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coltermorning · 2 years ago

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Wanted: Day Three (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: Away from camp where Arthur can keep a better eye on you, the pair of you argue your differences to pass the time and take advantage of the nearby lake.

Author’s Notes: Part three of this one.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, eventual smut, enemies to lovers

AO3 Link

Wanted: Day Three

Word count: 5764

“You keep talking like that and you’ll lose the privilege.”

“You’re awfully threatening for a man who never follows through with them.”

You and Arthur had started the day bright and early with a shouting match over the fact that you had barely gotten any sleep, the colder weather and his hack job of a tie down keeping you from it. You had tried and failed for most of the night to pull free, and now your arms ached nearly as badly as the rest of you.

“Said you’d kill me and you didn’t,” you spat. “Twice. Now you’re threatening to, what, gag me? Keep me quiet? But you won’t. I reckon you got the least nerve out of any bounty hunter I know.”

He was trying hard to keep you from getting under his skin, but this seemed to cross a line. He stood and approached you where you still sat, bound and livid.

“You want me to hurt you?”

His words were low and quiet, intimidating in a way you had never felt from him. You took a breath. “I want you to quit mouthing off and untie me.”

“Oh, I ain’t thought of that. Sure, why don’t I just let you run off back to New Austin while I’m at it?”

You gritted your teeth. “From the ground, you bastard.”

He scoffed, the sound somewhere between a laugh and a dismissal. “Why should I? You ain’t been nothing but a pain in the ass since I ran you out of that basin.”

You didn’t have a good argument for this other than that your back was killing you and you had to relieve yourself. You looked to the lake and had an idea.

“Because I…need a wash.”

He did laugh this time. “You want me to go find a tub while I’m at it, draw you a bath? I ain’t your caretaker. You can sit there and rot for three days for all I care.”

“Please.” You tried your hardest to be sincere in the word.

He regarded your for all of a heartbeat before that snide smile overtook his face. “How’s that taste?”

“Please. I need to relieve myself, and I feel like my muscles are about to snap any second.”

“What did I just say? You’ll have to deal with it. Besides, I ain’t falling for that crap.”

“It’s not crap,” you said, your anger surprising you. You hadn’t felt it take over like this in years.

He nodded, holding your eye as he kept that infuriating smile plastered on his face. “Sure.”

You didn’t have it in you to answer him. To take that bait only for him to deny you again. So you sat instead, taking a long breath and looking out at the lake. The water was probably freezing anyway. And while it would be good means for escape, it would also be good means to get shot. Or drown.

“You know what?” he asked, following your gaze and looking out over the water. “That ain’t such a bad idea. I reckon I’ll have a wash myself.”

You shot him a nasty look, the man radiating pure smugness as he reached for his boot. You watched, unbelieving you had been caught by such an ignorant, arrogant bastard of a man. He stripped his boots, his gear, his coat. All in clear view of you, all while knowing just how much it got under your skin to do so. He took his shirt and pants off too, left in only a union suit that he started to unbutton when he caught your eye.

You realized you’d been watching his hands unbutton the thin fabric and snapped your gaze to his face instead, pure hatred spilling from you.

“It’s okay to look,” he teased. “Probably the most entertainment you’ll get out this way.”

“You’re so full of yourself. It’s embarrassing.”

“Oh, I ain’t got nothing to be embarrassed about sweetheart,” he said as he pulled the union suit from his shoulders. You were about to call him on the nickname until you saw those damned arms of his, how broad-chested he was. He was sculpted in muscle, beautiful bodied, and it only made you madder. It would be so much easier to stand this, to laugh in his face, if he was ugly and marred under all that clothing. But now you could only grit your teeth and look away as he pulled his remaining clothing off.

“Have it your way,” he said on a laugh, the sound of him wading into the water soon reaching you. You knew the lake was as cold as you had guessed when he winced and slowed his progress, his steps further and further apart. After long enough, you finally heard splashing and turned to see him working the lake water over his shoulders, washing the grit from his skin. You let out an annoyed huff of breath and turned away, shifting your body so that your back was to him, trying to swallow your anger and come up with a better plan than this.

