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cosurmqne · 3 months

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01 — a short life of trouble

[ RDR2 X fem reader , 2334 words ] — next ✶

rhodes was a quiet town at the best of times. as much as the pompous sherrif, mr leigh gray, liked to juice up his line of work, the most action this collection of run-down buildings saw was the same petty feud between two families that was seemingly everlasting. an alleyway punch up after a night of drinking, perhaps even a few shots on the outskirts of town; this was all that was worth talking about amongst its residents, whatever distracted them from their lungs filling with red dust kicked up by horses and the sun drying up their almost forgotten patch of land in the valley of lemoyne.

when dutch van der linde first rode into the town, he felt at home, a welcome sight for the conman. it was a clean slate, filled with nooks and crannies that he could infiltrate and manipulate at his will. the townsfolk were stupid, the law even more so; it was a perfect combination to have some fun. it was no surprise to the rest of his gang that in no time at all, he was already sitting pretty on the porch of the sheriffs office, hand rested on the shoulder of sheriff gray himself. and lets not forget, with a gleaming deputy badge pinned firmly on his chest.

his main confidants, arthur morgan and hosea matthews, agreed that there was an opportunity for control here, to take what they needed and disappear before anyone in rhodes knew what had hit them, or that they were to blame. they were, after all, outlaws. on the run from forces beyond their capabilities. it only took a matter of days for the rest of their gang to settle in and set themselves up once again in a temporary camp to call home, finding a location south of the town in a secluded grassy plain. it was close to town, but still hidden unless you knew the right tracks to follow.

placing himself firmly amongst the law had led to dutch walking freely around town, a feeling he had not been able to experience in months, perhaps even years. still in a state of high alert (one that never seemed to leave), he allowed himself to look less frequently over his shoulder, not analyse every face he saw or mentally count how many weapons the men around him may have on them at any given moment. occupational hazards had ingrained this behaviour into him since a young age, but at least he could leave the confines of his camp more confident than he had in a long while.

arthur and himself rode down the now familiar dirt road towards the sunbaked town, passing dry fields and even nodding at passers by. dutch chuckled slightly, “we are living it up now son! look at me, look at us!”

arthur let himself crack a smile, “yup, i don’t know how you manage to squeeze your way into situations like these but …. thank goodness. everyone at camp seems settled in, happy even.”

dutch turned to the outlaw riding next to him, “what did i tell you arthur. i have a plan. it’s working. these fools are just the beginning.” he raised his hand to gesture to rhodes, now larger on the horizon and full of morning activity. people entering the train station to the right, some riding through to perhaps visit some of the general stores throughout. the local saloon would even start filling up with its regular drunks soon enough , even this early in the day.

“now,” dutch continued, “you break off to the left here and go visit our dear friend trelawny. last i heard he’s living amongst thieves in old trailers on the outskirts of town, see what kind of information he’s kicked up these past couple of weeks. meanwhile, i’ll go catch up with our great protector.” he placed an exaggerated hand on the deputy badge his chest, chuckling once again, “this sheriff’s perhaps a greater fool than even uncle.”

arthur laughed then let out a sigh, “fine, but next time you deal with trelawny. who knows what scheme he’s going to wrap me into.” with a kick to his horse, he rode away from dutch, leaving him to continue riding deeper into town.

hitching his loyal arabian in front of of the sheriffs office, he entered the building oozing the charisma and confidence that any man would dream to have. within ten minutes, he left holding official papers and a smug look on his face. mr gray had so graciously given him a tip off about some illegal moonshiners east of rhodes, the only instruction? to eradicate the men; any means necessary, just get the job done.

this translated to only mean two things to dutch; free booze and easy money.

eager to return to camp and start planning this ‘offical raid’ with a few extra men, he jumped back onto his horse and slowly started to make his way back home. shoving the papers into the saddle bag on his left, he allowed himself to light a cigar and let out a low sigh while he held it loosely between his calloused fingers. delicious and familiar smoke filling his lung, with an oblivious town in front of him. things were looking damn good …

just as he passed the bloody faced butcher hacking at a deer, he heard the first gunshot.

instantly alert, his still-lit cigar hit the dirt road and both hands were like stone by his sides, each ready to uncap the holsters beneath them at a moments notice. he scanned the area, turning his head every which way, already looking towards the hiding places he had mentally noted weeks earlier in which someone could potentially hide. just as he was straining to hear any sort of noise, he heard yet another gunshot within seconds.

habits had made him duck closer to his saddle, his horse becoming skiddish as dutch looked around once again. the townspeople were on high alert also, most crouched or back indoors after a few shouts. seconds passed before dutch realised that the shots were coming from out of town entirely, the echoes ringing out from where he guessed was the thicker forest that stood in the distance. these past months had made him assume every gun was pointed towards him, each loud noise, bullet or not, had made him instantly ready to fight and assuming the worst.

sitting straighter and tightening the grip around his reins to calm his horse, he figured the folk around him had concluded the same, most standing up and even waving their hands with a dismissive gesture. he had come to realise that in this town, if the shooting wasn’t at your front door, it wasn’t your problem ….

‘righteous people, truly ….’ he jokingly thought to himself.

another shot ran out from the trees, causing the remaining birds in the area to fly over the canopy. flinching less than before, dutch started his horse into a gallop once again, leaving rhodes to deal with their own backyard business. whoever it was, dutch figured he would rather it be their problem than his. moving closer towards the tree line on the dirt track to camp, he did let himself wonder what all the ruckus was about…. then it hit him …. that sinking feeling that usually rested at the bottom of his chest.

arthur …..

quickening his horse, dutch cut off the path and ran towards the forest. ‘trelawny….. that damn fool.’ he thought, his mind racing towards conclusion that he hoped weren't true. ‘who knows what kind of business he put those two up too. those gunshots could have been from anybody … but ….’

breaking through the tree line, he scanned the area on horseback, looking on the ground for tracks, broken branches, blood strains, anything. moving closer to where he guessed the shots were coming from, he got down from his horse and continued on foot. each step he took was barely audible despite the dry leaf litter below, his right hand once again hovering steady above the shining revolver on his hip… he could smell gunpowder in the air, this must be the place.

“arthur? son are you here?” he let himself say aloud in shouted whisper, scanning the trees for any sign of movement. the area was thick with stumps, boulders, tree trunks and bushes, all bending and layering into a green and brown mess. it was eerily quiet, most animals being scared into running with all the noise, despite a few birds chirping as they bravely returned to their nests so soon.

eyes, ears and mind alert, ducth finally saw something, a body laying face down a few feet in front of him. he let himself rush over and sighed as he realised it belonged to a stranger. not just a stranger he realised, but an o’driscoll! ‘yes’ he thought, ‘green vest, rusty gun… missing teeth… good riddance.’

looking up he saw another body laying in a flower bed to the right. both men were huge in stature, undoubtably lacking brains, but still a force not taken on without guts and skill. looking down at the o’driscoll closest to him once again, he noticed that he had a gunshot wound, right in the middle of his forehead…. impressive. walking over to the other, he had the same. a clean and fatal shot. perhaps this was arthurs handy-work?

he stood and continued deeper into the forest, calling for arthur once again. he passed yet another dead o’driscoll, taking the satisfaction of stepping right over his body and observing yet another perfect headshot. three gunshots, three wounds, three dead o’driscolls. mystery solved.

right?

“arthur, where the hell are you boy?” he called once again. perhaps trelawney and himself were long gone, away from the scene and disappeared before the real trouble of the law or more o’driscolls showed up. or maybe they were never here at all?

dutch stood straighter and felt himself relax. whatever happened here seemed to be over, and his two men were nowhere to be seen. just as he figured he may as well leave this be and head on his way, he heard the snap of a branch behind him. turning around in an instant, hand already holding the loaded revolver in his hand, he froze as he came face to face with the barrel of a rusted repeater.

“dont. move.”

a woman was standing before him. her hair was matted, eyes wide, skin covered in who knows what but hands steady as a rock, eyebrows furrowed in fierce concentration. she was wearing a blouse, ripped and stained dark with what dutch assumed to be blood, her skirt torn and thinning. the boot she wore seemed three sized too big, a second gun on her side attached with nothing but a thin rope tied around her waist.

dutch slowly raised his palms in line with his shoulders, gun pointed upwards, “miss? i-” he started.

“don’t. who the hell are you.” she spoke stern but her voice sounded exhausted. she hid the shakiness well.

“i’m ….” he trailed off, “miss, did you kill those men back there?”

she stood unmoving. “so what if i did. those are bad men.… now answer my question.”

“oh i know,” he ignored her still, moving his right hand to touch his chest and daring to take a small step forward. “i’m glad they're laying face down in the dirt where they belong.” he paused. “thats some fine shooting you must have had.”

she looked him up and down with a quick glance, eyebrows furrowed, “what are you playing at…”

dutch dared once again to take a step forward, eyes glued to the woman with an unwavering confidence, despite the gun pointed right at his chest. “you asked who i am? my name is dutch van der line. i’m somewhat of a… outlaw around here. cast off and trying to survive….. i sense that you can relate to that.”

the woman seemed to slip out of her fierce gaze for a split second, her arms lowering slightly then snapping back into position, even taking a cowering step backwards as the stranger in front of her continued forward.

“i’m sure you're tired miss, hungry?” dutch continued. “when was the last time you laid to rest without keeping one eye open…” he moved closer still, his steps more frequent. “trust me, i’ve been there. i can help. we can help you.”

the woman stared, she didn’t know what to say, what to do, what to respond. and dutch knew it. he had her just how he wanted.

he was close enough now to raise his hand and place it on the barrel of her gun, slowly lowering it and moving in. he spoke low, calm and considerate. “miss… if you come with me, i can give you all these things. we have a camp, not too far from here. we already have a common enemy it seems,” he gestured behind him to the dead o’driscolls, even smiling slightly as he turned back, “it doesn't matter who you are, what you’ve done, just … trust me.”

the woman was staring unblinkingly at dutch, but he could tell that she had no choice, she seemed so exhausted, guessed she had nowhere to go. how long had see been alone for? was the dried blood that painted her clothes her own, or some other dead fool? “please miss, whats you’re name.”

“y/n.” she responded weakly, finally letting her arms drop by her sides. it seemed despite her unmoving position, she was struggling to hold up the heavy gun, her arms and strength exhausted. she allowed herself to let her guard down, her legs making her sway, shoulders slumped. it was all too much.

ducth let himself touch her shoulder, holding her small frame in his skilled hands as he let out a high whistle, calling his horse towards them.

“come on y/n. you’re safe now.”

#rdr2 x reader #rdr2 #rdr #red dead redemption 2 x reader #arthur morgan x reader #dutch van der linde #red dead redemption #arthur morgan #rdr2 oneshots #arthur morgan x you

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opie-nixx · 2 years

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Rescue Mission (CHAP. 4)

Hey! This chapter ain't to much of what I was aiming but I thought it was still cute. So you're getting 2 uploaded and I hope u guys like it. I haven't written in years and Arthur has been making me want to write a story more and more. So please enjoy or don't. i don't really care but have a nice day!

Arthur was a bit hesitant when it came to entering the Great Plains. Binoculars in hand as he scopes out the cliff area where there was law and bounty hunters. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited. Experiencing it all first hand was more than a person could ever ask for in life. The sun setting brought out more of an urgency to the mission. Nobody likes getting shot at, at night when you can barely see.

Arthur: "This is stupid."

Y/n: "So is robbing a ferry making you even more of a target." I say sarcastically.

Arthur: "How'd you even know about that?" He asks putting his binoculars back in his satchel turning his gaze to me.

Y/n: "Who doesn't?" I say looking back at him.

Arthur: "For the record, I wasn't apart of that job."

Y/n: "Mmm." I give my horse a small kick to signal it to take off. Arthur right behind me.

Arthur: "Where you goin? There's still bounty hunter's on that ledge?"

Y/n: "You're wanted, not me." I say with a small chuckle.

Arthur: "You're awful."

Y/n: "The worst. Stay close, it'll be easier if they think we're together." Arthur quickly brings his horse to a trot to match my speed and places his hat on my head. My face heats up from his actions. He glances up and notices the bounty hunters have left.

Arthur: "You weren't kiddin." He says with a bit of laughter. I adjust his hat on my head as he picks up to a light trot leading the way to Charles and Javier.

Arthur: "You haven't said much most of this ride? Somethin on your mind?"

Y/n: "Yeah, how pretty you are." Arthur choked on air as my laughter filled the air.

Y/n: "No, I've just been taking everything in. I didn't realize you liked to hear me talk so much in the couple days we've know each other Mr. Morgan."

Arthur: "It's not that I just wanted to make sure I didn't make you uncomfortable is all, and your less annoying then most of the gang members."

Y/n: "I'm flattered. Ya know you keep talkin to me like that, you might never get rid of me." I flash him a wink and a smile and pull back on the reins as we reach our destination. Arthur hops down his horse and comes over to mine with me still in it. I can't help but to keep taking in how breathtaking the plains look as if they are on fire in the reflection to the setting sun. Arthur glances as to where I'm lost in. He holds his hand out catching my attention.

Y/n: "I can get off the horse on my own, Arthur." I say a smirk present on my face as I slide down. He retracts his hand and begins to make his way over to where Charles and Javier were scouting. I match his pace with mine and place his hat back on his.

Y/n: Don't want people to make assumptions now, do we cowboy?"

'I so wouldn't mind if people talked about us.' A smile present on my face as I crawl next to Charles and Arthur between him and Javier. I eanr a look from both Charles and Javier.

Javier: "Are you sure your up for this kind of job?"

Y/n: "We shall definatley find out." I say calmly as I swipe the binoculars from Charles.

Arthur: "Where is that little Irish bastard?"

Charles: "I don't know, Trelawny's off to find out.

Arthur Morgan: Has anyone been into Blackwater to see how things lie?

Javier Escuella: Place is crawling with Pinkertons... bounty hunters... pictures of Dutch and Hosea.

Arthur: "We got a lot of money sitting in that town."

Javier: "And that's where it's gonna remain, for now."

Arthur: (stares through binoculars) "Why haven't they hanged Sean, I wonder?"

Charles: "I think he's bait... or they want to trial him publicly." I nudge Charles and point to a boat being loaded with a person and a mask over his head.

Y/n: "I think that's him being put on the boat." I hand Charles back the binoculars but not before he takes a glance at me. Trelawny comes up next to me.

Trelawny: "Gentlemen. Sean is being moved up the Upper Montana... then to a federal prison out west."

Arthur: "Well, we can't be rescuing people from some federal prison. We either rescue him now or... cut him loose."

Charles and I both snap our heads to him.

Charles: "We're not cutting anyone loose."

Arthur: "Of course not."

Trelawny: "Ike Skelding's boys are moving him to a camp nearby... before handing him over to the government."

Arthur: "So, I guess... we need to stop them before they get to camp. Charles, why don't you head up on the north side... and then we'll head up on the other side of the valley and meet you.. that way we have them either direction. Javier, Josiah, Y/n come on. Let's go see."

We all get up and back up as quietly as we can and make our way to our horses.

Trelawny: You know, Arthur... the government or people whom the government like, seem to be very angry.

Arthur: "Sure, well... we'll rescue Sean and then we'll get ourselves lost, good and proper. It's a big country."

Trelawny: "I hope so..."

Arthur kicks off to a light gallop as we all follow behind him.

Trelawny: "You know my dear girl, I never took you for someone for this type of work."

Arthur: "You should see how she handles herself with 3 people up against her. It's a wild thing to to see." He chuckles.

Y/n: "You over dramatize. I think I could prove myself to be capable of this type of thing." I say as I roll my eyes.

Javier: "You should've seen her in that bar fight." Trelawny laughs.

Trelawny: "These 2 sure seem smitten with you. I've never even heard Arthur speak so highly of someone before." My heart skips a beat from that statement.

Y/n: "I feel flattered. But let's keep our eyes out for Pinkertons." Arthur grumbles.

Trelawny: "Yes, south of the river West Elizabeth isn't a very welcoming place right now."

Arthur: "Down there, reckon those might be our boys. We come to a halt as we see a boat riding up river. "

Trelawny: "Alright, gentlemen. Follow me. We'll follow them, nice and easy. Let's make sure it's him first before you go starting another war." He says as he takes the lead.

Arthur: "You think they can see us?"

Trelawny: "If they can, we're just three fellers out on the trail. Act natural, we'll be fine."

I drowned myself into my own thoughts as they carried on with there conversation. The moon shining bright down on us giving us a clear view of the boat. Arthur must've noticed because I felt something brush up against my leg causing me to snap my head in it's direction. A worried look on Arthur's face.

Arthur: "You ok?" He says in a quiet gruff voice. I must've had a worried look on my face. I flashed him a smile.

Y/n: "I'm fine Arthur." I pick up a bit of speed to match Trelawny's with Arthur and Javier behind.

Once we see the boat has reached it's stop Arthur pulls out his binocular's and take a look at Sean being kicked off. Quite literally. I chuckled a bit at the action.

Javier: "So who are these bounty hunters?"

Arthur: "Don't know too much about Ike Skelding's boys, but I hear they're a big crew and wild. Built some reputation in the last year or two."

Javier: "That looks like Sean to me..."

Arthur: "Sure is."

Trelawny: Oh yes. They're taking him up the canyon.

Arthur: There's Charles, on the other side. Let's go.

Javier: What about the other two down there?

Y/n: "I think I got somethin?" I kick off into a small gallop, the other's behind.

Javier: We should do this quietly if we can.

Y/n: "Of course, darlin." We reach the bottom of the cliff opposite side of the bounty hunter's.

Y/n: "I'll create a distraction then you know the rest obviously." I unclip my belt containing my gun and knife, unbutton my shirt a bit more and move my boobs more upward to show more cleavage, giving my h/l, h/c hair a small rustle. I slide off my bandolier and hand it to Trelawny along with my belt. Gaining the stares of Javier and Arthur.

Y/n: "Hold this." I kick off on my horse into a quick trot across the river and slide off my horse and run up to the bounty hunter's frantically.

Y/n: "Gentleman, can you please help me?!"

Bounty Hunter: "What's the problem, young lady?" An evil conniving look on there faces as they come closer.

Y/n: "My daughter. She has seemed to fallen ill and her breathing is very frail." I attempt to brim up some tears.

Bounty Hunter: "Well, calm down Miss. Why don't 1 of us come with you to help?" They both laugh to eachother. I notice Arthur and Javier getting ready, that's when I wipe my eye's and look them in there eye's and say in a flat tone.

Y/n: "No, that won't be necessary." That's when I see a knife pierce through there chest and blood squirt out of the wound and onto my shirt.

'White wasn't a good color for this.'

Arthur had a crazed look in his eye walking up to me and grabbing my arm.

Arthur: "You okay?"

Y/n: "Yeah, let's keep going."

Trelawny: "You'll need this my dear girl. Wonderful acting." He compliments handing me my belt and bandolier. I waste no time in putting it back into it's original spot.

Y/n: "Thanks Trelawny. See ya around." Trelawny bids us a farewell and takes off on his horse. I pick up 1 of the Carbine repeaters off the dead bounty hunters and start making my way up the canyon. I take cover behind a rock that's on a slope going uphill. Javier next to me and Arthur taking cover on a rock behind us.

Javier: "We got two halfway up the canyon to deal with. We're gonna have to shoot our way up there."

Y/n: "Okay." I nod my head and look at the Bounty hunter's ahead and back at Javier. I stand up and put the Carbine on my back and pull out the revolver. Aiming it towards the chest of the men. I tighten my grip on the handle and waste no time pulling the trigger. Gun smoke and powder from that 1 bullet fills my nostrils. I glance at the gun and back at the man I shot to see how he clutched his chest and fell to the ground. Javier and Arthur start shooting after I took my shot. I take cover and throw some shots at more of the bounty hunter's with ease. I holster my revolver once Arthur takes the last shot killing the last bounty hunter blocking our path upwards.

Javier: "Vamos!" He runs upward to our next point of cover. I right behind him. I pull out the carbine and holster the revolver and start taking shots to the men on the higher altitudes. Some getting headshots and other's just to the chest.

'I'm so glad the recoil isn't too bad on these.' A smirk appears on my face as I kill them left and right. Once we cleared the area we begin to move further up.

Javier: "I see Charles up there." He points out as I see Charles and the Bounty Hunter begin to come and swing at Charles with a machete.

Y/n: "I must've missed 1." I chuckle out, wasting no time in taking aim and squeezing the trigger. The bullet zips out of the gun and flies straight into the man's head.

Y/n: "No shit. I wasn't really aiming. I was hoping for the best." I laugh out. Javier and Arthur exchange worried glances before looking at me.

Y/n: "Don't give me that look." Javier starts to make his way up the pass but is stopped by rider's. My breath hitched from this. Arthur comes up right next to me and begins to shoot them down left and right.

