#it's the new year i've decided to write about things only i still care abt probably dsakjlaskjl | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sankttealeaf · 1 year

Text

painted skies

part one | part two || AO3

pairing ; arthur morgan x gender neutral!reader

summary ; you cross paths again with Arthur and decide to follow up on an offer he gave you the last time you met.

warnings ; gun violence, injuries, blood, nightmares

other info ; here is part three <3 reader and arthur go on a little adventure together! i'm so out of my depth writing anything romantic, i'm an angst girlie at heart - but this year is abt doing new things!!! also thanks for all the love on this series, it rly warms my heart and i love seeing everyone's reactions to it! this is double the length of the previous two chapters, not sure what happened there. hope u enjoy!! <3 (i've also included the AO3 link if that's more your thing!)

word count: 19.5k (it's a long one!)

After your very successful exhibition a few weeks back, things had been going well for you. The money from your paintings came in and you made sure to keep most of it aside for the future - the last thing you wanted to do was to spend it all on pointless things and fall back to square one again.

You had a few new clients lined up ready to discuss purchasing some of your work from you, which only added to your feeling of success. It was nice to have a steady source of income, especially after so long of nothing. You put most of the success down to Arthur and his help at the exhibition - there was no way you would be in this position if it weren't for him. It must've been fate for your paths to have crossed, though you tried not to believe too much in fate and destiny. The last thing you wanted was to get caught up in dissecting the meaning of everything, wondering if it was actually fate or just a simple coincidence. There was no time for that. Yours and Arthur's paths had crossed at the right time, and that was that. No hidden meaning, no divine intervention, nothing.

Just two ships passing in the night.

You had noticed that since your last meeting with Arthur that the man made an appearance in your mind more often than you cared to admit. Sometimes you would find yourself sitting at your table, glancing over to where he once sat, wondering what he could be up to. There was still a large aura of mystery around him and you wanted to dig deeper, to break through his walls and find out what lay underneath. But you couldn't exactly do that when he wasn't here. So, you waited. You made excuses to go outside more in the hopes that you walked into him. Your heartbeat would race every time you heard a knock at your door, and then drop when it was just a friend or a neighbour asking for something.

It had gotten to the point where your friends would comment about how your face would fall every time you opened the door to them, and you were quick to brush it off. It wasn't like you wanted him to be behind every knock, you just… missed his company. Yes, that was it. You missed his company. That's what you kept telling yourself.

The days following your last encounter with him you kept replaying every moment in your mind, especially everything that led up to you kissing his cheek. Where that sudden burst of confidence came from you had no idea, but something about it stuck in your mind and now every time he crossed your thoughts you couldn't help but blush and feel very nervous.

The idea that maybe you had more than friendly feelings towards him came after a night out with your friends - you were celebrating one of your friends engagement, and after a few too many drinks you had started to spill the beans to them about Arthur - the mysterious man who you thought about a lot, the person who helped you out with your work, who was the reason you had a lot of extra cash on you these days. Your friends teased you, poking fun at you and telling you that you obviously had a crush, and you were quick to dismiss their claims. It wasn't like that, you said, and they laughed and the conversation moved on. Lucky for you, the night ended with everyone far too drunk to remember what happened that evening.

You remembered it though, and it left you stuck thinking about what they said on loop, trying to convince yourself that it wasn't true. Two ships. Friends. Nothing more.

Today was your day of doing things. You had errands to run, mostly for food, but you wanted to drop by Wiedemann & Carter to pick up some more materials. Your stock of canvases has started to run low, and you preferred to have a few extra around just in case of an emergency. Rumours had also started to circulate through your friend group that there were new jams in stock over at Perrault Preserves, and you really wanted to indulge yourself in something nice. Art supplies, jams and actual food. Just the things people need to survive.

The day was proving to be a hot one, the air thick as you walked through the streets. It was late spring at this point, and you were already dreading the hot summer that would follow. Saint Denis was great until the heat got too much to bear and you felt like you were melting in your apartment. It could always get worse, you told yourself as you tried to stick to the shade as much as possible, wanting to make the most of the cooler air.

The docks felt a little cooler, partly due to the open space and partly due to the soft breeze that came from the water. Still stuffy, though. Still too warm.

You were quick to make your way to the general store, going over the list of things you needed in your head. There were some items you’d prefer to get at the market, but at this time of day it was usually busy and the thought of being surrounded by a crowd in this heat was less than ideal.

You gave a small smile and a nod towards the shopkeep, and began to search the shelves for the things you needed. Some biscuits, some ground coffee, and maybe some candy to treat yourself. You considered the canned goods, but decided against it. They tasted better fresh, which meant that you would need to visit the market for them. Maybe tomorrow morning, that way you could beat the rush. You made idle conversation with the shopkeeper as he rang up your goods, and you paid. With a warm smile, you left. Easy. Next stop, the art supplies store.

You stepped out onto the street, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a horse with a very familiar pattern, hitched outside. You couldn’t help but smile, immediately making your way over to her.

"Hey there, bud," you cooed softly. "You're lookin' as pretty as ever. Here-" You rummaged through your bag quickly, pulling out a peppermint that you had just bought. "Want a treat?"

She happily nosed against your hand, quick to eat the treat. With a gentle bump against your arm, you took a step back, not wanting her to try and eat the rest of your groceries.

"Sorry, girl. That's all I've got for you. I need the rest of these for myself," you said apologetically, though you were sure she didn't mind. It was then you realised you never found out her name from Arthur. You looked around you, trying to see if you could spot him.

“Where did he get to, huh?” You said, giving her a gentle scratch on her forehead. There was no sign of him anywhere, and you couldn't help but feel saddened at the thought that maybe you had missed him this time. You couldn't wait by his horse forever - there were more errands you needed to run today. As heavy as your heart was, you gave a final pat on her neck, mumbling a small goodbye to her before setting off on your way.

You walked down the road, putting your bag of groceries carefully into your other bag as you pushed down any disappointment you had about not seeing Arthur. It was fine, you told yourself. There would be plenty of other opportunities to say hello and to catch up. Life happens, and that was okay. You pushed your thoughts to other things as you walked, taking your mind off of Arthur, until you heard your name being called out from in front of you. Looking up, you first noticed the familiar hat that he wore, before you caught him moving past people to approach you. Arthur was wearing a similar outfit to the one you first saw him in, though this time his sleeves were rolled up and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. You pulled your eyes away from his arms and chest, giving him a warm smile.

"Arthur!"

"What're you doin' here?" he asked, matching the smile on your face.

"I live here!" You replied, wishing you had thought of something better to say than the obvious. "I mean, I'm running errands. Getting food, buying supplies. Today is my day of doing things I’ve been putting off."

"Guess we're both doin' the same thing today." He held up his hand, which you now saw had a few letters in it. That made sense; he came from the direction of the post office.

“Someone’s popular.”

“They ain’t all for me. Most are for…” He paused, and you could see him think over his words before speaking again. “For others.”

“Are you stealing mail now?”

“No, no. Not yet, anyway. I may have to reconsider my life if I ever get to the point of stealin’ mail from others.” He laughed at that, continuing to walk down the road in the direction of where his horse was hitched. That was something you could scratch from the list of possible occupations Arthur had now that you knew he didn't steal mail. Though, it still left you with too many other options. He stopped a few feet from you, looking to see if you were following. You then fell into step next to him, giving him a quick smile.

“You’re one tricky person to stumble across, you know,” he said after a few moments of walking in silence, and you gave him an odd look.

“Have you been looking out for me?” It was funny to think that both of you were simply waiting for the other to turn up out of nowhere. “You know where I live. You could’ve dropped by whenever.”

“Thought it would be weird if I did that.” He shrugged halfheartedly, as he made his way over to his horse, opening up a saddle bag and stowing the letters away.

“Well,” you started, approaching his horse again and giving her a gentle scratch on her forehead. “I can’t say I wasn’t waiting for you to show up at some point…”

He paused, looking at you. “You were?”

“Did you not hear when I said to drop by whenever you visited the city?” You let out a small laugh, as his horse nudged your shoulder, demanding more affection.

“I didn't realise you meant it. Just… thought it was out of politeness,” he replied, as you shook your head. All this time you were sitting there, waiting for Arthur to drop by and he was doing the same exact thing, wandering the city in hopes of bumping into you.

“How many times have you stopped by here since we last saw each other?” you asked out of curiosity, watching as his cheeks turned a faint shade of red.

“Only a few. Been runnin’ errands for the rest of us back at camp,” he said, and you were quick to note that down, gaining more insight on Arthur and who he was.

You nodded, eyeing him carefully. “So you’re located somewhere nearby, huh?”

“A little ride away. And that’s all you’re gettin’. There’s no point keeping low if I start tellin’ everyone where we are hiding.”

“I didn't know you were laying low, either. I’m learning so much about you, Arthur Morgan.” You grinned, moving around his horse to stand closer. “Mysterious man shows up with a pretty horse, helps me sell my artwork for more than it’s worth, and claims he does ‘nothing good’. I don’t even know the name of your horse that helped me to make all that money! But now? Now I know you’re hiding from something. What are you runnin’ from, Mister Morgan?”

He looked down at you, his face unwavering. You tried to search for something, anything to give you a hint as to who he really was, but you couldn’t find anything. He gestured his head to his horse, and smiled. “Artemis.”

You blinked. “You’re running from the god?”

He laughed, shaking his head as you realised what question he was answering. Artemis was his horse’s name. That made more sense.

“Artemis… Suits her,” you said, watching as he walked around you, giving her a pat on her neck.

“Were you on your way back home?” he asked, searching through his bag and pulling out an oatcake for Artemis.

“Oh, I have a few more errands to run. What about you?” You were hoping that you could spend a few more moments with him.

“I gotta visit the gunsmith, somethin’s up with one of my revolvers and I can’t seem to work out what’s up with it at this point,” he said, and you nodded, your eyes automatically dropping to his hips where two of his guns were holstered. Your mind had managed to forget that part of him every time you recalled the time spent together, and now you felt a little silly for doing so.

“Ah.” You looked back up at him. “Well, if you want some company over there, I’m happy to walk with you.”

“Sure, that’d be nice.” He gave you a smile. “You doin’ alright since we last talked?”

You caught him up with what had been going on since the exhibition - explaining how the other paintings sold as well, and how you had a few clients lined up who were eager to get their hands on some of your work. It was refreshing to have a steady stream of work to do, and you were excited to get started. You threw the question back to Arthur, who kept his answer brief. He had been busy, though with what you still weren’t too sure, and told you that he had met some other interesting people while in Saint Denis. The city had a habit of attracting the strange and curious, and you had lost count of how many odd people you came across.

The streets were busy as you walked up the road towards the gunsmiths, and you stopped outside of it, looking in the windows at the guns on display. It was an area of life you were very far from, and in a way you were lucky that you didn't need to rely on a gun to stay safe out there. Though learning how to use one couldn’t hurt…

“You comin’ in, too?” Arthur asked, pushing open the door as he looked at you.

Out of the many stores in the city, you weren’t sure if you had even stepped foot in the gunsmith’s. It wasn’t a place you needed to visit, but your curiosity got the better of you as you nodded, wanting to see what was inside. Guns, probably, you thought. Arthur held the door open for you as you stepped in, immediately feeling very out of place here.

The shopkeeper gave you both a smile and a nod, as Arthur went straight towards him, leaving you standing awkwardly by the door. Guns and bullets and other weapons were displayed in cabinets behind barred doors. You thought it was a smart idea to keep them locked away, especially in a city like this. One thing that felt a little out of place to you was the large amount of dead animals that either were taxidermied or were their bones that lined the walls. The alligator that stood in the middle of the room caught your eye, and you gave it a curious look, half expecting it to shut its mouth and start moving. What an odd thing to have in a gunshop, you thought.

The shopkeep and Arthur began talking, and you decided to take a look around at the wares and make the most of your time here - you were pretty sure you wouldn't need to step foot in here again. You picked up a small box of bullets, gently turning it around in your hand as you listened to Arthur’s conversation, keeping your back to the both of them. He was explaining an issue with his revolver, how sometimes it would get jammed for no reason - no amount of cleaning or messing around with it helped. You heard footsteps walk off, and turned to look over your shoulder. The shopkeeper was gone, and Arthur was leaning against the counter, tapping his fingers against it as he waited. You set the box of bullets down, and walked over to him.

“Sure is a lot of stuff here,” you said, your eyes scanning the weapons on the wall behind the counter.

“A lot of it’s overpriced, too,” he said quietly, leaning towards you as he spoke. “I wouldn't buy anythin’ here, go further from the city and it gets a lot cheaper.”

"I'll keep that in mind," you replied, picking up a box of revolver cartridges that were on the counter, popping the lid open to look inside. "I never really wrapped my head around guns."

"They aren't too complicated once you understand 'em," he said, taking the box from you. He examined the bullets for a moment, before closing it up and swiftly dropping the box into his satchel.

Your eyes widened at the movement, at how easily he slipped them into his bag. Arthur grinned down at you, and held a finger up to his lips. With a wink, he faced away as footsteps were heard entering the room. The shopkeep returned, holding Arthur's revolver in his hand.

"This should work now," he said, placing the gun on the counter for Arthur to take. You spotted a small engraving on the handle of the gun - a small stag. He took his gun before you could get a proper look, flipping it over in his hand.

“It definitely feels better,” he said, checking and double checking areas that he thought were the issue. It looked the same to you, but guns aren't your forte. He seemed satisfied enough though, and slipped the shopkeeper some money and holstered the gun.

He took the money from the counter, and then turned to face you. “And anything for you?”

“Oh, no thank you. I don’t…” You gestured vaguely to the weapons around you that were behind glass, “I don’t use this sort of stuff.”

“Not even a knife?” Arthur asked in disbelief. “You walk around weaponless in a city like this?”

