𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙶𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝙲𝚊𝚐𝚎

Hii ! I was hoping you could do Logan x Reader where all the teachers go to a club, and the Reader starts dancing with Storm and Jean while Logan is sitting on a couch, looking at her. They both have a crush on each other, but they don't know it, so when the Reader notices Logan staring at her, she gets shy and decides to go get a drink. When she got her drink, a guy starts flirting with her, and Logan obviously sees it. he gets jealous and walks up to the guy telling him to leave her alone. After they talk for a bit, the Reader accidentally confesses and Logan kisses her. this ends up in a private room with Logan fucking her as he always wanted. I know this is a long request and I'm sorry for that, bue I'm a writer myself, so I already had develop this bit of the story in my head. I completely understand if you don't want to do it. Hope you have an awesome day !!🤗❤️ Love your writing btw

a/n: I loved this prompt so much, did switch it up a bit bc I faced a bit of writer's block trying to flesh this out!! (and if I said I was listening to Thong Song while writing this, what then?)

18+ MDNI (fucking in a club bathroom, if that's not your thing, move on out)

Logan rummages around somewhere behind you, digging through the cabinets and moving everything around. The longer he searches, the more confused you grow. Your brows furrow as he cusses to himself.

There’s a low grunt of frustration as Logan rounds the kitchen island to glare at you. His face is screwed up in anger that seems to be misdirected towards you. You give him an awkward look, “Uh, hi?”

“He stole my booze,” he responds shortly and without explanation. You shake your head in confusion as the dots slowly connect. A small smile curls up on your lips but the glare he gives you makes it quickly drop. 

“Well, you know Charles' rules about it,” you tell him flippantly. Logan huffs and shoves away from the counter. He turns back to the fridge, destroying the organizational system as he continues his search. You roll your eyes, eating your food and watching him with a bored expression. 

Jean walks just as he really begins to work himself up. Her face pinches in distaste, catching on to the root of his anger quicker than you had. She looks at you with a small smirk. “Charles?”

“Yep," You answer, eyes still trained on him. He finally gives up the futile search, moving to stand beside you. Your eyes widen and you try not to physically react to his proximity. It’s an everyday struggle to remain calm around him. You’re desperately trying to keep a cool girl persona but you don’t think it's working. 

You’re pretty sure he sees right through your pathetic attempts at nonchalance every time you two are paired on a mission. Jean notices the look on your face and smiles slightly. “The rest of us are thinking of going out tonight.”

It's not an offer with her, more of a demand for the two least sociable members of the team. She gives you both expectant looks, ignoring the way you minutely shake your head in disapproval at the idea of going out.

“Pass,” Logan grunts. He steps away from you, making for the kitchen door. Jean quickly steps in front of him, firmly placing her hand on his chest and giving him a stern look.

You feel like you're missing something as they silently converse with tense looks and aggressive eye motions towards you. You might be worried they're flirting if it weren't for how fed up they both look right now with one another.

Your brows furrow in confusion and it only worsens when Logan lets out an aggrieved huff. “Fine. I’ll come.” He gives Jean a thin smile, “Happy?” 

She releases him and moves out of the way with a smug look. “Very. You’ll thank me, by the way.” She says to his retreating back, ignoring whatever he mutters back to her.

You’re completely lost about what that was but don't have much time to process it before Jean turns her attention to you. You already know what she wants and you immediately shake your head. “No, nope, you know I don’t like going out.” Jean smiles at you, but you know she’s just pretending to agree with you. 

“Jean,” your voice is sharp as you glare at her. “Not happening.”

You really regret ever befriending her. She’s either ridiculously persuasive or she's used her mind-warping abilities on you.

You're squished between Ororo and Logan on a sticky club booth. The smell of booze and cheap perfume soaks through your senses. You feel the beginnings of a headache forming as the music pounds.

While you love the feeling of Logan's biceps pushed up against you, you hate the club more. Storm catches the tense look on your face and sighs in disappointment.

"We need to get some more alcohol in you," she tells you with a faux sense of authority. "Come on," she nods her head and for a moment you think she's talking to you. But, with a move that seems practiced, Scott and Jean both follow her out of the booth and head toward the bar.

You watch them go with a suspicious glint in your eye, not trusting how smoothly they all just conveniently slipped away. That leaves just you and Logan behind at the table and you doubt that's coincidental.

They've been a little pushy about this crush of yours ever since they found out. They insist that he feels the same way about you as you do him. But you sincerely doubt he's fantasizing about going on romantic picnics with you and thinking of mushy dates.

He seems like the kind of guy to value silence over a girlfriend and you doubt you're his type. You don't tend to stray from the rules, ever. You don't think there's much you two have in common, as much as the others insist the opposite.

You give him a subtle look over. He hasn't moved away from you, which seems like a good sign. There's plenty of space for him to go now, but he keeps himself pressed up against you.

But, he's also not looking at you. His thumb is idly tracing the rim of his glass and he's refusing to take his eyes off the stained wood of the table. You know he can feel the way you're staring at him, but he's stubbornly refusing to acknowledge your presence. It almost feels petty and that makes you scoff and roll your eyes at the thought. You doubt Logan cares enough to be petty.

Practically in love with me, you think sarcastically. 

You know your friends are taking longer than necessary at the bar, trying to give the two of you some privacy. You feel like a high school girl, trying to get the cool guy to like her when he literally couldn’t give two shits. 

Your friends being pushy about the two of you really isn't helping anything. It only gives you false hope, and when he's inevitably a jerk again, it just makes all your little fantasies come crashing down.

You pick up your glass, tipping your head back and letting the alcohol warm you from the inside out. You've done your hair, spent forever doing your makeup, and you put on your favorite slutty dress. You don't feel like sitting here all night sulking alongside your unrequited crush.

More often than not, Logan is nothing more than a wet blanket. You've put in the effort and dragged yourself outside for once, you'd like to enjoy the experience. He could come find you when he felt like pulling the stick out of his ass. You slide out of the booth with a huff, uncaring as the hem of your dress rolls up your thighs. 

“Where’re you going?” Logan demands, voice gruff. Now he wants to pay attention, figures. 

You turn around and glare down at him. His eyes rove slowly over you, the way they should have been all night. His gaze is a physical caress and his stare lingers along your body. You can practically feel his touch on the curves of your hips. Slowly, he looks back up to meet your eye, something like a challenge on his face. 

You assess him, raising a brow and shrugging. “I’m gonna dance.” Something has possessed you or there’s a very talented telepath manipulating you right now. In a rare display of confidence you lean over the table, breasts pushed out towards him. “Wanna join me?” You ask, breath barely above a whisper. 

He scoffs and goes back to glaring at the table. Whatever confidence you had settles coldly in the bottom of your gut. “Not my thing, kid,” he gripes, every bit the crotchety old man. 

You roll your eyes, playing off the sting of rejection as an annoyance. “Of course, you’re not. You’re not having fun unless everyone else is miserable,” you snap. His eyes shoot up to meet yours, something like shock playing on his face. 

You don’t let him respond, already turning on your heel and walking off. As much as you like Logan, sometimes this attitude of his becomes tiring. What’s wrong with wanting to have fun for a night?

You’re not usually a huge fan of clubs. But when you’re out with your friends, you’re not going to actively ruin their night. As rude as that was, it’s right. He’s the “cool” kid in high school who thought everything was lame and never wanted to enjoy anything. 

So, what? You like to get a little drunk and sloppy sometimes, maybe if he ever tried it he might be less miserable. You head towards the bar, spotting Ororo’s hair easily through the crowd. You slide behind her, slipping your arm over her shoulder, “Hey pretty,” you whisper in her ear, laughing as she jumps. 

She turns and glares at you, swatting at your shoulder. “You’re lucky I didn’t hurt you.”

“Ooh, save it for later.” She rolls her eyes and passes you a shot. You take it with a smile, wincing at the burn of the tequila. “You wanna dance?” You have to shout to be heard over the music but you know she hears you when her eyes widen in surprise. 

She glances behind you and you don’t have to look to know Logan is glaring daggers at your back. You can feel him and it's pissing you off. “What happened?” You know she can tell something is up, you’re never this outgoing when you go out. But you don’t want to talk about finally coming to terms with the fact that you and Logan aren’t going to work out. 

Instead, you hold your hand out and wink. “Wanna dance or not?” She laughs a little, slipping her palm into yours and letting you drag her out onto the dance floor. It’s been a while since you’ve actually been sober dancing. You usually like to be near blackout drunk, but you just don’t have the energy for that tonight. 

Ororo is a little tipsier than you, clearly having been drinking while she was waiting at the bar. Her inhibitions are looser and she’s giggling as you move your hips against hers. Neither of you is dancing to impress, you’re messily moving around each other to the beat of the music. You don’t pay attention to the people around you, just having fun by yourselves. 

Ororo takes your hand, spinning you a little and pulling you back into her arms. You laugh, swaying your hips to the same rhythm she is, chests pressed tightly together while you smile at each other. 

She only lasts a few songs before she pulls back. “I need a drink,” she yells before stumbling back towards the bar. You feel yourself deflate, not sure what to do with yourself now that your favorite dancing partner has ditched you. 

You look through the mass of grinding bodies and try and spot your table. You can’t see much through the brightly colored lights spinning all around you. Everything’s a little disorienting and the shots you’ve had aren’t helping. 

Someone’s hand slips around your waist, “Your friend left you all alone?” Normally, you’d push whoever it was off and tell them to back off. But he’s got an attractive voice and you can feel how fit he is against your back. 

“You gonna keep me company?” You tease, voice a low purr as you push back against him. Your hands drift down to his arms, pulling them a little tighter around your waist. He chuckles, the noise reverberating through your back. 

You barely even get a chance to dance before your back is cold and you can feel his arms forcibly ripped off you. It doesn’t take much digging to find the culprit. Logan is behind you, hand fisted in the guy’s collar, “Why don’t you back off, bub?” He shoves him back and you roll your eyes as the guy scrambles off. 

“What the hell was that?” You demand arms crossed as you glare at Logan. 

He turns around and you’re surprised at the intensity of his glare. Something about it has you heated for an entirely different reason. He’s staring down at you like he’s gonna pounce on you. Your heart races, thighs clenching the longer he’s glowering at you. 

He shouldn’t be allowed to be so attractive when he’s pissed off. He reaches forward, grabbing your bicep and jerking you into his chest. He leans down until his lips are brushing against your ear. “You wanna dance, let’s dance, kid.”

“What-”

He cuts you off, flipping you around and pulling your back flush against him. You can feel just how much your little show with Storm got him going. You truly weren’t doing anything too alluring, but it seems to be enough for him. 

When you don’t move his hands drop to your hips and he grinds them down against him. “Logan,” you gasp his name out, caught off guard by how brazen he’s being in the middle of the club. There are people around you doing much worse but you’ve never known him to be this bold before. 

“You trying to make me jealous?” It’s hard to pay attention to what he’s saying, to focus on anything at all when his hand is drifting steadily down your body. The tips of his fingers just barely brush the skin of your thigh while his thumb lets the hem of your dress curl up. 

He flips you around, taking his hands off of you and instead tilting your chin up to face him. “I said,” he repeats in a condescending tone, “were you trying to make me jealous?” He doesn’t sound like he’s taking you seriously. Even if that was your intention, he thinks it’s just your petty way of lashing out at him for not dancing. 

You narrow your eyes at him and swat his hands off of you. “No. I wasn’t trying to make you jealous. I was trying to have some fun since you’re clearly not interested at all.”

That insufferable smirk of his doesn’t go away for a minute. If anything, he’s more incensed by your anger. “Who said I wasn’t interested?” Your lips part, another dumb little noise about to slip out when he dips down and stops you. 

He’s not trying to be subtle at all, gripping your dress and tugging you up against him while your lips lock. His tongue dips briefly into your mouth, savoring the taste of tequila on your gums before he pulls back. 

