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starlight-and-whiskey · 9 days ago

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A Place to Rest Your Bones: Pt 13 - Age 35

Pt 12 Pt 14

You glanced up from the letter at the sound of hooves, a grin spreading across your cheeks. Hurrying to the door, you flung it open the moment you heard the heavy thud of boots ascending the porch steps. “Expecting someone?”, an unfamiliar man enquired, his voice lilting as he tilted his head inquisitively.

Standing there, side by side, were two men dressed in well-cut suits and red vests that looked travel-stained but expensive, shimmering silver badges adorning their jackets. The first – a tall and lean man - offered a tight, business-like smile that never reached his cold, pale eyes. The second – a hand already resting on the pistol at his hip - tapped dust from his boots as if the very place offended him somehow. “Can…can I help you?”, you stumbled, nervously smoothing your apron.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” the taller man drawled, voice measured. “Agent Milton. My associate, Agent Ross”. He inclined his head toward the other man, his voice clipped and certain through a thinly veiled smirk. “Pinkerton detective agency.”

Your stomach twisted as you tried to keep your face neutral, gripping the doorknob harder than necessary. “May we come in?” he said, already stepping forwards. With a churning in your gut, you instinctively stepped backwards. Milton nodded thoughtfully as the floorboards creaked gently under his weight, glancing around the room and easing off his leather gloves. “You have a lovely home.”

“How, uhm… what can I do for you, gentlemen?” you managed, trying to maintain a calm façade as you swallowed the building lump in your throat and closed the door behind them, plastering on a disarming smile before turning to face them. “We’re looking for a man. Dutch van der Linde.” You swallowed hard, choking words down against a desperately dry throat, shaking your head. “I don’t…” “Maybe other names ring a bell?”, he cut you off, eyes boring into you. “Hosea Matthews? Arthur Morgan?”

Your eyes wandered to the table where the discarded letter lay, the inky smudges that told of Arthur’s impending visit ready to unwittingly reveal all. “Where are my manners?”, you chuckled softly, your voice too fast, forcing a smile. You turned briskly to the table where a few folded linens and a half-finished cup of coffee waited. Gasping an apology, you hoped the flush would portray embarrassment as opposed to guilt as you tidied with purpose, fingers trembling slightly as you gathered the stray items, taking the opportunity to discreetly fold Arthur’s letter and tuck it into your apron pocket. “Don’t get many visitors”, you forced a chuckle, refusing to meet Milton’s eyes as he stood with arms clasped, still and steady as stone.

Ross wandered by the hearth, posture rigid, scanning the shelves and mantel with a predatory intensity. You swallowed hard, nerves fraying at the edges, and tried to steady your breathing.

“Would you like to sit?”

Ross glanced over, his voice cold, “We’re not here for pleasantries, ma’am.” You watched as his slow, measured steps brought him nearer to the photograph on the sideboard. The one of you and Arthur, taken maybe only a year ago. Your heart pounded with thundering intensity inside your ribcage. “A drink, perhaps?”, you suggested, voice tight with forced politeness as you grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the counter, placing it with a gently clink against the wooden table.

Ross flicked his eyes to meet yours, and then at Milton. It felt as though the world held it’s breath as the silence stretched for what seemed like minutes. And then he smiled, tapping two fingers twice against the sideboard without glancing down. Steadily, he walked over to the table, dropping himself down into one of the empty chairs. As Milton sat beside him, you turned to grab glasses, closing your eyes and taking a long steady breath, willing the trembling in your hands to still.

Tell them just enough to know you ain’t lying.

“You seem nervous, ma’am.” “Sorry”, you forced a smile, pouring into the three glasses before sitting. It struck you that Ross only drank after you took a sip, Milton leaving his glass untouched as he crossed his legs. You took a steadying breath, your fingers curling around the glass as you looked at Milton before swiftly directing your gaze at the amber liquid. “I…I did…I knew Dutch…” Milton nodded to Ross, who swiftly pulled out a small leather-bound notebook. “It was a long time ago. Am… am I in trouble?” “When did you last see him?” “He used to come by when I was a child. My mother… she used to take folk in sometimes. But she died a long time ago.” “Still, people pass through. We’re sure Mr. Van der Linde might seek safe harbour when times are hard.” Milton’s eyes narrowed fractionally, even as you gave a disingenuous shake of your head. “And Mr Matthews? Mr Morgan?” You forced your shoulders not to tense, took a careful sip of whiskey you didn’t want. You tried to appear puzzled, letting your brow knit as though searching distant recollections. “I don’t recall. I was young.” “Because you see, Mr Morgan was seen in these parts not too many weeks ago. We thought he might want to call in on old friends. And do you know where our leads led us?” You shook your head, meeting his steely eyes. “They led us to you.”

You forced yourself to sit a little straighter, the weight of their stares pressing against your chest like a vice. The smell of whiskey was thick in the air, but it did little to mask the bitterness creeping up your throat or the boring eyes of Ross as he brought the glass to his lips. “I wouldn’t blame you”, Milton sighed with a shake of his head, “taken in by the charm of men like that. Van der Linde’s silver tongue can be quite seductive, I hear. Promises of the land of milk and honey. I’d wager you only thought you were helping wronged men, am I right? But they aren’t wronged men, not any of that band of misguided fools. All of them are criminals. Murderers.”

Milton leaned in; his piercing gaze unwavering as he took in every detail of your face. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, though, instead focusing on the flickering shadows cast by the fireplace. It was almost too easy to imagine that you could just slip into those shadows, fade away from their prying eyes—but there was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

“You see, ma’am… we know Mr Morgan has been here. Know that for a fact”, Milton’s voice dropped slightly, a thin, calculated smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’m not an unreasonable man. I’m giving you the opportunity for a deal.” Swallowing hard, you forced yourself to meet his eyes, hoping he couldn’t see how your jaw was trembling.

Ross clicked the end of his pen against his notebook, his stare never leaving your face. The tension stretched, thin as wire, and you risked a glance over their shoulders, out through the small window above the sink.��Today, Arthur was coming today. The afternoon light had begun to wane, and with every passing second your heart thumped louder, the terror mounting that Arthur might show up at any moment, striding unwittingly into the arms of captors.

Ross turned a page in his notebook, the scratch of paper unnervingly loud in the silence. “Perhaps we should enlighten you on facts you may not have known,” he said steadily, his tone rasping with thinly veiled disgust. “Since your memory seems… lacking.” He paused, his fingers tapping the notebook’s spine. “Do you recall hearing about the trouble in Blackwater last year?” “Sure, I heard. Everyone did.” Your fingers moved to hesitantly fiddle with the hem of your apron. “A robbery-“ “-a massacre”, Milton cut you off with forceful tone. “I saw the papers.” Milton shook his head, taking a long-metered breath, before sighing, “So you maybe heard about what those crooks did in Blackwater? What Mr Van der Linde did? Heard about that woman he killed in cold blood, just to get away?” Milton’s lip curled at your silence, the colour draining from your face giving away more than words ever could, “What was her name, Ross?”

“Heidi McCourt”

“I—I didn’t hear nothing about that,” you managed, voice wavering as you shrugged.

Milton’s eyes flicked to Ross before boring into you, his jaw tightening. “She was no outlaw, no gunslinger, no threat. Just a young woman with her life ahead of her. She ended up with a bullet in her, courtesy of Dutch van der Linde.” He let that hang in the silence, the words pressing down like a heavy hand on your shoulder. “He shot her in cold blood—can you imagine that, ma’am?” He tutted as he leant forward, his tongue clicking against his teeth.

You felt your stomach twist. You had never heard this before, never once pictured Dutch as the type of man to do something so senseless. Yes, he was dangerous. Yes, you had heard of violence and robberies, but you had clung to the idea that there was some code, some line he would not cross. No, they were mistaken.

Ross’s pen clicked again, the sound making you flinch. “She pleaded,” he said softly, almost as if sharing a secret. “Begged for her life, or so the witnesses say. When Dutch had her by the throat as witness, and then shot her down without remorse. Just another nameless casualty of his twisted cause.” He inclined his head, eyes glittering. “Is that the kind of man you harbour, ma’am?” “I'm sorry for that girl. I am, but... like I told you, I don’t know them no more”.

Milton’s smile turned cold. He nodded at Ross, as if acknowledging something unspoken. “We wouldn’t want any misunderstandings,” Milton said softly. “Harbouring a fugitive - especially one so notorious, or the company he keeps - could make life... difficult for you.” “Difficult how?”

“If you chose to lie,” he added, leaning down slightly, “well, let’s just say the noose doesn’t discriminate, does it, Ross?”

Ross gave a thin smile. “No, sir. It surely doesn’t.”

You kept your mouth closed tight. A noose. They were threatening you openly now, and you were barely holding your nerve. You dared another surreptitious glance out the window. Nothing yet. No broad silhouette on horseback coming down the trail, no low whistle. Relief mixed sourly with dread. “You tell us where they are and I’ll leave you well alone. That’s my deal.”

You swallowed carefully against the hush of the cabin – the crackle of the hearth, the soft ticking of the clock - trying to think through the gentle haze of panic settling behind your eyes. They could sense your nerves, like wolves scenting blood.

“I’m sorry, Agent Ross,” you said, quieter still, “But I can't help you. I ain’t seen Dutch since I was a child. I get travellers through here, sure. But I ain’t in the business of harbouring outlaws.” You let your voice grow thick for just a moment, “I ain’t no friend to murderers.”

“Is that so?” Milton murmured, reaching out to run a finger along the smooth grain of the table.

Milton let out a long sigh, feigning disappointment. He stood, and you fought not to flinch as he sighed and pulled on his gloves, the leather creaking softly. His partner followed suit, slipping the notebook back into his breast pocket. A sliver of relief flashed through you—if they were standing, maybe they were leaving.

“Very well. Perhaps we’ve been… heavy-handed. But you must understand our position: we’re dealing with desperate men. Men who would kill you as soon as look at you, if it served their purpose.”

Ross crossed back to the door. He straightened his jacket, dusted off his lapel, and studied you with eyes that lingered a fraction too long. “If Mr. Morgan does come by, you’d best remember we made this visit,” he said lowly.

With that, Milton dipped his head in a mockery of courtesy. “Good day, ma’am. Thank you for your… hospitality.”

Your heart hammered as you slowly shut the door, leaning your back against it with your full weight and a shaking breath.

***

The silence in your cabin felt suffocating as you sat stiffly, hands trembling in your lap, your fingernails ravaged from nervous chewing. Milton’s and Ross’s words played over and over in your head like a broken record: Murder. Hanging. Blood on your hands.

Minutes felt like hours.

And then, the soft whinny of a horse. You shot to your feet, knees shaking. A low whistle drifted in through a crack in the window. Arthur.

Rushing to the door, you grabbed the knob with clammy hands. You barely had time to open it wide before he hopped onto the porch, a soft smile on his lips that faded the moment his eyes met yours. “Thank God”, you breathed, tugging him inside by the collar of his jacket and casting a frantic glance at the now dim trail behind him before pulling the door shut with a firm slam. “Woah…something wrong?”

The soft click of the bolt sliding home felt like the only safeguard you had left.

Arthur’s brow furrowed, concern blossoming on his face. “What’s goin’ on?”

You swallowed thickly, taking half a second to calm your pounding heart. But words spilled out in a panicked rush. “Pinkertons. They were here.”

Arthur’s face fell, eyes darkening as he cursed softly under his breath. “Goddamn it.”

He sighed a frustrated breath through his nose, head tilting back as he scrubbed a hand over his lips and through his beard, the latter a great deal longer than when you’d last laid eyes on him. "Are - are you okay?”, his broad hand found your upper arm, rubbing firm and steady. “They didn't touch you?"

"No...no, I'm fine”, you smiled sadly with a shake of your head, feeling the lingering coil of fear in your gut loosening a little under the weight of Arthur’s hand upon you, the warming smell of tobacco and iron that emanated from his very skin. “What did they want?”

“Dutch. You. The whole damn gang, I don’t know. They wanted me to tell them where you were. Said if I told them I'd spare myself punishment for being an accessory.” “Punishment?”, he asked lowly. “They said…”, you swallowed, drawing a slow, steadying breath. “Said they'd hang me if they caught me with you."

Arthur’s eyes flickered with anger at that, jaw tightening. He sighed heavily, chewing on his lip for a moment before pulling you into his arms. "It’s just talk, darlin'. That's all, just talk."

“I ran into ‘em myself a few weeks back. Could’a taken me right there, but they didn’t. They want Dutch.” Arthur’s words were warm and reassuring as they resonated from his chest, humming softly against your own. You felt the tension in your own body yield beneath the steady weight of his hold. He pressed his cheek to your temple, breath soft against your hair, “They’re just tryin’ to spook you into givin’ us up.”

You pressed your face closer into the crook of his neck, letting the steady rise and fall of his chest calm you. “I won’t, you know I won’t.”

In the midst of his breathy exhale, you could swear you felt him smile against your hair. “Never considered for a moment you would.”

For a long while, you both stood there, you wrapped in his arms, the warm steady puff of his breath against your temple. Eventually, you shifted your weight, easing back just enough to look up at him. Your hand drifted to his chest, resting there over the steady pulse of his heart. You felt him inhale, the motion lifting your palm slightly, and as his eyes flicked down to meet yours, something warm and unspoken passed between you, unravelling the last lingering knot of worry buried deep in your belly.