“Nothin’ bad has happened so far. I’m still alive, aren’t I?” There had been a few times where someone tried to rob you, but that was when you had nothing much of value on your person, and most of the time the robbery ended up dissolving as you ran away quickly, utilising your knowledge of the backstreets and alleyways to try and lose the thief.

Arthur didn't seem impressed with your answer, and crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s your knife collection like here?” he asked the shopkeeper, who walked out from behind the counter, moving to grab a few from the display.

“It’s really not a big deal,” you muttered, glancing up at Arthur quickly.

He leaned down, and spoke softly. “Even if you don’t use it to look after yourself, you can use it to open your fancy boxes of paint or somethin’.”

A small selection of knives were laid out on the counter, and you weren’t too certain on what the difference was in any of them. The handles all looked different, and some of them were smaller than the others, but they were still sharpened metal. Arthur gently nudged your arm, pointing to the one on the far left.

“That’s probably your safest bet,” he said, and you trusted his opinion. You didn't trust yourself to use it properly.

“My safest bet is being quick enough to run away, actually,” you replied.

“What if they throw a knife at you?”

“Hope they’ll miss me?” You picked up the knife to feel the weight of it in your hand. It was heavier than a bread knife, which was one of the few knives you had experience in using. You looked at Arthur, unimpressed by it all.

“Don’t look too excited by it,” he said, tilting his head to the side as he looked at you. You felt a little ridiculous, so you put the knife down with an apologetic smile to the shopkeeper - he wasn’t going to get a sale from you today.

“Maybe some other time. I don’t think I’m quite ready to be a knife owner yet.” You gave him a nod, taking a step away from the counter and towards the door. Arthur noticed you leaving and said a quick thanks to the shopkeep for fixing the issue with his gun. He followed you to the door, leaning over to open it for you.

The contrast in brightness caught you off guard as you stepped outside, waiting for your eyes to adjust from the dimly lit gunshop to the early afternoon sun. It was times like these where you considered investing in a hat, as you looked up to see Arthur mostly unbothered by it.

“Have you been into Wiedemann and Carter yet?” you asked, remembering that you still needed to visit it. The store was up the road, so it only made sense to see if Arthur had dropped by yet. It was the best place for an artist to go to. If he hadn't - you were more than happy to show him.

“Can’t say that I have. I ain’t really seen much of the place, if I’m honest.” He adjusted his hat to block the sunlight more. “Had some kids start to show me around, then the bastards robbed me.”

You let out a laugh at that, the image of Arthur getting robbed was something you didn't expect to imagine today. “You? Getting robbed by a bunch of kids? I’d pay good money to see that happen again. Did they hold you at knifepoint? Asking for your money or your life?”

“Cut my bag, actually. I had to chase the little shit halfway across the city for it.”

“Yeah, the street kids are slippery bastards. Word of advice: don’t even look in their direction, ever.” You had heard stories from other people about how quick the kids of Saint Denis can rob you blind, and you always made sure to pass on useful advice to anyone visiting - simply do not look at them.

Arthur nodded. “Noted.”

You walked the short distance up the road to Wiedemann and Carter, the coral coloured exterior helping it stand out against the surrounding buildings. It was one place you could pinpoint on a map if someone asked you to.

The sound of a bell chiming to signal someone had entered was heard, and you immediately felt at home. Various artistic materials lined the shelves, with new stock rotating in weekly. You made it your goal to visit as often as you could, just to see what was new, to the point where you were on a first name basis with one of the shop owners, a German fella named Bruno. He gave you a smile as you walked inside, Arthur following behind you.

“It didn't cross my mind to think this place would be an art supply store,” he said quietly, eyes darting around the room at the various paints and pencils and paper types.

You gave him a smile, before walking up to the counter, greeting Bruno with a nod. Quick conversation was made, as he then left the room to go and grab the order you had placed last week. There was a small bowl of hard candies on the counter, and you grabbed one, putting it in your bag for later.

“Who’s stealing now, hm?” Arthur called out, and you turned to face him quickly.

“No… it’s not stealing! They’re free. I’m not the thief here.” You gave him a frown, still not quite believing that he stole something right in front of you just minutes ago. He didn't even seem phased by the act, which only proved to you that he had done it before.

“I’ve always been taught that if it’s not locked down, it’s free to a good home,” he said with a shrug, holding a small palette of watercolour paints in his hand. Your frown deepened when he began to move it towards his bag.

“Arthur, don’t you dare.”

His other hand hovered over the clasps of his bag, and you shook your head in disappointment, turning away so you couldn’t see him steal something… again.

“I’m just messin’ with you,” he said, and you heard the sound of it being placed back on the shelf. “If it bothers you, I can put the bullets back.”

It was an offer you hadn’t expected to hear from him, and you tried your best to conceal your confusion. “I think it might look a bit suspicious if you did that.” You gently tapped your fingers against the countertop, wondering what was taking Bruno so long. If it bothers you… petty thieves usually didn't care what others thought about when they stole. But the phrase kept repeating in your mind as you waited.

“Y'know, there’s some pretty good stuff in here,” Arthur said, moving to stand next to you, leaning up against the counter. "Might have to get something." You felt him bump his shoulder against yours.

“If there is anything you like, buy it now. Bruno usually gives me things at a discount,” you replied, ignoring the contact. “And I’d be happy to let you borrow my discount, just this once. If it means you won’t steal anything.”

“I ain’t stealin’ anything here. I respect the arts. Don’t respect people who charge more for things than what they’re worth.” He grabbed a handful of the candies in the bowl, shoving them into his pocket for later. You wanted to comment on the irony of that, and how Arthur helped to upsell your artwork for you but you held your tongue as Bruno walked back, holding a small bag.

"Your canvases have yet to arrive, but when they do I will let you know," he said, pushing the bag towards you. His eye caught Arthur's, and Bruno grinned. "Ah, and who is this? Oh! Oh, is this your muse you speak so highly of? The handsome stranger who saved your ass a few weeks ago?"

Your face turned bright red at that, having told Bruno that in total confidence and secrecy. "No, it's not- I mean, yes, but it was his horse that helped me," you sputtered out quickly, trying to avoid looking at Arthur. You heard him laugh softly, which didn't help the redness in your cheeks or the fumbling over your words.

Bruno laughed, waving your flustered comments off, and then turned to Arthur. "I have heard many things about you. And have seen a few drawings of you, too.”

"That so?" Arthur replied with a sly smile, seeming to enjoy the torture that you were being put through.

"Yes! Oh, the things that I have heard! It would make a grown man blush!" Bruno said dramatically, and now you knew he was making things up. The things you had said to him were completely normal. He was trying to get a rise out of you, and you refused to let him.

"You're ridiculous," you mumbled, quickly taking out the money you owed him, placing it on the counter and grabbing the bag. You made your way to the door quickly before you could hear him say anything else.

The chime of the bell echoed behind you as you stood out onto the street, cursing the day for being so warm that it didn't help cool you off after that encounter. There goes confiding in Bruno anytime you have a problem…

The bell chimed again as Arthur walked out of the store, the smile still on his face from before. You wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow you whole, and refused to meet his gaze.

"Handsome, huh?" Arthur gently nudged you with his arm, and you pushed his elbow away lightly.

"Shut it," you grumbled, taking a breath to compose yourself. "I was obviously talking about your horse."

"Ah, of course!” He exclaimed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and grinning. “Of all the things you could call her, handsome was the most fittin'?"

Arthur was extremely close to you now, and you silently cursed him for causing your heartbeat to quicken again. "She can be handsome…"

"I ain't denying it. Just a curious word to use… for a horse." He had leaned in closer when he said that, and you hoped your cheeks weren’t as red as they felt.

He was right, it wasn’t the best excuse to use, but what else could you do? Admit that you found him handsome and had spoken highly about him in passing to others? Never. You would rather die with that confession than tell him. Pushing that thought back down in your mind, you recalled something from a previous conversation.

With his arm still around you, you looked up at him. “You said something about not seeing much of the city earlier,” you started, as he looked at you in confusion, trying to piece where that had come from out of nowhere.

“Not since those kids robbed me,” he replied. “Why? You offerin’ tours now?”

“For a small price.” You thought you were holding yourself well, until he tilted his head towards you, a smile tugging at the end of his lips.

“Oh yeah? What kind?” His voice was low, and you caught yourself glancing down at his lips as he spoke. Maybe if you were feeling bolder, you would’ve tested the waters out to see where he stood with you. But now was not the time for that, and you cleared your throat quickly, making direct eye contact with him.

“Have lunch with me. You said that drinks were on you back at the exhibition, but you never specified what drinks. So… tea and cake?”

Arthur blinked, not expecting that at all. “Tea and cake?”

You nodded. “There’s a few really good tearooms here. Le Lion D’Or is my favourite, and they’re reasonably priced, too.”

He considered your offer for a moment, moving his arm from your shoulder. “The kids asked me for five dollars, y’know.”

“I accept tips if you really want to part with more of your money,” you said with a laugh.

He held out his arm for you to take. “Better make this your best tour ever, then.”

And you did. You dragged him down each street, pointing out places and buildings and bringing up the odd historical fact you knew about the city you loved. You gave him an in depth lesson on the trolley system, pointing out each stop and where each one took you to, as well as whispering gossip as you passed faces you recognized in passing. Arthur was happy to indulge you when he noticed how excited you got speaking about something, asking questions and listening with great intent and a wide smile on his face. He seemed to enjoy this as much as you. It felt comfortable walking arm in arm with him, like this was something that was supposed to happen no matter how many times you told yourself that it was just a fleeting moment of happiness with someone.

You paused when you arrived at the wealthier part of the city, gesturing vaguely to the large houses that stood before you. “Can you guess who lives down these parts?”

“Easily robbable people, I reckon,” Arthur replied, taking note of the house you stood in front of, giving a nod to the gardener who was tending to the flowers.

“The mayor lives right down there. Can’t miss his place,” you said, pointing down the road. “His annual gala is at the end of the week. Lots of rich people will be there, but the best part is the fireworks. You can see them from anywhere in the city!”

“Fireworks?” He raised an eyebrow at that, as you both continued walking.

“Yes! Last year they had a whole display, it went on for ages!” You smiled at the memory - you and your friends camped up on a rooftop of one of their apartments, watching the fireworks from afar. It was like you were there at the party.

“You’ll have to show me where the best place to see them is,” he said, and you were uncertain if he was simply asking for a recommendation or wanted to watch them with you. You kept your gaze ahead of you, knowing by now that your cheeks were flushed red.

“Do you want to know now or on the evening of the gala?” You could feel him looking at you, and you caught his eye for a moment, wanting confirmation of his suggestion.

“Show me on the night.” He gave you a grin, and you were blushing at the idea of watching the fireworks with him. There was something so romantic about it, and you wished deep down that he saw it the same.

You made sure to end the tour by Le Lion D’Or, and made a grand statement that they served the best cake you have ever eaten, which was another reason why you suggested this place. Only the best was to be seen and eaten on this tour.

There was a free table outside that you told Arthur to wait at, while you went inside and ordered some food for you both. You had no idea what Arthur’s tea preference was, so you made a guess based on what you knew of him. With everything ordered, you let the server know you were sitting outside, and returned back to Arthur with a smile. He was leaning back in his seat, arms folded over his chest and hat on the table.

“So… How was the tour?” you asked, sliding into the seat next to him. “Would you recommend me to a friend?”

He hummed softly, looking at you and pretending to consider his answer for longer than needed. "You were pretty good. And you didn't try 'n rob me, either."

"There's always next time. Though, I'll admit that my sleight of hand skills are not the best. You could probably catch me quite quickly," you said, making a note to look him up and down to pinpoint where he could be hiding items on himself. There were candies in his pocket - you saw him put them there, and his guns were easily reachable but not the smartest thing to pretend to steal.

"If you can take somethin' from me without me knowing, I'll be real impressed," he said, and you took that as a challenge. Not now, he would be expecting it, but soon. You would take something from him and not have him catch you doing so.

The server you spoke to earlier came out with a tray holding a rather ornate tea set, setting it down on the table for you both. A platter of small cakes soon followed, and you gave Arthur a grin once the server left.

"Best cakes ever, I promise you." You began to pour yourself some tea, as Arthur took one of the little cakes, eyeing it closely.

"Are they made this small on purpose?" he asked.

"It's the whole point of afternoon tea, I think. Small cakes, small sandwiches, small everything." You weren't entirely certain that was true, but it made sense in your mind. Afternoon tea was more about socialising, anyway.

He still didn't look convinced that this was worth it, so you gestured for him to try the cake. You watched, taking a small sip of your tea as he took a bite.

"Guess you were right about this bein' good cake," he said, as you smiled at him. You knew you would be right, having spent a lot of money here whenever you needed a pick-me-up. They even did a takeout box of cake that you would indulge in whenever you had a reason to celebrate. You thought back to the last time you had them - after your exhibition, and then remembered the offer Arthur gave to you there. It had been on the back of your mind since you last spoke, and you thought that now was the best time to bring it up to him.

"I've been thinking about your offer," you started, taking a sip of tea to calm your nerves. "About travelling. Seeing the world." Arthur raised an eyebrow curiously. You took that as a sign to carry on. "And… if you aren't too busy, I'd like to cash it in... If that's alright?" You studied his face closely, trying to work out if he had actually meant what he said all those weeks ago or if he had simply said it out of politeness. He leaned back in his seat, arms folded over his chest. The question still lingered in the air and you were about to take it back when he spoke up.

"You got a place in mind you want to visit?" he asked, putting in a sugar cube into his tea.

"I heard Strawberry was nice. It's surrounded by trees, and it looks pretty from what I've read."

Arthur let out a small scoff, shaking his head. "Strawberry ain't much…"

You sank a little in your seat, crossing it out on the list in your mind.

"Folk, uh, they don't like me much up there, anyway," he quickly added, noticing your expression change.

"What do you mean?"

He looked down at his teacup, gently pushing it aside as he leaned forward. You copied him. "Got into a fight up there. Whole town got involved, real big thing. Reckon if I show up there again they might try 'n hang me."