Arthur: "Come on, let's go." He pants out pulling me with him as we climb up the steep hill. Even I was having trouble keeping a steady breath.

Once we make it to the top of the steep slope were greeted by 2 more men.

Y/n: "Are you fucking serious?" I pull out the handgun and squeeze the trigger a few time to the man closest to me. The bullets landing in his chest, Arthur pulls me behind him as I catch my breath and he finishes the last man off.

Arthur: "You good?" He asks worriedly.

Y/n: "Yeah, I'm just so out of shape for this. Let's go." I pant out and lightly jog following the path around to a main dirt road regrouping with Charles.

Charles: "Their camp's up this way, come on."

Javier: "I'll take the left side, Charles. You go right, okay? Let's take these hijos de putas!" I reload the carbine as we come up on the camp. Charles and Javier taking cover.

Arthur: "Goddamn army of these bastards. How much is Sean's bounty?"

Charles: "Maybe we should turn him in ourselves."

Y/n: "Shoot the red canisters! It's full of something that's gonna explode!"

Javier: "What?"

Y?N: Watch!" I take aim at a red canister sitting on a crate where 2 men were hiding behind. I take a deep breath and squeeze the trigger. As if time slowed I could see the bullet sip right out and hit the explosive substance creating a small volatile reaction killing the men and destroying the crate they were behind. I take cover with Arthur.

Javier: "Ohh, I see you amor." He starts aiming and shooting every red canister he see's. Arthur shooting at the men at the higher vantage points and Charles and I killing the men that the explosive substance misses. We push up with ease and clear the camp of men. I take a few more looks around ensuring the area is clear before making my way to Sean. I swing the carbine on my back as Arthur and I approach Sean. Arthur unsheathes his knife and begins to cut Sean down.

Sean: "Arthur. You know... you're a lot less ugly from that other angle, Arthur." He hits the ground, I take the knife from Arthur and beging to cut the bindings from around his ankles.

Sean: "And you. I have never laid eye on a woman such as immaculate such as yourself."

Y/n: "Don't get me all excited now." I chuckle. Sean laughs as well as he stands up wist some help of Javier.

Sean: "Do I get a hug, Arthur? A warm embrace for a lost brother, now found?"

Arthur: You know... nothing means more to me than this gang. The bond we share... it's the most real thing to me. I would kill for it, I would happily die for it... but in spite of all that... Arthur I would have easily left you here to rot... If Charles hadn't stopped me. He says with a small smile with his hand on his shoulder.

Sean: "I don't believe a word of that, Arthur."

Arthur: "Get him out of here." I take my place back beside Arthur a big smirk on my face. Suddenly I see red ooze out of Arthur's arm.

Sean: "You're a great man, Arthur Morgan... the kind a young whippersnapper can really admire." I chuckle

Arthur: "Oh shut up. Right, we should split up. Javier, will you escort Mr. Macguire back to camp. Charles, best you ride separately. Be careful, there's patrols everywhere."

Javier: "What about you 2?"

Arthur: "I'm gonna see what's worth taking here. We'll meet you back there as soon as I get done."

Sean: "Don't ruin her mood with that grumpy face you always have on." I roll my eyes as they mount up and take off.

I wave as I watch them ride off.

Arthur: "We're you shot at all?" I turn around and start to take off his coat. He grabs my hands.

Arthur: "What are you doin?" He says with a small chuckle. I take my hands back and gesture at his arm.

Y/n: "I wasn't but you sure have been?" I get back to taking off his coat. I go to unbutton his shirt but he puts his hands up in protest. That's when I notice some more blood on his chest.

Y/n: "Arthur!" I exclaim. He unbuttons his shirt and his exposes his chest. The outline of his abs definatley could make anyone drool. I'm sure I was staring before I brought myself back out of it. I rip off a bit of excess shirt and grab a health cure. Arthur sits on a crate as I begin to tend to his wound. I try to be gentle because I know it can sting.

'He doesn't even flinch.'

I feel his eyes on me as I tend to him.

Arthur: "This ain't necessary."

Y/n: "Then why are you letting me?" I flash a smile at him. I throw the cloth behind me and step away from him, popping the lid back on the health cure and set it next to him. I make my way over to my horse. Arthur a bit behind me as he buttons his shirt back up and throws his jacket on.

Arthur: "Thank you." He says nonchalantly.

Y/n: "Oh no, the pleasures all mine cowboy." I say with a wink before mounting up. I see the blood in his face turn bright red before climbing up and tilting his hat downward to cover his face. He take the lead and I follow behind him.

#arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #future smut #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 fandom #im tryin my best #rdr2 smut #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan smut #high honor arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead redemption two #arthur morgan imagine

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a-libra-writes · 4 years

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Being the Camp Doctor for the RDR2 Gang

added two characters no one asked for you cant stop me. still tryna get the hang of these guys!

In this imagine, you’ll be fixin up: Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Dutch van Der Linde, Hosea Matthews, Sadie Adler, Micah Bell, Charles Smith, Bill Williamson, Javier Escuella, Sean MacGuire, Lenny Summers, Kieran Duffy, Tilly Jackson, Mary-Beth Gaskill, Karen Jones, Flaco Hernandez, Mr. Horley

ARTHUR MORGAN

Arthur is grateful and appreciative of you, really! He just isn’t always comfortable going to you for help. He figures he shouldn’t bother you and he should fix his own mess, but all it takes is a stern look for him to sigh and agree to let you have a look. He gets hot under the collar when you lean in so close and touch him so kindly, so he’d really be itching for some small talk on your part. He feels like whenever he starts it, he says weird things, and his train of thought starts leaving the station when he catches a whiff of your perfume.

The whole experience gives him a mess of emotions, especially if you look after him while he’s sick (he ain’t the best patient) but Arthur can’t imagine going to anyone else when he’s hurt. He just likes your gentle touch too much. To repay you in his own way, he’ll bring any medicines and herbs he finds. Heck, you could give him a grocery list of things you need and he’ll come right back with all of it.

JOHN MARSTON

John can’t go a week without hurting himself in some way, but he’s the type to get up, wipe the blood off and ignore it. Or just forget about it - so many times you’ve scolded him for coming to you only when an infection is setting in. It became a joke with the gang that John would mysteriously go missing anytime you went looking for him. You’d have to sneak up on him and pounce, sweetly asking why he’s never mentioned the fingers he broke a week ago. At least when he’s sick, he can’t go anywhere, so he has no choice but to sit and let you check up on him. The attention embarrasses him to no end so thank god for the excuse that the fever is making him red.

However, things were a little different after the wolf attack. You stitched him up neatly, and he was so tired, he let you fuss. You did him a serious favor, he thought, and he felt like he sorta owed you. John wasn’t sure what he’d do to make it up to you, but he could at least sit through your check-ups in the coming weeks, even if they got him feeling all sorts of things.

DUTCH VAN DER LINDE

He doesn't kid himself about what a valuable asset you are to the gang. He’s damn lucky he found you, and luckier that you agreed to work with him. Dutch is loud about telling people to go see you and ensures the medicine cart has what it needs, or everyone is in trouble. He likes to flatter you, both about how appreciated you are and how excellent your skills are. Both points are true, but he mostly does it because you’re cute and he wants to be on your good side. Even if you’re a capable shooter, he’d rather you stay in camp where you’re safe and not in the middle of danger. He’s very stubborn about this.

Dutch rarely gets himself hurt or sick, but he’ll still see you so he has a chance to be fussed over. Obviously, he won’t do it in front of everyone - he’d rather you treat any wounds he gets in his tent. He’s just needy like that and he enjoys watching your nimble hands mix this or stitch that. He might hang around the medicine cart while you treat others to watch you work … and discourage anyone else from flirting.

HOSEA MATTHEWS

Like Dutch, Hosea appreciates you and knows you’re an important part of the gang. He’ll be the one nagging others to see you when they’re hurt and sick and telling them to be still and let you work. You’ve helped him many a time as well, except not just with injuries. When he began to develop his cough, you noticed right away and asked him to try all sorts of comforting teas you put together. He told you not to fuss over him, but he couldn’t refuse something you worked so hard on … and they’re delicious. He has no idea how you made leaf water so appealing.

On a side-note, Hosea likes watching you read your medical books because you have such an interesting expression when you study them. You’ll write notes in the margins and there’s probably a dozen bookmarks in it, it makes him proud in a strange way, like you’re working this hard to help others. He likes to sit next to you and see which chapter you’re working on this time.

SADIE ADLER

You were the one who helped her after she was brought to Colter, and she was in a daze through most of it. Once the group was off the mountain, she stayed close to your medicine wagon, appreciating your calm presence. Sadie finally thanked you then, since you seemed different than the others. She didn’t have much interest in medicine, but helping you was better than dealing with Pearson. Crushing herbs and cutting bandages helped keep her mind off things, and gradually you two began to talk and get to know each other better.

Later when she joined in on the gang’s jobs, she was often visiting you, only half-listening to your warnings to be more careful. Since she helped make your medicines, she knows what ingredients you need, so to make up for her recklessness she’ll often bring you supplies. When you fix her up, she takes good care of the wound so you don’t have to fuss with it later.

MICAH BELL

Even though Micah knew how skilled you were, he never visited you. He’s not the type to seek help even if his insides are melting. He claims he never gets sick and he wouldn’t be so stupid as to get himself shot up - though not two weeks later, you spent an hour digging a bullet out of him. He drank through most of it to avoid showing how painful it was, but your stitches were quick and neat, and they didn’t bother him much. You kept checking up on him too, and you were glad he was taking care of the stitches. Micah wasn’t doing anything, really, he just knew it was stupid to mess with them (your compliment was nice, though).

When you removed them, you were happy that everything healed so well. You kept touching his arm and moving it, he finally had to pull it away because the realization that he hadn’t made anyone that pleased in a while was uncomfortable. After that, seeing you so close to the other men as you helped them tended to get him antsy. He still won’t go to you of his own violation when he’s hurt or sick; he hopes you’ll notice and go to him with that worried look on your face.

CHARLES SMITH

For many years he’s had to take care of himself, no matter if he was hurt or sick. He does … a decent job, but not great, he’ll admit. So when he joined the gang, he was grateful there was someone like you around. Charles appreciates your neat stitches and how careful and considerate you are. When he came down with a small cold, you were right there with some medicine you made, even if he was still new. That sort of consideration just really gives him a pleasant, happy feeling, so he’s more than glad to help you out. Just give him a list of herbs you need, he insists on it. He’ll get some sinew and bone for you to make needles and thread out of, too.

Charles likes to hang out when you’re making your own medicines and ointments. He recalls his mother doing something similar, so it’s very interesting to him. If you wouldn’t mind, he’d like to know how you do it, and how you know what to use. Also, when one of your patients is being difficult, he’s the one to walk over and tell them to behave.

BILL WILLIAMSON

He wants to be the “tough guy” and brush off any injury, even if it really hurts, and he doesn’t want to admit when he’s feeling like death ... But the thing is, you’re nice. Sweet, even, and you have pretty hands and you’re so caring. You worry about him, so he feels rotten for not taking care of himself and going to see you. You check up on him too, make sure everything is healing alright, and it always gets him red-faced and nervous. There’s definitely been a few awkward but well-intended compliments.

Probably because of his crush, he’s a very good patient when he’s sick. He hates feeling that awful so he’ll do whatever you say to get better. Everyone’s very amused at how obedient Bill has suddenly become, since before you showed up he’d just be a pain in the ass. Bill has no idea how to repay you, so he’ll bring you things that he thinks are useful, like some questionable bottles he thought were legitimate medicine.

JAVIER ESCUELLA

Javier likes to stop by your cart for silly things like a “broken heart”, just so he can chat with you and hang around. He appreciates your skills and compassion; he’s sure most of these guys would’ve bled out if you weren’t there, and he tells you so. While Javier played the tough guy in his adulthood and pretended he was fine, sitting with you brings back memories of when he was a kid and getting patched up by his ma. Watching your fingers move so expertly and carefully impresses him, and your compassion at how he’s feeling gets him all fluttery.

He loves that sort of nurturing nature, so he’s an extra obedient patient for you and does his best to look after the injuries you fixed up. And while Javier normally hates people seeing him when he’s snotty and sick, he loves how you take care of him. He doesn’t even hide how pleased he is with your bedside manner.

SEAN MACGUIRE

No surprise, Sean acts tough when he gets the stuffing beat out of him, pretending it doesn’t hurt even as he wobbles. He’ll go to your medicine cart because you must want to chat, not because he’s convinced he broke a rib and he has half a mind to ask if they grow back (he often asks you stupid “medical” questions). He’s his usual big-headed flirty self as you treat him, flavored with plenty of jokes and occasional yelps from pain. So many times Sean has had to go back to you because he accidentally opened his stitches or sprained his wrist again. Hey, he gets to see you again, so it’s not that bad.

Actually, you rarely have to check up on Sean because he likes hanging around your cart even when he’s feeling fine and has other things he should be doing. When he’s actually recovering from something, be it wound or sickness, he trails you like a puppy, asking you to take another look just in case. When he’s totally wasted he’ll steal this legit-looking snake oil and very proudly presents it to you before staggering off somewhere.

LENNY SUMMERS

Lenny is reasonable, he sees no shame in visiting you when he’s needing to be patched up or feeling under the weather. He hates feeling sick so he’s on point with taking the medicine you give him. And honestly … being treated by you, especially for colds and stuff, gets him a little case of the feelings. It reminds him of being back home, taking some remedy his mama put together to help a sore throat or bad cough. You often noticed this sentimental look on his face whenever you made him something.

He’s very interested in the whole process, so sometimes he accompanies you as you gather herbs or make medicine and asks you how it works. Eventually Lenny starts helping you out and being something of an assistant, although patching up bullet wounds and stitching skin makes him a bit queasy. He thinks your medical books are beyond cool and likes to read them, even if the information can be a bit dense. When he’s out he likes to search for similar books and hopes they’re useful to you.

KIERAN DUFFY

You were the one who treated the wounds he received when he was captured - the gang was willing to just leave them be, but Kieran overheard you arguing that you weren’t about to leave a man bleeding all over the place. You sounded tough and he flinched when you showed up with the needle, but once you started patching him up he was in awe of how gentle and careful you were. You kept asking if it hurt, and for the next few days you’d come by with medicine to make sure everything was healing alright. Kieran had never had such kind attention like that since… Well, he couldn’t remember.

Afterward he knew he had to thank you somehow. His theoretical leash was still short, but he could look after the horses that pulled your cart. You realized how knowledgeable he was, so while you taught him about medicine for people, he’d teach you things about helping your horses. It goes without saying he grins like a dork whenever you thank him for it.

TILLY JACKSON

She’s not the sort to be squeamish around blood, but that doesn’t mean she wants to be assigned to stitching up the boys when they get themselves in foolish situations. The good side is Tilly enjoys spending time with you, since you both are usually too busy with different things to chat. So when it’s her turn to be your assistant, she takes full advantage, catching you up with what’s been going on. If you’re more introverted she has all sorts of fun gossip, if you’re more outgoing she’ll encourage you to go on jobs with her and the girls, or just have fun with them. She’s also usually the one washing the blood out of your bandages before you disinfect them, so you have her to thank for that.

Tilly likes helping you gather ingredients to make medicine. Something about it just tickles her, like you know some secret that no one else does. She’s the biggest fan of your teas because nothing else helps her get through a headache, and if that wasn’t already a reason to like you, you’re so nice when she’s sick. She’s never had anyone be so attentive and kind to her when she’s ill, and it gets her a little embarrassed at how happy it makes her.

MARY-BETH GASKILL

Oof, she really doesn’t like helping you clean up blood and guts, or lord forbid digging out bullets (once was enough!). So instead, she’ll steal you some good quality medicines and supplies she spotted, or she takes over your chores so you can rest after a night of patching wounds. A big reason she’s so grateful is because at the orphanage, no one gave a damn if she was puking her guts or gushing blood. The first time she was having horrible cramps she tried to hide it, but you were so sweet and empathetic. You gave her some strange tea, bundled her up with a blanket and set warm bricks wrapped in cloth to soothe the pain. She’d never been so tended to in her life, it made her speechless.

After that Mary-Beth was in your corner. She’ll actually raise her voice and scold anyone who's being a difficult patient! And if someone is feeling even a little off, she’ll push them toward you. Karen teases her for having a crush, but that’s not it at all! She’s just grateful! Of course, this has all inspired her to start writing a romance about a soldier and a nurse he meets, so now you’ll catch her staring and furiously scribbling notes.

KAREN JONES

Karen is a regular visitor because she ain’t about to deal with cramps or a cold if she can help it. She dislikes being slowed down because of her own body, and you’ve also assisted with some morning-after medicine and never told the camp or judged her for it. She respects you, but still likes to tease you about your “bookish” tendencies. She insists you need to stop fussing over everyone and do something for yourself. “Let them boys fend for themselves! Give ‘em a bottle of whiskey an’ a needle, they’ll figure it out.”

Karen doesn’t have patience or steady hands, so she doesn’t help directly with surgery, but she’ll clean up the mess afterward. A little-known fact is she’s the one who's responsible for the tidy way your medicine cart is laid out. It’s like organizing bottles of perfume and make-up, she says, so you can find things much easier now. She knows your teas and medicines work well, but she hates the taste, so she’ll add a shot of whiskey or a dollop of honey to help it go down.

FLACO HERNANDEZ

He’s always looked after himself, as his many scars can attest. He can get the job done, more or less, and he’s dug out a few bullets from himself and others. That’s less of a problem nowadays, considering his remote location, and few things get past his thick coat. Still, Flaco admires your skills. He hasn’t gotten to see you in action too much, but you’ve talked about people you’ve helped and the gang you tend to. He likes this caring, cautious nature of your’s.

You couldn’t believe he didn’t even have bandages in his little cabin, so you put together a little box filled with bandages, ointments and medicines you’ve made yourself. Flaco tries to put on his usual gruff front, telling you not to bother with things like that, but he’s so touched. It takes him way back, reminding him of his mother and grandmother, both respected curanderas. He hasn’t thought of that in a long time. Anytime you brew something for him to help with aches or sleeping, he’ll drink it with a raspy laugh.

MR. HORLEY

Well it's a good thing you have this skill, he thinks, because the lord knows you and your gang get into all sorts of trouble. Anytime Mr. Horley sees neat little stitches on you or your friends, he figures it's your work, and they heal well afterward. He never gets himself hurt, so he hasn't had a chance to see you work, but you'll still offer him some tea leaves you grew. At first he took it to be polite, but he and Mrs. LeClerk actually enjoyed it a lot. Jessica sends him to get more tea and medicine from you, half because she prefers your recipes, half because she wants you both to chat more.

At some point Mrs. LeClerk had need of your skills, so he employed you to discreetly patch up some of her associates. That’s when he got to see you work, and he gave you several genuine compliments you didn’t expect. They were in his usual serious voice, but he meant it. He keeps his eyes and ears out for work you can do, just in case you drop by that day.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #john marston x reader #dutch van der linde x reader #hosea matthews x reader #sadie adler x reader #micah bell x reader #charles smith x reader #bill williamson x reader #javier escuella x reader #sean macguire x reader #lenny summers x reader #kieran duffy x reader #tilly jackson x reader #mary-beth gaskill x reader #karen jones x reader #flaco hernandez x reader #mr horley x reader

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littlestarofthewest · 3 years

Note

Valentine drabble request you say? Well, if you're up for it, could I maybe request something Morbell related (if you even write that)? Maybe a flustered Micah trying to find a good gift for Arthur? Thank you!

I've never written Morbell before but I gave it a shot. Hope you like 😆

Guns make for good Flowers

Pairing: Arthur x Micah | Words: 2260 | SFW

Micah lifts up the bottles in the box one after the other, trying to find a full one. It's hard to get smashed if you don't have the booze. Behind him, Pearson talks to Strauss, saying something about when to give his present to Susan. Micah wonders what the occasion for a gift would be, but then he finds two full bottles and forgets all about it.

At least until two days later. Mary-Beth, Tilly, and Karen are talking about gifts as well. Micah hangs around, curious after all, and finally catches on. Valentine's day. It seems that everybody gives somebody else a gift.

Micah shrugs it off. He most certainly has better things to do with his time and money than gift shopping. Besides, he knows for sure that nobody would give him anything, so why would he bother?

Despite his disinterest in the whole ordeal, it keeps coming up. Abigail has something for Jack, of course, and Jack wants to give something to Sadie to cheer her up. Sean's got a present for Karen, Charles is making something for Tilly, and so on.

Every day, Micah hears something new, caring about it or not. Even lazy Uncle gets involved, and two days before Valentine's day, John, of all people, found a great gift for Abigail.