Dipping his head slowly, Arthur’s lips found yours in a soft, lingering kiss that made your breath hitch. You parted just enough to breathe, a faint giggle escaping before you could catch it. Arthur’s brow creased, confusion flashing across his features.

“What’s so funny?” he murmured with that lopsided grin, pulling his head back to study you.

Heat rose to your cheeks as you bit back another laugh. “I’m sorry,” you managed, pressing your lips together with a smile as your fingers reached up to rake through the unkempt ruggedness of his beard. You were quietly surprised by how much it had grown since you last saw him. It made him seem older, rougher somehow, a touch wilder around the edges than even you were used to. “It’s… guess you ain’t had much time for groomin’ lately.”

Arthur followed your gesture, his hand drifting self-consciously to the coarse hair. “Ah,” he grunted, his lips curling into a grin, realisation dawning as his arms drew you closer. “Do you not like it?”

Before you could answer his question, a bright laugh bubbled up from your chest as Arthur dipped his head again, this time pressing his face gently into the crook of your neck. A squeal of surprised laughter escaped you when the coarse bristle of his beard brushed against your throat, sending delightful sparks of sensation dancing over your skin.

“Arthur, stop,” you gasped between giggles, your hands instinctively coming up to push against the firm muscle of his chest, “It tickles!” But he only tightened his arms around you, lips seeking the soft place at your collarbone where he planted warm, teasing kisses. Only when you were gasping for breath through laughter and squirming in his grip did he relinquish his hold. “Don’t make me cut it off”, you chuckled, cheeks aching. “Suppose I could let you shave me…”, he smiled, raking a hand through the tangled hair. “Seriously?” “Sure, why not.”

***

Arthur leant back in the worn wooden chair, his broad frame making the simple furniture creak slightly under his weight. Gently, you brushed his beard with your fingertips, smoothing the coarse hair. His breath hitched, just a little, at your touch, a touch of nerves hidden in the glistening of his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitched into a half-smile.

There’s was something so personal in the ritual – so close you could hear his steady breaths, feel the warmth emanating from his skin.

Working in silent concentration, you gently cut Arthur’s beard back as much as you dare, clipping away at the thickest parts of his beard first, each snip making a crisp, metallic sound that resonated through the quiet evening air.

Setting down the scissors, you swirled the shaving brush in a bowl of lather - thick, creamy foam that’s soft to the touch and smelled vaguely of spices and pine. Arthur patted his thigh in invitation, and you climbed onto his lap, bracing your hand on the broad expanse of his chest. Even through his shirt, you could feel the solid muscle beneath – the steady rise and fall of his ribs.

Dipping the brush along his jaw, you painted the sudsy mixture across his skin. Along the apples of his cheeks, the strong angle of his jaw, the faint pulse in his throat.

The closeness of your position - straddling one of his thighs, with the puff of his soft breathing warm against your wrist - made the experience feel more intimate than any mundane chore had a right to be. It felt like a conversation all on its own, one shared without words.

The straight razor felt cool and solid in your hand, it’s polished steel gleaming in the soft lamp light.

“Hold still,” you murmured, eyes thick with concentration and tongue poking out just a little as it always did when you worked with precision. “Yes, ma’am,” he smiled.

The razor’s edge whispered against the lather, the sound is distinct and satisfying as the blade glided through the foam and caught the dark whiskers beneath. Each pass deliberate – precise - revealing a clean patch of skin in its wake.

You tilted his face gently, exposing his jawline, and he let you guide him without protest, his hands remaining firmly on your waist as the razor rasped gently against his skin as you worked.

As you nudged his chin gently upward to expose the strong column of his throat, you noticed the subtle shift in his breathing, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed slightly under your hand as he swallowed. A touch of vulnerability hidden well within rugged features, as if he’s allowing a rare moment of indulgence. With each pass, more of Arthur’s features come into view: the faint scar by his chin, the slight curve of a grin he’s been trying to hide. The wet sound of the razor rinsing between strokes gives way to the occasional crackle of the hearth fire in the background.

At last, you made the final sweep of the blade beneath his chin, setting the razor aside to wipe the remnants of lather from his face. Your breath caught for a moment as you took him in, a blush threatening to creep across your cheeks at the rugged beauty of him as you leaned back and gently traced your fingertips over his now-smooth face, checking for any spots you might have missed.

“Well?” you ask, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders, and his own move to settle around your back.

“Better?”, Arthur asked quietly, his eyes never leaving your face as he touched his face, his calloused fingers exploring the unfamiliar smoothness. A slow, warm smile spreading across his lips as his eyes met yours.

“Much”, you smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss against the smooth skin of his cheek.

***

The soft glow of the oil lamp cast flickering shadows across the cabin as you finally settled into bed, your very bones exhausted from the tales of Arthur’s travels. The move to Lemoyne. The bank robbery in Valentine. Entanglements with Grays and Braithwaites.

Arthur stood by the mirror, running his hand over his smooth jawline with a quiet hum of amusement.

“How’d you let it get so long, anyway?” you asked, propping yourself up on an elbow.

Arthur glanced at you in the mirror, his lips quirking into a half-smile. “Ah, been laid up a few weeks.”

You sat up a little more, a frown tugging at your lips. “Laid up? What happened?”

He hesitated, his hand pausing mid-motion as he looked down at the dresser. “Just a... misunderstanding,” he shrugged.

That answer didn’t sit right with you. You reached out and grabbed his wrist, tugging him to face you. The movement caught him off guard, and he turned with a reluctant sigh, his eyes avoiding yours.

“Arthur,” you said firmly, “what happened?”

He exhaled heavily, his shoulders sagging in resignation. Slowly, he undid the buttons of his shirt, each one feeling like a small confession. When he shrugged it off his shoulders with a visible wince, your breath caught at the sight of the barely healed gunshot wound glaring angrily back at you. The stitched flesh was red and swollen, the surrounding skin raw and tender.

“Shit, Arthur…” “It's nothing, I'm fine.” “Sure don’t look like nothing.

Arthur’s pulled away from your clasp on his wrist, his hand finding your cheek and a thumb coming to trace over your cheekbone as his eyes dipped to catch yours. “I’m okay.” An audible sigh escaped your lips, worry still pitted in your stomach as you shuffled backwards on the bed to give him room. Arthur adjusted the pillows before pulling the blanket back and slipping in beside you, rolling onto his side to face you.

“That business in Rhodes? Is that what happened?”

“No...”, he sighed, a hand finding your waist. “O'Driscolls.”

“Jesus, Arthur”, you whispered as your fingertips traced the edge of the fresh pink skin, not too far from the knotted white flesh of the bullet hole you’d sewn up yourself over five years prior. “Just how many irons are in the fire here? Pinkertons, Cornwall, Grays, Braithwaites, O’Driscolls…”

Arthur gave a low chuckle, the sound warm and rough, despite the weight of your words. His hand on your waist tightened just slightly as he looked up at you, his lips curling into that lopsided smile you knew too well. “Guess I’m just real popular these days."

“It ain’t funny, Arthur”, you groaned in exasperation. “Maybe if you didn’t go pickin’ fights with every-”

He tilted his head, mock-offended. “Now, hold on. They picked the fight with me this time. I was just mindin’ my own business.”

“Minding your own - Arthur!” You sat up a little, hands bracing against his chest. “You’re telling me you were just peacefully strolling along, and they shot you?”

He shrugged his uninjured shoulder with a sheepish grin. “It weren’t like we were lookin’ for it this time. Honest. It was a set-up. Some rumour that Colm wanted peace talks with Dutch. They grabbed me.”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me before?” “In my defence, I thought it best not to aggravate you. You did have a blade to my throat.” “Seems you’re used to that”, you grumbled under breath, your eyes falling to the sheets. A calloused knuckle touched under your chin, lifting your head until your anger and worry filled eyes met his uncharacteristically gentle ones. “Never by someone as beautiful”, he whispered in that low gravelly baritone that never failed to make your chest constrict. “Ain’t exactly the time to be charming, Arthur”, the corners of your lips twitching just a fraction despite yourself. “They could have killed you. They could have-“ “They didn’t.”

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #red dead fandom #red dead redemption 2 #red dead fanfiction #fan fic #arthur morgan fic #red dead redemption fic #arthur morgan angst #red dead redemption arthur #starlightandwhiskey #a place to rest your bones #arthur x reader #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader

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daneneedssleep · 2 years ago

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So quick note before you read, I had a lovely person message me about my Arthur Morgan idea so here’s part one!

HighHonor!Arthur Morgan x LowHonorM! Reader Pt.1||

This is really long because I wanted it to build up so enjoy.

When Dutch asked Arthur to pick up one of his buddies to join the gang he didn’t think anything of it. New additions sure, but he didn’t want no trouble. Matter of fact, he never did.

You were looking for an easy loot in strawberry when you heard a gruff voice call your name.

“Hey! You uhh- (Y/N)?” He asked.

“Depends. Why you wanna know?”

“Listen I don’t want no trouble, I just came for a (Y/N) (L/N). My friend Dutch wants to speak to him.”

You hummed.

“Well then, I guess you got yer guy. Me and Dutch are acquaintances. What exactly does he need me for?”

“Dutch wants you to join our community, he-“

“THERE HE IS! THAT'S THE GUY THAT LOOTED MY HORSES CARGO”

Goddamnit. Always at the worst time too.

“Oh fuck! Can we talk about this on our way there??” You ask while sprinting to your horse’s side, hopping onto the saddle.

Before he could answer, you let your horse bolt away while yelling back at him- “Lead the way!”

~Time skip~

“I think we lost em.”

“Good I don’t like shootin’ les I have to.”

“Hm. Whatever you say goody two shoes.”

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean??”

“You don’t like shootin’ folks but yer in a gang…. Yer one of them high honor fuckers aren’t you?” You ready yourself to snatch the pistol out of your holster but Arthur immediately puts his hands up in surrender.

“I already told ya once, I don’t want no trouble. Lemme just take ya to Dutch and you’ll see there ain’t no ill intent.”

“Fine but if you do so much as speak wrong I’ll fuckin’ shoot you with no hesitation”

“I won’t say nuthin’. Let’s go we ain’t far”

~Time Skip~

When Dutch introduced you to everyone, most of them seemed to be ok with you so you decided to stay. When you chose to have dinner, Arthur sat down next to you.

“What do you want?” You asked gruffly.

“I wanted to know if you’d go hunting with me tomorrow. The camp needs some extra food and not everyone is uhh- exactly fond of you yet. It would help them trust you.”

“Wow Dutch actually planned on keepin me? Yeah I guess I’ll go with ya then.”

~Time Skip~

You woke up at about 9:30, it definitely wasn’t the most comfortable sleep but it was better than sleeping away next to waterfalls to hide from bounty hunters. You got up and walked around camp to try and get used to your surroundings. You hear footsteps behind you and you turn to see Arthur with two cups of coffee in his hand.

He asks in a voice more gruffy than usual. “good mornin’ how’d ya sleep?” You took note that he probably just got up.

“Better than a lot of nights actually but I’m still getting used to this.”

“Well we’ll head off at about 10:15 so drink this and then get ready” Arthur said. He handed you your coffee and headed for his tent.

While getting ready to go hunting he couldn’t help but think about you. He felt as if he should impress you and he didn’t know why. Maybe later he’ll take you to the saloon to get a drink.

As Arthur was slipping his boots on he heard heavy footsteps walking up to his tent when he looked up it was you. He looked back down quickly to put his boot on all the way. He could feel his face flush. Looking up at you it was- he was excited. He liked the way you looked at him. The way you looked down at him.

“You ready or what?” You asked, knocking Arthur out of his thoughts.

“Huh?”

“Damn you look lost. ‘I said are you ready’ but you’ve been staring at yer fuckin boots for a good minute and a half.”

“Sorry. Yeah I’m ready. Let’s go.”

You both prepare what you need and hop on your horses. You bring a bow with around 15 arrows, a pistol, and a small hunting rifle. Arthur takes you to an area behind Horseshoe Overlooks campsite and gets off his horse.

“We should continue on foot. The horses make quite a bit of noise.”

“Alright, let’s go then.”

Arthur turns around to get his gear off his horse for only about 30 seconds and by the time he turns back around you’re already gone in plain sight. Fuck. “(Y/N) for fucks sake where are you” Arthur tries to loudly whisper.

“I’m right here dumbass”

For someone so tall and broad you were particularly good at hiding.

“Damnit you scared me”

“Pay attention then jackass”

Wow you’re fucking mean.

“I didn’t even take my eye off you for a full minute and you disappeared!”

“Will you just get down! I already spotted two whitetail bucks but we need to hit them in a vital spot at the same time.”

“Fine.”

Arthur crouches in the tall grass next to you. He can hear your breathing but it’s so slow. He looks at your face and all he can see is concentration. Holy shit you’re handsome.

“Alright, you ready?” You face Arthur and you’re a little surprised to see him already staring at you. You watch him look away quickly as he replies with a quiet “yes”.

“Ok you call and I’ll count. As soon as you get a good shot, tell me and I’ll count us down. Got it?”

