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hidden-poet · 11 months ago

Text

To have and to hold.

1/1 Disclaimer: I have not watched Billy the kid. This story is based on an internet search, and a can do mentality. No cannon events or characters.

Warnings: Dark!billy-the-kid, non-con, light stalking, technical kidnapping, spit, mature, 18+ only, porn-with-little-plot, non-fandom based writing, Reader POV, reader not described but can be picked up, definitely not historically actuate but you are reading about getting railed by billy-the-kid so you can fuck off if you have a problem with it. Dead dove, do not eat.

A/N: I am so sorry that this was late, and also rushed. The tent scene felt like I was pulling teeth out. I had no idea where I was going with it.

unedited.

You always knew Billy had a crush on you.

You would catch him staring at you from across the market. He would try to talk to you every chance he got. Always trying to find out more about you. He was awkward mostly, unfitting to his position of power. Despite his eager attempts to gain an audience with you, his eyes often floated around the room, and the conversation topics only always grazed the surface.

Nevertheless when you excused yourself from him, he always seemed disappointed but never stopped you.

You never minded the attention. You were flattered by it. Before him, none of the town's men paid you too much mind. Your family wasn’t rich, and your face was too plain to gain attention away from the wealthy girls.

It helped too that it was handsome. Dangerous. Big broad shoulders and striking eyes. He was good at his craft. Some say the best.

He was good enough to keep the vultures away from town. For a price. Him and his gang kept the town safe for a portion of everyone’s profits. It was a small profit compared to what he could have asked but added up quickly amongst the business that bloomed with his protection.

The regulators became the law after running out the corrupt and keeping out wild gangs that would come and pillage.

There were worse men to be left in charge. Overall his reputation was good but money was to be paid, or houses were to be burned down.

He had men to look after. They had to be fed and housed with a few extra dollars in their pockets to halt their boisterous nature.

From the few times he did use a heavy hand, it left a strong reminder to the community that Billy’s word was law.

Even with his sheriff- like position, he was still considered an outlaw. Wanted in multiple counties. Wanted in yours not too long ago. Before he and his crew became the new law. So you had to keep your distance as much as you could, and avoid situations where you could be seen alone with him. The town mostly thought of you as a poor target for Billy but a few whispers about you were already causing damage to your reputation.

Anyone connected to the regulators was treated differently. People wanted to distance themselves from the group that controlled the area. Anyone found being too friendly with the Regulators were ostracized. Your family couldn't afford to be outcast. The family business relied on steady connections and loyal customers.

So you don’t mind the flirtatious talk in private or burning stares so long as it never proceeds from that.

To help this, you avoided him where you could but some days it felt as if he knew your schedule better than you did.

You tried to switch it up by going to town a day earlier than you usually would, but fate had it that it was the same day as Billy’s collection.

People hush as Billy and two of his men come into the convenience store. Some leave while others push themselves to the back of the store. You try and hide your face behind a series of hanging baskets as you watch the group walk confidently in.

Billy greets the shopkeeper respectfully but the men he is with are arrogant and begin playing with the objects on display. You knew them as Jim Greathouse, and Tom O’Folliard. Both long-standing members of the Regulators.

“Good evening, Mr O’Conoly. How are you today?”

“Good, Billy. Thank you”. The shopkeeper places a pouch of money on top of the counter for the men to take.

Billy takes it first and places the small pouch in his pocket, thanking the man, and asking about his family.

You try to make your escape moving from behind the baskets towards the door. Your face heated with just the thought of talking to Billy in a room full of people. In passing or at a public event was unavoidable, your townspeople knew that, but talking so friendly in a shop. It would bring your family shame if it came across too familiar.

But you were too hasty in your exit, your feet too hard against the floor. The shuffling caught his attention. Worried that he might be offended with your behavior, you pretend to look at the pears on display as if contemplating.

The sound of his feet against the floorboards matched the beating of your heart.

You pretend to look busy as you inspect the pears but could feel his searing stare as he approached you.

“Miss y/n”’ he took off his hat as he spoke as a sign of respect.

You nodded your head towards him as a sign of respect back, “Mr Bonney”.

“Billy. You can call me Billy”.

You nod back with a tight smile, keeping your eyes focused on the produce in front of you. To encourage Billy by calling him by familiar terms may give him the wrong impression.

"You look awful pretty today"

"You say that every day, Mr Bonney".

“I mean it every day”. He stands close to you, leaning his frame over yours. With his height it could have been intimidating but you knew he meant no harm.

“Did you need help shopping today? I could carry your basket for you” His fingers reach out to your basket but you tug it back against you.

“Thank you, Mr Bonney, but I will not be buying anything today. I must get home. I suddenly don’t feel well”.

“Wait” He reaches out and gently captures your arm to stop you from turning. It was the first time he had ever touched you. It felt like you had been zapped with electricity.

You pull quickly out of his grasp and look around the shop. People were staring at the scene. One wrong step and it could be the end of your family's good name. You step further back from him, solidifying that he was the same person to them as he was to you.

Billy holds his hands flat out in surrender, telling you he had no further plans of touching you.

“I was just wondering if you planned to be at Maria's wedding?”.

Maria was a friend of yours, of course you would be at her wedding. You wondered why he was asking, he knew this too.

She was often with you when he approached. More than that her soon-to-be husband was friendly with Billy, and borrowed from the Regulators to finance a farm.

Because of that, would he now be invited to the wedding? Would you be stuck avoiding him the whole night?

“I do,” you respond. If you lied and he was invited it would be an uncomfortable evening, but has telling the truth now placed you in a difficult spot?

“I was wondering if you might fancy a dance or two with me?”

A sudden loud clanking noise stole the spotlight from you. Jim had knocked a table of grain and spilled it over the floor along with the serving cup. Tom bellowed at his friend's mistake, kneeling over from laughter.

“I am sorry, sir” Billy said to the shopkeeper, “He will pay for that”.

Tom laughs louder, earning a shove from Jim.

“Clean it up” Billy demands with a click of his fingers. Jim snatched a nearby rag and kneeled upon the floor under Billy’s stare. You make a quick exist while he is distracted but he follows you across the floor.

The shopkeepers goes to help clean up the mess by bringing a broom but he is insulated by Jim as he nears. He throws the dirty rag at the man and questions why he didn’t bring a broom sooner.

Billy’s attention is once again caught. He looks at you as you pass through the door but Jim continues to hurl insults at the undeserving shopkeep. Billy turns direction away from you to deal with the situation.

“Hey. He’s paid his dues. Leave him alone” was the last thing you heard as you raced down the steps and to the path back home.

You bash your hand against your forehead as you take the dirt path back to your home. It felt good to release some of the tension you felt. You had kept your composure through your walk through the back of town but could feel it bubbling under the surface.

You should have left as soon as he entered the store. Now you were left in difficult position and only the feeling of dread around your friends wedding.

How would you be able to avoid him for the entire time? Your only hope is that he will avoid you while you are with your family.

You swing your empty basket. The trip to town and back was a 40 minute walk across a hard pebble road. You’d have to make it again tomorrow.

You wondered if you would see him again. Billy normally placed himself in town to correspond with your schedule.

Would he ask for a dance again or had you wounded his pride? What is the right answer?

Yes would leave the town talking for weeks. Might even affect your fathers business.

No might make you an enemy of the Regulators. Which is the last thing you wanted to be.

Perhaps if you took more chores, your sister would take your trip to town.

She was stubborn though. Would want more than her fair share to swap tasks. You begin your negotiations in your head.

Preparing for when you get home, when the sound of galloping horse upon the gravel approaches you. You move from the path to let the horseman pass, but it slows next to you.

You look up at the rider, just making out his face under the sun.

“Mr Bonney. What are you doing?”.

You eye the area to see no one else. A blessing and a curse.

He swings off his horse next to you.

“You said you felt ill. I thought it was best to see you home alright”.

“I’ll be fine. Thank you, Mr Bonney”.

“Please, I insist. Riding would be faster than walking”.

“How would that look, sir? Sharing a horse?”.

“You could sit, and I’ll walk him along,” he suggests. His hat covers his face in shadows. It made it hard to see how he was processing your words.

“No, thank you, sir. The walk would be good for me. You go on now”.

“I’ll walk alongside you”. He readies the reins of his horse between his hand for a walking pace.

“There’s really no need” you try.

“There’s also nothing stopping me” he returns.

It puts you back on one foot. He had never spoken to you like that before. Conversations about the weather, and upcoming community events were the only things really talked about. Sometimes he would ask after your family, and your health. But he found that broader, more unfamiliar topics worked best to elicit a conversation.

You once helped him pick out a ripe watermelon when he asked you but he had never refused to stop bothering you.

He walked beside you with his shoulder almost touching yours. You try to create distance by walking on the edge of the road. The rocks slip off the edge of the road under your feet. It makes for an uncomfortable walk, in which your ankle twists from the uneven ground.

“It looks like rain” he looks up to the sky and its dark forming clouds, “I sure hope it clears before the wedding”.

You tense as he brings up the wedding. It was surely a ploy to reintroduce his offer. In an attempt to discourage him, you only offer him a nod.

One wrong step and you tumble of balance towards the surrounding dirt.

“Careful” he hand latches on to your arm, pulling you back on the path. He moves himself and his horse over to the center of the road, pulling you along with his hold, “Don’t want you breaking an ankle before our dance”.

You paused to consider a broken ankle as your way of escaping the dance, but it would immobilise you and Billy was sure to sit by your side the entire night.

“I don’t dance, Mr Bonney. Two left feet I am afraid”.

“We’ll get along fine”

“I might not be well enough to attend anyway”.

“Oh” he looks ahead at the road, “That would be a shame”.

The horse kicks, impatient with her pace.

“Settle” he commanded with a pat to its nose.

“She’s used to going fast,” he tells you.

“Please, Mr Bonney. I would hate to upset your horse”. You gesture for him to go forward and leave you.

He laughs at you. A sweet, airy laugh.

“She'll be fine”.

You knew he meant you no harm. Even as you walk with him miles from anyone you felt no fear. So you walk in a comfortable silence next to him, your feet falling into step with his own.

“If you need a break, let me know,” he spoke.

You wondered why he said such a thing, forgetting your own lie. Quick in your recoup you bring your hand to your forehead

“I will be fine. Home is not too far off”.

He offers you a drink from his water flask which you decline. He had reached for it although from his saddle and you still him with a hand on his shoulder. It freezes him.

In return his eyes freeze you as he peers back over his shoulder.

You’re not sure why but an apology falls from your lips.

“No” he assures, “No-I”.

Neither of you were sure where to go.

He puts the flask back, turning to you with empty hands.

You didn't notice that you had stopped walking until his horse kicked impatiently.

“I have to get home” you state.

You pick up speed and return to the silence as you walk alongside him.

Out of nowhere and somewhat timidly he reaches a hand out and places it on your shoulder.

You jump back at the unexpected contact. Half expecting the hand to claw and punch you down to the ground. But it releases.

He squints his eyes at you, surprised at your reaction.

“You don’t think I would hurt you. Do you?”

You weren’t sure. He’s never been aggressive towards you. But stories of him being a dangerous man made their way around the community.

“No, Mr Bonney”.

With home so close it urges you to pick up the pace. He keeps it easily.

“Is that why you didn’t want me to walk you home? Because you thought I would hurt you? Y/N, I would never”.

His hand once again goes up to touch you but you knock it away.

“Mr Bonney, may I remind you that you are a stranger to me. That I am an unmarried woman, and you are an unmarried man. If some one were to mistake this situation, it could cause great damage to my reputation. My family's reputation, and livelihood".

He looked hurt that you had spoken to him like that. He stopped his fast pace beside you, and you took the opportunity to continue on without him.

“Well we ain't strangers” he says as he nestles up beside you again.

The walk turned silent again and it remained that way as you passed through the wide field to your home.

Your small family home comes into view, and thought perhaps you could shake him. But he doesn’t leave you as you open your gate.

“Thank you for seeing me home, Mr Bonney”, You try.

“Anytime Miss Y/N. Maybe one day you could invite me around, and we could have tea”.

You slam the gate shut between you. By allowing him to walk you home, does he think that you were opening up to him?

“I am not sure my father would approve”.

Billy’s eyes fall to the ground. He doesn’t look up as he speaks.

“I see”, he states, “Well, rest up and I’ll see you at the wedding”.

You hear the talking of your mother and sister as they bring the washing back up to the house. If they came too close, he would try to start a friendly conversation with them. The risk of your father seeing, and shooting is already high. You needn’t add to it.

“Goodbye, Mr Bonney”, you bid.

You leave him at the gate, scoping your mother and sister into your arms and back into the house.

—

The day of the wedding came. The whole house woke up in excitement but you felt more heavy than you should have.

You tried to strike a balance between dressing nice and dressing too nice that Billy would think you dressed up for him.