Micah's about to give him shit for it when all the conversations of the last days wander through his mind. Mary-Beth insists on giving a present to the O'Driscoll boy, Molly and Dutch give each other gifts, and Susan takes care of Hosea, but there's one name Micah hasn't heard at all. Arthur.

For the rest of the day, Micah keeps snooping around. This time, he actually tries to find out who will give something to whom, and by evening his first assessment still stands. Nobody thought about Arthur.

While most of the gang already sits by the fire, Arthur comes in late after a job. He hands Pearson two rabbits he must have shot on the way and puts some money in the collection box before he passes out on his cot, not even caring to take his boots off.

The sight gnaws at Micah, and the happy chatter of the others annoys him even more. He wishes he could laugh about Arthur being left out, but somehow it doesn't sit right with him.

Micah can certainly live without an ugly Valentine's card, but ever since he joined the gang, he's never seen Arthur rest longer than needed. It's a shame that the gang members forgot all about their little workhorse.

After emptying his bottle, Micah gets up to find a place for the night. He doesn't need much sleep, but shutting his eyes for a moment can't hurt. On his way, he avoids the singing Reverend, and Uncle who's asking around for money. That's how he ends up hiding behind a wagon, Arthur's wagon.

Micah sits down and leans against it, enjoying the irony. He can hear Arthur's quiet snores, knowing that this man is in for a surprise soon. If Arthur's lucky, he'll be out of the camp on Valentine's day. Maybe that's what people are counting on.

----------

"You want some company, mister?"

Micah turns to the girl approaching him. She's fairly pretty, and probably older and therefore more experienced than she looks. All in all, she would be a nice thing to spend his money on, but ever since yesterday, Micah's thoughts drift when he's not careful.

Instead of taking a closer look at the girl's ample bosom, Micah thinks about Arthur, and the money in his pocket feels heavy as if it wants to stay in there. "Not today, sweetheart."

Micah downs his drink and walks outside, looking along the street. On the other side, the general store's doorbell is ringing when a customer leaves, and Micah is drawn to it like the moth to a flame.

It's empty inside except for the store owner, who greets him with great enthusiasm. Micah ignores him to take a look around, his eyes falling on some journals and pencils, but he knows Arthur has enough of those.

Walking along a shelf with booze, Micah stops, horrified. He asks himself what Arthur might like, and it dawns on him that he's looking for a gift for Arthur. He didn't mean to do it, but the thought of Arthur not getting a present seems so wrong.

It's probably just him thinking ahead. Micah might act as a simple bully, but he has ways to make people lean his way. If everybody but Micah has forgotten Arthur, then they might be grateful that he thought of him.

Booze doesn't seem enough, though. Micah checks out the products for horses, knowing how fond Arthur is of his horrible black monster, but again, it's something Arthur could get himself. Even a watch doesn't come close to an appropriate gift.

With an annoyed grunt, Micah leaves the store, looking along the main street again. There's a tailor, but Micah can't be sure about Arthur's size. He could invite him to a drink at the saloon, but Micah doubts that Arthur would agree to it.

Taking a deep breath, Micah looks up at the burning sun, hoping for inspiration, when something hits his eye from the side. A reflection. Turning to it, Micah watches a guy who puts a shiny new rifle onto his horse, and Micah's eyes fall on the building behind the man. It's a gun store.

An idea pops up in Micah's head, and he crosses the street with a smile on his face.

---------

The whole day, the camp is busy like a beehive. People hurry back and forth, giving away their presents, and soon, everybody walks around with something new. A lovely shawl around a girl's shoulders or a new necklace or braclet - made, bought, or probably stolen -, bottles of booze, books, a new shirt, or even boots.

The only person not in the midst of all that is Arthur. He's sitting on his cot, writing in that stupid journal of his. Micah keeps a look on him for a while, but nobody's approaching him, and Arthur doesn't seem to be giving away a gift of his own.

Micah is tempted to keep what he bought to himself, but the longer he looks at Arthur, the more curious he gets about what his reaction would be to the present. Even if he tells Micah to piss off, Micah wants to know. He wants to hear it from Arthur.

When the rest of the gang seems busy enough, Micah walks over to Arthur, the gift hidden under his coat. He gets in position, ready to greet Arthur, but Arthur already slaps the journal shut and looks up to him.

"What do you want, Micah?"

"Oh, I could think about a few things I'd desire," Micah says, determined to stand his ground. "The question is what you want."

"Peace and quiet," Arthur grunts, and Micah is about to tease him about Valentine's day when he takes a look at Arthur's table.

Yesterday, it was empty except for a photograph and the stupid little glass flower. Now there are arrows, cigarettes and a cigar, sweets, hunting and fishing materials, and other small trinkets.

Micah can feel his heart sink. He's been so focused on thinking that nobody would give Arthur a present that he didn't consider the obvious alternative. It looks like everybody gave Arthur a gift.

Arthur follows Micah's gaze and rubs his neck as he looks up to him. "Look, Micah-"

"I've got something for you," Micah interrupts him, forcing himself to say it before he can chicken out.

"What?"

Micah gets the box out from under his coat and pushes it at Arthur, who looks like it's stuffed with dynamite and might explode in his hands. He still opens it, and his mouth falls open.

There's a chance Micah might have overdone it a little, but he didn't want to look cheap. The revolver he bought has a unique grip, and the letters A and M are carved in next to a coyote. Micah's not even sure why. He just liked the look of it, and in a weak moment, he entertained the idea that the M might not stand for Morgan.

"Remember the holster I gave you?" Micah asks, feeling the need to explain himself. "Didn't make much sense without a gun."

Arthur still looks like he's in a trance, running his fingertips over the weapon. "You're giving me this? Why?"

If Micah only knew. He's still not sure what devil rode him the last few days. "I'm actually a pretty nice guy, cowpoke."

"Yeah, right," Arthur huffs, but he takes the weapon out of the box, squinting at the engraving.

Micah feels heat rushing up his neck and to his ears, afraid that Arthur might catch on to the double meaning of the letters.

"So, don't shoot anything I wouldn't," he says before walking away.

"Micah!" Arthur shouts behind him, and when Micah turns around, he sees that Arthur has gotten to his feet. "Thank you."

Arthur's voice is quiet, barely audible over the camp's noises, but the words still ring in Micah's ears. He can't remember the last time Arthur has spoken to him in a friendly manner, and he definitely never thanked him. Micah tips his hat, unable to speak, and he decides to get out of there.

He heads for the main campfire, but then he takes a detour, passing behind one of the wagons and heading into the woods. He finds a quiet spot and pulls out one of his own guns. It looks a little worn compared to the new one Micah gave Arthur.

With a sigh, he puts it back in his holster, ready to get himself something to drink and pass out somewhere, when a figure steps out of the trees next to him. Micah's about ready to draw and shoot, but it's only Arthur.

"You following me, cowpoke?"

Arthur doesn't say anything, his hand hovering over his holster. Micah's heart beats faster, but it makes no sense that Arthur would pick today of all days to shoot him.

With a swift movement, Arthur draws his gun, but he points it at a nearby tree instead of Micah. "That's a fine weapon, not cheap. Why would you give me that?"

"What would you want me to give you? Flowers?"

Arthur comes closer, the weapon still in his hand. Micah figures that he probably shouldn't mouth off to him, but he can't help himself.

"Why would you give me anything at all?" Arthur asks.

"These degenerates out there have been talking about giving each other gifts all damn week, but nobody ever mentioned your name. Just didn't seem right."

Arthur huffs a laugh. "So you decided to be my Valentine?"

"Shut up, Morgan, or I'll-"

"You what?" Arthur interrupts him. He's not raising the gun, but Micah knows full well he's playing with his life, so he stays quiet.

Arthur swirls the gun around and slips it back into its holster before stepping even closer. "I've got something for you, too."

Micah looks Arthur up and down, waiting for a knife to appear, but instead, Arthur grabs him by the throat. Adrenaline rushes through Micah's body, but Arthur's fingers only rest there, not choking him. Micah swallows a few times, knowing that Arthur can feel it. He wishes he could draw his weapon or fight back in any way, but he's too curious about what Arthur might do.

For now, Arthur's holding Micah's gaze with those piercing blue eyes, then he runs his fingers along Micah's neck, down to the first button of his shirt that he actually cared to close. Arthur fists his fingers into the fabric and pulls Micah close. They're only inches apart, breathing the same air.

Micah's still waiting for something terrible to happen, a trick, or Arthur at least insulting him. Instead, Arthur puts his other hand on Micah's neck, his fingers digging into his hair. He draws Micah closer, so slowly that it borders on torture. Micah's heart is about to leap out of his chest, but then it just seems to give out when Arthur kisses him.

It's not nice and soft, but harsh and with force. Arthur kisses him as if he needs to punish Micah, but Micah can't say that he minds. He grabs Arthur's arm, feeling how his muscles strain, unwilling to let him go. Not that Micah wants to escape.

He lets Arthur in, getting a good taste of him when their tongues rub against each other. Arthur barely gives him a chance to breathe, and when he finally lets go, Micah feels like he could pass out any second.

Arthur leans in, his lips touching Micah's ear as he whispers to him. "Tell anybody about this, and I'll make good use of that new gun."

Micah's still too overwhelmed to answer, only able to look after Arthur as he disappears into the trees. Taking in a deep breath, Micah leans back against the tree behind him. From all the possible outcomes, Arthur picked the one Micah didn't see coming in a million years.

With a sigh, he walks back to camp, longing more than ever for a drink. When he settles down by the fire with a bottle, he finds Arthur already sitting there. They share a look, and one thing becomes clear to Micah. He's prepared to give Arthur the whole damn gun store if he can get another kiss like that.

#morbell #rdr2 fanfic #fulfilled requests #my writing

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sentanixiv · 3 years

Text

Tomorrow’s Problem

Something sweet to offset the feels that I attacked y’all with yesterday. John Marston suffering through the poor life choice of drinking more whiskey than his liver and body can tolerate.

Birds chirping have no right to sound the way they do this morning, piercing calls penetrating the deep fog of sleep and waking not only John, but also the heavy, aching pain of having indulged too much in liquor and too little in sleep after celebrating the success of their take late into the night. He groans, a sound which in itself is too loud, and drags the thin pillow of the hotel room bed over his face like it’ll smother noise. Or maybe him, because each second spent being dragged into the state of waking has him feeling nothing but regret.

Think you oughta slow up there, Marston. Keep at it and you ain’t gonna be fit for living come morning.

Even the recollection of Arthur teasing him about the pace with which he kept downing shot after shot sounds too loud and he buries his face in the mattress as though peace and quiet’ll be found somewhere between the feathers and springs that separate him from the bedframe and the floor beneath it.

That’s something for tomorrow John to deal with.

The cocky remark’d sounded witty, damn near hilarious when he snapped it out and tossed back the next shot in a line of too many that blurred the hours together, made hazy the hands of poker he’d played, then inspired his running into the alley, leaning a hand on the wall as he emptied his stomach of too much whiskey and too little food out onto the muddy ground. Vaguely, he remembers Arthur coming out to find him, holding back his hair and offering a rare find: Cloth-wrapped ice, a premium in these parts, that he was able to rest on the back of his neck, then against his forehead as the drinks wound down and his stomach knotted up, bringing with it a misery that’s three times worse this morning.

Let’s get you back to the room, Marston. You ain’t in any shape to stick ‘round here.

That explains how he got back here, their small safe haven of a hotel room in a town looking out for two degenerates that robbed a payroll stage late yesterday morning. Hazy memories fling themselves out of the dark void that follows the actions in the alley, then of John stumbling under Arthur’s guided patience up each stair and down the hall, of fumbling off the layers down to his union suit and then getting the brilliant idea of stripping Arthur down to have some fun, of being told to hold off for some time he ain’t drunk, so’s there’s no regrets about it, and then it fogs up into the murky sleep that he’s slowly pulling free of. John knows that any regret he feels would not have been from getting rowdy; every ounce of it relates to the sheer amount of alcohol he packed into his gut before his body stirred a riot against it. Still, he figures Arthur had it right, because he ain’t sure he’d’ve remembered the fun of it with the way he feels right now, ready to roll over and play dead if that’d make the hangover stop.

Only, he can’t. They need to ride out, connect with Dutch and the others a couple towns south, and that means John has to roll off the mattress and piece himself together no matter that he feels worse than shit dragged twice through the pigsty. He is ready to try sitting up when the creaking hinges of the door split open his head anew and he curls up into a ball in the middle of the bed, palms pressing against his temples to force his skull back together and a whimper slipping from him.

Gentler the door is when it closes, but the screech is the same to his sensitive hearing; the low rumble of a chuckle, however, is the first sound since waking that doesn’t make him want to wither and die under the cotton-and-nails chaos inside his head. John moves the heel of one hand to his forehead, pressing against the ache there, and the other peels back the pillow until he catches the blurry sight of Arthur walking soft and quiet across the room, setting a plate of something on the bedside and then nudging a cool tin hug moist with the condensation of cold water against the hand that’s holding back the poor barricade the pillow provides against the world.

“You’s gonna be fine, John,” Arthur tells him, voice pitched low and quiet where it doesn’t drive deeper the spikes of the hangover in his head.

John groans at the sentiment regardless, turning his face back into the mattress. “Don’t feel fine,” he whines, knowing it sure is a whine by the pathetic lilt of it. “Shootin’ me’d be doing me a kindness right now.”

The cold touch of the mug lifts as Arthur sits down on the bed next to him, a sigh let out to vent whatever chiding frustration he wants to bring up about warning him off drinking that much. “C’mon,” is what he says instead and he’s carefully brushing John’s hair back from his face, carding his fingers through it and coaxing him to turn his head towards him. “Got you some water, need you to drink it.”

Broken bones or gunshot wounds and John’d resist the treatment, but he’s feeling miserable and lets Arthur slowly get him up, braces an elbow under himself to hold himself there, half lying down, as Arthur puts the mug to his lips and lets him sip at it slowly. Cool water floods his mouth, dives deep into him and it’s the second soothing thing he’s felt this morning. The first is Arthur being here at all, being gentle over abrasive, and he figures it’s because ain’t no one else around to call him out for being soft on John. They’ve been riding a string of paired off jobs, the two of them, and some of Arthur’s harsh edges start wearing down the longer and further they are from the gang, from the expectations of it, from the work he seems to think falls squarely on his shoulders to bear, the rules he figures his to enforce. Some days it makes John think about not going back, letting Arthur be himself more than this rough jackass he’s been sculpted into, but the thoughts always fade too fast. It’s family, the gang, found and kept; it ain’t something Arthur can leave and even John ain’t fond of the idea to separate from it when he knows the hell that’s life in this country.

“Got you some eggs and beans, bit of bread.” Arthur unknowingly breaks that line of thought before it draws him in with the temptation it, pulling the cup away to set it down.

The smell of food, and the idea of beans after the night he’s had, leaves John wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Ain’t hungry,” he says and it’s true, but the look he gets? The borderline aggravation muscled quick under the hold of patience? Tells him he’ll be trying to eat and hunger ain’t got a thing to do with it. There’ve been times when that look ends up with Arthur forcing food into him with a spoon and his fingers prying his mouth open, but that ain’t been a thing since his early teens, back when John knew nothing about trusting anyone but himself. “Fine,” he mutters. “I’ll try, just… gimme a few minutes here. Then I’ll eat’n we can ride out.”

The thought of riding with the way his stomach churns ain’t a fond one, but Hosea taught him oft enough that you dig the grave, you gotta fill it; sometimes, that means your pride’s what gets buried and sometimes it’s a body, but something needs to go there and he figures his pride will be the victim today. Reluctantly, John goes to push himself to a full sitting position, but Arthur puts a hand on his chest and pushes him back down to the mattress. Bewildered, he blinks and looks at him blankly.

“We ain’t goin’ nowhere yet,” Arthur says, wiping the moisture of the mug off his hand against the thin blanket of the bed, looking away at the windows that stand vigil over the main street.

Suspicion flares up and John frowns, almost makes the mistake of shaking his head and just barely holds off jarring his hungover brain by it. “We ain’t sticking idle because I drank too much,” he manages, though he’s not yet trying to push the hand away and right himself with any real effort. He’s tired and the water felt good, good enough that he’s starting to think that eating’s got potential too.

“We ain’t,” Arthur tells him flatly, leaving off the gentle press of his hand, a half-hearted pin he’d let keep him there, to stand up. “Heard a couple fellas last night talkin’ about the bank bringing in more money in a couple days, how they’s looking to pull law and security out of town to guard the stage when it comes in.”

Here he’s been thinking his drinking was stupid enough to land him in this state, now Arthur’s talking foolish plans about hitting the stage again? “No way we could pull off the same job twice,” John tells him, feeling odd being the one to point this out. All that added security means bodies and risks that they don’t have the manpower for.

Arthur grins and it ain’t bitter, it ain’t grim; it’s to the challenge, the idea of it being fun to him and that’s rarer the older they both get. “Ain’t never said we’d hit the stage again,” he says, hooking his thumb under his gunbelt. His eyes are bright, something that John ain’t seen since before Mary ended things and tore out what little heart Arthur had left. “All them folk pulled away to protect the stagecoach? Seems to me like we got a good chance of clearing out the bank while they’s all looking the other way.”

Two of them taking on a bank? The idea sits beyond the scope John can currently manage, his head threatening to split anew when he tries to sort the details, and he drops it down back onto the pillow with a grumbled, confused muttering. “How’s that supposed to go?”

There’s a shrug, a pat on his shoulder before Arthur starts towards the door. “I ain’t sure yet. You rest up, John. I’ll case the bank, see if we don’t got an opportunity too damn good to pass up.”

#morston #rdr2 #kichi writes #john marston pov #kind of a sick/comfort #it's sweeter than the other piece!

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sadman-morgan · 4 years

Text

Dance of Devotion

pairing: arthur morgan x female!reader

summary: A horribly shy Arthur struggles to gain the courage to ask you to dance.

word count: 1.8k

warnings: none, other than extreme fluff with one cowboy.

—

Arthur Morgan was a man not to fuck with. A life of crime and countless near-death experiences had him hardened more than diamond, but anyone close to him could confirm his heart of gold, and soul of pure devotion.

For years Arthur had believed that nothing could truly touch him. Nothing could break and pull out his true gooey, sugary-sweet interior.

All that changed the second he laid eyes on you.

You had been in camp for a few weeks now, instantly hitting it off with most of the other girls in camp. Over the past few weeks, you had grown particularly close with Mary-Beth and Sadie. All very different in personality and taste but still comfortable in each other’s company. You were frequently seen in Mary-Beth’s lap, her fingers intertwined in your hair, always giving you some elaborate style.

As you stood from the ground a mirror was placed in your hand, courtesy of your friend.

As you checked yourself out in the small handheld mirror, your mouth widened into a smile.

“Aww, Mary-Beth you’re too sweet. Thank you!” you gushed.

“Don’t mention it y/n, glad you like it. You look gorgeous,” she replied.

A broad man who lingered in the background took an immediate liking to your new hairstyle. A man who you were barely acquainted with, other than awkward run-ins. Too many times you had bumped into him, or he raced over to help if you had shown any difficulty with a chore. You didn’t know him all too well, but he seemed like a wreck. If he wasn’t stammering over his words and making a fool of himself, he’d be on the other side of camp. Ignoring you, out of sight but never out of mind. If anything, you had consumed him. Most of his thoughts were related to you in some manner, even though less than a hundred of his words were spoken to you.

This man of mystery stood alongside his older of two fathers. They were deep in conversation before you appeared. As soon as you caught his eye, he transported a million miles away.

His eyes dawdled towards you, following your every step towards your other camp friends.

“arthur…?” an ignored voice said as his eyes continued to follow you.

“Arthur..?” the aged voice continued.

“ARTHUR!” the voice continued, causing Arthur to jump.

“Christ! I’m here.”

“Have you even been listening to me the past few minutes? You’re..gone,”

Arthur inhaled and began to nod, before giving up and shaking his head.

Hosea sighed, glancing over in your direction before looking up at Arthur’s eyes.

Hosea chuckled, “You’re head over heels for that girl, son. Do you even know her name?”

“Yeah, y/n,” He replied.

“Have you spoken to her?”

“Yeah, but- I...I’ve….mumbled...few things.”

Hosea sighed again, “You’re killing me, Arthur,”

“I think you should talk to her... think you’d get along well.”

“I’ve tried Hosea. I feel like I can talk to her, but the second I see her eyes I just…”

“Feel stupid?” Hosea questioned.

“Yeah...feel stupid.” Arthur trailed off.

“That’s how you’re supposed to feel…

...you’re in love with her, son”

Arthur sighed, scratching the back of his neck.

“I’ll..I’ll talk to her, Arthur.”

“Thanks, Hosea,” he said.

A few days passed with no word.

No word from Hosea, and only a few words from a painfully shy, y/n.