“Gotcha”

Arthur whistles and the bucks raise their heads.

“Alright I got a good shot you?”

“Yeah. Ready- 3…2… 1!”

~Time skip~

Heading back to camp with a buck stowed on each horse felt like a big achievement to Arthur. You didn’t seem to care as much as he did but you were happy to be able to have some food.

As you both set the bucks down to Pierson you heard Arthur clear his throat. You turned and before you could ask what he wanted he was already asking if you wanted to go to the saloon with him.

You quickly asked “Is it the Valentine saloon?”

“Yeah why”

“I have a bounty of $5 in Valentine” You said, cringing at your own words.

“Oh- well I’ll give you the money and we can go by the post office first”

“Well then let’s get going”

What the hell. Why is he doing this for you?

~another time skip~

And thats part one guys. I’ll either be posting part two soon so please please stay patient for that! Hope you enjoyed, and the real stuff comes tomorrow >:)

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x male reader #high honor arthur morgan x low honor male reader #arthur morgan #high honor arthur morgan #low honor male reader #RDR2

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brassandblue · 1 year ago

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Arthur had been enjoying the sound of steady, pouring rain, when someone had apparently sought to interrupt the pat-pit-patter-pat-pat of raindrops soaking his centuries-old estate in a fresh deluge.

He had neither the energy, nor the desire, to peel himself off his couch--the one in the informal sitting room, not the one meant for guests. He was comfortable and surrounded by the clutter of living: A large telly; a sound bar that was more of an altar to the gods of vinyl and music than a mere talking piece, surrounded by an ecclectic and immaculate collection of his favorite albums; side tables and end tables by windows all bearing leafy plants; high, built-in shelves cram-packed with well-loved books nestled next to odds and ends, trinkets from his travels and gifts from friends--carved, laquered boxes, snow globes, monuments in miniature, a veritable menagerie of carved, cast, sculpted animals--not to mention paintings on the walls, mostly ones by Jack of bucolic, rolling hills (though Arthur's favorite was of one of London's ports at sunset, painted just a few years before the Great War). Photos dating from the last 100 years were placed among them, usually of Arthur and his closest friends--there weren't many. A corded telephone sat mounted by one of the room's doors, close enough that one could use it on the couch with ease, just adjacent to an old wall-mounted grandfather clock that ticked away the hours.

In the center of it all was a large stone fireplace--he'd built it with his own hands centuries ago!--whose fire still crackled merrily. It and the numerous knitted blankets piled about the room were meant to stave off the chill of the rain. Above the mantle sat a large portrait of none other than Lord Horatio Nelson in a gilded frame.

The whole affair was a little mismatched--the walls were old white plaster and the worn out couch was a faded indienne-printed chintz, whereas the two cushy armchairs were upholstered with solid-colored, dark dyed linen. It was all brought together by a cozy, plush plain colored rug underfoot, draped on warmly worn harringbone wood flooring, and a pair of soft-glowing lamps on either side of the couch. The coffee table had cat toys and other miscellany strewn about it, but it was more often used to prop up feet than to house tea or coffee. As for the windows? They were tall, cloaked in heavy, pale curtains, half-drawn to not let too much light in, but just enough to let Arthur watch the rivulets of rain roll down the glass.

Who in God's name was out in such weather, anyway?!

The softness of the old, overstuffed couch, the gentle familiarity of a quiet sitting room, the lingering warmth of a good cup of tea settling within him, were all sensory-soothing. This was a place of sanctuary and comfort when his own senses were frayed, torn, hypersensitive; where sometimes even just existing sent shocks up his nerves that felt like electric fire.

The knocking appeared to have stopped, he realized. Arthur closed his eyes, and heaved a sigh of relief.

Good, he thought, I hope they catch cold. Serves them right, bothering me at a time like this.

He remained still, wholly uninterested in removing himself from his spot. He was in a dreadful state--dressed in a threadbare Sex Pistols t-shirt and equally shabby, comfortable jeans. Mismatched sock feet, an itchy, three-week beard with the makings of greatness, and a wild mane of bed hair, completed the look. Even worse, he was drenched in a sheen of sweat, pale, dangerously thin, wrinkles and dark circles had him looking just shy of being dead.

The thought of seeing anyone while in this state was absolutely ludicrous.

And yet, several minutes later, he heard a toilet flush; worked up a good scowl by the time America apparently felt was a good moment to actually show up.

"Jesus Christ. What part of me not answering the door gives you license to break into my bloody house?"

England gets a wellness check.

England's rose bushes are drowning. There is little America can do for them, only witnessing the rain pound on delicate petals. He knocks on England's door a third, fourth time. His patience wears thin by the third, runs out by the fourth, so he scouts around the house and pulls on windows until he finds one unlocked. He lets himself in, hoisting one leg over and ducking his head. He finds himself standing in England's bathroom. Good; he had to urinate anyway. America relieves himself. Once he's finished, he searches for England down the hallway at a lazy pace. Acknowledges the new artwork hanging and inhales deeply through his nose. No matter what house England was residing in, it always smelled the same, deliciously of aged books and hundred-year hardwood. America finds England, who looks unfortunate with his sweat-dewy skin and complexion pale as the dead. The sour twist of his mouth is familiar. "Did you not hear me? I was at the door." America takes off his soaked coat and hangs it on the nearest rack; always a rack near at England's house.

@brassandblue

#HELLO #you don't have to match length I just wanted to set the scene laksjdlk #also sorry if it's all over the place I'm a bit out of practice #VERY excited!!!!#.// ruled the waves (arthur)#.// (ic: arthur)#maroonhigh: america

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mischiefandspirits · 4 years ago

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A Villian's Kid

Knows How to Fight

This is followed up by A Villian’s Kid: Knows How to Cheat

“I’m not saying I want to date him. I’m just saying he’s hot.”

“And I'm saying you’re crazy for thinking that. He’s a jerk.”

“You can’t judge people’s hotness by their jerkiness, Timbo,” Stephanie said as she dug through her purse for her car keys.

Before Tim could answer, a trio of women walked up to them. They were holding pocket pistols pointed at the two and hidden from onlookers behind their purses.

“Hey there, kids,” the one in the bad wig said.

Tim looked down at his coffee with a sigh. “Lucius is going to kill me for missing the board meeting.”

Stephanie nodded, sucking at her smoothie.

“Be good and no one will have to get hurt,” the one with the obvious extensions chirped.

The straw slipped out of Stephanie’s mouth with a pop. “Listen, I’ve got a lecture in, like, thirty minutes and as fun as it would be to have a reason to get out of it, I’m not really in the mood. How about I give you the two hundred I snuck out of Timmy’s wallet and you guys save this for some other time?”

“In the van.” The one with the cheap hairspray dye job nodded towards the van a few cars away.

Stephanie turned to Tim to see him morosely shuffling towards the van. She shrugged and followed. As she watched Wig open the sliding door, she asked, “So you’re guy’s hair situations, did you want them to look purposefully bad for the kidnapping? Because if not then someone definitely ripped you off. I know a guy that could hook you up.”

Dye Job shot her a glare from behind her huge sunglasses and Extensions dug her gun into Stephanie’s back.

“Just saying,” Stephanie muttered and slipped the straw back into her mouth. She turned to share an amused look with Tim, only to see him climbing into the van. She frowned and lowered her drink. “Wait, are we actually going with them?”

Tim raised an eyebrow at her.

She shoved her drink into his free hand so she could throw her arms into the air. “Timmy, didn’t anyone ever tell you not to get into strangers’ cars?”

“Listen kid -” Extensions started alongside another nudge from her gun and Stephanie rolled her eyes.

“Lady, I’m not afraid of your mouse guns. Do you know who my dad is?”

“Bruce Wayne,” Wig said confidently.

“Ew, no. I just dated this guy,” she gestured to Tim, “then refused to leave after the break up so Brucie pays for my college bills. He’s, like, my ex-dad-in-law at best. Sugar uncle without the creepy implications? I don’t know. He’s not my dad though. No, my dad’s a supervillain who, for the record, has threatened me with acid to the face. He’s a dick, I know. Point is, you guys don’t scare me.”

Dye Job actually looked hesitant, but Wig looked unconvinced.

“Everyone’s got a relative who works for Riddler or Penguin or whatever. Nice try,” Extensions snorted and dug the gun even further.

Stephanie stepped forward and turned in one motion so she could glare at the woman. “Try Cluemaster. You know, Arthur Brown. Stephanie Brown. Ring a bell?”

“Sure, kid. Now get in.”

“Yeah, no. Last chance. Take the two hundred and leave.” When none of the trio backed down, she shrugged. “I tried.”

She clocked Extensions right in the temple, knocking her out in one blow. She grabbed Dye Job’s wrist and twisted it just as the woman pulled the trigger, making her shoot Wig in the shin. She slammed her elbow into Dye Job’s face, stunning her and possibly breaking her nose. Then she grabbed Wig’s head from where the woman had dropped into a crouch after the gunshot and slammed it into first her knee then the side of the van to knock her out. Finally, she pulled Dye Job into a chokehold and held on until the woman slumped in her arms.

With all three down for the count, she turned to Tim to see him sitting on the floor of the van with his legs hanging out.

Her drink was sitting next to him and he was rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You know, we’re supposed to just go along with the kidnapping.”

She blew a raspberry as she grabbed her drink. “I’ll leave that to you rich boys. My dad is publicly known to be a supervillain. I can beat up my kidnappers.”

Tim sighed and pulled out his phone to place a call. “Hey Jim. I’m calling to report an attempted kidnapping… No, mine this time. And Steph’s… No, we’re fine. The kidnappers are all knocked out and they never touched us… In the parking lot of the Robin’s Roast on Seventh near Hamilton. Do you think we can make this quick? I’ve got a meeting in,” he checked the time, “twenty-three minutes… Yeah, figured I’d at least try. We’ll wait here then.”

Stephanie took a loud sip of her smoothie as he ended the call and dialed someone else. “The officer he’s sending is one that’ll write me a note to my professor explaining why I missed the lecture, right?”

He nodded. “Hey, Tam, I… Oh, you’re still at lunch with your dad, great… No, I mean, yeah, but I just wanted to see if you could push the meeting back, say, an hour? I’ll be there, I swear… Kidnapping attempt… No, they tried to grab me and Steph, but Steph knocked them out right away so we’re just waiting for the police to pick them up and take our statements… No, I’m wearing my work suit… I know that. Steph says she gets privileges because she’s a supervillain's kid… You get to be the one to tell B that… What? No… Alright, fine. I’ll see you both at the meeting.”

“They pushing back your meeting then?”

“Uh-huh.” Tim put his phone away and downed his coffee. “Lucius says I have to hire you as my bodyguard though.”

Stephanie spat out her smoothie, Tim flinching away before any could land on his suit. “What? Why?”

“Apparently, you make a strong case. He’s sick of kidnapping attempts and actual kidnappings getting in the way of business. It doesn’t matter much with B because he’s Brucie, but apparently I need to be held to a higher standard because I’m responsible or some BS.”

“Sucks to suck, but you brought it on yourself,” she hummed. “Not that I’m agreeing, but what’s the pay like?”

Tim shrugged. “I’ll have to see what the going rate for bodyguards is.”

“Then double it.”

He shot her a look.

“Hey, don’t think I didn’t realize taking the job means I have to go to those boring galas Jason’s always complaining about. If I have to be bored out of my mind I want to be compensated for it.” She smirked. “Also, something tells me Lucius isn’t going to be happy if you get to work and my answer’s no.”

He gave her a full-on Batglare and she flipped him off. Sighing, he said, “Fine.”

“Also, I’ll need a couple fitted suits and nice shades. If I’m going to be a bodyguard I’m going to look sick doing it.”

“Alright,” Tim agreed, tapping at his phone.

“Can I get a gun?”

He looked up with a frown. “Why do you want a gun? Do you even know how to shoot?”

She shrugged. “Jason and Dick have guns. They could teach me. I need a weapon if I’m going to be your bodyguard. Plus, it’d tick off Brucie.”

He shook his head and turned back to his phone. “Can’t you just have a baton or something? You know how to use a baton.”

“Too close to my nightlife. What about a laser gun?”

“How are you going to get a laser gun?” he groaned.

She took a long sip. “I know people.”

“How about a taser?”

“What if I get a laser gun with a stun mode?”

“Laser gun that can only stun?”

“Deal.” She held out her fist.

He raised an eyebrow. “You know I’m going to check with Kara that the gun actually can only stun right?”

She stuck her tongue out at him and nodded so he fist-bumped her. She tried to take a drink, and frowned when she realized her cup was empty. She held out her hand and Tim placed his empty cup in it. After a quick trip to the trash can outside the coffee shop, she leaned against the van next to Tim. “So admit it: If you ignore Merrick’s personality, he’s totally hot?”

“… Alright, fine, he’s kind of hot. His personality is a complete deal-breaker though.”

“Oh, no, yeah, totally.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Needed a name for the coffee shop Tim and Steph went to so I figured I'd reference robin's roast, an excellent story by the wonderful envysparkler on AO3 that also prominently features Steph. (Hint hint)

#stephanie brown #batgirl #spoiler #Tim Drake #red robin #fanfiction #ceo and bodyguard

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12timetraveler · 4 years ago

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May You Always Be The Wild One (Parts 1 and 2)

Reader is kidnapped on a job gone wrong, and Hosea is prepared to burn all of Lemoyne to the ground if he has to in order to get her back.