“I’m interested in you, kid, just not this shitty little club.” Your mouth is gaping and you feel like a fool, standing there and just staring at him. Your brain is completely scrambled, bits and pieces forming together to scream that he kissed you. Too many things are happening at once. The music is making the floor beneath you vibrate, liquor is warming you from the inside out and tilting you closer to him. And he kissed you. Your lips are still tingling from it. 

He chuckles a little under his breath, keeping you moving steadily against him. You’re simply something to be puppeteered by your desire for him. No thoughts linger inside your brain except his name. “You’re interested in me?” You repeat dumbly.

He leans down, tilting his lips closer towards your ear. “You can’t feel how much I want you?” One of your thighs is practically draped over his leg and he’s grinding his hips against you. The only thing you can feel is him. The smell of his cologne overpowers all the bodies surrounding you both, his voice drones out the loud music around you. You’re completely consumed by him. 

“Logan,” your tone is scandalized, you can’t believe he’s bold enough to have you nearly half-naked on his lap right now. Your butt is one wrong move away from being the club’s newest attraction. Yet, despite every protest lingering on your tongue, you can’t do anything except kiss him again. 

You don’t know if the moment is all one vivid wet dream your brain has conjured up at three am and you don’t feel like finding out. You want to enjoy being risky for once. You always play everything so safely. You don’t confess your feelings to Logan so you aren’t rejected. You never break the rules, you never act out. Just once, you want to do something bad and enjoy it. 

Your arms twine around his neck and you tilt your head to deepen the kiss further. You feel his reaction more than you hear it. A low grumble in his chest that has you practically vibrating with want. He pulls away from you first and it takes a moment for your eyes to flutter back open. 

When you finally do meet his gaze again, he’s got nothing but a smoldering desire in his eyes that makes you want to melt. He’s staring you down like you’re prey to be chased and consumed. “Can’t do this here,” he mutters. 

You’re almost shocked that he’s the first one to cut this off. You knew it was going to happen, you can’t exactly fuck in the middle of the dance floor. As much as you might want to. But you thought you would be the one to chicken out. 

He grabs your hand and shoves through the throng of grinding bodies. You grab the back of his shirt, stumbling after him and trying to stay close. “As much as I’d like to make that poor son of a bitch watch me fuck you, we need a little more privacy.”

It takes you a moment to realize he’s talking about the man you’d danced with earlier. If you could even qualify that as dancing. He’d barely put his hand on your waist before Logan had appeared out of nowhere.

Your eyes narrow in suspicion and you glare at his back. How had he even gotten to you so quickly? He must have been watching you like a creep the whole time. You almost want to laugh at the thought. But you’re distracted by him nudging you through a door and locking it behind you. 

You glance around, spotting three sinks and some cracked mirrors. Toilet stalls linger to your right and your nose wrinkles in disgust. You turn around to complain but he’s already stalking toward you. Whatever sanitary complaints were lingering in the back of your throat are thrown out the sealed bathroom window. 

He buries his hands in your hair, ruining the meticulously placed style. You arch into his hold, opening your mouth for him to explore and gasping as his hand drops to your hips. He tugs you closer, ripping your dress up and yanking your underwear down in one smooth move. 

You barely have a second to process half of what’s happening before he’s got you bent over the sink. It’s all happening so fast, so many different desires of yours surging to the surface in one dingy club bathroom. 

You’re slick with months of fantasies and sleepless nights where not even your vibrator could curb your desire for him. You hear his belt clink behind you and your back arches like a cat in heat. You practically present yourself to him, so desperate to feel him that you don’t care how much of a slut you’re being. 

You know, if this was anyone else, you’d slap them for even suggesting the bathroom as the first place you have sex. But you’d have let Logan take you in the alley behind the club. You don’t care where you are, just so long as it's with him. And you know that desire runs a bit deeper than just a surface-level crush. 

He doesn’t give you much warning as he thrusts into you. The breath is practically punched out of you as he fills you. Everything about it feels right. You’re so full of him you feel like you could explode. You know it’s going to take a pathetically short time for you to come. It’s just too much, too fast, you’re so overwhelmed by him. 

“Oh god, Logan,” the porcelain creaks under your palms before you feel it splintering off into your skin. You can’t pay attention to it, though, jaw agape, capable of nothing more than slutty moans of his name. 

He’s relentless behind you, thrusting so hard inside you that it feels like a punishment. He fists his hand in your hair and forces you to look in the mirror. “Come on, want you to see how wrecked you are. What a fucking slut you’re being for me, letting me fuck you like this in this bar.”

Your mascara is completely ruined, streaked down your face with your lipstick smeared across your chin. You look like a fucking mess and you couldn’t care less. You feel yourself fluttering around him the tighter his grip on you is. His hand slips from your hair, latching around your neck and tugging you into his chest. 

He grips your chin and keeps your eyes on where the two of you are joined in the mirror. It only makes you clench tighter around him, watching as he moves in and out of you. You can see just how much of an effect you're having on him and it’s the biggest ego boost you’ve ever had in your life. 

You’ve reduced him to a mess in a dirty club bathroom, so desperate for you he couldn’t even wait to take you home. He tilts his hips, hitting the spot inside you that has your eyes nearly rolling in the back of your head.

You whisper his name in warning, letting go of the sink to clutch tightly at his wrist. He wraps his arm around your waist, keeping you secured against him. His hips start to stutter, losing some of their rhythm the tighter you are around him. The feeling builds in your fingers, tingles down to the tips of your toes, and explodes in a nearly blinding pleasure. His hips are still against you, warmth filling you a moment later. 

You would slump forward into the sink if it weren’t for his protective hold around your stomach. He keeps you tight against his chest for a minute, waiting for you to catch your bearings again. It takes an embarrassingly long time for the feeling in your legs to come back. You’ve never had such an intense experience like that. 

You don’t know if it's from the thrill of possibly getting caught or just because you were with him. You’ve longed and lusted after Logan for so long, and finally having the real thing is a bit of shock. Especially when he exceeded your fantasies, you didn’t even know that was possible.

He props you against the sink, tugging your dress down and pulling your underwear back up. You watch him with dulled interest, still reeling from what you’ve just done. You’ve never been so bold before, it almost feels liberating to just say ‘fuck it’ and do what you want. 

He pulls his own pants back up, fixing his belt and grabbing a wet paper towel for you. He’s silent as he wipes the mascara of your cheeks and you give him a questioning look. “You want the others to know what happened?”

You scoff and glance away from him, looking towards the door of the bathroom. “I’m sure they already know. Weren’t exactly subtle,” you tell him with a small smile. 

He smirks, tossing the towel away and walking back towards you. He keeps his arms on either side of you, bracketing you against the sink and grinning down at you. “No, we weren’t, were we?”

You shake your head silently, lips curled up in amusement. Your eyes briefly dart to his lips before meeting his eyes once more. He catches the look with a sly smile, dipping his head down and giving you a brief kiss. 

It’s short and sweet, more loving than the passionate, rip-my-clothes-off kisses from before. It feels like the type of kiss a married couple would share in the early morning when they only want to remind the other they love each other. Your proximity and the look he’s giving you feel more intimate than anything that just happened. 

“You really meant it?” You muse, voice barely above a whisper as you smile at him. 

“Meant what?” He mutters. 

“You like me,” you tease, entangling your hand with his and tugging him even closer to you. 

He gives you a confused look, glancing at the sink behind you and then back at your disheveled form. “Did I not make that clear enough, kid?”

You shake your head, “No, I think I might need another reminder,” you tell him. It takes a moment for your words to click for him. You can see when it does, he gives you a small smile and shakes his head with an aggrieved sigh like you’re bugging him. 

“Really making me work for it, huh?” You nod your head playfully, dragging him down towards you and bringing him into another kiss. You can deal with the line forming outside in a minute. You can push off your nosy friends’ questions for another day. Right now, it’s just you and him, finally doing what you’ve wanted since the moment you saw him. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp ♡ 

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte 

@mrs-ephemeral @wolviesgirl @allllium @insomniachox @izbelross  ♡

𝚆𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙶𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚕

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

Summary: While the two of you might think whatever could have been is irreparable, one very meddling old man has other plans. Hosea sends Arthur and you on a hunting trip that ends with blood on your hands once more. Despite the mangled mess of it all, you still find yourself drawn to the hope of something more between you and Arthur.

Arthur stayed up most of the night, waiting for you and Charles to come stumbling back into camp. He expected drunken revelry, he thought he might have to corral you into bed. The same tedious tasks he went through with anyone who stayed out as late as you both did. He didn’t expect both of you to be stone-cold sober and in different clothes. He hadn’t paid too much attention to what Charles had been wearing, but he was certain that you had changed before you came back to camp. 

He can’t imagine what would have called for that or why you were both out so long. He’s not sure he likes the few explanations he can come up with. He’s got a nasty look on his face as he watches Charles lead you over to the ladies' tent. His hand hovers over your waist, nearly touching but not quite. His mouth is pressed to your ear, whispering a secret between the both of you. 

Arthur wasn’t jealous. That wouldn’t make any sense. The two of you barely knew each other. And he was still recovering from what was the entire mess with Mary. He didn’t think there was a part of him that was still capable of feeling like that. But he’s not comfortable with secrets in the camp, especially with newcomers. It just seems like bad luck. If you can’t trust the gang, who can you trust?

Charles nods his head in a farewell and heads back to his own tent. Arthur watches as you rub your tired eyes. Your shoulders go up to your ears, back hunching over itself, and you have the countenance of a woman worn down. He frowns, eyes narrowed in suspicion as you collapse onto the bedroll beside Mary-Beth. John clears his throat as he walks past Arthur, giving him an odd look when he sees how intensely he’s glaring at your sleeping form. Arthur frowns at Marston, shooing him off and closing the flaps of his tent. He hadn’t realized just how focused on you he had been. 

The others don’t share his suspicions. They only saw him making you cry earlier. In their minds, he’s probably no better than Micah. He hates that thought but he’s sure it’s not too far from the truth. Neither of them are good men, but Arthur would never hurt you. He would never willingly hurt any of the women. He’s only worried about you. 

He takes his hat off, tossing it beside the picture of Mary on his table. It knocks into the edge of the frame, sending it tumbling into the dirt. “Dammit,” Arthur mutters. He bends, scooping it off the grass and checking for any cracks in the glass. He lets out a heavy sigh and brushes the dirt off the grooves of the frame. 

Arthur pulls the picture back and stares down at it. Mary wasn’t smiling in this one. He’s sure he has another one of the two of them around somewhere. He knows they’re smiling in that one. But after a while, he stopped liking to see himself in pictures and she stopped looking so happy. Arthur slumps down onto his cot and rubs a weary hand over his face. Mary’s stern eyes glare at him from the worn photo. 

He can’t do this again. He can’t watch another bright woman lose their flame because they chose to love him. Loving him is always a mistake. First, it was his son and his mother, then it was Mary. He can’t ruin you too. He won’t be able to live with himself if it’s your life in his hands. 

Arthur places the picture back on the table. He flips the frame face-down so he doesn’t have to sleep feeling eyes on his back. He rolls over and stares up at the canvas roof of his home. He wishes he could see the stars through the fabric. His fingers itch to draw the night sky, just from memory. But he forces himself still, makes himself sleep. 

Arthur’s up before most of the camp, as he normally is. Dutch sits by his tent, reading, and just barely lifts his head in greeting before going back to his book. Pearson never seems to stop making that damn stew and Arthur doesn’t think it’s ever improved in taste. Mrs. Grimshaw isn’t even awake as he goes around camp. He can’t imagine why he’s surprised that you’re still sound asleep. 

He resents the little ache that festers in his stomach. It feels too much like disappointment. He can’t imagine what he would say to you were you awake. There’s no apologizing for yesterday. You’d made it clear how you feel about him and he should honor that. 

Besides, he knows he needs to keep away from you. He’d done both of you a favor by making it clear how much of a bastard he was so early on. He lets out a rough sigh and forces himself away from your tent. He’s sure he’s got something he can find to occupy his time with. 

