had that cocky grin painted on his lips, a gleam in his eye, telling you that he wants to hear YOU scream for HIM. For the amount of time you two have done this, you would've assumed he would realize that it's usually the other way around.
It's not like you didn't vocally show your pleasure (you sure did), but Arthur was the one to make sweet, sissy whimpering and moans. And it all started after that night against Mr. Pearson's wagon, where you had taken the reins for a moment, covering his mouth, taking control of his sounds. And oh boy, did he love it.
From that moment on, he would slowly suggest this to you.
"Honey, what's your opinion about touchin' yerself in front of me?"
"Heard about this thing at the saloon...bondage. Sounds interestin' to me. Wanna try?"
"What if you were on top, sweetheart?"
"If you don't come over and fuck my cock, I'm gonna come in my pants."
You and Arthur have discovered more about yourselves and each other than you have in the past weeks, fornicating like rabbits any time and anywhere you got the chance. If there was a way, you'd probably see the camp drenched in both your's and Arthur's DNA.
But right now you're not at camp. Now, you are sitting on Arthur's cock, his shirt was removed, his hands were resting on your hips, and his ocean eyes already looking cunt-struck. You almost want to just capture this moment on a canvas and frame it.
You moved slowly on Arthur's cock. He groaned and shut his eyes, letting his head drop to the expensive bedsheets underneath the two of you.
"That's it. Just use me, use me for your pleasure."
You moved faster against him, savoring the way his large, scarred, calloused hands gripped your hips and the way they felt on your hard nipples when you moved them up to your breasts. The royalty, the luxury of the Saint Denis suite, the velvet curtains, the princess style bed, paled in comparison to the lewd acts and sounds of two rough outlaws letting go.
Arthur became loud, his moans and whimpers bouncing off the walls. He softly whined your name, barely able to speak a real sentence. Sound after sound, after word after word poured from his mouth. The words sounded like a different dialect of a completely different language, his moans and whimpers collapsed with his words.
You weren't being quiet, like mentioned previously, you loved to be loud. You moaned and praised, saying things like: "You love when I use your cock, huh? You're such a good boy.", "Come on, louder! Let them hear you!", and "Let them know who you belong to!"
You, as well, screamed and whimpered Arthur's sweet name from your soft lips. Nasty curses flowed from your pretty mouth.
You leaned down, your hands gather at Arthur's throat as he groaned at the action (he's such a whore).
"Arthur," you breathed, your hair brushed his chest, "are you gonna come for me? I feel ya..."
Arthur whined, probably an "mhm..." or something like that, but you couldn't tell due to his fucked out state.
"Let go for me. I'll come with you." You pressed a kiss to that same slutty collarbone in the beginning.
You two are horny freaks. Correction: horny, loud, messy, freaks. When the both of you came, the whole town of Saint Denis knew. Arthur's and your name flew around the room, soft whines and moans rang as pants and heaves struggle to escape lungs.
You flopped next to him adorned with red cheeks and sweat dripping down your forehead. Arthur's cheeks were as red as yours, like the two of you wanted to be all cutesy and coupley and decided to match.
You turned to your side to face Arthur. He's so fucking pathetic. He stares up at the ceiling, his chest moving up and down in a rapid motion as he tries to catch his breath.
"Jesus..." Arthur sighed, rubbing his temples.
"Did I do good?" You had dared to ask, even though you already knew his answer.
"You do good all the time." Arthur now turned to look at you. He caresses the back of his hand on your cheek.
"Hey, Arthur?"
"Yeah?"
"I think I want to tell everyone now." You confessed. Arthur sat up slightly.
"Why do you wanna do that?"
You shrugged. "I want to say out loud that you are mine. I want to kiss you in front of everyone. I want to have sex whenever I want in my tent."
Arthur chuckled softly. "I guess that sounds nice."
"Doesn't it? I'm tired of hiding, Arthur. If they don't like us together we can move away."
Arthur laughed a little harder at that. "Away? Where?"
"I don't know. California?"
