save a horse...

and, true to his word, you were utterly gone.

the sheets wet with your drool and arousal, several loads already stuffed deep in you. but he just kept going. stroking each and every spot that made your toes curl, back arch, and voice pitch just how he likes it.

"mine," his voice rumbles and shakes you down to your core, wet and desperate, "say it."

"yours, arthur," you moan, twitching against the restraints. his large palms grip at the curve of your hips to keep your legs from giving out.

"all yours."

"'nd 'm gonna fuck you so hard 'til it's the only thing you know."

god, you were beautiful like this. perfect.

your hole was clenching around him so tightly, so deliciously, it was intoxicating. dangerous. maybe that's why he had to tie you up, so you wouldn't take advantage of the way he was absolutely losing himself in you.

and sure, maybe lassoing you when you ran away was a bit much earlier, he thought, as his calloused fingers dragged from your hips up to massage the bruises forming on your forearm. but, when he remembers how he peeled back the sticky mess of your underwear and saw just how aroused you were for him, all of those regrets left his mind.

your head turns to look up at him, a dazed smile brushing up into the creases of your hazy eyes, and he tilts his head back at you, smirking.

"into this, aren't you? dirty thing," a deep, guttural groan rumbles from the back of his throat, his head throwing itself back as his hips stutter against yours.

with just a few more strokes -- fuck, it's so much --, he slams into you one last time, his tip kissing the deepest spots in you. a searing warmth fills you, and you cry out his name as a blinding orgasm comes over you.

your tensing muscles begin to relax, heavy panting filling the tent.

"y'r alright, swee'heart?" his voice is just above a whisper, brushing against the bare skin of your shoulder as he leaned down. featherlight kisses pressed into your flesh, and you whimper out in response.

"ropes.."

you hear a quiet 'shit' before he quickly reaches for his dagger on the bedside. the sweet, cool air washes over your irritated skin, making you sigh in relief, letting your limbs fall flat as he tosses the tattered rope to the floor.

"c'mere, sweethear'," he coos at you, large arms welcoming you in to his warm embrace.

his lips thin out, brows twitching into a furrow as his hand tugs rhythmically -- almost tactically -- at his dick. he imagines it's your soft hand rubbing against him instead of the rough callouses adorning his, how you'd squeeze the base juuust right, the way your thumb would rub so perfectly right against his slit.

"simon- !!"

and oh, your voice.

so desperate, all for him.

"right here, luv," he coos out, "tell me what you need."

a long, drawn out whine feeds into his ears.

"need you.."

both his heart and dick ache at your words.

simon pictures the pout on your face, the way your eyes glitter with need as you're under him, and how they deliciously fill with tears when he thrusts just a bit too hard.

he bucks into his hand with a bit more force at that, precum leaking out down his shaft.

"you'll have me all to yourself soon, swee'heart, promise."

he swears his ears pick up the clicking sound of your arousal, knowing your fingers aren't as deep as you want them to be, as you need them to be.

"fuck, can hear how desperate you are for me over there.. making a right mess outta yourself, huh?"

"'m close, si, please.."

"yeah? i'll be sure to make it up to you, treat you just the way you need it..."

and, while the gravel of his voice spews all the nasty ways he'll have you -- in bed, on the kitchen counter, in the shower -- your toes curl up at the way your shaky fingers rub your g-spot. the faint smell of his shampoo and tobacco hits your nose, as you bury your face into his pillow.

"come for me, princess, fuck, lemme hear ya make a mess."

a cry of his name breaks through the line, and his fingers instictively tighten around himself, the peak of his pleasure hitting. he lets out a low, gutteral groan as his stomach gets painted with his own spend.

a beat of silence. then, a whimper cracking through the phone.

"come home soon, si... miss you..."

"will soon, luvie. promise," he sighs, rubbing at his forehead, "clean up and get some rest, 's late."