Arthur’s cleaning his rifle when he hears her start huffing and puffing. Mrs. Grimshaw lingers by the edge of his tent, arms crossed and foot tapping faster than he can keep up with. “Thinks she’s so much better than the rest of us,” she grumbles under her breath. “Just because she married into money-”

“What are you talkin’ about?” Arthur demands, trying to suppress the amused smile on his face. He’s sure he doesn’t need her to see it, she’s already in a mood, might as well not have it turn on him. 

Mrs. Grimshaw throws her hands up in the air, whipping around and glaring at him like she’s been waiting for him to ask the entire time. “That,” she sucks in a sharp breath, clearly struggling to bite her tongue, “woman,” she finally spits out. “Mrs. Rowe,” Arthur straightens up at the mention of your name, eyeing her suspiciously. 

Mrs. Grimshaw ignores him and turns back towards you. He gets up as she starts walking towards the barrel of water by Charles's tent. “She thinks just because she’s a lady, she can laze around and let the rest of us work for her?” She grabs a bucket and drops it in the barrel. Arthur’s sure the only reason she manages to heft it back out is because the woman runs off pure spite. 

“We’ll see about that,” she snaps, marching towards you, arms poised to give you a cold awakening. Arthur chuckles a little, he follows behind her, prepared to stop her. But Charles steps out of his tent and catches on quickly to her plan. Before Arthur can intervene Charles is taking hold of Mrs. Grimshaw’s wrist and tugging her back. 

“Leave her alone,” he commands. 

“Excuse me? This is my camp-”

“I won’t repeat myself,” he tells her, taking the bucket out of her hand. “Let her rest.” Mrs. Grimshaw wants to say more, they can both see it written plainly on her face. But she also won’t argue with one of the men in camp. She just throws her arms in the air in defeat and storms off, still grumbling under her breath as she goes. 

Charles looks back at you and Arthur narrows his eyes at him. Something is tickling in the back of his mind, a thought that’s taking too long to form. The answer for this odd kinship between the two of you is somewhere inside his head but he’s too stupid to work it out. 

“What’s goin’ on?” Charles turns back towards Arthur with a questioning look and he nods towards you. “You got a thing for her or somethin’?” Arthur laughs but he knows Charles sees right through it. That insufferable look of his gives it away. 

“Do you?” Charles asks, crossing his arms and smirking at Arthur. Arthur glares at him and rolls his eyes. 

“‘Course not.” Charles doesn’t say anything. Something lurks between the two men, a tension only shared by Arthur. After a moment of silence, neither of them willing to give in, Charles surrenders. 

“You’re an idiot, Morgan,” he walks past him, patting his shoulder and laughing under his breath. Arthur wasn’t even sure the man was capable of smiling. But here he is, managing a laugh at Arthur’s expense. 

It feels like the day is passing by incredibly slow. He feels like he’s been in camp for hours and it’s not even noon yet. Everyone seems to be avoiding him, either for how he acted last night or because of the way he’s pacing like he’s a caged lion. 

He’s not sure what he’s been waiting for all day until he hears it, “Sorry, I hadn’t meant to sleep so long.” Arthur damn nearly takes out Pearson and that god-awful stew with how fast he whips around. 

You’re sitting up, rubbing at your face and trying to shield your eyes from the sun as Sadie stands over you. “Just don’t go botherin’ Mrs. Grimshaw, she’s after you.” Your face screws up and you let out a heavy sigh. 

“Dammit, why didn’t anyone wake me up?”

Sadie rolls her eyes with a huff and Arthur takes a step closer. “You’ve got a goddamn guard dog.” Arthur tenses up, thinking she’s talking about him for a moment. He’s gotten used to that comparison, especially when it comes to you. You had been pretty reliant on him for a while. Instead, she points to Charles. 

He’s trying not to hate the man but it’s getting hard. 

Charles sits on a nearby boulder, fastening together some arrows and watching everyone out of the sides of his eyes. Arthur looks back at you and sees you smiling at your guard dog. “Sorry, Sadie. I’ll do laundry tomorrow, how’s that?”

“Damn right,” she sniffs, nose pointed to the air and walks away. Shaking your head and closing the tent flaps, you come out a minute later in one of the outfits you must have bought last night. Arthur tries not to stare but it is odd to see one of the women in camp wearing pants. 

Arthur runs through everything he’s wanted to say to you as you move closer to him. He goes through every shitty apology and winces when he realizes what a fool he's going to sound like. It’s a stupid idea, to even try, but he just feels awful that you’d had to be on your own all day yesterday. You at the very least deserve a real explanation. 

He half expects you to pivot at the last minute, to head towards Charles and ignore him the rest of the time you’re with the gang. But you keep coming towards him, something clutched in your hand that he can’t quite see. 

You stop a few feet away from him, arms tucked behind your back and lips pressed into a thin line.  Arthur has an odd urge to close the distance. “Arthur,” you say his name tersely and he tries not to let his disappointment show. 

He might not want to be involved with you, but he likes you. You’re smart, smarter than him, and you’re funny. He wouldn’t hate being friendly with you. But he can tell, just from how you’re standing, that you’re not interested. “Yes, Mrs. Rowe?”

“Here,” you hold something out to him but he’s more focused on the fact that you didn’t even correct him on your name. He’s got no chance with you now, that’s for sure. You shake your hand impatiently and he finally bothers to look at what it is. 

It’s a bunch of crumpled bills, the same ones he gave you yesterday. Though, after your day of interrupted purchases it’s quite a bit lighter than it had been. “Dont-”

“Please,” you stop him before he tries to convince you to keep the money. You take a step forward and he matches you. You don’t look too concerned by the proximity so he risks another step. You lean forward, take his hand and gently coax his fingers open. Your hands are warmer, softer than his own. A life of having servants and maids has kept you away from the harshness of work like his. 

He doesn’t know if he appreciates the softness you provide or resents you for it. “I feel guilty. I shouldn’t have spent it so freely. Buying the horse was a foolish, impulsive purchase.” Your hand lingers on his a moment longer before you slowly pull away. 

Arthur shakes his head but he puts the money back in his satchel. He knows, from the way you’re looking at him, he’s got no chance of getting you to keep this. “Wasn’t impulsive,” he argues. “Those damn O’Driscolls,” the mention of their name causes you to wince and he sighs. “Those men,” he corrects, “took everything from you. And you needed the horse.”

“I suppose I did,” you concede but you don’t sound sure of yourself. Still, Arthur will consider it a win. You look like you’re ready for the conversation to end but Arthur isn’t sure he is. 

“You give her a name yet?”

Your brows furrow and you shake your head. “What do you mean?”

He laughs a little and nods towards the mare standing beside Diablo. She’s pretty big, not nearly as tall as his horse, but larger than some of the others in camp. “She’s gotta have a name. Can’t just go round callin’ her horse.”

You roll your eyes in indignation and Arthur shakes his head. He truly does not know why you hate horses so much. But considering it’s the only form of travel for a couple of hundred miles, he thinks it’s pretty ridiculous. “Can’t I?” You sound so much like a petulant child, he has to bite his tongue not to laugh. 

“Really don’t like ‘em huh?”

The hardened look on your face softens slightly and you smile. “That obvious?”

“Little bit,” you chuckle and Arthur grins. “Doesn’t have to be anything fancy,” he concedes. 

“Oh,” you toss your hands in the air, glancing around like someone might be holding up a sign with a name. “Fine,” you sigh, “how about Lady?”

“Lady?”

“Lady,” you growl the name out, glaring at him. “I’m not gonna come up with anything better than that.”

Arthur looks over at your mare and huffs out a laugh. She did look a little uppity. Nose in the air, looking away from the other horses hitched by her. She didn’t even seem to want to eat the same grass as the others. “Yeah, Lady works,” he chuckles, looking back over at you and trying to spot the similarities. 

It’s no secret you were used to a life of luxury. Sadie wasn’t a friend, she was a former employee. You’re used to wearing fine jewelry and finer clothes. This life, sleeping on the ground, shooting off bullets at anyone that pisses you off, isn’t made for you. You don’t seem like you should fit into this mold. 

But he’s never seen you complain about your chores around camp. And you might not be happy about it, but you’ve never tried to get anyone in the gang to turn away from their violent tendencies. You don’t stick out like a Lady forced into rags, you could well have been born into this life if it weren’t for that smooth skin of yours. He wonders why you seem to fit so well when so many others in your place have failed. 

“Right,” the easy banter fades into a tense silence. You cross your arms behind your back, taking a step away from him and refusing to meet his eye. “I’ve, um,” you trail off and Arthur takes a step towards you as you stumble away. “Thank you, again.” You turn, refusing to let him speak as you rush towards Mrs. Grimshaw. 

Arthur grimaces as she begins to lay into you, her voice carrying throughout the camp about not letting your former status get so far into your head. You’d rather take a whooping from her than have to talk to him any longer. 

Arthur takes his hat off, running a hand through his hair and glaring down at the mud under his boots. He’s never going to be able to bridge this distance. And he shouldn’t be trying to. You both know that nothing good can ever happen between you. There’s no point in torturing himself with something impossible. 

He shoves his hat back on and storms towards the horses. A few people glance his way, but for the most part, they know to ignore him when he gets like this. He takes Diablo’s reins and leads him toward the forest. He doesn’t have a destination in mind but he needs to see the stars tonight. He can’t be stuck in the canvas tent anymore, he’s been cooped up for too long. 

It’s been a week since you’ve killed your husband. A week since you fed his body to the hogs. And a week since you’ve talked to Arthur. You can’t meet his eye, too ashamed of what you’ve done. 

You’re sure the man has killed more men than you can count on both your hands. Yet, you’re still worried he’ll think less of you for what happened. Maybe it’s because you know how the others see you. Everyone else in camp thinks you’re soft. At least Sadie was a working woman before all this happened, she helped her husband keep up some rich employer's estate. And you were the rich employer. 

They think that you’re soft, and better off than they are. They also seem to think that you’re constantly looking down your nose at them. Every time Dutch says, “I know you’re not used to having to live like this, Mrs. Rowe,” you feel like the entire camp turns and glares. Or anytime Mrs. Grimshaw yells at you not to let your former status get to your head, she has to remind you you’re just as bad as the rest of them now. 

You don’t judge them for how they live. You know they do it out of necessity, some for pleasure. You don’t care. Outlaws have always been a part of this country and you’re not looking to fix that, but they don’t seem to understand you. All they see when they look at you is the same type of person who’s kept them down all their life.

You know that the second the rest of them find out what you’ve done, you’ll never hear the end of it. It’ll be held over your head for the rest of your time with the gang. And Arthur, you know he’ll stop looking at you like you’re something to be protected. 

You don’t know if you’d love it or hate it. You’d no longer be soft to him, wouldn’t be this pretty new thing to play with. You’d be like every other woman he’s surrounded by. And what does it matter? He’s already got a proper lady. 

You don’t know how you missed it before. You’ve seen the pictures he keeps at his bedside. But part of you had always hoped it was a sister, or as wicked as it sounds, a dead lover. You feel like a proper fool. There was never any way this infatuation of yours was going to go that would be healthy for either of you. 

You place your book to the side, something Mary-Beth had lent you that only makes your heart ache something fierce. You wished she had something other than romance. You hate reading about how happy they are at the end. It feels like a slap in the face to what your marriage had been and the thought of what you and Arthur might have been. 

You need something to keep your mind busy. You’re not confident enough to go on horseback alone. And no one in camp, except, of course, Arthur, is willing to take a woman out for a ride. They seem to think you’re all better off being cooped up here in camp. You don’t have any chores left. Much to Mrs. Grimshaw’s chagrin, she has nothing to hound you about today. 

Your eyes dart back to the book but the thought of suffering through another sappy scene makes you leap to your feet. You pace around camp for a few minutes, trying to find anyone who looks like they could entertain you. 