Arthur grabbed your hands. "We ain't leaving, and they ain't gonna care. Do you know how many people are secretly keepin' others company'?"
"Well I have my suspicions..." Your voice trailed off.
"Now yer soundin' like them talkin' about us." Arthur laughed.
"You're right. But tomorrow, when we return to camp, I'm gonna kiss you right on your lips in front of everyone." You stated.
Arthur shrugged. "I ain't gonna complain about that."
You rolled your eyes playfully. You turned to your other side. "Goodnight, Arthur."
"Goodnight, Sweetheart."
You and Arthur rode into camp on your respective horses. You slung off your horse as Arthur was quickly brushing Boadicea.
Before you could drag Arthur into the middle of camp and kiss him like you two were the only people on Earth, Mary-Beth skipped up to you.
"I've been hearin' a few things. Are you two sparkin'?" Her sweet voice had cut through your plans.
You groaned. "Dammit."
"What? What's wrong?" Arthur turned to you.
"Yes. Yes we are, Mary-Beth."
The woman gasps. She lets out cute, small giggles and a smile shines on her face. "We all knew it. Ms. Grimshaw talked about it with all the gir–"
"I know." You interrupted Mary-Beth. "Arthur and I had this whole thing planned out. It would've be–"
You stopped as Arthur placed a hand on your shoulder and pressed a kiss to your lips.
And while the kiss was just as good as the last one, and the last one before that, and so on, nobody even seemed to care.
a/n: Hope you enjoyed this cute miniseries! Other note, My Mouth Is Clean, My Hands Are Dirty is going to be updated soon! I FINALLY finished my script for school so more fic writing for me! YIPPIEEEEE!!
Synopsis: You suspect others are talking about you and Arthur, but he has other things in mind.
paring: Arthur x fem reader
warnings: A little bit of fluff, no use of y/n, uses of "darling", "honey, and "sweetheart", slightly suggestive talk, but nothing too serious.
wc: ~1.3k
It's been a couple weeks after your's and Arthur's rendezvous behind Person's wagon, and within that time, you've both discovered things about each other. Things you probably wouldn't have discovered if you two just stayed friends.
For instance, you realized that Arthur's strong front he puts on is bullshit, and that he's actually a hopeless romantic at heart. He always tried to find things to give to you when Dutch sends him away on a mission, or if he had gone to travel on his own.
You had received necklaces, bracelets, flowers that he had picked himself when off on his travels. He wrote sweet little notes attached to your gifts, with cute sayings that you can tell came from his own mind.
Having Arthur as your fella and not just a friend was different to say the least, but most things stayed the same. You both still joked or poked fun at each other, which helped the other members in camp not to notice the change in relationship.
Which leads to another thing. You had discovered that it was hard to keep a romantic relationship private. You had caught yourself calling Arthur "darling" or "honey", and had to redirect your pet name right in the middle of saying it.
And while you had noticed you do it almost every time, it still doesn't stop you from letting it slip.
There was this one day in particular where the secret you both shared had been revealed to the two main gossipers in camp: Karen and Mary-Beth.
Arthur had just rode in from Rhodes. The town was known for its potent red dust that was a pain in the ass to get out of clothes, especially white garments.
You had just taken a break from your chores and sat next to Mary-Beth, inquiring about the latest novel she was reading. Karen was sat next to Mary-Beth, already nursing a bottle.
You had heard Boadicea's gallops, and naturally turned to the camp's entrance to see who is arriving back home. Your face lit up, your cheeks grew hot and red, to see Arthur riding back into camp and swinging off Boadicea once he had hitched her to a nearby post.
Arthur strolled over to you and the two women, smiling at your reaction to his presence. He tipped his hat. "Afternoon ladies."
"Hey, Arthur." Karen and Mary-Beth say almost in unison.
Arthur looked down at you with a loving gaze.
"Hi dar- uh, darn it, Arthur." You fake scoffed, moving away from him slightly. "You're bringing that horrible dust near my skirt."
