your girl Nash

🤠just a girl tryna‘ spread love here😽 😋new to this like a loser🙃

[ashydust]

You were right

Pairing: Maekar Targaryen x F!Reader

Summary: He doesn't want to tell you the truth.

Wordcount: 1347

Warnings: smut: a bit rough + no plot, just pure filth!

A/N: A new record—wrote this under one hour.

It was night. The moon flooded the room with a faint light that didn’t seem to reach far. The candles helped illuminate the room, flickering in the dim shadows.

A slow but steady breeze swept through the bedchamber, causing the soft curtains to flutter wildly.

My eyes averted to the man in front of me—between my legs—as he dug his fingers deeper into the flesh of my hips. A small moan tried to escape me, but I bit my lip, trying to suppress it.

His scowl only deepened at my reaction. With a growl, he slammed himself inside me—his thrusts relentless, almost too desperate for even him.

 "Are you gonna be mad the whole time?" Maekar exhaled sharply, eyes locked onto mine. My glare only hardened—more annoyed by the second—and I made sure he saw it. I was furious at him, and my face screamed it without words. He rolled his eyes when he caught that stubborn look—I wasn’t backing down.

"You’re acting like a fucking child," he growled before yanking me closer by my hips with those big hands of his. A moan slipped out despite myself—but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. So I turned my head to hide it… but his hand snapped up instantly—rough fingers gripping my chin—and forced me back to face him.

"Look at me… you don’t get to look away while I’m fucking you," he murmured into my ear, his lips brushing my skin like a whisper. The warmth of his breath sent a shiver through me. My eyes flicked up instinctively—meeting his.

"You’re impossible," I finally snapped through clenched teeth. He didn’t argue. Just gave the tiniest shake of his head—like I was the impossible one. 

He wasn’t giving in. I could see it—the frustration etched on his face. It wasn’t helping… not at all. My patience snapped.

With a low groan, I shoved him off me and pushed him down onto the mattress hard enough that his back hit the sheets with a thud—the bed creaking loudly under us.

Straddling his lap without hesitation, I gripped one of his shoulders for balance—my nails digging deep into skin on instinct; I didn’t care for marking his skin.

Then slowly—I adjusted my hips until he was fully inside me once more—a quiet moan escaping despite myself. But this time, I kept eye contact. 

Something shifted in his gaze—his eyes darkening, hands sliding back to my hips like they owned me. I set a slow rhythm—deliberate, controlled—and he responded instantly: breath hitching, chest vibrating under me as a muffled groan escaped.

"You don’t get to be mad at me," I breathed out between movements—my voice laced with defiance. The contrast was obvious: his earlier aggression now muted beneath my pace.

"Acting like a jealous child," I accused softly—the words almost teasing if not for the edge underneath.

He scoffed through clenched teeth—a disbelieving grunt—but didn’t argue back. No agreement either… just silent resistance simmering beneath us both.

"So fucking jealous," I whispered—then attacked. My lips crashed onto the sensitive skin of his neck—kissing first, then biting gently before sealing my mouth over a pulse point.

Maekar couldn’t hold it in—a loud moan tore through the quiet room as I sucked hard. A hickey bloomed instantly: dark red against his pale throat.

Pulling back just enough to admire my work? Worth it. Childish? Maybe… but that smirk on my face said otherwise.

Leaning down again, I took him all in—the sweat-damp hair stuck to his forehead; those faint pink cheeks from exertion; eyes glazed over like he was drowning in sensation.

"I could see it on his face… he wanted to fuck you," he finally said—voice low, edged with something possessive.

"He was greeting me, like all the other lords and ladies," I scoffed in annoyance. He shook his head again.  

"I saw the look on his face…" His hands traveled upward, roaming all over my body. "...he looked at your breasts." His hand immediately cupped one of my breasts—I threw my head back when his thumb brushed against my nipple.

"You’re projecting," I moaned, his touch making it hard to breathe. "Just admit you're jealous without a reason—" Another moan cut me off as he arched up, meeting my hips halfway.

"Fuck," I whispered under my breath before locking eyes with him again. "You just wanted an excuse to fuck me."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "You're actually insane." But the tight grip on my hips? The way his jaw clenched? It all screamed guilt—even if shame wasn’t something he usually showed.

My hand snapped up—and smack—my palm connected with his cheek. His head turned sharply to the side from the force… but shock didn’t flash across his face.

No. Instead, a low moan spilled from him—deep and involuntary.

"Why won’t you just admit it?" I demanded through gritted teeth, hips never stopping their rhythm against him.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"  

Each word punched out of me as my hips slammed down harder, skin slapping loud in the quiet room. He groaned—then suddenly his hands framed my face, yanking me forward.

The kiss was all heat and chaos: lips crashing, teeth clashing before his tongue shoved past mine. Still burning with frustration, I bit his bottom lip hard—the metallic tang of blood flooding our mouths instantly.

He moaned into it… but I swallowed that sound whole, humming like it tasted good despite everything.

My hips stilled abruptly—no more movement. I stayed suspended above him, breathing hard.  

"I’m not moving again until you admit it," I said flatly, arms crossed over his chest like a barricade. The room fell dead silent—just our ragged breaths between us.

For a long second? Nothing. No sound from him… no shift of muscles under me.

Then—a barely-there mumble escaped his lips: "...You were right."

It was so quiet I almost missed it.

So without blinking: "Louder." My voice didn’t waver this time—demanding clarity before any action resumed at all. "You were right."  

His voice came out stiff—forced, like the words physically pained him. His eyes flashed with something raw: frustration, surrender? Maybe both.

I didn’t move. Not yet.  

"Again," I demanded, holding his gaze as my hips stayed frozen above him.

A beat passed—then another low grumble escaped through clenched teeth: "...You were right."

That did it.

"Fuck...yes," I breathed before finally rolling my hips down hard again—the fire in my stomach erupting all over again as we hurtled toward that edge together.

The tension snapped—both of us hurtling toward the edge at once. His hands gripped my hips hard, fingers digging in as his breath came in ragged bursts against my lips. There was no teasing left—just pure urgency.

Then it hit: that white-hot second where everything crystallized. My body tensed first—a gasp tearing from me before I could stifle it—as pleasure ripped through every nerve ending like lightning.

Maekar arched beneath me with a choked groan; his entire frame locking up for one suspended moment before crashing down into release right alongside me—the two peaks colliding perfectly without words needed.

The room settled into a hush. No sounds now except our slowing breaths and the faint creak of cooling bodies.

Then, his lips brushed my temple—a quiet kiss pressed there like an apology. Warm breath ghosted over my skin as he murmured against it: "You were right."

[ashydust]

Forgiveness

Pairing: Baelor Targaryen x F!Reader

Summary: He just wants to show you how sorry he is.

Wordcount: 1923

Warnings: smut: oral fem receiving + I did not proof-read it!

A/N: Diving straight in, no plot whatsoever:)

“Come on, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, his voice booming off the walls of the long hallway. The hallway itself was almost dark, lit only by lanterns that were perfectly positioned ten feet apart. The windows didn’t really help with the lighting, as it was already night. The stone floor reflected the moonlight and the lanterns’ glow—it was pouring outside, hard and wild.

“I’m sorry,” he added and stopped, thinking I would stop too—but he thought wrong. I kept my pace, taking fast, small steps. My dress floated behind me, whirling around as I marched down the hallways of the castle. My heels were loud and clear as I stomped along in my rhythmic pace.

He continued walking, following me again. I rounded a corner and headed toward the stairs. It was easier for him to keep up with his longer legs, which only made me angrier, so I picked up my pace. But I failed miserably when his hand landed on my shoulder. He stopped me from taking another step up the stairs. His grip wasn’t harsh or anything like that; he simply held me in place.

Right on cue, lightning flashed and thunder roared loudly outside. I averted my eyes before turning around to face him.

I stared at him with an annoyed expression. For a moment, he seemed surprised that I looked him directly in the eyes. He stared back, but his face was filled with regret and sadness. He scanned my face for a second, his eyes roaming over every detail. He didn’t speak, just stared, as if he were calculating what to do next.

Instead, he took my hands in his, holding them lightly together. I looked at him in confusion, even more so when he knelt before me.

“What? What are you doing?” I asked, perplexed by his sudden movement. He knelt before me, still holding my hands in his.

“I’m truly sorry—”

I cut him off.

“Get up. Someone will walk by and see you.” My voice was sharp but hushed. My eyes darted around the hallway and even behind me, up the staircase, as if I were afraid someone might walk by.

He just shook his head, pulling my hands upward and bringing his lips to the backs of my gloved hands, peppering them with kisses. I didn’t pull away; I simply watched him.

As he slightly pulled away and looked up at me, my breath caught in my chest when I saw the intensity in his eyes. The need in his gaze was visible as he furrowed his eyebrows. He slowly pulled one glove after another from my hands and arms, his movements precise and delicate.

I watched him silently as he brought my bare hands to his lips, kissing my knuckles. This time, without the gloves.

“What are you doing?” I asked, the words almost catching in my throat. He looked up at me for a second.

“I’m going to make it up to you because I was an idiot,” he murmured against my knuckles. I felt his hot breath against my skin, and I shivered.

“What?”

He hushed me, pushing me gently against the stairs.

“Sit down.”

He pulled me down so I would sit on a step. At first, I didn’t budge, but the look on his face made me sit down on the cold stone. My dress pooled around me, reaching almost to the bottom.

The moment my body touched the cold stone, Bealor didn’t hesitate.

In one fluid motion, he rose from his knee and closed the space between us. His hands slid to my waist as he lowered himself—not beside me on the step, but onto it, straddling one leg over mine in a quiet claim of closeness.

Rain still hammered against the windows. Another flash of lightning lit his face—the sharp line of his jaw dusted with dark stubble—and those heavy-lidded eyes now soft with remorse… and something deeper: longing.

He didn’t kiss me right away. No—he studied my face first: that pout forming at my lips from frustration; how tightly they were pressed together like they were holding back words. His thumbs brushed lightly over my hips through the fabric of my dress.

Then slowly… so slowly… he leaned in…and kissed me. I didn't react the first second, but the way his lips felt warm against mine… I sighed as I kissed him back. Was this my defeat?  

A kiss after another. He kissed my neck—soft, slow—each press of his lips making me close my eyes despite myself.

Despite the anger still simmering in my chest, I leaned into him. The warmth of his mouth on my skin was too soothing to resist.

But then he stopped.

My eyes fluttered open instantly—and there he was: already watching me. His gaze didn’t waver, heavy with quiet need and something almost vulnerable beneath it all—the kind that makes your breath hitch.

He took one step back and then both hands slid gently over the curve of my hips down to where they gripped lightly at each thigh before pushing them apart just slightly.

My heartbeat quickened as he leaned down.

Believe me, I was no prude, but something like that wasn’t to be flaunted in castle halls. It belonged behind closed doors.

He edged further away, putting space between us on purpose, and his fingers fidgeted with the hem of my dress. Slowly he began to push it upward, bunching silk over fabric until cool air kissed newly exposed skin. A shiver ran down my body.

Then he leaned down again and pressed a single kiss to the inner curve of my thigh.

My hand instinctively grabbed the back of his head as his mouth traveled closer to my core. An almost silent whimper escaped my lips—a sound I hadn’t planned to make.

But I leaned into him anyway, drawn by the heat of his body like a moth to a flame. Wanting more. More of him. His touch.

I shut my eyes tight—not in anger now—but in surrender. In forgiveness without words.

Because yes… he had messed up earlier. Yes… we'd fought over something stupid and petty—but here? Now? All that mattered was this moment: tender and intimate under flickering torchlight with rain still whispering beyond glass.

The faintest curve at the corner of his mouth as he hovered over my skin: a smirk full of quiet triumph because he knew. He knew exactly what this meant—that stubborn resistance had finally melted away.

His lips were warm—so much warmer than the air—and each kiss he trailed upward was a quiet promise: I’m sorry. I want you. I choose you.

The lace edge of my undergarments brushed against his mouth as he neared closer, and for a heartbeat, everything stilled—the rain, the castle breath around us, even my own pulse seemed to pause in anticipation.

When his mouth finally hovered over that most sensitive place through thin fabric—a whisper away from direct contact—I bit down lightly on my lower lip to stifle another sound threatening to escape.

His fingers moved with quiet certainty as they hooked gently into the delicate fabric and pushed it aside. The cool air rushed in immediately, skimming over exposed skin where heat had been building beneath layers.

Then his lips met me.

The kiss was soft at first: a single brush of warmth against trembling flesh like a question asked without words.

And that’s all it took.

A single, almost silent moan slipped out before I could stop it—a breathy sound muffled by clenched teeth and pride trying (and failing) to stay composed. My hand is not pushing him away but pulling, guiding him closer as if silently begging: "Again."

He didn’t need telling twice.

Like always, he delivered a perfect performance. That’s what he always did ´—he thought, he learned, and he knew what to do. His mouth wide open against me—working in a steady pace while his fingers squeezed my thighs, keeping them apart. I didn’t know what to do — I was feeling too much, like floating through pure bliss. 

His mouth opened against me with slow confidence—a full press of lips and tongue working in a steady rhythm that sent electric pulses shooting up my spine. Each movement was deliberate: not too fast and definitely not too gentle. A deep pulse of pleasure timed like a heartbeat made for worshiping someone you burned for.

Meanwhile, his fingers remained firm on my thighs but keeping them gently spread so he could reach every sensitive inch without obstruction.

I couldn't think clearly anymore. I wasn't even breathing properly; each inhale came short and shallow between quiet whimpers escaping despite my restraint.

Just when I thought this couldn’t possibly get any better, his right hand slid upward along my thigh, smooth and sure over warm skin. And, then it joined his mouth.