Luckily, Miara relied on you the whole day to complete last minute things. While the others were gathered in front of the church, you were in the field gathering flowers for her bouquet. After that you helped her dress and do her hair. It all kept you away from the guests right up to the wedding.

You dash inside the small church to find your seat before the bride was ready to come in.

You saw not only him but the entire group of the Regulators sitting at that back corner out of the way. They were all clean and dressed nicely to Billy’s request. Their hats were taken off their heads in respect, and not one of them spoke.

Billy’s body shifted as he saw you. It straightened, slightly turning towards you as you walked up the aisle to your family. You could feel his eyes on you as you walked. You couldn’t help looking back at him.

You took your seat next to your sister in time for the band to start the wedding march. Maria slowly walks down the aisle, you try to keep you focused on her during all of the service but his stare burns a hole in the back of your head.

All too soon the ceremony was over. Maria and her new husband stop to greet Billy as they pass. Maria’s husband gets a firm handshake as Billy says something to him and Maria is brought in for a kiss on the cheek.

They acted like old friends despite their true relationship as debtor and debtee.

Once the newlyweds make it to the door signaling for the rest to follow, you form a barrier of your family to keep you away from Billy as you pass him. The Regulators go to move out before the rest of the guests but Billy blocks the path by putting his hand on the front pew. Manners were important to Billy but less so to his group.

Billy and the Regulators walked behind the guests to the reception held in the field of the newlyweds' new farmstead. The couple had hired a live band, and borrowed tables and chairs. Candles and a large fire was lit as it darkened. People danced and laughed amongst the Regulators, but you found yourself trying to keep busy to avoid any conversation.

If you remained for too long in one spot, you could feel Billy closing in. Only the request from your friend on her big day made you pause. She needed help dishing up the punch as the speeches would begin soon.

All your efforts of the night were wasted as you distributed the drink into the many cups. You were a sitting duck, and you could see Billy closing in. You rush, half spilling the punch on the table. People distracted him as he made his way over. It gave you hope you could finish before he reached you.

“Whoa, slow down” Maria jeered.

“Sorry. Can you find someone else to do this? Mr Bonney is coming over and if I get trapped talking to him it will ruin my night”.

Maria slaps your arm hard causing you to spill a whole cup of punch.

“I won’t hear that talk about Billy. Not after what he did”.

Your friend goes back to pouring but she has now peaked your interest.

“What did he do?” you ask.

Maria places her cup down and leans closer to you as if it was a secret.

“Our wedding present was the farm. We own it. Debt free. He let us off”.

An expensive wedding present from a man who barely knows the couple. It was also a dangerous thing to do. How many people will now be expecting debt to be wiped free after every major life event.

Billy made his way over. You don’t turn from Maria but she ecstatically greets him.

“Can I lend a hand, Maria?”. He stands too close, your shoulder almost touching him.

Maria declined his offer of help but he picks up the empty cups and holds them out for you to fill.

You don’t speak to him as you work but he continues to swap the cups under you.

“Let's start passing these out” Maria spoke to you, picking up a tray and disappearing into the party. You follow suit, picking up your tray without a word, but Billy takes it from you, placing it back on the table.

“I was wondering if you were ready for the dance you promised me?”.

“There are many girls here, Mr Bonney, who are dying for a dance”. You hint at him. You look to your father who is watching you from his group of friends.

“That may be so”. He is resolved to his position. Although you knew it was unintentional his hand went to his gun holster light resting on the leather belt.

It was best not to make a scene so you give him a curt nod and head towards the crowd of people dancing. A dance at a wedding is hardly anything scandalous. He follows close and when he feels like you are far enough into the dance floor he takes your wrist into his hand and spins you towards him.

“Are you having a good time?’’ he asks as you move together to the festive music.

“Yes”. You wish you could have said more but your brain felt muddled with him so close. You could feel his strong shoulders as you rest your arm around his neck, and his strong fingers squeezed around yours.

“It didn’t rain” he comments.

“No” you agree.

“You look beautiful in that dress”

“Thank you. I borrowed it from my sister”.

A man calls out to Billy, taking the attention off you for the second that it took Billy to give an acknowledging nod.

You spin out from his arms in sync with the other girls. It reached the part of the song where partners were swapped but Billy held tight to your hand and spun you back into him, leaving the next man looking for his new dance partner.

Billy jerks his head in the direction of the girl who was supposed to take your place.

“Over there” he suggests.

The dance continues and you resume your position as Billy’s dance partner.

“That’s not how that dance goes” you scold.

“Not going to let you go that easy”.

He spins you out and back in again, “You told me you were two left feet. You seem to be doing alright to me”, he says as he holds you close.

You push yourself out of his hold and back into dancing formation. Cozy in the arms of the judge, jury and executor is not a good look.

“That may be because you are two right feet”.

He laughs causing you to giggle with him but you were acutely aware of your fathers protective stare.

“See we make the perfect pair” he boasts.

His remark silences you. Too many flirtatious exchanges could leave the wrong impression.

“How are you feeling?” Billy asks softly, “I ain’t spinning you too much, am I? Did you want to sit with me for a bit?”

“No” better to get the dancing out of the way for the night, “no, I feel fine”.

He doesn’t spin you again. Instead keeping you close in a gently swaying motion. You follow his lead around the floor. A few stared but most were too consumed with themselves to notice. Only your father paid true attention.

“Maria told me that you forgave the debt on the land” you said after a moment of nothing but dancing.

He nods back, a small smile on his lips as he looks out to the other dancers. He was pleased that you knew.

“I did. We want to see prosperity in this land. Farmers are important in that”.

Suddenly his jaw became hard, and his hold loosened.

“Wouldn’t that be right, Harold?”.

His change confused you. Instead of dancing with you, he had pushed your body behind his, gripping the fabric of your dress around your waist to keep you still, and had his gun pointed straight.

You move as much as you could to see Harold Fern, the baker in your community. He looked disheveled as he held out a shotgun. His hair was a mess, his clothes half done up and wrinkled His cheeks and nose burned red with intoxication.

“You son of a bitch” slurred Harold, “You took everything from me”.

“I don’t know what you mean, but you better get that gun out of my face before I put you down”.

You shrink yourself as small as you could against Billy back. His hold tightens as he feels you move.

Harold scoffs, “You ain’t that quick”.

“Yes, I am” he threatens.

Harold sways as he thinks about Billy’s statement giving Billy the time to try and talk so sense into the man.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Harold. Don’t make me. Whatever you think I have done, I am sure we can fix it”.

“Your taxes put me out of business. My fathers business, my fathers�� fathers business. You and your gang come in demanding a share from the work you don’t do”.

‘I am sorry, Harold, Truely. But your business would have been gone long ago if it weren’t for us. You think the Casa gang would have left anything if they were successful in their attack? We stopped them. What do you think would have been left of this town if we didn’t?”.

With the man subdued, you move from where you pressed up against Billy’s back to move from the line of fire. But Billy’s hold on your dress would not loosen. You resumed your spot against his back, hoping that the bullet would not go straight through.

“If it’s a loan you need I can give it to you, but I can also send you to the grave after your father if your finger itches towards that trigger anymore”.

“Billy!” you hear a voice of one of the regulators. The surrounding people gasp as another gun is brought out.

“It’s alright. Harolds here just had too much to drink. Why don’t you take him back to his house and i’ll be by tomorrow to see if we can figure out a solution to his problem”.

Harold must have chosen to drop the gun because you heard the shoving and shouting from Billy’s man and not the ricochet of a gun.

The grip on your dress is released and Billy turns towards you placing his hands on your shoulders.

“Are you okay?”.

You shake him off, aware of the audience still staring at you. Billy follows your gaze around the crowd.

“It’s alright everyone. Let’s get the music going again’’

Billy raises his hand to your arm once more but you are pushed away before it lands. Your father had come to your rescue quickly pushing you through the crowd. You look back at Billy. He doesn’t move. Just stares until you are out of sight.

You don’t see Billy for the next week. His men did his collections. You only saw them around town, never him. You figure he was laying low after the wedding incident.

Your days became dull again without the excitement of Billy. Your chores became chores again without the added threat of Billy laying in wait.

Miss may be a strong word, but something felt off when he wasn’t around. You figure you had gotten so used to a state of anxiety that normalcy felt strange.

He would return, you ensured yourself, just enjoy it while it lasts.

On the tenth night of his absence from your life you think that maybe he had skipped town, and you would never see him again. The Regulators would need a new leader and you shudder thinking who it could be.

You sleep with the thought of him on your mind. Who would protect the town if not him? Who would fill your days with excitement and wonder? You scold yourself for the latter thought. He was an outlaw. A villain. Blood soaked his hands. He was a bad man. The leader of bad men. You sleep with hateful thoughts of the Regulators and their leader.

You wake with the sound of your dog scratching at your door. Begging to be let out. The night was cold. Even with a large blanket and the windows shut, you shivered.

You sigh as you get up, quickly looking for your robe. It would do little to keep the cold away but something was better than nothing.

It was odd for your dog to wake to pee. It only happened when he was a pup and that was long ago.

You follow him as he races down the steps, trying your best to be quiet so as not to wake your family. The dog is energetic, scratching at the main door.

You ‘sh’ him as you open it. You’re greeted by a wave of freezing air.

The dog ruined your plans of staying on the porch as he disappeared into the darkness forcing you to follow down.

The cold grass sinks into your feet, the moisture soaking your soles. You could barely see your dog in the dark with his black fur. Only the sound of him peeing told you he was still there.

You stretch as you wait, looking up at the night sky. Slowly rolling your head in a circle. In doing so, you could see a small flame in the distance. A candle still going just outside of your father's shed.

You go to blow it out before it catches anything on fire. Another odd occurrence. Your father rarely lit candles due to their cost. He was sure to blow it out before he finished. Still he is old like your dog. They are both slipping from their good habits and you would need to learn to be more gracious.

You bend down and with one quick blow, the flame is gone. Rising once more, you decide it is time to return to bed and go to call your dog over.

His name never gets off your lips. It’s sealed shut by a strong gloved hand pressed over your mouth, and the feeling of a cool barrel of a gun pressed into the side of your head.

“Sh, sh, sh, be quiet”.

Your gut dropped, you knew the smooth voice of Billy. With faith he wouldn’t hurt you, you try screaming into his hand. He shook you a bit but no harsh hand was used to silence you.

“I said quiet”.

You do. You once heard that he shot a man off his horse a mile away. Now with a gun pressed into your head you didn’t need too much persuading to do as he said.

“We’re going on a little trip, you and I” he whispers in your ear.

Where was your dog? You wondered. Why couldn’t he sense you were in danger and come save you. You were no match for Billy.

“Okay?” he asks. You nod in response.

“Okay, move”. He keeps his hand across your mouth, and his gun buried in your back, using it to move you forward.

It’s not too far before the sight of his horse is seen only thirty feet from your house. He releases you and halters his gun so he could cup his hands to help you onto the saddle.

You look back at your house, not too far in the distance. If you ran could you make it? If you screamed could your family hear it?

“Come on, now. Don’t keep me waiting”.

Deciding you couldn’t make it, you slot your foot into his hands, and he hoists you up to the saddle. He got up more easily, and with a swing of his leg he saddles up behind you, bringing the reins and his hands down upon your lap.

“Where are we going?” You ask.

“It’s not far. Just some place I go to think”.

The horse is ridden at a leisurely pace. The cold air attacks you, and you find yourself curling into Billy’s warmth.

He doesn’t speak to you again but you could feel him trying his best to protect you from the cold wind. His body barricaded around you, trying to keep you warm. At one point when the wind blew especially hard, he planted his large warm hand over the side of your face and pressed the other side of your face into his chest.

With the amount of shock running through your body, you weren't sure if the ride was short like he promised. It felt like an entirety by his side.

When you arrived at the camp, the fire was already going, and a tent was set up.

He dismounts first and then reaches back up to help you down.

“Why have you brought me here?”. You accept his help down, his horse wouldn’t go without him.

“To talk. Some place where you can’t run away”.

His words should have carried more weight, but you knew they were said in a non-threatening manner.

There was a log near the fire that you used as a seat while Billy remained across from you.

“I’ve missed you these past few days. Been real lonely without you”. He kicks the dirt under his shoe and watches as it jumps from his force.

“We were never friends, Billy”.

Billy. The name seemed to have just fallen off your lips.

The sound of his name gave him courage to look up at you.

“You’re right. You’re right. We skipped that stage”.

His eyes go back down and he is silent once more.

“Y/N, your daddy’s never going to approve of me”.

“No” you agree, “No, he’s not”.

His eyes flick up back to yours, his stance hardens, his shoulders square and his eyes peer down at you.

“So. Where does that leave us?” he asks.