Hosea/f!reader

CW: kidnapping, torture, attempted sexual assault, descriptions of violence

(I try not to be too graphic but please be advised that part one is quite dark.)

Hey all so this is a two part story I've done. Part 1 is all about the kidnapping and the rescue. Part 2 is all fluff and smut months after the event in part 1

Part 1 is posted here and part 2 is the chapter that immediately follows.

And in the morning when the sun comes up

And it brings you to your knees

May you always be the wild one

May you always be free

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a solid plan. Well of course it was, it was Hosea's plan. But the master con man had been conned. Or maybe you all had underestimated just how perverted the target was.

You and Hosea had spent the morning making yourself look rumpled and dirty. Hosea had been smearing some dirt on your cheek. You suggested, only half kidding, that you and he just step out of camp for a quick romp. That usually got you looking plenty disheveled. Your beloved had laughed and lamented that you were too short on time, but promised he’d take you out for a night after this job was over.

Once you looked perfectly exhausted, skirt dirty, hair ruffled, like you’d been tossed from your horse and walking all night, Arthur had taken you out to the road, about a mile down from the target’s house.

“Alright. You start walking, and I’ll join the others near the house. Hosea says the target always spends his mornings on the front porch. Once you get him away from the house, we’ll be in and out. Mrs. Adler is waiting for you in Rhodes to take you back to camp so you’ll be long gone from town before he even gets back home to see he’s been robbed. Even if he does realize you were in on it, he won’t find you.”

“Understood,” you said as you slid off the back of his horse.

“Yeah, well even still, you got your gun?” He asked. You nodded and patted your thigh. Hidden under your skirts was a small pistol. Nothing special but it would protect you.

“You think I’m dumb enough to work a job without something to protect me?” You asked.

“No, s’pose not,” Arthur chuckled. “That and I doubt Hosea would have let you do this if he didn’t have some back up.”

Hosea trusted you completely, but he was far too wise to ever think that just because you were quick on your feet and good in a fight, that you’d be fine without some sort of weapon. As he was helping you get dressed this morning, Hosea had carefully strapped the little pistol to your thigh, planting a few sweet kisses around it before moving on to helping you lace your corset.

“Alright well, see you back in camp,” Arthur said, giving you a lazy salute.

“You boys stay safe,” you called.

“You’re the one who’s taking a ride with the man to town. You stay safe,” Arthur replied as he trotted off. You stood there for a minute, letting Arthur ride ahead of you before you started your walk down the road.

The Lemoyne sun was harsh, only just rising but already beating down on you. Within minutes you were sweating. You cursed Arthur for dropping you off so far away from the house, but your exhaustion would make your story more plausible, easier to act out.

By the time the house came into view, you were miserable. Thank god you had your hat to protect your face from the sun.

Just like Arthur had said, the man was sitting on his porch, sipping some coffee and watching the world start it’s day when you hobbled up.

“Good Mornin’ miss,” He called from his porch, looking you up and down as you rested against his fence.

“Howdy, Mister,” You sighed.

“Are you alright?” He asked, sitting up slightly as he took in your ragged state.

“I’ve been better, I’ll admit,” you said. “My horse spooked on the road during the night. I’m not sure if it was a snake or what. But he spooked and tossed me in the dirt and ran off. I’ve been walking for hours now.” You sighed.

“Can I give you a ride somewhere?” The man asked, standing up and downing his coffee.

“If it’s not too much trouble. My sister is waitin’ for me in Rhodes.” you said gratefully. The man nodded.

“Sure. I can get you there. Give me just a moment to hook up the wagon,” He said, stepping inside to put his mug away before heading out to the barn out back.

You glanced off into the trees near the house. You caught a glimpse of Arthur’s hat. You gave a small nod, letting him know it was all going to plan. A few minutes later the man came around the house, leading a black Tennesse Walker pulling a simple wagon.

“Alright, Miss, let's get you to town.” He said, helping you into the wagon before climbing into the driver's seat. With a flick of the reins, you were off. You slumped in the seat, happy to be off your feet.

“Name’s Dawson. Ephriam Dawson,” He said, reaching out to shake your hand.

“Tabitha Sanderson,” You said, using one of your aliases. You shook his hand

“Good Lord is it hot,” You sighed, fanning yourself. Dawson chuckled beside you.

“You ain’t from Lemoyne, are you?” He asked. You shook your head.

“No. I’m from West Elizabeth. Strawberry to be exact. It’s cool and wet and rainy there.”

“What’re you doing all the way down here?” He asked.

“My sister and I came to visit our sick aunt in Saint Denis,” You lied, thinking quick on your feet. “My sister went to Rhodes yesterday morning. I wanted to spend one last day with Aunt Susan before heading back, so I said I’d meet her in Rhodes last night.”

“Well, I’ll get you to your sister safe and sound, don’t you worry Miss,” He said.

The rest of the ride was pleasant, punctuated with idle chit-chat now and then. On occasion Dawson would point out a landmark or something he found interesting. You’d nod along and listen with fake interest. Dawson sat a little too close, in your opinion, but it was a small wagon, so maybe there just wasn’t room.

Finally the water tower of Rhodes’ train station peeked up over the hillside. You sighed in relief.

“I was starting to think I’d never get here. I would have been walking for hours yet without your help. Thank you,” You said, giving Dawson a grateful smile.

“You’re welcome,” Dawson said, tipping his hat. “Now, where is your sister waiting for you?” He asked.

“She should be at the general store. If not there, then maybe the Parlor House. If you just drop me off by the statue I can walk from there.” You said.

“Nonsense. I’ll make sure you and your sister are reunited.” Dawson said as the cart rode into town. Instead of parking near the butcher like you thought he would, he turned the cart up the hill, past the church.

“Sir, where are we going?” You asked, trying to keep your outlaw paranoia at bay. But something did not feel right.

“I’m just parking up here,” He assured you, pulling off just past the gallows. “It’s easier to get out of town if I park up here and walk,”

“Well, thank you very much for the ride Mr. Dawson,” you said, beginning to climb down from the wagon. He grabbed your wrist, stopping you.

“Just a moment, darlin’,” He said. “We still need to discuss my payment.”

“Oh, of course, how silly of me,” you said, reaching into your bag. You’d brought a little silver watch and a few bills to pay the man with, should he ask. You’d earn that back and more, if Hosea were right about the score. “I don’t have nearly enough to thank you for your help. But… here.” you said, pulling out the bills and the watch and handing it to Mr. Dawson before climbing down off the wagon.

“Thank you again, I really must be going,” You said as Dawson climbed down from the wagon. “My sister must be worried sick for me.” he came around the side of the wagon, and the glint in his eye made your heart drop.

“Hang on,” He said, “This isn’t the payment I was looking for,” He said, holding up the pocket watch and small stack of bills.

“I… I don’t have anything…” Before you could say another word, the man grabbed you and pressed you against the wagon, his lips slamming against yours. You struggled against him, trying to push him away. Finally his lips released yours, and he allowed you to push him a couple steps back.

“Sir!” you exclaimed, “I don’t know who you think I am, but I ain’t that kind of girl!” You said, scrubbing his saliva off your mouth. “I appreciate the assistance, but I really must be going,” You were stopped by his hand slamming into the wagon, blocking your exit.

“I don’t care what kind of girl you think you are,” He whispered dangerously. “The way I see it, I helped you with something you needed. Now you help me with something I need.” His other hand came down to his trousers, undoing the buttons. “You say you ain’t a whore, fine. I won’t use your cunt. But you’re gonna get on your knees for me and put that mouth to good use.”

You met his gaze a moment, weighing your options. Your pistol, though hidden conveniently on your person, wasn’t easy enough to reach so that you could do it before he did something to you. However, if you could get your skirt out of the way...

You gave him a defeated nod, pretending to concede. Very slowly, you did as he instructed, sliding down onto your knees. You adjusted your skirt underneath you under the pretense of getting comfortable, then looked up at Mr. Dawson looming over you.

He gave you a wicked smile, and patted your head. He moved to pull out his cock, but before he could, you’d reached under your skirt and retrieved the pistol from your garter, cocking it and aiming for his manhood.

“Sorry mister, I think you have me misunderstood,” you said, standing once more, gun rising with you until it was pointed at his chest. “I won’t be doing anything with your disgusting prick. So you can either take the money and the watch and let me go, or lose something you can’t grow back.”

You and Mr. Dawson stood still a moment, staring each other down, waiting for the other to cave first. He never dropped his disgusting smile, and he still had a glimmer in his eye that you didn’t like one bit.

“On your way, mister,” You said, waving your gun slightly.

In the blink of an eye, he swung his arm up, grabbing the gun and forcing you to point it away from him. His other hand came up to your neck, slamming you back against the wagon and pushing the air from your windpipe. He slammed your wrist against the wagon a few times, until the gun fell to the ground.

You squirmed against him, trying to get your knee up into his crotch, find something of his you could bite, anything to get him off of you. But his grip on you was tight, and the hand on your neck was squeezing until spots danced across your vision.

“Little Jezebel,” Dawson cooed in your ear, “You’ve led the wrong man on. I’ll get what I want, just you wait.”

“Sadie!” You screamed, desperately hoping your voice would travel far enough. “Sa--” Dawson slammed your head against the wagon once more, and it all went black.

#campfire stories #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfiction #hosea/reader #take no prisoners

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charlessmithhasmyheart · 4 years ago

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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gxldensxldiers · 1 year ago

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I regret to inform you all I've suddenly realized Arthur's type:

People that he knows are both perfectly capable of kicking his ass/killing him and possess the willingness to actually follow up on their threats.

#ARTHUR: coffee and pistols for two #headcanons: file updated #case in point: Stiletto; Abolisher #Roze if they didn't have a more brotp thing going on in my own canon #this man drives me up the fucking wall I stg and yet he's still one of my favs and the sole reason why I made this blog

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line-of-fire · 2 years ago

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Closed started for @detnu-a-h

Seeing the black dog bound towards his fellow BlackCell operator, Arthur let out a sharp whistle calling Merlin back to him, immediately taking place at his heel and sitting down, tail wagging.

"Good boy-" he hoarsely murmured, rubbing the dogs head before looking to Atom, head cocked. "Look like you've seen a ghost-" he quips, just audible enough to be properly heard. "Don't tell me golden boy's scared.. not of this guy." he grinned.

#ARTHUR: coffee and pistols for two #detnu-a-h #let the rivalry be one sided this boy's country ass couldn't give two shits lmfao

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exquisitley-obsessed · 5 years ago

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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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sometimesitrytowritethings · 5 years ago

Text

Mountain Man: Part 2

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Swearing, Mention of death, Mourning

Summary: You never thought you’d love again. Then Arthur Morgan came into town. Fate continuously has you meeting each other in odd ways, and a troubled past is something you are both familiar with. Perhaps that’s what will make this time different.

Notes: A MASSIVE THANK YOU to @morgans-whore for helping me out with this!!! If you haven’t read their work, please do so immediately.

------

Worth’s General store was a large building at the end of the Main Street. Although obviously aging, Jacob Worth did his best to maintain the store as much as possible, and keep it as well stocked as he could for the citizens of Valentine. The store was small and dark, despite the bright day outside, but stocked to the brim with goods both local and exotic.

You stepped over the familiar threshold, and were immediately greeted by the friendly voice of Jacob, “Good morning!” You greeted him with a nod and a smile, moving to the left so that the excited child behind you could dart inside.

Ben immediately dashed to the small candy display near the register, bouncing up and down in excitement. His curls bounced with him while he looked at the selection with a grin that reminded you so much of his father. Small, dirty hands grabbed for a bar of chocolate and a bag of hard candies, holding them up to his face for closer examination.

“Are you looking for anything in particular today? We just got in some more of that coffee from Guarma that I know you’re fond of,” Jacob continued, standing behind the counter and keeping his eyes on your son. He indicated to a shelf behind him, with a sign bosting “Fresh Guarman Coffee! $1 per pound!”.

You smiled at him. “Thank you, Jacob, but we’re only here for picnic supplies today. I’ll come back later in the week to pick up more coffee and dry goods, if you could please hold some for me?” Jacob was a nice man, if a bit lonely of late. He had been very close to your husband, and made sure to take good care of you and Ben in recent years.

He nodded, grabbing one of the heavy bags off the shelf and putting it to the side behind the counter. “Of course, happy to,” he wrote your name on a slip of paper and put it on top of the bag. When he stood up, he brushed his fingers off on his apron, and then rose his hands to comb through his unkempt beard. “You going over to see Andrew today?”

With a bittersweet smile, you nodded in affirmation. “Yes, it’s been a while since we’ve gone over there. And since the weather is nice today, we thought we would have a picnic,” you explained, walking over to your son and ruffling his curly hair. “Isn’t that right, Ben?”

“Yep!” he exclaimed, still mostly focused on the candy in his hands. “And Mama said I could pick out a candy for today, right Mama?” He looked up at you, eyes wide with excitement, reminding you all the more of Andrew.