Fingers brushing gently at first… teasing… circling the sensitive area beside where his lips were working—before one finger finally made contact, softly, testing me like a question whispered into silence.

The second he did that, a loud moan tore from my throat without warning. It echoed down the stone corridor louder than either of us intended. There was no hiding it now: someone could’ve heard if they passed by.

But I didn’t care—not even a little bit—as pleasure exploded through every nerve ending like wildfire unleashed after drought.

My free hand shot out instinctively to brace against cold castle wall behind me; knuckles turned white from gripping so hard while body trembled beneath dual sensation.

He continued his actions—trapping my body on the edge. Every movement kept pushing me closer and closer until I couldn’t hold it anymore. I hovered on that razor-thin edge for what felt like forever—the world narrowing down to just heat and sensation—and then his name left my lips. 

I fell apart completely in his hands—or rather in his mouth—pleasure crashing through me in waves so intense they buzzed through every nerve ending all at once. Like lightning striking straight from the storm outside into my bones.

The aftershocks rippled through me—long, slow pulses of pleasure that made my toes curl inside my shoes and sent little sparks dancing behind closed eyelids.

For a moment, I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. I simply breathed shallowly, my heart hammering as though it wanted to escape my chest.

Bealor was still there, but his touch had softened now. There was no longer any urgency to his movements. Instead, his gestures became gentle, almost reverent, as though he were trying to reassure me after everything that had just happened.

Then, slowly and carefully, he lifted his head.

His lips glistened faintly in the dim torchlight filtering from down the hall, and when our eyes met again, there was no smirk this time. No quiet triumph or satisfaction written across his face.

He looked… undone.

Not physically, but emotionally vulnerable in a way I had rarely seen from him before. His eyes were slightly wide, his cheeks faintly flushed, and his lips parted as he studied me like I was the most precious thing he had ever touched.

And then, without a word, he leaned forward again.

Not for another kiss, but to gently press his forehead against mine instead. His warm breath mingled with mine as silence wrapped around us like an embrace.

[ashydust]

Just relax

Pairing: Baelor Targaryen x F!Reader

Summary: You help him relax after a hard day.

Wordcount: 5980

Warnings: smut: p in v + I did not proof-read it!

A/N: Just enjoy it!

The evening was quiet — maybe a little bit too quiet. I don’t find comfort in that. There has to be a little chaos; that’s how life is — never too quiet. The room seemed to disagree with me. 

A small oil lamp sat on the table next to me, illuminating not only the room but also the words in the book that rested comfortably on my thighs. Light danced around my surroundings, but the farther it reached, the more the darkness consumed the room. Shadows lay in the corners of the room. It was rather a large room, with a richly painted ceiling and expensive-looking furniture. 

Rain tapped lightly against the windows. Not a storm — nothing dramatic. Just a thin drizzle streaking the glass in uneven lines, catching reflections from the outside. Somewhere far off, the sound of galloping horses echoed and disappeared again into the distance, swallowed whole by the damp evening air.

I sat with my back against the armchair of the canapé, which was perfectly position before the fireplace. The fireplace itself held only a small fire that contributed to the room’s light and fought against the darkness. On the table next to me sat the lamp, a jug of wine with a matching cup, and a plate of grapes and other fruit that had been served long ago — perhaps four hours earlier. If I’m being honest, I don’t know how long I had been sitting there. 

The wine had long since lost its chill. Condensation no longer clung to the jug, and the surface of the with liquid sat perfectly still whenever I glanced toward it. I reached for the cup anyway, more for something to do with my hands than from any real thirst. The metal felt cool against my fingers. My fingers tapped a foreign rhythm against the cup, my rings on my fingers making a dull sound.

The fire cracked softly. A single ember shifted beneath the logs, sending a brief spray of orange light upward before settling again. For a moment the room brightened, and the painted figures along the ceiling seemed almost alive in the flickering glow. Gold-lined cherubs, old kings wrapped in crimson robes, women crowned with laurels — all frozen in elegant poses above me, watching silently from layers of fading paint and cracked varnish.

I exhaled slowly and took a sip. The wine was bitter now. I grimaced and put the cup down again. 

Beyond the windows, the rain continued its endless murmur against the glass. It mixed with the occasional groan of the wind outside and the distant rhythm of hooves upon wet stone streets. Somewhere in the city, life still carried on despite the late hour. Taverns would still be lit with laughter and music. Servants would still hurry through narrow alleys carrying lanterns against the rain. Guards would still patrol the gates wrapped in heavy cloaks, cursing the weather beneath their breath.

I focused on the book before me — or rather, I tried to. I had read the same sentence again and again, yet my mind refused to comprehend the words any longer. The letters blurred together into meaningless shapes beneath the lamp’s glow. With a quiet groan, I pressed my fingers against my temples and closed my eyes for a moment.

The door creaked open with a sudden motion, and I flinched at the abrupt commotion. My eyes snapped open and darted toward the wooden door. 

Baelor walked in with a heavy stride, his cloak almost flying behind him. His eyes never met mine as he crossed the room, and behind him the guards quietly pulled the doors shut once more. He carried the weather indoors with him — the scent of rain, damp leather, and cold night air clinging stubbornly to his clothes. Irritation radiated from every movement. He muttered something beneath his breath, too low for me to understand, while shrugging off his gloves one finger at a time. Without asking, he moved toward the table beside the canapé.

The firelight caught along the sharp lines of his face as he reached for the wine jug. He poured himself a generous amount before drinking from the very same cup I had used moments earlier. Almost immediately, he grimaced.

“God,” he muttered hoarsely. Despite myself, the corner of my mouth twitched faintly.

“That’s awful,” his voice remained rough with annoyance, though exhaustion lingered beneath it now. He set the cup back onto the table with a dull clink before dropping heavily onto the opposite end of the canapé. The cushions shifted beneath his weight. I watched him carefully the entire time.

Rainwater still clung to strands of his dark hair, leaving them slightly disheveled against his forehead. A faint crease rested between his brows, the sort worn by someone who spent too much time irritated with the world around them. Even seated, tension remained visible in his shoulders, in the tightness of his jaw, in the restless tapping of his fingers against his knee. Whatever mood he had arrived with, it had not improved during the journey here.

Realizing how little space remained between us on the canapé, I instinctively drew my legs closer to myself, folding my knees toward my chest to grant him more room. The movement barely lasted a second. He reached over immediately, one hand wrapping around my ankles before tugging my legs back down with firm ease until they rested across his lap instead.mThe action was so casual — so natural — that for a moment I simply stared at him.

“There,” he said quietly, leaning back at last. “Better.”

The fire crackled softly between stretches of silence. His hands remained loosely around my ankles, warm despite the cold he had brought in from outside. Up close, I could see faint traces of fatigue beneath his eyes now, darkened shadows hidden beneath irritation and dry remarks. He looked as though he had not properly rested in days. Still, there was something strangely familiar in the way he sat there beside me, occupying the room as though he belonged in it more than the furniture itself. My book remained forgotten against my lap.

“You’re late,” I said eventually. A humorless breath escaped him — not quite a laugh.

“You think I wanted to be out there longer than necessary?” His gaze drifted toward the rain-streaked windows. “The roads are a disaster. One of the horses nearly lost footing crossing the south bridge.”

“And yet you still came,” Only then did his eyes finally meet mine. The irritation in them softened slightly, worn down by something quieter. Something harder to name.

“Of course I did,” he said. For a moment, neither of us spoke again. The fire filled the silence for us, its low crackling blending with the rain beyond the windows. He leaned his head against the back of the canapé and closed his eyes. Only then did I notice how exhausted he truly looked. Not the ordinary kind of exhaustion brought by travel or bad weather, but something heavier. The sort that settled deep into a person’s bones and remained there. His cloak still hung damp around his shoulders, darkened by rainwater, while mud streaked the lower edges of his boots. One leather glove remained half tucked into his belt, forgotten entirely.

“You look terrible,” I murmured. His eyes opened slightly and his gaze shifted towards me.

“There’s the warm welcome I rode through a storm for,” even though his expression was serious, a faint smile was plastered on his face.

“You’ll survive.”

“Debatable,” I huffed a quiet laugh despite myself. The sound seemed to ease something in him. The tension in his shoulders loosened slightly, and his grip around my ankles softened into absentminded contact rather than restraint. His thumb brushed once against the side of my boot without thought, slow and distracted. I studied him openly now. There was a small cut near his jaw I didn’t remember seeing before, half-hidden beneath the dim firelight. Another dark bruise disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt. Tiny details. Easy to miss if one wasn’t looking carefully. Unfortunately for him, I always looked carefully.

“What happened?” I asked quietly. His expression flattened almost immediately. 

“Nothing.”

“That,” I replied, “usually means something happened.”

He exhaled through his nose, eyes drifting toward the ceiling as though debating whether answering was worth the effort. At that, silence returned. The fire shifted, casting moving light across his face. For a brief second, something unreadable crossed his expression before vanishing again behind practiced indifference.

“Bandits on the east road,” he said eventually. “Nothing serious.”

I stared at him. He stared right back.

“You were attacked by bandits.”

“They were very bad at it.”

“That is not the comforting statement you think it is,” one corner of his mouth pulled faintly upward then — the closest thing to a genuine smile he had shown since entering the room.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” the answer should have eased me. Instead, it only made the image worse in my mind: rain-soaked roads swallowed by darkness, steel flashing beneath storm clouds, horses panicking on slick mud paths. Him caught somewhere in the middle of it all with that same stubborn expression he wore now. My gaze lowered briefly toward his hands. Only then did I notice the raw skin across his knuckles. Without thinking, I reached toward them. His fingers stilled beneath mine instantly. The room suddenly felt much quieter than before. Smaller somehow. Warmer.

“You should have someone look at these,” I murmured softly.

“They’re scratches.”

“They’re bleeding.”

“They were bleeding,” I rolled my eyes faintly before reaching toward the small cloth resting beside the wine jug. The fabric had once been white, though now slightly stained from age and wine spills. I folded it carefully before taking his hand properly into mine. He let me. No sarcastic remark. No resistance. Just quiet. Outside, thunder rumbled faintly somewhere far beyond the city, low enough to barely reach us through the rain. The lamp flame flickered again, golden light dancing across the painted ceiling above. And still he watched me. Not with the sharp irritation he had arrived carrying, nor with the guarded exhaustion from moments earlier. This was quieter too. Steadier. Dangerously easy to get used to. 

I carefully cleaned his wound, every touch against his knuckles deliberate and precise. The cloth moved slowly across scraped skin, stained faintly pink by the remaining blood. I lifted his hand slightly to inspect it more closely, bringing it nearer to the lamp since the firelight alone was too weak and unsteady to trust. My brows furrowed in concentration. The cut was shallow, thankfully, though his knuckles were bruised badly enough to darken beneath the skin by morning. Typical. He always treated injuries as inconveniences rather than things deserving proper attention. 

As I tilted his hand slightly toward the light, I looked up instinctively— Only to find him already watching me. Not casually. Not distractedly. Watching me with complete, unwavering attention. For a brief second, I forgot entirely what I had been doing. The room seemed to narrow around us. The crackling fire, the rain against the windows, even the distant groaning of the manor itself all faded quietly into the background until there was only the warmth of his hand in mine and the weight of his gaze holding me still. 

Slowly, I lowered his hand again. I never broke eye contact. Neither did he. Something unreadable shifted across his expression then — subtle enough that I might have imagined it had I not been staring directly at him. The usual sharpness in his features softened slightly, worn down by exhaustion and something quieter lingering beneath it.

“You missed a spot,” he murmured at last. I blinked once before glancing down automatically, only to realize the cloth had stopped moving several seconds ago. A faint amusement flickered in his eyes.

“You’re insufferable,” I muttered.

“And yet,” he replied softly, “you’re still patching me up.”

The warmth crawling into my face annoyed me more than his comment itself. I reached for his hand again, perhaps with slightly less gentleness this time, pressing the cloth against one particularly bruised knuckle hard enough to earn a sharp inhale from him.

“There,” I said coolly. “Better.”

His lips twitched despite himself.

“That was cruel.”

“That was deserved,” a quiet silence settled between us afterward, though it no longer felt heavy like before. The tension in the room had changed shape entirely. Softer now. Closer. The firelight danced across his face as he continued watching me with that same infuriating level of focus. It made me suddenly aware of everything — the way my legs still rested across his lap, the warmth of his hands loosely around my ankles, the closeness forced upon us by the narrow canapé. Outside, rain slid endlessly down the tall windows. Inside, the air felt unbearably warm.

“You were worried,” he said quietly. It wasn’t a question. I folded the cloth carefully to avoid looking at him too quickly. “You arrived looking half-dead.”

“I’ve looked worse.”

“That’s somehow not reassuring either,” a low chuckle escaped him then, softer than before. I finally glanced up again, prepared with another dry remark already forming on my tongue — but the words disappeared immediately. He was still looking at me like that. Like I was the first calm thing he’d seen all evening.

I looked at him, searching his face for something I couldn’t quite name. Whatever I expected to find, I wasn’t entirely sure. Relief, perhaps. Some trace of the storm he carried in with him. Instead, I found him simply watching me. I offered him a small smile before finally sitting upright and slipping my feet from his lap.

“Surely you want a bath,” I said, rising from the canapé. “You’ll get sick if you don’t dry yourself properly.”

He gave a tired sigh but didn’t argue — which alone told me how exhausted he truly was. I called for the servants, and within minutes the quiet manor stirred softly to life around us. Footsteps moved through distant corridors. Buckets of steaming water were carried into the adjoining bathing room while fresh towels and clean clothes were laid nearby. The scent of lavender soap slowly drifted into the chamber, mixing with smoke from the fireplace and the damp smell of rain still clinging to his cloak. 

