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Leather and Lace - Chapter 22: To Pick a Lock

Summary: The gang discovers a one of your "talents" and puts it to good use.

*This amazing images comes from one of my faves, @papaue00

*Thank you to @readingcoco for beta reading for me! You are amazing!

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter - TBD, but there are a handful of future chapters that were posted ahead of time

“Explain to me how this happens.”

You stand in front of Arthur, arms extended out as far from your body as possible as you shake out a mud-crusted shirt of his, cautiously squinting as bits of dirt fly through the air in front of your wrinkled-up nose. “Do you literally lay down and roll in mud to get your clothes this dirty?”

“Sometimes,” the man in question shrugs. “Other times we draw straws to see who stands in the middle while the other fellers throw dirt at him.” He snickers as he makes a whipping motion with his arm.

All you can do is give him an exasperated look as your arms drop down in defeat in front of you.

“See, when you say dumb things like that, I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

Arthur playfully shakes his eyebrows at you as his arm shoots out, snaking around your waist to quickly pin you to his chest, causing you to giggle and squirm as he plants a few teasing kisses along the side of your neck. Standing a few feet away, Abigail can only shake her head at your flirtatious nonsense.

It’s a brisk fall afternoon, and the sun hangs in the sky like a dollop of golden yellow paint dropped on a canvas of grays and purples. Arthur is helping you with laundry. He’s bored and hovering over you as a means of distracting himself, wanting nothing more than to take you back to your shared tent for something more stimulating. But Ms. Grimshaw is keeping a keen eye on you to make sure you get your chores done.

With the year well into the fall now, daylight is limited as is the time available to get things done along with it. So rather than dragging you off, Arthur figures it would be best to help out in order to get your work done faster. And by “help”, he means carrying the baskets for you and keeping you company while you wash and hang alongside Abigail. You don’t mind, really. Arthur doesn’t get to spend as much time with you as he’d like and rarely does he ever have “nothing to do”. So you will accept his company in any manner you can get it.

The sound of thunderous hoofbeats echoes into the new camp, causing your small group to lift their collective heads towards the path. A few of the men had gone out earlier this morning and it appears the commotion is a sign of their imminent arrival. Excitable voices carry through the air, wound up and hollering about something. It doesn’t take long before you eventually hear a loud metallic banging sound, coupled with shouts of frustration.

“What in god's name is all the noise?” huffs Abigail, craning her neck in the direction of the racket to try and see through the maze of tents and wagons.

“Who knows.” You toss the newly folded shirt in your hands into the basket at Arthur’s feet with a sigh. “But we should probably look into it before someone ends up losing an eye or a finger,” you snort back with a lofty eye-roll.

Arthur can only chuckle as he follows after you like a puppy as you head over to investigate. It warms his heart how you’ve taken to looking after everyone in the several months that you’ve been with the gang, becoming more and more like Grimshaw everyday—in a good way, of course.

You, Abigail, and Arthur amble into the common area, and see Bill, Javier and Micah standing over a table, their attention acutely focused on something set upon its surface, as the rest of the gang jostle to make room for Dutch.

As you get closer and peer around Bill’s massive trunk of a torso, you realize that the boys have come back to camp with an ornate travel chest. A pounding noise ricochets within your skull, grating against your nerves as Bill beats the lock with a rock in a hopeless attempt to get it open.

“What’d you all find out there?” questions Arthur, striking a match across the tabletop and lighting the cigarette that precariously hangs from his plump lips. You and Arthur exchange a cynical glance before he curiously eyes the chest then looks to Javier for more details.

“Found ourselves a fancy box!” quips Javier, his nimble fingers coming up to rub his chin as he watches Bill intently. “And where there’s a fancy box-”

“-There’s even fancier things inside,” finishes Micah with a smirk, his hands twitching by his gun belt as he too anxiously awaits the trunk’s unveiling.

You try not to chortle as you watch Arthur roll his eyes with trademark skepticism, thumbs coming to rest in his gunbelt as he shifts his weight from hip to hip.

“So why ya beatin’ the damn thing?” Arthur’s head cocks to the side, amused as he watches Bill get more and more frustrated by the second, his face turning red and flustered with each striking blow. You defensively step back from Bill, holding your hands up in front of you to make sure you don't get caught in the swing of his burly arm.

“Tryin’ to get this damn thing open, Morgan!” grunts Bill. “We were in town and saw this rich-looking coach unattended. Seemed like their own fault, so we started digging around inside and found it. Didn’t have time to crack the thing open so we just grabbed it and took off before anyone noticed.”

“Stop banging away at it!” you scold, grabbing Bill’s beefy forearm before he can make another strike. “See that gold leafing along the surface? This is an expensive piece.” You loosen your grip to run your fingertips along the gilding, tracing the fine craftwork with a feather-light touch. “You can sell this trunk alone for $30 to the fence.”

Bill halts immediately, a bit shocked when he feels your soft hand on him. But he’s also now stumped at how to proceed in opening the chest and looking to you for the answer. Poor Bill, always in a battle between brains and brawn, and unfortunately for him there is only ever going to be one winner.

A motherly sigh escapes your lips as you shake your head sweetly at Bill. “As usual, all this needs is a little ‘woman’s finesse’,” you purr sweetly. You reach over to Abigail and pluck a hairpin out from her bun, setting yourself down at the table with the box laid out in front of you. The crowd watches silently as your hands rest upon the chest, and you start to wiggle the pin around inside the lock. Within a minute, the lock pops open with a simple and gracefully little clicking sound.

“There, now. All yours.” You turn the box towards the group of waiting men, with a satisfied smile on your face. They all look at you, stunned as to what just happened, but then quickly begin to dig into the mysterious case. And they are not disappointed. Inside they find cash, jewelry, bonds and other precious mementos belonging to the previous owner. You lean forward with your chin resting in your hand, watching as they excitedly pull items out to admire.

Bill plucks something out of the box and hands it to you. “Here you go, Y/N. There’s your cut.”

Accepting the glittering item from his meaty bear-paw, you roll it in your hand, instantly realizing it’s a broach. He gives you an earnest smile, proud of himself for landing such a score. Bill is always such a beast of a man, not graceful in the slightest. But he does always try to be gentle around you, at least.

“Why, thank you, Sir,” you grin in return, admiring the beautiful jade-green stone that nests in a filigree of polished silver.

“Where did you learn how to do that, Y/N?” asks Abigail as she, too, begins to curiously finger through the jewelry inside.

“I have friends who taught me when I was in Rosewood.”

“How do you have friends that know how to pick locks?” asks Javier incredulously, shaking his head in disbelief. “I mean, before meeting us, that is.” He gives you his suave smile and a wink.

A demure little grin pops across your face, relishing the idea that you can still surprise these people, even after all these months. Your chin coquettishly dips to your shoulder.

“Never you mind, Javier. A woman needs a little mystery.”

“Wait a minute, you never said you knew how to pick a lock!” Arthur turns his attention from the stack of cash in front of him to face you now, fully realizing what you’ve just said.

“You never asked,” you reply plainly with a simple shrug.

Micah lets out a patronizing little huff. “Maybe you should be doing a little more talking at night in your tent, cowpoke,” teases Micah.

“Maybe you shouldn’t concern yourself with what’s happening in my tent at night,” Arthur shoots back with a glare.

“Hold on,” Dutch interjects with annoyance, his hands raised in the air to silence everyone as he acutely directs his attention towards you. “Are you saying you can do this with any lock?”

You shrug again. “I don’t know if I’d say any lock,” your voice somewhat uncertain under Dutch’s intense gaze, ”but probably.”

“Why the hell am I just hearing this now?!” Dutch huffs, planting his hands onto his hips. But before you can answer him, you see an idea forming in that deceptive mind of his, coiling like fog creeping through the valley in the morning. “Ho, ho, have I got an idea, gentleman,” he smirks, tapping his ringed finger against his mustached lips.

“There’s a bank over in Red Rock that I’ve been eyein’. But I’m told it's next to the law office— strategically placed there to ward off robberies. Any attempt on it would have to be quiet. No shooting, no explosions of any kind.” Dutch shakes his finger at you. “If we can get her in there, into that vault-”

“Now, hold on a minute, Dutch. Y/N ain’t ready for anything like that,” Arthur cuts in, his hand waving firmly against the very idea of it. You watch his handsome face immediately turning into a deep, disapproving scowl.

“Well, she’s gonna have to be ready sometime,” argues Dutch. “I ain’t about to let a resource like her go to waste.” He counters as he waves his hand in your direction. “Besides, you’ll be there, too Arthur, and we all know you ain’t gonna let anything happen to her”.

Dutch is right about that. Arthur would sooner take a bullet himself than put you in harm’s way. But still, the very idea of you being in danger sets his stomach turning. It’s the thing that he’s dreaded the most ever since you met, let alone started your relationship. He can’t fathom intentionally endangering you, yet he doesn’t want to disobey Dutch, either. The conflict is apparent on Arthur’s chiseled face as his eyes skip to the treeline, trying to find a suitable excuse to get you out of it. But all Dutch needs to do is shoot Arthur that glare to put him back in his place.

When satisfied that Arthur’s silence means that he has succumbed to his will yet again, Dutch turns back to you. “You continue to amaze me, Miss Y/L/N.” His voice floats with that smooth, silky tone he uses when he needs to seduce people into doing his bidding, even against their better judgment. Like a snake that lures its prey, the man can be almost hypnotic when he needs to be. But you’ve never felt directly threatened by Dutch…until now.

A slight chill dances up your spine as you stare at him with your large doe-eyes, an animal trapped by a hunter. And all you can do is sit there mutely as they all begin to discuss how to best use your newly-discovered “talent”.

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

The crisp autumn breeze caresses your face, lifting the rogue strands of hair from your cold cheeks as you find yourself standing on the edge of the street. Across the way is the large green building that will be your target. It is adorned with black window-shutters and trim and looms ominously over you. A large sign hangs above the entry doors: Red Rock Savings and Loan. The letters leer at you in an almost mocking and intimidating way. You try in vain to swallow, your mouth dry as the desert. Fingers betray a slight shake as you fidget with your hair and nervously smooth out the skirt of your emerald green dress for the third time in the last five minutes.

You are going to be on your own for the first part of Dutch’s plan. You take a deep breath, slowly letting it out through trembling lips in an attempt to quell the butterflies in your stomach, going over the scheme one last time in your head. Your palms are sweaty, even in the chill air, and you continually wipe them along your hips, before absentmindedly playing with your hair yet again.

And then it dawns on you: you are not sure if you can do this. What if Arthur is right and you really aren’t ready? You’ve never done anything like this before in your life. You’ve listened to the wild escapades of your fellow gang members but have never actively participated yourself. The most you’ve ever done is act as a decoy, never actually getting your own hands dirty. This will be your first act at truly committing a crime.

