Ghoulish

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

You barely slept that night. You tossed and turned, flung the blanket off before pulling it back on. You groaned up at the ceiling like the divine could help you, silently begging your brain to shut off and for your body to stop aching for his touch again. It was fleeting, all the times he had entered your space and brushed your skin. Fleeting, but so welcome. Fleeting, and so unfulfilling. You were itching for something you’d gone your whole life without, addicted to a feeling you could not define. 

You didn’t know how to ease the buildup of frustration in your core, in that place you dared not to touch and desperately tried not to think about. Your thighs were rubbing together again; you were so restless as you thought of his eyes, mismatched and incredibly earnest. You conjured up the image—no, it invaded you— of his gaze as he peered at you. He was tall and looming as he looked down at you; first, he met your eyes, then they drifted lower. Lower, past your collarbone, lower, past the swell of your breasts, lower, down the slope of your waist, lower, lower, lower. 

In the moments you did sleep, you dreamt of him. In this world, your fingers unclasped the fastenings of his doublet, your hands explored the planes of his shoulders and chest. In this world, he found you too. His hands, large and demanding, would greedily grasp your perfumed skin; he would bring his mouth to yours and… and nothing. Suddenly there was nothing, just the rude warmth of sun rays knocking against your heavy eyelids. 

You woke up to the sound of curtains being drawn and seagulls soaring outside the window. Jane came to stand next to your bed, and she placed a small mug on the bedside table. You buried your head into the pillow, letting out a deep sigh and squeezing your eyes shut against the offending sunshine. 

“This’ll help you wake up.” She said, referring to the cup and peeling back the pillow so she could see your face, “You wouldn’t want to be late to see the Hand.” 

You sat up, looking around your room through puffy eyes like you’d never seen it before. You tried to shake off the sleepiness, pressing your fingers against your face and yawning. A foreign weight shifted the bed by your feet and you peeked through your parted digits to find the source. The cat was still here, but now was sleeping at the foot of your bed. You offered the kitty a small smile as he squinted at you.

“You should name him.” Jane said, hanging up a dress by the window. You looked at it, surprised to see sunset pink and sky blue instead of red or black. It had a halter neckline with slit sleeves, and the bodice was the blue that fell into a translucent tulle around the skirt, which was pink. Beaded flowers— lilies, you determined— climbed up the skirt while sparkling swirls embellished the tulle layer and bodice. It was a sheath fitted gown, perfect for the heat of King’s Landing, but you couldn’t figure out how you came into possession of such a dress. 

“That’s different.” You observed, stating the obvious. You knew that dress was not in your wardrobe before, so you were curious— and alarmed—on how it had made its way to you. 

“I agree.” Jane said, smoothing out the skirt with her hand, “but I don’t ask questions, I just do as I’m told.” 

“Where’d it come from?” You asked, sliding out from under the covers and letting your feet slip into the flats propped beside the bed. You padded over, running your hand along the fabric as well. Expensive, too expensive for you, but perhaps too off-brand for a Targaryen. 

“It was wrapped in parchment and delivered to your door while you were sleeping.” She said, tossing you a glance. “There was a note delivered with it.” 

You peered at your desk, a small folded paper laid delicately against the wood grain. You looked at Jane, she looked at you. It couldn’t be from… could it?

“Go on, then.” She gestured to it, “I haven't read it.” 

 You cautiously approached it— as if a venomous snake or something was hiding underneath it— and plucked it up. Your hands slightly trembled as you peeled the note open, your breath hitching as you processed the words slowly. 

They’re not daisies, but I hope this will do.  

You stopped breathing entirely, your eyes widened, your stomach dropped, you just felt. He… sent you a dress? Why? Why would he send you a dress fit for nobility, not a handmaiden. It still wasn’t royalty level of extravagance, but it was leagues above where you were on that social ladder. You had to remind yourself in this moment of who you were; you weren’t special, you were a piece of a bigger picture. He was special, seven hells, he was the heir to the Iron Throne, a prince, the Hand. He was Baelor “Breakspear” Targaryen; you were a blacksmith’s daughter plucked from the Street of Steel. You would never be important enough to command the attention of someone like him… so why did you appear to have it anyway? 

“Lady Fennel?” Jane said, her cadence indicating she had said something before that you had not heard. You resumed your breath, turning to her and crumpling the note in your hand. You don’t know why you crumpled it, it hardly held any controversy or secrecy, but it felt right for it to just be seen by your eyes only. You walked to the fireplace, tossing it among the embers and watching it be devoured like flesh to a starving hound. 

“Sorry,” you turned back to her, “lost in thought.” 

She obviously had questions, she looked at you with an expression only someone out of the loop could wear. If she was anything like you, it might’ve been gnawing at her; you didn’t like to not know things, but it was better to keep her out of this. Whatever this was. Maybe there wasn’t even a “this”, perhaps it was all in your head. You could be delusional, your mind could be filled with ideas you had no right thinking about. That was a possibility, a possibility that seemed more plausible than feelings for someone that was so out of your realm of existence. It was more plausible than the prospect of him at all. 

“Come along, then. Best not to keep Targaryens waiting.” 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The mirror’s image held that of a woman of grace, a woman of society. You would think just by glancing at you that you were a Tyrell or one of the lesser— yet still rich— houses pledged to them. Nobility. Your hair was curled once more, the pieces around your face laid perfectly to frame your beauty; two braids ran over the top, one sat upon your crown while the other made a path around the back, accentuating the messy mop of ringlets twisted into a flowering bun at the base. This was by far the most intricate hairstyle you had been pampered with thus far, but you supposed that if you were going to wear this dress, you should have the hair to match. 

Your locket, as per usual, sat neatly just under your throat. You ran your thumb over the plain silver base, the cool smoothness offering a sort of reassurance. You breathed deeply as you turned away from your reflection, the sight seemed too heavy to hold eye contact with. 

“What do you keep in there, anyway?” Jane asked, bending over to adjust your skirt one last time. 

“Hm?” You hummed, not catching her meaning. You were in a fog of your own making, all you had to do was get out of your head and out of your own way. That seemed impossible, though. It all seemed impossible.

“Your locket.” She clarified, straightening up again. She came to stand in front of you. 

“Oh,” you gently opened it, letting the small, dried purple flower fall into your palm, “it’s thyme.” 

“Thyme?” She asked, “Is that an herb?” 

“Yes. It was the first herb I used for medicinal purposes.” You gently stroked the stem with your finger as you peered at it, the memory apparent. “I used it to treat my sister’s monthly womanly pains, a method I figured out by myself.” 

“And that worked?” Jane asked, looking at the small plant herself. 

“Mhm,” you smiled, “it did. That was the first time I realized my love for plants and medicine.” 

“Oh,” Jane nodded and sighed, walking over to the door but stopping short, “too bad you can’t be a maester.” 

“Mmm.” You enclosed the herb back into your locket, and Jane cleared her throat. 

“You should get going, my lady.” She suggested, you nodded and watched her pull the door open. The threshold was just there, right in front of you. A gateway to mystery; the stone archway seemed to shrink smaller and smaller— you had to put your foot in front of you now, or you’d miss the opportunity forever. At least, that’s what it felt like. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The walk was spent staring at your shoes, watching each one peek out from the satiny skirt as you stepped forward. Forward, like a knight approaching a dragon, you followed closely behind your escort. Your escort, some sort of guard in armor— though, you didn’t recognize him from the King’s Guard— was stoically silent as he traversed the Red Keep. That was fine, you weren’t exactly fit for casual conversation at this moment anyway. 

Everyone you passed had their eyes on you, servants, lords and ladies alike. The murmurs of hushed speech licked at your ears; you attempted to ignore the question on everyone’s mind: who were you? And why were you dressed as if you were important? 

Soon enough you were climbing a set of stairs, your hand gently tracing the seams of the wall as you ascended. The lightness of your sleeve tickled your skin gently as you moved your arm, soft as the flutter of a butterfly; new and exciting. You watched the textured stone glide under your touch; ancient and powerful, just like the Targaryens. 

Fire and Blood. The words clashed against you, fire would only burn the garden you had built in your head; blood would spill freely— it always did— and you could only hope it wouldn’t be yours. 

“Enter.” Baelor’s voice poked prominently through the iron-framed door, your gaze trailed up its face and landed on the ring pull the guards hand moved towards. You caught your thumb between your fingers, the motion all too familiar as you picked away. You hadn’t realized you’d arrived, you didn’t hear the guard knock, but that voice cut through like a finely crafted blade. It opened; sunshine and freshness beckoned you forward, paving a path for you to follow into the room. 

The door closed softly behind you, and for a moment everything around you ceased to exist. There was just you and Baelor in an open room; the sound of ocean waves crashing against jagged rock below the tower provided a subtle cover over your hastened heartbeat. The open archway windows provided enough fresh air to quell your nervous nausea; you almost wished you could have this entire upcoming conversation on the balcony behind him. It looked so inviting, and you’d love to know exactly how high up you were right now; you had climbed enough stairs to ensure it was taller than you’d ever been before. Finding out would mean moving from your frozen stance, though, and that was not something you were sure you could achieve right now. 

You looked at him as soon as you were able; no surprise, he was looking at you too. There were papers scattered about the desk Baelor sat behind— books as well— and a ready quill was grasped between his ink-stained fingers. He twirled the feather absentmindedly, and sat back in his chair. He glanced at your hands, and you ceased your habit immediately. 

“Your Grace.” Curtsying had become a new daily activity, you hoped you had gotten better since your first. 

“Lady Fennel. Rise.” Baelor put the quill aside, and shifted the papers into a neat stack before he stood. “Did you sleep well?” 

You blanched. No, you were too busy fantasizing about his hands, lips, eyes, and body. It’s not like you could say that, however. You couldn’t tell the very reason you had restless, racing thoughts about those same ideas. Especially since that reason was royalty, and one of the most prominent men of the realm. 

“Well enough.” You decided, watching as he nodded and walked over to you. He eyed you shamelessly— though, it didn’t feel predatory, it wasn’t uncomfortable. But, maybe that’s because it wasn’t unwanted; yes, you thought, look at me. 

You let out a subtle exhale, not breaking eye contact. He stopped a respectful distance away, propping himself against the closer side of the desk. Baelor nodded once. 

“Well enough is better than not at all, I would suspect.” He crossed his arms over his chest, rising and falling softly as he breathed. “I see you received the dress.” 

“I did.” You nodded, running your hands down your sides unconsciously. “It’s very beautiful.” 

Maybe now he would give you answers. Here you were, dressed in the clothes he chose, alone in a room with him, the tension felt palpable. This was different from the tension anyone would feel when speaking to the heir, the prince, the Hand; this was you and him. 

“As is the woman wearing it.” Baelor said, his head tilted slightly as he studied your attire. 

And there they were; the honeyed words that opened the metaphorical floodgates. You shifted your footing, trying not to be obvious about the effect his voice and praise alone had on you. 

“You flatter me, your Grace.” You chuckled nervously, forcing your face to stay politefully pleased instead of beamingly excited. 

“I have no intention of flattering you,” he said lowly, “I simply speak the truth as I see it.” 

You paused, he paused, and you broke eye contact first. Your gaze slipped to watch the clouds from the open windows, an odd seagull cry reminding you that you were still here. You weren’t at the forge, you weren’t among your flowers and herbs. This was new territory, and you had no idea on how to navigate it. 

“Do not tell me you have never been called beautiful before.” He spoke, the words could wear humor but he did not. He was asking honestly. 

“Well,” you grasped for words, “I suppose I have. But-”

“But what? Do you not believe it?” Baelor asked, pushing off the desk and moving ever closer. 

“I- I suppose I have trouble accepting compliments.” You said, used to scoffing at your family’s praises. You never really considered beauty, you never had the time. People told you occasionally that you cut a fine figure, but it usually rolled off you like waterbeads on feathers. That was before your time at the Red Keep; now you could maybe see a glimpse of what Ynes and your mother insisted was true. But, it was hard to believe it. 

“Uhm, why, your Grace— if I may— why did you… send me a dress?” You followed your last statement quickly with a question, your tone betraying you and showing just how much you thought about this situation. You were knee-deep in overthought thoughts; seven hells, you couldn’t even blink right now without noticing. You were probably just being crazy, this whole thing was probably some casual, explainable, rational-

“I simply wished to see you in it.” He said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. It wasn’t an admission, it was just… true. One side of his mouth quirked up into a small grin, and a tiny chuckle— more like an amused exhale— left him smoothly as he turned away from you. “Apologies, is that too bold?” 

He moved to a small table standing off to the side. He plucked the silver carafe from its tray, tipping the nozzle towards a glass chalice. Too bold? No, in fact, it helped to clear the haze you’d been swallowed by since you’d first shared words with Prince Baelor. Maybe you weren’t crazy, maybe— was there actually something there? 

“Is there such a thing for a Targaryen prince of the realm?” You mused, your locket somehow finding itself between your fingers again. You stroked it absentmindedly as he poured the dark maroon liquid.

“You’d be surprised.” He said, sounding very tired of the prospect. You wondered if he was thinking of something—or someone— in particular. “Wine?” 

He extended the chalice towards you, within it held a generous pour. This cup alone was most likely worth more than your family home; the thought made you feel small. 

“I shouldn't." You said, but your eyes didn’t leave the offering. 

“Because you don’t want it, or because you don’t feel as though you should have it?” Baelor asked; it wasn’t a genuine question, it was more of an assessment. His hand held steady in its outreached position, he wasn’t backing down.

“Seems you already know the answer.” Your smile betrayed you as you took the cup, letting your locket fall back into place under your throat. 

“I am the Hand of the King,” he poured his own glass, “it’s my job to know things.”

“Speaking of knowing things…” you trailed off, your fingers drumming against the chalice as if it could finish your thought for you. Though it seemed like Baelor caught your meaning as he slightly nodded and gestured to the desk area. You followed the unspoken suggestion, gliding over to the seat that had been offered. He found his way across from you, sinking into his chair and leaning casually against the cushioned back. 

“Lady Fennel, I have been dealing with a consistent problem for a time now.” He said, sipping his wine. 

“Oh?” You asked, mirroring him. The wine was sweet, warming, and easy to see how one could lose themselves within it. Your tongue poked out to catch a rogue droplet, but you didn’t miss how Baelor’s eyes dipped to follow the gesture. He was quick to find your eyes again. 

“I have seen combat; I am a knight, but more recently a Hand. My days are spent bent over parchments and tomes— and before that, I was accustomed to swords, fists, and rebellion.” He placed his hand on the desk, his fingers traced the woodgrain carefully as he thought about what to say next. 

“In truth, it would seem my body holds evidence of the many paths I’ve walked.” He said. 

“You’re in pain, your Grace?” You clarified, taking another sip and cocking your head. He met your eyes before nodding once. Your tone held a twinge of sadness as you peered into your cup, the deep color reflecting your frowning face. “I see.” 

“Your interest in herbology and the medicinal properties of plants intrigues me.” He said, somehow commanding you to look at him again without uttering the words. 

“In what way, your Grace?” You asked, crossing your legs. To be of interest to any royal was an honor if it was under the right circumstances. Was this the right circumstance? 

“You may call me Baelor when we are alone.” He permitted, his tracing halting as he looked at you rather seriously. You blinked a few times, reeling from that statement. You of all people were now allowed to throw away decorum for the man in front of you, for a man with titles. But, you reminded yourself, you now had a title too; even if it was honorary and unofficial. You weren’t just a blacksmith’s daughter anymore, at least not in the eyes of Baelor. It made you feel… special. You huffed a small laugh.

“A-alright.” You nodded, “In what way, Baelor?” 

Something in his expression darkened before it quickly cleared again; you weren’t sure what it was, but you were eager to find out. 

“Maesters are too serious, for lack of a better description.” He said, “They have a knack for odd treatments, ones I suspect I would not find entirely helpful.” 

You knew where he was going with this, you just didn’t know why. There were plenty of better people for this position, plenty of smart and able people who could do this job. 

“Me? Your Gra- Baelor, I’m not sure I’m qualified to-” you gestured to him with your hand, “-treat you. I mean, why… me?”

“I will decide how qualified you are.” He stated, leaving no room for argument. It was final, it was his command. He sighed, “There needs to be a certain level of discreteness. Too many maesters, too many servants, word spreads and I can’t risk the image it may inspire.”  

“The image?” You questioned. 

“I cannot appear weak, and...” He trailed off momentarily, deciding if the next part of his sentence was worth speaking, “and I am fond of you, Lady Fennel. Even from our limited interactions, I feel a desire to know you.”  

You couldn’t help but take another sip—more like a gulp— of your wine. Know you? You, as you’ve already realized, felt the same way. But, that was a conclusion you reached right before you decided it was a pretty dream, not a reality. Yet now it was real, a door had opened for you to walk through, and you had every intention to do so. All you needed was the courage. 

“You are, of course, allowed to decline. This is not a command, it is a request. An earnest one, at that.” He said. “However, we have yet to discuss the benefits that this position would grant you.”

“Benefits?” You asked, as if tending to Baelor wasn’t enough of a benefit in itself. 

“You didn’t think I wouldn’t reward you, did you?” He said, making you imagine all the ways you’d like to be rewarded. Suddenly you were reminded of your dreams, but quickly shook them off. 

“I just assumed it was a service to the crown.” You decided to say, looking down to realize your chalice was now empty. He noticed too, and stood. You watched him dumbfounded as he gently took it from you and refilled it. 

“More of a service to me.” Baelor said, handing the glass back to you. The heir to the Iron Throne just poured you another cup of wine; shouldn’t it be the other way around? 

“Of course.” You quietly agreed, starting to drink again. 

“You would now be in my employ, not Maekar’s. Princess Daella will be assigned a new handmaiden, and you are welcome to spend your days how you like. You may attend court and keep Jane as your personal servant. Any expenses you may need will be approved and paid for by me.” He said, “In return, I may call upon you at any time. All discussions held between us stay between us. The same goes for any treatment.” 

Baelor paused, watching you and gauging your expression which was simply wide eyes and parted lips. What an incredible offer. In just a few sentences, this man offered you something better than you had ever known, and could have ever imagined for yourself. 

“Do you have any questions?” He asked, your gaze drifted past him and towards the balcony archway. It called to you at that moment, for some reason. 

“Can we…” you slowly stood and gestured to the archway, “can we go out there?” 

He turned to see what you were looking at, smiling to himself as he caught your meaning. He stood too, and walked over to offer you his arm. 

“Of course.” He said, watching your delicate hand curl around his bicep. There it was— the scent. So incredibly galvanic, it made you dizzy with want. You set your cup down on the desk as he began to lead you away, deciding you had had enough. It was best not to make a fool of yourself, if you could help it.

The sea breeze could not reach you up here, instead it felt as if you were inhaling the clouds themselves. You knew that was nonsense, but for a moment you let yourself be enthralled with the concept. The sun’s rays were warm, enticing each step as you revealed yourself to its light. Flowering vines crept up the walls, and small potted bushes popped in color against the sandy stones; even the flora had its space in the castle, everything was trimmed and neatly placed. 

You both came to stand in front of the halfwall standing between you and a lethal fall. You didn’t feel unsafe, however, you felt akin to what a bird may feel leaving its nest for the first time. Free. 

“It’s beautiful.” You said, scanning the horizon. Ships near and far dappled the endless blue, bringing goods from all over the world to trade here; you realized then you had a desire to see more than King’s Landing. The ships bobbed in the tranquil waves, their shrouds swaying calmly as the white gulls perched atop them. You wished to feel the sea under your feet, to see the distant lands. You’d even be content just seeing more of Westeros. You had never realized such ambitions, perhaps that’s because they were impossible, but recently it seemed nothing was so final. 

“It is.” Baelor said. You turned your head to say something else, but you were surprised to see him already looking at you. 

“Hello.” You said quietly, a small smile evident on your lips. You didn’t dare look away from his two-toned eyes, you just watched them dilate and dart to your mouth. Your hand still laid delicately over his arm; your fingers twitched just a tad, aching to grasp him. 

“Hello.” He said back, his free hand came to fold over the one resting upon him. 

“Are you still taking questions?” You asked.

“Of course.” He said, his head tilting fondly.

“Can I see my family?” You were almost breathless, as if the air had been stolen from your lungs. “My sister’s name day is approaching.” 

“You may, absolutely.” He said, “Though, I must insist on an escort.”  

“An escort?” You blinked, “Is that necessary for someone like me?” 

“Someone like you? What do you mean by that?” He asked, turning to face you completely. Why was he asking you to spell this out? It was obvious; you grew up on those streets. There wasn’t any reason for ceremony, guards, or escorts. 

“I just mean-” your hand slipped from his sleeve,  “-that I’m hardly anything to fuss over.”

“And why do you believe that?” His tone was quieter, sadder. You struggled for a moment to form words. It was simple to you, really. You. Weren’t. Important. 

“I’m no royal.” You settled on that as your reasoning. 

“Does your life mean less than mine?” Baelor stepped forward, reaching out to run his knuckle down your arm delicately. Goosebumps formed under his touch, your body hosting an immediate reaction. You forgot for a moment that he even asked a question, instead just watching his hand. 

“Uhm,” you begged your brain to form a thought, pleaded with your lips to form words, “well, yes.” 

“Why?” He stilled at your wrist, but his touch lingered. 

“There… there’s thousands of women like me.” You said, moving your gaze from his hand to his face. “There’s only one you.” 

“I may have not known you long, Lady Fennel,” He moved to intertwine with your fingers, “but there are no women like you.” 

“Is that a good thing?” Your fingers reciprocated, curling against his defined hand. 

“Oh yes,” he said, bringing your knuckles to his lips, “a good thing indeed.” 

Your legs felt like gelatin, the world seemed to spin around you, the ocean and seagulls stopped their endless noise. He pressed a kiss there, chaste and sweet. You almost convinced yourself you were still dreaming, but the feel of his lips on your skin was the most realistic thing you’d ever experienced. It was intoxicating and sobering all at once, like cold water on a hot summer’s day. 

“I-” you collected yourself as much as you were able, but did not dare to pull away. “I am glad you think so.” 

“Really?” He asked, dipping his head to press another kiss to the outside of your wrist. “How glad?” 

“Wh-what?” You said, eyes wide and solely focused on his lips as they moved over your hand.

“Tell me how you feel at this moment. Right here, right now.” He flipped your hand and adjusted his grip so your inner wrist was on display for him. He hovered right above it. “Or tell me to stop, and I will.” 

“Don’t!” The word flew out of your mouth before you had time to intervene, “-stop… Don’t stop. Please.” 

He smirked before brushing his lips right under your palm. You had become acquainted with this feeling, but it had never been so intense. The desire. The subtle pulses of your womanhood, the slick wetness you could feel pooling at your core. You ached to touch him, but before you could make a rash decision to try, he brought your hand away from his face and let go. 

“Return inside.” Baelor requested, and you hid your disappointment. You did as he asked, walking back into the room and mingling by the door. After a moment, he reentered as well. He did not sit down. 

“Thank you, Baelor, for the opp-” You started, but were quickly cut off. 

“You said to me that you’d ‘like to know more’. Is that still true?” He asked, the distance of the room between you both seemed to get smaller. 

“The subject being…?” 

“Anatomy.” He answered your question, but more confusion quickly followed. “Your anatomy, to be specific.” 

“My anatomy?” You asked, he closed the distance by a few steps. 

“Is it still true? Would you like to learn something today?” He looked at you knowingly with a slight curve on his lips. You didn’t know what he had in mind, but he knew that. He wanted to teach you something.

“Yes.” You breathed, grabbing your locket and holding it like it was keeping you from flying away. 

“Wonderful.” He moved the tomes from the desk to an adjacent shelf. “Come here.” 

You did so, stopping short just in front of him with the desk to your side. You could feel your body tremble with anticipation; would he finally touch you? Would he let you touch him? All of your dreaming seemed to have led you here, something felt like it was almost in your grasp—you just didn’t know what that something was. 

“Sit here.” He gestured to where the books used to be. You looked at him curiously, as if you weren’t sure if he was being serious and it was some sort of test. “It’s alright, I promise.” 

So, you scooched up onto the desk, you crossed your dangling feet and swayed them idly. He moved closer then, planting his hands on either side of you, and effectively caging you in. His face was so close then, his scent made you dizzy; his eyes, blown wide and heavy lidded, watched you closely as you stared back. He seemed to be searching for something, some sort of unspoken word or clue. 

“Please,” you breathed, “please.”

He gave you a closed-lip smile, and there was something dangerous within it. A storm was brewing, and you didn’t know where it would lead you. You had to see it through, you had to selfishly indulge in whatever he would offer you— a plant craning towards sunlight.  He slowly brought up his hand and placed it on your cheek, his thumb swiping gently against your cheekbone. Then, he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed, it wasn’t filled with raging passion, but it was intimate. You melted into the kiss; your back arched to deepen it, and your hands snaked up his bicep. You held on for dear life as your mouths began to move against one another, a private dance just for the two of you. You would not seek him in the ballroom, you would never be offered a waltz, but this was all you could ever imagine yourself needing. He licked into you, your tongues joining for a moment before your lips found each other again; you couldn’t control the noise you made then, something between a moan and a hum. Whatever it was, it made him grunt quietly and move his hand from your face to your hips. He gripped you there, your dress bunching up under his ringed fingers. 

But, then he pulled away from you. Your expression surely mirrored how puzzled you felt in that moment as he turned his back on you and paused. You dared not to speak, worried your voice may break the delicate web holding this moment together. You silently willed him to not change his mind, pleaded wordlessly with slanted eyebrows that would give away your thoughts for certain. You never were good at hiding your emotions. 

“Lift your skirt.” He said, finally turning to you once more. You bent over to grab the hem, bringing it up to your knees before glancing at him.

“Higher.” He commanded, and you did as you were told until the skirt was bunched up around your hips. Now all there was between your soaked womanhood and him was your smallclothes, which he eyed intensely. 

He took his time coming back to you, letting the tension in the room curdle into something you could slice with a sword. He gently parted your knees with his hands and came to stand between them, and you scooched forward to meet him as far as you were able. Your chest rested against his as he placed his hand on the nape of your neck and guided you into one more searing kiss. He pulled away, but did not move from his place between your knees. 

“If you at any point wish to stop, tell me so. You are not obligated to be here.” He said, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. 

“I wish to be here.” You said, placing your hand over the one that held your hip. He squeezed you, and nodded. 

“Have you ever pleasured yourself?” He asked, and you shook your head. You didn’t exactly know what “pleasuring yourself” actually entailed, but the context clues pointed to the issue that was in between your thighs. 

“I’ll show you.” He said, moving his hands to slide up your thighs and pelvis until he found the top hem of your smallclothes. You lifted your ass so he could slide them off, folding them and placing them next to you on the desk. Your cunt was on display now, and he took one step back to admire it. You felt like you should pull back, cross your legs and hide in the name of decency, but you held strong. 

“Gods, you’re soaked.” He said, his tone heavy and husky. “Is that all for me?” 

“Yes,” you sheepishly nodded, “all for you.” 

“Pretty girl,” He came back to stand between you again, “are you ready?” 

“Mhm.” Was all you could manage at that moment as you shifted restlessly. He placed his hand on your thigh to still you. 

“Use your words.” He whispered, his hand kneading the flesh of your thigh. 

“Yes,” you huffed, “please.” 

“Good girl.” He moved his hand from your outer leg and into your inner thigh. “Every woman has a peak between her legs.” 

He moved his fingers to travel up your slit, collecting wetness before circling your clit lightly. You gasped, heat pooling in your stomach and electricity crackling up your spine; this was a sensation you had never felt before, a sensation you had no idea existed. 

“Right there,” he said, “and if you move faster-”

He picked up the pace, each pass around the bud bringing you closer and closer to something you couldn’t place, but were eager to find out. You couldn’t help the breathy moan that escaped you, your legs trembled as they found perch around his hips. He leaned forward, resting his free hand on the dark woodgrain, and leaning in to speak closely into your ear. 

“-the feeling is stronger.” He slowed again and you gasped as he reversed his circling, “If you want it to last, you must alternate speeds.”

“Gods…” you panted, grabbing onto his shoulders. Just when you thought you had an idea of what he was talking about, he tossed you a knowing glance and shifted his fingers downwards, sliding one into you. You whimpered as you adjusted to the foreign feeling, and he let you. He was still inside of you until you loosened around him, then he began to move. He pumped in and out at a languid pace. 

“The same goes for here.” He said, sinking another finger inside; you buried a cry into his doublet, the fact that there were guards outside not lost on you. 

“Baelor…” you moaned, trailing off and losing whatever you were going to say. He chuckled.

“Look at you,” He began to pump faster, “already so close to cumming on my fingers. Let’s see what happens if I do this-” 

His thumb came up to resume the motions around your clit, and you could feel it running at you at full speeds. You were close to an orgasm, your first orgasm, and the prospect of that being pulled from you by Baelor Targaryen made you tumble even quicker. The air in your lungs left you in quick and sporadic breaths; your body writhed against him as your fingers turned practically white at the sheer force of your grip on his shoulders. Your cunt pulsed around him, and you twitched as you finally fell from the cliffs of pleasure, and into the depths of ecstasy. Another strangled cry was swallowed by his shirt. 

He moved in and out just a few more times to help you ride through it, but stopped before it became too much. He kissed your temple before he moved to your lips, and it felt like a reward. He let it last for a few seconds before he pulled away. 

“You can do that for yourself,” he said, “should I not be there to help you.” 

“Do men do it?” You asked, wiping the beaded sweat from your brow. 

“Yes, they do.” He said, finding a towelette by the wine and wiping his fingers off. 

“Do you?” 

He paused before looking up at you. Was that too bold? A part of you wished to scramble an apology for asking but you didn’t, training your gaze on his. 

“Not as often.” He admitted, “But, lately I’ve had… inspiration.” 

Your breath hitched. He thought about you? In his most private moments, you were the one on his mind. When he brought himself to completion, it was you he pictured accompanying him. The thought excited you, and drove you to be dauntless as you uttered your next words.  

“Can you show me?” 

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taglist:

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Dearest Ynes,

Today marks a week since my arrival to the Red Keep. Things around here are very different from home, but that goes unsaid. The food for higher servants is better than anything I’ve ever had back on the Street; the wine pours endlessly for the highborns, but I am quite content with clean water. You would not believe my quarters, it is larger than both mine and yours from home. The mattress is softer than anything I’ve ever felt, save for the silks they are keen to swaddle me in. 

Jane, another servant, has been helping me find my bearings. She calls me a lady, they all do, which has taken time to get used to; though, I still have not reached that point. We are friends, it is nice to not be alone. 

I have met, or more accurately seen, many of the royals; briefly for the most part. Daella is a sweet girl, she is easy to be around for a girl her age. I attend her in daily activities, and it may humor you to know that I have been learning needlework myself. She tells me stories she learns in her lessons, mentions the history of her family and Old Valyria, all of which I find deeply fascinating. She has been welcoming of me. 

I barely see Prince Maekar, and when I do, I find it better to be seen and not heard. I can count how many times I’ve spoken to him on one hand, but I think that’s a good thing. Silence holds acceptance and adequacy. 

The youngest princess is Rhae. She has her own handmaiden with whom I get to talk to when we watch over the sisters together. Her name is Hawise, and unlike me, she is of noble birth. She is kind to me, however, and she marks the second friend I have made within these walls. 

I have seen the princes, but have never shared words with them. 

The Targaryens are a very intimidating family, the force they hold is unmatched. Even without dragons, they exceed expectations on what power can be. 

Ynes, you will never believe who I spoke to on the first day of my arrival. Prince Baelor Targaryen, yes the very same who father boasts about, shared words with me. We talked briefly about the family, the forge, and he recommended I visit the library. He also asked me for help with some mysterious matter not yet revealed to me, even after a week since the conversation. I haven’t dared to tell anyone else about this, so keep my secret. 