He was never good at hiding these types of feelings, other camp members began to notice the way you’d make the Arthur Morgan sweat bullets and shake in his boots.

A slender, grey-haired man approached the end of your cot.

“y/n? Can I speak with you for a moment?” He said.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Do you have something to hide? You didn’t do anything but come over” the man said, forming a “come here” motion with his hands.

You stood and quietly followed Hosea to his tent, standing at the side for good measure.

“Come in!” he exclaimed.

“y/n, have you frequently spoken to my boy? Arthur?”

A puzzling thought crossed your face.

“Arthur..arthur..?” you thought as an “aw shit” look crossed your face.

“That the real tall one, right? Broad? Long hair?”

“That’s the one!” he exclaimed.

“Aw, shit. Is he mad at me? I may have bumped into him a few times, swear it was an accident. I didn’t mean anyth-” your face went red.

“Woah! No! He’s not angry. I just wanted to you something.”

“I’ve noticed your liking to my husband’s gramophone. Don’t fully understand how, makes me want to shoot him sometimes but to each his own.”

Hosea walked towards a pile of aged records, taking a sleeve and placing it in your hands. It wasn’t one you recognized.

As you inspected the sleeve, Hosea shared the history of the record in your hands.”

“That one’s a real important piece in this camp, been one of Arthur’s favorites since he was young.”

You smiled softly, still admiring the record in the worn sleeve.

“Can we listen to it sometime?” you asked.

“Sure,” Hosea nodded. “Would be a nice change from the two songs Dutch constantly plays. We haven’t heard this one in a while,”

You returned the worn record to Hosea and spoke about various camp-related topics before both exiting the tent and scattering away.

Arthur peered over at you before shaking his head, laughing at himself at the idea of making a move.

“You god damn fool,” He murmured to himself.

Over the course of the day, the vibe of his fathers did a complete 180. Once semi-approachable men now turned schoolgirls whenever their son was in sight. Hiding their mouths as they whispered to each other, followed by incessant giggling.

You’d taken notice of these new mannerisms from Dutch and Hosea, and the way Arthur’s face turned a bright red out of embarrassment and fear from it. But, there was nothing to do or say to shake them off Arthur’s back or make him feel better. Hell, you’d probably make him feel worse.

The night crept into the night as a handful of fellow camp members gathered around a fire, sitting on various logs and other items they came across in travel. The only seat remaining was the place on your right, and Arthur was nowhere to be found.

Soft footsteps filled the distant void as Hosea glanced towards the source.

“Arthur, my boy! Come join us! There’s an empty seat next to y/n.”

Arthur quickly looked you in the eyes and grew flustered before you flashed a shy smile.

“Nothing to be anxious about, come over,”

Sighing in defeat, Arthur came over and sat beside you, Irregularly bouncing his leg out of nervousness.

The night carried on as you and your fellow camp members told stories, listened to Dutch’s gramophone, and cracked jokes.

After a while, most of the camp had gone to bed. Remaining members including Arthur, Hosea, Dutch, Charles, and you.

Gravity began to take its toll on your eyelids, begging you to go to sleep.

You started to nod off in your seat and slowly tilted towards your right, as you fell against a startled muscled torso, you jolted upwards.

“Shit! I’m sorry” You said

“Got nothing to say sorry for” He murmured, “I- you’re welcome to lay on me if you like. You ain’t doing any harm ”

You nodded and returned your head back to his shoulder as you both exhaled.

He silently and carefully tucked a few stray strands of hair behind your ear.

Arthur looked up at his older of two fathers, who had mouthed “good job” to him, to which he blushed and rolled his eyes.

As you laid against each other, Hosea stood to attend to the gramophone, changing out the soon ending record to something more appropriate for the late evening.

Hosea sat back down at the fire and waited for a reaction as the new song began to play.

You felt Arthur jump in his seat as the song began to play.

Arthur glanced over at Hosea.

“I believe in you. Do what feels right,” he mouthed.

Hosea and Dutch stood from their seats,

‘Arthur, y/n, think it’s time we packed it in for the night. You’re free to stay here though.”

After exchanging your good nights, the curious couple disappeared for the night, their unruly son silently sitting beside you.

“Haven’t heard this one in a while” He chuckled.

“Y’know, this...song’s real important to me,” he said.

“Been one of my favorites since I joined this gang”

“Is that so?” you questioned.

“Mhm,” he pleasantly said.

An uncomfortable silence filled the air.

“Y/n, will...will you dance with me?” He quickly spat out.

“Arthur..I,”

“I’m sorry for asking, sorry for bother-”

“Yes.”

“Yes?” He questioned.

“Yes.” You repeated.

“Yes, Arthur. I’ll gladly dance with you,” you said with a smile.

Arthur stood up, taking your hand to help you to your feet.

Your hands brushed as you walked a few feet away from the fire, gramophone still audible.

You nervously looked at each other in the eyes before he took your hand again, pulling you into him as you mutually swayed along to the song that had meant the world to him. Occasionally you separated, allowing you to twirl.

“To be honest y/n, I...I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time,” he mumbled into your hair.

“Me too,” you said.

With your arms wrapped around each other, you lovingly danced under the buffet of brightly lit stars throughout the majority of the song before Arthur stood dead in his tracks and pulled you away.

The soul-piercing eye contact continued for a quick moment.

“y/n, can I..can I kiss you?” he asked.

You exhaled with a smile and nodded, pulling him closer to you.

You stood on your toes as he returned his arm around your waist, ever so slightly raising you off the ground. Your lips met slowly for the very first time, but hopefully not the last.

You began to melt into his comforting embrace as time appeared to stand still. Neither of you could say if the song had ended or somehow was still continuing.

Time resumed as you finally pulled away, both mildly chuckling out of awkwardness.

“Thank you,” you said with a shy smile.

“Don’t mention it, thank you as well,” he responded.

“It’s getting real late now, we should probably head to sleep.” he said.

You nodded, “goodnight Arthur, see you tomorrow,”

“See you tomorrow,” he said.

Your tents were on the opposite ends of camp. As he turned around towards his tent, he pumped his fist in victory.

A nearby eye peeked around outside his tent flap and over at his victorious son.

“He did it,” Hosea said to Dutch.

“Mission accomplished?” Dutch mumbled.

“Mission accomplished,” Hosea said.

For years Arthur had believed that nothing could truly touch him. Nothing could break and pull out his true gooey, sugary-sweet interior.

All that changed the second he laid eyes on you.

----

an: thanks for the request, anon! Hope you enjoy!

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meowdymista · 3 years

Text

For my first RDR2 event, I was paired with @sunspott / @polybigbang. Their art was for a playlist on spotify called Going’s All We Know, and I’ve tried to incorporate the mood of the playlist into my first impression of the art.

You can read my submission on AO3 or follow through with the read more :)

Still No Rest

Feet are itching again, plus it ain't like we can stick around much longer. Going is all we know, even if we ain't got nowhere else left.

Things had been too steady of late. They had been too safe, had slipped away far too easily, had pulled moneybags out of places that should have fought back but hadn't even batted an eye.

Arthur pushes back his hair, greasy and long, off his brow. The clouds above are smoky and dark - a storm, just as anticipated.

Maybe he jumped a little too far too fast today. Maybe if he hadn't been so on edge waiting for something to go wrong, they could have deescalated the situation. Maybe lives could have been spared, but it’s not like the guilt isn’t scratching the ridges of his brain like a dusty gramophone needle.

What makes you any different? You who's always scraping for a scrap of some sort. Them trying to do the right thing and crossing your path to do it. Better you than them, right? Like Daddy always said, if they didn’t want to die they should mind their own business.

A new start: isn't that what they had promised themselves? A new state, a new town, a new camp: a clean slate that he had managed to bloody in a record three days.

Every bullet that screamed past his ear left his bones ringing with that too familiar dull tired ache. Every blade that snagged his clothes instead of his skin embittered him. The tiniest of voices hummed with the thought that maybe, maybe, he should fight that craving for carelessness and even tell someone about it… but the beast he’s become scowls and reminds him with a low growl that then they would stop him. They would take him off the front line, teach the gangly adolescent John - who is a far worse shot - to replace him.

It's not even jealousy really, he reasons as he slips his journal away and stretches into a stand. They need him. Need his gun, his eye, his blade. Worrying them isn’t an option, especially right now. He doesn’t need to make them doubt his reliability, or question whether they’ve misplaced their trust. He knew in his heart that if anyone in the gang confessed the same, he would refuse their gun, even if he needed it - and afterwards? In the weeks, months, years to come? He would always pick someone else. Someone less vulnerable. Someone he never doubted or needed to protect.

Which is how he ended up going out with the feller Dutch had picked up when they were up North. He’s had a few too many close shaves under Hosea’s watchful eye of late as he struggled to conceal the beast's rearing head. The old man was onto him, his brown eyes still boring into him, even after Copper found his way to him.

Bill, on the other hand, is always game for a ruckus. He has as much of a temper as he does, and can match him drink for drink. Some of the stories he lets slip prickle him - like the beast recognising a party equal, a fellow host. He says nothing. Doesn't validate them, doesn't acknowledge them or aim to empathise, he just accepts the added weight of tar and grudges home with another bottle.

“Arthur?”

"M'tired," grunts Arthur, walking past Hosea, boots scuffing the dry red earth beneath them. “Besides, you know how it is. Sometimes bullets fly no matter what you do.”

Hosea doesn’t dignify his excuse with a response, and despite the poker face, Arthur can feel the guilt twist a little tighter in his gut as he sets about washing his arms and face in the barrel by the food reserves. He knows nothing good would come from trying to explain the truth of the situation... How a glimpse of a little boy in his peripherals is as sure a sign of upcoming thunder as lightning flashing in the distance. His not-brown-not-blond tussle of hair brushing the wind with fat drops of rain… rain that never came, leaving Arthur to water the ground with blood, like somehow it could make him feel less like he’s drowning in the driest desert outside of New Mexico.

He pats his pockets for the cigarette he had rolled earlier, until, retracing his steps mentally, he sighs in disappointment. He had been about to light it when it all kicked off. Or rather… it had been in his mouth whilst he tried to align yet another match to the tobacco when he had caught the eye of another patron and decided to swap the nicotine for some adrenaline.

His fondness for Bill always grew at moments like this. Bastard heard one cross word and his guns were out before he found his balance.

Deflated, he uncaps a beer instead, emptying it, tossing it aside and grabbing another, before spotting the girl devouring a bowl of stew a stone's throw away.

"Who's she?" he asks before Hosea can try to raise the day’s events.

"Your new ward."

Arthur stops, scoffing, growing angry when the elder doesn’t back down. "Nuh uh! No way! I just got rid of Johnny! Get Williamson to do it!"

"You'd trust him with her?"

"Sure! Why not?" He glances back at the girl despite himself. His index finger is itching again. "Or get Marston on it. Ain't like he's doing much else."

"John is still learning how to take care of himself, and Bill…"

"He ain't gonna beat up a little girl." Restless, his feet shuffle beneath him, his beer swapping hands before touching his lips again. "And ain't like he's gonna have interest in her."

"You think he wouldn't do it just to prove a point?" Their eyes meet briefly before Arthur's gaze drops. "People who are insecure are far more dangerous than those comfortable in themselves, never forget that Arthur. Besides, I'd rather not expose her to the prejudices she can get any day of the week. She ought to feel safe here, don't you think?"

He finishes the dregs and tosses the bottle, preferring to change the subject than admit he’s right. "Where’d she come from? She got any family?"

"She left her cousin back east. Came this way looking for her mother but she’d passed meanwhile."

"So… what’s the plan? We taking her back east?"

"Sure as shit you ain't!"

The girl has stepped around the table, legs planted apart, hands folded across her flat chest, her hair as free and untamed as her temperament. She is glaring something fierce, making the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end in a fight or flight instinct.

Hosea chuckles softly, eyes bright with pride. "I reckon she's one of us now."

"Well, does she have a name?" asks Arthur, incredulous.

"Jackson." She jerks her heart shaped face in a defensive greeting. "My name is Tilly Jackson."

"Well, Miss Tilly Jackson, you always so fierce?" He stalks the couple of steps to the nearest crate of whiskey and pulls one free.

"You always this stupid?"

"Hey now, Miss Jackson," interrupts Hosea before Arthur can bark. "We don't talk to each other like that here."

"He started it!"

"And you’re sitting with Mrs Matthews when you’re done so she can keep an eye on you!” He ushers her towards Bessie to keep her out of harm's way before turning back to his first product of adoption with a raised brow.

"You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

"Try coming back just half soaked some time. Might make them go easier on you."

Arthur scoffs, his rebuttal dying in his throat. He dampens the ash with another swig.

"I want you to take her with you when you go out."

His scoff is solid. "No way."

Hosea straightens up, watching him, using his body language to ask the questions.

"I ain't taking her out. You want her shot?"

"You intend to shoot her?"

"No, course not-"

"Then what's the problem?"

Arthur's eyes roll in exasperation, his finger flexing around the neck of the bottle like it's a button that will win the argument if he squeezes tight enough. "The problem is other people shooting at us."

"You intend to get shot at?"

"No, but-"

"Then I see no problem."

"That don't mean we ain't gonna get shot at!"

"Why would you get shot at?"

'Cause that's what I set out to do most days, he wants to counter. And if I ain't likely to get shot, I'm likely in jail or black out drunk in a saloon someplace.

Instead he closes his mouth, any excuse dead before it passes his lips.

"I'm not asking you to take her with you to rob a bank, Arthur." Hosea's tone is firm but still soft - a talent of his. "But while you're out looking for leads, or even looting a homestead or something… She's nifty."

"Hosea, I-" He trails off, distracted by the clip of notes Hosea is picking through, and downright thrown when he passes him the thinned out clip. "What's this for? I gettin' paid to be a nanny now?"

“This-” Hosea holds up a couple of notes before putting them in his pocket. “-is for arguing with me. This is for the box, as it seems you’ve forgotten to pay the camp's share, and this-" He casually holds out the last few dollars to the side like he’s ashing a cigarette. A small brown hand slips it away as both Hosea and little Miss Tilly regard him smugly. "Is for a mark well scammed."

"You mean-?" He checks his pockets, ears growing hot. "You son of a-"

“Ah-ah! Language!” Dutch swaggers up with a smirk like he has been watching the introduction unfold in its entirety. “C’mon, Arthur, you have to give it to her. She’s talented!”

“Might finally have picked up a smart one, eh, Dutch?” winks Hosea. Arthur scowls and turns on his heel, leaving them laughing and praising their newest addition.

****

Arthur remains cool and calm the next few days, hunting local and sticking close to camp. Every time he approaches his horse, the little girl is waiting, watching him with her fierce brown eyes.

"Where we goin', Mr Arthur?" She asks as soon as he's within earshot. "Do I need anything bringing?"

Every time he offers to pay double what Hosea has offered her, and every time she refuses to discuss the terms of their negotiation. Every time he curses everything under his breath, keeping his language savoury for the child nearby. Every time he scowls, and every time he gives her a grunt of "naw, we ain't going far" before mounting up and lifting her onto the rear.

"I can ride myself, ya know?" She shoots one morning as Arthur leads his stead into a trot away from camp, heading towards the softer, greener terrain that’s barely visible on the horizon. "Properly. Not side saddle."

"Good for you."

"If I had a horse I would show you."

"And run off with the money we got, huh."

She bristles. "I ain't no snitch."

"Sounds like somethin' a snitch would say." He pops the cork from a half full bottle of rum and takes a swig. Replacing the bottle, he notices her scrunching her nose in disdain. “Got a problem? I can take you back to camp.”

“You sure don’t drink much water,” she comments drily. “You ain’t worried ‘bout heatstroke out here?”

“Liquor’s hydrating,” he scowls, pushing the horse into a canter.

“Pretty sure it ain’t, but you do you. Besides, I got dibs on your things. We all gotta start somewhere, right?”

Arthur snorts angrily, adrenaline prickling the hairs on the back of his neck. “You sure as hell do not, princess. I ain’t going nowhere!”

Miss Jackson hums sarcastically. “Sure you ain’t. You don’t eat, don’t drink anything under forty proof, don’t talk to no one-”

“If you don’t like it, I can drop you right here!”

“Go ahead.” Her tone is defiant, but it doesn’t escape his notice that she grips his sides a little tighter. “Mr Matthews was pretty explicit about what he’d do to you if you tried.”

He stews the next mile or more, not speaking up until he finally dismounts for a break at the change of terrain.

Wide open spaces always helped to ground him, even though it could make vanishing into thin air difficult. To some extent, it forced him to not be so careless. In others, it made it easier to kid himself that he had never crossed the threshold into civilisation, let alone crossed a kind faced waitress.

Listening out for creeping cougars and restless rattlesnakes, he crouches down by the water’s side and splashes his face, washing off the worst of the sweat and dust that’s caked itself into every pore available. The girl makes no move to dismount, so he takes it upon himself to refill her canteen as a gesture of goodwill.

“You don’t got to stick to us, you know.” She turns her big brown eyes from the sky onto Arthur’s face. He shuffles his feet awkwardly, focusing his attention on brushing out the biggest clumps of dust from the horse’s mane before they continue. “If you need me to take you somewhere-”

“And what’s a girl to do then? Hit the road with a couple dollars?” She fixes him with a look that is too old for her face. “Naw, I think I’ll stay with youse a little longer.”

“That’s alright, but we’re gonna have to be moving on real soon.” He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to ignore the unspoken reminder that it’s because of him and his actions. “It ain’t like we can promise to be back up this way any time in the near future. If you change your mind-”

“I won’t change my mind about them, Mr Morgan.” She shivers in a breeze that only seems to touch her. “No, sir. They had me bound real good for real long, but I don’t need ‘em. I won my freedom, Mr Morgan, an’ I ain’t going back.”

He risks a glance, curiosity getting the better of him. Her eyes are sparkling as bright as the water's surface, but her jaw is clenched tight. He debates riding further, doing what he can to get them set up at the fishing spot Hosea had heard about as they moved through the state to their current set up, but the child looked too old. Too tired. Too existentially exhausted.

Plus, when you get low enough, it's like some things will follow wherever you go.

“Let’s stop here a while.”

As predicted, Miss Jackson double takes. “Don’t you want to get to where we’re headed?”

Arthur shrugs. “Ain’t like there ain’t food to be foraged here. Nothing to come raising any hell or bother us into raising it for them. Reckon this spot’s as good as any.”

He turns his back to her as she dismounts warily, focusing his energy on starting a small campfire they can add to.

"I ain't goin' anywhere if you wanna swim." He grimaces as his words come out gruffer than intended. "I got clean clothes in the saddle bags here if you want 'em for the trip back or to swim in even. Can't imagine that skirt is the lightest when it gets wet."

"You ain't wrong, Mr Arthur, sir. Thank you for the offer but I think I'm just gonna stick to paddling for now."

"Sure."

It's not his first choice. This land is a little too dry for his liking, but that's what comes with being so close to the desert. Money means nothing to nature, besides she provides everything and more than what shops and butchers supply. Who needs civilisation when there's the wilds to retreat into? When there is wild carrots and rhubarb aplenty, fresh meat, shelter, all for the low cost of taking what you need as you need it?

The fire started, he sets out to look for fuel and food. Crouching down to check dung and disturbances in the foliage, he finds the damage is minimal. He swears again, taking a swig of whiskey from his satchel.

He doesn't really remember a time he didn't drink, but he knows this is different. He knows this isn't a choice on his behalf. The demon demands fuel as a child demands milk, and like the fool he is, he provides without much hesitation. Anything for a glimmer of peace from the screaming child in his mind.

He scoffs at himself and straightens up, looking around on the off chance some animal is dumb enough to be caught out in the open - and as luck would have it, a pronghorn buck is grazing a stones throw away.

He inhales deeply, taking aim with newfound focus, and fires.

The pronghorn bolts, but it's no contest for the bullet soaring his way. A mournful cry bleats through the undergrowth as it flees. He follows, as loud as he likes given the rip of the shot would have blasted a warning to anything within earshot. Breaking through a wall of cacti, he spots Miss Tilly aghast in the shallows as the buck splashes into the lake he had washed up in on their arrival.

He keeps going, realising the buck is heading for a wet escape. Shedding his guns as he runs, he wades in after it, shouting.

The buck is swimming in deep water, leaving behind a trail of blood behind with every baleful bleat, leaving Arthur with no option besides taking a spur of the moment swim or going home with an empty stomach.

"C'mere!" he cries, breaking into breaststroke. The buck is slowing, every cry growing more lamenting and mournful. "Stop! I can make it stop, just come a little closer."

It's crying weakly by the time he manages to reach it. He throws an arm over its neck and fumbles for his hunting knife, but the blood proves too thick and one small fumble sends it disappearing into the depths.