What if something goes wrong? Will you have the where-with-all to know what to do? Could you ever defend yourself if something needed to be done? Arthur and the others will be there to protect you, but what if you are a liability to them? What if they need you to help them? You know how to shoot a gun, as you’ve hunted with Arthur and Charles plenty of times. But to point a gun at a person, to look them in the eye as you pull the trigger, that is something else entirely. If the nightmares and restless nights that Arthur has, ones that he pretends don’t happen, are any indication, the weight of taking someone else’s life leaves a heavy burden on one’s soul. Are you ready for that?

But as you stand there in the street, you eventually force yourself to steel your nerves with a slow deep breath. Closing your eyes, focusing on how your heart beats in your chest, the monotonous thumping echoes in your ears. You are part of the notorious Van Der Linde gang, you tell yourself. You are Arthur Morgan’s woman. And it is about damn time that you act like it.

Your life before joining the gang, before meeting Arthur, had always been at the mercy of others, being subservient to the demands of men and your class. You have always done what was right and proper, falling in line with other people’s expectations and look where it got you: family name in tatters, your father gone, assaulted by the men who killed him, and left destitute by the high society that had pretended to care.

But you are past that now. No need to hide in the shadows, no need to take anyone’s bullshit anymore. If joining Dutch Van Der Linde’s gang has taught you anything, it’s that. Running with a gang allows you to be free to do as you please and you do not have to answer to anyone.

You need to pull from the strength of your new family, as they are counting on you. Arthur is counting on you. No turning back now. And with a grin of determination on your lips, you lift your chin, shaking off the last bit of nervous energy, and get into character to boldly stride over to the bank.

You pull open the heavy wooden door, gliding confidently through the opening. Remembering all of Hosea’s training, your sparkling eyes take-in the scene as you stand at the threshold: Large room, main exit behind you, hallway towards the back that must lead to the vault and safes. You can’t tell if there is a second exit or not. (Arthur says ‘Always gotta know how you can get in and get out.’) Three tellers to your right, a ring of desks with other bank personnel to your left. All in all, with customers, you have twelve people to account for.

The bank lobby is fairly large to accommodate a town of this size. You look up to see the clock about to strike 4:00 in the afternoon, a time strategically picked so that there is money in the vault from a full day’s transactions, and close enough to the encroaching nightfall to cover the escape that will eventually come.

You stride over to the first available teller who comfortably sits behind the counter, your heels confidently clicking on the floorboards as you move.The squat, bespectacled man looks up from his newspaper as you approach his counter.

“How may I help you today, Miss?” He is a mousey little man, very bookish and unassuming in his worn tan suit. His hazel eyes are made to appear larger by the bottle lenses of his glasses as he blinks expectantly at you.

“I would like to talk to someone about opening an account here,” you inform him in your most authoritative tone. “My husband and I recently arrived in this area and are in need of getting our affairs in order.”

He looks past you into the lobby. “And where is your husband? Will we be waiting for him to assist you?” he asks.

A slow, deliberate inhale gets pulled through your nose in aggravation. You bite your tongue and give a forced smile. “Sir, I will have you know that I do not need my husband with me to handle our finances. I know quite well how to manage our money, as we have quite a bit of it thanks to me.”

The teller shrinks back a bit at your angry, snapping comments which are now causing a bit of a scene amongst the small crowd within the lobby.

“My husband is occupied elsewhere, making arrangements to have our cattle moved to our new ranch and does not have time for such things,” you continue. “He handles the labor, I handle the business. But, if you do not want to help me, simply because I am a woman, then I can certainly take my business and my money elsewhere.” Your eyes burn into the teller, making his insides cringe.

“Excuse me.” You hear a nervous throat clearing as a man in a tailored black suit interrupts the conversation and steps up beside you at the counter. “I couldn’t help but overhear the commotion. By all means, we will be more than happy to assist you with your money, Madame.” He sweeps his arm out towards one of the desks on the other side of the room and encourages you to follow him to sit. “Mr. Ferris,” he hisses back at the teller. “Stop badgering the customers! If the lady wants to open an account to secure her money here, then by all means, let’s assist her.”

The poor teller’s eyes shoot open. “Oh, I’m so sorry, miss, I…I didn’t mean anything by it,” he stammers, adjusting his thick glasses on his nose. “I’m sorry if I offended you. It’s just-”

“It’s just that you don’t see many women with such influence, I assume. Well, Mr. Ferris, you’d be surprised at what a woman can do.” And with an indignant flourish of your skirt, you spin on your heels to follow the other banker as he pulls out a chair for you to sit at his desk. Once he is sure you are comfortably seated, the banker fixes his tie and smooths his hand over his hair before taking a seat across from you.

“I apologize, Mrs…” he leans towards you, eyebrows raised expectantly for the proper introduction.

“Callahan. Mrs. Callahan,” you reply with yet another forced smile.

“Ah, yes. Mrs. Callahan,” the banker confirms the name to himself, trying to work out if he recognizes it from affluent society circles. “So,” he clears his throat, “you need to set up an account with our bank, is that what I am understanding?”

“Yes, that’s right.” And you proceed to spin your web of lies about how you and your cattleman husband have traveled across the state to find a new ranch for your burgeoning cattle business that has grown two-fold in the past year. With new property in the process of being purchased, your husband is securing the land and overseeing the move of the herd, while you are here in town to get your affairs in order: banking setup, food and provisions acquired, things of that nature.

You smugly watch the banker’s face grow more and more interested at the prospect of such a prosperous new client, as he eagerly takes notes as you speak. You lay it on thick, too, casually bragging about your fictitious husband’s endeavors, with a nonchalant wave of your dainty hand, but not so much as to be too unbelievable, just as the socialites and high-born used to do back east.

It is amusing to you how easily you are able to slip back into the social lifestyle that you were so readily willing to leave behind. It’s always a matter of presentation and flourish, a constant upkeep of appearances. It’s that ‘cat and mouse’ game that you never cared for. You never thought you were that good at it, but it seems to be rather advantageous for you now. It is amazing to watch how eager and greedy people are, wanting to get a part of something that they themselves do not possess. Basically, you feed Mr. Bagby the life of one of the families you had known. You change the topic from “real estate” to “cattle” but it’s the same setup, the same panache. And just as enticing to the banker.

“Well, that sounds just fine. All well and good!” he replies excitedly. “We can certainly take care of you, Mrs. Callahan. My name is Mr. Bagby. Raymond Bagby. And if there is anything you or your husband need, well you just be sure and let me know.” His eyes light up at the idea of such a wealthy new prospect coming into town that he can latch his greedy fingers onto.

“Thank you, Mr. Bagby.” You give him a smug, self-satisfied little grin. “I do appreciate th-“

Suddenly, the doors to the bank are flung open and a handful of men with bandannas around their faces storm in. The small crowd of people gasp at the sight, with one of the older women stifling a scream. You jump in your chair at the loud commotion, your hand shooting to your chest.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is a robbery,” one of the men announces, his low gravelly voice commanding over the crowd of cowering townsfolk. He is broad and tall, with a leather trench coat that hangs off his frame perfectly. He brandishes a large pistol in each black gloved hand while a shotgun hangs conveniently across his wide back. “I highly suggest you keep quiet and cooperate and this will be over shortly.” He carries himself with a bravado and swagger, one that instantly lets everyone know that he is not to be questioned. His stony gaze passes over the collective group, alert to any minute movement.

Your eyes shift to the employees and patrons as they cower in fear. The look of horror skips across their faces as the realization that they could die right here and now settles into their scattered minds.

“Everyone, down on their knees. Now!” another burly man shouts, his shotgun prominently displayed across his body. A few shrieks of panic echo through the room, but everyone quickly complies.

“Everything will be alright, miss,” Mr. Bagby whispers to you, patting your hand in a feeble attempt to comfort you. “Just do as they say and you’ll be fine.”

You nod your head in understanding, averting your fearful eyes to the ground as you crouch down to the floor with the others.

The man who is apparently the ringleader of this event walks into the back where the vault is, his movement seems to glide in a way that belies a man of his stature, his calmness about such a thing almost unsettling. He points his gun at the row of tellers he passes before disappearing down the short hallway towards the safe. Meanwhile, the rest of his group stands at attention in his absence. One man wearing a dark gray hat and jacket stands guard at the door with his revolver at the ready, watching for any incomers. Two others survey the room, making sure no one tries anything stupid.

Until finally, the other large man with the shotgun lets his eyes land on you, sitting hunched up uneasily on the floor.

“Well well, ain’t you pretty!” He strides over and leans down to get a better look at you. “Maybe you should keep my friend in the back company, hmm? He’s been awfully lonely lately,” he chuckles with a sickeningly sweet voice.

“I’d rather die!” you spit out stubbornly, pitching a heated glare at the man.

“Oh, that can be arranged, ma’am. I guarantee.” He reaches down and roughly grabs your arm, abruptly yanking you to your feet. You try to push against his burly chest, but the man is simply no match for you as he towers over your height.

“Leave her be, you animal!” shouts Mr. Bagby.

The robber seems more amused than anything at the empty threat, saying nothing but simply turns and points his shotgun at Mr. Bagby, the barrel inches from his face. A gasp of alarm escapes your lips, your heart leaping into your throat, as you are terrified that this is the moment when shots will start to be fired.

“Please, don’t!” you shout in a panic, eyes blazing with a newfound fear in them as they dart back and forth between the two men.

All color drains from the banker’s thin face as his beady eyes slowly move from the end of the barrel up to you, and then back to the robber before he settles down into submission.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” chuckles the robber in smug satisfaction. He then proceeds to drag you across the room behind him as you desperately try to pry his thick fingers from your bicep.

“I got a little something for you, my friend!” he announces as you make your way towards the vault room. The man kicks the door open with his heavy muddy boot and heaves you through the doorway before slamming the door closed behind you.

You stumble into the room, recovering from the violent shove, and straighten up to come face to face with the other robber who watches you with the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen in your life. A smile begins to form on your lips.

“Is Bill always that handsy with women?” you ask.

Arthur pulls down his bandanna, exposing his face as he chuckles. “No. Actually, I think he’s afraid of ‘em, to be honest”.

You’d be lying if you said that Arthur’s raw masculinity doesn’t excite you right now. The adrenaline that is pumping through your body is exhilarating, causing your whole body to tingle with electricity. And seeing Arthur calm and collected as if this were just another chore back at camp is an amazing thing to witness.

It is hard not to stare at his thick muscled arms as he works over the surface of the grand safe. His face carries such intensity, making the green and amber flecks that ring his blue irises even more pronounced as if he were possessed by something otherworldly. Were it not for the group of innocent bystanders in the other room, the desire to reach out and touch him would consume you.

But no time for that now. A quick shake to your head to refocus and you quickly walk to the back wall where the row of heavy safes are. Arthur works on the dial combination of the larger vault, while you pull a few pins out of your wristlet and begin picking the locks of the smaller, personal safes. Your heart beats loudly in your ears as your fingers work over the cool metal, knowing that the law could be upon you at any moment.

