#Micah Bell x you

[tinyfishtits]

Saddle Horn(y)

Micah Bell / Female Reader

Summary: Micah shares his saddle with you and things heat up when the saddle horn gets you off.

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 1,072 Tags: Smut, Fingering, Public Sex

Authors Note: I simply do not care about the logistics of two people riding a horse, let me live in the fantasy I have created 🤠

★ Read on AO3 ★ ☆ Masterlist ☆

Micah drags you away from a bar fight you didn’t start, but were intent on ending. He pulls you onto the back of Baylock and rides off back to camp. The saddle wasn’t fit for two people, and so you found yourself awkwardly half-propped atop Micah’s thighs, squeezed between him and the horn of the saddle which digs rhythmically into the bundle of nerves between your legs. You start to wriggle, attempting to fight back the building pleasure threatening to unwind you. 

A moan begins to rumble up your throat and you force it back down, your body erupting with heat as a climax builds, your stifled moans escaping as pitiful whimpers. You throw your head back against Micahs shoulder, panting as you come down from the apex of your saddle-horn-induced pleasure. 

Micah slows baylock, his voice concerned as he questions you. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did-“ He stops as a residual wave of pleasure causes your hips to jerk and coaxes a proper moan from your throat. “Oh doll…” his voice is a whisper against your ear, hot and crooning. Overcome with adrenaline from the bar fight and body now reeling with heat you turn your head to face him, searching for his hand and guiding it to the budding wetness between your thighs. 

“Micah” you breath against his lips and a guttural sound, almost a snarl, rips out from him as he takes your lips in his with so much force your hand shoots up to his face, grasping at him both to stop you from tumbling off the saddle and to keep him pressed against you. But he doesn’t let you fall, his arms already tightly wrapped around your waist, holding you close. His strong hands snaking under your clothes and kneading at the burning flesh underneath as his lips take yours sloppily and with so much pent up need you wonder briefly just how long he’s wanted this.

But all thoughts evaporate the second a warm hand trails under the hem of your pants and finds the furnace between your legs, burning for him. Your mouth fills with heat and lips vibrate as you both moaned into each other, sinking into the other as you lose yourselves in a flurry of want and need and primal desire�� his thumb deftly circles your clit, pressing into it slow and hard when he brought you too close too quickly, the pressure of his warm digit dragging out the waves of pleasure that wanted so desperately to crash, so close to the edge but never allowed to cross it. 

You could feel his own desire stiffening in his pants at your back, throbbing with every whimper and moan he coaxed from you with only a single finger. You knew he was a dexterous son of a bitch, but this? You never thought you’d be jealous of a gun before, but here you were, wishing you were the one holstered on his hip all hours of the day… that It was you he spent hours tending to, rubbing with oil and swinging theatrically around his finger. 

Micah whispered your name as his lips fell to your neck. Thumb still teasing your clit, he slipped two fingers inside of you and your hips hungrily thrust into them, wanting every inch of him there was to take. You hadn’t been aware of your surroundings, so wrapped up in his touch, that you didn’t even hear the approaching wagon until it was just a few yards away. Micah, likely aware of the approaching witness and just wholly unbothered, continued his work between your legs.

No longer wasting time with teasing, he gave you the full force of his dexterity, the speed and strength of his fingers unrelenting. His other hand found its way to your breasts and started toying with your nipple, already hard and aching. He was giving you everything, the overstimulation bordering on torturous as your mind struggled to process all the fireworks firing in your nerves. His lips and teeth on your ear was the last straw, the sound of your name rasping out between his moans your undoing. 

The wagon was upon you now, the sound of horse hoofs and rattling wood ambling past you. You couldn’t have looked at whoever passed if you wanted to, as a devastatingly powerful wave of pleasure finally crashed, ripping through you like a tsunami, destructive and relentless as it swallowed you up and you gave into it, drowned yourself in it. You couldn’t help the scream that burst out of you as the peak hit and you came crashing back down, body trembling with aftershocks.

Micah chuckled into your neck, lazily kissing the skin there, warm hands still firmly grasping your flesh, though their ministrations had ceased. Micah’s low, gravely voice wrapped around you as you started to regain awareness. “Well well…” His mustache tickled at your neck as he spoke, “that ain’t how I saw this night ending.” He said, the tone of his voice a low, seductive purr. “Ending?” You repeated, breathless and sounding more desperate than you really meant to, but the thought of that being it … the end.   

His lips curved into a smile against your skin. “If you want to keep at it darlin I’ll be the last person to stop ya.” He said with a laugh, peppering more kisses to your neck as his hands fell away from your body, taking up the reins once more. “But we should get off the road… or the horse, at least.” Your eyes shot open at the reminder of where you were. “Oh god did that person- did they see?” You asked, the mortification finally settling in. You’d never been one for PDA, never even gone so far as to kiss a lover in public past a quick peck on the cheek.

Micah barked a laugh. “Didn’t have to, doll. Everyone within a mile heard you scream out my name.” He said smugly. You slapped his thigh, the easiest part of him to reach, and he chuckled once more. “I may have screamed yours…” You said, grinding your hips back into his lap and coaxing a sweet moan from him. “But you moaned mine” You teased, with more than just your words. The sound that escaped Micah’s lips then was practically a growl. “What will it be darlin’? Back to camp, or-” He started, but you interrupted. “Or. Definitely or.”

[josephquinnswhore]

the devil is real and he’s a besotted outlaw - micah bell x female reader

summary: Micah bell can be a twisted man, and you’re complacent in his actions.

word count: 1.7k

content warning: micah bell, LOL. micah uses a gun to get reader off, p in v, raw sex, creampie, f and m orgasm. use of degrading words. Karen slander (just for the plot I swear I love her.)

At this time in the evening, generally everyone around camp had retired to their tents, the sun had set many hours ago. But the orange hue from the fire burning around the empty campfire still flicks embers into the sky, you watch them disappear.

Your boyfriend had been stoking the fire every so often before tossing the stick with his usual carelessness beside the seat he had leaned backward in to find a comfortable position. As comfortable as he could with you sitting on his lap, cradling the warm metal mug in your cold palms, sipping occasionally.

“Shouldn’t be drinkin’ that right before bed,” he chastises softly, but there's no real scolding behind his words.

“It don't seem like you're gonna head to bed anytime soon.”

Not now that he’d picked up one of his twin revolvers. The custom piece featured a unique dark grey steel frame, one that had been polished only the evening prior. The grip was also custom created, black skulls engraved and delicately painted contrast against the red grip.

He pours some gun oil onto a cloth, and wraps his arms around your hips to your front as he begins his chore of cleaning the weapon, movements precise and meticulous. After a few moments, he feels a strain in his neck trying to gaze over you, so he simply rests his chin on your shoulder, stopping the task for but a moment to press a delicate kiss to the exposed skin.

A small hum escapes you, and he gets back to his task at hand. One thing you liked about him, he didn’t favour small talk, he preferred these moments of tranquility with you where there were no peering eyes and stout whispers.

When you finish your cup of coffee, your attempt to stand was intercepted by Micah’s hands gripping onto your hips. “Where do you think you're going? Weren't you stayin’ up with me?”

“I am, just going to Pearson’s wagon to clean my mug and I’ll be back.”

You let out a noise of surprise when he pulls you back down onto his lap, taking the mug out of your much smaller hands to set it carefully on the ground beside him. It was sweet, seeing how he cared for your things with a delicacy that he held private for the things most important to him.

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere without me, an’ I ain't ready to get up yet.” His tone is quiet, but you know better than to disobey what he asks when it's not reasonable. The mug could just be cleaned later on.

A small yawn escapes you, regardless of the mug of caffeine you’d finished moments before, and Micah sets aside his guns at the noise. “Tired?” The soft murmur against your skin created a demand for goosebumps on your neck. Coarse hairs of his moustache tickle your neck as he begins to kiss the raised skin.

“Partially,” you reply in a quiet murmur.

“Well, I best wake you up, hm?” Pulling away from your neck, all of your attention is now drawn to his large hands on the skirt of your dress as he bunches it at your waist to expose your legs underneath. “Now ain’t that a sight?”

“Micah–” a soft protesting whine is about to deny him, and he interrupts.

His hands trail upward, making you forget what you were about to scold him for, fingers trailing up your thighs over the sheer material of those pretty drawers you always wore. His thick digits were moving the piece to the side delicately to get where he wanted without much resistance from you, to his delight.

“Christ, girl, ain’t fair keeping this all to yourself.”

A protestful noise escapes your throat when his hands pull away from your need, causing you to rut your hips in search of his thick fingers. “Tsk, so impatient,” he chastises.

But it's not his hand that returns to caress your swollen clit, it's cold, and you flinch backwards against his chest. When you look down to see what it was that he was using on you–a part of you stills, perhaps in curiosity, fear or need. You weren’t entirely sure what you felt.

Before you could say anything he runs the already oiled up clean gun against your sensitive nub, causing your back to arch further, head resting on his shoulder behind you. “Oh.. Micah..” you trail off, unable to deny the pleasure from the crude act. “This.. is so twisted.”

His chuckle is deep and causes another demand of goosebumps to rise against your hot skin, rubbing the sleek barrel of his revolver agasint your clitorus at an agonisingly slow pace. “I don’t see you pulling away from it, girl.”

The sensation is incredible, ending up in you resorting to seeking more friction by rutting against the weapon sloppily, the increased pace makes your thighs tremble against his own. “Seems like my desperate girl is just as twisted as I supposedly am.”

Unable to control yourself, selfishly ravishing his weapon for your own sake, the orgasm you experience has you crying out softly into the still air of the evening, a smirk plastered on Micah’s face as you tremble against him. Your hips finally still from your greedy seeking ruts.

Micah partially lifts you off his lap, unzipping his cream coloured jeans before lowering you back down onto his hard cock. Your hole was perfect, the kind of pleasure that a man would seek salvation in. His hands are guiding you in a repetitive motion, a low groan coming from Micah that only allows his cock to slide easier into you.

“Micah..” there's not much more you can think to utter other than his name. Completely unable to make any sense after that absurd orgasm he caused moments before.

There's one thing about him, his impatience, the need for you. In his greed, he tires of slowly guiding you down onto him, and prospers to drill into you harshly as he raises his hips to thrust into you. No coherent words leave your lips, merely the strangled sounds of pleasure as you struggle to catch your breath against his cock pummelling into you. Hands sliding underneath the bodice of your gown to grasp roughly onto one of your breasts.

With a few harsh and desperate deep, sloppy thrusts he is spilling into you, pulling you closer to him as he bites down into your neck. His breathing is uneven and hot against your shoulder, giving your breast one last squeeze he removes his hand, and a wince of overstimulation he pulls his cock out of you.

Offering one of his hands, he helps you to stand, fixing your dress and helping smooth it out at the bodice. You're still in a daze, confused and your entire body feeling the aftermath of the explosive intimate encounter.

You didn't say anything as Micah led you to his tent, a hand resting on your lower back to guide you, but you didn't need to. “You did good, girl. Real good.” At his praise, your skin warms, flushing with your entire body at the sweet sentiment.

Of course you're having troubles the next morning, because why did you think that no one heard your performance with Micah last night? Karen is the only one with enough gall to confront you, the look of pure disgust she gave you, and the way she tried to stand over you like she was trying to intimidate you. “You’re disgusting, Micah of all people. You must really be some desperate kind of whore.”

This infuriates you, they didn't know micah like you did, how sweet and consolable and caring he really could be. “No, I guess you don't understand, do you? You’re being sour toward me because you know no man wants you at all!”

The blonde woman saunters closer to you, with a tone of threat. “What did you just say?”

Micah hears the commotion and intercepts, changing his course as he starts walking towards the scene.

“Oh look, it's the sack of shit himself.” Karen gestures towards Micah and you sneer at her.

You’re quick to lash back to defend Micah. “Get back on the bottle, you miserable cow.”

Things are heating up between the two of you, Micah standing tall beside you.

“Back off you drunken wench,” Micah snarls, finally stepping in front of you.

But Karen does not allow this to deter her rampage directed at you, looking past Micah to spit drunken insults. “I mean seriously, sleeping with Micah Bell? You’re making a damn fool of yourself. Micah is the last person you should trust. He’s no better off than the devil, you’d do best to stay away if you had any mind!”