"C'mon," he grunts, tugging the wounded animal with him as he kicks his way towards shore. "You ain't gonna get any lighter."

He struggles towards shore, gasping assurances every chance he gets. When his boots finally scrape the bottom, he whistles for his mount with the last of the air in his lungs.

He finally releases the animal, using both hands to search for a knife or a pistol - something to end its suffering quickly. Drowning the thing felt too callous, too slow, too-

"Will this be enough?"

Arthur, still gasping for breath, hair dripping into his blue eyes, pauses, surprised. A small hand is proferring a flip knife, her small face reflecting the distress of his own. Recovering, he nods quickly, thanking her as he takes the tool from her and advising her to look away and cover her ears. Obeying doesn’t lessen the heart wrenching last cry of the animal, but on opening her eyes again, she decides it is less painful than watching the poor thing struggle as it drowned.

Arthur is holding the animal, counting, as though held to some strange code to make sure it is dead before removing the tool of choice. He shakes the knife under the surface and folds it up, passing it back to her with a grunt of thanks. She takes it, still in shock at the unexpected show of violence.

He pushes the carcass out of the water, promising to be back soon before swimming back to where he caught the animal. Watching his head disappear under the surface, she is left with the silence of the cooling body nearby. It looks strangely peaceful staring off into the east.

Arthur swims back, pushing back the sodden mop of brown hair as he wades out with sopping boots and a shiny carving knife he must have dropped earlier. He advises her to leave him to it if she’s squeamish, and she refuses up until the animals guts plume onto the sand.

From a distance, she watches him carry them away from their makeshift camp, covering them up with some leaves and branches to disguise the worse of the mess but leave it readily available to the creatures due a feast. Returning to the body, he begins to carve with care, piling steaks onto canvas. He wastes as little as possible, even wrapping the exposed neck of the head in canvas before tying it onto the horse. He turns to the water, notices her watching and walks over.

“Reckon we’re almost done here,” he calls as he gets close enough. “Just gonna wash up and we can get going.”

“You always butcher your kill before going back?” she asks.

He huffs, a twinkle in his eye. “Sure, when I don’t plan on walking back. Figured you’d rather hitch a ride than straddle a dead deer.”

She shudders, making him laugh as he kicks off his boots and setting them aside to dry from earlier. He doesn’t remove his clothes, just pulls a bar of soap from the saddlebags and asks if she minds if he doesn’t dry off. She herself finally admits internally that she feels grubby. She had washed and washed and washed, and eventually came to accept the grime was not going to wash off her. Too much dirt, too ingrained, too repeated to ever shed properly…

She follows him, still keeping her distance. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything, just keeps scrubbing suds under his nails, over his forearms, into every fibre of his shirt. When she finally feels brave enough to speak up, she takes a deep breath, and on a whim decides to splash him.

He turns around, frowning, before picking up on the giggles and grinning himself. His arms are stronger, thicker, longer - the retaliation engulfs her with a responding tidal wave that leaves her gasping for air. In the small glimpse she makes of him, she notes the guilt and the apology on his lips as he believes himself having gone too far, but she’s too quick. She pushes him in the chest and tries to swim away as quick as she can, squealing the whole way.

Their laughter disturbs the birds in the branches, and they take flight, not that either of them notice. They play until the sun lowers to kiss the leaves around them. They share the bar of soap, and Tilly takes refuge in his disinterest. He lets her wash. She lets him wash. Both of them keep their distance when appropriate.

“Perhaps we oughta ride back in the morning,” Arthur muses when he notices how much she is shivering. "It's only gonna get colder, and at least we've got a fire going here."

“I don’t mind making the ride.”

He chuckles, eyes soft. “Miss Tilly. You’re dead on your feet, and sure as hell will be dead in the saddle. I can fall asleep just about anywhere if you’re alright with the tent and bedroll? Hell, it’d make a nice change to waking up to Susan and Dutch arguing, huh?”

“You ain’t wrong...” She is still hesitating. Arthur tried to shake the thought of what she must have been through and instead tells himself that it's standard practice to be wary of new folk. She could feel safe in camp because there were more people to keep tabs on one another. Out here, it was just him, her and the stars, and since when did the stars ever do anything to help?

“Listen. Choice is yours. I’ll ride through the night if that’s what you want, but I promise you’re safe with me.” He checks the barrel of his revolver, counting the six bullets nestled inside before snapping it in place and holding it out by the barrel. “Here. I can’t give you both in case we get jumped, but I’ll stow the long arms on Wyn if that makes it easier.”

She sits in silence for a long while before nodding slowly.

“Alright then. You get to eating your fill while I set you up for the night.”

*****

She wakes up, well rested and warm. She takes a few minutes to lay there, watching the shadows of the flies buzzing on the canvas above before finally crawling out in search of fresh air.

Owain is grazing not so far away, but Arthur is nowhere to be seen. His long arms are still stashed, the fire just ash now. Panic rises in her throat, torn between the fear of him being jumped and him abandoning her willingly.

She frets, pacing, checking their reserves. No, she has no clue where the hell he has taken her so she doesn’t know where to even start on trying to return to Mr Matthews and Mr Van der Linde. She curses him for being so spoilt as to be threatened by a little girl.

“Mornin’, Miss Jackson.” She flinches, immediately retreating from the greeting. Arthur is frowning under the brim of his hat as he dismounts the small bay coloured horse. “Everythin’ alright?”

“I thought you left me,” she admits, still choked up. He seems surprised, then bashful, trying to hide it by patting the neck of the horse he has with him.

“Naw. There was a herd moving through here early this morning and I remembered about you wantin’ a horse of your own.” He gives her an awkward nod. “Whaddaya reckon? She rides pretty nice. One of the smaller one, but she seems friendly enough. If you wanna keep her, I’ll set you up on mine until we can get this one broke in properly if tha’s alright?”

“Sure.”

“Awesome.” He begins to pack their things away, tacking Owain and bribing both steads with sugar cubes.

“We going hunting again?”

Arthur puts away the brush and pats his horse’s neck. “Naw. Today we’re headed to Greyhound Station.”

“Why?”

“Boring stuff. Check to see if anyone’s tried to write us. Check for bounties and that we ain’t most of ‘em. See if there’s any jobs goin’, keep an ear to the ground in case there’s money to be had. You know, standard outlaw stuff.”

“I ain’t ever been on a wanted poster yet,” she muses. “That I know of anyhow. Knowing the Foreman Brothers, they’ll be tryin’ to frame me for something.”

“The Foreman Brothers?”

“The… gang. The ones I was with when Dutch and Hosea found me.” Arthur hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t press it. It’s like he knows it’s a big bruise still there after months of riding with them. “They was wrestlin’ to hang me or bury me alive. Never did find out which since I managed to wriggle off the wagon without them noticin’. So much for family.”

“Y’all were related?”

“Yeah.” She spits off the side. “Good riddance to ‘em.”

He hums. “If anybody tries to pull that with you again, you lemme know. I’ll get ‘em before they blink.” He rummages in his saddle bag and pulls out a glass bottle of clear liquid. She frowns as he takes a greedy few gulps before offering it to her.

“I ain’t much a fan of the bottle, Arthur.”

He throws her a look of befuddlement over his shoulder before understanding befalls him. “It weren’t my first choice, Miss Jackson, but I’ve yet to learn how best to store water if not in a bottle of some kind.”

“Water?”

“Water,” he repeats with a shake of his head. “Whiskey’s the other side if you want some.”

“I’m good for now, Mr Morgan,” she smiles, raising the bottle to her lips, squinting at the sunburned strip that’s the back of his neck. “Maybe some other time.”

#rdr2 reverse big bang #rdr2 #rdrbigbang #rdrreversebang2021 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fic #tilly jackson #arthur morgan #sunspott

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heart-of-gold-outlaw · 4 years

Text

Welcome Home | Chapter Seven: Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story

Wattpad

Ao3

Summary: The Reader and Arthur head into Valentine; Reader has a sobering realization.

Thankfully, Hosea doesn't mention anything about your encounter with Micah to anyone else. The last thing you need is to cause trouble within the gang. It seems like they have enough of that already. In the short time you've been running with them, you've realized that there's a constant threat looming over, well, everyone. It goes beyond getting captured by the law. These people are running for their lives, lives that society has deemed aren't worth living.

You might be crazy, but you empathize. How many times has society deemed your life unlivable in your modern day?

You help out with some of the camp chores for a while. The hay bales are too heavy, and you almost drop the feed sacks on Uncle as he's trying to take a nap, so you settle for hauling water to top off the wash basins. It's simple work, but it keeps you occupied. Really, that's all you need.

As you're pouring the last of the water out, you find your mind drifting. It's strange, to say the least, how quickly you've adjusted to life in the past. You find yourself thinking back to something your friend once told you, about how if you were dropped in a foreign country, you would learn enough to get around within a month. It's not the same thing; time travel definitely isn't the same as speaking a foreign language. But they're similar, at least.

"You still got water in the bucket, ya know."

A shriek escapes you, quick and sharp, and you throw the bucket up in the air. Water sloshes all over your head. Whirling around, you see Arthur standing just a few short feet away. He's watching you, and you can tell he doesn't know whether to apologize or laugh. He shoves his hands into his pockets and whistles.

"Why're you always so jumpy?" He asks as he finds the bucket and picks it up.

Years' worth of anxiety issues, you think, but say: "It's a talent."

Arthur snorts and sets the bucket aside. "Some talent."

Your face burns, but you try to act as nonchalant as possible. There's no doubt that he sees right through you, but you keep it up anyways.

"Did you need something?" You question innocently. You're looking anywhere but his eyes.

"Was thinking of heading into Valentine." Arthur smiles a little and puts his hands back in his pockets. "Was wondering if you'd want to join me."

For a second, your brain stops. Arthur... inviting you to Valentine. Arthur. Valentine. Arthur and Valentine. Valentine and Arthur. It's enough to make your head spin, even though it shouldn't. And then knowledge hits you, unmistakable and strong:

You've got one hell of a crush.

"Sure," you say, desperately hoping you sound casual. You try to lean against a nearby table, misjudge the distance, and almost topple over. "Valentine sounds great."

Arthur grins and shakes his head a little. There's something in his eyes, something you can't quite place, and your cheeks burn again.

"Go ahead and ask Charles if you can borrow Taima again," he says, reaching out and righting you as you try to regain your balance. "I'll meet you outside of camp."

His hand is warm against your shoulder and lingers just a little longer than normal. Arthur smiles at you again, then leaves with a low chuckle. You watch him go, just barely managing not to sink to the ground.

Yep. You're screwed.

You find Charles sitting at one of the tables. He's whittling something, and the closer you get, the more you realize it's a beautiful deer. He looks up at you as you approach. Smiling warmly, he sets his knife aside and shifts so he looks more open to a conversation. You feel your heart swell. It's not every day someone would be so considerate. Charles, you've decided, is one of the nicest people in the gang.

"Hey there, Y/N," he greets once you're close enough. His tone is gentle. "Hope you're adjusting to us alright."

You nod. "I guess so. There's not really a guide on this sort of thing."

"You're right about that." Charles laughs a little and leans back against the table. "What can I do for you?"

"I was just wondering if I could borrow Taima for a bit," you say. "Arthur wants to head into Valentine, and I don't think he wants to deal with my stupid ass falling off the back of Florence."

Charles looks thoughtful for a moment, then glances toward where Arthur is carrying his saddle. You follow his gaze. You can't help but smile when you see Arthur gently stroking his horse's mane. It's amazing, really, how hands so rough and calloused can be so careful.

By the time you turn back to Charles, he's watching you with a knowing glint in his eyes. For the millionth time that day, your face turns red.

"He likes you, you know," he eventually says. "We all do."

For a moment, you can only stand there. You don't like the way your eyes suddenly sting, don't want to contradict anything, tell Charles that people in your time don't really care for you by default. But judging by the sudden look of understanding on his face, something tells you he already knows.

"It takes some getting used to," he murmurs. "I know what it's like."

You blink away your tears and nod. "Thank you."

Charles smiles at you, then motions with his hand toward the horses. "Of course you can borrow Taima. Have fun in Valentine."

The "with Arthur" lingers in the air, even though he doesn't say it. You blush again, turn away, and start heading to where Arthur's already done saddling Florence.

Taima is an absolute beauty. Arthur is adjusting the stirrups by the time you walk over, making sure everything's fit for an easy ride. When he's done, he gives you a leg-up into the saddle. You're a little unsteady, still more than slightly unsure, but it's getting better every day. Arthur gives you a nod of approval. You grin at him and grip the reins the way he's showed you in the past.

"Feelin' more comfortable?" He asks as he effortlessly swings into his own saddle.

You try your best not to stare. No matter how many times he does it, how Arthur Morgan handles horseback will never cease to amaze you.

"Ye-ah," you eventually manage, shaking yourself out of your reverie. "Guess it just takes some practice."

He sets a steady trot toward Valentine. Taima keeps up with Florence well, gait smooth and sure. Briefly, you wonder if Dutch (or anyone for that matter) will let you get a horse of your own. Not that you mind Taima, but borrowing her every now and then has to be a hassle for Charles. The last thing you want is to be a burden.

"What're you thinking about?"

Arthur's voice once again brings you back to reality, and before you can stop yourself, you say: "Just wondering if I were to fall from the camp's cliff, would it be enough to kill me?"

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you know you should've come up with something better. Arthur glances at you, that sideways glance you've come to realize he only gives when he's trying to process something. You give him a tight-lipped smile. It's too late to back down now. Might as well stick to your guns.

After a while, Arthur shakes his head and sighs. You can tell he's trying to figure out what to say... not that there's really much he can say to that.

"You know," he eventually murmurs, "Hosea told me about that kind of talk from you."

"Traitor," you mutter.

Arthur sighs again, exasperated. "Does everybody want to die in the future?"

"Uh..." You think about Global Warming, the plummeting economy, and sky-high rent prices with a low minimum wage. "No?"

You don't sound convincing, even to yourself. Arthur rolls his eyes.

"Glad to see things stay the same," he mutters.

Taima wanders a little closer to Florence, close enough that your leg brushes against Arthur's. He's warm. And strong. And... Actually? You need to stop.

"If it makes you feel any better," you say as a distraction, "I'm just pretty vocal about the whole 'death' thing. Most people keep it to themselves."

Arthur considers this for a moment, eyeing you with that same level look that makes you wonder if you should've just kept your mouth shut.

"That's worse," he tells you. "You do know that's worse, right?"

You shrug. "Easy come, easy go."

He shakes his head again with another eyeroll. "Just don't go an' die on me, ya hear?"

"...No promises."

The Valentine Saloon doesn't look like much, but with the sudden chill in the air as the sun dips beneath the horizon, it's warm and inviting to you.

Arthur guides you toward the hitching post, then helps you out of the saddle. You long for the day you can hop down without any assistance. Not that you mind him doing it, but still. You want to be able to fend for yourself should the need arise.

He shows you how to properly hitch Taima, then hitches Florence, murmuring a quick "you're alright, boy" into his ear before gently steering you toward the saloon. You try not to think about the weight of his hand on your shoulder. Honestly, you try not to think about a lot of the things that rush through your mind. Acting ridiculous is one thing; acting ridiculously thirsty is another entirely.

Arthur pushes the doors open to the saloon just like a classic spaghetti western cowboy. You follow him a little blindly. The room is noisy, filled with the chatter of a decent-sized crowd. Eyeing people warily, you stick close to Arthur as he makes his way to the bar. You're suddenly reminded of something that bothers you in your own time: drunken morons.

"Whiskey," Arthur tells the bartender. "And..." He looks at you expectantly.

"Uh," you stammer for a second. You've never really been a drinker, and a lot of the options you would have in the future either don't exist or are a complete rarity in the wild west. "Beer?"

Much to your relief, the bartender nods, produces a couple glasses, and pours you and Arthur your drinks. Arthur tips his in thanks, then downs the whiskey in one go. You sniff at your glass. It smells like... well, it smells like piss, but you don't want to look like a square in front of everyone. So you chug it.

Somehow, you manage not to make a face, even though the beer leaves an awful aftertaste. It feels warm in your chest, though, and while it's not a great feeling, it's not terrible, either. You look over at Arthur and grin. It's likely you won't be able to hold your liquor. You make a mental note not to go beyond your limit.

"So," you say as you signal for the bartender to fill your glass again. This one, you're going to sip... or so you tell yourself. "Why the need to get out of camp?"

Arthur also motions for another round. "Just don't like feelin' cooped up," he admits, "and there's somethin' I've been meaning to run by you."

You watch him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

"Got a lead from an old friend about one of our boys." Arthur swirls his whiskey. "Name's Sean. We thought he was dead, but looks like some bounty hunters got ahold of him."

"Okay..." You're not sure what this has to do with you.

"Dutch is plannin' on having a few of us see if we can grab him before... well, you know." Arthur takes a deep breath. "Was wondering if you wanted to come along."

For a moment, your brain doesn't register what he's saying. Bounty hunters, rescue mission, that part, you get. But... the way he's acting... so nervous, so unsure... It almost feels like--

Nah. You shut the thought down before you can finish it. No sense in getting your hopes up.

"Sure," you say, realizing he's waiting for an answer. "Sounds like a good time."

You want to kick yourself for that one. Yeah, it makes you sound more confident than you feel, but rescuing someone from certain death definitely doesn't call for a casual tone.

Luckily, Arthur either doesn't notice, or doesn't care, and he smiles at you. You smile back, then lift your drink toward him. He raises his in response, and the two of you drink until there's nothing left.

So much for sipping it, you think as your face starts to feel a little warm and numb. Oh well.

The next few hours pass by quickly. You stop after three drinks, and so does Arthur. Apparently, you're both on the same page, i.e. not getting wasted (and, consequently, hungover the next morning). The saloon gets a little more crowded as the night progresses, and you have to bite down hard on your growing discomfort. You don't want to ruin this. And besides: Arthur seems to be having a good time. You can put up with everything for a little while longer.

It's another hour before you feel like you're going to explode. Thankfully, Arthur doesn't bat an eye when you tell him you're going to step outside for some air, just gives you a nod with "be careful" undertones. You can't help but smile at him. How a rough and tough outlaw can be so caring... it never ceases to amaze you.

Outside, the air is crisp and clean and does wonders for your anxiety. You breathe it in like you'll never have it again. It's also dark, so you stick by the lights of the saloon. Instinct doesn't change, even when you travel through time, apparently. For a moment, you're struck with wonder at how things can be so different, but so much the same, too, in the future. People are still fundamentally people. They're all alive as well.

It's that last thought that suddenly sobers you. These people... they're all dead in your time. Dead and... well, dead and mostly forgotten. All anybody in the future will have are photographs. They won't know what these people sound like. They won't know how they laugh, how warm they are, how lovely it is when they smile. In the future, people just won't know. It'll all be lost to time.

You try not to think about what that means for Arthur and others.

You try not to think about what that means for you.

A/N: Existential crisis? For MY Reader? It’s more likely than you think!

Accompanying Music: Hamilton | Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x modern!reader #modern!reader #fic #my fic #rdr2 fic #welcome home

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darlingsdevil · 3 years

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Forever Preserved in A Frame

Summary: The Van der Linde gang is notorious for their outlandish Christmas parties, but John Marston will have none of that. It’s Christmas after all.

A/N: A Secret Santa gift to Seb from the @real-rdr-facts server! I hope you enjoy!

Tags: 1920’s AU

RDR2 Masterlist

Merry Christmas !

•••

The Van der Linde gang was notorious for its outlandish and extravagant Christmas parties. No expense was spared. The finest food, champagne, music, everything about the party was big. The gang’s largest speakeasy — a grand basement decorated with imported luxuries was the center of it all. The speakeasy was hidden underneath a bookstore, the gang owned the entire block of buildings, entrances could be made through any of the buildings. Bouncers stood watch at every hidden doorway, waiting for the passerby to mutter the password to get into the party.

Anybody who was anyone was at the party. Which meant Arthur was required to go. He hated those things. They were obnoxious. He hated making small talk with stupidly drunk corrupted politicians, bigwigs in companies who exploited their workers, rancid people he had no interest being near. But following Dutch and Hosea meant all the politics. They had a reputation to uphold, the entire party was one big business transaction. A show of sorts.

Arthur tightened the tie around his neck and placed his hat on his head, feeling the dread of the party creep on him.

“Come on, John!” Arthur yelled as he walked towards the front door, his voice booming through the spacious apartment. He tapped his foot impatiently, looking at the watch on his wrist.

Arthur sighed. “John!” He shouted again. No response. Where was the little bastard? He already had a headache..

He found himself at John’s bedroom door, he knocked on it loudly.

“Open the damn door, John.”

No response again. Arthur managed to get the door open, only to find it was empty. A cold chill filled the room. The window was wide open, the bedroom vulnerable to the frigid night.