Through it all, he remained slouched against the canapé. His head rested against the back cushion now, eyes closed briefly as though the simple act of sitting still had become dangerous. The tension hadn’t fully left him, but exhaustion was beginning to win the battle against stubbornness. As the servants quietly worked nearby, I stepped around the canapé behind him. My hands settled carefully upon his shoulders. The reaction was immediate. His muscles tensed sharply beneath my touch, instinctive and defensive, before slowly loosening again once he realized it was only me. A quiet breath escaped him as he relaxed back into the cushions.

“You’re wound tighter than the gates downstairs,” I murmured.

“Long evening,” he muttered without opening his eyes. My fingers worked slowly against the stiff muscles beneath his damp shirt. His shoulders were rigid with strain, every knot beneath my hands evidence of sleepless nights and endless burdens carried without complaint. Then I pressed against one particular spot between his shoulder blades. He groaned softly. The sound startled both of us slightly. His brows furrowed while his head tilted back further against the canapé, tension melting despite himself as my fingers continued working carefully at the sore muscle.

“That bad?” I asked quietly.

“You have no idea,” a faint smile tugged at my mouth as I continued kneading slow circles into his shoulders. His breathing had begun to steady now, deeper than before, the irritation he arrived carrying gradually slipping away piece by piece beneath the warmth of the room and the quiet intimacy settling around us. The fire crackled gently nearby. Servants moved in and out silently, careful not to disturb the atmosphere that had settled over the room. Eventually, one of them approached quietly to inform us the bath was ready before disappearing once more beyond the doorway. Still, he didn’t move. I could feel the weight of him relaxing more heavily beneath my hands with every passing moment.

“You’re falling asleep,” I observed softly.

“No,” he mumbled immediately. I raised an eyebrow despite knowing he couldn’t see it. “You nearly stopped responding entirely.”

“I’m listening.”

“Hm,” another quiet groan escaped him when my thumbs pressed again into the sore spot between his shoulders. This time he didn’t even attempt to hide it. The sound drew a quiet laugh from me.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” he said, voice roughened by exhaustion.

“And you’re pretending not to enjoy it at all,” one eye cracked open slightly then, just enough for him to glance up toward me from where he rested beneath my hands.

“I never said that.”

“Come on, let’s get you out of these clothes,” I said, giving him a gentle push forward. Without waiting for protest, I unclasped his cloak and let it fall to the floor in a heavy, rain-soaked heap. He didn’t stop me. That alone was unusual. The fabric hit the ground with a dull thud, darkened further where the rain had soaked through it. I could see now just how much of the storm he had carried in with him — not just in the wet cloth, but in the exhaustion that clung to him like a second layer. He finally shifted, slow and reluctant, as if even movement had become an inconvenience.

“You’re very forward tonight,” he muttered.

“I’m practical,” I corrected. A faint huff of amusement left him as he pushed himself up from the canapé. His posture was still unsteady with fatigue, shoulders rolling slightly as though trying to loosen stiffness that had settled too deeply to be fixed by a few minutes of rest. The servants hovered nearby for only a moment before retreating, leaving the room to us again. The bath in the adjoining chamber had already been prepared — steam drifting softly through the open doorway, carrying the scent of warmed herbs and clean water into the room. I stepped closer, adjusting the collar of his shirt before he could object. His eyes flicked down toward me.

“Are you always this insistent with injured men?” he asked. 

“Only the ones who refuse to take care of themselves.”

“That’s… oddly specific.”

“It’s a skill I’ve refined,” he let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh if he had enough energy for one. Then, after a brief pause, he raised his hands slightly — not quite surrender, but close enough. I moved to unfasten the rest of his coat properly, fingers working at damp buttons that had tightened slightly from the rain. He stood still for me, though I could feel the subtle tension in him easing more with every layer removed. When I finally pulled the coat free, I stepped back just enough to look at him properly. Without the cloak, he looked even more exhausted — sharper somehow, as if there was nothing left to hide behind. The firelight caught faintly along his jaw, highlighting the bruise there more clearly now.

“You’re still staring,” he said quietly.

“I’m assessing damage.”

“Mm. Sounds reassuring.”

A pause. Then, softer: “I’ve had worse.”

I folded the coat over my arm and shook my head slightly. “That’s not a competition you need to keep winning.”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he glanced toward the bathing room where steam still curled into the corridor. Then back at me. And for the first time since he arrived, his expression softened fully — not guarded, not irritated, just tired.

“Alright,” he said at last. “Bath first, lecture later.”

I gave a small nod. “Good. You’re learning.”

“Don’t push it,” but there was no real bite to it anymore. Only something quieter underneath — something that lingered in the space between us as he finally started toward the warmth of the bath, one slow step at a time.

With my help, I guided him out of the rest of his clothes, leaving them in a neat, damp pile on the floor. He didn’t protest much anymore—only a tired exhale here and there, as though even arguments had become too heavy to bother with. The moment he stepped into the bath, the tension in his body shifted. Warm water wrapped around him, rising up his chest as he slowly lowered himself in. A long, quiet sigh escaped him—raw relief breaking through exhaustion as his shoulders finally sank beneath the heat. For the first time since he arrived, he looked like he wasn’t bracing against the world. 

He leaned back against the edge of the tub, eyes closing for a brief moment. I watched him for a second longer than necessary. Then I stepped closer and knelt beside the bath on the cool stone floor. The contrast between the heated steam and the chill beneath my knees made me shiver slightly, but I ignored it. Reaching forward, I dipped my hands into the water and brought it up carefully over his shoulders. The warmth rolled across his skin. He exhaled again, slower this time. I worked in quiet motions—rinsing away the rain, the road, the exhaustion clinging stubbornly to him. Water dripped from my fingers as I smoothed it over his arms and shoulders, careful and methodical, like undoing the weight of the night piece by piece. 

“You didn’t have to wait up,” he said at last, voice quieter now. 

“I wasn’t waiting,” I replied. A faint pause. 

“That’s a lie,” he said, though there was no real accusation in it. I didn’t answer. Instead, I scooped more warm water and poured it over his shoulder blades, watching as the last traces of tension slowly eased from his posture. The bath had already begun to do its work, but so had something else—the simple fact that he was finally still, finally safe inside these walls. The firelight flickered across the tiled walls of the bathing chamber, reflecting in soft gold tones over the steam. He tilted his head back slightly, eyes half-lidded now. 

A pause settled between us again, but it was no longer uneasy. Just warm. Heavy in a different way now. Outside, the rain continued to fall against the manor’s windows. Inside, for once, nothing demanded urgency.

I worked methodically, making sure every trace of dirt and travel was washed away. The rain, the road, the long hours—everything that had clung to him was slowly rinsed into the water and carried off in soft ripples. Only when he was properly clean did I pause. The room felt quieter now, as if even the steam had settled into a calmer rhythm. The firelight from the adjoining chamber flickered gently across the tiled walls, turning the rising vapor into something almost golden. 

He hadn’t spoken in a while. When I looked up, I saw him leaned back against the edge of the bath, eyes half-lidded, breathing steadier than before. The exhaustion was still there, but it had softened—no longer sharp-edged, just heavy and quiet. I dipped my hands into the warm water again and let them move carefully over his shoulders. Not hurried. Not aimless. Just steady pressure, working into the knots of tension that had built there over days—maybe longer. His muscles tensed for a moment out of reflex. Then slowly, he let it go. A quiet breath left him, deeper than the ones before. I continued in unhurried motions, easing along his upper back and shoulders, careful not to push too hard, just enough to coax the stiffness out. The water helped; warmth softened what fatigue had hardened.

“You’re annoyingly good at this,” he murmured at last. I hummed in response. A faint sound—almost a laugh—escaped him. His head tilted slightly as he settled further into the bath, allowing the heat to do its work. The tension in his jaw eased, the furrow in his brow fading little by little. I kept my hands steady, smoothing the last of the strain from his shoulders before letting them rest at the edge of the tub. I dried off my hands on my dress but I still sat there next to him. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the quiet shifting of water and the distant crackle of the fire. Finally, he opened his eyes again.

“You want to get out?” I asked, slowly standing and reaching for the bathrobe the servants had left folded neatly over a chair. He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his hands gripped the rim of the bath, knuckles whitening slightly as he shifted his weight forward. The water slid off him in sheets, pooling back into the tub as he rose with slow, controlled effort. For someone so exhausted, he still moved with surprising steadiness. 

He stepped out onto the cold stone floor. The contrast was immediate—steam clinging to his skin while the chill of the room crept in to meet him. He exhaled sharply through his nose, shoulders tensing for a brief second before settling again. His hand reached for the bathrobe without hesitation. I passed it to him. He wrapped it around himself, pulling it snug against his frame as warmth replaced the lingering heat of the bathwater. 

The fabric darkened slightly where damp skin touched it, but he didn’t seem to care. For a moment, he just stood there. Barefoot on the stone, wrapped in soft cloth, hair still damp. The firelight from the adjoining room caught along the edges of him, softening the sharpness he usually carried so carefully. He looked… less like someone who commanded rooms. And more like someone who had finally stopped fighting them.

“You’re staring again,” he said, though there was no real complaint in it.

“I’m making sure you don’t collapse on my floor,” I replied.

“I’m not going to collapse.”

A beat.

Then, quieter: “Not now, anyway.”

I stepped closer, adjusting the bathrobe slightly where it hung unevenly at his shoulder. My fingers brushed briefly against the damp fabric as I fixed it properly, smoothing it into place. He didn’t move away. Didn’t interrupt. Just watched me with that steady, unreadable attention again—less guarded now, but still present. He leaned against my touch. When I finished, I let my hands fall back to my sides.

“There,” I said softly. “Better.”

He exhaled, almost like the word itself had loosened something in him.

“Better,” he repeated, as if testing it. He walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge. I watched him carefully, not moving from where I stood. The atmosphere in the room had shifted—softer now, more relaxed, almost unsteady in its quietness. The kind of silence that didn’t press down on you anymore, but lingered, full of things neither of us had said out loud. 

His gaze stayed on the floor for a while, fixed on nothing in particular, as if he needed the stillness to settle into his bones. Then, slowly, his eyes lifted. Ours met. And the silence between us changed again. It wasn’t empty anymore. It carried weight—memories of the storm outside, the tension of his arrival, the way exhaustion had softened him in the bath, the way the world had felt too loud and too quiet all at once. 

He didn’t speak. Neither did I. But there was understanding in that pause. Something unspoken, shared without needing language. The kind of quiet that didn’t ask for answers because it already knew them. A faint crease formed between his brows, not from irritation this time, but from thought. From something more uncertain.

I took a couple of steps forward until I was standing before him. I looked down, meeting his eyes. My hands slowly settled on his shoulders. He didn’t flinch this time. For a moment, he simply stayed still. His gaze remained on me, steady but quieter now, as if he didn’t have the energy to maintain all the usual distance he kept between himself and everything else. My thumbs moved lightly, more instinct than intention, easing over the edges of lingering stiffness. A slow breath left him. Then another.

My eyes roamed over his face until they settled on his lips. I gave him a small smile before my hands moved up to cup his cheeks. Pulling his face toward me, I pressed my lips against his. First, he didn’t move—his mind didn’t fully comprehend what was happening—but then he reciprocated the kiss. It was slow and tender. His hands snapped out of the trance, and they moved around my waist, pulling me closer between his legs. 

After a while, I broke off the kiss, gasping for air. I leaned forward, resting my forehead against his. His warm breath brushed against my face. My eyes met his, and I smiled, which he returned. I kissed him again, this time rougher—more hungrily. My fingers moved to the nape of his neck, threading into his hair and pulling slightly, causing him to let out a quiet sound that was swallowed by the kiss. I pushed him back, his back meeting the soft bedcovers.

The kiss stopped as I straddled him, feeling his hard cock against my ass. I grabbed his wrists and held them down beside his head. I looked down at him, and his eyes immediately met mine. A few seconds passed; the room filled with our heavy breathing.

“Stay there,” I commanded as I stood up from the bed. My hands quickly undid my dress, letting it pool around my feet on the ground, leaving me only in my chemise and corset. He watched me, but more importantly, he didn’t move. 

I quickly took my position again, straddling him and holding his wrist in place. I leaned down, kissing his mouth, then his jaw. Leaving kisses all over his face before moving to his neck, where my lips and teeth marked his skin. His breath grew heavy, and his eyes shut close in pure bliss. My tongue slid down from the neck and traveled downwards, leaving a wet trail. My hands slipped from the grasp on his wrists, and I pushed the bathrobe to the side, revealing his skin. Reaching his stomach, I stopped and looked up. His eyes followed my movement.

I sat right up and moved my fingers to the lacing of my corset. Untying the knot and loosening the lacing until I could throw the corset to the floor behind me. His hands moved from the position above his head, playing with the hem of my underdress and trying to get rid of it. I stop his movement, my hands pulling his wrists. 

“I told you not to move,“ I look down at him with a serious expression; his eyes snapped immediately to me and his cock twitched. His hands left my grasp, and he put them back. I waited for a second before slipping the underdress off of me, leaving me completely naked. I placed my left hand on his upper body, pressing flat on his skin. My right hand traveled down, taking his cock in my hand and giving it a few strokes. A small moan escaped his lips and he tried to move his hips, which made me smirk. 

“Oh you’re eager today?“, it was a rhetorical question, I knew the answer. He was horny and desperate so was I. Giving his cock one last stroke, before positioning him against my entrance. I was already hot and wet— perfectly ready for him. In one movement I took him in. 

While he cursed under his breath, a moan flew passed my mouth. A few moments have passed by and I looked down at him, he was already looking. His hands moved to my hips, holding me into position. I slowly moved my hips into a rhythmic movement. It was slow and deliberate. A few groans and moans filled the room beside the loud breathing. 

