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photo1030 · 10 months

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Leather and Lace - Chapter 17: Feelings Revealed

PART 3 - THE GRAND GESTURE

Summary: Arthur leaves camp in search of something to repair your relationship. But meanwhile, you are getting closer to leaving altogether.

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*I’ve seen this image in a few different places, but not sure who owns it. I downloaded it from wallpaperflare.com. If anyone knows who specifically owns it, let me know so I can give photo credit.

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*I tagged people who expressed interest in the continued story. If you’d like to be added or removed, please let me know. There are a few that would not let me link, so I apologize if this doesn’t ping some people.

Arthur fidgets slightly in the worn saddle as Buck’s hooves clop in the mud below. The sloppy, wet sound creates a white-noise in the back of Arthur’s mind as he nears the town of Rosewood. He can see the edge of the town with its filthy white-washed buildings quickly approaching on the horizon line. The sun’s rays cause the image of the structures in the distance to waver and blur in the heat waves, causing the town to look even more depressing than it is. He’s never been to Rosewood and all he knows of it is what he’s heard from you. And based on that, Arthur already hates it. An irritable sigh involuntarily escapes his ribcage. He has half a mind to burn it all to the ground out of spite, just for you.

He spurs his horse on as he swallows the hateful bile in his throat and heads into the town. It is a makeshift traveling town for the railroad; a greasy little industrial thing. It’s dirty and smells of iron, oil and other disagreeable things. There seems to be nothing happy or pleasant about this place as he watches the people shuffling about. The people seem to move both with purpose and without motivation at the same time, like shadows that are tethered to a person and pulled against their will. Upon quick examination, it seems to be made up of a lot of cheap labor, probable criminals, and those who just simply want to disappear.

Arthur has a hard time picturing you here in a town like this. You must have been like a flower trying to grow out of the dry and barren earth, desperate for sunlight and refreshing rains to grow and flourish. It’s no wonder you fit in so well with his gang now. It makes Arthur angry to know you had to work in these conditions. His hands clench in and out of fists as his mind goes back to when he found you. The bastards that chased and beat you were from this damn town. They killed your father and were in the middle of assaulting you when Arthur put a bullet into each and every one of them.

His lips curl in disgust at the memory of it. His mind’s eye sees you curled up on the ground, face beaten and terrified, yet still trying to defend yourself like a wounded animal. The thought of it makes his stomach turn now just as much as it did then. It seems like a lifetime ago now. So much has changed since that day, and he hopes for the better for your sake. He’s still not 100% sure what he’s looking for here, but he hopes to find it quickly and get the hell out of here.

Now that he’s here, Arthur figures the best place to start is the hospital where you worked. Since that’s where you and your father spent the majority of your time while here, there’s a good chance he’ll find someone there who knows you. But first, he looks around, surveying the area from where he sits high on his massive horse to get an idea of what’s going on here. He always needs to know his “mark” and his “exit”. It's instinct to know your surroundings.

“This ain’t no damn job, you idiot.” He shakes his head at himself and his ever-paranoid ways. “Although, I suppose it kinda is,” he murmurs, looking about.

Arthur takes a calming breath as he thinks over his plan again. He’s hoping that he can find someone still here that knows you or your father and can offer something to bring home to you. Any token, any object, anything at all that may be a tie to your past or family. He’s broken your heart already, so maybe this would be the thing to mend it, as the memory of your father is your most treasured possession. Arthur is filled with both excitement and trepidation, causing his heart to sputter a bit in a reaction to both. If this works, you and Arthur will be on good terms again, maybe even more. He can’t screw this up.

With determination on his side, Arthur begins to walk Buck down the dirt street that runs the middle of the town. He tries his best to ignore the suspicious stares he’s getting from the townspeople. Like a reflex, his fingers reach up to pull his worn leather gambler's hat down over his tired eyes. His hand drops to his muscular thigh, inches from the revolver on his hip. Just in case.

Getting impatient from wandering aimlessly through the town, Arthur pulls Buck to a stop in front of a woman who is sweeping the front porch of, what appears to be, a feed store. Her hair is pulled back away from the harsh features of her face into a tight bun that makes her appear to be older than she really is. This is in no way helped by the unflattering gray frock that she wears. He nods in her direction, leaning over slightly in his saddle. “Excuse me-”

“Employment office is down the street, third building on the right.” The woman barks the statement at him, only giving him the slightest of glances before returning to her sweeping, her arms moving aggressively to remove the stubborn dirt on the worn floorboards.

“Uh, no. I’m looking for the hospital here.” Arthur’s eyebrow furrow, his frowning lips pressed together slightly at the rebuke.

“End of the corridor, turn left.” The woman’s response is just as quick and dismissive as the first.

“Thank you,” Arthur grumbles with an eyeroll and is quick to nudge Buck on further with no desire to overstay his welcome. But, now that he has a direction to follow, his spirits begin to pick up a bit.

As Arthur gets to the end of the mud-caked street, a largish building comes into view. It’s haphazard at best. It’s more of a barn than anything. It was probably a quick assembly job to get the building erected with the town growing so fast and the traveling citizens constantly pouring in and out. It’s bare wood, no paint anywhere. The windows sorely need to be cleaned, in fact one is broken out and boarded-over.

But, amid all of this depressing atmosphere, Arthur notices a small barrel by the main door. Turned over, it has been made into a planter with some deep violet wildflowers growing in it along with some bright green ivy-like vines cascading down the side. The vibrant pop of color catches his eye in this otherwise dreary place. Arthur smiles a bit at the sight of it, wondering if it was you who put it there. Seems like something you’d do.

After tying Buck to the hitching post out front, Arthur walks through the doors of the hospital. It is one large open room lined with beds, many already filled with patients; a sort of “post-op”, general-care common area. There is a large desk that is cluttered with papers in the immediate corner to his left, flanked by bookshelves, and towards the far back wall, he can see a hallway that probably leads to more private rooms for seeing patients. The room is fairly well lit with sunlight, considering the grime that coats the windows. The air smells of a nauseating mixture of bitter iodine and sweet chloroform, as well as soap and chlorine solutions. Arthur has to resist the need to cover his nose with his hand.

His eyes scan the room and among the patients, Arthur sees a young woman about the same age as you, maybe younger, flitting about. With multiple things in hand, she tends to every person she passes. A nurse of some sorts, she works diligently as she hands a pillow to an older man in one bed, and checks foreheads and fixes blankets as she passes multiple others. She even pulls a small toy out of her apron pocket and gives it to a poor child who is laid up with a broken arm.

She multi-tasks around the occupants with purpose and determination; a seasoned veteran at this hard job. The woman reminds Arthur of a young Susan Grimshaw in that way. She has dark auburn hair, with long curls that are semi-contained with a ribbon behind her neck and vivid jade eyes that dart around, taking in every detail of her patients around her. The young nurse moves about the hospital ward as if she owns it. Intrigued, Arthur feels someone as important-looking as this must know something of you.

“Excuse me!” Arthur’s voice carries across the humming noise of chatter of the room full of patients as he lifts his hand in a slight wave to try to get her attention.

The nurse gives Arthur a quick glance, annoyed at being interrupted. “If you’re not bleeding, wait over there.” She gives a dismissive wave where chairs line the far wall behind him. “If you are bleeding, tell me how bad and then I’ll tell you where to go. Although it can’t be that bad if you’re upright.”

Arthur shuffles his feet slightly. “No, I ain’t hurt or nuthin’-”

“Then what do you want? I’m kinda busy here.” She motions to the beds surrounding her as she makes her way over to him, blowing a strand of hair out of her eye before her hands land impatiently on her round hips.

Seeing the nurse standing still for more than a minute, an older woman in one of the beds off to the side calls over with a faint and brittle voice. “Miss Darcy? Can I get a drink of water, please?”

The nurse turns at the brief distraction and gives the poor woman a kind and sympathetic smile. “Yes, Florence, of course. Just a minute, hon.” She then turns back to Arthur, flipping back to that same air of impatience again. “See? Things to do and people to take care of, probably more in need than you. Now out with it.” She waves her hand to encourage him to speak quickly.

Even though she is quick, Arthur can tell that this woman means no real harm or insult, but rather takes her job very seriously and doesn’t put up with any bullshit - something he can relate to.

“Did you know Dr. (Y/L/N)? Maybe his daughter (Y/N)?” Arthur asks carefully.

Arthur notices how Darcy instantly stiffens to his question, eyes going hard and giving him a distrustful side-eye glance as she sizes him up. “Who wants to know?” She bites back suddenly, almost protectively. “Who the hell are you and what do you want with them?”

“I’m…uh…a friend of (Y/N)’s,” he stammers, taking off his hat, running his fingers through his disheveled hair before fiddling with the brim and replacing it upon his head..

“Yeah, I bet,” Darcy says, scanning him up and down cautiously. “(Y/N)’s not here, don’t know where she is so you best move on.” She turns to walk away, quick to go back about her business.

“No, no, I’m not here for her,” Arthur adds quickly, reaching his gloved fingers to her arm before he loses her to the crowd of sick and infirmed. “I mean, I am here for her, but not to see her.” He’s flustered, panicking that he may lose his one opportunity to make this work. “What I mean is, I already know where (Y/N) is and-”

Darcy stops dead in her tracks, spinning back on him. “What the hell are you babbling on about?” she interrupts, holding her hand up to cut him off. Her expression quickly changes from one of annoyance to concern. “What do you mean you know where (Y/N) is? Where is she?!”

Arthur hesitates at Darcy’s intense scrutiny, not sure how to answer that. His face goes hard as stone, not sure how much he should tell this woman.

Darcy takes a few steps towards Arthur, her jaw clenching slightly and her cheeks flush a deeper shade of red with her impatience. “Look, mister,” her voice is serious and threatening. “She's my friend. Her father was killed by a bunch of assholes and then those same assholes were found dead. I need to know if she’s OK.”

“She’s fine. She’s with friends,” Arthur replies evasively.

“Friends, huh?” Darcy looks him up and down with a skeptic eye again. He’s been riding for two days and sleeping in the woods. He must look like quite the sight. It's no wonder Darcy doesn’t trust him.

“Yeah, friends.” Arthur regains some of his composure, remembering his purpose and locking eyes with the woman. God, she really must be a friend of yours, as she’s just as fiery and obstinate as you.

Darcy crosses her arms over her chest in defiance. “How do I know you even know her? You could be making this whole thing up.” She waves her hand at him. “If (Y/N) is alive and well, how do you know her, then?”

Arthur gives a long-winded sigh bordering on a groan, thinking for a moment.

"She's got a way about her, can't quite describe it,” he begins, his eyebrows crease as he tries to find the words to explain himself. “It's like…she's a mix of both hard and soft; both hellfire and holy water at the same time. Eyes are beautiful, like you can see right into her soul, ya know? And she's got a mouth on her that won't quit, too," he chuckles softly with a shake of his head. “She don’t care who thinks what. And yet, she's still real gentle-like and caring.”

He pauses as he reflects deeper on you, his gaze relaxing and focusing on nothing as he retreats further into his own reverie.

“(Y/N) takes good care of our people, the whole lot of us. She keeps us patched up and looked after. Oh, and she's got the voice of an angel, too,” he adds, pointing his finger at Darcy as he just remembered yet another thing he loves about you. “She’s always singing and humming some tune or another.” Arthur continues to gush on and on like a love-sick teenager as this is really the first time he’s allowed himself to talk fondly about you out loud to anyone.

“We got a kid with us, a young boy. (Y/N) likes to play with him like she’s a little kid herself, don’t care how foolish she looks..." Arthur's voice trails off as images of you continue to jump and scatter about in his mind, flashing so fast that it’s hard for him to focus on one thing at a time.

He misses you so damn much right now. Not just physically being apart from you, but it’s the emotional distance between the two of you lately that’s taking its toll. He hates being at odds with you. This fight, this tension between you, is just too much. And he didn't realize just how bad until now. Arthur has come to rely on you for his very sanity, to help him start to make sense of the tumultuous world around him. Just walking beside you makes him a better man.

Arthur can’t wait to finish this quest of his, as he wants nothing more than to rush back home to talk to you immediately. It's odd how you can meet someone today that makes you forget all about yesterday and also have hope for tomorrow. It’s been a long time since he’s experienced that. His hand slowly comes up to rub along the back of his neck as he gets lost in his own head.

Eventually, he remembers where he is and refocuses, looking over at Darcy. Darcy watches Arthur as he goes on and on, reassessing the gruff-looking man standing in front of her, trying to figure out if she should trust him or not.

"Yeah, that sounds like her alright," she finally concedes as she softens and lets her guard down just a bit.

A blush dusts slightly across Arthur’s cheeks, as he clears his throat, and quickly changes the subject. "Look, you gonna help me or not?" he huffs out.

"Depends.” Darcy crosses her arms. “What are you doing here?"

"I don’t really know," Arthur admits looking about, like he'll find the answer sitting in one of these beds. “I was hoping to find something of (Y/N)’s or even her father's, maybe? Something I could bring back for her." His voice drops to a soft yet hopeful sound, one that Darcy reluctantly finds endearing.

“Bring back to her where, exactly?” Darcy asks, raising an eyebrow at him. “What happened after she left here?”

“That’s another story for another day, I’m afraid,” Arthur sighs rather sheepishly, hoping to God she doesn’t get frustrated and just walk away from him altogether.

Darcy thinks for a moment. "Yeah, I think I have just the thing for you. I have to finish what I’m doing here, though. Meet me at the square in about an hour.”

Arthur can’t believe his luck!

“Alright, then.” He gives her a quick nod of thanks, a huge grin sparkling upon his face, before turning to head back out the door to leave her to her work.

Arthur walks out the hospital doors, and takes a moment as he stands next to his horse, looking about the town. An hour? What the hell is he going to do in this shithole for an hour? An hour seems like an eternity right now. A slow exhale pushes out of his nose as his lips draw inward impatiently. He tries not to be too disappointed, though, as he is one step closer to his goal.

Arthur decides to clean himself up a bit and grabs a bite to eat to kill time, trying not to think about the delay. And eventually, he makes his way to the main square to wait for your friend. Looking about, he figures she’s smart, meeting a stranger in a public place like this. Honestly, he’s surprised that she’s even agreed to help him. But truth be told, Darcy is more interested in helping you than Arthur. He just happens to be in the middle.

Eventually Arthur scans the crowds and sees Darcy walking down the street with something tucked under her arm.

“Still here, eh Mister?” She calls to him as she approaches, giving him a wry smile. Arthur only spreads his arms out wide in an exaggerated gesture.

“I never did catch your name, by the way,” Darcy mentions casually. “Suppose you could at least tell me that much?”

“Arthur”, he replies simply with a raised eyebrow.

“Arthur,” she parrots back with a grin and a nod of acceptance. “Well, nice to meet you, Arthur.”

After a brief moment, Darcy proceeds to pull the item from under her arm to hold it in front of her. It is a wooden box, sanded and varnished, and about the size of a shoe box. She looks down at it, placing one of her hands upon the top, one last hesitation as to whether she should trust this large, intimidating man whom she doesn’t know.

“Here,” says Darcy with another grin as she hands the box over to Arthur. “I think this is what you are looking for.”

Arthur carefully accepts the item from her dry and cracked hands that are weathered from her work. He gingerly holds it, tilting it slightly as he looks it over. There are initials carved into the top, which appear to be your father’s. Arthur looks back to Darcy with a quizzical look.

“If you know (Y/N), and you’re here of all places, then I’m assuming you know what happened here in Rosewood.” Darcy gazes at the box as memories flood back to her. “I knew Dr. (Y/L/N). He was a good man.” She nods with conviction towards the box.

“When all that shit went down, it was chaos around here. The town’s people ransacked their little house, tore through the hospital here…” she shakes her head in disgust at the memory of it.

“Anyway,” she sighs, “I ran to his office and grabbed this from his desk. Kept it safe just in case they ever came back.” Darcy lifts her chin, gesturing towards the box. “Open it.”

Arthur lifts the lid with care and a small huff of a laugh pushes out of his nose, stunned at the contents. He finds several items carefully nestled inside the keepsake box, including a small silver locket on a thin elegant chain, your father's pocket watch, a family photograph, and your father's personal medical journal.

Arthur carefully picks up the locket charm, tiny in his massive fingers, and pops it open. Apparently this had belonged to your mother as an image of her and your father are secreted within.

Arthur replaces the locket in the box and takes the photo out next, gently holding it in his hand as if he is holding the very souls of the people in the image. He recognizes Dr. (Y/L/N) of course, as he helped you bury him after you fled Rosewood. But seeing him alive and young in the photograph makes Arthur wish he had known him.

Your mother is beautiful. Soft curls and large beautiful eyes that sparkle and draw you in, even through a photograph. There’s a delicateness to her that reminds him so much of you today. He doesn't know how, but Arthur can tell that you take after her. A warm feeling spreads across his cheeks, as if he is being introduced to the parents of the girl he's courting.

And of course, there is you in the photograph, very young, about 7 or 8 years old. You look like a sprite or fairy. Bright eyes, mischievous smile, and small for your age.

This is exactly what Arthur had hoped to find. And he is elated that this plan of his is going so well.

“Thank you, Miss Darcy, thank you kindly,” Arthur’s voice pregnant with overwhelming gratitude, as the crow’s feet around his eyes crinkle with his growing smile. “(Y/N) will be right pleased to see these.”

Darcy looks at him with a knowing smirk on her face. "You’re sweet on her, aren’t you?” Arthur’s eyes shoot up from the box to meet her suspecting gaze. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Arthur opens his mouth to speak but Darcy holds her hand up to shush him. “Of course you are," she declares before he can even deny it. "(Y/N) has that effect on people." She folds her arms over her chest in approval.

Arthur says nothing, only draws his lips inward and nods, as if being caught red-handed.

“Well, I hope she’s OK. And, I hope she’s happy, wherever she is. Lord knows this place wasn’t going to do it.” She waves her hand at the town around them. “I hope that you can make her happy, Arthur,” Darcy emphasizes.

“I will do my damnedest. I promise you that.” Arthur gives her an adamant nod.

“You better. Or I will hunt you down,” Darcy teases as she gives his shoulder a playful punch. “Tell (Y/N) I miss her.”

“I will.”

--------------------------------

“(Y/N), I need to speak with you for a moment.”

You lift your head to see Hosea striding towards you with purpose in his step to where you are working in your med-tent. You give him a small, tired smile as he approaches, brushing a stray lock of hair out of your face. “I have the medical supplies almost completely restocked-”

“Yeah, fine, fine, but I don’t want to talk about that,” he waves at you impatiently as he finally comes to a stop, his hands leaning onto the workbench. “I want to talk to you about Arthur.”

The mention of his name makes you freeze. Your jaw clenches to the point that your teeth ache. Your fingers drop the bundle of dried herbs that you are cutting and they slowly curl into the palm of your hand, causing your nails to cut into the skin there.

“No.”

Your firm response causes Hosea to halt dead in his tracks, not expecting you to flat-out refuse his request. His silver eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Excuse me? No?”

Your eyes suddenly turn dark as the corners of your mouth drop into a hard frown. You pull a long, deep inhale through your nose in an effort to remain calm.

“I don’t want to talk about Arthur, Hosea. Not with the girls, not with Charles, and not with you.”

“Good,” he retorts sharply. “Then I’ll do the talkin’ and you just be quiet and listen.” Hosea’s voice carries that stern fatherly tone that instantly puts you back into your place. Like a child, you pout slightly as you turn your face away to avoid his disapproving gaze.

“Look, I know he’s as hard as a rock and stubborn as a mule, but Arthur cares for you, (Y/N).”

“You think I don’t know that?” you snap, your face turning again to meet Hosea’s.

“Then why in the hell you givin’ him such a hard time?” he shoots back.

Your palm slams onto your table as your patience breaks. “Because he can’t have it both ways, Hosea! I am not a some-time lover. Arthur can’t act like I’m his ‘special sweetheart’ and then go on to ignore me for days on end. He can’t repeatedly act like there’s hope for us to be together and then keep telling me it's never going to happen.”

Your eyes burn intensely, causing Hosea to back-peddle to a gentler countenance now, realizing that he’s just sparked a volatile powder-keg.

“You just need to be patient and give him a chance, (Y/N),” Hosea implores you, holding up his hands in surrender as if trying to calm a spooked horse.

Your chest tightens as if a vice grip is strangling it and you can feel the anger radiating off of your ruby-flushed cheeks. “I’ve given him many, many chances, Hosea, and he’s done nothing. Besides, don’t you think you should’ve had this conversation with someone else awhile ago?”

“Now look, girl, you know what we do here and why this isn’t easy for him,” Hosea points his finger accusingly at you in warning. “How can you be so harsh?”

“Harsh?!” The word huffs out of your mouth as if you’ve just eaten a bitter piece of fruit. The mere suggestion of such a thing is so ludicrous to you. “Ha!” Your eyes roll so hard to the sky, it’s amazing that they don’t fly right out of your head.

You give Hosea a sarcastic smirk. “You know, I’ve been with you all for awhile now, Hosea, and I’ve done my part around here as best I could. So I’m a little offended that you think so little of me. I know what you all are and I know what you all do. But I also know who you are.”

You stand taller now and pull your shoulders back, lifting your chin a bit in defiance, as your arms fold defensively over your chest in agitation.

“Are you and Dutch some evil masterminds or just two men trying to live wild and free in the world? Hmm?” Your eyes flash in challenge at him and Hosea tries to get a word in, but you just ramble right over him and he quickly hushes in submission.

“Is John some feral man, or some sad soul trying to overcome the hand he’s been dealt in his life? And Arthur…” You choke for a brief moment as his name crosses your trembling lips, your eyes wide and flashing. “He’s not the monster everyone makes him to be.”

You shake your head, taking a deep breath to draw the cooler air into your lungs to try to recollect yourself. You pause in your rant and Hosea mercifully does not say a word, waiting for you to finish.

“But it doesn't matter now.”

Hosea shakes his head incredulously. “Do you know where Arthur is right now, (Y/N)? Do you have any idea what he’s doing for y-?”

“I don’t care, Hosea!” you snap sharply again, holding your hand up to keep him from saying another word, as you are dangerously close to the edge of your sanity. “I don’t care where he is, or what he’s doing. Because I’m done with it! You hear me?” Your eyes sting, but at this point you have cried yourself out and have no more tears left to shed over this. “I’m done, Hosea. So just stop. Please.” Your voice becomes dejected and hopeless as your shoulders droop in defeat with that last syllable.

“Now if you excuse me, I have work to do.” Your hand involuntarily comes to cover your mouth as you push past him.

“(Y/N), C’mon now…” Hosea calls after you, disappointment clearly written all over his features.

As you hurry off, Hosea rolls his eyes to the pristine-white clouds floating innocently in the sky above and shakes his head, planting his old, weathered hands on his hips before lowering his gaze back to watch you walk over to Ms. Grimshaw. “Whatever the hell you’re doin’, my boy, your ass had better hurry up.”

You hate being cross with Hosea. You’d rather cut out your own tongue than to speak harshly to him like that. But you just can’t take this anymore. It’s hard enough trying to navigate around Arthur, but now you have to deal with everyone else as well. You had hoped that the old man would be your buffer to this fiasco. But of course, he’s going to take Arthur’s side. And by rights, he should, you suppose. He’s Arthur’s “father”, not yours.

With your face flush and hands flexing at your sides, you stalk over to Ms. Grimshaw, desperately seeking yet another distraction. That is one habit that you have definitely picked up from Arthur while you’ve been here: when frustrated, you relentlessly throw yourself into work.

The matriarch is standing outside of her tent, looking over a recent newspaper in her hands when you call out to her.

“Ms. Grimshaw, do you have anything that you need me to do around here?”

The woman looks up at the sound of her name being called and gives you a scowl of impatience. “Oh, for the love of…Come here, girl. Sit down,” she orders, pointing at the chair outside of her tent.

Surprised by her annoyance, you meekly sit as you’re told to do, looking at her expectantly.

“Now, I appreciate your help as much as anyone,” Ms. Grimshaw says, trying her best to remain calm, briefly bringing her fingers to clasp the bridge of her nose in frustration. “But you’ve been in my face and up my ass for weeks now. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to.”

“What do you mean?” Scoffing, you blink back at her.

“Don’t play innocent with me, Miss (Y/L/N).” With a reproachable glare, she pokes herself in the chest with her thumb. “I invented that game.”

After a moment, Ms. Grimshaw finally caves and gives you a resigned sigh. “Women get a raw deal in this day and age. I get it. You’re supposed to sit pretty and smile, and yet spread your legs and still be an angel.”

Her bluntness makes you blush a bit and avert your gaze. You’ve never had such a personal conversation with the woman.

She pauses before she continues, trying to be more tactful as she stands towering over you. “I know what you went through in Rosewood, what they did to you.”

The mention of your assault makes your cheeks burn red and you avert your gaze down again.

“Well, I suppose I had to toughen up pretty quick after that,” you respond matter-of-factly, not wanting to talk about that subject. Yet your voice carries just a hint of a quiver that is not lost on the woman. “A camp of wanted outlaws is no place for wallowing in self pity.”

“Yes, well, strong women like us don’t do well as the victim, can’t afford that luxury,” she agrees. “We stand up straight and deal with this world, and all its shit, don’t we?”

Her statement takes you aback a bit. ‘Like us?’ Is she actually looking at you as her equal? You had always thought this woman didn’t like you. At best, you always figured she simply tolerated your existence.

“Now, you listen to me.” Grimshaw pulls another chair up to sit directly in front of you, lowering her voice as she continues. “Don’t hang all of your hopes and dreams on a man, my dear. Look at Abigail. Hangin’ on any scrap of attention that John is willing to give her. And she’ll be hard pressed to find a husband elsewhere at this point when she’s already saddled with a child. Not that Jack is bad, mind you. (Grimshaw is quick to stress that point.) That boy is the best thing to come out of that relationship, if you ask me.”

Ms. Grimshaw leans back in her chair and folds her arms over her chest, taking a deep breath before she continues her motherly lecture. “Arthur is a good man and all, and we’d all be lost without him, for sure. But he’s still a man. And a dense one at that when it comes to women.”

Your face twists in painful recognition as you look down at your hands sitting limply in your lap. You wish it were different between you and Arthur, but that’s what is so hard about this whole thing. Neither of you can deny the connection that is so rare to find in another soul, yet still knowing you won’t ever be together. You can’t force that spark with someone where it doesn't exist, just like you can’t deny it when it does.

You love Arthur to the depth of which you’ve never known possible, even though you probably shouldn’t, and for reasons that you can’t quite explain. You understand that Arthur thinks that he doesn’t deserve your affection, either. But that isn’t going to stop it from overtaking your heart, now is it? You can’t change how you feel just like you can’t stop the rain from pouring down, or the sun from shining afterwards.

Ms. Grimshaw takes a moment to look you over, watching as your eyes dart around in spastic thought. She notes how your chest rises and falls raggedly as you quietly try to keep yourself from crying all over again. God, you are so exhausted from crying. And you are at the point now of being sick and tired of being ‘sick and tired’ of everything. Her heart goes out to you as she knows what you’re going through. Because she’s been there herself.