“I didn't ask for your goddamn opinion, now shut the hell up!”

“You stupid little girl,” she spits, pointing a finger at you. “You think you're safe with the likes of him?”

But this had gone on long enough and Micah had finally had enough of Karen and her drunken tirade against you. “Enough outta you.” Glowering down at Karen, “say another word that insults her, and I promise I’ll make use outta that gun I cleaned last night, y’hear me?”

“Now back off.” He threatens, standing tall in front of you, creating a barrier between the women as he protects you from any further in slew of insults.

Finally, karen gets the message, albeit muttering as she walks away from the scene she had created.

“You alright? She didn't touch ya, did she?” He murmurs softly as he glances at you, inspecting you to make sure you are unharmed.

“I’m fine. I.. I mean I’m not hurt.” You correct yourself.

He grips onto your chin softly. “Don’t listen to her nonsense, y’hear me? I ain’t about t’let her get in your head.” A frown forms on his face at your silence. “It don't matter what she, or any other folk think about us. You trust me, don’cha?”

“Course I trust you,” you utter in promise.

“Good.” His murmur is soft, meant for only your ears. As is his gentle caress as he runs his thumb over your cheek, his frown fading into a more neutral expression. “Then don't you pay no mind to what folk say about me, especially when it comes to my involvement with you. They don't know the first damn thing about me, none of ‘em.”

His words sink in, and a crack of a smile finally reaches your lips, to which his expression mirrors your own. “There's my pretty girl.”

Yeah, it was worth it.

[yanderes-galore]

😳🥺

Imagine # 1,022

Gifs NOT mine.

If either gif is yours (or you know who's it is) please let me, so I can give you/them credit.

Gif credit goes to - @reddead-confession & @drvigsgf (Unless told otherwise)

Year posted - 2022

*This concept came to me while I was driving home from work, and I both love and hate it. Feel free to expand upon this idea, but please tag me if you do, I'd love to read what you come up with.

[moonlightkitties]

Van der Linde Gang boys when you fall asleep on their shoulder.

Gang Members: Arthur Morgan, Bill Williamson, John Marston, Dutch Van der Linde, Kieran Duffy, Sean MacGuire, Micah Bell, Charles Smith.

Arthur Morgan

Doesn't try to move you. He's glad you feel safe enough to fall asleep on him. His cheeks are most definitely red but at least no one can notice because of the fire.

Bill Williamson

Like Arthur, he doesn't try to move you, he will wrap his arm around your body and move you closer towards him though. His big body and the campfire help you warm up and stay asleep.

John Marston

He tenses up once he feels your head fall on his shoulder and he does try to move you but when you grumble and tell him that you're comfortable, he stops. He relaxes once he realizes there's no way he's getting out of this without waking you up and he really doesn't want to live with the consequences.

Dutch Van der Linde

Gets really cocky once you fall asleep. Will sit their with the smuggest face and puff out his chest a little. He thinks that this is a sign of his authority and control, as if you’re so comfortable around him that you trust him completely. Deep down though, he is glad that you really trust him enough to lean on him.

Kieran Duffy

Face becomes completely red it looks like the campfire gave him third degree burns. Tenses up and moves around a little until he realizes that you're fast asleep and comfortable so he stops. He relaxes into you and accidently falls asleep with you and gets made fun of by Sean and Bill.

Sean MacGuire

Like Dutch, he gets cocky as well. He'll crack a few jokes about how you think he's "so irresistible" that you fall asleep on him. Secretly, though, his very nervous about waking you up and a little bit protective that he wraps an arm around you.

Micah Bell

He's immediately uncomfortable. He's not used to someone, especially someone like you, getting close to him (he's not used to close contact anyways). Still, he doesn't want to wake you but you can be sure he is going to tease and act upset with you when you wake up.

Charles Smith

Isn't surprised at all and doesn't mind. He knew you were exhausted with the weight Grimshaw and Dutch were putting on you so he let you sleep. He'll position himself to where you're more comfortable and even carry you back to your tent when you're deep asleep.

[nanamissuit]

Daddy Issues - Arthur Morgan

Pairing: Older!Arthur Morgan x Younger!GN Reader

Warnings: None,Legal age gap,Fluff,Angst (if you squint)?

He absolutely adores how smooth and soft your skin is compared to his. He has bruises,cuts,Calluses,etc all over, you on the other hand? Not a single mark on your skin and he made sure of that.

He loves spending money on you, doesn’t matter how much he has, he just loves to see you smile.

Regularly takes you on horse rides and lets you take the reins if you want too.

Tired of the camp? He’ll book you a hotel room for the night no worries.

He’ll secretly help you with your chores around camp so you can spend more time with him.

He does end up combining your tents together and at night when you fall asleep in his arms, he thanks his lucky stars that he gets to have someone like you.

Now at first the age gap threw him off..But then after you reassured him a bunch he was okay. (He never shuts up about you and flaunts you whenever he can.)

Got you a horse he sees fitting for you so you have no excuse to not go anywhere with him.

When Dutch starts trying to get you into some of his plans he tries his best to keep you out of him because he has a gut feeling something will happen to you.

Remembers everything you tell him. Favorite color,Favorite food,Favorite horse breed,Favorite animal,etc.

Does not let Micah get anywhere near you in the fear he’ll manipulate you to hate him just like he did Dutch.

Now let's say hypothetically…He never got TB….He beat Micah…And got away with you…(Longer fic about this soon)

He definitely bought a little land up in the mountains up north after. He made sure you were safe at all times.

He occasionally visits John and Abigail. He also does bounty hunting on the side.

He does most of the animal/herding work while you garden.

Even as you both get older, he loves all your wrinkles and smile lines. And your gray hairs only make you more beautiful.

I think you two either have 1 kid or none…No inbetween.

He definitely has you put up three gravestones somewhere on the land for Hosea,Lenny, and Sean. He doesn’t necessarily believe in god (canon or non-canon idc..) But he likes to believe that they (Hosea especially.) Are watching you guys.

IM SO SORRY. I lost intrest in writing and JUST got it back. More fics soon.

[aoioozora]

Alive

Character: Kieran Duffy (Red Dead Redemption 2) Content: K.D x Fem reader, fluff, mild depictions of violence, very minimal cursing, mild angst Word count: 4.1k Photo credit: @risenfromagrave Note: Saving Kieran here because his death UPSET me and he didn't deserve to die the way he did.

You grumbled, looking over your shoulder to see if deputies were still at your heels.

Being paired with Micah for a mission wasn't fun, and though for once the mission went smoothly without any hiccups, it all went to shit when the two of you stepped into a saloon for a drink to unwind after the work. An especially angry drunk challenged Micah to a fight, and all hell broke loose. First, an exchange of angry words, then an exchange of punches, and then an exchange of bullets, all loud and noisy enough to wake the dead, and the law enforcement which came running. Not wanting to be caught up in more trouble than you ought, you had to grab Micah by the back of his collar and get running and galloping.

"Dutch tells us to lay low and you do the exact opposite! Can't have any damn peace with you around," you scolded as both of your horses relaxed and began to trot down the dirt roads back to Shady Belle.

"Can't blame me, Miss. That feller started it. I was in for a nice, peaceful time until he came along to ruin it," he complained, clearing his throat loudly and spitting on the ground.

You didn't hear a word he said. A quiet rustle in the woodland caught your attention, and you caught a glimpse of a rider on a horse. He was dressed in black and gray, having his hat down low over his eyes. He rode away from both of you down another dirt trail, not seeming to have noticed your presence. Micah was still talking your ears off and you hushed him.

"Shut it, Micah. I see an O'Driscoll."

He immediately stopped. "Where?" he whispered eagerly, craning his neck and peering forward to look in the same direction as you. When he spotted the fellow, he smirked.

Your eyes remained trained on the O'Driscoll, and you flicked your chin towards him. "Let's follow him."

And so the two of you did, keeping a safe distance and acting inconspicuously. Micah took the rear, not wanting to be recognized as he was seen before with Dutch by the wretches. You urged your horse forward to cover him and rode ahead.

The O'Driscoll took a winding route into the woods --a lesser known dirt trail-- and the two of you followed on behind him slowly, using the bushes, foliage, and dappled shadows for cover. The Sun, situated at the apex of the sky, shone down bright, making beads of sweat drip down your face even under the shade.

The O'Driscoll neared a run-down log cabin and hitched his horse right outside. The moss-covered cabin was shaded by the tall trees and the outsides of it were littered with broken bottles. It looked nothing like a proper O'Driscoll settlement, but rather a temporary dwelling. Only five horses were hitched outside the cabin, indicating only a few.

"He's dismounting," you whispered to Micah as the two of you stopped your horses at a safe distance.

Just as both of you dismounted, a blood-curdling scream erupted from within the cabin. You stopped in your tracks and looked at Micah with wide eyes. He looked back at you, not particularly perturbed. The scream seemed to make even the leaves of the trees tremble in fear.

"Stop! Please!" came the cry of a very familiar voice.

"Kieran!" you exclaimed under your breath. "Come on, we have to save him!"

Before Micah even said anything, you took the rifle off your back and began to stalk towards the cabin as fast and as unnoticed as you could. Micah followed behind you.

Crawling behind a crate, you asked Micah as you peeked out, "What do you think about shootin' up some O'Driscolls today?"

"Nothing makes me happier."

You grunted in response. "For once we agree."

It took you everything to not lose your cool at the shrieks echoing in the woods. You longed to burst into the cabin and shoot them all until they turned into a well-loved rag filled with holes, but you knew better than to be a fool.

Slinking away from the crate, the two of you continued to stalk towards the rundown cabin, careful not to jostle the broken bottles. You could hear the sounds of Kieran being punched, talked down to, and kicked around. Your stomach churned in anger as you ducked under the window and pressed your back against the wall next to the door. Micah positioned himself on the other side of the door, holding his guns up.

"You really thought you could escape us, huh?!" you heard one of the O'Driscolls yell from inside.

A loud thud and a groan of pain followed. "Please stop..." came Kieran's pathetic sounding wail.

You bit your lip and put your hand on the knob, trying to twist it open. It resisted.

"If you thought your Van Der Lindes would come and save you, you're dead wrong. It don't look like they care too much about scum like you," another O'Driscoll spoke. Another thud, followed by coughing and hacking.

"But don't you worry. We'll treat you real fine and head you back to them as a gift of the long standing friendship between us all," assured another O'Driscoll, laughing aloud.

You heard the rustle and scrub of cloth and wood creaking. Kieran begged, "No, no, no! Please don't!"

From within, the distinct scrape and clinking of knives was audible. Your heart was in your throat.

"I'll break this door open and you open fire," you hastily whispered to Micah, and he nodded, pushing himself off the wall and clenching his guns.

Kieran was starting to shriek. Lifting the butt of your rifle, you rammed it straight down on the doorknob, knocking it off. The door broke open from the impact and Micah sprung into action.

You followed immediately. Pulling the trigger, your first target was the head of the wretch who held his knife against Kieran's neck. He fell down, limp.

"Van Der Lindes at your fucking service, boys!" you roared.

Micah laughed aloud at your roar, pleased by your enthusiasm as he fired his bullets. "That's my girl!" he exclaimed snidely, "Finally you ain't so polite about your killin'."

"Shut your damned mouth and keep shootin'!"

There were more O'Driscolls in the cabin than you anticipated; about ten. But it was no hard task for two of the gang's most formidable gunslingers. Micah gleefully shot away, throwing down tables and using them for cover while Kieran was cowering in the corner of the room, hands and feet bound tightly in ropes. Finding an empty wardrobe next to him, you pushed it down on its side and rushed behind it.

"You okay, Kieran?!" you exclaimed as you exchanged fire.

"I-I-I'm okay!" he squeaked, hunching over his knees and trying to lay as flat as he could behind the defense of the wardrobe.

Your momentary distraction afforded a shot to the arm, but with adrenaline rushing in your blood, you felt no pain. You'd slaughter every last one of them for even daring to touch Kieran.

Finally, the last one fell, shot by Micah. The two of you breathed heavily from the exertion and Micah rose to his feet from behind the makeshift rampart, scanning the cabin once more. With a sigh, he returned his guns to their holsters. "Not enough of these fellers for me to kill," he quipped, disappointed.