Arthur had noticed your slip up, but he went with your act and backed up. "Oh, uh, sorry there. I didn't realize."
You looked up at him and exchanged a quick smile. "It's fine, just take off your boots. I'll wash them off."
"Alright." Arthur began to walk over to the log near the campfire. He sat down and slipped off his boots.
"Darn it?" Karen scoffed. "I've never heard you say 'darn it' before."
"It was just something I said in the moment. I didn't want him to get that hellish dust on my skirt. You and I both know it's hard to get out." You retorted. You did put up a good argument.
"Since when do you care about your skirts?
"I just really like this one. I don't want it to get ruined."
Karen shook her head. "Mhm." She takes another swig of whiskey.
From across camp, Ms. Grimshaw saw the whole interaction. She had seen almost every interaction in the past couple weeks. The increase in small touches, the quiet glances, the gifts Arthur always had for you. Ms. Grimshaw isn't stupid, she knows when things are more serious than they seem.
"It's a fine skirt." Mary-Beth commented, her head still buried in her novel. "Kinda matches the shade on your cheeks."
You stood up with a huff and walk over to where Arthur was sitting. You snatched his leather boots from the side of the log where he set them "I'm going to the wash tubs. If I leave them sit, the red will be all gone."
Arthur nodded and mumbled. "Thank you, sweetheart."
You smiled slightly and gave Arthur a friendly pat on the back while you made your way to the wash tubs.
As you made your escape, you passed by Ms. Grimshaw. She was standing by Pearson's wagon, the wagon Arthur had you pinned up against. Her arms were crossed over her chest, watching you with a knowing expression.
Her eyes were fierce and stern, compared to your soft expression looking back at her. It felt like time itself was in slow-motion. She didn't say a single word as you passed.
When your back was to her, your eyes went wide and you felt a cold shiver run through your body.
The sun had dipped low, and you are still scrubbing Arthur's boots. The dust and dirt had gotten into the intricate details on the leather and in his spurs. It's going to take a miracle and a half for this to be cleaned.
"You're gonna rub the leather right off 'em if you keep up like that." Arthur's voice breaks your thoughts.
You didn't look up. Arthur walked over and sat down next to you in the soft grass where you worked.
"They're onto us Arthur..." Your voice was low. You dropped the brush into the water. "Karen, Mary-Beth. I think even Ms. Grimshaw knows."
"She doesn't know." Arthur rebutted.
"I think she knew ever since you took me behind Pearson's wagon."
"But we were quiet and everyone was drunk."
"Think, were we really that quiet?" You now have your hands resting on your hips.
Arthur's jaw tightened. His brow furrowed as he actually took a moment to think back. A low, gravelly groan escaped his throat as he rubbed the back of his neck.
"Well, maybe we weren't completely silent." he admitted, his voice barely a rumble. "But I had my hand over your mouth for most of the time, didn't I?"
"That doesn't matter. The wagon was creaking like it was about to fall off its wheels!"
Arthur let out a chuckle.
"Arthur." His name escaped through your gritted teeth. He straightened at the tone of your voice.
You stared daggers at him for a moment before continuing. "And Susan, she was standing right there when we were done. I saw her."
"Then today, she was staring me down. That mean, cold stare that she does." You dramatically shudder.
"Can I laugh now?"
You rolled your eyes and gave Arthur a look.
"You know, even when you hate my guts, I still find you adorable." Arthur pinched your cheek affectionately.
A small smile broke from your lips. You softly pushed him away. "You're a jerk."
Arthur tilted his head and traced your face with his blue eyes. "So, we're the camp's gossip." His eyes were soft as they locked onto yours. "I reckon we let 'em talk. Why would it matter to Ms. Grimshaw if we still continue to pull our weight 'round here?"
"And frankly," Arthur moved himself closer to you, his voice dropping to a soft, quieter tone, "I'm tired of hidin' behind wagons and dancin' around like we're teenagers."
Arthur breathed. He leaned his head on yours. "I told Dutch we're headin' out toward Saint Denis tomorrow."