"can you stay on the phone while i sleep?"

oh, how could he say no to that?

and when simon has a package of flowers and your favorite dessert waiting for you at the front door the following morning, he smirks under his mask as he's returned with a envelope days later full of nude polaroids and a pair of your panties.

used, just as he likes them.

it was late, well beyond midnight, and arthur wasn’t in bed. 

no, instead he was 15 feet behind his tent, his body slouched against a large rock, the rough edges surely digging into his back. his hat was tilted downwards, shadowing his whole face save for the slightest glint of his agape mouth, letting out hoarse snores.

he hadn’t meant to stay there, really. it started with a lone cigar as the sun sank into the skyline, awaiting your return from valentine. something about socializing with a family visiting from out of town — old money types, you said. 

he fell asleep thinking of the kiss you left him with.

meanwhile, you had just returned to camp, having decided that the possible hazards this late at night was well worth the comforting arms of your lover. tying the final knot to secure your horse, you stretched out your sore, tired body.

with a long, drawn-out sigh, you dragged yourself to your tent, snagging an unopened beer bottle whilst passing the bench table. you had hoped to enjoy a drink while you hunker down for the night, but drawing away the canvas flaps, you raise a brow at the empty cot – the sheets were neatly made (something you had forced arthur to start doing), and the candle to the lantern has yet to be put out, the shortened wax now layered in drags of drops. You dump your belongings somewhere in an empty corner and blow the flame out, before going back out to look for your boyfriend, taking the beer with you.

at the campfire? nope.

by the supply cart? nah.

the bench table??? you were just there, no idea why you even checked. 

you were about to go out to sadie, who you ran into whilst she was on guard duty, and ask her, but when circling back to your tent, you finally saw a glimpse of him. he was hidden quite well under the shade of the trees, cloaking him in darkness. not to mention he was literally behind your guys' tent. wacko.

you crouched down in front of him, giggling lightly at how silly he looked – his posture was terrible, and there was a bit of drool coming from the corner his mouth. 

you give him a slight nudge with the beer bottle, getting a quiet grumble in return.

you do it again, but this time, arthur’s hand shoots up to grasp at the body of the bottle, raising his head to give you a tired look. he’s returned with a wide, mischievous grin. letting go of the bottle for him to take, you shuffle your body next to his, settling your weight into his sturdy arm as he cracks open the beer. he hands it back to you like it’s second nature.

because between the two of you, it is. 

an added rule to the relationship – you always had the first sip, finding that it tastes better than the rest. arthur, having his tastebuds numbed by oceans of whiskey, didn’t mind handing his drink to you before occupying the rest.

“stars are pretty t’night,” you mumble, as you look out into the sky.

“that they are,” he hummed, moving to wrap his arm around you, “how was your little outing?”

“boring,” you groan, leaning back into him, “family was a buncha boneheads – didn’t even get the infomation dutch wanted –, and i stopped by the store while i was there, but they were all outta my favorite chocolates!”

arthur chuckled at your whining, and you glare at him. one of your hands goes to dig in the pocket of your trousers, and he glances over to see a fresh box of cigars fished out, which is suddenly tossed into his lap. 

“did get a good deal on your cigars, though.”

he raises a brow at first, staring down at the pack before pocketing it. a slight tinge of warmth spreads through his chest at the soft gesture.

thing is, soft things weren’t meant for arthur. at least, that’s what he believed.

he was a man built by bloodshed and fistfights. a man whose fingers were more aquainted to the trigger of a gun than the softness of your skin.

yet, here he is. 

his body being used to cushion yours, one toned arm wrapped around your figure, tracing up and down your shoulder. the other held an open bottle that you swiped every now and then to take a sip from.

meanwhile, your eyes turn back to look deep into the night sky, your arm absentmindedly raising to point at the patterns each little star made. 

a lovedrunk fool, he is.

nudging his side lightly with your elbow, you leaned into him further. his arm naturally tightens its grip around you.

“look, arthur,” you mumbled, aiming your finger beside his face to hopefully direct him better, “star's up there make a lil’ fish.”

from the corner of your eye, you could see how his gaze stayed fixed down on you, admiring how the soft glow of the moon kissed your skin just right. 

you glance up at him, pouting.