I rode him with a precise pace. It wasn’t fast but deep, feeling every single detail. I closed my eyes, concentrating on the task itself. However, he kept his eyes trained on me, just as his hands that dug into the flesh of my hips. His own hips moved against the rhythm of my own, helping to set a steadier pace. 

Only a few moments later, the air was growing thinner as the atmosphere. Our heartbeats beat faster. The breathing was unsteady. And, our movements sloppier.

“I’m close,“ I gasped out as my fingers grab onto his shoulders. I picked up the pace with my remaining condition. 

“Just let go,“ he breathed out and that’s all it took. My nails dug into his skin, my heartbeat stopped for a second, my movement halted, and my body was pushed down from the cliff. I arrived at my high. A single moan came out of my mouth. I hold onto him, as my body crashed against the waves of pure bliss and ecstasy. And, he held me. He held me close and safe. 

That didn’t help him, because his own orgasm followed. His movement stopped for a second before moving slightly, letting my walls milk his orgasm. His hot cum filled me up, feeling it already dripping down between my legs.

“Such a good girl,“ that earned him another moan from me. He stopped his movement completely, but still holding me in his embrace. His cock stayed inside me for a moment before he pulled out. I whined at the sudden empty feeling, leaving me with nothing but his cum.

He rolled us over, so I was laying next to him— in his embrace and our legs tangled. My face was against his chest and listening to his fast heartbeat. He planted a kiss on my forehead. 

A few moments have passed by, the room was filled with our loud breathing and nothing else. Even the rain has stopped. 

“That was a nice welcome,“ he exclaimed after a while with a raspy voice.

“Oh was it now? Don’t get used to that,“ I said.

“What if I do? Would you deny my wish?“, I nudged his arm playfully and he laughed, pulling me closer to his chest and deeper into his embrace. 

[ashydust]

How To Fall In Love With An Outlaw Pt.2

The promised date

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x F!Reader

Summary: Keeping the ranch intact was already hard enough, but when danger walks in, you can’t help it to feel like a moth to a flame.

Wordcount: 8171

Warnings: explicit Language & masturbation + I did not proof-read it!

A/N: I don't know when the next part is going to be uploaded...sorry:)

Wake up, eat, work, eat. Repeat. My next few days were dull and monotonous. Even though it was warm outside, the sun never once showed its face. But there was still a light—though not in an objective way, rather in a subjective one. Of course, it was bright outside; maybe the clouds were shielding the sun, preventing it from spreading its sunbeams. It’s just the way you have to look at it, because metaphorically, the date with Arthur Morgan was the light at the end of the tunnel.

I loved my work without doubt—otherwise I wouldn’t have been here. However, the date kept me going with a smile that crept onto my face without me even realizing it. I was acting like a schoolgirl in love, but in a sickly and obsessive way. And I was going to blame myself for that. 

Besides my love for my work and this farm with its animals, my mind wasn’t much occupied with anything else. I had never once taken an interest in getting to know a man. The other way around wasn’t much better either—no man had ever shown any interest in me. I was okay with that. I mean, I had a simple life. I was born into the lower noble class, providing my brothers and me with a small amount of wealth and security that most people could only dream of. Our name, on the other hand, didn’t carry much recognition in society. It was my oldest brother’s obligation to secure our family name and line. My other two brothers and I were just… there. The societal standards that ruled the big cities never really did anything for me. So that’s how I ended up here—with my brother checking up on me every once in a while.

As I was saying, my life is simple. I love waking up early, seeing the sunrise, and listening to the birds singing through the morning breeze. I love checking on the animals and feeding them. I love helping Sam and Ricky water the plants for the upcoming crops. I love fixing things around here. I love taking my horse out for a ride and enjoying nature. I love reading a book after a hard day’s work. I love the simplicity and peace that come with such a life. 

Anyway, it wasn’t until now that I realized how much I had been smiling lately. Colin, who had finally returned from visiting his parents, leaned back in his chair and looked at me strangely.

“Are you alright? You look like you’re on… something. At least you have for the past couple of days.” The table fell silent. We were eating the breakfast Robin had made.

“What?” I looked at him, confused. Then I glanced around the table. They all seemed to be looking at me with serious expressions, until Ricky couldn’t hide his snickering. I frowned.

“What are you talking about?” I repeated, and they looked at me like I must be joking.

“What do you mean, ‘What’?! You’re smiling every possible second,” Sam explained.

“No, I’m not.”

“You are! Don’t tell me you didn’t notice?” Sam looked perplexed, but he still laughed at my confusion.

“Oh my God, is it because of a certain outlaw who showed up a few days ago?”

“No. What?”

“It is!”

“What outlaw?” Colin asked, since he hadn’t met them.

“When you were gone because of your father, three men—” Sam started to explain, but I cut him off.

“I’m going to bed. There’s no way I’m listening to this.” I stood up from my chair and headed toward the stairs.

“You don’t have to run away! We know it’s true,” Sam yelled after me.

“You have to accept your feelings,” Ricky added. I shook my head and walked into my room. Slamming the door and locking it, I changed into my nightgown, getting ready for bed. A small oil lamp sat on my nightstand. Jumping onto my bed and pulling the covers over myself, I took my book from the nightstand. I held the lamp next to me, trying to read… but it was impossible. My brain was screaming and my heart was racing. I closed the book and put it back beside the lamp.

It didn’t matter what I tried to think about—my mind always drifted back to the date tomorrow. And to him. I couldn’t get him out of my head.

The way he took a drag from his cigarette and puffed the smoke out of his mouth—his lips parting. How I imagined his lips would taste, and how they would feel against mine.

The way his eyebrows knitted together—looking so concentrated—when he was listening to me. He gave me attention, real attention, focused only on me and nothing else.

The sound his throat made when he picked up something heavy to help me carry it. 

I took my notebook out of the nightstand drawer and opened it, my fingers trembling slightly with impatience. I breathed out when I saw the drawing of him that I had done on the first night. My fingers traced the outline of his face slowly and carefully.

The way his fingers brushed against mine. They were big and calloused in comparison to mine—

Should I feel guilty and bad for what I’m about to do?

My notebook fell onto the space beside me on the bed. My free right hand slowly inched closer to the covers, dragging a path on my clothes body. I hurled my nightgown up, my hand placed on my inner thigh. My breath quickened exactly like my heartbeat. The temperature of the room rose almost immediately. 

My eyes immediately shut close, when my fingers reached the sensitive but hot skin. Spreading my legs apart only as much as necessary, I started stroking myself. I was already wet — only thinking about him. 

The way he rolled up his sleeves when he decided to help me. The way he showed more skin by doing so. The way his arms flexed when he held the board steady — his veins much more visible now. 

The room filled with my breathing which was a tad louder and heavier. And, I swear, you could also hear my heartbeat. 

My fingers in a faster pace — working their way up and down, rubbing exactly where I needed them. The friction created a deep and burning feeling inside of me, waiting for me to unleash it. My whole body was on fire and a sheet of sweat graced my forehead. My back slightly arched from the bed and my head pressed hard against the pillow. 

The way he sat still, letting me draw him. The way he looked at me when I tended his cut — so direct and intense. The way he dried off the plates with delicacy and caution.

I was so damn close. The feeling building up and getting almost at the top. It just waited for me to push it over the edge. With my left hand, I reach for my breast — squeezing and playing with my nipple. It was rather rough than gentle. I was impatient and eager to arrive at my high. 

A Knock

My eyes widened and my whole body froze. I lay there motionless, scared to move even a little bit. My heart raced, but not in a good, excited way—more in a frightened, anxious way.

"What the—," I swore under my breath.

Another knock.

"It's me," Sam said, and I immediately sat right up, looking around the room for… I don’t know.

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to insult you," he added. I had to regain my steady breathing again. My heart slowly returned to a normal rhythm.

"It's—," I stopped and cleared my throat. My voice was raspier than I thought it would be.

"It's fine. Don't worry," I continued.

"Shit. Don't tell me you were crying. I'm so sor—"

I cut him off.

"Sam, I said it's fine. Now leave me alone. I want to sleep." 

A couple of seconds later, I heard footsteps behind the door. He was leaving. Thank God.

I let myself fall back onto my bed and reached for a pillow. I put it over my face and pressed my face against it, screaming my heart out. There was literally no way. That must have been my punishment for my improper actions and thoughts. Feeling ashamed and guilty, but still somewhat horny, I tried falling asleep, and before I knew it, I was.

The next morning came unexpectedly. I woke up and did my morning routine like I always did. Wake up, eat, work—wait, no! Today was different. Today was the day.

I cleaned myself up, wore a dress, and did my hair nicely and neatly. I inspected myself in the mirror and almost didn’t recognize myself. It had been such a long time since I dressed in clothes like these. It was weird but also familiar.

I sighed and walked down to break my fast—and I immediately regretted it.

The three boys—Sam, Ricky, and Colin—were already sitting at the table. When they looked up, they seemed confused, but it quickly turned into laughter.

"Since when do you wear dresses?!" Colin asked, followed by a laugh.

"I bet it's for—"

Ricky was cut off by Robin, who had just walked in with a plate of warm bread.

"Woah—You look so pretty." She stopped in her tracks when she glanced my way. She gave me a warm smile, which I happily returned.

"Thank you, Robin. At least one of you knows manners," I said and took my place. We ate, and it was silent the whole time, making it painfully awkward.

"So when will he pick you up?" Robin asked curiously.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Ricky asked, confused.

"As I said, I don't know. That's why I asked you to do my chores around here… for once."

He rolled his eyes and pouted like a small child.

"Y'all are so annoying," I said and walked out of there, taking a book that I had placed earlier on the table next to the door. I sat down on one of the chairs and started reading my book, the background noises adding a fine and pleasant touch to the atmosphere. I breathed out deeply, enjoying my book. I don't know—maybe hours or only minutes had passed. I lost my sense of time. The sun was almost reaching its highest peak. It must have been early afternoon.

I was still reading and minding my own business when I heard yelling and shouting. I looked up from my book, scanning my surroundings. Colin and Ricky were yelling at each other. Sam was running in the distance, which was… absolutely ridiculous and weird. I slowly stood up and made my way over to them.

"What's going on?" I asked as I reached them. Their bodies twitched as I startled them. Neither of them had expected me. They looked at me before looking at each other. Are they trying to communicate with each other? What the—

"Spit it out!"

"Ricky left the gate open and—"

"I didn't leave it open, the wire broke—"

"Stop lying! You literally left it open—"

"Stop!" My tone was rather harsh. It was no surprise, though—they were getting on my nerves.

"So what's the problem?"

"The herd of sheep got out. Even though we could catch most of them… some of them fled."

"How many?"

"Five," Ricky said so quietly that I almost didn't hear it. Comprehending the number, my eyes widened.

"There is no way," I said with a sarcastic laugh.

"There is no way!" I said loudly again.

"I swear to God, y'all both are annoying as hell. All you do is complain and judge! Nothing more!" I rambled frantically, my hands gesturing dramatically. I was pacing around from right to left in complete frustration. I was so mad at them that I didn't notice their attention had shifted to someone else—someone behind me.

"That's it. I'm going to kill you both. I don't care anymore and I can't take this anymore. I'm done with both of you."

I stopped dead in my tracks and turned to them.

"Come here."

I was ready to fight them. They flinched when I tried to step toward them—but someone held me back. I couldn't reach them. I looked down and saw an arm slung around my lower torso, holding me in place. My face paled and my heart stopped for a moment. I knew that hand by heart. Slowly turning around, I came face to face with Arthur.

"Hi," I breathed out. He smiled down at me.

"Good day," he greeted softly—if that was even possible with his rough voice. A small smile rested on his lips that was almost a smirk. I noticed we were standing in a rather… close position. His arm was still around my body, and I could feel his warm breath against my face. My heart was pounding, and my eyes frantically scanned every detail of his face. His eyes caught mine. Someone cleared their throat behind me. I immediately took a step back, turning around. I granted him one glance before looking back at the other two. A safe gap was between us now.

"What was I saying?" I sighed.

"Ah yes. I'm going to slap you both."

"We're sorry," they both said in unison, almost as if they had practiced it. I rolled my eyes at them, my hand running through my face.

"Which way did they go?"

"Two of them went south, one west, and the other two northeast."

"Tell Sam to look west while you both search south. I will search for the other two," I explained, and they immediately headed off. I glanced sideways. Arthur was looking back at me. I took a deep breath.

"Look, I was happy to spend the day with you. I mean, I was happy to see you again… but I need to find the two missing sheep," I explained with a sad expression. My eyes never once looked directly into his.

"You don't have to apologize. I understand, darlin'," he said and turned around, heading toward his horse. My heart sank when his back faced me. With every step he took further away, my urge to end Colin and Ricky grew. Still walking away from me, he looked back. He realized I wasn’t following him, so he stopped. I looked up at him, hopeful.

"What are you waiting for? We need to catch these two sheep,“ I strode over to him quickly.

"Thank you," I said quietly. It was almost a whisper when I caught up to him. He looked down at me and smiled.

"I would do anything for you, just so I could be close to you."

Maybe he didn't want to say that. Maybe he did. It sounded more like a thought spoken aloud, and now he might be embarrassed. But even if he was, he showed no remorse. Quite the opposite—his face expressed the true nature behind those words, and it was… pure honesty. He looked down at me with those heartwarming yet slightly focused eyes. He was paying attention to me because he truly wanted to be here. Besides, I would also be lying if I said those words didn't have an effect on me. When they left his mouth, my heart skipped a beat, and something warm and prickly spread through my stomach. Even my mind went blank for a moment.

"You can't just say something like that."

"Why?"

“Why?” I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Why indeed? Because it made my heart beat too fast? Because it made my thoughts spiral into places they shouldn’t go? Because I had no idea what to say back? I looked away from him, suddenly very interested in the grass beneath my shoes.