I will write again soon.

Love, 

your sister

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“Very beautiful, princess.” You nodded as the young girl revealed the meticulous embroidery she’d been plucking away at for the past hour. You both had decided to practice in the gardens today, the weather was bearable under the cool shade of the pavilion. A light breeze swayed the trimmed trees around your found oasis; the shaking of leaves under gentle gusts was much preferred over the clanking of hammer against steel. Nothing compared to the heat of an active forge, and when you were here, under the protection of a tiled roof, contentment came easy. 

Daella had chosen flowers as the topic of her creativity today, the needleworked petals and florets she’d poked were leagues above your own abilities. She smiled as you praised her, and for a moment you wondered if this was just a fraction of how Ynes felt. The years between Daella and yourself were much beyond that of you and your sister’s, but the smallest feeling of pride had a smile tugging at your lips at the little princess’ accomplishment. She really was a sweet girl, polite, and gracious. It was hard to feel anything but happy for her when she succeeded, it felt like she deserved it. 

This, of course, was only an assessment you had made after a week of knowing her. You hoped the bond between you both would grow with time, you were already fond of her, and it would seem she felt similarly. She set the frame down on the mosaic table top that stood between the chairs, and stretched out her back. 

“May I see yours?” She asked, resting her chin in her hand as she peered over at you. You snorted, looking down at your clunky mess of sting. You had chosen a sword, though it appeared to resemble that of a butterknife instead. 

“Sure.” You said, setting it on the table for her to take. She picked it up, but instead of laughing or making fun, she simply smiled. 

“You are already improving.” She said, handing it back. As you took it from her delicate grasp, your attention was caught momentarily by your own reach. Faint ink stains colored the tips of a couple digits, evidence of your earlier letter to Ynes. You knew how to write, you were taught by your father for practical reasons like helping to keep up with orders in the shop. You were the one to practice often, though. You read your herbology and botany books, took notes of your own, and now you were using those skills to write letters. 

“Were you writing?” She asked, looking at your fingers as they brushed hers. You set the frame back onto the table, glancing up at the sky. It would be dinner soon.

“Yes.” You said, turning back to her, “I wrote to my sister.”

“You have a sister?” She asked, kindly curious. 

“I do, she is older than me. Though, not by much.” You answered, thinking of her. You didn’t mind losing the age war, you were both adults now, but the thought of her upcoming birthday made you frown. She’d be four and twenty in just two weeks, your own birthday not too long after that. It pained you that you would not be around to see her for the day, for either day. Perhaps you could send her something from the castle, flowers at least. There were so many flowers here, so many beautiful blooms of all kinds. Flowers and plants were always your thing, but you were sure Ynes would appreciate a symbol of beauty. 

“Like Rhae and I.” Daella observed, picking up her embroidery and beginning to push the needle through again. She paused, looking at you. “What’s wrong?”

“Hm?” You whipped your head to look at her. “What? Oh, nothing.”

You didn’t realize your frown was so evident, and you scrambled to fix it immediately. You crossed your legs, smoothed your skirts, and readjusted in your seat, the prospect of continuing your needlework seemed so unappealing now. 

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.” She said, eyes training on her work. 

“Her birthday is soon.” You said, simply. You moved to pick up the golden carafe from the table and refilled your chalice. The endless abundance of resources within the castle astonished you, it was as if the gods themselves lived within these walls. You certainly felt blessed, at least, and perhaps the Targaryens were as close to the gods as men could get. 

“How old will she be?” Daella asked, her feet kicking idly under her skirts. 

“Four and twenty.” You said, looking out over the garden. You were located in a little tucked away pavilion at the end of a path, it was completely separate from the main cobbled area where flowers formed seas of color and bushes stood as trimmed as stone walls. Here, the branches stretched over the path like lovers reaching for the other’s touch; any leaves that fell would be swept up before the morning, but for now it seemed charming to watch a little green ride sun rays. 

“I wish to be old like you and your sister.” Daella sighed, you turned to look at her. 

“I’m not old!” You chuckled.

“Old enough to be taken seriously.” She replied, tilting her head to glance at you. You remembered what being twelve was like, and it was true that nobody really gave thought to adolescent musings. Being a princess at that age very obviously had its benefits, but after living with her for a week, you noticed some disadvantages as well. Whether it was because she was twelve— or because she was a woman— nobody really cared for what Daella had to say. 

“People take you seriously,” You said, “I take you seriously.” 

“You have to.” She insisted, and you didn’t really have a comeback to that. She was right in a way, you were assigned to her, you had to listen to her, she was a princess of the realm. But, you did genuinely enjoy her. You wished she knew that instead of assuming it was because you were employed by her father. 

“I-” you started, but were cut off by the image of Princess Rhae and Hawise rounding the corner and walking towards you both on the path. “Oh- look, it’s your sister.” 

Hawise and Rhae greeted you both warmly, you stood and dipped into a brief curtsy. Rhae padded towards you, something hidden under her clasped palms. Hawise watched fondly.

“Look what I found.” She said, slowly opening her palms to reveal a common daisy. You smiled widely at her, taking the flower as she offered it to you. 

“What a lovely find, princess.” You praised as you tucked the daisy behind your ear, “Thank you, you are very kind.” 

“You are very welcome!” Rhae clapped excitedly. “Now come! We mustn't be late for dinner!” 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The chamber was alive with the murmur of conversation; it seemed everyone was in high spirits today, perhaps it was the weather. You sat next to Hawise, the matching reds of your dresses pairing you up without effort. Your wardrobe had different styles of dresses, but the colors always ranged in shades of reds and blacks. Today you sported a short sleeved garment— in fact, it had no sleeves at all. It had no corset either, and the style depended on the light, flowing aspect of the fabric that started around your neck before cascading down the rest of your body. It was modest in cut, but the nature of the material allowed for the slightest peek of your silhouette. It was black at the edges but bled into a deep garnet at the top. You wore a silver cuff on one arm, and a simple chain bracelet on the other. 

Your hair was pulled up into a messy yet intentional updo; Jane had insisted that it would do you wonders to feel the breeze on your neck on a day like today. She was right, of course, she had a talent for that. She was always there; she woke you up, got you ready, and helped you retire at the end of the day. It was a constant loop of kindness that you knew she was obligated to do, but you always made sure that she knew her efforts were noticed, and appreciated. 

You peered around, looking for her as Hawise took a moment to sip her wine and the conversation lolled. Your eyes drifted over the various noble court members, the servants scurrying about, the guards lined up against the walls, before you noticed the tingle of being watched. It was then you finally glanced at the royals, more specifically at the man who you had spoken to a week ago and never since. Baelor watched you over the rim of his chalice, the hues of his eyes glinting with the surrounding candlelight. There was something there— amusement perhaps, or maybe analysis— that made your breath hitch in your throat like some fair maiden in a secret courtship. 

You didn’t understand it, didn’t know what he wanted. He said he needed your help with some mysterious matter, but that was the first and last thing you had heard from him. He set the cup down, and leaned back in the grand seat he seemed so powerful in. His broad shoulders were defined even in his doublet, stoic like a soldier, intentional like a statue. It was as if everything about him was thought out, like he saw the world through certainty and clarity. It was awe inspiring, truly.

Perhaps that is why you stared back for a moment. Yet it quickly became too much; all you could liken the feeling of eye contact with him to was the red-hot searing sting of touching pliable metal. You looked away, grasping for your wine and taking a gulp. The tickling sensation of droplets sliding down your chin was interrupted by your thumb, swiping away any evidence of your sudden arousal. Stop, you pleaded to yourself.

You tried not to think of his hands— the way they twisted the large rings around his fingers, the way they flexed, and the way they parted book pages so delicately. You tried not to think of the slight smirk he wore as he spoke to you a mere week ago that felt much more like years. You tried not to think of the flash of his teeth, his fang-like canines that you wondered the feeling they’d present should they rest against your skin. His illusive eyes, pointed nose, smooth voice— stop it, stop it, stop!

You subtly adjusted, your thighs rubbed together involuntarily as you cleared your throat and turned to Hawise. Maybe you could distract yourself with someone else’s story, get to know your new friend better while also avoiding your own mind. 

“Hawise,” you said, smiling, “tell me about your family.” 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The rest of the meal consisted of chatting back and forth with Hawise; she told you of her upbringing, a completely different experience than your own, and you told her of your family. You recalled she has a few brothers, loving parents, lots of money, and she plays the lyre. She told you other facts, you returned the favor, but you were so occupied the entire time wondering if he was still tossing glances your way. You still hadn’t seen Jane, which was odd as you usually walked around the Keep with her after the meal. Daella had been taken to her chambers for bed, Jane was nowhere to be found, and Hawise broke off to retire herself. That left you walking aimlessly around the castle by yourself.

You found yourself not entirely minding the silence; the sun had drifted under the horizon not too long ago, and you thought about the bath waiting for you after your walk. For now, you would wander the endless hallways, the only sounds being your soft footfall and passing gossip as you brushed by whoever else was up and about. You took your time to peer at the paintings, statues, and tapestries that dappled the grand walls with the high ceilings that loomed over so overawing. You got dizzy just from trailing your gaze upwards, following the stone ever higher until you had to look away. You shook it off before continuing down the hallway.

Eventually you found yourself in front of a painting of two dragons locked in battle. It was truly astonishing, the past histories. Dragons were gone forever, but their image still rang so mightily throughout the realm. You wished you could’ve seen one soar above the lands, seen the power held by a single beast and its rider. You quietly wondered what dragon Baelor would have, what its name would be, what color it may sport. Perhaps black, maybe there had been a black dragon before as well. You wished you knew more. 

“The Battle at Rook’s Rest.” A voice, the voice, came from behind you. You jumped and whipped around to confirm the source; it was indeed the man you had been actively trying to shun from your mind. 

“Your Grace!” You clutched your chest, dipping into an immediate curtsy, “You scared me.” 

“Apologies, my lady. That was not my intention. Rise.” His hands were held politely behind his back, a hint of amusement lightened his expression to one of a friendly nature. What was his intention? In this moment, with you, any time, anywhere. He was such an enigma, and it bothered you that he was withholding information regarding you and your “schedule”. 

“That’s alright,” you said, rising and turning back to the painting, “I guess I was lost in thought.” 

“Lovely painting,” He said, coming to stand next to you, and you tried to ignore his intoxicating scent, “gruesome battle.”

“Seems like it.” You agreed. “You said it was the Battle at Rook’s Rest? I’m afraid I’ve never heard of it, but that’s not surprising.” 

“Don’t worry, you won’t be tested on it.” He said, his lips twisting upwards ever so slightly. There was a beat of silence, and for a moment you both just observed the artwork.

“I’d love to learn more, I think.” You decided, shifting your weight to one side as you crossed your arms over your chest. Targaryen history was so rich and endless, you gathered from your time here. You were never gifted opportunities to know more than what your family taught you, now perhaps you could. 

“Really?” He asked, tilting his head to look at you. It’s almost as if it surprised him, and maybe it did. You didn’t pretend to be the image of the average— the expected— woman, you knew you had ambitions and thoughts many considered unsuitable. You yearned to know more, and you didn’t realize how much you wanted it until you arrived here. Your days had consisted of a mind-numbing routine before now, it was the same time after time with nobody to talk to except your own family and the odd customer. Now, you still had a routine, but your horizons had broadened considerably. You did find yourself itching to explore the library, but had yet been awarded the opportunity. 

“Well, yes. I find…” you began, trailing off and looking from him to the art, then back at him again.

“Go on,” he encouraged, “what are you thinking?”

That itself made you feel a type of way you had never felt before. The encouragement and curiosity sent a zap straight down your spine and to your core. It left you dumbfounded for a moment before you quickly recollected yourself. 

“I find myself-” you searched for the right word, “discontent with what I have now. There’s so much I don’t know. It makes me feel-”

“Powerless.” He finished your sentence for you, and you felt your arms unravel and drop to your sides. Less guarded, more vulnerable. 

“Exactly.” You breathed, looking up at him. Another beat of silence passed between the two of you before he spoke again. You started to pick at the skin around your thumb. 

“I’m sure you’ve been curious as to what we spoke about last.” He shifted, bringing his hands in front of him to once again mess with the ring displayed prominently on his middle finger. You watched that motion for a bit too long. 

“I have been, yes.” You admitted. Finally, it seemed like you may be on the way to some answers. You just kept mutilating your thumb. 

“I thought so,” he said, his expression unreadable, “visit me in my office tomorrow morning, it’s located in the Tower of the Hand. I will have someone collect you and show you the way. We can discuss it there…” 

He watched your hands fiddle, you followed his gaze and stopped immediately. He reached to gently grab the victimized hand, bringing it up and to the light. You knew you were probably bleeding, if the sting you felt was anything to go by. He ran his thumb over your knuckles as he turned to inspect your other nailbeds, which held tiny scabs from previous acts of your nervous habit. 

“Why do you do this?” He asked softly. 

“I don’t know.” You answered honestly, it was always just something you did when you were nervous, idle, or thinking. It, despite being a violent act, was soothing. 

“I see.” He slowly unraveled his fingers, letting you retreat your hand from his touch. You didn’t want to; you wanted to feel that warmth forever, feel his rough skin against yours for as long as you could. But decorum— and the fact you wanted to push your apparent feelings for him deep down— made you pull back. You crossed your arms again, trying to ignore the urge to pick again. 

“So, I shall see you tomorrow?” He asked, returning his own hands behind his back. 

“Well, yes, but Princess Dae-” you started. You needed to know she’d be fine in your absence, though that was a stupid thought. Of course she’d be alright, she was a princess. 

“Daella will be taken care of, do not worry.” He assured you, and all you could do was nod. You hoped your concern was endearing and not idiotic. 

“Understood.” You looked down at your shoes, but a light touch under your chin guided your head upwards once more. Your eyes widened slightly as he brought your gaze to him, lips subtly parted in disbelief. His touch fled as fast as it arrived, but instead of retreating fully, his hand hovered near your face for a moment. You were sure you looked as confused as you felt, because he chuckled before moving to pluck the daisy out from behind your ear. 

“Did you visit the gardens today?” He asked, twirling the stem between his thumb and forefinger. You watched the delicate white petals swirl around. 

“Yes, your Grace. They are lovely.” You shuddered a quiet breath and gestured to the flower, “Rhae gave that to me.” 

“They are kind, my nieces.” He said. 

“I agree.” You nodded, eyes trained on the way his fingers moved around the flower. Trained and precise, everything he did echoed his training as a warrior and knight. 

“Do daisies have medicinal properties, I wonder?” He mused, his eyes shifting from the flower and to you. You thought for a second, scanning the parchment of your mind for the page on common flowers.

“Yes, your Grace. They do.” You said, watching as he halted his movement and nodded. 

“Interesting, and what are they?” He asked, planting the daisy behind your ear again. His fingertips brushed your temple and cheekbone as he pulled away, but you wished for nothing more than for it to linger. 

“Uh,” you forgot how to speak for a moment before regaining your thoughts, “well, they are edible. They are effective for soothing coughs and mild sickness, I find that brewing them into a tea works best for that.” 

He nodded along as you spoke, smiling that signature soft smile. It really seemed like he was interested in what you had to say, but you had to be careful here not to babble. 

“They are good for wounds as well. They treat anything from an insect bite to bruises to burns, and things like that.” You wrapped up your daisy pitch, pretending that the weight of his stare wasn’t about to crush you alive. 

“Fascinating.” He looked you up and down, your skin broke out in goosebumps at the gesture. You tried to hide it by holding your hands behind your back, you failed. “Are you cold?” 

“Hm? Oh no, I just got a chill.” You brushed it off. 

“I see.” He looked past you and through an adjacent window. “The hour grows late, and I must get some work done. Goodnight to you, Lady Fennel.” 

“Goodnight, your Grace.” You curtseyed once more and watched him turn on his heel and walk away. “Huh.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The walk back to your room was filled with swarms of thoughts. You paused your thinking to ask a guard which way your room actually was, but you did so only once which was a step up from yesterday. You were learning your way around, settling into your new life here. But, was even that about to change? You were to meet him in his office tomorrow, discuss something that held importance to your future here. At least, that’s what you assumed. 

You got to your door, at last a familiar sight. Something else caught your eye, though, movement from the shadows. You looked around, you were alone with whatever just shifted. The next guard was stationed at Daella’s door, just down the hall and out of sight. You backed away slowly, your brain scrambling to think of a course of action. Do you run? Would that just agitate whatever lurked there further? 

“Hello?” You decided, desperately willing your eyes to adjust to the darkness. No response emanated, just silence. Until…

Meow.

A black cat slinked forward, its green eyes large and trained on you. One of the castle felines, employees under the crown just like you. You huffed a breath of relief and chuckled. 

“Hello little…” You bent down and let the cat rub on your hand, leaning over to peer around it, “fella.” 

He trilled happily as you moved your fingers to scratch under his chin. It seemed your friend circle was growing by the day. He was short haired, slim, small, and more affectionate than the other cats you had seen around. You tilted your head down at him.

“Would you like to come in?” You asked in a gentle voice. “Would you like that?”

You stood up and opened your door, offering him the space. He thought for a moment, you rubbed your fingers together and clicked your tongue to entice him further. Then, he strolled over, tucking into your room with you behind him. 

“Oh! A cat, how lovely.” Jane was laying a freshly washed comforter over the sheets of your bed, the fragrance wafted over to the doorway you stood in. 

“He seemed lonely. How long have you been here?” You closed the door behind you, and sunk into the desk chair. 

“Not long, I came to replace your bedding.” Jane came over and began to undo your hair, each pin she loosed had your heated curls tumbling down and around your shoulders. Soon enough you were free, and you ran your fingers through the base of your locks. 

“Well thank you, that’s kind.” You said, standing. She helped unfasten the tie that held your dress around your neck.

“It’s my job, my lady.” She said, but her smile betrayed her. “I’ve prepared a bath for you.” 

“Thank the gods.” You smiled back. “I need to be up earlier tomorrow, whenever the Hand is in his office.”

“Prince Baelor? Whatever for?” She asked, holding your dress low enough to step out of. 

“He has requested to see me.” She gave you a questioning look, you immediately shrugged, “Don’t ask me, I have no idea.” 

“Where were you earlier?” You asked, rubbing your arms as the night chill nipped at your bare body. Jane quickly came over to offer you a robe. 

“Cleaning the bedding.” She replied, gesturing to it. 

“Ah.” You said, “Of course.”

“Let’s get you to that bath.” She said, folding a towel over her arm. The cat made his way in front of the fireplace and curled into a ball, the flames reflecting off his black coat. You looked around the room for a moment, looked at what you had. You wanted to decorate this place, fill the shelves with books and trinkets that you enjoyed. You wanted plants to sit upon the windowsills, you wanted something undeniably yours. Perhaps tomorrow would be a start down that path, maybe it would present a new one entirely. But for now, all you wanted was warm soap suds and gentle water waves.

“Let’s.”

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Let me know if you guys would be interested in a tag list!!! Leave a comment if you’d want to be on it <3

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It was a good thing for your family when you got this position, a good thing indeed. Attending a young princess was imaginably the best outcome for you; you were lowborn, doomed to a fate of an underlying ping of hunger and the constant feeling of dirt dusting your body. You could never actually get clean when living in the Street of Steel, especially after helping your father with the shop. Being the blacksmith’s daughter kept you and your sister out of Flea Bottom, yes, but King’s Landing was a miserable place for all except the rich. 

The interview process was quick enough, but by the end of it, you weren’t confident in securing the job. One moment, you were hearing whispers of a new opening in the Keep; the next, your family received a scroll summoning you to that famed, formidable castle. It was surprising, to say the least. You never in your life could have imagined you’d ever even catch a glance at the inside of the Red Keep, let alone cross the threshold of its doorway. 

So, you scrubbed your body raw in the bath just hours before your expected arrival. You stripped your skin of the metal polish, sweat, and grime that had lingered there for as long as you can remember. Even bathing regularly could only keep it at bay for so long, but you did so anyway. The bath is where you thought, where you decompressed, and where you could be alone. You loved your family, but they were a lot all of the time; they had loud laughter, your sister bickered with your mother at volumes previously unheard of, and your father bellowed every time he spoke. 

You would miss them, dearly, but the streets of King’s Landing were never for you. You never expected to have an out, and you didn’t know if that was what this whole opportunity presented, but you would see it through. Just in case. 

Once out of the bath, you threw on your cleanest dress-- just a simple pale gray linen garb, but you had violently scoured it against the washboard until the suds overflowed and your fingers ached. Over the dress, you pulled on a sage green front-lacing square corset, before fastening a simple brown belt around your waist. The locket your father made you was clasped around your neck quickly; you did not like parting with it for long. You pulled your hair into a loose half-up style and then peered at your reflection in one of your father’s fresh blades. Your face slanted with the edge of the sword; your breath fogged up the glimmering metal as you brought it close to your face, picking at a stubborn fleck of dirt on your cheek with your fingernail. Hopefully it was the only spot you missed, it would be embarrassing if it wasn’t and one of the royals or lady or lord of the court had to point it out. 

You returned the blade to the wall, where it was displayed proudly and for sale. Your father only made the most beautiful weapons and armor, he worked his hands to the bone in order for his guaranteed quality. Not that long ago you were in the market with your mother, then upon your return to the shop—and also home— your father beamed that he had sold a sword to the royal family themselves. Baelor “Breakspear” Targaryen: Hand of the King, prince of the realm, and heir to the Iron Throne, had bought a sword for his son from him. You had never seen your father filled with so much pride. Truly, never. At the time you were remiss to have missed it, but now, you were headed right for the dragon’s den. You hoped it wouldn’t burn. 

“Well, look at you.” Your sister, Ynes’, voice came from behind you. You retreated your hand from the grip once you assured the blade was securely in place, and faced your sister. She approached from the door that led into your home, wearing her signature bright smile. She was older than you, just by a year and a half, but she took her role as eldest daughter and older sister very seriously. She came up to twist the front pieces of your hair between her fingers.

“You look beautiful. Very clean.” She teased, giving your hair a small tug. You laughed, pushing her hand away. 

“Yes, and let’s keep it that way. Don’t get your grub on me.” You playfully rolled your eyes, she scoffed. 

“I’m not grubby.” She defended, but retreated her touch nonetheless. She wasn’t grubby, of course. You just liked to pick at her. She backed up to lean her hips against the table your father used to trade with customers. The shop was closed today; your father’s illness continuously worsening over the past few years had caused more and more “bad days” that left him in bed. All the stress manifested within you as a nasty guilt that gnawed at your mind. Your eyes drifted over the forge, an evident frown on your face. You shouldn’t leave him, but you were going to. You had to. 

Her voice drifted into your consciousness like ship debris, saying your name. You turned to look at her. “We’re going to be okay.”

“Of course.” You were quick to murmur. You picked at the skin around your thumb, a habit you’ve had since you were a child. “You’ll have to help father more. Since I won’t be there. Give him his medicine, I left the instructio-” 

“I know, and you know I know.” She regarded you with sad eyes and reached for your fidgeting hands. “Stop that.” 

“Sorry.” You said, halting the sharp bite your fingernails attacked your digits with. Your hands came to rest at your sides, away from your own, and her touch. She noticed you pull back, of course she did. She had a knack for noticing things, you both did. It was pointless to hide your complex emotions for this situation from her, she already knew. 

“You’re going to be great, it’s going to be great.” She clasped her hands in front of her apron, making the decision not to touch you again. 

Before you could reply, you saw the door creak open behind Ynes. 

“There you two are!” Your mother came over, hands folded neatly in front of her. You always thought she’d suit noble life more, instead of being a blacksmith’s wife, but she too was born poor. In fact, this was a step up for her when compared to her childhood. At least now she was out of Flea Bottom. 

“You look lovely, dear.” She smiled warmly at you. Ynes and her were always arguing, but that’s just because she was a clone of your mother. They were alike in many aspects, and you suspected that being confronted with those aspects in another person caused tension. Still, you had a loving family. There was laughter and joy… and now you were leaving it behind. You peered down at your boots. 

“Maybe for the Street of Steel’s standards.” You twisted the ball of your foot into the ground, an idle gesture to occupy your gaze instead of looking at your mother’s sorrowful face. She’d try to hide it, but she’d fail. 

“You’re a beautiful girl,” she said your name, “you always have been.”

Your sister nodded in agreement, and you finally looked up to take them in. They were smiling their identical smiles, but it was just a mask to hide their sadness. It’s not like you were moving to Winterfell, but you all knew that your new job would occupy much of your time. You would go from seeing them everyday to barely at all. At least that’s what you suspected, you couldn’t see how you’d be afforded time to come all the way down here from the castle. 

“Where’s father?” You asked, changing the subject. 

“He… has gone to the market.” Your mother said quietly. You weren’t surprised, but it still made your stomach drop. He was the type of man to run from emotions, not embrace them. He was most likely devastated with your departure. So, instead of showing his feelings, he hid away. You loved that man for all of his flaws, but this time it stung. 

“I see.” Was all you could say. What else was there to say? You assumed him bed-ridden, but you were wrong. He was simply avoiding you. He made his choice, made the choice for the both of you, and went on his way. That was that. It was then you heard the clip-cop of horse hooves from outside the shop, then a small carriage rolled into view. You felt your mouth go agape, turning to your mother and sister to find them wearing a similar expression. You didn’t expect a carriage. You scurried outside, gazing upon it with awe. You heard your name spoken like a question behind you.

“That’s me,” you turned to the man who said it, “I wasn’t expecting all this.”

The man, a knight draped in a gold cloak— a knight of the City Watch, it would seem— looked at you for just a moment. He didn’t say anything, he just moved to open the carriage door, beckoning you inside. 

“Oh.” You realized it was actually happening. You clutched the silver locket that rested between your collar bones and turned to your mother and Ynes. “Goodbye, then.”

They rushed forward and hugged you, you hugged back as tight as you could. The knight cleared his throat, and you pulled away. Without another word, you tossed a tight-lipped smile over your shoulder and climbed into the carriage. The door shut behind you, and thus began your journey to the Red Keep. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The carriage ride was an interesting experience. Not much happened, but watching the world as you knew it fade gradually from the small window was something that made you think. You saw the smallfolk watch with awe as the carriage passed them, many pointed. You chuckled, oh, how disappointed they’d be if they truly knew who was inside. 

The Red Keep was even bigger than you could’ve ever imagined. You’d seen it from the outside plenty, but it never looked so giant as when you were inside. You couldn’t help but look up and around every hallway you passed through, the servant girl leading you to your room kept having to get your attention. 

“Focus, please. You’ll have to know your way around here eventually.” She said, climbing a small set of stairs. You followed closely.

“Sorry.” You muttered.

Before long you were shown into a room. It was larger than your room back home, but that wasn’t saying much. The bed held a sheer canopy of white fabric, it cascaded down and around a plush bed with soft-looking sheets and comforter. The room was hardly decorated save for iron wrought cushioned chairs settled around the fireplace, some tables on either side of the bed and one pushed into the corner, a desk, a dresser, a standing mirror, and some empty shelves. There were no paintings, tapestries, baubles, trinkets, nothing. It made you excited, the prospect of making a space your own. 

Your own. It hit you then, that this was to be your new reality. This was your chamber. You turned to the servant girl who mingled in the doorway, she spoke when your attention landed on her.

“Princess Daella’s chamber is just down the hall.” She said, “But for now, please change into the garments folded on your dresser.” 

Your eyes floated over, not having noticed the clothes before. Red, flowy looking fabric sat neatly upon the deep mahogany dresser, a plated silver belt laid on top. You walked over, picking up the belt and inspecting the plates. Dragon imagery had been molded against the silver, you guessed Targaryen’s really liked claiming what was theirs. Even servants. The weight of it was heavy, quality metal like you had never seen or felt before. Your father was talented, a master at his craft. But, this was different. This piece represented not only beauty, but the power of the royal family. Blood of the dragon, and all that. 

Setting it aside, you picked up the dress and let the skirt unravel. The kirtle was a deep red— you could call it crimson— the bodice was fitted with a corset back, but the skirt moved freely with its lightweight fabric. The marie sleeves were bordering on translucent, the whole dress felt airy and breathable, save for the structured basque corselette. The belt was the only piece that had any imagery detailing, laying claim to you without elevating you too much; you would look good enough to be in the same room as the princess, good enough to be seen by Targaryens. You heard the door shut softly behind you.

“Shall we?” The servant girl walked over to you, you turned to meet her half-way. 

“I’m sure I can manage.” You offered, feeling bad for making someone do their job. Empathy and sensitivity were always your downfalls. 

“Manage lacing up yourself? Manage your own hair?” She smiled, “No, my lady, I think not.” 

“Oh, I’m not a lady.” You corrected, handing over your dress when she held out her hands. “I’m just…” 

You trailed off. What were you now? You were just the blacksmith’s daughter, that was all you knew. Until now, of course, now you were an employee of the Red Keep. You’d be rubbing elbows with royalty; the realization of it all made the room feel smaller, the walls seemed to breathe in tandem with you for a moment. Then they stopped. 

“Just a servant.” You finished. She looked at you with a scrutinizing look.

“What?” You asked, bringing a hand up to your face to feel around for any dirt you missed, or maybe polish you couldn’t scrub off. 

“Now that you’re associated with the Targaryens, you’ll be called a lady. Best get used to it.” She smiled before gesturing to your current outfit. “Now take this off, we don’t want to keep the prince waiting.”

“Maekar?” You questioned breathlessly, “As in Prince Maekar?” 

You unbuckled your belt, letting the metal clatter near your feet. You began to undo your corset, letting it fall to the floor before hoisting your simple dress over your head and also allowing that to fall. Then, you pulled your hair down from its style, letting your locks fall free. The last thing to go was your boots, kicked aimlessly off to the side. 

“Well, yes. He’ll want to meet the woman watching over his daughter, he’s quite protective.” She said, signaling for you to lift your arms so she could slide the new garment over your head. You did so, getting lost in a sea of red before resurfacing as she pulled it down your frame. You slipped into the sleeves and she turned you around, beginning the process of lacing. 

“Right.” You confirmed, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Of course.” 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

It was incredibly odd, having someone do things for you. Especially the task of dressing yourself, though she was right, you wouldn’t have managed by yourself. After she had secured the laces on a corset tighter than you’ve ever worn before, she guided you to the desk chair and began to style your hair. You learned during this period that her name was Jane, her mother was a servant before her and now she was taking her place. Serving was all she knew, she said, but you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness at her words.

“There.” She said, securing the final pin in your hair. You moved to see the final product in the standing mirror, and the woman who looked back seemed entirely unrecognizable. Yes, it was you; you knew what your face looked like and it was indeed staring into your eyes. But, you had never been so beautiful. You stared at your dress, and the body it presented. You didn’t realize it would be so… busty, but still somehow tasteful. 

The hair Jane had chosen was almost just an upgraded version of what you had arrived with. Again, it was a half-up style, but it was cleaner and more precise. The hair twisted intricately where it met behind your head, and she had left out the front pieces that framed your face. She had curled it too, the long ringlets bounced when you moved; like a waterfall being met with gusts. 

The hair with the dress was much simpler than what a Targaryen would wear, you were sure. But, this was the most dressed up you had ever been in your life. Things like this are what make the difference between you and this new life evident, you just prayed you could live up to the expectations. You subtlety fiddled with your locket. 

Jane softly got your attention. You turned to face her, she was holding delicate silk slippers. 

“I’m guessing those are for me?” You asked, taking them in your palms. They were soft, but with hard bottoms that would brave the Keep’s stone floors. You set them on the ground in front of you, finding it harder to bend over than it’s ever been. You’d get used to it… hopefully. 

