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the-awkward-outlaw · 4 years

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Bonjour ! How are you doing ? I've read you're depressed, I've been through it too, feel free to talk to me whenever you want ! Since you're my favourite writer, I've got an imagine request for you ! Imagine Leviticus Cornwall's young wife has been kidnapped by the gang. She's a classy british girl and she is very pretty, but she is not arrogant and is friendly with the gang. Arthur and her fall in love but Dutch want a ransom and doesn't want her to stay. You can choose the ending.Thank you :D

Awe thanks friend! My depression is luckily on the down low and I am in therapy to learn how to control it, but it’s awesome to hear that we support each other. If you need to talk, I’m here as well!

Sorry it took so long to do this one. Honestly this request could have turned into a multi-chapter fic! That being the case, it’s really long (only 20 pages lol). Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

(Author’s note: Arthur doesn’t have TB in this scenario)

Word count: ~10,500

You look over at your husband across the breakfast table with disgust. Although it’s a rather rare occurrence for him to join you for your morning meal because his schedule is so full, you’d rather he never did. Of course, you’ve no say in any of this. You’re just his wife, his property. He’s made it clear more than once that he’s no interest in your feelings, your hopes and dreams.

You’d grown up in London. Your father was and still is the owner of a prominent bank. When you were in your late teens, your father and mother decided to move to New York and start a new bank there. Your father saw the ocean of opportunity there. New York was a fast-growing city, and although it didn’t have the wealthy history of London, it had new sources of money that had yet to be tapped. Your father raved about the correctness people used when they called the area New England, for it was like it in many ways but so many of the people were “new money” and your father loved it. Within only a few years, your father’s new bank in New York took off so well he even built another one in Boston, which was where he decided to permanently locate you, your mother and younger brother.

When you first arrived in America, you knew very little about the country and certainly nothing about the American West. The little you had learned about the country was mostly in regards to the Revolutionary War a little over a hundred years ago. How the Americans had basically won against the British with little more than varmint rifles and their unique strategies of outsmarting their rivals. You learned in school that thirty years ago America suffered a Civil War, something to do with slavery. You had no idea though that many of the states had wanted to become their own separate country.

Your mother was aware that your knowledge of America was flimsy at best. Hers was the same way, so she encouraged you and your brother to go and learn about the history of America in order to appear knowledgeable about it despite being a foreigner. However, she wouldn’t let you study at Boston’s library. She insisted that, coming from a wealthy family, you should read from the University’s library and study with their tutors. Only common folk went to the public library, although you thought it would be a wonderful source to observe American culture firsthand. Per her wishes, you went to the University’s library with your brother, but you didn’t like it much. You felt that its books would have been no better than the library’s and the tutors were so stuck up and over-educated, it made you miserable.

In London, you were constantly surrounded by the wealthier folk since they were the only ones your parents would let you be around as a child. When you moved to Boston though, you were old enough to disobey them and mix in with a different crowd. You found yourself enjoying the company of the middle class. They were not concerned with manners and etiquette. Many of them had a sense of humor you enjoyed and because they were not so caught up in their wealth, they had a sense of community the wealthier folk lacked. They cared about each other. That was something so unique to you that you absolutely loved. It made you openly disobey your mother and you went to learn about America in Boston’s library. They offered tutors as well, and they were friendlier and had a richer knowledge in basic history, not just the history in politics and the prestigious like the University’s tutors had. Some of the tutors had even been involved in some of the events you studied up on. One was a former doctor during the Civil War and he told you some awful yet intriguing stories about it.

As you learned about America, you found yourself divulging into the American West. Of course you’d heard and learned a little about it as a child, the hot deserts with their cacti and the cowboys. However, as you learned about it now, you realized your previous knowledge had been minimal. You knew nothing of the true wildness of it. The outlaws, the sheriffs that were just as tainted as the criminals they sought. The tough ranchers who fought wars against wolves. The heartbreaking histories of the Natives that had lived and been treated like less than vermin by the settlers. The Mexicans who came and brought pieces of their own rich culture. It fascinated you. You’ve known nothing but civility and the West sounded like the opposite of it. Of course, you read a little about the wild gangs that flourished there and had no interest in experiencing them firsthand or even from a distance.

Your husband wipes his mustache and beard with a napkin and stands up without looking at you. His servant Bradley comes forward, holding a book open for him to read. You know this book very well. It contains your husband’s daily schedules. You have one as well. You’re used to living by a tight schedule, having done it most of your life. Your husband studies it for a moment and then says something to Bradley. You don’t hear it, not that you care. Without a glance in your direction, your husband turns to leave when the butler, Mr. Blomsbury comes in.

“Mr. Cornwall, the mayor of Saint Denis is on the phone for you.”

“About time that wretch finally returns my calls,” Leviticus says. “I’ve been needing to discuss matters with him for far too long. He’s an idiot and I’m a fool for ever getting into business with him.”

He leaves the room, followed by Blomsbury and Bradley. You sigh and finish your meal, your servant Marie comes forward to clean your plate. “Mrs. Cornwall, you have an appointment with your tailor in an hour. He is expecting you in the…”

“Yes, Marie, I am aware of this,” you say kindly. “Please make sure the room is ready to receive him.”

She curtsies and heads off. You dismiss the rest of the staff to do their other chores and head off to your own personal library to read a bit before the tailor arrives. You don’t want to go to this pointless party you’re being dressed for, but you’ve little choice in the matter.

On your way to the library, you bump into Leviticus Cornwall. Your miserable husband. You apologize for bumping into him as you know it’s the last thing he will do.

“Y/N, make sure you actually choose a flattering color to wear this time. That purple you wore to the last event washed you out. I had many people ask me if you were ill.”

“You were the one who told me to wear purple, Leviticus. You wanted us to match, remember?”

He ignores your remark. “Just pick something that actually looks good on you, Y/N.” He continues on down the hall to his study.

You sigh. How you hate him. Being born with a silver spoon in hand, you thought your entire childhood you’d be able to afford the luxury of finding someone you loved to marry. In your early twenties, your father and mother took that opportunity completely out of your hands. All the other women your age they knew were already married and some were even mothers. Your father was at least generous enough to want to find you a husband who was wealthy enough to let you live comfortably the rest of your life. Soon after, Leviticus Cornwall became a client of your father’s. They talked much and your father found out that Leviticus was a widower. His wife had passed away some years ago from complications during her first childbirth. The baby hadn’t survived either. It was arranged shortly after your father met him that you two should at least become engaged.

You were not happy when you found out. You’d recently met a young man at the library you were rather fond of. You knew your father would never accept him, he came from a middle class family. But he was your age, funny, attractive and very sweet. Just before you’d gotten the nerve to ask him out on a date, your father told you about your arrangements with Leviticus Cornwall. The man himself had been present when your father told you this, for Leviticus wanted to make sure you were at least pretty enough to be his fiance. When he saw you, he didn’t smile but he nodded approvingly.

“She will do,” he said after circling you and assessing your body. “You didn’t tell me she was so young.”

“I have no control of her age, Mr. Cornwall,” your father replied.

“No I suppose not,” Leviticus answered. “Still. You are lucky that I am a busy man and have no time nor patience to care for the opinions of others when it comes to my lifestyle. I hope she does not either, for some will think it inappropriate a man my age have a wife so young. A mistress, sure, but not a wife.”

“Of course, Mr. Cornwall. But she will make a wonderful wife,” your mother assured him. “She’s smart, she went to the best girls’ school in London. She also has many skills, she learned to paint and sing from a young age. She’s also finely accustomed to riding a horse. Properly of course, not that uncivilized way some women choose to ride with a leg on either side.”

Your mother was really selling you to him. Of course, you had learned how to do these things, but it didn’t mean you liked them. As far as riding side-saddle went, you detested it. There was little that was more painful than doing it that way, but of course you’d never ridden the way men did.

After much discussion, mostly on the matters of your dowry, it was settled. You were to be married to this man whom you barely knew. Three months later, you became his wife, despite him still being mostly a stranger to you. He’d had so little availability during your engagement he rarely visited and when he did, all he talked of was the things he had to do, his businesses and the problems that came with them. How he was interested in buying stakes in certain companies or outright buying them altogether.

