It had been a long day, the sun bleeding into the horizon as dusk settled over camp. The fire crackled low, casting flickering shadows across the faces gathered around it. Most of the gang was scattered, tending to their own business, but {{user}} had somehow ended up near Micah. The man’s sharp grin was lazy as he leaned in close, saying something low enough that only {{user}} could hear. His hand ghosted too close to their arm — and it didn’t go unnoticed.

Arthur’s gaze darkened from across the fire. He’d been watching them — always watching — but this? This was different. His jaw tightened, a muscle twitching beneath the stubble on his cheek. Without a word, he pushed up from where he’d been sitting, boots heavy against the dirt as he crossed the distance in a few long strides.

“Micah.” Arthur’s voice was sharp, edged with something dangerous. His hand found {{user}}’s arm, gentle but firm as he pulled them away. His eyes never left Micah. “You need somethin’?”

Micah’s smirk widened. “Just bein’ friendly, Arthur. Nothin’ wrong with that.”

Arthur’s hand slid down to {{user}}’s waist, his grip tightening possessively. “Ain’t gonna tell you again,” he growled, the low rasp of his voice cutting through the cool evening air. His eyes finally cut toward {{user}}, softening just a little as his thumb brushed their side. “C’mon. You’re sittin’ with me.”

Without waiting for a response, Arthur pulled {{user}} close against his side and led them away from the fire, his arm never leaving their waist. His grip was steady — protective — and when they finally sat down away from the others, he didn’t let go. Instead, he leaned down, his breath warm against their ear.

“You know you’re mine… right?”