Arthur cursed and rushed to the window. Footprints were on the fire escape, they were fresh too. The raging blizzard hadn’t covered them up entirely. John must have just left.

Arthur made it to the street shortly after that, following John’s footprints down the street into a back alley. They were going to be late. All because John decided to play runaway for the night.

He examined the footprints, they led up to a large electrical box, big enough to climb onto. The snow had been disturbed at the top of the box. John must have climbed on it. What the hell was John doing? From there, he could have jumped onto the fire escape and made it up to the top of the building.

Goddamnit.

Arthur would have to explain everything to Dutch and Hosea. Though he was worried about the younger boy, Arthur wasn’t foolish enough to search for him in a blizzard. John was smart enough to handle his own, he had been on the streets a majority of his life, one night was no trouble.

•••

The bouncers let Arthur into the club, he didn’t even need the password. The party was booming downstairs, as he walked down the steps he could feel anxiety bubbling in him. Small talk, stupid dances, schmoozing with rich folk was far from his style. Dutch and Hosea wanted him there.. so he had to be.

He fidgeted with his cufflinks nervously as he examined the crowd. Not many people he recognized, some people he recognized from TV, other people he had become acquainted with through business deals, some people just had the face of looking familiar. The crowd wore their finest clothes, pearls and lace, white gloves and fancy dress shoes all hidden behind snake eyes. It was all very nauseating to him. The chandelier and ice sculptures reflected the fakeness of the crowd.

He would have to grab Dutch and Hosea when they weren’t entertaining a large group of guests. The two men dazzled in the room, if it wasn’t for all the expensive decor they would be the brightest thing in the room.

Arthur was stuck sitting in an uncomfortable party while John got to do god knows what out in the middle of a blizzard, it was almost unfair. He grabbed a champagne flute from a server and leaned up against the wall.

“It’s almost romantic, isn’t it?”

Mary-Beth found him first. A young writer sponsored by Dutch because he was fascinated with her work.

Arthur looked at her curiously. She looked out into the crowd of people.

“You know, the waltzing, the music, the fancy dresses. It’s all so Victorian,” She said dreamily.

“These things get boring after awhile,” Arthur replied, boredom apparent in his face.

“It’s my first time coming to a party like this. It’s all so elegant.”

“I wouldn’t call it elegant.”

“Well, what would you call it?” Mary-Beth asked him, looking at him with curious eyes.

“Loud. Fake. Annoying,” Arthur grumbled.

Mary Beth scoffed humorously, “Aren’t you a Scrooge.”

“Only during these parties.”

“Well, Mr. Duffy has been eyeing me all night, I’ll leave you alone to whatever,” She gestured to Arthur’s wallflower appearance, “This is.”

“Hope you enjoy the rest of the party, Miss Gaskill,” He called out to her.

“As to you, Mr. Morgan,” She smiled sweetly as she waltzed over the room to Kieran.

The dancing picked up, Arthur watched as Mary Beth led Mr. Duffy to the dance floor, he looked nervous and giddy. The music was fast and fun, most people began gravitating to the floor.

Sean MacGuire, head of the smuggling business of Irish cream and whiskey danced drunkenly with Miss Karen Jones, heir to a banking fortune. She blushed each time Sean’s hand slipped further down her waist. Lenny Summers who owned a prominent publishing firm chatted with the drunken fools as well.

He wasn’t much for dancing, no one would ask him anyways.

•

It was only a matter of time before Dutch and Hosea found him. They came knocking midway through the night, when all the introductories were finished. Arthur had drank two glasses of champagne, it was rare he got to entertain himself with such a fine bottle. He didn’t even really like champagne but it was Christmas, he deserved to let loose through the only viable option.

“Arthur, my boy!” Dutch called out to Arthur, arms outstretched for a hug. Arthur hugged him,

“Where’s John?” Hosea asked, glancing around the room to spot the teenager.

Arthur drew a breath in as he began, “About that.”

Dutch and Hosea’s happiness fell from their face, that line was never good, especially coming from Arthur.

“He escaped the apartment right before we were going to leave. Followed his tracks, went to the rooftops, I wasn’t going to break my damn neck looking for him during a snowstorm so I came here instead.”

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Hosea asked.

Arthur shrugged, “Didn’t want to bother you. Figured he could handle himself for awhile.”

“You sure he wasn’t kidnapped?” Hosea said quietly, leaning in close to him.

Arthur nodded, “Only one set of footprints, I followed them all the way to the roof until I couldn’t anymore.”

It was silent for a moment as Dutch decided what to do.

“We can’t send any men out tonight, they’re drunk out of their minds and we can’t pay anyone to look for him. Streets are bare. I don’t think even the cops would look for him on a night like this,” Dutch replied, his brow furrowed as he worried about John.

“What should we do then, Dutch?” Hosea asked.

“Let’s get our coats. We have to look for him before it gets too late.”

•••

The whole car ride was near silent, the street was eerily but expectedly deserted. The streets felt almost ghostlike. It was late enough into the night that most people had retired from a night of partying, it was early to a gangsters standards but civilians were schedule abiding people.

They checked Arthur’s apartment first. He had slipped a paper in the door to see if John had come by. He hadn’t.

Then they checked the alley in which he had made his grand escape. Not there either. His prints were mostly covered. Arthur cursed John for being so foolish, he would no doubt get a scolding and Hosea’s unbearable look of disappointment. It’s what the little brat deserved, running off like that on Christmas.

They decided to check the waterfront. Dutch drove the car wordlessly as Hosea and Arthur both checked their sides of the street to see if there was any sign of him.

Nothing. Streets were bare. It was hard to see with all the snow too.

They decided to drive by Sisika Center, the tree loomed tall with its bright lights in front of Saint Denis’ largest building complex. It had been packed leading up to Christmas, but now not a soul was out. Couples and families gathered by the tree, but Arthur was never much fond of looking at a lit up dead tree.

There was no one there as expected, Arthur sighed at the sight. Where the hell was the stupid boy?

Suddenly someone jumped in front of the car, Dutch swerved the car quickly, swearing loudly as the harsh snow littered the windows.

Dutch lost control of the car for a few seconds until he regained it, he slammed on the brakes and everyone held their breath until they were sure the car had stopped moving.

“What the hell was that?” Arthur asked, his heart still beating loudly.

Hosea was already halfway out the car. “John!” He shouted.

Arthur and Dutch stepped out quickly, John was standing in the middle of the road, standing with his hands on his hips almost annoyed.

“Took you long enough!” He shouted over the storm.

“John! Get over here now!” Dutch bellowed, the headlights illuminated John in the road as snow swirled around him.

“Come on!” John shouted, turning tail and running down the street.

Arthur shared a glance with the two.

“Well go after him, Arthur,” Dutch said to him, pinching the bridge of his nose, muttering all sorts of insults.

Arthur set off after him, except John stopped right in front of the tree. Arthur was damn near ready to tackle the foolish boy, but there was something serene about watching his brother stare bewitched at the twinkling lights. Arthur caught up with him and stood in silence for a moment.

“Before you say anything let’s wait for Dutch and Hosea,” John said, his eyes remaining fixed on the tree.

Arthur let out a sigh of annoyance. Eventually they heard the crunch of footsteps against the snow.

“John! What the hell was that?” Dutch called out.

John was dressed for the cold, he had mittens, boots, a large coat and a hat. The rest of the men only had on their tuxedos and furs.

“I’ve been out here all night. I knew you’d show up.” He began to explain, turning to Dutch and Hosea.

“You’re always at that stupid party, I never get to see you during the holidays, and if I do you only show me off to your rich friends like I’m some charity case,” John said, frustration filled his voice.

Dutch and Hosea both frowned.

“For once, I want a real Christmas instead of some party with a bunch of strangers. Like a family would have.”

The storm had let up, instead the snow twirled lazily through the sky, causing the snow from the bright lights to look like diamonds falling from the heavens.

Dutch and Hosea looked at Arthur for some confirmation.

He shrugged, “I don’t like the party either.”

Dutch and Hosea stared at each other for a moment.

“Then let’s stay away from the party for the rest of the night, what do you say, Dutch? The boys deserve a real Christmas,” Hosea suggested. John broke out in a bright grin.

Dutch sighed and nodded, “Alright.”

Arthur was surprised at the stunt John had pulled, as much as he hated the party, it was definitely out there. In truth, he expected nothing less from the delinquent. Running off wasn’t anything special to him, but on the night of the party was. All to get Dutch and Hosea’s attention.

“Thank you,” John said sincerely, he was relieved Hosea and Dutch hadn’t yelled at him yet.

The snow continued to swirl, almost like ribbon.

“I almost forgot!” John said quickly, digging into his pockets, he pulled out a slip of paper.

He handed it to Hosea. Hosea smiled warmly and showed the picture to Dutch, then Arthur.

It was a photo of the four of them, sharing a laugh at a table, Arthur had placed his hat on top of John and John barely fit into it, the hat covered most of his view.

It was a nice memory, a few months back. So much had happened since then it had slipped all of their minds.

“Where did you get this?” Arthur asked, examining the back of the picture.

“Albert Mason took it when we were at the grand opening of Pearson’s restaurant, remember?” John replied.

“Ah, yeah, now I do.”

•••

They returned to the apartment, Dutch and Hosea swinging by their respective homes to retrieve the gifts they had bought.

John was ecstatic to open gifts in a home next to a fireplace rather than a spiffed up basement. He had gotten everything he had wanted. Arthur smiled warmly at the sight of it all. There was no party chatter, no drunken fools, no fakeness, it was all genuine. It was no performance. It was cozy and homely, and joyful and everything Arthur had secretly wanted out of Christmas.

The framed picture sat on the fireplace for years for many more Christmases.

Sometimes John liked to pick it up and show baby Jack the photo. The infant recognized all of them, and giggled happily at the sight of his father’s family. Many more memories had been made since then, but John liked to think this was where it all truly started. The parties were still thrown, this time moved from Christmas Day to Christmas Eve. Both John and Arthur were forced to attend.

John looked at the back. It was a distant memory now, though the picture had not collected dust.

John, Arthur, Dutch & Hosea

Circa 1924.

•••

#rdr2 #Arthur Morgan #dutch van der linde #Hosea matthews #John marston #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fanfiction #1920’s au #au #Christmas

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charlessmithhasmyheart · 3 years

Text

Title: Hunting Hijinks

Genre: Romance

Type: Charles x Reader

Triggers: None

A/N: Hey hey hey! This is a gift for the lovely @fangirl-ramblings. When I got the message that I was your secret santa, I was super excited! You are defs one of the people who I would consider to be my biggest supporter throughout this blog endeavor. Seriously! I would like to apologize for how long this took, but I wanted to make sure I was happy with everything before posting.

I know you had requested something about several people, so I chose Charles! Hope this is to your liking.

Here ya go! :)

____________________________

The sun was slowly sinking, the fire in front of you easily becoming your only source of light. The camp and it’s residents had been in the process of setting down for the night. Everyone but you. You were sitting on a log lost in thought, head resting in your hands as you stared into the flames; the object of your contemplation being none other than the mysterious Charles Smith.

Of course, this was of no surprise to you. It had been happening quite frequently. Charles was on your mind a lot. Especially since you had officially become a member of the Van Der Linde Gang.

A small smile began to tug at your lips as you recalled your first encounter with the illustrious group of outlaws.

You had been a bounty hunter then. Well, you hadn’t really been a true bounty hunter. You were just taking odd jobs from the wanted posters around Valentine and Saint Denis. It wasn’t the best work, but it paid well when you succeeded. And you did.

Believe it or not, you had actually met them during one of your jobs. You had been tracking a particularly elusive criminal for a few days. He had held up the general store and robbed a few of the townsfolk. Killed some too. The sheriff was adamant that he was brought back; alive or dead, it didn’t matter.

You were on the trail, the tracks very fresh when suddenly gunfire broke out ahead of you. Intrigued, you spurred your mount on only to come face to face with a shoot out. The target in question was crouched behind an over turned wagon, his own horse dead, as bullets from his attackers, three of them, soared through the air.

Determined to be the one to bring him to justice, you pulled your own gun from its holster and spurred your mount on again. Unfortunately the criminal, in what you can only assume to be a moment of stupidity, peaked from around the wagon, pistol loaded, only to receive a bullet to the face. With him now dead, the attacker’s switched their attention to you, guns still drawn. A curse slipped from your lips as you brought your horse to an abrupt stop.

“You take one step closer miss, and I cannot promise you’ll get away unharmed.” Warned their leader, who you later on learned to be Dutch.

When you made no move to speak he continued.

“Now I suggest you lower your weapon and we can talk this out. I see no reason for any more blood-shed.” He spoke, lowering his own weapon and signaling for the others in his group to do the same.

It took a moment, but you complied and re-holstered your weapon. Then came the conversation that would change your life. You had explained how you were a bounty hunter, making money to survive on your own after your family had died. Dutch responded in kind; giving you the run down of his gang, and, when he was finished, offered you a place to stay. After all, a woman of your abilities would be beneficial to their cause. Seeing as you had no better options, you accepted.

When you had arrived at their campsite at Horseshoe Overlook, you were introduced to many people who, despite being outlaws, were some of the most kind and hardworking people you had ever met. You fit right in, quickly developed relationships with many of the gang members, and the rest was history.

But despite all that, there was one member that you still hadn’t been able to understand.

When you had first been introduced to Charles, he barely mumbled a greeting or looked in your direction before heading of to complete some chore. You had brushed it off in the beginning, assuming you would find time to get to know him later. Now, it was later, and you knew next to nothing other than you had developed feelings for him.

It was all so odd. How could you develop feelings for someone who wouldn’t speak to you, let alone even look at you in the eyes? Sure, you had admired his silent nature, his penchant for taking on the difficult or unappealing jobs and his kindness with the other gang members from afar. Not to mention, he himself wasn’t unappealing to look at. But it still frustrated you to no end because you knew that he wouldn’t feel the same way. Charles had made it perfectly clear, without speaking, how he felt about you.

Stifling a groan, you rubbed a hand over your face, your frustration beginning to build to unhealthy levels.

“Something the matter [Y/N]? You’ve been sitting there an awfully long time.”

You jumped at the sound of someone’s voice and turned to see Hosea strolling towards you, a curious look on his face.

“I’m fine, Hosea.” You replied as he eased into a chair on the other side of the fire. “Just tired is all.”

“I may be old,” he started. “But not so that I can’t recognize when someone’s troubled. What’s bothering you my dear?”

You shifted your gaze from the fire to Hosea. He was leaning back in the chair, arms folded in his lap, with his eyes fixed on you. There was nothing but concern and a honest want to help you in them. He had always been like that. When you were struggling to learn the ways of the outlaw life, Hosea had been with you every step of the way. Making sure you knew the best hunting spots, helping you tend to your chores, and keeping your spirits up whenever you got discouraged. But, expressing your thoughts of Charles out loud? That was different. You didn’t know if you could.

“I don’t really know, if I’m bein’ honest.” You responded finally. “I’m just trying to sort out my feelings.”

And you were. Trying and failing, but you were trying. No matter how hard you tried you couldn’t convince yourself to forget.

“Your feelings for Charles?” He stated matter-of-factly.

You snapped your head up, heat beginning to rise in your face as you tried to stammer out a response.

“How did you know— I mean. I never said—”

Hosea chuckled and splayed his hands out in a calming gesture.

“Like I said. I may be old, but I still know a thing or two. And the way you look at the man when you think no one is paying attention? I’d say you were smitten.” He teased, winking at you.

You stared, dumbfounded and unsure of what to say. If Hosea knew, surely others in the camp knew. And if they knew, did that mean Charles knew as well? And if Charles knew then... No. You weren’t even going to consider the thought.

“You know what? I think I’m gonna turn in for the night.” You stated, pushing yourself off the log and heading towards your tent, refusing to look at Hosea anymore lest you get sucked into a full blown confession.

“You know,” He called after you. “It’ll just get worse the longer you keep it to yourself.”

You gave a half-hearted flick of you hand, the only indication that you had heard his words as you continued to walk through the camp.

——————————

The next morning proved to be no better. The minute you had opened your eyes, your thoughts immediately went to Charles. And Hosea’s advice. When you had finally settled into bed last night, you had pondered what he had said. Maybe it would be in your best interest to talk to him, but the fear of his first words to you being full of hate was too much, and you had drifted off late into the night.

Groaning, you pushed yourself to your feet, ready to distract yourself with the days work. You grabbed your hat from where it had fallen on the floor during sleep and stepped out of your tent. The morning sun shone through the campsite and the warmth felt good on your face. A cup of coffee sounded like a good way to start your day so you headed towards the communal pot; Abigail and Pearson already there with cups in hand.

“Morning [Y/N].” Pearson called out. “Any specific plans for your day yet?”

“Other then my daily chores? No.” You responded, pouring the dark liquid into your tin mug. “Why?”

“Well,” he began. “We’re getting low on food supplies and I can’t remember the last time anyone went hunting. Think you’re up for the task?”

“Sure,” you replied between sips. “I’ll head out right now.”

Pearson grunted his thanks and returned to his own mug. It felt good to finally have some sense of normalcy thrust upon you, so you were more than happy to comply. Nodding your head at Abigail, you finished your coffee; the warmth of the liquid reaching and energizing every part of your body before heading towards the horses.

Hunting hadn’t always been a skill that you particularly excelled at, but when you had expressed your unease with the chore during your first weeks with the gang, Hosea had wasted no time with setting up lessons with Arthur. Originally he would have asked Charles to do it, but every time he had mysteriously disappeared, leaving you wondering what accursed thing you had done to receive the cold shoulder. And hunting with Arthur wasn’t so bad. Of course, he was a little moody at times and his patience wasn’t always there, but you learned. You considered yourself to be quite the hunter nowadays.

Having now reached your horse, you ran your fingers through her mane and cooed soft encouragements before swinging yourself into the saddle. Grabbing the reins, you clicked your tongue and eased her towards he camp entrance.

“[Y/N], hold up!”

You brought your horse to a halt, startled, and turned in the saddle. You were surprised and a bit worried as Hosea sped up towards you, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Are you going out?” He inquired, an odd look that you couldn’t quite place etched on his face.

“Yes,” you replied hesitantly. “Pearson asked me to. Why?”

“Why don’t you take Charles with you, huh? He’s quite the hunter himself.” Without waiting for a reply he called out to Charles who was sharpening a knife. “Hey Charles! You up for some hunting? [Y/N], here could use some assistance.”

It was in that moment that your heart beat began to quicken; from anger and from nervousness at the thought of thee Charles Smith hunting with you. Alone. In the woods. With no one around for miles. Oh, would Hosea be getting an ear-full once you returned. Well, maybe you’d say if. The possibility of you running away forever from sheer embarrassment was entirely plausible.

“There now,” Hosea continued, clapping Charles on the shoulder with his hand. “I’m sure the two of you can scrounge up some food for the lot of us. And don’t come back until you do.”

You shot Hosea a burning look as he sauntered away, whistling a tune the whole while. Charles barely glanced at you as he pulled himself onto his own mount, Taima, and encouraged her towards the edge of camp. You followed suite without a word.

————————

You gripped the bow tightly in your hands, trying to rack your brain for anything to say as Charles walked beside you. The silence between the two of you was uncomfortable. At least, that’s how you felt about it, and, frankly, you couldn’t deal with the fact that the man you had pined for months over was finally capable of staying close to you. Deciding you’ve had enough, you lowered your weapon and turned to face him.

“Why do you hate me?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why do you hate me?” You repeated, crossing your arms.

Charles’ eyes widened as he took in your words, and a strange look crossed his face. You started to feel guilty as you waited for a response. You had come across as a bit rude. It wasn’t what you were going for, but the words just came out without any thought. But, now that you were in this predicament, you decided you were going to keep going.

“I don’t hate you,” Charles finally spoke.

“Well, then have I done something to upset you? I’ve been with the gang for months now and you’ve said all of six words to me.”

Another long moment of silence ensued. Finally deciding you’ve had enough, you tightened the grip on your bow and turned to leave, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. Before you could reach your horse, however, you felt a hand grasp your arm and you found yourself twisted around and a pair of lips locking with yours’. You tensed for barely a second as your mind tried to register what was happening. You were kissing Charles. Or, rather, he was kissing you. And it felt like you had always imagined it to be. When he broke away, you stared, dumbfounded.

“I don’t hate you, [Y/N],” He said, reaching out to take your hand his large calloused one. “I never have. In fact, it’s the opposite.”

“Charles,” You uttered, barely a whisper.

“Ever since the first day you stepped into camp, I knew there was something special about you. I was just too afraid to say anything.” Charles confessed. “I didn’t know how to say anything, because I didn’t know how you would feel.”