“Well, they’re not for me.” She laughed, watching you slip into the shoes. “Do they fit?”

“Yes.” You nodded, looking around for something else to procrastinate with. There was nothing, and Jane gently placed a hand on your sleeve.

“Time to go, my lady.” She said. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

“Enter.” Floated a voice from behind the ornate door. Everything in this place was meticulously crafted, something you noticed as you ogled at every wall, archway, nook, and cranny you passed on the way to this room. You did not know what this room was, but you did know who was on the other end of it. Prince Maekar Targaryen. 

He was said to be a very cross man, a very stern man, and you were not entirely looking forward to this meeting. Nonetheless, Jane pushed the door open and ushered you inside without another word. There, at the opposite side of a large adorned desk, sat a silver-haired man. He looked up at you expectantly, and it dawned on you that you should be knelt into a curtsy by now.

“Your Grace-” you began to sink and dip your head, but movement caused you to glance upwards. A man in the seat facing away from the door turned to watch you, he held a loose small stack of paper in his hands. They were obviously in the middle of something before you came in, but you noticed something about this new man in record time. He had different colored eyes, and wore black and red. Shit. 

“-es. Your Graces.” You corrected and dipped your head finally this time. You stared at your foot, your body not used to curtsying quite yet, but Jane had you practice a few times before arriving. You were sure it was far from perfect. 

“Ah.” Maekar said, “My daughter’s new handmaiden. Rise.” 

You rose. For some reason, you felt your gaze pull to the other man in the room. He wore a small smile, possibly amused by your earlier correction. Baelor “Breakspear” Targaryen was smiling at you. There were no butterflies in your stomach, only angry moths that thrashed around and threatened to reintroduce you to your breakfast. You looked back at Maekar.

“You do understand that you were chosen because of the graciousness of the crown?” He drawled, leaning back in his chair. Baelor tossed him a look, one that Maekar didn’t bother to catch.

“Yes, your Grace. I am very grateful for the op-” You started but he cut you off with a wave of his hand.

“Yes, yes. Very well.” He dismissed, “Daella is attending her lessons at this moment, she will be finished within the hour. Another servant will tell you what to do, now leave us.” 

You just nodded and turned to leave, but the scraping of chair legs against the stone floor caught your attention. You turned, against your better judgement, to see Bealor standing. Maekar looked at him with a quirked brow. 

“I believe our business is concluded, brother. Any developments will be discussed at a later time.” He tucked the pages into a book that was laid on the desk. He picked it up and tucked it under his arm, you took that as your cue to leave. 

The door opened, and you saw Jane’s curious face first. You instinctively hurried to leave, linking arms with her as you subtly pulled her away.

“How’d it g-” she started to ask before a silvery voice emanated from behind. 

“Just a moment, if you will.” You paused and turned on your heel, watching the prince approach. You stood up straight, and clasped your hands in front of you. You probably looked like your mother and sister which was entirely out of the norm. Though, you supposed, there was no norm now.

You quietly studied him, just for a moment so as to not get caught. He had an essence of warmth to him, but the only thing that occupied your mind at this moment was whether you should bow again. You avoided his two-toned gaze. 

“That will be all, Jane.” He turned to her, she nodded and scurried off without so much as looking at you. He didn’t watch her leave, he just peered down at you. The fact that he knew her name piqued your interest, you didn’t expect royals to bother with such matters.

“You needn't fear me, Lady…?” He trailed off, putting the sentence down so you could pick it up. 

“Fennel.” You said, still cringing at how the commoner last name violently clashed with the honorary lady title. You then turned to him and offered your first name as well.

“Fennel? Does your family work with herbs?” He slanted against an adjacent pillar. You were confused; why was the Prince of the Realm speaking to you? Let alone asking you questions. 

“They did before my grandfather picked up blacksmithing, and then passed it to my own father.” You explained, “But, my father still has recipes and practices from those days.”

“More promising than Blood Magic, I assume.” He said, and your stomach dropped. Targaryens were an odd bunch, the rumors surrounding their family and the magic they wielded is something you had heard in taverns before. You don’t know why you believed it for a second, maybe it’s because your guard was up so high that reason could not cross it. He leaned in slightly.

“That was a jest.” He smiled lightly, you nodded and laughed it off.

“Of course, your Grace.” You found yourself matching his smile. When you finally looked at him, you were surprised by the earnest look he wore. He was… undeniably handsome. A manly sort of handsome, but there was also an undeniable softness. The way his lips parted slightly as you spoke, the breath he took as he himself was about to speak… it was all very captivating. But, you pushed those inklings deep deep down. 

“And what of you? Where do your skills lie?” He fiddled with one of the large rings adorning his fingers. You glanced down at his hands, veiny and defined. Heat pooled in your stomach like hot metal into a mold, stop that. 

“I…” You looked back up at him, his eyes twinkled with amusement. You tried to ignore what that could mean, that he could be reading your thoughts. “I am also skilled with herbs, I took an interest when I was younger. I did help my father with the forge as well.” 

You didn’t know nearly as much about blacksmithing as you did herbology. You picked up the interest as a child when your father first got sick, and the capability with the plants only grew as you did. In your teen years, you became somewhat of a local maester to your neighbors and the people of the Street of Steel. You specialized in small ailments, of course: burns, cuts, nausea, general pain, just little things to help your community. You studied your family’s records of the subject at nauseam, each tome was read front to back, front to back, front to back. 

You had those pages memorized by now, but you ached to know more. You loved helping people, but you were also a woman. Medical knowledge was above your station, forbidden for you to learn. You supposed you should be content with your lot, at least you knew something. 

“The forge?” He asked, “Perhaps that explains this, then.” 

He gestured to where your forehead met your hairline, and your hand flew up to touch what he was referring to. Fuck, you knew you missed something in that damn bath. 

“Here.” He lifted a hand and yours automatically dropped. He delicately swiped his thumb over the spot and then respectfully retreated. The touch was momentary, fleeting, but you wanted nothing more than for it to return. He smelled good, like leather, cedarwood and something else… lavender? It was absolutely uncouth for you to think this way, to even feel this way at all. Gods be good, he was a prince. A Targaryen prince. You needed to stop blushing like a rose and show some respect. Gods forbid he notices your horrible job at covering for yourself. Maybe he already has. You cleared your throat.

“You read?” You gestured to the book tucked under his arm, then stilled and realized that what you just said could be misconstrued to be disrespectful. The opposite of what you wanted.

“Well, of course you read! I only meant that-” you began to over-explain, but he held his hand up and you got quiet quickly. 

“I know what you meant.” He said, transferring the book to his hand and flipping the pages open with the other. The way his fingers moved between the folds of the pages, holding the book open as he scanned for context, brought back up the feelings she had buried just seconds ago. “I do read. Frequently. I find the histories most interesting, but I am no stranger to fiction. Though, I must say I am quite daft in the subject of herbology.” 

“I’d be interested in reading more, there wasn’t much opportunity to do so growing up.” You said, honestly. Reading was something that you’d always wanted to get into, but past learning how to do the task, you didn’t exactly have the means to constantly do so. He looked at you then like he had been, but something shifted. He tilted his head slightly, an idea brewing in his mind. 

“But you can read, yes?” He asked. It wasn’t offensive, it was genuine curiosity. 

“Yes, your Grace.” You confirmed, your small smile returning. 

“Wonderful, you should make use of the Keep’s library then. There is quite a selection of books there, I’m sure you could find something that interests you.” He closed his book. 

“To be honest, I’m not sure I’ll have time. I wouldn’t even know where to start, either.” You chuckled dryly, quite embarrassed to admit your inabilities. He was silent for a moment, you shifted your weight awkwardly under the weight of his assessing eyes. 

“I believe there is something I could use your help with. Would you be interested?” He asked, you took a moment before nodding while reaching to gently fiddle with your locket. 

“Good. We shall have to make some adjustments to your schedule, but this should work.” He glanced at your clavicle —and you swore he looked even lower— before looking back at your face. 

“Uhm… what should work, your Grace?” You asked. 

“Daella will be out of her lessons soon, my lady. But, I shall be in touch.” He said, pushing off of the pillar, tossing you one last knowing half-smile, and padding down the hallway. Away from you. 

What just happened?

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The moon was hung high in the sky as the cicadas sang their melodies in trills. The Mississippi heat had subsided just a tad in the midnight hours, a perfect time for you to check the traps around your secluded cabin in the woods. You lived a simple life despite being a vampire, fed on animals, avoided sunlight in your dim home all while reading a good book. If it weren’t for your affliction, you’d go into the nearest town to grab a new novel tomorrow. Instead you’d have to hope there was someone passing by the nearest road at sundown tomorrow who could go into town for you the next day. You’d have to pay, of course. People around here don’t do things out of the kindness of their hearts. Another aspect of this little deal would be for them to be honest, to actually return with a book instead of running off with your cash. Cash that was running low, real low. 

You were secluded, better for the people of the town, safer. You knew you would not be able to control your thirst for blood should you be around others, your instincts too strong and will too weak, withholding was never your greatest strength. There was no comparing the ecstasy you got while feeding on others, but you left that life behind years ago. A long time ago. A lifetime ago. 

As you trudged through the overgrown grass and ever-wet mud of the property, your mind wandered as it often did. You kept yourself entertained with your imagination, there wasn’t much else to do around here except daydream, tend to your garden, play your guitar and sing, clean the house over and over, maybe paint, and read. You thought of the protagonist of the book you were reading, a strapping, headstrong woman who, quite frankly, was very progressive of the time. Women, white women, only got the right to vote about ten years ago, but you were already long into your vampirism then and had never given the government much thought. You supposed your undead life had more pressing matters than voting, though you wished you could do more for the folk around here. But, given the limitations of your unlife, there really was nothing to be done. The least you could do was stay here, your once warm and open heart still had a grasp on your mentality now, a rare thing for a vampire; a conscious. 

Back when you were alive, The United States was still very new, in your parent’s time it was called the United Colonies. Seeing as though you were born in 1778, you grew up in unsure times and an unstable country. Your father fought in the war, losing his leg in the process but he came home in the end. Victorious. 

You still remember the night you were bit like it was last evening, you were only twenty three. Your father had begun his mumblings, memories of the war invaded his sleep and disturbed his peace. Instead of easing wounds, the time that passed only made his memories more vivid, as if the shock of the whole ordeal was dwindling over the years. He needed herbs, calming tea just to sleep, to put his troubled mind at ease. Your family lived in Lewes, Delaware; had for many years as your Dutch ancestors moved here for the whaling business, nasty business in your opinion. But now you were true blooded Americans, that Dutch accent was slowly phased into British as the population grew and then mellowed out to the cool eastern American you spoke with now. You neither spoke the language of the Dutch people, nor identified with them. Their blood used to run through your veins, now the coldness of the corpse you were was all you had. 

On the night you had been to the doctor across town, leaving with your herbs for your father, you were approached by a man. No, approached wasn’t the correct word. He chased you down without a warning, emerging from the shadows of the early January nightfall without giving you a chance to even run. Soon you were pinned under his weight on the cold cobbled streets, hot skin pressed between his body and the freezing smooth stone. You remember he was just as cold as the slippery road, wearing an overcoat and light tunic. His eyes gleamed an eerie red as he regarded you for merely a second before bringing his mouth to your neck and bleeding you dry. You remember resisting, crying out for a savior, a distraction, anything to push the heavy man from your frame. But it was too late, he severed your artery, you bled out as the screams died on your tongue; your face carved into a picture of terror as he lapped up your lifesource. 

But then you woke up, a new hunger stirred in your stomach. You sat up in a pool of blood, your winter coat sticky with it, neck numb from the wound. You had memories, so many memories that were not your own swimming in your mind. Your fingers, now freezing as they brushed against your neck, trembled. You looked around, there was nobody around. This disappointed you for some reason, the reason. You were starved, a bloodlust you felt in your chest, your very being was taking over any rational thought. You could barely think your own thoughts, the hunger was so loud; it flooded your ears with crashing waves of want and deprivation. 

You stood, shedding your coat as temperature no longer seemed to bother you. You could feel the frigid breeze, yet the icy snowflakes that hit your skin didn’t melt; it was no longer of consequence. In your shared memory you saw your attacker, saw him feed, saw him hunt and stalk. You felt a yearning, your instincts were screaming at you to do the same, to eat. You scrambled to the nearest town home, pounding at the door until a candle was lit from within. You were inclined to lie like the memories, make some sob story to get the stranger to let you in; you already knew you needed an invitation, knew what you were. Having been turned by someone so ancient had you understanding what your life would be like now. You had no time to mourn, you felt… joy. You were so goddamn joyful at your new eternity. The door swung open, a man with a shotgun greeted you with the barrel pointed at your chest. 

“Sir, please! They’re after me!” You frantically looked around, fingers gracing over your very noticeable wound. 

“Jesus, you’re bleeding.” The man gasped, gun lowering as he looked around with you. There was nobody else, your attacker was long gone, a fog had begun to settle amongst the street. The atmosphere was unnerving, you hoped it played to your advantage. 

“Get inside, let’s patch you up.” 

His name was Tom Harris, you left quickly after you fed on him but your… lifelines were intertwined. You now knew him personally, knew everything about him. But there was something that made you feel sick, a knowingness of your deeds and a guilt that followed. You decided that night you had to leave town, but your hunger was bound to return on the trail. You ended up in Mississippi about thirty years ago, hunkered down in this cabin about ten. Your parents had hosted search parties for you, but you evaded them. 

You left over one hundred years ago, ever since your awakening you fed on people less and less, it took years, a long time of self-discipline and so much meditation but your hunger was under control at this point in time. You were damn proud of yourself for your feat, you hadn’t fed in so long that the memories you once shared with others were waning, slipping from your subconscious. You felt like yourself again, living out here by yourself was a big factor in your lifestyle. But you were lonely, and it didn’t help that your hunger was never satisfied. Feeding on animals kept you alive, but it was never as fulfilling as a human meal, never as savory, never as sweet.

So, as you stomped in the mud to check your traps, you couldn’t help but feel… bored. Years of living out a solitary lifestyle was the right thing to do, yet they never tell you how uneventful eternity could be. Unless you were being hunted by vampire hunters, somehow touring the world while avoiding the sun (been there, done that), or living in a vampire hoard your life had the potential of being bland. And bland it was. 

You approached your first trap, hands steady as you reached for the cage. A rabbit, exhausted from struggling, sat panting in the confinement. You tipped it upwards, reaching into the trap to grab the animal by the scruff as it gave one more kick in an attempt to regain its freedom. Your grip was iron, however, and soon you brought it up to your mouth.

“Sorry, fella.” You regarded the quick-breathing thing one more time before biting down on its neck, the squeal that emanated from the creature was nothing short of heart-aching but death claimed it quickly as you stood and bled it dry, ready to toss the corpse aside and repeat the process a few more times. Blood pooled down your chest and onto your simple slip dress, but the thing was bloodstained already and no amount of washing would lift the crimson. You did have one dress, however, one dress you kept pristine and tidy. You didn’t know why, you had no one to lie to or impress, yet something inside you guided you to keep it clean. Who were you not to listen to a rare harmless instinct?

After your “hunting,” you headed back for your home, kicking off your mud-caked boots at your front door before slipping inside. Your sock-clad feet carried you to your kitchen where you lit your stove and put on some water to boil. Taking a nice long bath sounded nothing short of lovely but, as you lived in a rural area, there was no plumbing. It didn’t bother you, you were used to doing it the old fashioned way; though, a part of you did wish you could’ve been born in this century, maybe in a bustling city as you enjoyed the technological advancements of the time. Alas, you’d have to enjoy them from afar. You grabbed a washcloth and dipped it into the warm water, cleaning up your chest, hands, and mouth.

As the water simmered on the stovetop, you stepped outside to grab your guitar; you had left it out there last night and hadn’t been able to retrieve it until now. The sun would be up soon, you’d have to enter your meditative state for a few hours just to pass the time. You had gotten really good at meditation, putting yourself in a trance-like state to make the afterlife easier. You grab the neck of your dark wood guitar, it was nothing fancy and the strings were a little worn but you were still able to make decent music with it, besides, there was nobody around to hear it.

The second your fingers brush the smooth wood and textured strings of your instrument, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up straight. Something was behind you. You turned to gaze into the treeline and were met with the flash of red. Anyone would think it was an animal, a deer maybe, but you knew. You had company. The undead kind. You could smell the affliction on the individual from here, you suspected they did the same. You plant a hand on your hip, you did not share memories with this vampire; even with your fleeting connections, you could tell. 

“Well? Come on out then.” You called out, getting a chuckle in response. But, he showed himself. A man stepped into the clearing, banjo strapped around his back, hanging precariously around his frame. He wore a wifebeater, suspenders tugged at his shoulders, slacks sat comfortably around his waist. He gave you an easy smile. You set the guitar down to fully regard him. 

“Been hearing ‘bout a hermit in the woods, didn’t expect a fellow child of the night.” He called out, approaching casually, hands in pockets. 

“Thought I’d be an easy target, did you?” You crossed your arms, sharing in this easy smile. You weren’t threatened; what was the worst he could do? Drain your nonexistent blood? Kill you again? No, there was a certain kinsmanship with vampires, a connection. Plus, you could protect yourself. But, he ignored your question, instead motioning to your guitar. 

“You play?” He asked, finally arriving at your porch. 

“I dabble.” You replied, tossing a glance to the instrument before motioning to the banjo he was carrying, “You?” 

“Course I do.” He paused before looking up at you, only separated from you by a couple of rickety wooden steps. “Didn’t catch yer name.”

“Considering I didn’t give it to you, that would be expected.” You cocked your head, peering down at the man before you. Something was off about his demeanor, his accent. You couldn’t place what exactly, but you noticed. He chuckled to himself, inspecting his shoes before resuming eye contact. 

Before he can say anything, you told him. He nodded, as if storing the information. 

“Remmick,” He replied, placing a hand on his chest and bowing his head slighting, humorously. 

“Well, Remmick, what brings you to my humble abode? If there is any other reason besides looking for a meal.” You questioned, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear and regarding him curiously. 

“Moon’s getting low,” he observed the sky, pointing upwards with a finger before bringing his hands back in front of him, clasped together. “It’ll be morning soon.” 

“Need a place to stay, is it?” You hadn’t had company in… a long time. You peer down at your attire, your slip dress still stained with red but you had cleaned your mouth and neck. Remmick appears to have done the same, not a speck of crimson on him. 

“If you’d be so inclined.” He requested, “Be out of yer hair come evenin’.” 

You only considered it for a moment, there was something about him that was… charming. It worried you but at the same time, it broke down a wall inside you. Maybe it was the fact that vampires have an unnatural alluringness to them or maybe it was the fact that you were so incredibly bored and lonely but you came up with a decision in no time.  

You sighed, pushing open your door and beckoning him with a wave of your hand. “Come on in.” 

“Mighty kind of you.” He climbed your stairs, following as you slipped inside. Luckily, you kept a clean space. Clutter and dust annoyed you, dishes were cleaned as soon as you placed them in the basin, clothes were washed the second your hamper was full, etc. 

“Nice place you got ‘ere.” He commented, pulling his banjo over his head and resting it by the door. You could feel his eyes lingering on you as you pulled the pot off the stove.

“Appreciate it.” Taking a bath was well out of the window now, there was nothing he could do to you but he could sure as hell rob your home. You needed to keep an eye on him; a part of you was excited to have company, someone to talk to that wasn’t a stranger you paid to go into town for you. But, he was unknown nonetheless. 

“How’d you come to acquire it? If you don’t mind me askin’, of course.” He stood out of the way, polite. You pulled out one of two chairs that tucked snugly underneath your tiny dining table and beckoned for him to take a seat. He nodded thanks before lowering himself into the creaking wooden chair. His hands rested easily on the tabletop, fingernails tapping idly. 

“I bought it about ten years ago.” You replied, smiling to yourself as you recall the story. 

“Owner was awfully suspicious of me, only making deals in the night and asking him to invite me inside before it was mine.” You explained, sinking into the chair across from him and folding your hands in your lap. “But I had enough compensation to make him look the other way, made it worth his while.” 

“Didn’t turn ‘im?” He asked, curious and mildly offended.

“...No.” You said, picking at the skin of your thumb. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

He ignored that last part.

“So what, you jus’ feed on animals?” He asked, motioning to the blood on your dress. “I recognize the smell of rabbit’s blood on ya.” 

“I’ve had my hunting human days.” You said, crossing your ankles and settling into your chair. 

“But you, I take it, have a hivemind at this point, don’t you?” You stuck your nose up at the man in a playful manner, he tilted his head to the side as a chuckle escaped him.

“Somethin’ like that.” He allowed, flashing a fang. He didn’t have to hide around you, pretend, and you could have a conversation with someone without a burning hunger. It was nice. You did wonder how active he was, how known. The last thing you needed was vampire hunters at your door. Technically, you were a weaker vampire in your fasting lifestyle, you could hold yourself against other vampires but you weren’t sure how an encounter with a stocked up hunter would go. You also didn’t plan on finding out. 

“Mmmm, I’m sure you’ve racked up quite the body count, Mister.” You said.

“I’ve… influenced others into our cause.” He held his hands up, giving you a crooked, playful grin. You give him a look simply because you yourself didn’t agree with that take, which is why you lived the way you did.

“Aw, what’s that look, darlin’?” He asked, grin persisting. “Don’t approve?” 

“What other vampires do is not my concern. Mind your own, Remmick, and I’ll mind mine.” You stared at him head-on, a slight smile graced your lips. 

“Yes ma’am.” He held his hands up in surrender, chuckling lowly to himself. “Just curious on this lifestyle of yers, never seen much like it among the… community.” 

“Well you know what they say about curiosity.” You warned, leaning forward as you planted your elbows on the table, holding your face up in your palms. 

“I ‘ear it’s bad for cats.” He quips, “But I am no feline.” 

There was a pause, just a quick breather before you looked away from his prying eyes and over to the shelf in the corner. 

“Wanna play cards?” You asked, gaze landing on the yellowing deck before returning to his. He bowed his head slightly, holding his hands out.

“By all means.”

You retrieved your cards, placing them on the table before sitting back down again. “You know cribbage?” 

He shook his head, you smiled.

“Want me to teach you?” Your eyes flicked past him for a moment, towards the heavy curtains that blocked out the sky. The sun had to have been crawling up now, you could hear the birds chirping. 

“If you wouldn’t mind.” Remmick said, his line of sight following yours momentarily before landing back on your face. 

“Of course,” You pulled your attention back, beginning to shuffle the deck in your hands. 

“If you have any questions, I won’t bite.” You joked, dealing six cards to each of you. 

“Shame.” He took his cards in his hands. You were caught off guard, but you wouldn’t show it. Back when you were alive, men flirted and courted frequently. You hadn’t had that sort of quip in a while despite the fact you looked the exact same as the day you died. 

“Hush and listen, you.” Your smile betrayed you and he mirrored your expression. His eyes were light, as they took you in. The glint of red was gone and replaced by the soft heat of candle and lantern light. He was… annoyingly attractive. 

You quickly learned about the night’s events in the following days, it was all over the news. You, like many people, didn’t believe it at first… that is until you saw the police recordings of everyone’s retelling of the events. The shell-shocked expressions on their faces, the pure terror in their voices. The prospect of monsters in the mountains seemed so far-fetched but you believed every word that came from their mouths, it shook your world. How many times had you been to that lodge, slept in one of the guest rooms? The memories of the countless parties and events held in the space just made you sick to think about now.

And then, there was Josh. He had been missing for a few days before police found him in the mines and took him into custody. Those few days were filled with so many emotions for you; grief, terror, unsurety. When it was determined that he was too mentally unstable to stand trial, he was ordered by the court to be checked into a mental facility. You personally hadn’t spoken to him since the night you shared together. You’d heard about the revenge prank he pulled but the mention of cannibalistic creatures overshadowed everything else. And honestly, you couldn’t blame him too much for his actions. It was clear he was in mental distress, and after what happened to his sisters, you would be lying if you said you hadn’t harbored blame for the friend group as well. Plus there was the small fact that after you had been intimate, he told you to leave. Spared you from the night's horrors unknowingly just so you wouldn’t face his wrath. 

Understandably the group fell apart after the night’s events. Ashley and Chris got together, but Sam moved away, Emily and Matt broke up along with Mike and Jess and aside from a few messages clarifying that they were okay, nobody really talked to you either even though you made it clear that you were there for them. Especially Sam, the two of you used to be so close. But, after Hannah and Beth, you could feel your relationship slipping, this was just the nail in the coffin. 

But this was all months ago, it was summer now. Currently you sat at the kitchen table, tired eyes staring down at your too-bright laptop. You were researching which classes you had left in your major, the deadline for choosing classes next semester steadily approaching. The whole thing happened during your winter break that past year, and you struggled like hell when you had to go back to school. You barely passed your classes with D’s and C’s and your mind was always occupied with your friends, with the stories, with… him. Josh plagued your mind, for a long time you could only dream of him. Every night, your conscious replayed the night you shared together, the way he touched you, his kisses, his scent. Even now you thought about him as you went to email your counselor about registering for next semester. The kettle on the stove squeals, pulling you out of your haze as you stand, moving to turn off the electric appliance before grabbing a mug from the cupboard and placing a tea bag inside. You fill the cat-decorated mug, huddling close to the warm steam as the air conditioning of your apartment threatens to turn you blue. Your roommate, Sarah, was notorious for keeping the place an icebox, especially in the summer and no matter how many times you tried to ask politely to turn the damn temperature up, the result was always the same; a freezing cold apartment. 

Just as you go to blow on your mug and sit back down, eager to finish this email and get on with your evening, there’s a knock at the door. You sigh, wondering how many times Sarah forgot her key and had to be let in by you. You stand again, making your way over to the locked door before unturning the lock.

“Sarah, how many times are we gonna go over thi-” Your breath hitches in your throat and the sentence dies on your tongue as you peer at the man in front of you. It was Josh, standing there with an unreadable expression on his face. He was wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants, a bouquet of expensive looking flowers gripped in his hand where his arms fell slack against his body.

“Josh?” You breath out, hand coming over your agape mouth as your eyes scan his body, wondering if he was real.

“Hey honey.” He says, freehand coming to rub at the back of his neck, “Long time no see.” 

Tears well in your eyes at the sight of him, at his casual banter and it’s like your body moves of its own accord when you pull him into a tight hug. You collide with his chest, earning an “oof!” from him but he’s quick to reciprocate the hug as best he can with the large bouquet in his hand. You pull away to look up at his face. 

“Jesus Christ Josh, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” You confess, hand coming up to dab at the unshed tears threatening to spill over. “This is just so unexpected.”

“Ah, you can’t get rid of me that easily. I’m like a weed, I just keep coming back.” He smiles, it’s unsure and timid, something you didn’t see in Josh a whole lot. He was typically a very confident, goofy guy. 

“Do you,” You step back fiddling with your hands as you point to your apartment with your thumb, “Wanna come inside?” 

“Yeah, sure. That’d be good.” He says, you nod and step back and into the threshold of your small apartment, he closes the door behind you before clearing his throat and holding up the bouquet to you.

“I uh,” He chuckles, as if it was the most foolish thing in the world, “Brought you these.” 

Your eyes fall onto the arrangement and you take it into your hands, immediately being greeted by the aroma of sweet florals. You recognize some of the types of flowers like lilies, baby’s breath, hydrangeas, but others are totally foreign. All you know is that this was a beautiful arrangement of flowers, but it also looked very expensive. 

“Wow Josh,” You look back up at him, “You did not have to do that.”

 “I know, I wanted to. Least I could do after disappearing for months.” He says, standing awkwardly in the foyer. 

“I don’t blame you. You were… busy.” You say, delicately. Your eyes trail over to your kettle, still steaming. 

“Would you like some tea?” You offer, gesturing to the kettle, “Or beer?” 

“Tea please. I’m on new meds so… probably best to leave my party phase behind me.” He says, finally moving further into the space and settling in at your kitchen table. As he does this, you grab a vase from under the sink, filling it halfway with water before you unwrap the bouquet and slide it in the opening. You set the vase on the counter, making a mental note to find a permanent place for it later. 

“Tea it is.” You say, opening your mug cupboard and pulling out a plain mug. He picks up your tea from where it was sat by your laptop, carefully examining the cat design plastered to the ceramic. 

“Cute.” He says, setting it back down. 

“Thanks, it’s my favorite.” You say, dunking the tea bag into the steaming water and bringing the drink over to where he sat. You set it in front of him and he nods thanks. You slide into the chair across from him, closing your laptop and scooching your mug closer to yourself.

“So how did you-” You start.

“It’s cold in-” He starts at the same time.

“Sorry, you first.” You insist, motioning to him. 

“I was just gonna say that it’s cold in here.” He says, leaning over to blow the steam from his tea. You roll your eyes. 

“Trust me, I know. It’s my roommate, she keeps it morgue-ish in here.” You exaggerate and he chuckles, taking a small sip of his drink. This felt… nice. Weird, but nice. Josh was right here in front of you after all these months of thinking about him, he brought you flowers, he seeked you out. He was here and just as handsome as ever but you wanted to know what was going on inside. He seemed better but then again, he seemed the same way on the mountain. 

“What were you gonna say?” He asks, settling into his chair further, almost like he was relaxing for the first time since he’d been here. 

“I was just wondering how you found my address.” You say, taking a drink of your tea, which was cool enough to sip comfortably now. 

“Oh, I asked your mom.” He smiles at his solution, like it was the most clever idea ever. Your mom had always liked the Washingtons, before the disappearances, during high school, your families would take turns hosting dinner parties and inviting each other over for whatever was on the menu. You had told your mom about your crush on Josh back in senior year and ever since she had seen him in a new light. You weren’t surprised she caved into his request, even after everything.

“Of course.” You smile into your mug as it rests against your chin. Your eyes flick up and meet his as they already stare into you, deep and heavy. You set the mug down, clearing your throat. 

“So, what brings you here?” You ask after a moment of awkward silence. You needed to get to the bottom of this. What did he want? What did you want? What felt like a long time ago you were so ready to give into your feelings for him, let him have you anyway he wanted. Were you still that girl? Would you give into him again if he asked? You feared you knew the answer.

“I wanted to see you.” He starts, hands fiddling with the handle of his mug. “I wanted to talk to you about everything. I’m sorry it… took me so long. I just thought you’d want nothing to do with me after what happened.” 

Like you said, you didn’t harbor blame for Josh, he wasn’t in a good headspace. While what he did was extreme, you could see why someone would do what he did, the effort he put into the entire thing was revenge for his sisters, whose circumstances were the most tragic part of it all. Your opinion of him hadn’t changed and you hadn’t reached out because you honest to God didn’t know if he was in the right headspace to receive your call, to let you in. You had given up on him coming to you months after shit went down and had been grieving your friendship ever since. But now he sat before you, asking to talk. 

“Is that why you think I didn’t reach out? Josh, I had no idea if you wanted to talk to me. That’s why I never did.” You say reaching out to grab the hand that laid lazily on the table. He follows your movement with his gaze, eyes fixating on your connected hands. 

“Really?” He asks, his freehand coming to fold over your intertwined ones. His eyes come up to meet yours and you smile weakly. His stare becomes too much and you look away as you prepare your next statement. 

“That night…” You start, sighing, “that night meant so much to me. I had liked you for over a year at that point and being with you was a dream come true. I care about you, Josh. I always have.” 

He says your name, the hand folded over yours moving to bring a finger underneath your chin, guiding you to look at him. 