Tilly and Lenny are both playing Dominoes, but you’ve never been a fan of the game. It wouldn’t do anything but drive your mind further towards the outlaw you’re avoiding. You skirt around Dutch’s tent, not even wanting to attempt to speak with him. He’s been growing bored of Molly, and you’ve felt a little of his gaze drift towards you. You’d rather not tempt him further. 

You’re considering just attempting a ride on your own when you spot Charles moving away from Pearson’s table. He has new arrows in his hand and his bow is on his back. He’s moving towards his horse like a man on a mission and you finally see your opening. 

“Charles!” You shout, trying to catch him before he leaves. You draw a few eyes towards you but manage to ignore them for the most part. One pair feels particularly intense but you do your best not to meet it. 

He’s got one hand on Taima, slightly turned towards you as he waits for you to catch up. You slide to a stop in front of him, the sun glaring into your eyes over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Going hunting,” he answers bluntly, shifting slightly so you’re less blinded by the bright light of the early morning. Well, that had been obvious. But you’d been hoping for something more inviting. 

“Mind if I come?” You ask, rocking on the heels of your feet impatiently. 

Charles doesn’t usually mind you hanging around him. You’re not sure if he likes it, but he certainly doesn’t object. He seems less sure now, though. His face pinches and he tilts his head, already preparing to say no. You feel whatever hope you’d had sink to your feet. It’s going to be another day of staring at a tree and hoping something interesting happens. 

“Charles!” Hosea calls his name before he can tell you no. You both turn towards the old man, furrowed brows on your faces. “Need your help with something today.” Charles sighs and shoots you a bothered look. You wince, mouthing an apology as he brushes past you. You’re sure if he hadn’t been held up by you he would already have been on his way. 

“I was going hunting. Pearson needs more meat for camp.” Charles argues as he comes up to the fire. Hosea shakes his head, taking a long sip of his coffee. Something curls at the edge of his lips that feels remarkably familiar to you. 

“Don’t bother. Arthur will go.” Arthur looks up from his journal, flipping it closed and frowning as Hosea volunteers him. “And he’ll take the lady with him.”

“No-”

“Why-”

You and Arthur both shoot each other sheepish looks, cutting each other’s objections off. You know why you’re saying no, but it doesn’t make his rejection sting any less. He wasn’t exactly slow to protest against time alone with you. 

Hosea holds his hands up, shooting both of you sharp glares. “I need Charles's help with some herbs,” Charles lets out a little huff but Hosea continues on. “Arthur’s our next best hunter and I do believe Mrs. Rowe needs to learn how to hunt. Are you saying that you don’t think she should know how to take care of herself, Arthur?”

Arthur’s jaw hinges and closes like a fish as he sets Hosea with a narrowed-eyed look. “Now, you know I ain’t sayin’ that. I’m just thinkin’ someone else can take her.”

You try not to let that hurt but it does. He has every reason to avoid you, you haven't exactly been welcoming. But it hurts to see how much you’ve messed this all up. “I don’t see any volunteers, Arthur.” Hosea pretends to search around camp but he just shakes his head and shrugs. “Going to have to be you. I think you both can handle some time alone. You’re adults aren’t you?”

You and Arthur share a look over Hosea’s head. One of shared suspicion that the old man has more than just simple hunting up his sleeve. You both grit out a reluctant, “Fine.”

Hosea smiles and takes Arthur’s map. “Wonderful, here, I’ve marked a spot on here for where you should go hunting.”

Arthur snatches it back and lets out a loud sigh. “Hosea, this is gonna take us two damn days.”

“Well then, I guess you best get riding.”

You know Arthur wants to laugh at you. You don’t blame him, you’re sure you look like a clown on top of Lady. She’s not working with you and you’re slipping and sliding along the saddle. You can’t get comfortable, constantly fidgeting and lifting yourself up and down. It’s making her twitchy.

You can see her flicking her tail in irritation every time you fidget. “Comfortable?” Arthur calls out. 

You look over at him and glare. He’s so wonderfully content on top of his perfect Diablo. “Just fine,” you grit out, trying not to be jealous of how much more his horse likes him than yours likes you. 

Lady seems to have been appropriately named. She’s got all the stuck-up makings of one. You shift again and she flicks her head, whinnying and nearly scaring you off her damn back. “You need to calm down,” Arthur instructs, riding a little closer. 

“I’m trying to get her to,” you argue, tone broaching the line between sharp and petulant. 

“Not the horse,” he chuckles and reaches over, covering your hands with one of his own. He forces you to look up at him and you’re caught wholly off guard by how close he is. You’re practically sharing breaths as he keeps up stride with you. 

“You need to calm down,” his voice is low in your ear, you can feel the rumble of it down your spine. “She can tell you don’t trust her,” he slowly releases your hands in favor of placing them on your back. “Just take a deep breath,” you have to fight the urge to close your eyes and lean into the warmth of his voice. “There you go, good girl,” your eyes shoot open but he’s talking to the horse now. 

You’re ashamed to say you’re jealous of the damn horse. 

He pulls Diablo back and nods towards Lady, “She won’t trust you if you don’t trust her.”

“How am I meant to?” You grouse, but she’s already calmed down a bit just from Arthur pacifying you. 

“Sometimes you just gotta open yourself up to something, even if it might hurt.”

You want to point out the irony of him telling you that but it doesn’t feel appropriate. “Thank you,” you mutter. You risk leaning forward slightly, running your hand through Lady’s soft mane. You think she makes something of an appreciative noise but you can’t be sure. 

He nods his head, humming an affirmative and keeping his eyes strictly on the scenery around you. You try to think of something else to say to him, but every train of thought leads to confessing your guilt about your husband. Forced to keep your mouth shut, you train your eyes forward and keep your attention on calming Lady. 

Above you, the sun peeks through the canopy of leaves, its golden light reflecting off the early morning dew. When you suck in a deep breath, you can still smell the rain in the air, remnants of the night before. Through columns and rows of light, the warmth of the sun manages to reach you. 

Ignoring the tension between you and Arthur, this is possibly one of the most peaceful mornings you’ve had since your home was turned over to the O’Driscolls. You can’t help but appreciate the beauty and the freedom of the world around you.

You're on your own horse, wearing pants, without a chaperone as you ride beside a man. You don’t have to sit here and fret over whether or not he’ll still want you if you speak out of turn. There’s no society to be shunned from here. It’s just you and nature. If you listen close enough you can hear mourning doves and the rustle of creatures in the underbrush beyond you. 

Lady keeps her steady trot, letting you leisurely take in all you can. You’re not sure how long you’ll stay with the gang. You don’t know how long before Dutch will decide you’re dead weight. But you know that life will never get any simpler than this. Anything you manage to find outside the gang will just be the same suffocating, dull monotony of your past life. 

You have to appreciate the beauty of moments like these while you still have them. 

“How are you likin’ it?” Arthur’s rough voice breaks the tranquility of the moment. You open your eyes from where you’d been absorbing the warmth of the sun and turn towards him. Your brows furrow in question and he smiles slightly, though it seems strained. “The life of an outlaw,” he clarifies, arms out as he gestures to the world around you. 

You laugh a little and shrug. “I don’t know. It’s a little more boring than I had expected,” except of course for you murdering your husband. 

He barks out a laugh and it makes a smile spread over your cheeks. He’s got a contagious laugh, you’ve discovered. It fills your stomach with a warmth that makes your legs tingle. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, I mean, for the most part, all you’re doing is sitting around camp. You just wait for something to happen.” You stretch your truth, teasing him a little to try and get another loud laugh out of him. 

Sadly, he only shakes his head with a little amused huff of breath. “Suppose it’s easy to think like that when we’re like this.”

“Hunting?”

He shakes his head and gazes off at something you can’t see in the distance. “On the run, laying low. We’re not exactly goin’ to run around robbin’ branks when we’re tryin’ to keep the law off our back.” His voice grows quieter, more sentimental, “Not when we’ve already lost too much.”

You feel something like shame clogging your throat and wish you’d never said anything at all. It was easy to forget just how much loss they’d all experienced. They didn’t wear it on their sleeves like others might. Just carried it with them in their heavy hearts. 

You’d noticed that Arthur, especially Arthur, tended to turn it all inwards. He blamed himself for any loss or death that occurred within the gang. He never actually blames the person who truly deserves it. You wish you could help him, but you can’t keep trying to fix broken things; you only end up cutting yourself in the process. 

“We’re gettin’ close,” he speaks before the silence can reach any further. His voice is a little rougher now, slightly closed off from you. He turns towards a thicker grove of trees and you try and nudge Lady to follow him. 

She keeps going straight and you tug a little harder on the reins. “Come on,” you mutter, trying to tilt her towards Arthur. You look over your shoulder and see he’s already hitched Diablo and is retrieving his bow from the saddle. “Oh, this is just embarrassing, you wicked beast.”

She knickers in discontent and you roll your eyes. Of course, out of all the horses you picked, it had to be the most stubborn one. You nudge your heel into her ribs and she comes to a complete stop. Her tail flicks with irritation and you throw your hands up in defeat. “I absolutely despise you-”

A sharp whistle rings through the air and cuts you off. Both you and Lady whip towards the noise. Arthur is leaning against a tree, fingers still hovering over his mouth. He pauses, making eye contact with Lady, and whistles again. 

You startle as she takes off in a trot. You grapple for the reins and glare down at her in confusion. “How in the world did you do that?” You call out as Lady approaches Arthur. He chuckles and reaches for the reins in your hand. You give them over willingly, not wanting to try and reason with the stubborn bastard any longer. 

“Got years of wranglin’ these things under my belt. You’ll get there one day.” He comes back around to your side of the saddle and holds his hands out for you. 

“I’m not sure I want to,” you grouse as you slip your hands in his. He eases you off of Lady’s saddle and helps you gently onto the soft grass below. 

Arthur pulls out his map and turns towards the clearing a little way before you. You hear the rushing of water in the distance and figure this is where the deer come for a reprieve from the day. You don’t have to imagine how exhausting it is to always be running from predators. You know what it’s like living your life by taking soft steps and trying to make sure you’re never seen. You’d never go back to that if you had the choice. 

“The place Hosea wanted me to look at isn’t too far out. Couple minutes walk, probably.”

Arthur starts off without looking back and you frown at him. “Hey,” you call out, “shouldn’t I have a bow, too?”

Arthur’s brow quirks up and he’s silent for a moment before he barks out a loud laugh. You roll your eyes and let out a heavy sigh. He’s got a big grin on his face that’s making it hard to actually be mad, but you’re trying. 

“You ever shot a bow before?”

You tuck your tongue in your cheek and frown. You’ve used rifles and pistols plenty of times. Of course, then you had really just been shooting at bottles. But you can’t say you’ve ever experienced a bow. You’re slow to answer, “No.”

“How ‘bout we see how you do today? I’d rather not have you shoot my damn eye out.”

He starts walking back towards you and you practically stomp your foot. “Oh, Arthur, that’s ridiculous-”

He cups your elbow in his hand and forces you forward. “Trust me, sweetheart, I’ve seen it happen. It ain’t pretty.” You can’t find it in yourself to argue anymore. You’re too caught off guard by how tender he’d sounded when he’d called you that. 

Sweetheart. You wonder if he ever calls Mary that.

The thought leaves a sour taste on your tongue. You jerk your arm out of his hold and do your best to ignore the surprised look he sends you. He should be more careful how he acts around you, especially if he’s got a woman of his own. 

You and Arthur drift into another tense silence, one of your own creation, yet again. You follow along whatever path Hosea’s created on his map and let your mind drift away. You try not to linger on any passing thoughts. Instead, you want to focus on the world around you. 

You take in the sounds of bird song and try to memorize the melody. You never want to lose this feeling of being so wholly encapsulated by the world around you. Walking along quietly behind Arthur feels like you’ve become just another slinking animal in the forest. 

A sound breaks through your thoughts of nothing. Something like the wet squelch of blood. It reminds you of how your husband’s brain had sounded under your boot. You come to a stop that goes unnoticed by Arthur. He continues ahead but you’re stuck in a memory. 