When Leviticus became your husband, you moved with him down to Pennsylvania. He had the largest estate of any person you’d ever known. His mansion sat on over a hundred acres, some of them finely manicured but most used for livestock or farming. His stables themselves were huge and he even had an indoor riding arena, a rare thing to see. Leviticus bred horses on the side, although he did little of the business himself.

You head off now to the parlor where you are meeting the tailor. After over an hour of measuring and discussing styles, you finally give the tailor the final order on your dress and head out of the room. Marie meets you in the hall and holds open your schedule.

“Mrs. Cornwall, Mr. Cornwall has just received urgent news from New Hanover. His train traveling through Ambarino has just been robbed.”

“Well, good for him,” you say, growing tired of hearing about nothing but your husband’s affairs. “I have other things to attend to.”

“Actually, that’s just it, ma’am. Mr. Cornwall will be travelling later this evening to New Hanover in order to speak with the investigators. As he will be travelling, you are to accompany him.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Of course he wants you to go with him. It’s not because he loves you, hell you’re just another possession of his. You’ll be there strictly for appearances. Marie does not wait for you to respond.

“Your things are already being packed, Mrs. Cornwall. Be ready to leave by this afternoon.” Without another word, she leaves.

You’ve had enough of this. Over the past few weeks, you’ve caught yourself fantasizing about a simpler life, one without schedules and a loveless marriage. One that doesn’t mean you’re surrounded by money but by opportunity. People won’t tell you where to go, how to dress, walk or talk. One where you’d be allowed to just be you. All your life, you’ve been told how to act, how to be. But before you got married and were still studying in the public library, you had all those friends who your father called “common folk”. Although they had undeniably less money, they were happy. Happier than your parents, happier than your husband surely. They were free to go where they wanted and be who they were. You’ve never had that luxury.

Not only that, you don’t want to go with Leviticus on another boring trip to investigate nonsense with his business. What does it matter if his train got robbed? The criminals likely only took a few thousand dollars and Leviticus had enough to buy a small country if he wanted. Still, you know that if he lets this slide, he’ll feel he’s made himself a target and a fool. As you know, he is all about appearances. You come to the decision to talk to him about you staying here.

You find Leviticus in his study, going over some papers. Bradley stands attentive before him as Leviticus murmurs things about his train being robbed.

“Mr. Cornwall,” you say as you rarely address him by his first name.

“Not now, Y/N, I have something more important to see to.”

“Mr. Cornwall, I want to talk to you about tonight,” you say, sounding more bold than you feel.

He throws down the papers and glares at you. “What? What could you possibly want? Did you not hear that I have just been robbed?”

You stare right back at him. “I heard, but I don’t know why you’re making such a big ordeal of it. They couldn’t have taken more than a few thousand dollars. Do you not take more than that on a daily basis from the people who work for you?”

His eyes darken. “I will not be told how to run my business by my own damn wife. Bradley, get out.”

Bradley bows and leaves, shutting the door behind him. Leviticus stomps up towards you, his teeth bared. You stand your ground. He simply puts his face inches from yours and breathes hard, clearly trying to intimidate you. After a moment, he takes a step back.

“Now go get ready. I want to leave in an hour or two.”

“I am not coming with you, Leviticus. You can deal with things on your own. Hell, I’ll just be shut up in some damp and poor excuse for a manor anyways. It’s not like you need me there to impress a governor. You’re simply overseeing an investigation of your own affairs.”

Without warning, Leviticus turns and slaps you hard. You flinch and cup your cheek. Of course, this wasn’t unexpected. He’s hit you several times before, but most of the time he’s been decent enough to put your bruises in places others won’t see.

“I said you’re coming with me and that isn’t changing just because you don’t feel like it,” he hisses.

You lower your hand and glare at him again. “No I’m not, Leviticus. It’s completely pointless for me to go with you. You can’t make me-”

He slaps you again and this time you feel your lip burn. Pulling your hand away, you see a spot of blood on your finger.

“Don’t make me hurt you,” he snarls.

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” you say, your eyes watering from the stinging of your face. He raises his hand again but does not swing.

“If you think what you feel now is pain, you’re in for a surprise, Y/N. Now go get ready. I won’t tell you again. I’ll drag you out to the carriage by your ears if you don’t come willingly.”

You take his threat seriously. His servants will not hesitate to force you into his carriage, they’re just as frightened of him as you are. Everything in his life he rules over with an iron fist. His eyes flash as you stand there and you quickly dart out of the room, knowing that to stay means further abuse.

When you arrive in your dressing room, Marie applies a powder to your face to hide the red welt rising on your face. She says nothing to comfort you though and then she helps you into a dress suitable for travelling in. When you’re done, you dismiss her, claiming you need some time alone. She curtsies and leaves, closing the door.

You’re done with this. This life, this marriage. You want no part of it. Of course, your parents aren’t a help. They’re the ones who arranged this marriage for you in the first place. You’re going to escape though, and this trip is the perfect opportunity. You know there will be ample opportunities to escape, after all your staff aren’t that tough. They simply take care of you, not act as a guard.

Quickly, you grab a bag and stuff several items of jewelry into it, knowing you can trade them for money. You won’t go east or north towards Boston or New York. When Leviticus discovers you’ve gone, he will search for you and those directions will be the first place he looks since they’re the only places you’ve been. You’ll head west. Maybe you’ll act as a house maid or something of the likes, except you’ve no workable skills. You’ll work out those details later. Right now you focus on your escape and how you’ll be able to afford living on your own.

You head into your large closet and grab a small black box behind a rack of overcoats. In it is stored a few thousand dollars Leviticus always keeps in case of emergency. You swiftly empty it, stuffing the bills into your bag. Then you tuck the bag under the skirt of your dress. With a belt, you secure it around your waist where no one will notice its presence.

A few moments later, Marie enters the room again. “Mrs. Cornwall, the coach is ready. Mr. Cornwall reminds you that you are obligated to accompany him.”

You nod and grab your gloves, slipping them onto your arms and following her out. Once outside, you hold your head high and Stanley, your coachman, offers his hand to help you inside it. Once you’re settled, you wait a few minutes before Leviticus joins you. You ignore each other as the coach moves.

You’re taken to the train station where you ride inside Leviticus’s personal car and head down to Annesburg. There, Leviticus puts you on another coach but does not accompany you as he wants to discuss buying a stake in the Annesburg mine. You don’t care, of course. Soon his business won’t be any concern of yours.

The coach leaves Annesburg and heads west in New Hanover. Stanley explains you’re to stay in a small manor near the border of West Elizabeth. The coach travels further away from Annesburg.

The sun is setting and the coach travels along long grassy plains. Deer dash away from the trail at the sight of your coach. The coach travels over some tracks and then comes to a halt. The driver explains the horses need to rest and feed. Stanley gets out of the coach in order to stretch his legs. You wait for a moment, knowing he’s going several yards away in order to smoke. The driver of the coach is not paying you any attention either as he fiddles with the feed sacks, attaching them over the horses noses.

Now is your chance. You swiftly look around for anyone who might be watching, but no one’s around. Two men are playing dominoes on the train platform but they don’t even glance your way. A train rumbles up and then stops, preparing to take on passengers. As quickly as you can manage with your heavy gown, you dash out of the carriage and onto the train, not bothering to buy a ticket. Just as quickly, you settle into a seat on one of the finer cars, knowing that you look the part of someone who belongs there. You fidget with your hands, afraid someone spotted you. You keep a close eye on the driver of the coach and Stanley, who’s still smoking. Before either of them even start looking towards the carriage, the train’s whistle blows and begins to move.

You breathe a sigh of relief as the station disappears behind you and you check again that your bag of stolen money and jewels is still attached to you. You’ll get off at the first station, knowing that a ticketmaster is likely to come around and see everyone aboard has paid. Almost on queue, he comes into your car and starts making his way around. When he gets to you, you slip a ring with a large ruby on it in order to bribe him. He nods and goes on his way. You realize you should have asked him that he’d never seen you on this train, but he’s gone at this point. Oh well, he likely won’t remember your face anyways.

The train chugs north. You know by this point Stanley knows you’re gone. How could he not know? The coach had only stopped for a few moments. You’re sure at this point they must know you’re on the train. There was nothing else around that could whisk you away so quickly. Now you’re beginning to see the flaws of your plan. At least you have it in your favor that a train is much faster than a coach.