Not a word is spoken between you and Arthur as you focus on your work, the only sounds in the room besides your nervous breathing are the gentle tinkling of the metal locks being forced open and the soft creaking of their door hinges. You manage to get four of the coffers open quickly with little issue. They are filled with cash and coins, jewelry, bonds and deeds, all of which get dumped into a large leather saddle bag.

Arthur keeps track of the time as you work, periodically checking his pocket watch. He is always mindful not to get too greedy on these jobs. Best to stick to the timeline and get what you can, rather than push your luck and risk getting caught. The plan is to be in and out in fifteen minutes before the bank is due to close. ‘Live to fight another day’, as they say. And keeping a mental note in his head, Arthur determines that you’ve been here long enough.

Deciding that the two of you have collected more than enough, Arthur adjusts the contents of the overstuffed saddle bag before he ties it shut. Smirking at you, Arthur pulls his bandanna back up over his face.

“Ya done good, girl,” he praises as he hoists the saddle bags over his broad shoulders. “You ready to finish this?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Your voice is a quaking whisper, filled with nervous energy as the realization suddenly hits you that you still have to make it out of the bank, yet. Robbing the bank is one thing. Getting away with it is something else, entirely.

“Alright, then. Remember, just act natural, we’ll do the rest,” he nods to you, placing a comforting hand on your arm as you give Arthur a tentative smile in return. The look of nervous fear on your face is not much of an act, but of true feelings, to be honest. Your eyes rim with the slightest bit of moisture as your lashes begin to flutter with anxiety. Arthur quickly notices how your chest begins to rapidly float up and down and your fingers fidget against your palms.

“Hey,” he pulls his mask down again, stepping up closer to you until you can feel his body heat radiating off of him. His eyes are like the ocean, endless and all encompassing as he stands over you. “Remember our deal? You look out for me and I’ll look out for you. Got it?” His voice is low and calm, centering you before you get too lost in your thoughts of doubt or hesitation, for it is hesitation that will derail any best-laid plan.

The cool feeling of Arthur’s leather gloves against your tender skin as his heavy hand cups your face settles your nerves. And the worry begins to ebb away, knowing that you will be as safe as you can be with him. Arthur won’t ever let anything happen to you. And it is within this commanding, yet calming aura that the outlaw carries within himself that you can find a sense of peace.

A quick, sharp breath gets pushed past your pink lips as your head gives a short nod in confirmation. “Okay. I’m ready.”

“Good girl.” He winks as he pulls the bandanna up again.

This is it, the grand finale. If you and Arthur can get the gang out of the bank in one piece, you’re gold.

Arthur abruptly opens the door again and roughly shoves you through it back towards the lobby for the last bit of the show.

“Sit down!” he yells, tossing you to the floor in a heap into the middle of the room. “Goddamn useless woman!” You say nothing in return, hiding your face in what appears to be fear.

Arthur then turns his attention back to the room of nervous onlookers and fellow thieves. “Thank you kindly, people, for your cooperation. Sit still and quiet and no one will get hurt,” he announces with an all too casual tone. As his dusty boots carry him across the room, he strikes one of the cowering men in the face with the butt of his gun to make his point.

“If anyone even thinks about leaving to go get the law, we’ve got a shooter on that rooftop over there.” Arthur points his gloved finger through the window. “He’ll drop you dead the minute you open that door.”

And just as quickly as it had begun, the group of bank robbers swiftly ducks out of the building without so much as a creaking floorboard in their wake.

The group of you sit there on the floor of the bank, stunned and quiet, each looking at the door in case the thieves should decide to come back. After about five minutes, you are the one to break the stifling and tenuous silence.

“Are you all going to just sit there and let them rob us?!” you demand, scanning the faces of the patrons. You are quite the actress. If only Hosea could see you right now, how proud he would be.

No one moves out of sheer fear, staring at you with the eyes of terrified lambs as if you are crazy-talking. ‘Good Lord, these people are ripe for the picking’ you think to yourself.

“Who’s ‘us’? You don’t have any money here, yet. Remember?” one of the women in attendance hisses at you. “Keep your mouth shut, or else you’ll get people shot!”

But you disregard her warning. “Go get the sheriff!” you screech at the man laying next to you, who just stares back at you with a dumbfounded expression plastered across his face. “Go!” you reiterate, waving your hand towards the door. With no one else stepping forward, you seize the opportunity to take control of the situation, hoping to draw the lawmen towards the bank and not out looking for the gang, buying them more time.

The poor man startles at the sound of your shrill voice and sprints to his feet as if he’s not sure if he is more afraid of the robbers or you. He trips over himself as he quickly makes his way across the room. He cautiously ducks his head as he opens the door, mindful of the shooter you were all warned about. Everyone else waits with paralyzing apprehension. When no shots are fired, the man proceeds to stumble out the door.

Now that the tension is broken, the people are abuzz with activity. Loud, nervous chatter fills the lobby as one of the women rushes to the man Arthur had struck in the face earlier. Within a few moments, the local sheriff and a handful of lawmen come barreling in through the bank doors.

“Alright everyone, calm down. We’ll get to the bottom of this,” the sheriff declares, trying to assess the situation. “Carl, take a few men and post them on either end of the town. If those sons-a-bitches are still here, they won’t get too far.”

The sheriff proceeds to get statements from everyone in attendance and eventually makes his way to you.

“This one, Sheriff,” Mr. Bagby points at you as his agitated body ambles to stand next to you. “This lady was tossed in with that heathen.”

“Is that so?” The sheriff eyes you up and down.

“This is Mrs. Callahan, Sheriff,” Mr. Bagby nervously prattles on. “This here is Sheriff Langston, our top lawman, Ma’am.” You extend your arm to shake hands at the introduction. The sheriff is an average height, medium build, but nothing too impressive. He is clean-cut and neat, obviously taking his position of authority very seriously.

“Are you alright, ma’am? Did they hurt you in any way?”

“No, no I’m fine,” you huff in an exasperated tone. “They just shoved me around, is all.”

“Any idea who they are? Where they may be headed? Did they say anything to you?” the lawman presses.

“How would I know?! I wasn’t exactly paying that close attention,” you snap in annoyance at the barrage of questions. “They were filthy, I can tell you that much. The big one had red mud caked all over his boots.”

“Red mud?” Langston ponders, turning to look at one of the deputies.

“Yes, red mud. Why?” Your eyebrows furrow in exaggerated agitation.

The sheriff’s face twists up, lips pursed in thought for a moment as if piecing something together in his mind. “We have caves outside the western side of town. They’re covered in red clay. Would make a perfect hideout for a group of outlaws.”

“Not far from the rail line, too,” agrees the deputy. “That could be their way out, Frank.”

The sheriff nods in agreement. “Head on over there, see what you come up with.” The sheriff turns back to you with a self-satisfied smile. “Thank you, ma’am. You may have just led us right to those bastards.” (More like led them in the exact opposite direction of those bastards. And your heart settles a bit knowing that the law has taken your bait.)

“Good! Serves them right, attacking innocent people like that,” you snap with disdain dripping from your words like rainwater. A silent prayer of thanks rolls in your mind that not only does the sheriff not suspect you as an accomplice, but you have led them away from your friends, and more importantly Arthur.

Sheriff Langston looks you over, contemplating what to do with you next. “It’s getting dark soon. It won’t be safe for you to be walking around unchaperoned, especially since you’re a witness to a crime. These thieves may be looking for you.” His lips get pulled in slightly as he tentatively bites down in thought. “I don’t know what your plans are, ma’am, but you should stay here in town where I can keep an eye on you.”

“Oh, I doubt that’s necessary,” you brush him off with a nonchalant wave, standing as if to take your leave.

“‘Fraid I’m going to have to insist, ma’am.” The lawman moves to block you from the door, his hands held up and halting you where you stand. “We’ll escort you to the hotel for safe keeping. The owner there is a friend of mine. In fact, I’ll keep an eye on you myself, at least until your husband arrives, that is. It’s the least I could do after everything you’ve been through.”

You can’t help but notice how his dark eyes cast over your form with a slight hint of a smile on his lips as he speaks. It’s slight, almost imperceptible, but you've seen that look in a man’s eyes before and a boulder drops on your stomach, making you slightly nauseous.

Shit. This was not part of the plan. And you have to be careful with how you handle this, as you are all on your own to do it. You expected to be questioned by the law, making sure that they have no information or lead to the gang, and then released. You are supposed to meet Arthur by the garden wall alongside the mill by nightfall. If you don’t show up, he’ll worry. And then God knows what he’ll do.

“Alright, then. If you think that’s what’s best, Sheriff,” you reply with your best fake smile, hoping that the sheriff will take your uneasiness as a reaction to the robbery and not your reluctance to stay. You can’t seem too eager to leave. If the sheriff gets even an inkling that you were in on the job, he’d hang you for sure. A cold sweat begins to mist across your chest under the silk layers of your dress as your fingertips start to tingle and go numb.

And so you concede to go along with whatever he suggests, playing the “innocent victim” as best as you can.

—----------------------------------

By the time everything is said and done at the bank, night has begun to drape its shadowy blanket upon the town. The moon casts its milky all-knowing eye over you and Sheriff Langston as you head down the steps of the bank together. Using a lantern to guide you, the sheriff's hand catches your elbow and leads you down the street and over to the hotel. You go along amicably, as to not rouse suspicion, and all the while, the sheriff babbles on and on with small talk in a feeble attempt at light flirtation.

Arriving at the modest hotel, the lawman checks you in, the hotel owner assigning you a room with a nod. You graciously accept the key and quickly bid the sheriff goodnight.

“Oh no, I’m going to have to stay with you while you’re here,” Langston asserts smoothly, leaving no room for argument.

“I’m sorry, you’re what?” you sputter, eyes shooting open to your hairline in shock at his brazenness.

“What if someone tries to break in on you? No, I’ll feel much better if I have eyes on you at all times.”

“I’m sure you would,” you mumble. Desperately trying to mask your frustration, you turn and head up the stairs with the man in tow behind you. You only make it up to the third step before you feel his hand on your lower back. Your skin shudders at the touch of the sheriff’s fingertips, and you try not to bristle too much because of it. If Arthur were to see this, he’d surely plant his fist into the man’s face. And in the depths of your ever-tightening chest, you are not sure if that would be a bad thing or not.

The hotel room is simple, but pleasant. But you have no designs on staying long. Your eyes skip about to take inventory of your surroundings, trying to devise a plan on getting the hell out of here before the sheriff gets too comfortable. You stand in the middle of the room, hands continuously turning over each other with a white-knuckled grip.

Sheriff Langston must sense your apprehension, though. He studies you out of the corners of his eyes as he sets about the room to light the oil lamps, their amber glow quickly illuminating the space. “Can I get you anything while we’re here, miss?” he asks you in an attempt to put you at ease while in his presence.

“Missus,” you pointedly remind him. “Mrs. Callahan.” You shoot him a stern look, giving him that unspoken warning that you are not ignorant and know exactly what it is that he’s hoping for.