A large gust of wind blows through the camp, straight through you. Your body hunches from the cold

“Are you cold?” he asks in a state of shock that he could ignore the obvious. He doesn’t wait for your response, gone into his tent before the question fully parted from his lips.

He brings out a thick wool blanket, and wraps it around your shoulders before going back to his side of the fire.

He rubs his hand across the bottom of his face, his other hand positions on his hip. You wondered what he was thinking. Why he looked so worried when he was the one in the position of power?

“Billy?” you asked softly. His eyes flicked from the ground up to you. “Billy, take me home”.

“You know God told me that you were the woman for me’’.

“Did he?” you ask cautiously.

“Years ago. I saw you in town, I said ‘God, if she’s the one make her drop her bracelet’. And you did”.

He reaches into his vest pocket pulling out his pocket watch to show you the chain. He brought it over to you. In the light you could see that he had melted the gold of your bracelet to his small gold watch and fashioned it into his pocket watch that he carried daily. The ends of the bracelet were melded but the gold that was braided together looked identical to the bracelet you had lost.

It was your bracelet. One you lost nearly three years ago. The clasp was broken, you shouldn’t have been wearing it but it was one of your favorites.

“It’s just a coincidence. It doesn’t mean anything” you said. A broken bracelet was hardly uncommon for a woman who had little money to fix it.

This seemed to anger him. His face scrunched up and his movement became rough and short.

“Coincidence? Was it a coincidence tonight? I had a burning desire to see you and you just so happen to be outside waiting for me”.

“I wasn’t waiting for you”.

“Well something brought you outside to me. You don’t call that fate?”.

“My dog”. Your eyes slowly weep as Billy the kid turns into Billy the outlaw.

To run a group of outlaws. To kill men, and control a town, you knew he had to have a dark streak. No matter how well he hid it, there must be something lurking underneath to be able to exert the violence needed.

His hand flys to his forehead, rubbing it as if you were causing him a headache.

“You ain't listening. Me and you. We’re connected. Meant to be”.

“Okay” you agree. Unsure on what else to do. “Billy, I am really cold and would like to go home now”.

“Here” he comes closer to you, bending down and helping you to your feet.

He picks up a lit lamp by the fire, and tries to lead you forward.

“It’s warmer in the tent”.

Your heart jumps. Alone in a tent is the last place you want to be.

Your arm jerks from his touch as you speak, “Take me home now”.

His hands grip your arms too tight.

“Home? What if I gave you a new home? One where we could be together”.

The cold air no longer bothered you. Billy was the law. Whatever he did would be met with no consequences.

“I’ve been thinking, if your daddy won’t approve no matter what. Maybe we shouldn’t ask him” he continued.

You struggle against Billy. How quickly after all this time that his touch became hurtful.

“I need my father's blessing,” you state.

“I was worried you would say that” he remarks.

The force on your arms changed from holding you still to pushing you forward.

“Billy get off” you shout.

“You won’t listen to reason” he retaliates.

The door of the tent wasn’t tied so you were easily pushed through the fabric. You fall onto the laid mattress with no strength to raise yourself while Billy does ties up the door to keep the cold air out.

“Billy” you cry.

He lays down next to you, wrapping his arm around your back and up your neck.

“Everything is fine. I’ll take care of you”.

“Billy, don’t do this,” you pleaded.

“If I can’t make you see my love, I can make you feel it”.

He rises to rid himself of his suspenders. You sit up on your legs in front of you, with no harsh hand pushing you back down.

You capture his head between your hands, only talking when there was no attempt to shake you off.

“Billy, think about what this will mean for me”.

His eyes feel cold as they graze upon you, “I am thinking about you. About us. He can’t deny the marriage if what is done is done”.

Feeling his head push forward under your hold, you go to make one last plea before his lips meet yours.

“Bil-”. His kiss is hard and possessive.

His body soon follows, and the weight of him presses you to the floor.

Shoving at his shoulders doesn’t do much to deter him. After a handful of hard kisses, he changes positions, straddling your waist so he could sit up and unbutton his shirt.

His movements are quick and rugged like having to get rid of the clothes was an annoying chore.

Despite his dangerous line of work, and the odds, his body is free from scars and bullet holes. His tone chest and strong shoulders flex as he moves to throw the shirt to the corner of the tent.

You’re memorized by his beauty until his hands reach for his belt. Your hands spring up to stop him, only this does he resist.

“It’s alright. It ain’t going to hurt” he places a hand on your chest to keep you down while he undid his holster’s belt buckle, “I told you I would never hurt you”.

With the leather belt free, he slides the gun in the holster up along the ground.

The button of his pants only takes a twist of his wrist and he is left in his underwear on top of you.

“Get off” you yell at him but he continues by dragging you up to where the pillows are laid.

He positions one of the pillows directly under your head for your comfort as you kick, your head rises and falls into it.

His hand loosening the front tie of your nightgown stills the fight you had.

“Billy, wait” you request.

“I have waited. Nearly three years”. The nightgown is pushed off from your shoulders, and pulled down the rest of your body.

The shake of your body is attributed to many things, the cold air that swarmed you, the shame and fear of it all, the fact that it was your first time being bare to a man. Billy took it to mean the cold and adjusted the blankets so they were pressed up against the sides of your body.

The hand on your chest left as you stopped moving and both hands were moved to unbutton your underpants.

“I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry’’.

He leans down to kiss you again as a distraction to get between your legs. He is there before you know it.

He brings his fingers up to his mouth, sucking on them. You wondered what he was doing before he brought them down to your sex.

You try to tell him to stop but your brain couldn’t muster it. Only a gasp escapes your lips as you feel him enter you.

Its uncomfortable at first and you squirm away from him

“Stay still. It’ll get better” he promises.

In an attempt to aid the friction, he leans his head down, spitting into cunt.

The extra moisture does help your arousal. Soon you are wet enough for his fingers to sink into you.

He takes them out, not wanting you to finish too early, and brings his fingers to his lips to suck off the moisture.

His hand comes down next to your head as lifts himself up to take off his underwear.

“Is it going to hurt?” you ask. There was no point in begging. You had reached the point of no return.

“Maybe. For a little bit, but it will feel good too. I promise”.

He lines himself up with you, and with a final kiss he plunges himself into you.

It feels as if he hits a wall inside of you. You were certain it was as far as he could go but his hips hammered into you determined to break through.

You were about to tell him that you had taken as much of him as you could take when he does break the wall. It was a searing pain as if he had cut you. You let out a tisk of pain, reaching up and clawing at the back of his neck with the hand that wasn’t intertwined with Billys’.

‘Sorry. Sorry. I know” he says, but the rhythm of his hips remains the same.

The pain subsided after a couple of thrusts that felt terribly uncomfortable and sore. It was replaced with the pleasure he promised you that built in your stomach, and tingles between your legs.

Still, this was not how it was supposed to go. Not in a tent in the middle of the night. Not outside of marriage and not without your father permission.

You throw your head up from a particularly hard thrust, and notice his gun still in the holster just beyond your fingertips. Your head was too scattered to form any thoughts. Otherwise, you never would have reached for it. Even if Billy had been a stranger from the saloon, you could never kill a man.

You had no intention of killing him. You had just wanted to touch it. The gun of Billy-the-kid.

“What? What do you want my gun for?” As he leans up to reach for it and you feel his cock push up into your stomach.

He brings it out of his holster with the barrel pointed at your head, but his finger is far from the trigger.

“Don’t you know a man’s gun is part of him? You should ask a man before you touch it”.

The gun pushes further and down to your lips. Billy’s eyes were dark. The awkward boy that used to court you was buried in the furthest part of him.

“Open your mouth” he commands.

With the taste of metal at your teeth, you do part your lips enough for the tip of the gun. A struggle could lead to an accidental misfire.

His thrusts in time with the movement of the gun. His eyes focus on your lips, the way they curl around his barrel.

The metallic taste overwhelmed your tongue and your nose. It felt as if you could still taste the smoke on it. You are slow in your movements so not to startle him as you pull your head back.

His stomach flutters and he loses his composure as you do.

“Fuck” he sputters, his eyes close and he picks up pace, “That was hot”.

You shake your head, pushing the hand that held the gun away from you.

He drops his wrist down from your face, and slides the gun back over to his holster in the corner.

“It’s gone. It’s alright, it’s gone”.

The hand is repurposed against the side of your face, and his rhythmic pace is returned.

“I wouldn’t hurt you” he tells you once more.

“You’re hurting me now” you groan.

His face scrunches up, and his thrusts come to rest.

“No,” he says, offended.

“No. That aint what I am doing”.

His hands on the back of your shoulders lift you up against his chest, as he hoists your bodies together into an upright position.

Your hands grip on top of his shoulders, and you rest your forehead against his collarbone from the pressure of him inside of you as you sit on his lap.

“Look at me” he orders, but your position suited you just fine.

You rock your head against his shoulder blade in response, which satisfied him.

“The only way I would hurt you now is by leaving you. No man but those desperate or widowed would have you after I am done. Your family would never recover their name. Now I’ve made it clear that we are to get married, so no hurting is being done”.

His fingers dig into your hips so hard that there was sure to be bruises littering the skin tomorrow.

“Ain’t no sin for a husband and wife to become one”.

“We are not married,” you remind him.

“What’s marriage but a commitment to God to have and to hold the other? I’ve made that commitment. You have too. I know you have. If it wasn’t for your daddy we’d be married a long time ago”.

“Billy” you groan. The lack of movement frustrated you. He had started an itch that now needed to be scratched.

To ease your discomfort, he brought his hand down between your bodies and began to gently swirl his finger around your pearl.

“I built you a house, you know. Told myself I couldn’t touch you until I drove the final nail in, and the day I do, you appear at the market a day earlier than you usually would. We’re connected. Every bad thing has led me here to you”.

Your nails dig into his flesh as the pressure builds in knots within your stomach.

A frustrated sound makes its way from your throat when he suddenly stops, moving his hands around the back of your neck and around your waist so he could lay you down and finish.

His pace is faster and harder. It cuts off his ability to talk any longer. Only groan and grunt.

As you tighten around him and pulse as you come, it invites him to join you.

As soon as he is off you, you turn to your side away from him. What would happen now? Would Billy leave you here? Would he kick you out into the forest? You worried that he spoke of marriage out of lust that had now been fulfilled.

He seemed content with your presence, as he reached out to gently scratch the back of your neck.

You can hear animals outside the tent as they scurry around. Billy regains his stamina beside you and the silence between you both stretches into the night.

You focus on the sounds of the frogs and crickets as they perform in perfect harmony. The sounds and sex lull you to a tired state, but Billy wasn’t through with the night.

With a small kiss to the back of your neck, he was pushing back on your shoulder to lay you flat again.

“No” you protest, too tired for much more than a simple plea, “Not again”.

It was late. Possibility early morning. Your body wanted nothing more than to shut down, now that the adrenaline has faded.

“Yes. again. We gotta make sure we put a baby in you”, he states, positioning his body once again over yours.

—--

You woke up alone in the tent. Two blankets were laid on top of you keeping off the cold, but the dull ache between your legs told you to get up and go back home. You found your clothes on the floor, noticing that Billy had taken all his.

The sight of Billy eating on a log relieves you as you exit the tent. You had no way of getting home without him.

He gets up from his seat as he sees you push back the fabric of the tent.

“Good morning” he greets, “How are you feeling?”

“I want to go home. Now”, you demand.

He looked like a spoiled child getting told off by a parent. His head lowers, and he clasps his hands together in front of himself.

“Yeah. We should be getting back” he agrees.

His head rises again and he beckons your forward with his hand.

“You need to eat something before we do. I made porridge”.

You take his place on the log in front of the fire and his jacket. Without a word, he takes his warm jacket off himself and helps you put it on.

A bowl of warm porridge is placed in your hands, and then he leaves you be. Giving you space to process your emotions.

He packs up the tent and gear while you sit, unable to eat what was given to you.

Even in all the time it took him to pack away the tent and all the camping equipment, you had yet to take a single bite.

You watch as Billy kicks dirt into the fire, smothering your warmth.

The bowl is gently taken from your hands where Billy flicks the food away, and rinses it with his water bottle before packing it away.

You follow him to the horse and he helps you up on the saddle the same way as the night before.

The swing of your leg as you try to hook it over the saddle is executing.

You shout from the pain, feeling the mussels as they pull to extend your leg.

“Easy” he soothes, helping you back steady on your feet.

You shove him off. It was his fault. Your body was in pain and your life was over because of him.

He stubbles back from the sudden shove but he comes back without reproach.

“Here” he says.

He swings up to the saddle, leaning his body down to pull you up. You sit across the horse’s saddle, legs together to ease the pain.

Billy rides slowly for you. The day was sunny but a chill still hung in the air. You wondered how Billy went on without his jacket.

The ride took you through trees and along a stream of water. It was not far from your home but you had never been there.

With a twenty minute ride your home came into view. While distant you could see your family as they gathered on the porch.