Your eyes widened as he sat back, picking up one of the little cakes and examining it casually, like what he had just said was something normal.

"That's… sure something." Everything you heard about the town sounded so nice and calm. Nothing like what Arthur was saying. Your mind recalled one of the articles you had read in the papers about a jailbreak that took place in Strawberry a while back. That couldn’t be the same thing Arthur was talking about, right?

He shrugged. "I think anyone would want to kill you if you shoot them first."

"You started it?"

"Well, not really. Sort of. It's a long story."

It seemed to never end with learning new things about him. You went down the list of nearby towns you had considered, and one by one Arthur told you that he wasn't welcome back there for similar reasons.

Rhodes? Got into a fight with the whole town, people don't like him. Valentine? Got into a fight with the town, people don't like him there either. All places you had read about in the papers, all that had issues with either gangs or feuds between families. There was a pattern, and you decided to aim a bit further away.

"What about Blackwater? I'm not sure if it's still on lockdown, though, so it might be off the table because of that…" You said, remembering reading about the incident that took place there in the newspaper. It came as a shock, especially because of how much progress it had been making in terms of finding its place in the world. People were calling it a massacre, which only painted the worst image in your mind.

Arthur was quiet, watching you as you waited for a response, taking a small sip of your tea. When he didn't say anything, you frowned. With the previous conversation about how unwelcome he was in other places, you couldn't help but piece together that maybe he wasn't welcome in Blackwater, too. It was a large leap to assume he was also involved in the big shootout that took place there a while back, but it didn't seem too unlikely, given what you now knew about him.

"You weren't…" You let the rest of the sentence trail off, though it was clear what you were implying.

Arthur looked away, crossing his arms over his chest as he began to take note of who was around. You saw him tense up, his jaw was set and he frowned, the conversation not being one he wanted to take part in. A silence fell over you both, and you started to think about how ridiculous the current situation was. Here you were, sitting opposite an outlaw who currently had a pretty big bounty on his head, at least you assumed so from what the newspaper said about the Blackwater incident. There were plenty of opportunities where he could have robbed you or killed you, but he didn't. Instead, you were having tea with him.

You couldn't help but laugh.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at you. "What?"

"Sorry," you said, covering your mouth to try and stifle your laughter. "You're a wanted criminal… and I'm sitting opposite you and we're having tea and cake together."

He blinked, and you caught the glimpse of a smile across his face. "I guess it is pretty funny. Damn good cake, too."

"What did I tell you?" You beamed at him, as he picked up a little slice of carrot cake and ate it.

The smart thing to do would be to go and inform the law, let them know that there was a criminal here that needed to face justice. But so far, no one had recognized Arthur from what you could tell, and he had been very nice to you. You didn't know how much the bounty was on his head, but the money wasn't something that you cared about. If you did, then maybe you would consider turning him in. But you liked his company… and his horse.

"I'm not going to say anything," you said quietly, leaning across the table to keep unwanted ears from listening. "About… you know…"

Arthur nodded. "That's good to know, especially because I wasn't even there."

"Where?" You feigned ignorance.

"Good."

You could hear the comments from your friends, calling you foolish for being around a known criminal, but you pushed them out of your mind. There were better things to concern yourself about than Arthur's criminal history. If anything, it just made him more interesting. It gave him a certain charm you couldn’t find in Saint Denis. How strange it was for an outlaw to befriend someone like you…

"If you're still interested in travellin', I do have a spot in mind I could take you to?" Arthur said after a few moments of quiet, bringing you back to the whole reason you were having this conversation.

"Where are you thinking?"

"Might keep it a surprise. It's whether you trust me or not?"

You gave him a grin. "You've yet to kill me so far. I trust you."

Arthur nodded, finishing his tea and setting the cup down. "Alright. I have t' go and deliver some things back to…” He paused, even though it was clear you at least knew the group he ran with, “people… so how about we meet somewhere after?"

"The Bastille Saloon?" You suggested, knowing that it was a pretty central place and usually busy enough that if, for some reason Arthur did have bad intentions, enough people would probably recall you were there if you did go missing. Not that you thought Arthur would murder you, but you couldn't be too careful now.

"I'll meet you there." With a tip of his hat he stood up, putting some money on the table for you to use to pay with, keeping his promise. You watched him walk down the street back towards the docks.

What were you getting yourself into?

You finished up your drink after Arthur had left, and made a beeline straight back home. There was no point wasting time trying to be organised, so you grabbed a small bag, shoving in anything you could think of that you may need for a trip out. Arthur had kept the information about where you were going a secret, so you were unsure if you needed to prepare for a night away or not. To be on the safe side, you packed an extra change of clothes and shoved in a bedroll you had used a handful of times before. You got a separate bag for any art supplies, putting in your sketchbook, some pencils and a small watercolour set you had bought recently. It was a good occasion to try it out.

As you rushed around your home, grabbing some food for the journey, you forced yourself to stop to think about the situation. You were travelling to somewhere unknown with a man you had met only twice before. This sounded like the start of a bad headline in the news, or a horror novel. And with what you now knew about Arthur if it ever came down to trying to fight him, you were certain that you would lose.

You let out a small laugh. "If I die, at least it's by the hands of a handsome man."

With that, you picked up your bags, grabbed a light jacket just in case, and left.

La Bastille Saloon was busy, the lunch rush taking up most of the tables inside while a group of men sat around the poker table, in the middle of what looked to be a pretty high stakes game. You had hoped that you could sit inside and wait for Arthur, but there weren’t any seats left and you didn't fancy waiting at the bar for him. Turning on your heel, you left as quick as you entered, standing a little away from the door and the group of men who were gathered by it, smoking and talking. You caught glimpses of their conversation, but it wasn’t anything exciting and you drowned out their voices, instead going over what you had packed in your head to make sure you didn't forget anything.

It didn't take long to hear a familiar voice call your name, and you saw Arthur coming down the street, giving you a wave from atop Artemis. You waved back, as Artemis stopped in front of you.

“You ready to go?” Arthur asked, holding a hand out for you to take.

“I’m as ready as I can be.” You grabbed his hand as he helped you up onto Artemis, and with a small click from Arthur you both set off down the street. The sudden movement was something you weren’t expecting yet and you grabbed onto Arthur’s waist to steady yourself, still not completely used to being on horseback. He let out a small laugh, and you felt his hand gently pat one of yours, resting it there.

“D’you need a moment to sort yourself out?” He turned, looking over his shoulder at you.

You shook your head at him, feeling his hand move away from yours. “I think I’m good now.”

"You let me know if you need to stop, alright?"

"Alright."

It was different to pass by places on horseback rather than walking, and in a way you were grateful that you weren’t having to walk somewhere - you didn't think you had it in you to hike while also carrying plenty of art supplies and other belongings.

Artemis walked slowly through the city, being careful not to run into anyone. It was slow going, having to stop and wait for a trolley or person to cross the street before you could continue, but eventually Arthur pushed Artemis into a trot as you reached the edge of the city, crossing the bridge to get into the swampy roads of Bayou Nwa.

It was nice to see greenery everywhere you looked, but you weren’t entirely comfortable with the increase of gators sitting by the side of the road, half in the swamp and half out. You eyed them cautiously as you passed, waiting for them to suddenly move to try and attack you. But they didn't, happy to idly lay there, basking in the sun. Artemis had the same thought as you, and there were a few times you felt her slow down, letting out worried noises, only to be calmed by Arthur’s gentle voice, shushing her and telling her it was okay. Even after everything you knew about him, the tenderness he had around his horse was something that kept taking you by surprise. He leaned back into you, taking out a treat for her from his bag. If this was how nice he was, you didn't want to consider how he could be angry. And if what you had read about the Blackwater Massacre was true, you didn't want to know what Arthur could be like, preferring him like this and not looking at the barrel of his gun.

The scenery passed by in flashes of green, turning from thick swamps and willow trees to open fields and rolling hills. As you rode out further from the bayou, into the heart of Scarlett Meadows, you took note of every small difference. The roads became more dusty as you approached closer to Rhodes, though Arthur made sure to steer clear from the town, just in case. There was not enough time in the world to allow you to stop and sketch every small thing you saw that intrigued you, and you didn't want to ask Arthur to pull to the side of the road each time you spotted a flower or plant you wanted to get a closer look at. So you tried to memorise everything, hoping that it would stay in your mind until you were able to draw them down.

The air felt cooler the further away from the bayou you got, and it was nice to not feel as if the sun and heat were trying to suffocate you all the time. Maybe you could avoid the heat this summer and travel?

You weren't sure how long you had been riding for, and you were starting to feel stiff from sitting in one position for this long. Stifling back a yawn, you leaned your head against Arthur’s back for a moment. You felt him tense at the sudden contact, and then relaxed. His hand found yours again, giving it a soft squeeze in response.

"Ain't long left. You good back there?" Arthur asked, tilting his head slightly to catch your eye.

You nodded, moving around to try and find a more comfortable position. "I'm good. I have no idea how you can do this all the time, I’m already aching from sitting like this."

“You want to stop for a bit? We can pull to the side of the road and take a moment to rest up,” he said, and it was sweet to hear him suggest that.

“I’m fine. We can keep going,” you replied. With a nod, Artemis continued down the road and you noticed that he had yet to move his hand away from yours.

Time passed on, and the ride was mostly quiet, Arthur focusing on the road while you took in your surroundings. You didn't mind the silence at all, finding it calming to listen to the repetitive sound of hoofbeats against the dirt road and birdsong from the trees; it was a nice change of pace to the city. The air grew cooler as you rode through Scarlett Meadows, keeping to a road that was near a body of water. Flat Iron Lake was the closest open body of water that wasn’t the swamps or the Lannahechee River, so you assumed it was that. You kept your eyes on it, enjoying the ride.

When you crossed over the state into New Hanover, you sat up a little straighter, wondering if you were getting close to where Arthur was taking you. You had little experience in New Hanover, having only read things about it in books and the newspapers, but it was big and vast and you were intrigued on what you would see. From what you could remember from looking at maps, you were in the outskirts of the Heartlands, which had more open space than somewhere like Roanoke Ridge, or even in places in Lemoyne. Flat Iron Lake was still to your left, the train tracks you had been following for a while on your right. Arthur clicked for Artemis to walk off the path and you were now fully alert, watching as she weaved through the trees, heading towards the shore.

“Here we are,” Arthur spoke after a little while as Artemis walked onto the sand. “Flat Iron Lake.” He gestured to the large lake in front of you, and you sat up a little taller to take it in.

It was beautiful. The water rippled against the sand, the reeds swaying gently in the cool breeze - a welcome change from the warmth that lingered in Lemoyne. Deer drank at the water's edge, and you watched as a small group of coyotes ran around, yipping and barking as they went. It was so peaceful and you wanted to savour every moment you had here. You had yet to even dismount from Artemis and you were already saddened at the thought of leaving this place. It was so calm and serene and such a welcome change from the busy city life.

"This is beautiful…" You said in awe, keeping your voice low in fear of breaking the serenity of the place.

"Beats the city any day," Arthur replied, giving you a smile. “No noise, no people runnin’ in front of you.”

"Sure does…" You replied. Arthur kept Artemis walking for a little longer as you made your way around the shoreline. Off in the distance you spotted a few boats on the water, up against the mountains that almost blended in with the sky. What you assumed was Blackwater seemed so close yet so far away across the water, the sun illuminating the small town. He slowed Artemis to a stop as you reached your destination, far enough away from the road now that you wouldn't be disturbed. You were quick to dismount, walking up to where the water met the sandy shore to take in the serene scene in front of you. Birdsong could be heard in the distance, and you paused for a moment to listen to the lack of trolley noise and general chatter that would be found in the city. It was beautiful. You spotted an old log that had been washed ashore, and walked towards it, deciding it would be a good place to lean up against while you draw.

“The Dakota’s up there if you want more of a river than a lake,” Arthur said, now standing beside you, pointing behind him towards the west. “And just over there is Bard’s Crossing, lotta deer over that part, too.”

“Here is good. We could always explore more later? Or even tomorrow?” you replied, shrugging off your bag and setting it down on the sand. You took a seat down beside it, rummaging through to pull out your sketchbook and a pencil. Why waste time, right? Arthur sat down next to you with a nod as you opened up to a blank page, ready to draw the scenery in front of you.

You lost yourself in drawing, making smaller sketches to work out the best composition to then turn into a bigger painting later. Quick sketches of ducks and other waterfowl were made in the sidelines of the pages, catching them before they flew off into the afternoon. At some point you noticed Arthur had started drawing as well, the both of you sitting in a comfortable silence, pencils scratching against paper.

You took out the small watercolour set you wanted to test out, opening up the wooden box to reveal the small compartment full of the paints. There was a little glass jar that you had filled with water the first time you used them, so you were glad you didn't need to move to refill it. You took out the small plastic plate used for mixing, and picked up one of the bigger brushes. Watercolours were a lot different to what you were used to using, and putting the first drop of colour down felt daunting. You unscrewed the lid to the water jar, dipped the brush in and hesitated over the colours. Where to start?

You wanted to paint the lake, mainly to have a reference of the colours for later - you could already picture the beautiful work in oils in your mind, but in watercolours? Something was holding you back. Oil paint could be added to weeks after you made the mark, you can alter it and change even after you thought it was finished. Watercolours didn't give you that freedom - once the paint was down, you couldn’t change it unless you painted over it to remove the mark. No matter how quickly you tried to remove the paint with tissue, the colour would still be faded on the page. You had to think about this, about where each colour needed to go and how to build up the depth. There was also a limited option of colours in this set, meaning you’d have to spend more time mixing and layering up the colours than painting. You could name all the oil paints you would need to paint this.

“Somethin’ wrong with the paints?” Arthur asked, breaking you from your internal dilemma.

You blinked, giving him a look. “What?”