You sat up straight, and shocked expression painted your face. "Saint Denis?!"
Arthur nodded and pulled back to look at you. "I told him that you wanted to go there to look at a few things in the shops and things like that. He bought it."
He sighed. "We can go shoppin' if you want to sweetheart, but the real reason why I wanted to go there was for the rooms up in the saloon. It's not like hotel in Valentine, or the Saloon in Rhodes, it's a real beauty. A big bed, a fireplace, a door with a lock. Real fancy."
Heat rose to your cheeks. You let out an appreciative laugh.
He lowered his voice more. "And I wanna hear exactly how loud I can get you to be. What do you say?"
a/n: I've decided I want to make this a miniseries so....yeah!
Hi! I wanted to ask if you’d ever consider writing a Charles Smith x female reader fic from Red Dead Redemption 2. I’ve been really craving something soft and comforting with him.
My idea was that it takes place around the camp party after Sean comes back. The reader has been part of the gang for about a year, so she’s still a bit newer but already knows everyone. During the celebration she sneaks away from the noise for some quiet, and Charles notices and follows her. They end up sitting somewhere at the edge of camp (maybe by the trees or near the water) and just talk for a while.
If you’re comfortable writing it, I’d really love if the story had a comfort theme about body insecurity, specifically the reader struggling with having a very large chest and feeling embarrassed or “too much” because of it. It’s something I personally struggle with and I almost never see it represented in fanfiction, so it would mean a lot to read something like that.
Nothing super dramatic—more just Charles being gentle and reassuring in his very calm, thoughtful way. Maybe he notices how the reader feels and reminds her that she isn’t a burden, that she isn’t asking for too much, and that she deserves to feel comfortable in her own body.
Of course no pressure at all if this isn’t something you want to write! I just thought I’d ask because I love your writing and Charles is such a comforting character.
Thank you for reading my request 🤍
Hi! Thank you so so much for requesting this!
I am honored that you trust me with such a sensitive topic. I have seen far and few between where there is specifically a larger-chested reader, and as someone with more of a bigger chest myself, I thrive off these fics.
(Plus, I've been CRAVING to write a Charles fic)
To be honest, it's safe to say that this is probably my one of my favorite fics I've ever done. Hope you enjoy anon and anyone who needs to feel appreciated!
ily <3
The Space You Fill
pairings: Charles X Large Chested Fem Reader
warnings: Hurt/Comfort, with a little Fluff at the end. crude comments and motions, body image issues, teeny tiny talk about historical oppression/misogyny, cuddling, and cute, small kisses hehe.
wc: ~1.9k
Sean had been missing ever since the failed Blackwater heist, and we've all been worried sick about him. It didn't help that we were further away from Blackwater, now being in the swell of New Heartlands.
But when good news arose that he was well, but being taken in custody with the Ike Skelding Boys, Arthur, Javier, and Charles snuck over the Upper Montana river.
Even though we knew our men were in good hands, especially since later we all found out Trelawny was there right besides them, you still found yourself pacing around camp, or, for instance, fidgeting with the cloth of someone's shirt that you were washing, which you currently were.
What knocked you out of your worries, was when the whole camp was interrupted by Sean's blabbering coming in from Javier's horse, which was quickly followed Charles and Trelawny.
Everyone congregated to the middle of camp as Sean hops of Javier's horse, talking louder than what he was coming in. Some of the men gathered around him, hitting him and joking around.
"Where's Arthur?" Dutch asked.
"He wanted to stay and take some valuables, if any." Charles answered, leading his horse over to a nearby post.
"Well," Dutch moved between Sean and the other men, patting Sean on the back, "I reckon this calls for a celebration."
"A party? Hopefully with a couple of cold ones, amirite?" Sean joshed.
"Don't worry Macguire, we have a lot of beer and a lot of whiskey." Dutch led Sean to the campfire. The rest of the members huddled around and Sean started one of his infamous, wild stories (which was, obviously, 100% real).