You turned to Kieran, finally having the time to properly look at him. His pathetic face was red and bloodied from all the punches he took. His clothes were torn and soiled, bearing boot prints from being stepped on. Cuts were all over his arms and his neck, some shallow, some deep. Pulling out your knife, you cut off the ropes that bound him.

"You look like a mess..." you sighed, trying to keep calm for his sake, "What on earth did they do to you?"

Kieran grimaced as he explained the abuse he underwent the past two days. Sleep deprivation, starvation, beating, kicking, threatening, lashing, and so much worse else that he struggled to express. As you pulled out some clean cloth to wrap around the wounds on his neck, you felt your chest tighten with guilt that you couldn't come for him sooner.

You rose to your feet and held out your hand to him. He shakily raised his arm, taking it and rising to his feet with a pained groan. He held his back and his hip, still groaning.

"Y-You came at the right time," he said, quivering, "They was ready to cut my head off just when you entered."

Your eyes widened and you clenched your teeth. "God damn them bastards," you growled under your breath, not even meaning it vainly.

The three of you only had these few moments to breathe when more gunshots from behind the cabin-- all distant-- vibrated the quiet air. You started, looking at the rear windows of the dilapidated building.

"They must've heard our gunshots!" you exclaimed.

Micah grinned, instantly slinging his guns out of the holsters. "Leave them to me," he said, sauntering towards the windows and ramming the butt of his gun against the glass, shattering it.

"They look like too many to take alone" you said, joining him and standing by the other window. Turning to Kieran, you pulled out your Cattleman and handed it to him. "Here, use this. We're a bit outnumbered."

The roar of O'Driscolls over their gunfire was loud, but you and Micah held them back. Kieran struggled with all his aches and pains, but managed to shoot a few himself. It was a tense few minutes of heated exchange, but with the last one falling, silence immediately settled in.

Rising immediately, you said, "Let's get out of here before more O'Driscolls come."

After quickly looting the sparse cabin and the bodies, the three of you mounted your horses and rode out. Kieran sat behind you, quietly whimpering in pain as the horse rode along the rugged paths. Micah seemed to be addressing Kieran about something, but it was all muffled by your thoughts.

The thought of Kieran suffering worse than how you found him sickened you. Your stomach churned at the image of his neck sliced and his life blood spurting out. And knowing how ruthless the O'Driscolls could be, they definitely would've done significantly worse things to his dead body. You may have had a questionable relationship with the Lord Almighty, but you sure thanked Him that Kieran's warm hands still held fast to you.

It was a relief to see the familiar surroundings of Shady Belle bathed in the descending sunlight, and as soon as the three of you arrived, the sight of Kieran after his disappearance stirred excitement in the camp.

"You found him!" Mary-Beth, running up to you, exclaimed first as you dismounted and helped Kieran down.

"Those damn O'Driscolls caught him!" you roared for everyone in the gang to hear, and then told them all how you and Micah slaughtered every last one of them.

The other gang members praised you, and reluctantly praised Micah for the rare occasion of him taking part in saving a fellow gang member. As always, he was full of pompous words about how he "killed more than the little Miss".

You had no time to be offended. You and Mary-Beth helped Kieran into a room in the mansion where Ms. Grimshaw would treat his wounds.

"I do hope he'll be okay," Mary-Beth said worriedly, holding your arm.

"He'll live. That much I know."

Feeling weary, you pulled out of her grasp and headed downstairs. She followed you into the parlour of the mansion and watched as you sat down with a sigh. You begged her for a cup of water, which she promptly brought to you. As she took another chair and sat down next to you, she watched you relish the cool drink.

"I'm sure glad Kieran is back," she said softly, lacing her fingers over her lap.

You nodded vigorously, placing the empty cup on your thigh. "So am I. You wouldn't believe our luck. He would've... He would've gotten his head lopped off if we were a moment too late." You wiped your hand down your face, sighing shakily. "Thank the Lord we found him before they did."

Mary-Beth wrapped her arms around you, letting you rest your head in the crook of her neck as she rubbed your back. Your body eased against your friend's and you sighed again.

"You did a real good job, my dear," she whispered, lovingly stroking your hair.

The security tightened around the camp after this incident. More gang members stood on the perimeters of Shady Belle, vigilant. Not only was the gang up on their guard, but the general attitude towards Kieran changed too. Some of the more rougher gang members who bullied him previously seemed to express some concern for his wellbeing and recovery.

The camp was in no celebratory mood after learning that Kieran was whisked away during the party for Jack. It remained lively as it always was, but the perpetual shadow was cast by the O'Driscolls caused the heavy drinkers to sober up and keep their vigil, and Dutch to withdraw to himself to consider where to go next before they risked another kidnapping or attack.

In the meantime, you made sure to tend to Kieran in any way you could, visiting him and talking to him to distract him from the pain. Sometimes Mary-Beth and Arthur would take your place when you weren't around.

Speaking of Arthur, he was especially upset about the whole thing.

"Damn O'Driscolls," he shook his head as he lit the cigarette between his lips, "I'm tired of this feud Colm and Dutch are having. When will it end?"

"I reckon it will go on till kingdom come," you answered resignedly. This was the first time since joining the gang that you witnessed O'Driscoll brutality firsthand after only knowing it in theory.

Arthur grumbled, taking a drag of the cigarette. "That aside, I'm surprised Micah cooperated. You know how he is. Kills more people than he saves."

You shrugged. "True. I guess he happily jumped right in because it was O'Driscolls we was dealing with. He gets to satisfy that damn itch in his hands and we get to cut down their forces."

"Hm." He nodded silently, staring at the ground of the porch he was standing on. "I'm glad Kieran is okay, though. You did well." He gave you a gentle pat on your shoulder in gratitude.

Though Arthur didn't show it, you could see the relief written all over his face. How distraught he would've been if the man that saved his life was killed like a dog with nobody to save him.

It was an especially quiet night and like usual, you sat in Kieran's room by the window, polishing your Cattleman to pass your time as you kept him company. His room was small, but sufficiently spaced for him to move about. After all the nights he spent sleeping outside, you were glad that he was given a roof over his head.

The camp was mostly quiet and relaxed, and conversations around the fire rose in the air in soft murmurs. You watched the night with alertness, and your rifle remained on your back. Kieran, seated on his humble bed, preferred to watch you.

"I-I cannot thank you enough for saving my life, Miss," he blurted. He'd been saying that everyday since.

You looked at him and smiled, shaking your head. "Are you going to thank me for the rest of your life?" you asked lightheartedly.

"I sure will. It's my life you saved, after all." He twiddled with his thumbs nervously.

You paused, looking at his slouched posture, his scruffy appearance, messy black hair and all the bandages wrapped around his arms and his neck. Your eyes softened at his plight, and you felt a surge of affection for him. "I'm glad you're back, Kieran. I missed you," you admitted softly.

An embarrassed flush bloomed on his cheeks at your loving address. "You did?" he asked, surprised. "I didn't think I was... visible enough in camp to be noticed, let alone missed."

"Well, Mary-Beth was the first to notice you was gone," you told him, "and you know the rest." But sensing the insecurity and vulnerability in his voice, you said, "Kieran, I don't know to what extent the camp as a whole trusts and likes you, but just know that I'll always trust you, like you, and miss you when you're gone."

You felt your cheeks flush a little, wondering if your speech betrayed your true feelings. But he smiled, feeling reassured.

"Thank you, Miss. I'm glad, really," he looked down at his feet on the floor, "I-I try so hard to be of use in the gang. I like it here better than with them O'Driscolls," his voice quieted as if in fear of even uttering the accursed name. "They're terrifying, but you all are nicer. And- And I want to prove myself that I-I ain't an O'Driscoll no more."

"Oh, Kieran," you shook your head, "You ain't an O'Driscoll no more, no matter what any of us say. You're one of us, a Van Der Linde." You rose to your feet and moved towards his bed. Situating yourself right next to him, you took his hand in yours and squeezed it, now saying in a soft whisper, "You'll never be an O'Driscoll again."

He nodded slowly, taking in the words. You looked at him. His eyes were fixed to the starry night outside the window, distant and thoughtful. You wondered if he thought of his time with the former gang. Your heart ached for what he had to go through with them, both now and in the past and to always be in fear of them, near or away.

"If they dare touch a single strand of your hair ever again, I promise I'll do worse things to them than what they planned to do to you," you declared, squeezing his hand again.

Kieran's eyes widened, alarmed by the extent of your harshness. He put his other hand on yours, clasping it. "Please, dear Miss, you don't have to go so far just for me," he begged.

"Why not?" you demanded, "They hurt you! I won't stand for that!"

"But-But the O'Driscolls ain't the sweetest people, you know... what if you get hurt because of me? I wouldn't want that."

Your brows furrowed, and Kieran feared he angered you. He shrunk a little, pulling his hand away from yours reluctantly. Noticing this, the anger on your face melted away.

"I... well," you stammered, "It ain't fair, Kieran. You're a nice guy. You've had a rough life even before them O'Driscolls. You take care of our horses and do your best around camp. You're an honest and innocent feller unlike the rest of us and I like that about you. It ain't fair or right that they can just whisk you away and not get the consequences of their actions for it!"

Your praise made his heart soar. He didn't think you thought so highly of him.

"And I know you ain't much a fighter," you continued, "And I ain't the best and showing people I care. Protecting you is the least I can do."

Kieran was both flattered and ashamed. Protecting was his job as a man. It didn't sit right with him that you took the dominant role when it was simply your right and privilege as a woman to be cared for and protected. But he didn't say it. He knew his limitations for the moment, but vowed to himself that he'd try and get stronger and braver so that he could one day protect you.

Afraid as he was to admit it, he admired you greatly. You were strong, hardy, beautiful, and brave. You knew your way around weapons and you were smart. He'd always looked on you with a certain awe and even jealousy that he wasn't anywhere near as impressive as you were. And to think that someone so amazing would condescend to be so attentive to him at this moment was both humbling and heart-fluttering.

"I could not have asked for a better friend than you, Miss," he smiled shyly. No sooner had the words come of his mouth, he worried if he took it too far by calling you a friend.

But the grin on your lovely, weathered face eased him. "I'm happy you think so, Kieran," you said gently, looking down at your lap.

He caught a hint of shyness in your face as you looked away, and his heart jumped. You, shy? He never saw this before.

Silence filled the room. He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, and from your straight posture and how you clenched the sides of the bed, you looked like you had something more to say. Kieran shifted in his seat.

"Are you okay? You look a little... tense," he finally asked.

"Yeah, I'm okay. I just... I just wanted to tell you something important."

"Of course," he encouraged, turning himself to face you.

"I- I love you, Kieran," you blurted with many blushes.

He stared at you with wide eyes, stunned and speechless. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

"I've fancied you ever since we was in Horseshoe Outlook," you admitted, "and I thought you was real sweet... even though we didn't really trust you. But I liked you."

He still stared, completely bewildered by this point. He never imagined anyone would ever like him, pathetic as he was.

"Me? A-Are you sure you do?" he sputtered.

"Of course I do. No doubt about it."

"But why me? I ain't impressive like Arthur or like Charles or-- I don't know-- John... Why me?"

"It's because you're kind," you explained in earnest, "and you're genuine. You're impressive in your own way. You work so hard to earn our trust. If nobody appreciates you for it, I do. And I even love you for it."

Nothing more could be said. He sat silent for a while, taking in your words. You watched him, worrying he'd not feel the same. You longed to ask him what he thought, but you waited for him to speak first.

"It's amazing that you'd choose me, my dear Miss, a pathetic O'Driscoll boy..."

You frowned. "You ain't an O'Driscoll boy. You're Kieran Duffy," you said firmly, "I could never love no O'Driscoll boy. But Kieran Duffy? I would."

He smiled abashedly. Though you scolded him, he couldn't help but feel so utterly over the moon. He just couldn't get enough of your repeated declarations of love. His smile dispelled your momentary annoyance, and your eyes softened, feeling the weight of your affection for him rest heavy on your heart.

His trembling hand ventured bravely to touch yours and your hand instinctively leaned into his light touch. Feeling encouraged, he wrapped his hand around yours, holding it gently. Both the touch and the confirmation of his feelings sent strong flutters and sparks flying all over inside you.

"I've always admired you," he admitted, "You're really purty, and strong. Always thought you was an amazing woman." His hand squeezed yours, and you squeezed back, "I-I really do love you too, my dear Miss."