The galloping of the hoofs stopped their discussion with a loud relief.

“She’s here!” your sister yelled back into the house, “She’s back”.

Your father runs outside to the porch watching with hard eyes as you and Billy ride.

Billy halts his horse a meter away and slides you down the saddle onto the ground. He is quick to get off behind you, holding your reluctant hand in his.

You saw your father disappear into the house as you crossed the distance. He wasn’t a fool. He knew what Billy had done. The shame must have been too overbearing for him.

The rest of your family were all still in their robes as they stood on the path waiting for you to come near. Your mother held out her arms but Billy stopped ten feet away under the shade of the large oak tree.

“Ma’am” he greets your mother, “I am sorry for the distress I have caused your family, but as you can see she was safe with me”.

The stickiness between your thighs became apparent as he spoke the words.

You tug your hand back but he keeps it in his tight hold.

The front door is kicked open and your father appears holding out his shotgun.

Billy is quick to act, pulling you back behind him but he doesn’t draw his gun.

“You get off my land” your father demands.

Billy nods, “I will. We just came to collect a couple of things”.

Your breath hitched in your throat. Your father was not a very good shot. He was old and aim was crooked. Billy was a far better shot. He wouldn’t miss.

“Ain’t no we, boy. You get your filthy hands off my daughter, and you get out of town, or I'll kill you”.

Your mother growls her husband's name as she moves the rest of her children to the side. Only your father was under the illusion that he could take Billy on and live.

“Now I plan to do right by her” Billy states with authority, “I’ll marry her”.

“The hell you will” your father roared.

“It doesn’t have to end like this. You could live. See your daughters married with children. Die of old age like God intended”.

“Draw” your father commands. To kill an unarmed man was murder, but your father was worried about the courts and not the Regulators who were sure to come seeking vengeance.

You latch onto Billy's arm to stop him drawing his gun, or at least delay his aim so your father could have a chance.

“You won’t mind if I get your daughter out from under me, now?” Billy asks, “Your aim has been off since you first pointed the gun at me. You could hit her instead”.

With the agreeance of your father, Billy brings you back from behind him with a tight hold on your arm.

“Go to the tree” Billy nods in its direction but you could hear your father calling for you to come to him.

As soon as he releases you, the direction you go is not to the tree but to your family.

You arm is caught and shoved to the right,

‘I said the tree” Billy reiterates.

You follow his command this time, hugging yourself to the large oak tree.

Billy takes his gun but holds his hands outwards in a surrendered position.

“Just let me show you something” The crowd follows Billy’s eyes over to the work yard, “You see that paint tin over there?”

A small paint tin rested on the lank of wood that was going to become the new fence. If you weren’t looking for it you would hardly see it from the distance.

“What about it?” your father asks. The gun is unstable in his hands. It slightly bopped as he pointed it. He was scared, and you wished you could do something that would deescalate the situation.

“Just watch”. Billy turns to the tins direction and aims his gun with a steady hold.

The first bullet sprayed the white paint as it went flying in the air. The second bullet hit it before it landed, flinging it further away and higher from the force. The third bullet shot it down with a hole in the center.

“Now we can continue if you want, and I can take her away without a father, or we can be joined together by marriage. That means no taxes”.

Your father contemplates his options. He wanted to kill Billy, you could see that plain on his face, but could he?.

The answer was no. The gun was lowered and your mother let out a sigh of relief.

Billy beckons you back over, taking your arm back in his grip once you get close enough.

“Pack your things, and get changed” he commands, “If you think about holding up in there, I’ll bring Jesse back and we’ll burn the house down”.

You nod spitefully. His eyes looked over you once before turning back to the house.

“Go” he orders, letting you go.

Your family is quick to squabble around you as you trek into the house. There were too many words flown at you.Too many hands touching you as you moved.

Only your father stayed away, Slumping into a foyer chair with his gun still in his hand.

You were determined to do your tasks quickly and lead Billy away. The ache between your legs was ignored as you fling open your wardrobe and shove what you can into your travel case. It filled quickly, you only had two more dresses in your wardrobe but you left them favoring to take your make-up and hair accessories.

It hardly zips, and lands on the ground with a heavy thud.

You weren’t sure how long it had taken you, but the less time keeping Billy waiting the better. You grab one of the last dresses you owed out of your wardrobe, side stepping people as they went to hold you.

“Help me with my dress” you call on your sister.

“You aren’t honestly leaving with him?” your mother took a seat on your bed as if you had punched her.

Stepping into the green dress and waiting to be laced up, gave them the answer that they ignored.

“Billy is the law,” you remind them.

Your sister silently agreed by stepping forwarding and lacing you into your dress. You put Billy’s coat back on to show him you still had it, and take the time to hug and kiss them all. Billy was not the kind to keep you from your family but it would be the last time you would see them as their daughter and sister.

Your father was still sitting in the chair as you came down. He doesn't move as you bend down and kiss his forehead.

Billy was waiting outside, his gun resting on his thigh was holsted once more in his belt so he had hands to take your bag.

He straps it to his horse in no time, turning to wait for you.

You took one more look back at your family on the porch before you were ready.

You raise your arms up to Billy on the horse and he pulls you up to the saddle once more.

The ride to the Regulators camp was silent and quite a distance. Billy had taken his hat off as the sun went higher in the sky, and placed it upon your head.

It felt strange to wear Billy’s coat and hat. Less than 24 hours ago he was little more than a stranger. Now he was your self-proclaimed fiance. You could very well be carrying his child. It all happened so fast. Your head spun trying to piece together the facts.

The noise of the Regulators as Billy’s horse approached did not help your scrambled mind. They whooped and hollered.

You could hear Billy’s smile as he greeted them but his horse never slowed. Moving past the building where the men sat drinking, to the furthest field where a wooden house stood tall.

Across from the house was a horse corral where they trained the horses. In between your house and the first house of one of the Regulators was the stable where the horses were housed.

In addition to the tax, you assumed the men also traded horses to earn a wage.

It was a decent size of land and well kept. The house in front of you looked strong. It was two stories of wooden panels, and a large porch was wrapped around the entire estate. If you were to take Billy at his word, it must have taken him a long time to complete such a house.

He stops the horse in front of the house, swinging off first to tie the reins to the railings of the porch.

He assures you that he will take your things inside when he comes back out to tend to his horse, but he was eager for you to see your new home.

With help down, Billy leads you into the house. It was furnished. Nothing decorative but tables and chairs. The entertaining lounge had a large fireplace, and the kitchen had a large stove and a large window above the sink that pointed out to a field of flowers.

It grew a distaste in your mouth. He had designed this home with you in mind. He always knew this day was coming and expected you to swallow the news joyfully and quickly.

‘And this” he opens a door just beside the living room to show a smaller version. A dark red armchair and matching leg rest faced a small fireplace. An arched window that Billy had built in a reading nook and decorated with mismatched pillows, provided light into the room.

“This is your room for when you need your space. I won’t step foot into it”. He looks at you expecting you to be overjoyed but finds you glaring back at him.

“Do you like it?” he asks.

‘I have your cum dried between my legs, and you are asking me if I care about a room?” you bit.

He closes the door quickly and takes you by the arm to lead you up stairs,

“I’ll get you hot water for your bath”.

Billy boils the water over the stove as you sit in the chair and wait. A hip bath was placed against the wall in the kitchen. You go and expect it. Your family was too poor for one. A basin did the job fine. But you always wanted one.

He doesn’t let the water get too hot, only luke warm before joining you.

“Do you mind if I stay?” he questions as he gently places the water and rag cloths on the floor by your foot.

You don’t look at him as you talk. Your fingers reach for the laces of your dress but they touch his as he unlaces the dress for you.

“What does it matter? The sin has already been committed”.

Your dress falls to the floor around you. You’re quick to leave your undergarments alongside it so you could climb into the tub.

“You need to know I won’t ever do that again”. He squats next to you in the tub, bringing the warm rags up to your skin. You take one and focus on scrubbing the seaman off your thighs while he focuses on your shoulders and neck.

“I’ll take care of you. Respect you like a good husband should. I won-”.

“Your words mean nothing to me” you cut him off.

He shifts as you lean back into the tub.

‘I’ll prove it to you”, he resolves.

—-

The wedding was small with only your family and the Regulators in attendance. The priest married you quickly and you were placed on Billy’s saddle once more. No big party predeceased it. Your family went home, and the Regulators went back to their camp where bottles were opened.

You could hear the Regulators as they used your marriage as an excuse to play from the comfort of the house Billy built you.

He remained with you despite the protests from his gang.

He remained quiet as you figured out the swell of emotions inside you. Anger. Sadness. Confusion. A quiet relief lingered in the back only causing more distress.

When he bought you the dinner he had made for you an emotion finally stuck.

Acceptance.

William. H Bonney was your husband now.

He kept true to his words. Patiently waiting for your permission. You slept next to him every night, but besides a gentle kiss goodnight, he never touched you. His patience granted him two willfully-born sons.

He was a good husband and father.

You and your children were never left without.

You watch him from the window as he shows the boys how to ride. They were too small for the lesson to be anything more than a pony ride but it gave you time to put dinner on the table without them under your feet.

He winks at you when he catches you staring. Unconsciously your hand goes to your belly.

‘A little girl would be nice’, you think.

#tom blyth #dead dove do not eat #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid smut #billy the kid #dark!billy the kid #coriolanus snow

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writing-my-time · 2 months ago

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A Horse To Water // A Mandalorian Wild West AU // Part One

// Full Masterlist //

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader Word Count: 1.3k Warnings: My attempt at a slow burn series, minor descriptions of violence, too many western movie inserts.

A/N: This started off as Din, then was Joel for a bit, and now we're back to Din. Finally putting this brainworm on paper since it's plagued my mind since the first season. Enjoy <3

No longer considered a Boomtown, Splitcreek had settled itself into being one of the few places in the West connected by rail. Even when the gold dried up; like gold always does, it flourished. First they built houses, then stables and a saloon, then came the grocers and school. Despite it's ample facilities, what drew people to town was the big gambling house, and when came cards, soon came crime. Bounties appeared hard and fast. Pickpocketing and drunken brawls could easily be dealt with by the sheriff. But by the time the gambling house had its fourth break-in in one season, the town needed better. Not a day later the pictures of the thieves were put up, and not a day later than that, they were dealt with.

That's because he arrived. A masked Bounty Hunter that traveled the West. At first, it felt like a ghost story. Something made to scare the children over a campfire. That somewhere, out there, a man with no name would be watching; waiting for you to enact a misdeed. The first folk to see him awed over the tattered hat and silvered bandana, completely covering his face to the onlookers as he arrived at the sheriffs office in the dead of night. But as the bounties grew in both number and worth, his appearances became steady. Soon enough, everyone had a chance to witness his silhouette against the arid sun. His poncho became a warning symbol to those lurking in the shadows. His spurs the final call to back away. It was as if he lived his own mythos. A religion based on guns and not God, a life of solitude away from a quaint town with only his horse in tow. It was his way. All the townsfolk of Splitcreek had a story of the masked Bounty Hunter.

Some townsfolk have claimed he took of his bandana after a fight with some deputies turned outlaws. Some say he teamed up with raiders to take out one of the most violent bears just past the creek. Each time the Bounty Hunter returned, a new story would come. Though, more rumors came in the big spaces between his visits. There were some months where he'd return with as many men as there were bounties. Other months he wouldn't come at all. Where did he go in that time? Of course, there were some rumors, but no one could say for certain. Perhaps he had a life outside of bounty hunting. Perhaps he waited until the bounties were high enough. Perhaps he went from town to town, following the gold the same way the prospectors do. Regardless, the days the Bounty Hunter came into your town always stirred up the locals, as if all the townsfolk were holding their breath to catch a glimpse of the man beneath the mask.

The first time you see him, you're sweeping the stoop of the jailhouse. A familiar clinging of boot spurs earn silence. Some residents can't help but pull curtains, watching him drag his latest catch through the dusty path. A constant stream of pained groans spill out from the convicts bloody mouth. You keep your head down, sweeping the stubborn gravel that stays embedded in creaky planks. As the spurs rattling draws near, you peek. Just enough to catch the way his worn rope is fisted between his cowhide gloves. He is exactly like the stories. Down to the fading on his bandana. Once a strong black that had clearly silvered somewhere down the line. Your mind wanders, flashes of his accolades from deep within the western dessert. You debate saying something, even daring to open your mouth, but just like that, he slips past you. One strong hand swinging open the jailhouse doors with a huff. The floor boards creak under his heavy boots, fading away as he stalks towards the sheriff. You press your ear to the wall, squeezing your eyes tight in the bubbling hopes of hearing his voice.

"Penn, again?" You hear the faint sound of the Sheriff's chuckle. "I didn't even know we put another bounty on 'im."