“That night was one of the worst of my life.” He says and you cringe, understanding where he was coming from but not expecting the words to hurt so much. But suddenly he speaks again,

“But what we had that night… is something I will never regret.” He retracts his hand and you immediately miss the contact, but his words fill you with a warmth that has you rubbing your legs together at the memory. 

“What are you saying?” You ask, begging for clarity. If he wanted you after all this time, you’d rather not dance around the topic, instead wanting to just get straight to the point. 

“I’m saying that I care about you, too.” He almost whispers, but you catch it causing a pink glow to spread across your cheeks. Suddenly the spaghetti strap cropped tank top you’re wearing is too hot, you can feel the fabric on your skin as you take in his statement. 

“So what do you… w-want?” You ask, trying your best to look him in the eye but your gaze keeps slipping, nervousness over taking your actions. It was a bold question, making him pick then and there. But he had brought you flowers, tucked his hand over yours so delicately. You wanted to kiss him, for him to do all those things he did to you over winter break and more. You wanted him to explore your body, but you also wanted to know him deeply, to understand his soul and for him to know you as well. You wanted a relationship, to put it bluntly. You had wanted one with him since senior year, nothing’s changed. No boy had caught your eye like Josh had and nobody has since. 

“Been craving Chinese food lately.” 

You scoff, standing from the table and moving to look out the window across the room. That wasn’t the answer you were looking for but it was such a Josh answer you couldn’t be mad. You watch the street outside, watch the cars, the people as they pass by on this smoldering day. There’s a moment of silence.  

“You.” He replies after a moment, “If you’d have me.” 

You’re about to say something as you turn around to gauge if he was being serious, but he continues, effectively silencing you. 

“These past few months have been rough, getting the help I needed was a sobering experience.” He’s so serious, serious about this, serious about you. 

“But in those times of uncertainty and… and mania, your voice would tell me that everything was going to be okay, that things would get better. I dreamt of you, thought about our night together and all of our interactions before. Thinking about the first time I met you.” He sighs, like not telling a joke for this long was killing him. 

“So what are you saying?” You ask, not wanting to get your hopes up if you were misunderstanding his intentions, what he was saying. 

He says your name, chuckling to himself like it was some kind of inside joke.

“I’ve been in love with you since senior year, I just didn’t want to ruin our friendship.” He stands from his seat at the table and walks over to your position at the window and takes your hands in his. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears. Did he really mean that?

“Did you mean what you said that night? Do you feel the same?” He references back to your ‘Josh, I’ve wanted to kiss you since senior year’ confession that you uttered when he had asked to kiss you that fateful night. You nod, your eyes watering for reasons even you weren’t aware of. 

“Of course I do.” You reply, looking at your connected hands. 

“Well, I guess we should party like pornstars over our mutual fondness.” He says and you look up, finding him looking down at you with that signature grin of his. You roll your eyes, shaking your head.

“What is your thing with pornstars? Also, didn't you just say how you were a retired party-goer?” You scoff lightheartedly. He could switch from being serious to a complete goofball on a whim. 

“Pornstars are at a level everyone should be striving for.” He defends, letting you go to hold his hands up. “The only care they have is if they look good fucking or not. Plus, there are other ways of celebrating something. Ways that don’t require alcohol.”

“Like?” You ask, looking at him mischievously.

“Tonight. Let me take you out to dinner.” He requests, bringing a hand to rest on the side of your face, thumb swiping gently at the swell of your cheekbone. That wasn’t where you thought he was going with that, but you weren’t angry or disappointed, a dinner sounded lovely. 

“Sure, sounds great.” You say, absentmindedly placing your hands on his hips. His eyes flick down to your lips and the vibe of the conversation changes. Here he was cradling your face delicately and there you were with your hands on his sweatpants. You want this, want him as you slowly pull his hips towards yours, bringing your bodies together. He dips his head without another word, connecting your lips together carefully. 

The kiss starts out slow, just a gentle give and take, a push and pull. His hand slides from your face and to the back of your head, tangling in your hair and getting lost in the locks. You tilt upwards for him, opening your mouth and supporting the invasion of his tongue as the kiss grows hotter. Your own hands slide up his body, arms wrapping around his neck as you pull him closer. 

You both subconsciously shuffle towards the couch, your bodies acting on their own accord as he gently lowers you into the cushions, your mouths staying connected through the movement. He moves atop you, caging you in with an arm at either side of your head. Your legs automatically wrap around his middle, causing him to grind down on your jean shorts. He swallows down your gasp at the contact, ankles interlocking behind him, keeping him pinned against your clothed core. 

“Like that, do you?” He teases, burying his nose into the sweep of your neck as he grinds down again. You can feel him hardening in his pants as a moan escapes your lips. 

If you were to to tell senior year you that you’d not only kissed Josh, but fucked him, she would probably faint. But not only had you fucked him, you’d captured his heart, just as much as he’d captured yours, or at least that’s what he said. You had no reason not to believe him, especially when he looked at you like that, touched you like this. 

“Y-yes.” You sigh, seeing no reason to lie. But, it wasn’t enough, the denim of your jean shorts was too restricting to really feel much. You glance over at the clock, if you wanted to be ready for tonight you needed to shower in the near future. That’s also when a wicked idea sprouts in your head. 

“Josh,” You say, hands running through his hair as he kisses down the column of your throat. 

“Hm?” He replies, nipping at your skin playfully, knowing it’ll leave a mark before smoothing it over with his tongue. 

“I need to take a shower.” You say, leaning your head back to let him continue down your neck. He hums, coming back up to press a quick kiss to your lips. 

“Need any help with that?” He says, not serious as he begins to retreat from you, presumably to let you get on with it. But you don’t, instead you catch him by the arm, pulling him back down on top of you and connecting your mouths in a heated kiss. 

“Yes actually, I would.” You say after a moment and he just looks at you bewildered, like he didn’t actually expect you to take the bait. After a couple of blinks and a visible bob of his Adam’s apple, he smiles, leaning down to press a peck to your own upturned lips before climbing off of you. He holds a hand out to you, you take it and he automatically hosists you to your feet, like you weighed nothing. A squeal escapes your lips as your feet meet the carpet and his hands go to your waist as you regain your balance.

“Better get to it then.” He smirks, sweeping an arm out. “Lead the way.”

You’re quick to grab the outstretched hand and tug it towards your bedroom. Luckily, the apartment had two bathrooms, one for you and one for Sarah, each connected to the respective bedrooms. You felt so grateful to your past self for picking up all the clothes that missed your hamper earlier today, your room was basically spotless now, all except your unmade bed. You close the door behind him and lock it, allowing his eyes to scan the room, noticing all your decor and trinkets before he gestures to the bed. 

“You live like this? Slob.” He says, unseriously, obviously teasing you. You scoff, remembering what his room looked like at either of his houses. It was clean for a boy, but you wouldn’t give him credit for it.

“Sorry I don’t have a maid, Washington.” You cross your arms, the corner of your mouth twitching upwards and betraying you. 

“Ouch. I can be clean by myself.” He defends, walking over to your desk and picking up one of your figurines. The character was from one of the video games you played, one that you actually had played with Josh before on his PlayStation 4. He looked at you knowingly, a small smile on his face.

“Dork.” He accuses, setting it back down, next to the cup that held your pencils and highlighters. 

“Excuse me? If I recall correctly, it was you who had the highest score in the friend group.” You shake your head, remembering the game nights fondly. Chris was the most competitive and the most butthurt when he would inevitably lose to Josh who was just unnaturally skilled at the game.

“Was I? Man, it was so long ago. I can barely remember.” He lies, and you know he was lying from that little smile he wore, the fact he wouldn’t look you in the eye right now.

“Right.” You draw out, hands moving to your hips as you shift your weight to one side. He looks at you finally and you gesture to the door next to the locked one. His gaze follows your hand and he smiles, his hand coming to rub at the back of his neck. Without another word, you turn the knob and push the door open. Since you pay more of the rent than your roommate, you got the master bedroom of the apartment. This gave you a still small but more spacious bathroom. The shower was larger with a built-in bench and sliding glass door, to which you immediately pulled to the side to get to the handle inside. You lean over to turn it, watching as water comes raining down from the showerhead. 

When you turn around, you’re surprised to see him with his shirt off and in his hands. Your lips twitch up in a smirk as you look him up and down.

“So eager.” You tease, walking over to him. You stop just before him, taking the bundled fabric from his hands and letting it fall to the ground by your side.

“Shut up.” He smiles, watching as you lift your hands to touch his chest, dragging your fingers over his pecs and tight stomach. Goosebumps break out over his skin as a shiver is sent down his spine, he catches your hand. 

“Your turn.” He says, almost a suggestion, almost a command. You bite your lip from anticipation and nod, returning your hands to your own bubble and grabbing at the hem of your shirt. You slowly pull it up, revealing your pink lacy bra, the one that made your cleavage look like something out of the Victoria’s Secret catalog. You don’t know what possessed you to wear it today but you’re glad you did. Josh’s face when he sees it makes you blush, his eyes are glued to your chest as he carefully takes a hand to cup you through the garment. You place a hand over his and guide him to squeeze, a little moan escapes your lips and his eyes flick up to yours. 

“This is cute.” He slides a finger underneath the top of the cup to your bra, grazing your nipple as he makes his way across and then up the strap. You shiver, watching as he carefully removes the strap from your shoulder, letting it fall slack at your arm. 

“Very pink.” He says, that smirk of his back on his lips. 

“Shut up, you know you love it.” You smile, genuinely. This was nice, the two of you just seemed to fall back into your banter, your friendship unwavering in the confessions of love and the entanglement of sex.

“Mmm.” Is all he says, but you note that it’s not a denial, and if the blush on his face is anything to go by, you assume you’re right. 

He moves his hand to your back, fingers finding the clasp and resting right above. He looks at you for confirmation and you nod your head, giving him the green light. He just flashes you a toothy grin before unhooking your bra in one try and you’re quick to shuck it off your shoulders. 

“Man, I missed these.” He says, almost to himself, as he holds your breasts in his hands. 

He leans in to kiss your neck, slowly moving down until he’s at your collarbone, kissing along it thoroughly before continuing his descent. You sigh at the sensation of his soft lips against your skin, knowing that you could let him kiss you forever without ever getting bored. He arrives at the valley between your breasts, holding you by your waist as he licks a stripe there, watching you beneath his lashes as you squirm. He moves carefully to your nipple, kissing it before wrapping his lips around the bud and lavishing it with his tongue. You tilt your head back and moan, your hands coming to tangle in his hair, nails scratching his scalp approvingly. 

After a moment of pure bliss, it takes everything in you to grab his face and pull it towards yours, noses nearly touching as he looks at you questioningly. 

“Water’s gonna get cold if we keep going.” you reason, skating your hands down his arms before intertwining your fingers. He smiles at you, nodding. He brings your joined hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before letting you go entirely.

You peel off your socks and he’s quick to kick off his sneakers before joining you. Your hands then go to the button of your shorts, undoing it before chugging it down your legs. Next to go is your underwear, being nothing special you saw no reason to show them off. When you look back up, he’s just as naked as you are, his eyes hungry as they rake over your body. 

“Now, that’s a sight I’ve missed.” He says, coming over and planting a hand on your hip.

You smile, looking up to meet his gaze.

“You act like you’ve seen it more than once.” You say, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. The skin on skin contact made your stomach twist up with butterflies, your breasts were pushed up against his chest and his own arms wrap around your middle. 

“Only in my dreams.” He says, dramatic as ever. You roll your eyes and begin to tug him to the now steaming shower, letting him go to slide the door open and step in. He holds your hand as he himself follows through and you pull him under the rain of hot water. The temperature feels divine as it envelopes your head, and soaks your hair. A piece of hair is plastered to your face and he moves to tuck it behind your ear, his eyes scanning the now unobscured view of your expression. The eye contact is broken when he glances down at your parted mouth before his own lips twitch up in amusement. Your chest steadily rises and falls between your two bodies, brushing his with every inhale. He finally moves to pull you into a kiss, and your hands go to wrap around his broad shoulders once again, the position feeling natural as you curl around him. One of his hands rests on the curve of your ass, the other tugs your hair backwards as he opens up the column of your neck for his invasion. 

“So beautiful.” He murmurs as he kisses down your face and along the sharp line of your jaw. He sucks a spot on your neck, marking you once again as his. You hum up at the ceiling, eyes closing as you savor the feeling of being with him. You hoped to feel this feeling forever, now that you had him in your grasp, you didn’t plan on letting go. He comes back up, planting a kiss to your lips before gesturing behind you and to the small bench that held your shampoo and conditioner bottles.

“Sit.” He says, and you do, carefully removing the bottles to the shower floor, out of the way. Once situated he sinks to his knees in front of you, wasting no time slinging your own knees over his shoulders. 

“Have you thought about this?” He asks, out of the blue. You avert your gaze from his prying eyes and he nips at your thigh to get your attention.

“Look at me.” He says so you do, rolling your head back to level so your eyes could meet his. “Have you?”

“Yes.” You reply honestly, blush hidden under the sheen of wetness caused by the downpour. You had thought about it, this and many other things. You fantasised about Josh, had for years. 

“Good. Because I’ve been thinking about repaying the favor ever since you went down on me.” He grins at you and you just smile back, settling in for what was to come. This day was a dream, it started out normal, mundane, but now look where you were. The man you’d been thinking about daily for months was in your shower, here with you with his head between your legs. 

He leans in to lick a bold stripe at your center, you immediately squirm at the sensation so he hunkers down and holds your thighs steady. He gently parts your lips with his tongue, prodding at your entrance before moving upwards to circle your clit. You mewl, your hand tugging at his hair and shamelessly pulling his face towards you. You can feel him smirk as he works you over, moving his tongue in and out and occasionally moving to wrap his lips around your bundle of nerves. The ecstasy you felt in this moment was too much to deny, it was clear now how you felt… you were in love. You had never had sex with someone you loved before, previous boyfriends not quite reaching that status as the relationships were fleeting and quick, ending before anything real could blossom. But, you understood now how pleasurable sex with someone you treasured, how groundbreaking this discovery about yourself was. You don’t think about it too much though, the orgasm you felt approving overtaking your mind and senses. It was coming quickly with the way he lapped at your pussy, his hands holding squeezing your thighs, the way his eyes flicked up every now and then to watch you come undone. It was all a contributing factor to your peak. 

“Josh I-I’m gonna-” You start but he cuts you off by pulling his face away for a split second, just enough for him to say,

“Do it, cum on my tongue.” 

Before he’s diving back in and circling your clit. With that, you do, cumming with such force that you throw your head back with a staggering moan. He tongue-fucks you through it, not letting up until you’re bordering on oversensitivity and have to push his head away. Slowly, he stands, leaning over to press a deep kiss to your parted lips. You can taste yourself on him and it makes you hum in response, cupping either side of his face. You take a deep breath of steam, grounding yourself as he pulls away.

“I want,” You start, finding his gaze as he stands to his full height, blocking the stream of hot water with his back and shoulders. “I want you to fuck me.”

“That can be arranged.” He smirks down at you, offering you a hand up. You take it, standing in front of him before he’s gently turning you around to face the bench. He pushes your hair to the side, freeing your ear as he leans in close.

“Bend over.” He murmurs, gently pushing your shoulders. You let him guide you over, bracing yourself with two hands on the built-in seat. You look back to see him stroking himself, eyes glued to your exposed center.

“You’re so fucking hot.” He says, aligning himself with your pussy as he firmly grips your hips. 

“Not so bad yourself.” You tease, turning to face forward, trying your best to quell your excitement and relax. 

“Shut up.” He chuckles, finally pushing in. He slowly fills you, letting you adjust to his length as you let out wanton moan while he simultaneously lets out a grunt. 

“Man, you’re tight.” He says, almost to himself as he finally sheaths himself completely. All you can do is whine, hands grabbing at nothing as your fingers slide against the smooth bench. 

“Jesus, Josh.” You pant, arching your back and tossing a glance over your shoulder to look at him. He looks concentrated as he moves his hips back, and you can feel every ridge and vein as he slowly moves against your walls. He almost pulls out completely before pushing back in, more forceful this time. It knocks the breath from your lungs, and you gasp at the feeling. The sounds he makes signals to you that he’s feeling a similar way, you lock eyes with him and notice how blown his pupils are before you look forward again, lowering to your elbows in hopes of getting comfortable. You then bring your forehead to rest on your folded hands, leaving you with your ass in the air and an arched back. It must’ve been a sight by the way he curses under his breath, and the way his grip on your hips tightens.

Pretty soon he’s got a comfortable pace going and you’re panting like a dog as he groans your name. You’re close again, trembling with the sheer ecstasy of the prospect of your second orgasm. He’s pumping relentlessly and you can’t help but whine out a moan.

“So fucking sexy-” Josh manages, stuttering now as you can tell he’s close to the edge. “Fuck, gonna cum.” 

“In me-” You pant, “Please.”

The need to be filled up by him was prominent in your mind, testing your limits and restraint to ask nicely. You were on birth control, and while it was never 100% effective, you had no issue going to the store after this and grabbing some Plan B. All you wanted was his cum inside you, painting your walls, dripping from your fold. You really couldn’t think of anything hotter. 

“Jesus, fuck- okay.” He nods, pounding into you once, twice, three times before you feel the coil in your stomach snap and he simultaneously cums inside you, filling you up.

You all but slump against the tile bench as he pulls out of you, turning off the water and grabbing a towel. He tenderly, so tenderly, guides you to stand up, supporting the weight your jelly legs couldn’t and wrapping the warm fabric around you. The bathroom is steamy and he guides you into a hug. You rest your head against his chest, your hair plastered and sprawled out against your back, his shoulders. You can hear his heart beating, fast, but slowing down as he catches his breath.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to doing that.” He says, running a hand over your head before pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“Samsies.” You joke, eyes fluttering shut against the lullaby his pulse was providing. You were spent. 

“Hey now, can’t go passing out on me.” He lifts your head from his chest with a finger under your chin. “You promised me a dinner with your dazzling company.” 

He was teasing, but it was true, you did promise. 

“What if…” You start, a proposal on the tip of your tongue, “We made the dinner? I mean who needs fancy restaurants when the girl standing in front of you makes killer teriyaki chicken?”

You smile, big and childish, up at him and he can’t help but return with his signature lopsided grin. 

“Sounds like a date.” He says, leaning down to press a kiss to your parted lips, you return eagerly before he eventually pulls back. 

“Better put our clothes back on.” He says, opening the shower door and grabbing his own towel. 

“I mean if we have to.” You say, following him out of the shower.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Taglist:

You brought your hand up to knock at the large door of the Washington Lodge, you pulled your parka a little closer, waiting for any sign of life to let you into the warmth of the multimillion dollar home. It had been a year since Beth and Hannah’s mysterious disappearance, a tragedy in your eyes. You weren’t a part of the prank, you were passed out drunk with Chris and Josh when it all went down. You only heard about the prank afterwards when police were called and you finally sobered up. Josh was obviously shaken up about the whole thing, to say the least. You’d barely heard from him throughout the year and he distanced himself from the friend group, which you couldn’t blame him for. You were surprised to hear from him, even more surprised to learn he wanted all of you to come back to Washington Lodge in memory of the sisters.

Although it felt… weird, you felt morally obliged to come back and support Josh, which totally had nothing to do with your feelings for him. Not at all… okay, maybe a little. But, he probably didn’t feel the same. Which was fine, you could be the good friend to him that he needed right now. You hoped that after his time away he’d come back to the friend group, come to the parties and back into your life. Maybe it was a little selfish, but you wanted to see him for the sake of your feelings for him which really hadn’t dwindled in his absence. You worried for him, last you heard he was in therapy and taking medications for his depression and other mental health issues. As childish as it sounded, you wished you were able to take away his pain, or at least ease it. It hurt to see someone you cared about in pain. 

Your mind wanders back to the night of the incident, things would’ve been different if Josh, you and Chris had been awake and aware of the pranks plans. Josh for sure wouldn’t have stood for it, you know you would’ve tried to stop it. After all, Hannah was one of your closest friends. You yourself found it hard to return to the friend group after the whole thing, harboring blame for everyone involved. Well, everyone except Sam who was your other closest friend. You know she tried to stop it afterwards when you had a chance to talk to her, she was just too late.

Your thinking is cut short by the sound of the door unlocking and creaking open. Your gaze follows the sound and lands on Josh as he stands in the doorway, a toothy grin plastered on his face. He says your name in a friendly and welcoming manner before pulling you into a bear hug.

“Oof!” you collide with his chest before wrapping your arms around him in return. 

“Good to see you too, Josh.” Your hands slide back from his flannel as he lets you go and a gust of frigid wind bites at your nose and cheeks. 

“Can I come in?” You ask, pointing to the fireplace. There was nobody else in the room but yet you had a feeling you were the last one to show up, as per usual. 

“Oh yeah, sure sure. Come on in.” He steps aside, and allows you to come into the lodge before closing the door behind you, shutting out the cold. You drag in your luggage and set it in the foyer and then you make your way over to the fireplace, rubbing your hands together and holding them to the flame. Your fingers were freezing as you opted to wear fingerless gloves, perhaps an oversight on your end but you were inside now, so all was well. 

“Can I, uh, take your coat?” He asks, gesturing to the coat rack where his vest was also hanging, his beanie dangling from the pocket. 

“Sure,” You slip your arms from your parka before handing it over to Josh who takes it and hangs it from the coat rack. You’re now left in your black cardigan and jeans. “Thank you.” 

“No problemo.” He smiles at you and makes finger guns, you shoot him back and he chuckles.

“Where’s everyone else?” You ask, looking around. 

“Jess and Mike are on their way to the guest cabin, Emily and Matt are retrieving her bag from the cable car station, Sam is taking a bath and Chris just went to lay down.” He lists off, counting on his fingers.

“Left you all alone, did they?” You tease, watching as he makes his way over to you to warm his own hands. 

“I’m wounded by their absence.” He pretends to stab his heart and acts wounded, you laugh at his theatrics. 

“So dramatic.” You say, rolling your eyes in a silly manner. He scoffs, looking over at you.

“You’ve always been the dramatic one.” He claims, elbowing your side and causing you to squeal and fold in on yourself.

“Stooop!” You dodge away, running to get behind the couch and away from the prying elbow. “Behave.” You warn, smile betraying you. 

“When have I ever not behaved?” He chuckles, raising an eyebrow at you. Now it was your turn to scoff.

“Oh, you want the list or the summary?” You ask, climbing over the back of the couch to bet comfy on the cushions. He watches you with something unknown in his eye, a foreign twinkle. 

“What?” You ask, kicking off your boots before bringing your knees to your chest. 

“Care for a drink, madam?” He disappears to the liquor cabinet before reemerging with a handle of vodka. The last time you had gotten drunk in this lodge, things didn't end well. But, a few sips couldn’t hurt, maybe it’d help you get warm. You also hoped Josh hadn’t turned to alcohol in his time of grief, but if some company was what he needed, you were happy to oblige. 

“Oooo, are we Russian now?” You gesture to the vodka as he comes to sit down next to you, he turns the bottle in his hand. It was nice vodka, probably very expensive but you understood that the Washington family could definitely afford for you and Josh to take a few sips from off the top. 

“Da.” He says in his best Russian accent before unscrewing the lid and offering you first drink. You take the bottle by the neck and take a sip off the top and when you look back to Josh to offer up the bottle, he’s looking at you in disbelief. 

“What?” You ask, blushing under the weight of his gaze. 

“That’s all you’re gonna drink? Where’s the black-out, shit-faced, party girl I know?” He smiles his signature grin at you before taking the bottle and taking a hearty drink. He grimaces against the alcohol taste before setting the bottle on the nearby table. 

“She’s retired. Focusing on her studies.” You say, a teasing tone lacing your voice. You and Josh were both in college at the time of the disappearances but Josh understandably dropped out of his studies. You, on the other hand, were still up at the local college pursuing your degree. 

“Hey,” You start, your teasing tone turning into one of concern, “Should you be drinking with the meds you’re taking?” You tried your best to sound sincere, because you were. You didn’t want him hurting himself or anything just to have a drink with you.

“I’m fine.” He says, face immediately dropping. You move to put a hand over his and he looks at the contact then back at your face.

“I didn’t say you weren’t.” You practically whisper, thumb caressing over his knuckles. 

“I uh…” He starts, gaze not leaving yours, “I stopped taking them.” 

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” You ask, searching his features for the answer before he can say it. You don’t find anything.

“Good… I think.” He says after a moment, his eyes shift from yours and to the side, like he was thinking of something. You retreat your hand and lean back, your legs draping over his lap. He immediately shifts and welcomes your incursion, hands beginning to fiddle with the hem of your pants. This was nice, your relationship was basically the same as it had been a year ago, even though you’d barely seen each other since. 

“I’m just glad you’re doing better.” You express honestly. All you wanted was for Josh to be okay, even though you knew the pain of losing his sisters would never go away. Hearing that he was off his meds just left you confused on how to feel. Was he off them because he was doing better? Or were they not working, or worse yet, was he giving up on them? 

“Thanks for coming back, I know it probably wasn’t easy.” He says, a rare sincerity showing itself. Usually Josh was a pretty goofy guy, witty and sarcastic and all around a good sense of humor. Seeing him now, timid and honest, was something you’d seen before, but not often. 

“Of course. Anything for you.” You smile as he rests his arms on your shins and studies your face. 

“Careful, you’re giving me a lot of power there.” He grins, returning to his goofy self. 

“Well, maybe not anything.” You trail off, a smile plastered across your face. 

“Well then, I command thee to drinketh upon thine vodka.” He reaches to grab the bottle from the table and hands it to you while committing to his false accent.

“Well, if you command it, I suppose I have no choice.” You take the bottle and take a meaningful gulp of the clear liquid, clearly making a face against the taste as Josh laughs at you. 

“Wow, you really have lost your touch.” He says, chuckling.

“Oh whatever, sorry I’m not used to your ridiculously expensive vodka.” You dismiss, passing back the bottle and watching him take his turn. 

The two of you continue like that for a while, just passing the bottle between you both and getting closer and closer, and louder and louder. Soon enough you’ve got him trapped in a hearty laugh, you’re gripping your sides from cackling and tears are springing from the corners of your eyes. You bring a finger to dab at your eyes, not trying to mess up your mascara. But then, you fall into silence and your gaze slowly makes its way over to Josh, who is already looking at you, lips parted as his tongue dashes out to wet them. 

“What?” You ask, suddenly feeling self conscious. 

“Are you still willing to do anything for me?” He asks, rather seriously.

“Within reason.” You try to make light of the serious tone overcoming the space around you and it seems to work, Josh’s lips twitch into a smile momentarily before he’s pulling on your legs, chugging you towards him. 

“Well then, come here.” 

“Josh!-” You squeal as you slide across the couch. Your heart was racing, what did he want? What was he going to do? You’ve had feelings for him for so long, could it be possible he felt the same way?

In a moment your knees are bent over his lap, your body much closer to his as he turns to look at you. 

“Would it be within reason to ask to kiss you?” 

Your stomach does a backflip and your mouth goes dry. Was he serious? You’d had a crush on this man for years, ever since Hannah had brought you into the friend group in high school. She was younger than you, but you both found yourself in the same chemistry class where you became fast friends. Josh was always the forbidden fruit, someone who you wanted but could never have. Not because you thought Hannah would disapprove, no, in fact she actually knew about your crush, but it was forbidden because you never thought he’d want you too. You always thought he wanted Sam, which you couldn’t blame him for. She was beautiful. But here you were, legs draped across his lap, bodies merely inches apart and he was asking to kiss you. 

“Are you being serious?” You ask, “Josh, I’ve wanted to kiss you since senior year.” 

“I guess we have some time to make up for then.” He says, hand skating up your arm and tangling in your hair as he brings your face to his and connects your lips. You melt into the touch as he tilts his head to get even closer, his free hand coming to rest on the bent knee positioned over his lap. 

Your eyes flutter shut as his lips meld to yours. The kiss starts out slow, just a sweet connection of your lips gradually moving against each other. But soon enough you feel his tongue at the seam of your mouth, so you open and take him greedily, your hands coming to rest on his neck and on the side of his face. Your thumb swipes across his cheek as his hand pulls on your knee, pulling on it gently.

“Come here.” He grunts against you as he guides you into his lap, straddling him. Your tongue meets his as he enters your mouth again and you moan into the contact, hands moving from his face to run through his hair, his own hands go to your ass, holding you against him as your lips engage in a dance for dominance. 

He parts from you to kiss the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw before arriving at your neck where he tenderly nips at the sensitive flesh. You roll your head back and allow him access and when he bites down only to lick over it and play nice, you let out a sweet moan. He nuzzles into your shoulder and your arms go around his shoulders, embracing him. You could feel yourself getting wet from the kissing alone. 

“Keep making noises like that and I won’t be able to contain myself.” He grunts into your hair and you push him back just a little, just enough to have him look at your face.

“I don’t want you to contain yourself.” You say honestly, you were putting it all out in the open. How many times had you raked your own hands down your body imagining they were his? You were ready for this, hell, you yearned for it. Yearned for him. 

“Yeah?” He asks, searching your eyes. 

“Yeah.” You confirm, a low tremor in your voice from the sheer excitement and want. 

“Get up and follow me.” He says, you obey, sliding off his lap and allowing him to get up. He turns back to you, holding out a hand. You take it, allowing him to lead you up the stairs, around the corner and into his old room. You pause for a second as he closes the door behind you and you take the time to look around the room. It was identical to the last time you’d seen it, when you would sit on the floor with him and Chris and play videogames on the flatscreen across the room. The only thing that was different was the dust covering the shelves and end tables, it was clear the Washingtons hadn’t been here all year. You didn’t blame them. 

“Looks the same.” You observe as he wraps his arms around your waist from behind, observing the dark room with you. 

“Haven’t really touched it since…” He lingers but doesn’t finish. 

“But the, uh, bed is clean. Washed all the bedding before everyone got here.” He purrs in your ear, hands going from around your middle and to your hips. You turn in his grasp, his hands just slide along your body as you do until they’re planted on your hips again. 

“Better get to it then.” You say lowly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. That appears to be all the invitation he needs, dipping his head to connect your lips once more. He gently pushes you backwards until the back of your knees hit the mattress. You help him in ripping off your cardigan, discarding it somewhere across the room. Next to go was your spaghetti-strap tank top, leaving you in your bra and jeans. He leans back to admire you, hands sliding up your waist and to your breasts. He cups them gently, squeezing you like you were delicate glass. You grab at his flannel and begin to chug it down his shoulders, he assists you before letting it fall to the ground. His shirt joins the pile soon and now it was your time to admire him. You lean back in to lavish his neck in kisses and licks and move down to his shoulder, biting gently as his hands run up and down your back and he hums lowly in his throat. His hand hitches when it hits your bra strap and he expertly unhooks it, leaving it hanging around your shoulders. You pull back to shuck it from your body. He shamelessly stares, bringing his hand back to them once again and testing the weight of you in his hands. His gaze flicks back up to yours.

“Lay down.” He invites, watching you as you take it and flop down onto the mattress, propping yourself on your elbows as you meet his gaze. He bends over you, unbuttoning your jeans before hooking fingers around your belt loops and beginning to tug your pants down your legs. You assist by lifting your ass off the bed as he gets them past your thighs, to your shins and then off completely. He then works at his own pants before pulling them off, leaving him in his boxers.

He looked so good, your mouth watered for him. You wanted to taste him, to feel him against your tongue, anything to make him feel good. You sit up before standing completely. He looks at you confused but when you sink to your knees in front of him, it seems to click. 