Langston smiles with faux innocence. “Right. Mrs. Callahan.”

“I’d love some hot coffee, please. If you don’t mind, Sheriff.”

“Sure. I’ll have the kitchen send some up.” He opens the door and steps out into the hall but your hopes plummet when instead of going down to get it himself, Sheriff Langston yells down the stairs to have coffee brought up for you. Damn. You were hoping to get him out of the room, giving you time to go out the window or something. The icy reality settles over you that this man will not be letting you out of his sight.

After about ten minutes, one of the hotel maids arrives at the door with a tray with a steaming pot and two cups prettily displayed upon an embroidered linen. The sheriff takes the tray from the woman with a nod of thanks and places it down on the table in the middle of the room to allow you to fix yourself a cup.

“There we are. This should do the trick,” he grins at you.

You offer a small smile in appreciation and float towards the table, careful to place yourself on the opposite side of him. Sheriff Langston circles around, striding over to the window located on the wall behind you. The fact that his dark gaze cascades over your backside as he passes is not lost on you, either. The sheriff casually pulls back the curtain with his two fingers, looking out into the street for any activity.

“Do you like cream or sugar in your coffee, Sheriff?” you ask sweetly.

“Just a bit of sugar, ma’am. I like sweet things.” The words purr from his lips with a slow and unsettling drawl.

“Of course, you do,” you reply with just the hint of sarcasm. Turning your back as you set out the two cups, your fingers pull a small vial of nightshade out of your cleavage. You thank the heavens that you thought to bring it and discreetly pour its contents into his cup. Adding the steaming dark liquid from the coffee pot overtop, you plunk a sugar cube in and sir until the contents are finely mixed. A gratified grin dusts your lips as you tap the silver spoon along the cup's porcelain edge.

You turn around and stride across the floor, skirts swishing around your feet and hand the sheriff his cup with a demure little smile before sipping from your own. “How long do we have to wait here?”

“Until sunup,” Langston quips. “By then, I’ll check in with the boys and see if they tracked down that gang.” His eyes rake over you again as he sips from his cup, that same cold and uneasy feeling washing over you as your mind jolts to the knife Javier gave you that is tucked into your high-lace shoe.

“Don’t you worry, ma’am, I’ll catch ‘em. I don’t abide by that sort of thing in my town. They think they can walk in here and rob me right under my nose and get away with it?” he scoffs.

“They robbed the bank, not you,” you remind him.

“Same difference.” Sheriff Langston offers a dismissive wave at your seemingly irrelevant point. “Either way, they ain’t getting away with it, mark my words. I'll shoot first and ask questions later if it comes to it.” He cocks his head just slightly, reaching up to remove his hat and tossing it on the bed behind you. “Not in my town.”

You nod in understanding and wander over to the balcony doors for some fresh air and to put some much-needed distance between the two of you. You step out onto the landing that overlooks the street below, trying to get away from the sheriff's incessant staring. You are desperately hoping the nightshade kicks in before this sheriff gets bolder with his obvious interest in you. The sheriff is not a large man, such as Arthur or Bill, but he is still larger than you and your mind begins to search for ways to defend yourself if necessary. With your hands resting on the railing, you look out over the side and anxiously sigh.

While lost in your thoughts, your gaze falls to the shadows of the mercantile building across the street. Smoldering in the dark there, you notice the red pin-point glow of a cigarette end. Squinting to get a better look, you see a figure cloaked in the darkness, and softly smile as you instantly recognize the silhouette of the broad shoulders that you know so well. The silvery moonlight highlights the edges of that familiar worn gambler’s hat and your anxiety instantly melts. A wave of relief washes over you and you suddenly feel more emboldened, knowing that your beloved is mere feet from you should you need him. You are not alone. You never were.

Knowing the sheriff is behind you, you carefully lift your hands slightly off the rail and flatly cross them in front of you, a signal to Arthur not to come for you as it’s not safe for him. But he’s seen you and knows that you’re okay, at least for now. So he’ll wait, watching vigilantly over you until he can get you out of town safely.

—-------------------------------

A few hours go by, and you quietly collect yourself to head out of the room. The sheriff sits slumped over in a chair, the white coffee cup laying precariously on the floor next to him, deposited there by the hand that dangles limply above it. He’ll be knocked-out for a bit, with a nasty headache when he wakes, but you’ll be long gone by then.

The sun is nowhere close to being up yet. The whole hotel is dark with the inhabitants slumbering quietly in their rooms, the occasional snoring to be heard behind closed doors. Creeping down the stairs, you move slowly and carefully as your feet pad soundlessly upon the wooden steps. You glide imperceptibly past the front desk where the clerk is sleeping with his feet propped up on the wood, passed out in a deep slumber. Just a few more feet and you are able to slink out the front door with no one the wiser.

You cautiously step out into the street, looking both directions for any signs of life. Everything is dark and empty, not even a stray dog out at this time of night. The faint sounds of the night owls in the trees is the only thing to indicate that time has not stopped altogether. With a sigh of relief, you begin to head down the road towards the edge of town. Since no one is awake and out yet, you should be able to walk right out without even being noticed. The only witnesses to your escape are the shimmering stars above as they hang in the ink-black sky.

And it doesn’t take too long before you hear the melodic beat of a horse’s hooves behind you and that familiar voice that you are waiting to hear.

“You lost, pretty lady?”

The gravelly voice floats in the air like a tether to anchor yourself to. You close your eyes and release a slow exhale of gratitude, knowing that you are indeed safe now. Your flower-petal lips turn up into a soft and comforted smile at the very thought of your protective cowboy being a mere breath’s distance from you.

“Nope.” A contented sigh escapes your chest. “I know exactly where I need to be.”

You slowly turn around and look up at the handsome rider as he leans out on the saddlehorn. Even in the dark, you can see Arthur’s beautiful eyes as the moonlight shines down and casts his body in a silvery backlight, the edge catching upon his face.

“I could use a ride, though.” Your whole face radiantly lights up at your statement as the two of you stand quiet for a moment, taking each other in.

A sense of deep pride fills you as one thought rings prominently in your mind above all others: ‘I did it.’

**ok I know this isn’t my best work. Writer’s block is a cruel bitch. But, this is meant to be a turning point in my reader’s/oc’s development. Things will get harder from here, as we will get into the game story now, with the events of Blackwater coming up.

Tag List: @rivetingrosie4 @bimbo-dollz @pine4pple-b0i @redwritr @kuri-chans-blog @queer-sadie-adler @joelmillerswifey @gimmethosedaddymilkers @pcotarelo @delilah-grimes @maemortem @wistfulwisteriawitch @lilacxxdreams @mentallyillfrogs @absolutegeek @spurz @sophiaj650 @uniqueclodzinevoid @lookingformaurice @pawoui @randomidk-123 @yyiikes @eddiemetalheadmunson @twola @kmartkiddieisle @red-dead-simp @regwishesshehadmagic @rhehr241 @earwen-x @akariver75 @djennty @nervousmumbling @xliliths @unbotheredbeeeee @onnetonprinsessa @kittiowolf210 @ezrynn @suhiss @arthurmargon @codnerd1999 @queer-sadie-adler @alice-vanderlinde @sweetandstoned21 @j4llyf7sh @spooky631 @m0r4rx @ilovrxats @i-69-urmom @ddbluesie @ivuravix @nervousmumbling @sickvictorianangel @tirededuxhours @ezzythereal1 @chloepluto1306 @ivys-valentine @spiritcatcherxo @lea-khena @brccklynbaby1 @foundynnel @readingcoco @carmelamontezlikr @ultraporcelainpig @sofiaa-xcx @namesaretomainstream @miphy @cookiesandcreaminthetardis @loveheartabby @daisybvck

*I tagged people who expressed interest in the continued story. If you’d like to be added or removed, please let me know. There are a few that would not let me link, so I apologize if this doesn’t ping some people.

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 fanfic #photo1030

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serawritesthings · 4 months

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hi! Sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language. I don't know if you're accepting requests, if you not, just ignore. But I'm wondering how you would write something related to a jealous Arthur Morgan, high honor of course (with smut or without smut sincerely you know what looks best). the way you write is addictive and passionate, i believe anything you write from this would be great.

OUR DEAR, GREEN LITTLE FRIEND

Pairing | Arthur Morgan x Fem! Reader Summary | Oh, jealousy. When the thought of you straying too close to the comfort of Charles, the green monster claws its way into Arthur's head. Tags | sexual content 18+ minors dni, tiny bit of angst, description of violence and wounds, fluffy at times, smut Word Count | 10k A/N | Hi everyone! I just HAD to write this request, hope you like it! Also, thank you dearly anon♡

While many found the biting cold of the climate north of West Grizzlies to be bitter–sharp air seeping into your very bones–you saw it oddly liberating despite the current predicament. The circumstance was dire, indeed, and you pondered many times if this would finally be the end for all of you, thinking of the incredible luck you had managed to have so far. Fate, or an astonishingly fascinating knowledge on how to escape the grappling arms of the law with a suspicious amount of people trashing through the roads in utter, sheer panic.

Glancing around you as you huddled closer to the fire, hands rubbing furiously against the wool of your gloves to gain even the slightest warmth to your biting fingers, you were met with the flushed cheeks of your comrades. The skin that now glistened from the melting snowflakes was caressed by the warm, orange glow from the flames lighting up the small hut you had taken residence in.

The road leading to here had been long, and the time spent in the wagon that did nothing to shield you from the penetrating wind that howled into the night, your thoughts had been entirely focused on the man who now lay dead a few meters away, tucked in some fabric to shield the paling flesh of a corpse. While the thought might not make you uncomfortable, it did its thing on the others who looked weary at the covered man.

You had done your best to tend to him amidst the severe trembling of your fingers and numbness spreading through you the longer you rode in the worrying storm, finding his blood still staining the cotton of your gloves–a reminder that you had done what you could to help the poor fellow. Despite not knowing him well enough to shed a tear, death was still a death, and a slight melancholy set its claw in all of you as you tried to regain some warmth.

“Stupid man.” Glancing beside you, you took notice of the dark-haired woman muttering angrily as she held a sleeping Jack close to her body.

“What’s wrong?” You inquired quietly, curious of her obvious disdain.

“John Marston is what’s wrong.” Blazing heatedly into the fire, you could almost see the depths of hell through her furious eyes. “He didn’t come back with the rest.” Shifting her eyes to yours for a quick moment that, although short, showed the worry hidden beneath her anger.

Nodding slowly as you leaned against her slightly in comfort, you realized you hadn’t taken notice of the man’s absence until now. Returning with empty hands and another mouth to feed had instead been the case, no Marston as far as the eyes could see as he probably whirred around in the blizzard somewhere.

“Do you think he…” As you spoke, you trailed off, growing unsure of your words while realizing your comments might be prodded into a sensitive subject.

“No.” Firmly, she sniveled harshly, shaking her head in protest. “No, he wouldn’t leave again.” Although her words were sure, you still felt a lingering doubt cloud your mind, remembering being told of his earlier departure from the gang that caused more scars in their relationships than good–not that it wasn’t faulty from the very start.