"You did." The other voice rumbles through the walls like an oncoming storm. Quiet, but threatening. "My payment?"

The familiar clattering of counting coins, and no doubt the Sheriff's usual bumbling hands, come muffled through the wall. Your own heart beats louder in your ears than their voices, becoming less distinct the more movement happens inside. A groan. Some kind of slap. Silence.

"Next time, I'm bringing him in cold."

The low tones make you freeze. Hands still splayed on the crooked weatherboard, ear pressed to the wall. To your knowledge, the Bounty Hunter's voice had only been heard by outlaws and the sheriff, and now, you. A part of you hadn't expected it to be so breathy. A husky rasp that carried through walls, no doubt striking fear in the men he'd take down. Though, you were no outlaw. Just a jailhouse clerk on sweeping duty. That voice is one you shouldn't have heard, a dirty secret in the sea of mystery that surrounded the Bounty Hunter. When distinct footsteps break you from your frozen stupor, you rip yourself away from the wall. Broom shaking in your adrenaline filled hands, you keep your eyes to the floor, not daring to look up once he walks past again.

Spurs rattle. Two steps. Your eyes stay down, lingering on his worn boots as he grinds the heels into the planks. A jingling of coins emit from his gloved hands, catching your attention enough for you to lift your head. Right next to you, looming over the jailhouse steps is him. The Bounty Hunter. You're hardly a foot away from him, close enough to catch the detailing in his poncho. Some embroidered insignia you can't quite make out, with a few holes stitched over to match. He stays still, head tilted down to the fistful of dollars in his hand. At least, that's what you can make out. His hat sits forward on his head, tilted down enough that a shadow is cast over his eyes. Too dark to make out. For a split second, your eyes dart to the stack in his hands. Why the Sheriff couldn't issue a bank draft was beyond you, and clearly, beyond the Bounty Hunter, too.

Before you can speak; though to say what, you aren't sure, he swipes the coins over, slipping them into a bag on his belt. Despite his work clearly being done, the Bounty Hunter doesn't move. Wood from the broom's handle splinters against your hands. You stay silent, unable to cast your eyes away. It's only as his head begins to turn do you feel how long you've been holding your breath. Somehow managing to suck in more, you swallow.

"My horse needs food. Where's the best place to go for that?" There it is again. His voice. This time unfiltered by thin walls and papers rustling, but right in front of you clear as day. Not only that, but directed towards you. When your eyes travel from the side of his belt to his hidden face, you're suddenly greeted with the fact that he's head on. Truly. His whole body has twisted to face you, pointed toes of his boots and all. His mask shifts, fabric creasing as he twitches his nose. Impatient. Waiting.

"Uh-" Your eyes close, head shaking as you exhale for the first time in a good minute. "Barty offers horse feed at the stable, but-" Something tells you the Bounty Hunter would be less than thrilled with ample conversation. Especially with someone like Barty. "If you want quiet, the left side of the creek has enough grasses for them to graze on. No one goes down there this time of day. About fifty paces from the edge of town."

"Left side. Right. Thank you."

With a nod of his head, he goes. Boots thudding against the short steps before beelining to the town entrance. You watch his movements until his silhouette becomes a speck in the heatwaves. Only then, do you blink.

#pedro pascal #din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din dijarin fanfiction #mandalorian x reader #goose writing #a horse to water

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mediocrecowboyhat · 3 months ago

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Not yours - Chapter 5

John Marston is a man on the run, but not from the law. Instead he's running from the responsibility of being a father and caring for his family.

After the birth of his son, Jack, he took off for almost a whole year. What was he up to during that time?

Previous chapter - Next chapter

Word count: 3.2k

Tags: pre-canon, she/her pronouns, eventual smut, explicit sexual content, sexual tension, mentions of violence, mentions of sex work, alcohol consumption, angst, spoilers for the Epilogue

The delivery went well, aside from the attempted robbery of course. Though the way back had been peaceful and John and you made sure to take a different route in order to avoid the stage coach with the dead outlaws. The two of you have also agreed to not mention anything to Eli and for now pretend that you have no idea about all the moonshine he sold.

Your pleasant dreams of John have now been replaced by the naked fear you have felt when the men had attacked your wagon. Each morning you wake up drenched in cold sweat and your chest heaving as you try your hardest to calm your nerves.

Images of the guy you hit with the plank haunt your thoughts and you keep repeating John's words like a mantra.

That blow wasn't enough to kill.

But he sure as shit had looked dead to you, the way he simply laid there unmoving and seemingly drained of all life. In the distance you spot a man approaching on horse back. It's a large stallion. Hungarian Half-Bred you notice upon closer inspection.

As much as you're not fond of the idea of receiving any guests right now, you still remain seated on the chair at your porch. A small weight falls off your shoulders when you recognize that it's John who's paying you a visit and he hitches his horse at the post infront of your house.

"Thought I'd find ya here.", he says before dismounting and jumping up the few steps onto the porch.

With his arms crossed over his chest, he leans against the railing and watches you intently. You study his expression in an attempt to figure out what's going on behind those eyes, but see nothing. Either he's good at hiding his thoughts or perhaps there aren't any to begin with. Both options don't seem too far fetched according to your judgement.

"Can't go a day without me, can you, Marston?", you ask while sipping away at the coffee in your tin mug.

"Well.", he starts and let's his gaze wander towards your front yard. "It's been a bit more than just one day."

"Don't tell me that you're actually worried.", you comment, the mocking tone you speak with sounding weak even in your own ears.

"Anyways.", he deflects and directs his gaze towards you again. "You still owe me."

His words make you scoff in both bewilderment and amusement. John is worried for you, that much is clear, but he has an awful way of showing it. You don't remember the last time you have met a man this emotionally helpless.

"And why's that?"

The look he gives you is one of utter confusion, as if you've just grown a second head.

"Because I did ya a favor?"

"What we did was transporting your moonshine."

"What are you talkin' about, woman?"

This has been on your mind for a long while now. You have seen moonshine before, but you also don't know of anyone making it in these parts. If there was then you most definitely would have heard of it at some point. John here is the only person you have seen carrying that stuff around, so it's not difficult to connect the dots.

"Don't play dumb, Marston.", you almost bark at him, growing impatient with his defense.

"I've got no idea what-" Now his face lights up in realization. "Is it 'cause of that night when you...?"

You simply nod.

"That wasn't from your boss! I swear!", he exclaims, sounding more and more frustrated with each word. "I ain't got nothin' to do with that. Besides, what do you care so much 'bout these things? So what if he has a business on the side?"

"This town ain't got no room for criminals."

The answer comes shooting out of you faster than a bullet and John raises his eyebrows in feigned respect.

"I'm sorry. Didn't notice the sheriff's badge on ya."

"You're a pathetic man, John Marston.", you hiss through gritted teeth as you place the now empty tin mug down.

"You ain't the first woman to tell me that.", he answers casually, as if you just told him a joke.

In the next second, you're already on your feet and motion towards his horse. Anger is written all over your face and stance.

"Leave now, before I get my gun from inside."

John raises his hands in fake surrender and laughs your outburst off.

"Hey, no need to get all-"

"I'm not playing around.", you immediately interrupt him.

With that you grab him by his shoulders and push him towards the hitching posts infront of the porch. He most likely would have had an easy time stopping you, but he doesn't. Instead he let's you manhandle him until he's right next to his Hungarian Half-Bred.

"And here I was thinkin' that you like me."

"I-" You take in a deep breath as you sort out your chaotic thoughts. "I can't deal with your foolishness right now, John. What I need is something other than your stupid comments and jokes."

Heavy silence hangs in the air. While your gaze is set on something in the distance, you feel him staring at you. You would have loved to look into his face and try to dissect each and every twitch of his muscle to see what he's thinking right now. Though most likely he put on that unreadable mask of his again.

"I'll buy you a drink.", he then speaks up and you stifle a groan.

"I don't feel like going to the saloon today."

"No, I'll get a bottle from the store.", he suggests and mounts his stallion. "I'll meet you here in the evening."

"You don't have to do this."

Finally you look up to meet his eyes and you were correct. It's impossible to decipher that unmoving expression on him.

"Do what?", he asks, something in his tone hinting towards the fact that he might already know what you mean.

"Helping me."

There is another pause between the two of you, but this time shorter. The following response is of course not the one you were aiming for. It's his usual way of pushing you away.

"I ain't helpin'. Just gettin' you to repay the favor."

That answer sounds half-hearted in a certain way, as if he doesn't quite mean it. Either that or you're just being delusional. With that he rides off into the distance and you let out an exhausted sigh. Every interaction with him leaves you both worn-out and excited for the next one.

---

"Why am I doing this?", you grumble to yourself as you inspect your reflection in the mirror infront of you.

The clothes you're wearing are the finest you own. They're nothing fancy or anything. They just haven't seen as many holes and tears as all the other ones in your closet. Your hair is sitting perfectly, which most definitely does not happen on regular occasion.

The little make-up you own, you have applied as well, usually saving it for something special. Though this is special! But is it? Really? It's only John coming over with what you assume is going to be a cheap bottle of whisky and here you are, preparing yourself like he's going to take you to Paris.

Most of the time, or rather all the time, you've got no idea if you want to strangle or kiss him. Obviously is the latter, otherwise you would have applied lipstick and not leave it away, because you had certain expectations for tonight. You mind wanders to the dreams you had before the attempted robbery.

"Oh dear lord.", you whisper and bury your face in both hands. "He's an absolute stranger!"

As if on cue, you hear the sound of heavy boots and clanking of spurs right outside. It's being followed by a knock and for a short moment you're staying seated, slightly taken aback. For some reason you were fully prepared for John to just burst through the front door.

Once you collect yourself, you smooth out your clothes and rush to open the door. He is standing there, the upper half of his face hidden behind the rim of his black hat and his hair falling chaotically over his shoulders. He's wearing that red shirt again, the one where he always seems to be too lazy to close the buttons entirely.

The two of you look like complete opposites. You have gone above and beyond to look as neatly as you could and he kind of reminds you of two raccoons in a trenchcoat. Though you do detect a hint of soap coming from him and you heart flutters at the prospect of him actually freshening up before meeting you.

Ah, the bar is in hell, isn't it?

John Marston is standing in the doorway of your home, looking as mean and messy as he possibly can and you still find yourself drawn to him. It knocks the air right out of your lungs and the only thing you can do is to quietly step aside to let him in.

"So.", he starts and clears his throat, as if there's something important on his mind.

You decide not to push him and instead grab two glasses from the cupboard and place them down on the table. Your fingers brush over his when you take the whisky bottle from him and that is when you notice how clean the underside of his nails is. So he did in fact wash off before coming here. A soft smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.

"You might not even be interested, but I did some investigatin'.", he continues and you raise an eyebrow as a silent question. "Your boss seems to be indebted to the wrong kind of people."

"What?" Your voice comes out louder than intended. "How did you even find that out?"

John empties his glass in one go and awkwardly shifts his weight from one foot to another.

"I talked to some folks.", he answers curtly, failing at the attempt to hide that there's more to it.

"You talked? Just talked to them?" You cross your arms infront of your chest, making it obvious that you don't believe a single word that leaves his mouth.

"It doesn't matter what I did, okay? What matters is that I found out what's goin' on."

"I didn't think you'd be that interested in all this."

"I ain't!", he exclaims and fills his glass up again. "You were just mopin' around this mornin'. You looked pathetic."

"You always have such a way with words, Marston.", you say with a chuckle and take a sip.

His comment doesn't offend you. In fact, it warms your heart quite a bit. Granted, it's a rather awkward way of showing that he cares, but nevertheless he cares and that is all you really need to know.

"So what will you do now?", he asks and you blink at him in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"Ain't you gonna talk to him? I don't know, I just thought you'd play detective or somethin' with the way you reacted to it."

A huff escapes you, a mix of amusement and bitterness.

"Just give me some time to come up with a plan and then I'll get back to you."

John is leaning against the edge of the table with his hips and studies you with a smug expression.

"You'll get back to me? What makes you think I'll help ya?"

Your eyes roam over his face, taking in every detail. Each scar, each freckle is being memorized and you notice a twitch of his cheek. His question sounds ridiculous even to him. Of course he will help you.

"Because you're a gentleman, Mr. Marston and you can't bear the thought of letting a lady walk into danger all by herself.", you speak, tone oozing with sarcasm.

"You? A lady? A lady would treat me nicer than you do.", he counters in between laughter and you empty your glass.

The alcohol burns as is runs down your throat, but it's being followed by a comfortable warmth spreading in your chest. All tension leaves your shoulders, but you're not sure if it's thanks to the liquor or the bickering between John and you.

"If you'd only give me a reason to treat you nicer then I'd actually do it."

The two of you get through the bottle rather quickly. It's not empty, but you're nearly there. John is doing most of the heavy lifting though, meanwhile you can still count on your fingers how many shots you've had. That doesn't mean it's not getting to your head, of course.