“You know,” Ms. Grimshaw says softly, hesitating slightly before continuing. “I used to have a thing with Dutch.”

Your red-rimmed eyes shoot back up to Ms Grimshaw’s face and widen a bit at her revelation. “Really? I didn’t know that.”

“MmmHmm. Cast me aside for the young and pretty, he did.” She turns a glance towards Dutch’s tent where he sits reading, a cigar sitting confidently between his teeth, while Molly perches upon their cot, fixing her hair in the mirror.

Turning her attention back to you, Ms. Grimshaw quickly refocuses on the purpose of her lecture. “If you want to stay here with us, (Y/N), no one will be happier than me to have you.” This admission rather stuns you as her voice takes on a softer, more nurturing sound. “But don’t you let this gang take you down.” She points her finger sternly at you. “You do what’s right by you. ‘Cause you’re the only one who has to live with your decisions.”

Ms. Grimshaw holds your gaze a moment to make sure you understand what she’s telling you. When you finally give her an appreciative smile and a nod, she places her hand overtop of yours, patting it in reassurance.

From somewhere over in the distance of the camp, there is a ruckus and you both look over at the interruption to see Rev. Swanson drunk and stumbling over people before falling down altogether. Ms. Grimshaw huffs sharply in annoyance, hands on her knees, as she pushes herself up from her chair. “I swear, it’s always something around here.”

And just like that, the camp mother is off to settle yet another issue in her camp. You watch her as she marches over to the man, shooing away the others who have gathered around. She gives Rev. Swanson a few words before bending down to heave him up by the arm. For whatever reason, the woman has a soft spot for the disgraced man of the cloth. And now, apparently, for you as well.

A slight breeze picks up and the cooling air settles your nerves a bit as it dances across your cheeks, lifting the fine wisps of hair along your face. You sit in contemplation, thinking about what Ms. Grimshaw has said to you. She has a point. She may come across as a hardened shrew, but she definitely knows what she’s talking about, as she speaks from personal experience. You’ve been debating about leaving the Van Der Linde gang for awhile, and now, maybe you have the voice of reason to actually do it. Absentmindedly chewing on the back of your thumbnail while in thought, you try to figure out what your next move is going to be.

It's taken you awhile to come to terms with what happened in Rosewood. You had hoped to draw strength from your new family and finally find a place of belonging. You haven't even thought of a future with a man since what happened, finding the closest thing in Arthur’s simple and unassuming company.

Losing your father in such a cruel and abrupt way was devastating. But with the parental guidance of Hosea, and unknowingly of Ms. Grimshaw, you have begun to make your peace with it, despite the frequent melancholy that only comes with the death of family.

But you can’t handle this drama anymore. You had told Karen awhile ago that you couldn’t bear it if Arthur ever hated you. And seeing as every interaction between the two of you seems to be getting more toxic with each encounter, that seems to be the very path your relationship is heading. You really don’t think that you could ever be happy here if you didn’t have Arthur. The thought of it is a boulder dropping in your stomach.

Maybe you’ll go back to Silverton. The doctor there had offered you a job several months ago, and a place to stay at the boarding house, too. But how will you even get there? It’s not safe for a woman to travel on her own in these parts.

The time has come for you to decide: Should you stay with the Van Der Linde gang? Or should you go?

Wrestling with which path you need to take, your thoughts are interrupted when you see Mr. Pearson prepping one of the wagons. His chubby face huffs and turns red as he mills about pulling straps and checking over the wagon.

You nibble your bottom lip as you watch him, anxiously wringing your hands together. “Mr. Pearson? Are you heading into town?” you suddenly blurt out with seemingly no self control.

He looks over his shoulder to give you a quick glance. “That’s right, Miss (Y/L/N).”

You swallow hard before you speak again. “Need some company?”

And before you realize what you are doing, you offer to go along. Your intent is to see who in town may be heading back south towards Silverton and maybe catch a ride. That doctor there seemed quite persistent in getting you to work with him. Maybe the job offer is still good. If not, at least you’ll be out of the Van Der Linde camp and can start to put this whole mess behind you once and for all.

—--------------------------------

It is late afternoon at this point and the copper sky has just begun to unfurl its bewitching colors for all to see. Arthur heads down the back-country path that will bring him back to camp. The familiar white wildflowers still bloom and line the path, offering him a welcoming sight as he gets closer to home. His hand rests protectively on the saddlebag to his left side where your father’s wooden box sits carefully tucked away.

As he gets closer to home, Arthur begins to rethink his plan a bit. Is it too selfish to expect you to just fall into his open arms because he gave you a few remembrances? He isn’t turning his back on his decision, nor the idea that he wants you. But he feels that maybe it isn’t fair to just expect it of you. That may be a little too presumptuous.

Out of respect for you, he resigns himself to hope for the best and prepare for the worst. But at the very least, Arthur wants to just stop fighting and to simply be able to speak civilly with you once more.

When Arthur arrives back at camp, he doesn’t see you anywhere, even though Blue is tethered at the hitching posts. He slips your horse some peppermints upon arrival, which he contently munches.

“Where’s our girl, mister? Hmm?” he wonders out loud to Blue, reaching up to give the horse a good scratch behind his ears while he surveys the open area.

Arthur eagerly scans the camp and immediately seeks out Hosea to find out where you are. He’s already waited several days to get this task done and he’s eager to finish it.

“She went to town with Pearson,” Hosea informs him. “Shouldn’t be too much longer, I reckon.”

Arthur purses his lips and nods, thinking to himself as his gaze, of course, goes to the path heading into the camp, half expecting to find you there.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Hosea asks, eyebrows peaked with interest as he raises his cigarette to his mouth, eyes squinting in anticipation.

A grin slowly crawls across Arthur’s face. His eyes twinkle a bit in mischief when he turns back to Hosea. “Oh yeah. I found it.”

Hosea lets out a quick chuckle as he pats Arthur on the shoulder. “Good. I knew you would.”

Hosea decides not to say anything to Arthur about the conversation he had with you earlier today, fearing that your outburst may deter Arthur from going ahead with his intentions. It’s taken so long and so much to push Arthur to get to this point. Hosea doesn’t want his son to get discouraged now, not when he’s so close to a chance at being happy.

Since you are not here, Arthur decides to leave the box in your tent for you. He’s afraid that if he approaches you directly with it, you’ll end up in an argument before he can even give you the damn thing. He desperately needs for this to go well. He walks over and stands outside of your tent, hesitating before he goes in. But with a nod of reassurance to himself, he enters your personal space.

Arthur looks about for a moment, taking in the surroundings. Everywhere he looks in the modest space, there’s evidence of you. The faint scent of the lavender oil you use in your hair permeates the area. Arthur’s eyes roll back into his head as he deeply inhales the intoxicating flowery aroma.

Along the side, your cot is neatly made up with a knit afghan laid across it. The spread is a beautiful green color, but the pattern and knot work are not quite so perfect. The knots are clumpy and lopsided and unevenly distributed. He chuckles as he remembers when you made it, trying your hand at the domestic task. ‘It’s not perfect, but at least I’ll be warmer at night,’ you said when you proudly showed him the efforts of your work.

There are a few books stacked on an overturned crate-turned-end table by your pillow, a few of which have multiple bookmarks and pieces of paper haphazardly sticking out, indicating that you are in the middle of reading multiple at a time. The small table in the corner has a bowl with women’s baubles such as combs and other simple jewelry, every one of which Arthur has seen on your person, the smallest details of your style committed to his memory.

And pinned to the wooden pole in the center of the tent is the flower crown that Jack had made for you, now delicately dried and preserved. Hanging in the center of the brittle greenery, Arthur notices a small piece of paper. He takes a few steps over to take a closer look at it and realizes it's the sketch he did for you.

It’s a simple drawing of flowers in a meadow, with the sun shining down. He had drawn it while out on one of his jobs and gave it to you. ‘So you'll always have somethin’ pretty to look at, even when things are shit ‘round here’, he had told you. Arthur can’t believe you’ve kept it all this time. The idea that something so trivial and insignificant that he had done was so special to you makes his heart swell to the point of bursting. He lifts his hand, his dust-coated fingers affectionately catching the edge of the paper. He then looks down to the box in his hands.

“God, I hope this works,” he whispers. He steps over to your cot, bending down to gently set the box upon your blanket. He slowly stands and stares at it, taking a last moment to contemplate his decision. “Alright, then.”

And with his habitual saying being muttered into the comfortable silence in finality, Arthur takes his leave of your tent and heads over to his own.

Meanwhile, you have headed over to the small town of Middleton with Mr. Pearson. The cook had needed to head in to the post office to mail a letter, and to see if he had received any in return. You casually excuse yourself from his company as the wagon rolls to a stop, explaining that you need a few things in the local general store. Pearson pays you no mind, but what you really need is to see if the local shopkeep knows of anyone traveling towards Silverton. Since this place of business has the most traffic of varied clientele, you figure if anyone knows the dealings of the town, this is where you’ll find out.

As fortune would have it, after chatting with the store owner, you find out that the local lumberyard is making a delivery to Howardsville in the next few days. It’s about 4 miles east of Silverton. You could walk that if you need to. (At this point, you’re not sure if you’ll be taking Blue with you. The horse was a gift to you from Arthur, so technically he does belong to you. But a horse is a highly-valued possession. It would be rather presumptuous to think that you could just take him with you if you left the gang. And the thought of leaving the beautiful animal behind, your beloved Blue, is yet another twist to the phantom knife in your heart. But you have to prepare yourself for any scenario.)

You quickly make your way over to the lumber office after that, and proceed to convince the owner to let you catch a ride with the next delivery heading out. You have a little money saved up and offer to pay your way, which is the only reason the man is allowing it. He is leaving at sunrise in two day’s time. You’ll have to be there at the office door by then, money in-hand, or he is leaving without you.

And so, you put things into place to make your exit from the Van Der Linde gang.

When you arrive back at the camp, Arthur is sitting by the fire and doesn’t say anything, but carefully watches you out of the corner of his eye as you help Mr. Pearson put away the wagon and secure the horse. Arthur notices that you are mindful to keep your head down and eyes averted from everyone. There is a touch of anxiousness to you that catches his attention, but he figures it's just the tension that has been growing around you for weeks now.

He takes a deep breath and pulls a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it, striking the match on the bottom of his boot, and keeping the brim of his hat discreetly pulled down over his face.

Here it is, this is it. Arthur is not sure how you are going to react to his “grand gesture” as Mary-Beth called it, but he's hoping that this will at least open the door and allow him to speak to you again.

When you’re done securing the wagon, you head straight to your tent, avoiding everyone just as you have been doing of late. You draw back the corners of the canvas and push through the opening, quickly pulling it shut behind you. You still can’t believe that you’re leaving. And you really don’t want to risk talking to anyone about it right now, either, until you can fully wrap your head around the concept. God willing, you just need to avoid Arthur until then, for fear of losing your nerve and any strength you have left to go through with your plan.

You tiredly pull the strap of your small tan satchel off of your shoulder and set it on your little table. A long, exhausted sigh rattles your bones and your eyelids feel like stones as you run your hands over your hair before they link behind your neck, cradling the tense muscles there.

“Well, I guess this is it,” you mutter to yourself. You’ve made your decision and set things into motion. You turn about and survey your belongings, noting that you’ll have to discreetly start to pack to avoid causing a scene. Fortunately, you don’t have much to begin with.

You don’t notice it at first. But then, you catch it out of the corner of your eye. Something sitting on your cot. You do a double-take as you instantly recognize the wooden box. Suddenly, it’s like seeing a ghost and having the wind knocked out of you. Your eyes go wide before arching in confusion. You gingerly walk towards your cot and slowly lower yourself to sit, eyes glued to the item as if afraid to touch it, lest it not be real at all. Eventually, your trembling hands reach out and set the box on your lap, hesitating before you open it. Your fingers hover over the woodgrain, gently tracing along the smooth surface. Slowly lifting the lid, you let out a small gasp, your hand springing up to cover your mouth, as tears begin to gather in the corners of your (y/e/c) eyes.

Fingers that continue to slightly shake trace over the contents inside the box, items that you remember with such fondness. It’s as if a hundred butterflies are swarming inside you right now, their gossamer wings fluttering against your sides to escape.

The pads of your fingertips slowly rub over the polished surface of the pocket watch before you collect it into your fingertips. The silver is cool and comforting to the touch. A vision of your father’s hands with his long, slender fingers holding it instantly pops into your mind, as he used to absentmindedly fidget with it whenever his hands sat idle.

Setting the watch back down, you then move to pick up your mother’s locket and affectionately rub the silver charm between your thumb and fingers. The etching has worn over the years, as she never took the piece off, but the tiny emerald chip that is inset on the front still gleams like a new spring leaf.

But it’s the photo of your parents that puts you over the edge. You smile to yourself as you stifle a slight sob as you look upon the faces of your family, faces that you never thought you’d look upon again. Your heart is overwhelmed with both sadness and joy at the same time.

You simply sit and stare at the print in your hands, soaking in their images as if searing it into your brain once more. You pour over every detail of your parents’ faces, gazing at their features, silently saying hello to long-lost loved ones. You close your eyes as you gently cradle the image to your chest over your heart as a single tear breaks free from your lashes and gently rolls down your freckled cheek.

Suddenly, your eyes fly open as you realize that you have no idea how the box got here. Well, you have a suspicion. Damn him! This is the very shit that drives you insane. What in the hell are you supposed to make of this, now?

Sniffling back your emotions, you quickly put the contents back into the box, carefully setting it back down onto your pillow. With a fire in your stomach, you rush out of the tent and briskly walk to the center of camp where everyone is sitting.

“Where did that box in my tent come from?” Your eyes dart around the circle of gang members, waiting for someone to confess. Your slight frame just vibrates with energy right now, wound up like a hornet.

“What are you talking about, (Y/N)?” asks Abigail, looking up at you from her seat at the fire.

“The wooden box in my tent,” you clarify, tossing a finger back behind you towards your personal area. “Who brought it here?” Your eyes flash like fire as you scan the small crowd gathered around, demanding an answer. “Who?”

“I did,” admits Arthur quietly from where he’s sitting on one of the crates. He finishes his cigarette, tossing the butt to the ground as he stands. “I know you’ve been unhappy, missing your family and all. So I thought I’d see if I could find something of theirs for you.”

You stand silently, your eyes locked onto Arthur, not really sure what to say. What in the actual hell is happening right now?! Damn him. Yet another example of mixed signals and confusing cues. Your head spins and feels like it will explode from trying to figure this out, taking your heart along with it.

“That’s where you’ve been all this time?” asks Mary-Beth, looking at Arthur. “You rode all the way back to Rosewood?”

Arthur nods in confirmation, but when he takes note of your hard and intense gaze on him, he’s not sure what to make of it. Uncomfortable under your stare, he tilts his head down with the brim of his hat covering his face and eyes again.

“I can’t believe you did that,” says Abigail, shocked.

You have been quietly watching Arthur during this exchange, but he won’t look at you now. He can’t get a read on your reaction. You almost seem…angry? But truth be told, you kind of are. You have already made up your mind to go. It was an agonizing decision to make, but you have finally made it and already started the difficult mental process to sever your ties here. You have already put your plans in motion to leave the gang. And now this.

And then suddenly, your whole body relaxes in defeat. Your face twists into something almost akin to exhausted disappointment as you simply give in under a wave of emotion. Like you had said to Hosea earlier, you are done with the fighting.

A measured sigh escapes your lips. You slowly, but deliberately, begin to walk over towards Arthur. You don’t break stride, but silently walk right up to him. He looks up at you, flinching slightly as you get closer, as if he expects you to slap him. (You've been so angry at him lately, it wouldn’t surprise him if you did.)

Without hesitation, you firmly cup Arthur’s face with both of your hands, squeezing just a bit so that he can’t run away from you. And you pull him down to you and kiss him deeply in front of everyone in the camp.

You kiss him without warning or permission, and without premeditation, simply because you can’t fathom doing anything else at this very moment.

Time stops the moment your lips touch his. Everything goes silent and dark like the vast universe filled with its blanket of stars. The only thing that registers to you is the feeling of Arthur in your hands.

In the background, there are hoots and hollers, clapping and cheering. John leans into Uncle exclaiming “Told you!” and elbows the older man in the ribs, who reluctantly hands John $5 out of his pocket.

After several moments of your heated lips pressed against his, you release Arthur’s cheeks and tightly wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders, pulling him to you in a strong embrace, unwilling to let go of him just yet.

Arthur’s hands land softly at your waist as he hides his face into your neck. A tidal wave of relief washes over him, crashing down all in one fell swoop. You are not mad at him anymore. You are not leaving. And he has you in his arms where you belong. Finally.

Arthur slowly pulls back from you, searching for any misgivings. But to his relief, he is only met with the sunshine of your face. There are a million things that he wants to tell you, as the words he hasn’t said all this time are the very ones you need to hear. But it’s not the type of thing he wants an audience for, as he’s suddenly very aware of where the two of you are right now.

His hand lifts from your hip to wrap around your bicep, his thumb drawing over the muscle as he leans in closer to you. His gaze briefly sweeps over the small group of onlookers before coming back to you and whispers “Wanna get out of here and go someplace more private to talk?” His gravelly voice is soft and quiet for only you to hear as the lines around his eyes wrinkle delightfully with a smile.

“More than anything.” Your large doe-eyes shine up at him along with a smile that beams back brightly. Arthur grins, his hand now moving to caress your cheek, reassuring both you and himself that this is really happening.

“C’mon,” he encourages you with a slight head tilt. And with his hand at the small of your back, he gently nudges you away from everyone else.

You both abruptly turn away from the group of gawking eyes and giggling whispers to head towards the horses, walking shoulder to shoulder. You catch each other’s gaze shyly, a few giggles of your own erupting from your lips. When your hands casually brush against each other’s, you reach over and take Arthur’s large hand into yours, wrapping your delicate fingers around his. Arthur looks down at the sight of your hands entwined. He lifts your hands up to his lips and places an ever-so soft kiss along the backs of your fingers, making you catch your breath for just a moment over such a simple, yet affectionate gesture.

Buck is already saddled, and Arthur is too impatient to wait to saddle Blue, so he carefully lifts you up onto the back of his horse before he swings himself up as well. And the two of you head out of camp together.

As Buck quickly sets himself into a brisk canter, you wrap your arms around Arthur’s waist, pressing your torso against the warmth of his back. The bulk of him is just so comforting to you. Sure, you’ve ridden together like this before, but now there is a profound difference in the way your arms settle around him. Your face sets upon his back between his shoulder blades as you close your eyes and smile blissfully. Arthur hums contently in response, laying his own strong hand along yours as they link across his ribs in front of him.

Arthur decides to take you to your favorite hunting spot that the two of you like to use. It is nestled deep in a thicket of dense forest, about twenty minutes outside the camp, and there’s an old trapper-style, lean-to shelter there.

It’s quiet out as the sun starts to set, and the only sounds in the woods are the chattering of the squirrels and squawking of the birds as you reach your destination. Arthur pulls Buck to a halt at the edge of the trees, his watchful eyes quickly scanning the camp to make sure it’s safe before letting you down. He’s waited this long for this moment, he just wants everything to be perfect.

“Stay here a minute while I take a quick look around. Let’s make sure no one else is holed up here,” he says over his shoulder. Arthur dismounts, pulling his revolver from his holster as he walks about the small make-shift camp. You happily watch him move about, your cheeks dusting with color at how protective he is of you. Your bottom lip folds up between your teeth in quiet excitement, hardly able to contain yourself in anticipation of finally being alone together with all that previous nonsense now removed.

After he walks the perimeter and deems it safe for you, he waves you over. You flick your heels to nudge Buck forward a few paces until you are now in the middle of the camp. Arthur walks over, reaching his hands up to you to help you down from the back of the horse. His hands tenderly find your hips and your own hands find his broad shoulders as he lowers you down. Your eyes never leave his face, causing him to blush under your longing gaze.

He gives you an awkward grin and a brief chuckle as he walks Buck over to the side of the small clearing, tying him to a tree for the time being. You stand perfectly still in anticipation, watching his every move, until he walks back to you, rubbing his hands together nervously.

“So…” Arthur stands in front of you, taking off his hat and playing with the brim nervously, not really sure what to say or do now.

“So...” you grin at him with a little shrug. “Here we are. Finally.” You step closer to him, smiling coyly.

You stand there, staring into each other's eyes, knowing that this is the turning point. Whatever happens after this moment, move forward or walk away, it changes the relationship forever. There is no going back to what you were before. That’s not even an option anymore. One way or another, it's going to change for the two of you.

Arthur replaces his hat back upon his head, freeing his fingers which fidget nervously as they find their way to your hips again and slowly pull you in closer to him. Your palms come to rest softly on his chest as you look up adoringly into his crystal-blue eyes.

”Kiss me, Arthur.” Your angelic voice is a yearning whisper that dances in his ears, making his heart skip a beat.

He cups your face with his right hand, drawing his thumb along your check bone. The skin there is oh so smooth, like porcelain. His other hand wraps around your bicep as your own hands still sit upon his chest, resting right over his heart. Your fingers play gracefully with the fabric of his worn shirt, causing goosebumps to ripple across his skin underneath. He slowly dips his head down, his lips hovering close to yours before he presses them together.

The kiss is soft at first. And his lips are just as you imagined. Although slightly chapped, the skin is soft as flower petals, the muscles strong underneath, as his mouth encompasses your own.

The kiss isn't too long, just enough to indicate the romantic intent behind it. He pulls back from you and notices that your eyes are still shut, savoring the moment. Your lids are slow to flutter open and peer up into his vivid eyes, which are staring expectantly back at you and waiting for some sign of doubt or regret. But to his relief, he finds none.

When Arthur sees your smile rise up like a sunrise over the horizon, shining its light and warmth upon everything in its path, he rapidly pulls you in for another kiss. He’s desperate not to hurt or offend you, but when your mouth opens slightly, working over his own, and your tongue pushes across in search of his, sweeping across his plump bottom lip, he reciprocates, suddenly hungry and needy. His hand moves from your cheek to cradle the back of your head while his other arm snakes around your waist to pull you tighter against him.

He should feel ashamed at how he holds your hips to his own, but Arthur is feeling selfish right now, giving in to his own desires for once. Your own hands fist around the soft cotton of his shirt, greedily pulling him down to you. You push your hips into his, desperate to be as close to the man as you can get. The symphony of heaving breaths and the wet sound of lips rolling over each other fills the air. A soft whimper, a barely audible moan, delightfully escapes your chest like a bird freed from its cage.

Your heart leaps at how there is such a fine line created between love and madness with just a simple thing as a kiss. You are a bit of a hungry, hot mess inside, aching impatiently for him, waiting for his hands and lips to begin to roam your skin and curves. But yet, you also adore how focused those same hands and needing lips slowly knead and nip at your tender, soft flesh right now.

Arthur’s fingers clench slightly with restraint at the nape of your neck. When you both reluctantly pull away from each other to fill your lungs with air again, he leans his forehead to yours, eyes closed to regain composure. He exhales slowly, shuddering just slightly with measured breaths.

“I want you.” His voice, low and hungry, yet definitive, cuts through the warm air between you. He needs you to hear it, but more importantly, he needs you to know it.

A soft laugh of relief huffs quietly out of your nose at the statement. You smile slightly, so happy to finally hear him say the words out loud after all of this time.

“I want you too, Arthur,” you breathlessly whisper. You lift your face away from his to look into his alluring eyes again. “So very much.”

He searches your features, digging deep, for any last minute hesitation. When he sees none, Arthur kisses you yet again, this time passionate, but not as desperate. His large hands find their way to your back as he pulls you into him even tighter than before, wrapping you up against him. You can feel his hand splay-out under your shoulders, while the other trails down towards the small of your back.

The feeling of his wide and strong body against yours makes your knees weak, and heat begins to build in your abdomen. Your arms rush to extend past his barrel-chest and over his shoulders to fold around his neck, matching the force Arthur is using to keep you close. Your arm curls up to cradle his head, fingers entwining in his hair, which feels like heaven to him. While your other arm moves to firmly wrap around his shoulders, your lips never part. Arthur notices how your knee bends slightly to scissor between his thighs.

The two of you stay like this for several heated moments, finally taking the time to feel one another, to experience what you have both been sorely longing for all this time.

The connection is massive and electric; it’s almost oppressive, making it hard for you to breathe. This feels different than it did previously. Before, it was a sweet longing, yet held back by the tethers of impropriety and notions of “never-to-be”. But now those ropes of restraint have been cast off, tossed to the wayside, allowing free-reign for you both to push the limits and boundaries. A herd of wild horses couldn’t pull the two of you apart right now. Arthur would sooner lose his hand than release his grasp of you. And you would rather be blinded than gaze at anything other than his handsome face at this moment.

When he pulls away again, you chase his lips with a pout, clearly not wanting the intimacy between you to stop. Arthur smiles down at you, gently moving a piece of your hair out of your eye with his fingertip.

“I’ll get a fire going. Why don’t you get the bedroll from my saddle and get comfortable, hmm?”

*I’ve seen this image posted in multiple places on Pintrest. I tried to track down the owner, but can’t locate him. If anyone knows @bushcraft_jack, let me know!

A/N: Sorry if this one does not have the spark that the previous 2 did. But, I think you all know what’s coming next. Stay tuned for Part 4.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x f!reader #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x reader fluff

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immajustvibehere · 2 years

Text

Rainy Days

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female Reader

oneshot: fluff

Summary: A rainy day in Horseshoe Overlook. When you arrive at Arthur's tent soaked to the skin, he can't help but offer his place for you to stay.

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2000 words, 10 minutes reading time

It had been raining all day in Horseshoe Overlook and people in camp just sat intheir tents, building small barriers so the water wouldn't completely sodden the soil on which their tents stood on. Some had to worry about the fabric soaking through, others, like Dutch and Arthur didn't have such problems. You had your own little tent that frankly started to feel very moist. Your gaze wandered around, scanning what people were doing and if there was an opportunity for a better shelter somewhere else.

Karen and Tilly were talking quietly while Mary-Beth was reading a book. John's tent was closed and probably hid him, Abigail and Jack from curious looks. Strauss was doing some calculations in a little book, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Micah was in Dutch's tent, talking to the man with the slick black hair while Molly was pouting on the bed. Then there was Arthur. You knew, as soon as your eyes fell upon him, that you won't go on to wonder what anyone else was doing, because you could stare at him all day. He sat at his table, slightly bend over his journal, scribbling away. You certainly had a soft spot for this man. Not that you'd ever admit it.

"Y/N!", you jumped at Mr. Pearsons's voice. All of a sudden, he stood in front of your tent, a thick blanket wrapped around him and a small pot in his hand which he lowered in front of your feet. "What is it?!", you asked confusedly. "Could you deliver dinner to some folks? I covered most of the camp, only Dutch and Arthur left but I think I feel water running down my back. It's not a lot to ask for", without saying much more, he ran off, not giving you the slightest chance to refuse.