A little over an hour goes by and the train begins to slow after coming out of a long, dark tunnel. It stops at an old military station, the name “Bacchus” written above a rickety door. Some men, dressed in army uniforms, stand on the platform. When the train stops, you see men begin moving some boxes and barrels off a flatcar towards the rear of the train. Now is the time to leave.

You head outside, glad that none of the other passengers questioned your movements. Once off the train, you travel south, following the road but staying off it in case the coach happens to come along this way.

You’ve never been this far west before, but the country is beautiful. Tall, wispy aspens flutter their leaves in the gentle evening breeze. An elk lifts his proud head from a berry bush and stares at you, almost as though he knows he’s far more of a threat to you than you are to him. He goes back to browsing as the sun dips beyond the mountains.

Now you’re faced with another predicament. You’ve never slept outside and you don’t know the first thing about how to start a fire or find shelter. However, in a cluster of trees just south of the road, you see flickering firelight. Approaching it, you see a wagon and near it, surrounding the fire, is a blond man, his wife and two children, a boy and a girl. You approach slowly and the man looks up.

“Ah, hallo, gnädige Frau!” he says. You swallow. Of course, you took German when you were younger, but it’s been many years.

“Guten Abend,” you respond. His smile is warm and his family looks at you kindly, though they have already noticed how out of place you look in your heavy dress, feathered hat and high heels. You ask them if you could use their fire for the evening and they agree brightly.

You sit down, thanking them and the boy hands you a plate of Bratwursts and the girl offers you some German bread. You thank them again and eat, feeling quite hungry. As the sky grows darker, the family talks in their native tongue. You’ve forgotten most your German lessons, but still manage to pick up a few words.

“Ich haben ein Fragen,” the woman says to you. You recognize the word Fragen: question. You nod in recognition. “Was machst du hier?”

“What?” you ask, not understanding that line.

She gestures your clothes and then the fire. She wants to know why you’re here. You’ve no idea how to translate your predicament into their language. The young girl tugs on your sleeve.

“Ich kann etwas Englisch sprechen.” You nod.

“I am running away from my husband,” you say slowly enough that the girl can translate to her parents. “He is very rich but I am not happy with him.”

“Bist du schon lange gelaufen? Bist du mit dem Boot hierher gekommen?” The girl looks at you.

“Have you been running long? Did you come here by boat?”

You realize they must be confused by your accent. Although you’ve lived in America many years now, you still retain a decent amount of your British accent.

“No, no I only just ran away. I came here on a train, but my stagecoach driver and servant will be looking for me and they know I took the train.”

The parents nod, understanding now how you came to be at their fire.

“You are welcome to stay with us tonight,” the girl translates for her mother. “We are headed for Valentine tomorrow and can drop you off there.”

You thank them again and finish your meal. Not longer after, they show you a place under a canopy they’ve stretched over a spot of grass next to their wagon you can use. They’ve nothing to offer you except an old blanket. You take off only your shoes and hat and fall into an uncomfortable sleep.

**********************

In the morning, the family takes you to the small town of Valentine. There, you say your goodbyes and head into the general store where you trade in some jewels for money and buy some shirts and pairs of jeans. You’ve never worn pants before, but you figure the less you look like yourself, the easier you can hide. By this time surely, Stanley will have found a way to reach your husband and tell him of your disappearance. Leviticus may see you as nothing but property, but he will want you back, so you know he will begin a raging hunt. You desperately hope he never finds you as you hate to think what he’ll do to you if he does.

After buying clothes, provisions and a satchel to store things in, you head over to the stables and buy a tall cherry bay Thoroughbred named Willow. Only when the stablemaster comes out holding a heavy saddle do you realize another problem: you’ve never ridden with one leg on each side of the horse, only side saddle. Still, when you lead Willow out of the stables, you climb awkwardly into the stable and try your best to secure yourself in it, though it feels very foreign to you. You almost decide to buy a pistol from the gunsmith but realize that’s a foolish decision. You don’t know the first thing about guns and could very well end up shooting yourself. You decide it’s best to try and keep heading west, further from your home.

As you head south and away from Valentine, only going at a walk since you’re unaccustomed to riding this way, Willow snorts and stomps her foot, coming to a stop. You try urging her to walk on, but she just snorts again. Looking on the ground, you see a rattlesnake on the path, coiled and rattling its tail at her. Willow suddenly rears up and throws you to the ground before darting off into the trees. The snake slithers off, but your shoulder hurts terribly from where it slammed into the ground.

“You a’right, ma’am?” a voice asks.

Looking behind you, you find the picture-perfect example of a cowboy sitting astride his horse. His dark gambler’s hat shades his eyes from the sun and his blue shirt is worn and dirt. He looks at you, his face tanned and dirty from days of being in the sun and the wild, his jaw stubbled with a short beard. You notice his blue eyes.

“Yes, I’m alright,” you say, standing up and clutching your shoulder. “My horse was spooked by a snake.”

“I saw,” he says, dismounting his horse. “You need help catchin’ her?”

“Could you help?” you say, grateful he’s offering. “That would be lovely, sir.”

He tips his hat and then runs off into the trees where Willow went. You hear him talking to her in a gentle voice. A moment later, he leads her out. You thank him and then try mounting up, but what was a difficult task before is even harder now that your shoulder’s hurt.

“You need help, ma’am?” he asks again.

You nod and with a wavering voice explain that you’re new to this. He huffs a small laugh. “New to ridin’ a horse, sounds like ya just came here from London or someplace. You sure you’re doin’ a’right?”

You realize he’s not asking about your physical being, but more about your situation.

“To be honest, no sir. I’m… well, I come from a wealthy family but my husband died in a… a bad way and I had to run. Only I don’t know the first thing about being on my own.” You hope he doesn’t hear the lie.

“That much is clear,” he says, his hands on his hips. He looks rather attractive as he does and you blush and look away. He sighs heavily. “Well, sounds like you need help. Now I ain’t exactly clean in my own history, but I’m willin’ to offer you help until you get settled. Come on.”

He helps you into your saddle and then leads you further down the road and into a large cluster of trees where a large camp is nestled. Over the next few hours, you’re forced to sit by the horses as the man who helped you discusses with two other men whether you should be allowed to stay. In the end, they agree you can with the warning that if you mention them to anyone, particularly lawmen or Pinkertons, they will not be forgiving.

“Trust me,” you say to a tall man with a large black mustache and dark eyes. “I’ve no interest in speaking with lawmen. My husband will likely have them in his pockets, so they are just as much my enemy as they are yours.”

The man nods and walks away, asking a middle-aged woman with a thick bun on her head to help you set yourself up.

*******************************

Over the next few weeks, you learn that the camp you’re living with is a gang of outlaws, led by Dutch Van der Linde. His second in command is Hosea Matthews and the man who brought you here, named Arthur Morgan, is his right hand man.

Your introduction to the rest of the gang was not the smoothest as the matriarch, a woman named Susan Grimshaw, went into a right fit when she learned you have no domestic skills. “I never heard somethin’ so ridiculous in all my life!” she said. “Can’t even wash clothes!”

The other girls were kind enough to teach you how to do the chores around camp. You knew how to sew at least, not because you ever had to repair your own clothing but because you’d learned as a child how to embroider and knit. Luckily, sewing up the gang’s clothing is similar work, though with little art.

You like learning how to cook with a man named Simon Pearson. He’s quick to tell jokes, although he tells a lot of stories about his days with the navy and he only knows how to make a few things. You do somewhat miss having three-course meals three times a day, but you know you won’t starve here.

Most of the people in camp are kind and curious about you, although you tell them nothing of your husband’s real identity. You’ve told them all he died and never mentioned his name. For some reason, you get the feeling that to let slip the fact that your husband is Leviticus would be a bad thing. Cornwall’s got a lot of business out this way and he’s made a lot of enemies. You simply tell the others that your husband and you moved down here from London a few years back but he’s always been an abusive, hateful bastard and because you’re in America, the land of opportunity, you finally had a chance to get away from your life after his death. The others scoff at you calling this place the land of opportunity, saying there’s little of that to go around for people like them.