He's telling you a few stories of his travels, the people he had met and the places he had seen. It sounds like he damn near crossed the entire country. It doesn't go unnoticed by you how he never mentions his home or any family. After all that talking, you're still left clueless as to why he's always on the move.

As curious as you are and as much as you'd love to drill him with questions, you know better than that. If he would want to confide in you then he will. While you're waiting for that to happen, you just sit there, content to listen to whatever he's comfortable sharing with you.

The light mood is quickly being stifled by the following question of his.

"Where's that strong sense of justice comin' from anyways?"

It's not a topic for a night like this one. Not when you're having so much fun drinking and laughing with the man who had somehow managed to weasel his way into your mind.

"I just think it's about time that this is becoming a civilized country, don't you agree?", you answer and take a sip to avoid elaborating on your statement.

"I ain't too big on these things.", he murmurs, his gaze set on the glass in his hands. "But that doesn't answer my question."

You have only met this man the other week, but it feels like you've known him for years. All your life maybe. It's either that intense sense of familiarity you feel towards him or the liquor is simply clouding your judgement. Either way, the answer seems to just slip out of you.

"My parents died during a train robbery. They didn't even have a lot of money on them, but they still got shot. It was a gang, the police said. Outlaws."

You spit the last word out like it's venom. John stays absolutely silent as the words sink in, but you see something flicker behind his eyes. Was it guilt? Shame? Whatever it is, it's gone now and you don't see a reason to dwell on it.

"I'm real sorry 'bout what happened to them. I bet they were fine folks.", he mumbles, setting his glass down.

"Thay they were."

The mood has dropped by a lot and you don't really feel like drinking anymore either. With a sigh leaving your lips, you run a hand over your face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...you know."

"No, I was the one who asked.", he quickly says and his fingers move up to trace along the rim of his hat. "I'll help ya look into that whole moonshine thing."

"You don't have to."

"I know I don't."

The two of you lock eyes and you feel yourself growing drunk faster on his gaze than you could with any drink. Your hands move forward, itching to touch him, but you keep them close to you. It's undeniable that there is something between you and him, but it seems as fragile as it seems strong.

It's clear that you're dancing a fierce dance, but only one wrong step could ruin it all. There is a barrier that neither of you can break down or overcome and with each intimate moment in which you grow closer, that barrier becomes larger. How odd. One would assume that it should be the other way around.

Perhaps because what you have is slowly seizing to be something casual. It's accompanied by an air of seriousness. A seriousness you both aren't sure you should take a step towards. You find yourself close enough to him to peak under that hat of his, under that armor he uses to hide his thoughts and reactions.

What you see pleases you, fills you with pride even. His grey eyes are set on your lips like he's being presented with the first glass of cold water on a hot summer day. It makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up and you fear you will give in any moment and throw yourself at the man you barely know.

Then he clears his throat and that is all it takes to snap you out of it, to nullify all possible advances. You take a step back, smoothing out your blouse even though there's no need for it. It's just to keep your trembling hands busy.

"It's gettin' late.", John rasps, making his way towards the door.

Disappointment washes over you. You would have liked for him to stay longer, but you also know where it will lead to if he would. Though perhaps that is exactly why you want him here with you. It's a truth that you somehow refuse to come to terms with, although it's all your body is yearning for right now.

Internally you blame the goddamn liquor, fully aware that it has nothing to do with it. You just need a scapegoat, a good explanation as to why you're so easily smitten with a man like John Marston. The same man who pauses at the front door, his hand resting at the knob as if he's waiting for something.

Does he want to stay? Is he waiting for you to ask him not to leave? These questions race through your mind, unaware that he is in fact waiting. Hoping that you would utter the word, speak the command. That is all it would take for him to jump for you.

John Marston, who never finds himself in a position like this where he actually wants to linger at the same place for a longer time. John Marston, who now for the first time finds himself wanting to stay. John Marston, who couldn't even stay after his own son was born.

It terrifies him to the core. You terrify him.

When you don't say anything, he silently opens the door and steps out into the night. Now you're left standing there, alone and wondering what could have happened. When he first came over it had felt like the night was full with endless possibilities.

At first you saw it as an opportunity to get closer to him and at some point you really did do it. But now it feels like there is a rift between you two and you're not quite sure how exactly it had gotten there. Something tells you that it was his doing.

John, the man who kept trying to reel you in up until now has dug a hole between you.

Taglist: @warmsideofthepillow03 @lotvsflwrr

#rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 x reader #not yours #rdr2 john marston x reader #john marston x reader #john marston #rdr2 john marston

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heavenstarship · 10 months ago

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what if the boingoverse was set in the wild west and danny was the sheriff of the town they all lived in and one day his asshole second half strolls along and says "im going to make your life hell just to spite you"

character info below the cut

reptaniel: snake oil peddler who sneaks back into town every so often, usually with new disguises and new oil. hated by all but begrudgingly tolerated, at least to some extent.

farewell: reverend who has almost completely lost their mind. their sermons often go entirely off the rails and too emotional for their own good.

b.e. dead: saloon’s piano player. also reanimated by danny; this was by b.e. alive’s request, as he wanted to see his brother again. pay varies from leftover booze to common findings of an ofrenda.

yo-cat: saloon owner and asshole bartender. known to chase people out with brooms, especially reptaniel. makes all of the alcohol served right in his backyard (or possibly his bathtub).

b.e. alive: skeleton reanimated by danny during a time he was seeking companionship. danny sort of pretends b. alive is so-lo sometimes because he misses "the old so-lo."

danny: sheriff of the town with a secret or two up his sleeve. necromancer, doctor with the mystic remedies that don’t seem like they’d work (but they do!)

so-lo: notorious outlaw currently wreaking havoc on the town. came to find danny and maybe reconcile with him; after seeing that he “lost the juice” so-lo made it his mission to piss him off.

julie: like an avon lady if avon was a thing back in the old west. makes all the makeup she sells herself; mostly uses the door-to-door method to hang out with princess and mary.

johnny: former ruffian, current stable master. quite handy with farm equipment in the ways they’re supposed to be used, as well as the ways they’re really not. hesitant to use guns.

louis: resident barn cat. johnny’s since he was a kid.

patty: works at the general store. resident damsel-in-distress. often finds herself tied to train tracks. may secretly be a part of the outlaw gang, but who’s to say? johnny and julie's caretaker.

mary: teacher at the town's one-room schoolhouse. had her eyesight removed by farewell when she was younger for refusing to use her powers for their purposes.

peter: just a kid. like, literally just someone's kid. nobody knows who they belong to. babysat by most of the trusted adults in town.

fred: farmer and so-lo’s right hand man. mostly puts up with his antics, but when they go from being harmless fun to hurting others he puts his foot down.

princess: the one really running the whole place. a bit spoiled, but she doesn’t mind. has dirt on everyone in town, and if she doesn’t have it on you she’ll find it.

satan: mayor of the town, though he doesn’t seem to really do much. more often than not is drunk off of his ass. spoils and pampers his wife like crazy.

mr. vator: mysterious railyard investor. supposedly loaded. might be in kahoots with johnny!? (gasp!)

w.y. stay: traveling salesman usually with all sorts of odd wares in stock. brings things to the town that none of its residents have ever seen before.

#audience of approximately four #oingo boingo #oingo boingo fanart #danny elfman #art #digital art #character design #western au #western #wild west #boingoverse #water au #heavenstarart

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elijahtheepic · 28 days ago

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r u guys fine if i post Roblox content here

because i dont think anyone on my main social platform cares 😭😭 also Sorry to my tumblr moots for neglecting u guys

i Like dead rails , gnb, outlaws of robloxia, trud, forsaken, and block tales (also Roblox hackers in general) btw So Moot Me Up If You Like Those😁😁😁😁😓😓

here’s one of my ocs btw:]

#elijah yapping

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martianworm · 20 days ago

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Okay I completely forgot about updating on tumblr too (tho ive updated on twt since theres a lot more ppl active there)

Im not a neglectful father figure so, continuing and skipping a handful of chapters—here's chapter 7 of my Bloodshot fanfic !! HAPPY READINGS,,.. or not.,.. this one's sad👅

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65332594/chapters/170415313

#bloodshot #dead rails #dead rails roblox #roblox #vampire x outlaw #vampires #outlaw x vampire #dead rails outlaw #dead rails bloodshot

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metallicaredemption · 2 months ago

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What Comes After

Been a hot minute since I dropped anything here, so here’s a little something I cooked up:

✨ Arthur Morgan x Self-Insert (Yes, me. Obviously. Who else deserves him?)

This is what happens when you’re still feral for a fictional outlaw in 2025 and you decide he doesn’t die, actually. He survives, settles down, rails me against furniture, and gets the soft, filthy peace he earned.

💥 Explicit content ahead. Like, really explicit. Dresser sex. Barn sex. Domestic softness. Dirty talk that could knock the hat off your head. You’ve been warned.

🔪 Canon-divergent. Emotions and filth in equal measure. Arthur lives. Dutch dies. And I get railed. Balance.

ACT I - The Fractured Family

The water stinks of rot and stillness.

Thick with moss and mud, the Lannahechee stretches out before me, swollen and unmoved, like it knows we’ve lost too much already to ask for calm. I sit at the edge of the dock with my boots dangling inches above the gator-infested water, arms wrapped around my knees as dusk bleeds into the cypress canopy overhead.

How the hell did it come to this?

What’s left of our “family” is scattered like ash in the wind. Hosea. Lenny. Sean. Even Miss Grimshaw. Dead. Charles and Uncle vanished. And Dutch… God, Dutch turned into something unrecognizable. I don’t even know what to call him now.

All I know is that Arthur told me to come here. “Copperhead Landing,” he said, voice low and urgent. “Take Tilly and Jack. Get the hell outta Beaver Hollow. I’ll come for you.”

So I did. We hid in the caves while the Pinkertons came, Tilly keeping Jack calm while I kept watch, rifle trembling in my hands. Abigail didn’t make it out. They grabbed her—dragged her away kicking and screaming while the rest of us ran.

I didn’t get a shot in. I didn’t even try. I just ran.

The guilt sits heavy in my stomach. Like swamp water I swallowed and never coughed back up.

Behind me, Tilly hums softly, her fingers combing through Jack’s hair as he lies curled in her lap, exhausted and dirty, cheeks still tear-streaked. She’s brave—stronger than most of the men who ever rode with us. But I can see the flicker in her eyes. She’s scared too.

We’re all scared. We just pretend better now.

The sudden crackle of hooves on gravel snaps me upright. I jump to my feet, rifle in hand before my brain even catches up.

Two silhouettes appear down the trail, backlit by fading amber sky. One tall and solid. The other smaller and clinging to the first like salvation.

Please. Please��

As they get closer, I let out a breath so sharp it makes my chest ache.

“Abigail,” I whisper, already moving forward. She’s slumped behind Sadie on a horse I don’t recognize. Her face is pale and her arms are wrapped tightly around the other woman’s waist.

Sadie reins the horse in. “She’s alright,” she says, already swinging a leg over. “Little roughed up, but she’s here.”

I help Abigail down—her legs shaking so bad I barely catch her. Jack scrambles up from behind me with a shout and barrels into her, and she collapses to her knees, clutching him like she might disappear again.

I barely hear them crying over the blood roaring in my ears.

“Where’s Arthur?” I ask. My voice cracks on his name.

Sadie’s face goes grim. “He went back. Said he needed to finish it.”

“What?” I take a step back. “Back where?”

“Beaver Hollow. He said Micah’s the rat.”

My stomach turns. “Then I should go. He’ll need—”

“No,” she cuts me off. Her arm is now tight around my arm. “He told me to keep you here.”

I wrench free. “Sadie—he could be walking into a trap. What if—?”

“He’s not alone,” she says, quieter this time. “John’s with him. Arthur said he’ll come back. That you’d wait.”

I open my mouth. Close it again. My jaw aches hard enough to ache.

Of course Arthur said that. Of course he’d ride into hell just to burn it down for the rest of us. And of course he’d tell me to stay behind like I’m a goddamn porcelain doll.

Sadie squeezes my shoulder again, but less firm now. “He’s strong, Zoe. Too damn stubborn to die.”

I nod, but I don’t believe her. Not fully.

I help Abigail to the shack nearby—there’s barely enough room for the four of us, but we make do. Jack curls up beside her, and Tilly brings them some stale biscuits. Sadie sharpens her knife by the fire, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the flames.

I sit beside Abigail on the floor, one arm wrapped around her shoulder, the other pressed over my racing arm.

“I know you’re scared,” she says softly, eyes on the fire. “I am too.”

I nod. “But he’s coming back.”

She doesn’t answer.

So I say it again—louder this time, like it’ll make it true.

“He will come back.”