“Because… you just can’t,” I mumbled weakly. Arthur let out a low chuckle. It wasn’t mocking—more amused, warm even. I hated that it made my cheeks heat up. My eyes drifted back to his, and the intense eye contact only made the warmth spread further. By now, my face was burning.

“Alright,” he said. “I won’t say it again.”

A small pause followed.

“For now,” I shot him a look. He was already walking toward his horse. I groaned quietly and followed him. Arthur mounted the horse with an ease that made it look unfairly simple. I crossed my arms and looked up at him.

“You’re aware,” I said slowly, “that sheep are easier to catch when you’re not sitting on a giant animal that scares them?” Arthur tilted his head.

“You’re aware,” he replied calmly, “that sheep are easier to find when someone can actually see over the grass?” I narrowed my eyes at him. He held out a hand.

“Come on,” I stared at his outstretched hand. I was thinking about it—really, I was—but maybe my mind was running in directions it shouldn’t have been.

“Absolutely not,” I exclaimed. Knowing myself—and my wildly inappropriate thoughts—even his hand brushing mine for a second would be enough to send my mind spiraling.

“Why?” My eyes moved from his hand to his face, a frown settling on my own.

“Because I’m not riding with you,” His eyebrows knitted together as he looked at me in confusion. Deep down, though, he probably knew the reason. Judging by the faint amusement in his expression, he definitely suspected it.

“You’ll walk the entire field?” he asked, a teasing undertone in his voice.

“Yes,” Arthur looked across the endless stretch of land, then back at me with a serious expression that barely concealed his grin.

“Suit yourself,” He nudged the horse forward slightly.

“Wait.” He stopped immediately. I sighed dramatically and grabbed his hand. The moment he pulled me up behind him, I regretted everything. Not because of the horse—because of how close I suddenly was to him. My hands hovered awkwardly in the air before I reluctantly grabbed the back of his coat. Arthur glanced back slightly.

“You can hold tighter,” he said casually. The warmth in my cheeks returned instantly.

“I’m fine,” The horse took a step, and I grabbed onto him properly. Arthur smiled, though he would never admit it—not yet. Still, I could feel it even if I couldn’t see it. The fields stretched wide before us, tall grass swaying softly in the wind. From up here, I could see the fences, the barn in the distance, and the dark green line of trees marking the beginning of the forest. Somewhere out there were two very stupid sheep. We searched the southern fields first. Nothing. Then the hill near the fence. Nothing. Arthur slowed the horse near a patch of flattened grass. I leaned forward slightly.

“What is it?” He pointed down. Hoofprints. Small ones. I leaned closer, squinting.

“Those could be from yesterday,” Arthur shook his head.

“The edges are fresh,” I hated that he was right. We followed the trail slowly. The hoofprints zigzagged through the field as though the sheep had absolutely no idea where they were going.

“Idiots,” I muttered. Arthur snorted quietly.

“They’re sheep.”

“Still,” Eventually, the trail led toward the edge of the forest. We both noticed at the same time.

“Oh no,” I groaned. Arthur sighed.

“If they went in there, this is going to take longer,” The forest wasn’t dense, but it was uneven. Fallen branches, bushes, rocks, and narrow paths twisted through the trees—perfect places for sheep to disappear. Arthur guided the horse carefully between the first trees. The air immediately felt cooler. Quieter. We rode slowly, listening. For a moment, there was only the creaking of branches and the horse’s steady footsteps. Then— A distant bleat. My head snapped up.

“You heard that, right?” Arthur nodded.

“Left,” He turned the horse, and we followed the sound deeper into the trees. Another bleat. Closer this time.

“See? Easy,” Arthur raised an eyebrow. The next second, something white darted between the trees.

“There!” I pointed as one sheep sprinted past us, the second following right behind it. Both bolted deeper into the forest. We stared at them dumbfounded. I blinked slowly and turned to Arthur.

“You scared them,” I accused.

“I scared them?” he repeated incredulously.

“Yes.”

“You were the one who yelled.”

“Because I saw them!” Arthur rubbed a hand over his forehead.

“This is going to be a long afternoon,” I slid off the horse.

“Fine. New plan,” He watched me suspiciously.

“What plan?”

“We’re going on foot,” He nodded and climbed down as well, tying the horse to a nearby branch. We started walking through the forest together, listening carefully. With no wind, the woods were almost silent except for the occasional bird chirping overhead. As I’d said before, the forest wasn’t especially dense. It was the fallen trees and uneven ground that made it difficult to see far ahead. We moved slowly, careful not to scare the sheep off again.

A branch snapped somewhere ahead. Both of us froze instantly. Another soft bleat followed. We exchanged a look, and I pointed toward the sound. Arthur nodded. Crouching slightly, we moved forward carefully. After a few steps, we spotted two white, fluffy shapes between the trees. And for a moment, it actually looked like we might catch them. If only my foot hadn’t betrayed me. It snagged on a root, and I stumbled forward. Arthur grabbed my arm before I could fall flat on my face. Lucky, technically. Unfortunately, the sheep heard us and bolted again. I stared at the empty space where they’d been moments before. Arthur still had a hand on my arm. Neither of us moved for a second. Then I sighed.

“This is humiliating,” For a moment, we just stood there, staring at the empty patch of forest where the sheep had disappeared. I rubbed a hand over my face while Arthur leaned casually against a tree.

“You’re fighting a losing battle.”

“They’re sheep,” I said. “They’re not supposed to be smart.” Arthur snorted.

“They’re not.”

“Then why are they winning?” Arthur shrugged. He was taking the task seriously, but he couldn’t help being entertained by my frustration. He liked watching me like this—all annoyed and exasperated. Not because he wanted me upset, but because there was something strangely easy about spending time with me. Something about me made him feel lighter. More carefree.

“Motivation,” he replied. He was still leaning against the tree with his arms crossed while I glared at him. His smile only widened. It disappeared, however, when another faint bleat echoed through the trees. Both our heads turned at once. Arthur lifted a finger, signaling for silence. Another bleat. Closer this time. But only one. I frowned.

“Wait,” Arthur tilted his head slightly, listening.

“You’re right,” he murmured. “Only one.”

“Did they split up?”

“Looks like it,” I groaned.

“Great. Now we have two problems instead of one,” Arthur pushed himself away from the tree.

“Or we solve them one at a time,” He started walking toward the sound, and I followed close behind, carefully stepping over roots and fallen branches. The forest floor was soft with old leaves, every step producing a faint crunch. We moved slowly, trying not to scare the sheep again. After a few minutes, the trees began to thin. Arthur suddenly stopped. I walked straight into his back.

“Ow—” Without looking, he reached back to stop me from moving forward.

“Wait,” I leaned sideways to see around him. There it was. One of the sheep stood in a small clearing, happily nibbling on a bush as if it hadn’t caused absolute chaos for the past hour. My eye twitched.

“There it is,” Arthur nodded.

“Don’t yell this time.”

“I wasn’t going to yell.”

“You yelled last time.”

“That was excitement,” Arthur glanced at me.

“That was panic,” I ignored him and crouched slightly.

“Okay,” I whispered. “We approach slowly. From both sides.” Arthur looked mildly impressed.

“That’s actually a good idea.”

“Of course it is,” He moved quietly to the right side of the clearing while I carefully stepped to the left. The sheep continued chewing leaves, completely unaware of the strategy forming around it. Good. Very good. We both moved closer. The sheep lifted its head, and we froze instantly. For a long moment, it simply stared at us. Then it blinked and went back to eating. Slowly, we took another step. The sheep’s ears twitched. Then it bolted.

“ARE YOU SERIOUS—” Arthur immediately sprinted after it. We chased the sheep through the forest like complete idiots. It darted left. Arthur nearly ran into a branch. It darted right. I slipped on loose leaves and barely caught myself.

“Why is it so fast?!” I shouted. Arthur was laughing now. Actually laughing.

“It has four legs!” We ran as fast as we could while the sheep tore through the forest like its life depended on it.

“That’s unfair!” Suddenly, the sheep squeezed through a narrow gap between two fallen logs. We stopped short.

“That’s a problem,” I crouched and examined the gap.

“…I can fit through there,” Arthur looked at me. Then at the logs. Then back at me.

“You’re going to get stuck.”

“I’m not going to get stuck.”

“You are definitely going to get stuck, ” I crawled through before he could argue further. Branches scratched lightly against my arms as I squeezed between the logs. A moment later, I emerged on the other side.

“I’m fine!” I called back. Arthur sighed from the other side. The sheep stood about ten meters away, watching me suspiciously.

“Hey,” I said softly. It stared. I took a slow step forward.

“Come on…” Another step. The sheep hesitated. Then Arthur’s voice drifted over the logs.

“Did you get it?” The sheep panicked and bolted again.

“ARTHUR!”

“I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!” I chased after it once more, branches slapping against my arms as I ran. The sheep sprinted down a small slope— and suddenly stopped. I nearly crashed into it. The ground dropped into a shallow ditch filled with rocks and a narrow stream. The sheep stood at the edge uncertainly. I approached slowly, breathing hard.

“Okay… okay…” This time, I moved carefully. Slowly. The sheep watched me warily. Behind me, I heard branches snapping as Arthur finally made his way around the fallen logs. A second later, he appeared beside me.

“Well,” he said between breaths, “that was graceful.”

“Shut up,” The sheep tried to bolt again, but Arthur quickly stepped to the other side, cutting it off. Now it stood trapped between us. Finally. We both moved closer. Very slowly. The sheep shifted nervously. Arthur reached out first and grabbed a handful of wool.

“Got you,” The sheep let out an offended bleat. I laughed in relief.

“Oh, thank God,” Arthur held the sheep steady while I carefully grabbed it too. For a moment, we simply stood there holding the very grumpy animal.

“That’s one,” he said. I sighed dramatically.

“Only one more,” Arthur looked down at me and smiled again. For a second, I forgot we were standing in the middle of a forest holding a sheep. We led it back toward the trees where the horse was waiting. Arthur tied a loose rope from the saddle around the sheep’s neck and fastened it to a sturdy branch. The sheep immediately started chewing on the bark.

“Perfect,” Arthur said dryly.

“A natural criminal,” I brushed leaves and twigs off my arms, already sore from running through the woods.

“Now we just need the other one,” Arthur glanced around the forest and knelt to study the ground.

“Good,” I said. He traced the marks with his fingers before his expression shifted slightly.

“What?” I looked at him in confusion.

“They’re heading downhill,” I blinked.

“Is that bad?” Arthur slowly stood.

“Yes.”

“Why?” He pointed through the trees. I stepped closer and followed his gaze. My stomach dropped.

“Oh,” At the bottom of the hill, the forest opened into a wide marshy field filled with tall grass and scattered pools of water. Mud. Far too much mud.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Arthur sighed.

“If the sheep went down there…”

“It’s going to be impossible to catch.”

“Pretty much,” I buried my face in my hands.

“This is my punishment for yelling at Colin and Ricky,” Arthur chuckled softly.

“Probably,” I groaned.

“Fine. Let’s go,” The hill was steeper than it looked. Halfway down, the ground became slippery with loose dirt and wet leaves. Arthur walked carefully beside me.

“Slow down.”

“I am going slow.” My foot slipped slightly. Arthur immediately grabbed my arm.

“Careful.”

“I’m fine.” He didn’t let go right away, and I noticed immediately. He noticed that I noticed because he slowly let go. We continued walking. The grass grew taller the closer we got to the marsh. Soon it brushed against our knees—then our thighs. Arthur stopped again and crouched.

“Fresh tracks,” he said. I leaned down beside him. The hoofprints were deeper now, pressed into wet soil.

“Oh no.” Arthur followed the trail with his eyes. The tracks led straight into the mud.

“Of course they did,” I muttered. We stepped carefully forward. The ground squished unpleasantly under our boots. Somewhere nearby—

“Baaaaa!” I whipped my head around.

“There!” About twenty meters away, the second sheep stood in the mud. But that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that it was standing on a small raised patch of ground surrounded by thick mud. Like a tiny island. The sheep bleated again, annoyed.

“You’re kidding.” Arthur rubbed the back of his neck.

“That… complicates things.”

“Complicates?” I said. “That sheep built a fortress.” The sheep looked very proud of itself. Arthur took a cautious step forward. His boot sank slightly into the mud. He pulled it out with a wet sound.

“Yeah,” he said calmly. “This will be fun.” I crossed my arms.

“Well, what’s the plan?” Arthur looked around the marsh. Then at the sheep. Then at me.

“I go get it.” I immediately shook my head.

“No.” He raised an eyebrow.

“No?”

“You’ll get stuck.”

“I won’t.”

“You absolutely will.” Arthur smirked slightly.

“Are you worried about me?”

“No,” I said quickly.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“A little bit.” I sighed loudly.

“Arthur.”

“Yes?”

“If you get stuck out there, I am not dragging you out.”

“You wouldn’t leave me.” I glared at him.

“Watch me.” He stepped into the mud anyway.

“Arthur!” The mud swallowed his boot halfway to the ankle. He paused.

“…Okay, that’s deeper than expected.” I burst out laughing.

“You see?!” Arthur slowly pulled his foot out again. The mud made an awful sucking sound.

“This sheep is a menace.” The sheep bleated again as if agreeing. Arthur studied the ground more carefully now. Then he looked at me. He pointed toward a fallen branch nearby.

“Bring that,” I dragged the long branch over. Arthur placed it across the mud like a narrow bridge.

“Step where I step,” he said.

“You just got stuck.”

“That was before the bridge.” I hesitated, then sighed.