His dark eyes locked with yours and you could see the sincerity and fear swirling around in them. A small smile tugged at your lips. There was only one way you felt you could express your true feelings. You reached a hand up to cup his cheek and pulled him into another kiss.

Time seemed to stop. Your heart beat just as quick as you pressed your lips against his in a gentle fashion. His strong fingers brushed tentatively against the back of your neck while your own hand tangled amongst his dark locks. You placed your other hand against his chest and grasped at the loose fabric of his shirt, feeling a hunger your had never felt welling up inside you. Charles, sensing this, slipped a hand down to the small of your back and pulled you flush to him.

The kiss lasted for what felt like years before you finally pulled away, both of you breathing hard and a shine in his eyes that you no doubt mirrored.

“Do you know how I feel now?” You teased.

“Yes, I think so.” Charles chuckled, entwining his fingers with your own. You smiled warmly at him.

“Maybe we should get back to hunting then?” You inquired. “There’s a certain someone I need to have a chat with when we get back. And then, maybe we can have a chat of our own, hmm?”

Charles suppressed another laugh, placed a kiss on your cheek before resuming the hold on his own bow, and traipsed deeper into the woods. The memory of that kiss would reside in your mind as you finished the hunt and it would carry on until later in the evening when you and Charles had another moment alone.

#charles smith #rdr #rdr2 #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #imaginexreader #imagine #writing #reader insert

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exquisitley-obsessed · 4 years

Text

I’m (right) here

This is technically a part two: you can read part one HERE

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: Arthur lost sight of y/n on a hunting trip and it turns out the Pinkertons have hold of her and are doing everything they can to beat information about Dutch out of her. Arthur’s only goal is to get her back but he’s beginning to realise that if he does, nothing will be the same.

Word Count: 5568

Pairings: Arthur Morgan x Reader

Warnings: Torture, murder, bruises, scars, cuts!!

A/N: Currently playing RDR2 so please no spoilers <3 Literally took five minutes for me to fall in love with this damn fool and so felt like I needed to write something angsty for him.

REQUESTS OPEN <3

MASTERLIST

That had to be a broken rib.

Y/n gasped as she tried to roll away from the steel capped boot that had just gutted her; the chubby, squat old man at the other end of the boot was the more aggressive of her two captures - Steven was his name, or something like that.

It was his plump, well-rounded face that she had woken up to sometime ago, sneering down at her with this sickening gleeful look. It was understandable, by his terms he had struck gold by capturing y/n l/n, proud member of the Van Der Linde gang.

“You still don’t want to talk?” He husked out, hands on his portly hips. Y/n simply spat in response, a mixture of saliva and blood. Days had passed. Weeks maybe, it was difficult to tell when stuffed in a cage in a windowless room.

They came and they went, her captures. Steven and Tony were their names, or at least, that’s what they called each other. So far all they had revealed was that they were Pinkertons, and desperate for information on Dutch Van Der Linde. The beatings were consistent, another day without information, another beating – more painful than the last.

But y/n already knew that nothing could break her vow of silence. She had been dragged into this cage loyal to Dutch and she sure as hell would find a way out of it still being loyal – they’d have to kill her otherwise. It appeared that would be the direction of things anyway.

They were getting tiresome, annoyed, frustrated. Constantly checking their watches and disappearing for long lengths of time, leaving her aching and alone on the concrete floor watching the free flies mock her as they crawled the walls before flying away. It was easiest when she was asleep, it didn’t hurt so much then, like small shelter in a hurricane.

They’re coming. She had rhythmically repeated the mantra to herself a thousand times by now, a prayer. Dutch and Arthur, those she who she was currently dying to protect – they would come. They had to.

***

“We’ll find her Arthur.” Dutch said for what felt like the thousandth time. Arthur was sitting glumly inside his camp, ignoring his company as his eyes bore into his map, spotted with pins and small notes.

“I know.” He huffed back without much thought, his mind somewhere else. It felt like so much time had already been wasted, and Arthur has resorted to spending every waking moment tracking y/n, at least it kept his mind occupied.

Pinkertons weren’t necessarily nasty men, he’d sure as hell met worse, but they were by no means men to be trusted. Honour among thieves didn’t apply to them.

Sighing heavily his eyes drifted from the map above his bed to his collection of photos pinned nearby; him, Hosea and Dutch, his mother, an old newspaper clipping and the most recent edition was the printed photo of y/n that he had taken on a hunting trip.

He put it up there after getting it printed, a few days after her disappearance. Somewhere in his mind he validated the action through it only being a reminder of his task.

He liked the photo. She looked the same as ever, same braid, same work pants, John’s old shirt – her eyes were crinkled slightly as she smiled at the camera her jaw slack as if she were about to start laughing. Actually, she wasn’t looking at the camera, she was looking behind it – at Arthur.

It was strange to see the way someone looked at you, those moments which you normally don’t get to see at all, and yet he had it captured in time and hanging above his bed. Something about this whole situation had awoken something he thought he had buried a long time ago, but that’s always the way with old feelings, they don��t really go away you just start convincing yourself that they’re not there anymore as you suddenly become busy with someone else. But now he had no distraction, and with all this time, this torturous time without her – he was remembering.

“God’s sake,” He muttered under his breath, collapsing in his chair and flicking through his journal for the hundredth time. It was escapism really, reading old passages and admiring old drawings from a few weeks ago; pretending as if he were back then with nothing to fear.

He hadn’t realised how much he drew her. It seemed obvious now, flicking through the creased papers where loose sketches of y/n seemed to dot every other page. He had never questioned it before, just always thought that he could remember her figure a lot easier than others – the shape she took when she was hunched on her horse, how she always sat in the same crumpled poor-excuse of a chair every morning when he brought her a coffee. When the gang had had a small party, out of everyone it was her he remembered when sitting around the fireplace, lips parted slightly as she half-sang.

Everything was different now, even he couldn’t deny it. But God, he hated it.

What would this mean? When they got her back, if they got her back, what would happen then? Another cycle of burying his feelings, he could see himself already back at Mary’s beck-and-call, desperate for a distraction. Maybe there was a part of himself that didn’t want to see her again, that just wanted to see her safe and then disappear – could he seriously continue to live an elaborate lie he had formulated years ago, when he was only a boy? Who was that fair to?

He cussed again low under his breath. The past few days all he’s wanted to do is escape his mind, calm his rushing thoughts, tame them into something he could tolerate. Hazily, he noticed somewhat raised panicked voices out in the main camp. He could do this; he had done it before, burying feelings. The voices sounded excited. Maybe he was simply destined to live a life of half-loves. Footsteps were now moving toward his tent.

“Arthur!” But he had already picked up his gun and was headed through the folds of his camp. He had survived his feelings for y/n once before, of course he could again.

***

“Your own family left, y/n…” She cringed at how sympathetic Tony’s voice was, as if he were on her side. “They’re gone…there’s been no sign of them for weeks now. They’re not coming.”

This was apparently their plan for the time being. Whispering false truths to her about Dutch, how he was spotted on the other side of West Elizabeth, three days ride from, well wherever the hell she was.

“No,” Y/n gasped, her ribs grinding against the ground, bone and concrete. The lashes on her back felt like they were writhing as the leather whip in Steven’s hand dripped her slick blood.

“Stop!” Steven exploded, y/n was hazily aware of the whip being catapulted across the room, “Stop protecting them y/n! We’re here to help you, for God sake they-”

“Help me?” She hissed. He didn’t hear.

“don’t care about you! Look-” Steven grunted, hauling a chair from the desk to the front of her cell and throwing himself in it, “Life has been nothing but unkind to you y/n, we can see that,” Y/n squeezed her eyes shut as another dull, aching throb radiated from her back, “We’re at a point now where we can forgive you for all of your past crimes…you could walk away from this a free woman…marry a good man, whatever the hell you want…we just need something in return.”

She couldn’t meet his eye. Couldn’t begin to accept what he was telling her about her family but, the reality was, where were they? Weeks he said, weeks waiting in agony for the moment they’d come for her only to be left day in, day out, entirely and utterly alone.

Y/n felt herself being lulled in to a numb state, all she could pitifully think of was that she wanted to go home: she wanted fresh clean clothes, Pearson’s warm soup, a story from Hosea, a hug from Dutch – when was the last time someone had touched her in an affectionate way?

“Please…” She wheezed through her shattered lungs as her eyes rolled, “Just leave me alone.”

This apparently wasn’t the right answer. Steven, in one fluid motion, swung the chair out from underneath him, hurling it at the cell. Colliding against the steel bars, the wood promptly splintered like fragile bones.

“You stupid bitch!” He exploded, “You can’t see help when it’s fucking standing in front of you! You refuse it like a fucking idiot!” He was gasping for breath as he bellowed, his podgy skin flushing scarlet, “No wonder you’ve ended up like this...all alone…” He was spitting at her, stalking across the front of her bars like a predator homing in on its prey. Y/n felt dull tears dribble down her cheeks as she began to drown in how utterly helpless she was. Crumpled on the floor, unable to move, unable to breathe. “This...” He stopped stalking, his pulsating eyes glaring down at her over his rounded cheeks, “This…” He repeated, lowering himself to her level, “is why deep down…you’ll always be an orphan.”

Y/n watched him curiously, he hadn’t acted like this before. He had always had control. She then focused on Tony behind him whose eyes were avidly watching a pocket watch as his flicked it back and forth between his fingers nimbly.

“We best get going.” Tony finally spoke into the silence, swinging his coat on before checking the bullets in his pistol.

“Not yet,” Y/n’s heart dropped as Steven turned back to her, “They aint getting you back.” He spat at her, his voice low, almost as if he was laughing at her. Y/n watched in silent trepidation as he pushed his key into her cell door and slung it open, “At least…” Y/n moved her eyes back to Tony, pleading for him to do something, “They aint getting you back alive.”

Lying there, face down, unable to move, y/n found herself desperately coming to terms with her own mortality as she heard the click of the gun; summoning all her strength she tried to raise her head to look at him but his steel capped boot struck her clean across the cheek. Choking out a feeble cry she then tried to use the momentum of the kick to roll away from him, but it was futile. With her body broken beneath her there was nothing she could do, and all too soon she felt the cold, lifeless tip of the gun’s barrel pushed against the back of her head. This was it. Her pathetic, ruthless, pain-filled life – this was the climax, the pièce de résistance. The final click sounded followed by a short explosion before finally, darkness.

****

“I told you to only blow the god-damn doors off!” Arthur hollered at Sean who merely gave him a meek look and a shrug of the shoulder. Irish idiot, Arthur thought. The explosion was only supposed to take out the chains and bolts encasing the front doors, but the underestimation of the TNT had caused a shudder through house’s frame, resulting in the roof crumbling in on itself.

“Okay boys!” Dutch commanded, getting off from his horse and assessing the damage, “They know we’re here now which is fine…there’s more of us than ‘em I can promise you that.” He turned back to the gang, patrolling across the front of them like an army captain, “One objective: get in there and find y/n…you see any Pinkertons…gun ‘em down. They messed with us…with our family.” Slowly and in unison, the Van der Linde gang pulled on their masks. “Aint nobody messes with the our family and survives…nobody.” They moved in.

Arthur turned left with Charles, moving swiftly through the large, white manor house they had tracked the Pinkertons to – and God what a job that was. Weeks had passed of tracking and losing sight of the Pinkertons, putting everyone’s necks on the line trying to find the whereabouts of y/n. At first, they had been so sure she was in this old, abandoned farmhouse. They planned meticulously their attack for a week before attempting, only to discover it was some O’Discrolls cooped up in there – y/n nowhere in sight.

Realising how much time had been wasted, they quickly went back to work, until Micah’s loudmouth made things blow up in the local town. Time and effort were then directed to moving camp somewhere safe, no one allowed to go after y/n during that time – it was also during this time that Dutch and Arthur had a rather explosive argument.

But they were finally here, finally had tracked her to this bulky manor house out west, and if she weren’t here… well, Arthur couldn’t think about that.

“In here,” Charles’ voice rumbled as they moved past some double doors. Sharing a quick glance with Charles, Arthur jolted forward, the doors snapping back out of his way as he moved into the room. Looking around, he noticed how it looked like it was crumpled in on itself, planks of wood, an old piano, a large cabinet that had been picked clean years ago. All signs of life felt distant and foreign, as if someone hadn’t lived there for years – still, Arthur couldn’t lose hope. He turned back to Charles shook his head and they moved on.

****

Y/n blinked for what felt like forever, her heart racing as a high-pitched whine completely dominated her hearing. She hadn’t expected to still be conscious so it took her a minute to gather her bearings. Slowly, fuzzy outlines hardened into shapes and then, objects. Something had exploded, something was happening. Y/n moved and her whole body burned but it didn’t matter anymore – something was happening.

Fumbling for a second, she dragged herself up, her legs threatening to give way underneath her as she clung onto a fallen beam for support. Looking around she saw Steven rolling around near her, his face contorted into that of agony as one of his legs sat stuck under a pile of rubble and brick, a low gurgling, gasping noise whining from his throat. Sweeping low, y/n swiftly plucked up his gun and felt adrenaline start to pump through her – she had the power now.

“I can help,” Her ears still ringing as she coyly smiled at the chubby, little man at her feet. “Make the pain stop…I mean…”

Y/n, without thinking, raised the gun to his head and shot. Blood splattered across the room. Letting out a long deep sigh, y/n felt herself snapping back into her body, her arms and legs now feeling a little more like her own. Looking over she saw Tony collapsed; maybe passed out, maybe dead. It didn’t matter.

Panic rose quickly inside her, she needed to get out. She didn’t know what was happening or what had sparked the explosion, but this could be her only chance to escape - she needed to get out now. Swinging herself clumsily around the corner she opened the door and peered out, her eyes greedily racing across all the new sights and imagery. She tried to move as light as she could across the creaking floor tiles, her legs limping and stumbling over one another beneath her. Maybe there were other people in the house, maybe she was just being overcautious. She didn’t much care. She just needed to get out.

Successfully reaching a flight of stairs, she began to pick her way down, half hanging over the barista, the world spinning around her. Then, she heard a noise, heavy thumps and distant voices – she wasn’t alone. Panic rose like bile and suddenly, she was racing down the stairs, another flight followed by the next – out, out, out. The next flight, almost there, keep the gun in hand. God it’s so heavy. The world spinning around her, the adrenaline not slowing down until she scrambled down that last flight of stairs until there in front of her were the doors, opening out in a grassy barren knoll ahead.

She didn’t care about the pain anymore, or the fact that all this movement had cracked open all her cuts and lashings – she ran. She ran faster than it felt like she had ever run before, racing forth into the greenery and the open night sky. The stars gleaming down on her as she sprinted through the tall grass, feeling the wind move through her, an explosion of smells - the world alive around her. Then, a figure arose from her right. Instinctively, she stumbled down into a crouch, hiding herself in the shrubbery.

“Any sign of her?” Someone called out, fear latched onto her heart, she already knew she was the ‘her’. She tried to make out the voice, but it felt like the whole world was swimming in her head.

“No…I think John found some dead bodies in the attic. He said they were real fresh though.” Another voice, a different accent. Why wouldn’t her head unscramble itself? She felt her stomach lurch at the name – she knew a John.

“But I thought…” She heard her own voice softly choke out as she rose to her knees, swaying back and forth as the Earth moved underneath her.

“So…she aint here?”

“Doesn’t look like it…there are signs she might’ve been…they’re going to burn down the house down though.”

Looking up over the spikey tops of the greenery, y/n tried to make out the dark silhouettes barely visible against the inky night sky.

“What the hell are we going to do?”

“They won’t give up…not when it comes to her…”

“Not when it comes to anyone, Javier. We’re family. No one gets left behind.” Y/n felt a sob explode out of her – it was them. Hosea and Javier, talking about her, looking for her – saving her. In the same second another explosion erupted, this time, it was to begin the fire. Bright and beautiful, greedily eating up the dry wood of the abandoned home and exploding light into the universe. The bright and beautiful universe in which her family were here, her family that had come for her.

“Hosea!” She tried to shout but it came out as a wheeze, her voice stuck somewhere in her broken throat as she dragged herself to her feet, stumbling forward towards the figures. “Javier!” She tried again, but no noise. Nothing. Something desperate arose in her, what if they couldn’t see her? What if they left her without realising they had found her, she was here, and she was safe now. She went to shout again, her feet stumbling beneath her.

Her hair was completely loose, her clothes torn, her body broken. The heat of the fire warming her skin and yet, her skin wasn’t warm, it was burning. Fresh blood dribbling down her body as her wounds split. She wanted to scream again but something stopped her.

“Y/n…” All he said was her name. Looking up all she could see was Arthur. He was walking between Hosea and Javier, away from the house, looking at her. He could see her.

“Arthur-” She tried to say his name, but a sob shattered her lungs. She silently begged him to come to her, to touch her as she began to crumble. And, almost as if he heard her, he jolted forwards, his face enigmatic as he reached out for her but just as he was about to reach out for her – she jumped back, as if he had shocked her.

She had this God-awful look in her eyes then, all glossy and confused, like she didn’t quite recognise him. Like she was questioning him, staring at him as if she couldn’t quite make her mind up about something.

“How long’s it been.” God her voice was quiet, barely audible over the sound of the fire, the shouts of Hosea and Javier as they called for the others.

“Since what?” Arthur heard his own voice softly rumble, all he wanted was to soothe her, touch her, keep her safe.

“Since I went missing Arthur?” She looked numb; her were eyes wide, her mouth half open, a salty mixture of tears, dirt and blood dribbling down her cheeks. Arthur had not realised a single question could make him feel so guilty.

“Um…maybe a few weeks…”

“Maybe?” She let out a shaky breath. He felt like a small stone settle at the bottom of his gut – guilt.

“Four weeks yesterday…that’s when you went missing.”

And there it was. Y/n’s mind felt like it was crumpling in on itself, beginning to choke on the feeling of betrayal. Four weeks. Four weeks they had left her there, maybe searching, maybe not. She had lay in that poor excuse for a jailcell for a month, she had been dragged past her breaking point, she had faced pain like she could never had imagined waiting every second, every minute for her family to do what a family does, to protect her and yet, where were they?

“Y/n, girl, there you-” Dutch’s gruff voice swam into her mind as she twisted away from Arthur. The blazing red of the fire and the inky blue of the night sky, all of it blurring into a complete and utter mess.

“Four weeks….” She was surprised at how meek her own voice sounded, she hated it venomously. How was it that she had become so weak? How had she gotten here, to this moment? “Where were you?” She turned back to where Arthur stood, his head bowed like a scolded runt and Dutch, his hand half outstretched towards her, his euphoric face crumbling. “How could you let…”

“Y/n we were looking for you…I promise we were looking…” Dutch began, already stumbling into his defensive tone. Y/n wanted to believe him, but then she blinked and suddenly she was back in her cell, the ominous faces of men she was savagely scared of hovering above her, sneering at her as they told her how her family had disappeared, left her behind, just like her parents did. She blinked once more, and they were gone.

“You were supposed to protect me-” Suddenly, she exploded, “We’re family! What kind of a family does that to one another…you left me there…you left me there with those men…”

“I know baby-” Dutch began again.

“No!” She was gasping now, unable to breathe – the smoke and the sobbing choking her, “You don’t know…if only you did…if only you knew what they did to me Dutch….” Her cheeks throbbed as she tried to resist a guttural sob, “I thought I was your daughter.”

“You are-”

“No…I aint.” Her legs were shaking now, the fire and sky crashing together once again, “You don’t do that to your daughter, you left me…you left me behind.” Suddenly the grass felt so soft, “You left me...” The grass was so gentle compared to the concrete of her cell, the soil softened, responded to her touch, moved with her – earth and flesh, “You left me just like they did…”

Resting back, she dug her fingers deep into the earth and looked up. The sky was hot, the soil cold. Her world being torn open around her, exploding and rearranging into something new.

Nothing would be the same.

*****

“Oh…you scared me.” Arthur murmured, his eyes flickering up to the ghostly figure at the mouth of his tent.

“Sorry I-” Y/n stood awkwardly between the folds of cloth, dressed in only her night things with her hair loose down her back. She looked young, a little like how she did when they had first met. Arthur also noticed then how delicate she looked; it had been like that for a few weeks now.

Dutch had basically carried her back to camp, leaving her with Ms Grimshaw so her wounds could be tended to. Arthur had checked in on her regularly during the first few days, he liked it most when she was asleep, it gave him time to watch over her without feeling as though he was intruding.

“No, it’s okay,” A sloping grin melted into his cheeks, “Stay...please…I got, uh, oatcakes and beer.”

“Wow…my lucky treat,” Arthur watched with concealed warmth as a smile pattered across her cheeks. It had felt like forever since he had seen her smile. “Sorry for intruding, guess I just wanted to be close to someone for a ‘lil bit. Can’t sleep, y’know,” Moving into his camp, she curled herself up on Arthur’s fur rug, resting her back against his side table; it was her position, whenever she had snuck into his tent she had always somehow folded herself into that specific corner and he had never dared question it for she would always aggressively insist she was comfortable.