There’s a low growl like the click of your gun’s hammer as you’d pulled it back. A fierce bark rings through the treetops like a gunshot. You whip around to face the sound and find nothing but the bright green of the forest. 

As though pulled forward by a rope, you find yourself walking without thought. You step carefully over roots and push through brambles. You follow a red trail dotting along the leaves on the ground until you manage to push your way into a small clearing.

The trees are thinner here. They carry less leaves and occupy less space. They give you just enough room to see what has drawn you forward like a siren’s call. 

A wolf dangles from another wolf’s bloody maw. She’s panting, eyes practically red with bloodlust as she crunches down on the neck of the wolf beneath her. There’s a pathetic whimper, quickly followed by the low gurgle of death. The second wolf hangs limply from her jaws and you’re reminded even more of your marriage. 

But you’re not the bleeding, weak, shadow of a creature on the ground. You’ve turned into the hunter, the defiler. You won’t ever let yourself be cowed by someone weaker than you are. You’ve forced yourself into the role of an animal, blood on your maw and righteous fury in your eye. 

The wolf hasn’t noticed you yet, but you feel as though you’ve seen this animal before. A shadow pacing before your home’s door. The howl outside the camp in the dead of night. She’s haunted you for so long and has only allowed you this one glimpse now. Why?

Something clamps down on your shoulder, heavy, hard, and calloused. It takes everything in you to tamp the scream in your throat down. “What the hell were you thinkin’? Could you stop runnin’ off all the damn time?”

Arthur glares down at you. He hasn’t seen the wolf yet, he’s only just found you. Your eyes widen and you turn slightly towards her. His brows furrow in confusion but he follows your gaze and you watch as his face pales. His hand immediately drifts to the revolver on your hip but you lunge forward, stopping him before he can fully grab it. 

“What’re you doin’?”

“Stop,” you plead, voice heavy with emotions he’ll never truly understand. “Don’t.”

His eyes dart between you and the wolf. You can see the battle waging within him. He doesn’t want to upset you but he can’t risk turning his back and having the wolf on him. You squeeze his hand, eyes big and pleading as you stare up at him. Finally, he relents with a sigh, grip going lax on the handle of the revolver. 

You let out a breath of relief and he takes your hand in his, tugging you back a little. The wolf doesn’t feast on her kind, she just stands over him, lips curled back and ears pinned. You keep your eyes firmly on her as Arthur guides you both out of the clearing.

Once you’re safely out of earshot, Arthur starts grumbling under his breath. “Shouldn’t have done that,” he says vaguely. You frown and catch up with him, shrugging your shoulders in confusion. “There’s plenty of prey in the area,” he clarifies. “It shouldn’t be killin’ its own.”

You look over your shoulder, as though you might see the wolf again, but she doesn’t come back. “Maybe she had to,” you muse. “Maybe he had it coming.”

You don’t miss the odd look Arthur gives you and you don’t blame him. You don’t quite understand yourself sometimes. But you do know you were meant to see that. Whether as a reminder of your sin or a confirmation you did the right thing, you don’t know.

You’re crouched behind a fallen tree as Arthur shows you how to properly nock an arrow. A herd of deer graze along the grass only a few feet ahead. Arthur’s got his sights set on the biggest one and you can already feel your stomach squirming at the thought of watching the beast hit the ground. 

You’d just seen a wolf ripping another wolf to shreds, but the thought of a buck dying makes you nauseous. You need to get your priorities straight. 

Arthur lifts the bow and pulls the string back. He’s facing away from the herd for now, still trying to get you to understand the basics. “Alright, you want your arm level, one finger above the arrow,” he wiggled one of his fingers on the string and you smiled slightly, “two below.” He brought the bow back down and shrugged. “Ain’t too hard, you’ll have to get used to the effort of keeping the string back. Beyond that, point and shoot.”

You roll your eyes with a scoff, “Really? It’s that easy?”

“Well,” he smiles slightly and shakes his head. “Nah, it’ ain’t that easy. You gotta consider the wind, how far the arrow needs to travel, and you gotta be steady.” He pauses and runs his tongue over his lips, struggling for words. You tilt your head in question, letting him find them. “You haven’t been steady in a while, sweetheart.”

There’s that name again. You’d be pleased if it weren’t for what he just said. “Steady?”

“Calm,” he clarifies. “You can’t even ride your horse.”

“I don’t like horses,” you try and defend yourself but it sounds weak, even to you. 

“You and I both know it’s not just that.” He moves a little closer. He leans over you, blue eyes imploring you to just tell the truth. You want to, every part of you is screaming just to give in, but you can’t. 

“Arthur, not now, please,” you’re practically begging. You can’t meet his eye any longer, looking at the ground instead and praying he just drops it. 

He lingers behind you for a moment longer before letting out a low breath. “Alright, fine. We’ll just hunt. I mean it, though, eventually you’ll just have to let go of whatever it is that’s buggin’ you.”

That won’t be happening anytime soon, but there’s no point in telling him that. Instead, you turn back to the herd of deer. It’s thinned slightly, a few of them having run towards the fields beyond. But the big one remains, antlers decorated with moss as he cranes his lithe neck for a drink in the river. 

Arthur passes you the bow and you shoot him a concerned look. “Just give it a try, like I showed you.” When you don’t move, he wraps his palms around yours and forces the bow and arrow into your hands. He lifts them, leveling your arm with your chin and pulling it back until the string is just by your ear. “Come on, you’ve got it,” the whispered instructions should have you melting into him but you can’t. You can’t bring yourself to loose the arrow. 

Your arms drop to your sides and you shake your head. “I can’t,” you utter, sounding completely defeated. “I can’t shoot.”

Arthur mistakes your reluctance for insecurity and smiles slightly. He slips behind you, his chest pressed against your back, and lifts your hands again. “‘Course you can,” he encourages. “I’ll help you.”

Once more, he guides you into the right position. Except, this time, he doesn’t let go. He keeps his palms firmly wrapped around your fists and guides you until your aim is just right. He waits for the breeze to stop blowing, forcing you to keep your tight grip even as your bicep begins to tremble with strain. 

“Hold on,” he mutters, eyes narrowed as he focuses on the buck. Your heart kicks up a beat the longer you watch it move. As much as you’d like to relax into Arthur’s warmth, you can’t. You’re watching this animal move and live its life. And you’re about to kill it like it’s nothing. What right do you have to claim it’s blood?

“There,” Arthur lets you go before you can stop him. Your hands naturally follow his guidance and the arrow whistles through the air. The deer notices it too late. You can hear the thud as it embeds into his neck. It lets out a loud, dying, bleat that alerts the rest of the herd of danger. They jump around for a moment before racing off. 

Your arms sink to your sides and Arthur squeezes your shoulders. “There ya go! Told you, you could do it!” He grins down at you, waiting for you to celebrate along with him. You can’t, all you hear is that awful noise the animal had let out as you killed it. 

Arthur pauses, finally seeing the downtrodden expression on your face. “Hey,” he cuts himself off as the first tear falls. You can’t help it. It’s like a dam has burst with that deer’s death. You crumple into yourself, hands rubbing your eyes raw as you try and stem the tears. “Dammit,” he hisses, “how do I keep doin’ this?”

You laugh wetly at that, sniffling as you wipe your nose against your sleeve. “It’s not you,” you promise him. 

“Then what’s wrong?” His voice has lost any tenderness it once held. It’s rough, and commanding, as he tries to force some answers out of you. You don’t blame him for being upset. He’s right, you really aren’t steady right now. 

“I can’t-”

He cuts you off with a rough shake of his head. His hands find their way on your shoulders and he forces you to turn towards him. You try and slip out of his grip but he grabs your chin and ticks your face up. “Look, I know you and Charles are hidin’ somethin’. I may be a fool but I’m not blind. I’ve also never seen someone cry so hard over a damn deer. You gotta give me somethin’ here.”

You can’t tell him the truth, you know that much. Besides, you’d be implicating Charles in your crime as well. You don’t need to drag him down along with you. But Arthur seems so desperate. You know, deep down, that all he wants is to help, to finally get you to stop crying. And you suppose you owe him something after breaking down on him so many times. 

“I did something,” you whisper, staring down at your hands and for a moment seeing blood on them. “Something awful, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be forgiven for it.”

Arthur’s brows furrow and he rubs the back of his neck. “Forgiven by who?”

You shouldn’t be surprised that he didn’t ask what you did. You know he’s used to all sorts of awful things in his life. You suppose he probably thinks your definition of awful is simply killing a deer- not the man you’d promised the rest of your life to. 

“I don’t know,” you shrug and attempt to collect yourself. “God. Myself. I feel like I’m tainted,” you clench your hands shut and take in a shuddering breath. “Like I’ll never be able to cleanse myself of this.”

Arthur’s silent for a while and you worry that you’ve lost him. There’s a shuffle of feet and you force yourself to finally look up. 

Arthur's eyes soften with concern, but his face is still tainted with a slight suspicion. “Look, I don’t know what happened and I won’t pry. But you’re a good person. I haven’t known you very long,” he amends, a little sheepishly. “But I know you well enough to see just how kind you are. There’s a lot of good inside of you. A lot more than what’s left in me or any of the rest of the gang.”

You sniffle, wiping away a stray tear, and offer him a shaky smile. “You sell yourself too short, Arthur Morgan. You’re a good man, one of the finer ones I’ve met, that’s for sure.”

You swear you almost see a blush on his cheeks as he looks away. “Ah, I wouldn’t go that far. Can’t seem to stop makin’ you cry, anyway.” You laugh a little at that and he finally looks at you again. He gets to his feet and holds his hand out, “Come on, it’ll be dark soon, we gotta get a move on.”

You nod, slipping your hand in his and letting him help you to your feet. He doesn’t let go of you right away, instead, he lets you lean on him as he leads you forward. You appreciate his strength and, as selfish as it is, you relish in the feeling of his body against yours as you walk together. 

You try not to think of his lady or your husband or even the dead buck ahead of you. Instead, you hold onto Arthur’s words. If he believes there’s good left, then maybe there is. 

Arthur told you the ride back would be too long and that you probably wouldn’t do well with Lady at night. You’re sure he’s right but part of you thinks he’s just not ready to be back at camp yet. You can’t blame him, you’re not either. 

It’s nice to get away from the noises of others. Surrounded by the tranquility of nature is the sort of calming environment you need right now. You hadn’t realized just how frayed your nerves had been until you broke down on Arthur for the second time. 

Arthur finally gets the tent set up and comes to sit beside you on the ground. You throw another branch onto the fire and watch as the sparks float up towards the stars. You don’t know why the thought of his woman flits into your mind again. It could be because of how close you both are or simply because she’s lingered in your thoughts since you discovered her. 

You find yourself prying into a man you’re sure would be happier left alone. “How do you think your lady would feel about you sitting so close to me?” You try to give him a teasing smile but you know it only seems strained. 

Arthur’s face drops before it pinches quickly in confusion. He lets out a very ungraceful, “Huh?” And you can’t help but snort slightly in laughter. “The hell are you talkin’ ‘bout woman?” He demands, turning towards the fire and tossing some more sticks on it. 

“The woman in Valentine,” you clarify, still laughing a little. “Oh, I’m sure you remember abandoning me in town for her,” you remind him airily. He lets out a heavy sigh but you keep on. “Doubt she’d appreciate us being so close.”

“No,” he rubs the back of his neck and gives you a sardonic smile. “She wouldn’t, but it don’t matter much now. We haven’t been together for a while.”

“Oh,” you keep your face schooled but there’s a little bit of giddiness bubbling in your gut. But that doesn’t make any sense. “Why would you leave me in town alone to go be with her all day  if you’re not together?”

“I-” he starts and stops himself a few times before giving you a defeated shrug. “Suppose I owe her. I dragged her down into this life, tainted her with my love, I guess I owe her a few favors.”

“Tainted her?” You scoff and wave him off. “I doubt a day goes by where she doesn’t count herself lucky to have been loved by you.”