Your lip trembled as you felt an overflow of emotions. "I'm sure glad you're alive, Kieran," you said breathlessly, "I don't know what I would've done if you was gone and I didn't never get to tell you how much I love you."

He moved closer, pressing his shoulder against yours. Without thinking, you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. His heart jumped again, but he sat still.

"It's because of you I'm alive," he whispered, affectionately rubbing his thumb over your knuckles as he pressed his cheek against your head, "And I'm glad too." His voice cracked, "I'm glad to be alive to hear you say you love me."

You couldn't take it anymore. You wrapped your arms around his waist and hugged him, something you've been desperate to do since you brought him back alive. His surprise only lasted for a moment before he responded by wrapping one arm around your waist and the other around your shoulders.

"I'm sorry to be so bold, Kieran, but I ain't never lettin' you go."

He smiled, burying his face in your neck. He could never be offended by your boldness; it was one of the many things he loved about you.

"And I ain't goin' nowhere."

[unidentifiedly]

Eventful Morning

Micah Bell x reader

- In which Micah almost scares the reader to death. Or at the very least, scares them enough for it to have consequences.

"Tip, tip, tip" Soft sounds of rain droplets made their way into your ears.

"No, no. Just a few more minutes." You thought to yourself, unable to open your eyes just yet. Slowly but surely you adjusted to the idea of waking up and opened your eyes. The off white canvas tent filtered the morning light beautifully. Glancing around yourself, looking for your favourite blouse and overdress, your gaze fell on the small dusty mirror in front of you, perched atop a trunk and supported by a stack of hardcover copies of romance novels.

In the mirror, yourself staring right back. You glanced at the intricately engraved brass pocket watch by the side of the bed. The watch itself was a birthday gift from Arthur a couple months back. The arms reaching toward four and twelve, it was way too early to get up and start one's day. Yet, here you were.

Softly humming to yourself you tied your hair up lazily with a ribbon, deciding to spend the hours of the morning organizing your safe haven. The gang had only recently arrived at the new spot, Horseshoe Overlook they called it. Far too east for Arthur's liking, but to you about anything sounded better than heading back up those cold mountains toward Colter. You were used to it at this point, the constant moving around. It was a way of life that held you tightly in its grip.

That being said, the new camp was still unorganized and there was sure to be work around that needed doing. This was a chance to have some private time, peace and quiet for yourself.

Sorting through the mementos and trinkets from throughout the years was quick, you wiped the dust off of the little mirror with the corner of your nightgown. Gathering up the few clothes you had laying around and neatly folding them up you realized the growing pile of fabric by the end of your bed was clothes and linen that needed washing, not something that should just be sorted back into the trunks right away. "I think it was Charles who mentioned there was a river just west of here?" Mumbling to yourself, you picked up the dirty clothes and put them in a basket, not bothering to dress up all the way. "Everyone will be asleep at this hour anyways, and if not, it'll be Miss Grimshaw awake. It's nothing that'll bother her too much." Pulling on your trusty leather boots you untied the strings holding the fabric flap door of your tent shut. A prompt walk to your horse, a beautiful paint mare, and you were off along with your basket of laundry. With the carelessness, soft hums and the skip on your step you failed to notice a pair of eyes watch you leave the camp. The observer finished smoking his cicarette, let his legs fall from the log they were resting on while chucking the cigarette butt over his shoulder, and rubbed his hands together. What on on God's green Earth were you up to this early in the morning, and barely dressed to boot?

The sound of a running stream reached your ears fast. Charles had of course been right, even a blind man would notice the Dakota River from this close by. Hopping off your horse and tying the reins to a nearby tree you swung the basket on your elbow and kicked the boots off your feet, walking straight into the cold running water. Oh how sweet the feeling was! In a low point of the river, a rock stood taller than the surface of the water, so you took a seat and began the chore.

"Eeeasy there boy" Micah huffed to Baylock, staying well hidden in the trees, observing you from afar. A smirk spread on his lips as he saw your boots and gun belt scattered on the riverbank, and you sitting on a rock in the middle of the water, with your back facing him. Dismounting with an agile leap, he slowly but surely started making his way toward you.

Completely lost in your activity and the sweet warm sunshine of the spring morning you were singing to yourself, getting ready to leave. Looking at the last blouse, and squeezing the extra water out of it a surprisingly strong wave hit the rock and splashed water all over you, soaking your thin white linen undergarments. "Fuck!" You stood up and turned around, screaming out loud.

"Mic- Mr.Bell! What the fuck are you doing?"

Keeping his eyes locked on your body, his smirk widened, his arms reaching out toward you. "Just call me Micah, and I could ask ya the same thing, sweetcheeks. Now come on here." He beckoned with his hands, but you refused.

"No, I don't think so, you can't just creep up on me like that Mr Bell. I could have dropped my laundry basket, or worse, fallen down and then drowned out of shock!"

You took a step back, lifting the now heavier basket full of wet clothes up to rest against your hipbone.

For every step you took back, Micah took one forward, and the man had both the advantage of longer legs and facing the direction he was going. It didn't take long for things to go south.

"I'm warning you Mr Bell, I'm going to tell Arthur about this, and you know he is not going to be happy!" You tried in vain.

"Hrmph. The cowpoke ain't got nothing to do with how I conduct my business with a lady such as yerself."

You were taken aback, "what did you just call me? You never- Ah!"

Slipping on a rock and falling back, you reached out to Micah for support, and closed your eyes in anticipation of the cold hard surface of the river. The sensation never came.

"Gotcha." Eyeing down at you was Micah, who effortlessly supported your almost naked body by your waist and left arm. "Now how about ya let me show you a good time as a thanks?" One of his eyebrows rising up and his face forming a seductive expression.

You, however, were too occupied to notice or care. "Micah you idiot! All of my clothes are fucking gone!"

And indeed, the river was decorated with the various pieces of clothing running merrily downstream, way too fast to catch up to.

"Well, ya won't be needin' any of those for th- Ow!" "Shut the fuck up and help me get dressed before anyone else notices!"

The ride to the camp was one of the worst you had ever experienced. For Micah, it was the opposite. A prideful smirk on his cocky face, throwing you the occasional remark about the curve of your waist and ass, and how good you looked in just his jacket as you rode, and making no attempts to be quiet and discreet as you arrived in camp. You tried your best to ignore him and get away from the situation as quickly as possible. Hopping off your horse, not even bothering to tie the rains to the hitchpost, you walked briskly toward your tent only to run straight into Sean.

"Oi, watch where ya- Y/N, wow, let me tell ya, could not see this one comin'!" A smirk instantly grew on his face, and he slapped a hand on Micah's jacket, on your shoulder.

"Sean it's NOT what it looks like, and don't you dare mention this to anyone either!" You whisper yelled while taking off the jacket, exposing your still wet and thus transparent garments. Sean blushed bright red, poor guy, and you stomped right in to your tent.

Not being able to face the rest of the day, the longer you stayed in your tent the more intimidating the prospect of leaving felt. Surely Sean had told everyone about what he saw, and you'd be mocked til eternity.

No, there was no way you'd ever leave that tent again.

A few hours later you were starving for a snack and stuck your head out to find the main area empty. Great! An opening. As soon as you stepped out, a voice rang: "Y/N!" You turned around, mouth open to start defending yourself, only to face a very noticeably beat-up looking Sean. "Listen, sorry about the earlier, I never saw nothing, alright?" You nodded in confusion and he smiled, thanked you quickly and scurried off. You got the food you were after, and returned to your tent to eat it. There, on your cot, rested a shirt and a dress, folded in a way which looked like a very bad attempt, with a piece of paper on top. There, in barely legible rough handwriting:

"The idiot won't bother ya about it. M"

You smiled to yourself, feeling the fabric of the clothes. Both of good quality fabrics, a white undershirt and a red simple dress. Just like the ones you usually wear every day.

Observing from a distance as you emerged from your tent in your red dress, Micah Bell smiled to himself as he sharpened his knife, softly murmuring to himself: "Gotcha ta call me by my name at least. That's a start."

note: Yay! My first ever piece of writing I've published online :) do suggest if you get any good ideas and like my writing style.

[youngdutchishot]

I like it when a friend gives you a nickname then someone else tries to use that and they're all "hey wtf only I call them that you bitch" but you're also warmed by them doing that.. anyways I think Dutch would get severely pissed when people try to call Hosea old girl-

[ryeguns]

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Wherever I rest my head is home if it's with you

Part 3, On the hunt

Masterlist Word count: 3.2 k Charles Smith x Fem!Reader Arthur Morgan x Mary Linton John Marston x Abigail Roberts Dutch Van der Linde x Molly O'Shea Mary-Beth Gaskill x Kieran Duffy

Summary: Looking for gold is a men's world in a town run by women. The amounts of violence and suffering these men go through with the hope of getting rich is insanity. Gold fever broke marriages and relationships alike until the settlement was nearly all women.  It's a small settlement, nearly a small town, next to the Elysian Pool. Most men red hot with gold fever pass through to stock up on supplies before heading down to the mines near Beaver's Hallow or Annesburg.  The settlement has only one law set in stone, as lawmen do not want to come there, and it is praised like it was one of the ten commandments. You do not harm the women.

Preview

'There's something off about those fellers,' you state sluggishly, wildly swinging the whiskey bottle in your hand around, 'they ask too many questions.' Mary-Beth chuckles and puts a hand on your shoulder to distract you as she takes away the bottle with her other hand. You look up at her with furrowed brows and lean your head against her leg. While most of the women sit spread out on the three logs that are used as benches on the land behind Sadie's house, you have always been a ground person. Molly and Karen were ground people like you but now you're on the ground all on your own. In your intoxicated state, that makes you very sad but you don't hang onto it for too long as another thought grabs your attention.  Normally you play a bit of guitar for the group but last time you all got together, you had lent your guitar to Mary-Beth who promptly broke all the strings while trying to tune it. God, how you miss that Javier feller that passed through a few months ago. He sang the sweetest songs and could make you sing as well. A quiet giggle leaves your lips.  'All men ask questions. Difference is that most men don't make you nervous,' she teases. Tilly and Abigail chuckle in return while Sadie rolls her eyes.  'You ain't got nothing to laugh about miss Roberts,' you state loudly, 'you're tripping over your own feet around that scar faced feller.' Abigail turns a bright shade of red as she tries to avoid eye contact with Sadie, but she's already seen and leans up against her.  'Oh, our sweet miss Roberts has finally found someone to bed,' she teases as she throws her arm around Abigail to pull her as close as she can. Abigail pushes her off and huffs while scooting away from Sadie.  'Ain't nothing like that. The boy is just... charmingly stupid. That's all.'  'No use in defending yourself now, sweetheart,' Mary-Beth teases.  'Yeah, we both saw,' Tilly adds. Abigail groans.  'Fine, yes, John is adorable. I don't know what it is about him ‘cause he's dumb as nails. He told me he can't even swim,' she vents to the group, 'but my stomach tingles around him. It's terrible.'  'Have they gone past the gun store yet, Mary,' Sadie questions as she looks over to Mary.  'No, I haven't seen them yet. Why? Are they all handsome,' she jokes with a teasing wiggle of her brow. You sigh, but it comes out as more of a lovesick groan. The girls laugh and you lean your head down to cover your face with your hat as you lean back against the log.  'That's one way to answer that question,' Mary-Beth teases, 'you got the hots for one of them, Lucky?'  'Piss off.'  'Weren't you sweet on that Mexican feller just a few weeks back,' Mary teases, taking your hat off your head to see your embarrassed expression.  'No, no, that was just another notch on her bedpost,' Abigail jokes, 'no feelings there, right Lucky?'  'I could've sworn she was in love the way she looked at him those nights at the campfire,' Tilly continues as you snatch your hat back from Mary.  'Same thing with that Charles feller, ain't it,' Sadie suggests with a grin, 'I heard you didn't even try to shoot him when he made fun of how you get on your horse.'  'Didn't need to,' you grumble, annoyed and blushing.  'So what is this I heard about you going hunting with Charles,' Tilly teases.  'Okay, fine, that's enough,' you bark. The mood drops for a second. You don't mind being the bud of the joke for a bit but you let them know when it's been enough and they respect it. Least they could do is respect it after all you've done for this goddamn town. 'Anyway, what’s this I heard about them looking for Dutch Van der Linde and Micah Bell?' The mood flips from light and careless to tight and anxious within a second. Those are not well-liked people to say the very least and none of you have good memories of them.