“You’ve been holding the brush over the blue for a few minutes. Is it… part of your process?” He leaned to get a better look at the small box that held the paints, picking up one of the other brushes.

“No, not usually.” You watched him examine the brush, before placing it back down. “I’ve not done many watercolour paintings, so I suppose I’m feeling a little out of my depths.”

“Ain’t it just like normal painting? You put the colour on the brush and then onto the paper?” He frowned, as you shrugged.

“Yes… but, I don’t know, it feels different,” you said. “Once I start, I know I’ll be fine, but it’s the initial jump to start it that’s off-putting, you know?”

“Paint is paint. Pretend it’s what you’re used to,” he suggested, and you tried to imagine yourself back home, windows open and a palette full of oil paints in front of you. Paint is paint, you repeated in your mind, and nodded. Your brush made contact with the blue you had been hovering over and it was way too saturated to be useful to you as it was, but paint is paint - you could layer it up with other colours later. The brush glided over your drawing, giving a base wash of the blue. Now that some colour was on your page, tackling the rest of the painting felt less stressful.

“There you go. Weren’t so bad,” he said with a smile, returning to his own drawings.

Late afternoon came and went, the sun beginning to make its slow descent below the horizon. The sky began to fill with hues of pinks and reds and with the fading light you looked up from where you had been drawing. Arthur was still beside you, his journal now closed and placed on the sand between you both while he leaned against the fallen tree, his hat tilted forward to cover his face. You smiled softly, setting aside your own sketchbook by his. Was he asleep? The steady rise and fall of his chest seemed to confirm it. You tried to peek under his hat to see if his eyes were closed, but didn't have any luck. If he was asleep, you thought it was sweet that he felt comfortable enough to do so around you.

The sun was long behind you now, so you weren’t able to watch it go down without moving to a different spot, but the colours that were painted across the sky were still mesmerising. Many sunsets were often blocked by the buildings in the city, so it was nice to watch the sky uninterrupted. A flock of birds flew across the sky in a V formation, while some deer further down the shore approached the water to drink. Everything was so nice.

There was movement coming from next to you, as Arthur pulled back his hat, running a hand down his face.

"Have a good nap?" You smiled at him when he heard your voice.

"I wasn't sleepin'," he mumbled quickly, sitting upright with a roll of his shoulders. "Just… restin' my eyes."

"Is that what they're calling it now?" you teased, laughing when he waved you off.

"It's been a long day." He nudged his arm against you as he stood up, dusting off the sand from his legs. "You hungry?"

"I think I grabbed some food when I packed," you said, grabbing your bag and searching through it. Arthur watched you take out various things from your bag, pencils and folded sheets of paper until you took out some canned strawberries.

"Ah. I thought this was something else…" You said quietly. “I did pack in a bit of a rush.”

"You're surrounded by nature and you want to eat from a can?" He raised an eyebrow at you, holding his hand out to help you up. "There's plenty of food out here, waitin' to be caught."

"Like… fish?" You took a hold of his hand and pulled yourself up, still holding your can of strawberries.

"Rabbit. Deer. Hell, coyotes taste fine if you're starvin'," he explained, gesturing over to Artemis with his chin. "Got a rifle. And a fishing rod, too."

"You want to hunt for food?"

"You ain't ever done that before?” His hands rested on his gun belt, an eyebrow raised at you and your lack of survival skills.

"Never needed to,” you said, your cosy life in the city meant that you had everything a short walk away. At the mention of his rifle, you gave a quick look down to his guns. “Never fired a gun before, either."

Arthur's eyes widened at that confession, and you could see the gears turning in his mind as he came up with an idea. “Give me ten minutes.” He grinned, turning on his heel to approach Artemis. You were a little confused about what he was doing, as he began to take some things out from one of the saddle bags. He emptied out the remains of a couple of glass bottles, moving to stack them on the log you were previously leaning against. Oh. He was setting up targets. There was an old rusty can that had washed up on the shore nearby, and that was the final target. Once everything was set up, he approached you, taking out the same gun he went to get fixed earlier that day, and held it out in your direction. You now got a clearer look at the small stag engraved on the handle, another feature that confused you. To you, it was strange to customise a weapon that could cause so much destruction. Did all outlaws engrave animals on the handles of their guns? You would have to ask him afterwards.

"You want to take a shot, or do you want me to show you how it's done first?" he asked. You looked between him, the gun, and the targets before taking a small step back.

"You go first. I want to see how it's done," you replied. With a nod, Arthur got into position. You took note of how he stood, how he aimed and what his overall demeanour was like, hoping to be able to copy it when it came to your turn.

Two shots were fired quickly, one directly after the other, and you heard the shattering of glass as two of the bottles broke, falling from the log. You were too slow to cover your ears, a loud ringing echoing for a few moments after the final shot ended.

"Easy as that," Arthur said with a grin, holding the gun back out for you. You gingerly took it in your hands, it feeling heavy and unfamiliar in them. The can and a bottle were left for you to shoot, and you were confident you could do it. Arthur moved to stand behind you, as you adjusted how you stood, copying what you saw him do.

"This good?" You looked at him for his approval. He looked you up and down for a moment, gently placing a hand on your waist to tilt you ever so slightly. The touch caught you off guard, your face reddening as he gave you a nod in approval once he was happy. You then gripped the handle with one hand, keeping your arm straight as you tried to line up the first shot.

"Hold it with two hands," Arthur said quickly, and you frowned at him.

"But you used one?" You adjusted your grip, now holding it with both hands.

"I've had practice." He moved closer behind you, arms now either side of you as he readjusted your grip, changing it so your other hand was wrapped for support and wasn't just there for the sake of it. Any nerves you had were increasing, especially now that Arthur was even closer to you. He was looking over your shoulder, and all you needed to do was turn your head and you would be face to face with him. This was a bad time to get nervous, you thought. Arthur's hands then moved down your arms, helping to lift them and keep them straight.

"Is this eye level to you?" he asked softly, and you nodded in response, words failing you. "Okay. Now pull the hammer back with your thumb." You did as he said, hearing a small 'click'.

"Now what?" You kept still, not wanting to move suddenly in case you caused it to go off. He moved his hands away from your arms, now pointing towards the can.

"Line up the sights to the can. You want to line up the front one first, then the rear," he explained, and you tried your best to do so. It didn't help at all when you felt one of his hands rest against your back, the other still pointing at your target. You focused, aiming up as best as you could.

"Now keep your eye on it, okay? You're going to want to think about pullin' the trigger next," he said, watching your finger move to touch it. "You're breathin' is real important, too. Breathe in, and then out, and you shoot once you've exhaled."

This was forcing you to focus on your breathing rather than the feeling of Arthur's hand against your back. You took a deep breath in, then out, and repeated until you felt calmer. You can do this.

"When you're ready, shoot." Arthur's voice was hardly above a whisper at this point, and you almost lost focus by thinking about him. Now wasn’t the time. You took a deep breath in.

In.

Out.

Shoot.

You felt yourself be pushed backwards slightly from the recoil of the gun and had to take a moment to regain your composure after the loudness of the shot. The can you were aiming for was still on the log, but it didn't matter too much - you had shot a gun! That was the important part. You looked at Arthur with a smile.

"I reckon you could knock it down with the next one," he said, matching your smile. "It grazed it. You were so close."

"Really?" You looked back at the can, and repositioned yourself. Arthur took a moment to adjust you where needed, still standing behind you, his hand on your back as you pulled the hammer back. You aimed, taking care to make sure they were both lined up perfectly this time. Breath in, out, and shoot.

The can wobbled slightly as the bullet grazed past it, but it still stood on the log like it was mocking you. You frowned, rolling your shoulders back as you lifted your arms again, ready to take aim.

"Try standing more to your right," Arthur said, his hand now moving to your waist as he moved you. "Really focus on the can. It helps to focus yourself from the ground up. Make sure you're standing strong, and work up from there."

You nodded, as he helped to position you in the right place and made sure your grip on the gun was tight. Each time he moved his hand to a different place you felt like your skin was on fire from the contact, and it wasn't helping your focus at all. Shoving any thoughts about him holding you like this to the back of your mind, you lined up the can with the sights, taking a moment to control your breathing.

"You've got this," Arthur said softly, and you believed him. You pulled the hammer back, ready to fire. With a deep breath in, you paused for a second before exhaling, and pulled the trigger.

It went wide.

You groaned loudly, taking a step away from Arthur as you tried to figure out how you missed again. It was lined up, there was no wind and no distractions, yet you still missed.

"I can't do this," you said defeated, holding the gun out for him to take. "I guess I should leave the shootin' to you."

"There's still two bullets left. I know you got it in you," he said, pushing your hand back. "C'mon, let's try again."

You had lost all hope by this point, but decided to have one last go. The can was going to go down, by bullet or by you kicking it over. You rolled your shoulders back as you stood by Arthur again, trying to relax yourself before getting into position.

"I have more bullets if you miss, so there's always room to try again," he told you, watching as you began to shift your weight and hold your arms out.

"If I miss this one, I'm throwing the can into the lake myself," you mumbled, lining your gaze up with the can. "Fuckin' can… ruining my day."

You heard Arthur laugh softly at your comments, and you tried to keep your focus at the task at hand, and not at how lovely his laugh was. This time he wasn't holding you anywhere, so you had nothing to blame if you missed again. You pulled the hammer back, letting out slow breaths in and out as you kept your sight on the can. In. Out. Shoot.

The gunshot went off, and you stood upright to assess the situation. The can had fallen backwards, a hole now pierced through the middle of it. Your eyes widened at the achievement, and you threw your hands in the air.

"It fell over!" you exclaimed, turning around to face Arthur with a wide smile. The joy you were feeling enveloped you, giving you a rush of confidence. You threw your arms around Arthur in a hug, feeling yourself getting lifted up as his arms went around your waist tightly, pulling you up and closer to him.

"Look at you go!" He was matching your excitement, which only fuelled your confidence. "We'll make a gunslinger out of you." He set you down, but you didn't move away from his arms, looking up at him with a grin.

"Better watch out, I might just steal your spot in the outlaw world," you teased.

"Think you can handle it? It's a real dangerous way of living, you know," he replied, his voice soft as he gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. It was now you realised how close you were to him. Your arms were still around him, one of his hands was placed on your waist while the other was against your cheek, and you were reminded of the last time you were in a similar position to this with him. But this time you weren't saying goodbye. This time you had all the time in the world, and you couldn't help but lean in a little closer, testing the waters.

"This alright?" He asked quietly, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek.

You gave him a slight nod, leaning into the touches. "It is."

That was all he needed to hear. You closed your eyes, your heart fluttering when you felt your lips meet his. It was one thing to think about kissing him - which you hated to admit that you did a few times in between this meeting and the last, but actually doing it was unlike anything you could have ever imagined.

You were suddenly reminded of the gun that was still in your hand when you felt it slip from your grip, and you broke away, taking a moment for what just happened to sink in. A dark blush spread across your cheeks, Arthur’s face a similar colour. You moved your arms away from around his neck, holding out his gun. The stag engraving was on full view, and you gently ran your finger along the carving.

"You should probably take your gun back before I drop it," you said quietly, looking up at him.He watched you trace the stag, taking the gun from you when you held it to him.

"I would hate for it to break again. I'd have to ride back out to the city to get it fixed," he replied, holstering it with a smile.

"What a shame.” Your eyes scanned his face, trying to memorise everything about him. A hand went to trace along his jaw, pausing when you noticed a small scar on his chin. It was the small things you wanted to keep locked in your mind, so that when you next wanted to draw him you would be able to capture his likeness even more. You wanted to paint every freckle and scar on him, putting them on canvas and immortalising him. The concept of a muse used to make you laugh, but now you understood what it meant. Inspiration flooded through your veins each time you looked at him and you would happily bleed on the canvas.

His eyes kept darting from your own to your lips, as his hands found their place back on your hips. Overcome with a sudden rush of confidence running through you, you pulled him into another kiss, this one a little more urgent. Your hands found their way to the collar of his shirt, holding them tightly. The hesitation of the first kiss was gone, replaced now with a need for more. You felt like you were on fire, and with each movement of his hands the feeling of excitement only grew, bubbling up inside. The warmth spread to your chest, your heart pounding against your ribs, and you felt as if it was loud enough for anyone to hear.

The moment shattered when a loud snort from where Artemis stood, causing you both to pull away from each other. She kept her gaze at you both and with a quick shake of her head, went back to grazing, almost acting proud that she had interrupted you both. You heard Arthur laugh softly, his gaze moving from Artemis back to you. The silence that followed felt heavy; neither of you moved. Light was starting to slip away, leaving room for the darkness that would soon take its place.

Arthur was the one to break the quiet, pulling his hands away from you. “We should set up camp for the night,” he said, keeping his voice low as you let go of his shirt and took a step back.

“Yes. That would be a good idea,” you replied with a nod. Neither of you moved again, still staying in the moment that was now passing by at a rapid pace. You cleared your throat with an awkward blush, averting your gaze from him. He tipped his hat in your direction, just as flustered as you were feeling. With a deep breath, he moved. You watched him walk back to where Artemis was grazing, your eyes lingering longer than what they normally would. You had to push down your thoughts before they became too intense. He looked over his shoulder in your direction, caught your eye and gave you a smile. This was uncharted water you were sailing through right now, and you couldn’t even force yourself to feel nervous or scared - you were excited.

A small camp was eventually set up on the sand, a fire burning in front of you. The sky was clear and you were hoping that you would be able to camp out under the stars. Arthur pitched up a small tent, using it to store your belongings and keeping them out of sight from others who may pass by while Artemis grazed on a patch of grass nearby, her saddle in the tent to give her a break.