My fingers curl into the fabric of her sleeve, I stare into the flames like I can conjure him with nothing but faith and fury.

“He has to.”

The sky splits open with a crack like God’s fury, and still—no Arthur.

I sit on the floor beside the dying fire, staring at the flames like they owe me answers. Rain lashes against the tin roof in irregular bursts, and each one makes me flinch. My clothes stick to my skin, and the humidity presses against my chest.

Tilly is asleep—or trying to be—curled protectively around Jack in the corner. Abigail’s beside them, silent and wide-eyed. She hasn’t said much since getting back. I don’t blame her.

Sadie stands by the door with a rifle slung across her back and one hand braced against the frame. Every time lightning flickers across the swamp, she leans forward like she might spot a shadow on the trail. She hasn’t moved in over an hour.

Then—another crack of thunder, and through the darkness… hoofbeats.

My heart leaps.

“Sadie—”

We’re already moving, boots thudding on damp wood, the rain slicing into us as we step onto the porch.

Two horses emerge from the tree line like ghosts, soaked and trembling, their riders barely upright.

“Arthur,” I breathe, already moving.

He half-falls off the saddle and meets me halfway. I crash into his chest with a sob I didn’t even know I was holding in, locking my arms around his neck. He’s soaked to the bone, muddy and bleeding and shaking. But he’s here.

He’s here.

Hey now, darlin’. I’m alright,” he murmurs, voice low and hoarse. One hand cups the back of my head, the other pressing into the small of my back like he’s making sure I’m real. “I told you I’d come back.”

“I thought—” My voice cracks. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

He pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes, rain dripping down the edge of his jaw. His face is scraped, bruised, a cut across his temple still bleeding. But his eyes… his eyes are alive.

“You really think I’d let you go that easy?” His mouth twitches into something close to a smile. “Not a damn chance.”

Behind him, John staggers off his horse straight into Abigail’s arms. She clutches him like he’s made of smoke and she’s afraid the wind will take him. Jack is crying, and Tilly rushes to help John into the shack.

Sadie meets Arthur’s eyes for a long second before nodding. “I’ll get the horses stabled. You two—talk.”

I don’t let go of him. Not even when he tries to shift his weight. I can feel the way his shoulders shake, the tension coiled so tight it’s a miracle he’s still standing.

“Come inside,” I whisper, tugging at his shirt. “Let me look at you.”

“No.” He breathes deep, like he’s been holding it in since the mountain. “Not yet.”

He guides me under the porch, out of the worst of the rain. Thunder cracks again, a roar above us as he leans against one of the posts, dragging a hand through his wet hair.

“It’s done,” he says, his voice quieter now. “Micah’s dead. Dutch too.”

My stomach flips. “Dutch?”

Arthur nods. “Pinkertons shot ‘em both. We made it out just ahead of ‘em. Got what we could and burned the rest.”

His eyes close. “Dutch… he lost himself. Maybe we all did.”

I reach out. This time, he lets me. I press my hand to his chest. His heart is hammering under my palm.

“What matters,” I say, “is that you came back.”

He opens his eyes and looks at me like I’m a miracle he doesn’t deserve.

“We need a place,” he says softly. “Somewhere quiet. Away from all this.”

Sadie steps up beside us, rain dripping off her hat. “There’s a place. Hanging Dog Ranch. Out by Strawberry. We’ve been there before—it’s empty bow. Tucked away and easy to defend.”

Arthur nods. “Then that’s where we’ll go.”

I lean into him, and this time, he wraps his arms around me without hesitation. I press my forehead to the underside of his jaw and breathe him in—gunpowder, rain, sweat and something else. Mine.

He presses a slow and deliberate kiss to the top of my head.

“I ain’t ever leavin’ you behind again,” he whispers against my hair.

I clutch his shirt like it might disappear with him, fingers fisting the soaked fabric.

“You better not,” I whisper back.

He kisses my forehead once more, lingering like he’s making a promise. Then he rests his cheek against my hair and holds me like I’m the only thing tethering him to this new world.

And maybe I am.

ACT II - The Reckoning and the Rise

The sound of hooves, for once, is a comfort.

Arthur rides beside me, his silhouette outlined in silver by the moonlight that manages to filter through the trees. The Dakota River curves alongside the trail, rushing and relentless, swollen from last night’s storm. We’re maybe two thirds of the way to Hanging Dog Ranch. Sadie and the others took a different route to avoid patrols. It’s just us now.

Just me and him.

And silence.

Not the awkward kind. Not anymore. The silence is heavy with everything unsaid—everything that’s built between us since the world fell apart.

I glance over at him. His hat’s pulled low, his jaw shadowed with stubble, a cut still scabbed raw along his cheekbone. His posture’s tired, but solid. Controlled. Like always.

He’s never looked more beautiful.

I swallow hard and look ahead again.

We ride until the moon is straight above us, and then Arthur reins us to a clearing by the riverbank. The trees part just enough to offer a break from the wind, and the fire he builds is small but warm. We don’t talk much, just set up camp like we’ve done a hundred times before, muscle memory guiding our hands.

It feels… safe. Familiar.

Dangerous.

I sit cross-legged by the fire, chewing the last of a biscuit while Arthur leans back against a log, one knee drawn up, arms resting on it. he watches the flames, face unreadable. Always watching. Always holding everything too close to his chest.

“Do you ever think about it?” I ask, surprising even myself with the question.

He tilts his head. “What’s that?”

“If we’d all just walked away. Back when Hosea said we should. Before everything went to hell.”

He’s quiet for a long time. Then:

“Yeah,” he says softly. “All the damn time.”

The fire crackles between us. I look into the embers so I don’t have to look at him.

“I think about who I’d be if none of this happened,” I murmur. “If we got out clean. If… if I didn’t lose everyone.”

“You didn’t lose me.” His voice is low and almost rough.

That pulls my eyes back to him.

He’s watching me now—really watching. That intense, unreadable gaze that always makes my skin feel too tight. My breath catches, caught between panic and want.

I nod. “No. I didn’t.”

His brow furrows like he’s thinking something he’s not ready to say. Then he shifts, pushes off the log, and walks over to me.

He doesn’t ask.

He just sits behind me with his legs on either side of me, and his chest pressed to my back. The warmth of him floods through me like a fever.

I tense up for half a second—then melt. My spine relaxes against him without permission.

Arthur reaches forward slowly, his fingers brushing a bit of damp hair from my cheek and tucking it behind my ear. They linger, calloused pads grazing the curve of my jaw.

“You’re my girl. You know that?” he murmurs.

My throat tightens. I want to turn around, want to straddle him and kiss him until he forgets everything we’ve lost. But I sit still, frozen in that one sentence.

His girl.

He pulls me back tighter against him, one hand resting low on my stomach. Not moving. Just there. Anchoring me.

I let my head fall back against his shoulder. “You say that like it’s temporary.”

“It ain’t,” he murmurs.

My chest rises with a sharp breath, and my entire body aches to turn around, crawl into his lap, and press myself into him until I can’t remember what it feels like to be afraid.

But not yet.

He lets his chin on my shoulder, his fingers absently brushing circles on my hip. Each stroke lights a fuse under my skin.

We sit like that in the firelight, the river rushing in the background, the stars breaking through one-by-one overhead. My heart thuds in time with every slow drag of his fingertips.

I want him.

God, I want him.

But I don’t move.

Not yet.

The place looks like hell.

Half the shingles are hanging off the roof, and the porch groans under every step like it might collapse out of sheer spite. But there’s land. Acres of it. Woods thick enough to vanish into, a creek just beyond the barn, and fences that could be fixed up with some sweat and time.

And more than that—it’s quiet.

After weeks of running, hiding, bleeding, and losing, the silence here feels like a promise.

Arthur dismounts beside me and stretches his back, groaning low in his throat. His hat’s pulled low, shirt clinging to his frame with the heat of the ride. I catch myself staring at the way his jeans sit on his hips and I have to tear my eyes away before I start fantasising about taking them off.

Focus, Zoe.

He nods toward the main house. “Let’s take a look inside.”

We step through the busted door and into stale, dusty air. The wood floors creak. There’s broken furniture, scattered glass, and the sharp smell of old gunpowder still clinging to the walls.

“Real cozy,” I mutter, running a hand along a shelf coated in grime.

Arthur huffs a soft laugh behind me. “Sure beats a cave or the back of a wagon.”

He walks past me toward the stairs, boots heavy on the wooden floor. I follow, eyes flicking up to the landing where the hallway yawned like a broken jaw.

“We’ll need to clear it out,” he says, low and thoughtful. “Reinforce the windows. Maybe gut that chimney.”

“Fix the porch,” I add, stepping closer. “Before it sends someone ass-first into the dirt.”

He smirks over his shoulder. “Wouldn’t mind seein’ that, actually.”

I shove him lightly, and he catches my wrist, holding it just long enough to make my breath catch.

Then he keeps walking.

The bedroom is the largest one upstairs—still full of cobwebs and cracked plaster, but the light cuts through the grime on the windows just long enough to paint everything gold. There’s an old bedframe shoved against the far wall. No mattress. Yet.

“Think this one’s ours?” I ask, turning in a slow circle.

Arthur’s already at my back.

“Could be.”

His hands come down lightly on my waist. Firm. Possessive. They linger.

I don’t move. I don’t even breathe.

“You like it?” he asks, voice a little lower.

“Room’s a wreck,” I whisper. “But I’ve made worse places feel like home.”

He shifts closer. I can feel the heat of his chest against my back. One hand slides from my waist to my stomach, pulling me in. I gasp—quiet, but not quiet enough.

When I turn to face him, we’re too close. the air thickens between us, charged and humming. His eyes flick to my mouth.

And then he kisses me.

It starts soft—just lips against lips, searching, unsure. But it doesn’t stay that way. Not for long.

Arthur’s hand moves to cradle the back of my head, tilting it just right. The other grips my hip tight enough to bruise. His mouth claims mine again, deeper this time—hungrier. A groan escapes him, low and guttural, as I press closer.

I open my mouth under his and he takes that as permission.

His tongue slides against mine, and everything in me breaks.

I fist my hands in his shirt, dragging him forward until my back hits the wall. He groans again, and God, that sound—like he’s been starving and finally got a taste.

I bite his bottom lip.

He growls.

That’s when I feel it—his thigh sliding between mine, his hand grabbing the back of my neck and pinning me just a little. His mouth trails down to my jaw, then lower, teeth grazing my throat.

“You got any idea what you do to me?” he murmurs, voice like smoke and sin.

“Maybe,” I whisper, tugging at his belt with a wicked grin.

He grabs my wrist, hard enough to stop me. But not hard enough to make me want to stop.

His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. “You keep lookin’ at me like that, we’re not waitin’ for a damn mattress.”

“Oh?” I breathe, tilting my chin up. “You planning to bend me over the windowsill or just throw me on the floor?”

Arthur smirks. That wolfish, you asked for it look I’ve seen right before bar fights—and better things.

His hands slide down to my thighs.

“Neither,” he growls, lifting me off the floor like I weigh nothing. “I’m going to take my time with you, sweetheart.”

And then he kicks the door shut with his boot.

The door slams shut behind us, and then—nothing.

No words. No hesitation. Just heat.

Arthur crashes into me like a storm, his mouth on mine, hands already possessive and demanding. His fingers dig into my thighs and lift me clear off the floor again, slamming me back against the nearest wall. I gasp against his lips, and he eats the sound like it feeds something primal in him.

“Been thinkin’ about this for weeks,” he growls into his neck, his voice soaked in gravel and hunger. “Every goddamn night. You ridin’ next to me, starin’ like you wanted to be ruined.”

His mouth descends on my throat, biting hard enough to make me cry out. The sound bounces off the walls—echoes in this half-dead house like a promise of what’s to come.

I try to speak—some half-witted tease—but his hand is already up under my shirt, rough palms skimming over my stomach, then gripping my breast through the thin fabric. His thumb drags across my nipple until it peaks, and I moan against his mouth.

“Fuck, Arthur—”

That’s all I get before he grabs the collar of my shirt and rips.

Buttons skitter across the floor like panicked bugs. Fabric tears. He doesn’t stop until the whole thing hangs off me in shreds.

“Goddamn,’ he mutters, staring at my bare chest like it’s the first time he’s seen me. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty when you’re wrecked.”

He dips his head and bites down on one nipple, dragging his tongue over it a second later, lips sucking hard enough to leave a mark. I whimper, arching my back off the wall, but he just keeps going, switching sides, licking, biting, and sucking until my knees tremble.

“I haven’t even touched your pussy yet, and you’re already shakin’,” he mutters. “You wet for me, sweetheart? Or just desperate?”

I shove at his shoulders. “Both. Fucking do something.”

He laughs—growls—and spins us toward the dresser. It groans under my weight as he drops me onto it with my bare skin against dusty wood, thighs forced open between his.