Displeased, you grabbed your blanket, realizing it was already damp. You'll just go in your clothes and when you return, you'll wrap yourself in the blanket. That was the logical way. Pot in one hand, you took big steps towards Dutch's tent. You were soaked after two seconds in the open air. Still, you concentrated on not slipping or spilling the stew you were carrying.

"Ah, finally! Something to distract myself from your boy's jabbering", Molly greeted you at the tent. This got Dutch's attention who stood up and took out some plates: "Thank you for the delivery, y/n. I assume Pearson was too lazy to do it himself." Dutch chuckled kindly. "He was already soaked and figured I needed a bath or something", you smiled. Nobody had asked you in, so you waited in the rain for everyone to fill their plates. You caught Micah's gaze who was checking you up and down, savoring what the wet clothes that stuck to your body revealed. "Enjoy your meal"; you said and tried to sound kind, though you were starting to get cold. They thanked you and you went off to go to Arthur.

"Arthur!", you greeted even before you were at the entrance of his tent. He stood up in anticipation of you appearing and here you were - soaked to the bone. "Jesus", Arthur mumbled, "come in girl!" A nasty gust had just lashed half a gallon of rain in your face, so you were more than grateful for the invitation. "Have ya eaten yet?", Arthur asked while he scooped stew on his plate. "No...Pearson just told me to deliver it to you...", you sighed, "guess I'm going back to my tent and out of these clothes." You turned your head to check if your tent was still holding up. When you froze, Arthur directed his look in the same direction. Your tent was flapping in the wind with only one tent peg holding it to the ground. You let your head droop. "Great."

Arthur cleared his throat and offered: "Ya can stay here if ya like." He said this in such an unbothered manner, you almost felt embarrassed when you blushed. But now, even he stumbled over his own words: "I mean...I think I got some...spare clothes lying around if ya want. Ya really shouldn't stay in yours for much longer...might catch a cold." He went to his chest and rummaged through a pile of clothes. He threw a red shirt - which looked like it had been made out of a warmer and thicker material (and you were grateful for that, because you were freezing) - onto his cot. Then some pants followed. "Not sure if those'er my pants. Found them on my pile one day but they're bit too small, so they might fit ya better", Arthur stood up, satisfied with the clothes he picked.

Then you stared at each other for a couple of seconds, as if you both knew what came next, but neither of you knew how to act appropriately. Arthur was first to regain control over his expression. He was flustered: "Right erm..." He awkwardly closed the flaps of his tent, so that the little lantern on his table was the main source of light. "Imma turn around...", he promised and sat down on his chair, his stew on the table in front of him. You tried really hard to suppress a sheepish grin and quickly started to wiggle out of your wet clothes, putting on the ones Arthur had prepared for you. The shirt was too big, but by far the most comfortable you had ever worn.

"Done", you announced when you had put on the pants and hung up your wet clothes. "M'okay...", Arthur cleared his throat again and started to fill up another plate of stew for you. When he handed it to you, his cheeks were flushed. "Thank you", you took the plate of the still hot food gratefully. You gaze fell on his table, where his stew was untouched. There was his journal, a pencil peaked out of some pages, the lantern and then there was a mirror. He probably used it for shaving, but you realized that it's positioned perfectly to...he didn't peek when you undressed, did he?

You felt your cheeks burn up and sat down on his cot, stew in hand. A cheeky smile marked your face. Arthur wouldn't be the kind of man who does such a thing, would he? And yet...He sat down on his stool again.

"How have ya been holding up? Ya like this place?", Arthur attempted to start a conversation. "Yeah, it's okay. The weather has been weird the last couple of days...", you answered, not really thinking about what you were even talking about. Your thoughts still lingered on the mirror. "Better than the snowstorm up in them mountains", he replied with a shrug. You finally focused your attention on the man in front of you. He was watching you attentively, it's very likely that he had noticed your absentmindedness.

"True", you smiled, "What've you been up to? You've already been to Valentine, haven't you?" What followed was an interesting dialogue between you two. Arthur told you about his visits to Valentine and Emerald Ranch, the stealing and hunting he had done with Hosea. You, in turn, filled him in on the camp's gossip and little accidents, like Uncle spilling coffee all over Lenny's map or Jake annoying the shit out of John. The talk continued minutes after you both had finished your dinner. With the hot plate out of your hands, cold started to creep back into them. Right after Arthur had given you a detailed description of how he and Javier found John in the mountains, you remarked: "Jeez it's getting cold. I almost feel like we're back there."

"What?", Arthur laughed and looked at you. You extended your right hand towards Arthur, who hesitated a second before he took it in his big hand. His hand was unbelievably warm and you let out a sigh of relief when some of his warmth spread to your body. "You're freezing girl", Arthur commented. "Really?", you answered sarcastically. Without letting go of your hand, he stood up and reached for his winter coat.

"Here, slip that on", he dropped his coat onto your lap. To put on the coat, you'd have to let go of his hand. However, Arthur made no attempt to encourage you to let go. His warm thumb rested caringly on the back of your hand. Very slowly and unwillingly, you pulled your hand back and slipped on Arthur's coat. The smell of pine trees, campfire and cigarette smoke reached your nostrils as you turned up the coat's collar.

Arthur observed every one of your moves, smiling slightly at your content expression as you settled into his way too big coat. "Up for a game of dominoes?", he asked. "Sure", you answered while your arms were still busy finding their way through the sleeves. Arthur readjusted the table so you'd be able to reach it from your spot on his bed. You had no idea where he got the dominoes from, you thought the camp only owned one set.

You played round after round, neither of you displaying a phenomenal winning streak. With the rain still pouring, but you cozily wrapped in Arthur's coat and shirt, you started to grow tired. Occasionally you found the energy to brush a strand of wet hair out of your face. Whenever Arthur cursed when he didn't have a fitting tile, he did so in a low and soothing voice. Besides the rain, Arthur's voice and the wooden tiles being places on the table, it was very silent. You yawned a couple of times. The outlaw could only smile at your attempt of denying your weariness. You later thought that he must have done it deliberately, but after he had won a round he said: "Wait a second. I want to paint over some of 'em dots. I can barely see if that's a four or five." And he took his time doing that.

You leaned back and let your head almost entirely disappear behind the collar. You blinked and suddenly your eyes wouldn't open anymore. After a few seconds, you forced yourself awake, mumbling: "I'm sorry, I think I should-" Arthur's hand was on your shoulder, crushing every effort of you to get up (though you had barely tried). "It's okay, ya can rest here", he assured you. "But-", you had to protest. There was only one cot, it was getting late and if you slept here, where would Arthur rest tonight? In the twinkling of an eye - or better - a very slow and tired blink on your side, Arthur's hand was now caressing your cheek. He was barely touching you, but the warmth of his skin tickled your cheek.

"Just lie down, there's enough space for two", you barely noticed his soft smile and you surely didn't question if it was the right thing to do; sleep next to Arthur. You had just turned up at his tent, soaked and he hadn't only offered you his clothes, but also talked to you and gave you a place to stay when your tent had been made uninhabitable. And now you'd take up space on his cot. Nevertheless, your fatigue was too overwhelming. The second you had lied down, pressed tightly against the waggon so there was some space left on the cot, you had passed out. Arthur's hand still rested on your cheek when you fell asleep, you felt his touch even after your consciousness had faded. The last thought that fleetingly crossed your mind was; that maybe, if you were really lucky, he might like you back just enough.

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queenxxxsupreme · 2 years

Text

Captive (Arthur Morgan x f!reader)

A/N: I am in a huge Arthur Morgan mood.... if anyone couldn’t tell....

Warnings: nothing outside of canon, gore, violence, hints at assault but nothing happens, brief description of wounds, angst, fluff

Word Count: 3.9k

Summary: On your way back to camp, the O’Driscolls attack.

***

You leaned against Arthur’s shoulder, humming softly as you watched the road ahead. Arthur turned his head to kiss your hair. Your hand on the inside of his elbow squeezed softly.

The night air was chilly. Millions and millions of stars littered the dark sky. A small sliver of the moon hung in the sky above the road just ahead.

Accompanied by the sounds of the wagon wheels turning over rock, you could hear a slew of wildlife in the surrounding woods. Raccoons, owls, cicadas, crickets, even coyotes and foxes could be heard. Of course most of these animals were running away from the sounds of the wagon that moved along the road.

The wagon lurched suddenly as it hit a bump in the road.

“Helps if you keep your eyes on the road.” Charles spoke from the back of the wagon.

You looked over your shoulder at him, giving him a sheepish smile.

“Sorry, Charles.” Arthur apologized.

You yawned into the back of your hand, shaking your head a little as if to shake the sleep away.

“Just a little longer, pumpkin.” Arthur spoke. He wanted to reach over and offer you some sort of comfort, to put his hand on yours or to put his arm around you, but both of his hands held the reins to the horses that pulled the wagon.

“How much longer?”

“Maybe twenty minutes. Wouldn’t you say, Charles?”

Charles said nothing.

You looked over your shoulder to see Charles was looking into the woods to the right of the wagon.

“Charles?” Arthur turned his head to look back at the man. “You still back there, buddy?”

“Something doesn’t feel right.”

Your stomach sank at his words.

Arthur immediately tensed up. Blue eyes began to search the woods more thoroughly as the wagon continued to travel.

“How long you been feelin’ that way?” Arthur kept his voice low.

“Not long. Just a few minutes.”

“You think we should stop?” You asked, turning to look at Charles again.

“No. Keep going.”

“Luckily, we ain’t got a full wagon.” Arthur said. “If things go south, y’all hold onto something tight. The horses can move fast but it’ll be a bumpy ride.”

“I think we’re being followed.” Charles thought out loud.

Before anyone had a chance to say anything else, the sharp pop of a gun going off echoed through the night. An explosion beneath the wagon caused it to be knocked over, throwing everyone from inside of it.

Your ears rung and there was a sharp pain in your left wrist. Your head hurt too, but you chalked that up to your ringing ears.

It took a few moments for you to realize what had happened and where you were now that the wagon was practically turned upside down. You were on your back in the mud staring up at the starry night.

You tried to roll over to get to your feet, but when you made any attempts to move an agonizing pain shot through your right leg.

You cried out, looking down to see that your leg was pinned beneath the wagon.

“Y/N!”

You turned your head in the direction Arthur’s voice came from. He was at the edge of the forest, pushing himself to his feet and trying to make his way towards you. He didn’t get very far before all hell broke loose.

Bullets flew in every direction. You couldn’t even tell which way they were coming from.

You could only see Arthur draw the gun from his hip and start firing across the river.

“Charles!”

“Over here!” His voice came from the other side of the wagon. You couldn’t see him but you prayed he was okay.

“It’s a goddamn trap!” Arthur gritted out.

“I can see that!” Charles said.

You tried desperately to get your leg unstuck, knowing that they needed your help against whoever it was that was attacking you. You also knew that your survival depended on you freeing yourself.

“Easy, pumpkin.” Arthur knelt beside you. “Charles! I need you over here now! Y/N is stuck!”

You could feel the wind of bullets rushing past you and hear them hitting the wood of the wagon.

You cried out as Arthur tried to lift the wagon himself but only managed to lift some of the weight. He wouldn’t be able to do it himself.

“Charles!”

You collapsed back against the mud, the pain causing you to see spots.

You blinked a few times, staring up at the trees above.

“Y/N?” Charles’ voice sounded muffled and distant. “Y/N, keep your eyes open.”

“Charles.” You turned your head towards him.

When you opened your eyes, you found that he was kneeling next to you.

The next few moments happened so slowly.

He said something to Arthur and then moved to get a hold on the wagon. They both pulled and managed to lift it up just enough for you to try to pull your leg out.

“You got it?” Arthur asked Charles. Both men could see that you weren’t able to move very well. Your leg was probably broken. You would need help.

“I’ve got this.” Charles grunted as he adjusted his hold on the wagon. “Get her!”

Arthur didn’t need to be told twice. He let the wagon go and rushed to you, hands grabbing your arms and pulling you away just out of reach of the wagon.

Charles struggled to hold the wagon but managed to keep it up until you were out of the way. Then he let it go and ducked down behind it.

Arthur still kept his hand firmly on your arm, practically dragging you back to the safety of the wagon.

“Shit.” He cursed, blue eyes glancing over the wound on your leg. There was blood all over your pant leg, and mud was caked to one side of the material.

“Help him.” You could hear gunfire still, but it sounded distant. You turned your head in search of Charles, expecting to find him far away. But he was right beside you, firing his gun over the top of the overturned wagon. “Charles?”

“Charles! Y/N don’t look too good!”

“She’s about to pass–,”

Your vision went black.

***

“Y/N? Pumpkin, you gotta wake up.”

Your eyelids were heavy as you tried to force them open. You could hear Arthur whisper your name. Your head moved a little, and that was when a sharp pain in your temple made you gasp.

“Arthur.” Your voice was raspy.

“Right here, pumpkin.”

You opened your eyes, blinking a few times until you could finally see, then lifted your head.

The room you were in was dark, but there was an oil lamp resting on the table next to you that provided just enough light so that you could see across the room.

Arthur’s hands were bound above his head and he hung from the ceiling, his boots barely touching the ground.

Your eyes met his, brows furrowing together. You tried to move, only to find that your hands were restrained behind your back. You looked down to see that you were in a chair.

“Arthur–,”

“I know, I know.” He looked up at his hands and gave a tug, trying to pull the knot apart.

You looked around but nothing seemed familiar.

“What-What happened?”

“We were ambushed comin’ outta Strawberry.”

“Charles. Is he….?” You trailed off.

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I-I don’t know. Didn’t see him get out. But I didn’t see him go down either.”

You started to move your legs to see if they were maybe tied together too, but the second you moved your right leg, pain shot through you.

You cried out at how bad it hurt, leaning forward and taking a few breaths.

“You alright, pumpkin?”

“My leg.”

“Got it caught under that wagon.”

You nodded lightly, recalling when an explosion had caused the wagon to tip over.

“I can’t see too much from here, but you were bleedin’ earlier.” Arthur’s eyes flickered over to the door for a very brief moment. “Look at me, pumpkin.”

Your eyes met his.

“The first chance you get, Y/N, you run–,”

“I’m not leaving you–,”

“Yes, you are–,”

“No! I–,”

“Damn it, woman!” He whispered loudly. He didn’t want to chance anyone hearing either of you. “Just do what I say, please. I’m- Y/N, I’m beggin’ you, pumpkin.”

You held his gaze, your jaw locked tightly as your stomach was twisted up into terrible knots.

Just as you were about to speak, the door to the room opened.

A man walked in. He was tall and slim with dark greasy hair swept back behind his ears.

Behind him, two more men entered. They lingered near the door with large guns in hand.

“Mr. Morgan. You are a hard man to find.” His Irish accent wasn’t nearly as thick as that of every other O’Driscoll you had come across in the past.

“Let the lady go. She ain’t a part of this.”

The man’s eyes settled on you. He cocked his head to the side, taking a few steps towards you.

“What’s your name, lass?”

You glared up at him through your lashes, refusing to speak.

A smile formed on his face, however it wasn’t a friendly smile. It was sinister and troublesome.

He suddenly reached out and grabbed your jaw, wrenching your face up so that you had no choice but to look at him.

“I asked you a question, lass. It’d be in your best interest to answer me.”

You had never had the best temper, especially when it came to anyone putting their hands on you. In a moment of anger, you spat in his face.

He stepped back, releasing your face and cursing. He wiped his face as a laugh rumbled in his chest.

“Where did you find this one, Morgan? She’s feisty.��

Arthur said nothing. He was all too focused on trying to think of an escape plan while also trying to keep his mind from wandering to all of the possible terrible scenarios that could happen.

The one who seemed to be in charge, who had done the talking and asked you for your name, looked over to the two men that stood at the door.

“If she doesn’t want to give us her name the easy way, then I suppose we can do it the hard way.” He flicked his head in Arthur’s direction.

You watched, lips parting as one of the men left the doorway and went to Arthur. Using the butt of the rifle in his hands, the man hit Arthur in his stomach.

“No!” You shouted, lurching from your seat in a desperate attempt to get to Arthur. But the one in charge stopped you, his hand finding your throat. He didn’t squeeze, but having his hand there was extremely uncomfortable.

“Do you want to try that again, lass?” The man asked, quirking a brow up in amusement. “What kind of name does a pretty one like you have?”

You didn’t even get a chance to answer him before the man next to Arthur hit him again.

“That wasn’t a fair hit now, was it, Sebastian?”

Sebastian, the man next to Arthur, smirked.

“Y/N! My name is Y/N!”

“That wasn’t so hard, Y/N.” The man next to you moved his hand from your neck up to your jaw. “Tell me, Y/N. Where is Dutch Van der Linde right now?”

“I don’t know who that is.”

The sound of Arthur grunting in pain made you want to look at him, but when you tried, the man in front of you stopped you. He kept his hand on your jaw, holding you with enough force to probably cause bruises.

“How long do you think Mr. Morgan can last, darling?”

“I’m okay, Y/N!” Arthur shouted.

He was hit twice more. You held the man’s gaze, glaring up at him as you thought of how you’d kill him when you were free.

“How does that shoulder look, Sebastian?” The man let you go and took a few steps in Arthur’s direction.

You looked over to Arthur, meeting his gaze. He did his best to hide his emotions, to remain stoic as the leader approached him.

“Not too good, Aiden.” Sebastian put one hand on Arthur’s shoulder and pressed his thumb into the bullet wound.

Arthur clenched his teeth together, bowing his head in an attempt to hide his pain from you.

“Well that’s a damn shame.” The leader, Aiden, shook his head mockingly.

“I wonder if the lass would talk if we put another bullet in him.” The third man who remained by the door snickered.

“Straight through his fuckin’ skull.” Sebastian chuckled, drawing the handgun from a holster on his hip.

The sound of shouting outside took the attention of the O’Driscolls’ away from Arthur and you.

“Connor, go see what all the noise outside is for.” Aiden ordered the third man who stood by the door.

No more than ten seconds after he had left, a gun went off.

“Ah, shit. Come on, Sebastian.” Aiden pinched his brow and moved towards the door.

You watched them carefully, listening for any signs of what was going on outside.

As soon as the door to the room closed, your eyes found Arthur.

“Ar-Arthur.” Your voice cracked.

“Hey, hey.” His voice was gentle as he spoke to you. He could see a look on your face, one that he had never seen before. You were giving up. “Everything is going to be just fine, pumpkin.”

“How? We are outnumbered and we don’t know where we are.”

“That’s never stopped us before. You remember when we were in Montana and there was another gang going after the same bank we were trying to rob? You remember how it was just you and me that mornin’ against those fellas? How many do you reckon there were?”

You shook your head softly. He was trying to cheer you up but it wasn’t working. These were O’Driscolls you were dealing with, not bank thieves.

“Y/N? Look at me, pumpkin.”

You brought your eyes to look up at Arthur.

“I love you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, nodding your head.

“Love you too, bear.”

Arthur looked around the room, trying to think of a plan. There was no way he was going to just let you both sit there and die at the hands of the O’Driscolls, but if whatever plan he thought up failed, you both would surely end up dead.

“How tight are your hands tied, pumpkin?”

“Pretty tight. I’ve been trying to get them loose but they tied them funny.” You winced as you twisted your wrist around. You had rubbed a raw spot on one side of your wrist from the rope.

The door opened and in walked Aiden.

You tensed up when you saw that he was holding a handgun by his side.

“I’m not known for my patients. One of you best start talking.”

“Why don’t you let the lady go?” Arthur suggested. “Then we can think about talking.”

Aiden raised his brows, taking a few steps towards the both of you.

“Are those your terms, Morgan?”

Arthur remained silent, sensing that the question was rhetorical.

With no warning, Aiden backhanded you. Almost immediately you could taste something metallic in your mouth and your lip burned.

“You ain’t in any position to be making requests, arsehole.”

Though you couldn’t see him, you could imagine the glare in Arthur Morgan’s eyes.

You spat blood out on the floor then leaned back in your seat, your eyes finding Aiden.

“M’sorry for putting my hands on ya, love.” He caressed the side of your face with his knuckles. “But I can’t have Morgan thinkin’ he’s in any place of power. You understand, don’t ya?”

“Go to hell.” You spoke through clenched teeth that were covered in a bit of blood.

Aiden chuckled, amused. He placed one hand on the back of your seat and leaned down so his mouth was close to your ear.

“I like a gal with a fire inside ‘er.” He whispered.

His disgusting breath caused chills to spread down your spine.

“Don’t you put your goddamn hands on her again.” Arthur began to try to pull against his bonds, but it was no use.

Aiden didn’t care to pay attention to Arthur as he knew what was restraining him was too strong for him to break out of.

You held Aiden’s gaze, refusing to show him fear as he kept his face just a few inches from yours.

“I wonder just how angry we can make Mr. Arthur Morgan.”

Your stomach began to churn at that moment.

Your eyes very briefly flickered to Arthur, who appeared to have a look of fear and anger on his face.

But you couldn’t hold his gaze for too long. You needed to think of a plan, and you needed to do so quickly.

“Would- Would that mean I live?” You asked quietly, your voice sounding meek and timid.

“For now.”

You dropped your gaze from Aiden’s, falling into the roll of the subservient captive.

Aiden smirked, taking hold of your jaw. Your head was harshly tilted up, forcing you to look up at him.

“Finally realizing ya ain’t gonna get outta this one?”

“I-I just– I don’t want to die. I’ll do anything. Anything, please.” You whispered, voice trembling.

“Y/N, no!”

“Shut it!” Aiden shouted to Arthur.

Aiden shifted where he stood, tucking his gun into the holster on his hip.

“I’ll do anything.” You repeated, keeping your eyes on Aiden.

“Of course you will. Whores always do.” He started to unbuckle his belt.

You panicked for a moment, your heart beating fast in your chest.

“Wait! Wait! You’re– You’re leaving me tied up?”

“Of course I am. I ain’t dull.”

“But…. But then I can’t be useful to you.” Your eyes fell to his boots for a moment. You felt disgusting even suggesting these things with an O’Driscoll.

“Sure you can.”

“No, no! I-I can– I can show you a real good time.” You said. “I just can’t do what you- what you want me to do tied up like this.”

Aiden furrowed his brow, listening to you for a few moments.

“You’re trying to trick me, aren’t you? So I let you out and you try to run!”

“I have a lame leg.” You nodded to your injured leg. “A wagon fell on me when your boys attacked. I’m not going anywhere you don’t want me to.”

Aiden thought about it for a few moments, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He could see the wound on your leg and he could see how your pant leg was covered in blood.

“I suppose you’re right.”

As he began to cut your binds, adrenaline started to pump through your veins. It was now or never. You had one shot.

Just as he was cutting the last rope around your ankle, you threw your head forward to smash your forehead against Aiden’s nose.

He staggered back, crying out and bringing his hand up to cover his profusely bleeding nose.

“Ah! You fucking bitch!”

You shot out of the chair and picked the chair up, then used it to knock him to the floor. As he was down, you picked up the knife he had dropped on the floor.

“Atta girl!” Arthur cheered you on as you cut him down.

You turned back to the O’Driscoll, wanting to finish him off.

Aiden was writhing on the floor, holding his bloody nose when he saw you. He quickly reached for his gun but you kicked him in the side.

“Sick bastard.” You reached down for his gun, disarming him of any of his weapons.

“Please! Don’t! I-I just had orders!”

You tossed the gun aside, knowing it would draw too much attention. Instead, you chose to use his own knife to kill him.

Arthur placed his hand on your back as you stepped away from the now dead O’Driscoll. He kissed the side of your head, his hand pressing firmly into your back.

You didn’t get any time to ask him if he was okay before the front door burst open and in rushed John and Javier.

“Shit.” John let out a sigh of relief. “Are we glad to see you.”

“Charles, is he–,”

“He’s fine.” Javier cut you off, nodding his head as he moved towards you. “He looks a lot better than you two.”

“Where’s he at?” Arthur asked.

“At camp. Dutch wouldn’t let him come out after what happened.” Javier explained. “Got a nasty hit on the head, but he’s okay.”

“Let’s get you guys home.” John offered Arthur help but he didn’t need it as much as you did.

The adrenaline had worn off and now your leg hurt all the way up to your hip and your toes were even going numb.

Javier put your arm around his shoulders and helped you out of the cabin.

You could see numerous dead O’Driscolls scattered around. Bill and Micah were by the horses, waiting for the rest of the gang.

“I’ll take Arthur. You’ve got her?” John asked Javier.

“Yeah.” Javier nodded his head. “Is that alright, Y/N?”

“Of course.” You told him. “You boys couldn’t have come at a better time.”

***

“Easy now, Y/N.” Karen held your arm as you slipped down into the warm water of the tub.

“Thank you, Karen.” You settled against the side of the tub, letting out a breath. Your leg was hurting beyond belief and you couldn’t walk far without help, hence Karen assisting you into the tub.

“Course. Is there anything I can do for ya before I go?”

“I don’t think so. Thanks again.”

She nodded and slipped out of the tent.

You picked up the cloth on the side of the tub and dipped it into the water. Using the chunk of soap on the side of the tub, you lathered up the cloth and began to wash yourself off starting with your arms.

Your mind began to wander back to the events of earlier that day.

The lapels to the tent were pushed aside and in stepped Arthur Morgan.

Your eyes met his.

He had yet to wash himself up. He had been too busy telling Dutch of what happened and then of making sure you were okay.

“Hey, pumpkin.”

“Hi, bear.”

He took his hat off and placed it on a side table, then moved a stool closer to the tub so he could sit next to it.

Wordlessly, he rested his arms along the sides of the tub and took one of your hands.

You found yourself tearing up as he brought your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles.

“Ar-Arthur.” Your voice was shaky.

He looked up at you, his own eyes glossy in the oil lamp light.

“Shit, pumpkin. I-I was scared today.” He admitted quietly. He gave your hand a squeeze.

“Me too.”

Arthur looked down to your leg.

“To think that bastard almost–,”

“I was willing to do whatever I needed to get us out of there.” You stopped him from continuing. His blue eyes flickering up to meet yours. “Whatever I needed.”

“Don’t ever think you gotta do that again, Y/N.”

“He was going to hurt you, Arthur.”

“I don’t care. I don’t care.” He shook his head. “I don’t want you to go through that.”

He reached his hand out to cup your jaw, his thumb wiping a tear from your cheek.

“There were a few minutes I thought we weren’t gonna make it home.” You leaned into his hand. “They had us, bear.”

“But they don’t no more.” He kissed your forehead. “I got you, and you got me.”

“Always.”

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If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x reader angst #arthur morgan x reader fluff #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan angst #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fluff #rdr2 angst #queenxxxsupreme

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messrmoonyy · 19 days

Text

- The Forbidden Fruit

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Request- I NEED ARTHUR TO STEAL DUTCHS GIRL AND SHOW HER A REAL MANS LOVING. FILTHY PASSIONATE LOVING. WORK YOUR MAGIC

A/N- I got incredibly carried away with this. Is basically prawn with no plot honestly. And far softer smut than I think you intended it to be but. Here we are. Enjoy.