You poked at the fire with a stick to get it burning brighter as the sky turned darker, the sun now set and the evening rolling in. Stars began to light up the sky, and you were amazed at how many there were up there. Saint Denis' sky was never this full of stars, the street lights being too bright to allow the stars to shine. You looked across to the lake to see Arthur standing at the water’s edge, fishing. He told you that he refused to let you eat canned goods whilst out in nature, and all the gunshots had most likely scared away any wildlife that grazed around here. Fish was the next best thing. You had your sketchbook out, drawing quick studies of anything around you - the fire, the tent, Arthur, Artemis grazing, the sky, Arthur again. There was so much you wanted to remember, and you wrote down your thoughts next to each drawing. You avoided writing in your sketchbook, wanting to keep it to drawings only but sometimes you needed to put your thoughts to paper to keep them from clouding your mind.

“Usually more things bite around here.” You looked up to see Arthur approaching, holding a fish.

“Maybe they’re sleeping?” You frowned. “Fish sleep, right?”

He laughed, shrugging as he took a seat next to you. “Probably. Never been under water long enough to check.”

You turned back to your drawings as Arthur began to prepare and cook the fish over the fire, kneeling by it and gently turning the flesh in a small tin above the flames. The way he moved and added a few herbs to it gave you the impression that he had done this a lot. Another thing to add to the list of what you knew about Arthur - his cooking looked impressive. The real question was if it tasted good. After a little while, you felt him nudge your leg, getting your attention away from your drawing. He held out the tin for you to take, the fish now cooked and ready to be eaten.

You both ate your half of the fish, and it was the best thing you had eaten in a long while. The fish stalls in the markets were nothing compared to fresh off the line fish. No time had been lost between catching it and preparing it for consumption; it tasted fresher than other fish you had bought before. It was a meal you would remember, especially because the company you shared it with was easy on the eyes. Arthur caught your gaze a few times, smiling to himself every time you looked away, cheeks red.

Once you had both finished eating, you spent a few moments watching the sky, counting every new star that you could see. Arthur poked at the fire with a stick, moving around the branches to keep the fire going.

“I’m going to get more wood to burn,” he said, and stood up. You gave him a wave as he walked off towards a small wooded area up the shore, soon leaving you alone with Aretmis now laying on the grassy patch by you. It was nice being here, in the middle of nature, no worries or hustle and bustle from the city. You were almost certain that when night fell you would be able to see more stars than you ever thought were in the sky. That thought alone was enough to make you want to spend more time away from the city. Perhaps you should consider relocating? Get a small cabin somewhere up in Cumberland Forest, surrounded by trees and birds and mountains. You could see the night sky and watch the sunrise each morning, and paint everything around you.

As the thought of you living deep in the countryside filled your mind, you were hastily drawn out from it by the gentle nudge of cool metal at the back of your head, and the familiar sound of a hammer being pulled back, a new shot clicking into place. You froze, having not seen Arthur loop around you to pull this strange joke. This wasn’t Arthur threatening you.

"You're gonna get up real slowly, and empty out your pockets, okay?" A man's voice spoke, and you nodded, slowly raising your hands up in surrender. Time in Saint Denis had taught you to throw any valuables away from the thief, to give you time to flee the scene unhurt. But there was nowhere to run and hide. Nowhere to go. No lawmen to report the crime to. It was just you and him and Arthur far away.

You rose to your feet, the gun never leaving the back of your head as you moved. There was a sound of rustling from behind - someone was going inside the tent, and another voice eventually spoke up.

"There ain't shit here!" He called out, and you heard the man behind you sigh, pressing the barrel of the gun a little harder against your skull.

"Get over there." He grabbed your shoulder, giving you a push away from the camp. A man stepped out from the tent, hands on his hips in disappointment before he noticed Artemis laying down behind them.

"Real nice horse here. Could go for a pretty penny to the right buyer," he said, walking over to her, watching as she rose to stand, rearing up when he got too close to her. There was a bad attempt at calming her down, and you knew that if you didn't say anything then they would try and take her. Or she would kick him. You hoped for the latter.

"She's got colic. Ain't gonna last much longer," you said quickly, guided by the other man towards the camp. "Took her out here to spend some time in nature, so she can go in peace."

The smaller of the two frowned, confusion on his face. "Colic?"

You silently thanked yourself for the time you spent around the stables - the man looked like he didn't have a clue what you were on about.

You nodded quickly. "Yes! It's a killer. If you try to sell her, no one is going to buy her. She'll be dead soon." It was horrible to talk about Artemis like this, but from the way the two men looked at each other, it looked to be working. You just needed to stall them a little longer. Their confidence that they were going to get a lot from you seemed to dwindle as the man with the gun adjusted his grip on it, keeping it level at your head.

"Well, we ain't leaving empty handed," he said, glancing nervously between you and his partner. He looked at the other man and gestured to the tent. "Search through there again."

With his attention away from you for a split second, you turned, using your elbow to smack his arm away from you. He yelped loudly, his arm knocked sideways as he lost his grip on his gun. It fell to the floor, and you rushed to grab it. The cool metal of the revolver was pulled out from under you, the man being a slight second quicker than you even after you disarmed him. He held the gun back up to you, a slight shake in his hands.

A shot rang out.

There was a searing burst of pain that ran through your upper arm, warmth spreading from the impact sight. You instinctively grabbed onto where you had been hit and were met with dampness. Blood covered your hand, and you felt the world sway under you at the sight. Shit.

You stumbled away from the man who was threatening you, his gun still aiming towards you as you moved.

"Stay still! I'll shoot again if you don't!" he called out, pulling back the hammer to load the next round. Part of you wanted to take the risk, to run and find somewhere to hide. His finger hovered over the trigger, and you had no choice but to stay still. The man in the tent came out at the sound of gunfire, a pistol in his hand as he looked around to see where the danger was, and you now had two guns pointing at you while your arm was bleeding and Arthur was nowhere to be seen.

“You’re makin’ this difficult for us,” the first man grumbled, and you could see his demeanour shift; he was growing more and more irritated the longer you refused to give him any valuables.

“You shot me! Sorry if I don’t feel like handing you over everything I own!” you exclaimed in disbelief. His eye twitched, and you almost wanted to dare him to shoot you again.

Something caught the bandits’ eyes, as they turned suddenly. You followed their gaze, and saw Arthur standing away from camp, his hat covering his face as he reached for his revolver, clicking back the hammer.

"You boys best put those things down and get on your way now, you hear me?" Arthur spoke low, the tone of his voice unfamiliar to you. He tilted his head up to get a look at the two, and you saw that his eyes were dark as he held out his revolver, pointing it towards the man with the gun at you. The other gun that was holstered had now been pulled out, and he was aiming it at the second man.

"I know your face," the first bandit said, glaring at Arthur and moving to point his gun at him. "It’s plastered all over the goddamn country. That’s easy money if we turn you in."

"And how are you goin' to do that, huh?" He tilted his head to the side, waiting for an answer. When the two didn't speak, he let out a low laugh. “Exactly. On your way, fellas. We don’t need to make this more bloody than it needs to be.”

"We'll shoot this one if you don't come with us," the second man said quickly, gesturing to you with his gun.

“Looks to me like you already have,” Arthur replied, giving you a quick glance, his expression unwavering. “You see a weapon anywhere? You’re real lowlifes for shootin’ an unarmed person.” His glare darkened at the two bandits, and you took this moment to slowly step away from the standoff. Blood was soaking through the sleeve of your shirt now, and you cursed the guy who shot you - you liked this shirt. There was a large rock a few feet away, and you were aiming to get behind there to avoid being shot at again. You just needed to time this right.

“We’re just trying to survive. We ain’t the ones shooting up entire towns like you and your gang,” the first man spat, and Arthur clenched his jaw at that. He turned to look at you. “You’d be safer with us than this criminal.”

You highly doubted that considering they were the ones that had shot you, and you took another small step closer to the rock. He seemed to notice you move this time, and waved his gun in your direction.

“Stay fuckin’ still, or the next bullet will be through your chest!” He was growing agitated, the other man watching on in confusion. You paused, raising a hand in the air in surrender while the other one kept pressure on your wound.

Arthur began to take a step forward towards the two, a look that bordered between anger and boredom on his face. “One last chance to get gone.” He gestured to where the road was, and the two bandits looked at each other.

“He’s wanted dead or alive,” the second man called out quickly. You frowned at the sudden mention of it, wondering what they were planning.

“Dead it is, then.” The first man released a shot in Arthur’s direction, narrowly missing his shoulder.

With gunfire echoing around you, you took the chance to dart towards the rock you were aiming to hide behind. Adrenaline rushed through you as you kept hearing gunshots, and you felt the sand kick up in front of you as one of the men turned fire towards you. You dived down behind the boulder, missing another bullet that was aimed for you, breathing erratically. All you could do now was wait and hope that it would end soon. Arthur was right - maybe you should invest in a weapon.

You took a moment to assess your wound, moving your bloody hand away from it. Your knowledge of gunshot wounds was limited, but from what you could tell the bullet grazed your skin. It was still bad, and would need to be looked at by a doctor when you got back into the city. You put your hand back over it, trying to calm your breathing down. There was nothing you could do right now. You needed to be calm.

Silence.

The air was heavy. Quiet. The gentle sound of water lapping against the shore was the only thing you could hear now. No movement. No breathing. Nothing. You tried to force yourself to move, to stand up to see what the damage was, but something was keeping you locked in place. Your eyes focused on the dark horizon ahead of you as you waited for a noise, a movement, anything.

A minute passed, and then another, and then you wondered what would happen if there were no survivors. If both the bandits and Arthur had injured each other to the point of death.

Oh god… What if Arthur is dead?

He should've appeared by now. You should have seen or heard him. Was he dead? Were you going to stand up and see him lying there, motionless? You didn't know what you would do - how do you lay a body to rest in the middle of the wilderness? What if someone saw you and thought you were the killer? You couldn't remember the way home, and you had no idea what to do with Artemis. Stable fees could get expensive, and you didn't have time in your schedule to ride her. Arthur had friends elsewhere, too, and you had no idea how you would get word back to them that he was dead. How do you tell a wanted gang that one of theirs had died in a shootout with bandits?

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, rising and falling quickly as you tried to breathe normally. The horizon was blurring as tears formed, the frantic thud thud thud of your heart filled your ears. Were you dying now? Someone would stumble across four bodies and a lone horse and wonder what had happened here, what brutal act took place that resulted in all these deaths.

You heard your name, forcing yourself to turn your head in the direction of it. Standing a few steps away from you, hands and shirt bloodied, his hat nowhere to be seen, was Arthur. Alive.

"You… You aren't dead?" You spoke through deep breaths, looking over him with concern and caution and fear that this was an illusion.

"No, I'm-" He stopped, instead pulling you close to him, his arms wrapping tightly around you. You relaxed into his arms, the rush of the fight and your anxiety slipping away. “I wasn't sure if they had hit you again,” he mumbled, a hand moving to the back of your head, smoothing out your hair.

“Are they-” You stopped yourself, not wanting to finish that sentence. Arthur nodded as you let out a sigh of relief, glad that it was over. That was more than enough violence for one day, and a wave of fatigue hit you.

“Come sit back by the fire. You need patchin’ up.” He loosened his arms around you, giving you a warm smile despite the conflict that just took place. The blood on him looked out of place now that the need to be threatening was gone, and you were glad to have met him on good grounds.

He led you back to the fire, an arm wrapped around your shoulder to keep you steady. The bandits' bodies were nowhere to be seen, and you assumed Arthur had taken care of them.

You sat back down by the warmth of the fire, releasing the grip you had on your arm. Arthur handed you a small glass bottle, similar to one of the ones you shot earlier, as he sat down beside you, cloth and bandages in his other hands. You took the bottle, popping off the cork and smelling it.

"I wouldn't do that. It tastes worse than it smells," Arthur said as your face scrunched up in disgust.

"This is supposed to help me?" The last thing you wanted was to drink something that smelled like it came from the trash.

"It'll ease the pain." Arthur watched as you gave him a look, before drinking it down in one quick motion. The taste was bitter, and it didn't matter how fast you swallowed it you were left with an awful aftertaste that made you want to vomit.

"God… That's horrible," you mumbled, setting the bottle down in the sand beside you. "I'm never forgetting that taste."

"Can't say it gets any better the more you drink it," he said, taking note of your arm. You were, in a way, lucky that the bullet only grazed you, but it was still bleeding and needed to be patched up quickly. It stung like hell, and with each movement of your arm the pain only increased.

His hands pulled at the fabric of your sleeve, moving it away from the wound. He then paused, a blush making its way across his cheeks.

“Could you… uh… I need to get to your arm, but…” He gave a small gesture to your sleeve, and you nodded, understanding what he was asking for. Your hands moved to unbutton your shirt, glad to be wearing something else underneath it. You pulled your arm out, letting the fabric fall behind you as Arthur moved forward, gently holding your arm. He was slow as he began to clean up the now drying blood, keeping his eyes on the task at hand. The light from the fire covered everything in hues of amber and orange, and Arthur looked like someone out of a painting you once saw. His brows furrowed in concentration, taking care not to hurt you. It was a stark contrast to see him this gentle when his clothes were stained with blood of the men he killed moments before. The crimson streaks across his shirt painted him as a ruthless killer, but the soft apologies he mumbled each time you let out a small hiss in pain made him look like a saint. What a walking contradiction he was, and you couldn't get enough of him. You didn't care how much blood he had on his hands as long as they were holding yours.

The strands of his hair that could never quite reach behind his ear fell in front of his face, and you pushed them back, your hand running through his hair as he worked. He let out a soft sigh, leaning into your touch. Even after everything you knew about him, you still wanted to know more. Not about who he was on wanted posters or newspaper articles, but who he actually was. Two ships passing by were allowed to understand each other on a deeper level, you were sure of it.

Something had changed, and the air around you both felt heavy. There was so much you wanted to say and ask him but the words could never leave your lips. Too much was at stake if you allowed yourself another moment with him like you did after you shot the can down. Maybe you were a contradiction too - an up and coming artist who yearns for the attention of an outlaw instead of the calm and quaint life they had. There were definitely novels written about that, and you knew how they ended. Your cheeks burned up at the thought of this playing out like a silly romance novel, and you let your hand rest against the side of his face, trying to catch his eye.