You couldn’t hold back the loving smile that lit up your face when he looked at you. The five years since Ben had been born had been tough, no doubt, but seeing the boy grow up was worth more than the world. He was becoming more and more like his pa as he got older, earning you a small, bittersweet ache in your heart every time you noticed the similarity.

Raising Ben together with Andrew on the little ranch outside of town had been your plan. The two of you had looked so forward to teaching him to care for animals, to giving him more siblings to play with, to raising him into the brilliant young man that he was indeed becoming. Unfortunately, fate had had other ideas. Only one of those wishes was coming to fruition, and you were forced to watch him grow up alone.

You had grown up in a small town on the eastern edge of New Austin, helping your parents in the saloon and restaurant they had owned, and sadly knew next to nothing about ranching. Andrew, on the other hand, was born on a small ranch just outside of town, and had practically been taking care of animals since he could walk. Sadly, Andrew had passed only a few months after Ben was born, and never got a chance to teach him anything or give him any siblings.

Ben’s determined decision brought you out of your bittersweet reverie. “I think I want chocolate today,” he said, before placing the small bag of hard candies back on the counter. “I like when it gets all melty when it’s hot. Then I can just lick it off the package and I don’t even gotta chew.” His rambling made both you and Jacob chuckle.

You went back to browsing the shelves, picking up a few apples and peaches, and asking Jacob for loaf of bread, dried beef, and some cheese. As a special treat for you and your son later, you picked up some assorted biscuits as well. The last things on your list were a small bottle of wine for yourself and a bottle of milk for Ben… who was now hiding something behind his back.

He had a shameful smile on his face, and was rocking back and forth from his heels to his tippy-toes. Behind him was an obviously empty space on the shelf where peppermint candies usually sat. He could have only been more obvious if he were whistling. The boy really was a horrible thief.

“Ben, sweetheart, put that down please,” you lightly scolded, getting ready to bring out your stern mother voice if need be. “You’ve got a chocolate bar for later, you don’t need more candy.”

Then again, there is no reasoning with a child. “But Papa’s favorite is peppermints. I wanna get some candy for him,” he says, eyes going wide and shining with definitely-fake tears. He brought the red and white striped package out from behind his back and showed it to you, eyes as wide and innocent as a puppy.

“Honey…” you rubbed the bridge of your nose as you spoke, and closed your eyes, torn between holding your ground and giving into the puppy-dog eyes.

“Please mama?” There it was, the lip tremble. This kid had you wrapped around his tiny little finger. “Please? They’re his favorite. I’ll leave the chocolate if I gotta.” And the cincher. He had to have known what he was doing, offering to put back his own treat to get peppermints for someone who couldn’t even enjoy them? He was a literal angel.

An angel you could simply not say no to.

“Oh, alright, you. Those puppy dog eyes are merciless, you know?” you concede, not hearing the door open behind you and the heavy footsteps coming your way.

The boy jumped in excitement, his curly hair bouncing with him, and ran up to the register to show his purchase to Jacob. You follow suit, pulling a few bills out from under the blanket in the basket and handing it to your friend across the counter.

“Peppermints AND chocolate?” came a husky voice from behind you. “You really must be worth more than I could afford.” You recognised the sound almost immediately, and turned to face the man from the night before. He was again standing casually, observing the scene before him with his fingers looped in his belt, and smiling softly at your son.

Seeing him again so soon made you smile. Last night may have been short, and may have amounted to nothing in the end, but flirting with him had certainly been fun. “Well, hello again Mountain Man,” you responded, teasing him with the nickname Anastasia had unintentionally bestowed on him the previous evening and making no pretense of hiding the fact that you were running your gaze up his body. Although he was wearing the same clothes as the evening before, and was significantly dirtier than you remembered him being before you left, he looked even more handsome in the light of day. “That’s certainly true, but maybe we can negotiate the price over a drink sometime?”

His soft smile that had been reserved for your son turned into an impressed smirk as his gaze drifted to you. “‘d be happy to,” he responded.

You glanced down at your son, who was still pre-occupied with the peppermints, and decided to forgo any further suggestive talk while he was with you. Which, unfortunately, meant that you weren’t entirely sure what to say next. “Well,” you managed, clearing your throat and turning to pick up the full picnic basket from the counter. “I certainly didn’t think I’d see you in the general store. Don’t you mountain men hunt all of your own food?”

Arthur barked out a laugh, throwing his head back with it. You were surprised about how attractive it was. “Shoa, if I weren’t such a bad shot, maybe,” he retorted, looking back at you. “‘m headin’ out for a bounty. Just need t’ stock up on some supplies before I leave.”

“Bounty?” That certainly surprised you. Though, now that you’ve had a better look at him, you supposed that he could be a bounty hunter. He did have multiple pistols in holsters at his hips and a couple of repeaters strapped to his back. Not to mention the fact that he could probably wrestle anyone to the ground with his bare hands alone.

“Yeah, some snake-oil salesman been pawning off poison to women with sick husbands,” he explained nonchalantly, pulling his hands from his belt and walking in your direction.

“Ah…” you drew in a sharp breath as he came closer to you, backing you up until you were nearly touching the shelves against the wall. Your heart was pounding in your ears, what was he playing at? He kept his eyes on yours the whole time, the same predatory look in them that you noticed last night, and you would have panicked if it weren’t for the mirth in them as well. Somehow, you could tell he wouldn’t hurt you. This was just a part of the game.

Without a word, and keeping his eyes locked with yours, he reached behind you and pulled a box of shotgun shells off the shelf.

When he had what he wanted, that stupid attractive smirk returned to his face and he stepped back, giving you room to breathe. “S’posed to be camped out by Cumberland Falls. Shouldn’t take long, if ya’d want to join me for that drink afterwards,” he explained, finally breaking his gaze from you and heading to the other side of the room to the display housing basic tonics.

Now that he wasn’t so close, now that he wasn’t looking at you like he wanted to eat you alive, you could finally let out the breath that you had apparently been holding. “I… I’m a bit busy today, I’m afraid,” you managed, holding up the basket full of picnic foods for him to see. Your heart was pounding, and it was certainly not from fear. You only hoped he wasn’t able to tell.

Completely oblivious to the situation before him, Ben strolled over to you from the cash register, where he had been chattering on to Jacob. “Yeah, we are going to see Papa!” he told Arthur excitedly. “We even got him candies!”

Your eyes snapped to your son at the sound of his voice, only to see him standing beside you with an opened bag of peppermints, one already in his mouth. Faking offense, you bent down to your son’s height and took the peppermint bag from him. “You said those were for papa, you little thief,” you teased, slipping the bag into your basket before reaching out to Ben’s sides.

The boy knew what was coming, and was preemptively laughing and trying to escape you. “He doesn’t mind sharing!” he giggled, backing away from you with a grin.

You narrowed your eyes playfully at the child. “Oh, sure he doesn’t,” you taunted before going in for the kill, “you sneak!” With that, you drew Ben toward you and began attacking him with tickles. Ben’s shrieks of laughter filled the room as the two men watched on with smiles on their faces.

“Mama, no!” shrieked Ben through his laughter. “No tickling! No tickling! Let’s go see Papa!” His laughter died down as you stopped tickling him and released him from your hold. He was breathless and grinning from ear to ear, eyes shining with glee. You simply adored him.

“Alright alright, let’s go, my little thief,” you said, giving him a purposefully loud, wet kiss on his cheek, which he proceeded to wipe off dramatically. He then dashed to the door, careful to keep out of arms’ reach, lest you try to catch him again. You followed him with a smile, stopping briefly at the door to say goodbye.

“Anyway, it was nice seeing you again, Mountain Man,” you said, turning to Arthur with a small wave of your left hand, the light glinting off your worn wedding ring.

He cleared his throat and tipped his hat as you turned back around to follow Ben. “Ma’am,” was his simple farewell, and if you had glanced back, you would have seen his eyes, focused on the ring on your finger in disappointment.

The cemetery, much like everything else in the small town, was just down the street from the general store. Ben ran slightly ahead of you, still within eyesight, the bag of peppermints once again held tightly in his tiny hand. You waved and said hello to the few people that you passed as you walked the short street, but all-in-all it took no time to get to where you needed to go.

Andrew was buried next to his parents, and you knew the space like the back of your hand. The grave was starting to age, but was generally well kept by both the town minister and yourself. It was situated toward the back of the cemetery, under a tree and away from the road - an ironically beautiful spot for a picnic. Andrew would have loved it.

Just an hour after leaving the general store, you sat atop your picnic blanket, a worn blue and white quilt sewn by yourself and your late mother-in-law during the early days of your marriage, under the shade of the large tree with a book in hand. The half-eaten loaf of bread, leftover cheese, and beef were packed neatly back into the picnic basket, leaving you and Ben plenty of space to lounge.

Peppermints had been scattered over the blanket and beside the grave itself, as Ben played with a wooden horse on top of the weathered stone. He spoke quietly, voice still full of excitement, to his father’s and grandparents’ graves as he played. The book you were holding, a cheap romance novel that you had borrowed from Margaret a few weeks prior, didn’t manage to hold your interest, and you were lost in thought.

About Andrew. About the past. About what could have been.

Andrew had been beyond excited for your pregnancy, even going as far as building a small nursery onto the small house once he had inherited it from his parents. It had been a hard time for him, torn between the sadness of losing his parents to cholera not a year prior and the excitement of bringing a child into the world with the woman he loved. Thankfully, the entire town had been there to support him: his friends stopped by whenever they could, the Downes next door helped out on the ranch when they got a chance, Ms. Chadwick had even taken to stopping by on a weekly basis to help you during the pregnancy.

It had all gone surprisingly smoothly, and a little over a year after his grandparents’ passing, little Ben was safely brought into the world. The first few months were an exhausted dream, taking care of a child, your child, together. Waking up at dawn to feed Ben and make coffee for Andrew before he went out to take care of the animals. Days spent feeding and playing with your son, working as much as you could, and waiting for Andrew to take a break so you could coo over the little one together. Nights spent cuddled together, looking adoringly at the face of the perfect child that the two of you had brought into this world.

It was so wonderful, and so tragically short-lived, that you sometimes weren’t sure if it hadn’t all been a dream.

But then you remember Ben, so much like his father in so many ways, and the bittersweet memory of that time solidifies in your mind. It was no dream. It was short-lived, exhausting, and too perfect to last. Andrew was gone, but he still lived on in your son, and you wouldn’t trade him for the world.

An excited squeal from the boy brought you back to the present, and you turned to watch him race his wooden horse across the headstones decorated with your family’s names. Not far away, Arthur was also alerted by the sudden shrill noise. Watching the two of you, as he stood by his horse and covered with grime, sweat, and dirt, he smiled.

#Arthur Morgan x reader #arthur morgan #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #f!reader #arthur morgan x f!reader

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ratonnhhaketon · 4 years ago

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See The Fire In Your Eyes (Chapter 4)

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Summary: Catherine Hays grew up in a picture-perfect, high society family in Virginia. She had her whole life planned out for her and was about to get married to a man she could not stand. When her brother uncovers a murder plot and has to pay with his own life, Catherine decides she can’t continue playing along. She takes control of her own destiny and goes south to a pretty little town called Blackwater.

Warnings: Swearing, Canon-typical violence, Kidnapping

Chapter 4 - Misadventures In Mail Delivery

It had been about two weeks or so since the incident with the stagecoach, and Catherine had definitely been keeping busy around camp. Mrs. Grimshaw quickly put her to work with the laundry, dishes, and assisting Pearson with the stew preparation. Adjusting to the life of an outlaw was a slow and strange process, especially after never having to do regular chores prior her entire life, but it was starting to feel normal. She even picked up new skills and hobbies that she enjoyed, like sewing, despite how many times she pricked herself while Tilly taught her the basics.

Catherine awoke to a particularly chilly morning and quickly got dressed in an effort to block out the cold air. A simple long-sleeved maroon shirt and a pair of black jeans, that she actually preferred over skirts after wearing them so often, accompanied her riding boots. She ran a brush through her tangled hair, taking time to pay special attention to a stubborn knot in the back, before putting it in a simple plait.

As she exited her small tent she raised her arms up and stretched, groaning a bit when her lower back popped a bit. Like every morning, she made a beeline to the fire and grabbed a cup of coffee.

Hosea called her over to the table he was currently sat at. “Would you mind taking a ride into town to pick up the mail?”

She gave a quick nod at him before downing the rest of her coffee. “Of course! What do we need?”

“Mrs. Grimshaw ordered some clothes and there are probably some letters for Dutch and myself.”

“Sounds good. I’ll get a move on now.” They shared a smile before Hosea returned his attention to the book in his lap and Catherine headed back to her tent. She grabbed the dark blue jacket that was slung on top of her clothing trunk before walking over to where Arthur, John, and Lenny were standing and enjoying their coffee. “Morning fellas,” she said with a warm smile as she pulled the jacket on.

The group replied with their own nods and small ‘morning’s of acknowledgement before she spoke up again. “Well I’m heading into town to grab the mail, any of you need me to pick up somethin’ from the store?”