As you were about to let your prying win against your common sense, you were interrupted by the door being audibly slammed open, the noisy winds from outside growing louder as snowflakes whirled inside. Walking inside was the prominent figure of Charles, nodding respectfully to its residents as the door shut behind him, once more letting the warmth settle.

“Folks.” He mumbled quietly, treading through everyone huddling by the fire as he glanced curiously at the new woman before settling beside you. You glanced up at him, taking in his snow-covered self before lingering on his hand that rested motionless on his legs, bandages visible under his gloves.

“It’s not too bad; the cold seems to numb the pain.” A slight smile graced your lips at his observance, finding it unique to the man to be so tentative to everyone around him. Letting out a small laugh, you reach to remove your gloves before taking his hand in yours so you could lay it in your lap, unwrapping the bandages to examine the burns covering his skin.

You had given it a quick look-over before you had to tend to Davey, doing the best you could to ease his pain you were sure would be unavoidable. Although the sight was quite gruesome, it didn’t look as bad as you had expected.

“You’re stronger than me, that’s for sure. I would be a crying mess if I burned my hand like that.” Your voice was gentle as you started to rewrap the fabric around his hand, finding it increasingly irritating you didn’t have the tools you usually did that would indeed do a fine job at lessening his pain.

You had managed to gain a slight smile from the otherwise aloof man, probably finding your words humorous. “Let’s hope it’ll never come to that.”

Sharing a look, you heard the door open once again, the irritated voice of Uncle damning whoever was letting in the cold for the second time. Both you and Charles laughed slightly, and as you looked up, you were faced with a pair of squinting, blue eyes, the icy cold from the outside seemingly enhancing their sharpness although making a welcomed warmth spread through you as they gazed over you in a quick motion–departing to look at the hand that rested in your lap.

“A sad loss, folks,” Hosea stated as he stepped onto the wooden planks, speaking out loudly in the otherwise calm hut, groaning as he helped Arthur lift Davey’s lifeless body, limp like a ragdoll.

Glancing subtly, you observed him as Arthur’s bulky form lifted easily, unlike Hosea, admiring how he made it seem so effortless. The others called him the camps workhorse, and you didn’t fail to see why, keeping your eyes firm on the man as he carried him towards the door.

He shrouded you in uncertainty; he did, and you weren’t sure how to behave in his bold presence. You often felt like a goody two shoes, and even though you weren’t the perfect picture of a law-abiding citizen, you could honestly say you were a wimp compared to Arthur.

You should be embarrassed, you really should, but there was something in his eyes– something that made your heart race. Utterly shameless, yet desperate to lock gazes again despite contradicting yourself and avoiding them every chance you could. Before you could get caught this time, you directed your eyes, focusing on tightening the bandages so they wouldn’t come loose.

“Try to be careful, will you, Charles?” You spoke quietly while patting his hand, motioning that he was all set to go, but his hand stayed, giving you a grateful look.

“Thank you.” His soothing voice was hushed as the loud bang of the door slammed shut not long after, ridding you of the tumult after their departure.

–

Oh, it burned. It burned so deep in his loins that it felt like he would erupt into flames any second. Despite the cold surrounding him, he was sure it could be possible the more he was left with his thoughts. The hushed whispers, the soft touches, and the ever-so-gentle look in your eyes made him want to empty the little food in his stomach.

“Sneaky little rat,” Arthur grumbled to himself as he shoveled his way through the deep layers of snow. Here he was, out in the cold, tortured by the howling winds of the snowstorm, while Charles remained inside the warmth of the hut, seated next to you, all because of a slight burn.

He knew what he was up to–what any man would do if it meant getting your attention–and he wasn’t humored. Taking advantage of your good nature was downright uncalled for, bordering on immoral, which Arthur would probably realize wasn’t Charles’s character if his mind didn’t seek to find faults with the man the more his blood boiled.

He scoffed to himself, stabbing the ground maliciously, imagining your warm hands around his instead, the nimble fingers of yours tending to him as you moved in closer, your sweet smell reaching his nose as you gazed up at him, face blushed from the cold with lips begging him to warm them up with his. The thought did nothing more than cover his whole body in shivers, only to be reminded that it wasn’t him that received that attention from you.

“What are you huffing about over there, Arthur?!” Hosea’s strained voice attempted to shout over the loud winds, standing up to rest momentarily.

“Why don’t we just bury him when the storm has settled?!” Annoyance was apparent in his voice, the green jealous monster still wreaking havoc in his mind.

“I told you, the snow will be too heavy tomorrow, so we need to finish it while we still can!” He groaned, starting to shovel once more. “And I’ll be damned, we are going to give Davey a proper burial. He deserves that much!”

As Hosea blabbered on about justice and other forms of respect Arthur had no intent on listening to, he zoned out, feeling sorry for himself as he imagined you might be keeping close to Charles right this moment, warming yourself to his body in a desperate search of bodily heat. Rubbing the melted snow off his face, Arthur damned the heavens above for making him the unluckiest bastard in the West.

Despite Arthur seeming dead set on you being lovey-dovey with a man you barely knew, Charles had left you after making some small talk, mentioning that he would try and get some well-deserved rest after the tumultuous past few days. Many others did as well, attempting to ease their minds from the constant threat against their back amidst the terrible cold.

Although, as days passed and John being back rid you of Abigail’s constant muttering, the cold only seemed to take its toll on you, unlike the others who quickly got used to the environment. Furthermore, the days only seem to get longer up in the mountains, and you wondered obsessively when you would get the chance to leave–damning everyone who thought seeking out Colm O’Driscoll in your compromised state a good idea instead of moving forwards.

Despite your dismay, you put yourself to use like the others, preparing to help Pearson in the grim act of cutting through the poor deer that had been brought back. While the sight gladdened you, knowing you would finally get a meal in your stomach, the brooding aura of a chestnut-haired, blue-coated man seemed to rain over you endlessly.

What could you have done to gain his stinging glare? It was almost cutting through you entirely from the burning that resided deep in his eyes, watching you ferociously, making your hair stand on edge. When he had returned with Charles, it had been nothing short of unpleasant ever since, although thankfully–despite his glare–his harsh words were directed towards Pearson instead of you, which you were glad for.

“How’s the cold treating you?” Glancing away from the two men bickering, you laughed slightly at Charles’s innuendo, dressed worse for wear as you pulled the thick, woolen scarf tighter around your neck, hugging yourself to keep warm.

“Could be worse, I guess,” you said, clouds like smoke surrounding you as you talked.

“I suppose. Still, I don’t want you freezing your fingers off.”

“Mhh,” you nodded thoughtfully, speaking up after silence. “Who would look after your hand if that happened?”

He chuckled heartily at your unsuspected joke, and you glanced up at him bashfully, a light smile covering your face at his apparent amusement. While your embarrassment of being so easily swayed by the cold, it felt nice having someone take notice of your obvious discomfort, even though you would say you were pretty good at keeping it to yourself. You couldn’t be surprised, though, well aware you and Charles were both tentative to your surroundings, always knowing but rarely telling.

“Here.” Taking off the large gloves covering his hand, no doubt doing an excellent job keeping him warm, he grabbed your trembling hands in his, rubbing them between his pleasant temperature hand and bandage-covered skin before gliding the fabric over yours.

“No, Charl-” you protested, trying to stop him from continuing.

“They’ll do you more good than me, I promise. They’re just in the way.” Stubbornly, he planted your hands back into your lap, petting them like you had done to him some nights ago before raising with a huff.

“Thanks for the help, Arthur.” Charles nodded at the now grumpy man observing him as he rested against the wood of the wooden wall with arms crossed, seemingly ignoring Mr. Pearson’s lecture about the navy he felt so strongly about, only providing a quick tilt of his hat before heated eyes were set on you.

Your gaze faltered, the blush on your face from the cold only intensifying the spread of warmth you felt from gaining his profound stare–something you rarely took notice of. It wasn’t that he didn’t look at you; he probably looked too much at times, but he was never so ardent with it, scrutinizing you under their heavy weight–making you feel ten times smaller under his towering height.

“Well, why don’t you skin the deer, Arthur? I’ll help you cut them up in a while, miss.” Mr. Pearson’s words were hasty, and you didn’t miss the bottle glistening under the sunlight as he tried hiding it behind his coat, scurrying away. He would, in fact, not be back; you were sure of that much.

It wasn’t often you found yourself alone with Arthur, and you never strayed too close, finding his presence somewhat daunting. Not that you’ve had many chances to speak amidst all the chaos surrounding you, and being relatively new to the gang meant the trust lacked significantly from both sides. But, the intrigue was always present in every glance and movement.

You felt his gaze fixed on you a moment longer as you stared heedlessly at your hands, rubbing them together anxiously, having no clue what to do with yourself. While you weren’t one to speak the ears of others, you never had any problem socializing with those around you–but Arthur, he was something else entirely. Finally, though, he moved, approaching the hanging carcass.

“How are ya?” His sudden words surprised you, hanging awkwardly in the air.

“Oh, um. Good?” You cringed at yourself, finding the words stuck in your throat as his voice rumbling was loud and confident.

“Cold?”

“A bit,” you said softly, staring at his back as he heaved the skin away from the animal, movements rigid and harsh. “Charles gave me his gloves, so it’s a little less chilly now.” You stumbled over your words, admiring his strength unabashedly as he hauled the skinned deer over his shoulder, slamming it down the table with a loud bang. He gave you no answer, instead bringing out the knife in his belt to do the job you were assigned to.

“Oh, let me!” Standing abruptly from your seat, you stepped towards him hurriedly in shame, feeling like you were just lazying around while Arthur was doing all the hard work.

Grabbing his thick coat to let you take his position, you found him staying right where he was, looking down at you when your hand rested on his bicep. It was unusual for him to be so close, and a blush warmed your cheeks as his towering frame became more apparent when standing a short distance from one another.

“S’alright.” He spoke lowly. “I’ve got it.”

Your breath got caught in your throat as he gazed wholly at you, letting you know he had no problem with helping you. It warmed you, finding his action kind–just like the small acts of kindness he reserved for the other girls. You would sometimes glare after them, intensely jealous that Arthur seemed to have a soft spot for them, yet acting like you didn’t exist.

“Anything else I can do to help since you just did my job for me?” A shy smile found you, peering up at him as he sniveled, glancing at you while you sat on the bench again.

“Well, you’ve already done your charity work for the day, so you’re fine.”

“Charity work?” You wondered, staring at him curiously as he cut through the meat. “What do you mean?”

He only sighed heavily, like you should be able to understand his cryptic words.

“He won’t die from a small burn; it ain’t enough reason to coddle the man like a child,” he grumbled.

It took you a while to get the gears turning, but when you did, you felt yourself grow shy from his statement. “Charles? His hand isn’t looking too good…”

“Yeah? Well, you shouldn’t be so forward. You’ll give the poor man false hope.” He scoffed, stabbing the poor carcass harshly.