[tinyfishtits]

You Are Redeemed

Micah Bell / Female Reader

Summary: Reader convinces Micah to join her on a job robbing a homestead. Things do not go as planned... Rating: Mature; Graphic Depictions of Violence Word Count: 5,339 Tags: Light Angst, First Kiss

Authors Note: Contains minor spoilers for a special encounter in the game, if you care about that. This was SO FUN to write, hope ya'll ike it. ★ Read on AO3 ★ ☆ Masterlist ☆

I sat on the outskirts of camp, watching as the sun slowly sank behind the mountains, painting the landscape in shades of pink and lavender. Though my peace was short lived as someone walked toward where I rested on the cliff's edge. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was. 

“Dutch’s bitch returns.” I said, taking a hit of my cig as Micahs heavy steps neared. “Shut up and give me one of those.” He demanded, taking a seat next to me. I pulled the pack from my pocket and chucked it into his lap. 

“What, would you prefer the prodigal son? ” He just grunted in response and lit his cigarette. “Well aren’t you in a good ole’ mood.” I murmured under my breath. 

“You wanna talk, sweetheart?” He drew a long puff and sank back onto his elbows, waving a dismissive hand at me “Go ahead.”

I crinkled my nose at the pet name. Flinging the butt of my cigarette off the cliff side and lighting another, I asked “Whatchu doin’ tomorrow?” He raised an eyebrow, glancing sidelong at me, “No .” Was all he said. 

“You don’t even know what I’m about t-” 

“Find somebody else.” His voice was flat and words final, “Camps full of idiots, I'm sure one of ‘em will go on whatever fools errand you got this time.” 

“You’re not even the least bit curious?” 

“ No .” He said, tone already laced in annoyance. I went quiet for a moment, thinking of a way to entice him. 

“I’d split the take with you, fifty fifty.” 

“ God woman! I’m not even back an hour and you’re already trying to get me killed?” 

“Fine.” I spat back at him, “ I’ll just do it myself… Asshole.” I got up and stormed off back to camp, Micah's half hearted yell of my name his only response. I wasn’t sure the job could even be done alone, but to hell if I was gonna grovel with him over it. His ego was big enough. 

I was already kicking myself for being so soft by the time I reached my tent. I knew we weren’t friends or nothin’... But I’d been planning this robbery all month, waiting for him to show his face at camp to tell him about it and he just couldn't have cared less. I didn’t want to admit how much it hurt, how much I stupidly yearned for that asshole's praise.

It wasn’t until late next morning that Micah appeared beside me as I readied my horse for the ride. “Where do you think you’re goin’?” He drawled, leaning against the hitching post as I mounted my horse. 

“Don’t you got better things to do than babysit me?” I hissed, “Like sittin’ on your ass all day?” My voice still heavy with venom from our encounter last night. 

I knew I really had no reason to be so mad, I had put us both in danger on jobs before. But so had he! For every job that went bad from my lack of experience, he completely blew out of proportion with his lack of self control. And it’d been months since our last robbery, I’d improved a lot since, not that he was around or cared to notice.

“Hey now,” he lifted his hands in surrender, “I come with a peace offering.” I just rolled my eyes. “Give me your hand.” 

“What? No-” I started but he interjected, “Stop bein’ stubborn and give it here!” He yanked my hand from the horn of my saddle and placed a long leather sheath into it. 

“A knife?” I whispered, turning it over in my hand. Unsheathing it I almost gasped. The black blade was decorated with the most intricate engraving of flowers and herons and inlaid with what looked to be gold. 

“Why…?” Was all I could muster in response. 

“Before you go gettin’ all sentimental, I stole it off someone while robbing a stagecoach a few days ago. Thought maybe you could use one.”

“But it's-” Beautiful, expensive, worth more than my rifle… “don’t you wanna sell it?” 

“Well if you don’t like it give it back and I will.” His temper shot up a bit. I knew he wasn’t used to gifting people things, and hell, I wasn’t used to receiving them. 

“Thank you.” I said finally, “I like it.” 

“Okay then.” He grunted as he turned away and mounted Baylock. “Now, you gonna tell me about this job or what?” 

I tried to hide my surprise and relief at his sudden willingness to accompany me on a job he knew nothing about. I truly had been preparing myself for the worst case scenario of going at it alone. Not wanting to delude myself into thinking that his change of heart could be at all for my sake, I shook the thought from my mind and the building blush from my cheeks. He was just in it for the money… I had promised him half the take in my desperation, after all. 

“You spend much time out in Lemoyne?” I started, catching up with him as we trotted down the path out of camp. He nodded. “Some.”

“Well there’s a farm out there with this couple, been runnin’ a shine business out their house. Figure they got a good stash somewhere in there.”

“You figure? ” The skepticism in his tone made my brow furrow. He’d done more for less. Why he was so intent on giving me a hard time over the others in camp, I had no idea. 

“Well if there aint a lot of cash, we could always steal the shine. I figure that's a pretty safe bet.” 

He just hummed in acknowledgement. For Micah, any response not laced in mockery was a good one. “What do you want me to do?” He asked. 

“The couple, well… They’re kinda odd.” I started, trying to piece together the best way to pitch my idea. Micah just raised a brow at me, waiting for the rest of the story. “Bill and Arthur both had run-ins with them. Said they gave ‘em a bad feeling. Seems they um… like invitin’ men in for dinner.” 

“Well if they scared big ole Bill and Morgan they must be terrifying.” His words dripped with sarcasm. Hook, line, sinker. All it took for Micah to be in on a job was the chance to prove himself more capable than his fellow gang members, especially Arthur. 

“So you’ll do it?” I prodded, “Distract them, I mean. While I loot the house?”  “Sure sweetheart. If you ask nicely.” 

It took every last bit of self control not to spit back at him. “ Please” I forced out through gritted teeth. He shot me a cocky smirk. “And don’t go shootin’ the place up neither. I’d like to do this clean and quiet for once.” I added. 

“You got it boss.” He joked, but the smugness sank a bit from his expression. Always the trigger happy gunslinger. 

Our ride through the Heartlands was quiet, neither of us being too keen on small talk. The weather over head was nice, cloudy but still warm and dry. That was more than I could say for what we were headed toward. A nasty lookin’ grey sky loomed in the distance.

By the time we reached Emerald Ranch it was pouring. I cursed myself for not bringing a jacket, my simple cotton button up was soaked after just a minute in the downpour. I wrapped myself up in the blanket I had stored on my saddle in an attempt to ward off the chill the storm brought with it, much to Micahs amusement. 

He let out a howl of laughter, “You look like a washed up Nun! Should I start callin’ you sister?” 

“Shutup!” I replied, having to yell over the noise of pounding rain and cracking thunder, “Take a right here, we’re almost there.” 

The foliage grew denser the closer we got, an eerie feeling lingering in the darkness of the forest stretched out before us. I pushed it back, trying to clear my brain for the job ahead. I’d never been good with storms, that deep-seated childhood fear of thunder and lightning never having left me. It’ll help cover any noise you make, I tried to convince myself, wash away any tracks if things go sour and they come lookin’ for you .  

Pulling off the road just shy of the path that rounded up the hill to the homestead, I hitched my horse and waved Micah over. “I’ll go on foot from here. Once you’re inside I’ll start lookin’.” He nodded, the water collecting on his hat cascaded off with every slight movement, I could barely make out his face through the mini waterfall it created. 

“Alright.” He drawled, nudging Baylock up the path. His dark, leather-cloaked form shimmered with water even in the darkness below the tree’s dense canopy, and then he was gone. 

I abandoned my makeshift cloak and trudged up the muddy hillside, Micah’s knife and my revolver the only weapons on my hip. By the time the house was visible through the trees, Micah was hitching Baylock and talking to someone on the porch. The closer I got to the treeline I could make out the forms in the darkness. A large man dressed in overalls was waving Micah in when someone else joined them on the porch. A woman by the looks of her large skirt. 

I made my way to the side of the house with a crudely built add-on, which was really saying something, the whole place seemed like it could collapse at any moment. The small shed had no windows, no light spilled out from the door, it was the safest bet for where they’d stash the shine. 

Running out from the cover of the trees I reached the shed door, fully expecting I’d have to break the lock. But when I got out my pick to start working on it the door creeped open from my touch alone. Either they were really stupid, or… The place was empty. My heart sank as I scanned the small room for anything of value, nothing. There were old shine brewing canisters in the corner but they looked like they hadn’t been used in a good decade. Fuck. I cursed myself, knowing Micah would never let me live this down. Though he would probably juice the story up just to rub it in Arthur's face. 

I was rummaging through a tool box for any hidden valuables when a large THUMP sounded on the other side of the wall. Sighing, I readied myself for the ribbing I was about to get and rounded the house to the back door. “I thought we agreed to keep this one quiet-” I started as I entered the house, fully expecting to see the bodies of the couple on the floor. But instead found Micah, strewn out lifelessly still in the middle of the room.

“Micah?” I breathed, shock freezing me in place at the sight of him so… helpless. 

“What do we have here honey pie?” A large man asked from across the room, looking my wet, trembling figure over with a sick kind of hunger. He was dressed in nothing but a wethered pair of overalls that could barely contain the skin spilling out from it. Seeing him up close set a new kind of fear coursing through me. He was so fucking big! There was no way I'd be able to fight my way out of this. 

The woman he talked to was crouching over Micah’s body, hands greedily rifling through his pockets. It was when she touched his revolver that the adrenaline finally hit me and before I could even process that I'd grabbed my own gun, I was emptying my cylinder into the man’s chest. Six shots later and the mountain of a man was still barreling toward me, a guttural roar ripping through the house. 

I stumbled back, practically falling out the door I’d come through as I tried to put as much distance between us as possible. Jumping over the stair railing I landed on a pile of chopped wood and saw it, an axe resting against the house. Gripping it just as the man came crashing out the back door, I pivoted on my heels, swinging the blade smack into the giant’s neck. 

He floundered forward, a grotesque gurgling erupting from his mouth as blood sputtered from the gash on his neck and he fell to his knees at the foot of the stairs. I just watched as the fight slowly faded from his huge, convulsing form and he sunk to the mud with one final twitch. Pulling the axe from his neck, I made my way back up the stairs, rage bubbling in my veins at whatever these sick sons of bitches were trying to pull. 

But all feeling drained out of me when I opened the door to the woman pointing Micahs revolver at his head. 

“Put the axe down.” She demanded, her tone disconcertingly calm until she spotted the blood. “Bray? Honey?” Her voice cracked, yelling for him again. “Bray!?”

“He’s dead.” Was all I said, my voice flat and lifeless, I could barely recognize it as my own. 

I could practically see the hysteria wash over her as she pointed the gun at me and started firing erratically, screaming at the top of her lungs. “YOU BITCH!” 

I rushed her, sprinting through the gunfire and knocking her to the ground, the gun thrown from her hand at the impact. She thrashed beneath me, her hands clawing at every part of me she could reach. “Stop!” I yelled back, grabbing her wrists and pushing them to the ground. Even restrained she was trying to buck me off of her, her legs kicking wildly behind me. “STOP!” I repeated. 

I didn’t want to kill her. But she was making mercy seem pretty damn distasteful the more she screamed and squirmed. “Where’s the money?” I demanded, my voice too breathless to sound as menacing as I’d hoped. She just spat in my face. Reflexively, I reached up to wipe the glob of mucus away and she took the opportunity to headbutt me. 

I fell back with a gasp and when I looked up, she was coming at me with a knife. I tried getting to my feet but she was too fast. She jumped on me, slashing at my extended arms as I screamed. Lifting the knife above her head for a final deathly blow, I used all my strength to push myself up and wrap myself around her. Tackling her back to the ground we writhed around, a blur of clawing, slashing and screaming as we wrestled for the knife. 

She dug a finger into one of the fresh slashes on my arm and I shot back like I'd been electrocuted. Rising to her feet, knife in hand, she screamed down at me, “YOU’RE GONNA PAY FOR-” I lunged at her, the hunting knife Micah had gifted me unsheathed, and drove it into her abdomen. Her scream sputtered off into incoherent murmurings as she fell to her knees, my blade still inside her. 