“Can’t say no to that.” He chuckles, watching as you hook your fingers under the waistband of his boxers. You slowly bring them down, revealing the last bit of his happy trail, top of the pelvis until finally his cock springs free, half-hard. You peer up at him, a little smile tugging at your lips as you lick your hand and begin to pump him slowly. He groans as you stroke him, head tilting backwards and eyes fluttering closed, which you thought was funny considering you hadn’t even taken him into your mouth yet. 

But then you finally do, starting at the tip, you swallow him down as much as you can before wrapping your hand around the part you cannot. Then, you start to slowly come off him, lips and tongue running over every ridge and vein until you reach the very tip again and repeat the process. If you could bottle the noises he made while you worked him over, you would and keep it forever. His grunts and groans were everything you’d ever wanted to hear since you’d met him. All those nights fantasizing was nothing compared to the real thing. His hand comes to the back of your head, not to push you or hurry you along, but just to feel you as you slide back and forth. You fight back a gag as he hits the back of your throat, hot tears spring from your eyes but it’s worth it just to make him feel good. You mourn for your mascara but this was about him, so makeup be damned. 

“God, you're good at that.” He moans before pulling out of your mouth with a pop. You look up at him, drool covering your chin as you bring a hand to wipe it up. 

“And as much as I’d like to paint your pretty face, I wanna feel what it’s like to be inside you.”

You nod and he helps you stand before escorting you to the bed, you lay down, pulling off your remaining panties and throwing them across the room. You’d have to go on a scavenger hunt to find all of your belongings later but that wasn’t a problem for now. 

You peer over at him when you hear a rummaging sound and he’s pawing through his bedside drawer.

“Condom?” You ask, resting your head on your bent arm as you watch.

“I swear there’s one in here.” He says, frustrated.

“Aha!” He pulls out a foil wrapped condom before tearing open the packaging with his teeth. He pulls it out, rolling it onto his erect member before using two fingers to beckon you over. 

“Come to the edge of the bed.” He says, voice like honey. You shake your head though, you’d wanted to ride him for a while now and tonight seemed like the perfect opportunity.

“I want to ride you.” You say, scooting over and patting the space beside you. 

“Come get comfy.” You purr, flipping over so your ass was on display. It seems to work as you watch his adam's apple bob before he’s climbing into bed and settling in amongst the pillows.

“I could never say no to you.” He smiles at the ceiling before turning his attention to you.

“I’m going to remember you said that.” You say, climbing over him. He immediately goes for your tits, grasping them in both hands before running his thumbs over your perked nipples. You moan as he does, the attention sending energy straight down to your core. You look back down at him to see him biting his lip as he watches his hands play with the soft flesh. 

“Like what you see?” You ask, your hands slotting over his against your chest. 

“Always have.” He admits, eyes finally finding yours as you peer down at him from your perched position. You tilt your head, trying to find the answer in his eyes before you even asked the question.

“Really?” 

He drops his hands to your thighs and sighs.

“Well duh. Have you seen you?” He squeezes your thighs gently. “You’re like super hot.” 

You laugh, taking a hand to cup the side of his face.

“Wish you told me that when we were seniors.” You say, he turns to kiss your wrist.

“Live and learn.” He chuckles before tapping your thigh. “Now, are you gonna do what you came here for?” 

You look behind you, he’s still angrily erect, a bead of precum drips from the tip. 

“That looks painful.” You coo, scooting backwards, “Let me fix that for you.” 

“Thank God.” He sighs to the ceiling, you just laugh again before taking him in your hand and running his cock through your folds, slicking him in your juices. You were ready for him, had been since he kissed you, even more when he groped you so shamelessly. 

Once he was well and truly slicked, you align him with your entrance before slowly sinking down on him. You cry out as you take him inch by inch, he lets out a guttural moan when you finally hit the base, stretching you out.

“Shit, you’re tight.” He grits through his teeth, hands coming to hold your waist in support. 

 He sits up and ducks his head to lavish your nipple in attention, sucking gently before licking over with his hot tongue. You sigh at the sensation, nails raking over his back as you begin to move up slowly, rising on your knees. He felt so good, like he was made for you. The burning sensation had already subsided and all there was now was sweet pleasure. You wondered what your relationship would be like after this, were you going to go on actual dates now, be fuck buddies? You knew your feelings were too strong for him to be anything casual, your heart would break at the prospect of this being a one time thing. But it all depended on what he wanted, what he thought of you. He admitted he had thought you were attractive to him since you’d met but is that all he felt? Lust?

 He moves to kiss your shoulder, nipping at the skin there as you sink back down. He could be so tender, you’ve learned in your time with him tonight, so caring. It again made you question his intentions, how could someone who was so loving want just to fuck you? He brings his head up to kiss you again, swallowing down your moans as you sink back down, more quickly this time, harder. Soon enough you’ve got a pace down and he’s snapping his hips up to meet you in the middle, creating a delicious friction that has you hurtling towards an orgasm at lightning speed. You can see it on the horizon, steadily approaching. 

You separate your tangled tongues to warn him of your upcoming release.

“Josh,” You pant as he snaps his hips up once more, you pause to let out a moan, “Baby, I’m gonna cum.” 

“By all means,” He quips, letting out another grunt as you meet his pelvis. 

With another thrust, you’re there, cumming as you cry out his name. Your walls flutter around him and it’s enough to have him flustered. 

“Oh shit, I’m gonna-” But he doesn’t finish before he fills the condom with his seed, letting out a long moan that makes you clench around him. You loved the sounds he made throughout this whole experience, loved the way he touched you, the way he fucked you, you loved… him. 

After he is finished, you slide from him, settling in amongst the sheets next to him. He pulls off the condom before tying it off, tossing it into the trash can beside the bed. After, he pulls you onto his chest and wraps an arm around you, fingers running up and down your spine. You rest a hand on his stomach, eyes fluttering shut after the effort you put into making love to him. He kisses your temple before checking the time on the alarm clock on the side table. 

“Shit.” He mutters. You peek your eyes open. 

“What?” You ask, heart dropping for some reason, like you could’ve caused the sudden change of mood.

“I’ve gotta do something.” He says, unwrapping from you and finding his clothes. You follow in suit, finding your panties before sliding them up your legs. Before long you’re both dressed. He catches your hand and pulls you into an embrace. 

“Listen…” He says, pulling away. You dread the look on his face, like he was fighting something internally. 

“What? Is something wrong?” You ask quietly, almost afraid of the question.

“I know I invited you here.” He starts, for some reason he looks… guilty?

“But you need to leave.” 

Your heart sinks to your stomach… what? 

“What?” You ask, voice harboring a little quiver.

“Shit’s about to go down and I don’t want you near it.” He says, honestly. But, what did that mean? What shit was about to go down? 

“What do you mean?” You ask, completely lost.

“I need you to trust me.” He grabs your shoulders and gives you a look. A look that strikes you as the most serious you’d ever seen him. You have no choice but to trust him, to do as he asked. You still had a million questions but his stare silences you. 

“I do.” Is what you settle on and he kisses your forehead at the acceptance. 

“Great.” He lets you go before making his way to the door and opening it for you, you walk through and he follows closely as you make your way down the stairs and to the door. You were sore, still feeling him between your legs. Normally, it’d be something that made you blush but you were feeling too confused, too puzzled to think of anything else as you pull on your parka and grab your suitcase. You turn to say something but he grabs your face and kisses you deeply. You return in, eyes closing and hands going to his waist before you both pull apart.

“I promise everything will make sense by dawn.” He says, letting you go and opening the large front door. You just nod, what else could you do? 

So, you left, stepping into the cold night and soon enough you’re in the cable car, slowly making your way down the mountain. A million questions swarmed your head but those would have to wait… until dawn.  ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─── A note: Hope you enjoyed that! Had to change a few things for the plot to work but nonetheless hope it was fun to read! ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─── Taglist (comment to be on it)

The next morning you wake up in Arthur’s arms, cuddled close to his chest as he snores softly above you. You stretch out your legs,pointing your toes and groaning slightly as he begins to stir besides you. You could still feel him between your legs, a soreness you were welcoming too. If it meant you had to be a little sore every time you fucked him, you were completely okay with that. 

“Good morning,” You purr, drawing little circles on his chest with your finger as he groggily looks down at you. 

“Morning.” He says, a little smile on his face. You lean up, connecting your lips in a quick kiss before you sit up, letting the blanket pool around your waist as you lift your arms up and stretch. His hands come to your naked waist, holding your soft skin gently. You turn your head to look at him but his eyes are trained on your body. He moves a hand to run down your spine and it sends a chill through your body. In a moment he lets you go and you slide from the bed, and begin collecting your clothes from the ground. You could feel his eyes on you every time you bent over, showing off your legs and ass. 

“Damn girl.” He sighs, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and sitting up. “Keep looking like that and I won’t be able to control myself.” 

You pull on your bloomers before grabbing your shift and pulling it over your head. 

“Maybe I don’t want you to control yourself.” You turn to face him, as he stands and walks over to you, putting his hands on your waist and pulling you against him. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, standing on your tiptoes to give him a kiss. He reciprocates it, kissing you back as his hands move under your shift and up your bare back. His hands feel rough against your soft skin but so, so good. 

You pull away first, leaning back to get a good look at him. He was so rugged and handsome, you just wanted to gaze at him, drink him in as much as he’d let you. He just stares back, his eyes flicking from your lips to your nose to your eyes. 

“Beautiful.” He mutters, bringing a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and you have to grab onto his biceps to keep you from melting into the floor. When he complimented you, touched you, hell, even just acknowledged your existence, you felt good, special even. You wanted more of it, more of him; wanted to touch him, explore him, breathe him in, anything he’d let you. Your hands slide up from his biceps to the sides of his neck, thumbs brushing his jawline. He dips his head to suck at your pulse point and you moan, letting your head roll to the side to allow him better access. 

“We need to leave,” You gasp, hands skating up to tangle in his hair. “The camp will wonder where we went.” 

“Shoulda thought about that before asking to rent the rooms in the first place.” He says, giving your neck one more kiss before pulling away entirely, finding his shirt and beginning to do up the buttons. You go to the door, looking at him once more before grabbing the doorknob. 

“I’ll see you downstairs?” 

He nods, tucking in his shirt. “See you down there.” 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You looked at your reflection in the mirror, you looked lovely, and finally in clothes you could call your own. Today you decided to wear your baby blue floral blouse, your sage green button up on top, it was form fitting so it cinched your waist and clung to your arms, and your baby pink skirt. Each color was light enough to go with the other nicely, and the whole palette went well with your skin and hair. Plus, it lets your clavicle and some of your cleavage breathe, perfect for the rising temperature. After you tied your boots, returned Mary-Beth’s necklace safely around your neck, tied your hair up in a low bun with pieces framing your face, and gathered up yesterday's clothes, you descended the stairs to wait for Arthur, only to find that he was waiting for you already. 

“Hello,” You greet, standing on the first step, letting him get a good look at you. You felt pretty, in brand new clothes and with your hair semi done, you felt like a lady again. Arthur’s eyes scan your new attire, landing on your smiling face. He looks at his feet, a little smirk on his lips as he speaks. 

“You look good.” He says to the ground before looking at you again, “Very good.” 

“Why thank you,” You curtsy best you can while having Mary-Beth’s clothes in your hands, giving him a wide smile before hopping off the step. You look out the window, Arthur had already brought the wagon around for the two of you when you were ready and Cash was standing next to it, ready to go. 

You come to stand near him, his eyes dip to your neckline. “Still wearing Mary-Beth’s necklace?” He asks, turning away from you to open the door and hold it. You nod thanks as you walk through it and he follows behind you as you approach the wagon.

“Yep, it felt safer around my neck than it did in my pocket.” You say, and he nods.

“Well, alright then.” 

You come down the hotel porch stairs and walk around to the side of the wagon, he follows you and offers a hand as you climb into the seat, settling in and passing Mary-Beth’s clothes behind you to the back where the rest of your clothes and supplies were. 

“Will Cash follow us back?” you ask, looking towards your new horse who was just standing near the wagon, waiting. 

Arthur nods, climbing into the seat beside you. 

“Yep, just whistle and he’ll follow.” He says, taking the reins in his hands, “Ready to head back?” 

You nod, turning in your seat to whistle for Cash as Arthur sends the wagon horse forward. Just like Arthur said, Cash falls into step behind the wagon, following along at a steady pace. You watch as you pass the buildings in town, watch the people in town living their different lifestyles, watch the mountains in the distance as you steadily pull out of town. This was your new life, your new normal. No more mansions, no more croquet, no more jewels and tight dresses. Just you and the man you were sitting next to. He drapes an arm behind you, over the top of the seat and you lean into it, resting your head against his chest as you watch the scenery go by. 

“You hungry?” He asks eventually and you nod, you were. You could feel your stomach turn at the mention of food, you hadn’t eaten well since you got to camp, you were just busy. He reaches into his satchel and pulls out some canned peaches, his large lands passing it over to your smaller ones. 

You take it gratefully and crack it open, taking the can to your lips and sipping the juices. You swear it's the sweetest, best thing you’ve ever tasted, as you gulp down the peach slices, only stopping when there’s none left and to wipe your mouth.

“Much appreciated.” You say, tossing the can behind you. 

“No problem.” 

You settle back in for the ride, tummy happy and full of yummy peaches. It wasn’t the five-star meals you were served at home, but it was given to you by someone you care about, and that fact made it that much sweeter. 

“Hey.” He grabs your attention after a while, and points to the familiar treeline surrounding the camp. “We’re here.” 

You try not to be sad when he removes his arm from around you, prompting you to sit up and scooch away from him. It made sense that you both didn’t want people to know about the two of you, that would generate too many questions, questions you didn’t quite feel like answering. Hell, did you even know the answers?

How did this start between you two? Well, you got drunk, but why didn’t it end there? You weren’t sure but you sure as hell were not complaining. All you knew is that you wanted it to continue, wanted to spend time with him, wanted to know him and he to know you. Plus, the sex was great already and you definitely didn’t want that to end. So, you’d go with the flow, enjoy the time you could spend together and respect the secret. You could do that. Easy… right?

He pulls into the narrow trail leading into the campsite. 

“Who’s there?” Sean calls out, cocking his rifle. 

“Arthur! Dumbass.” Arthur calls back, coming into Sean’s view.

“It’s about time you got ‘ere!” Sean says, that Irish accent as strong as the day you first heard him. 

“Yeah yeah.” Arthur dismisses him, leading the wagon past him and into its designated spot. He climbs down first, coming over to your side to offer you a hand as you hop down. You take it, more as an excuse to hold his hand rather than actually needing it. The contact is over as soon as it begins and he’s grabbing your haul from the back and handing it to you. 

“Thank you.” You chirp and he nods, gaze lingering on you a tad longer before he leaves, heading towards Dutch’s tent and disappearing under the flap. Duty calls, you supposed as you lead Cash to the hitching station and hitch him before you walked back to your shared lean-in with Mary-Beth. She was across the camp, washing clothes in a wash tub. She was focused, not even realizing you were back yet. You gather up the clothes you were wearing yesterday, her clothes, and go over to her, figuring she’d want to wash them. 

“Hello, Mary-Beth.” You greet, walking up to her and stopping a couple feet away from the tub, not wanting to get splashed. She looks up at you, wiping the sweat from her brow and smiling.

“Well hey there.” She greets back, a curious look spreading across her face, “Have a good night?”

“Yeah, I convinced Arthur that we should get a couple rooms at the hotel.” You pause, looking at her as seriously as you could before adding, “Separate rooms.”

She almost deflates at that, clearly rooting for the two of you like you were characters in her stories. “Well, that’s no fun.”

She had no idea.

“This ain’t a book, Mary-Beth.” You scold playfully, moving to set the clothes down in the dirty pile next to her. “Here are your clothes back. I’ll set your necklace in your trunk.”

Her eyes drift to the necklace around your neck and she looks at it thoughtfully. 

“Keep it, looks better on you anyways.” She smiles before grabbing a tunic from the pile and plopping it into the soapy water. You look at her bewildered, immediately shaking your head. 

“I can’t take this, it’s too nice.” Your hand comes over the turquoise pendant, fiddling with it as you stand there.

“Sure you can, it’s a gift.” She says, scrubbing the tunic over the washboard, not seeming bothered. You didn’t know where you’d be without her kindness, her hospitality. She was already your best friend, someone you could talk to and laugh with. Maybe you should tell her about everything that’s happened. Another day, perhaps.

“Thank you.” You smile, peering down as best you could at the beautiful piece. 

“Oop, Dutch is calling you.” Mary-Beth looks behind you and points, you turn your head to follow and sure enough, Dutch was beckoning you towards his tent. You wave, indicating you’ll be there in a second. You notice Arthur wasn’t with him. He nods and you turn back to Mary-Beth.

“Talk to you later?” You ask.

“Definitely.” She says, shooing you away, “Now go, don’t want to keep Dutch waiting.” 

You laugh, nodding. “Alright, alright.”

You make your way across camp, past the watching eyes. You wondered when people would stop looking at you like that and accept that you were there to stay, that you were capable of pulling your weight the second you were given the opportunity. And something told you your opportunity was just around the corner as you approached the tent. 

“Dutch.” You greet, coming to stand a few steps outside his tent. He looks you up and down, taking in your new clothes. 

“I trust you got everything you needed at the store yesterday?” 

“Yes, I got a few guns, some clothes, Pearson made me a bag…” You trail off, waiting for Dutch to get onto why he called you over there in the first place.

“And do you still have the clothes you arrived in, the fancier set?” He asks, peering over to the trunk they let you have by your bedroll.

You did still have it, but you never expected to wear it again, it was safely tucked away in the trunk. You were curious as to why they needed it, or as to why they needed you to have it. You guessed you would find out soon enough.

“Yeah, it’s in my trunk.” You say, holding your arms, following his gaze to said trunk, “Why?” You turn back to Dutch.

“Because I’m sending you, Arthur, and a couple others on a robbery run. It’s undercover and you’ll need to blend in with the people who will be there.” He explains, leaving you with even more questions.

“Where is it?” You ask, looking around the camp for a glimpse of Arthur, you wondered if he knew about this yet. Probably, you thought, you were most likely the last person to hear about this. 

“An estate in Saint Denis. There’s a safe in the basement that Javier and Arthur will crack, you just need to be there as a distraction and extra gun if needed, but hopefully we can avoid that.” He pauses, thinking for a moment before continuing.

“You and Arthur will be posing as a Mister and Missus Randolph, a wealthy couple whose ancestors came from England along with all their money. It took some string-pulling but you both have an invitation to the party they’re throwing tomorrow night. I gave Arthur both the invitations for safe keeping.” 

You nod, trying to quell the excitement rising in your chest, this was it, your first real mission. This would be the make or break moment for you, if this went well they’d trust you. At least more than they did right now. 

“Tomorrow you said?” You ask, he nods. “I think I can fit that into my schedule.” 

He laughs, planting a hand on your shoulder.

“One more thing my dear, I’m sending you and Arthur out to do some hunting, Pearson is low on supplies.” He gives you a knowing smile and you blush under the weight of it, what was he implying?

“Sounds good.” Is all you can say before he’s releasing you and sending you on your way. You supposed you should change into your jeans, it would make hunting and riding your horse so much easier. So, when you get to your trunk, you crack the lid open, digging around for your new jeans before disappearing to put them on. 

When you reemerge from behind the wagon, you look across the camp to see Arthur brushing June, probably getting her ready to go on this little hunting trip. He had changed again. This time he was just wearing a simple button up shirt, jeans and his hat. No vest or jacket, just simple attire. He looked delicious, without a jacket or vest you could see his muscle definition clearly and it almost made your mouth water. His sleeves were rolled up past his forearms and his shirt was unbuttoned a bit. He was perfect. 

You set the skirt you were wearing back in your trunk, buckle your gun belt around your waist, sling your rifle over your shoulder and start to approach Arthur.

“Ready to go?” He asks when he sees you coming, eyes drifting down to your new pants. 

“I was born ready.” You say, in a fake serious manner. He chuckles, shaking his head.

“Well, go get Cash, I’ll be here.” He says, gesturing to your horse across the way. You nod, turning away and heading towards him. When you come back with Cash’s reins in hand, Arthur is speaking to someone, someone you personally hadn’t met before but definitely saw around camp. You get close enough to hear their conversation, Arthur sounds immediately annoyed. 

“Herr Morgan, please, we must get this loan from Thomas Downes as soon as possible!” The man says, German accent noticeable as he gets more and more insistent. 

“Herr Strauss, I’m busy. If you need it so soon, do it your damn self.” Arthur says, looking past Strauss and at you. You make a shooting yourself motion and Arthur’s lips quirk up into a smile. Strauss turns around to see what took Arthur’s attention and his gaze falls on you. 

“I see.” He says simply, holding his ledger book close to his chest, “Fine, I’ll go myself. But when I come back empty-handed, you’ll be the one to explain it to Dutch.” 

“Yeah yeah.” Arthur says, shooing Strauss away, “Now get, we’ve got some hunting to do.” 

Strauss sighs heavily before shuffling past you and into camp. 

“What was that about?” You ask, walking to Cash’s side to check his girth, sticking two fingers underneath the leather strap to check if he has enough room, when you are satisfied you move to his face to check his bit. 

“Loan shark business.” He sighs, checking his own horse. 

“I see.” You lean back from Cash, giving him some head scratches before climbing into the saddle.

“You did it without my help that time.” Arthur observes, climbing into his own horse. 

“I’ve always been capable but I’ve never said anything because I’d be remiss to skip out on the opportunity to have your hands at my waist.” You tease, giving him a sly smile. 

He tips his head back to laugh, gathering the reins in his hands and pushing June into a trot. You follow with Cash, a warm feeling settling in your stomach.

“If that’s the case, I’ll be sure to help you onto that horse more often.” He says as you come to trot besides him.

“You better.” You joke, looking around as you leave the treeline. 

“Where to?” 

“There’s a spot I know that’s usually teeming with deer, c’mon, it’s this way.” He leads you off to the left, away from civilization. It feels like you’re riding for another hour before he finally veers off the trail. The conversation from there to here had been light, funny banter and jokes about whatever you could think about. You loved making him laugh, you swore there was no sound sweeter than his laugh, low and husky or loud and hearty. 

When you clear the treeline surrounding this secret spot, you are instantly blown away by the beauty. It was a small waterfall, big enough for there to be a cave behind the trickling water but small enough for it to not be rapids. At the end of the falls, a sparkling pool of clear crisp water just begging to be swam in. 

“Wow,” You say, taking in the scenery with awe, “It’s beautiful here.”

He nods, hopping down from his horse and offering you a hand to slide from yours. You take it, swinging a leg over the saddle horn and coming down. He doesn’t let go of your hand for a moment, instead he brings it to his lips, ghosting a kiss over your knuckles. You smile, watching as he gently lets you go. 

“I’ll set up some bait, see if we can attract some deer. Knowing this spot, they aren’t far.” He reaches into his satchel but you stop him, stilling his hand as you put your over it. 

“Arthur, look around you, that little lake is calling our names!” You reach up and snatch his hat then immediately run away, sprinting towards the lake. You hear him call after you before you hear footsteps coming up on you fast. You squeal as his arms come to wrap around your middle and he catches you, pulling your back against his chest. You do your best to hold his hat as far from him as possible all while struggling in his grasp and laughing.

“I’ll be taking that.” He takes his hat back despite your efforts and he plants it back on his head, the grip on you unrelenting. He holds you like that, back against his chest and arms around your waist as the two of you look out to the small lake. 

“We’ve gotta swim.” You say, turning in his grip so you’re facing him, “I command it.” 

“You command it, do you?” He chuckles, head tipping down to look at you. 

“Mhm.” You hum, hands sliding up his chest. “I do.” 

He kisses you, soft and slow and your hands go to undo the buttons of his shirt. He doesn’t stop you, instead deepening the kiss and floating one hand to cradle the back of your head. You hum into the kiss, undoing the last button before feeling up his broad chest, hands going to grip at his waist. Finally, you push the shirt from his shoulders entirely, letting it fall to the grass behind him. His suspenders hang loose from his pants and you grab them, tugging his hips closer to yours and you go for his pants button.

“Woah there,” He leans back, stopping you and instantly filling you with ice cold anxiety. Had you done something wrong? Read the signals incorrectly? You immediately still your hands and retract them, returning them to your sides. 

“How come I’m standing here with my shirt off,” He leans in close to your ear, “And you’re still wearing everything?” He says gruffly.

Oh.

Oh.

You smile, bringing your hands up to undo the buttons on your cardigan. He watches with you through his eyelashes as you shuck it off. Next, you take your blouse up and over your head, you were not wearing a shift today so your breasts were immediately shown. He takes them in his hands, testing the weight against his palms. You shiver, his calluses were rubbing against your nipples in a way that made you moan quietly. He releases them just as fast, nodding for you to continue. 

You kick off your boots, setting them upright next to your blouse and button up. Next you take the liberty of sliding your thumbs under the waistband of your skirt and bloomers, pulling them downwards in one swift motion, kicking them to the side before bending over to slide your socks off. All the while, Arthur just watched you, eyes glued to whatever he could find, and with your current state of undress, he had a lot to choose from. 

“Who’s overdressed now?” You tease, turning away from him to begin your walk to the pool. You toss your head over your shoulder, watching as he scrambles with his own boots and pants. You chuckle, looking back ahead of you as you approach the pool, dipping your toes in the shallow edge. It was warmer than you thought it’d be, way warmer. You supposed it was because it wasn't that deep and you were far enough from the mountains to teeter into warmer territory. Plus the sun was hot today, warming the water up just that much more. 

You turn again to see Arthur approaching, his clothes a pile on the floor and he’s magnificently naked. You take a second to stare, taking in his form and figure, and boy, what a mighty fine figure that was. 

“Slow poke!” You call out, wading further into the water. Luckily, your hair was still tied up so it wouldn’t get wet if you were careful, you had just taken a bath after all. You tread into the deepest part of the pool, a part where you couldn’t touch the bottom. 

“It’s pretty deep over here!” You call out and he makes his way over, wading in the water to get to you. 

“Bout time you got here.” You playfully scold as he swims next to you. He scoffs, splashing you.

“My hair!” You squeal, splashing him back, “Arthur Morgan you are a bad man.” 

“Serves you right.” He laughs, dodging your splash attempt. You pout, hand coming up to check on the state of your hair, it was drenched, the very thing you were trying to avoid. You huff, letting your hair down from its pinned up state, you swim over to shore, placing your pins by your clothes before diving back in, submerging yourself completely. 

When you reemerge, you give Arthur a look.

“What?” He asks, looking around.

“I went under, so you have to, too.” You swim over to him, placing your hands on his shoulders and dunking him under the water, he makes a surprised noise before he goes under. You release him the second you’re sure every hair on his head is submerged and he pops back up. 

“Oh, you’re going to pay for that.” He lunges for you but you maneuver your way to the shallow end before you’re out of the pool completely, running for the safety of the cave behind the falls. You almost slip on the rocks as you climb into it, but you catch yourself, pulling yourself into the mouth and disappearing into the darkness.

He’s in hot pursuit, also reaching the cave and pulling himself into it but you stop him.

“Can’t get me in here, it’s in the rules.” You triumphantly place your hands on your hips as he walks over to you. It takes everything in you to keep eye contact and not look at his body again, even though you wanted to so very badly. 

“When did we establish rules?” He asks, placing his hands over the ones on your hips. 

“Just about when I ran into the cave.” You smile, stepping closer to him. 

“Is that right?” He asks, allowing it.

“Mhm.” Your hands come out from under his to skate up his chest, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You press yourself against him and the grip on your hips hardens. He looks down at your breasts, which are trapped between your two chests, rising and falling with every breath. He curses lowly, looking back up to you and leaning down for a kiss. 

Your gaze flicks to a jutting out ledge in the wall. It looked large enough to sit on comfortably, and a wicked idea spouts into your mind. You point to it, dodging his lips,  “Sit,” you command, and he lets you go, eyeing the seat.

“Why?” He asks, going to sit down anyways.

“Because I’m going to fuck you.” You smirk, the word sounding so foreign on your tongue when used in that manner. You cursed a lot, it was one of your downfalls when it came to being a society lady. But you’d never used the word in reference to what it actually meant, it was invigorating and made your core pulse with what it promised. 

“Are you now?” He smirks, getting comfortable on the perch, his cock jumps to attention, already half-hard just from the conversation. You sway your hips as you walk, finally stopping in front of him, hands on his shoulders as you go to straddle him. 

“Yeah,” You grind down on him, rubbing the length of his cock between your wet folds. You’ve been wet since he first took his clothes off, that mixed with swimming meant you were absolutely ready for him. He hardens fully at that, standing ready and at attention.

His tip hits your clit and you suck in a breath with a needy whine following along after, it felt divine. Just the slightest attention on your clit was enough to get you hot and bothered, sinking down to do it again. He seemed to be enjoying the touch too as his grip hardened on your hips, guiding you over his length over and over.

At some point it was not enough, you could feel an orgasm coming from the attention on your clit but you needed more, you needed him to be inside you. So, you prepare yourself to take him at this angle, an angle you’d never used before. You reach down to align him with your entrance before sinking down, inch by inch.

“Goddamn, girl.” He hisses through his teeth, you just cry out as you bottom out, sheathing him completely. He gives you a moment to adjust to his size and you all but collapse against his chest, wrapping your arms around his back. He just smoothes out your hair, gently stroking you and whispering sweet little encouraging words in your ear.

“You’re doing so good,” Was one and, “That's it, good girl.” Was another.

You pepper kisses along his shoulder, where your head was resting. Slowly, so slowly, you begin to move up. You had never ridden someone before, you had only heard snippets of what it was from a conversation your brothers were having when they thought you were in the other room. But it wasn’t hard to figure out, you just had to make friction, create a thrusting motion but from a different position. So, you rise as much as you can before sinking back down. If the strangled noise Arthur makes was anything to go by, you think you were doing it right.

“You’re so beautiful, look so pretty.” He gasps out, hands returning to your hips.

“You’re just saying that because I have your cock inside me.” You purr, rising up again before sinking down.

“I’m saying that because it’s true.” He growls, lifting his hips to meet yours. It was enough to set your heart on fire, the compliment sending another zap of energy deep in your core. You set a steady pace after the first few rounds, your legs were burning and shaking but you could feel an orgasm on the horizon, steadily approaching.

“Jesus-” You pant. You were about to give out but just when you thought you couldn’t do it anymore, you cum, slumping against him as he takes over and begins to thrust upwards, fucking you through it. 

In one swift motion he turns you over, gently placing you on the ledge and bringing your hips to the edge. He slides in easily, you were drenched, and begins pumping in and out. You mewl, overstimulation settling in as he leans down to kiss you. You accept the kiss hungrily, sliding your tongue into his mouth and exploring. He pounds into you a few more times before pulling out and cumming on your tits. You separate from him to allow him to moan his way through it and to watch as his cum covers your nipples and the milky flesh of your breasts, gasping from the sheer filthiness of the act, you loved it. 

He sits down next to you, catching his breath as you catch yours. Your thighs were trembling, you were entirely spent.

“C’mon.” He stands up, offering you a hand, “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

You take his hand and he hoists you up, keeping a hand around your waist to keep you steady. Carefully, he brings you to the edge of the cave, reaching a hand out to gather some water from the falls before bringing it to your chest, gently wiping away the aftermath. It was so tender, such a beautiful selfless act, you couldn’t help the loopy smile that spread across your lips as he got the last bit of it off. 

“What?” He chuckles when he catches your face. 

“Just you.” You say, bringing your hand to gently caress his cheek. He puts his hand over yours, squeezing gently.

“Ready to hunt some deer?” He asks, smiling down at you. You groan, you were already sore in multiple spots and definitely did NOT feel like hunting anymore. 