His face takes on that familiar flush you saw earlier. It could easily be dismissed as heat from the fire but you know better. He’s not used to such blatant honesty, especially not when it compliments him. “Really?” He scoffs and shakes his head. You roll your eyes, already knowing what he’s going to say. 

“I doubt it,” he drawls, rubbing the back of his neck with a stubborn refusal to meet your gaze. You know it’s only because he wouldn’t be able to handle the truth staring back at him. “What about you then, what about your husband?” He easily deflects, throwing you for a curve as you rip your eyes off him. 

You focus on the flames of the fire until it makes your eyes burn. You know he doesn’t know anything about the truth, but you still have to be careful about what you accidentally let slip. “Oh,” you let out a short dismissive chuckle. “Neither of us were lucky. Certainly not me.”

“Why not?” Arthur sounds genuinely curious, not the sort of patronizing inquisitiveness you’ve heard from others in camp. You realize that you’ve not talked about your marriage much. You’ve done your damn best to keep it off the minds of everyone in camp. Starting a new life means not constantly dredging up the old one. But you suppose you owe Arthur just a little bit of honesty. 

“He never loved me the way a man is supposed to love his wife. I count myself lucky to have gotten away from him.”

“He wasn’t kind to you?” Arthur asks, but you both know the answer. 

You finally let your gaze drift off the fire and shake your head. “Not in any aspect of the word. The only part of our marriage that was real was the papers. And now he’s lost and so are they.” You suck in a deep breath and force a smile, turning to face him once more. “I’m finally a free woman.”

Arthur meets your eyes with a startling intensity. There’s something pinched on his face, a thought that’s just taking too long to form. You see the internal battle with himself as he debates whether or not to open his mouth. Your fingers dig into the softened material of your pants, fidgeting as you wait restlessly for his question. 

“Would you ever want that again?” He asks slowly. “Not marriage, but to be with someone like that.”

You look off to the edge of the clearing you’re camping in. The trees provide you both with a thick cover, the tips of them nearly reaching the stars. You’re used to a clear view like this from your home in the mountains. But you never realized just how much you were missing being locked up in that house. There are so many things you thought you’d never have the chance for, so many new opportunities to make. 

“I used to think to myself that if I ever got away from him, I would never be involved with a man ever again.” You wonder if you make up the way his shoulders stiffen slightly. “I had thought they were all just as cruel, just as useless as he was.” His gaze rips away from you and he stares pointedly towards the wildflowers in front of you. You let out a breathy laugh and lean back on your hands, shrugging. “I’m starting to think I might have been wrong.”

Arthur turns towards you and you wonder if you’re imagining the hope in his gaze. Is it just a projection of your own wishes, or is it the truth? “What about you?” You deflect, not willing to hold the weight of the conversation anymore. 

“With the right person. With someone who understood that this is just who I am.” Someone who won’t try to change him, you finish his unspoken thought and nod your head. He hesitates for a moment on his next question. “You think you’ll ever find the right man?” You feel your cheeks pull up unwittingly. Your fingers drift across the grass, just barely brushing against his. He doesn’t pull away from you or frown at the touch. Instead, you feel the warmth of his palm covering your hand. “I think I might be starting too.”

Next Part

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

Hell Hath No Fury Taglist: @buckysblondie @littlebirdgot @heloixe @summerdazed @committingcrimes-2047

@m1stea

I watched Prestige (Hugh Jackman movie) at the request/suggestion of one of my anons. What the hell dude? I hated that damn movie. And I am so sorry, but it has to be one of the most infuriating/ridiculously stupid endings I've ever seen.

I will never get those two hours back and it's maddening. WHAT WAS THE POINT OF THAT WHOLE MOVIE??

It could have been like an hour shorter.

That being said, I might consider writing for it once I cool down from how angry I was at the final scene of that whole thing. The only exciting part was when his wife died.

HELLO!!!

I’m going to be more interactive on my blog again, requests have been reopened. I haven’t gotten through all the Logan requests yet (I’ll get to them don’t worry.) But they’re not sparking the inspiration I need right now.

Please send in you requests- I’d love if they were even a little spooky too for Halloween.

I have a vacation at the end of October, so I’m not going to be very active then. Whatever you want me to write, send it in now so I can see it sooner.

💗💗💗💗

Aesthetic Dividers for Fics & Masterlists | Part 1 | Part 2

AESTHETIC - CELESTIAL

— Stars & Space | Sun

— Stars & Space | Moon

— Stars & Space | Planets

— Stars & Space | Purple

— Stars & Space | Beige/Grey

AESTHETIC - FLORAL

— Bees/Honey/Flowers

— Cherry Blossom / Peach

— Cherries

— Cute Flowers

— Dark Romantic Florals

— Daisies

— Fall Florals

— Lavender

— Pastel Floral

— Pastel Green & Blue Florals / Navy Blue

— Red Poppies

— Roses/Chains / Gothic Roses

— Sunflowers

— Tulips

AESTHETIC - HEARTS

— Black Hearts

— Hearts

— Heartbeat Dividers

— Lilac Hearts

— Pastel Blue Hearts

AESTHETIC - OTHER

— 50’s Neon Diner

— 70's Music / Flowers

— Angel / Cherub

— Arrows

— Art Deco (Blue Version)

— Art Nouveau

— Beige Daggers

— Black and Grey

— Black & Red Grunge

— Blue & Yellow Dividers

— Blue & Orange Feathers

— Cameras/Photography

— Car/Roadtrip

— Celtic

— Clouds

— Christmas & Winter (part ii)

— Citrus

— Cottagecore / Dark Academia

— Cowboy (part ii) (dark) (space) (christmas)

— Cute Pastel

— Dark Space

— Dog/Puppy

— Dragons

— Fish

— Gems & Pearls

— Ghostface

— Goblincore

— Halloween

— Maroon & Purple

— Minimalist Neutrals

— Mothman

— Music Notes

— Ocean | Part ii | Part iii

— Orange & Green Dividers

— Pale Pink Dividers

— Pancakes / Waffles

— Peaches

— Pink/Coquette (blue & purple)

— Pirate/Mermaid

— Pizza/Spaghetti

— Purple, Pink & Blue Dividers

— Rain/Storm

— Ravens/Moons/Roses

— Red/Black Scroll Work

— Red Riding Hood

— Red & Yellow Dividers

— Rings (Engagement/Christmas)

— Royalty

— Smutty | Pastel

— Stained Glass

— Taylor Swift (Folklore) | illcit affairs | reputation

— Valentine's Day

— Vampires

— Warm Grey Dividers

— Werewolves

— Windows/Webcore

✨(Everything was made in and using Canva - so check that app out if you’re looking to make your own! Credit is not required but a reblog would be great if you use! 💕) ✨

how bout a nuke is literally unbeatable i can’t even believe you’re giving us a fic this good. you’re capturing the vibe of the show and cooper’s character so perfectly i’m not convinced you watched through this show like 12 times already. and your reader character just feels so good and genuine… too many words to say how great it is. put ur feet up luv you’ve done well 👏🏽

This is honestly so nice to hear, especially bc I’m struggling a bit with chapter 7 rn

I did literally skip through the show just to listen to his parts so I could get his dialogue right in the story lmao

Thank you so much for saying that about my reader. I do my best to create someone who can be accessible to everyone and be relatable. I never know if I do a good job at making everyone feel included in my writing but comments like these mean the absolute world to me!! ♥️

Cruel World

Previous part / Next part

Cooper Howard x fem!reader A/N: I just realized the first episode of the show is titled The End lol, chapter one’s title makes so much more sense now. I’m a genius.  Also, I promise this isn’t going to be a copy and paste of the show. Just how this chapter is so I could set everything up.  (Let me know if you would like to be removed/added to my Cooper Howard taglist) Summary: After the shit show that was Lucy’s wedding, you’re trying to get your life back on track. But you should have known that she wouldn’t give up so easily on her father. You could stay in the vault, throw your name into consideration for Overseer. But you never wanted that. It’s a risky decision, one you’ll probably regret, but you decide to go with Lucy. Someone’s got to watch her back.

“Probably one of the best weddings we’ve ever attended.” Norm gives you a curt look, not even sparing you a smile at the comment. Maybe it was too soon, but you didn’t know how else to break the tension between the two of you. He returned his attention to wrapping up the wound on your side. 

He pulled the StimPak out of your med kit and you turned away from him as he plunged the needle into your tender flesh. He preferred to just get things over with, he wasn’t the type to count down to three and hold your hand. But he still offered you a comforting squeeze of the hand when he was done. 

He stood up, disposing of the used needle and coming back to sit beside you. He didn’t look at you, his shoulders slumped over as he stared down at his hands. If anything it felt like he was actively trying to avoid catching your eye. “Norm?” You questioned, voice bordering on concern as you reached out towards him. 

He shook his head and stood up, glaring down at the floor as his fists clenched by his sides. “I hid,” he muttered, voice dripping with disgust. Disgust directed at himself. You knew he was going to beat himself up about this for a while. And you couldn’t lie, couldn’t hide the fact that his cowardice had bothered you a little. Norm was never the type to appreciate white lies like that anyway. He didn’t want someone to stroke his ego, he wanted honesty. 

“You did,” you replied stoically. He scoffed, a humorless sound. “People react differently to fear, Norm.”

“You fought,” he snapped back, finally looking at you. He sounded angry, but you knew it wasn’t directed at you. “You fought for our friends and I hid under a picnic table.” You couldn’t comfort him the way you wanted to. You couldn’t tell him that you had been trained and coached for these sort of disaster scenarios. Vault 31 was full of leaders, fighters, and those coached for every possible mishap. 

Norm would never be as prepared as you, Steph, or any other Bud’s Bud would be. “I’m your husband,” you had to hold back a laugh at that. But he seemed to catch the sight of your upturned lips anyway. It caused some of the tension he was holding to leave him as he laughed. A small laugh, but real this time at least. He sunk back down into the chair by your bed and sighed. “I should have helped you, or protected you. Anything other than hide while you were nearly blown up and my dad was taken by raiders.”

You reach out, taking his hand and squeezing it in reassurance. “I’m no more your wife than you are my husband,” he offers you a weak smile and you grin back at him. “We both know we never wanted this, it was forced on us.”

“Gee,” he interrupts, sarcastically, “you sure know how to cheer a guy up.”

You roll your eyes and swat his hand, finally releasing him. “But, I’m glad it was you, Norm. If I had to be stuck in this fucking vault with someone, I’m glad it was you.”

For a moment, he looks genuinely touched. He opens his mouth and you almost expect a kind reply in response. Instead he says, “You mean you don’t love the amenities vault 33 has to offer you?”

You laugh, shoving his shoulder and wincing slightly at the pain it causes in your abdomen. “You’re such an ass.” 

He smiles at you and gets up to get you some water, sending you a fond look as he does. You mean it, Bud had done you a favor marrying Norm. No, you weren’t exactly in love with him. And he really wasn’t your husband in anything other than name. But he was a good friend and you were grateful for the company he provided you. 

A few days later, when everyone has recovered enough to be up and moving around. An assembly is called. You sit beside Norm and Lucy, taking in the destruction around you and shaking your head mutely. Things had been going so well. Three years and not a moment of discontent. 

It was getting fucking boring. 

If it weren’t for half your friends dying, you’d be grateful to the raiders for finally spicing things up a bit in here. Before everyone can fully settle in, Lucy is shooting to her feet and proclaiming, “I have a proposal for the assembly.” You glance up at her as everyone quiets and she looks around at them, a little uncomfortable at all the attention. “We send a search party to the surface to look for my dad.”

You huff, glancing over to Betty and catching her eye. She doesn’t do much, just a subtle quirk to her brow that you know means it’s never going to fucking happen. Around you everyone starts whispering, openly objecting to the idea. The whole point of this vault, as far as they know, is to one day go to the surface. 