*******************************

You’ve become quite close to this gang that has quickly become your family over the last few weeks. Although most of them have their own sordid pasts, they’re good people. They have a sense of family you’ve never seen before, considering they come from a background your father would call “degenerate”. You’ve never seen people work so quickly and with such a sense of duty. Of course, that doesn’t mean they don’t have their problems with each other. Arguments do break out, but most of them seem to be for show and rarely end in physicality.

Only a week after you’d shown up, Arthur and some of the others came back with a red-haired man named Sean. You instantly knew he was Irish the moment he spoke. Since you both came from across the pond, you became close friends. You would have liked to get to know a woman named Molly O’Shea better as she was also Irish and she clearly came from a privileged background, but she didn’t seem interested.

The person who was most interested in you though was Arthur, the man who’d brought you here. Of course, you were extremely interested in him too and it didn’t take long for you to get feelings for him. He works the hardest out of all of them and he cares about everyone. You saw him bring Mary-Beth a fancy fountain pen one day after she’d mentioned she wanted one. During his rare breaks when he was in camp, he’d often come find you. He claimed he just wanted to make sure you were settling in fine, but you noticed he stuck around you more than the others. He asked a lot of questions about your past, what your childhood and marriage was like, why you left. You told him everything except who your husband was and the fact that he wasn’t really dead.

When you mentioned you lived your entire life being waited upon, he told you it sounded awful. “How did you not feel like a prisoner?” he asked. You were caught off guard by the question. Before you’d run away, you never felt that way. Now that you’re out here though, completely responsible for yourself, you realize you might as well have been a prisoner. You feel slightly envious about the others, realizing that even though none of them (except perhaps Molly) grew from well-off families, they’re wealthier in something you missed out on in life. All of them have tradable skills that you’re just now learning. Not only that, none of them have to put on a mask, hide who they are. Karen’s not shy about her drinking habits. Tilly used to run with a vicious gang and sometimes she talks about what that was like. No one in camp has ever had to pretend to be someone else. Something you were never allowed to do.

You sit now with the girls, reading aloud from a book Mary-Beth gave you. Although you often worked with them, they liked you to read aloud. Something about your accent, you suspected. Just as you’re reading a rather romantic scene from the almost sickeningly passionate story, Arthur walks over to your group, clearly wanting to see what’s going on. He has a habit of doing that, which you find endearing. You hide your smile and continue reading as he stops, his hand on his gunbelt. He smiles as he listens, his eyes soft.

Just as he’s about to say something, John Marston walks over and punches his arm. “Come on, Arthur. Got a job for ya. We’re gonna steal some sheep but need to go to Valentine for something.”

“Fine,” Arthur says gruffly. Not long after they leave, Dutch and Strauss head off too.

An hour or so later, the four men come back looking sweaty and angry, Strauss’s leg is bleeding. You’re washing some plates by Pearson’s wagon and Hosea marches over to them.

“Dutch, Dutch what happened?”

Dutch dismounts his white horse. “Turns out old Leviticus Cornwall don’t take too kindly to being robbed.” You freeze when you hear the name, but Dutch doesn’t notice. “He came up and tried to kill us, wants us to stop robbing him. We’ll have to leave this place, we had to shoot half the town in order to escape.”

You follow Dutch into his tent, staying a few steps behind as you listen to him and Hosea. They talk a little more about what led to them being shot at, but neither of them mention knowing Leviticus has a runaway wife. You breathe a sigh of relief. They don’t know, and if they do, they don’t know it’s you.

******************************

After fleeing Horseshoe Overlook, Arthur and Dutch both agreed you needed to learn how to rob, ride a horse properly and shoot a gun. Arthur took it on himself to teach you those things and he was an incredible instructor: patient, knowledgeable but not arrogant. The more time you spent with him, the deeper your feelings got. A nagging suspicion settled in your gut that he liked you too. It was just the soft way he spoke to you, how his hands lingered on yours when he taught you how to shoot a shotgun. One time you slid right off Willow’s back and he came over to help you up, but his hands stayed on your arms too long.

It didn’t take long for rumors to get out that you and Arthur were sweet on each other. Of course, you tried denying them, more to protect Arthur than yourself. No way could he want to be with you: a spoiled rich girl who didn’t even know how to sew a button on a shirt when he met you. He never treated you like a spoiled brat and he mentioned to you time and time again how sweet and honest you’ve been with everyone.

One night after Arthur, Karen, Bill and Lenny robbed the bank in Valentine, Dutch demanded a party for their success as they brought back a lot of cash. Everyone drank and sang together, but it wasn’t long before Sean, Uncle and Lenny started needling Arthur for having a crush on you. He denied it again and again until John came up and joined the fun, stating how obvious it was with a list of examples of his behavior that proved he liked you.

“I bet you ten dollars, Morgan,” John said, “that if you went over there and kissed her on the mouth right now, that girl would be blushing like crazy and wouldn’t even be mad. I know she likes you.”

“Shut your damn mouth, Marston,” Arthur retorted. That was until the other boys joined in on the bet, which climbed up to fifty dollars. All he had to do was kiss you in front of everyone right now. He’d had a lot of whiskey and his face was bright red, but when he looked at you sitting at the round table singing with Grimshaw, he couldn’t help but feel his heart flutter. You looked so beautiful in the light of the lantern, your cheeks pink from your own drunken state.

“Go get her, son,” Hosea said. Arthur looked at him and then got up, walking slowly over to you. He fidgeted with his hands, terrified but fueled by drink. When he got to your table, he stopped.

“Y/N, I got somethin’ to say to ya,” he said.

You smiled and stood up so he could address you. “Alright, Mr. Morgan. What is it?”

He stammered for a bit, his face growing redder. He hid his eyes beneath his hat and his hands were shaking. God, he was cute when he was nervous.

Without warning, he suddenly grabbed you and bent you slightly backwards, his lips planting on yours. Out of all the things Arthur could have done that night, that was certainly the last thing you expected. You almost pulled away, but his lips were warm and rough against your smooth skin. He smelled nice too, like pine and leather although you could taste the alcohol on his lips. Forgetting that you had an audience, your hand wove up behind his neck, pulling him closer. Your chest grew warm and a light feeling overcame you, making you kiss him back.

Someone whistled at you and Arthur, followed by several people laughing. That brought you back down to the present and Arthur pulled away from you and then straightened you up. His face was horribly red, but he was smiling. “Sorry, Y/N,” he said. “I hope I didn’t frighten ya.”

“Maybe a little, but I liked it,” you said, your hand still on his chest. You glanced at the onlookers as they continued to laugh and tease you. You bit your lip and looked up at Arthur. “What say you we go somewhere more private and try that kiss again?”

He quickly grabbed your hand and led you off into the trees and then onto a moon-bathed beach by the lake. There, you two ended up doing much more than kissing, although that’s how it started. Encouraged by your drunken states, you were the one who got carried away and stripped out of your clothes in order to swim in the lake to relieve the heat of the air and your body. Arthur followed soon after, but you remember the way he watched you swim. Not long after, you ended up lying with him on the beach, his body glowing silver under the moon. You climbed onto him just to kiss him, but as you were naked and alone, it didn’t take much to end up going further.

Although the only man you’d slept with before had been Leviticus, it was never on your terms and he only did things with you for a moment before he reached his satisfaction and was done with you. However, Arthur was so different. He touched you in just the right places, his rough hands gliding along your naked back and hips. He felt amazing inside of you as well, almost as though your bodies were molded for the other’s. He’d gotten you to release first then followed shortly after. You never knew sex could be so passionate and emotional, but Arthur made you feel and think things you’d never experienced before.

The morning after had been a bit awkward when the two of you woke up naked on the beach, still wrapped around one another. You had a pounding headache and knew Arthur did too. When you remembered what you’d done together, you both panicked a moment. Had you really slept with Arthur the same night you found out he loved you back? The two of you dressed but stayed on the beach and talked things out. You came to the decision that what had happened had felt right and you wanted to stay together. After that, you were very open with your relationship to Arthur with the rest of the gang.

That all happened weeks ago, and you’ve grown to love him more than you thought possible. You’d dreamed of finding a man to love as a child, but had no idea it felt like this. Even as a child, the men you’d imagined you’d love couldn’t hold a candle to Arthur. He’s thoughtful and secretly sensitive, but protective and strong. You remember the way he held you when Sean died, almost crushing you as you sobbed into his chest. Another time in Saint Denis, a man on the street had said something rather rude about you and Arthur punched him in the jaw. “You don’t get to say shit about my girl, ya hear?” he roared as the man fled. You couldn’t dream of a more perfect man to love than Arthur Morgan.