“Tell me.” I pleaded between panting breaths, “Where’s the money?” Her wide eyes met mine, glossy but still so full of that manic rage. “Momma?” She whispered, her hands grasping at my forearms as she tried to stay upright. And then, with a single rasping breath, she collapsed at my feet with one last soft cry for her mother. 

Hot tears streamed down my cheeks as I stood frozen, bloodied blade still stretched out before me. “Micah?” I called out, my voice barely a whisper. But the house stayed eerily silent. I fell to the floor beside him and frantically shook at his limp body. Nothing. “MICAH!” I yelled, taking his face in my hands and lowering my ear to his mouth, then his heart. I couldn’t tell if it was my own heart pounding in my ears or if he truly was alive, but for the moment it was enough to kick my scattered brain into action. 

Grabbing him by the ankles I started to drag his body toward the front door. The blood from the slashes on my arm dripped down, coating my hands in sticky warmth as I struggled to keep my grip on the slick leather of his boots. “ Jesus,” I grunted, almost falling to my ass as I lost my grip on him, “You’re heavier than you look.” I mumbled. It was a jeer that would usually prompt one of his snarky remarks, making the silence that followed even more unsettling. 

Making it to the door, I swung it open and whistled for Baylock. “Come here boy.” He huffed and reared as I dragged Micah out on the porch and tried maneuvering him more carefully down the steps. “Shhh.” I hushed as I reached out to comfort the horse, obviously just as distressed at the sight of Micah passed out as I was. “Hush now, I need you to help me out here.” I said, stroking his mane and guiding him to lay down so I could get Micah in the saddle. 

It took a lot of coaxing both of Baylock and my own strength, to get Micah and all his dead weight in that saddle. But after a few sweaty, breathless minutes, it was done. With Micah securely slumped on the saddle I rushed back in the house to grab his revolver, and that's when I saw it. 

In the chaos of it all I hadn’t stopped to really look around the house. It was just as dilapidated as the exterior, dirty and sparse. Though the one thing that really stood out was the large portrait of a woman right across from the front door, the only decoration in the whole house. “What are the chances…” I muttered to myself, reaching for the painting. 

Concealed behind it was a hole in the wall filled with cash. A laugh of pure disbelief burst out of me as I took in the wads of bills and gold bars. Quickly fetching Micahs satchel I stuffed it full of the loot, all the while sobbing and laughing like a maniac at the pure absurdity of the whole thing. 

Not wanting to linger in the house of horrors longer than need be, I quickly retrieved Micah's stolen possessions from the woman's corpse and got the hell out of there. Getting behind Micah on the saddle I held him with one arm and took the reins in the other, guiding Baylock down to where my horse still waited patiently at the end of the path. 

“Come on girl, follow me.” I yelled to her. Her head shot up from where she grazed and she obediently trotted to my side as I led us away from the homestead. The downpour had mercifully subsided to a drizzle, though the land would be a mud pit for a good day at least. I considered riding all the way back to camp, but I wasn’t in good shape myself. There was no way I'd be able to hold Micah and keep myself upright for the cross-state trek back to Horseshoe Overlook. 

With all the cash I had now, I debated going into Rhodes and getting a room. Though Micah’s unconscious state was sure to attract more questions than I cared to invite, especially with all the money I had on me. So I settled for a short jaunt up the road toward Emerald Ranch, leading the horses off the path a bit until I found a clearing suitable for a small make-shift camp. 

I hadn’t anticipated being away from camp more than a few hours, but it seemed Micah always kept enough supplies on him to get him through the night if need be, so I began to set things up. Laying his bedroll out, I tried easing Micah off the saddle, only to have him crash into me and pin me in the mud. I coughed, rasping for breath as I tried wriggling out from beneath him. It was like being stuck under a cow, the man was deceptively dense. 

I pushed at his shoulder, my arms burning with the strain, the wounds that had just started scabbing popping open and bleeding once more. After a few agonizing minutes I managed to roll him off of me enough to get myself free. We were both caked in mud from the fall, Micah's golden hair so dirty it was almost black now. 

Everything else was easy, mindless work in comparison to the day i’d had. Building a fire, setting up the tent, cracking open a can of food for dinner. Hopeful he’d wake up before nightfall, I’d cooked him a can of beans as well… and when he didn’t, I scarfed those down too. I was exhausted. Every inch of my body was in some kind of pain. Slashed, bruised, sore. I tended to the knife wounds on my arms the best I could, nabbing a bit of a health cure Micah had in his satchel to fight off infection. And now I just, waited. 

Crouching beside Micah in the tent, I carefully removed his jacket and shirt. I had no idea what they did to knock him out so heavily, but I wanted to at least make sure he hadn’t been stabbed or shot. Running my hands through his hair, I felt no bumps or blood, so I ruled out concussion. His chest, stomach, and what I could reach of his back was also unscathed. If I didn’t know any better I’d say he was just sleeping. His chest rose and fell with slow, even breaths. His eyes even fluttered beneath his lashes every so often, like he was dreaming. Not knowing what more there was to do I just began washing the mud off him with my still soaked blanket, and prayed to god he wouldn’t choose this moment to wake up, he’d call me a bath maid for the rest of my goddamn life. 

Once he was clean and my blanket sufficiently muddied, I threw it out of the tent and sank back on the bedroll beside him. Micah, being the human furnace he was, didn’t travel with a blanket of his own. And even though we were in the bayou, the storm had brought with it a ferocious wind that made the night painfully chill. Drifting off, I found myself edging closer and closer to Micah’s warm body, until halfway through the night I was completely wrapped around him. He still did not stir, and I figured I’d much rather take whatever possible teasing this would get me if he woke up now than shiver to death a few feet away. 

Cuddled up to Micahs side, I fell into the most blissful sleep I’d had in years. I did not stir for the rest of the night, only beginning to wake when the sun shone down through the tree canopy and the chorus of birds and bugs filled the forest with their music. “Mornin’” a soft, gravely voice vibrated under my ear. 

“Morning.” I yawned, my head still in a sleepy haze as I stretched and came to. A deep rumbling vibrated once more beneath me and I shot up. Micah's chuckles turned to shallow coughs as he gazed up at me, a smug smile on his lips. “You’re awake!” I practically yelled, throwing my arms around him. “Thank god you’re not dead” I mumbled into his bare chest, “you scared the shit out of me!”

“You sure I ain't dead darlin’?” He drawled, wrapping a large arm around my back, keeping me pressed against him. “Never thought in all my life I’d hear someone thank god I was alive.” 

“What happened back there? The hell did they do to you?” I stretched my neck to look up at him, making no effort to leave his warmth just yet. 

“They drugged me. Put somethin’ in the damn whiskey.” He looked around then, sitting up a bit to inspect the camp I put together. “How’d you get me outta there?” 

“Well it wasn’t easy.” I said, finally unraveling myself from him and getting up propper. “You weigh twice as much as you look, I swear. It was like lugging around a ton of bricks.” 

“Where you goin’?” He said with a smile, patting the space beside him I’d just occupied. “Come back here.” 

“What? No- I- I’m gonna go get some food.” 

“So you gonna act like you didn’t just spend all night wrapped around me?” The smug smile on his lips grew. When I didn’t move, he got up with a groan and walked toward me. Only stopping when he stood just a breath away.

“I’m only gonna say this once…” He said, his voice surprisingly soft for what his words implied. Slowly, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. “Thank you.” His breath brushed over my face, warm and inviting, “For saving my life.” 

Despite how much of a cocky, slimy asshole he could be. How more often than not I wanted to throttle him… I found myself leaning in, my hand coming up to caress the scar that ran from his lip down his chin. His eyes followed my movement, then in a flash he grabbed my wrist, lifting my arm to inspect the blood soaked cloth there. 

“What happened?” He demanded, his brow furrowing as he noticed the bandages wrapped around my other arm as well.

“I- Um. Got stabbed… a little.” His touch was delicate as he carefully peeled back the cloth to expose the jagged red slashes that peppered my forearm. His face crinkled in anger. 

“I’ll kill those crazy bastards-” He started, but I interjected. “They’re dead.” His eyes widened, looking me over more thoroughly now.

“Even the-”

“Dead.” I said once more, my voice flat as I tried not to remember their bloodied corpses. He squinted, cocking his head as he observed me. Looking me over as if he was seeing something in me he hadn’t noticed before. 

“Okay.” Was all he replied before he turned toward the horses, “Come on.” 

“Where are you-” 

“ We’re going into town. You’re gonna see a doctor. Now mount up.” When I dug my heels in the ground he sighed, already exasperated, “I may weigh a ton, doll. But by the looks of it, you don’t. So unless you want me to pick you up and throw you on the back of this saddle-”

“ Fine.” I muttered, walking over and mounting my horse. “Oh, Micah?” He hummed in acknowledgment. “You might wanna look in your satchel.” 

“ Shit.” He muttered, pulling out one of the gold bars, “All this for shine? ” 

“There was no shine.” I said, starting off down the path, “My guess is those sick sons of bitches were druggin’ folk and robbin ‘em blind.” Micah fell silent. 

“Anyway… Bet you twenty bucks I can beat you to Rhodes.” And before he could reply I kicked my horse into action and raced down the road. The only response I could hear from him was a holler as he reared Baylock and chased after me. 

We raced along the Kamassa River, Micah on my tail the entire time. I knew he was a better rider than me, but he didn’t bother overtaking me until the town came into view. Then, like the cocky ass he was, he stopped Baylock completely. Giving me a good 30 seconds head start before he jolted into a gallop and flew past me just before I reached the fork in the road that led to Rhodes. By the time I got to the main street in town, Micah was already sitting outside the doctor's office.

“Twenty bucks, was it?” He said with a sly smirk as I hitched my horse. I just rolled my eyes, “Put it on my tab, cowboy.” 

“Hey.” He grabbed my wrist as I went to open the office door, “You still got that knife I gave ya?” 

I nodded, reaching for the leather sheath on my hip. “Can I borrow it?” My brow crinkled. 

“Don’t you gotta knife?” He just stared at me, his hand still gripping my wrist. I sighed and handed it over. 

“I’ll be out here. Go get patched up doll.” He said, sitting on the bench beside the door. 

The doctor was an old, greying man whose voice was so gravely from decades of smoking it made Micahs sound like velvet in comparison. “Someone did a real number on you.” He croaked, his cold hands poking and prodding at my tender flesh as he rubbed my wounds with disinfectant and some kind of numbing cream. 

It took about half an hour for him to stitch up the worst of my gashes, and wrap up the rest. By the time he was done I was covered in bandages from wrist to elbow on each arm, it looked a whole lot worse than it felt. Paying him for his time and grabbing a few bottles of tonic on my way out, I found Micah just as I’d left him. 

“Good as new.” I announced, and Micah practically jumped out of his seat. He looked me over, his brows knitting as his eyes scanned the large bandages. Without a word, he patted the space beside him and I joined him on the bench. Taking one bandaged arm in his hand, he gingerly turned it around, inspecting it. Then placed my blade in my open palm. 

I turned it over in my hand and found something carved into the wooden handle. Bringing it closer to my face, I squinted at the small lettering. You are redeemed. It read. I whispered the words, running a finger over the indentations in the wood. A reminder of the price paid and the bounty won, life. ‘Thank you for saving my life.’ his words echoed in my head. 

I had the feeling Micah would no longer shrug off my jobs, that what I sacrificed to save us made me an equal in his eyes. Given the lone wolf he was… well, it meant a lot. I didn’t know what to say to that. The words thank you didn’t seem to hold the same weight any more. Micah stood then, holding a hand out to me. 

“Breakfast?” He asked, jerking his head toward the saloon behind him. I sheathed the knife and took his hand. Pulling me up against him, we stood chest to chest in silence, eyes caught in each other's gazes. 

My hands trailed up his arms, stopping at the scruffy hair on his face to run my fingers through it. His eyes dropped to my lips, and that was all the confirmation I needed to pull his face down to mine. His arms wrapped around my waist, holding me taut against him as his lips took mine. 

He was surprisingly tender, the big gruff outlaw. His lips softly parting my own, tongue ever so slightly trailing over my bottom lip as our mouths moved together, as if this was our thousandth kiss and not our first. Our breath grew heavy, melding the longer we stayed pressed together. My hands tangled in his hair as the kiss deepened, keeping him close. It wasn’t until his warm hand snaked under the hem of my shirt that someone cleared their throat beside us and I broke away from him, realizing we were still in the middle of town in broad daylight. 