“you ain’t lookin’.”

oh, but he was. 

he saw the stars just fine with how they reflected in your eyes, sparkling like the fine – albeit stolen – jewels he spoils you with. 

but, okay. okay. he’ll play along for you. 

letting out a slight chuckle, he presses a kiss against your forehead before nodding towards the sky.

“sorry, sweetheart. go on, show me again. promise i’ll look this time.”

with a huff, you turn back, pointing to the same direction as before. he follows along this time.

“there. look, there’s the body, and that bigger one’s the eye. those four make the fin…”

he watches intently, as your outstretched arm traces the stars into the the shapes you describe. though he can barely make out whatever creative nonsense you’re seeing, he hums along, bringing his hand up to smooth over your hair. 

the outlaw couldn’t help but smirk at your childish fascination. sure, he’d savor the sun as it rises from the horizon in the early morning, and again as it falls into the lining of the distant trees, but he never found himself staring up at the stars, at least for this long. 

even now, he couldn’t help his gaze from straying to you, stars be damned.

he just barely catches it, but a bright light streaks past the night, a sharp gasp interrupting your speil. you’re quick to sit upright, gripping at the collar of arthur’s shirt to tug at him, despite his attention already on you. 

“arthur! did you see that? it was a shooting star!” you laugh in disbelief, “come on, quick, make a wish!” 

he straightens himself up, about to reply, but your hands are already off him to clasp together, your eyes shutting as you manifest a silent secret to yourself. he raises a brow, watching you. he never believed in any of that superficial stuff – never really had the chance to, y'know?

but when you open your eyes and look up at him again, his breath hitches.

“did you make one?”

he clears his throat once and shrugs, looking out into the sky to avoid your entrancing gaze.

“nah, don’t believe in none of that nonsense.”

you roll your eyes at him, laying back on him.

"whatever, don't blame me when all my wishes come true, and yours don't."

little did you know, everything arthur could have wished for was already here, right in his arms.

and the world would have to pry apart his cold, dead, bleeding hands if they ever wanted to have you.

arthur had been gone since first light, pressing a gentle, featherlight kiss on your forehead before he left. from watching the sunrise over the river where he fished, to chasing down debtors into the late afternoon, his day had been filled with busy pursuits. 

now, as he rides his way back to camp, all he can think about is how he’d spend the rest of the evening with you.

maybe after a shared meal under the sunset, he can have you all snuggled up next to him with a book while he cleans his guns. 

yeah, that sounds just right.

for now, he greets hosea as he rides into camp, tugging his mare towards one of the posts. he dismounts from it, keeping the lead in his gloved hands before moving to tie it securely around the wooden beam. a cigarette finds its way from his pocket to between his lips. striking a match, the flare briefly lit his face as he brings it to the tip. with a long drag, arthur flicks the spent match aside and nods to the others before heading toward his tent.

he discards the rest of his cig aside into the dirt, hands moving to push the canvas flap aside. his head turns to the side to blow out the rest of his smoke before he steps inside to you. 

you, standing in the middle of the tent, with your back to him. your usual gray trousers clung to your legs, but the shirt hanging off your frame isn’t yours.

it’s his.

cerulean, plaid cotton drapes past your hips, brushing just against your mid-thigh. the sleeves practically engulf your wrists.

one of your hands held a small mirror, half-admiring, half-curious. but, as his reflection catches your eye, your breath hitches. 

you turn to him, eyes widened in surprise, hands frozen in place. meanwhile, arthur’s... gone.

taking in the scene, his gaze lingers on the way the top three buttons are undone, exposing the lightweight shirt you wore beneath it. 

you clear your throat, pulling arthur’s attention back to you, your fingers hastily moving to undo the buttons.

“i uh.. i’ll put this back-”

it only takes two steps to reach you, a small hunch of his back, and his hands now engulf yours, working deftly to fasten the loops back in. you hold your breath at the sudden closeness, gaze straying to the side, face flushed.