Staring at his back in disbelief at the sudden hatred, you had trouble understanding where it came from and why he suddenly grew so invested in whom you diverted your attention. You and Arthur rarely spoke, only changing quick words occasionally ever since you found yourself staying with the gang, and for that reason, you had failed to understand the reason for his hatred.

It seems all you ever did was look after everyone else, paying attention to their various troubles and tribulations regarding bodily harm. It wasn’t strange to you, and by no means did you give anyone false hope, merely trying to find your place with these people, an attempt to prove your usefulness.

“False hope?” You questioned, baffled. “I’m trying to help; I fail to understand how that is a problem.”

“It ain’t a problem!” He grumbled, voice roaring hotly in his chest as he resheathed his knife and began to make his way out, repositioning his hat without glancing at you. You followed him, stopping short by the table as you didn’t want to stray too close to the fuming man.

“Well, it is since you are so angry about it?!” If this was how he carried out every conversation, you were glad the exchange of words wasn’t typical between you, more so the simple fact that your company had never seemed to bring him any enjoyment. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Wha-” He stops short, suddenly turning around and stalking towards you in significant strides. Gasping at suddenly having him so close, you backed away; his sharp eyes penetrated you as the warm blue of his orbs turned ice cold, glaring daggers into your own.

“What’s wrong with me?” He spoke dangerously low as his brows raised, grabbing your upper arms as he hoisted you up the table without an ounce of struggle. “I’m not the one taking every small, insignificant chance to take advantage of your good nature.”

“Charles’s not like that. He’s very kind.” You spoke in his defense, leaning back from his prolonged stare that seemed to cut through you deeper the more he stared. You had always pitied the people who got on Arthur’s lousy side, finding his presence at those times unnerving.

Now, it seemed you were at the receiving end of it, and while it chilled you to the bones, you weren’t sure if your beating heart were because of fear or the thought of him being the closest to you he’d ever have.

You had never quite got to admire his eyes, always hidden under his furrowed brows and squinting eyes. Now that it wasn’t because of the blazing sun down west, it was from the blaring whiteness of the snow surrounding you as you found his eyes glaring at the current climate more often than not–displeased.

His eyes being dead set on you didn’t help as you could hear his breathing grow heavier, the warmth of his breath hitting your cold cheeks as his broad frame blocked the chilly winds from reaching you.

“Kind, huh?” Although momentarily distracted, you recovered as you heard him speak in a low voice, still finding his assumptions wildly out of reach while insulting you and Charles. Times were hard, and if you couldn’t look after one another, it would surely lead to your doom–Arthur, if anyone, should know that.

“Yes, kind.”

Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he backed away from you, shrugging his shoulders while walking away–like your conversation hadn’t happened in the first place.

“Sure.”

–

It wasn’t like Arthur didn’t know how to restrain himself, for he applauded himself for avoiding his apparent anger when Charles had, yet again, stolen away your attention–not that Arthur had any plans on striking up a conversation with you anyway.

It became clear to him that when you two were left alone, you almost turned into a living statue, barely responding to him. It was unlike you, for the time he had spent observing you, you had no problem talking to anyone else–and although it was usually calm, it never deterred you from gaining the likes of the others and liking them in return.

Why did you cringe away from him and not Charles, he pondered, glaring at the picture that plagued his mind. The reason he knew, deep down, but his stubbornness didn’t let him justify your actions. In all honesty, Charles was a more reliable man than himself, intentions often apparent with a slight sense of, well, goodness perhaps—something Arthur didn’t possess in the slightest.

Goodness, in all honesty, wasn’t something he was too familiar with, and he didn’t doubt one second that you found his character to be callous, seeing as the dirty work no one wanted to do fell upon him; work everyone else found to be too cruel to do themselves. He could almost feel your disapproving gaze when he picked up his slack from Mr. Strauss’s poor victims that he always tried to prolong, and while it wasn’t his most favorable way of lending a hand, sometimes he did it out of spite.

If that’s what you thought about him, then he couldn’t do much to sway your opinion, finding it much easier to continue with his ways than realize that your sudden carefulness off him wounded him more profoundly than he let on.

And, he was indeed a harsh man in your eyes, and although his company wasn’t entirely unwished for, he was still grim–ignoring your presence like you weren’t there most of the time. It made you wildly unsure of him, but the allure he had kept bringing you back, always wondering when you would see a glimpse of him again. You chastised yourself for it, more so now that you got a taste of his famously sullen mood that pestered everyone around him, but your eyes were still drawn to him when he was nearby.

Maybe it wasn’t what everyone else would describe him as, but you thought of him as mysterious. Gods, you have stayed with this group for quite some time now. Not once had he spoken to you more than the standard greeting, and you didn’t know much about him besides the sharp-shooting, brutal force of a man who had no problem letting his thoughts be voiced, even though the listeners might be less inclined to its harsh deliverance.

He had been cruel, sure, but you couldn’t help but remember how close you had been before when he spewed words that clung so viciously from his tongue. Faintly, you remembered the deep scent of gunpowder and smoke, something you were certain probably penetrated his skin by now, but also the slightly musky scent hidden underneath. Your head raced in curiosity, wondering how his hands would grab you if it wasn’t in anger. Was he even capable of that, you pondered.

It’s ridiculous you knew those thoughts were born from misconceptions and assumptions. You had heard how he behaved amongst the camp women, forever gentle and careful, and you had sharpened your ear when you’d been told timidly about his earlier flings. He could be more heartfelt than your head let you acknowledge, and the thought made your head spin even more with your endless imagination.

Despite the inner turmoil that filled you from your earlier argument, you had avoided him for some days now, and it seemed to grow easier the colder you got, huddling close to the fire with every chance. It was the only thing keeping your thoughts occupied, wondering when you would get to leave this desolated mining town that grew more covered in snow the longer you chose to stay.

“Do you need help, Hosea?” Just after you spoke, heavy blankets were handed to you, the fabric made from a thick wool that looked heavenly. “Yes, thank you. I take one step outside; I fear that it will be the end of me.” You only stared warmly at Hosea, who patted you on the back. “Don’t you worry, miss. We found more blankets we thought had been lost in that dreadful storm, so we all will sleep warmer tonight.”

“Oh, of course, I’ll help-” Despite the whistling winds that had picked up as the sun shone its last tendrils, you didn’t oppose the idea, but you were interrupted by a mischievous look handed to you by the older man.

“Make sure Arthur grabs one, too; you know how he gets.” Before you could question his meaning, he slunk away, pulling the warm fabric tighter around his shoulders without a glance at you, chuckling merrily. You chose not to ponder too hard on his strange ways, instead making your way to the door, shivering badly as you stepped outside.

Smiles were all you were greeted with as you handed them off, and it was no surprise as it was a welcome sight to everyone to gain some extra warmth to wrap around themselves. Although feeling content by being of help, you couldn’t help but wonder where Arthur could be, a single blanket now left in your hands.

Grumbling to yourself, you stepped out from the hut Dutch and Molly resided in, glancing at a smaller building some paces away, finding the orange glow of a candle lighting up the smaller barn where the horses were kept. A small smile found you, finding it very fitting for him to be where there were fewer people.

Although slightly fearing what could come to be an awkward encounter, you found yourself being too forgiving many times, and you damned yourself for it. What he said hurt you deeply, making you ponder if you had given Charles other signals than intended. It could be a possibility, yet you had never had too many romantic dealings with men to presume that that was the case, but his eyes held something tender the last few times you spoke as you recalled it.

“Arthur…” As you stepped inside after pulsing through the thick snow, you searched for the blue coat you had grown familiar with in this weather. “Are you here?” You asked quietly, wondering if he could hear you.

You cautiously stepped further into the barn, placing your feet steadily on the ground before you so you didn’t slip and embarrass yourself. It was friendly out here, you could admit, the snow muting every sound and almost making every slight sound caress your ears.

As you stepped further inside, it turned out he was here, and he took no notice of you as you rounded the corner to gaze at his seated form, seemingly writing something in his journal. It was an unusual sight. Sometimes, you observed him as he wrote in his journal back at camp, yet you didn’t make a habit of it, too shy to question him at the time.

How he didn’t freeze to death in this climate was beyond you, his fingers bare as he scribbled, fingertips red from the cold and dirty from the chalk. You made a motion to speak up once again but found yourself tongue-tied as you took him in, and as you did, the thought struck you that he wasn’t writing but drawing.

How unlike him, you thought, watching his brows furrowed from time to time, fingers moving expertly while the soft glow of the candle beside him almost softened his features. Your presumptions might be harsh, but you had never found him to be a man well-versed in the creative aspect of life, and while the brutal ways of his life spoke for him, you found it to make him slightly more approachable.

“I didn’t know you draw.” You stated fondly, his eyes fitting into yours the moment the first word left your mouth, growing visibly stressed as the journal was planted into his coat pocket. A rough cough left him as he did, eyes faltering when he saw your observant gaze linger on him unabashedly.

“I don’t.” A small laugh left you at his abrupt words, not teasingly but perhaps warmly, choosing not to bug him since he grew uncomfortable before your questioning eyes.

You were given an expectant look that reminded you of your actual business here as you stepped inside the building, closing the barn door behind you to shut out the wind that somehow managed to find its way through the cracks in the walls.

“Here, we found some more blankets. Hosea asked me to bring you one.” You met his eyes briefly as you stretched out your arms for him to take the blanket, eyes faltering to it at his piercing gaze.

“Hosea, huh?” A scoff left him, resuming his arms to cross over his chest, shaking his head slightly. “You keep it.”

“No, I-”

“Nah, you chattering your teeth keeps us up at night. Take it.”

His words should have taken you back since his voice was stinging, but a light laugh left you, knowing he was right. Wrapping yourself in the soft, warm blanket, you surprised Arthur by sitting beside him, heavily clad shoulders touching each other as you did.

“I don’t understand.” You stated, staring at the large shadows that flickered on the wooden wall before you. “How can you not be cold? I feel like if I spend one more day out here, I’ll freeze to death.”

You turned your head towards him, caught off guard when you felt his gaze already set intensely on you. Your eyes faltered to his chest, growing shy as you always did when you had his attention on you. It wasn’t unwanted, but you didn’t know what to do with yourself in moments like that, unused to the fire that always burned so deep in his eyes.

“Used to it, I guess.” His voice rumbled hotly in his chest, fingers flexing against his will as he took the chance to observe you. He had never had the opportunity to see your face this close. Your wet lashes clung together as you blinked, undoubtedly from the heavy snowfall outside, framing your eyes that Arthur always noticed were so very easy to read, yet at many moments also locked away.

“I don’t believe you.” How could anyone possibly get used to this? It was raw, pure torture.

You didn’t get an answer, and as you returned your gaze towards the wall, Arthur’s eyes found your features again. He had indeed been cold before you came, but it was his only chance to find a moment of peace; the thought of spending another night in that god-forsaken hut with his dear friend and his lover giggling the night away grew incredibly distasteful.