"You tryin' to distract me?" he asked softly, looking up for the first time at you.

"Consider it payback for when you were helping me shoot," you replied, moving your hand to rest on his shoulder now. "I blame you for makin' me miss."

He laughed, unwinding the bandage to begin to wrap up the wound. "You did pretty good, though. First time I picked up a gun I almost shot myself by accident."

"That's something I have trouble believing," you said, keeping your arm elevated so he could move the bandage around it easier.

He was quiet for a moment, before speaking up. "This wasn't supposed to happen," he apologised, as he secured the end of the bandage. "The hold up. Usually this place is pretty quiet, 'cept for a few grumpy fellas who like their space."

"I'm just lucky you were around. They would've left with all our stuff if you hadn't showed up when you did." You gave him a smile. "I've had my fair share of hold ups in the city. It's fine."

"You sure you don't want to consider getting somethin' to defend yourself with?" he asked, his hand lingering on your lower arm, having moved down once everything was patched up.

"I was taught to throw the thing they're after away from you, that way you can flee and avoid getting hurt," you explained. The look on his face made it sound like you had explained a concept he had never heard of before. Maybe he hadn't ever needed to flee from a robbery. You didn't have the luxury of guns and protection from others and an intimidating build to threaten people away from you. All you had were your wits and a good knowledge of where to run to.

"We can make a detour to Rhodes. Again, I ain't too welcome there, but it'll be cheaper to get you a knife or somethin' in there than in the city." He gave your arm a soft squeeze.

You quickly shook your head. "No, I don't think I need anything. I've survived this far without a weapon. I know the places to avoid, and I'm smart about what I bring out with me."

He sat back, keeping his hand on your arm. "I'm just worried, that's all."

"Worried? About me?"

"Yeah… I'd hate to see somethin' bad happen to you," he said with a mischievous smile. "Who else is going to paint my handsome horse?"

You gently hit his arm, holding back a laugh. "You and your damn horse."

"She has real good hearing, you know. Best mind what you say about her."

You looked over to Artemis, who was happily grazing on a small grassy patch a few metres from you both, not a care in the world.

"They were considering taking her," you told him as he followed your gaze to her.

"Wouldn't be the first time someone's stolen her," he replied. You wanted to further question him, but he stood up, giving you a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. "Get some rest."

You rose to your feet, giving him a mock salute with a laugh. "Yes, sir." A dark blush spread across his cheeks. He mumbled something about going to grab his hat, turning away from you quickly. It was nice to know that you weren't the only one getting flustered over the small things.

You pulled out a bedroll and a blanket you had managed to shove into the depths of your bag, spreading them out on the floor by the fire. While Arthur was away, you quickly shrugged off the rest of your shirt, glad that you had bought a spare. It made sense to leave the freshly bandaged wound alone for a while, so you chose to not change into a clean shirt, keeping your undershirt on and throwing the blanket over you.

The night sky looked pretty from where you now lay, the moon rising above the mountains in the distance. Warmth from the fire next to you was enough to help with the drowsiness, and the gentle crackle of the wood burning was a nice background noise.

Sleep came easy, you were exhausted over being wounded and wanted nothing more than to be whisk away into some dream, away from the lake and away from the pain that lingered in your arm.

You found yourself in a small cabin, surrounded by woodlands. Birdsong was heard around you, and small critters ran to and from the bushes. The day was drawing to a close, and you could smell soup being prepared over in the kitchen. You followed the smell, your stomach rumbling as dinner time approached. Were you alone here? There was no sign of another person, but deep down you felt an ache for someone who had recently left. Space was left on the coat hooks for another person's belongings, and you wondered who you were sharing this place with.

The sound of hoofbeats drew your attention to the window that overlooked the front garden of your home, and arriving on the back of the oh so familiar horse was Arthur. He noticed you through the window, and gave you a warm smile and a wave.

You were in a cabin you called home, in the woods, with Arthur. It seemed too good to be true.

You walked out of the door to greet him as he dismounted from Artemis, eager to embrace you in a tight hug, his lips meeting yours in a quick kiss. He then began to press soft kisses over your face, keeping you close to him as you let slip a laugh. You placed your hands on his chest, pushing away from him only to get a better look at his face, lit up by the afternoon sun, freckles dusting his cheeks.

A warmth spread underneath your hands, and you frowned, pulling them away from Arthur. They were painted a deep crimson, the blood heavy on your hands as you tried to wipe them on your shirt to clean them. The more you tried, the harder it became to fully feel clean. You looked at Arthur, feeling him slip away from you as the dream shifted into night, leaving you alone.

You stood in the forest, clothes bloodied. There was no way you were getting the stains out from them, no matter how hard you tried. It would linger on you forever, a faded reminder of what you saw and what you could have prevented. Did they deserve to die? Were they trying to make a living? They claimed they were trying to survive, that they weren’t the bad guys - no, that was Arthur. An outlaw, a murderer, a cold blooded killer according to the newspaper, according to everyone. What made you different? Were you certain that your name wouldn't end up on the front page of the news, another victim claimed by the gang Arthur ran with? You called out for him, but there was no response. Why would there be?

You were alone. Just like you were before. The ship Arthur sailed had passed you, and you were left back at square one with nothing but the crimson on your hands.

You should've given them what they wanted. No blood would've needed to have been spilled, and everyone would be alive.

This was your fault.

The muffled sound of your name was heard, and you turned quickly to try and place where it was coming from. It got louder and louder until it was echoing in your mind, and you realised who was calling for you.

With a start, you sat up, breathing heavily and slightly damp - from sweat or the sudden feeling of rain, you weren't sure. You wiped your forehead as you tried to focus on waking up, blinking back sleep. The rain was gentle, but you knew it wouldn't be long before it got heavier and fire flickered out with each droplet. You searched the darkness for a sign of Arthur. There was light in the tent coming from a lantern, and you moved to stand, grabbing your bedroll. The tent flap opened, and Arthur stuck his head out, surprised to see you standing there.

"I was goin' to come and wake you. There's enough room in here for the both of us," he said, holding open the tent for you. "Just easier than tryin' to put another one up in the dark."

You nodded, ducking under Arthur's arm as you entered, dropping down your bedroll in the space next to his. It was a little cramped, the space not usually big enough for two people, but Arthur was doing his best to make it work. He gave you a smile as you sat down, still shaking from the dream.

Arthur seemed fine, like nothing had happened. How many deaths did you need to witness before you could fall asleep easily at night like he did? You didn't want to think about the number that Arthur may have faced. How easy it was for him to pull the trigger, to remove those people from life… The thought terrified you. No longer was he just the handsome stranger who let you paint his horse - you knew now that he was an outlaw, a dangerous man. There was a gentle nudge against your arm, as Arthur pulled you away from your thoughts, noticing your face frowning up.

"You doin' alright?" he asked quietly, and you had to strain to hear him over the sound of the rain against the canvas of the tent.

You shrugged in response. "Just thinking about those guys from earlier…"

"That's a rickety line you're travelling down," he said, shifting slightly to face you. "If it weren't them, it would've been us."

"I know…"

He gently took a hold of your hand, causing you to look up at him. How many lives has his hands taken?

"Maybe… Maybe we could've tried to defuse the situation. Maybe we could've gotten out of there with everyone alive. But there ain't no use thinkin' about what could have been. It'll eat you up before you've even realised," he said. "If I started doubtin' every time I did something, nothing would get done."

You nodded, wanting to question him further but the call for you to go back to sleep entered your mind. There would be time to properly process this in the morning. For now, you laid back down on the ground beside Arthur. He moved to turn the lantern off, leaving you both in darkness, the rain growing heavier as it battered against the tent. You made sure to leave enough space between the both of you as you closed your eyes, wishing for lighter dreams.

The rest of the night was uneventful. Your mind allowed you to sleep through it without plaguing you with more nightmares, giving you the rest you needed. The morning chorus of birdsong awoke you, soft sunlight breaking through the small gap in the canvas.

You noticed three things very quickly in your post-sleep daze.

One: the rain had stopped.

Two: you were close to something that was very warm, and you instinctively moved towards it.

Three: the feeling of Arthur's hand laying gently on your waist.

You were fully awake now, face to face with Arthur's chest as he slept, your own arms wrapped around him, your legs tangled together. It was so domestic the way you fit against each other, like this was meant to be. You laid there, unmoving and unsure of what to do with yourself. Arthur's eyes were closed, and you could see the slow rise and fall of his chest. He looked peaceful like this, with his face relaxed and there being no need to put up an intimidating front. You almost didn't want to move away from him. If he woke up now, you were almost certain you would become a flustered mess, so it was better to wait outside for him to wake up.

Moving slowly, you began to pull yourself from him, careful not to wake him up. Your heart ached when you left the tent, leaving him behind, but the cool morning air was welcomed by you instead.

The world felt still as the sun rose, warm yellows covering the sky. The fire had long died out, leaving behind the charred remains of the wood once burned. A flock of birds flew above you and a couple of deer were drinking in front of you. They walked around each other, looking up every time they heard a small sound. You had never been this close to deer before, and you were keeping still to not accidentally spook them. Artemis laid in the grass, looking at you as if to ask for a treat. You waved at her, and she turned away, letting out a small huff.

A small breeze blew past, catching you off guard at the wave of cold air. It would be a smart idea to change into something that was a little more modest than your underclothing, so you turned back around. You pushed open the flaps of the tent, kneeling down and grabbing the bag that had your spare clothes in. It was still early and you were trying to be as quiet as you could to not wake Arthur up. You stood behind the tent and changed into a fresh set of clothes. Your arm felt better than what it did and you told yourself that you would visit the doctor as soon as you got back home. It was sad to think you would need to leave this small patch of peace so soon, wanting nothing more than to stay here a little longer, away from civilization and away from all the things you needed to do at home.

As you walked back to where the remains of the fire were, you bumped into Arthur, who was now leaving the tent. He had the smart idea to change inside the tent, and you felt a little silly for dressing out in the open.

"Morning!" you said quickly, holding your bag close to you, stepping aside for him.

"Mornin'," he mumbled, running a hand down his face to wake himself up more. "Sleep well?"

"I did." You noticed he couldn't hold your gaze for long. "Did you?"

He nodded, eyes focused on the horizon. "Good."

"Is everything okay?" you asked, approaching him slowly. Another nod. "You're just… quiet."

"I'm fine." He smiled at you, but was quick to avert his eyes away again. "We should head back soon." He pointed to your arm. "Get that checked out as soon as you can."

"It's on my list of things to do today," you replied, already trying to work out how you were going to tell the doctor what happened. You had tried to not think too much about the slope you were sliding down last night, the idea of death and killing people not something you found enjoyment out of. It was too soon to process all that, your feelings were still too raw.

Arthur moved past you quickly, and began to dismantle the tent, doing so in a way that seemed like he had done it many times before and had perfected it. Within minutes, and before you could offer to help, the tent was packed away, leaving your belongings out in the open ready to be picked up. He called for Artemis who stood up quickly, nuzzling her head against his shoulder for scratches. Something still felt weird, as you watched him saddle up Artemis, checking and double checking to make sure everything was secure.

"Look, about last night," he started, his cheeks flushed and his hands gesturing wildly though no words followed.

"It's fine!" you quickly replied, swallowing down the nerves that were threatening to rise up out of you. "I mean, if you're fine with what happened, and I'm fine with it, then… it's fine… Right?"

"Right. Yes. Just wanted to make it clear that it's all good. Between us, that is."

"Of course. We're good."

He let out a sigh of relief at that, his shoulders relaxing as the confirmation that what happened was something you had both wanted to do was said out loud. The air felt lighter after that, and you were glad that nothing felt wrong between you both. You quite liked kissing him.

"You got everythin'?" he asked, and you nodded. As he mounted Artemis, he held his arm out for you again, helping you up as you began the journey back home.

The ride back was quiet, your head against Arthur's back and one of his hands on yours, fitting together like a puzzle that you had been missing pieces from. Trees and hills and wildlife passed you by, the air getting thicker the closer you got towards Bayou Nwa, and you were already yearning for the cool air of the lake again.

Saint Denis welcomed you home as Artemis slowed to a walk, Arthur directing her down the street to where he remembered you lived. You willed an excuse for him to stay longer to appear in your mind, but nothing formed. There were things you had to do today, and Arthur most likely had his own plans as well. You'd see each other again soon, you told yourself as your apartment building appeared in your line of sight. Goodbyes aren't forever, not yet at least.

Artemis stopped, as you dismounted. Arthur followed suit, wanting to walk you to your door. You were both quiet as you made your way to your building, stopping once you were outside the door.

"Thank you. This has been really fun," you said with a smile, taking a hold of his hand. "Minus the getting shot part."

"Next time, there will be less injuries, I promise," he replied.

You raised an eyebrow. "Next time?"

"The fireworks."

"Right!" How could you forget? "The fireworks. End of the week. I expect to see you here."

"I wouldn't miss it." He smiled at you, and you quickly looked around to see who was walking by. When the coast was clear, you pulled him down for a quick kiss, his arms moving around you instinctively.

"Don't cause too much trouble," you mumbled playfully, flicking his hat up as you moved away.

"I can't promise anythin'. You take care of yourself now. Go to the doctors." He stepped back with a small wave, and you wanted to call out for him to stay. But you said nothing, watching him leave again. With a soft sigh, you entered your building alone.

A letter was on the floor as you opened the door, and you frowned, picking it up. The handwriting was unfamiliar, elegant swirls and loops that you hadn't seen before. You took a seat at your dining table, opening it carefully.

Addressed to you, from one of your recent clients, was an invitation to paint at the mayor's gala at the end of the week. The writer, a man you had had a few interactions with before - he had wanted you to paint his dog - expressed his concern that it was a late invite, but hoped to see you there. He wanted this gala to be immortalised as it was an important date for him, and hoped you would do the honours of painting the celebration for him.