You were crushed when Hosea and Lenny died and most of the gangs’ men, including Arthur, ended up on a boat and stranded on Guarma. You never thought you’d miss anyone so much, but during the couple of weeks that he was gone, you felt physical pain in his absence. You spent many nights lying on his cot clutching one of his shirts, willing his scent to stay and offer you some level of comfort. When he returned, it was like you could breathe again. Shortly afterwards though, the Pinkertons forced you and the gang to flee Lakay and into Beaver Hollow, an old Murphree hideout.

That’s where you are now. While things with the gang have always had rough patches, now they’re worse than ever. People fight constantly and Dutch seems to be losing his mind. He’s changed from the intelligent, cunning but caring man into someone who’s still intelligent and cunning but enjoys killing. It doesn’t help that Micah constantly hisses into his ear.

Over the past few months of travelling with the gang, you’ve heard relatively little from and about your husband. Somehow you’ve managed to avoid the patrols he’s likely sent out to look for you and you only saw your name show up once in an article in the Saint Denis paper about your disappearance. However, with tensions in the camp running higher than ever and Dutch acting so mad, you’re beginning to fear things are about to come to a head with you at the center.

Micah strolls into camp, holding a newspaper under his arm and followed by Bill. They’ve just come from Annesburg, having scouted there for possible leads on scores. You’re standing at Pearson’s wagon, preparing tonight’s stew. Micah gives you a knowing and dark smile that you don’t like as he heads to Dutch’s wagon. A bad feeling comes into your stomach and you follow behind him a few steps.

“Dutch, I just found somethin’ out. Somethin’ that could be real useful. Somethin’ with ol’ Cornwall,” Micah simpers at him.

Dutch lowers his cigar and looks at Micah expectantly. Micah rubs his hands together.

“Did you know ol’ Cornwall’s married and his little wife ran away right after we robbed his train up in Ambarino?”

“How is this any use to us?” Arthur demands, having been attracted by the name Cornwall. “Not like we’re gonna find her.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, cowpoke. Turns out we already found her and she’s right there.” Micah spins and points right at you. Everyone in camp stops and stares at you as your blood runs cold.

“Shut up, Micah,” Arthur growls, walking up to your side to protect you. “Y/N’s husband’s dead.”

“Or is he?” Micah retorts. He flings the newspaper at Arthur. “Read it and weep, Morgan.”

Arthur furrows his brow but opens the newspaper. “N-no, don’t!” you plead, but too late. There’s a black and white photograph of you standing arm in arm with Leviticus Cornwall, your unsmiling faces staring up at Arthur. He reads the first bit of the article aloud.

“Leviticus Cornwall, executive of Cornwall Kerosene and Tar, Cornwall Rails blah blah blah has released a new statement regarding the disappearance of his wife. Back in May, Mr. Cornwall’s train was robbed in Ambarino by the notorious Van der Linde gang. In order to investigate the robbery, Mr. Cornwall and his wife Y/N came down from their home in Pennsylvania. Mr. Cornwall last saw his wife in Annesburg when she left to stay in his residence in New Hanover. It was reported that she did not arrive at the home but her stage driver and chauffeur, Mr. Stanley Wilcox, claimed she was missing shortly after arriving at Emerald Ranch. It was unknown then if they had been involved in her disappearance or if she’d been kidnapped by other means.”

“Earlier this month, a citizen of Saint Denis stated he’d seen Mrs. Cornwall in the city. ‘I’d just visited the Cornwall manor a week previously on business with my brother,’ Mr. Henry Larson reports. ‘I saw a painting in a hallway of Mr. Cornwall and his wife Y/N. I recognized her immediately. She was dressed like a farm girl but it was definitely her.’”

“A few days after this incident was reported, authorities had reached Mr. Cornwall about his wife’s appearance, but before he could arrive, the Saint Denis Massacre occurred in which the previously mentioned Van der Linde gang attempted to rob the city’s bank and a shootout between them, the city’s law enforcement and the Pinkerton Detective Agency occurred. The gang of outlaws has since fled the area, but rumors speculate that Mrs. Cornwall is among them. If anyone holds any information towards her whereabouts, they are greatly urged to come forward. Mr. Cornwall has offered a considerable $20,000 to anyone who can find his wife and return her safely.”

Arthur lowers the paper, his eyes dark. Your hands are trembling. The cat’s out of the bag now and you’re in big trouble. Micah sniggers as Arthur looks at you, his eyes tell you the betrayal and pain he feels.

“You’re Y/N Cornwall,” he says as a tear slides down your cheek.

“Only on paper,” you say. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Oh because it was so hard to say ‘hello, I’m Y/N Cornwall, you just robbed my husband but do you mind if I run with you fellas a while’ when you first arrived?” Micah taunts. Dutch’s eyes are narrowed slightly, the way they do when he’s got a plan coming together.

You look around at everyone staring at you in shock. Some look like they have a hard time believing it, Mary-Beth and John for example, while others look angry and hurt. Arthur is among them. He drops the newspaper and takes a step back from you.

“All this time,” he says quietly. “All this time and you never mentioned once you’re his goddamn wife!”

Another tear falls. “I’m sorry, Arthur. Everyone, I’m sorry. But how was I supposed to tell you the truth? You robbed my husband, he tried to kill you. Not only that, I was never married to him by choice. My parents basically sold me to him and he’s never made me happy. Maybe… maybe I was just happy to finally be around people who didn’t associate me with him for once.”

You clasp your hands in front of you, willing any of them to understand. Dutch walks slowly towards you, his jaw set. Micah follows behind, looking excited.

“You’re Y/N Cornwall. The man who has been hunting us for months. The man who holds the ticket to our freedom from this cesspit of a country. I think I have a new plan.”

His eyes narrow, glittering. You suddenly realize what he’s thinking.

“Dutch, please don’t take me to him. I’m begging you. If he finds me again, he’ll kill me. I don’t even know if he’ll pay you for me. Dutch, he hates you and your boys more than anything, you were the only ones stupid enough to rob him. I know for a fact he’s paying the Pinkertons to hunt you down.”

“How do you know this?” John asks, standing next to Arthur.

“Because I know Leviticus better than any of you,” you say. “He obviously figured out pretty quickly that the gang from Blackwater were the same ones to rob him. He also must have found out the Pinkertons were looking for you, so I’ve no doubt he contacted them and started putting money into their pockets.”

“Or you’re the rat we’ve been looking for,” Micah sneers. “Maybe you’re the one telling the Pinkertons our every move. Think about it, Dutch. All our problems with them started right after we took her in. She’s been lying to us from the start.”

You don’t know what to say in your defense. Since you have lied to them from the start about your true past, there’s nothing you can do to say you aren’t lying to them now.

“Dutch, please,” you whisper, your lower lip trembling.

He sighs and stares hard at you. “Tie her up.”

Before you can move, two pairs of hands grip you tight and throw you down, your hands and feet being tied up. People are yelling, you hear Sadie screech and Arthur roar. You start trying to look around to ask someone for help, but a black cloth is tied around your head, covering your eyes. Someone shoves another cloth into your mouth, preventing you from speaking. You can still hear though.

“Dutch!” Arthur roars. “Let’s talk about this! We can’t take her to Cornwall! Like she said, ain’t no guarantee he’d pay us after all the problems we given him.”

You feel yourself thrown over a horse’s back as Dutch says, “This is the right move, Arthur. I don’t like it, but she’s used us and this is our best shot at getting out of here. Heyaw!”

The horse beneath you suddenly begins to run and you can hear the pounding of other horses. Arthur still yells at Dutch, trying to make him think logically, but Dutch ignores him.

After a while of heavy riding in which you feel like all your ribs and your stomach have been heavily bruised from the horse’s movements, they stop. You can smell the thick coal dust and the smell of polluted water. Someone’s hands grab you and you’re set on your feet, the ropes cut. The bandana and gag are removed and you see you’re standing on the pier of Annesburg, a boat docked. The name of it is The Soaring Emily. Leviticus named it that after his first wife.