For the first time in your life, you were drawing a blank on what to do. Most bounty hunters weren’t as smart, weren’t as stubborn, and didn’t have the resources to keep you tied up so well for so long. You needed to get free if you were going to best this man, and he wasn’t budging on that subject. The only outlet you had was convincing him that his gang members were right and he was wrong for capturing you. But even with that, he seemed to bury his head in the sand and ignore what was right in front of him. Maybe if you made him feel guilty over it, you could get through to him better. Even if it meant giving up in a sense. You decided that was the only way and that you would have to risk the dangers of the lake. As far as strategy went, it was your best option. You just prayed luck would turn in your favor once more, lest you wind up with a hole in your head courtesy of the man at your back.

After a short while, you heard Arthur walk out of the lake and toward you to dress.

“Water’s nice. You should try it.”

You turned and shot him a nasty look only to see that he had barely gotten his union suit back over his hips. What little fabric covered him didn’t leave much to the imagination. And he was annoyingly well endowed. Damn him.

“Careful. You let that mouth of yours go any slacker, you’ll start catching flies.”

You clamped your mouth shut and composed yourself, trying hard to focus on your plan and keep from arguing with him. That was all he wanted. He wanted you to ease his guilt. He wanted you to be defiant enough to make him think he was doing the right thing. No longer.

You let out a long sigh, giving him a minute so that you were sure he was somewhat dressed when you turned to him.

“Why didn’t you kill me? Back in Blackwater?”

His face set with a flat look you couldn’t figure a meaning for. He took a moment to answer, halfway through buttoning his shirt when he spoke. “I considered it.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I only kill people I see as threats.” You thought back to the only time he had shot at you—after you had nearly escaped him back in that canyon.

“So I wasn’t threatening enough for you?”

He smirked. “Threatening, no. Annoying as all hell maybe. But you were hopping away unarmed, still bound up in all that rope, knowing you wouldn’t get anywhere. Why would I kill you when I could catch you just as quick and save myself the bother?”

“Because you said you would.”

This seemed to have the effect you wanted, as he finished with his shirt before responding, frowning all the while. “You wanted me to kill you then? That’s why you did it?”

“No.” The truth was, you hadn’t been thinking at all at the time. He had been marching you straight to your death, and your panic had set in so deep you did the only thing you could do, no matter how futile. You debated keeping this to yourself then remembered what you had to do to get through to him. “You ever…been so scared you would die you’d do anything to get out of it?” You met his eye, and by the way his gaze faltered, you knew you’d hit your mark.

You didn’t expect him to answer, but his voice rose quietly. “Sure.”

You chose your next words carefully. “I had to try. I…want to live.”

To your disappointment, that goddamn smirk overtook his face. “Should have thought of that before you killed all those people. And blew up someone meaner than you, that was your worst mistake.”

You wanted to argue that he wasn’t meaner than you or he would have killed you already. If your roles were reversed, you certainly would have killed him by now. Him and that smart mouth. But you didn’t say this, taking a different course.

“You think I killed those people for fun? I been running for nigh on two years now, all because a well-respected family tried to pin something on me I didn’t do, destroyed my good name, and told everyone around to shoot me on sight. Only I wouldn’t go down so easy. I spent an entire year trying to clear my name, to no avail, and ever since they’ve sent one bounty hunter after another after me. That’s what raised my bounty so high. They just want me silenced now, want me to go away.”

To your surprise, Arthur’s eyebrows raised slightly. “Seems you and me got that in common.”

He held your eye a heartbeat too long. It took everything in you not to smile in triumph, to hold his gaze with a hard look of your own instead. You were finally getting somewhere.

“Anyway,” he said, waving the moment away like it was nothing. He picked up his gun belt and fastened it, brought his satchel around him. “I’m gonna go find something to eat. Don’t wait up.”

You scoffed, feeling your shoulders slump on their own accord.

Arthur made for his horse and pulled a gun out of his scabbard that you recognized. “Hey!”

He turned to you with a grin. “What, you like it?” He was holding your rifle in his hands, the tic marks you had carved into its side plain as day from where you sat. “I usually don’t take a man’s gun until after he’s dead, but I like this one too much to wait that long.”