Here, he could finally hear his thoughts, the solitude of the snow muting every sound heavenly; the only noise was the familiar scribbling in his journal as he wrote about the past few days. Though his head was calmer than before, he still dreamt of your fingers encasing his like they had done Charles, the small, elegant touches rising his arms slowly, making him shiver wildly as the scene flashed before his eyes.

He knew he shouldn’t think of you like that, and he certainly had no right to be angry at Charles since he felt so unabashedly filthy things about you, but he couldn’t help it. Your every scent, every motion set his blood afire; small deeds of good you always found yourself doing so harshly contrasted his actions he couldn’t help the fact that you intrigued his whole being.

So good, so… soft and warm. As he stared at you, all he wanted was to reach out and pull you closer to him so he could feel your shivering body close to him, knowing many ways to warm you up. Sighing, he removed his hat, running his fingers through his hair as the thoughts took a turn he always hated himself for.

“Hey, I uh…” Arthur trailed off, finding the words he wanted to speak stuck in his throat. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way, like I did back then.” He stared before him, yet he felt your eyes heavy on his.

He did feel bad, and it had been the reason for his brooding temper since then, not coming to terms with his wrongdoings until now. He had probably scared you, he concluded, and could only assume he was right as you had done your utmost to avoid him as of late.

“Don’t be,” you said with a light smile, not expecting his apology, even though he didn’t say sorry directly. “It’s a lot right now, I understand. But I still don’t understand why you’re so angry at Charles.” You were briefly met with a light sigh, eyes flickering to yours before diverting the flickering candle.

“Nah, forget it. Just me being stupid is all.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid. Maybe you’re mean sometimes and grumpy,” you said, giving him a teasing glance. “But not stupid.”

A scoff left him at your words, yet you could see the corners of his mouth chirp up lightly. “You’d be surprised.”

As your snickering died down, you rested your head on the wall behind you, not wanting to leave the quiet comfort you found yourself in nor the conversation that panned on longer than you had anticipated, much to your surprise.

“Why are you out here if you are so cold, girl?” He questioned you, catching a glimpse of your almost blue lips. “Go on inside; you’ll freeze to death if you stay here.” It would be best for you to return because he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if his thoughts progressed like they did before in your presence. As he placed the hat on his head again, he glanced down quickly, doing a double take as he found you staring at him.

Was the cold finally getting to your head, or was it simply being in the presence of the man you were so unsure of but wildly intrigued by? You couldn’t tell, but the warmth spreading in your stomach as he glanced down at you spread ferociously through your stomach, almost warming you to your fingertips.

Suddenly, Arthur moved his arm slightly, and the motion made you jump, leaning away from him as you unconsciously drew closer to him. You couldn’t tell, but it almost felt like your body sometimes contradicted your mind, defying your sense of morality.

“Are you afraid of me?” He questioned, gazing at you unexplainably. Both of your breaths were audible in the quiet night, blowing like smoke out your mouths as the world around you blurred. It wasn’t like Arthur couldn’t contain himself around women, but you were something else entirely. Only in his wildest dreams did you stare at him like that, like you were expecting–waiting– for him to do something.

Yet, you looked guarded, like a cornered lam, waiting for the right moment to sprint away. You pulled away, only to lean in further, the cogs in your head turning something so awful in your mind, observing his every move yet not registering your own that reached out to him.

And gods, did he want to do the same; his internal battle proved to be more difficult as your hand gripped his coat tightly, only wanting to warm your blue lips with his own and show you how he could warm you up better than Charles’s damned gloves ever could.

“Sometimes.” You let on, voice shaking from both anticipation and uncertainty.

Leaning down towards you hesitantly, he felt hot all over when he realized you didn’t shy away from him like expected, mouth only parting further as he drew closer. As you did, you felt your breath hitch when a hand was placed on your upper back, Arthur’s weight only making you glide further down the wall until your head was resting in the crook of his elbow.

“Arthur…” He was so close now you could almost feel his heartbeat through the vast amount of clothing, breath hitting your cold, blushing cheeks as he leaned closer, the calling of his name only drawing him in. He was sure you had bewitched him, for not a single thought in his mind was about anything but the woman in front of him, entirely and utterly overtaken by what was solely you.

And through those few moments between frustration and desperation, all senses of logic disappeared as the skin of your lips conjoined, drawn together like magnets that snapped together like they never wanted to be apart again. Eyes grew shut, the only sound now the deep humming in Arthur’s chest as your hands found his cheeks, caressing the chilly skin under your palm with your thumbs.

It was ragged and scarred, a deep contrast to your own that had never tasted the metal of a gun and the blood of a foe, and the thought made a gasp rise in your throat as his weight fell heavier onto yours, pressing you into the hay-filled, snowy ground.

“Tell me to stop.” He grunted against your now wet lips, only taking a second before joining them again. He was covering your entire body as he lay above you, resting his weight on his elbows as your head rested on his arm.

“No…” You mumbled, words almost not audible against his desperate mouth, feeling just as affected by the desire as he did. You felt his face scrunch up almost painfully before he took the hand that rested on your back to glide under your coat, resting it on the side of your waist as he stroked gently, feeling the curves that hid underneath the damned fabric.

It was torture. It was an unexplainable torture that you would freeze to death if he removed the clothes that covered you, and he would surely go insane if he couldn’t feel the skin he imagined would be so very soft under his rough fingers. Just a taste, he thought sinfully to himself, slowly lifting the fabric of your shirt from under your skirt’s waistband, worming a freezing hand inside to feel the warmth that hid underneath.

You gasped at the sudden sensation but were quickly silenced as his tongue massaged your own, and the slight moan that left you only made a groan rumble loudly in his chest. The feeling of his cold hand rose your skin, stroking every bit it came across as if memorizing it to his brain, mapping out every single inch.

It was too much for you, the sheer desperation and want, not knowing what to do with yourself or how to dampen the intense feelings that nailed your firm to the ground. Every bit of you grew into static, and every touch from Arthur sent shockwaves through your body as his fingers caressed you.

“Come here.” Opening your eyes, you found his, although lidded with desire, gentle eyes gazing into yours, pulling his hand reluctantly from your waist to help you sit up. “I won’t let you lay on the ground.”

You only stared at him as he seated you on his lap, chest flush against his as his hands stroked along your arms as if to warm you up, tightening the blanket around your shoulders. You felt your heartbeat pick up at his actions, your stomach fluttering fiercely as he ensured you stayed warm.

You could tell he grew wildly unsure as you remained silent, clearing his throat as if he had been in a daze before speaking.

“If you’ll have me, that is.” You didn’t give him a chance to say more, hands finding sanction in his hair as the motion knocked off his hat, exposing the sandy locks he always kept hidden underneath it.

“Stupid question.” You mumbled softly against his mouth, pressing yourself closer to him as your fingers started fiddling with the buttons on his coat. You could already feel the heat emitting, and your fingers grew hasty as you tried to move faster, the motion of your lips faltering against his eager ones.

You would have been ashamed if it weren’t for Arthur being just as stressed about getting the buttons of your coat loose, hands wounding their way around your waist and pressing you closer to him the moment they became undone. Likewise, you wormed your arms under his shoulder, gasping as you felt the heat buried underneath the fabric, hugging him close as you placed your face into the crook of his neck.

Breathing in your scent, Arthur revealed in the way you nuzzled against him, feeling a warmth spread in his groin when the thick coat didn’t keep the pressure of your middle away from him any longer. It was heaven, he concluded, trailing his hands down to your backside as he caressed the curves, pushing you flush against his.

Oh, how he reveled in it. He was selfish; there was no denying it any longer, but he craved you so profoundly it would eat him up bit by bit if he couldn’t have you. It wasn’t about Charles any longer; it was about the fact that you had never spared him a glance, almost bordering on fearing him, deciding that everyone else company had been much safer than his own.

He knew it and had seen it in your eyes countless times. Arthur wasn’t unfamiliar with the look of utter horror plastered on people’s faces, for he faced it every day, and he wanted nothing more than to show you that you had no reason to feel that way with him, for he would never put a single finger that was unwished for on you.

And he couldn’t possibly hold it against you, for he wasn’t a good man, quite the opposite actually, and every lingering touch made him hate himself even more, wishing you would find it in you to push away from him–let him know that if he ever touched you again, you would kill him.

But, he would find that you didn’t, instead only pressing yourself even harder against him in the cold of the night, breath shaking something so terribly as he moved your lower region against his in a gentle movement. It only fueled his want for you, hands struggling their way up your skirt, caressing your stocking-clad legs as he did, reaching your undergarments with a content sigh.

His touch lighted a path up your legs, the cold nothing but a memory now even though the brisk air found its way underneath your skirt, following his hands that caressed your inner thighs in soft motions.

It was suspenseful, waiting for the skin to touch the skin, for his strong hands to wound around you as he had already wormed himself around your heart. And as he did, the coil in your stomach grew so incredibly tight you felt like it was too much like his touch alone wounded your every fiber, but instead of hurt, it was an undeniable pleasure that hit you tenfold.

The hand that had crawled its way inside your undergarments stroked alongside your tender parts, never touching you where you wanted him the most–the place that longed for his touch. He had to be teasing you; there was no other explanation as he smiled softly at your expression, gasping for air as you gripped the sides of his arms, trying to push against his fingers.

“Ah, sweetheart.” He only cooed at you, gripping your wrists with one hand as his other finally glided over the wetness of your heat, gazing directly into your eyes with his sharp gaze, admiring your pleasure-filled face that begged him to give you more, to provide you with his all. And, as he spread your folds with his fingers, the filthiest whimper of pleasure left you, laying its noise into the quiet night with no worry about anyone hearing, only fools deciding to stray outside in this bleak, frigid night.

Falling into his arms yet again, you let him enter a finger into your warm cavern, gasping desperately for air as the unfamiliar stretch widened you, dragging wonderfully against your clenching walls. It was vile, the way Arthur reveled in how tight you felt against his finger, and as he pondered on how you would feel when he pushed it you. The thought made a striking, white pleasure shoot through him, making him grunt out against your neck.

“That good?” He spoke out, adding another finger into you while placing wet, hot kisses against your blazing neck, wanting nothing more than to hear your heavenly sound of approval.

You attempted to nod, but the motion was interrupted by the increasingly more extensive stretch from both of his fingers; gasping like a madwoman as you moved against his hands, wishing to pull his fingers even deeper into you, dissatisfied when you realized it didn’t do the job.

He could only groan when he realized your intention, slipping his coated finger from your warm heat, bringing them to his mouth quickly while his other hand found the zipper of his jeans, fumbling in a stressed fashion to get rid of the constraint.

A dissatisfied moan left you as he did, wishing for nothing more than to feel the delicious stretch yet again carry alongside your walls. But, as he fumbled with his zipper, you quickly got your senses together. You helped him undo his suspenders, then slipped underneath the fabric to trail your hand alongside the apparent bulge that stretched underneath, finding his groans to fuel your actions.