“you’re not puttin’ nothin’ back,” he declares, softly but firm enough to make it absolute. smoothing his hands over your shoulders and down to your arms, he mutters, 

“keep it on, suits you better.”

you scoff, glancing to the side.

“it don’t even fit me.”

“i like it.”

“don’t you only got like, what, 2 shirts other than this one?”

“i’ll steal another.”

you groan, hands raising to push at his chest. his fingers drag around you in return, pulling you into his chest. the prickle of his stubble rubs against your cheek as he leans in and nudges your face with his. he smells of tobacco and pine, and his shirt smells no different on you. 

“take whatever else you want. ‘s yours, all of it.”

“anything?” you tease, pulling back to playfully smile up at him.

he chuckles in return, one hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“anythin’.”

“even you?”

and oh, how could he say no to those pleading eyes of yours? the way you locked your arms around his neck, pulling him in?

he could only let out one more remark before your lips met,

“especially me.”

that garment remains on your side of the wardrobe at the very top of the pile of clothes, staring back at arthur every time he opens the trunk.

one day, as he’s watching you reach up the supply cart, wearing his shirt – now yours –, his eyes drift down to where the bottom of the garment rises just enough to show off the round of your ass. 

and, well, how could he not grab you by the arm and drag you back to the tent?

you’re his, after all. and he takes good care of what’s his.

fireflies flicker throughout the blades of grass, the now smouldered campfire pulsing lightly with ember, a light tinge of smoke in the air. it’s late in the night, with most members of the gang resigned in their own respective quarters. 

behind the closed flaps of your shared tent, there’s a light rustling. followed by a groan.

“arthur,” you huff, peeling yourself away from his sweaty grasp, “go ‘way..”

it was the third time that night you’ve woken to his almost suffocating heat. your cotton blanket was discarded long ago, left barely hanging off of the cot by your feet, which are now kicking away at his legs that have somehow found themselves tangled in yours once more. usually, you’d find comfort in his touch, even in the summer. 

a firm hand on the small of your back.

warm arms that shield you from the rest of the world.

a loving kiss pressed right at the apple of your cheek.

but tonight?

tonight, it was suffocating.

the summer’s heat was no joke, and it’s one of the few times you wish dutch chose a camp site closer to the mountains. you felt sticky all over after retiring to your tent, spending the day scrubbing garments and hanging them to dry while the sun beams down on your neck. even as the sun retires past the horizon, the night air's heavy and humid. 

and then there was arthur. 

his body a radiator, absorbing all the day’s sun whilst away from camp, now clinging to you, savouring the smell of your hair, your skin against his.

there’s a deep, baritone groan laced with sleep that interrupts your thoughts, as you felt the thick arm wrapped around you tighten, pulling you even closer to his bare chest. you squirmed in his grasp.

“i said no, arthur. ‘s too hot, ‘nd you’re too damn warm.”

“c’mon angel… yer breakin’ my heart here…”

those sweet, sappy words usually get your heart fluttering, but the sweat beating down your back is more than enough to pull you away from his flattery. 

“nuh uh, not tonight. you’re sweatin’, i’m sweatin’. ‘s gross..”

you can sense his pout without having to turn to him, sense that he’s thinking of a solution that’s not just straight up tying you to the bed. 

“what if i promise us a nice, cool bath tomorrow?”

you huff, unresponsive. he smirks, continuing.

“i’ll take us down to valentine, get you sumthin’ nice, get us cleaned up, and have the girls clean our sheets so we come back to a fresh bed.”

you take your time thinking about it.

“...whatever,” you grumble, settling back into his hold.

you feel a pair of chapped lips sear into your forehead, calloused fingers playing with your hair.

“atta girl,” he mumbles, his hot breath tickling the shell of your ear. 

this time, the flush in your cheeks isn’t from the weather.

when the following night comes, you find yourself in a laundered bed, body freshened from the sweat layer that’s accumulated over the past week. A new linen sundress sits neatly in your chest, ready to be worn the following morning. 

and when winter comes, with the bitter winds sweeping between the cracks of the tent and brushing against your exposed skin, arthur holds your shivering body just a bit tighter than he used to.