You hated him then. More than anything. You despised him for the way he talked about handing you over to your own death like it was nothing. You vowed then and there if you got free, you would kill him. Brutally.

You didn’t give Arthur the satisfaction of some lightweight insult and instead stayed quiet as he retreated into the nearby woods with a grim laugh, your eyes following him all the while. When he was out of your line of sight, you tried again to free yourself. This time, you sawed the ropes at your wrists against the one tied to the stake, back and forth, hoping they would tear themselves apart with the friction. After what had to be five minutes of doing this, you gave up. He had tied you up so tightly there wasn’t room enough to move the ropes against each other properly. You stilled and decided to save your energy. You would need it if your last resort came to fruition.

Not long after, Arthur approached from the bank to your left with a beaver hanging over his shoulder. You knew your rifle was too powerful for such an animal but kept your mouth firmly shut about it.

“Soup’s on,” he said, throwing the beaver at your feet. He returned your gun to his saddle then proceeded to skin the animal, setting some of the meat to cook above the fire. Your mouth watered at the sound of it sizzling. But again, you didn’t say anything as he worked. And you remained quiet until finally, he shocked you by walking to your back and cutting clean through the rope at your hands.

“Since you seemed to remember your manners,” he taunted, circling you. “Plus, I ain’t feeding you again. You can get it yourself. Oh, and you try anything, and I put a bullet through you. That ain’t a threat, it’s a promise. You clear on that?”

You nodded, rubbing the skin at your wrists, bending forward so your back got a break from sitting straight so long. You ate your fill and savored every bite, not having had anything as good for days. You considered escape all the while. If you found a way to incapacitate Arthur long enough, you could cut through the rope at your feet with the knife at his hip. You would kill him with it too. You had to now—it was an urge not only formed from hatred but from knowing he would pursue you to the ends of the earth if you didn’t. You wondered whether his precious gang would come after you for killing one of their own. They certainly seemed close enough to hold that sort of a grudge. You shook the thought away when Arthur tossed you a canteen, like he would pull the words right from your mind if you didn’t stop thinking about them. You looked to him in question.

“I won’t offer again,” he said, nodding to the canteen. You hadn’t seen him drink from it and were somewhat suspicious of it but raised it to your lips anyway. If he wanted to poison you after all this time, he was an even bigger fool than you thought.

When the water hit your tongue, you nearly moaned. It was the only thing you had had to quench your thirst besides Charles’ kindness back in that camp, and your mouth was dry as a bone because of it. You chugged it down, nearly draining the whole thing before Arthur said, “Easy,” and came and snatched the canteen out of your hands. You shot him daggers for it but again didn’t speak. He chuckled. “Don’t take much to make a person compliant, you know.” He walked around the fire to face you, his hand resting on the gun at his hip as he drank. “For some, it’s water. Or food. But for you, it seems to be hope.” Your gaze narrowed. “I control your hope, I control you. Whatever’s left of it.”

He wasn’t wrong. And it scared you he had read you so well. It wasn’t hard to guess at, but if he knew you still had some kind of hope left, then he knew you were still planning to get out of this. And that lowered your chances of doing so significantly.

“Tell you what,” he said, taking his gun out of its holster and tossing the canteen to his feet, the thing giving an empty clunking sound when it hit the dirt. “I’ve decided to be kind today. I can at least give you one last good day.” He made sure his gun was loaded, spinning the cylinder and clicking it back into place. “We can play a little game of sorts while we’re at it.” He leveled you with a satisfied smirk, waiting for you to ask him about his grand idea.

You sighed in annoyance. “What game?”

“I’ll let you go for a swim if you want. But the second you go under, I start shooting. And I gotta warn you, I don’t miss.” His smirk had turned into a flash of teeth, his grin making you madder than the game he proposed. There went your last chance at escape. You were a strong swimmer and may have still stood a chance, but was that something you wanted to risk? “What do you say?”

Your eyes met his and you nodded. “Sure. But no games. I just want a wash, that’s it.”

He shrugged. “Have it your way. But I would have preferred the challenge.”