“Mornin’.” An older woman said curtly as she stepped around us to enter the doctors office. 

“Mornin’” Micah drawled, tipping his hat to her as she passed. He flashed her a large, genuine smile and turned back to me, face alight. “Hungry, are ya?” His tone only slightly teasing, the same hunger burning in his eyes. 

I took his hand, my own stupid smile growing on my face. “ Starved. ”

[depressingredemption]

RDR2 Incorrect quotes pt2

Arthur: wait are we fighting or flirting?

Charles: my hands are around your damn neck.

Arthur: that doesn’t answer my question-

Dutch: do you want to know why I wanted to talk to you privately?

Sean: i assume it was the prank i pulled on john but in my defence, i did not know that much snake oil in coffee would make someone vomit.

Dutch: it wasn’t about that but now it is.

Hosea: everyone calm down! We’re grown men! Lets handle this like adults.

Arthur: so wing it and hope for the best?

Hosea: yes, now Javier hand me that shovel.

Lenny: why is kieran crying under the table?

Arthur: he took one of those “what person are you” quizzes.

Lenny: and?

Arthur: he got Sean.

Hosea to young john: where are your parents son?

Young john: what are parents?

Dutch: thats the saddest thing I’ve ever heard someone say.

Micah: you know, if you were good at shooting as you were good at whittling then I’m pretty sure you’d almost be a man.

Sean:

[pinkiepie20000]

"stop using every tag you can think of" SHUT THE FUCK UPPPPPPPPOPPPPPEPPSPSSPSPSPSOSOSPP

[moonlightkitties]

Van der Linde Gang boys with a boy cat that growls when they get close to you.

Gang Members: Arthur Morgan, Bill Williamson, John Marston, Dutch Van der Linde, Kieran Duffy, Sean MacGuire, Micah Bell.

Tags: Fluff, GN Reader, protective tuxedo boy cat, I don't know how to tag.

Arthur Morgan

Surprised at first, he's seen a dog get protective over his owners...but a cat? That was surprising. "Oh my gosh!" you say, quickly picking Shadow up, the tuxedo glared his green eyes at him but then swiped his head over your chin.

"He has never done that, I don't know what's gotten into him." You drop Shadow onto the couch and Arthur chuckles "It's fine, darlin' I'm jus' glad you have someone to protect you while I'm not here," he said, cautiously glancing at tiny menace now and then.

Bill Williamson

Bill wasn't a cat person before and now that your cat growled at him, he definitely wasn't one now.

"Sorry," you chuckle nervously, "He does that a lot, he's just really protective." Bill shrugs "S'fine," he says, his gruff voice trying to hide that he was in fact, hurt by a cat growling at him when he was just trying to kiss you.

John Marston

He wasn't that surprised, you warned him that your cat can get a bit protective and doesn't really like men so when he tried to sit beside you on the couch and your cat growled and swiped at him, he didn't really care.

"Where'd you get him, anyways?" John asked, as your cat was curled up on your lap.

"I found him in the shed one night, poor thing was weak and hurt," you said, scratching his chin, which earned you a purr.

Dutch Van der Linde

His ego was hurt ngl.

He thought everyone and every animal liked him until your cat growled once he stepped foot into your homestead. "Seems like your cat has a problem with me," Dutch chuckles, although he was wary.

"Don't take it personally," you tell him, scooping Shadow in your arms, "He does it to everyone, it just takes him some time to warm up."

Dutch nodded "I suppose I can understand that," he says, "I'll win him over eventually."

Kieran Duffy

Kieran considers himself a devoted animal lover so when you told him about your cat prior to coming over, he was ecstatic and ready to befriend the little guy.

Until that "little guy" turned out to be a 12 pound tom cat that started letting out deep growls whenever he got a few inches close to you.

Kieran frowned a bit and when you noticed you immediately said "It's not your fault, Kieran, he acts like that with everyone, especially strangers." Kieran understood but everytime he tried to kiss or cuddle with you in the bed and Shadow growled at him, he would get more annoyed than hurt.

Micah Bell

Micah instantly glared his eyes at him, the cats low growls didn't sway him.

"Sorry," you chuckle, scooping Shadow into your arms, "He's like that with everyone if he doesn't know them." Shadow tail swayed back and forth, but you let him jump onto the couch and led Micah so you two could sit together.

Once Micah sat beside you and put his hand on your thigh, Shadow hissed and darted onto your lap. Micah let out a low chuckle and looked at the mangy creature on your lap before speaking.

"You know, at least me and that cat have one thing in common," he begins.

"Oh yeah?" you ask, "What's that?"

"Protecting you."

Sean MacGuire

"Who's this then?" Sean asks, bending down to get a closer look at your cat, who was narrowing his eyes at you and wrapping his body around your legs.

"Shadow, but uh...he's not really soft on men," you warned, moving out of the way so both Sean and Shadow could have a better look at eachother.

Shadow growls right after Sean tries to pet him and Sean jerks his hand back.

"A bit of a temper, eh? Should’ve known better than to mess with a cat like that," Sean says, standing up. He clicks his tongue, looking at you with a raised brow. "Maybe he’s just worried I’ll steal you away, eh?"

You roll your eyes and link your arm around his, "You wish, MacGuire."

[lazulifoster]

A haunting shot I took near Saint Denis of my favorite antagonist ever. (It’s Micah, everyone. It’s Micah)

[say-hwaet]

High Sierra: A Red Dead Redemption Story

Chapter Fifteen: Picking Up the Pieces Previous Chapter: Fourteen Summary: The morning after Eliza and Arthur's confession, a new day breaks. Word Count: ~3,900 Next Chapter: Hopefully sooner rather than later! Author's Note: Sorry this one took me so long! It is also much shorter than the last chapter, but I hope the fluff and sweetness make up for it! This story is getting quite the rework, so I am trying to fill in the gaps and make things flow better for each chapter. Thank you for your patience!

“You look pretty,” Arthur hums warmly as he leans to peck Eliza’s cheek. She just stepped out of the shower and is still in her bath towel as she tousles her hair.

“Pretty messy?” she chuckles, nearly rolling her eyes. “I’m not even dressed yet.”

Arthur raises his brow, eyeing her body with admiration and adoration. “Exactly.”

Before reaching for her mousse, she slaps him on the arm. “Stop it, you’re distracting me.”

Arthur shrugs, backing up a step or two. “Sorry,” he chuckles.

Eliza grabs her mousse and begins working it into her damp hair, her movements deft and practiced. Arthur watches, his eyes never leaving her, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards in a contented smile. He leans against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest, comfortable in the quiet domesticity of the moment. It isn’t often he’s had mornings like this one — slow and easy, without the looming shadow of hospital visits or doctor’s calls. But now Eliza is here. Just them, in their little world.

Eliza catches his stare through the mirror, her eyes meeting his in the reflection. “What’re you thinking about?” she asks, pausing as she bends over to let her curls fall.

He shrugs again, exhaling slowly. “A lotta things. Just can’t believe that we…”

Eliza raises a brow. “We…?” She looks at him knowingly, mentally completing her sentence.

He chortles, rolling his eyes. “Not just that.”

Eliza rises, tossing her head back. “Well, then what?”

He can’t help but just stare at her. Even though she’s doing something she does nearly every day, something so routine and mundane, it is like he’s watching something miraculous. Maybe it's the way the morning light dances in her curls, or how she unknowingly captures his whole world with just a glance. He knows he should say something, yet words are like stubborn cattle today, not quite going where he wants them to.

Finally, Arthur finds his voice, "Just... thinkin that I’m a prize winnin’ idiot for lettin’ you go so long without sayin' how much you mean to me, darlin’." His voice is low and earnest, the admission hanging between them like a confession.

Eliza stops mid-motion, her hair half-tousled, as she processes his words. A softness overtakes her features, her initial teasing demeanor replaced by something gentler, more vulnerable. "Arthur," she starts, her voice a whisper, the mousse forgotten in her hands. She steps closer to him, her gaze locked on his. "You aren’t an idiot. We've both just been... scared, I guess."

Arthur nods, looking down at his bare feet for a minute. “But you gotta admit I was a fool.”

Eliza lets out a soft snort. “Yeah, you kinda were.”

He laughs, satisfied to have some sort of reprimand. “I better let you finish gettin’ ready. I’ll put the laundry in the drier.”

Eliza blinks softly, smiling gently. “Okay.”

She watches him as he leaves the room, his shoulders a bit lighter than when he entered. Maybe it's the shared confession or just the relief of speaking words long held inside. Either way, Eliza feels a warmth spreading through her that isn’t just from the morning sun filtering through the blinds.

As Arthur sorts through the laundry, and tossing the sheets in the drier, he thinks about the meaning behind the action. Cleaning up the guest room and putting everything away, is like closing up the fragmented relationship that he and Eliza have. Moving into his room, for however long it will be, will be a permanent change that he can live with. Whether he is over at her place, and vice versa, they can now start to mend what’s been torn for so long. He knows it isn’t going to be easy, and that there are more hurdles ahead, especially with Isaac’s treatment, but being honest with each other is a good first step.

He adjusts the settings on the dryer and pulls the button to start it. It hums softly and Arthur pats the top of it. He’s had the machine for years. “They shoah don’t build these things like they used to.” Satisfied, he leaves the mud room and makes his way into the kitchen. He and Eliza will be joining the Matthews and Isaac for breakfast, but after last night, he could use something to tide him over.

First place he looks is the fridge. Arthur pulls the refrigerator door open, the cool air hitting his face as he scans the contents. There's half a pie that Bessie and sent with them yesterday, some leftover chicken, eggs, and cheese. It ain't much to choose from, but it's enough for a quick bite. He grabs the pie, deciding just to eat it right from the container.

Just as he goes for a fork, he hears a faint buzzing sound. Lifting his head, he looks about the kitchen and after a moment, realizes that he hasn’t seen his phone since last night.

Someone is calling him.

He picks of a fork and doesn’t waste a minute taking a bite of the huckleberry pie as he searches for his phone. He tries to retrace his steps, thinking back on what he did last night.

Well, he didn’t do much, last night, but he wasn’t thinking about his phone at all.

He continues to follow the sound of his phone, moving quickly now that it won’t be long before the call goes to voicemail.

Arthur rounds the counter into the living room, the buzzing growing louder. He spies his phone vibrating on the coffee table, nestled under his leather jacket as it lays beside a tattered old novel he’s been meaning to read for months now. Taking another bite of pie, he grabs the phone just before it stops ringing. He answers it quickly, speaking with his mouth half full. “‘eroo?”

“Arthur?” It’s Charles. “That you?”

Arthur swallows and clears his throat, chuckling. “Heh. Yeah, Charles. It’s me. Sorry, I was eatin’ when you called.”

“You sound better than I thought you would. Been healing okay?”

Arthur nods as he begins to pace about the living room. “Yeah. Much better. I’m glad to be outta that damned hospital. Not that they treated me wrong or nothin’.”

Charles chuckles softly. “Yeah, I know what you mean. They didn’t have to force me out when the doctor cleared me.”

“That’s good to hear, Charles. Real good.” Arthur’s voice softens a bit as he speaks, the concern for his friend evident even through his gruff demeanor.

There's a brief silence on the line, just the faint crackle of the connection between them. Charles breaks it, his tone turning serious. “Listen, I know we aren’t supposed to talk about it…” he begins, followed by another pause. “But I wanted to tell you that I heard something about Micah Bell.”

Arthur pauses, his bare feet leaving the center rug in the living room as he steps into the dining room. “What?”

“They’ve been keeping his location secret. But I know where he is.”

Arthur feels the tension seeping through the phone and he feels his heartbeat quickening. “Where?”

“Champ d’Avoine State Prison.”

Arthur feels the color drain from his face. Charles doesn’t know. Very few people know, as to why this would render him frozen. Shocked. He swallows, his throat now dry. “You shoah?”

Charles’s voice is firm, unmistakably certain. “Yeah, Arthur. I’m sure. You know I wouldn’t tell you unless I was.”

Arthur takes a deep breath, steadying himself against the dining room table. Champ d’Avoine State Prison isn’t just any prison—it's where the one person he never wanted to encounter again was being held. Not just Micah Bell, but a ghost from his past that threatened to unturn every settled stone in his life.