Clearly, they were getting a little too happy within the comforts of the vault. “They don’t want to find dad,” Norm mutters and both you and Lucy turn to him. “If they did, they wouldn’t get to be in charge.” You turn away from him, back to Betty. You see the look on her face and you know he’s right. 

Getting released at the same time as Hank must have killed her. She’d always wanted to be the overseer, it’s what she was trained for. Being outvoted to Norm’s father had probably wrecked that volatile ego of hers. This was her chance, there was no way in hell she wasn’t going to take it. 

Lucy looks around at all of the frowning faces of your neighbors and you see something in her break a little. She’s got an endless optimism that, at times, can be fucking overwhelming. But you know it hurt to see the people she called friends give up on her father so easily. She straightens her shoulders and storms off, you share a look with Norm before getting up to follow after her. 

You really should have known someone as determined as her wouldn’t so easily give up. When you do finally find her, she’s already got a pack on her shoulders and is convincing Chet into opening up the outer door for her. “Lucy,” you hiss, grabbing her elbow before they can make it to the elevator. “What are you doing?”

She gives you a pleading look, taking her arm out of your hold and glancing back at a nervous Chet. “I need to find him, if they’re not going to help me,” she took a deep breath and steadied herself. “I’ll go to the surface on my own.”

Your brows furrowed and you gave her a questioning look, a little disbelieving that she would actually do something like this. She’d always been such a rule follower, the prodigal poster girl of the vaults. You suppose everyone has their limits, even her. 

Still, you give her pack a doubtful glare and forcefully turn her around. She shouts your name in shock as you rip her pack open and dig through it. “What are you doing?” Chet demands. 

You sigh at the lack of provisions she’s grabbed. You know that Bud had created lesson plans to create an idyllic vision of what the surface would look like when everyone goes back up. But, seriously, one canteen of water and a single pack of hard boiled eggs. Only one tranquilizer gun in sight, she was never going to make it on her own. 

“Lucy,” you turn her back around and stare into her abnormally large eyes. She’s all naïveté and hope, the surface is going to fucking break her. “You’re completely unprepared.”

She gapes, points to her pack and stutters. “I packed eggs.”

“An egg. One singular pack of eggs, Lucy. There’s no way in hell that’s going to be enough.” You sigh, mentally doing gymnastics as you try and assure yourself that what you’re about to say is the right thing to do. You’ve never liked the vaults, they’re too suffocating and too strict. You can’t do anything with Betty always setting her evil eye on you. You’re constantly harassed for not yet being pregnant by Steph, and sometimes Lucy, you don’t love your husband. 

Besides running water and air conditioning, which are pretty fucking vital, you’ve got nothing for you here. It’s the only reason you say the stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever said in your life. “I’m coming with you.” She opens her mouth to protest but you cut her off with a glare. “This is what I trained for in vault 31, Lucy. To go to the surface. It’s not ready for us yet, and you’re not ready for what’s waiting out there for you.” You step back from her, glaring at Chet until his face turns red. “Don’t leave without me, Chet, I fucking mean it.”

Before either of them can say anything and you can talk yourself out of this, you make a run for the armory. The raiders had taken pretty much everything of value. But you knew the code to the safe where some of the better guns are held. As cruel as it is to take what little weapons your vault has left, you’re going to need them more on the surface than they are down here. 

You grab one of the emergency packs by the door, stuffing it full of all the rations and water you can get your hands on. Lucy had packed more cozily, a nice bedroll and amenities to keep her comfortable. You’re focused solely on packing what you know won’t be available on the surface. 

You put on a belt full of ammo and type in the code to the safe. Bud, in all his infinite wisdom, was not very good at remembering his passwords. 313233, and it pops open as the little green light goes off. You take two pistols, knowing it’s better to pack light, and turn to leave. 

Betty is standing there at the doorway, a knowing smile on her face. 

You hate the training. You know it’s essential, that it’s better to be over prepared than under, but you hate it. You’re always partnered up with Hank and Betty, seeing as they’re more favored than the others by Bud. Betty can’t stand you, she’s under the misguided impression that you somehow bribed your way into the position you have as one of Bud’s Buds. 

Hank is fine, but he’s a beast when it comes to your self defense drills. He never goes easy on you, always pummeling you down with enough ferocity to make you just want to call it quits. But you know that’s just because he doesn’t settle for anything other than the best. His whole life is Vault-Tec, he’ll never let anything in his career be lacking. Even training. 

Betty goes after you harshly for different reasons. She’s never liked you, not once. She already has to compete with Hank one day for the position of Overseer, she just sees you as more competition. Except, to her, you’re not deserving of the title. 

It doesn’t matter how many times you tell her you wouldn’t fight her for the role, she doesn’t believe you. She thinks your assuasion is just a manipulation ploy to get her to put down her guard. You won’t be in the vaults for another year, but it doesn’t matter. She’s ready to go now, ready to finally be a leader and no longer another rung on the corporate ladder. 

You don’t think she understands that, no matter what, there’s always going to be someone to answer to. You don’t know what Bud’s plan is, exactly, but he would never give up control over his project or give up seeing it come to fruition. Her hopes of being in charge will never come true, but she doesn’t care. You, honestly, feel like she just wants an excuse to not like you. 

You duck under her fist as she swings at you and sweep out her legs. She slams harshly against the mat, breath knocked out of her with a wheeze. Hank stands on the sidelines, sweat pouring down his back as he takes a swig from your water bottle. You glare at him but he just sends you a cheeky smile. 

You roll your eyes as you step back from Betty’s prone form. Around you the other’s are training. Either in duos or trios. Bud has signed out the Vault-Tec gym for this. All he has to say is that it’s for his experiment and he can get away with pretty much anything in the company. 

While you watch Stephanie execute a violent elbow strike on Darren, your attention is off of Betty. She pounces, sweeping her legs behind your own from where she lays on the floor. Your balance is thrown as you’re tossed back. A similar wheeze to her own forces its way out of you as you cough, grabbing your sternum and trying to get your breath back. 

She gets to her feet as you roll over onto your side, trying to catch your breath. Sweat beads down your temple, dripping down into your eyes and stinging. You lift your hand, using your teeth to rip the Velcro of your boxing glove open and tugging it off. You wipe at your face as she walks over you, staring down at you with venom in her glaze. 

“Can’t sleep your way into actual skills, can you?” You stare up at her, wide eyed and aghast. Hank looks away from your both, embarrassment clear on his face. She gets up from you and walks away, tapping Hank in. He steps towards you, offering you a hand up, but you swat it away. 

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

You know she’s not going to stop you. She’s never had any faith in your survival skills or your intelligence in general. You step towards her and she steps to the side, making a little room for you to squeeze past her through the doorway. She wouldn’t stop you, either, because you’re just one more person to get out of the way. 

Everyone knows that it’s only people from vault 31 who ever make it to be overseer. Steph can’t compete, she’s pregnant and half blind from grief and losing her actual eye. You’re the only person left to combat her claim to the title. 

Her eyes bore into yours, the wrinkles around them turning up as she offers you a sardonic smile. She might be old now, but you still see that sharp fire of hatred in them anytime she looks at you. You think her drive keeps her young. 

You’re surprised when she speaks. Three years here and she’s barely spared you a word, beyond what was required of her. “You should see him before you go. He’ll want to see you one last time.” Anyone else might think she’s talking about your husband, but you know better. 

You glance at the clock on the wall, you’ve already been gone ten minutes. You glance back at Betty and you realize she’s right. You’ve had a question you’ve wanted an answer to for three years, you don’t ask now and you might never get the chance again. 

You slip past her without a word, shoulder jolting hers harshly as you pass. She simply huffs, shaking her head and calling out, “Good luck!” As you head down the hall. You ignore her, how snide she is. You hate how easy it is for her to burrow herself under your skin. 

It’s easy to make your way to the place where the vaults intersect. Everyone’s busy with cleaning up. They’re getting rid of the bodies of the fallen, painting over the blood, and taking stock of what was stolen and damaged. No one pays any mind to you as you slip through the halls with a pack on your back. 

You use the code Bud had given you to get into the vault, silencing the alarms and glancing over your shoulder to double check no one was spying on you. The metal creaks loudly as it slowly rolls over the platform and slides open. You take a peek inside, peering around containers full of supplies and looking for a brain rolling around. 

It doesn’t take long for you to hear his wheels going over the metal grates of the floors. “Who’s there?” He shouts, not turning the corner yet. You know he’s trying to sound bigger than he is, to scare off any kids who might come snooping around the vaults. It’s happened before, you and Steph having to do damage control by dosing them with some drugs and telling everyone they were high. 

“It’s me!” You call back. 

He calls out your name eagerly, turning the corner too quick and his voice a little happier than usual. He’s not paying enough attention, though, and knocks into a broom. It goes crashing down on his dome with a loud bang and your face screws up as it blocks his way. His wheels bump into it and he bounces back reflexively, “What is this?” He mutters. 

You let him struggle for a little bit, slightly entertained by the sight of him repeatedly ramming into the handle of the broom. A brain on a fucking roomba. What had he been thinking?

When the sight of him struggling loses its novelty you walk forward and toss the broom out of the way. He sighs, “Thank you.” He rights himself, the brain now facing you. “What brings you here? I heard about the incident with the raiders but Betty assured me she had it under control.”

You know that if you told him right now that you doubted Betty’s competence, he would put you in charge. Or Steph. He would always listen to you over any of them, maybe that’s why she hated you so much. He would always favor you over her. Still, you can’t find it in yourself to be as petty as you’d like. You simply sigh, shaking your head even though he can’t see it. “No, it’s not that.”

“Okay,” he drags the word out, sounding unsure about why you bothered coming to see him. You briefly consider telling him the truth, that you’re leaving with Lucy and you won’t be coming back anytime soon. But you know he would only try to stop you. He’d use the same tranquilizer he used on the people who snooped and somehow get you back in a pod. 

Instead you ask him what’s been on your mind for three years. “Why’d you let me out?” You hear a low hum and realize it’s him sighing. He spins, the little brain inside wobbling at the movement. God, this whole thing still freaks you out. You hear his voice, can perfectly picture his face in your head. But he’s just gone. You never actually thought you would miss your boss, but you suppose you’ve lost so much that even Bud would be a comfort now. 

Two hundred and thirteen years. That’s how long it’s been. An innumerable amount of his Bud’s have been married off, led, had children, and died. You either should have been let out with the first batch or left in your pod until the world was ready for you. 

“I suppose, I’d always wanted to be there when you came out. But my body wasn’t ever going to survive this long. It was a foolish hope to be whole when you came out, to make sure you had a friend. When Hank said he needed someone for his son, I figured it was time to let you go. Norm’s nice, smart, his ambition reminds me of myself a little.” 

You hold back a scoff. Norm is kind and one of the most intelligent people you’ve ever met. But a potato has more ambition than he does. He can’t hold down a job to save his life. The only reason he gets away with it is because Hank is the overseer. 

“If I had to give you up, I knew Norm would be a good choice. And I guess, I waited because I didn’t want you to see me like this.” You glance down at the little robot and feel a twinge of guilt. You were hard on Bud, but all he’d ever done is look out for you. Even when you screwed up he covered your ass. The only reason you were still alive was because of him. 

You hum, the noise noncommittal and it makes Bud roll anxiously on his wheels. “Right. I’ve got to go, Bud.” You kneel down and pat the dome around his brain. You’re sure he can’t feel it, but his sensors will pick up the movement and he’ll hear it. It will have to be enough for now. “I’ll see you around.”

He wheels you back to the exit and before the door closes he calls out a “Don’t be shy, come visit more!” You don’t bother telling him you’re going to the surface. That’s what the whole point of this visit was. To try and glean some information about what would be waiting for you up there. But he would never let you go. You wave, rolling your eyes when you remember he can’t see it, and head back towards the elevator. 

Lucy is no longer waiting for you, and you suppose you should have seen this coming. But when you catch up with her, you’re going to wring her neck. You use your bypass code on the elevator and tap your foot impatiently as it goes up to the outside door. Messages from Vault-Tec play through the speaker and you huff with impatience. 