“Yeah, I understand. I’d be lying if I said I don’t feel like that most of the time.”

“To be honest, it wasn’t made very clear when I signed up to this gang…” Y/n grinned at him, “Maybe then I would’ve rethought my application.” Arthur chuckled.

“True…they don’t exactly give you a run down before you start living a life of crime.” Moments like these were more regular the past few days. Moments where he found himself relaxing into the familiar rhythmic conversations with y/n that he had always had, it was comforting, a reminder that the pain was temporary. “How you holding up?”

“Fine,” She smiled at him, a real smile, “Ms Grimshaw works a miracle.”

“That she does,” He shuffled slightly to rest his back against the wagon next to his bed.

“Nothing really bad happened to me physically…I mean, nothing I can’t recover from.”

“And you will, with time, you always do.” She smiled at him again, but this time her eyes lowered after meeting his – was she nervous?

“I guess the only problem is…Dutch aint shifting outta protective mode any time soon.”

“He’ll get over it…” Arthur chuckled, “I think he’s just mad at himself y’know. You know how much you mean to him.”

“Yeah, yeah,” She nodded sleepily. “I know Morgan.” God, it killed him when she called him that. Suddenly, y/n’s face twisted up in a grimace and she jolted up, her hands stretching toward her back.

“Y’okay?” He asked nervously after a moment.

“Fine…fine…” She winced, rubbing at her shoulders, “Just not quite 100% yet, y’know.” He eyed her for a moment as she pushed her hair out of her face, trying to massage the spot in her shoulder that was causing her pain.

“Here,” He surprised himself by saying, “Let me do your hair.” She eyed him; an eyebrow half raised her lips slightly parted. It seems neither of them had expected him to raise that offer. “Oh c’mon, remember how I used to braid your hair before shooting lessons with Dutch?”

“Feels like a lifetime ago…” She murmured; a faint smile painted on her lips as her eyes clouded with a distant memory

“I ain’t forgotten how to,” He smiled at her and she smiled back, shyly. A pause. “Please y/n. I know I can’t do much to help you right now…I’m no good doctor, I’m a god damn idiot when it comes to words and, y’know, comforting people. So, please…let me do this.” He watched as her lips parted slightly into a distant smile, her eyes lighting up.

“Okay Morgan…if you really want to braid my hair I guess I’ll have to allow it. Just do a good job of it okay.”

“Who you trying to look good for?”

“Oh, you know me Morgan…everybody and nobody.” Arthur chuckled to himself. She plodded herself down on the floor next to his cot and, shifting over, he planted his legs like trunks either side of her, creating a small cove in which she could tuck herself.

He went to move her hair to the back when he noticed his hands shaking ever so slightly, his heart rate jumping too. Arthur tried to calm himself then and there but couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the feeling of her, the warmth along the inside of his claves as she curled into him, resting her head lightly against his right knee. Desperately trying not to hurt her, he scooped up her hair and used his fingers to softly comb behind her ears and down her neck, ensuring he had caught every soft wisp.

Silently, he cursed his fingers for being so calloused, spitefully thinking of how his fingers might be grazing her soft skin. Sweeping all her hair to the back, he watched as it loosely tumbled down before softly combing his fingers through it. He promptly forgot about how much he hated his hands, forgot his hatred of how he had always been so large and gruff, unsubtle and mean. Instead his mind became full of thoughts of her.

How different her hair colour looked in the orange candlelight compared to daylight. How long her hair tumbled down her back when loose and how he hadn’t noticed considering she always had it tied back. How he could see the skin of her neck peeking at him as her hair began to sway when he braided it. How that skin sloped down into the loose collar of her night shirt. The way her shoulders and back moved with her steady breath and, if he listened carefully, how he could hear it. Steady, strong, safe. It seemed all too quickly the braid twisted to a finish in his fingers.

“You got a tie?”

“Course,” She sleepily murmured. God that killed him. The way her eyes drooped, the way she moved without being conscious of what she was doing to him. She placed the tie in his outstretched palm and seemed to not realise that her delicate hands had brushed so softly against his rough ones.

“I’m scared,” She piped up as his fingers returned to her hair, her voice ever so slightly dreamy.

“That they’ll come take you again?” Now done, Arthur relaxed back into his cot a little but refused to move his legs, desperate to not disturb her.

“No…well yes but…” She melted deeper into the cove of his legs without thinking, “I’m scared that what they did to me, what happened in those weeks…I’m scared it’s going to be with me for the rest of my life, affect me for the rest of my life, I mean.”

“But-”

“Sorry, I know it sounds silly-”

“No…it doesn’t,” Arthur leaned forward, catching her eye, “There aint anything silly about what you went through, but…I know for a fact that it won’t affect you forever.” A beat.

“How?”

“Because you’re so much more than what happened to you in those four weeks. You’ve lived through hell; we all know it, and yet at the end the day – you’re more than any of the people who have hurt you.” He watched her looking at him, trying to figure out the enigmatic feeling written on her face, but the conversation moved swiftly on.

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened in those weeks?” She whispered, not blinking, “Where you all were?”

“We were looking for you y/n, and that’s the God honest truth,”

“But-”

“But nothing y/n. For a while uh…things got complicated. We lost track for a bit and you paid for it, I’m sorry.” He looked down, wondering how far he could take this, “Y’know, I thought that you were dead, just for a moment…I was destroyed.” Her face remained enigmatic, “Now I’m scared to turn away from you for one second, I’m afraid I’ll lose you again.” It felt like he was crossing into unmarked territory.

“You’ll never lose me,” She breathed, “Not really.” A knot tied itself into existence in his gut.

Their eye contact never broke. It felt like it never would. Looking at her then, he felt like there were a million things he wanted to say to her, like there was so much of himself he had yet to reveal to her. The parts of himself which, in all honesty, cared for her more than he ever realised. Sitting there, with her tucked against his right knee, he couldn’t help himself.

Almost as if he were in a trance, he began to trace his fingers along the hair behind her left ear before scooping up her braid and shifting it to the side, how comforting it was to know that she was right there, under his fingertips. His left hand moved to her shoulder were he gently shifted the white cotton of her dress so that it slipped down, exposing her black and beaten shoulder. Slowly, and without breaking eye contact, he brought his lips down and pressed them against her colourful skin. She shivered into his touch as his beard grazed her bare flesh, but she never looked away. He kissed her again, moving up closer to her neck, his eyes fluttering shut. He was so close that she could feel his breath fluttering across her exposed neck. She relaxed into him, almost daring him to go further until she noticed something – he was crying.

Soft beads rolled down his cheeks as he kissed her again, and again, and again. Softly, y/n started to hear his whispers warm into the silence.

“I’m sorry…”

“I can protect you…”

“They won’t ever hurt you again…”

“I’m here now…”

“I’m sorry…”

“I’m here…”

Maybe y/n was right, maybe nothing would be the same. But change didn’t seem so scary anymore.

requests open <3

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@uniqueclodzinevoid

@rollyjogerjones

#Red Dead Redemption #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption imagine #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption 1 #red dead redemption community #rdr #rdr2 #rdr imagine #rdr2 imagine #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x original character #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan x female oc #arthur morgan x #arthur morgan imagine #Dutch Van Der Linde

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a-libra-writes · 4 years

Text

Being in a Polyamorous Relationship with Hosea and Dutch

What even am I doing. Still 150% self-indulgent, might write a fic on it, who knoooows.

The whole arrangement began with friendship. You were a reliable part of the gang and had been around for some time, and it was Hosea that you formed a steady, easy friendship with first, although you’d still drink and joke around with Dutch. You casually flirted with both, and Dutch certainly laid his intentions on thick, although you weren’t as close to him. Still, the three of you could have a good time almost anywhere, and you were becoming more essential to their jobs.

Dutch and Hosea talked to each other about how cute you were, how sweet and helpful, and of course the idea of an “arrangement” was Dutch’s idea. He obviously wanted you and told Hosea not to hide his own crush. They had an open relationship and wanted you to be a part of it.

If this happened when the men were younger, it was absolutely more of an experimental sexual thing. Dutch and Hosea were each other’s primaries and never shared partners - before, they didn’t understand each other’s taste, but this was the first time they liked the same person.

If you got with them during the game’s events, there’s a heck of an age gap and Dutch is living for it. You hit all his boxes for the type of lady he likes and he was bugging Hosea to agree to the arrangement, since he knew the older man liked you just as much. The age gap bothered Hosea a bit, though if you reassured him he’d feel better. He just wants you to know his and Dutch’s feelings are genuine and the arrangement will stop the minute you’re uncomfortable.

Once you agreed, it was actually Dutch who fell for you first, and he fell hard. Hosea teased him for it, but his own feelings were creeping up on him, and finally he couldn’t deny it, nor did he want to. What was just a purely sexual arrangement with a mutual good friend suddenly became as real as their relationship.

It had always been just Dutch and Hosea, with a few partners coming and going, but now there was you. Honestly, they began to feel lonely when you weren’t around. Dutch stopped having such a wandering eye for new girls and Hosea was beginning to yearn something fierce.

Hosea is the sweet, steady partner who likes to cuddle with you, pats your head and gives you sweet hello and goodbye kisses. He shows his love through words and more domestic actions. He loves that he can talk with you about all sorts of things, but you two can also sit in a comfortable silence and just enjoy the company. He’s the best to snuggle against when you’re drifting off, and he keeps a warm arm around your waist while you sleep. When Dutch walks in on you both dozing he thinks it’s so cute he might die.

On the other hand, Dutch is a very passionate, spoiling sort of partner. You know when he wants you and he wants you often. He likes giving you all sorts of gifts and having you on his lap in front of everyone. His hands or his lips just have to be somewhere on you, and he’ll say whatever it takes to get you to laugh and smile. When Hosea walks in on you both making out, he’ll pointedly sit down, open a book and ignore it until Dutch gets annoyed.

Sex goes a lot of different ways, but the three of you have fallen into a bit of a pattern of ganging up on spoiling one person. So that means one of three things will happen: Hosea getting spoiled and flustered, Dutch getting flattered and serviced or you getting treated like a princess. Of course, there’s still times where you have just one of them or they have each other.

Personally Dutch really enjoys watching you and Hosea together, even if he doesn’t join in. He’ll just perch on the side of the bed and smoke, watching you two with hungry eyes. Once in a while he’ll ask one of you to look at him, or he’ll kiss wherever he can get at - your neck, your hand, and so on. Hosea isn’t as interested in watching, but he’s amused if you like seeing him and Dutch together, even if it embarrasses him a little.

No surprise, Dutch is a bit of an attention hog. Sometimes when he sees you and Hosea making out and enjoying each other, he’d rather join than watch, though he isn’t sure who he’s desiring more in that moment. If you and Dutch are the ones getting hot and heavy, Hosea likes to jokingly make commentary and give suggestions until he gets clothes tossed at him. When they’re making out and you’re grinning and watching, Hosea gets ridiculously flustered, which you and Dutch just have to pounce on.

If double penetration is what’s happening, Dutch likes to be behind you. He likes to feel you up, bite your neck and squeeze your breasts while encouraging Hosea to take you from the front. Hosea’s the one giving you kisses on your lips and chest while stroking between your legs, making sure you’re comfortable and ready before they both take you. While you wrap your arms around Hosea and lean into him, Dutch is stroking up your back and praising you for being a good girl. It’s all a very overstimulating experience.

Hosea is the one most likely to curl up with you afterward, he’s tired after all of it and likes to snuggle. Dutch is restless and doesn’t sleep well anyway, so he’ll prop his feet up and read while you two doze off. If you aren’t tired, you can wiggle out from under a sleeping Hosea and rest on Dutch’s lap. He likes that a lot.

Depending on your personality and skills, you’re often doing jobs with one or both of the men. Dutch prefers you go with Hosea because he handles safer cons and Dutch is very stubborn about you not getting into gunfights, even if you shoot well… But he’s still going to get lonely and a little jealous and monopolize your time as soon as you’re back. He’s predictable like that.

If you’re the type to go out on robberies and shooting, Dutch is very protective and will be so damn stubborn about you not going, or staying close to him if you must go. Hosea is more reasonable about your decisions, but he does worry, so he’d rather you join him on cons. Lord you both have so many scripts and schemes you’ve done, you can just improvise things by looking at each other. If you aren’t a combative type at all, they’re pleased with you staying behind with the others. Anything that keeps their angel safe.

And yes you have a dozen nicknames at least, most of them originating from Dutch. Hosea sticks with “dear” and “angel”, while Dutch comes up with a new one every other day. You tease them for forgetting your name all the time.

Honestly speaking, you could get away with murder as far as these boys are concerned. Dutch makes so many excuses for his sweet girl, and although Hosea will seriously scold you for causing trouble or mayhem, he can’t stay mad if you’re genuinely apologetic. Though there’s been times when Hosea is mad at both you and Dutch for doing something stupid, so you have to drag Dutch along when you make an apology.

If it’s Dutch who pissed you off, he goes to Hosea to complain and figure out a way to make it up to you. Hosea lets him wallow in some humble pie before finally agreeing to help.

New members of the gang are in disbelief about the nature of your relationship, it does take some getting used to. More often than not they assume you’re Dutch’s girl, because he just can’t keep from showing you off, but then they’ll see you kissing and hugging on Hosea, and then they’ll see you sit between them by the fire and they’re also making eyes at each other. It can be a bit much.

If you were around since he was a kid, you were something of a maternal figure to John, so he has a lot of respect for you and is just used to the relationship. He doesn’t see it as weird until he steps back and thinks about it. If it happened when he was an adult he just cringes and tries not to think about the bedroom logistics.

No matter your age, Arthur finds it odd but ultimately not his business. Once he gets to know you better and sees how happy you make these two old men, you become friends. Arthur even starts looking after you and being a little protective. Later, when things get bad, he’ll try to ask you to help Dutch see reason and hopes your influence is stronger than Micah’s.

It gets to a point where the three of you are seen as a unit. While Dutch is the first authority, you and Hosea are respected as well, and you both play a large part in the jobs and cons that get arranged. At some point, you and the two stopped looking for other partners and just took comfort in each other.

Lately you noticed Hosea had been bothered by something, and he finally told you that he was hoping Dutch would marry you properly if he passed. Hell, Hosea would marry you right now if you wanted, but he didn’t want to leave you a widow suddenly, especially if you ended up with a child. He thought about these things seriously, you knew, he wanted a sense of security and safety for you. He wanted you to get out of the gang life.

“Well, once the job in Blackwater is done, there won’t be a problem. You said you and Arthur found somethin’ good, right?” You asked. Hosea still wasn’t comfortable with it, but he’d wait until after the job before bringing up the idea with Dutch. Trying to tie that man down with marriage seemed impossible, but damn it. He’d put the issue aside for now, but he wasn’t letting it go.

#rdr2 #rdr2 x reader #dutch van der linde x reader #hosea matthews x reader #rdr2 imagines

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anari3l · 4 years

Text

secrets

words: 1136

pairing: arthur morgan x reader

Summary: anon asked for secret dating for Arthur, as i was writing it, i decided to have it as part of the humors of whiskey story

Humors of Whiskey [ONE] [TWO] [THREE] [FOUR] [FIVE]

You bit your lips, tapping your foot as you stood beside the building. Glancing over your shoulder, you watched as Karen, Uncle, Hosea, and Mary-Beth drove off down the road and out of town, their pockets recently padded and supplies packed into the buckboard. You prayed they wouldn’t ask after you upon returning to camp.

It wasn’t that you weren’t allowed outside of camp by yourself, you ran plenty of jobs for the gang, racking in money, collecting debts. But this was different. You didn’t want anyone asking why you were suddenly leaving camp for days at a time to spend time in a small mountain town away from the prying eyes and gossip of the Van Der Linde Gang.

You weren’t the only one having difficulties keeping their private life out of the topic of talks around the campfire. Arthur had his fair share of questions thrown his way as well. Where was he going? Why’s he gone for so long? Why do you keep writing in that journal of yours? What’s with the stupid grin?

“Hey.” Speak of the devil. Turning around, you smiled as Arthur stepped off the porch of the saloon, adjusting his hat as he stepped forward. “Thought they’d never leave.”

You chuckled, hugging your arms closer to yourself. “One of these days they’re gonna find out,” you started, a sort of sigh escaping your lips.

Sitting in camp, twenty people didn’t seem that large of a number. Most of the time you and the girls stuck to house chores, the men guarded the perimeters, and Pearson stirred his pot of stew … there was rarely all twenty of you in camp at once. But keeping a secret from the lot of them? the hardest thing you had done in the years since you had joined.

“I don’t know, Arthur,” you sighed, walking beside him as he led you down the street to the hotel. “They’re bound to find out someday.”

“I know,” he agreed. “But … it ain’t the right time. Not now. We … we can’t afford to let them know. Can’t lose what we have. Seems like the world don’t want us to be happy.”

You nodded, stepping onto the porch and turning back to Arthur, hands folded in front of you. “Do you think it ever will be a happy ending for us?” you asked. “I mean, Dutch is definitely off his rocker … I ain’t ever seen him like this -- Hosea can barely keep a handle on him. I … I think I’m scared.”

“Which is why,” Arthur smiled, opening the door and leaning forward a bit, “We’re keeping this a secret. I don’t need Dutch lecturin’ me about loyalties right now. But,” he trailed off, paying the clerk for a room before being handed a key and leading you to the stairs. “He does care for you … us … in his own crazy way.”

“Which is why we keep sneakin’ off to small town hotels when the camp thinks we’re off doing other things just to get a bit of privacy?”

Arthur chuckled, dropping his head a bit as you had reached the door to your room. “Well, it ain’t like my tent’s all that private.”

“True, true,” you hummed, dropping a hip as you watched him unlock the door. “And the walls of Shady Belle are rather … thin.”

“You were lucky that mornin’,” he smirked, opening the door for you and guiding you in with a hand at your elbow. “Five minutes earlier and Grimshaw would have found us.”

You groaned at the memory of almost being caught in a compromising position with Arthur last week before smiling. “Promise me, whatever Dutch has planned for this gang, this doesn’t change.”

“I promise,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to your lips.

***

“A little birdie told me you were having some fun without me in town the other day,” Micah’s venomous voice pulled you out of your thoughts as you sewed at the main camp table, the sock almost dropping from your grasp as he stepped up, taking the empty seat across from you.

“What’s it to you?” you asked, focusing on darning the sock instead of his smug face.

“Oh, don’t be like that, darlin’,” he started, leaning forward heavily on the table. “I thought you and I had somethin’ special. All those longing glances and flirtatious remarks.”

You huffed a laugh, glancing up to Micah from the corner of your eye. “When the hell have I ever flirted with you? I’ve flirted with taking a shot at you … with my pistol. But that’s about it,” you said, folding your sewing to stand.

“Micah,” Arthur’s voice came up from behind you, pulling your full attention as his broad frame stepped off the porch of Shady Belle and up to the table where the two of you sat. “Leave her alone, you rat.”

“Hey, we were just talkin’ cowpoke, no need to get all defensive. We’re allowed to talk, ain’t we?”

Arthur only glared at Micah before turning to you. “Mornin’. Dutch wants to see you.”

“Right,” you nodded, standing and striding off towards the house.

“Alright, alright,” Micah sighed, kicking his feet out in front of him as he leaned his back against the table. “Big Arthur Morgan’s got a soft spot for Dutch’s little dove. It all makes sense now,” he smirked.

Arthur only started walking off, with a muttered “Shut up, Micah.”

You leaned around the corner, watching as Arthur started back towards the house. As he passed through the door into the front room, you grabbed his shoulder, pulling him into the back hallway. “What was that?”

Cursing under his breath, he dropped his head. “Damn Micah … must have found out.”

“Well great,” you sighed, slapping your hands against your thighs with the movement. “If Micah knows everyone will by tonight.”

Arthur met your gaze. “This bothers you, don’t it? The camp knowing?”

“Yes. And no. I don’t really know,” you sighed. “For years I’ve lived with ya’ll … bunking with you and Marston as kids, and hanging close to Hosea’s side when I was even younger … I ain’t never really had privacy. And now, we’re in an actual house, with a roof and four walls, and I’m starting to learn what privacy actually is,” you explained. “I just … I wanted some semblance of a private life, away from the girls, and Dutch, and Hosea, and just have something that was … mine.”

“I get it,” Arthur nodded, taking a deep breath. “I … agree with you. And Micah’s a snake,” he added, pulling you into an embrace, hand running over your back. “I love you, that’s all that matters.”

You smiled against his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I love you too, Arthur.”

#arthur morgan x reader #humors of whiskey #rdr2 fanfic

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