“If I have to.” You say, sounding defeated.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“Dutch’s orders.” He says into your hair.

“Dutch’s orders.” You repeat, nodding. 

You put on a brave face as he helps you out of the cave, you were in for a long, long, evening. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

A note: Sorry for how long this took me to get out!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

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The door pushes open gently, revealing Arthur, who looks at you in surprise. His hair was damp, vest unbuttoned and pants untucked. It was clear he wasn’t expecting you, which itself was expected, you could barely believe it was happening either. He closes the door behind him, mouth agape as he searches for words.

“What are you doin’ here?” He asks, almost whispering, eyes peering down at your attire; a simple slip and bloomers. You, with a newfound confidence gained from the fact he didn’t throw you out the second he saw you, walk over to him, stopping directly in front of him. His gaze follows you the whole way, watching silently as you slink up to him. This confidence was making you brazen, unapologetically needy as your eyes rake over his body. 

“Ain’t it obvious?” You ask, looking up at him through your lashes as you snake your hands up his chest. He catches your hands, and you’re sure he’s gonna pull them off and send you back to your room, but he doesn't, he just holds them against his chest. It was horribly romantic, the way his fingers ghosted over your knuckles, holding you softly. 

“Yeah?” he asks, seeking confirmation. His hands slide down your arm and settle on your waist, pulling you closer. Jesus, his hands feel good against you like this, you can feel every callus on his fingers and palms through your thin shift as he grabs you. You reach up a hand to cup his face, and the way he looks at you threatens to make your knees buckle and send you melting into the floor. His eyes were full of lust, pupils blown wide as they stared down at you. You could feel the effect it was having on your body, you were already wet and ready for him, just from his simple touch alone. His own body language fed into your yearning, he was open to your affections, not rejecting you in any way but instead letting you touch him. 

“Yeah.” You nod, taking your hands from his chest to tease at the short sleeves of your shift. You lean up, standing on your tiptoes to get as close to his ear as possible, “You gonna help me out of this, cowboy?” You were teasing him, and you hoped he was receptive to it instead of turning him off completely. You figured it was a gamble with men, teasing them and whatnot but you knew Arthur had a sense of humor buried deep down.

“Cowboy?” He repeats, shaking his head but nonetheless bringing his hands down to your stomach.

“Oh I’m sorry, would you prefer cowpoke?” You say, a mischievous smile spreading across your lips. 

“Watch it.” He warns, just as playful as his own smile makes an appearance. He was so handsome like this. Well, he was handsome all the time but nothing compared to when he was smiling. You wanted to make him smile all the time, wanted to hear him laugh at your jokes. You wanted to get to know him, know everything about him. Exploring his body felt like a good place to start. He seems to be on the same page as his hands come to ghost over the hem of your shift, looking at you one more time before he lifts it over your head, exposing your chest to the night air. He lets it drop somewhere behind you and you stand there, letting him get a good look at you. And get a good look he does.

“Damn…” He silently curses, hands coming to the outside of your arms as he looks you up and down.

“You don’t just have to look, you can touch, too.” You purr, taking his hands from your shoulders and placing them on your breasts. He instinctively squeezes, causing you to softly moan. Having him touch you like this, so gently, so intimately was enough to make you flutter your eyes closed and see stars. If you were getting this worked up simply from having your chest groped, you couldn’t wait to see how it felt for him to actually be inside you. 

You surge forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pressing your lips to his. He reciprocates, molding his lips to yours as they begin to move against each other. His hands come to rest on your ass, pulling your hips against his and giving you a good feel for the tent pitched in his pants. It was nice to know you had the same effect on him that he did on you, that being that he completely and irrevocably turned you on. 

Your hands go to push off his unbuttoned vest, letting it fall to the ground behind him as his tongue enters your mouth. You groan, letting him have full access as he explores. You didn’t have a whole ton of experience kissing so a part of you was focused on just not biting him. He didn’t seem to mind as he let out a groan of his own. You wrap a leg around him, giving your clothed center the perfect angle to rub against his erection. You grind against him which earns you a gruff moan and a zap of electricity to your core. You practically rip the suspenders from his shoulders before your hands begin working on the buttons to his shirt and he helps you; you working from the top down and him working from the bottom up. Eventually you meet in the middle as he gets the last button and shimmies out of the shirt entirely. You break this kiss to look down at him. He had a magnificent body, toned and strong from all the camp work and missions he was always up to. You run your hands down his chest and stomach and he just watches them as you do, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. 

“You’re perfect.” You whisper, smiling up at him. 

“Nah, I’m not.” He disagrees, shaking his head and running his hands up and down your naked back. 

“Well, I think so.” You lean up to take his lips again, sliding your tongue against the seam of his lips and requesting access. He grants it, allowing you to meld your tongues together once again as you pull him towards the bed by his belt. He takes either side of your face in his hands as he works your mouth over, his hands coming to undo the buckle on his belt. It falls to the ground with a thump and you separate with panting breaths. 

Your eyes lock onto his as you slowly hook your thumbs under your bloomers, pulling them down as you reveal the rest of your body to him. You had already taken off your boots in your room so getting the bloomers over your feet was easy and you kick them to the side. You’re left standing in your thigh-high socks and when you bend over to take them off, he stops you. 

“Leave those on.” He says simply, eyes drinking in the state of your body. You straighten back up, respecting his request and climbing onto the bed. You drape yourself across the sheets, knees glued together to hide your center. It’s not like you were getting shy, it just felt wrong to spread your legs for some reason.

“Hey,” He grabs your attention as he kicks off his boots, and begins to unbutton his pants. “Let me see you, no hiding now.” 

You weren’t going to pretend you didn’t know what he was talking about, he wanted to see your center. You blush, just the lewdness of showing off was enough to make you hot and turn pink. Slowly, you open your legs like curtains, revealing your dripping cunt. He just stares for a moment, a bit of a blush coming over his cheeks and nose as well. 

“Damn,” He cursed, lowly, “You all worked up like this for me?” 

“Yes,” You almost whine, head lolling back to look at the ceiling, the weight of his gaze becoming too heavy.

“Oh no, none of that. Look at me.” He says, taking another step towards the bed. 

You obey, eyes finding him once more as you await the next step.

“I want you to touch yourself.” He says, his own pants still frustratingly clinging to his hips instead of being off. The command had you blanching-- was he serious? You had… pleasured yourself before a couple times but to do it in front of someone else? That was something else entirely. You take a shaky breath, running a hand down your chest and stomach before resting at the top of your center. Carefully, you dip your middle finger between your folds, passing your clit and making you moan as you rub against it. You carefully insert a finger into your cunt and it swallows it greedily, desperate for any kind of attention. You fight against the urge to close your eyes or throw your head back and keep staring at him like you were told.

“That’s it, good girl.” He praises and it just turns you on more as he palms at the erection in his jeans. You begin to pump in and out of yourself, fingers coming up to spread your slick over your clit and rub tight circles around it. 

He comes to stand at the edge of the bed and gets on his knees, placing his hands on either thigh and tugging you towards the edge of the mattress. You remove your hand on instinct and he immediately takes over with his mouth, licking a bold stripe up your folds. You moan, surprised as he hadn’t said a word about his intentions to do this, he just did it, but you weren’t complaining; it felt heavenly. You had never had anyone kiss you down there before, you didn’t even know it was a possibility. So when he sticks his tongue deep into your arching cunt you can’t help but arch your back off the mattress, gasping loudly before you could cover your mouth. 

His head pops up from its position between your legs and you can see your juices slicking his chin. He reaches up to take your hand away from your mouth, shaking his head. 

“I want to hear you.” He says before going back in, this time sucking on your clit. You moan, obeying his request as one hand goes to bury in his hair and the other goes to your nipple, teasing and rolling it between your fingers. Arthurs hands clamp down on your thighs as they press against either side of his face, feet interlocking behind him. Your orgasm was approaching steadily and when he adds a finger into the mix, pushing into you and pumping slowly, it just increases tenfold. He makes a ‘come hither’ motion inside you and you squirm against him moaning loudly as your orgasm comes into view, arriving rapidly. He holds onto you tighter, quelling your squirming and leaving you to cling onto him for dear life as he laps at your clit.

Eventually your orgasm washes over you with white-hot intensity that makes your eyes roll back and your fingers tug at his hair. He licks you through it, pumping his finger slowly as you cry out. Eventually he pulls away from you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and standing. Finally, finally, he frees his cock, angry and standing at attention with a bead of precum at the tip. 

“You ready?” He asks, pumping it a few times.

“Yes,” You gasp, spreading your legs even further and hoping you look inviting, “Please.”

He comes to stand between your legs, slotting himself in the middle of your thighs and aligning himself with your entrance. He looks at you one more time and you nod, confirming that you did indeed want to continue. With this permission he begins to push into you and you can’t help the sound that comes from your mouth, a high-pitched gasp that turns into a whine as he gets deeper and deeper. The stretch burns but at the same time feels amazing as his pelvis hits yours, sheathed all the way. 

“Damn,” He whisper-curses through his teeth, leaning over and putting an arm on either side of your head, leaning on his forearms. He kisses you again, it’s all tongue and teeth as he pulls out of you slowly, almost to the tip before pushing back into you again. You swallow down his moan with a whimper, and your eyes roll back at the feeling of him dragging along your inner walls. You could feel every ridge and vein like this and when he shifts, hitting your g-spot, you gasp and he takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth, teasing your tongue with his. You quickly reciprocate, kissing him back with passion as he shifts his weight to one arm, taking his now free hand to your chest, groping and squeezing at your breast. It felt like he was lavishing you in love, even the way he rolled his hips felt considerate, pushing into you at an angle that hit your sweet spot every time. But it’s when he moves to put his lips against the column of your throat, kissing, licking, and nipping, is when your chest fills with a warmth you can only describe as adoration. An adoration for the man on top of you, for the way he touched you, for the way he made you feel. 

Your hands go to his back, gripping for dear life as he works you over, pumping you into the mattress. He grunts with every thrust, a chain of praises falling from his lips with every movement. 

“S-such a good girl, pretty- pretty girl.”

God, his praises went straight to your core, pulling sounds from you that you’d never uttered before, not even when you lost your virginity for the first time. Your first was greedy, just taking what he wanted from you and leaving you to clean yourself up as he left. With Arthur it was different, he was gentle, loving even and was giving you just as much as he took. 

You mewl, nails digging into his back as he continues thrusting. Eventually, you’re on that edge again, another blinding orgasm was on the horizon and all you could do was hold on as Arthur chased his own, and judging by the sounds of his grunts and moans, you could tell he was close. In fact, his hips were stuttering, his thrusts were getting sloppy and his breathing was heavy against your neck. You encourage him, running your fingernails up and down his back gently. 

“Come on, baby.” You whisper, pressing a kiss into his forehead. In a minute you’re seeing stars as your orgasm hits you, sending pleasure lapping over your entire body. You cry out, toes curling and walls fluttering against him. He groans, pumping into you a few more times before pulling out and spilling onto your stomach. You watch as he shoots thick ropes of cum over your belly, his mouth agape in a silent gasp.

“Shit..” He pants, trying to catch his breath as he tucks his cock back into his trousers. You were on the same page, breath heavy as you lay there, recovering. Arthur goes to the basin in the corner of the room, dipping a towel in the water before returning to you and pressing the wet rag against your abdomen. Without a word, he cleans you up, wiping away the mess gently. You had no idea those hands could be so gentle, so beautifully tender. Those hands that had strangled the life from men, those hands that pulled the triggers of countless guns, those hands that pulled skin from the meat of deer. Those hands that were on you now, cleaning his cum from your body. 

When he finishes, he tosses the rag aside before climbing into bed with you, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into his chest. You allow it, resting your head on him and listening to his heartbeat. You look up when he looks down, and your eyes meet before he pulls you into a kiss. The kiss was intimate, slow and unwinding. It was over as soon as it started and you both fell into a comfortable silence. 

That is, until he speaks again, filling the lantern lit room with his baritone. 

“I take it that wasn’t your first time?” He asks, fingers drawing random shapes on your upper back. 

“No,” You admit, closing your eyes and allowing your head to rise and fall with his chest. 

“Who was your first?” He asks, head lolling on the mattress to look at you.

“Some stable boy named Boone.” You say, sleepily. Who knew cumming twice would make you so tired? And you were so comfortable curled around him like this, so warm and safe. He reaches down to pull the blanket over you both before settling back in and pressing a kiss to your temple, much like you did earlier. 

“And just in case you were wondering, no it wasn’t any good.” You add, smiling.

“I wasn’t gonna ask.” He chuckles, not denying that he was wondering. 

“He was selfish, taking what he wanted and leaving me in the hay. Had to finish myself off when I got home.” you scoff and shake your head, remembering the time with disdain. You had wanted to rebel against your father by losing your virginity, but if you had known it would be such a lousy experience, you wouldn’t have bothered. 

“Not much of a man then.” He says, gaze drifting from you to the ceiling. 

“Not a man like you, that’s for sure.” Sleep was steadily approaching, your consciousness was going dark as you laid against him, the soft thudding of his heartbeat worked like a lullaby. 

“Goodnight Arthur.” You sigh. His hand comes over the one on his chest, squeezing gently. 

“Goodnight.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

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You were up early the next day, dressed in the same clothes as yesterday. You were excited to get your own clothes, get out of Mary-Beth’s trunk and get out of her hair. You felt like you were taking advantage of her, no matter how many times she insisted she didn’t mind and was in fact happy to help. You were almost tempted to tell her what was going on between you and Arthur but it felt too soon. After all, you yourself weren’t even sure what was going on between you and Arthur, let alone know enough to communicate about it. 

So, here you were, sitting on a log facing the dwindling campfire, coffee cup in hand as you gulp down the rest of the brown liquid. You watch as Arthur rides into camp, having been away all night after the moment you shared. He shares some words with Dutch before walking over to his trunk and pulling out some fresh clothes and disappearing behind the ammo wagon. You wondered if he was thinking about what had happened in that very spot just last night, he had to be, right?

When he reemerges, he’s wearing a tan scout jacket, white button-up with the collar opened, and blue jeans. He looked good, you couldn’t lie and the very sight of him sent a zap down to your core. You realize you’re staring as he goes to his tent, folding up his previous clothes and placing them on his bed to be washed later. You flick your gaze to your hands, fiddling with your cup before setting it down. Next you untie and retie the laces on your boots, anything to keep yourself from making it painfully obvious to the people around you how much you wanted that man.

“I saw that.” You look up, following the voice until you find its source; Micah. You had absolutely no energy or want to deal with this guy or his bullshit so your reply is simple, “Saw what?” before going back to tying your shoes. 

“The way you look at Morgan, it’s pathetic.” He all but hisses, lifting a leg and resting his boot on the log, right next to where you were sitting. He leans into his leg, head tilting to chase your movement as you bend down to your boots. It was supposed to be intimidating, you gathered, and it would’ve been if it was anyone else in the camp. 

“No idea what you’re talking about, Micah.” You shrug, glancing back at his rat-like face before you grab your cup and stand up, dusting off your skirt and heading to Pearson’s wagon to drop your cup off to be washed. He follows you, hot on your tail as he snaps at you.

“Don’t pull that game with me, girl!” He grabs your arm, causing you to spin around and face him. “Let go, Micah.” You say, as calmly as you could but the rising panic in your body was causing you to tremble. 

“Just wait ‘til Dutch hears about this, we’ll have a laugh. The pathetic gun-slinger wannabe girl pining after the golden boy. What a pair you two make.” He laughs in your face and you almost gag as his hot breath hits your cheek. 

“Micah, what are you doin’?” Mary-Beth’s voice pipes up and she comes rushing over. Your arm was going numb with how tight he was holding you. “Let go of her!” Mary-Beth was keeping her distance but was obviously worried.

It was then you heard the cock of the revolver, and you glance over at the sound, it’s Arthur and he’s red with fury. “You’ll let the lady go now, Micah.” 

Micah just laughs his sickening laugh before practically throwing you to the ground with how hard he lets go of you. You stumble, catching yourself before scrambling to stand behind Arthur, Mary-Beth rushes to your side, slipping an arm under yours for support. . There was a crowd gathering now, people murmuring questions of what happened to each other as Arthur keeps his gun trained on Micah. 

“Just give me a reason, Micah. Just one excuse.” He holsters his gun after a moment, brows furrowed as Micah rolls his eyes. “Get a little upset I handled your girlfriend, cowpoke?” 

“Shut up Micah. You talk too goddamn much.” Arthur spits.

“What is going on over here?” Dutch’s voice cuts through the crowd as he emerges from his tent. 

“Micah was threatening Miss” Arthur says your name, looking over at Dutch. “We really gonna keep tolerating this fool, Dutch?” 

“Micah?” Dutch turns to the man in question, “This true?” 

“Threatening is a strong word, more like questioning her.” Micah says, placing his hands on his hips.

“Questioning her about what?” Dutch asks, eyes flicking between Arthur and Micah.

Jesus Christ, you wanted with everything you had in you for Micah to keep his mouth shut. You didn’t want him to plant the seed of the idea of Arthur and you to everyone in the camp. You wanted to keep it a secret, at least for a while. You just wanted to enjoy it, whatever ‘it’ even was. Which you weren’t sure about.

“I think Arthur should tell you that one.” He smirks, looking over at Arthur, who was just furious.

Nobody says anything for a moment, you watch as Dutch’s face goes from confusion, to questioning, to realization, to acceptance. And you knew at that moment, your secret was up. At least with Dutch and Micah. Dutch looks to you, and all you can do is watch with pleading eyes, silently asking him to not say anything. 

“All of you, back to work!” Dutch looks away from you, and to Arthur. He doesn’t say anything about it as everyone scatters, getting back to whatever they were doing. Dutch pulls Arthut into his tent, they both look at you briefly before closing the flap. You turn to Mary-Beth who is still holding onto your arm. She looks at you, a puzzled expression on her face. 

“What was that about?” She asks, eyes not leaving your face. You could tell she so desperately wanted to know what was going on, having always been kept out of the loop when it came to gang goings-ons. 

“Later, Mary-Beth, later.” You say, clasping a hand over the one on your arm. “Help me get the wagon ready to go into town?” 

You had noticed earlier that the horse was tacked, just not connected to the wagon. Maybe doing this for Arthur could get you both out of this camp sooner rather than later. You could feel everyone’s eyes on you, you hated it.

“Sure.” She nods, letting go of your arm but still walking close to your side as you both made your way to the horses. You grab the wagon horse, leading him towards the wagon and clicking your tongue. 

“Cmon, boy.” You say, encouraging him into position so Mary-Beth could get the front of the wagon connected. After a moment of struggle, he was tacked and attached, ready to go whenever Arthur decided to show up again. You wondered what they were talking about in there. Well, who were you kidding, you knew what they were talking about and they were talking about you. You sigh, slumping against a tree and burning your face in your hands. You didn’t understand why it was such a big deal, why did people care if Arthur was… doing stuff with you? Because something told you it wasn’t about you, it was about him.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?” Mary-Beth says, looking over at you, still slumped against the tree. 

You part your fingers to peek at her, she’s standing there, wringing her hands, clearly worried. Finally, you retract your hands from your face, dust off your (Mary-Beth’s) skirt, and take a deep breath. 

“Arthur and I kissed… twice, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he was telling Dutch about it right now.” You almost whisper, not quite believing that you were letting something you wanted to be a secret out so easily. You honestly mourned the few hours you got with your secret. You just hoped the people who now knew the secret, Dutch, Mary-Beth and… Micah could keep it. You were not confident about Micah. 

Mary-Beth just looks at you flabbergasted. “Arthur? Arthur Morgan? Our Arthur?” She covers her mouth, you can’t tell if she’s gasping or laughing.

“What?” You ask, nervous now. What was she about to say? Was he secretly married? No that couldn’t be right, he told you he wasn’t seeing anyone. Not anymore. Unless he lied, but you were inclined to believe him, there was something about the way he had said it. 

“It’s just that it’s so unexpected, after that whole fiasco with Mary, us ladies assumed he’d swear off any more women.” She said, then she was grinning ear to ear, “But how horribly romantic! Him taking you shooting just to end up kissing you. That’s the stuff books are made of.” She’s practically jumping in place, grinning like a child and peering over at Dutch’s tent. Mary. A name to an idea. You wondered what happened between the two of them, wondered why there wasn’t some Mary in camp with a ring on her finger instead of just plain you.

“But don’t worry.” She continues, “I doubt Dutch actually cares and will do anything, he probably is just asking Arthur about it to be kept in the loop.” She puts a hand on your shoulder and gives it a squeeze. 

“Thanks.” You say, giving her a genuine smile, “This is a secret though, so please be discreet.” You emphasize, giving her a serious look. You were not kidding around, you didn’t want to bring this situation into the light unless absolutely necessary. 

She makes the motion of buttoning her lips, “Secret’s safe with me.” 

“It’d better,” You warn, before something in the distance catches your attention. Grimshaw is making her way over, but you can tell it’s not for you by the way her eyes are trained on Mary-Beth.

“Uh oh.” You say, nodding towards Grimshaw, Mary-Beth follows your gaze.

“Oh, rats. I better get back to my chores.” She says, letting go of your shoulder and making her way to Grimshaw.

“Mary-Beth! Everyone must do their part, that includes you!” She all but shrieks, pointing towards some sacks of grain and flour by the border of the camp. “Get those to Pearson’s wagon.” 

Mary-Beth nods, “Sorry Miss Grimshaw.” Before walking towards the sacks and beginning to move them.

You meet eyes with Grimshaw, she just gives you a single nod before walking away, off to bother somebody else. You roll your eyes to yourself. You understood that there were jobs to do and that everyone had to do their part but Christ, could she be more shrill about it?

After a blessed moment of silence you hear your name again, this time it’s an unfamiliar man’s voice. You turn in the direction of the sound only to be met by a man you had seen making the food but hadn’t actually met yet. He was holding something in his hands, but it was wrapped in canvas so you had no idea what it was.

“Hello, Mister…?” You trail off, hoping he’d finish the sentence for you.

“Pearson.” He does, stopping a few steps away from you.

“Mister Pearson.” You repeat, giving him a polite smile. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s a question of what I can do for you, my dear.” He holds out the bundle for you to take, so you do, undoing the laces before the canvas falls away, revealing a beautiful satchel. It was dark leather with a floral design stamped into it and turquoise buttons. You had owned plenty of purses in your life, but none ever felt like they were truly yours, just fashion items your mother had picked out for you. This one truly felt like you, and your eyes welled at the gesture.

“You made this for me?” You ask, looking up at the man in front of you. 

“The ladies all pitched in to have it made. Thought you should have something now that you were going on adventures.” He explained, smiling at his handiwork in your hands. You could tell he took pride in his work, very reasonably so, it was amazingly crafted, high quality materials went into this bag and you didn’t want to imagine its cost.

“Well, I will have to thank them.” You dab your eyes before looking back at Pearson. “And thank you too. I’ve never seen such a beautiful satchel.” You remember Arthur’s satchel, how the craftsmanship looked familiar. “Did you make Arthur’s too?” 

“Sure did.” He says rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Well, you’re very talented.” You say, slinging the satchel over your body, it felt perfect.

He laughs heartily, “At least somebody sees it!” 

“Sees what?” Arthur’s voice comes from behind you and you turn your head over your shoulder to see him coming. He looks… normal, like nothing happened in that tent. You took that as a good sign.

“She was just saying how talented I am.” Pearson gestures to you, his grin just getting bigger. 

“Well, that’s your first mistake.” Arthur looks at you then to your satchel. He just nods before climbing into the wagon and taking the reins. 

“C’mon. Losing daylight.” He holds a hand out and you take it, allowing him to hoist you into the wagon beside him.

Pearson just scoffs, giving you a wave before heading back to his wagon. 

Arthur drives the wagon out of camp, you give a little wave to John as you pass him. You hadn’t spoken to him since the night you were brought here, but you did find out at some point that he had a child with Abigail. You had seen the child running around but hadn’t had the opportunity to meet him officially but you learned that his name was Jack. Come to think of it, you hadn’t met most of the gang, they just gave you weird looks whenever you passed, not many had introduced themselves. You wanted to change that, maybe at some point you could ask Mary-Beth to introduce you to people. 

“So,” You start, shifting your new satchel into your lap. “What’d Dutch want?” 

“Don’t worry about it.” Is all he says before falling into silence. That wasn’t the answer you wanted but it was just about the answer you expected. You didn’t expect for him to tell you what they were all saying about you behind your back, good or bad. However, that didn’t change the fact you so desperately wanted to know. 

“Well I am.” You say back, crossing your arms. You wanted to communicate your frustration, though you weren’t sure it’d do anything. After a moment, he sighs, tilting his head to glance at you before turning back towards the road. 

“He and Hosea just wanted to know what was going on.” He gruffs.

“About what?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

“About us.” He says, passing the reins from hand to hand, fidgeting. 

“What did you tell them?” You were nervous, you had already assumed he had told them everything but to hear him admit it would be a completely different thing. 

“The truth; I don’t know what’s going on.” He says, still keeping his gaze straight ahead.

“Wait.” You pause, processing, “You didn’t tell them about the kissing?” 

“Didn’t really think it was their business.” He shrugs.

You smile, sitting back and relaxing. It was an unexpected result but a result you liked. Nobody, except Mary-Beth, knew your secret. All anyone could do was speculate, Micah had nothing on you, Dutch didn’t know anything, and Mary-Beth would (hopefully) keep her mouth shut. Everything was good for now, you could actually relax.

Arthur pulls out his cigarette box. You didn’t smoke often, at home your father wouldn’t allow it. However, you’d often sneak them from Thomas’ stash, getting a feel for them but not developing an addiction. Now it was just something you did sometimes to celebrate something, calm down from something, or just socially. You make a little pinching motion with your fingers towards the box, silently asking for one. He chuckles, leaning the box towards you, allowing you to snatch one. After lighting the match and his own cigarette, he passes it to you gently, allowing you to light yours.

“Much appreciated.” You say, tossing the snuffed match over your shoulder and taking a drag. 

“Didn’t know you smoked.” He says, his own cigarette hanging from his lips.

“I used to steal Thomas’, nobody ever found out.” You take the cigarette between your two fingers, using your thumb fling the ash off. 

“Thomas… that one of your brothers?” He asks, and it’s at that moment you realize you never said your brother's names to him.

“Yeah, the oldest. Then Richard, then John, then me.” You explain, holding your cigarette to your mouth and taking another drag.

“Youngest, huh? That checks out.” He chuckles, not elaborating.

“What’s that supposed to mean? You ask, your own smile appearing now. You knew exactly what he meant, you totally had youngest sister syndrome, always had. 

“You just seem like the youngest.” He shrugs, smirk not leaving his face as he smokes his cigarette. 

You chuckle and nod, watching as Valentine comes into view. 

“Where to first?” You ask, taking one last drag of your cigarette before stubbing it and tossing it to the ground. 

“Gunstore, we’ll get you a couple of handguns and a rifle or repeater.” He says before tossing his own cigarette. 

“Sounds like a plan.” You nod, sitting back and enjoying the rest of the ride in silence, it was such a beautiful day; not too hot but also not a cloud in the sky. The breeze tickled your face, making you smile and sigh with contemptment. If Arthur, Charles, John and Sean hadn’t robbed your train you’d be in Canada, getting ready for a wedding you wanted no part in. You couldn’t help but feel… grateful. 

You look over to find Arthur’s already looking at you, a small smile on his lips. 

“What?” You ask, hands coming to your face to see if you had something there. 

“Nothing.” He says, turning back to the road, “Nothing at all.” 

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“I like these.” You decided, holding a volcanic pistol in one hand, revolver in the other. You place them on the counter, the clerk gives you a weird look but rings them up anyways. “Anything else?” He asks Arthur, an observation that was a bit odd to you considering you were the one picking items out. 

“What about the larger guns, you pick one out yet?” Arthur was standing in the corner, arms crossed over his chest as you asked to see gun after gun. You hum, tapping your chin. You had narrowed your choices down to a Lancaster Repeater and a Bolt-Action Rifle. You were leaning towards the rifle, it did more damage and the firing rate wasn’t bad.

“I like the Bolt-Action.” You decide, handing both guns to the clerk. He nods, putting the repeater back and adding the rifle to the pile at the register. 

“Anything else?” He asks Arthur, who comes over to stand next to you.

After adding a gun belt and a couple holsters to your purchase, you walked out, feeling eternally more heavy as you were now carrying three guns. A weight you’d have to get used to, you gathered. 

“Take a left, we’ll head to the general store to get you some clothes.” His hand comes down to your lower back, guiding you around people and horses and burning a metaphorical hole in your clothes with how hot it felt. You didn’t know if it was a romantic gesture or not but it sent a shiver down your spine and caused heat to pool in your core. You blushed, glad to be in front of him so he couldn’t see it.

“Welcome in.” The general store clerk greets, leaning a palm on the counter. 

“Here,” Arthur turns you around and shoves a small stack of bills into your hands. 

“I’ll be outside, buy some clothes and meet me out front.” He instructs, moving his hands to your shoulders then back to his sides. 

You nod, giving a little salute before turning on your heel to talk to the clerk. The bell on the door rings as Arthur leaves, and you spot him sitting on the bench outside the window. You turn back around, the clerk smiles at you. 

“What can I do for you today?” He asks, purely for the purpose of being polite as he had obviously heard your little conversation from a minute ago. 

“I just need to try on some clothes.” You say, playing with the strap on your new satchel. It was still empty and you were dying to fill it up. Maybe you could get a journal, like Arthur. 

“Dressing room is right behind me, you can find everything we sell in this catalog here. Just let me know what interests you and I can grab them from the back for you to try on.” He slides the catalog towards you and you lean over the counter and start turning the pages. You already knew what you wanted, a couple blouses, some cover-ups, a pair of pants and a skirt or two. Your finger ran down the table of contents, stopping once you found the number for blouses. 

You picked out two; a burgundy long sleeve, high necked blouse with padded, frilly shoulders, and a white sleeveless blouse with a baby blue floral pattern that stretches over the whole thing. Next, you picked out a black cardigan and a sage green button-up. And lastly, you picked out a simple pair of blue jeans, a black skirt, a pink skirt with lace at the bottom, some new bloomers, socks, and overalls and new boots. These would do for now, however, you would need to buy a heavier jacket if you planned to go up into the mountains. Plus, these wouldn’t last forever, you’d need to buy more clothes in the future.

The clerk finishes up packaging your clothes and pushes the boxes towards you on the counter. He says the total and you cringe, counting out the amount in the bills Arthur gave you. There was just enough, you hand it over, giving him a polite wave before taking your boxes and leaving. 

Arthur was writing in his journal, looking up at the sound of you coming. He stands and puts his journal away, taking your boxes from you. 

“Thank you.” You say, walking with him to the wagon and watching as he sets down the boxes in the back. 

“Can’t have you always wearing Mary-Beth’s clothes.” He says, turning back towards you, “Now c’mon, we got one more stop.” 

“What’s that?” You ask, fully thinking you were done. 

“The stables.” He says, pointing past you to where the stables were. You blinked, not sure what to say. They were getting you a horse? It made sense, if they wanted you on missions, they’d definitely want you to have a horse. But it all felt like too much, you had already thought they’d spent too much on you today, just by getting you the ‘essentials.’

“I can’t let you buy me a horse.” You say, crossing your arms.

“Who said anything about buying a horse? I’m letting you take one of mine.” He chuckles, grabbing onto his buckle and peering down at you.

“You have multiple horses?” You ask, looking back at the stables. 

“Just the two, June and Cash. June’s my main horse, so it’ll be nice to get Cash out of the stables.” He says before making a ‘after you’ gesture towards the stables. You take the hint, falling into step and heading in that direction. 