“Cornwall!” Dutch hollers, keeping a painfully tight hold on your arm. “Cornwall! Get out here! My friends and I have a proposal for you!”

Looking behind you and Dutch, you spot Bill, Micah, John and Arthur. Arthur looks at you, pain in his eyes. He doesn’t want to do this, but nothing can stop Dutch in his roll.

A door on the ship’s deck opens and Leviticus Cornwall steps out, flanked by a group of men, all holding rifles. His eyes glare at you and then to Dutch.

“My friend,” Dutch says. “I heard tell that your lovely wife got away from your clutches. Well, just so happens, she’s been stowing away with me and my boys for the last few weeks. Rumor says you’re wanting her back, so we’re here to make a deal. You give me and my boys that $20,000 and a boat. You get your wife back and we’ll stop robbing from you. In fact, you’ll never hear from us again.”

Leviticus just laughs. “Mr. Van der Linde, I admire your determination and your daring, but if you think I will give you a single penny, then you’re sorely mistaken.”

“How about now?” Dutch responds, pulling out his pistol and aiming it at your temple. He pulls the back the hammer, your heart pounding in your ears as more tears fall down your cheeks. Dutch wouldn’t kill you, would he? After all the time you spent in his camp, helping feed the others and bring in money, he’s just going to kill you. Something tells you he will if he doesn’t get his way.

“Dutch,” Arthur hisses a warning behind him. He’s ignored.

“Now Mr. Cornwall, I know what it’s like to see the woman you love die by the hands of your greatest enemy. Now while I doubt poor Y/N here is the love of your life, you obviously value her in some way. Which would you rather keep? Her life or your money?”

Cornwall glares back at him, his teeth bared. “I’m a businessman, Mr. Van der Linde. Business doesn’t care for feelings or love. Shoot her if you must, but I will not give you anything!”

Your stomach drops as you realize that this is it. Dutch is just crazy enough that he won’t care about shooting a member of his own gang. You’re not surprised at all that Leviticus is willing to let you die. To him, you’re replaceable, a mere object. Still you thought you mattered to the others, to Arthur.

Before anyone can do anything to save you from Dutch’s grip, Dutch nods. “You sure? Fine, I prefer it this way.” He suddenly swings the gun forward and shoots Cornwall, the bullet piercing his chest. He pushes you down as Cornwall’s men begin firing, the others shooting back. The gang begins to run as more men come out from the boat, leaving you where you’ve fallen. You start to scream, begging for help, but it seems no one can hear you amidst the gunfire.

Suddenly a pair of hands grabs your arms and cuts the length of rope binding them, then they lift you up. “Come on, sweetheart,” Arthur’s rough voice says as you stand.

You’re shaking hard and you want nothing more than to throw your arms around him, but now isn’t the time. Sharp gunshots litter the air, echoing off the buildings. Arthur grabs your hand and runs north on the train tracks. When you reach a bridge going over a sharp dip in the land, a path running through it, he stops.

“You go, darlin’,” he says, breathing hard. “Go, don’t come back to Beaver Hollow. It ain’t safe for you there.”

“Arthur, I’m sorry,” you say, thinking he’s pushing you away because he’s mad.

“Just go, darlin’. I’ll come find you when I can. But you can’t come back, ya hear? You do and you’re dead.” Before you can say anything else, he’s running back down the bridge towards Annesburg to rejoin the gang. You know he can’t leave of course. Not now anyways. Dutch and the others still depend on him too much.

You flee from Annesburg, having no idea where you’ll go or what you’ll do. Your horse is back at Beaver Hollow, but luckily all your money and the few pieces of jewelry you stole from Leviticus are in your satchel. You run north towards Willard’s Rest and then stop by the wide river where you finally break down. The past few weeks come rushing through you, the good and the bad. You know since Guarma, Dutch has gone crazy but you never thought he’d turn on you like that. Not when he’s spouted for weeks about having loyalty and faith to anyone who would listen. Your life has come crashing down around you so swiftly, you aren’t sure how to process it.

You stay here for a few hours, going between sobbing, missing the gang (especially Arthur) and feeling numb. As the sun begins to set, you look down the path and see Arthur riding up, your horse in tow. When you see him, you begin to cry again. You don’t run to him though, knowing how hurt he must be.

He dismounts and walks over to you, pulling you into a tight hug which surprises you. “Arthur, I’m so sorry,” you wail into his shirt. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he says into your hair. “I know why ya lied. Hell, I probably would’ve too. But everything else you said, was it true?”

“Everything is. The way I grew up, how I was sold to him. I promise his name and the fact that he wasn’t dead at the time was the only parts I hid.”

He sighs and pulls away. “Well, I guess one of your lies came true today though. Darlin’, I’m so sorry.”

Over the next few hours, you and he discuss what will happen now. He comes to the decision he won’t leave the gang, he can’t. He knows now that there’s no saving Dutch, but maybe he can help the others get out. You, on the other hand, would be handed a death sentence if you stepped foot into the camp. He asks what you want to do and you admit that you just want to live somewhere alone with him and have a quiet life, begin a family with him. He blushes but agrees that’s what he wants to.

The next day, he takes you to a small cottage he’s seen on the borders of New Hanover and Ambarino, not far from the river. It’s secluded and well hidden in the trees. You have plenty of money to set your things in order, so you’ll be well off here. It’s also far enough from the gang that they won’t find you but it’s not far enough for him to not come visit you.

Over the next couple of weeks, he visits every couple of days. You manage to take care of yourself quite well having learned through him how to hunt and skin animals. You bought some materials and seeds from the store in Valentine and are determined to start a garden, although you’ve never taken care of plants before. It’s a lot harder than you thought, but you manage to get a few plants sprouting.

When Arthur visits, he tells you of the things he and the gang has done, how much crazier Dutch gets. Arthur himself is growing angry and mistrustful of him, but he’s determined to help the others escape with their lives. Sometimes you read about the gang’s activities in the paper in Valentine, like Bacchus Bridge being blown up, Colm O’Driscoll’s hanging in Saint Denis followed by a deadly shootout, tensions growing between the Wapiti and the army.

One night Arthur shows up at your little cabin late into the night. He’s exhausted and there’s blood on his hands. “I’m done, darlin’,” he says when you open the door. “I ain’t ever goin’ back there. I’ve wasted my life livin’ the preachings of a crazy man.”

“What happened?”

Arthur explains how the son of the Wapiti chief went and did a raid on Cornwall’s oilfield in order to retaliate for them forcing his people off their land. You know Arthur has had many dealings with them, trying to help them in their struggles against the army. Arthur then describes how, after getting bonds from the foreman’s office, he got knocked down by a burst pipe. An officer pinned him to the floor and nearly overpowered him. Dutch had seen it all and even had the chance to kill the man, but Arthur watched him walk away, sealing his fate.

“If Eagle Flies hadn’t come, I’d be dead. Then that asshole Colonel Favors shot him. He’s dead now, and all because Dutch didn’t care if I died. When I accused him of such, he lied in front of everyone and said he’d done no such thing. I’m done, darlin’. I’m done fightin’ his battles for him just so he can leave me to die. I wanna start a new life with you properly now.”

“Arthur,” you say, cupping his cheek. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

#rdr2 fanfic #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #awkward asks

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shippingeruri · 7 years

Text

Birthday fic

Dear @kittyboo8015,

It’s your birthday (well, here in Central Europe it is already :D) and @zedsdead1001 and myself want to wish you all the best in this world! Happy birthday - we hope you have an awesome day! You are a wonderful human being and we are very happy to have you around.

Don’t let life get in your way or drag you down <3

Since you are so in love with the new Imagine Dragons album (which Zed and I love, too) I got inspired for a fic... so I asked one of my favourite authors if they’d be up to write something together with me (which I’m really honored about O_O) and together we worked on the details.

And here we are... a modern au fic, heavily inspired by Imagine Dragons lyrics.