Arthur spoke up first. “A pack of cigarettes would be nice.”

~~~~~

She looked between the other two as they just shook their heads. “Can do, Mr. Morgan. I should be back in an hour or so.”

The ride into town went smoothly as always. Catherine passed only a few people on the road, as the sun was still just over the horizon, and stopped at the post office first. She collected everything they needed, a stack of letters addressed to the ringleaders of the gang and a package for Miss Grimshaw. She securely strapped the package to the back of her horse before slipping the letters into the saddlebags and walking to the general store.

Catherine made a quick lap around the store, picking up Arthur’s request as well as a can of peaches for herself and some candies for Jack. As she stood at the counter to pay she felt someone staring at her and quickly looked around the store before taking note of the man paying a little too much attention to the box of biscuits in his hand. She passed the clerk a few bills before gathering her things and returning to her horse.

As she was putting the things into the saddlebags, that same looming presence of someone watching made itself known once again. Catherine quickly slipped the cigarettes and chocolate bar into the inner pocket of her jacket before she mounted and spurred her horse into a gallop to get out of town as fast as possible. When she was barely half a mile out of town the sound of steady hooves following her seemed to grow louder with each passing moment. She spared them a quick glance over her shoulder before turning off of the road and into the thick forest of Tall Trees.

Her mare protested every time she was spurred on to keep up her pace, but the stead never once slowed down. Catherine ducked and weaved through low hanging branches, keeping a hand held out in front of her face to avoid any collisions.

The sound of hooves only faded for a moment as she ducked into the forest before reappearing almost twice as loud. A small “shit!” escaped her lips as the sound of hooves and the edge of Tall Trees grew closer.

Catherine failed to realize that she was nearing a small cliff and, before she could slow down, her horse slid down the slope uncontrollably. Her mare began to freak out, frantically trying to regain its footing on the loose dirt and rocks, and bucked her off in the process. She fell to the ground with a hard thud, pain in her chest and the air fully gone from her lungs.

Between ragged breaths as she lay on the ground, trying to regain her breathing, she noticed the sounds of hooves had stopped and steady footsteps crunching leaves began to approach her. She tried to reach for her pistol but one of the men shot a bullet next to her head, obviously missing on purpose.

“The boss is gonna be very happy about this,” the other man chucked. The last thing she saw was her mare sprinting off in the direction of camp before the butt of a rifle knocked her out cold.

~~~~~

“Hey, Lenny!” Arthur called to the man on guard duty as he walked towards his horse. “Has Miss Hays gotten back yet?”

He adjusted the rifle in his hand as he turned to look back at the man behind him. “No, I haven’t seen her.”

“Damn, I could use that pack of cigarettes she promised.” No sooner than the words left his mouth did the steady gallop of hooves start to approach the camp. The two men looked towards the sound expecting to see the woman they were just discussing, but were met with her dark brown mare barreling down the path. Arthur, wasting no time at all, instinctively put his hands up to slow the horse and grab the reins. He calmed her down enough that she stopped moving, though she was still shaking her head and huffing from the unfamiliar contact.

The two men shared a glance before Lenny spoke up. “Well,” he exhaled. “This ain’t good.”

~~~~~

The world was a haze around Catherine as she started to come to her senses. The room she was in was mostly dark, with a small stream of light peeking in from the torn curtain. She blinked a few times to get her eyes adjusted to the space around her. It was a small room, with a mattress pushed against the opposite corner of the room and a table covered in playing cards and empty cigarette cartons next to her.

Her mouth was dry and tasted like metal. Her vision was still blurry from the darkness, but she could still tell her eyes were very swollen. Despite her whole body screaming and protesting against her, she tried to move. Her muscles ached against the rope tied around her hands and legs.

She stopped struggling when a male voice spoke up outside. “How much longer do we have to be in this shithole?”

Another man replied, “Another day or two, probably. Just waiting on Calvin to send word for us to send her back.”

She felt her stomach churn. Of course he was behind this.

The door to the cabin swung open and she could vaguely make out the shape of a man walking towards her. “Look who’s awake, boys!” As he walked closer she recognized the figure to be the man that shot at her earlier.

“I’d rather die than go back to that rat,” she spat, struggling against the ropes.

The man laughed and crouched down next to her. “As much as I would love to make that happen,” he said with a smile. “I’m afraid Mr. Foster specifically requested you be returned alive so he could decide exactly what to do with you.” He lifted up a hand to her cheek, stroking the soft skin with his thumb. God , she wanted to throw up. Or punch him in the face. “Pity though, that he gets to have all the fun with you. I bet you’d make a very-”

Before he could continue she moved her face to the right towards his hand and bit down hand, directly at the base of his thumb. He yanked his hand back and grabbed it, making sure that he wasn’t bleeding. Catherine looked at him with fire in her eyes and he returned the gaze with pure anger. “You bitch!!” he yelled, using his opposite hand to slap her across the face. Her head went back and hit off the hardwood of the wall behind her, a yelp of pain escaping her lips. The world started to spin around her and her vision started to get hazy. She vaguely heard the man spew some string of curse words at her before she blacked out.

~~~~~

The second time she woke was to gunfire outside of the small cabin. The men that captured her were not only yelling a lot between each other, but she had a feeling that they were losing the fight as well.

“Check inside, we’ll keep watch out here,” a distant voice said. It sounded hazy and muffled as it broke through the ringing of her ears.

The door to the house opened and she tightly shut her eyes from the heavy moonlight. After a moment she opened them to see a figure approaching her, to which she instinctively curled her bruised body further into a ball. Her figure shook violently from fear and the cold air surrounding her.

“Hey, s’okay. I ain’t gon’ hurt ya.” the figure spoke up in a soft tone. The voice was deep and gravelly but also gentle. One that felt familiar and safe.

She looked up with tears in her half-lidded eyes and said, “Arthur?” Her voice was weak and sounded almost like a wheeze.

“Shhh, it’s alright. We’re gon’ getcha outta here.” He carefully cut the ropes on her arms and hands. “Can ya walk?” When Catherine slowly shook her head Arthur bent down to slide his arms under her legs and behind her back. He hoisted her body up- to which she let out a loud cry of pain- and walked back out of the small cabin, careful to not hit her against the doorframe. She rested her head against his chest as they walked to try and stop the world from spinning around her.

For the first time in what was probably days she felt safe.

“Take her back to camp,” another voice spoke up. “We’ll stay back for a bit and make sure no one is left.” Arthur sat her on the front of his horse’s saddle and carefully got in behind her to assure she wouldn’t fall during the ride.

As they rode off back towards camp Catherine kept her head propped up against Arthur’s chest with her eyes closed, desperately trying to ignore the aching pain her body felt as the horse galloped. Her right hand clutched the front of his shirt, her legs dangling over the side of the horse, and a few stray tears leaked out of her eyes.

“Well be back soon, just stay with me.” She felt his chest rumble against her head as he spoke and groaned out in pain, to which he instinctively wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I know it hurts but we’ll be back soon.”

She started to feel lightheaded and groggy. Using the last of her strength, Catherine opened her puffy eyes and looked up at Arthur. “Wasn’t.. O’Driscolls,” she murmured, voice nearly giving out at the end.