“What kinda horse is Cash?” You ask, turning around to talk to Arthur while walking backwards.

“American Paint, now will you watch where you’re going?” He laughs, yanking your arm to keep you from bumping into the butcher stand. “Alright, alright.” You put your hands up in surrender and turn around, walking the rest of the way to the stables. 

“It’s you!” The stable hand greets, looking at Arthur. “And you’ve brought a lady friend.” He nods to you before looking back to him, “You here for Cash?”

“Yep.” Arthur says, prompting the stable hand to clap and smile.

“That’s a good horse. Wait here, I’ll get him for you.” The stable hand disappears deeper into the stables before resurfacing with a gorgeous horse. You smiled wide, looking between Arthur and the horse. He was indeed an American Paint horse, with beautiful midnight black fur and a white splatter over its whole body. His mane was black and white as well, alternating colors as the hair cascaded down its strong neck. One of his eyes was blue, the other was brown as they stared at you and Arthur, nickering softly. 

“Oh he’s beautiful!” you clasp your hands together, gasping and running a hand down his shiny coat, it was obvious this stable hand took good care of these horses, a fact you were grateful for, being a horse lover yourself. Arthur comes around to stand behind you as you scratch behind Cash’s ear, watching with a smile before motioning to the stablehand.

“I left my old saddle here with Cash, you wouldn’t happen to still have it, would you?” He asks.

“Of course, let me go grab it.”

You watched as Arthur tacked up Cash, eyes fixated on the movement in his strong arms when he rolled his sleeves up to his elbow. You watched the meticulous way his hands clasped each buckle and adjusted each strap. You wanted those hands on you again, around your waist, sliding up your leg, tangling in your hair, exploring your chest; you wanted it all. You blushed, looking away and at your hands as they buttoned and unbuttoned your satchel, keeping busy. 

“Alright.” Arthur pats Cash’s neck before turning to you, “He’s all good to go.” 

You smile, giddily, before skipping up to the horse and rubbing his nose.

“He’s perfect, thank you Arthur.” You turn, practically jumping into his arms and pulling him into a hug, your face rests against his chest 

“Woah! Alright, alright.” He pats your back, nodding and hiding a smile. You let go, turning to lead Cash out of the stable.

“Thank you!” You call behind you to the stable hand.

“Of course! Come back anytime!” He replies, going back to whatever he was doing, which looked like restocking treats.

Arthur gives a wave before turning to walk with you and Cash, the sun was setting across the way, painting the sky a beautiful orange and you turn to Arthur, an idea settling in your head.

“How much money do we have left?” You ask, eyes flicking to the hotel across the street. 

“Well, since we didn’t buy you a horse, quite a lot.” He says, gaze following yours and he pauses, “Why?”

“Why don’t we get a couple rooms at the hotel? We can get baths, sleep in an actual bed… c’mon! It’ll be nice.” You plead, clasping your hands together for emphasis. “Please please please?”

He thinks for a moment, sighing as he looks at you. You watch something inside him crumble away before he’s nodding and holding his hands up. “Alright, alright. You don’t gotta beg.” 

“Yes!” You pump your fist in the air before picking up your pace and clicking your tongue to get Cash to hurry with you. When you arrive at the hotel and hitch Cash, Arthur tells you he was gonna bring the wagon around back, to rent a couple rooms, and he would meet you inside when he was done.

“Two rooms and two baths please.” You slide a couple coins to the hotel manager, he takes them and nods. 

“We’ll get those baths going for you and here are the keys to your rooms.” He hands you the keys and you thank him, nodding in his direction and stepping back to wait for Arthur. The hotel manager disappears into one of the rooms in the hallway behind him, and you guessed he was getting your bath ready. The bell above the door jingles and you turn to see Arthur back from moving the wagon.

You toss him a key, he catches it and nods a thanks. 

“You care if I take my bath first?” You ask, leaning back on the counter as you watch him. He nods.

“Sure. I’ll be up in my room then.” He nods to you before heading up the stairs and disappearing. You watch him leave before turning back to the counter as the manager arrives back around the corner. 

“Miss? Your bath is ready now.”

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You flop down onto your bed, images of Arthur flashing in your head as you pull off your boots. He had to be in the bath by now and Jesus, did you wish you were in there with him. You could imagine holding his shoulders as you lowered down on him, pulling those groans and grunts from his lips and you slid up and sand back down. You press your palms into your eyes, you had never been sexually frustrated before, having had sex only once in your life with the stable boy down the street when you were eighteen. You had never craved it, never had a reason to think about it until now. But with Arthur in your life, with his hands on your lower back, guiding you through town, or holding your waist as he hoists you onto his horse, there wasn’t much else you could think about. 

You lift your hips and slide your skirt down your legs before adding your button-up and blouse to the pile on the floor and you’re left standing in your shift and bloomers. You carefully take off Mary-Beth’s necklace, setting it on your bedside before you place the pillow over your face and yell, trying to get your frustration out to no avail. You toss the pillow back behind you, rolling over on your tummy to the edge of the bed and grabbing your new satchel. You run your fingers over the floral design, mind drifting back to Arthur once again. You hoped he wanted you too, with the way he kissed you, held you, or hell, even talked to you made you think that maybe he did. A little voice in your conscious tells you there’s only one way to find out but you push that thought to the back of your mind. That’d be crazy, right?

But what if it wasn’t? What if you could have what you wanted just by going for it? You sit up, eyes drifting to the door across the room. His room was right next to yours, it’d take nothing to just slip out of here and into there. You stand, sliding your socks across the floor as you peek out the peephole. There was nobody in the hallway, Arthur was still downstairs, this was your chance. 

You suck in a breath, cracking open your door, slipping through and trying the handle to Arthur’s room. The door creaks open and you slip through, not quite believing what you were doing. What if he rejected you? Told you to go back to your room and ruin whatever relationship the two of you had?

You could hear his boots coming up the stairs now, it was too late for second thoughts.

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Notes:

I hope you guys stick around for the next chapter, things are gonna get spicy.

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Taglist (comment to be on it):

As the storm rolled in, shaking the broken windows and banging on the flimsy door, you couldn’t help but feel… bored. It was so boring, just sitting here in a creaky chair, in silence while Arthur doodled in his journal across the table. He didn’t seem to care, didn’t seem to share the same boredom you were currently experiencing. You sigh, fingers picking at the skin on your thumb. He ignores you at first, so you sigh again, and he looks up at you.

“Whatchu huffing about over there?” He says, setting his pencil down and leaning back on his chair. It had been about thirty minutes since you’d been sitting here, since the storm started. You had nothing to do. At home, to while away the hours you’d play piano or paint entire scenes or still lifes. Here you had nothing, not even a book to keep you company, just a silent man and the butterflies in your stomach that accompanied that man. You hadn’t had the means or time when you were first “acquainted” to notice how handsome he was but now that you were looking at him, all focused on his drawing… he really was. He had strong features, dirty blonde boarding on brunette hair that swept over his ears. He had the whispering of oncoming stubble that’d he’d need to shave again soon if he wished to still be clean shaven, and his eyes were devastating. They were tired, yet determined and a shade of blue that could’ve made your knees buckle if you had a weaker resolve. And right now they were staring at you, waiting for an answer.

“I’m bored, obviously. If I had known we’d be sitting here forever I would’ve brought one of Mary-Beth’s books or something.” You say, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair. This shack was modest, just a bed pushed into the corner, a dresser, tiny stove, and a small dining table; the table you were currently sitting at. You were about ninety-nine percent sure that this place was abandoned, the amount of undisturbed dust attested to that fact. 

“You and her are close, are you?” He asks, closing his journal and peering over at you. You were curious as to what was in that journal, a curiosity you’d have to keep to yourself. 

“How could you tell?” You ask.

“Other than the fact you’re wearing her clothes?” He chuckles, rubbing his chin, “Lucky guess.”

You glance down at your outfit, you had forgotten it was Mary-Beth’s. You had no idea what you were going to do after today, clothes-wise. You didn’t have that many options, seeing as you didn’t have any money. You could borrow clothes until you made enough money to buy your own, take out a loan from the camp (if they’d even allow that), or steal. Stealing clothes seemed like a hard enough task, something you weren’t sure you’d be able to pull off without getting caught.

“Lost in thought?” He asks after you don’t answer for a moment. You had trailed off in your thoughts, and didn’t notice you hadn’t replied to his observation. You nod, a little smile spreading across your lips. 

“Yeah, I was just thinking how I don’t have anything else to wear. Just the outfit I arrived in, and to be frank, I wouldn’t mind if we burned that thing in a fire.” You laugh, thinking back to just how uncomfortable that thing was. “Pinched me something awful.”

Arthur just chuckles, nodding his head and agreeing with you. Then the room falls into silence once more and you’re left back in your boredom. Your eyes glance to his satchel, slumped in the corner. You wondered if he had anything good in there, anything you could pass the time with. Then suddenly, you were hit with an idea, what better way to pass the time than good ol’ trusty liquor. 

“Hey Arthur,” You say, motioning to the bag on the floor, “You got any liquor in there?” 

He follows your gaze to the bag then back to you. 

“What’s it to you?” He asks, mirroring your posture and leaning back in his own chair. 

“Let’s play a game.” You say, eyes twinkling as you look at him, a bit of mischief in your gaze. There was a drinking game you played with your brothers as a teenager, back when you were so excited to even get your hands on some alcohol. It was a simple game, just asking some questions or drinking if you didn’t want to answer, it was a great way to get to know someone and right now, you were curious to unfold the enigma of Arthur Morgan.

“A game? What game?” He asks, scoffing, but curious nonetheless. 

“You just ask questions and the person can either drink or answer the question.” You’re smiling now, kicking your boots onto the table and giving him a cheeky look. “Come on, Arthur. It’ll be fun!” 

He just stares at you for a moment, almost in disbelief before standing up and grabbing his satchel. You clap, celebrating your win and grinning like an idiot. “Hush, you.” He says, digging around in the bag before pulling out an opened whiskey. It’s about three quarters of the way full, plenty for you and Arthur. You quiet down, enjoying your victory in silence when he returns, setting the bottle on the table. 

“I’ll go first, let you get a grasp of the game. I’ll start out simple.” You say, tapping your chin as you think. 

“Hmmm… Okay, I’ve got one. Would you rather live on the beach or in the mountains?” You ask, taking the cap off the bottle in preparation for later.

“Never been to a beach.” Arthur says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. “But the mountains ain’t a walk in the park. Few weeks ago we were stuck up there in a storm, fleeing from Blackwater. Think I’ve had my fair share of mountains so I’ll say the beach.” 

You had heard about some drama in Blackwater involving a gang but didn’t realize that the very gang responsible was the very gang you were bunking with.

“You guys were responsible for Blackwater?” you ask, eyes wide as you fiddle with the bottle. “I had no idea.”

“Thought somebody, like one of the girls, would’ve told you.” He says. 

“They were too excited to even meet me, let alone tell me the group’s backstory.” You chuckle, lifting the bottle to your lips and taking a premature sip.

“Hey now, shouldn’t that be against the rules?” He asks, snatching the bottle from your hands playfully. 

“Didn’t think you’d be one to follow rules, outlaw.” You look at him slyly, that subtle tease making him smirk and nod his head in defeat.

“You got me.” Now it was his turn to take a drink, but his was much larger than yours.

“Hey! You drink it all, we ain't gonna have any left for the game!” You scold, scoffing and staring at him in disbelief. 

“Alright alright, don’t hurt yourself now.” He sets the bottle back on the table, “Guess it’s my turn?”

“Yep, ask away.” You were excited but nervous. This was his excuse to know something about you, almost interviewing you for your role in the gang. He could ask you anything, and to make a good impression, you were going to answer as honestly as you could.

“Why do you want to be in a gang? Girl like you could do anything now that you’re free from your father.” He reaches into his pocket, retrieving a cigarette from its packaging before putting it between his lips and lighting it with a match.

“With what money?” You ask, putting it rather simply. You really couldn’t do anything BUT join the gang. If you had set off on your own you would’ve been dead in a week either from bad men, over exposure from having nowhere to stay, starvation, or some other fate. 

“I don’t have a gun, a horse, a bedroll, a tent, food, water, or anything else that could help me. Just a tight outfit and god-awful corset.”

He nods, seemingly understanding what you were saying. “And your father wouldn’t have you?”

“If he did, he’d just ship me off to Canada again and make me a housewife. Pop out some kids and live everyday inside.” You shudder at just how close that reality was to happening. That train robbery was a blessing in disguise, not that you thought you’d ever end up here, playing truth or drink with an outlaw. 

He doesn’t say anything, just looking at you, thinking. You’d do anything to know what was in this man's head, he was such a closed book, and boy, did you want to turn the pages. 

“Alright, my turn again.” You hesitate, knowing this next question was a little personal. 

“Do you have any family? Other than the gang I mean.” There’s a silence that hangs in the air, and he just looks at you. He looks like he’s wrestling with something by the way his eyes slide from yours and to the floor only to come back to you once again. 

He puts his cigarette out on the table silently, before taking the bottle, and throwing it back, taking a large gulp of the brown liquor. You slump in your chair, worried you had taken it too far, you knew how tough families could be. But then he opens his mouth to speak.

“Mother died when I was young, don't remember her too well but I still have her picture. Daddy was an outlaw, arrested for larceny when I was eleven. They hanged him for that.” There was no great sadness when he talked about his parents, just a quiet sort of mourning that signaled he had accepted their fates long ago. It’s obvious why he joined the van der Linde gang, like you he had no other choice. 

“I’m really sorry to hear that.” You state, watching him with sad eyes. “That must’ve been awful for a little boy.” You couldn’t imagine what else this man had been through, he carried baggage with him you couldn’t begin to speculate on. You wanted to know every corner of his lore, you couldn’t help but be morbidly curious.

“It is what it is.” He says, almost nonchalantly. 

“Hell, I’ll drink to that.” You grab the bottle and take a swig, the liquor burns as it trickles down your throat and you make a face. Arthur chuckles, taking the bottle and drinking for himself.

“My turn.” He says, setting the bottle down and piercing you with his dark blue stare. He thought for a moment before he spoke. “You mentioned you have brothers, who’s your favorite and why?”

Dang it, this was a hard one. To be honest, you liked them all for different reasons. Richard was the kindest, Thomas was the smartest, John had the best sense of humor. You admired them all for different reasons and calling one of them your favorite felt like a disservice. So, you grabbed the bottle and drank.

“Really? That’s the question you drink on?” He just laughs, and you notice you’ve been making him laugh a lot lately, something that makes pride swell in your chest and your confidence bloom. He had the reputation of being the camp grump, but when it was just the two of you, he really seemed to unwind. 

Maybe it was the alcohol getting to you, after all you had not eaten today, or maybe it was just because you were getting too comfortable but the next question seemed like it would make or break the conversation thus far, but you had the confidence to ask anyways.

“Do you have a girl?” You were playing with the bottle again, running it between your hands but you let it go, just in case he wanted to veto the question. But he doesn’t, which surprises you, you were sure he was going to close up at the question, tell you to buzz off and that it wasn’t your business. 

“I did.” Is all he says, which, again, is more than what you expected. You weren’t going to pry further as obviously he didn’t want you to. 

The two of you continue for a while, asking stupid questions, drinking the liquor until it was gone and then opening up a new bottle. 

“This is the last one I have.” He says, handing you the bottle, “Better make it count.” 

You were already pretty drunk from the first bottle, the room was spinning and you felt light-headed but you gratefully took it and popped the cork. You passed it back to Arthur after you took your sip and he drank his fill before he set it down on the table. You could tell he was getting drunk too, just by the way he got louder, his gaze became glassy and he was swaying in his seat. It was then you got the brilliant idea, you felt like dancing. 

You get up from the table, almost stumbling over your own feet before turning to Arthur.

“And just what do you think you’re up to?” He asks, a bit of a slur to his words, but not bad enough to think he was blackout drunk. 

“Dance with me.” You hold out a hand for him to take, but he doesn't; he just stares at you for a second before smiling.

“To what music?” 

“We’ll make our own music.” You say, beckoning him to stand up, “Now come on! Or are you going to be the camp grump again?” You tease, placing your hands on your hips and giving him a look before extending your hand again.

He just sighs before taking it, hoisting himself up and standing next to you, unmoving. 

“You do know how to dance, right?” You ask when he doesn’t make a move to get into position. You would have no problem teaching him sober, having been the belle of the ball a few times when your family was invited to rich soirees. But teaching him drunk was another thing entirely, you were just relying on muscle memory to help you out here, fully not expecting to do this consciously.

“‘Course I do.” He defends himself, gently taking your hand and holding it up before sliding a hand to your waist. You rest a hand on his shoulder and start humming a lively tune. The dance is bumpy, constantly stepping on each other's toes, just to laugh it off afterwards. You keep interrupting your song with giggles and he reciprocates with hearty laughs. 

He spins you around before lowering you into a dip, you’re scared he might drop you but he doesn’t. He just pulls you up and resumes the dance, and you don’t miss the way his grip on your waist tightens. At some point or another, the two of you drifted closer and closer until your chest bumped his, your gaze flits up to his and the tune in your throat ceases. You don’t know what led up to you stopping or why the tension suddenly felt so thick you could cut it with a knife, it just did. 

The liquor was making you bold, so bold you entertained the possibility of you standing on your tiptoes to press your lips against his. Initially you decide against it but when you catch his eyes drifting to your parted lips, something in your head tells you to go for it, so you do. You tilt your head upwards to catch his lips in a quick kiss before pulling away. He doesn’t say anything and that same confidence that led you to kiss him in the first place withers away, leaving you standing there struggling to find words.

“I’m sorry-” You start, letting go of his shoulder and hand and beginning to back away. “I wasn’t thinking, it was stupid, just forget it hap-” But he chases you, taking you by your waist again and pressing his lips to yours. It was electrifying as you melted into his touch, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and moving your mouth in tandem with his. It starts off gentle, just little pecks before you slide your tongue across the seam of his mouth and be grants you access until the kiss crescendos into drunken sloppiness that’s all teeth and tongue. 

He backs you up against the table and hoists you onto it as your hands desperately grab onto his vest, undoing the buttons as he hikes up your skirt and slides a hand up your leg. It’s just then that the door swings open and an older man with a rifle on his back stands in the doorway.

“Damn kids!” He shouts, instantly getting both of your attention and Arthur reaching for his revolver. You notice he isn’t soaking wet like he should be, meaning the storm had likely passed at some point. 

“We don’t want no trouble mister, we’ll get out of your hair now.” You don’t miss the way Arthur has his hand on his gun, ready to draw at any second. You also don’t miss the way the strangers eyes float to you and the smile that spreads on his chapped lips makes you want to gag.

“Well ain’t you a pretty thing?” He shifts the rifle into his hands, “Think I’ll have a turn now.” 

Instantly Arthurs gun is in his hands, pointed at the stranger and firing. It was all so insanely quick you would’ve missed it if not for the loud gunshot that rang through the tiny shack. You flinch as you watch the man slump to the ground, the shot going directly through his head and painting the wall adjacent to him. 

“Holy shit!” You curse, looking between Arthur and the corpse. 

“Let’s get out of here.” He says, taking your hand and leading you outside. You had to step over the body on your way out, picking up your skirt so you didn’t get blood on Mary-Beth’s nice clothes. He grabs his horse’s reins and pulls her over. She had been standing under an extended part of the roof this whole time in order to stay out of the rain. He helps you up before climbing into the saddle himself and spurring his horse forwards and towards camp.

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The ride back was quiet, almost awkwardly so. Neither of you seemed like talking about what had happened between the two of you. Not the kiss, not the murder, nothing. But then his hand comes to rest over yours that was resting on his middle and you felt calmer, knowing he didn’t regret it. 

He gives it a quick squeeze before returning his hand to his reins and soon enough you’re back in camp. He rides up to the hitching station and slides off, offering you a hand so you could do the same. He really was quite the gentleman. 

“I’ll take you into town tomorrow to buy some new clothes.” He says, casually. You’re taken aback by this because, again, you had no money. 

“Wha- Arthur, I don’t have any money.” You state, matter-of-factly. He just shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.” And before you can say anything to question or protest, he walks away leaving you with a million questions. What did he mean, was he going to buy you clothes? Was the camp fund going to buy you clothes? Also what about that kiss? What did it mean? You may never know. 

Later that night, you approach a campfire that Mary-Beth, Karen and Tilly are sitting around. By now you’re completely sober with a wicked hangover, and no closer to unraveling the mystery of that kiss as Arthur immediately slept off his drunkenness in his bed before heading out on a mission, giving you no time to approach and speak about it. Also, not talking to Dutch about your grade A shooting. You hoped that he’d get to that soon, the earlier you were trusted around here, the better. And if you were being honest with yourself? Did you want to talk about it? Were you ready for the potential awkwardness of that conversation? You didn’t know. 

“Hello ladies.” You greet, sliding onto the log next to Mary-Beth. 

“Hey,” Karen says your name, gaze following as you sat down. She was holding a bottle of beer and the sight of alcohol after today made you want to vomit. “How was shootin’?”

“Good.” You said, holding your hands to the fire in an effort to warm them, it got chilly at night and you weren’t about to ask Mary-Beth to lend you another item of clothing. 

“Did’ja hit your target?” Tilly asks, putting down the pants she was mending so she could engage in conversation with you. 

“I did, actually. Only missed once but I think I did enough.” You couldn’t hide your smile, you had a good time shooting today, it was something you enjoyed. 

“Well, that’s good!” Mary-Beth says, hand coming to yours and giving it a little squeeze. “I hope you get what you want from it.” 

“Thanks Mary-Beth, I hope so too.” You look up from the campfire and your eyes immediately lock onto Arthur’s as he walks towards the campfire you were currently sitting at. You straighten up, eyes never leaving his as he approaches. The other girls catch on and look up at Arthur. They all say their hellos and he gives a little wave before looking back at you.

“Can I speak to you for a moment?” He asks, hands holding his gun belt and face casual. He wasn’t showing an ounce of emotion, just a blank face as he beckoned you to stand and follow behind him. You couldn’t begin to guess what this was about. Was it about your shooting results, the kiss, or something else entirely? 

“Dutch wants to speak to you, told him about today.” He says, leading you through camp until you were standing outside of his Dutch’s tent. 

“Not all of today I hope.” You say, almost under your breath and you look at him with a smirk but he doesn’t reciprocate, he just looks at you with an unreadable expression. You clear your throat, standing up straight and avoiding eye contact with him.

You were just about to ask where Dutch was before his tent flap opened and he stepped out, he had a cigar between his lips. He looks between the two of you and gives Arthur a look, again, it was a look you couldn’t place. You wished so desperately to just see into these men’s heads. They were all mysteries, but none more mysterious than the one you were standing next to, the one you had kissed.

Dutch says your name, “I hear you did very well at your little shooting trial.” He takes the cigar from his mouth, turning his head to blow the smoke away from your face. It was hard to grasp that this was the infamous Dutch van der Linde, the famous outlaw known for the trail of bodies he left behind, was blowing smoke away from your face to be polite. 

You smile at him, “I’m happy to hear that.” 

“I bet.” He chuckles, and his eyes float back to Arthur. “Tomorrow, take her into town, buy her the essentials, a couple guns, her own clothes and so on. Use the camp fund if you have to.” 

“Will do.” Arthur says, surprisingly not fighting having to run errands for you like he had before. 

“Great. You’re dismissed.” He says before disappearing back into his tent, you turn to Arthur, who’s just looking at the ground. 

“So,” You start but he cuts you off,

“I’ll get you in the morning, make sure to be ready.” And then he’s walking away, leaving you standing there with your mouth agape, the rest of your sentence dying on your tongue. 

“Okaaayyyy…” You say to yourself, turning on your heel to join your lady friends again. 

“Hey, Mary-Beth, do you mind if I keep this outfit for tomorrow? We’re heading into town to buy my own essentials.” You ask, sliding in next to her and leaning into her, and grabbing her hands. 

“Of course! Going into town is fun, you’ll have a great time” She says, reciprocating. 

“Thank you.” You say, giving her a genuine smile. Mary-Beth was shaping up to be your best friend in camp, someone you could trust and somebody to hang out with on your off moments. You were grateful for her, hell you were grateful for most of the ladies in this group for accepting you so fast. 

“Well, I better get some sleep.” You stand up, waving to the girls before marching back towards the spare bedroll next to Mary-Beth’s. You grab the nightgown she’d been lending you and disappear behind the ammo wagon, it was far away enough that there was just enough privacy to change quickly and feel comfortable about it. At least that’s how it had been last night. Tonight, when you were about to pull your shift over your head, you heard footsteps approaching from the main camp. They scraped against the grass before stopping just around the corner of the wagon.

“You decent?” a voice asks, Arthur’s voice.  You look down at your state of dress, your shift was a bit see through, but not enough to be concerning. You could just see the silhouette of your body underneath, not any of the details, plus you still had your bloomers on and were thoroughly covered.

“Yes.” You decide, waiting for him to round the corner. There’s a beat of silence before he does, quickly stepping into view and into the shadows of the wagon. You had guessed this was so nobody else saw him back here, a smart move. You yourself were not ready for the questions that would come if somebody saw him sneak his way to where you were changing.

“What can I do for you?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. You try not to notice the way his eyes dip down to the cleavage caused by action, as your shift was a tad low-cut. But just as fast as they’d looked down, they came back up to your face. He steps forward, at arm's length now as he clears his throat. 

“We should probably talk about what happened today.” He says, lowly, almost inaudibly. 

The sexual connection that was there was undeniable, it made you brash, made you walk right up to him and put your hands on his shoulders. 

“What’s there to talk about?” You whisper, hands sliding from his shoulders to the sides of his neck. Your thumbs brush against his jaw. You knew the way he kissed you today couldn’t all have all been because of the liquor, you knew there had to be something else there; you had been thinking about it all day. 

You know you’re right when his hands come to rest at your waist and a smirk spreads across your lips and you celebrate your victory by planting a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. When you pull away, he wastes no time dipping his head to capture your lips fully. You melt into his touch, pressing your body against his and moaning into his mouth. He swallows it down, bringing his hand from your waist to cradle the back of your head. 

Before long he’s the one pulling away and returning his hands to his sides. You stare at him, waiting for him to say something, anything.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Is all he says before disappearing. 

What? Was that all he had to say about everything that happened today? Really?

You put on your nightgown and head to your bedroll. You notice June wasn’t where you had last seen her, noticed Arthur wasn’t anywhere to be seen. You wondered where he could’ve possibly gone at this hour but the possibility of him just going for a ride to clear his head comes to you. You weren’t sure what he was wrestling with when it came to this, maybe one day you’d find out but for now, you were kept in the dark.

As you tuck in for the night, you can’t help to think about what came after this. Would you and Arthur continue this acquaintances with benefits thing? Or would he end it? You weren’t sure. All you knew was that he was the last thing on your mind when you went to sleep and the first thing you thought about when you woke up in the morning. 

Were you in trouble? What did this all mean?

You weren’t sure, but something inside you told you that this was far from over. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Taglist (comment to be added!):

You had not gotten much sleep when the sun finally paints the sky pink. You only sit up when Mary-Beth stirs beside you, yawning before sitting up herself. 

“Morning.” She greets, rubbing her eyes. 

“Good morning.” You reply, leaning back on your hands as you watch the camp slowly wake up. You spot Arthur across the camp, already dressed in a red leather vest and black pants, he had forgone his hat today and was brewing coffee over the campfire. His eyes meet yours, and you look away instantly, a nervous feeling settling into your stomach. 

He was so intense, with eyes that burned right through you and a serious expression on his face. Maybe he was just being like this because you, an outsider, was getting comfortable in his camp. Then again, he is the one that brought you here in the first place.

Your hands fall to your lap and your gaze falls with it, taking in the state of your being. It dawns upon you that you have no clothes to wear today since yours needed to be washed. 

“Shit.” You say to yourself, but Mary-Beth hears and turns toward you. 

“What?” She asks, confused.

“It’s just that,” You trail off, not wanting to be a burden. “I have nothing to wear.” 

“Oh, is that all? Don’t worry, you can borrow something of mine.” She chirps, getting up and once again going to her trunk. Yep, you felt like a burden.

“Are you sure?” You ask, feeling awful. 

“Of course, can’t have you parading around in your nightgown all day.” She says, smiling. 

She pulls out a frilly pink blouse, red button up, and matching red skirt. You take them gratefully, disappearing behind the tent to get ready. You take the nightgown off before pulling on the borrowed clothes, leaving the top buttons of the shirt undone to show off your collarbone and frilly blouse. When you reappear, Mary-Beth is standing there with a gold and turquoise necklace and brown belt. 

“Can’t forget to accessorize!” She says, walking towards you with the necklace held out. She was being so nice, you couldn’t possibly accept. 

“Oh Mary-Beth I can’t accept this, this is too valuable.” You say, holding your hands up. 

“Nonsense.” She says, scooting past you so she was behind. Without another word she’s putting the necklace on you and all you can do is stand there and be grateful for her kindness. 

Next she’s wrapping the belt around your waist and doing the buckle. You were perfectly able to put on a belt and necklace, but something told you she was really enjoying having a new friend, so you let it slide, 

“You look perfect.” She says, going to her trunk to pull out a little mirror, she holds it up far away enough so you could see your outfit. You did look good, the belt was doing wonders for your waist and the necklace accentuated your decolletage perfectly. Plus it was comfortable, a step up from your previous outfit. 

You pull her into a hug, she reciprocates. 

“Say, I’ve got to introduce you to the other ladies!” She perks up, letting you go only to hold your hand as she leads you to a campfire surrounded by said ladies. 

“Alright!” You chuckle at her enthusiasm but are left feeling very nervous at the prospect of meeting new people. 

Before you know it you’re standing by her side as she gets their attention, you noticed they were all eating stew from metal bowls. 

“Ladies, this is-” She says your name, “And this is Tilly, Karen, Abigail and Sadie. Molly is around here somewhere but she doesn’t really hang out with us.” She lists them off, pointing to each one of them with the corresponding name.

“Who’s Molly?” You ask, looking around the camp.

“The grumpy redhead. She’s Dutch’s girl.” Mary-Beth says.

“I see.” You turn to the other ladies. 

“Hello, all.” You say, doing a little wave.

“Well, aren't you pretty.” Karen says, looking you up and down. “Couldn’t tell last night in the dark, but getting a good look at you now? Shoot, the boys will be all over you.” 

You hoped to God that wouldn’t be the case. 

“Thank you.” You say, not knowing what else you could say. 

“Karen, you’re coming off too strong, can’t you see you’ve scared her?” Tilly says, shaking her head. 

“Just telling it like it is.” Karen says, defending herself.

“Don’t mind her,” Abigail says, “Welcome to the campsite.” 

“Thank you.” You say again, giving her a warm smile. When it was just you and the ladies, things weren’t so scary, your survival didn’t seem like a distant prospect like it did when you were hogtied on the back of a horse. 

“You going to be sticking around?” Sadie says, taking another spoonful of stew into her mouth. As much as it didn’t look appetizing, your mouth began to water; you were hungry. 

“Hm?” You ask, the question catching you off guard. 

“Oh, I don’t- I don’t know what will happen.” You say honestly. You didn’t have many choices, a reality you were met with last night in your bedroll. If they let you go, you could continue with your journey to Canada, marry that old man and live your life as a housewife. You could try to go back to your father but he wouldn’t have it. Finally, and an option that didn’t seem viable until right now, you could stay here. Help out around the camp. Sure, that would also mean becoming an outlaw but your opinions were slim right now. You had no money, and no supportive relatives. Just a fondness for the outdoors and what was proving to be extremely bad luck.