“Fine.” We carefully stepped onto the branch and moved toward the little island of grass. The sheep watched us approach with growing concern. Arthur was almost close enough to grab it. Almost. Then the branch shifted, and his foot slipped. I tried to catch him—to help him regain his balance—but it only made things worse. Arthur lost his balance, and both of us fell straight into the mud. He crashed onto my arms and dragged me down with him. There was a loud SPLASH. For a moment, we just lay there, covered in mud. I sat up and looked around me. The sheep stared down at us. Then I looked at Arthur. He sat right up, mud dripping from his sleeve. I started laughing. I tried to stop, but without a chance. Arthur looked at me and started laughing too as the mud slowly slipped down my arms.

“Don’t,” I said between breaths.

“You started it.”

“You fell first!”

“You grabbed me!”

“I was falling!” Arthur shook his head.

“We look ridiculous.” I wiped mud from my face.

“Absolutely ridiculous.” The sheep bleated again. Arthur slowly looked up at it.

“You know what,” he said calmly.

“I’m catching that sheep if it’s the last thing I do today.” I wiped mud from my cheek and pushed 

my wet hair out of my face.

“You say that like the sheep personally insulted you,” Arthur slowly stood up, mud dripping from his coat.

“It did.”

“How?” He pointed at the sheep.

“It watched us fall,” I looked up. The sheep was indeed staring at us. Then it bleated again. Loudly. Almost mockingly. My eye twitched.

“Oh, that’s it.” Arthur glanced at me.

“You too?”

“Yes.” We carefully stood, both completely covered in mud. Every movement made unpleasant squishing sounds. Arthur tested the ground with his foot, still soft but manageable.

“Slowly this time,” he muttered. We approached the small patch of grass again, stepping carefully through the mud. The sheep shifted nervously. Arthur stretched out a hand.

“Easy now…” I moved around slightly to block the other side. For once, things seemed to go right. Arthur got closer. Closer. Just one more step— The sheep panicked. It jumped off the little patch of grass. Straight through the mud. Right past us. Mud splashed everywhere. It somehow sprinted across the marsh like it had wings. But the sheep’s luck had run out because Arthur immediately lunged at the sheep, grabbing a fistful of wool and stopping the sheep in its tracks.

“I GOT IT!” The sheep exploded into furious bleating. It kicked wildly. I rushed forward to help him hold it steady.

“You actually did it!” I exclaimed, and Arthur laughed breathlessly.

“I told you.” The sheep tried to twist away again, but Arthur tightened his grip.

“Not this time, friend.” Finally, the animal gave up and stood there angrily. I exhaled in relief.

“We did it.” Arthur looked at me, mud still on his face, hair a mess.

“You did most of the yelling.”

“And you did most of the falling.” He smiled. I realized we were still both holding the sheep together. Very close. Very muddy. Very tired. For a moment, neither of us moved. Then Arthur glanced toward the sky. Dark clouds were rolling in.

“Uh oh.”

“What?” Thunder rumbled faintly in the distance. I groaned.

“Don’t tell me…” Arthur looked at me.

“We should get back before it rains,” Right on cue—a cold drop of water hit my cheek. Then another. Then several more. I looked up at the sky.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Arthur laughed.

“Come on.” He started leading the sheep back up the path. I followed beside him. Within minutes, the rain started pouring. Cold. Heavy. We were already soaked from the marsh, but somehow this made it worse.

“My horse is still up there.” I looked up the slope we had climbed earlier. The rain was already turning the ground slick and dark. I groaned loudly at the realization.

“Let’s just go before it gets worse.” Climbing the hill was miserable. The rain turned the dirt into slippery mud, and the sheep—still offended about being captured—refused to cooperate. Arthur held onto it firmly while I pushed from behind.

“Move,” I muttered. The sheep bleated angrily. Arthur chuckled.

“I think it likes you.”

“It absolutely does not.”

“Maybe it respects your fighting spirit.”

“It respects nothing.” The sheep suddenly jerked sideways. Arthur stumbled slightly. I grabbed his arm to steady him. For a moment, we both froze again. Rain dripped from his hair, sliding down the side of his face. His hand was still holding my wrist. My heart started doing that annoying fast thing again. Arthur cleared his throat and let go.

“Right. The hill.”

“Yes. The hill.” Neither of us mentioned the moment. By the time we reached the top, the rain was pouring down heavily. Arthur’s horse stood under a tree, looking deeply unimpressed with the weather.

“Lucky animal,” I muttered. Arthur tied the second sheep carefully behind the saddle, making sure 

it couldn’t run off again. Then he turned to me.

“Alright.” I already knew what was coming. He climbed onto the horse and reached down for me.

“Come on.” I hesitated. Then grabbed his hand. He pulled me up behind him easily. The moment I sat down, the horse shifted slightly. Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around Arthur’s waist to steady myself. He went still for half a second. Then gently guided the horse forward. The rain drummed steadily around us as we rode through the fields. The wind was colder now. Without thinking, I leaned slightly closer to him for warmth. Arthur didn’t say anything. But I noticed he slowed the horse so the ride would be smoother. After a while, he spoke quietly.

“You did good today.” I snorted softly.

“I chased sheep through a forest, fell into a swamp, and almost got us killed on a hill.” Arthur chuckled.

“I still think you did good.” I rested my chin lightly near his shoulder.

“You’re very easy to impress.”

“Not really.” The horse walked steadily through the wet grass, its hooves making soft, dull sounds in the soaked earth. Rain drummed against Arthur’s coat and soaked through my sleeves, but somehow the wind felt less cold sitting behind him. I wasn’t sure if it was the horse’s warmth or the fact that I was practically glued to his back. Arthur spoke again after a moment.

“I just don’t think most people would’ve chased sheep through a forest, a swamp, and halfway to the river without giving up.” I rested my forehead lightly between his shoulder blades.

“I considered giving up several times.”

“But you didn’t.”

“That’s because I was angry.” Arthur chuckled.

“At the sheep?”

“At the sheep. At Ricky. At Colin.” Another pause.

“And a little at you,” I admitted.

“Me?” he asked.

“You fell on top of me in the mud.”

“You pulled me down.”

“I slipped!”

“You grabbed me.”

“You were the closest thing to grab!” Arthur laughed again, the sound low and warm. The horse continued walking slowly across the darkening field. Rainwater dripped from the brim of Arthur’s hat. After a moment, he spoke again, quieter this time.

“I meant what I said earlier.” My stomach tightened slightly.

“…Which part?”

“That I’d do anything just to be close to you.” My brain immediately stopped cooperating. I stared at the back of his coat like it had personally betrayed me.

“You’re not supposed to repeat that,” I muttered. Arthur tilted his head slightly.

“Why not?”

“Because it makes things… complicated.”

“How?” I hesitated. Because my heart kept doing strange things. Because my thoughts stopped working. Because I liked hearing it far more than I should. Instead, I said the safest thing I could think of.

“Because people might hear you.” Arthur hummed softly.

“I don’t mind.”

“Well, I do.” He slowed the horse slightly as we approached the farm. The barn lights glowed faintly through the rain. Four figures stood near the fence. Watching. I groaned.

“Oh no.” Arthur followed my gaze.

“Your audience.”

“Great.” The closer we got, the more recognizable they became. Sam. Ricky. Colin. And Robin. Waiting. The moment Colin realized it was us, his posture straightened dramatically.

“Oh, this is bad,” I muttered.

“What?”

“They’re going to say something.” Arthur sounded almost amused.

“They probably will.” We rode the last few meters in silence. The rain had turned into a steady drizzle by the time Arthur stopped the horse. No one spoke for a moment. All four of them just stared. At us. At the mud. At the two miserable sheep tied behind the saddle. Then Colin burst out laughing.

“Oh my god.” Ricky immediately doubled over.

“What happened to you two?!” Sam pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh. Robin gasped.

“You look like you fought the entire forest!” Arthur calmly swung down from the horse.

“Just a sheep,” he said. I slid down after him. My boots hit the ground with a wet squelch. Colin circled us slowly like a suspicious detective.

“So,” he said.

“Yes?” I replied carefully.

“You left looking normal.”

“Yes.”

“And you came back looking like swamp monsters.”

“That’s accurate.” Ricky pointed at Arthur’s coat.

“Did you fall into a lake?!”

“Marsh,” I corrected. Sam looked at the sheep.

“They look innocent.”

“They are not,” I said. The sheep bleated angrily. Robin stepped forward with a towel she must’ve brought from the house. She draped it over my shoulders immediately.

“You’re freezing.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking.” I realized I actually was. Meanwhile, Colin had moved behind Arthur and was staring very intensely at the saddle. Then at me. Then at Arthur.

“…Interesting.” My stomach dropped.

“What?” Colin slowly pointed.

“You rode back together.” Ricky blinked.

“Oh.” Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Oh.” Robin smiled.

“Oh.” My face heated instantly.

“It was raining!” Arthur answered calmly at the same time.

“It was raining.” Colin crossed his arms smugly.

“And you had to hold onto him, didn’t you?” I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. 

Arthur looked completely unbothered.

“Yes,” he said simply. Colin clutched his chest dramatically.

“He admits it!”

“Colin,” I warned. Ricky leaned toward Sam.

“They’re both covered in mud.” Sam nodded.

“Very romantic mud,” Sam added, and I grabbed a handful of straw from the ground and threw it at them.

“I hate all of you.” Arthur chuckled beside me. And somehow—That only made them laugh harder.

“I hate all of you.” Arthur chuckled quietly beside me. And for some reason—I didn’t hate today at all. Colin was still staring at us like he had just solved the greatest mystery of his life. Ricky nudged him with his elbow.

“You’re thinking too loudly again.”

“I’m not thinking,” Colin said, grinning wider. “I’m observing.” Sam crossed his arms and leaned against the barn door.

“…What did the sheep do to you?” Arthur shrugged.

“It fought back.” Behind him, Ricky had moved closer to inspect the second sheep.

“This one looks smug,” he said.

“It is,” I muttered. Colin pointed at us.

“Explain the mud.”

“The marsh,” I said.

“The hill,” Arthur added.

“You lost sheep for half a day.”

“Yes.”

“You came back soaked.”

“Yes.”

“And muddy.”

“Yes.” Sam nodded slowly.

“That checks out.” Robin had disappeared into the house for a moment and returned with another towel and a small blanket. She wrapped the blanket around my shoulders before I could protest.

“You’re still shaking,” she said gently.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” She looked up at Arthur.

“You too,” Arthur shook his head.

“I’m alright.” Robin gave him a look that clearly meant she didn’t believe him either. Meanwhile, Colin was still watching us with the same suspicious smile.

“You know,” he said slowly, “it’s interesting.”

“No, it’s not,” I replied immediately. He ignored me.

“You went looking for sheep.”

“Yes.”

“But somehow you came back looking like you survived a romantic tragedy.” My face went hot.

“That is not what happened!” Ricky burst out laughing.

“Oh my god.” Sam smirked slightly. Robin tried very hard not to smile. Arthur simply leaned 

casually against the horse.

“We fell in mud,” he said. Colin nodded.

“Yes.”

“And rode back together.”

“Yes.”

“And held hands on the hill.” I froze. My brain stopped. Ricky choked on air. Sam’s eyebrows shot up. Robin’s smile got bigger. I slowly turned toward Colin.

“How do you know that?” Colin pointed dramatically at my hand. I looked down. Arthur’s hand was still loosely holding mine. Neither of us had noticed. Arthur glanced down as well. There was a short silence. Then he calmly let go.

“…Right,” he said. My face felt like it was on fire. Colin slapped his hands together.

“OH THIS IS GOOD.”

“Colin,” I warned.

“This is VERY good.” Ricky leaned toward Sam.

“Should we run?”

“Probably.” I grabbed a handful of straw from the barn floor and threw it at Colin.

“Shut up!” He dodged easily.

“You’re blushing!”

“I am not!”

“You absolutely are!” Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, clearly amused now. Sam walked past him with the sheep rope.

“You’re not helping,” he told Arthur. Arthur shrugged.

“I’m not saying anything.”

“That’s the problem,” Sam said. Robin gently pushed me toward the barn door.

“Go inside before you freeze to death.”

“I’m not freezing.” My teeth immediately chattered again. Robin nodded.

“Inside,” Arthur spoke behind me.

“I’ll put the horse away,” I glanced back at him. Rain was still dripping from his hair and coat.

“You should come inside too.” Arthur smiled slightly.

“I will.” For a moment, we just looked at each other. Then Colin loudly whispered behind me:

“Oh, they’re doing the look again,” I grabbed another handful of straw.

“COLIN.”

A few minutes passed by, and by the time I finished washing the mud out of my hair, the water in the basin had turned a disturbing shade of brown. I stared at it.

“…Impressive.” Robin leaned against the doorframe, smiling.

“You two must have had quite the adventure.”

“That sheep tried to kill us,” I muttered. Robin laughed softly and handed me a clean towel.

“Dinner’s almost ready.” My stomach immediately reminded me that I hadn’t eaten since morning.

“Good.” As I stepped out of the small washroom, the smell of warm food drifted through the house. Bread. Stew. Something roasted. And voices… unfortunately.

When I entered the kitchen, all three boys were already sitting at the table. Sam looked normal. Ricky looked amused. Colin looked like he had been waiting for this moment his entire life. Arthur was sitting at the far end of the table, freshly cleaned but still slightly damp from the rain. When I walked in, his eyes lifted immediately. For a brief second, he just looked at me. Then he smiled. And of course—Colin noticed.

“Oh look,” he said loudly. “She’s here.” I sat down slowly.

“Hello to you too.” Ricky leaned forward on his elbows.

“So.”

“No,” I said immediately.

“We didn’t even ask anything yet.”

“You’re going to.” Sam pushed a bowl of stew toward me.

“Eat first,” he said. “Then defend yourself.” I took the bowl gratefully. Arthur quietly reached for 

the bread and slid it closer to me without saying anything. I pretended not to notice. Colin absolutely noticed. His grin widened.