“I’m gonna ruin you,” he says, pulling my boots off, then dragging my pants down with zero finesse. He sees the lack of underwear and pauses, mouth quirking. “Of course you’re not wearin’ nothin’ underneath. Filthy girl.”

“Like you’re complainin’.”

He doesn’t answer. He just drops to his knees.

I barely have time to process the sight—Arthur Morgan, war-scarred and furious, sinking to his knees between my thighs—before his tongue is on me.

He devours me.

No teasing, no slow build. Just a hungry, wet suck to my clit that makes my entire spine bow off the dresser. I cry out—loud, uncontrolled—and he moans against me like he’s addicted to the taste.

His beard scrapes my thighs. His tongue flicks in rapid, devastating circles. And then he pulls back just enough to breathe against my soaked folds.

“You’re drippin’, baby. So fuckin’ ready for me.”

“Then get up here and fuck me, Morgan.”

He stands and unbuckles his belt, slow and deliberate like he’s dragging it out just to torture me. his cock springs free—thick, flushed, aching. I reach for it, but he catches my wrists again with a smirk.

“You think you’re in charge now?” he mutters, lining himself up and dragging the head through my slick folds. “That’s cute.”

Then he thrusts into me hard.

I cry out—raw and unfiltered—clawing at the edge of the dresser as he sinks in to the hilt. He doesn’t wait or give me time to adjust. He fucks me like a man possessed.

Each thrust slams into me, jolting the dresser against the wall. The wood creaks in protest. Dust rises around us. His hands are on my hips, gripping tight enough to bruise, dragging me back into every brutal thrust.

“Look at this tight little cunt,” he snarls. “Takin’ me like you were made for it.”

“You’re fucking—oh fuck—you’re so deep—Arthur—”

“That’s right. Let everyone hear how good I’m fuckin’ you.”

He pulls out halfway, then slams in again, and I swear I see stars.

I’m moaning, swearing, legs wrapped around his waist, trying to hold on but already unravelling. He leans forward, one hand grabbing my jaw, forcing me to look at him.

“Say it,” he pants, lips brushing mine. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours—fuck—I’m yours, Arthur—”

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he growls, slamming into me faster now. “Gonna come for me?”

I nod helplessly. My body coils tight, then snaps all at once. White hot pleasure crashes over me like a flood. I scream, clawing at his back and shaking through it.

He groans, deep and guttural, and pulls out just in time to pump himself over my stomach. Hot release splashes across my skin, and he groans again, mouth pressed to my collarbone.

For a few long seconds, we just breathe.

He leans down, presses his forehead to mine, still gasping.

“You’re… you’re fucking incredible,” he says hoarsely.

I reach out and thread my fingers through his damp hair. He cups my face like I’m something fragile, thumb brushing over my cheek.

“I love you,” he murmurs reverently.

My throat tightens. I press a soft kiss to his lips.

“I love you too.”

Then—”

“Morgan!” It’s John, yelling from downstairs like the world’s not still spinning.

Arthur closes his eyes and exhales through his nose. Then he flips off the ceiling. Middle finger high and proud. “I’ll be down when I’m damn ready!”

ACT III — The Life They Built

A Few Weeks Later

The hammer slips from my fingers for the third damn time, clattering down the porch steps like it’s personally offended by my lack of carpentry skills.

“God dammit,” I mutter, wiping sweat from my brow with the back of my arm.

“Need help?” Arthur calls from the other side of the yard where he’s digging post holes like it’s a hobby instead of punishment from hell itself.

“No,” I call back, “Unless you know how to stop a hammer from throwing a tantrum.”

He chuckles, low and rough, and keeps working. His muscles flex under his rolled-up sleeves as he drives the spade deeper into the earth. I catch myself staring again—distracted by the way the sun lights up the hair on his forearms, the soft sheen of sweat clinging to his skin, the curve of his smirk when he knows I’m looking.

“I can feel that stare, you know,” he mutters.

I roll my eyes to retrieve the damn hammer again, muttering under my breath about rebellious tools and how maybe I should just supervise from the shade like Sadie does when its her turn to cook.

We’re settling in. For real this time.

Tilly and Sadie are still here, helping keep the place running while we get our feet under us. John’s fixing the barn roof, swearing every few minutes when he misses a nail. Jack is running wild with a dog he “rescued” from town that barks at everything. Abigail’s cooking more than she probably wants to, and I catch her smiling every now and then like she can’t believe we’ve made it this far.

And me?

I’m standing in front of what’s supposed to be our bedroom, holding a swatch of floral wallpaper I found in town.

Arthur walks past with a bucket of water, raises an eyebrow at the paper in my hand.

“What in God’s name is that?”

I grin. “It’s wallpaper.”

He looks personally insulted. “Looks like someone threw up a flower garden.”

“Exactly! It’s cheerful.”

“It’s a goddamn ranch house, not a whore’s parlour.”

I gasp dramatically and clutch the wallpaper to my chest. “How dare you insult my feminine aesthetic.”

“I’ll show you an aesthetic,” he mutters, and chucks the entire bucket of water at me.

It hits dead centre.

I scream. “Arthur! You son of a—!"

The water hit cold and heavy, soaking my shirt and pants, and for one stupid second, I just stand there, dripping and stunned.

Then I drop the wallpaper, sprint across the yard and tackle him straight into the dirt.

He grunts as we hit the ground with me landing on top, fists already full of his shirt. I straddle him, laughing so hard I can barely breathe.

“Take it back,” I demand, pushing my soaked hair out of my face.

“Nope,” he says smugly. “That paper is ugly as sin.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“You won’t.”

He reaches up, brushes a thumb across my cheekbone, slow and tender. My laughter stutters, caught on the shift in his touch. His eyes soften—no mischief now, just that quiet, steady love I’m still getting used to seeing in full daylight.

“You laughed,” he murmurs. “A real one. Haven’t heard that in a while.”

I blink, swallowing against the sudden burn behind my eyes. “Yeah, well. You’re still an asshole.”

He chuckles, pulling me down until our foreheads rest together.

“An asshole who loves you,” he says, warm and easy.

I kiss him.

Soft. Sweet. With a smile still tugging at the corner of my mouth.

It’s messy here. The porch is half-built, the fence needs redoing, and the animals are feral.

But this? This is ours.

THREE YEARS LATER

Some mornings still don’t feel real.

Three years ago, I thought I’d die in a cave, in a shootout, or in Arthur’s arms with blood between us and not much else.

But here I am. Barefoot on the creaking floorboards of our front porch, coffee in hand, hair still messy from sleep, watching my husband—my goddamn husband—train a mustang we pulled in from the edge of the Grizzlies last week.

The sun slants low across the fields, soaking everything in gold. The horse snorts and circles in the paddock, ears twitching, but Arthur moves with calm authority, slow and certain like he was born to do this. He murmurs soft words I can’t quite make out, but the rhythm of his voice carries on the breeze like music anyway.

He doesn’t know I’m watching him.

He never does when he’s like this—completely in his element, relaxed, happy.

Happy.

That still knocks the breath out of me sometimes. We made it. Not just survived. Made something.

There’s no gang here. No running. No Pinkertons. Just wood to chop, fences to mend, horses to break, and each other.

We decided not to have kids. It wasn’t sad. Just honest. Neither of us wanted to bring another little soul into the world we’d clawed our way out of. Instead, it’s us. A few horses. The land. And John’s crew, who drop in often enough that it still feels like family.

Arthur sees me before I can call out. He straightens up, brushing his hand over the horse’s flank, and waves once. The smile he gives me is lazy, radiant, and just for me.

I step down off the porch and wander out across the grass, barefoot and warm in the sun.

“You’re up late,” he says, looping the reins over the fence post. “I was about to come drag you outta bed myself.”

I grin and rise up on my toes to kiss him.

“You’d love that,” I murmur, mouth brushing his.

“I do love that,” he mutters back, sliding an arm around my waist. Then he lifts me like it costs him nothing—like I’m weightless—and spins me once before setting me down again.

I laugh, burying my face in his neck. He smells like hay and sweat and leather. I press a kiss just under his jaw.

“You’re insufferable,” I tell him.

“You married me.”

“I was tricked. You looked good in the moonlight.”

He pinches my ass, and I squeal—then run when I see the gleam in his eye.

“Get back here, Mrs. Morgan!”

“Make me!”

He chases me halfway to the barn before catching me around the waist. We crash into the side of the building, laughing, tangled together. I twist in his grip and kiss him again—harder this time. His hands roam without apology, slipping up the back of my shirt as he presses me against the wooden wall.

“You’re askin’ for trouble,” he growls, voice thick with heat.

“Then give it to me.”

We stumble into the barn, the door half-hanging open. Dust dances in shafts of sunlight, and the smell of hay and horses wraps around us like a familiar blanket.

Arthur grabs my thighs and lifts me again, this time carrying me toward the stack of hay bales near the tack room.

He drops me onto the bales and tugs my pants down in one smooth motion. “You really shouldn’t taunt me like that out in the open,” he murmurs, already pulling his belt loose. “A man can only take so much.”

“I want you to lose control,” I pant, tugging his shirt open, palms on his chest. “I like when you do.”

He growls—actually growls—and flips me over like I weigh nothing, pushing my hips up as he kneels behind me.

“Good,” he says, dragging the head of his cock through my soaked folds. “Then you’re gonna love this.”

He slams into me from behind, and I scream, one hand bracing on the wood wall, the other clutching a fistful of straw. The stretch still shocks me—even after years—but I’m so wet, so ready, the burn turns to bliss instantly.

He grabs my hips and thrusts hard, driving into me like the world’s on fire and I’m the only thing that matters. His belt jingles around his knees, spurs scraping the floor. He leans forward, mouth at my ear.

“This what you wanted, baby?” he rasps. “Gettin’ fucked like a mare in the middle of the damn barn?”

“Yes—fuck—Arthur, yes—”

He brings one hand around to rub my clit, fast and rough. My body jerks—tensing, unraveling—and I come with a choked sob, thighs shaking, pussy clenching hard around him.

“That’s it,” he snarls, slamming into me faster. “Come for me. Let everyone know who this cunt belongs to.”

I gasp, already twitching from overstimulation, and seconds later he pulls out with a strangled groan, pumping himself over my back with hot, shuddering release.

We collapse together into the straw.

Breathless.

Sweaty.

Grinning.

After a long moment, he lifts his head and kisses the side of my neck. “We’re animals,” he mutters.

I snort. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He laughs into my skin and rolls us onto our sides, pulling me in close.

Outside, the horses nicker. A bird trills from the fence post. Somewhere in the distance, I can hear Jack yelling and John swearing.

And still—somehow—it all sounds like peace.

The table is cluttered with empty plates, sticky fingers, and the low hum of contentment.

Abigail’s clearing dessert plates with Sadie—both of them laughing at something John said. Jack’s chasing one of the twins through the yard, while the other twin has taken up residence on Arthur’s lap, asking for the tenth time if he can ride the new colt in the morning.

“No, Billy,” Arthur chuckles, ruffling the kid’s hair. “You’re not even tall enough to reach the stirrups.”

“Am too,” Billy pouts, arms folded like a little outlaw in training.

“You gotta grow another couple inches first. I’ll make you a deal though—you help me muck the stalls tomorrow, and I’ll think about it.”

The boy narrows his eyes, clearly suspicious, but then nods and scampers off—presumably to tell Jack he’s got a Very Important Job tomorrow.

Arthur leans back in his chair with a satisfied grunt, his palm finding mine beneath the table like it’s instinct now. His fingers are still calloused, always warm, always grounding.

“Y’know,” I say softly, “they’re gonna keep comin’ here forever.”

“Who?”

“The Marstons,” I tease. “Every other week, full caravan. Kids, dogs, chaos.”

He grins. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The breeze lifts through the open windows, carrying in the smell of wildflowers and hay, the chirp of crickets, and the sound of kids shrieking with laughter somewhere beyond the porch.

I glance at Arthur. He’s watching them with that rare, easy smile—the kind that smooths out the years etched into his face. His other hand still holds mine, thumb brushing lazy circles over my knuckles.

It hits me all at once.

The quiet.

The peace.

The life.

We have a home. We have people. We have each other.

And for the first time in what feels like forever… we don’t have to run.

I squeeze his hand and lean over slightly, voice barely more than a whisper.

“We made it.”

His eyes slide to mine, soft and full of something I can never quite name without breaking open. He brings my hand up slowly, presses his lips to my knuckles with the kind of reverence that makes my heart ache.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “We did.”

Outside, the twins burst into another round of squealing laughter. Jack’s shouting something about fireflies. John yells back that it’s almost bedtime, and no one listens.

I look out across the fields, the last of the sunlight painting the world in gold.

And I let it wash over me.

The love.

The quiet.

The peace at last.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #smut

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