Warnings- 18+ | implied toxic relationship ( reader is in love with Dutch van der Linde what can you expect here ), smut: affair, Arthur being desperate to please!!!, fingering, oral ( reader receiving ) , unprotected p in v and he accidentally finishes inside oops, like the tiniest amount of cockwarming ( WC-8.9k )

AO3 | Masterlist - requests are open :)

Arthur didn’t involve himself in Dutch’s relationships. He stayed polite to whatever young woman he had hanging off his arm at the time, but that was about it. He’d seen too many girls come and go- usually in floods of tears at being dismissed by the man that had seduced and charmed them into loving him. Just working his way through shiny new plaything to plaything, hiding his unending sorrow for Annabelle under the skirt of some new girl.

Unfortunately you were no different.

In your defence, he supposed, you had lasted far longer than the rest. The only real exception to that being the famed Annabelle herself. But as was almost inevitable, your time in the honeymoon phase was slowly crumbling down around you.

Arthur did wonder if it was simply because of the current stress levels in camp. They had all been on the run for longer than he cared to try and count, but after the mess in Blackwater they had reached new heights of being hunted. It had never been this bad. Nothing had ever gone this wrong. Because before everything had gone to complete shit, he’d actually seemed quite taken with you. In truth Arthur actually had begun to consider the idea that Dutch really did love you. Had finally been able to move on from the weight on his heart of his dead lover.

But no.

Arthur was observing the same pattern as always, it had just taken far longer with you. And that just seemed to make it all the more cruel.

He barely even looked at you most days now. Barely uttered a few words in return to any question you asked.

And the arguing was growing ever more fierce. It was practically everyday.

Arthur didn’t like it. Didn’t like the way Dutch treated you. Didn’t like the way Dutch was treating anyone lately. But you in particular had never been anything but nice to him, kind. Sweet. Incredibly naive but sweet. To Arthur too. Some of the girls Dutch had strung along had been vile, rude and entitled and stuck up. But you? You were a genuinely nice person it seemed. And maybe that was your greatest flaw, for someone like that did not belong with Dutch Van Der Linde.

In fact Arthur had come to like you from a distance. The times he had spoken to you you had been interesting, intelligent. Far cleverer than him and he had always liked that in a woman if he was honest.

But still you clung to Dutch. Though your patience with him of late seemed to finally be wearing thin.

Dutch had never really been one to be ashamed or afraid of airing his dirty laundry within the gang. Whether that be packing on the PDA in camp in a way that often made Arthur want to vomit up his breakfast, or the even more puke inducing sounds of the two of you making up all night long. So arguing was no exception to that either.

And today was no different.

“ you barely even look at me! I’m right here! I always have been, I’ve always been such a good girl haven’t I? I do as you say. And look at how you repay me! “ Arthur sighed as he dropped a stack of bills into the box, successfully recovering yet another of Strauss’ debts for him. You were both screaming at each other again, the tent flaps pulled down as if that would over any form of soundproofing. It was the camp's regular ambience now it seemed.

He did feel sorry for you, he really did. You’d left everything you had for Dutch. Some beautiful, intelligent, well spoken girl. Heiress to her daddy’s mining fortune up north, used to the finer things but seeking some adventure. And Dutch had offered you both. Drowned you in jewels and gifts- though unlike the ones you had once owned the ones he gave were not his to give- Shown you off like a shiny new toy on his arm. Expressly informed Miss Grimshaw that you were not to be lifting a finger, that you would not have to earn your keep with chores like the others.

You earned your keep by looking beautiful beside him, by boosting his ego with your constant devotion to him, by letting Dutch use you for his own source of pleasure and by the sounds of things- that Arthur truly had no choice but to overhear- not getting very much back in return.

“ You know I don’t think I’ve ever met a more selfish woman in my life! “ Arthur sighed and sat down on his cot, debating whether or not to make some attempt to get the sleep he had been planning the entire long journey back to Clemens Point. But his tent was but a stone's throw from Dutch’s.

“ I have needs too Dutch Van Der Linde!” Everyone else in camp didn’t seem to mind it though, most of them preparing to settle in for the night. Whether that be passing out on their bedrolls or drinking by the fire. But Arthur wasn’t sure he could put up with another moment of the damn yelling.

“ oh? You have needs? “ Dutch’s voice was condescending. Mocking “ I give you everything! You are acting like a spoiled child”

“ a child? A child!? “ Arthur stood back up again, deciding he’d fare better trying to sleep on the damn ground rather than next to the likes of you and Dutch. So he headed out towards the edge of camp, hiding himself in the woods by the water. He slumped down against a tree with a heavy sigh and wished he’d thought to pick up a bottle of beer on the way.

But it was no matter. He was far enough away that he couldn’t hear the fighting anymore, but close enough that if he was needed anyone calling his name would be heard.

He looked out across the water, enjoying his rare moment of peace. It was a clear night and a full moon, the reflection bouncing off the water in the most beautiful way. He pulled out his journal and started to sketch it, wishing he could capture its beauty better.

‘ Dutch and the girl were arguing again. Got out of earshot for a bit to try catch some sleep. Thought the water and the moon looked mighty pretty ‘

He scrawled underneath when he was done, tucking it back into the satchel discarded at his side. Javier's guitar had silenced back in camp now and he figured everyone had gone off to bed. But he was quite content there by the water, so dropped his hat over his face and settled in to try and catch a few hours himself.

He was just dozing off when he heard the sound of boots marching quickly through the undergrowth, snapping twigs as they went. And then the soft sound of someone mumbling to themselves. He silently hoped whoever it was would keep well away from him. But the boots grew nearer and came to a halt not so far away. The crackle of a match being lit and a heavy sigh.

“ thinks he can talk to me like that? Bastard. Bastard he is. I’m a lady I deserve better than. Than that “

You.

He cleared his throat lightly to inform you that he was there, but unfortunately still seemed to startle you.

“ Christ! Gave me a damn heart attack Arthur “ he placed his hat down with his satchel with a sigh and looked up at you. In the light of the moon reflecting off the water he could see your cheeks were tear stained, the glow of the end of your cigarette illuminating your face further and showing your makeup in streaks.

He couldn’t lie that it made his heart ache for you. He didn’t particularly have any solid feelings for you, but he did feel sorry for you. It was hard not to feel sorry for the woman seduced by Dutch.

And you truly were a cut above the rest in his opinion. Beautiful as the early morning sun and, when you weren’t screaming at Dutch, as kind and warm as it too. But maybe that was fitting. Because much like the sun you could bask people in warmth, but burn them too. Beautiful and bright but scalding and he found he couldn’t look at you for too long, no matter how many times he wanted too. Simply blinding his eyes with your flaming beauty and having to turn away.

But maybe he was just getting caught up in his metaphors.

“ shouldn’t be out this far from camp “ you simply shrugged, taking another drag of your cigarette “ ain’t no one nice lingerin’ in woods at night miss” even if no Lemoyne raiders were sneaking around the trees, there were plenty of species of wildlife that would happily do a number on you. Chew off a leg or bite you with poison fangs. You didn’t know how to take care of yourself. You couldn’t handle a gun, didn’t have a single survival instinct in you.

Dutch had quite made sure of that, he’d heard you ask once or twice. And had been denied. Charming you with some string of words about how you were far too delicate to be handling a gun. To leave it for the men.

“ you’re lingering in the woods aren’t you Mr Morgan? “ he chuckled and shrugged.

“ and I ain’t that nice. Point proven lady “

“ not like Dutch would care if someone took me anyway. He’d probably be thankful “ your voice was hoarse from the shouting and he couldn’t tell if you were going to cry again or not. You took a long drag of your cigarette before seeming to suddenly remember something, dipping your hand into the waistband of your skirt and pulling out a pack “ sorry my manners. Want one? “ he took one with a nod of thanks “ can I sit? “

You sat down carefully beside him then with a long sigh, tucking your legs beneath you, and leant forward so he could light the cigarette between his lips with the end of yours.

“ thanks “ you both sat quietly for a short while. Smoking and watching the ripples in the water. He didn’t mind it actually, as much as he had been slightly annoyed at you disturbing his attempt to sleep. You were decent company.

You rarely strayed from Dutch’s side, but on the odd occasion you had and Arthur had stumbled upon you having a moment to yourself at the edge of camp it had been quite nice. So he didn’t mind sitting there with you, company. For you both.

“ I think you’re nice. By the way “ you said to break the silence, refrenching his previous comment of bad men lingering in the woods.

“ No offense to you Miss, but you’re in love with old Dutch. I don’t think you’re particularly qualified to be sayin’ whether folk is nice or not “ he said it teasingly in some hopes of making you smile. And it did. A little.

“ maybe not “ he watched you bring your cigarette to your lips again, glancing at your hands. Nails perfectly trimmed and not a single speck of dirt or sign of a scar. Hands that had never had to lift a finger. Ever. It was an interesting contrast to his own. Calloused and scarred and bruised “ but Dutch he… he…Can I ask you something? “

“ Sure “ he said and flicked his cigarette away.

“ Do you think I’m beautiful Arthur? “ you asked meekly. Your face was sad. Lingering innocence yet to be wiped away by life somehow, the kind that only remained because you had lived a life so sheltered. Even with Dutch you were as sheltered as could be “ and don’t lie. Please “

“ I think you’re beautiful, sure “ you turned back to the water again, tossing your own cigarette before promptly lighting another.

“ Dutch doesn’t. Not anymore. Barely even looks at me “ Arthur ran a hand over his face, not entirely sure what he was supposed to say to you in the situation. At all “ I know I know I don’t expect you to agree. You two you’re…you’re like two peas in a pod aren’t you? “ you said with a small laugh, but it held no humour. You took a long drag of your cigarette.

“ me and Dutch it’s… we go back a long way. But… I will agree the way he’s been treatin’ you. Ain't nice. Not when you done nothin’ but be loyal to him for so long “ you turned back to him again and gave a small smile. It was like a wave of relief had washed right over you.

Someone was finally listening.

“ I think he’s got his eyes on Mary-Beth “ you mumbled, red stained lips wrapping around your cigarette again. Much like how he had found himself admiring your hands he now found himself admiring your lips. Soft and plump and stained red in the way they often were.

He blamed it on his fatigue.

“ he’d be a fool to give you up. You’re kind, loyal, hell you might jus’ be the most beautiful woman I know. He’s in a weird place right now. He’ll snap outta it, be back to readin’ you Evelyn Miller in no time. You’ll see “ maybe the last part wasn’t entirely true. But the first part was. And you seemed to bask in his compliments. He wondered when the last time Dutch had said something nice to you had actually been.

“ Thank you “ you looked as though you might cry again. And he really hoped you wouldn’t. He didn’t like to see you cry. And he really wouldn’t know what to say to you then. Once again you turned your attention back to the water and gave a small sigh “ maybe I chose the wrong outlaw “ you said with a small laugh “ always have thought you were quite handsome “

He nearly choked on his own saliva, clearing his throat in hopes to pass it out smoothly. He didn’t know if it had worked.

“ Really? “

“ Hmm “ you mused, tilting your head inquisitively to the side “ but you were oh so hung up on that Mary girl when I found Dutch”

“ Yeah well. Mary she’s- that’s all done with now “ maybe Mary was the reason he seemed to sympathise with you so. Because he too had had a broken heart. Though he was sure his was not as brutal as yours.

“ Guess we both have bad taste don’t we Mr Morgan “ he chuckled and nodded.

“ That we do miss. That we do “ he placed a gentle hand to your shoulder and squeezed in some form of comfort “ don’t worry bout Dutch though. Really. He’ll come to his senses and if…if he don’t then. Any man would be lucky to have ya “ you sniffled and he figured you’d started crying again “ I didn’t mean to upset- “

“ No. No I’m fine. It’s just…you mean it all don’t you? All these kind words? “ he shrugged and then nodded.

“ Sure I do. You’re a beautiful woman. Inside an out “ something seemed to flash across your face, a million and one things whirring away behind your eyes. He’d never been that good at reading people, never one for knowing what people were thinking. And the look on your face was the most confusing he’d ever seen.

The next part happened far too quickly for him to process it. Maybe because he was tired, maybe because he truly hadn’t even slightly suspected you to do it. You flicked away the butt of your cigarette and leaned forward, one hand to his leg and the other to his neck. And kissed him.

He was taken aback and you pulled away before he could make any attempt to figure out what you’d just done.

“ Sorry “ you sighed in slight annoyance, seemingly at yourself, sitting back beside him again. Like it was no big deal. Just something that had happened and had no real consequence “ shit- sorry “ Arthur scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and shrugged with a small laugh. Attempting to play it as cool as you clearly were.

Maybe he’d finally cracked and entered some weird fatigue induced psychosis, hallucinations and hearing voices. And kissing Dutch’s woman.

“ S’okay. No harm done “ he was bewildered. Trying to process the last 30 seconds and coming up completely blank.

“ Just the way you talk about me I- Lord forgive me “ he was certain he must have looked half dense. Still completely confused at what on earth was happening with you. And maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit flustered at having a woman like you kiss him. Even if you were begging the Lord for forgiveness right after it “ no one’s spoken to me like that in a long time and…and I wish they had. I want to be told I’m beautiful again. I want to be kissed. I want I want…I want a lot of things “

Maybe Arthur was a stupid, idiotic fool. Maybe too many gunshot wounds and bumps to the head had finally caught up to him. Maybe he too wanted to act on his ever growing annoyance with how Dutch was behaving. But he found himself reaching out, fingers tucking under your chin to turn your face to look at him. Your eyes were so beautiful up close. Practically sparkling in the moonlight.

Oh he was such a fool.

“ could’a jus’ asked “ a small smile tugged at your lips and you laughed a little.

“ Yeah. Of course. Because you’d have said yes Arthur? “ he shrugged. He didn’t know if he would’ve actually. But now the thought was in his head “ alright “ you whispered and shuffled a little closer to him “ indulge me “

His thumb was absentmindedly brushing over your jaw, looking at you in the light of the moon and wondering how on earth Dutch wasn’t constantly begging for your attention. If he had a woman like you constantly hanging off his every word he wouldn’t know how to act. Would be like a mangy dog trailing around after you for food.

“ I might’ve “ you gave a roll of your eyes but you were smiling still, a beautiful, tempting smile.

You were a temptress. A siren. Luring him in with your beauty to do something terrible. And you were vulnerable. Sad and seeking appreciation. And he was truly debating it.

“ Well…“ you started quietly, looking up at him through your long lashes in a way that made his chest go tight “ there is… still time for you to say yes “

“ we ain’t gonna tell no one bout this y’hear? This it’s… it’s jus’ between me and you. Okay? “ your eyebrows furrowed for a second looking up at him intently, as if trying to figure out if he was joking or not. If he was serious. He wasn’t entirely sure himself, needed you to agree or disagree to put the thought to rest. His thumb continued to brush along your jaw tenderly and your eyes fell closed for a moment.

How long had it been since someone had touched you with such care? That something as simple as that seemed to mean so much to you.

“ I understand “ you whispered, eyes flickering down to his lips again. He pulled you in close, barely an inch between your lips and then spoke again “ you’ll give me what I want? Don’t treat me like him “

“ Anythin’ ya want. You got it. I’ll give ya what you deserve “ you let a shuddering breath escape and gave a small nod before closing the gap between you both again.

He hadn’t kissed anyone in a while, but he sure found his footing quickly. You kissed him like he was your source of air, climbing your way into his lap and slipping your hands into his hair. You tasted of cigarette smoke and something almost sweet. Whatever it was, it was an intoxicating mix. You were like a siren singing your call in his ear, drawing him in and taking him for your own. The weight of you in his lap was almost familiar, welcoming. Just… nice.

He had almost forgotten just how fun it was to kiss a woman. How so many men seemed to shun it as boring, pointless- Dutch obviously included. But Arthur had always loved it. Had spent many a night as a youngster sneaking his way into Mary’s room just to kiss her. To spend hours kissing and talking and kissing some more.

Kissing you was something else. Addictive. Intoxicating.

Eventually he had to pull away, his lungs screaming at him for air. Your hands slipped out from his hair and down to grasp at the collar of his shirt, resting your forehead on his.

“ Anything I want you say? “ you asked quietly, breathless.

“ Anythin’ “ you smiled and lifted your head, a quiet determination settling over you. Your lipstick had smeared and he wondered how much of it was now on his own face.

“ okay… undress me then “ you softly commanded, shifting slightly in his lap “ please. Dutch never- he makes me do it myself, barely even looks I- Please “

He almost laughed to himself about now he immediately thought getting you naked was entirely too risky. As if the entire situation alone wasn’t risky anyway. But he didn’t want to think too hard about that, instead simply channelled his recent annoyance towards Dutch into his actions. Tried to tell himself he was doing a good thing, taking care of you.

You watched his face carefully as he gently untucked your shirt from where it was tucked into your skirt, some silky soft thing that probably cost more than everything he owned in his clothing trunk put together. He undid every pearl button slowly, eyes darting up to your face as he did. Your chest was heaving in long, heavy breaths. You were nervous. Or excited. He couldn’t tell which.

You shivered lightly when he pushed it from your shoulders, now only the soft cotton of your chemise between his hands and your chest. Your nipples had hardened, from the slight night chill or lust he couldn’t say. But he found himself unable to resist the sight, leaning forward and capturing one between his lips through the cotton. You gasped softly, a sound so beautiful it made him groan. You sounded delicate. Innocent. You’d never made such sounds when he’d overheard you with Dutch. In fact a majority of the time you almost sounded in pain.

But this sound wasn’t that. This sound was beautiful. And he wanted to hear more. One hand pushed at your back to bring you closer, the other palmed at your neglected breast in hopes you’d make the sound again. And you did. Gentle, soft gasps as his tongue dampened the material of your chemise, teeth tugging at you gently through the material. Your hand found his hair again, raking your fingers through it and arching your back into his touch.

He couldn’t imagine why Dutch had never wanted to do such a thing. How could he not want to hear you make those pretty pretty sounds? How could he not want to feel you writhing in his lap and yearning to be touched. Maybe Dutch was more of a fool than he had originally thought.

“ Need you to touch me- properly I- take this off “ your sentence was choppy, like you weren’t focussed enough to truly articulate the words you wanted to say. But he understood, pulling your chemise over your head and dropping it to land with your shirt.

He took a moment just to look at you, not even entirely because he knew you’d want him to. Just because he wanted to. He’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t wondered what was hiding under your expensive clothes once or twice. How could he not when he had to try sleep through the sounds of you and Dutch of a night.

“ God damn “ he said softly, hands soothing over your waist as you basked in his admiring stare, taking in the feeling of finally being looked at. Properly.

“ like what you see Mr Morgan “ you asked, voice sultry and low in a way that made his cock twitch in his pants.

“ Dutch is a damn fool “ is all he could say, leaning forward to kiss you again, his hands moving to grab at your chest. You moaned into the kiss as he squeezed and massaged your breasts with his large hands, seizing the opportunity to dip his tongue into the warmth of your mouth. Your fingers in his hair, twisting strands around your fingers and tugging lightly. He felt like he was on cloud nine. Certain he’d somehow taken a stumble through the veil and ended up at heaven's gates.

He wasn’t a particularly religious man, but the way he was prepared to worship and praise you could truly be considered blasphemous.

He couldn’t resist the temptation of getting his mouth on you again much longer, dragging his lips from yours and wrapping them around a pebbled nipple instead. You rolled your hips against him, those beautiful soft moans still falling past your lips. This was what you had wanted from him. To be worshipped. To be looked at as the beautiful temptress of a woman you were. And not merely glanced at and then used like some two dollar whore in a saloon.

He wanted to nip at your skin, bite and soothe it with his tongue. But he knew he couldn’t. Couldn’t risk Dutch seeing it if he felt the need to stop ignoring you for a short while for his own needs. But oh how he wanted to. To mark up your smooth skin with reminders that you were desired. That you could look at as they faded and be reminded that you were wanted.

“ I need more “ you whispered “ Arthur please. Give me more “ another roll of your hips followed by a small whimper told him enough.

“ I know I got ya “ he murmured against your skin, pressing kisses up your sternum and your neck. Nose brushing at the underside of your jaw and working his way back to your lips again “ stand up. Lemme get you out of these damn clothes “ he caught the smile on your face as you stood up, he stayed seated and ran his hands over the fabric covering your hips. Something seemed to blaze in your eyes as you looked down on him. He realised it was most probably you that was usually being leered down on, but not now.

Not with him. Not with Arthur. Arthur looked up at you like the goddess you were, looked up at you with what he knew was a silent pleading in his eyes. Dutch would never ask he knew it. Dutch took. Stole. Used. Arthur didn’t. Wouldn’t.

“ I like how you look at me “ you said quietly, hand soothing over his hair “ you make me feel beautiful “

“ Cause y’are “ he murmured, hands reaching to the ties of your skirt. He wanted to see more. Wanted to see all of you.

You helped him with the slightly tedious task of getting your skirts and undergarments off, but all so slowly. Taking his time. Making sure he appreciated every single layer of clothing you removed for him, right down to unlacing your boots and holding your leg gently to help you out of them. Until you stood there as naked as the day you were born, illuminated by the moonlight on the water.

“ well ain’t you a sight “

Your skin was so smooth. Soft. Not a single scar that he could see. The skin of a woman who had never had to lift a finger. Had never known the hardships that he had. The only true blemish on your skin was the almost completely faded bruises on your hips. Fingertips. Dutch.

He soothed his hands up your legs, pressing soft kisses to the pillowy flesh of your thighs as he went, and stopped as he reached them.

“ He can be a little rough. It’s how he likes it “ you answered before he could even ask. Arthur too had been known to have his rougher moments. But he could never hurt you. Never mark you in anyway other than that of affection and care.

“ I ain’t like that “

“ I know. That’s why I want you “ he pulled you back down into his lap, his large hands splaying over your hips as he took yet another moment just to look. To admire. To thank whatever stupid damn God may exist for placing such a heavenly body in his presence “ I feel a little like the odd one out here though “ you said with a small smile, tracing a finger down from the open top buttons of his shirt to his pants.

He’d been far too occupied with you to even really notice the fact that he was ridiculously overdressed in comparison.

“ Can’t have that now can we darlin’ “ your smile grew and you made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders with a gentle sigh. You ran your fingers through the hair on his chest, nails scratching lightly at his skin and peppering lipstick stained kisses as you went. Littering his collarbones, his sternum.

“ much better “ your hands kept roaming and your lips kept kissing. Hands seemingly wanting to touch him all, scratching lightly up his sides and over his waist, his stomach and his ribs. Slowly moving to slide over his shoulders and loop around his neck. You rolled your hips against him again and whined softly. He was so hard it was growing painful as he stayed restrained by his pants. But he wasn’t selfish. Not like Dutch. And he wasn’t about to seek out any form of pleasure himself until he had you seeing the stars you deserved.

“ tell me what y’want “ he murmured, peppering soft kisses across your jaw.

“ touch me “ you sighed blissfully “ please touch me “

His hand slipped down in between your bodies, brushing past the soft curls between your legs and couldn’t contain the groan of a sound that left him when he felt how warm and wet you were.

“ Christ “ he muttered as your head dropped to his shoulder with a shuddering breath “ he ever touch you like this? “ he asked lowly, already knowing the answer. Why would he? He didn’t get anything out of it.

But Arthur did. Oh Arthur did.

“ no “ you whispered “ no never…please. More “ he tested the waters, pressing lightly against your clit and revelling in the squeak of a sound that it caused you to make.

“ or like this? " You shook your head again, breathing shakily as he dragged his finger through the wetness and drew light circles around your entrance.

“ Arthur “ you moaned his name in the most delicious way as he pushed his finger inside, burying it to the knuckle

“ yeah and what about this darlin? “ he again knew the answer. Dutch didn’t care about your pleasure. Didn’t care about wasting time on something as simple as making you whimper and whine for more “ he touch you like this? “

“ no “

“ think ya can take one more for me? “ you nodded again and he withdrew his finger, gathering your slick on his other before pushing them both past the resistance of your entrance “ that’a girl “ he pumped his fingers in and out steadily, curling and probing at your velvety soft walls to test what you liked.

“ This is so… oh god. This isn’t proper at all “ you laughed slightly, melting into a soft moan. Arthur chuckled, lifting your face up so you’d look at him.

“ Ain’t proper at all? It’s damn right filthy darlin” your cheeks were aflame and you closed your eyes for a moment, grinding yourself against his hand “ look at ya. Drippin all over ma fingers like that. Ain’t proper. Not one bit “ you smiled, a cheeky, devious smile that made him lean forward and kiss you again.

You were so wet it was obscene. He couldn’t tell where the sounds of you kissing stopped and the sopping sounds of his fingers began. You continued to grind down against his palm, practically riding his fingers, his whole hand wet and sticky with you.

And he wanted to taste it. To taste you. To flood his mouth with the slick, liquid gold covering his fingers. It was an almost primal desire, like a desperation as strong as needing air. He needed to. He had to.

“ Darlin’ “ he murmured, lifting your head from where it had fallen to his neck again “ gotta let me taste you. You gotta “ the look on your face only made him want it more. Your skin flushed and eyes blown out with nothing but pure lust and desire. He’d never needed anything more. Nothing else mattered, not the painful hardness in his pants, not the realisation that you were very much Dutch’s girl. He didn’t care about any of that. He just needed to be between your thighs.

“ really? No one’s ever- oh god. Yes. Yes. Please Arthur “ he withdrew his fingers making you whimper and quickly grabbed his discarded shirt and lay it down on the ground. Then he kissed you again as he wrapped his arms around your waist, gently turning you to lay back on the shirt. It still couldn’t have been particularly comfortable. But you didn’t seem to mind, tugging at his hair and lifting your hips up against him as he hovered over you.

He took his time moving down. Leaving a long and slow trail of hot, wet, kisses on your skin. You writhed underneath him, whining softly and twisting your hands in his shirt underneath you. He took extra time with your thighs. Kissing up from the inside of your knee and stopping before he could place his mouth where he really wanted to, then repeating with the other.

“ Arthur “ you whined, still squirming around and desperate.

“ I know. I got ya. Gonna make those pretty sounds for me again yeah? "You nodded, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to watch him as his head sank lower, spreading your legs wider to give him full access to the centre of you “ that’s a good girl “ he spread you open with his fingers, in awe of the way you parted for him. Like petals on a flower, dripping with the morning dew.

But you were far more delectable. A forbidden fruit begging to be tasted.

And oh was it pretty. Even in the dark, in nothing but the light of the moon on the water, it was pretty. Begging to be tasted, touched. Admired.

The sound you made as he dragged his tongue from your weeping hole to your clit was like music to his ears. He didn’t know how he managed to not come in his pants just at the sound of it.

You still kept it quiet, but loud enough for him.

His own, deep, guttural moan escaped from his chest as he licked again. Your taste flooding his mouth in a way so so much better than he could’ve imagined.