Dancing in the Dark

Erwin ~ myself Levi ~ @zedsdead1001

Read it on AO3

~~~

Letter 1

It was the worst day this year so far.

Flight missed due to heavy flooding. Laptop dropped and shattered as they ran and tried to catch the flight (and yet missed it). Mobile locked because Hanji had tried to unlock it while they were waiting for their next flight home. She had taken the opportunity when Erwin had excused himself to the bathroom and of course failed to enter the correct code. Now Erwin would need to find the shitty backup code when he would be back home.

There was no way to contact Levi, inform him about his delay. Erwin felt like shit and just wanted to be home. The tournament was good, especially if one considers that he and Hanji were above 30 now and their competitors were in their mid twenties.

Yet, he just wanted to be with Levi, wanted to be home.

Home was another place than what 99% of the people in Erwin's life assumed it was. It was not the spacious, expensive, luxury penthouse flat with a roof terrace that provided a view on the canals of Amsterdam – paid by his agency.

His real home was a cosy, lovely furnished 3 bedroom flat in one of the side roads near the city centre. A place that he and Levi had chosen carefully three years ago when they had their second anniversary, an anniversary that nobody was aware of besides the two men themselves.

Their relationship was a secret. Not because they were ashamed or wouldn't want to make it official, but their careers made it quite difficult.

Professional dancing was quite a rough place. Knowing the right people, playing the right cards and playing the role that society expected were more important than talent. Talent was the base, everything else was personality, character and looks. It sucked but they were both so deep into it and they both loved dancing from the bottom of their hearts.

When they were younger they both danced for fun, each on their own. Their talent got discovered and in Erwin's late teens he started to participate in tournaments. This was also when he and Levi met for the first time.

Erwin was well educated and spoke English way above the average German teenager in his age group – and yet, Levi would mock him about it. There was this competitive atmosphere – fuelled by their trainers, by the press and later on by the agencies that would dictate a great deal of their lives.

Since Erwin was a few years older than the absolutely talented Levi, he was the one that kept a cool head until the end and led him and Hanji to victory. This went on for a few years – each encounter heating up the rivalry between them more. Sometimes Levi and Petra would win, sometimes Erwin and Hanji would claim the title.

Erwin's biggest talent was the waltz and he would specialise on the ballroom dances while Levi clearly had the fire for the Latin American dances, so they didn't see each other again on tournaments in the next years. At least they didn't see each other in the flesh – but it was very rare that they missed the live stream of the tournament of the other. They both knew about the talent the other one had and they were of course curious about their development.

It was six years ago when they met again. Two dance events were held in Amsterdam at the same time and the after show parties for both events got combined. Rivals, both established in their field of dancing, both men in their 20s now, actually talked to one another, complimenting the success of the other. The chatter got interrupted by agents that wouldn't want them to be seen together – for the image of them being competitive, looking down on the other should be held up. It was good publicity if they stayed rivals but they didn't care. Nobody had to know.

So they exchanged mobile numbers in the bathroom and soon a friendship developed. From daily chit chat about jurors, other dancers, the floor at certain locations, it soon went on to favourite bands, movies, book, family matters, dreams, hopes and fears.

They started to Skype on a regular basis – no matter the time zone. Erwin and Hanji attended tournaments in the USA and a week later, Levi and Petra would be in Argentina. It was quite a stressful time – both being international pros in their disciplines and still trying to live a civil life.

And when they met again on the same event, one year later, there were butterflies and nervousness, sweaty palms and dry mouths. Seeing the other one again felt different after all that they had shared. Erwin didn't actually feel like meeting a friend again, but meeting the person he'd fallen in love with. And so did Levi.

They started 'dating'. Quite difficult, considering their packed schedules and the expectations everyone had. Erwin and Hanji had somehow ended up not only a dance couple but mimicking real lovers. It was absurd since Hanji was like a sister to Erwin and she obviously felt the same towards him. But their agents demanded it, set up fancy dinners in expensive restaurants, booked holidays for them and rented them this luxurious apartment where they should live officially – and above all: dropped hints about everything for the press.

When the plane landed in Amsterdam there were paparazzi that wanted to get some nice pictures of the couple and so Hanji and Erwin gave them some practised poses, smiling all lovey-dovey, holding hands, exchanging shy kisses.

They got picked up by their agents and dropped off at the luxury complex. Hanji actually lived there but Erwin had told her that he wanted to have his peace and quiet. So far she didn't ask where he was really living, just asking him to promise he didn't do anything illegal.

He waited until the paparazzi were gone and then took a taxi to his and Levi's flat that was rented under Mike's name. Erwin had told his best friend that he wanted to have a place that nobody knew about and the deal was set.

It was quiet in the apartment, only their cat, Pix, greeting him with husky meows as he took off his shoes and bent down to pet the quite fat cat.

“Hey Pix.” He spoke with a gentle smile and in return received a rough cat tongue licking on his palm.

“Did Levi not feed you before he left?”, Erwin asked as he made his way to the kitchen.

The bowl was empty but there was a paper on the counter.

“Don't trust fatty. I fed him.”

Erwin had to laugh as he gave Pix quite a look.

“You sneaky animal. Worth a try at least...” and he received another meow in return from the three coloured cat.

He pulled his suitcase in, hung up his dancing outfits on hangers and put on a laundry wash. He would take the outfits to the dry cleaning tomorrow before he would leave again in two days. It was high season for tournaments and he and Levi hardly had any chance to see each other for more than a few hours if they were overlapping at all.

And Erwin just had managed to fuck up one of those rare encounters.

With a sigh he wandered over to Levi's side of the bed and took the pillow. The last time they had slept here together was about a week ago and they even managed to have an argument. It had been unnecessary. Something about bringing down the trash and cleaning Pix's toilet. One accusing the other of failing his duties and when things heated up, more accusations were thrown in. A normal fight that every couple would have. Nothing too serious, yet unpleasant.

Erwin was the one who had ended the argument because he didn't want to fight with Levi a few hours before he would fly to Paris. He wanted to embrace his lover, feel him, touch him, kiss him.

Yet he didn't, because Levi didn't want to. But they fell asleep cuddling, murmurs of “I love you” on both their lips.

With a smile he buried his face in the pillow, inhaling his lover's scent. A mixture of lemon, rain, grass, peach and flowers. Unique and wonderful.

On the coffee table in front of the sofa he found another note:

“I guess you missed your flight? But why's your mobile switched off and why do you not reply to my email?

You performance was stunning as always.

I love you.

Levi”

~~~

The next morning he started to search for the backup code for his mobile but couldn't find it. After going through every single drawer, box and place that this shitty piece of paper could have been, he gave up. He'd probably thrown it away when packing boxes to move here with Levi.

For a moment he considered to do a hard reset but he would lose all pictures of him and Levi on it. No backup – for security reasons – so this was not an option.

A short trip to the dry-cleaning service around the corner, a quick visit at Hanji's with a brief practise of some of the movements they weren't too familiar with yet and then he went back home.

Even without his mobile, he knew exactly when Levi would be seen on the live stream, so thanks to the internet stick on their TV, Erwin was able to watch his boyfriend perform.