You rolled your eyes and put your hands on the ground, pushing yourself up. You looked to him, expecting him to cut the rope at your feet. He just nodded toward the lake, neglecting to do anything of the sort. You refrained from saying the cutting words on your tongue and shuffled your feet, making slow progress toward the lakeshore. To your annoyance, Arthur followed. Once you got to the water and debated whether to shed any of your clothes or not, he rounded you.

“I ain’t taking no chances with you,” he said, making a show of holstering his gun but leaving it visible. He then reached for the lapels of your coat.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you said, leaning back.

He met your eyes, and instead of anger, you found a knowing satisfaction lingering in his gaze. “You want to freeze to death when night falls because you were too stubborn to shed your clothes?”

“It ain’t about the clothes,” you snapped. “It’s about you taking them off.”

He smiled then. “Well in that case, I’m definitely doing it.”

He reached for you once more and you smacked his hand away. For the life of you, you couldn’t understand why that made his smile grow wider. Quicker than you could stop him, he moved to your back and trapped your arms against your sides by wrapping his own around you. “I’ll tie you up again and let you drown out there, mark my words.” When you relaxed enough to show that, as much as you hated him for it, you would let him get this over with so that you could keep your hands free and get in the lake already, he slowly released you. “Good girl,” he purred in your ear. You debated rounding and punching him straight in the nose for it. But you held your temper down for the hundredth time and let him be.

He brought his hands to your coat, slowly pulling it away, and something about the feeling made you snap. You could barely shift your weight to do something about it before he had his hand around your throat and trapped you against his chest, speaking lowly in your ear. “Behave.”

You hated yourself for it, but you fought off a shiver at the word. Something about his voice, the demanding way he said it, the feel of his strong chest at your back…you didn’t want to admit what it did to you. Didn’t even want to think about it. You stood stock still and let the feeling pass instead, waiting for him to let go of you. He reluctantly did so and went back to undressing you without a word—something you thought was odd, considering it was the perfect moment to say something stupid like he normally did. But you didn’t linger on that thought for long, as the feeling of needing to get out from under his hands took hold once more. You fought it and let him be, solely for the fact that you needed to get in the lake and make up your mind about whether or not to run.

Arthur pulled your coat from your arms, rounded you and unbuttoned your shirt. He untucked it, meeting your eye with an annoying smugness when the action pulled your hips toward him.

“Can you move quicker than this?” you snapped.

“Am I bothering you?”

“Always,” you said under your breath, but he caught it.

“You better think about being kinder to me. I don’t have to allow any of this, you know.”

“Oh how terrible it must be,” you said flatly. “To have to submit yourself to undressing a woman. I’m just putting you out, aren’t I?”

“Really, you are. I’m being awful lenient toward someone I plan on seeing swing in a few days.”

At the mention of that, you clamped your mouth shut once more. Your anger got the better of you, and you decided then and there to wait for a better opportunity to escape so that you could take him down in the process. You considered slapping him silly too, but you needed to keep your hands free. You fought down the urge.

Arthur chuckled as he unsheathed his knife, waving it at you. “You try anything, and I gut you.”

You looked away from him, toward the lake instead as he crouched and cut the rope at your feet. The need to kick him in the face was so hard to tamp down on that you clenched your fists to have something to do with all that restless energy. Arthur moved to the buttons on your pants before pulling them down your legs slowly, purposely trying to get a rise out of you. It took everything in you not to give in, in violence or in words.

He finally stepped away and looked at you with a surprising amount of anger. You didn’t know what that look was for but didn’t care.

“You do the rest,” he said, pulling his gun out again.

You understood then—he wasn’t going to pull your boots off your feet like some groveling maid. That would be bordering on selfless, something that was beneath him. You rolled your eyes and took your boots off, leaving behind nothing but your chemise and a jittery anticipation for the cold bite of the water.

He should not have done this. He had made a grave mistake. Arthur was already warring with himself over whether or not you deserved to live, and this only made things ten times worse. He had been letting you swim over his own indecision, then undressing you to get under your skin, but it had had the opposite effect. He had pulled you into him earlier meaning to threaten you but found that he couldn’t get the words out, the only thing coming to him a demand to behave while trying desperately to hide what his voice was betraying. And now, he could barely get your clothes off of you before needing to step away, making you finish the job because he couldn’t take his mind off of his hands on your body. What the hell was wrong with him?