He ate you like he was starved. Like a savage predator that hadn’t seen meat for days, like a man ready for the gallows enjoying his last meal. His arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping your legs apart for him as you bucked and squirmed against his face. It was visceral. Carnal. You made him feel like his grip on his own composure and control was weaker than ever, that he was holding on to it with nothing but his fingertips.

“ Arthur “ he dipped his tongue into the welcoming warmth of your cunt, his eyes falling closed for a moment as he felt you clench around him, desperate for more. Desperate for him. And he would give you more, would give you anything you asked of him. But not until he made you come first.

He let go of one of your legs and brought his fingers back to their previous position, wanting to feel you again. To be inside of you, as close as he could get. To make you see stars.

The flat of his tongue found your clit again, certain he could feel you pulsing against him. Desperate and full of desire for him. He felt honoured, privileged. That you were so loyal to Dutch, glued to his side. Never even batting an eye at anyone else. And yet you had broken that for him. Had sought him out because you knew he would treat you well.

Your back arched off the ground as he sunk them back into you, slipping in with a welcome ease. His thick fingers pumped into you at a steady pace, his tongue diverting all its attention to your clit. Lapping and sucking and letting you press his face harder against you as you tugged on his hair.

“ don’t stop please dont- Arthur “ he had no intentions of stopping, none at all. In fact he simply honed in on his ministrations, working harder to push you closer and closer to the edge of the orgasm he knew you had been craving for weeks.

“ Not gonna stop darlin. Ain’t stopping until you come for me. Taste so good, so good “ he murmured against you, curling his fingers and hitting a spot that made you gasp and your body shudder “ there we go, right there “

He flicked his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves, looking at you as best he could to gauge your reaction. You were pulling a little painfully at his hair, squirming and rolling your hips against his face. He let you do it. Let you be the one using a man for your pleasure, rather than being the one used for once.

Your sounds were sinful. Melodic. He took it all in. Basked in the noises you made for him, the delicious taste of you on his tongue, drunk on you. On your taste. Your smell.

“ Arthur- Arthur please I- “ you babbled, a slightly smug smile working its way onto his face as he watched your prim and proper facade melt away “ don’t stop “

He hummed an assurance that he wouldn’t, your hips bucking against his face as he did. You were so unbelievably wet, dripping out around his fingers and soaking the hair of his beard. He would never have thought it of you. The way you held yourself around camp, so poised and prim. The accent when you spoke that made everyone else around you sound so common. And yet there you were. On your back in the woods, chasing an orgasm being offered to you by an outlaw. Repeating his name like a mantra.

And not even that of the outlaw you were in love with.

“ Arthur- “

Only seconds later it happened. You held a hand over your mouth as your orgasm hit you, muffling your choked moans, back arching off the ground and walls clamping down on his fingers as he worked you through it. Tongue still working diligently at your clit until you pushed your hand at his head, squirming away a little.

He almost didn’t want to stop. Could’ve happily stayed there a while longer, but moved back, an obscene wet sound in the late night silence as he withdrew his fingers.

He took his fingers to his mouth, sucking the remnants of your climax onto his tongue. Unable to control himself. You watched him do it, mouth slightly agape and eyes half open with some desperate undeniable look of utter desire. He could almost see the way it made you feel, could see you unable to contain the overwhelming feeling of realising you were desired. Wanted.

“ God. You are unbelievable “ you whispered, pushing yourself up onto your elbows and grabbing at his arm. Your fingers looped around his wrist and tugged his hand towards your own mouth. He shook his head with a chuckle, slightly in awe as you took those same two fingers between your red lips.

Your tongue swirled between his digits, plush lips wrapping around them and sucking. Your eyes locked on his as you did. It made his cock ache. He wanted your lips on him, wanted your tongue swirling around his length and milking him dry. He could imagine it if he thought hard enough. The way you hummed slightly in appreciation as you sucked his fingers clean, sent vibrations straight through his bones. Rattling him to the core. But he would never ask that of you. But the thought was one he would hold onto. It made him shift slightly.

“ you ain’t so prim and proper lady “ he murmured as he withdrew his fingers, a string of saliva connecting his fingertips and your lips “ This ain’t very proper of you miss “ Arthur said with a small smile, teasing “ rollin’ around in the dirt with the likes of me “

“ Oh to hell with being proper if it means I get to feel like this “ you said with a small laugh and he kissed you again for what felt like the millionth time. He wondered if you could taste yourself on his lips, smell the heady delicious smell of you on his beard.

He would’ve been more than happy to leave it at that. No matter how badly he wanted to sheath himself inside you and stay there for eternity. His goal had been your pleasure and he had achieved it.

But as he kissed you your hands began working at the buckle of his gun belt, opening it with a skilled ease that made him pull back.

“ Darlin’ you ain’t gotta do that- “

“ shush “ you pushed at him lightly so you could sit up and went to work on the buttons on his pants next “ I want to. I- Arthur take them off “ he made far quicker work of his own clothes than he had of yours and you leant back on your elbows to watch him.

You looked like a pinup girl. Like something he’d seen drawn come to life. Your eyes seemed hungry as you looked at him, dragging down his body and lingering on his rock hard cock. He was practically throbbing with want, the tip an angry shade of pink and leaking precum slightly embarrassingly “ come here. Please. Back down here “

He did as he was asked, crawling back over your body as you eyed him greedily.

“ We really don’t…I mean, If y’don’t wanna- “ his words stuck in his throat as your fingers wrapped around the length of him with a small sigh.

“ I want you to I just…can I ask one thing? “ he couldn’t get the word yes to escape his mouth, your fingers squeezing him softly in a way that made him see flashes of white in his vision. So he simply nodded “ don’t fuck me. Dutch fucks me, make love to me “ you seemed a little embarrassed at the request. But he didn’t think it was embarrassing. In fact he had had no plans to use you as brutally as Dutch. He was almost a little offended you thought he might.

“ Told you, anythin’ you want. You got it “ you smiled softly and pressed another kiss to his lips before laying back down again. He positioned himself over you, caging your head in between his arms. And it truly was incredibly intimate. He wondered when the last time you had had such intimacy was. If you’d ever received such a thing from Dutch.

He spat on his hand and grabbed a hold of his sensitive cock, stroking himself a couple of times to get himself slick. Not that he really needed to, you were already wetter than he’d ever known a woman to be. But the last thing he wanted was your discomfort. He lined himself up with you, eyes trained on your face as he dragged his weeping tip between your folds. You gasped as he caught your clit, still sensitive and alert from your first orgasm.

“ Arthur please “ you whimpered rolling your hips up against him, so desperate to have him inside of you.

“ So God damn wet for me “ he murmured “ such a good girl ain’t ya? “ you whined in answer, fingers wrapping around what you could of his bicep and digging your perfectly trimmed nails into his skin “ gonna make you feel so good I promise darlin’ jus’ like you deserve yeah? “ you whispered out a yes and brought your other hand to the back of his neck. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, still running his cock along the length of your slit. Teasing.

“ Keep looking at me. Please look at me Arthur “ he continued to do as asked. Again. Though his eyes had barely strayed from your face anyway “ I need you so badly “ Eyes locked on yours, he finally pushed into you, he took it slow. Letting you take it inch by inch, watching the look of ecstasy wash over your face. Your eyes fell closed.

He fought to retain his own composure, overwhelmed by the tight, wet, warmth of your walls enveloping him. He could feel every unique ridge and bump that made your cunt oh so perfect, feel every muscle stretch and contract as you adjusted to him.

“ god- oh god “

“ shh shh easy there. I got ya “ he paused once he was seated inside of you, grabbing at your hip with one hand to angle your hips better. Allowing you to comfortably take all of him in. He waited, let you adjust to his size, not daring to move before he got the go ahead from you “ there you go, look at you, takin’ all of me like that. So good f’me “ you basked in his praise, a dopey kind of smile spreading across your face.

“ so much bigger than him “ you whispered with a small laugh and Arthur couldn’t help the smug smile on his face. Kissing you and touching you and making you come on his tongue had been one thing. But having you like this? Having his cock buried to the hilt inside of you, so unbelievably close together. And to then be told that? To know he was about to do you better than Dutch ever had. Ever could. It felt like the biggest fuck you to the man that had been not only mistreating him of late, but also the goddess of a woman beneath him “ I’m good. You can move. Please move “

He didn’t need telling twice. Pulling out almost completely and thrusting back in in one smooth motion. The pace he fell into was just as you’d asked. Loving. Tender. But hard and deep, making sure his hips were flush with yours with every stroke. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulled his face back down to kiss him again.

If anyone had spotted you they’d have easily mistaken you both for a lovesick couple having a private moment to yourselves. The entire thing intimate and passionate. No one would assume it was an affair in motion, hidden away in the woods by the shoreline in fear of your lover finding the pair of you there.

But it was what you wanted. What you had needed. And he felt privileged to provide.

He pulled back from your lips to watch you again, enthralled by the way your face relaxed and twisted in the pleasure he was providing you. You continued to spill those angelic sounds from your throat, growing breathier and higher pitch as he continued to drag his cock against the sopping, sensitive heat of your cunt. He had to focus hard not to finish in seconds. So much build up paired with being practically celibate for months was truly doing him no favours, but he focussed. He wasn’t letting this end until you came once more. You deserved it.

“ Keep those pretty eyes on me “ he murmured as they fell closed again “ that’s it darlin’, look at me there ya go “ everytime he spoke the slightest word of praise you practically beamed, so desperate to hear it. To be told you were good. Beautiful. So different to Dutch constantly yelling at you about how annoying you were, how much your mere presence bothered him these days. So he kept it up.

“ Doin’ so well for me. This pussy it’s perfect, ain’t that right? C’mon tell me “ he urged, still fighting off his ever looming orgasm. The sounds alone was enough to make him want to burst. Sweat slicked skin on skin, the wet sounds of your cunt dripping around the swollen intrusion of him. And those sweet sweet moans of yours.

“ yes “ you whimpered “ it’s perfect “

“ That’s a good girl “ he increased his pace ever so slightly and your hands slipped from his arms to his back, dragging your nails down him to try to pull him impossibly closer to you.

He moved a hand down between your bodies, rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts, grunting and choking back his own moans as you squeezed him. Like your body never wanted him to leave, gripping his cock with your cunt and making it ever more harder to hold back. He couldn’t help but have a look, glancing down to see the way you stretched around him, mesmerised at the way you took him in so deep.

“ tell me I- oh. Tell me I’m beautiful “ you whimpered, sounding almost like you might cry. From pleasure, from upset. He didn’t know. But he continued to do as asked.

“ you’re beautiful “ he murmured picking up his pace a little more, his sweat slick skin slapping against yours. He was desperate to see you come again. Wanted to see your face up close this time, watch your eyes roll back and your kiss swollen lips part in ecstasy “ so beautiful darlin. Doin’ so well f’me, takin’ me so well “

“ don’t stop, don't stop “ he dropped his head to your neck whispering every word of praise he could think of into your ear, your body arching up against his and whimpering and whining with every word.

“ ain’t ever looked prettier than this “ he whispered, his own voice becoming breathless with the effort “ shit- look at ya, takin’ my cock so well. So pretty darlin’ “

Your second orgasm seemed to shock you as much as him, clawing at his skin to hold him close as your body trembled beneath him, biting at his shoulder to muffle your moans.

He didn’t mean to finish inside of you, had fully intended to pull out. But the way your cunt had squeezed him, the sounds you had made as he pushed you over the edge for the second time.

He muffled his own groan of pleasure in your neck, fingers digging into the dry earth beneath you, spilling load after load whilst fully sheathed inside of you. His entire body tensed, a pleasure he hadn’t felt in an incredibly long time. His heart was hammering in his chest, blood rushing loudly in his ears as it seemed to drag on forever.

And then he came to his senses.

“ m’sorry. Shit. Sorry “ he panted as he tried to compose himself and pushed himself up onto his hands to pull out. But you yanked him back down, arms wrapping around his back again and legs tightening around his waist.

“ no. Please. Stay. Stay right there. Just a moment would you “ he had come to realise in the past.. how long had you two even been out there? However long it was, he’d come to realise he was terrible at saying no to you. Could never possibly even dream to deny you of anything you wanted from him. And so he slumped back down onto his forearms, dropping his head against your shoulder for a moment. Your chest heaved beneath him and you caught your breath, fingers tracing gentle strokes along his spine. He felt he could stay there for hours.

“ You doin’ okay? “ he asked, pressing a light kiss to your jaw when he had composed himself a little more.

“ marvellous Mr Morgan “ you whispered with a small smile “ truly. Marvellous “ he couldn’t help but kiss you again, the long lingering kind meant for two lovers.

After a few minutes you both finally moved, re dressing in silence and then sitting back in your original position against the tree. He handed you a cigarette, lighting it and placing it between your lips.

He wondered what he looked like. Wondered what evidence you had left on him. Had he sweated off the lipstick prints on his chest or were they still there? He knew you had scratched his back up good and proper and would have that reminder there for a few days at least.

“ Thank you. Mr Morgan '' you said quietly after a few silent moments of smoking, blowing out a long stream of smoke “ I mean it I- i'm not sure what I’m supposed to say “

“ Don’t say anythin’ “ he said with a small wave of his hand, appearing as blaise as he possibly could but in reality knowing he wasn’t about to forget that night anytime soon “ its fine. Really. Anytime y’need me, for anythin’, you know where I’ll be “ you smiled and he watched your body relax a little more.

“ you know, i might just take you up on that “

He sincerely hoped you would.

#ask and ye shall receive #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 community #rdr2 fanfic #x you #background Dutch van der Linde x reader #fluff #dutch van der linde #Arthur Morgan smut #john marston #javier escuella #Sadie Adler #arthur morgan rdr2 #van der linde gang

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angelltheninth · 25 days

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Arthur Morgan Gives You Aftercare and Walks You Home

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, aftercare, nudity, suggestive, kissing, secret relationship, flirting, age-gap, sneaking around

A/N: The scenario of secretly dating Arthur wouldn't leave my mind.

Who knew that you'd be the kind of woman to sneak around with an older man? You didn't for sure, or your friends, or your father, especially him. Is it really sneaking if Arthur was supposed to be your escort and guard anyway? Yes, because you were supposed to be at a meeting, not in the room he was renting. And you sure as hell weren't supposed to be naked in his bed.

"Brought some water and cloth." Arthur entered and locked the door behind him. "Let's get you cleaned up. Open up for me sweetheart."

He was too casual for this, cleaning up the mess he helped make. Your hips twitched upwards when he pressed the wet cloth between your legs. "It's sensitive. You should really learn how to treat a lady right, Arthur."

"I know how to treat a lady. Exactly why I have you in this state. Be still so I can finish here and get you back home before your old man sends an army after me." Arthur's smile was still warm and playful, as were his eyes, now that you got a better look at him.

Stranger, guard, and now your secret lover. Quite a turn of events for a quiet little town like yours. It was more like those romance stories you heard of.

Arthur helped you get dressed as well, asking if anything hurt anywhere. Suposedly he was holding back on you before, yet his strong hands still left marks on your delicate thighs. A reminder of your night together, one that you can call upon in the earliest hours of the morning when your imagination and your hand tend to wander.

He was almost too perfect of a man while in public, treating you with the respect a rich young lady like yourself deserves. "Here's your stop missy. Tell your old man I said hello."

"I will not. He might suspect us furher." Even with that risk you still placed your hands against Arthur's chest and kissed him. His prickly stubble scratched against your skin, making you hold back a laugh. "Thank you for another lovely night."

"The pleasure was all mine." Actually it was very mutual.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan smut #rdr2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fluff #rdr2 smut #rdr2 x female reader #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead redemption x female reader #smut drabble #fluff drabble #x female reader

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ravengards-rogue · 1 month

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i thought of you so often.

arthur morgan x reader.

✧ tags : fem!reader (gendered language, explicit use of she/her in reference to reader), children / planning on children, generally sappiness, fluff, au where nothing bad happens to arthur hdskjsdkfhsj.

✧ wc : 2.4k (???)

✧ a/n : arthur morgan.... save me arthur morgan....also not a super original thought but i can't Stop thinking about it.

✧ synopsis : a collection of love letters, all unfinished, tucked somewhere you aren't meant to find them. oh, arthur loves you more than you knew.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

You try to keep out of Arthur's belongings.

He's owed some privacy, for one. More than that, you've never felt any reason to look into it. Arthur isn't a man of many words, though you catch moments of his introspection should you pry. He isn't stoic, neither. And above all things, he's kind. Really truly kind in a way that makes him different from other men.

You don't have any complaints about him is what you mean. Unlike the men you've loved before, there are no short-comings of Arthur that would drive you to wanting to investigate his own personal things. Especially something so personal like his journals, prior or present.

On top of that, you were there with him through everything. You were part of the gang and stayed by him when it all fell apart. It was towards the end of that that Arthur came to you near frenzied, told you his plans, his thoughts. Confided in you and no less than begged to go with him where he ran.

You loved Arthur enough to stay, and so things ended - and you ran. There isn't much his journal could tell that you couldn't surmise on your own.

It's been years now, and you've long since left that life. You live with Arthur quietly, peaceful in the moments with a garden and kitty sweet as sugar.

It's a good life. An honest, quiet one sometimes to the point of being boring. You rarely miss the action, though occasionally you'll take up a bounty just to feel alive and make some money.

Mostly though, you live as unassuming folk. No bloodshed, no wardens, no gunslinging.

Been talk between you both about having a baby, recently. Serious talk. You've made some money between here and there, and you've got a good life. You've traveled too. But it gets a little lonely, and you don't really get your fill with just Jack when John and Abi are ways away.

Before anything like that, though - you need to clear some space. Empty out some belongings and things collecting dust. Living in one place for too long creates all sorts of mess, you find. When Arthur is home to help, he does - but he's been busy lately figuring something out with Charles. Some business venture related to ranching that you know nothing about so far. They'll tell you when its ready.

Usually when you're tidying, you keep to just your things, or your shared things - but Arthur has lived more life than you. It shows in that big closet space filled with nick-knacks he has yet to toss.

You'd mentioned it to him not too long ago and he'd given you permission to go through them.

(A kiss to your forehead from chapped lips and hands holding your waist, Arthur hums in acknowledgement as you ask his permission.

"Ain't nothing I gotta hide from you. Do whatever you need.)

But like you said - you try to keep your nose out of his business if it's not necessary for you to be in it in anyway.

You weren't trying to look through his things, really. You started cleaning, worked your way to that last box. Up on a shelf in his closet, a little too high for you to reach easily. You made a misstep and dropped the damn thing. It barely missed your head as the whole thing fell open, and out came journals and papers and photographs.

You've always known Arthur to be sentimental, so none of it has been particularly surprising. A photo of wolves and him on a horse, the picture from John and Abigail's engagement. Some other scraps of sentimental value.

And then there was a journal. Not Arthur's journal that he's always using, but another you've never seen before. You know Arthur journals, seen the thing plenty though you never look unless he shows you first.

A journal with a dark brown stained leather binding, fallen open and your name scrawled out in pencil lead at the top of it.

The curiosity got the better of you, okay? Not your damn fault.

So you're thinking on it.

The fabric of your skirt is pooled out underneath you as you hold the thing in your hands, sitting down on the ground surrounded by things. You've stowed away everything else that fell out from the box after ensuring it was intact, including Arthur's journals. Everything with the exception of the one you're holding.

Some guilt eats at you. You don't wanna upset him potentially by having looked. Even if he gave you permission, looking in the damn thing is a little different. But your name was there so clearly, and well - you didn't think he wrote about you. Apart from here and there, maybe.

You hold the book out in front of you with a sigh, looking fondly at his name ingrained in the leather. You press your forehead against it with, resigning yourself completely.

"Lord forgive my pryin'," You mumble, hoping it's enough to absolve you.

Your heart feels funny as you let your fingers trace over the hard edge of the front cover, one eye shut as you start to open it slow.

The first few pages are nothing special.

A page outlining who the journal belongs to and when it was started, and some doodles of yarrow and oleander. The pages after that filled with mundane entries. About people he met or things he saw, all endearing to you. The corners of your lips tug up slightly.

You really love this man helplessly.

You flip through a few more pages, many of them blank before writing starts to appear again. Little by little, you find passages. You look to the dates up at the corner (though not all of them have one) and trace the timeline. This is from all the way back in Horseshoe Overlook.

It feels like ages ago now.

You look at a page with no date, and reading the writing in it. There's doodles of flowers and trees along the bottom of the page. The words are easy enough to make out - because Arthur has the most unusually beautiful handwriting.

There's some entries about you. At first, they all include your name in some context. Mentioned in the same way Arthur might mention Hosea or Abigail. The further you go, the less you see it. The more you become her and she.

It's a trend. The longer you read, the less there is about anyone else. Just you and all your silly idiosyncrasies tucked between pages. Something lovestruck and foolish lights its match in you.

Saw a body hanging at the tracks at Valentine. A gruesome sight. I told her about it and she laughed. Asked me to take her to see it. A strange woman, by all accounts.

You feel yourself smile a little as you continue to flip through the pages.

She joined me riding into town today. Said she had some business to attend but would not tell me any details. After, she came with me to purchase a new gun. I engraved a snake into it's handle, per her request.

Another few pages littered with drawings of delicate berries and waterfalls before you stumble across more writing. The more you flip, the longer the passages become you.

You can't tear your eyes away.

Rained today. Nothing too terrible or worth mentioning, except that she nearly caught a cold playing in it. I brought her coffee to keep her warm, but could not scold her further upon seeing her delight.

Another passage, this time written with messier hand writing. A coffee stain splatters on the white of the page.

Your heart tugs on itself. Swells about a thousand sizes. To think he wrote so much of your time together between these pages.

You read and read and read - and each passage is a little more mundane at the last. Some pages go on in vivid detail, but others are so short you aren't sure what to make of the fact he wrote them at all. As if such little details were important enough to keep in mind.

I picked a flower for her. I thought it would suit her taste. It was white with delicate petals. I did not know the name.

She wore it in her hair this evening. I find I can't stop grinning.

One passage on the next few pages, longer than the rest, catches your eye. From later in your time together, written when you were in Leymone. Near Scarlett Meadows and before the mess in Saint Denis.

After Arthur had been kidnapped.

I have gone on and on about the business with Colm O'Driscoll in many entries before this one. Yet, I find it difficult to forget. Many times I have come close to death, and still no experience lingers on my mind quite like this one. Everyone has done their best to look after me. For that I am grateful, though I do not care for being looked after. What use am I like this, I wonder? Perhaps, I should simply be grateful to be alive and in one piece, if a little uglier than I was. Alongside Miss Grimshaw and Miss Tilly, she has been by my side while I recovered. Such a carefree woman and yet I have seen her cry and weep over me countless times in the last few weeks alone. The decent man in me is apologetic for causing sorrow. Perhaps, it is the outlaw in me that feels some strange relief or satisfaction. Her fussing does not give me any grief. If anything, I find myself all the more endeared. Such a decent woman does not belong in a place like this. I hope she is able to go somewhere far away and live peacefully. I am not so shameless to want anything more. The time together we have spent, I will make sure to cherish.

Something painful and pitiful tugs at your heart. Even when Arthur admitted his feelings for you, he had started it on a similar tangent. You tell him often that you're the one who feels out of bounds with him. That a man as decent and as honest as him often feels like too much for you to have so easily.

A tear slips from your eye and you laugh at your own sentimentality, wiping it away before it can splatter onto the pages.

The further you read, the more sporadic entries become. You find that there are pages filled with sketches of you, but many of them are scratched out or half erased - like he did not find them good enough. Of your side profile, of your hands, of you pointing at a target with a gun. You feel a strange feeling of love wash over you.

Instead of concrete thoughts, you're met with Arthur's abstract. Subtle complexities and studies. There's honest tenderness in the way he sketches you and the words he chooses to caption each with. Lighter, thinner lines. Smaller doodles like stray daydreams caught onto a page.

You've never doubted Arthur in his love for you, quiet man he is - but it proves to overwhelm when presented to you in such a way.

You get to back pages. There, you're finally met with more writing. Except, instead of journal entries, there's the start of letters. You find your name at the top of the page.

Over and over. Love letters, all unfinished or scrapped. Written over and over and over, but not completed. There's tens of them at least. You've never received a love letter from Arthur before, though it's nothing you fault him for.

Now you're almost glad. You like this much better.

My darling girl My muse The better half of me, I must find some way to tell you all of what I think of you. It seems no words do it justice, I'm afraid. Still, it is in my best interest to try.

Damn that man.

When you find yourself starting to weep, you don't fight the feeling. You merely shut the book closed and set it in your lap before crying into your hands.

Such overwhelmingly happy tears. You feel off balance. If the whole world turned on its head this very minute, you're unsure you'd notice. What a decent, honest man you've come to love. What a tender one.

In the middle of your crying, you don't hear the door open or close. Nor do you hear Arthur's heavy footfall until he's in the doorway, with a voice worried half to death.

"Sweetheart, what in the hell?"

You turn your head to look at him, watching his eyes widen at your tear stained face. You clamber to your feet hurriedly, book dropping onto the ground next to you as you throw yourself at him as soon as you can.

Arthur is a steady enough man not to stumble when you do, though you can feel his apprehension. Eventually, he circles his arms around your waist. His hugs are strong. Bout strong as him and then some. An arm wrapped around your waist, the other crossed over your back all around your shoulder. Full pressure as he squeezes you tight, patting the back of your head.

"I leave you alone for a few hours. What has gotten into you, little lady?"

You pull back and and look at him, wet lashes and all, before leaning up to kiss him. Arthur meets your lips chastely at first before making a noise of surprise as you kiss him further. You use both hands to grab his face as you do, scruff scratching against your skin. His lips are soft, welcoming. He melts into the touch, so easily - blue eyes lovestruck as you pull away.

"You know I love you, don't you Arthur? More than anyone in this crazy world we live in,"

His face softens visibly. He smiles at you, touching his head to yours.

"Somehow, I do. Though, I'm wonderin' what the hell brought this on."

You tuck your face against his chest, feeling his laughter reverb through you at the way you cling to him so fervently. You sniffle as you talk.

"Found your journal. The one about me,"

He goes stiff, then silent. When you look up again, he's blushing red. He pinches his brow.

"Lord, I'd forgotten all about it,"

You shake your head.

"Ain't nothing for you to be embarrassed about. You are so wonderful,"

He pouts at you. Your heart swells. "You ain't helping with the embarrassment."

You hold him further. Hug him so tight, worried he'll disappear if you don't.

"I love you, Arthur."

"You already told me once, didn'tcha?"

"And I'll tell you one thousand times over," You emphasize, pouting at him. "Really. I love you,"

"I love you too sweetheart," His hand cups your face, thumb brushing along your waterline. "Don't cry no more. Spoils that pretty face."

"I'll try but I don't know if it's all out of me,"

Arthur laughs, pressing a kiss against your hairline. "Guess I'll just have to wipe your tears."