For a short while, your eyes met amidst the hurry your bodies experienced, and the moment slowed down to a halt as your lips found each other once more, moving against one another like starved men. You couldn’t be closer to him, and he couldn’t possibly be closer to you, and while you earlier had pondered that this was a good idea, you couldn’t imagine anything else at this moment.

And, as your hand wrapped around him momentarily, Arthur could feel his brain’s short circuit, like he had never been able to hold a single thought in his mind his entire life. You had to have bewitched him, for he complied to your every touch, body moving against your every move like your hand was glued to his body.

“God,” he mumbled against your lips that massaged his own, thrusting against your hand as you stroked him tenderly, gasping against him quietly. It wasn’t hurried but warm and slow, basking in each other’s presence like you had never before discovered the feeling of another’s touch against your own.

“That good?” You replied teasingly, mimicking his earlier words as you smiled a toothy smile, feeling him chuckle lowly at your apparent teasing, giving you a playful slap on your behind as his breathing picked up.

Suddenly, you felt a hand encase your own. As he removed it from his throbbing member, he only grabbed you closer, wounding his arms around your back as he pulled you into a hug, the feeling of him underneath you wonderful as you glided along it–moaning wantonly as the friction shot sharp streaks of pleasure up your body.

“Come on, sweetheart. I’ll warm you up.” As he spoke, he could feel himself shudder as your wet lips encased his tip, groaning audibly as he thought you rubbing against him. You were illegal, he concluded, for nothing could ever be allowed to feel this good–it wasn’t possible.

“Please,” you gasped against his lips, moving your hips slightly as you felt his hands circle your waist. “Please, Arthur.”

He hushed you quietly, finally feeling you wrap your lips around him as he slowly entered your warm cavern, the walls fitting him snugly as a grunt left him unexpectedly, lost in the pleasure you brought him.

While it felt too good to imagine, you could only keep your mouth open at the sensation, wondering how something could ever fill you up quite as good as this. Without a single thought, you sat down entirely, feeling him stretch you wonderfully as you wrapped around all of him, wounding your hands around his neck.

You didn’t need to move much, for he thrust up into you when you had gotten used to his size, feeling yourself being hitched up to his body as the motion made your whole body rise to then fall back down on him, once more filled to the brim. His grunting in your ears filled your senses, and while the slight consciousness entered your mind, wondering what you were doing, you pushed it far back, relishing in how your body responded to his.

Despite the cold that was surely creeping into your bones the more you stayed out here, the sound of skin against skin filling the empty spaces around you made you feel more connected to each other than you had ever felt with anyone else.

You started to move with him, bringing down your hips to meet his while he thrusts into you, growing more desperate by the minute. You found the hands hugging your waist, circling their arms around it, pushing you even further against him as you rested your hands on his cheeks, having no choice but to stare into his lidded eyes as he grunted roughly underneath you.

God, how he wanted to push you down onto the ground and drive into you, damning the snow that covered the ground. Instead, he glided down further from the wall, feeling your weight press against him more as your head found sanction in his neck, feeling his thrusts grow more in power as he pistoned into you harder from the new position.

“Arthur.” You breathed out, feeling the stretch of him grow as the position made him reach even deeper inside you, one arm reaching down to grab your bottom so he could hold you firmer against him.

“I know, honey.” He murmured, head growing dizzy as you clenched around him so wonderfully, mewling sweetly into his ears as you let him take control.

Did it make him an evil man for reveling in what he knew Charles would never gain from you? Maybe it did, but those thoughts were placed far back in his mind as your lips found his, small moans now muted as you grew desperate for his affection, growing insatiable to once more feel the fondness that laid in his every touch.

He had been so angry that someone else had gained the courage to do what he couldn’t, realizing he had been too late. Yet now, as you remain unknowing above him, it only made his lips plant themself firmer against yours, determined to make you understand that nobody could make you feel this way except him.

Grabbing the blanket off your shoulders, he threw it down towards the ground as you gasped, stroking your waist tenderly before slowing his movements.

Your breath heaved something so terrible, your voice shaking as you spoke. “Don’t stop, Arthur. Please.” He felt his stomach coil at your words, throbbing inside you as he moved to a seated position.

“I ain’t stopping, sweetheart,” he let on, leaning you backwards lightly. “Lay back for me, okay?” You did as he said without a protest, the cold now gone as your legs spread from him.

He almost groaned from the sight, taking a moment to observe you as you stared at him through lidded eyes, blushed cheeks so wonderfully red against the whiteness of the snow you almost looked like an angel–your hair spread like a halo around your head where you laid on the blanket.

Crawling over you quickly, he grunted as he felt your hand encasing itself around him, stroking slowly as you guided it to your clenching hole. For a moment, he felt a relief spread through him at the feeling of your walls surrounding him before the sheer and utter desperation set in, beginning to move into you at a faster pace than before.

Your breath hitched at the sudden movement, yet you gripped his arms to keep him there, not baring the thought of him stopping again. Being over you gave him more control, and his primal instincts set in as the coil in his stomach shot burning flashes throughout his body, wanting nothing more than to feel your warm walls around him forever. Maybe it was the desire talking, but he swore that the thought of you being like this with any other man than him would make him heave.

Encasing his arms around you as your hands found his hair, he felt your legs wrap around his waist, now so close he was grounding into you relentlessly. Rough yet tender, he moved into you with care, but you could feel that he was holding back as he panted above you.

“Don’t stop!” You begged him once more amidst his thrusts, pulling on his strands as his lips found the softness of your neck. Why you were begging, you couldn’t say, oblivious to the words leaving your mouth in utter bliss.

“Hm?” He mumbled, smiling lightly from hearing your ruined voice beg him. He felt like a sick man gaining pleasure from it, but his mind was too hazy to take notice, longing to hear those words leave your sweet mouth once more. “What was that?”

“Don’t stop,” you voiced breathlessly as his hand found your breast, rolling the nub softly between his rough fingers. Despite your begging, for his own sickly twisted pleasure his hips ceased their movements, moving torturously slow as he raised his elbows to stare at your tear-filled eyes.

They shot open as he slowed his pace, displeased he didn’t listen as you already felt shameful for sounding so desperate. You couldn’t help it, for it felt too good, and now that he had stopped, you wished he never had. Was he teasing you? The thought made you blush from embarrassment and annoyance, pleading with your eyes.

“No…” You mumbled, trying to move against him, yet his hands held you firm against the ground.

“Say it.” Arthur’s voice was coarse as he spoke, grabbing your hand to place tender kisses on it as your displeased sounds reached his ears. He only got a confused look, smirking slightly at the longing and apparent dissatisfaction plastered on your face. A biting shadowed lust replaced his usually sharp eyes as he watched you, carnal written deeply in his eyes.

“My name, sweetheart. Let me hear you say it.” Suddenly, he pistoned his hips against you, driving up your wet walls as a mewl left you from the sudden force. You felt his intense eyes on you as your eyes shut momentarily, and through your blurred vision, they didn’t stay open for long.

“Arthur,” you moaned, eye-rolling into the back of your head as your back arched, a wave of pleasure shooting through you at his demands. He held the same controlled yet sensual pace, knowing he’d slip out of you if he went any harder. Still, his accuracy was wicked–hitting the right spot with every move.

“That’s it,” he praised you, placing another kiss on your palm as his thrusts increased, grunting roughly as your walls squeezed him tightly. You break into sobs as you reach out to grasp his arms, tilting his head up just enough to let you know he’s watching you, his hazy gaze roving over the devastation on your face.

The snow around you mutes the sound of skin hitting skin as he sets a brutal pace. “I didn’t tell you to stop, sweetheart.” The deep rumble in his chest as he spoke the words laced with possessiveness made your heartbeat pick up faster than it already was, the light ringing in your ears increasing as your body was hoisted up with each of his thrusts.

You call his name like a prayer amidst the pleasure, and satisfaction at hearing his name come so sinfully from your mouth made his eyes roll back, knuckles turning white from gripping the ground so harshly. Oh, you had no idea that every noise you let out from his advances made his heart soar with pride, feeling the softness of your skin under the palm of his hands.

Arthur feels the abrupt stop of movements from your hand, gripping tightly on his arms as you spasm around his cock, clenching tightly as the pads of his fingers come down to rub at your swollen nub as your orgasmed, a loud whine leaving you at the contact. It’s too much for you, the sensation too unfamiliar yet devastatingly addictive–not knowing if you wanted to drive your hips away from his brutal assault or enjoy him even more profoundly.

Even if you had decided on the prior, he didn’t let you, pushing you firm against the ground as he twitched inside you at the noises you let out, groaning lowly as he came inside your warm walls, planting himself deep inside you.

“Christ-” He grunts out, teeth clenched as you feel his cock throb inside you, cum gathering at the base of him as his hips slow to deep thrusts, grinding into you in sheer pleasure as the knot in his stomach unleashed, feeling you placing small kissed on his neck.

The slight motion made him smile amidst his pleasure-filled mind, caressing the curves of your waist as he nestled his head into your neck, still panting heavily. As you both calmed down, it didn’t take long for your hand to find his, fingers wounding themselves around the others in the blissful aftermath.

As you opened your eyes after catching your breath, you found a pair of blue ones already gazing at you. You didn’t speak for a while, both of you trying to digest the situation as tiny snowflakes could be seen falling from the sky through the cracks in the walls. It reminded you of how cold you should have been, but with Arthurs’s broad chest covering you, it felt like you were clinging to a furnace.

“Shit, you must be freezing.” He suddenly let out, shaking his head slightly as if in a daze before rising to pull you with him. As he pulled your skirt down your legs, rubbing them between his hands to warm you up, you could only stare at him in quiet wonder.

“What?” He grumbled out, sniveling lightly as he glanced at you. Had you not wanted this, he wondered, doubt starting to fill his mind. You were too quiet for his liking, only staring at him as he tried to prolong touching your soft skin, fearful of the hurtful words that were sure to come.

“Are you jealous of Charles?”

If crickets had been this far north, they would surely be the only thing audible as Arthur stopped. Bear of a man, hardy and stubborn to many, yet a faint blush could be seen rising to his cheeks as his face lowered–wishing so dearly he could find his hat that had seemingly disappeared so he could hide.

If he had been looking at you, he would have seen the toothy smile covering your face, a tender laugh leaving you as your assumptions became reality. You had to give him credit, though, for he had you completely and utterly fooled.

“No.” He stated firmly, rising on his legs to pull up his pants. He found himself unable to, though, your hand grabbing his suspenders to pull him back down. The same heat that had lessened in his stomach came back as he felt your nimble touch caress him through his pants, gaining a mischievous look from you as you widened your legs.

“Don’t worry, Arthur. I’ll give Charles his gloves back if you stay here and keep me warm.”

Oh dear, that would do it. Whatever thoughts that filled his mind flew out the window, wholly consumed by you as your hands caressed his back, staring expectantly up at him.

“Only me, right?”

“Only you, stupid.”

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