The early evening changed into night just as abruptly as Sean's entrance. Arthur had found his way back to camp safe and sound. He was currently seated besides Charles on a log, nursing a bottle resting in his hand. Charles was sitting peacefully, tending to his knife.
You noticed Karen was suspiciously hanging around Sean, but you figured that two heavy drinkers finding each other is the only thing that makes sense. She had been hanging over him, and the more she pounds the bottle, the more you know she's going to regret whatever happens tonight.
Sean, in his drunken stupor, stepped up onto a broken tree stump with a tumble. He giggled a little as he swayed to keep his balance, but ultimately, he was up there with no promise of getting down unless he passed out.
"I'm a young lad," Sean started, "…and a young lad…we young lads only care about one thing."
You internally laughed at Sean. You just never know what's going to come out of that loud mouth of his, even when he's sober.
"Sex. We only care about sex, right guys!" Sean slurred. Some of the men around the campfire, more specifically Bill and Uncle, roared.
"Especially sex with a pretty lady!" Sean giggled. "A lady who's really a woman."
You scrunch your face in confusion. "Really a woman? What the hell does that even mean."
"Sean's havin' fun with some cross dresser behind the saloon!" Bill guffawed.
Sean sputtered. "What?! NO! I like women!"
"Yeah, real women." Uncle snorted.
"That's not what I meant!" Sean huffed, looking around the campfire.
Just in an instant, his eyes caught yours.
Oh no.
"Take Y/N for example, she's a real woman."
"Yeah? Of course I'm a real woman." You jested.
"No, like a real woman." Sean crudely cupped the empty air with his hands and heaved them upwards in a mocking jiggle.
Bill and Uncle laughed loudly, slapping their knees.
You scoffed and crossed your arms, trying to at least cover some of your breasts. You looked around for help from some of the other women, but Karen was too drunk to care and the other's were already off in their respective tents.
"Aw don't cover them up baby, I wanna see…" Sean laughed, almost falling off the stump.
"Sean, yer drunk." Arthur rolled his eyes.
"You're disgusting, Sean. Have some dignity." Javier commented.
Charles didn't pay any attention to Sean. His eyes met your face. The face which was all happy enjoying Sean's spectacle into his twisted, disgusted, self-aware expression.
"I mean, just look at 'em!" Bill jested.
You quickly got up and stomped away, your arms pressed against your chest.
"Awwwwww, come back, we were just playin' around!" Sean yelled after you.
"Women…" Bill muttered.
Sean and Uncle laughed, letting out some "yep's" in return.
Charles looked back at the direction you had walked. He wanted to comfort you, but was too nervous to even say anything. Even though he had only known you for almost a year now, he doesn't want to overstep.
He watched as your silhouette disappeared behind the treeline near the outskirts of camp, your shoulders were hunched as if you were trying to make yourself small enough to vanish. The laughter behind him felt like gravel in his ears.
Charles didn't move for a long minute. He wasn't one for impulsive gestures, and he didn't want to crowd your space. But the look in your eyes, the shame, it would've haunted him for the whole night.
Sean joked more about your breasts, to Bill and Uncle. The jokes were cruel, almost inhumane. The three men talked about boobs like they were the holy grail.
Charles got up, staring at the three men. "You all are assholes." He then moved in the direction you headed.
"Aw, guys, we got Charles upset." Uncle joked.
"Look a real reformer. Come on Charles, be a man!" Bill laughed.
"Shut up, Bill." Arthur groaned.
"Oh so, you're gonna start too, huh Arthur. You some sort of progressive, huh?"
"Bill, shut yer damn mouth!" Arthur demanded.
Charles found you on the far outskirts of camp, seated behind a huge rock. You sat there, picking and prodding at the cloth covering your chest. He slowly approached you, sitting down next to you silently.
He looked over at you, noticing dry tear streaks down your cheeks. Charles opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.