You couldn't quite believe it.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x gender neutral reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 community #arthur morgan fanfiction #rdr2 #; tealeaf's writing

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crown-anon · 3 years

Text

@hearts1ck my beloved

November 1st

CW: explicit; more CWs under the cut

format: one-shot

people: GeorgeNotFound

pronouns: he/him; reader has male anatomy; more specifics under the cut

edited 14 March 2021

anonymous asked

consider. okay. CONSIDER. consider masochist george. okay?? okay. okay LISTEN.

I think I have a problem with gimmicks also. because. because. ever since strawberry milk george, I. I have not stopped thinking about strawberry flavored lube. because! listen okay hear me out.

(this is absolutely 110% a response to discovering that you share a birthday with him. what of it?)

I know everyone likes pillow princess george and. that's okay. that's FINE. these are not mutually exclusive.

george looking up at you with The LookTM wearing some pink strawberry milk lingerie. not even lingerie really! just something cute like that

& him being like. "I know you love me 👉👈 but I need you to fuck me like you don't"

so I was. thinking. that brat george is the exact kind of person to say (playfully & consensually) "but I don't wanna give you head, I just wanna fuck >:(" after you've got him worked up, maybe from teasing him throughout the day, or edging him a little. but you still need some type of lube. so you go to apply the first bottle you see and he's pink when he asks you "😳 is that ... strawberry ... ?" and you're confused like ??? bro you just asked me to fuck you into next week why're you interested in the flavored lube

but. but listen. he would get so enthusiastic about it. at first it's just "maybe I can stand to eat them out just a little bit before ..." and then after you come the first time it devolves really, really quickly into the need to just. take care of you. and it stretches on until you've come three or four times, and you're still shaking, and he's just. completely gone in subspace

hmm ... george climbing up onto your lap when he's done with you, going in to give you a kiss, and he tastes like strawberry. and he ends up moaning right into your mouth because he's been so horny but so? understimulated?? that he outright jumps as soon as his dick grazes your thigh. it would only take a couple stuttery grinds before he's finishing on both of your stomachs

and he's just so cute when comes, or when he bites down on your shoulder to keep himself quiet. and it's your birthdays. so, you decide you'll give him a reason to cry. and he'll finally get put in his place! it's a win-win for both of you!!

istg every time I send you an ask I discover something new about myself. you. you have made a dreamteam simp out of me. I am but a shell of the man I once was. I think I should thank you? [👑]

hearts1ck

i say this nearly every time you send stuff in but...... by god you own my soul. all of it. this – i – first of all, the implications of masochist george losing his fucking mind when you’re rough with him? guhhhfjklgjgf. and ,..d,,f,,, ,, ,, george in pink lingerie. i. i . a... pink satin slip maybe or .... ohghfd; oh my god those. that cat panty/bra set. im ascending im losing my brain as i type this i cannot –

okay im back on earth. he’d get into that rhythm and settle like liquid while he gets to work on you, and his subspace face is so self-satisfied and nearly smug so he’s just having the time of his life,,, and he makes such a loud noise when his dick twitches against your thigh and maybe... JUST MAYBE he whimpers extra watery when you drag his hips to grind against where you’re wet and dripping/your spent cock as if he’s the one who’d get overstimulated by it. when he finally leans away, eyelids heavy, you gently fit your hand over his jaw and ask, “did you even ask? it’s one thing to come without permission, but not even caring to ask? georgie, i might just be offended,” and he whines “green”s against your neck before you even check-in

and because u made it abt both of our birthdays ,,,, spanks for each year we’ve been alive methinks ??? and then the scratch down his ass gets him hard again and he’s so embarrassed by it, ,,, , ,, ,, ,, ,, ,

also thank god you’ve joined the george boat. i’m so proud of myself for hopefully being part of the reason you got dragged over here HJFKDHSKD

#👑 anon #(my beloved) #keep #anon thoughts: george #redsick #SHAWTY WANT THE WHOLE CREW SHAWTY BAD

as soon as you said birthday spanks I decided I had to write more about this. and I was going to leave more snippets in your askbox like the fucking gremlin creature I am, but then my thoughts started. actually having structure? and then I started writing it. and I tried to do homework and write on study breaks only but. I just kept coming back to this. this is the polar opposite of writer's block. I think I'm cursed or something. so here I am rushing to finish this so that I may rest in peace!!

yes I've been writing nonstop since I sent you that ask. what of it. what the fuck of it.

when I said I discover something new about myself every time we interact, I. I'm serious. I think I might be insane or something. I'm way too sadistic. you'll see. what the fuck is this? what the fuck did I just write??

this would have done so much critical psychic damage if I had posted it on November 1st in real life, but mental illness says I can't let my horny thoughts rattle around in my brain for that long. so!! it's you guys's problem now xoxoxo

I'm not fucking proofreading this. love you though 💗

I did end up proofreading actually. oops! looks like posting at 23:00 isn't always a good idea.

November 1st

CW: explicit, anal (kind of vague), bondage (collar + leash), corruption, domspace (I think??), edging, handjob, humiliation, masochism, oral, praise, sadism, spanking, subspace, swearing. I call George a whore and a slut at least once. and also, George calls yellow at one point. this one kind of surprised me so just. Be Careful. I cannot believe I wrote this. I don't know where this came from.

format: one-shot

people: GeorgeNotFound

pronouns: he/him; I use the word "sir;" reader has male anatomy; I use the words "cock," "dick," and "head;" reader can ejaculate

—

dawn shines through drawn curtains, illuminating the tile floor and your robed figure reflecting off it. batter sizzles in the skillet as you flip the last pancake over. this side looks golden brown, like honeycomb or caramelized sugar. that delicious, freshly-baked fragrance mingles with scented candles. it's perfect, you smile. he's going to love it.

you lift the pancake with a spatula, stacking it on top of the others on his plate. you bring it to his seat at the table, along with the butter, the syrup, the honey, the jam…and you go to pour him a drink.

"hey baby," you greet warmly to the sleepyhead rubbing his eyes in the entryway, still clinging to a pillow. his hair's a mess, only wearing socks and a sweatshirt that reaches down past his thighs. you reckon he'd only just crawled out of bed.

"morning…" he yawns, stumbling past you to take his seat.

"milk?" you ask, he only nods. "did you sleep okay?"

he hums affirmatively. "I…can we…"

one track mind, you joke inwardly. but you don't blame him. "of course," you open the fridge.

you hear him pause. "…is it too early for that?"

"no, no!" you give him a lighthearted laugh. "I kind of expected it, to be honest…I want it, too."

he's silent under the noise of you rummaging through the fridge. "I—"

"sorry—it looks like all we have is strawberry milk. is that alright?"

"yeah…yeah, that's alright. I…actually…wanted to try something new." you shut the fridge, he's fidgeting in his seat.

"hit me with it," your expression is gentle. you pass his cup off to him, but he holds his hand over yours a little too long, looking up at you.

"fuck me like you hate me."

you don't know if it's hearing him swear, or the way he said it so calmly, or how he closed his eyes and swallowed hard before his tone could dip down into something lower. but like a match in an torrent of gasoline, suddenly you're burning up.

you only realize you're staring when he bites his lip and looks down. you start to say something, but the words don't form.

he laughs nonthreateningly, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "is that a yes?"

you laugh with him. "I…yes, absolutely yes." you turn back around to make your own stack of pancakes. "you should eat first, though."

"what?" he teases. "will I need the energy?"

you smile. "yeah. I think you will." you can practically feel him open his mouth in protest, but he stays silent after that.

and it stays mostly silent while you cook your pancakes. you hear the clinking of his fork on his plate, but it isn't very disruptive. it sounds like he's hurrying to finish his food.

when you go back to the table with your own platter, he's already done eating. he's red down to his neck, fidgeting with the hem of his sweatshirt, looking at you expectantly. you spot a pair of tassels peeking out from under it, just below his hip bones. is that…

he pulls the hem up just a bit, holding your gaze. he smiles, apparently satisfied watching your face heat up.

"I—you should go…go get ready," you manage. he gets up before you even finish your sentence, only stopping to give you a quick kiss on the cheek.

except it isn't quick, when he slides his hand down to rest firmly on your collar, and leans in to trail kisses down your neck. "a-and leave that on," you stutter.

he pauses, just under your jaw. "leave what on?" he murmurs.

your breath catches, you shut your eyes. "whatever the fuck it is you're wearing under there."

he's hardly grazing your skin, but you can feel how hot he is next to you. it takes all of your willpower not to shiver.

he pulls back quickly, only his hand lingering. "I don't know what you're talking about." and just like that, he disappears into your bedroom.

you reach up a hand tentatively to your collar, hot to the touch. I'm in way too deep, you decide, and force yourself to take a bite of your food despite your nerves.

—

"that," you hiss. "that fucking outfit. that."

"oh, this?" he bites his lip, hooking his thumb in the keyhole. "this's just what I went to bed in last night."

"fuck you. we both know that isn't true."

he tugs gently on his top, pulling it a little to the side. "what's the big deal? can't I wear something special for my birthday?"

"it's special, all right," and you leave it at that, opting instead to slot between his legs where he sits waiting on the edge of the bed. you bring up a hand to cup his jaw, brushing your thumb across his cheek. you'll never get enough of the way he looks at you, like you're intoxicating.

…? you frown.

"is something…missing?" he perks up instantly at "missing."

"what…?" he chooses his words carefully.

"the collar—your collar. where is it?" you turn away to start going through your bedside table, but the way his lips quirk up into a sly smile isn't lost on you.

that's lube…that's a vibrator…where the fuck is it…? "w-what collar?" he stumbles over his words.

your mind jumps to say, the collar that came with that outfit, or I know you know what I'm talking about, but you won't give him the satisfaction. you decide to speak a little darker, only a firm "George." you hear him swallow.

"w-well," his voice is shaky, "you only told me to leave on whatever I was wearing under my shirt. and…I wasn't wearing that collar at breakfast…s-so technically…"

you stop looking immediately. you turn to take him in, legs crossed, stance confident, but expression showing uncertainty. you can see the regret on his face. "get up." he takes a shallow breath. "get up."

"I'm—"

"don't I'm sorry me," you snap. "you look for your fucking collar on your own."

he slips off the bed, looking ashamed, but starts digging through the drawer all the same. "I really am sorry," he murmurs. you take his place sitting on the bed. he finds what he's looking for rather quickly: a simple white leather collar with a bell, and a leash. he hands them off to you shyly. "um, here…"

"good boy," you praise. "kneel."

he shuts his eyes and does as he's told. you can see the bliss wash over his face just at being ordered around. his lips part a little as he lets out a heavy breath. if only I knew what this would do to him, you muse, I'd have done this ages ago.

you fasten the collar, revelling in how he shivers at the gentle sensation of cold leather hanging around his neck. you leave it a little bit loose, but still comfortable, and hook the leash in its place. he sits obediently still on his knees, looking deep in thought.

"Oh, I know what I'm gonna do to you," you bait. "how old are you today?"

"mmm. twenty-five." he looks down.

you smile, holding tight onto the leash. "I'm gonna edge you. twenty-five times."

he flinches away immediately, yet hums in pleasant surprise when the leash snaps taught. the bell jingles stiffly. "no way. that's way too much."

"I think you should've thought about that before you wore that to breakfast," you decide, tugging a little. he's caught off-guard and stumbles forward, stopping himself by leaving a clumsy pair of kisses on the inside of your thigh. the metal and leather feel refreshingly cool against your feverish skin. "we've got all day, baby."

you expect to hear some kind of protest, you're crazy. or a playful taunt, I'm better off doing this by myself. but he knits his brows and openly moans at the thought. "all day…" he repeats.

he looks up at you, almost pleading, and you can hear the resignation in his voice when he whispers "alright."

"get up here," you command. "on top of me." as he climbs up into your lap, a little too eagerly, you add, "and take your dick out."

you shrug your robe off your shoulders while he's working on his panties, and without thinking, you ask, "color?"

he stops, leaving his head poking cutely over the waistband. he looks up at you again. "…what?"

"um…color," you explain. "like, how are you doing? is this okay? I don't actually want to hurt you. uhhh…green means good, yellow means slow down, and red means stop."

he stifles a laugh. "you're such a nerd. I'm okay."

"alright." you blush a little. "we can stop whenever you need to. this is for you…" you think of something horribly unsexy to say. "…birthday boy."

now he's really laughing, with his whole body. you think the way it makes his collar jingle is cute. "oh my god. shut up. just shut up," his expression turns serious, and he drops to a whisper, "and fuck me."

that got you hot again. you pull him by the leash into a kiss, you bite his lip, you eat him up. and you grab the both of you together with your other hand, you moan in tandem. you can feel how you took him by surprise in the way he twitches under your thumb, the way he leans into you with his whole body. you part from the kiss and he leans back on his heels, panting hard, holding on to your shoulders for support. you can feel him shaking a little.

when you move your hand all the way up the first time, you squeeze both of your heads gently, and he practically falls into you. muffled in the crook of your neck, he begs, "god, do that again."

so you do. again. and again. what was a string of stuttered breaths turns into a single broken moan as you jerk the both of you off. when you think you're getting close, you let go of yourself to focus all your attention on him.

"fuck, sir," he whines—hahaha, that sir made your cock leak a little. he shut his eyes tight. "I-I-I think—I think I'm—"

just like that, you stop, and he goes slack, practically laying on you. but he doesn't grind back, or even move to touch himself. that won't last very long.

you let him come back down, knowing edging takes a lot out of you; maybe even more so than actually coming does. slowly but surely, his breathing steadies. you rub between his shoulderblades affectionately, still trying to ground yourself, too.

once you've found your voice again, you question, "are you gonna count for me?"

he makes a sound against your skin, somewhere between excitement and fear. "…o-one." you revel in how fucked-out he sounds already.