The last thing she heard was Arthur’s confused “What?” before her field of view was swallowed into blackness and she slipped out of consciousness again.

~~~~~

Catherine didn’t remember much of what happened after that. She remembered a lot of yelling, people rushing around, and what she thinks was Arthur and Lenny talking. When she was finally fully conscious she woke up to a very dry mouth and almost every part of her body in pain. She looked at her surroundings and realized she was back at camp, in her tent, with Hosea reading a book beside her cot. Upon noticing her awake he smiled and shut the book, and reaching for a cup of water he had resting on the crate next to her.

“Good to see you awake, Catherine.” He helped her lean up and drink, reminding her to go slow and breathe so she didn’t choke. “You gave us all quite the scare.”

Before she could reply the flap to her tent was opened and Arthur’s familiar hat peaked in. “Glad to see you’re up.”

She felt the corner of her mouth turn up in a light smile at his voice. Hosea waved Arthur in and stood before saying, “I’ll let you catch her up on everything, but make sure she eats something and gets a lot of rest.” He gave Arthur a pat on the arm before leaving and closing the tent’s canvas.

“How..” she started, struggling to speak as her throat was still sore and voice was almost gone. “How long was I out?”

Arthur sat down in the chair next to her and leaned back. “A few days. You’ve been in and out a couple times, but never as aware as ya’ are now. Hell, Reverend was considerin’ reading you yer last rights last time you were conscious.” They shared a chuckle at the thought before Arthur continued. “Took a hell of a beating back there but at least Miss Grimshaw will go easy on you for a while.”

Arthur looked at her for a second and took in her features. “Do you have any idea who those men were? ‘Cause you said they ain’t O’Driscolls when we were coming back to camp.”

She let out a sigh. “Yeah, I do.” Her gaze shifted from him to the canvas covering the top of the tent. “Calvin sent them. The man I was supposed to marry.”

He looked down at his feet and nodded, before looking back up at her a moment later. “I’m guessing he’s not too happy you left your old life?”

Catherine’s eyes returned to the man next to her. “Not at all.” She swallowed the lump in her throat and looked down at her hands, her thumbs fidgeting together in her lap. “I’m sorry you have to deal with this. I didn’t want to get you all wrapped into more problems than you already have.”

Arthur leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Catherine,” he said with a sincere tone, “You’re a part of this gang now, which makes you family. And as a family one person’s problems become a concern for all of us. If this son of a bitch shows his face again we’ll take care of it.”

She smiled at the sincerity of his words, tears threatening her eyes. The two sat in silence for a moment, enjoying each other’s company before a thought popped into her head. “Oh!” she said suddenly. “Is my horse alright?”

Arthur chuckled at her concern. “She’s perfectly fine. An hour or two after you left she showed back up at camp without you, so me and Lenny figured you were in trouble. Real smart girl you got there, seeing as she was able to bring herself all the way back to camp on her own.”

Catherine smiled at the good news. “Thank god she’s alright.” Her eyes drifted to the trunk on the floor next to Arthur’s chair and she spotted her jacket laying on top of it. “Arthur, could you grab my jacket for me?” She gestured with her right hand to where it lay and he picked it up before gently laying it on the bed next to her. “Before I forget,” she said with a smirk as she reached into the pocket on the inner lining. “You might be wanting these.” She handed over the, now slightly squashed, pack of cigarettes to him.

He laughed as he accepted the gift, having nearly forgotten that he even asked for them. “Thank you very much, Miss Hays.”

“Consider it payment for rescuing me from my captors.”

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mister-fleck · 6 years ago

Text

knock ‘em dead: joker x reader

Prompt: “Nsfw joker/reader, with him wearing that red suit.”

Swiping the last bit of red paint over his bottom lip, Arthur hummed in satisfaction and set down the delicate brush. He picked up his already lit cigarette from the ashtray The Murray Franklin Show provided and took a long, satisfying pull. The white filter was stained rouge like he was some sort of common whore.

“Look at you,” Arthur breathed, smoke escaping his lips like a ghost. Genuine satisfaction pulled his mouth up into a sly grin, his index fingers no longer needed. “What a handsome devil.”

He’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t love pre-show jitters. The promise of an audience, the chance to express himself under hot, bright lights. Arthur was an entertainer, always had been, and this feeling — the white-hot anticipation of being called on stage —

It never failed to turn him on.

Arthur used to hate his body’s visceral reaction to excitement. It was universally known to be inappropriate to do a comedy act with a massive hard-on, and the inevitable throb in his pants used to force him to run to the nearest restroom, stroke himself to completion — which, in turn, aroused him even more.

The idea of getting caught. Of having a time limit. Of having to keep quiet.

But Arthur was off of his medication now. He could think clearer. Hold himself higher. Shame didn’t exist anymore.

Which is why he didn’t hesitate to palm leisurely at the front of his suit pants, blissfully alone in his dressing room.

What a high it was. Arthur retrieved his pistol from the inside of his suit and dragged the barrel of it down along the column of his throat. His cock twitched hard. It made him giggle.

Licking his lips and tasting chemicals, Arthur put out his cigarette against the brick wall and leaned back in his chair. He could hear the audience laughing on command, probably in response to some stupid, sexist quip Murray had thrown at them. If only they knew true comedy, Arthur mused, lip jutting out. What a shame.

A small monitor had been placed in the corner of the ceiling, broadcasting a live stream of the show. Bright green eyes flicked up to watch as he gripped at the base of his erection through the fabric of his slacks.

We have a very special guest in the third act of our show, Murray had stated towards the end of his opening monologue. One that I’m sure all of you, including the viewers at home, will absolutely love.

Arthur rolled his shoulders back with a moan, his leg bouncing as he tried to contain the nervous energy that buzzed about his slender frame. He swiveled back to face his reflection once more, smirked at the prominent bulge between his legs, and popped open the first button of his pants with a nimble flick of his thumb.

—

You really hated Murray Franklin.

It had been almost three years to the day that you had been hired on as a stage assistant for the beloved talk show and the excitement that once consumed you had dulled into something bleak, something vaguely annoyed.

Upon hearing Murray cut to commercial with that disgusting smile of his, you removed your pair of headphones and set them aside. Thankfully there wasn’t any grand musical act tonight, which required hasty set-up between breaks and almost always guaranteed getting griped at. You had a moment to breathe, walk around a little. Shake off the foul mood.

Excusing yourself from the rest of your colleagues, you rubbed at one of your shoulders and made your way towards the restrooms down the hall. Maybe if you splashed some water on your face, a third coffee wouldn’t be needed.

The women’s bathroom was located across the hall from the main dressing rooms, the backstage design surprisingly crowded for such a large studio, and your eyes flicked up to the name scrawled across the chalkboard placard that was attached to one of the doors.

Arthur Fleck.

The name had become a familiar one over the last two weeks. It was all the team could talk about, just how terrible this comedian was. You had only watched the man’s clip once — you didn’t find it necessary to replay his obvious discomfort over and over again for your own enjoyment. It was pretty sick, the way her fellow coworkers would snicker and hit rewind, nearly obsessed with the pain on Arthur’s face as he tried to spit out his first joke.

A muffled groan broke you out of your thoughts. You narrowed your eyes at the door, lips pursed. It had been left open a few inches and through this opening you could see newly-polished dress shoes tapping idly at the carpeted floor. You frowned, your heart going out to the guy. He must be so excited. Or nervous, probably assuming that this was his big break — when she knew fairly well that Murray had discussed beforehand the various ways in which he’d embarrass him.

You had half a mind to warn Arthur. To put an end to what may become a devastating evening for the poor man. Biting at the inside of your cheek, you hesitated before taking a step closer to the door.

Another groan. Longer this time. Low and rumbling, like a wild animal. Like a lion.

Your brows furrowed with concern. Was Arthur okay? Maybe he was feeling ill — he certainly wouldn’t be the first guest to vomit before coming on stage — and was trying to suppress the urge to get sick.

Figuring that he didn’t have anybody else in this moment, you quietly made your way closer and gently pressed your hand against the door with the intentions of opening it.

But now that you were closer, now that you were fully in the doorway, you were able to see what was really going on.

Lounging there in his pressed red suit sat Mr. Arthur Fleck, one hand lighting a new cigarette, the other wrapped confidently around his cock.

You forgot how to breathe. Immediately, your body erupted with heat, your cheeks and ears flaming, your neck flushed pink. Your modest skirt and blouse suddenly felt three sizes too tight, constricting and uncomfortable as you stood motionless by the door.

It would have been best if you turned around and let him be. If you had pretended not to see anything, if you minded your own business. But you couldn’t move, couldn’t look away from how carefully Arthur was pleasuring himself. The look on his face was dangerous, dark with want.

You felt your panties grow damp.

Instantly horrified at your own behavior, you squeezed your thighs together and felt your heart jump into your throat, your hand lifting to delicately cover your mouth. There was something about the swagger in Arthur’s posture, the way his long lashes fluttered, the way his chest heaved once more with a deep moan. It had you wildly aroused and rooted to the spot.

Then, his gaze lifted. To the mirror. To see you.

Your first instinct was to run, but Arthur spoke before you could react: “Can I help you?”

His voice was calm, almost sweet. Patient. He made no effort to hide what he was doing but paused mid-stroke as he tried to grab your attention.

Eventually, you found your voice. “No! No, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to — “

“You’ve been watching me.” Arthur squeezed at the base of his cock and your eyes dropped once more before hastily shooting back up. “Why?”

Sweating and trembling, you squirmed and gaped at him. He had caught you. “I shouldn’t have, I’ll go, I’m so sorry, Mr. Fleck.”

Arthur was quick to stop you there. “No. Come here.” A pause, where he took another drag off of his cigarette. “Close the door.”

You really shouldn’t. You shouldn’t yield to this man, you shouldn’t blindly succumb to a stranger in face paint.

But you did.

Swallowing hard, you quickly glanced around to make sure nobody was looking before slipping inside.

“Lock it, too.” Arthur added, almost as an afterthought. “Pretty please.”

With a short nod, you turned the deadbolt and shivered at the finality of the click that came with it. Your fists clenched and unclenched at your sides as your chest began to rise and fall.

“You look positively ill,” he commented, lips pushed forward in a pout. “You know, it’s me going out there tonight.” He thrust slowly up into his fist. “Not you.”

“I don’t — I don’t know what to say,” you stammered, having a hard time keeping your eyes up and off of his cock. He was beautiful sitting there, on full display. Nobody could convince you otherwise.

Like a patient professor coaxing the right answer out of his student, Arthur sat up, leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees. “Tell me what you want,” he prompted, batting his lashes, putting on a show. “Use your words.”

Abruptly bashful, you looked at your feet, knowing that there wasn’t any way that you’d be able to give him a coherent response. You weren’t exactly sure of what you wanted in the first place.

You felt yourself throb hard. Okay, maybe that was a lie.

Arthur sighed, tucked his erection back into his pants, and got to his feet. You heard him stalk towards you, each footstep deliberate, like he was daring you to bolt. He soon stood directly in front of you, his silence eerie but sensual as he basked in the way you quivered under his stare.

Soon after, you felt your chin being lifted with the tip of his index finger. His hands were so cold. “Look at me.”

The power radiating off of him made you weak. You knew instantly that it would be unwise to disobey.

You locked eyes with him and he rolled back his shoulders, no doubt taking in the lust in your eyes, how blown your pupils were. He slowly shook his head, openly admiring you.

“Such a good girl you are,” he murmured, so hushed and sweet. “Aren’t you?”

Dizzy from his praise, you whimpered. He was so tall, and his eyes — they were so intense. You nearly forgot your own name.

Arthur splayed his hand out over your neck, teasing the sensitive skin there with his fingertips before pressing you against the back of the door. His hand wrapped around your throat, flirting with the idea of applying pressure.

When he spoke next, it was so low, for your ears only. “Would you like to be my good little girl?”

“Yes,” you answered him instantly in a breath, swooning under the height of him. There was no reason to deny it anymore, not with how his free hand had lifted to sweep hair behind your ear.

A short chuckle escaped Arthur. He was clearly enjoying himself. “And what’s the magic word?”

His grip began to tighten around your neck, enough to make you pleasantly short of breath. “Please.”

Arthur preened, taking great pleasure in your submission and remained silent before casually commanding, “Kneel.”

More than willing, you began to bend your knees but he teased you, not quite releasing the hold he had on your neck until he saw how badly you wanted to follow his instruction.

Your knees hit the carpet and he took the opportunity to loosen the collar of his dress shirt. “Look how pretty,” he cooed, stroking your cheek. He hummed once, happy with how you had smiled up at him. “Tongue out.”

Needing to steady yourself, your hands came up to clutch carefully at Arthur’s hips before you did as you were told. His erection was straining hard against the fabric of his slacks and Arthur sighed in relief as he pulled his cock free.

You couldn’t help it — with your body so wound up, with your panties soaked, you couldn’t stop yourself from surging forward to lick a stripe up along the length of him. You had wanted your mouth on Arthur the minute you saw him from the doorway.

Arthur groaned and cradled the back of your head with one hand, the other flattened against the door as he leant against it. “That’s right,” he encouraged, his nostrils flaring. “Just like that.”

Thrilled to be pleasing him, you clenched your thighs together once more and swiped your tongue over the tip of his cock, a little kitten lick. Arthur grunted, hips jerking, and you took this as a sign to continue, taking his length ever so slowly into your mouth — just in case he wanted you to stop.

But Arthur didn’t protest at your bold decision, instead tightening his grip in your hair and coaxing you further down. “There we go. That’s my girl. Mmf.”

Hooking your fingers into his belt for leverage, you hollowed your cheeks and swirled your tongue, feeling frighteningly at home and safe with him. Like you belonged there, kneeling before him. Being his girl.

As you began to languidly bob your head, he seethed in a breath and kept his eyes on you. Arthur was so handsome, an entirely different man than the one you had seen on that wretched video tape.

He was in his element, completely in control of himself now. You sucked harder.

Arthur began to tremble, struggling to keep his composure as you let the tip of his cock brush against the back of your throat.

The monitor overhead went up in volume, startling the both of you.

“Don’t touch that dial! We’ll be right back with Dr. Sally after these messages.”

Looking flustered, Arthur pushed back some loose strands of green hair that had fallen out of place in the midst of his indulgence. “Running out of time, aren’t we?”

He pulled himself out of your mouth, leaving you panting. Your efforts had left you deliciously out of breath and the way Arthur looked at you — like he really saw you. It made you want to kiss him.

“Up,” he instructed, taking most of the initiative himself when he saw how unstable you were on your feet. Your balance didn’t matter, though — because you were airborne almost instantaneously, Arthur’s hands curling behind your thighs to guide your legs around his waist. You squeaked and wrapped your arms around his neck to stop yourself from falling.

“If it weren’t for the paint, I’d kiss you,” Arthur husked, and he reached down to yank your panties aside, nearly ripping them in the process. You gasped loudly and he placed a finger to your lips, shushing you.

“Don’t worry, princess. Daddy’s got you.”

All it took was a swift roll of his hips for Arthur to slip inside of you. You were so wet, your thighs slick, and you couldn’t discipline yourself well enough to hold back a sharp, feminine cry.

Arthur didn’t hesitate to shut you up, covering your mouth with his hand, and didn’t give you any time to adjust to the size of him. Once he had found his footing, he began to fuck you so viciously, so hard that your tailbone started to ache.

Overwhelmed by it all, you felt tears roll down your cheeks, your pleasured cries muffled as you gripped onto the lapels of his suit. You were already so close to cumming — you had never been so worked up in your life.

“Gonna cum all over my cock, aren’t you?” Arthur taunted, his neck glistening with sweat as he rammed into you.

Nodding furiously, you sobbed into his hand and fluttered around him, making his hips stutter in response. He gritted his teeth and thrusted with deep, unforgiving strokes, punching each word: “What a good — little — slut.”

This sent you toppling over the edge, positively screaming against his palm as you came, your back arching. You accidentally bit down on one of his fingers and he gave you a rough laugh before pulling out of you and cumming all over your inner thigh.

Down the hall and to the right, the live jazz band on stage chose this moment to come to life, the sweeping trumpets signaling the end of the commercial break.

The two of you remained panting for a minute, breath mingling, sated and sticky with shaky limbs. Eventually, Arthur regained his focus and lowered his hand, letting out an abrupt laugh upon seeing damaged flesh.

“You bit me, you rascal.”

Winded and lightheaded, you gave him a breathless giggle and winced apologetically, “I’m sorry.”

Tickled by this, Arthur continued to laugh and lost himself briefly in the music playing outside, spinning you in a slow circle before carefully setting you down on the vanity counter. Your head spun — how could this man go from lust-crazed to light and charming so quickly?