“So,” he started again. I sighed.

“Yes, Colin?”

“What exactly happened in the marsh?” Arthur answered calmly.

“We fell.” Ricky snorted. Sam shook his head.

“That’s not the interesting part.” Colin pointed between us.

“The interesting part is the riding.” I nearly choked on my stew.

“It was raining!”

“Yes,” Colin said.

“And?”

“And it made sense!” Ricky leaned back in his chair.

“I would also hold onto Arthur if I were falling off a horse.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Especially if I liked him.” I threw a piece of bread at him.

“RICKY!” Sam laughed quietly into his cup. Meanwhile, Arthur seemed far too calm about all of this. Colin leaned toward him.

“So, Arthur.”

“Yes?”

“Did you enjoy your very romantic sheep rescue?” Arthur took a sip of his drink. Then answered completely seriously.

“Yes.” The entire table went silent. My brain shut down. Colin stared. Ricky stared. Sam raised both eyebrows. Robin, who had just set another plate down, paused mid-step. I slowly turned toward Arthur.

“…You’re not helping.” I whisper-shouted at Arthur, and he glanced at me.

“I’m answering honestly,” Arthur said casually, and Colin slapped the table.

“THIS IS INCREDIBLE.” I buried my face in my hands.

“I’m moving to another farm,” I responded, and Sam shook his head, still smiling.

“You chased sheep all afternoon and survived the marsh.”

“And yet dinner is where you lose.” Robin patted my shoulder sympathetically.

“Eat before they get worse.” Too late. Colin leaned forward again. Dinner eventually ended after far too much teasing and far too many looks from Colin. The rain had stopped outside, but the night had grown dark and cold. Arthur stood near the door, pulling his coat back on.

“I should head back,” he said, and I looked outside. The fields were pitch black except for the faint lantern light near the barn.

“You can’t ride back now.” Arthur glanced at the sky.

“I’ve ridden in worse.”

“It’s late,” I insisted.

“I’ll be fine.” I crossed my arms.

“You spent the entire day chasing sheep and falling into mud.”

“That part wasn’t planned.”

“Exactly.” Arthur hesitated, and I stepped closer.

“You can stay here tonight.” Behind me, I heard a very quiet whisper.

“Say yes,” Colin muttered somewhere in the background.

“Colin,” Sam warned. Arthur looked down at me.

“You sure?”

“Yes.” Robin immediately nodded from the kitchen.

“We have a spare room.” Arthur looked back at me again. Then he smiled slightly.

“Alright.” Colin whispered loudly,

“YES.” Sam smacked him on the back of the head.

Later that night, the farm had gone quiet. Everyone had gone to bed. The lantern in the barn cast a soft golden glow across the wooden walls. I couldn’t sleep. So I walked outside. The air was cold and fresh after the rain. I wandered toward the barn. And stopped when I saw someone already there. Arthur leaned against the fence, quietly brushing the horse. He looked up when he heard my footsteps.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” I shook my head.

“No.” I stepped closer. The barn was peaceful now. The sheep we chased all day were finally quiet. Arthur rested his arms on the fence.

“Thank you for making me stay.”

“You’re welcome.” A soft breeze moved through the open barn door. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then I said quietly,

“You know…”

“What?”

“If another sheep escapes tomorrow…” Arthur sighed.

“We’re not falling into another marsh.”

“No promises.” He laughed quietly. And under the soft lantern light—for the first time all day—neither of us felt like running after anything anymore. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. Just calm. Comfortable. After a moment, I nudged his arm lightly, and he looked down at me. We were standing much closer than anticipated. He nudged my arm back. My face turned into a grin, which he willingly returned. Silence stretched out, and we just looked at each other for a while with stupid grins, enjoying each other’s company.

[ashydust]

How To Fall In Love With An Outlaw Pt.1

How you two meet!

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x F!Reader

Summary: Keeping the ranch intact was already hard enough, but when danger walks in, you can’t help it to feel like a moth to a flame.

Wordcount: 5197

Warnings: None

A/N: Ok, so first of all, English isn’t my first language. And I’m telling you this as a warning. There may be some mistakes that I am truly sorry for…but in reality, I couldn’t care less. Any feedback is welcomed though! Also keep in mind, I do not give permission to post this elsewhere (as your own). Enjoy!

There was a fresh breeze flowing through the air, making the leaves of the surrounding trees dance in the sunlight. It was a sunny day, not a single cloud to be seen. But it was not particular hot. It was the perfect temperature. It was just fine.

You know how the air around you has this certain smell to it when it is a nice day? The way the atmosphere smells in freedom and happiness. And you just know nothing bad would happen today because it was a wonderful day. Nothing could destroy this feeling of ease and lightness. Literally nothing.

The horse was galloping in circles. With every step it took, its hooves made contact with the dirty, sandy ground. It was tied to a rope, that man over held the other side of the string. He was letting the horse run in circles. As the horse moved, so did the man, his eyes following his movement carefully.

Two other men were bickering while they cleaned the last two stables. It was not audible as to why they were fighting about, but knowing both of them, it was probably something stupid and pointless. As always, when the time had come, cleaning stables was more like a competition. It was not unusual for them to end up fighting because one of them always cheats, but realistically both of them cheated.

The tree that I was leaned up against guaranteed me a good portion of shadow. My back was touching the old, big tree while I sat on the floor. My legs were bent so the notebook would not fall out of balance and actually stay put on my knees, my right hand moving in swift motions as it tried to depict the scenery before my eyes.

My eyes would casually look up and my mind would try to remember what my eyes had just seen. The hat on top of my head made the process a little bit difficult, but it granted extra protection from the sun. A humming tune escaped my mouth, even though a lit cigarette hung loose between my lips. I narrowed my eyes at the trees before me, trying to capture their beauty on paper.

I was lost in thought, continuing my failed attempt at art. The sudden commotion at the entrance of the stables did not make me look up. It was normal here for some things to get out of hand, and surely they did not need my help every single time. It was a rare moment for me to actually relax for a second. Every time something had happened, I was there to fix it. I was always there.

The moment silence had fallen over the ranch, my eyebrows furrowed and I finally dared to look up from my notebook. My head turned around to watch three men walking in my direction. I set the notebook aside quickly and stood up. The cigarette in my mouth long gone and thrown on the ground, already put out. I fixed my hat before my hands grabbed the buckle of my belt, and I strode over to them.

I halted, a reasonable and safe distance between us. My body was already ready for any danger, and the gun in my holster was weighting my belt down. One look over them revealed enough information to hold my wide stance. These men were followed by danger. They tipped their hats in a greeting manner, and I mimicked their movement.

“What brings you here on my ranch?” Even though my voice was laced with seriousness and sharpness, there was still a nice tone to it.

“The boys over there—” he pointed with his thumb to the stables. Sam and Ricky were standing in front of the entrance. They looked at us curiously, trying to figure out what we were talking about.

“—told me you could help some poor men out.” A frown plastered on my face. What could they possible want from me?

“Tis your ranch, ain’t it?”

“That depends who is asking.”

“My name is Dutch van der Linde, and this is Arthur Morgan and Javier Escuella.” He pointed to the other two men beside him. My eyes checked them each out for a quick second before looking at the man in front of me, confused.

“I don’t know how I am supposed to help you out.”

“Well, we were on our way to our homes when some outlaws thought it was a great idea to rob us.”

“Are you sure? Because you look like outlaws yourself.” Silence set upon us, and I feared that my remark was not really appropriate. I frowned and searched my mind for an apology. But these men started to laugh out loud, shutting any ounce of regret down. My frown turned into a smile.

“I must admit, you’re sharp for someone who looks like flowers and sunshine.”

“Thanks…?” It sounded more like a question, not really sure what I was suppose to do with that.

“So what can I do for ya?” I asked and shifted my weight in my stance, my head slightly tilted to the right.

“We need shelter for some days, trying to lay low.”

“And I’m asking again: what can I do for you?” The men were confused, looking at me like I was some sort of mental person.

“Your brother—” I cut him short, surprised at the mention of my brother.

“My brother? What about him?”

“He told us his baby sister had a farm that could guarantee us some cover for a few days.”

“So where is he?”

“Told us he had some things to do, but he’ll join us.”

“And I should just believe you blindly?”

“Look, darlin’, we’re just sayin’ the truth. He even gave us a letter addressed to you.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“And gimme that.” I skimmed over the letter, and it was indeed his handwriting. His stupid handwriting that looked better than mine, and I didn’t know why. Was I jealous? Maybe. But I won’t admit that aloud. I’m not stupid. If he knew it, he would pride himself and never let that go.

“Fine, you can stay here. Ask Ricky to show you where the guest room is and tell him to take care of your horses. Dinner will be served at seven.”

“Thank you, darlin’. We owe you.” I cringed from his nickname for me. They tipped their hats and headed towards Ricky, who immediately focused on his work again when he saw the men walking towards him.

“Wait.” They stopped dead in their tracks and turned around.

“Also ask Ricky for some toiletries and clothes. There is a stream down the road. Get cleaned up. I don’t want to dine with some dirty out-laws.”

Hours had passed and the clock struck seven o’clock, and the room was already lit by some candles while the sun was still present with us. Even if it was sundown, the sunbeams danced all over the dining room. However, it didn’t take long until the sun was gone and asleep, so the candles were probably necessary in some minutes.

The table was already set by my help Robin. She swiftly put the last plate down before going to the kitchen again. I sat down and poured some whiskey into my cup. Sam and Ricky came in and greeted me with a nod before they sat down and started talking about who knows what.

The stairs creaked and some footsteps were audible. The three guests came down from their rooms, and they looked… different. They looked put together, better and cleaner than before.

“Good evening.”

“Good day, ma’am,” they greeted in unison back, and after each of them climbed the stairs down, they all stood before the table, unsure where to sit.

“You can take a seat. You don’t have to stand there,” I stated with a laugh. They nodded and looked around the table before everyone took a seat. Sam and Ricky threw meaningful glances between them and tried to hold their laugh. They snickered, and I shot them a look but couldn’t really keep my own laugh.

“Colin told me to tell you that he isn’t going to make it for dinner. He went back to the city, something with his father.” Robin entered the room again, taking a seat next to Ricky.

“Thank you, Robin.”

“Isn’t it the third time this week?” Sam wondered.

“I don’t know, I thought his old man died,” Ricky said.

“Ricky!” Robin scolded the man like he was a little boy.

“What? I’m just telling the truth.”

“You can’t just say that,” I said, and to be honest, I had to suppress my laugh. The guests found the conversation amusing, sitting still but smirking all the way. We began to feast and filled our plates and cups with food and drinks. The new men started digging in, eating like they had been starving for a while.

“Anyways, I think we need another help for the upcoming summer. I don’t think we can manage everything alone. At least two strong boys.”

“I may know someone. He was my neighbor when I lived in Valentine. Saw him last week. He was in search of a summer job.”

“Perfect. When you want, you can get the morning free so you can tell him.” Ricky nodded in agreement.

“If you’re going to the city, can I give you a list of things I need for the kitchen?” Robin asked with hopeful eyes as she turned around to face Ricky.

“For you, everything, my darling.” Robin immediately turned red from the embarrassment of the nickname he gave her. She turned around and took a big sip of her water. Literally everyone at this table noticed and smirked.

“Mr. Van der Linde, is it?” he nodded before stuffing his mouth full with the baked potatoes.

“Can I ask you what kind of business my brother had to do with you?” I asked.

“I’m sure that it is not fit for a lady to know—” I cut him short.

“Mr. Van der Linde, I know—”

“You can call me Dutch,” he stated.

“Dutch, I know my brother well enough. He won’t do anything without reason, so tell me,” I explained.

“We had business to take care of. It went southways. Your brother was there to help.”

“That is… rather vague.” He just shrugged at my comment, and I knew he wouldn’t proceed to explain further. I leaned back, glass in my hand, taking a swift sip.

“So tell me, where are you from?” The man immediately stopped eating. The air around us was thinner and the whole vibe weighed the atmosphere down. Everything shifted in a dangerous tone, almost waiting to explode.

“Don’t worry. I don’t want to know. You don’t have to tell me. Was just trying to make conversation.” I raised my arms in a playful manner, the glass still in my hand. The men smiled at the attempt to lighten the mood. Honestly, they were grateful I didn’t pressure them into answering the question.

When it seemed like everyone had eaten enough, Sam and Ricky both were trying to focus on their plate in front of them, not wanting to cause any more commotion. Sam pushed lightly on Ricky’s shoulder, signaling him to say something.

“We still need to bring the horses to the stables. So… thank you, Robin, for the food,” Ricky said, immediately understanding the signal.

“It was delicious,” Sam added.

“Really delicious,” Ricky repeated. They left the house, heading to the horses and leaving Robin and me with the guests. I watched them with furrowed eyebrows and a perplexed expression as they left.

“I apologize for them… they are… sometimes annoying, but also good help around here, so I think it evens it out,” I sighed.

“No, no, it’s fine. We know how young boys can get,” Javier responded.

“It’s just that we don’t get a lot of guests around here. I swear they lost their manners,” I tried to explain, and they laughed.

“It’s fine, and thank you for dinner. Ricky and Sam were right, it was delicious, Robin,” Arthur said, and Robin smiled. She was thankful someone appreciated her cooking skills, since Sam and Ricky were mostly unserious and playful about it. I nodded toward Robin and she stood up, trying to stack the dirty plates.

“You either can get a seat in the parlor or go back to your rooms. Ten is our curfew in favor of the other workers that have to wake up early,” I explained and helped Robin with the plates. The men nodded and stood up. Instead of leaving the dining room, they helped with plates. I stopped dead in my tracks.

“You really don’t have to. You are literally guests.” I took the plates out of their grasps.