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

#zero.writes #rogues love letters #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fluff #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 fluff #red dead redemption x reader #this is so lovesick and silly i feel so miserable #I AM A JOHN GIRL. BUT. well that deadbeat father and bastard isnt gonna write you love letters like arthur im afraid

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hihomeghere · 15 days

Text

Salt and Pepper | Arthur Morgan / Reader

Word count : 1.4k Summary : Arthur notices his hair is starting to gray. I saw a post on here about Arthur with salt and pepper hair and I couldn’t stop myself hehe. Warnings/Tags : talk about death, getting old, Arthur loves his wife, no tb, Arthur and reader own a house, mention of past gang members, cursing, lots of fluff, self deprecation on Arthur’s side, bullets, mention of weight gain (in a positive way)

“Godamn ugly bastard.” Arthur huffed, his gaze piercing as he looked into the mirror. He hadn’t meant to have himself a pity party this morning. In fact he was feeling quite fine this morning before looking in the small bathroom mirror. Waking up next to you always puts a spring in his step. Especially when he’s waking up in a real bed, underneath a soft quilt that you happened to sew in some free time. Mismatched patches and all, it was his favorite thing in the small home you two shared. Hell, you were becoming quite domestic ever since the house was completed.

But he wasn’t exactly expecting to find gray hair sprouting from his hairline. He wasn’t that old, was he?

“Jesus.” He sighed, inspecting further he realized it wasn’t one or two gray hairs, it was almost twenty. Hidden under his longer than normal locks after forgoing a haircut for the last couple weeks. He was surprised you hadn’t noticed them, especially with how much you loved to run your fingers through his hair. Although, he loved it just as much, maybe even more.

God, he needed to get rid of these before you saw them. He was sure you had some tweezers around here somewhere. He opened up your drawer, rifling around for your tweezers. Bingo. His hands gripped the small piece of metal, a triumphant smile on his face.

It was only once he looked back up into the mirror, determined to fix this issue before you woke up, that he noticed you padding into the bathroom. Rubbing sleep from your eyes, you wrapped your arms around his middle.

“Mornin’.” You hummed, laying your cheek against his bicep, smiling sweetly at him through the mirror.

“Mornin’.” He said, clearing his throat.

“What do you need those for?” You asked, eyeing the tweezers in his hand. Caught red handed, he tried coming up with some excuse.

“Nothin’ sweetheart.” He said, giving you his signature smile, kissing your forehead. He slipped the tweezers into his pocket for safe keeping, at least until he had a free moment without you around. After all those years on the run and he could come up with nothing, Hosea would have been so disappointed in his lack of an answer. He swore he could hear the old man chastising him now.

“For a former outlaw you sure are an awful liar.” You tutted, shaking your head, slipping your fingers into his pocket and pulling out the tweezers.

“Well it ain’t my fault,” He huffed playfully, “Could never get nothin’ past you anyway.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck. You removed your hands from around his waist, leaning back on the sink as you looked up at him.

“Spill.” You said raising an eyebrow, your arms crossed over your chest.

Knowing he’d been caught, Arthur hung his head, a low sigh leaving his lips.

“It’s just-“ He cursed, turning to look away from you, “Well I’m goin’ gray.” He admitted, not meeting your eyes.

“And?” You asked in such a nonchalant manner.

“And?” He asked looking up at you, his brows furrowed.

“So you have some gray hairs.” You said with a shrug, “You’re acting like the damn world is ending.” You chuckled softly, a smile tugging on your lips.

“Well-“ Arthur sighed, pursing his lips, he didn’t want to be vain but damn it, it did feel like the world was ending.

“Honey.” You said softly, reaching up to cup his cheek. “Ain’t nothing wrong with some gray hairs.” You said, shaking your head, looking so goddamn patient as always. What he did in a past life to deserve you he would never know, he definitely didn’t deserve you in this one. You smiled, running your thumb over his couple day old stubble. He couldn’t help but sigh softly, leaning into your touch.

“Just makes me feel old ‘s all.” He shrugged, closing his eyes.

“Arthur.” You said softly, he opened his eyes. His bright azure pools looking into yours. “Getting old means we’re still alive.” You said pointedly, not missing the way your fingers trailed lightly down his chest.

He sighed softly, anyone who said he was the most like Hosea had obviously never had a one on one conversation with you. You had shared the same dry wit along with being just as wise as the old man. Sometimes he wondered if the two of you were more closely related than just being adopted by him as a kid.

As your hand settled over his heart, he couldn’t help but remember a time when you didn’t have this place. When his next breath had been an undeserved blessing. When you and Charles had pulled his broken body off that godforsaken mountain. You were right, he should be grateful for these gray hairs and new lines on his face. Should be grateful that he made it this far out west with you, where the air was dryer and slowly his lungs didn’t hurt as bad with each breath.

If anything he should be grateful that you’re here, here in this house. The house that he built specifically for you. That you’re not buried six feet under like most of the fellow gang members. That you didn’t catch a bullet like Lenny or Sean, how he wished they could have had the chance to grown old. Even as mouthy as Sean was, the poor bastard didn’t deserve that. Lenny was just a boy, foolish enough to be sucked in by Dutch’s silver tongue. He shook his head trying to clear any thoughts of the past.

God, along with the fact that somehow both of you still happen to be standing, the fact that you chose to stand by him after everything you went through makes his head swim. You could have left him at any point, hell he had begged you to leave after his death sentence. And yet, here you were.

“Guess you’re right.” He said, a small smile tugging on his lips.

“Course I am.” You teased, a smile spreading across your face. You leaned forward, brushing your nose against his. He accepted your silent invitation, pressing his lips against yours. So soft and warm and inviting. He could feel you smile against his lips. That small smile warmed him from the inside out, nearly making his toes curl.

Jesus, he was lucky. More than lucky, he still couldn’t figure out how he had tricked you into marrying him. He wanted to be the best version of himself for you, he had made a promise to try every day to be a better man for you. You shouldn’t be tied down to a miserable old fool like himself.

As if you could read his mind, which he often suspected you could, your soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Besides,” You began as you pulled away, “I like the salt and pepper look.” Arthur scoffed, shaking his head.

“Really?” He asked, raising a brow.

“Really.” You nodded, running your hand through his hair. “Think you get more handsome every day.” If anyone was getting prettier every day it was you. Your hair was longer, cascading down your shoulders in waves. No longer tied up in a tight braid or bun. You looked relaxed, at peace. You became softer once you both settled into your new lifestyle. Not just emotionally, although you still had that fire which had first drawn him towards you, like a moth to a flame. You were physically softer, your harsh edges smoothing out as you started to eat and sleep better. Your curves became more prominent, and he certainly didn’t mind having more to hold onto late at night.

Maybe you truly did feel the same about him. He had never known you to lie. A blush settled on his cheeks at the thought. He shook his head, a small chuckle rumbling through his chest.

“Yeah, alright darlin’.” He says taking your face in his hands, kissing you again before you had the chance to embarrass him further.

Maybe getting old wasn’t so bad if you had someone to grow old with.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x reader #hosea matthews #red dead redemption #rdr #hihomeghere #dutch van der linde #Charles smith #Arthur died??not in my Minecraft server #john marston #fluff

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polakina · 1 month

Text

how they fuck you

red dead redemption headcanons #2

hc masterlist // masterlist

on my third playthrough of rdr2 and i cannot bring myself to play low honour. why do i put myself through this?

also this is ridiculously long, got a little carried away but i shall not apologise

rating: explicit

is always gentle with you at first

delicate touches, lingering kisses, gazing eyes at your every movement or ministration

"what do you want, mi amor? tell me"

loves to hear you beg for him, want him

it just turns him on even more

dirty talk through the ROOF

this man knows how to talk you through it

"fuck you feel amazing, hermosa. yeah, just like that, huh? anything for you"

will eat you out for days if he could

never really tried it before, even when he lived in Mexico, he never really gave it a go

but with you, he wanted to try everything. whatever you wanted, he was up for it

so when you first asked him, he was nervous as hell, but willing to try

he found out he loved it and does it every single fucking time he had you all to himself

buries himself between your thighs like a man starved, his arms wrapped tightly around your thighs to keep you still

his tongue worked fucking wonders on your pussy, knowing exactly where to focus his attention, loving how you always moaned a little softer when his tongue dipped inside your cunt

fucks you slow, savouring the moment when he can

loves to have you riding him. seeing you on top spurs something inside him

his hands grip your waist fiercely, guiding your hips to grind against him, pulling sweet, elicit moans from your throat

loves to cut your clothes from your body with his knife

it's so much more satisfying than just taking them off with his hands

kinda likes quickies. prefers taking his time but there's something about pulling you away for a few minutes to have his way with you behind the protection of a tree or something that he loves

usually happens out on missions, so there's risk of the gang seeing you guys, but what's life without a little risk?

you could be on watch beside your tent while everyone sleeps, and javier will come over to keep you company

but it doesn't take long for his hand to slip into your pants as he whispers all sorts of things in your ear as he sits behind you while you try and continue your watch duty

was terrible at aftercare before, never really understood the in's and out's of it

but learned eventually with you, when you explained it to him

now he's at your beck and call whenever you need it

wear this man's hat around camp and that's all he needs to pull you to a secluded tent

but wear it while you fuck him? arthur would die happy in that exact moment

likes to call you 'cowgirl' when you ride him. you always roll your eyes at how stupid it sounds, but it doesn't stop him

the two of you don't have all the time in the world. being one of dutch's most trusted members, he's needed away from camp a lot more than anyone else

so you've both learned the art of being fast

and it doesn't take long for him to make you cum

never asks for them, but loves blowjobs

he likes to draw in his tent when he's got time to himself, so when he sees you come in and sink to your knees in between his lap, he can't think of a better sight

the absolute king of praises (have you heard how he talks to his horse?? imagine him talking to a woman oml)

not a fan of degrading, he never saw the appeal, but uses other methods to 'punish' you

"what do you want, darlin?" he'd say as he's fucking you from behind, your face pressed into the pillow to stifle your moans, your ass in the air held up by his hands on your hips. "oh babygirl, you wanna cum, huh? then you can beg me for it, can't you?"

will edge you for days

especially when he knows he's going to be away for a few days afterwards

definitely grabs the headboard

mainly for his own stability to be able to thrust into you harder as you moan his name into the room

has his hands on you at all times

holding your hands above your head by your wrists, holding your face against the mattress with his hand on the back of your neck, curling his fingers in your hair and gently yanking your head back when he pounds into you

when you do get a night away from camp, he wants to make it last the whole night

takes his time with you to the point where he's practically teasing you for hours

takes his time undressing you, kissing every part of your body, touching every part of you until his fingerprints were practically imprinted into your skin

give this man some guidance or it's like walking through a maze blindfolded

learned a lot with you

figured out really quick what you liked and what you didn't like, what places he could touch you that would send your head spinning

this eventually led him to learn how to be very sneaky in public

he could touch you in such simple places, in such an innocent way that no one else would think anything of it

but you'd know, and you wouldn't stop it

you like the way he touched your neck? he was all over that shit, cupping your cheek, his fingers tickling your neck

you liked his hands in your hair? his fingers tangled at the base of your neck, pulling your hair slightly to tease you

his hand would rest on your thighs, fingers slowly creeping up your thigh while you were all sat around the campfire

you'd always give him a little glare, which he would ignore, a goofy smirk on his face

and the way he fucked you was no different

he had mastered the art of teasing your body and your limits, and put that knowledge in every time he had you alone

"come on, marston. stop teasin' me like this"

he'd always smirk, working his way down your body in a painfully slowly manner

"i'm takin' my time with you, sweetheart. you just lay back and relax. lemme take care of you"

loved to make you feel good before he even thought about himself

but when he was too pent up, he came a lot quicker than he wanted

but he made up for it when tending to you afterwards until you were practically pushing him away, too sensitive for his expert fingers

not the best at going down on you, but makes up with experience

but what he's really good with is his hands

his fingers

they know exactly what they're doing when he pushes them inside your soaked pussy

curling at that devastating spot inside you that makes you crumble to your knees

loves to be on top of you, seeing your face contort when he pushes inside you slowly, deeply

he's basic, a lover of missionary, but seeing your face and watching your body writhe under his grip is really what turns him on

#fanfiction #fluff #smut #fanfic #rdr2 smut #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 #javier escuella smut #javier escuella rdr2 #javier escuella x reader #javier escuella #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #john marston #john marston x reader

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brunetttebaby · 2 months

Text

ARTHUR MORGAN FLUFF!! people only ever write smut about him☹️ (as if my last fanfics haven’t been only smut)

he’s such a sweet lover. not even just in the bedroom, but in general! he’s loves taking care of his sweet girl, and would do anything and everything for you.

when the gang was in colter, you constantly found it hard to keep warm, and arthur being the walking heater he is, was the first to offer to hold you in his large coat, warming you up almost instantly.

when you’re in trouble with the law, he’s always there to protect you, assuring you everything’s gonna be alright as long as he’s by your side:(( and that’s true! he’s a big burly man, who wouldn’t be afraid of him?!?

sometimes he’ll come into camp injured, and you’ll run over to him, always taking care of his wounds, despite him telling you there’s no need.

“really, darling,” he started, slightly wincing as you pressed a damp cloth to his face. he always got into petty bar fights, and won nearly all of them, of course. “there’s no need for you to do this. ‘s just a scratch.” he continued, letting out a louder groan as you applied pressure on the now bruised skin.

“don’t be ridiculous, arthur. i want to take care of you.” you responded simply, leaning closer to press a kiss to his cheek. he’d let you, groaning at the soreness of it.

he’d be the type of lover to make sure he always got you flowers after being away for an extended period of time. “here darling, i got these for you. i hope you like ‘em.” he said with a slight hesitance in his words. despite being with him for months now, he still worried what you though about him.

“oh arthur, i love them. you’re so sweet.” you took them from his hands, quickly wrapping her arms around him and kissing him softly.

AND HIS KISSES?!? AHHH. he’s such a sweet kisser. well; he can be. he has experience, we know that for a fact. but he’s so soft with his movements. a hand on your waist, another on your cheek to feel the heat radiating.

and i’m ONLY talking about high honor arthur. i’m sorry low honor arthur girl; i can’t.

he’d be an old romantic forever. writing you sweet notes in his pretty handwriting, attached to a drawing of you, or a book he’d think you’d enjoy, anything sweet like that.

AND he REMEMBERS. THE. LITTLE. THINGS.

favorite color? he’s writing it down. your favorite scent? he’s looking for it nearly everywhere! it’s so sweet, you’re not even sure how you got so lucky.

a/n: i was fr rambling but i just love him so much! im sorry for my wlw followers but i just had to(maybe some of you might enjoy this hehe)

#arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader

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johnpriceslamb · 28 days

Note

hiii i love ur hcs smmm 🩷🩷😭 can we pls see arthur w a super affectionate clingy adorable cheery girlfriend pls im dying to see that man happy w an optimistic angel 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓺𝓾𝓮

❥ Headcannons w/ Arthur + his affectionate gf

𝓑𝓔𝓕𝓞𝓡𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤 𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓒𝓔𝓔𝓓 ! ꒰ ❥ female ! reader ❥ hyper-feminine ! reader ❥ reader is mentioned 2 be physically shorter than characters mentioned below ❥ 1k wrd count. ꒱

❥ Oh, he loves you.

❥ He was a bit reluctant to be in a relationship because of his past experiences. But he knew you wouldn’t handle his heart with carelessness, and as he gave in to his decision of being with you- he felt as if he entered into a relationship with an angel.

❥ You were so kind to him, so sweet, so utterly gentle it made him almost throw up rainbows and glitter. Sometimes he wondered how you even managed to be in the gang.

❥ He wouldn’t be so used to the clinginess at first. Before you came in his life, he didn’t get hugs nor felt someone cling onto his arm unless they wanted something, so it was a big change for him personally.

❥ But did he hate it? Absolutely not. When you first wrapped your little arms around his arm, his demeanour softened up immediately but his urge to protect you became even greater.

❥ PDA was new to him. Again, he was reluctant at first since he wasn’t so experienced in this field despite having past experiences, but he’s managed to get comfortable over time.

❥ The first time you’ve managed to display affection publicly with him was by interlocking your pinkie with his as you both walked around Valentines. A discreet action that no one could see unless if they were to near the both of you and squint their eyes.

❥ His cheeks became embarrassingly red when you intertwined your little pinkie with his, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the cheeky sight. He coughs awkwardly, tilting his head down which made the hat he wore block out the view of his face as he murmured that it was the sun making his face warm.

❥ It was cloudy that day.

❥ Each act of affection he’s received from you makes him all sappy and mushy inside, even if he was about to die from anger.

❥ Let’s say Micah manages to piss him off again the umpteenth time this whole week and his veins were visible on his forehead, a simple hug from behind by you or a little kiss on the cheek would make him droop and deflate, the anger which was bubbling inside his system was somehow replaced with comfort and relief just by your little action. He wonders how you manage to have that effect on him.

❥ Arthur is a big man, no doubt about it. It was kind of silly to see such a large comparison between the two of you. Even if you were as large as a wolf, or as tall as a palm tree, Arthur still manages to tower over you.

❥ Arthur enjoys your cheeriness. He envisions you as a puppy that yaps all the time, little tail wiggling at the back eagerly as he amusingly gives into your little babbling sessions of how you hoped that you made his day today.

❥ And he figures that you’ve already made his day just by existing.

“Arthur!”

There you were. Zooming to him like an excited puppy, hands giddily behind your back as you stand in front of the looming man. You can feel his eyes sizing you up and down multiple times to see if you’ve managed to get any blemishes from the time you and him didn’t see each other.

“Easy, girl.” He lets out a soft grunt at the feeling of your demure figure clinging to him like a koala. He holds you tightly with one arm below your tush to stabilise yourself, hoisting you up like a toddler. It takes him barely any effort to keep you still.

“Arthur,” You happily nuzzle your cheek into his chest, cooing out his name like a mantra, “I’ve missed you oh-so much!”

“‘S only been a day, darlin’.” He replies with that slow, southern drawl of his, “I missed you too though.”

“You better!” You beam as he strolls to his tent, plopping himself on his bedroll. You sit on his lap prettily, but you still manage to cling onto him like a koala.

He narrows his eyes at you, before sighing softly at the tiny kiss you give him on his cheek, “You’re a handful, y’know that?”

It doesn’t take long for him to reciprocate that little kiss of yours, landing his thin lips on your cherub-like cheek.

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cowboyfromh3ll · 6 months

Note

I thought of maybe a fic where the reader is Annabelle and Dutch's daughter, and Arthur ends up falling in love with her and they have to keep their relationship a secret from Dutch

The Passion Of Lovers

(Arthur Morgan x Dutch’s Daughter!Reader)

Warnings: uhh slightly suggestive

Your father often told you, “The passion of lovers is for death.”. It was a tired statement. One you had heard a thousand times, and one that marked the beginning of another autocratically superfluous lecture as to why you were supposed to stay away from men, and not date anyone he did not approve of (Not that he ever approved of anyone to begin with). As the daughter of Dutch Van Der Linde, you were raised to have nothing but the highest of expectations. You were spoiled rotten, a gesture that he hoped would show not only his love for you, but also served as a distraction for the lifestyle that you lived. You supposed living in a tent in the woods wasn’t the most illustrious thing in the world. There were certainly more girls your age out there privileged enough to live a life far more cushioned than your own, but you considered yourself fortunate enough.

And of course, the money you did get was nice. Not only that, your father made sure that you, and every member of the gang, knew that you were a top priority, and your needs came first. They were there to protect you at all costs. It was as close as one could get to being treated like royalty in a gang of outlaws on the run.

Especially after your mother had passed. Oh, how your father increased in overbearingness. You were never allowed to be out on your own. He would insist on accompanying you on every single errand you went off to do. And if he wasn’t available to accompany you, he would send you off with his most trusted men.

One of them being Arthur Morgan.

As grown as you were, and as much as you believed you could take care of yourself, you did quite like his company. Having a burling and intimidating man standing by your side certainly slowed the frenetic pace at which idiot men would hit on you during your daily errands. Some who were still bold enough got told off as he moved you behind him, the more unfortunately confident ones being decked square in the face. It was always quite amusing seeing Dutch fuss over his beloved daughter once she got back from town, a clearly disheveled and bruised Arthur standing next to her, indicating something had happened.

You’d briefly explain how Arthur had protected you from an extremely assertive man, and you’d be pampered and coddled even more by Dutch. Arthur got his praise of course, eventually becoming your primary caretaker when Dutch wasn’t around. At some point, he had more so begun assuming the job, jumping up whenever you said you were heading into town rather than waiting for Dutch’s appointment. You’d approach Arthur privately, and only after Arthur had agreed to accompany you, you would inform your father of your departure.

“The passion of lovers is for death.” you’d repeat in your head. But you did not care. While you were more or less required to give Dutch a full report of what you had done while you were out, down to what roads you went down and what items you glanced at, you did omit some details.

You certainly weren’t about to recount to your father the details of you and Arthur’s haste, open mouth kisses. Your hushed exchanges of “I love you”. The way you held onto Arthur’s arm while in town, leaning on his bulking figure. You certainly would not tell him that, never.

Perhaps Dutch had never foreseen his plan backfiring in such a way. His intentions had been to keep men away from you, but your very own personal bodyguard who was supposed to scare those same men away, ended up pining after you. Arthur had been the one who fell first. Prior to your arrangements, he had found you quite beautiful. But like any man who got in the proximity of Dutch’s daughter, he was strictly prohibited from getting too friendly with you. Though any time allotted for the two of you to be alone proved to be more than enough to get to know you. Being alone with you actually helped Arthur realize just how little he knew you before, despite the fact you were in the gang for as long as he was. To be honest, besides your beauty, he found your overindulgence in money to be quite baffling, especially considering the position the rest of the gang was in. His initial reaction was to find you snobbish, but while it was true you were spoiled rotten, you had your rebellious side, which he came to love.

Your biggest gesture of rebellion had been dating Arthur. Dutch had hoped his money and gifts could keep your young female mind away from boys for long enough, but this ended up backfiring as well. You were left with no unsatisfied desires except one, and that was relationships. And your fulfillment in every other aspect only seemed to highlight the severity of your only predicament. Just weeks after you and Arthur had begun your hidden love affair, you had begun to realize just how much of you was left untapped emotionally. He introduced you to a world of experiences you would’ve otherwise never been able to experience with Dutch’s knowledge of your personal life.

While the arrangement itself was risky, the two of you never did indulge in risky behavior around camp. As painstaking as it was watching Arthur sleep alone on his cot, no one there to soothe and aide his loneliness, it was all worth it in the end. This meant no overt friendliness besides the allowed amount by your father. No secret kisses, no lascivious brushing of the limb, no leering gazes that would catch the attention of anyone. Nothing at all. You did not even let the girls in one your secret.

Hushed gossip sessions would become, in a way, amusing for you. Their compassionate admissions of sympathy for you in being disallowed to date were met with “That’s just how it is”. Before dating Arthur you might’ve agreed with them, wallowing in your own self pity at how your feminine urges were left unfulfilled. You might’ve snickered along with them over a boy you found cute. But now, whenever they did bring up a possible bachelor to you, you dismissed them with a wave of your hand, clicking your tongue in disapproval before saying “He’s not my type.”. There was some truth in it, you doubted the son of the general store owner could keep you satisfied the same way Arthur did. Dating a regular man would be more akin to torture than it would be pleasureable.

The girls often insisted your father had gotten to you; how his discourse over relationships and dating and the passion of lovers was so deeply ingrained in your brain, that even you had begun to believe it and take it to heart. You could argue that the only thing your father had ingrained in you were impossibly high standards, that and the ability to sneak around and lie with competence so incredibly exceptional it seemed to be a genetic inheritance that ran through your blood.

Arthur’s companionship seemed to be the last puzzle piece to the bigger picture. You often thought of eloping altogether, but you knew you could not escape your father forever. His embraces and osculations were enough to sate your desires until the next time you were alone with him. Going on last minute dates and copulating in the middle of the woods made the prolonged and agonizing wait seem not so bad.

Perhaps the passion of lovers had been the death for some. Namely your mother. But Arthur was more than capable of protecting you from such a fate. The passion of lovers was for life.

The Passion Of Lovers - Bauhaus 🦇

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption community #van der linde gang x reader #writing #red dead fanfiction #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x reader fluff #secret relationship #Dutch's Daughter Reader

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photo1030 · 1 year

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Leather and Lace - Chapter 12: Drunken Silliness

Summary: After an evening of drinking, you and Arthur both acknowledge your feelings...just not to each other.

Warnings: Swearing; usual fluffy & slight angst; Approx reading time is 30 min +/-

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*This wonderful image is not mine. This comes from u/Reasonable_Emu2449. Found on reddit!

You can hear Sean and Karen arguing from where you are sitting under the tree reading your favorite book. You try not to overhear them, but its hard to ignore. Something about one being "immature" and the other being "demanding". You discreetly look up from your pages and watch as they both wave their arms about wildly, hurling insults at each other, more than a few of which cause you to wince in their severity. It doesn't take long before Karen storms off in a huff and muttering to herself, effectively putting an end to the argument, and leaving Sean to stand by there by himself speechless (a rare sight in itself).

As she stalks off, Karen notices you and immediately changes her trajectory to make a bee-line in your direction. "Y/N! I need a drink. You wanna come?" she hollers, jerking her head towards the hitching posts.

"Umm..." you stammer, being put on the spot.

"Sure you do, come on!" She waves at you to get up before you can even answer her with a 'yes or no'.

"Oh, uh, OK..", you reply quickly and unfold your legs to scamper to your feet and follow her to the horses.

When you get to the posts, you quickly tuck your book that you still have in your hand into your saddlebag and proceed to get Blue ready to leave. Karen angrily yanks on the leather strapping of Old Belle's tack, causing the mare to nicker and sway slightly before she slings herself into the saddle. "You ready?" she asks you impatiently, already turning her horse to the path that leads out of camp, desperate to get out as quickly as possible. "Right behind you," you confirm as you mount up, and Blue is quick to canter on to catch up to Old Belle.

The ride in to town is relatively quick. Fortunately, Karen is sulking too much to rant on the way there and keeps quiet. And smartly, you just let her be. You're about to drown your sorrows in alcohol, so you figure it best to let her pout in peace and not get her stirred up any more than she already is. Thankfully by the time you get into town and over to the saloon, Karen has calmed down for the most part. The two of you hop down from your respective mounts and get them hitched. "Pray for me, Handsome," you whisper to Blue with a grin as you lovingly pat his neck. The silver-colored horse nuzzles you affectionately with a quiet nicker then watches you bounce up the steps behind Karen and through the saloon's swinging doors.

Karen finds you two stools next to each other at the bar and immediately waves the barkeep over. "Two beers and keep 'em comin'!" she tells the man as she sets herself upon one of the smooth wooden seats. You settle in next to her and gratefully accept the cool bottle from the bartender. You both sit in silence for a few minutes, each taking alternating swigs of beer before you start to broach the subject of Mr. Sean McGuire.

"So..." you start tentatively. "Things not going so well with Sean, I take it?" And with that, the floodgates open as Karen proceeds to unload the burden of her frustrations off her chest.