When you looked up, Arthur had already tucked himself back into his slacks and was approaching you with a handful of tissues, taking it upon himself to gently clean the mess off of your thigh.

“Hey. Want to hear a joke?”

Still coming down from such a high, you hummed in affirmation, giving his spontaneity a sleepy smile.

Arthur took a step back to fix his attire in the mirror, lips quirking.

“Little Jonny tells his friend: My grandpa died yesterday. Friend asks: Oh, how did that happen?”

You were already giggling, entertained by the childish, high-pitched voices Arthur was putting on.

“Johnny says: He hit his thumb with a hammer. Friend exclaims: But you can’t die of that!”

Arthur smoothed back his hair, fixed the collar of his shirt. If you weren’t so enamored with him, you would have noticed the handgun being tucked away in his coat pocket.

“Johnny then tells his friend: I know, but he wouldn’t stop screaming and cursing, so we had to shoot him!”

Surprised by the dark material but enjoying it nonetheless, you concealed your sudden laughter behind your hand. He appeared to be glowing in the midst of your positive reaction, watching you with those wild, wild green eyes.

Three knocks fell upon the door. “Mr. Fleck? We’re ready for you.”

Arthur beamed, smoothed out the front of his suit. He posed for you, hands on his hips, angling his shoulders like a model would during a photoshoot. “How do I look?”

You found yourself grinning despite yourself at his silliness. “Very handsome. Knock ‘em dead, Arthur.”

He stepped forward, pressed a big, comedic smooch to the top of your head, and winked at you. “Great minds think alike.”

---

reader tag: @taintednihilist @galaxycat-1459 @hxneyboy @sebastianshoe @insomniabird @jesstaggartt @lenawiinchester @emissarydecksetter @ghoulsguilty @vampirozi @spaceinvader @aclownthing @zy-nnic @alirabbitt

(if you’d like to be added to the reader tag, shoot me a message!)

#joker #joker x reader #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck #joker movie #drabble

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thesardonicwriter · 5 years ago

Text

The Way It Is, Chapter 2 (Arthur Morgan x Reader)

You looked around the cave. It went back about four meters and was wide enough for them both to be able to move around comfortably. Not that Arthur would be moving much for a while. If the cave had ever been used by animals, they were long gone now. That was a relief. You didn’t want to be there if a momma bear had made it her den. Your pistol wouldn’t be enough to stop a mad bear. You weren't even sure it would be enough to stop the Pinkertons now. You reached into your pocket. You had maybe 20 bullets left, including the few rounds still in your gun. You made sure to load the gun and keep it nearby anyway, just in case.

You kneeled next to Arthur. He was officially unconscious. That last tumble had knocked him out cold. That was probably for the best. The last thing you needed now was Arthur’s screaming bringing the Pinkertons down on them. You cut off the cloth surrounding Arthur’s leg. The bullet had gone straight through. You let out a sigh of relief. That would make it a little easier, at least. You pulled off his satchel and started sifting through it, looking for something, anything, that could help you treat Arthur. He had a few tonics but no bandages or alcohol. You groaned. That was going to make this a lot harder. You looked around the cave as if that would actually help. Well, maybe a little. You found a bunch of cobwebs in the corner. If you didn’t have cloth to stop the bleeding, this apparently worked well and it was all that you had. You pressed the webs to Arthur’s leg. You held down as much pressure as you could until blood stopped seeping through. It would have to do until they could get off this damned mountain.

You poured a little bit of water over your hands to get the blood off. You’d have to find something to clean the blood and dirt from Arthur’s face. He wasn’t looking too good. Micah had definitely done some damage. You wouldn’t be surprised if his nose was broken. Your heart ached in your chest as you looked at the sorry state your friend was in. At least the bastard was dead. He was finally dead. It was too late for it to change anything, but it made you feel better to know he was gone.

You looked at your battered button down. It was too dirty to be used for bandages, but… but your chemise would be in much better shape. You looked at Arthur to make sure he was still passed out before peeling off your shirt and the undergarment. You quickly put the shirt back on, making quick work of the buttons. The chemise wasn’t in great condition, but if you were able to get down to the river and back, you could at least make it a little bit cleaner and use it to help clean Arthur up.

You sat by the lichen curtain for what felt like an eternity before you determined it was safe enough to venture out. Still, you refused to let your guard down even for a second. You slowly made your way down. You were careful not to let a single rock fall down out of place. Barely a sound left you as you waited to hear the shouts of the Pinkertons coming down on you. You had heard them milling about when you first got to the cave and you were still scared that they would find Arthur defenseless. But you didn’t have any other choice; not if you wanted him to live and keep all of his limbs.

It took too long to reach the little stream. It took too long to rinse the dirt and sweat from the chemise and it took too long to get back. Every moment that you spent out in the open was a moment when someone could be watching. A moment when you could be leading the Pinkertons right to you. You hoped that they were focusing their attention on Dutch. He was the one that Milton had been obsessed with. Maybe, maybe they could forget about Arthur Morgan and (Y/N) (Y/L/N) for a couple of days. You knew it was too much to ask for after everything they had done. Every bad thing that they had done in the name of Dutch van der Linde. They truly had been fools to listen to his speeches for so long.

You looked around like a wild animal before climbing through the lichen. Arthur was right where you had left him. At least he was still breathing. For now. Blood had started to come through the temporary cobweb bandage. It was worth the risk to clean the chemise, then, at least. You pulled out your knife and started to cut the fabric into thin sheets. You had made sure to fill two canteens with water. One for drinking, the other to finish your work cleaning Arthur up. You found his coffee tin and filled it with the water. You couldn’t risk starting a fire right now. It was still too soon.

You dipped the strips into water and got to work dressing the bullet wound on his leg. You were careful not to cut off circulation. It wasn’t the first time she’d been forced to deal with something like this. Arthur was lucky that the bullet had missed major arteries. Otherwise, she’d be dealing with a corpse right now. The thought made you shudder. You shook your head and dipped another strip of fabric into water. Gently, you started to clean all of the dried blood and dirt from his face. You emptied the coffee mug at least three times before you got all of it. He looked better. Kind of. More like himself. He’d gotten into worse scraps in bar fights before. You started to unbutton his shirt and union suit. Micah had probably given him a few good kicks to the ribs.

Sure enough, there were blossoming bruises of purple and blue forming on his chest and sides. There wasn’t much that you could do for bruises. You leaned your head against his chest and listened to his breathing. Considering all he had been through in the last several hours, it was steady. You let out a breath that you hadn’t known she’d been holding. You could get him through this. You had to get him through this. The thought of being alone right now… it was more than you could bear. You had lost so much of your family already. How could you bear to lose one more member?

You quickly buttoned his clothes up again. You took your jacket and balled it up. You placed it under Arthur’s head. You hoped it would give him some relief from the stone floor. As for you, you stayed by the entrance with your gun drawn, listening and waiting for any signs of Pinkertons coming by. Even the sound of an animal passing by made you nervous. You had never been this jumpy in the past. Perhaps that was because then, you knew that you had someone watching your back. While Arthur was passed out, it was just you. No one would be there to save you if you were caught. Another thought that made a shiver go down your spine. No back up. No one to rely on but yourself. Right then. Back to the way it used to be. You made do in the past. You’d do it again.

For two nights, you refused to sleep, even for a second. You were too scared that the second you let yourself be vulnerable would be when the Pinkertons would lead a raid against this little hideaway. Arthur occasionally spoke in his sleep. Once or twice you caught him with his eyes open but it was only for a moment or two. Then, he’d be back out. On the third night, you were finally ready to let yourself rest. You were getting sluggish. That would be worse than anything if the Pinkertons did manage to find them, somehow. So, you laid your head down next to Arthur, hoping his easy breathing would lull you to sleep.

The first thing you noticed was how warm he was. You weren't that close to him but you could feel the heat radiating off of his body. You sat up and pressed a hand to his forehead. He was burning up. You cursed under your breath for the umpteenth time. Without money, you couldn’t just go out and buy something to help him. You had to hope that Arthur had something. With that frail hope, you started scouring his satchel for anything that could help. There wasn’t anything you recognised and too many labels had been scratched off the vials. Without Arthur awake to identify them, you could accidentally kill him. You opened his journal. It was an invasion of his privacy, but you had to hope that he’d written something about it in there. You scanned the pages quickly but there was nothing about what those vials held. You tossed the journal to the ground. More than anything you wanted to scream.

You were glad you didn’t. If you had, you would have missed the sound of something metallic falling from the journal. In the darkness you could just barely make out the shape of a key. You held it up. You knew this key. You had seen it so many times in Dutch’s tent when you were barely paying attention. It was the key to the chest where the gang kept all of their money. Abigail said that Dutch had been keeping it under a wagon in the tunnels. If you could get there and to a town, you might be able to stop the fever before it turned into something you couldn’t take care of on your own. It was just you. You were quick enough to get in and out undetected, right? You looked back at Arthur. You didn’t have any other choice.

It was decided. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, whispering a good luck charm your mother used on you when you had nightmares as a child, before leaving the cave. It was hard to ignore the unnatural heat that emanated off of his body. You had emptied Arthur’s satchel, lining up the supplies neatly. It would be the only thing you had to carry as much money as you could out of that chest, provided Dutch hadn’t already sent Bill and Javier back for it. If you were faced with them, would you have the strength to put a bullet in them? You really hoped so.

I should’ve put one in Dutch when I had the chance, you thought to yourself.

Instantly, you were repulsed and relieved and mad and confused. You had looked up to Dutch for so long. It still felt wrong to think ill of him, even after everything that had happened. After everything he had done. After getting Hosea killed. You took a moment to close your eyes and calm down. You needed to be calm when you got to those tunnels. You’d burned down the ladder. You could jump down that way, but how were you going to get back out? It was too high for you to jump out. You could maybe pull boxes over and up the first ladder. If it wasn’t affixed to the wall, you would just take that ladder. Whatever happened, you had to make sure that you got out of there alive and with something to show for it if you wanted Arthur to survive the next week.

You reached the hidden entrance by the time that dawn broke. There had been one Pinkerton patrol that passed but they had seemed completely uninterested in what they were doing. None of them believed that anyone had been stupid enough to stay on the mountain, much less come back for nothing. You could use that to your advantage. In and out before anyone noticed. That was your goal. You tightened the strap of the satchel before jumping down into the caves once more.

You landed with a soft groan. You let your hands hit the sandy ground. You stayed still for a moment. The air still smelled like kerosene. When you determined you couldn’t hear anything in the tunnels, you started moving. You kept a painstakingly slow pace as you walked. You knew that even if they weren’t in the caves, one sound would echo too far out. You’d be discovered in an instant. You made your way to the wagon. Sure enough, the chest was hidden there, barely covered by a blanket. Instinctively you looked around the cave before pulling the key from the satchel. You opened the chest and was taken aback by just how much was actually there. You started loading the satchel with as much cash as you could. You made sure to avoid coins or gold bars. You didn’t need the noise or the weight. It didn’t matter if it was bills or bonds, you needed it to get Arthur his medicine.

You headed to the mouth of the cave, hiding behind what was left of Dutch’s tent. There weren’t any Pinkertons around the camp. You were certain that would change soon. You moved quickly, silently, towards the tree line. Your foot hit something, sending it flying a few feet across the ground. You stopped. You listened for any other disturbance before moving forward. You looked down at what you had kicked. It was an old copy of Antigone that Hosea had given to you a decade ago. With a twinge in your chest, you stuffed it into the satchel and kept moving. You had to keep moving if you wanted to get to Valentine. Maybe she’d find some unsuspecting fool on the road and you could steal his horse. You didn’t like the thought of leaving someone stuck but you couldn’t see any other options.

Arthur needed you.

There was a flash of white and a loud whinny. You pulled your gun. It seemed you were going to get that chance to shoot Dutch, after all. You made your way towards the horse quietly. But there was no one there. It was just the Count, still saddled up, wandering aimlessly through the forest. His bright blue eyes met your green ones and he stopped. He recognised you. You put away your gun and held up your hands. It was like you were surrendering to the horse. He held his head back away from you, huffing.

“Easy there, boy, easy,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper as you walked forward. “Easy now,”

The Count didn’t relax as you got nearer, but he didn’t run away, either. You offered a few more words of encouragement before you dared pat the proud beast’s neck.

“That’s it, boy. Good boy. He’s left you, too, hasn’t he?”

The Count huffed in response, leaning into your touch.

“Yeah, he seems to do that a lot these days. How about you and I go together? How’s that?”

You started to go to the left of the Count. His back legs hit the ground heavily as he kicked. You held up your hand again. You reached into your pocket and pulled out a couple of sugarcubes. You always kept them for the horses. You had never taken them out. You held the sugar out to the Count. He took them gladly, munching quietly while you got onto his back. Instantly, the horse started to try and buck you off. You held on tightly to the reins. You refused to give up easily. A few moments passed of this. It was enough to make you feel dizzy by the time the Count finally calmed down. You were breathing heavily and your hands hurt from gripping the reins so tightly. You patted the horse’s neck.

“There, now that wasn’t so bad, was it? C’mon, we gotta get to Valentine. Yah!”

You dug your heels into the Count’s side, spurring him into action. You knew the way from here. If you stayed to the backroads, it would take half a day to get there. You looked up at the sun. It was still hanging low in the east. It was early morning. If you were lucky, she’d get back to Arthur as dusk rolled around. You prayed to whatever was out there that he’d survive that long. You needed him to survive that long.

The Count slowly grew more relaxed as they rode together. Maybe he was starting to respect you. Or maybe he’d just resigned himself to his fate. Either way, you had a fast, strong horse and that was all that mattered right now.

Valentine came into view as the sun reached its peak. You urged the Count to move faster. You were desperate to get back to the cave. If Arthur woke up while you was gone, he’d probably do something stupid like try to walk out of there. On his leg, he’d just fall down and hurt himself even worse. In his condition, you doubted he’d even feel a thing until it was too late. The thought of him dying alone in that cave hurt you more than the thought of him dying. You didn’t stop pushing the Count forward until you could see the hitching post in front of the doctor’s office.

You couldn’t help but burst through the doors. You were certain that you looked wild when you came in. Your hat was barely containing untamed, unruly hair as you walked to the counter. The doctor eyed you up and down. Clearly, he thought you didn’t have money.

“How can I help you, ma’am?” he asked.

“I… I need medicine. My, erm, my husband’s gotta fever in a bad way. He was out huntin’ with some folk and this wolf bit him in the leg. I’ve done what I can, but we ain’t got clean bandages or nothin’ to help with the fever. I’m just, I’m scared. I gotta get back to him quick as I can otherwise, I… I don’t know what’ll happen to him,” you stammered out.

The doctor looked you up and down again. “You got money?” You reached into your satchel and pulled out a stack of bills. “All right then, I’ll get you set up. Wait here for a moment.”

So you waited. You waited impatiently for the man to come back with the things that you needed. It wasn’t even an act, the things you had said. As you spoke to the first person she’d seen in three days that was coherent, all of your worry had come spilling out in your voice. The doctor came back with a bag. He carefully laid out all of the items.

“Clean bandages, enough for a couple of days. Sutures and a needle for those bites. Have him drink this to help with the fever. If you find elderberries, use the blossoms to brew some tea for him. As for his leg, this’ll help with the pain. And alcohol to keep it clean.” The doctor carefully packed everything back up.

You took the bag like it was a lifeline, carefully holding on to it before placing the entire stack of bills on the counter. You didn’t care if it was just enough or too much. You had to get back to Arthur with all of this. You placed the bag in the Count’s saddle bag. Before you raced off, you had the sense to stop by the general store, too. You bought blankets and food, along with a couple bottles of whiskey and a new pair of jeans for Arthur. You carefully stored everything on the Count. The horse barely moved as you did. It was the first time he was reluctant to do something you wanted. You gently patted the Count’s neck, thanking him before getting back in the saddle and riding off again. Back towards the mountain. Back towards Arthur.

Back towards the Pinkertons.

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