He circled back around to the fire, needing to clear his head and get his eyes off of you for a moment. It was a ridiculously foolish thing to do considering he had cut you loose, but he couldn’t help it. He would do something much more foolish if he didn’t.

He walked to the far side of the fire so that he faced the lake but didn’t look up as he heard you begin to wade into the water. Why was he acting this way? He knew he couldn’t let go of the disagreements of the gang concerning you, but it was more than that. It was the thought that after all you had told him about your past, you weren’t much different than him. In fact, you probably deserved a killing even less than he did. You would have fit right in with his gang except that you probably wouldn’t have even agreed to that, being too righteous to do such a thing. So not only were you innocent and scorned, but he was holding a good person hostage, playing right into the hand of the very people he had been brought up to hate. Where did that leave him?

He knew the obvious answer was to let you go, and he was seriously considering it. But all his pitiful attempts at riling you—not to mention the harsh way he had treated you the past few days—would be enough to anger anyone to violence. Especially someone as deadly as you. So if he did let you go, would you try to kill him for it? He wouldn’t hesitate to defend himself if you did and would be willing to bet you’d wind up dead at his hand. Then he would feel even more guilt over going after you at all. Maybe he could threaten you into leaving, acting angry enough for you to think you got off easy and take the rare opportunity. In fact, that was beginning to look like his best option when Arthur heard a splash of water loud enough to make him snap to attention.

Instead of trying to escape, you were doing just as he said to do—standing belly deep in the water and washing, nothing more. What’s worse, you had stripped your chemise off too, and he watched your bare back a moment too long before looking away in shame. He couldn’t tell if his sudden attraction to you was formed from guilt or from the realization that you weren’t much different from any of the women he ran with. You were better, actually. And he stamped down on that thought quickly, so as not to cloud his judgement further.

He let you stay in the water as long as you wanted, looking up occasionally to make sure you hadn’t tried to run, not knowing what he would do if you did. He finally decided he would make his decision about what to do with you tomorrow, trying his best to keep up the same threatening act he’d used on you so far to keep you from noticing he was at war with himself over it. That made him calm some, and he took a long breath and vowed to make the rest of the day a boring, eventless one so that he wouldn’t have to think about the mistakes he had made concerning you for another second.

Arthur soon realized he had a problem—you were naked, and you would have to walk back out of that lake straight at him. He knew in order for you not to notice anything was amiss, he had to act smug about it. He had to look you over with a grin and pretend like his heart wasn’t racing when he did. He hoped with all his might that he could do so convincingly. He didn’t have it in him to argue if you called his bluff. Not with all the guilt flooding him.

Soon enough, he did exactly as he should have, sporting a lazy grin when you began walking out of the water. He never took his eyes off of you, partially to convince you, mainly because he couldn’t. You were such a sight that his breath caught. He wished then he had never let you get in that lake—he wouldn’t be able to erase the memory of you all bare for the rest of his days.

He cleared his throat before speaking to make sure his voice didn’t shoot too low. “You gonna tie yourself back up for me or make me do it?”

You shot him a nasty look, beginning to redress. He watched your every movement as you did, gripping the gun still in his hand so tightly it hurt.

“I…thanks, I guess,” you said softly, but he didn’t miss the hatred in your voice.

Once you had your chemise back on and he could breathe properly, he spoke. “I didn’t know any better, and I’d think you’re trying to butter me up.” He stepped around the fire toward you. “To appeal to my…better nature.”

“I know better than that,” you spat. “You don’t have one of those.”

He chuckled. “Maybe not.” There was more truth to that statement than you could ever know.

Once you were fully dressed, you glared at him and stood stock still, leaving the cut up ropes at your feet. He got the message and kept his gun at his side as he approached, making you eye the weapon. Little did you know, he didn’t have it in him to hurt you with it. Not anymore.