The crickets played their song, and the fireflies danced in the air, lighting up the night sky. Charles didn't know how to start. "Hey those guys are jerks, don't listen to them." No sounds to cliché, "I don't understand men's…" No because I do, that would be lying, "You know, you're beautiful." Eh, maybe not something she wants to hear right now.
"The air is better out here," Charles decided to say. Great going.
"Better than whatever is circulating in there." You motioned back to camp.
You let out a shaky breath, the cool night air finally starting to soothe the heat in your face. "They never stop, do they?
Charles shifted, his large frame casting a steady shadow. You looked up at him, but he was not looking at your chest, like men did. He wasn't even looking at your figure. His gaze was focused on the nature in front of him, the trees, the stars, the fireflies.
"Men like Bill and Sean," Charles started, still admiring the scenery, "they see the world in pieces." His gaze shifted to you with sincerity in his eyes. "They look at a forest and only see timber. Tonight, they looked at you and only saw what they chose to see."
"That I'm too much." You spat.
Charles stayed quiet. Frankly, he didn't know how to answer.
"That I'm desirable only for what I am born with. What I cannot decide? You, Bill, Sean, or any of the other men in camp for that matter, will never understand. Being consciously aware of my presence that I hold, the space I take up."
You continued. "Charles, I know you would like to help me but, you can't. I will always be like this. A spectacle, something that is so gross…huge…"
"No." Charles stopped you. "You're not gross, or 'too much'."
"Then what am I if not to suffocate the space, Charles? What am I if my body is only to be gawked at."
You continued. "It was not just tonight. Multiple nights…days, even. Me, the other women in camp." You looked at Charles, tears starting to form in your eyes. "I hate it Charles. I yearn for the day where women can walk freely among men, where they don't have to worry about stupid things like wearing too tight of a skirt, or if their curves are too distracting."
"I need to just accept, that in this time, I am a woman who is destined to take up space. Who's goal, which is not my own, is to satisfy the eyes of the men I surround myself with."
Charles looked back at the fireflies, his jaw set. He didn't offer a quick, empty denial because he knew you were right. He had seen the way men looked at the women at camp, and he had seen the way the world tried to run away from things it didn't understand.
Charles somberly sighed. "You're right. The world is not kind."
He turned to you, his expression softening into something so gentle, that it almost hurt for you to look at him.
"And, I don't know when the world will accept women, or anyone for that matter. But what I do know is, you're not suffocating anything. In fact, I reckon you're filling it."
Charles scooted closer, his presence almost acting like a shield against the distant echoes of the party. Well Bill, Sean, and Uncle. "You speak of yearning for a day when you can be free. I want that for you too. But until the rest of the world catches up, don't let them win by making you hate yourself."
You wiped some tears from your eyes. Charles continued. "You're smart as a whip. You're kind to every living thing on this Earth. You have an amazing aim that's for sure." You let out a light chuckle.
"And your body, its a vessel that carries you. It nourishes you, makes you stronger, protects you from bad. Bodies, all shapes and sizes, are amazing things. Your body is what makes you kind, smart, have that great aim of yours, and your body is what makes you sit here and speak of a better world. That is what makes a real woman. A real you."
"Charles…" You started to softly say, but Charles cut you off.
"I know what it's like to be a spectacle to those who don't know any better. But I decided a long time ago that I would not apologize for the space I take up. I just hope you can find a way to do the same."
Charles reached out, tentatively, and placed a hand on yours. "If your clothes are too tight, we can go into town in the morning and find you better ones. And if the men start up this crap again, let me know. I'll have a word with them."
You smiled, grabbing his hand. "Thanks, Charles."
"Of course." Charles nodded.
"Charles?"
"Yeah?"
You gave him a small kiss on the cheek. Charles looked at you in surprise.
"For…coming out here and cheering me up." You answered bashfully.
Charles smiled, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Can I kiss you back?"
You nodded, and in no time, Charles grabbed your face and placed a kiss on your cheek.
You smiled, then rested your head on his shoulder. Charles stroked your hair in a slow, calming manner as the night continued.
a/n: This was fun to write. Thank you anon for requesting this! <3