“Mary-Beth!” Dutch’s raspy voice cuts across camp, you find its source standing next to a man in red, Arthur and an older man in a green coat lined with fur and yellow vest. 

“Yes, Dutch?” She replies, holding her hand over her eyes to block out the sun and see him more clearly. 

“Bring her here.” He motions over to where they’re standing. She nods, turning to you. 

“Well, we should get over there. Don’t want to keep them waiting.” She sees the anxious look on your face before saying, “You’ll be fine, I promise nothing bad is going to happen.” 

You nod, and she takes your hand as she leads you to the men, standing next to you as you plant yourself in front of Dutch.

“Thank you, Mary-Beth, that will be all.” Dutch says with a wave of his hand, dismissing her. She gives your hand a squeeze before turning and walking back towards the other girls. You don’t miss the way Dutch watches her leave, which you found odd. Wasn’t he with Molly?

“Arthur went out this morning to do some digging on you.” Dutch says, crossing his arms.

“There’s already word of the wealthy business owner’s daughter being snatched off her train in the middle of the night. Word travels fast.” He continues, looking over at Arthur who just remains transfixed on you. You avoid eye contact with either one of them, it was bad enough you lied about who you were, you weren’t going to interrupt. 

“So, what’s a wealthy canning company owner’s daughter doing on a train to Canada? And no lying this time.” He says, peering down his nose at you. You were so goddam intimidated right now.

“Look at the boss when he’s talking to you, girl.” The one in red hisses. You flinch, taken aback by the sudden hostility. He was mean looking, with longer blonde hair, and an icy blue stare, you made a mental note to avoid this man at all costs. 

“Take a walk, Micah.” The older man says. He seemed like the voice of logic here.

“I don’t take orders from you, Hosea. My orders come directly from Dutch.” He grins, a shiteating grin that makes a chill go down your spine.

“Micah.” Dutch says, cool and collected. “Take. A walk.” 

Micah huffs, at a loss for words as he turns away, and takes a walk.

You glance at Arthur, his lips are curved up into a smile. He clearly enjoyed that.

“Now,” Dutch says your name, “Tell me the truth, young lady. What were you doing on that train?” 

You saw no point in lying, hell, maybe they’d have sympathy for you since they were all about freedom and not doing what people told them to. 

“I was being married off to a man close to death. Had no choice in the matter, it’s as simple as that.” You state, plainly. 

“I see.” Dutch says pausing for a moment and looking over at Arthur. Arthur just nods.

“And my father wouldn’t take me back and he sure as hell will not pay you.” You plant your hands on your hips, Arthur chuckles, shaking his head.

“We got ourselves into it with this one.” Arthur says, still laughing. 

“Thank you, Arthur, very helpful.” Dutch says, almost scolding. You wondered what the relationship there was like. 

“I can be of use here.” You pipe up, in all of one second, making up your mind. There was no future for you anywhere else, you had to decide quickly what you were going to do and your brain spat this out when questioned. You were going to plead your case on why you’d be a good outlaw, you wouldn’t sit idly by and wash clothes. No, things were going to change for you, you were finally going to live a life you wanted. An exciting, fulfilling life.

“I suppose we could use another cook.” Dutch says, turning to Arthur, “Arthur why don’t you take her into town and get-” 

“No,” You interrupt, shaking your head and holding up your hands. 

“I’ve never been good at cooking. I can be useful somewhere else. Like standing guard or being an extra gun.” You defend yourself, listing out what you were sure you were capable of. Not only did your brothers teach you how to shoot, they taught you to not miss.

Dutch just stares at you, mouth slightly agape as he takes in what you just said.

“An extra- young lady, do you even know how to hold a gun?” He asks.

“Yes and I can shoot it too.” You say, defiantly, hands sliding from your hips to cross your arms. 

Your eyes slide over to Arthur again and he finally seems like he has something to say, chuckling, amused, and there’s a twinkle of something else there but you’re not sure where to place it.

“You really are something, y’know that?” He asks you, bending over slightly to light a match with his boot before bringing it to the cigarette in his mouth. 

You smile, for some reason. Twelve hours ago this man terrified you, now you were laughing with him. Weird. 

“Tell you what,” Dutch interrupts, “Arthur, take her to a field somewhere, set up some bottles, maybe shoot some birds. Treat this like a trial and we’ll see where it takes us.”

“Me? Dutch, I-” He sighs, looking from you to Dutch then back to you, “I have other things I could be doing.” 

“Just do it son, come back and report.” Dutch says, before turning to walk away, “We will find your place,” He says your name, making eye contact before turning away completely. 

You turn to Arthur, awaiting instruction or for him to point in the direction of his horse. But he’s just looking at you, his amused expression gone.

“What?” You ask, suddenly feeling insecure. Your eyes dip down to your feet, avoiding his heavy gaze. 

“You really know how to shoot?” He asks, his expression telling you he didn’t know whether to believe you or not. 

“Yes, my brothers taught me.” You say, eyes snapping back to his. They were so blue, with a hint of green. You weren’t sure why you noticed that, you just did.

“Fine,” He gestures over your shoulder, you follow it and find his horse hitched nearby. “I need to grab some ammo. I’ll meet you over there.” 

“What’s her name?” You ask, looking at the beautiful horse. She was a light gray, spotted shire, a hell of an animal, even if she was small for her breed.

“June.” He replies, giving you one last glance before walking back towards his tent.

“June.” You repeat to yourself, falling into step towards the  horse. Mary-Beth sees you and comes rushing to your side, Karen and Tilly are with her all of them look like they’re bursting with questions.

“Where y’all going?” Karen chimes in as you arrive at the horse, not daring to touch her yet as you didn’t know her temperament. 

“Shooting.” You say, simply. “They don’t believe I can, so they're testing me.” 

“Shooting?” Mary-Beth says, “Why would you wanna do that?”

“I like shooting.” You reply, shrugging. “My brothers taught me.” You say for what felt like the millionth time this morning. 

“I see.” Tilly says, smiling at you, “It’s refreshing to see a woman doing those things, usually the men handle all that stuff.” 

“Hopefully I pass whatever test they’re putting me up to.” You grin, looking at your new friends. You were happy they were here, they would balance out people like Micah. You had barely had an interaction with him and he was already insufferable.

“You ladies gonna let her breathe?” A voice from behind the gaggle of women says before parting them to come stand next to you. It’s Arthur, with a rifle slung across his back. 

“Oh shush you,” Karen says, but her smile betrays her. 

“We’re just happy to have fresh meat, is all.” 

“Sure.” Arthur nods before turning to you. 

“Ready?”

“Yep.” You reply, heading to the horse's side. The girls go back to their chores, leaving you two alone.

“Is she friendly?” You ask, desperately wanting to pet her.

“Yeah, friendly enough.” Arthur says, watching you.

You reach out to scratch her long face, she almost seems to melt into the attention, leaning against your hand as you work her over. 

“‘Friendly enough’ my ass, look how she’s melting into my hand!” You say, giving her some more scratches.

“You got a mouth on you, woman.” Arthur says, chuckling as he shakes his head. 

“Now come on, no time like the present.” 

You once again position yourself at June’s side, figuring out a way to get onto the horse without flashing your bloomers to everyone. Usually when you rode horses, you were wearing pants, not this beautiful skirt Mary-Beth lent you. 

Without saying a word, Arthur comes up behind you, planting his hands at each side of your waist before lifting you into June’s back. You suppress a squeal and instead opt for saying “Thank you.” 

He just nods, hoisting himself into the saddle in front of you. Your hands come to wrap around his middle, keeping yourself steady as he urges June forward and out of the camp. Riding side, saddle was awkward but you got the hang of it rather quickly. 

The two of you rode in silence for a while, not an awkward silence, it was oddly comfortable. You watched the scenery go by, the same scenery you saw last night but this time you were upright on the horse, which, in your opinion, was a big step up.

“When did you join the gang?” You ask, an idle question you weren’t even sure he’d answer. 

After a beat of silence, and after you were sure he was going to ignore you, he spoke.

“Joined when I was fourteen.” He says, turning his head just a little bit so you could hear him against the whooshing of wind. 

“What’s that been like?” You ask, genuinely curious. You wondered what it would be like growing up in that environment, what effects that would have on the young mind. How old was he when he took his first life, you wondered if he still remembered it. A conversation for another day.

“It’s a sense of family, Dutch is like a father to me.” He says, simply, obviously not wanting to delve deeper into that. You could respect it, you were grateful he was tolerating your questioning at all.

“That’s nice, I can’t imagine having a father figure like that, one that actually enjoys you. Then again, I’m not a son.” It was the sad reality, your father preferred your brothers, specifically Thomas, the oldest. They were two peas in a pod, serious, no-nonsense men. But Thomas, unlike your father, had a soft spot for you. It’s one of the reasons you got away with shooting, riding horses, drinking liquor, and other things society would genuinely frown upon a woman participating in. 

“That bad, huh?” Arthur asks, a genuine tone overcoming his voice. He had empathy for your situation, you realized, and in that moment Mary-Beth’s words came back to you; “You should know that the people here, we’re good people.” Maybe Arthur wasn’t so bad, just protective of his family. You understood him more now, understood why he took you in the first place. He just wanted to protect that Sean fellow, protect his brother in arms.

“Yeah, that bad. Father was always the stern type, strict and unmoving when it came to rules. The only time I could do something other than, say, playing the piano was when he went out of town. Luckily for me, they were frequent trips and my mother was way more lenient.”

“Piano, huh? What else do you do?” He asks, genuinely sounding interested. This surprised you, you weren’t sure if he was the type to be interested in anything, let alone your hobbies.

“I paint, sing, play piano, shoot, and ride horses mainly. All hobbies I enjoy, even if some of them were forced upon me at a young age, I grew to appreciate them.” You say, reminiscing on your childhood. Your parents made you start learning piano when you were five, now at twenty-four you were pretty skilled at it. Now that you think about it, you weren’t sure when you’d play again, if ever. That made you a little sad, but best not to dwell on it now.

“Well, ain’t you talented?” he says, almost sarcastically but at the same time light-heartedly. 

“I try.” You reply, a wry smile ghosting your lips. 

“Hey,” He says, pulling off into a large clearing from the trail. “We’re here.” 

“Lovely.” You say, looking around. You were in the middle of nowhere, you realize as when you turn in every direction you can see nothing but trees, mountains, and an abandoned shack. There’s a fence post in the clearing, at some point it may have held cows or horses. Arthur reaches into his saddle bags, pulling out four empty bottles. 

“Right. I’m gonna line these up on that fence post,” He points to the fencepost, “And you’re gonna shoot two of them with this rifle.” He retrieves the rifle from his back, holding it out in front of you for you to take. You do, holding the heavy weapon in your hands and nod. “Next, you’ll shoot the next two with this,” He taps the revolver in his holster. You nod again, “Sounds good.” 

“Nervous?” He asks, crossing his arms. 

“No.” You state simply, you weren’t. You were easily the best aim out of all your brothers and had done this exact exercise plenty of times. You were confident in your abilities to hit these bottles, confident in your ability to pass this test, you just had to keep your wits about you.

You watch as Arthur marches towards the fencepost and through the tall grass. He sets up the bottles, two high, two low before coming back to where you’re standing and settling in behind you. 

“This rifle can be tricky,” He comes up behind you, lifting your arms with his hands and helping you position. His chest was right against your back and you could feel your cheeks flush. Why the hell were you blushing? This was just business, him helping you with his damn tricky rife, nothing else. But it’s also the moment you realized he had bathed recently, and washed his clothes. Damn it, you could hear him breathing beside you, slow and steady as he lines up a shot. 

But before you know it, he’s stepping away from you, hands leaving your arms and you can’t help but miss the slight touch. What was wrong with you?

“ Got a hell of a kickback so be careful.” His hands return to his gun belt as he watches you. You nod, taking a deep breath before lining up your shot, you were going for the tallest bottle so you tilted upwards, widening your stance for stability. 

You cock the gun, taking one last breath before squeezing the trigger. The bottle explodes as you hit it, sending glass in every direction, and you almost stumble back from the kickback but you hold your ground. You turn back towards Arthur, his expression is unreadable. Is he happy, proud even? You just couldn’t tell. 

“Well alright then,” He nods towards the lower bottle on the post. “Now the other one.”

You turn back around, readjusting your stance and taking aim. On your exhale, you shoot, once again sending glass splintering outwards as your bullet tears through it. You smile, proud of yourself for taming a “tricky rifle.”

He just nods, a whisper of a smile on his lips. He holds his hand out and you trade in the rifle. He hands you his revolver, and you test the weight in your hands. This was similar to your brother, Richard’s gun, a gun he let you shoot only once or twice. Still you had shot more revolvers than you could count and had no anxieties for this part of the test.

You take aim once again for the last high bottle and squeeze, hitting it instantly. You instantly take aim for the last bottle, firing off a shot in quick succession with the last and that one too explodes. 

You turn around and make a show of blowing off the smoke coming from the muzzle, laughing when he rolls his eyes. 

“Show off.” He teases, and you notice he doesn’t ask for the gun back.

“So, back to camp?” You ask, letting your hands go slack at your side. 

“Not so fast, we ain’t done yet.” He says picking up a palm sized rock from the ground. 

“I’m gonna throw this rock into the clearing over there, scare some birds. I want you to shoot one.” 

So maybe now you were nervous. You’d never shot a moving target, just bottles and other inanimate objects lined up in your backyard. You were sure you’d be able to learn, you were a quick learner, always had been. You just didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of Arthur. 

“Alright,” You say, aiming your revolver at the sky and swallowing the lump in your throat. “Throw the rock, please.” 

Arthur chucks it and it lands a ways away, sending large black birds panicking and shooting up into the sky. You have to fight against the sun’s rays to even get a vague aim at one of the cat-sized birds. You think you lock in on one but when you shoot and miss it has your cursing to yourself once again. 

“Don’t aim where they are, aim where they’re gonna be.” He says, watching the birds as they begin to fly away. You were losing your opportunity, if you failed this you weren’t sure what they’d do with you. Stick you with the cook and make you cut carrots for the rest of your life probably. 

Taking aim once more, you lock onto the nearest bird, pointing the muzzle a bit to the left, in the direction it was flying. You had to act fast, it was getting away so you take a quick breath and shoot.

Feathers go flying as the bird cascades to the ground, dead from your shot. 

“Yes!” You celebrate, jumping up and down before rushing over to where the bird landed. You did feel bad, you had just taken an innocent life. But, you were sure you passed the test, you had hit almost all of your shots and taken direction easily, a quality you were sure would go over well with Dutch. 

“Well done.” Arthur says, holding a hand out for his revolver. You give it to him and he reloads it before returning it to his holster. 

You turn to walk back towards June but something else catches your eye. Storm clouds in the East, and they were moving to your position rather quickly. By your estimates it’d be upon you in ten to fifteen minutes. This was a problem as you were about thirty to forty minutes from camp.

“Is it me or is that storm coming rather fast?” You ask, pointing to the large dark clouds.

“Ah shit.” He says, planting his hands on his gun belt, a pose that was becoming rather signature for him. 

“What should we do?” You ask, turning back towards him.

“Normally I’d just ride in the rain. But with you here… we should wait it out.” He looks around, gaze landing on a little shack in the distance, about a third of a mile away. 

“There,” He points, whistling for his horse. June comes trotting over, standing next to her master as he beckons you over. You oblige, walking over to him and standing next to June, hands going to the back of the saddle as you wait for your boost from Arthur. He comes behind you again and your heart drums up in pace as he grabs your waist again to hoist you up. You swear the touch burns and once you’re up on the horse, you turn your head away to hide the blush creeping its way onto your face. 

He climbs into the saddle in front of you and your hands go to his middle again, your blush not relenting. 

“Hyah!” He spurs June into a canter as you make your way to the shack, thunder sounds off in the near distance. You just hoped it let up soon enough. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Notes:

Hmmm I wonder what'll happen when these two get to be in forced proximity ;)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

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You were miserable. Your father had basically sold you to the highest bidder and now you were on a train headed to Canada. What awaited your arrival when you got to your destination was the real reason for your mood; an old, old, man who your darling father agreed to marry you off to for a hefty sum. The transaction was almost complete, all that was left was for you to arrive at your new life, serve as a housewife, pop out some kids and live the rest of your life looking out a window. You had just turned twenty-four a few months ago, it seemed like a waste.

You wring your glove in your hands, gaze fixated on the interior of the car. You came from a wealthy family, you were used to luxury, so the gold lining and velvet seats didn’t impress you much. Instead, you couldn’t help but yearn for the life you were leaving behind. You had older brothers, you were the youngest and only girl so you grew up doing things most young ladies in your circle would turn their noses up at. You rode horses, shot guns, played in the dirt, went on hikes, hell you would even wear pants. You shifted awkwardly in the corset and fancy coat you were currently wearing, crossing your legs under the heavy skirt. This frilly hat wasn’t doing you any favors either, if your scalp was any itchier, you’d have torn all your hair out to compensate. You adjust it, doing your best not to mess up your updo but trying in equal measure to satiate this damned itching.

The last stop had been a small town called Valentine, you had been a couple times in your youth, as it wasn’t too long of a ride from your estate in Saint Denis, but it had been years. You had rolled through when the sun was setting, now the sky was a signature navy blue as night overtook it. You were about to roll towards your window and try to get some sleep when the train screeched to a halt. You jerked upwards, eyes scanning the treeline outside your window for any clues as to what could be the cause but you find nothing, just empty blackness. 

“What in the world?” you mutter to yourself.

You stand, leaving your purse on the seat behind you as you make your way out of your private box and into the hallway. You knock on the neighboring box and they beckon you inside. It’s a wife and husband. The husband is looking rather bored, reading a newspaper by the lantern light while his wife looks like she’s about to explode with how red she was. 

“What’s going on?” You ask, shuffling into the room and smoothing your skirt down. 

“There’s a wagon on the tracks,” Says the wife, fanning herself with an intricate hand fan. “Hopefully it’s removed soon, we can’t afford to be off schedule.” 

“I see,” You say, secretly thanking whatever idiot left that wagon on the tracks. It bought you a little more time of freedom, just a little longer to be yourself. 

You nod your thanks before heading back to your box, sitting back down on the seat. You look out your window again to see horses, no riders, just horses. They were saddled, though and a few of them had guns strapped to their saddles. 

“What-?” You ask yourself before being cut off by muffled yelling. You stand, pressing your ear to the door.

“Don’t be a hero! Give me your damn purse, lady!” A man’s voice from outside yells, you can tell it’s coming from the neighbors box. Everything in you tenses with the sudden realization; the train was being robbed. 

“I will not allow you to do this sir!” The husband’s voice pipes up, clearly pushing back against the assailants. Dumb move, in your opinion. 

“You wanna show this son of a bitch we ain’t playing around here?” The voice says, speaking to someone else and signifying they were not alone.

It’s when you hear the thud of a punch landing do you decide what to do; you’re going to make a run for it.

They’re still in the other booth, if you’re quiet and quick enough, maybe by God’s grace you won’t be caught. You haven't prayed in years, haven’t touched a Bible for just as long, but damn, now felt like a good time to start. You slip quietly enough through the doors, clutching your purse tight to your chest as you tiptoe down the hallway and towards the back car exit. You go for the handle, it opens but squeaks like a bitch as it does.

“Damn!” You curse-mutter to yourself as you pick up the pace and squeeze your way through the half-opened door. 

“Hey! Someone’s sneaking out the back!” The man says, and you peer down the hallway to see them coming out from the box, stumbling over each other as they rush to catch up with you. One of them had longer hair, wearing striped, worn ranch pants, a long black coat, and a brown leather vest that went over a black shirt. The other was taller, wearing a black hat with rope around the base, a blue shirt, buckskin jacket and working pants. Both men sported a bandana to hide their identities. 

Before you could get a better look at them, you were jumping from the train. A hot wave of pain radiates from your ankle as you land, causing you to stumble in your long skirt. You look down at the offending ankle, you must have twisted it. You mentally curse yourself before you take off limping, trying your damnedest to get away from the men on the train. You turn your head, checking their positions. They were gaining on you, your only hope was to get to the treeline and disappear into the forest. After that? Well, you’d have to make contact with your father somehow, explain why you weren’t on your way to be married to a man close to death and beg him once again to reconsider. 

You were not in proper running clothes, your skirt and heeled boots were only slowing you down. Your lungs were on fire, ankle throbbing in pain as you gave it everything you could. You drop your purse by accident, swearing to yourself as you did. That purse held all your money, losing it was surely going to hurt later. That is, if you got out of this alive. 

The treeline is so close, but you can hear panting breaths from behind you.

“Stop!” One of them yells, too close for comfort. When you look behind you again, a hand reaches out and pulls you to the ground by your arm. 

“No!” You scream, kicking, but the one in blue has you on your stomach and is tying your hands behind your back. Then he goes to your ankles and ties those too, shooting a zap of pain up your leg when he touches the injured one. 

You groan in pain and look behind you, he didn’t seem to notice or care as he looked back to his partner. 

“What should we do with her?” The one in black asks, as he approaches the other one. 

“Leave her here, probably.” The one in blue says, “It’s not like she can identify us.” 

It was then you could see two other figures approaching from the train, one was tall and buff, with long hair and a darker complexion while the other was a redhead, wearing a green hat.

The redhead instantly starts talking, 

“What a score! What’d you boys end up rounding up, eh?” He says, Irish accent strong as he takes off his bandana. The men around you instantly tense up, the one in black brings his hand to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Sean! For Christ’s sake, do you know what you just did?” The one in blue is talking now and your eyes burn into the redhead’s face, memorizing each feature. 

His eyes land on you.

“Shit- SHIT!” He curses, tying his bandana right back to his face. It was too late, you knew what he looked like, you were a liability, they’d surely kill you now… right?

“Well now what?” The one in black sounds annoyed, very annoyed and as if he’s speaking through his teeth. His arms are crossed over his chest and he taps his foot, they’re all silent as they try to come up with something.

You’re still wiggling in place, trying to loosen your ties to no avail, they were expertly tied. 

“Just let me go!” You pipe in, turning to look at the men once more. “I won’t say anything to anyone I swear!” 

They ignore you until the larger man with the longer hair says something.

“Maybe we should take her with us, I mean look at her. She’s all dressed up, surely somebody will pay a ransom.” 

You doubted it. Your father was so sick of you and your unlady-like ways, it was the reason he sold you off in the first place. And your new “fiance” had paid so much for you in the first place, you weren’t sure he’d pay any more. 

Tears flood your eyes as you begin to plead your case.

“Nobody is going to pay you.” You sob, salty droplets rolling down your pink cheeks. 

“We’ll see.” The one in blue says before bending over, grabbing your waist and slinging you across his shoulder. 

You yelp, wiggling with all your might to get out of his hold but he clamps down, unrelenting as he holds you. He whistles for his horse, which comes running from the treeline. 

“Charles, Sean, you two take a while before going back to camp, John and I will head back now with this one.” He was referring to you as he set you on the rump of his horse, face down like a dead deer. 

Charles just nods in agreement, Sean groans.

“It’s the middle of the night! Where am I supposed t’ go?” He protests, surely wanting to get back to said campsite. 

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” The man in blue says before climbing on his horse. 

The one you assume is John climbs on his horse and follows as the mystery man spurs his horse forward, setting a trotting pace as he steers back on the path. 

The ride is bumpy, and all you can do is cry. You were being taken for ransom, a ransom you knew wouldn’t be paid. Your pinned hat comes undone and falls to the ground, never to be seen again. As ugly as it was, it was expensive, and you cringe at the lost value. You watch as you pass lantern-lit homes, sleepy farmsteads, and trees. You watch as the mountains in the distance bump up and down with each movement of the horse. Your ankle has been growing in pain since the ride began, and all you can do is curse to yourself to cope.

“Whatchu cursing about back there?” The man asks, turning his head to meet your gaze as his horse takes the lead, clearly knowing the way home. 

“My ankle.” You explain, not in the mood to snap back with some harsh reply, “I think I twisted it something fierce.” 

“Someone will look at it when we get to camp. What’s your name?” He gruffs, looking ahead as the horse runs into a treeline and onto a smaller path. 

You say your name, just your first in case he would recognize your family name. Your father owned the canning company in the city, it was named after him so it wouldn’t be too hard to connect the dots. 

He repeats it to himself before saying, “Ain’t nobody here gonna lay a finger on you. You can relax.” 

You nod, sniffling and clinging to his promise with everything you had. 

The sound of low conversations, opera music, and laughter meets your ears and you perk up, but you had a limited view of everything from your position on the horse so you can’t see anything until you feel his hands at your waist again. He hoists you onto his shoulder again and you finally get a good look at the camp. It becomes clear to you that there was a whole gang of people staying here, not just the men. 

“Arthur!” A raspy voice calls out to the man carrying you. Arthur. That was his name.

“What in God’s name is this?” A man approaches, and he instantly strikes you as the leader. He was wearing fancy clothes, way fancier than any of the men you had already seen. 

“This is,” He says your name, setting you down on the ground gently and cutting your ties with a large knife from his gun belt. 

“And she’s gonna be useful to us one way or another.”

“Ransom?” The leader asks, hands on hips as he looks you up and down. 

“Maybe.” Arthur says, lighting up a cigarette and taking it to his lips. 

“For the last time, nobody is going to pay you for me.” You say, crossing your arms over your chest.

The leader gives Arthur a look.

“She saw Sean’s face, Dutch. Wasn’t much to do with her ‘cept bring her here.” He says, taking a long drag from his cigarette. 

Dutch. The realization hit you like cold water as you realized you were standing in the Dutch van der Linde encampment. It seemed so obvious now, you’d seen this man's wanted poster in town before. Your eyes are wide as you realize just how much shit you were in. 

“Plus she’s hurt. Told her someone would have a look at her.” Arthur adds.

There’s a silence, as if Dutch cannot believe what he’s hearing. And then;

“Miss Grimshaw! If you would please have a look at our-,” He pauses, searching for the right word, “-guest. See what you can do.” 

“Right away.” A woman pipes up from the crowd of onlookers and comes to your side. She’s older, with her hair tied back in a tidy bun with a gray streak in the front. She was wearing a long skirt, red jacket and golden pendant, different from everyone else who were in their sleeping clothes. She leads you to a chair around a campfire, positioning you in front of it so she could properly see. 

“Which ankle?” She asks, bending in front of you. You lift up the injured ankle and she takes it in her hand, removing your boot and examining your ankle through your sock. 

“It’s definitely swollen.” She says, getting up and dusting her hands off. “But not broken. Not from what I can tell, anyways. Strauss usually handles medicine but he’s off lending loans.” 

“Well, I ran on it.” You admit, keeping your foot extended as she turns to find some gauze. “Well why’d you do that?” She asks, returning to your foot and wrapping the gauze around your ankle and heel. 

“Was trying to get away from the scary men chasing me.” You reply, motioning over to where John and Arthur watched you from across the camp. They look away when you catch them staring.

“I see.” Miss Grimshaw says cooly, stepping away from you when she was finished. She was clearly not impressed by you, probably thought of you as dead weight she now had to carry. 

“We have an extra bedroll by Mary Beth, you can sleep there tonight.” She says, before turning to walk away.

“Wait, which one is Mary-Beth?” You ask, looking around. She points to a young girl curled up in her bedroll with a book, she’s too entranced by the pages to notice you both looking her way.

“Alright, thank you.” You say to her, before getting up and limping towards Mary-Beth. Finally, she sees you and instantly perks up, smiling at you widely. 

“Look who it is, the talk of the camp.” She greets, setting her book down next to her. You can see her clearly in the campfire glow now, she’s beautiful. With styled hair, adorable beauty marks, and big wide eyes, you can’t help but smile back, despite your situation. It’s not like you could run, they have armed guards surrounding the camp at all times. You had to make the most of this debacle, no matter what. 

“Hello,” You greet back.

“I’m Mary-Beth, and you are?” She asks sweetly, getting up to shake your hand.

You give her your name before taking her hand and shaking it. 

You look down at your clothes only to just now realize you didn’t have anything to sleep in. As if she could read your mind, Mary-Beth goes over to her trunk. 

“You can borrow one of my nightgowns until we can get you your own.” She says, digging around before pulling out a pristine looking nightgown. It was apparent she liked to keep clean, despite her surroundings. She holds it out for you to take, so you do, looking around for some place to change.

“What’s wrong?”She asks, following your gaze as you peer around. 

“Nothing, it’s just-- where do you guys change?” You ask, fiddling nervously at the button on your jacket. 

“Oh I usually just go behind the tent or one of the provision wagons.” She says, taking your hand. 

“I’ll show you.”

You follow her, not having another choice as she leads you behind the tent, away from prying eyes. She looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to strip. 

“Oh,” You say, draping the nightgown over one of the tent poles so your hands were free to undo the buttons on your jacket, letting it fall to the ground. Next, you shimmy out of your skirt so you’re left standing in your corset and underclothes. 

“Mary-Beth, would you mind?” You ask, turning around so she could undo the laces of your corset. 

“Of course.” She says, hands going to your back as she carefully undoes them. Soon, she’s finished, and that too falls to the ground. All you’re wearing now is your shift and bloomers, you pick the nightgown back up and pull it over your head and shoulders before slipping your arms through. 

“You dress so fancy,” She says, looking at your pile of clothes, “I’m jealous.” She laughs, picking them up and tucking them over her arm. 

“Not my choice.” You say, honestly. If it were up to you, you’d be wearing a simple blouse and skirt or even pants, just like you did at home. 

“I see,” She says, “Nonetheless, these will need to be washed.” She pats the clothes in her hands, dusting off what dirt she could. Who knew that being tackled to the ground, slung on the back of a horse and being manhandled could make clothes dirty. 

Your hands go to your tied up hair, taking out the pins and tossing them aside, never to be found again. Now your hair is down, brushing your shoulders as you shake it out, scalp sore from the tightness of your previous hairstyle. 

“There you go.” Mary-Beth smiles at you before putting her hands on your shoulders.

“You holding up okay?” She asks, sympathy in her eyes. The question makes you well up immediately. No, you weren’t okay. You had no idea what was going to happen next, no idea where you’d end up once they found out there was no ransom money to be made.

“I’ll live.” You hoped, hands coming up to swipe at your tears. 

“Oh honey,” She says, pulling you into a hug. You return it, relishing in a compassionate embrace. It was the first one in a long time. You didn’t have many friends back home, just your three older brothers; Richard, Thomas and John. You were lucky enough to be educated, as your mother insisted on it so she hired a private tutor to come mentor you during the weekdays. But it kept you so busy in your childhood, you never had the chance to go make connections, save for a few here and there. Your family was not the hugging type, and your father made sure to keep it a no-nonsense household. You were lucky your mother was lenient, so when your father was away on business trips you were able to get into all sorts of shenanigans with your brothers. It was times like those where you picked up your unladylike skills, like shooting and racing horses. When your father was home, you were reduced to playing the piano, painting or singing. All hobbies you enjoyed, sure, but you needed the freedom of choice, not just what you were expected to do..

You pull away first, “Thank you.” You say, and you meant it. You really needed that after the day you’ve been having. 

“You should know that the people here, we’re good people.” She pauses, “Well, most of us are. You have nothing to be afraid of.” 

“I’ll take your word for it.” You say, half-lying as you kept your wits about you, not letting your guard down. Not yet. 

“We should get some sleep, it’s late.” She says, gesturing in the direction of the bedrolls. You nod, following her back to the tent and sitting down on your bedroll. You get in, getting as comfortable as you could before settling in, closing your eyes and trying your damnedest to fall asleep. 

It was going to be a long night.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Notes:

Hope you guys like RDR2 because this is a fic I plan on sticking to for a while, and I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter even if it was a little slow!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

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