He fished more rope out of his satchel and stepped behind you, tying your hands first. He was shocked you let him do it without a fight and was reminded of your silence when he had taken you from camp. Like you wanted him to do it, like you had bigger plans of your own. He had the feeling you were constantly weighing his every move, deciding what would benefit you best in an attempt to escape. He was thinking again that you were smarter than he cared for when he finished with the ropes and stepped away. You hobbled over and sat by the fire without a word, refusing to look at him. That was all right by him—he didn’t have to think about you quite so much if you weren’t nagging him like you usually did.

The rest of the day passed achingly slowly, and Arthur debated tying you to something and getting away for a while. He didn’t though, not wanting to risk you escaping and sneaking up on him. If it weren’t for the threat you posed, he would have gladly done it and prayed you were gone when he returned, nothing but a pile of empty ropes. It would certainly be easier on him.

He fed you again in the afternoon, warring with himself over doing so. You had eyed him with suspicion, and he knew it was only a matter of time before you called him out on treating you with such mercy. To keep you from doing just that, he tied you to a nearby tree when darkness fell, retreating to his tent without a word as you spat insult after insult at him for leaving you out in the cold. It was noticeably colder than the night before, and he figured it would send the message that nothing was amiss better than anything. You had a coat besides. You would be fine until he figured out what to do with you when morning came.

Arthur drifted off in the early evening and was awoken hours later by wind so strong it made the trees shake around him. He stuck his head out of the tent to see you sitting where he left you, still awake.

“It’ll rain soon,” you shouted over the roar of the wind. “Gonna make me sleep out here in it?”

It was all he could do not to answer you, or worse, to give in. He gritted his teeth and cursed himself as he closed his tent once more, inside and away from the weather, knowing he was damning himself every second he ignored you. So be it. He still had hours until he needed to make a decision.

The bastard had shut you out. You felt the first few raindrops fall cold and thick, their impact with your skin making you shiver. One slid down your back and made you pull at your ropes to change positions, not wanting to feel that iciness again. Then, like that had only been a taste, the heavens seemed to open up, the giant maw of the sky pouring freezing rain down so thick you started to shake uncontrollably. You reined in your tears, knowing how unhelpful that would be.

To your complete surprise, not even a minute had passed when you saw a flash of canvas—Arthur had stepped out of his tent and was marching toward you. Without a word, he rounded the tree and cut you away from it, not untying you but picking you up in his arms. He carried you to his tent, your mouth shut in total shock at his act. It was possible he only did it to keep you from freezing to death, but you couldn’t deny it seemed somewhat caring.

He ducked in and set you on the far left, leaving you tied as he laid down against the opposite wall, turning his back to you. That wasn’t very smart of him, but you were thankful besides. The tent wasn’t exactly warm, and water still dripped in in some places, but it was much better than sitting outside in the rain. The constant downpour was so loud it was even a bit relaxing now. You debated thanking him but didn’t, thinking that may be pushing your luck. You did, however, turn to look at the gun belt he wore. His blade and gun were missing, probably on his other side. You cursed your lot and turned back over, mad at him all over again. It didn’t make any sense. Why was he taking such care to keep you alive only to have you killed in three days time? Why was he suddenly setting you free to wash, feeding you, letting you sleep in his tent? The answer to that hit you like a train—all this wordless kindness started when you had taken your clothes off. There was only one logical explanation for that: this man wanted you. He was lying as far away as he could so as not to touch your rain-soaked body. He probably hated himself for it too, telling himself this would all be over soon, that the temptation would pass when he turned you in. But still, there was enough feeling there for him to drag you in here in the first place. That, you could work with.

You fumbled with your tied feet and got them under you enough to turn over, facing him. You scooted closer until you touched him, your body lined against his, making him flinch.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m freezing. You’re warm.”

“Get off of me before I throw you back outside. You’re wet.”

You nuzzled into him tighter, curling into his back, wondering if you could make him give in.

“Quit,” he snarled, sitting up. He shoved you away and took the bedroll out from under you, throwing it over you before laying back down with his back turned once more. Again, caring. But not enough to free you, not enough to convince him that what he was doing was wrong.

You evaded sleep and came up with a better plan, knowing you had hours to enact such a thing and the perfect setup—close quarters. You smiled. You would have him cutting through your bounds in no time.

_________

Part four is here.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #fanfic #writing

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