"I love his boyish charm, but I can’t stand his childishness!" Karen finally concludes in a huff after a fifteen minute tirade. "Does that make any sense?" she asks, then sits for a moment in deep thought. "I don't know...He's fun and all. I guess I could do a lot worse," shrugs Karen. "Do you think I settled?" she turns to you, the exasperation pulled back just a bit from her voice now.

"No, I think you gave in," you snicker, giving her an impish grin. "Sean will wear a girl down eventually. I'm just glad he's fixated on you and not me!"

"Oh, there's a reason for that," she says smugly, taking another sip of her beer as she raises a knowing eyebrow at you.

"What do you mean?" you ask her, puzzled.

"I think any man in that camp is going to think twice about approaching you seriously as long as Arthur is around."

You just shrug, oblivious to her meaning. "He is protective," you nod in agreement. "But that's what he does. He looks out for all of the girls in camp." As you say this, Karen halts in her movements, her beer bottle half-raised to her pouty lips, and looks at you like you're crazy. 'Dear God, is she messin' with me, or does she really have no idea?' thinks Karen.

"Well, what about you and Arthur, then?" Karen narrows her eyes at you suspiciously. "Come on, you can tell me. What's goin' on there?", she asks with a curious grin as she bumps your shoulder with her own to try to egg you on in the conversation. You give her a confused look, shaking your head as if you have no idea what she's talking about, as you quickly take a gulp from your own beer bottle to try to avoid answering the question. But Karen is not going to give up on this juicy topic so easily now that it has presented itself. For this is a subject that the girls have been whispering about for awhile now, and Karen just can't resist prying at the open door.

“Ohhhh, no," scolds Karen. "If I have to talk about my dysfunctional relationship with Sean McGuire, then you have to dish about your undefined one with Arthur Morgan," she challenges.

“We’re just friends, that’s all," you say dismissively, rolling your eyes with another shrug.

Karen leans in closer to your face to catch you in the eye. "Do you want it to be more than that, (Y/N)?" You sit there for a moment looking into her beautiful, sweet face, not sure how to answer. You don't want things to get complicated with Arthur, but yet, you can't bring yourself to lie about your continually growing affections for a certain cowboy, either. When you don’t answer, Karen's eyes light up excitedly. “I knew it!” she exclaims, slapping her hand on the bar.

You slowly close your eyes and sigh sadly. "That’s not something he wants, though."

"You two talked about it, then?" she asks you, surprised by your answer.

"No, not directly," you reply sheepishly, looking down at the bottle in your hands.

Karen clicks her tongue in disappointment. "Honey, I love Arthur and all, but when it comes to romance, he’s a box of rocks." She pauses to take a quick swig of beer before continuing on. "I mean, personally, I don’t get it. He’s kind of awkward and odd-looking if you ask me."

"Oh, I don’t think so," you answer quickly as you look back up at her. "I think he’s handsome and strong. And he’s not awkward, he’s…quiet, observant even. He’s a lot smarter than people give him credit for, too," you gush. You feel like a teenage girl with a dreamy smile upon your lips as you talk about your crush. You didn't realize just how much you wanted to talk about Arthur like this with someone else until now. It feels good to finally vocalize what you've been internalizing for awhile.

"Ooo, you sound like a woman who’s got it bad!" Karen cackles excitedly as she swats your arm.

But just as quickly as your giddiness began, it drops in disappointment. "Doesn’t matter, though," you say with a slight shake of your head. "Men like Arthur aren’t interested in a woman like me."

Karen's face scrunches up and she looks at you as if you've just uttered the stupidest thing ever. "You mean a man with a penis?", she asks you sarcastically, causing you to choke on your sip of beer, and leading you to quickly cover your mouth to catch the dribble of amber liquid that falls down your chin. "What are you talkin' about?" Karen blurts out. "What the hell is that even supposed to mean, (Y/N)?"

Despite this feeling that has stewed within you for years, way before this moment, you have to sit for a second and try to articulate your thought process on this subject. "Arthur is strong, independent, and rugged. Men like that never show any interest in me. I’m always 'a friend'. I think I’m too outspoken, too inappropriate for most men." You pause for a moment, looking at yourself in the mirror that hangs behind the bar as if confirming it to yourself. "I don’t know my place. Well, I suppose my place is to take care of them, as that seems to be all that I'm ever needed for."

Karen sits quietly and lets you finish speaking, just smirking at you. When you are done, she purses her lips as if deciding just how to answer you. "OK, first of all, I don’t think you know what in the hell you’re talking about. Second, I’ve seen the way that man looks at you, the way he’s always fussing over you. And I’ve never seen him get on with anyone the way he does with you, (Y/N)."

“That’s just it, Karen. I think we are good friends because we both know nothing is going to come of it. There’s no pressure there. We can just...be,” you finish with a slight flourish of your hand to indicate how simple you think the answer is. "And besides, if we ever seem to come close to that point, he always puts a stop to it. That's why I don't think he wants to head down that path with me." You cast your gaze back down to the bottle in your hands again, a sinking feeling in your gut from finally admitting the truth. "But you know what? That's fine," you add after a brief moment. "I'd rather know him and be friends, than try to be together and have it end with him hating or resenting me. Because I just couldn't bear that," as you shake your head at the very thought of it.

Karen is pensive for a brief moment, processing what you've just told her. Her demeanor changes to a much softer tone, now, her anger towards Sean long forgotten. She is full of empathy for your obvious confliction and self-doubt. "Listen," she says as she rests her hand upon your arm. "For what its worth, I don’t think Arthur likes you in spite of those things, (Y/N). I think he likes you because of them. He already had the perfect woman, and look how that turned out. Let me tell you, not so perfect." She leans into you in earnest, trying to get the idea through that stubborn head of yours. You nod in contemplation, mulling over her observation. Could she be right?

And so, you and Karen proceed to drink your worries away. It feels good to confide your inner-most thoughts to someone who isn't Arthur for a change. Especially when some of those thoughts are about him in particular. The two of you laugh and tell stories, the wall of 'prim and proper' coming crashing down as the two of you relax and enjoy the atmosphere. The saloon is getting busier now as the afternoon sun begins its decent for the day. The amber glow of the candles in the wall scones, coupled with the music of the piano-player in the corner, is putting everyone at ease. There seems to be little-to-no tensions with the other patrons, so a bar-fight, thankfully, seems avoidable today. Some of the people have even started to dance with the music, creating a most-jovial setting indeed. And you finally let your guard down and allow a calm to settle over you.

As the comforts of alcohol take hold, the two of you eventually start to talk about men and swap your stories. "I had a guy once, all he would do is twist 'em," Karen points casually at her own breasts, "like he was trying to crack a safe open!" She rolls her beautiful doll-eyes and shakes her head. You laughed at the reference, nodding in understanding. "I know! What is with the obsession?!" you exclaim. "And they're always complaining that they need a 'big chest' on a woman! Really, all they need is at least a handful, a definite mouthful. Anything after that, they don’t even know what they're doing with it," and you take another swig of your beer to accent your point. Karen cracks up, slapping her hand on her knee, as she knows exactly what you're talking about, as she is pretty well endowed in that area herself.

But eventually, Karen's antics calm down a bit as if she is distracted by a new thought in her beautiful blonde head. "OK, so you’re not attached to Arthur, then, right?" asks Karen with a sly grin.

"Correct," you nod to her in confirmation, taking yet another sip of beer.

"Good! 'cause there is a fine looking gentleman at the other end of the bar who’s been looking you over for some time now.” She casts her gaze over your shoulder with a slight nod to indicate someone behind you. You turn your head to follow her gaze to see a handsome young man leaning on the bar, smiling back at you. Shocked, you immediately turn back around, nervously tucking your hair behind your ear. Within a few moments, you watch out of the corner of your eye as the man downs the shot-glass in his hand, and pushes himself up from the bar. He discreetly tugs on the bottom of his vest to straighten himself out and runs a quick hand over his dark hair in an effort to make himself presentable. Then, he begins to walk towards you and Karen.

"Good Evening, Ladies," the stranger says with a kind tone to his voice, which makes Karen giggle with excitement, nibbling her lip in anticipation. "Evenin'", she replies, her eyes dipping demurely.

"My name is Sam. Sam Edwards. What’s yours?" he inquires politely. You can feel the blush starting to dust across your cheeks as his handsome smile dances from you, to Karen, and then back to you.

"My name is Karen, and this here is (Y/N)," offers Karen, when you are self-consciously hushed into silence. Typically, you have no issue speaking your mind freely, even in the presence of men. But on the off-chance that you catch a man's eye, it always leaves you awkward and shy. Sam is fairly tall, with dark, thick wavy hair that is combed back nicely. He's clean-shaven and wearing nicer clothing, nothing dirty or ripped. His boots are clean of mud and dust, indicating that he must not be 'of the elements' like the company that you currently keep. But he seems kind, his dark eyes shining as he smiles at you. In other circumstances, you'd be most excited at being approached by such a man as this.

"Can I offer you ladies a drink?" he asks.

"Um, no thank you, we have drinks," you reply politely, rolling your wrist and fingers towards the bottles on the bar in front of you.

"Hmm, yes, of course," he nods in acknowledgement, but not willing to give up just yet. "Would you mind a dance, then?" he smiles at you, holding out his hand. You blink back the astonishment in your mind as you stare down at his hand, then back to his face, not sure how to answer. When you sit there immobile, your mouth slightly open to find an answer, yet paralyzed with conflict, Karen gently nudges your shoulder with her slender fingers as a go-head, pushing you towards Sam and encouraging you to accept his offer. She knows damn well that you are hesitant because of Arthur. But if he's going to be stupid enough to drag his feet in moving forward with you, then Karen is not going to let this opportunity of a potential suitor slip away from you.

Your cheeks flush red as you lay your hand into Sam's, causing the handsome grin on his face to pull into a full-fledged smile of excitement. You hop down from the barstool and follow him as he leads you to the open area where a few others have already gathered to dance. Being respectful, Sam places his hand high on your back as he gently clasps your hand in his other one. However, he can't help but to pull you a little closer than usual to him.

"So, are you from here in town?" Sam asks you, awkwardly trying to make small-talk.

"Not exactly," you chuckle as you both start to sway with the music.

"You and your friend having a good time tonight?" he continues, trying to crack that exterior of yours.

"Sure." You don't mean to be rude with your short answers, but you are not sure if you are comfortable with this. Sam proceeds with a string of compliments, commenting on your dress, your hair, etc. Its been a long time since someone flirted with you in genuine interest. Sure, there's always Sean's teasing, Micah's harassment, and the occasional mixed-signal instances with Arthur. But no one has been pursuant and shown you attention like this in a long time. And honestly, it feels pretty damn good to you. You eventually loosen up a bit and relax, as the two of you continue to dance as one song stops and the next one continues. You begin to let your guard down and allow yourself to laugh and smile; to be courted properly as a good woman should be.

"What’s your situation, if you don’t mind my asking?" Sam eventually asks, his eyes locking with yours with genuine interest.

"I don’t really have 'a situation'," you admit sheepishly.

Sam cocks his head at you in disbelief. "Now, how’s that possible with a pretty girl like you?" he counters skeptically.

You roll your eyes at his latest compliment with a slightly embarrassed grin. "It’s complicated," you finally admit, shaking your head at the nonsense of it all.

When the music stops again, it leads you to begin to take notice of what is happening between you and Sam, and you feel as if this is starting to take a turn that you are not so sure that you want it to. You suddenly pull away from Sam's grasp, blinking the blissful fog from your mind. "I should go," you mutter softly. For whatever reason, you have a sudden wave of guilt wash over you. You're not sure if its because of Arthur, the gang, everyone...no one?

“Can I see you again?” Sam asks hopefully, holding your hand in both of his, a slight desperation in trying to keep you from running from him.

You look down at his elegantly strong hands encasing your own and hesitate, torn as you are not sure how to answer him. What are you supposed to tell him? That you live with a bunch of wanted outlaws out in the woods? "I don’t think that’s a good idea," you say quietly at a volume barely above a whisper, with a slight pang of regret in your voice as you avoid eye-contact, fearing that if you look Sam in the eye, it will be your undoing.

"Why not?" he gently pushes, stepping a bit closer to you, confusion setting upon his face. He is not about to let you walk away so easily.

"Trust me, it just isn’t," you reply a bit more firmly this time, trying to convince yourself that you are doing the right thing for everyone involved. For this is also for Sam's safety as well. What if someone in the gang gets wind of this and sees Sam as a threat? And you can't help but chuckle internally at the irony of that thought: Arthur wants to keep you at a distance from himself to keep you safe, and yet here you are doing the same for Sam.

Sam steps even closer to you now, staring down into your eyes in that oh-so dreamy and romantic way. You can almost feel the heat from his body, he's that close. He holds your gaze and you notice his chest rising and falling with his slightly-broken breathing in anticipation. Your eyes cast down to his lips, tempted to think what it would feel like to kiss him. He must sense your indecision and leans in slightly, as if to kiss you first and end your internal struggle. But suddenly you snap out of your reverie and pull back with a slight surprise. "I can't," you murmur again, so faint, Sam almost missed it.

"Please don't go," Sam begs in a hushed tone. You gently lift your hand and rest it on his chest, your fingers splay open and float across the fabric of his shirt and brocade vest, a last attempt to validate that Sam is real and standing right in front of you; to allow yourself to believe that he is willing to fight for you. Unlike someone else. But, you are not ready to deal with this sort of thing and the drama that it could bring. This just isn't fair. Why couldn't this man approach you when you are not living in hiding with a bunch of criminals? Or, why couldn't Arthur and you finally acknowledge what you know is burning there and just be together? Either way, you aren't getting what you want and it fills you with both annoyance and sadness.

"No, I...I really need to go. Thank you for the dancing. It was nice to meet you, Sam." And with that, you offer him an apologetic smile and step backwards to put space between you before turning around to look for Karen. Your chest is tight and you feel like you can hardly breathe. The room starts to spin and you suddenly feel the need to get the hell out of this saloon and now. Fortunately, Karen is still sitting at the bar where you left her, but she has since found some company. A rather cute blonde is leaning over her and openly flirting, causing her to blush and giggle. You quickly walk over to where she is sitting, and toss a few coins on the bar, grabbing the bottle that the barkeep conveniently has sitting there. "Come on, Karen, we need to leave," you inform her, and pull her off the stool by the arm, causing a quick yelp to escape her lips. You quickly drag her across the saloon floor and out the door before she can even put up any argument.

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It is Arthur's turn for guard duty tonight. He stands quietly, smoking his cigarette, peering into the still night. He keeps his eyes open for any disturbance, but mainly, he's keeping an eye out for you and Karen. You've been gone for several hours now, but he's trying not to get too anxious about it. You are with Karen, and she can certainly handle herself. But then again, you are with Karen. So there's no telling what you'll get into when you're with her.

The evening is crisp, but not so cold. Autumn has not set in fully just yet, so there is still the rustling of the birds and squirrels in the trees as they prepare for the coming winter. He curls his thick fingers around the cigarette in his hand as he lifts it to his lips for another long drag, casting his watchful eyes from the hitching posts where the horse quietly graze to the path where he hopes to see you and Karen soon. Suddenly, his keen ears pick up on a noise off in the distance. He squints his eyes, trying to see in the dark as he tilts his head in an effort to discern where the noise is coming from. He hears it again and it is the unmistakable sound of Karen's cackle and your voice carrying through the still night air. Eventually you both come into view, riding up into camp. A wave of relief settles over Arthur to know that you two are both back safe. But that quickly turns to confusion, as well as amusement, as he can see that you are both clearly very drunk. Its not a bad thing to see you both so merry and carefree. But you are also both very loud and rowdy, singing and laughing and carrying on. So much for being discreet and hiding in the woods, he muses.

"What in God's name have you two been up to?" chuckles Arthur with a shake of his head as you and Karen get closer to the camp. The two of you have been too caught up in your own antics to notice Arthur until now, but once you set eyes upon the man, you both exchange a look between the two of you and instantly burst into a laughing fit. You had finished that bottle you brought from the saloon and have proceeded to get even more drunk on the ride back to camp. And of course, there has been much discussion about Arthur along the way.

Sighing, Arthur meets you along the path to escort you in. "Alright, then. Let's get you two in, safe and sound. Well, maybe not so much on the ‘sound’ part." He walks over and takes ahold of the reins of both of your horses to safely lead the animals over to the posts. Once she's at a complete stop, Karen is quick to bounce down from Old Belle, patting the horse's graceful neck in thanks. On the other side, Arthur is quick to walk around Blue to help you down from the saddle when he notices you almost fall, and you trip ungracefully right into his chest with an "oof!" "Woa! Easy, now," he laughs as he uses his arms to catch you and hold you up. "I got ya." "Thanks, Arthur, you’re a peach!” you drunkenly quip looking up into his face with a lop-sided grin. You quickly reach up and tap Arthur's nose with your fingertip, making a “boop” noise before taking his hat off his head to place it on your own and walk around him to link arms with Karen and saunter off towards the fire to join the others. Arthur stands frozen for a moment, watching as you and Karen drunkenly bump into each other with a ripple of laughter, astonished by your behavior before he cautiously follows suit.

The evening carries on, and everyone is in good spirits tonight. There is laughter and singing in the air and everyone is actually getting along for once. Eventually, Bill stands to get another bottle from the supply wagon and announces to everyone that he has just grabbed the last bottle of rum.

"I'll arm-wrestle you for it, Bill!" you say cheekily, pointing at him smartly. A wave of laughter ripples throughout the group. Bill is even bigger than Arthur, and that's saying alot. You are dwarfed in comparison to the goliath, so your challenge to him is certainly a joke. Bill eyes you with a grin, before he simply waves you off like you're crazy. "You're as mad as you are drunk, woman!" he says shaking his head at you. "I'm serious!" you challenge back with a slight hiccup. "Come on!" you exclaim as you stand up and walk past him and over to the the nearest table. You sit down and prop your arm up for the ready, smacking the opposite side of the tabletop with your other hand to indicate his vacant spot, a big smile on your face. "Come on, Bill!" you holler over to him. You wave him over to you, and with a grin of his own, Bill finally complies. He settles himself down across the table from you, still eyeing you cautiously, and waiting for you to come to your senses and back out of this dare. But he eventually lifts his massive arm up onto the table, bending his elbow up. Bill lightly grasps your awaiting, and much smaller, hand in his, rolling his fingers around yours for a moment before he tightens down, readying himself. He locks eyes with you in a stare, eyebrow raised and ready.

"OK, then, when you're ready, I'll start the count," you say, a little too peppy for his liking.

"Hold on," halts Bill suddenly. "I ain’t fallin' for that again," he says, thinking back to when he dislocated his shoulder and you caught him off-guard with your counting and popped the ligament back into place before he was expecting it. "Someone else get over here and do the countin’!" he shouts as he waves over to the group. Javier is quick to his feet and strides over to the table. "Alright, friend, I got you. Think you can take her, big man?" he jokes as he gets closer. Bill just gives Javier a scowl in response before he returns his gaze back to you. You and Bill sit with your hands wrapped together, and you begin flexing your fingers to find the comfortable position again before they gracefully drape across his large and calloused knuckles. Bill blushes slightly at the feeling of your soft hand tightening around his own burly one, relishing the feeling of it, but quickly regains his composure to set himself to the task at hand.

Javier places his hand atop of your two together. "You ready?" he asks, checking you both.

"Yep!" you reply with absolutely no reservation or concern in your voice what-so-ever. The rest of the gang looks on, curious to see what is going on in that head of yours. Bill nods to Javier and then meets your eyes again, bracing himself for your little competition.

"OK, then," says Javier and then he begins to count. "One...two..."

And just as the syllable of "two" drops from Javier's mouth, you launch yourself across the table and kiss Bill full-on on the lips. Bill freezes, his eyes going wide, his eyebrows shooting up to his increasingly receding hairline. You can hear an audible gasp from the collective crowd, as well as Karen's unmistakable high-pitched drunken laugh of approval. When you pull back from his face, Bill looks at you in utter shock and is dumbfounded as to what just happened.

"Three!" Javier announces excitedly, lifting his arm above his head in emphasis. And before Bill can pull his mind together, you pull his giant arm down effortlessly, pinning his large hand to the table.

"Ha! I win!," you exclaim, smacking your hands on the table in triumph before you stand victorious, snatching the bottle of rum from him and taking a big swig from the bottle.

"What?! NO! Damn it!!" yells Bill, completely flabbergasted. The rest of the gang erupts in laughter and cheers as they all raise their own bottles and cups to salute you, including Arthur. After a few moments, Bill stands with a grin of his own, knowing he's been bested. (Truth be told, he's always had a soft spot for you.) He ambles over to stand next to you and puts his massive arm around your shoulders. “Laugh all you want, Jackasses," he says waving at the lot of them. "But the fact is, (Y/N) kissed me and none of you! I’d say that’s worth a bottle of booze," he says pridefully. You turn to him with a warm-hearted smile and pull his face down closer to kiss his cheek to show that there are no hard feelings, and hand him the bottle to share.

The festivities of the group continues well-on into the night, filled with laughter and fun. You all sit around the main fire, singing and sharing stories. You are still sitting next to Karen and Tilly, relaxed and carefree. Arthur sits across the fire from you and watches you with great interest. It fills him with such satisfaction to see you settled and free of the worries and stresses of your life, even if it is only for an evening. He reflects upon how much you've assimilated into this group of misfits, his family, accepting and loving everyone within it. You seem perfectly at ease and comfortable to exist within the harsh life that he himself lives. Where others have cast judgement, you have offered compassion. Arthur's chest tightens and his heart swells at the mere sight of you. And his face twists up slightly in concern, as he now realizes that he can't keep his feelings for you at bay forever.

At one point during the evening, Hosea comes over to sit down next to you in the spot recently vacated by Tilly. “I like seeing you like this, (Y/N)” he says, a slight grunt of exertion crossing his lips as he lowers himself down onto the chair.

“What, drunk?” you questioningly laugh as you offer him a lop-sided grin.

“No, relaxed. Happy. You’ve been through a lot, my dear girl. You work hard. You do your part. Its good to see that you are 'one of us' now." The old man gives you a smile of approval and pats your hand affectionately. You warmly smile back at Hosea, appreciating his fatherly acceptance. Since you've lost your own father, you have a gap in your heart for such a role. You are truly very fond of Hosea and you wrap your arms around him in a tight embrace. "Thank you, Hosea," you whisper in his ear.

By the end of the night, the fire has died down and the chill of the evening air has indicated that it is finally time for everyone to retire to their beds. Hosea looks over at you, noticing that you are rather wobbly now, between the booze and the fatigue. He lets out a contented sigh before looking over to Arthur. "Arthur, why don’t you get (Y/N) to bed.” And the man waves his hand at Arthur to usher him over to you.

This statement causes you to sloppily giggle into your hands. “You hear that, Karen? Arthur has to get me into bed!” And both you and Karen erupt into yet another fit of laughter over your inside joke between the two of you, seeing as she now knows how you really feel about the man.

Arthur tries to hide the red in his cheeks with the brim of his hat as he sighs dryly at the embarrassing joke. "Are you done now?” he asks, walking over and standing over you with a bit of a scowl, not too amused. At this point, Arthur is tired and just wants to get some sleep.

You instantly try to stifle your laughter, not wanting to irritate him any further, but a few huffs of snickering escape your lips before you can finally contain yourself again. “Fine, I’ll be good”, you say as you put your hands up in surrender. Arthur sighs in impatience again and gently takes your arm to help you to your feet. "C'mon, let's go. I think you've had enough fun for one night," his deep voice trying to sound authoritative in case you try any other antics that may embarrass him in front of everyone else.

Hosea and the others watch in amusement as Arthur gingerly wraps his arm around your waist for support as you lean heavily into his ribs, and he leads you away from the fire and towards the tents. Your images disappear into the darkness as the firelight leaves your forms, but everyone can still hear you as you continue to trip over your own feet like a newborn baby horse learning to walk, continuing to crack yourself up, and almost pulling Arthur down with you with each drunken step. Hosea shakes his head with a grin as all they can hear carrying through the still night is your laughter and Arthur shouting “Damn it!” in annoyance every two seconds. "That girl is going to be his undoing, yet," he whispers with approval in his voice to Ms. Grimshaw, who only nods in agreement.

As you reach your tent, Arthur pulls back the flap opening with one hand as he has his other arm still securely around your waist to make sure that you don't fall over. He gets you inside the canvas and sets you down on your newly-acquired cot, looking you over briefly to assess the situation, before he kneels down at your feet to help you get your boots off. You sit quietly and obediently as you watch him slowly pry apart the laces of your boots with his large fingers. He is so careful and gentle as he handles you. You try your best to reel in your drunken behavior and smile down at him.

"Thank you, Arthur," you say softly.

"No need for thanks," he offers gruffly, keeping his eyes on his fingers and the work at hand.

"No, I mean...thank you, Arthur. For everything. Not just for taking care of me tonight, but for looking out for me all this time." He lifts his eyes and briefly looks at you before awkwardly turning his eyes back down, unable to hold your intense gaze upon him. "Weren't nothin'" he mumbles, still fussing with your laces.

"You saved my life, Arthur," you gently push the subject, "and have been looking after me ever since. I just want you to know how much I appreciate that." Arthur says nothing in return, but simply hums in acknowledgement with an ever-so-slight nod at the compliment. Now that you are in the quiet of your tent, away from the commotion of the crowd from earlier, you think back to the saloon and to Sam and your interaction together from this afternoon. You briefly wonder whether you've made the right decision to walk away from the proper gentleman who would have loved your company. But as you continue to watch Arthur kneeling in front of you at your feet, gently slipping off your boots, you know for sure. You smile to yourself and in a sudden burst of bravery, you lean over to kiss Arthur's cheek. Your delicate lips linger on his stubbled face for just a split second longer than needed, a clear indication of the tenderness that is intended. You hesitate for a brief moment after you deliver the precious gift, your face hovering next to his, before you slowly sit back up again. This causes Arthur to immediately halt in his task, as he begins to blush and get flustered. His eyes dart everywhere but to your face as he rapidly blinks in surprise.

“You’re sweet, Arthur”, you say to him, your voice a soft melody floating in his ears.

Arthur finally looks up at you again, rubbing his hand along his jawline nervously. “I’ve been called alot of things in my life, but 'sweet' ain't one of 'em,” he admits to you, a boyish grin pulling along his lips.

"Maybe you’re not hanging around the right people, then," you smile at him.

He chuckles a bit. "Huh...maybe you’re right." You continue to look down at him, still kneeling at your feet, and the two of you lock eyes together for a moment. You jut your head down towards him slightly, inviting and waiting for him to kiss you. 'This is it!' you think to yourself excitedly. 'Its finally going to happen!' Arthur slowly reaches up and moves a lock of hair behind your ear so that he can see your face clearly. But trying to be a gentleman when it comes to a woman, Arthur suddenly clears his throat and pulls back. He has fantasized about this moment so, so many times. However, he doesn't want your first kiss together to be when you're drunk, not wanting to take advantage of you in your current state. It would be one thing if you were both drunk. In fact, to be honest, that may be the only way he would finally get the nerve to act upon what he has dreamed of for so long. So rather than reciprocating your affection, he awkwardly pats you on the leg instead.