"one what?" you prod.

he seems at a loss, like he's forgotten himself, what he said. after a minute or two of pondering, he catches on. "…sir."

it's your turn to moan. your dick jumps at the honorific, still mostly untouched against your stomach. "good boy." and you dive back in. twenty-four to go.

—

it's noon. you're working on nineteen. and your partner's getting much more…expressive. he's started biting his hand to keep himself quiet, but he's still…

"I-I—oh fuck, I'm—fuck, I-I'm—I'm—" he whimpers through his teeth. and he yelps, whole body shaking, bell jingling incessantly, when he comes all over your hand and stomach.

you take your hand off him immediately, and this time he does try to reach down, ride through it, but you grab both his wrists to stop him. he grinds down uselessly against your thigh and your dick. although you're still hard, and only a hairline trigger away from coming yourself, it doesn't stop you from keeping this brat in line. you only bite your lip and close your eyes.

he leans his forehead against yours, moving in to give you a kiss, but you push him away.

"did you never learn how to fucking count?" you growl.

he winces. "I-I-I-I'm…I'm sorry—"

you scowl at your hand, covered in come. "here, slut," you raise it up to his lips. "clean this off for me."

he tears up a little, but takes your fingers into his mouth all the same. pretty quickly, though, he spits them back out.

"it doesn't taste good…" he complains.

"oh? oh, it doesn't?" you mock. "but it felt good, when you came without my permission, like a cheap fucking whore."

a couple of tears spill over, roll down his cheeks, yet he says nothing, only moving back in to lap his come off your hand. you can see it in his expression that he's not very happy about it, but he doesn't protest further.

"is this good enough, sir?" he asks, when it seems that he's gotten it all. it looks clean enough, you agree. you grab him by the chin, hooking your thumb in his mouth. you don't even have to tell him to suck.

"you come without my approval again, and it's over. you can go back to playing minecraft—or what-the-fuck-ever—with your friends for your birthday. do you want to sleep on the couch, Georgie?"

if he wasn't crying before, he's definitely crying now. he doesn't shake his head, but he circles your fingertip with his tongue enthusiastically, as if to say, I'll be good, I'll be good this time, looking up at you doe-eyed.

"bend over for me," you demand. "across my lap."

he does so immediately. he slips a little bit while he's changing positions, you hear the bell ring, and he scrambles to correct himself. he settles with his ankles crossed and his head in his hands, propping himself up on his elbows. you feel a little bad, you admit, but you won't budge; he has a safeword, you trust that he'll use it.

"let's try that again," your tone softens. "I want you to count for me, okay?"

he nods.

you pull his panties to the side, pause briefly, and bring down your hand with a satisfying smack.

"ohhhhhh—" he moans, jolting a little. "—holy shit, did you just spank me?"

your stomach drops, you go to rub him gently where you just hit him. "is that okay—?"

"it's hot, it's so hot, fuck," he shifts in your lap. "um, sorry…one."

seriously, something about hearing him swear awakens something in you, every time. you're fired up. you spank him again.

"mmm—two…" is he…? "three…"

you pause to massage his ass again, and to speak. "you're…you're hard again, aren't you?"

you didn't even spank him yet, but he lets out a moan. "fuck, I—I just. I want you. I want this. so, so much."

you wonder if this is actually the same George who was fidgeting with his pillow in the dining room this morning.

"you're so bad, getting turned on by something like this," you tease. he only moans in response.

"four—five—six—seven…" he chokes out. "it's starting to sting…"

you take a break, kneading the skin where your angry red handprint is starting to take shape.

"eight…nine…but god, it hurts so good…" he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. "ten…"

at ten, you linger for a moment, holding a handful of his ass. "does it?"

"yes—yesyesyes," he buries his face in the pillow, and shivers. "fuck, eleven…twelve…"

you pull his panties down to his knees, and switch sides. he lifts his hips up, so I can reach him better, you guess. you don't miss the telltale glint of a butt plug, but you'll get to that later.

"thirteen—fourteen—fifteen—sixteen," he moans between slaps. he's gripping the pillowcase so hard his knuckles are white.

in this new position, the way he jumps with every hit makes his cock brush against yours just right. fuck, you're still hard from earlier. this time you're the one who whimpers.

"seventeen, eighteen," he pauses, breathless. you pull gently on his leash, he arches his back and moans, "n-nineteen." his bell jingles.

he grinds down, just for a moment, and the friction is delicious. you're a little dizzy, you think you might've thrust back. you both sigh at the feeling.

"…t-twenty…see? I-I can count…I'm a good boy…I'm good for you…aren't I?"

"you are," you murmur, but you aren't sure he hears you. "you're so good…"

"twenty-one—twenty-two…I-I feel like I haven't done anything right today…twenty-three…"

"…George…?" you hear a muffled sob.

"twenty-four…" he mumbles.

"George?" you start to get concerned. he just keeps crying. "hey…" you whisper. you gently prompt him to turn him over; the pillow's a little wet. you pull the panties off all the way, and get him out of the bra, which had a little stray come on it. you help him sit up in your lap, and pull him into a hug.

"am I really just a whore…?" he asks brokenly.

"you've been so good for me, baby. you've done everything I've asked." you wipe his tears away with your thumb. "are you okay?"

"but I—" he coughs. "—I came too soon, I came without your permission…"

you kiss his hair, and hold him to your chest. "you've been so patient. I'm proud of you."

he finally wraps his arms around you. "I-I'm sorry."

"nonsense," you reassure. "your comfort takes priority. are you okay? color?"

"I…" he searches for the words. "I dunno. yellow? I…that hurt, I think. being…degraded?"

you comb through his hair with your fingers. "I understand. thank you for telling me. I love you."

—

you stay like that for a minute. you grab him a snack and a drink, but for the most part, you just enjoy each other's company, tangled-up together. you don't bother putting your clothes back on.

it's later in the evening. you're straddling him, peppering his shoulders with kisses, and he's giggling underneath you. he turns over to give you a short and sweet kiss.

"baby?" he says, looking expectantly.

"what is it?" you sit back on your heels.

he hesitates. "…I wanna keep going. from earlier."

you're serious again. "are you sure you're okay?" you grab his hand, bringing it up to kiss his fingertips. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm alright," he assures. "I remember you promising me an all-day thing, though."

you blush, a little surprised by his forwardness. "of course. I think…I…" you laugh. "I wanna fuck you."

"yeah?" he smiles, leaning up close. "show me how much."

you hold his jaw while you kiss him, biting his bottom lip between your teeth. he tastes like the coffee and cream you made him earlier. you feel his breath hitch. he reaches up to hold your shoulders.

you pull back. "hey, blow me first."

"what? why?" he giggled.

"it's been a couple hours, I'm not hard anymore," you coax. "I thought you liked taking orders?"

he cringed. "but come tastes gross!"

you slid off him and hopped off the bed, opening the drawer. "suit yourself. you get to watch me jack off, then."

"fine by me, I think you look good when you masturbate."

"ohhh, I forget, you're too blissed-out to pay attention to how I look when you're getting fucking owned."

"I am not!"

"you are too!" he sticks his tongue out at you.

you open the lid, pouring a little on your hand, a little on your cock. it's translucent pink, seems a little fragrant. you give yourself a couple of strokes with a sigh.

he's quiet for a second, then, shyly, "um…is that…strawberry flavored…?"

you bite your lip. "I thought you weren't gonna give me head?"

"I was just curious." it's a weak lie, but you say nothing.

your eyes are shut, but you can feel him moving around a bit on the bed, you hear his bell ring a couple times. you feel a hand on your thigh, so you decide to peek. and holy shit.

your partner's made his way to the floor, on his knees between your legs, holding his leash in his mouth, his fucking mouth, what the fuck. his thumb's rubbing circles on the inside of your thigh. the half-lidded look he's giving you should be criminal.

"you—I thought you said you wouldn't…" you can't find the words. you reach out and take the leash from his mouth. you see your hand shake in front of you.

"I'm just watching…" he whispers, looking up at you, mesmerized.

you're only able to get a couple of pumps in before he's joining you, hand over yours as you get yourself off. just the extra sensation of somebody else's touch is enough to make you bite back a moan.

"fuck—!" you jolt when he licks a stripe up the underside. he mouths over the head, jerking you off on his own now. you move to grip the sheets in one hand, his leash in the other. and you come without warning. you see it end up on his hand and your stomach before you shut your eyes tight.

he's quiet while you're coming down, just helping you ride it out, giving you kisses on your thighs. when you look back down at him, he's got two of his fingertips in his mouth, licking them clean. he stands up abruptly, it startles you a little. you see his bell ring. and he grabs you by the hips and leans down to your midriff.

"…I don't think I cleaned you off all the way earlier…" he breathes, and he starts to lap up the mess of his and your come that's been on you since this afternoon.

what the fuck. why is this so hot? why is he so hot? all too soon, your spent cock twitches in interest at your lover. he cups it with a hand, smiling against your tummy. you're so sensitive it hurts. you think you mean to say something, but nothing comes out.

"hmm…?" he bites his lip. "you still want some more?" all you can do is whine. at this point, you don't know if it's in protest or invitation.

you don't get the chance to find out either, because fuck, he's really going down on you now. you don't know what the fuck he's doing with his tongue, or where his gag reflex went, but at this rate you're gonna come again.

"George—George, baby, I—slow down, I-I'm—" you plead. his leash slips out of your hand, you tip your head back.

he swallows.

—

the last thing you remember is coming harder than you ever have in your life. you think you held him by his hair. you might've fucked his mouth a little. he's never let you come in his mouth before…fuck…

it's nighttime now. he's riding your thigh, got one of his legs slotted between yours. the friction between his knee and your overstimulated cock feels embarrassingly good. you're so dizzy, all you can articulate is a loud moan. you don't sound at all like you remember. his bell keeps ringing and ringing and ringing as he grinds against you.

he leans down, one arm holding your hip, the other keeping himself propped up. he bites your shoulder, hard, hard enough to bruise. he comes on both of your stomachs.

"George," you beg. you're losing your voice.

"mmmmmmsir," he slurs. "fuck me."

"George, I…" you don't know what you're saying. the end of your sentence turns into a whimper.

"you need me to get you hard again? you need me to rile you up?" he turns to kiss your jaw, feeling around for your dick. "like this?"

"George," you sound urgent, until he squeezes right around the head, and you forget what you were saying. you're pretty fucking close to forgetting who you are entirely.

he sits up on top of you, grinning. "love the way you say my name, sir."

that name. all it takes is the way he says that fucking name and you're ready to go again. you flip the two of you over, so that you're towering over him instead. "you still didn't. fucking. ask me. if you could come."

he giggles, a little crazed. he hooks his arms around his knees, hugging them to his chest.. "so what? so what? you gonna fuck me 'till I behave?"

"yes," you reach down, "I think I will." and you pull out the butt plug he (probably forgot he) had in all day.

"fuck—" he sobs. you watch his dick bob. precome drips into a pool on his stomach. "—green—green—so fucking green."

you're still sensitive from coming twice—you're pretty sure he is too. you lean down to give him a kiss, you moan into each other's mouths. he tastes like strawberries and his and your come. it is a little gross, you admit. but he's so tight and so fucking cute that you can't bring yourself to care. you part, and there's a line of salvia connecting the two of you.

"wait—" you say, but it comes out like a growl. "roll over."

he gets on his hands and knees, reaching back and spreading himself open for you. fuck.

you fuck him like that, holding the leash tight, loving the way he arches his back into the bed. the bell on his collar jingles incessantly.

you spank him, one last time.

"th-that's twenty-f-five—oh, fuck, sir," he growls, clinging on to the blankets for dear life.

you pin one of his hands in place and reach down to touch him. he starts laughing again.

"mmmmmmay I please come, sir? I—fuck—I'm so close, soclosesoclose," his breath stutters, you can hear the breaks in his voice. he buries his face in the blankets.

I'm close, you think, but the words don't make it out. "you're so good—you're so fucking good—come for me—fuck, come for me."

—

you're a mess. there's some drying solution of come and lube on your stomach. not to mention whatever the fuck's going on with your hair. your robe is discarded haphazardly on the floor. you think you've got a hickey, but you can't remember where.

actually, you're both a mess. he's also covered in come, sweat, and lube. he's got a red ring around his neck where you pulled him by the leash a little too hard. he's just covered in bruises. he clings to your arm, still fast asleep. you both passed out pretty quickly after…whatever that was, but you got back up a couple hours later. it doesn't look like he did, though.

actually, your whole bedroom is a mess. a blanket or two ended up discarded on the floor. there's an empty bottle of edible lube somewhere around here. your kitty lingerie set, still dirty, somehow ended up hanging in the closet. the first time you woke up you were both cuddling with a butt plug that you misplaced in the heat of the moment.

you don't think you've ever seen him like that. you can't even put it into words. you've never spanked him. he's never called you sir. you've never come in his mouth. he's never…begged for you like that before. you've never been so exhausted after coming that you both just, just fainted.

you feel lightheaded, and dead tired. you know you both must have gotten back up and gone at it at least a couple more times, but it's blurry, you can't remember. all you know is your vibrator's missing, and you feel…unusually empty, like you do the morning-after getting railed a little too hard.

last night…what the fuck happened last night?

you contemplate getting up, slipping your arm out of his embrace, pulling the covers back up around him, leaving to make breakfast. you're kind of disgusting, several hours after sex without cleaning up properly. you want to get yourselves some washcloths, maybe take shower together, or run him a bath. you know he's gotta be way more sore than you are.

you catch yourself staring, lost in thought; he just looks too cute when he's very clearly roughed up, but still sleeping soundly. and with the way he wanted…the way he needed you yesterday, you don't think he would want to wake up alone.

maybe it's okay if we sleep in a little longer.

you stroke his hair and whisper, "happy birthday, baby boy."

—

edited 14 March 2021

#limeade-zest #georgenotfound x reader #george x reader #george davidson x reader

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