Just in time he sat down on the sofa and once more was blown away by Levi's rigour and charisma...

~~~

After Erwin had picked up his dancing outfits again, packed his suitcase, had taken a shower and fed Pix, he placed an envelope with Levi's name on it on the coffee table and left. When his boyfriend would get home a few hours later, he could read the following:

My dear Levi,

This might be the first time since my childhood that I'm actually writing a letter by hand. I've never written a 'love letter' before either, so consider this a premier in more than one way.

I'm so incredibly sorry that I didn't contact you or reply to your mail. I dropped my laptop while Hanji and me tried to get our flight but we missed it. And then Hanji was trying to unlock my phone, failed and now it's locked. I can't find the back up code. I know this sounds like the script of a really cheesy movie but please believe me.

You'll find my mobile on the kitchen counter – should you have any idea where we've put those backup codes, please feel free to unlock my phone.

Oh and while I'm writing this, Pix is begging for food, although I just fed him an hour ago. We really should try to find some diet food for him or buy a treadmill and force him to walk on it.

When I came home last night our neighbourhood watch was on its duty again... the old couple from across the street couldn't believe how late I got home. I still think that they believe that we are just renting this apartment together to save some money. Gay people in this area? Never!

Thank you for the note on the coffee table – it's good to hear that you value my 'old man' dancing, as you like to call the ballroom dances. I start feeling old this season indeed – not because of my body but because of my competitors. They are all younger than me, younger than you and I feel like they deliver a completely different atmosphere while dancing. Fresh, vibrant, dynamic and yet perfectly fitting for the ballroom dances. It's like they take the fire of the Latin American dances to our long dresses and sweeping movements. And to me it feels like Hanji and I are dropping out sooner than we might think.

Speaking of 'fire'... you performance was marvellous as always. Brilliant to watch. I'd take a guess and say that you made some women in the audience very happy. And I'd love to show up at one of your events and experience this live again... but the risk is too big, I guess. I mean we've discussed this several times and if we want to be what we are at the moment, we can not risk to be seen at the same event without a good reason.

Petra is so lucky to have you as her partner. The rhythm is in your blood, you feel the music, can adapt to every new beat within a split second, change your figures within the blink of an eye – it's stunning. I'm truly mesmerised whenever I see you dancing.

But it's not only the way you dance, it's your whole presence, the aura that you create. Your outfits are always on point, perfectly harmonising with Petra's dresses. Your body looks beautiful, your legs move so fast and yet coordinated. It's definitely an advantage that you are not that tall. And may I tell you how wonderful and seducing your ass is? I don't think that's something new to hear from me... but watching you dance gives me another perception for you and your body.

Your arms are strong, leading Petra, holding on to her but at the same time giving her freedom. Your upper body is in the perfect angle, strong, every muscle knowing what is has to do. Your shoulders – just mindblowing– Petra can hold on to you, you re-assure her movements and yet she is not giving away all lead. I can see that even on the screen. And that is wonderful because the woman has a way more important role in Latin American dances compared to ballroom dancing.

You neck gets in line with your ass – I'd love to touch it, caress it, lick it, kiss it, bite it, suck it, mark it. If I'd do that, the jurors would for sure decrease their rating due to your lack of professionalism and everyone would believe it was Petra's doing. Your agent would kill you. The latest instruction was: play the bachelor that has taken an interest in his dance partner but still give the fans hope? Or has anything changed about that?

Oh how much I'd wish one could survive in this business without managers and agents...

But let me get back to you, the man I love, and his stunning looks while dancing.

I really think you chin is cute. Sorry – I'm not sorry. You know how much I like to nibble on your chin or tickle it – and even when you dance, your chin still is cute. But the overall facial expression is so different and so much more.

The way your jaws are working while you switch from seductive smiles over wetting your lips to getting really close to Petra. Wow that is just... it's hard to describe.

Your eyes, your nose, your lips, everything is just perfect. You have annexed the ways of Latin American dancing like nobody else that is not Latin American that I've ever seen. You play with everyone in the room as well as with the audience behind their screens. There's so much passion, desire, heat and sex appeal between you and Petra, you and the jurors, you and the audience – and even when I'm sitting here, just watching a 720p stream, I can't deny that I'd love to touch you in a very much inappropriate way...

I'm addicted to you and it's not because of your looks. I can't deny that I love your body, your face, your hair – everything about you. But what makes me the happiest man on this planet is your heart and soul.

I love you, Levi. I really do, with all my heart. Every day with you in my life is a better day and I can't imagine a life without you.

If I think back to our first encounter... oh god I wanted to kill you. You were ... 14 years old maybe and you were really mean to me. For no particular reason. But then our managers totally got on that train and the whole “Germany vs. England” PR began. God, how I hated it. But we both played it. For our dream...

And then my dream became a different one. I wanted to get to know you after I'd seen every single one of your performances and I probably had a crush on you ten years ago already. You fascinated me and when we finally met again... you really were mesmerising. Thank you for sneaking to the bathroom with me back then and giving me your number. The year that followed made me really happy. That was six years ago...

And these five years that 'we' have been what we are, are definitely the best in my life so far. If only we had other circumstances to cherish the love we have. I don't know why but I guess it's got something to do with you and the way you hypnotise me. I never would have thought that I'd be capable to live a 'hidden' relationship. It's dangerous nevertheless, and I would lie if I'd say that I didn't want to take you on a date, go eating with you, go to a concert, spend a vacation with you – things that couples normally do.

And now that I've faced my latest opponents in my career, I'm almost at a point where I want so say: Fuck it. I want to be together with you, no more hide and seek. Show my love to you, let everyone know how much I desire you.

But I know that you are not willing to go this step yet, and I respect that.

Your career is at its peak at the moment and when you fly to Argentina in a few weeks, I'd love to be there, cheer for you, see you, feel you. And yet I know this would break your neck and this is the last thing I want. So I'll try to catch you here as often as possible until then. In eight weeks everything will go back to normal for a while. I'll work more for Mike then, you'll continue your PhD and yet... we still have to pretend to not love, like or even know each other. And honestly... I don't know how long I can go on like this without starting to suffer. But I will endure as long as you want to mesmerise people around the world with your dancing. Because I love you and seeing you happy is one of the greatest joys in my life.

Your smile, your beautiful smile is something that can turn my day around completely. Our 'silly selfie' in the living room really makes me smile like an idiot every time I look at it. And probably I am an idiot.

Jesus... why am I even writing so much? I just wanted to give you a short note why I was not available and congratulate you on your performance? And now I'm... what... ten pages in and my wrist starts to hurt... but now that I'm about it... there's another thing I might bring up while I'm at it.

I love you Levi, with all my heart. So please don't take this too 'serious'. But lately I've gotten the impression that we are starting to have more and more of those unnecessary problems and arguments that are perfectly normal if you are living together with someone. I know that it is partly my fault, yes and I want to apologise if my behaviour upsets you.

Another thing is that the amount and content of 'fan post' gets to a point where I'm getting concerned. I trust you. And so far you've given me no reason to believe different. But especially with our 'daily problems' showing up and – pardon to say it so bluntly – our sex life not being at its best, I honestly feel like there is a possibility that you might get tempted. You are 28, beautiful and handsome, you can have everyone from 18 to 80 that you want within the blink of an eye. And here I am. 32, problems with my knee, by far not as striking as you in appearance and somehow thinking that I might no longer make you as happy as I used to? You've turned me down quite often in the last weeks and I respect that. There are also times when you are in the mood and I'm not. Nothing wrong with that but nevertheless I honestly am a bit afraid especially since we won't be seeing each other that much in the next weeks.

6 years since we met again, 5 years relationship, 3 years living together. That is quite a long time and I want to tell you once more how much I love you. But the overall situation might stress us both more than we might be willing to admit. Hiding, always being at risk – what for? I'm happy with you and yes, I love dancing, I love it with all my heart. But for me, the competitive tournaments are – honestly – no longer my métier. This will probably be my last season. And this doesn't mean that I'm no longer willing to dance. But do you know how much I'd love to dance with you? Take you to New York or Sydney, to Tokyo or Buenos Aires, to London or Vienna and buy tickets for a “casual ball” and dance the whole night with you?

I'm sorry. This sounds like I'm blaming you and I don't. Because we met in a time of our life where competitive dancing was and still is everything to you and to me. But I've more and more come to the realisation that you as my partner, as the person I love, are more important than this show business. And since I love you, I'll be what you need me to be for as long as you want me to be that something.

Please, don't take this as critique, I'm just … a bit drunk and probably lonely at the moment. I miss your voice and I miss your touch, your kiss and the way your fingers run over my neck. And I do wish for a 'normal' relationship more and more. Especially with our perfectly fine problems occurring. We have nobody to talk about our relationship than you and me.

Let me end this now – I feel like an asshole for writing pages and pages of words, my handwriting looking like shit and you will come home, find this and then have to deal with an old man's drunken words. I should go to sleep anyway. My flight goes as 1 PM and it already is 3 AM. Have to be at Hanji's at 9 AM.

If I'm not mistaken you have one day off in between? If you can't find my backup codes, can you maybe buy me a new mobile? Nothing fancy, I just want to be able to call you, write with you, see your face.

I miss you, your pillow smells like you and you've been on my mind all the time. I love you, Levi. You are wonderful and your performance today (or when you read this: yesterday) was wonderful. Please know that although I can sometimes be annoying or stressful (or an old man), I have no bad intention. I only want you to be happy.

I love you.

Erwin

#eruri #erwin x levi #eruri fanfic #modern au #birthday fic #birthday present #professional dancing #dancing eruris #secret relationship #love letters #love confessions #domestic eruris #established relationship #kittyboo8015 #zedsdead1001 #my writing

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