“Remember, surface, never. Vault, forever!” Well, that’s definitely a strong contradiction of everything these people have been preparing for. You glance up at the speaker and briefly consider just shooting it, but that would be a waste of ammo. 

When the elevator finally stops you run through the door before it even gets a chance to open all the way. You’re surprised to see Norm staring at you, his eyes are wide and his brows furrow in confusion. Then he glances behind you and shouts, “No!” You turn around, face screwing up when you realize you’ve let the elevator go back down. 

Betty might have given you the okay to leave, but she has to keep up appearances. She’ll be up here, after you all, in a few minutes. Norm looks back at you, the pack on your back, and sighs. “You’re leaving too.” It’s not a question, more of a confirmation about something he’s already suspected. 

You nod, you take a step forward, reaching out like you’ll hug him. But that’s never really been what you two do. So, instead, you offer him a grin and shrug, “Someone’s got to watch out for your sister.”

He gives you a resigned smile and nods, “I’m glad it's you.” You’re surprised by the sharp pang of loss that strikes through you. You have no disillusionment about what this trip entails. It’s likely that you’ll never see Norm again, or at the very least won’t for a very long time. You’re going to miss him, more than you want to admit. 

You place a hand on his shoulder and he reaches up to squeeze it before you both step away from each other awkwardly. You hear the distinct whir of metal and peer over the edge of the railing. The elevator's coming back up. Norm shares a concerned look with you and you turn back toward Lucy. 

She’s standing over a knocked out Chet, hand poised over the large red button on the control panel. “Shit,” you hiss. You leap onto the bridge before it starts to withdraw and rush towards her. She gives you an aggrieved look, but doesn’t protest you joining her. You nod and she presses down on the button. 

There’s a loud screech and sparks fly out at you as the unused metal gears slowly roll together. You and Lucy both share a look of apprehension, turning to face the door just as the other’s step out of the elevator. You hear them shouting at you, begging you to come back, but the sunlight’s already peaking through and you know there’s no going back now. 

You’d forgotten what real sunlight felt like, used to artificial warmth. The brightness of it is blinding and welcoming all at once. You want to cry, so close to the outside and still feeling so far. You look over at Lucy and she gives you a smile. You return as best as you can and step out with her.

You cover your eyes, flinching away from the sun and waiting as your eyes adjust to the light. It’s hotter than you remember. It feels like fire licking at your skin everywhere it touches. You’re sure it's because of the damage done to the environment when the nukes fell. Everything is going to be harsher now. 

You know that, and you’re still unprepared to be surrounded by nothing but sand and bones. When you’d gone in this had been a quiet section in a beautiful forest. Now everything was dust in the wind, no signs of civilization except for rubble long since buried.  

Lucy starts walking forward, not letting herself be phased by all the dead bodies around you. Most of the skeletons are more recent. It seems like they’d discovered the vault and had waited outside, hoping it would open up and let them in. Other bodies look like the ones discovered around Pompeii. Frozen in their last moments before death. 

Lucy calls your name and you rip your gaze away from the bones. They’re rattling in the wind, jaws clicking and taunting you as you run to catch up with her. “Look,” she points ahead and smiles warmly at you. 

Your gaze follows the line of her finger and you can’t help but laugh disbelievingly. The ocean, it’s miles away, but you can see it. See how vast it is and how far it still stretches. Maybe some things haven’t changed. 

It’s odd, traveling with Lucy. You have to remember which of your lies are truths to her. She gets confused by things like tumbleweeds. You have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from letting her know just how knowledgeable you are about the outside world. Everything that’s foreign to her is the past to you. 

She’s also endlessly optimistic. It’s nice, in the vault, when you can hold onto hope about the future. But outside, in this endless wasteland, you have to stop yourself from killing her. Everything is not hunky dory, but she refuses to accept that. 

You’re tired, hot, sweating through your suit and she’s just tugging on the straps of her backpack and grinning at all the new sights around her. You suppose it's because you saw the world when it was still beautiful. The vault is all she’s ever known. 

This world, to her, is beautiful. Because it’s new, she hasn’t yet seen the side of it that will make it lose its charm. The smells, the breeze, even the fucking sun, is a wonderful experience to her because she’s not mourning what was lost like you are. You see ruined buildings and miss what used to be there. She sees them and thinks that they’re exactly as they should be. 

You come across a house and Lucy tugs your sleeve, directing you towards it. It’s clear she wants to see inside, see what old homes used to look like. You’re doubtful about how well preserved it is but acquiesce anyway. 

To your own shock, most of the furniture is still intact. There’s sand up to your calves, but you can see how it’s meant to look. Shadows of the past poking through and telling you this used to be the home to a small, loving family. Your lips quirk up, despite yourself, charmed by the little slice of nostalgia. 

Until you reach the dining room. Lucy notices them first, a sharper intake of breath that has your head shooting up in alarm. But all she’s staring at is the skeletons of the family. You wince, coming up beside her and staring at the baby in the high chair. She reaches for a bottle on the table and you recognize the label. Vault-Tec Plan B, you don’t make it to your designated vault in time, might as well just end it now. 

You walk away from them, unable to stomach the sight of them anymore. That could have been you. If Barb had managed to get you before Bud, you would have been keeled over your kitchen table. Poisoned because death was better than living through the radiation of the fallout and the war that followed. 

Lucy is hot on your heels, rattled by the sight of the poison. You can tell she’s trying to put together why Vault-Tec would make something like that, but you don’t want her to linger on the thought for long. If she starts questioning things, eventually signs are going to point towards you. 

“It’s getting dark,” you point out, looking up at the sun sinking behind the horizon. Even its disappearance doesn’t provide much relief. The heat is trapped in the sand, still wafting up towards your face. “We’ll camp here tonight.”

Lucy pulls off her pack, “Okey dokey,” and grins at you, collecting sticks for a fire. You want to keep watch, knowing she won’t be able to, but the exhaustion of the day is taking its toll. You’re asleep before your head even hits the ground. 

Lucy shakes you awake in the dead of night, eyes frantic and face paled. You shoot up, hand already on your pistol but she shakes her head, pointing to the retreating form of a man. What the hell did you sleep through?

“What happened?” You demand, voice groggy. 

She just shakes her head, “The people up here are weird.” You glance back at the man, noticing something shining on his neck and motion towards her bedroll. 

“I’ll keep watch, get back to sleep.”

She gives you a concerned look, probably taking in the dark circles under your eyes. “Are you sure?” You nod and after a minute she finally listens and lays back down. Her body stays tensed for a little while as she struggles to sleep. You only put the fire out once you’re sure she’s no longer awake. 

You don’t need anyone else finding you both. You might be good with a gun, but you doubt you could take on more than two people. You’re wide awake now, and the noises that echo through the dark around you are helping you stay that way. You hear something large skittering and chirping in the bushes beyond the house. 

You shift uncomfortably against the log you’re resting on, finger poised on the trigger and hand trembling from anticipation. Despite your worries, nothing else finds you that night. By the time the sun rises you’re so on edge you’re practically shaking. You shake Lucy awake just as dawn breaks, anxious from staying in the same place for too long. 

She tries to swat you off, hands slapping weakly against your arms in protest. You sigh and roll your eyes, grabbing her by the collar of her suit and yanking her up. Her eyes fly open and you nod to her pack. “We need to leave, pack up.” She nods, blearily following your command and shouldering her pack again. 

By noon, you’ve given up hope of ever finding any semblance of civilization. You let out a loud groan, taking a break and leaning over. Lucy stands over you, she tugs out her canteen and offers you a sip. You shake your head, knocking her hand away and straighten up. 

You’d trained for this, you remind yourself. This was the whole point of Bud’s program, acclimating and adapting to difficult situations. Still, you hadn’t expected it to be so fucking hot. You and Lucy keep moving and an hour later you meet your first wastelander. 

Loud clanging echoes through the vast desert. Lucy puts a hand over her eyes, glaring against the sun and smiling when she sees a man in what looks like a diaper standing outside his house. She tugs out her gun, running towards him and waving. 

You keep your hand on your pistol, eyeing him warily. “Hi!” She calls out cheerily. “Hi, excuse me, can I approach?” 

He frowns at her, eyeing her weapon warily. “Ain’t got any money. Or food. No water neither.”

She looks down at her gun and shakes her head, tucking it back in her belt. “That’s okay, I just want to ask you for some directions.”

His gaze goes back to you, the pistol in your hand, and he looks back at Lucy. “What about her?”

Lucy turns around, nodding towards the gun and motioning for you to put it back. You frown at her and shake your head, mouthing no. She huffs, the both of you silently arguing while the man watches on, hand scratching the back of his diaper. Eventually, she gives up, simply waving you away while she deals with him. 

You walk ahead of the house, breath catching in your throat when you see a throng of trees past the crest of the hill. Trees, gorgeous and green and so very different from the sand you’ve seen for the past two days. You’d given up on any hope that they still existed, but here they were. You should have known better, nature would always find a way to triumph over the folly of men. 

Lucy comes up behind you, frowning as she approaches. You glance over at her, the wonder of the forest leaving you slightly when you glance at her pack. “What happened to your water?”

She points behind you both at the man still watching you. He waves and you both offer awkward ones back. “He drank it.”

You shoot her a surprised look, “What, how?”

She sighs and shrugs, “I offered him some.”

Your face falls and you stare at her blankly. You shouldn’t even be surprised. “Rule number one, Lucy, don’t offer anyone shit.” She gapes at you, she always did hate you cussing. But you weren’t in the vaults anymore. There were no more decency rules to follow for the sake of your fellow vault dwellers. The sooner she figured that out, the better.

You threw an arm over her shoulder, tugging her into your side and pointing up ahead. “Look, isn’t it amazing?”

She hums, smiling at the sight of the trees. “Yep! And that’s where he said we need to go.” She starts forward, slipping out from under your arm, and you follow after her, tucking your gun back in your pants. 

“What did he tell you?”

She glances over her shoulder, “That if anyone was going to come through here, they would be going to Filly.”

You sigh, eyes set on the trees and you feel your first real sense of determination. To Filly, you thought, wondering what exactly would be waiting there for you. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the game/show Fallout, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

All of my dividers are the creation of @ saradika-graphics

before i read it, im mentally preparing myself and literally shaking. im so excited im gonna EAT this up. i gotta dim the lights just right, i gotta get in the best comfy spot, i gotta get my HEAD IN THE GAME for this chapter. i love you btw thank you for tagging me

This made me laugh out loud, I’m wheezing now bc I’m congested but this was hilarious. I’m so glad people are enjoying this series so much.

I do recommend you get yourself in the proper headspace for this one bc it’s got some twists to it. ♥️♥️

you made my fav Fallout fanfic and now keep making my fav Logan fanfics, i can never repay you for the fics you've given me

You repay me by feeding into my desperate need for validation

HOW ABOUT A NUKE IS SO AMAZINGGGG I LOVE IT!!!! The way you write both eras(?) of coop is perfect!! I’m glad you not just skimming over what happened to reader as well I feel like that happens all too often in fics and I can’t imagine how traumatising it would be to go through that and then the man you like lowkey loved is suddenly so different??? You write it PERFECTLY!!! Can’t wait to see where it goes and hopefully coop will find that piece of him that loves the reader and have a little bit of sympathy but who knows with him lol again AMAZING writing and I can’t wait for the next part!!!

First, thank you so much for this, all the comments and messages I’ve been getting have been such wonderful confidence boosts for my writing.

Also, I pride myself on trying to stay true to proper characterization, I think respecting the creators vision and original ideas when writing fan fiction is really important to creating an engaging story. So this was a really nice message to receive because I’ve worried I haven’t been doing his character justice with this story. I also think it’s really important not to skim over just how jarring waking up into an apocalypse would be, I don’t think anyone would really react well to that lol

The next part is out, but it’s definitely not getting to any of the happy bits yet, it’ll happen

Eventually