He clears his throat again, trying to dislodge the tight knot there and find his voice to answer the expectant expression that sits upon your face. "Get some sleep, would ya? I’ll see you in the mornin'," he replies quietly with a brief and awkward smile. And with that, Arthur stands up, gives you a slight nod, and quickly ducks out of your tent, leaving you sitting there alone, wide-eyed and mouth slightly gaped in disappointment.

In the stillness of the night, all you can hear is the far-off sounds of the critters still out and about nocturnally. You sit on your cot, motionless and in shock for a moment over what just happened. And honestly, you are more than a little dejected. "What the hell do I have to do to get this man to make a move?", you whisper exasperatedly to yourself as you raise your hand towards the tent opening where Arthur was just standing and let it drop into your lap haphazardly in frustration. Every damn time that you think something will happen between you and Arthur, he will always pull away from you. The beautiful flirtations that cause warmth to spread in your heart always end in disappointment. You treasure the sweet interactions between the two of you, but you don't know how much more you can take without it moving any further. It can't be coincidence, can it? He has to feel something for you as well, right? You continue to sit there in disbelief, even in your drunken state. You lift your eyes to the ceiling of your tent, as tears of frustration start to well up in them before a single tear makes it over the brim and cascades its way down over your cheek.

------------------------------

The next morning, Arthur peels open his blue eyes at the sound of the birds in the trees. The morning sun creeps its way in through the slight gaps of the tent flaps and dances along the walls of the canvas as the morning breeze shakes the fabric. Its quiet in the camp this morning after last night's festivities, so he allows himself to take his time and slowly rise for the day. He sits up on the edge of his cot, running his hand through his messy hair with a yawn as he slowly comes to full consciousness. A smile slowly spreads itself across his bearded face as he remembers the events of the preceding night. He is feeling pretty good about that kiss you planted on his cheek last night and how you had called him 'sweet'. He replays the conversation over in his mind and thinks on how you looked at him. Over the time you have been here, you have become the camp sweetheart and yet, you were smiling sweetly at him last night. Him! Arthur has been mulling over his doubts over whether your flirtations are just that, or if there there could truly be something more behind it. But last night may have been that definitive proof that he needs. Or at least, maybe enough for him to finally act on it to find out?

With his hands on his thighs, Arthur pushes himself up with a slight groan to a standing position and stretches his long arms towards the ceiling of the tent before digging around in his trunk to find some clean clothes to put on. He checks himself in the small mirror hanging off of the side of his wagon, running his fingers through his tousled hair again before he pulls back the sides of his tent. He heads over to the wash barrel to toss some fresh water on his face, a bit of a bounce in his step as he walks. As he stands at the barrel, Arthur hears voices and realizes that he can overhear you and the other girls talking from where you all sit on the other side of one of the supply wagons. He can't make out what you are all saying at first, but curiosity gets the better of him. Cautiously, he sneaks a little closer to the wagon so that he can hear you all better.

"Well, well, (Y/N)! I'm surprised you're up already! How you feelin'?" asks Abigail as she watches you slowly lumber towards her and the other girls with a cup of steaming coffee in your hands.

"Not as bad as I thought I would," you admit as you carefully lower yourself to the ground to sit and rub your hand over your face. "I made sure I drank some water before I turned in for the night. Of course, getting up in the middle of the night to get sick helped, too." Your face turns sour at the memory of it.

"Well, that's what happen's when you go out drinking all day," laughs Mary-Beth. "You and Karen got a head-start on the rest of us. Serves you right!"

"Oh, I think it was well worth the trouble," smirks Karen in that smug, knowing tone as she gives you a look before sipping her own cup of coffee. This comment makes Arthur pause as he secretly listens from the other side of the wagon. What's this now? Could you have told them about what happened between the two of you in your tent? He leans in to side of the wagon a bit more intently to see if he can hear better.

"Oh, you should have seen the man that was making eyes at (Y/N) in the saloon yesterday!" exclaims Karen excitedly, eager to tell the juicy story.

“Ugh, Karen!” You roll your eyes in embarrassment as you shift your weight on the ground. The other girls gasp in shock, as you are not known to openly flirt with anyone. Anyone, except Arthur, that is. And the girls begin to giggle and eagerly ask their questions. "You're kidding!" says Mary-Beth.

"Oh, he was handsome and very interested," Karen gushes. "What was his name, (Y/N)? Steven?"

"Sam", you reply quietly, bringing your coffee cup up to your face in an effort to hide behind it.

"They danced and laughed…" giggles Karen. "That man didn't want to let her go, I tell you!"

From where he's standing, Arthur cringes and he shifts his weight uncomfortably from hip to hip as he overhears this conversation. This bit of information makes Arthur a bit jealous and self conscious. 'Of course...that’s why she was acting all sweet last night,' he thinks to himself, staring down at the ground. 'She was all hot and bothered over that other fella.' His chest begins to tighten and his head starts to pound. Arthur quickly turns and walks away from the wagon, not able to stomach anymore. All of the excitement and hope he had when he awoke this morning has evaporated within moments. 'Damn fool. You waited too long,' he admonishes himself internally. "Just as well, she probably wouldn't want you anyway, you ugly bastard," he mutters out loud to himself as he heads back across the yard and over to the tables.

But unfortunately, Arthur has walked away too soon. If he would have had the strength to hold out, he would have caught the most important and amazing words he could have heard in a very long time. Arthur walks away before he can overhear you and the other girls talk about your crush on him.

"Are you gonna see him again, (Y/N)?" asks Mary-Beth hopefully, leaning forward in anticipation.

“No”, you say quietly, but definitively, with a shake your head.

"Why not?" she asks, confused as to why you'd turn your back on a handsome gentleman caller.

"Yeah, (Y/N), why not?" jokes Karen nudging your arm with that same glimmer in her eyes. You just shake your head again, not wanting to talk about it in front of everyone else.

"(Y/N) doesn’t want that man because she wants Arthur!" Karen announces to the other girls.

You groan slightly as you roll your eyes closed and hide your face in your hands in embarrassment. The girls are wound-up with excitement and start hooting and laughing. "Oh, don't go on all embarrassed, now, (Y/N)" teases Abigail swatting at your arm. "This ain't nothin' that we haven't already guessed at."

"You need to tell him!" says Tilly, eyes all alight and wide. "You simply must talk to Arthur right away! You know he ain’t gonna make a move, so you’re gonna need to. Why wait?!" Tilly is not usually the love-sick fool that Mary-Beth is, but she sees Arthur as an older brother. She was brought into the gang at a young age like he was, and she has grown up with him. And Arthur has always had a soft spot for Tilly and watched over her. So to have her "brother" possibly find love again after all this time has Tilly giddy with excitement.

Back over at the tables, Arthur can hear the lot of you laughing from across the yard. He can't hear the specific details of what you are all saying, but it’s OK. He already knows what your’re all talking about, knows that you are all gushing about some handsome new prospect; someone who is no doubt better than him, and someone who could very well be the one to eventually call you his. Arthur's face contorts in annoyance as he slams the coffee pot down on the table. He sips the steaming liquid out of the cup, ignoring how it scalds his tongue, and shakes his head as his eyes squint up in a slow-burning anger at himself.

Hosea is now up and about as well, and approaches the table where Arthur is to get himself some hot water for his morning tea. As he fusses with his cup, pouring the water over the herbs, he notices Arthur's foul mood out of the corner of his eye. 'Jesus, its too early for this shit,' Hosea thinks to himself. He stands there and studies Arthur for a moment, his all-knowing eyes narrowing a bit in observation. He knows the younger man better than anyone and, more importantly, Hosea isn't afraid to call Arthur out on his bullshit, either. "What's the matter with you?" asks Hosea.

"Nothin'" replies Arthur curtly, avoiding eye contact. His gaze is aimed in your direction.

The older man sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose for a brief moment in exasperation. "Are you seriously mad about last night?," asks Hosea, meaning how you had carried on drunk and joking at Arthur's expense.

"No. I don’t care about any of that," Arthur waves dismissively with a pout.

"Then what’s your problem?" pushes the old man.

Eventually, with a heavy sigh, Arthur relents a bit at the sound of his 'father's' voice. "It’s just…", he hesitates before continuing, the weight of his confusion over his feelings finally coming to a hilt, overwhelming him and, at last, spilling over. "Why can’t I ever get what I want?" he answers, waiving his arm in the air in frustration before letting it drop with a slap against his side.

"What the hell are you talkin' 'bout?" asks Hosea, confused.

Arthur looks at Hosea for a moment, then turns his head to look over at your tent to where you have since wandered back and have started shaking out your clothing for washing for the day, and then back to Hosea with a slight tilt of his head, an unspoken signal.

"Oh..." says Hosea, as it clicks together what Arthur is rambling about. Then the old man chuckles, happy to see Arthur finally admit to what Hosea has already known for awhile now. "Well, did you tell her how you feel about her?" presses Hosea, arching his eyebrows to accent his point.

"Oh sure…'course!" says Arthur. "Just not to her face…or out loud," Arthur says with biting sarcasm and giving Hosea a glare as if he had just asked the most ridiculous question ever.

"Sweet Jesus," says Hosea, pinching his nose again. "Do you want me to talk to her for you?" Hosea asks, fully annoyed at this point now.

"What?! No! God, no!" exclaims Arthur quickly, his body fidgeting nervously.

"Good! 'Cause you’re a little old for me to be talking to girls for you," Hosea scolds him, sipping his now-steeped tea.

Arthur hangs his head, avoiding Hosea's disappointed eyes. "I’ll do it…in my own time," he says quietly, looking down at his boots as he kicks absentmindedly at the grass with his toe. The thumb of his hand involuntarily hooks into his gunbelt as the fingers of his other hand adjust to hold his coffee mug tighter.

Seeing his son so dejected, Hosea softens, a look of sympathy replacing the annoyance that was just previously spread there. He steps closer to the younger man, lifting his hand to Arthur's shoulder. "You need to do something about it soon, son. Because if you don’t, there’s surely others who will," Hosea warns in earnest, yet soft-spoken and serene. "And with a girl like that," as he motions towards your tent with his tea cup in-hand, "it won’t take long to happen."

Arthur lifts his eyes to meet Hosea's, a shadow of pain held behind those blue orbs. "That's just it, Hosea. I think it already has," says Arthur in disappointment.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x f!reader #arthur morgan x reader fluff #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic

475 notes · View notes

peaches-creek · 4 months

Text

“It’s actually fucking freezing out.”

“Bit chilly.” Is all he says

“Bit chilly? BIT CHILLY? My hands are fucking blue, LOOK!” You exclaim, showing him your hands.

“Mhm quite blue,” He says as he grabs one of your cold hands, “better?”

“A Bit” you huff.

He looks at you with a big bright smile, admiring your fake annoyed face, knowing that his actions just melted your cold heart.

Simon “ghost” Riley, CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, Arthur Morgan, Charles Smith, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne.

1K notes · View notes

queenxxxsupreme · 2 years

Text

Defender, Protector, Keeper (Arthur Morgan x mom!reader)

A/N: Look at me updating 2 series so soon :) I hope you guys like this! Here is my rdr2 masterlist with the rest of the fics for this series

Warnings: nothing outside of canon, angst

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: You can survive for only so long with such a heavy heartbreak weighing heavy on you.

***

You watched as Abigail held Jack in her lap, tickling the young boy and smiling with him as he giggled happily.

Your chest ached with a pain so deep it didn’t feel real. It couldn’t be. It hurt so badly that you wouldn’t wish it upon anyone in the world.

A hand on the small of your back made you turn your head away from her.

“You alright, pumpkin?” Arthur asked softly.

eYou looked up at him for a moment before blinking and taking a small breath.

“I’m okay.”

Arthur followed your gaze as you looked back to Abigail.

“I’m-I’m happy for her. For Abigail. But I’m just…. Part of me wishes I didn’t have to see….” You trailed off, shaking your head. “I feel terrible about it.”

“You don’t gotta explain it, Y/N.”

“I’ve wanted to go talk to her, to welcome Jack. But Arthur, I can’t bring myself to do it.”

“I understand, pumpkin.”

“She’s the closest thing I have to a sister. She brought us here, my Ben and me. Who knows where we’d be if she didn’t vouch for us to Dutch. I owe her everything.”

Arthur said nothing. He felt like every word he spoke made things worse. Sure he was trying to help you through your emotions, but what did he even know about them? About what you were feeling? The heaviness that rested on his chest was nothing compared to what you were feeling, he was sure of that.

“I need to lay down.” You murmured quietly, moving towards the front doors to Shady Belle.

“Y/N, where are you off to, dear?” Hosea stopped you just as you pushed the doors to the house open.

“Just inside, Hosea.”

“Could you come have a cup of coffee with me, dear?”

“Hosea….” You started, shaking your head softly.

“She’s tired, Hosea.” Arthur told him. “Needs to rest.”

“It’s far too early in the morning for a nap! Please, dear. Just one cup and then I’ll leave you be.”

Arthur knew Hosea had something up his sleeve. There was no reason why you couldn’t go to lay down if you wanted to.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, your arms crossing over your chest.

“Alright. Just one cup.”

“Thank you, dear.” Hosea gave you a charming smile. “You want to join us, Arthur?”

“Sure.”

***

Arthur followed behind you as Hosea led the way to an empty table. Hosea poured three cups of coffee while Arthur sat with you at the table.

“You don’t gotta stay down here if you don’t want, pumpkin.” He said. “If you wanna get some sleep–,”

“You leave the girl alone, Arthur Morgan!” Hosea placed each cup of coffee down at the table and then sat down next to you. “I’m gonna talk to her, and I don’t want you scarin’ her off!”

Arthur let out a sigh, leaning back in his seat.

“Anyways, dear.” Hosea turned his attention to you. “How are you?”

You looked at him, brows slightly furrowed and eyes hazy from lack of sleep and too many emotions.

“I don’t know.”

“Sometimes when you feel too many things, the body just shuts all those feelings out. Makes it so that you can carry on and survive without those things weighing you down.”

“There is no surviving this, Hosea.” You whispered. One hand came up to your mouth, fingers trembling slightly. “I-I can’t–,”

You stopped yourself, shaking your head.

“When I lost my Bessie, I felt the same way.” Hosea looked across camp to where Karen and Tilly were. “I know me losing my wife, it isn’t near what you’re going through. But I…. I didn’t want to be around anyone. Tried to sleep the days away. Only problem was I couldn’t sleep worth a lick, so all that I’d end up doing was laying there in bed for hours and hours with nothin’ but my thoughts. Those thoughts could get real bad sometimes.”

He paused for a moment to sip on his coffee.

“But you haven’t lost your boy, Y/N. You are losing hope far too soon.”

“I can’t help it.” Your voice cracked. “He’s all I’ve got. I’m-I’m nothing without him, without my Benjamin.”

“You need to keep your head up until he comes back. What if something happens to you and he comes back looking for his momma?”

You looked down, shoulders trembling as you tried to take a breath.

“Hosea.” Arthur said his name almost as if to warn him that he was pushing too far. But Hosea knew when he was too far.

“You’ve always done what’s right for Ben, haven’t you?” Hosea reached over to place his hand on your arm. You stiffly nodded your head, using the back of your hand to wipe your cheeks. “And you can keep doing what’s right for him until he comes back, right?”

“I-I can try.”

“Just come sit with me or Miss Grimshaw for a little while here and there. I don’t like you being in your thoughts so much.”

“Hosea!” Dutch’s voice came from somewhere else in camp.

“I ought to go see what the old man wants.” Hosea stood up from his seat and gave your arm a gentle squeeze before leaving.

Arthur looked to you. You lifted your head, eyes closed for a few moments. You let out a breath and opened your eyes. For a while, you stared at the woods that rested in front of Shady Belle.

A few people began to make their way in your direction. It was Sean, Javier, and Pearson.

Without a word, you stood to your feet and began to walk around the backside of camp. Arthur followed you.

Your arms wrapped around your torso, eyes set on the ground ahead.

“You know, the-the last time I saw him…. He…. Ben spoke to me.”

Arthur settled with walking next to you. This allowed him to turn his head and look at your profile.

“I told him I was going out…. He asked if it was with you. I-I miss his voice, Arthur.” You whispered.

“I know, pumpkin.” He said quietly.

“Said he likes you, you know?” You looked over to him for a moment, glassy eyes shining for just a moment. The smallest smile came to your lips. “Ben likes you.”

Arthur nodded a little. He couldn’t think of words to tell you how much that meant to him. They didn’t exist in his dictionary.

The two of you stopped at the edge of the water. There was a bit of a swampy creek that passed by Shady Belle. The water was murky and harbored alligators, snapping turtles, frogs, and numerous kinds of poisonous snakes.

Arthur let you be for a little while, leaning against a tree and smoking a cigarette while you stared at the water. But when he felt enough time had been spent by the water, he pushed himself away from the tree and flicked the end of his third cigarette down on to the ground.

“Hey, pumpkin?”

“Yes, Arthur?” You didn’t turn your head to acknowledge him.

“Mornin’s just about over. I need to get goin’ into Saint Denis.”

You nodded softly, smoothing out your skirt with tense hands.

“Let’s move on closer to camp.” He suggested. “It ain’t safe out here for anybody.”

“Nowhere is safe.” Your eyes briefly met his before you turned to walk back towards Shady Belle.

***

That evening, Karen and Abigail found you in one of the rooms downstairs. You were trying to read a book to pass time, but the book had been abandoned on your lap some time ago and instead all you could do was stare out of a broken window.

“Hey, Y/N.” Karen greeted you softly.

She was the one to enter the room while Abigail lingered towards the door.

You turned your head to look at Karen, but your eyes flickered to Abigail. She messed with her fingers as she looked at you, brows furrowed together just a little.

“Y/N, that party that Dutch and Hosea and a couple of the guys are goin’ to is tomorrow night.” Karen started. “You need a dress to wear.”

“Abigail.” You murmured. “I-I meant to come by– I wanted to see him, to see Jack–,”

“It’s alright, Y/N.” Abigail assured you. “We can worry about that later. Dutch wants you to go with Karen and Sadie into the city to get a dress for the party.”

You didn’t feel like you had the energy to go shopping for a dress. But you needed the dress to fit in at the party. You needed to be able to see the man who was keeping your son from you.

“Okay.”

***

The Following Evening

“Just stay close to me, pumpkin.” Arthur murmured, his hand pressing against the small of your back. “Don’t know what kind of unsavory folk they have lingerin’ around here.”

“I’m certain we are the unsavory folk.” You eyed a small group of ladies as they walked by, smiling at them when you made eye contact.

“If that Brady fella is workin’ with Bronte, he’s probably here. I don’t want you wanderin’ too far from me.”

“If I see him, I’m going to–,”

“You are gonna do nothin’ but ignore the bastard.” Arthur guided you through the room with his hand on your back.

“He has my son, Arthur–,”

“All the more reason for you to do your best to stay level headed about this, pumpkin.” He moved out of the center of the room and towards a wall where there were few people. With firm hands on your arms, he positioned you so that your back was to the wall. You tried to look around, eyes nearly frantic as you made an attempt to search the room. But Arthur’s broad shoulders blocked your view as he stepped closer to you.

“Arthur.” You sighed in frustration.

“We can’t be raising hell at a place like this, Y/N.” Arthur shook his head gently. “You gotta keep your wits about you.”

“I-I don’t know how much longer I can do that, Arthur.” You whispered.

He rubbed your arms where he had his hands.

“Just a little longer, pumpkin. For right now, Benny needs you to put on that charmin’ smile of yours and play friendly with these folks.”

You closed your eyes momentarily as he kissed your forehead, then let him take your hand to lead you back to Dutch, Hosea, and Bill.

***

You kept your hand on the inside of Arthur’s elbow as a butler led Dutch, Arthur, and yourself to a balcony.

“Ah, the angry cowboys have arrived!” A man with an accented voice spoke. He stood at the center of a group of well dressed men.

He said something in another tongue to his friends, receiving chuckles from them.

“This is quite a party you’ve invited us to.” Dutch shook his hand. The man must have been Angelo Bronte.

“Yes, quite something. Though I’m not quite sure what.” Bronte turned his attention to you. “Mr. Dutch, I wasn’t aware a lady ran with your men.”

“This is Y/N.” Dutch gestured to you.

“Y/N Taylor.” You held your hand out for Bronte, flashing him a bit of a flirty smile as you stepped away from Arthur.

“Ms. Taylor, what a lovely complexion among such…. degenerates.”

“You’re too sweet.”

“So this is Saint Denis high society?” Dutch moved towards the balcony to look out over the crowd in the garden below.

“Yes, apparently so.” Bronte went to stand with Dutch.

Arthur returned to your side, his hand finding the small of your back. You turned your head to look at him.

“You’re doin’ good.”

As Bronte began to name everyone, you took advantage of where you stood. You looked over the crowd, eyes searching for James Brady.

“Well, it has been wonderful conversing with you.” Dutch took a few steps away from the balcony. “But I can tell that you are very busy, and I won’t waste any more of your time.”

“Yes, yes, yes go enjoy yourselves.” Bronte encouraged. “Mingle with these vulgar scum. It’ll make you long for the days when you could shoot each other and screw cows out in the open range.”

Dutch and Arthur shared a small look.

“Apologies, Ms. Taylor, for my language.”

You gave Bronte a friendly smile, nodding your head once. He made your stomach turn just by looking at him. And to know he had your son–

“Y/N, come on.” Arthur spoke, doing his best to gently urge you to move.

***

“I think I’m going to be sick.” You took a step away from Arthur though he kept his hand at the small of your back.

The two of you were off to the side of the garden party trying to find information you could on James Brady or even your son.

You rested one hand on your knee while the other went to your chest. You heaved and gagged only once before vomiting.

“Had a little too much to drink.” Arthur explained when a few of the guests looked in your direction. He rubbed your back, eyes scanning the surrounding area.

“Ar-Arthur.”

“Easy, pumpkin.” He gave you his arm to lean on.

“There you are!” Bill approached you both, out of breath and in a hurry. “Dutch wants you upstairs now.”

“Alright.” Arthur nodded his head.

You stood up and took a deep breath. With the back of your hand, you wiped your mouth. As a server was walking by, Arthur grabbed a flute of champagne for you. You took it graciously, needing something to clean out your mouth. You spat out the champagne into the grass as you began to walk with Bill and Arthur towards the house.

“What’s this about, Bill?” Arthur asked him.

***

In an upstairs room, Dutch and Hosea gathered with Bronte and a rather large number of men in suits.

“Ah, Mrs. Taylor.” Bronte greeted you, standing up from his seat. Hosea and Dutch sat just across from him on a few sofa. “Come join us, please!”

You put on a friendly smile and went to sit next to Hosea. Arthur remained on his seat just behind you, taking count of all of the men in the room.

“Why did you not tell me that your son was in my care, Mrs. Taylor?” Bronte offered you a glass of something. You took the glass as you looked at him with a loss of words.

“I-I-I don’t– I’m–,”

“He knows you are little Benjamin’s mother, dear.” Hosea told you.

“Truth be told, darling, I was told that he was being raised poor conditions.” Bronte shrugged his shoulders casually as he leaned back in his seat.

Your blood ran cold. Anger began to form somewhere deep inside of you.

“Is that what James Brady told you?”

Bronte seemed to notice the change in your tone, the way you shifted from quiet and even submissive to tense and demanding as you nearly spoke through your teeth.

“He killed my husband, Mr. Bronte. My Benjamin’s father–,”

“Who is not this man that you are with tonight, is it?” Bronte gestured to Arthur.

“No, sir.” You shook your head. “My husband died at the hands of James Brady. Benjamin watched James slaughter his father– That man cannot be trusted!”

A door behind you opened, but you didn’t look away from Bronte.

“Ah, speak of the devil and he shall appear. Mr. Brady, so wonderful of you to join us. Mrs. Taylor here was just informing me of how untrustworthy you were.”

You closed your eyes and tilted your head downward. The anger in your veins seemed to fester and bubble.

Both men shared a laugh as Brady took a seat in a chair to your right.

“My apologies, Mrs. Taylor. Please do carry on.” Bronte encouraged.

You ignored Bronte and instead looked at Brady.

“James, I want my son back–,”

“You mean our son.”

“You never wanted anything to do with him, James!”

“Well now I do! And boy, have you done a number on him! The boy won’t even talk–!”

You lunged for James Brady, but Arthur was quick to grab your arms.

“You fucking bastard! You know what you did! You’re the one who did that to him!”

“Arthur, take her out into the hallway.” Dutch told him. “Let her calm down–,”

“No! I am not leaving until I have my son!”

You began to writhe and pull against Arthur’s hold, but he was a whole lot stronger than you. It was nothing for him to usher you out of the room even in the midst of your rant.

“I want my goddamn son, Arthur Morgan! You let me go!”

“I can’t do that, Y/N.”

“Let me go! I want my son! Give me my fucking son!”

The doormen that stood guard to the large room watched on as you were practically placed in one of the corners of the large hallway. Arthur used the walls to his advantage, pinning you there so that he could try to calm you down.

“Could you give us some goddamn privacy, fellers?” Arthur grumbled to them.

The two doormen shared a look before walking away.

By now, there were hot, angry tears coming down your cheeks.

“I want-I want my Ben, Arthur! I want him!”

“Shh, shh, shh.” He brushed his hand over the side of your face, then tucked loose pieces of hair back behind your ear. “You gotta breathe, pumpkin.”

Your eyes focused on anything but his face. His bowtie was a bit crooked since his handling of you.

“I can’t imagine how you’re feelin’, Y/N, but we gotta have some sense about ourselves in there.” He leaned forward to kiss your brow.

“He-He was right there. I could’ve fucking killed him.”

“Brady will get what’s comin’ to him.”

You looked up at Arthur. Your glossy eyes were filled with torment and heartbreak. How much longer could you survive suffering like this?

He kept one hand on your side while the other held your arm. Your hands braced themselves on his forearms rather tightly.

Out of the corner of your eye, something moved. You turned your head and in the same instant, your heart stopped. It was Benjamin. He was being followed by who you assumed to be a maid. She held her finger over her lips motioning for you to be quiet.

Within a few moments, you were on your knees in front of Ben. Your arms were wrapped tightly around him, squeezing him and kissing his head and neck.

“Hurry, hurry!” The woman ushered quietly. “You need to go now before Signor Bronte finds out.”

You only had one chance to look up at her through teary eyes.

“Thank you. Thank you.”

“Come on, Y/N.” Arthur’s hand was on your arm, urging you to your feet. “Let me take Ben–,”

“No–,”

“Just until we are out of the house, Y/N.” Arthur knew Benjamin was too big for you to carry quickly through the house. He would be the best one for that.

You were sure your heart couldn’t bear it, but you let him scoop Benjamin up into his arms and together, the three of you hurried for the door.

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