“Yeah, and what kind of guests would we be if we didn’t help?” Arthur asked a rhetorical question and took the dishes from my hands back. Javier helped too. It was Dutch who bid everyone a “good night” and left the room.

“Thank you,” I said and brought the dirty dishes to the kitchen.

“There is no need to thank us. You are the one helping us, giving us a roof over our heads. We’re just expressing some gratitude,” he explained, and I smiled fondly at him. We all brought every single one of the plates into the kitchen, leaving Robin alone in the kitchen to clean everything.

“Good night.” Javier tipped his head and went up to his room. Arthur copied the movement but didn’t go further than two steps. He stopped and turned around. A frown had blossomed upon my face, watching him carefully.

“Is something wrong?” I asked with a distance but still a familiar concern.

“I don’t want to sound rude, but do ya have another of those cigarettes? Could really use one,” he asked, and my frown turned into a smile. I turned around and shuffled to the kitchen. Opening a cupboard, I reached for a small wooden box. Once I had two cigarettes in my hand, I went back and handed him one.

“Do you mind if I join?” I asked and held another cigarette in my hand, showing him.

“No,” he said simply. We walked out and sat down on two wooden chairs, a small distance from the house but still close by, maybe 200 ft away. I took a match out of my pocket and lit it, striking it against the sole of my boot. Bringing the flame close to the cigarette, which I kept between my lips, I set the other end of the bud on fire. I then reached for his cigarette.

The match flared brighter in the small pocket of dusk between us, its light trembling in the breeze. For a second it painted his face in warm gold. The sharp line of his nose, the shadow beneath his cheekbone, the way his eyes caught the flame and reflected it back, and the faint crease between 

his brows as he watched the flame. I hadn’t really looked at him before. Not properly.

He was attractive.

That much was a fact.

“Hurry up,” he muttered, cigarette already between his lips. “Unless you’re planning on studying me all night.”

I blinked, realizing the match had nearly burned down to my fingers. I tilted it toward his cigarette and he leaned in. The end glowed orange as he inhaled, the flame licking the paper before I shook the match out and dropped it into the dirt. 

The quiet settled again, but it wasn’t the same quiet as before. The farm stretched out around us, fields fading into dark blues and purples as the last of the sun slipped behind the trees. Crickets had started up their steady chorus, and the air smelled faintly of hay and warm soil. From the barn came the faint rustle of animals shifting in their stalls.

I took a slow drag from my cigarette and glanced over. The farmhouse behind us glowed softly through the windows, light spilling across the yard. Maybe it was the light, or the way the shadows softened everything, but he looked different now than he had earlier. Less like the quiet stranger who had shown up that afternoon. The warm glow from the house reached just far enough to catch his face, outlining it in gold. Before I could stop myself, I looked a second too long.

He noticed.

His eyes shifted toward me, a little curious. “What?”

The question wasn’t sharp, just quiet. I looked away, suddenly very aware of the cigarette between my fingers.

“Nothing.” A small pause followed. Then he gave a faint smile, almost amused. “That didn’t sound like nothing.”

I exhaled a thin stream of smoke and shrugged. “I was just… thinking.”

“About?” I hesitated, then shook my head. “It’s stupid.”

He leaned back slightly in the wooden chair, the legs creaking softly in the dirt. “Now I’m curious.”

I glanced at him again, briefly. The same warm light still caught in his eyes.

“It’s just the light,” I said finally.

“The light?”

“Yeah.” For a moment we just sat there, listening to the crickets and the faint shifting of the wind through the grass. Then I pushed myself up from the chair.

“I need to go back in,” I said, brushing a bit of dust from my hands. “I’ll be right back.”

He looked up at me, a little surprised but not questioning it. “Alright.”

The gravel crunched softly under my shoes as I walked toward the house. I could feel his gaze on my back for a moment before the screen door creaked open and shut behind me. Inside, the kitchen light was brighter than I expected after the dim evening outside. I grabbed what I had come for from the table and headed right back out, not wanting to leave him sitting there too long.

When I returned, he was still in the same chair, one ankle resting over the other, cigarette burning low between his fingers. He glanced up as I approached. I sat down again, placing what I carried on my lap. It was a small sketchbook, the cover worn soft at the edges. I flipped it open, turning past a few filled pages until I reached an empty one. The paper caught the warm spill of light from the house. I picked up the pencil and looked at him.

“Could you sit still?” He blinked.

“For…?” His eyes dropped briefly to the sketchbook in my hands, then back up to me, a faint crease of confusion forming between his brows.

“Just for a minute,” I said. He leaned back a little in the chair, clearly perplexed, but there was something else there too. The beginning of a smile he seemed to be holding back.

“You’re drawing me?”

“Maybe.”

“That doesn’t sound very confident.”

“It’ll be worse if you keep talking,” I said, though there was no real bite to it. He huffed a quiet laugh under his breath and shifted slightly, settling back into the chair. The porch light caught along the side of his face again, the same soft glow from before. For a second he looked like he might say something else. But instead he lifted his hands in quiet surrender and stilled. Something about the whole situation seemed to amuse him, even if he didn’t fully understand it.

I lowered my eyes to the page and began to draw.

A few minutes passed with nothing but the scratching of pencil on paper and the soft hum of crickets in the grass. Eventually I leaned back a little and looked up, a small, satisfied smile pulling at my lips.

“I’m done.” He lifted his head slightly. “Already?”

“Yeah.” He watched me for a moment, then nodded toward the sketchbook. “Aren’t you going to show me?”

I hesitated, suddenly less confident than I had been a second ago. Still, I turned the sketchbook around and held it out toward him. The drawing looked back at him, or at least something that was meant to. The lines were a little uneven, the proportions not entirely right. It was more an attempt at capturing the moment than a perfect likeness. He didn’t say anything. Just stared at it.

“I know it’s not perfect,” I said after a second, my smile fading into something more uncertain. “But I tried.”

He was still quiet. For a moment I wondered if I’d completely misjudged the situation, if maybe drawing someone you’d barely spoken to was a strange thing to do after all. Then he reached out and lightly touched the edge of the page.

“It’s… actually really good,” he said slowly, like he meant it. I raised an eyebrow. “You paused a long time before saying that.”

“I was looking.”

“At the mistakes?”

“At the details.” His finger hovered near the sketch, not quite touching the pencil marks. For a moment we both looked out at the fields again, the night now fully settled over the farm. Then he nodded toward the sketchbook resting on my knee.

“Do you draw people often?”

“No,” I said. “Just you.”

That seemed to surprise him a little.

“Why me?” I thought about it for a moment, then shrugged.

“You were sitting still.” That earned a quiet laugh from him, warm and easy in the cool night air. And somehow, the silence that followed didn’t feel awkward at all.

The next morning came early. The sun had barely climbed over the trees when I was already outside, working through the usual chores. The air was cool, still holding onto the last of the night, and the grass was damp beneath my boots. I was focused on the work in front of me when movement caught the corner of my eye. I glanced up.

He had just stepped out of the farmhouse, the door closing softly behind him. For a moment he stood there, looking around the yard like he wasn’t quite sure where everything was yet. Then his gaze landed on me. He hesitated for a second, then walked over.

“Good morning, ma’am,” he said.

“Morning.” He stopped beside the fence I was working on, watching for a moment as I adjusted one of the loose boards.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“There’s no need,” I said automatically, tightening the wire. “I can do it on my own—”

The pliers slipped from my hand and dropped straight into the dirt. I stared at them for a second.

Before I could bend down, he beat me to it and had already picked them up.

“You were saying?” he said, holding them out to me. I sighed quietly and took them back.

“Thanks.” But instead of leaving, he stayed where he was.

“Still looks like a two-person job,” he said, glancing at the fence post.

“It’s not.”

“Sure.” Before I could argue again, he stepped around to the other side of the post and held the board steady. I paused.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing.”

“I can hold a piece of wood,” he said simply. I looked at him for a second longer, then went back to tightening the wire. The board stayed perfectly still under his hands. A minute later the job was done. I stepped back to check it, brushing dirt from my palms. He let go of the board and looked at the finished work.

“That it?”

“That’s it.” A small silence settled between us. Then I glanced at him.

“Thank you.” He gave a small nod, like it hadn’t been a big deal at all. I looked down at the fence again, pressing the wire once more just to make sure it held.

“If you need any help,” he said after a moment, a little casually, “just say it next time.” 

I glanced up.

“It’s the least I can do.” Before I could answer, he had already started back toward the house, hands in his pockets, boots kicking small stones along the path. I watched him for a moment, then went back to work.

The hours passed the way they usually did on the farm. Slow, steady, filled with small tasks that somehow never seemed to end. By the time the sun began lowering again, the air had warmed and my shirt clung lightly to my back.

By evening my arms were tired, my hands smelled faintly of hay and metal, and all I wanted was food and a chair.

Dinner was simple and quiet, the usual low conversation around the table. Every now and then I noticed him across from me, though we didn’t really speak. It wasn’t uncomfortable. Just… aware.

Afterward, plates were stacked and people drifted away one by one until the kitchen slowly emptied. Robin was occupied with other work, so I took over. I stood at the sink, rolling my sleeves up. I soaked the dirty dishes in water. A moment later I heard footsteps behind me.

“I can help,” he said. I glanced over my shoulder.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.” He stepped closer anyway, reaching for the towel hanging from the door handle.

“I dry,” he said simply. I passed him the first plate. The kitchen was quieter now, lit only by the soft yellow light above the sink. Outside the windows the sky had turned deep blue again, the last light fading behind the trees. I washed and passed dishes back to him. At first we worked without talking. Our hands brushed once when he took a glass from me. Neither of us said anything about it. A few minutes later it happened again, this time lingering just a second longer before he pulled back. I could feel his attention now, even without looking.

“So,” he said after a moment, quieter than usual, “do you draw every stranger you meet?”

I let out a small laugh under my breath.

“Only the ones who sit still long enough.”

“That sounds selective.”

“Very.” I handed him another plate. He didn’t take it immediately. When I looked up, he was already looking at me. Not curious this time. Just… looking. For a second neither of us moved. The water kept running in the sink. His voice had dropped a little, almost thoughtful.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever drawn me before.” I shrugged, suddenly aware of how close we were standing now.

“Well,” I said quietly, “now someone has.”

He finally took the plate from my hands, but instead of stepping back he stayed there beside me. Close enough that our shoulders nearly touched. The air between us felt different now. Warmer, quieter, like something unspoken had slowly slipped into the room. I reached for another glass. When I turned to hand it to him, our hands met again. This time neither of us pulled away immediately. His fingers lingered lightly against mine, warm and a little rough from work.

When I looked up, he was closer than before. Neither of us spoke. The moment stretched, quiet and uncertain and full of something neither of us had quite named yet. Then—

“Well, this is a nice little teamwork you two have going.”

The voice cut straight through the moment. We both stepped apart almost instantly. Ricky had appeared in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame with an amused look. Arthur cleared his throat slightly and grabbed the towel again, suddenly very focused on drying the plate in his hands. I turned back to the sink, pretending to be very interested in the remaining dishes. Behind us Ricky chuckled.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” they said, though they clearly didn’t sound sorry at all.

The next few days slipped back into routine. Work in the morning, long hours outside, dinner in the evening. We crossed paths now and then—on the porch, near the barn, once at the water pump—but it was always brief. A nod. A quiet “morning.” Nothing more. Still, it felt different now.

Like we both noticed the other more than before. 

It was a weird feeling that plagued my whole body. It was certainly new, something unfamiliar. Like he made my heart beat a bit faster when I saw him, or hoping I’d see him when I left my room. But maybe that wasn’t a good sign. Maybe I should distance myself from that feeling. I needed to remind myself that he wasn’t going to stay. It was brief, and he would be gone in a few days.

Late one afternoon, I was sitting on the low fence near the pasture, tying a loose piece of rope back together. The sun hung low again, turning the fields warm and gold. I had almost finished when I heard footsteps in the grass. I glanced up. It was him. He was carrying a small wooden crate, though when he noticed me he slowed a little.

“Evening,” he said.

“Arthur.” He set the crate down near the fence and leaned his arms on the top rail.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to fix this,” I said, lifting the rope slightly. “It snapped earlier.”

He studied it for a moment.

“That knot won’t hold.” I frowned.

“It will.” He shook his head gently.

“Not for long.”

“You sound very confident for someone who’s been here three days.” He smiled a little at that.

“Can I?” he asked, nodding toward the rope. I hesitated, then handed it over. His fingers moved easily, looping the rope in a way that was clearly practiced. A moment later he pulled the knot tight and gave the rope a firm tug.

“There,” he said. I leaned forward slightly and tested it myself. It didn’t move.

“Okay,” I admitted. “That’s better.”

“Just a little.” I hopped down from the fence.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.” He picked up the crate again, but before walking away he paused. Then he reached into the pocket of his jacket.

“I found this earlier,” he said, holding something small out to me. I looked down. It was the matchbox I’d used the night I’d drawn him.

“You left it outside,” he said. “Near the chairs.”

I took it from him, a little surprised he’d even noticed.

“Oh.” For some reason the small gesture made me smile.

“Thanks.” He shrugged slightly, like it wasn’t a big deal.

...

A few days later they left.

A quick “goodbye” with “thank you.”

It was weird not having them around, which was crazy because they were complete strangers. Maybe one of them didn’t really feel like a complete stranger. 

No.

He wasn’t. Because when I returned to my room later that day, a stack of papers was lying on my pillow. I quickly grabbed them and opened them. My breath caught in my throat and my heart skipped a beat.

It was one letter and one drawing… of me.

You deserve a drawing of yourself. It’s not fair that you did one of me. I hope you like it.

By the way, I promise we’ll meet again. I need to take care of business before I can take you for a proper date. See you in a week, darling.

Yours truly, Arthur

[ashydust]

first post, kinda nervous