“You sayin’ he’s there, and he’s… what? Just sittin’ there or they plannin' to release him soon?” Arthur's voice tightens, each word sharpening with worry. He’s got to know, has to prepare for whatever comes next.

“Nah, they aren’t releasing him. Not anytime soon. It’s normal to hold recently arrested people in a county jail before they are arrainged by a judge, as you know,” Charles explains, his voice cloaked in a mix of caution and determination. “But given his charges and his dangerous nature, I guess they wanted to be safe.”

“When is his arraignment?” Arthur tries to speak calmly as he asks, hoping not to raise concern in his friend.

“Not sure. They’re still racking up the charges. Mary Beth has a friend in criminal justice and they said it takes a long time with cases like this.”

Arthur nods. “Right. Makes sense.”

“I don’t doubt that we’ll be contacted at some point. When you come back to work, just be prepared to act like normal. Things are pretty tight-lipped around here.”

“Alright.” Arthur lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “It’ll be good to get back to the swing of things. Catchin’ poachers, writin’ tickets…”

Charles laughs. “Picking up trash…”

“Yeah, all that.” Arthur tries to muster a laugh too, but it comes out more like a sigh. The mention of Micah Bell has churned up a storm inside him. A storm he thought he’d safely locked away.

He knows that it won’t be long before he’s pulled back into this mess, but he was hoping to keep it as far from his personal life, and his past, as he can. “Thanks for callin’ Charles—” He hears a sound from the kitchen and turning, he sees Eliza, all dressed in a summer dress and hair done, padding into the kitchen in her bare feet. Their eyes meet and she smiles at him. “I gotta get goin’. Eliza and I slept in and we’re already late for breakfast with my folks…”

There is a pause on the other end, before Charles speaks with a undeniable smile in his voice. “I take it things are good now?”

Arthur grins as he looks at his beautiful woman, her hips swaying as she saunters over to him. “Yeah, they are.”

“Say no more, Arthur. Go enjoy that family time. You deserve it, especially after everything.”

Arthur nods, though he knows Charles can't see it. "Thanks, man. I'll catch you later."

Ending the call, Arthur slips his phone into his pocket and meets Eliza halfway, wrapping his arms around her as she melts into him.

“How’s Charles?” she asks softly, her voice warm like golden honey.

He can’t resist the urge to kiss the top of her head and hold her tighter. “Doin’ good. Says things at work are pretty much back to normal.”

“He didn’t say anything about Micah, did he?” she asks, and Arthur can feel himself grow tense.

He doesn’t want her to know, at least for a little while so they can enjoy this day, and he tries to force himself to relax. “Nothin’ that really changes the things he’s done.”

Eliza nods, her brows knitting together slightly, sensing the tension in his voice but choosing not to press further. She knows that it will all come together eventually. Instead, she changes the subject, a soft distraction. "Issac's going to start wearing down Hosea and Bessie if we don’t hurry over there.”

Arthur chuckles, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, a testament to the simple joy that family provides. "You're right," he agrees, releasing her just enough to see her face. "Can't have 'em spoilin' him too much before we even get there."

They set about gathering their things and a bag of oranges to be made in fresh orange juice when they get there. Putting on their shoes, Arthur lets Eliza out the door first. “My lady,” he says with a bow.

She chuckles warmly, swinging her purse over her shoulder. “Such a gentleman…” And she steps out onto the front deck.

Taking a quick glance back into the house, he closes the door and locks it behind him.

***

After checking in on his wife, Hosea finds his grandson in the living room. The boy is leaning against the back of the couch, looking out the window, undoubtedly waiting for his parent to arrive. Hosea smiles to himself, warmed by the affection Isaac has for his parents. “You must not be having too much fun, if you’re waiting for Mom and Dad.”

Isaac looks up to find his grandfather sitting himself down on the couch beside him and he turns around. “I have been, I just miss ‘em.”

Hosea ruffles Isaac's hair, his smile tinged with understanding. “I know, my grandson. They’ll be here soon.” He glances towards the window, watching as the breeze flutters through the trees. The summer is passing by so quickly, fall will be here soon and winter shortly thereafter.

Isaac nods and then leans back into the couch, letting out a deep exhale. “I’m usually with them, or with one of them when it’s like this. It’s…kinda weird.”

Hosea smiles to himself. He can imagine it does appear odd to an eight-year-old boy, but in his wisdom, he knows how important this time really is. The time to settle past grievances and, hopefully, push those two in the right direction.

He doesn’t know what he will witness when they stop by. Will they be quarrelsome? More distant than they once were? He spent a good part of last night reassuring Bessie that things would be fine, but now that he spent the time to calm her, he can’t help but feel excited now. “You know? I am excited to see them, too,” he confesses. “I think we will all have a great day together.”

Isaac's eyes light up a bit at the thought, the weight of his illness momentarily pushed aside by the prospect of a happy family gathering. "Do you think we'll go fishing like a few summers ago?" he asks, a hopeful note in his voice. “I haven’t gone since…well…since I got cancer.”

Hosea chuckles bittersweetly, patting Isaac's knee gently. "I’m sure we can squeeze it in.”

Isaac grins broadly. “Good. I like fishing with you, Grampie.”

Hosea wraps an arm around his grandson and pulls him close. “Me too, kiddo.” Letting him go, he gestures toward the kitchen. “You know, sometimes it helps pass the time when you’re busy. Why you go check with your grandma to see if she needs any help?”

Isaac's face brightens with the idea of helping out in the kitchen, a small semblance of normalcy in a world that lately seemed anything but. “Sure!” He hops off the couch and scurries towards the kitchen where Bessie is likely elbow-deep in preparing something delicious. Hosea watches him go, his heart swelling with a mix of pride and sorrow. These moments, these small slices of everyday joy, they were precious—more so now than ever.

Letting the desire compel him, he eases out of the couch and makes his way to the front door, opening it and stepping out onto the porch. Going to the right side, he checks the hummingbird feeders to ensure that the colorful birds will get their daily dose of sugar water, and, to his satisfaction, they are full to the brim. Bessie must have refilled them first thing this morning. He shakes his head. That animal lover of his is always on top of things. “What will I ever do without you?” he asks softly, his voice carrying in the breeze.

He moves to the left side of the porch, finds his wicker chair and, sitting down, picks up his book he had left there from the day before.

It isn’t long before he gets lost in its pages, the tale of an outlaw bound for the west, but being continuously trapped in failed plans and schemes. It seems the world is against him, and one tragedy follows another. It is a compelling story, one that he can’t help but feel a little too close to home, but distant all at the same time.

The morning sun passes overhead, casting shadows across the porch where Hosea sits engrossed in his book. From inside the house, the clatter of pots and laughter drift out, reminding him of days where his son and Bessie would sing old country songs in the kitchen. Johnny Cash and Marty Robbins have long-standing been the anthems of this house. He smiles at the memory and before he can dwell on it for much longer, he hears the popping of gravel under tires from beyond the driveway.

Sitting up taller to look over the porch railing, he sees Arthur’s SUV pull up and he smiles to himself. He doesn’t bother to rise and get out of his chair yet, wanting to enjoy the bit of relaxation and to observe his son and Eliza get out of the car. Observation is one of his greatest assets, and he can tell a lot about a person by merely watching their body language.

The car pulls up beside Hosea’s ranching truck and after Arthur kills the engine, he emerges first, his movements slower than usual, not hurried or tense. He rounds the car to help Eliza, who looks equally relaxed and lets out a small smile when he opens the door for her.

Hosea watches as Arthur offers a hand to her and as she accepts it, stepping down from the SUV with a grace that belies the stress they've been under lately. They pause for a moment longer, letting their eyes linger on each other, before stepping away from the vehicle and closing the passenger side door.

Hosea grins to himself. They’ve made up. No doubt they are together now.

But just how deep is the connection? Is it completely restored?

Now, the next step is dialogue. Asking subtle questions to get the desired answers.

He continues to follow them as they hold hands and make their way up the porch steps, the shuffling of their shoes against the solid wood a satisfying sound. Arthur, being taller, is spotted coming up first and he and Hosea lock eyes.

“Mornin’, Dad.”

“Morning, son.” And his eyes finally fall on Eliza and she smiles. “And good morning to you, my dear. You look like you slept well.”

Her cheeks blush at his comment and she goes to brush some chestnut curls behind her ear. “I did. The most sleep I got in a while.”

“That guest room does have a comfy mattress. I could sleep in there for days and never get a twinge in my back.”

Eliza avoids his gaze, a sheepish smile crossing her lips. “Well…I’ve slept on better mattresses.”

Ah. So that’s how restored their relationship is. Hosea’s smile broadens, satisfied with the information he’s been given.

Eager to change the subject, Arthur clears his throat and exhales as he scratches the back of his neck. “What are you readin’, Dad?”

Hosea looks down at the book in his lap. “Oh, just some Western novel that I picked up at a thrift store. The cover is worn, but it’s written by a Francis Sinclair.”

Arthur nods. “Hm. Never heard of ‘em.” He then turns to Eliza. “You ever heard of him with all those westerns you’ve read?”

Eliza chuckles. “I studied history, not fiction novels. And that was a long time ago.”

Arthur strokes her arm with his finger, a soft, intimate gesture that he wouldn’t ever be caught doing in front of anyone. “You could go back to school again.”

Eliza gives him a look, half-amused and half-serious. “Go back to school? With everything going on?” Her eyes flicker momentarily towards the trees before settling back on Arthur. The concern is evident in her gaze, a silent reminder of the weight they both carry.

Arthur’s expression softens, understanding that she doesn’t want to discuss it right now. “I guess there’s plenty of time to think about it.”

She shrugs, and Hosea takes that as his cue. He finally stands up, stretching momentarily before letting out a sigh. “Bessie’s been cooking up a storm. I hope you’re hungry.”

Arthur raises the bag of oranges he had brought up. “You up for some fresh orange juice?”

Hosea nods. “Would love that,” he says, his voice warm with enthusiasm. “Let’s go in. I think Bessie might want to put us all to work setting up the table.”

Eliza and Arthur nod as Hosea leads the way in. Once Hosea steps in first, Arthur takes the moment to sneak his hand on the small of Eliza’s back, guiding her gently through the doorway. It's a small touch, one that's grown more common these past few weeks, as if each contact is a word in a conversation they haven't quite finished.

But now, it is a promise, to stand by her side, no matter the unspoken fears that linger between them. As they enter the house, the aroma of Bessie’s cooking fills the air, mingling with the scent of pine that drifts in through the open windows. The kitchen is alive with the sound of sizzling and the warm laughter of Bessie and Isaac and as they draw closer, music can be heard coming from a small stereo.

And in an entertaining display, Bessie has a wooden spoon in her hand, as though it were a microphone, and Isaac holds a spatula as though it were a small guitar. They are leaning close to each other, singing loud enough for it to drown out the music that is playing.

“I said, "Stick 'em up everybody, I'm robbin' this place Drop all of your money in my guitar case! Don't nobody move and don't nobody reach for that door…!"

Bessie then takes the lead, hardly able to contain laughter as she sings.

“A lady said, "Why, you're Johnny Cash!" I said, "No ma'am, I'm the Manhattan Flash And I am the best bank robber in New York…!"

They don’t notice their new audience members until Bessie turns around, spoon held close to her lips. Her cheeks go rosy with a mix of embarrassment and delight as she spots Arthur, Eliza, and Hosea by the entryway. Isaac's face lights up, his energy undimmed by the recent hospital visits that had painted shadows under his young eyes.

“Mom…!” Isaac greets and he hurries to pull her into the kitchen. “Sing the next part!”

Eliza shakes her head as he takes her hand. “Oh, I don’t remember it all!”

Isaac's laughter fills the room, infectious and bright. "Oh, come on! You used to sing it all the time!" he declares with a mischievous grin that so resembles his father's.

Eliza looks over at Arthur, her eyes softening as she finds courage in his gaze. Arthur gives her a playful wink. “Don’t wanna let your fan down, do you?”

She scoffs at that but joins in the song effortlessly.

Now the other night, Roy Acuff called me He said, "John, I'd like for you to do the Opry So I went out on the stage, but I couldn't sing"

Arthur watches as Eliza slowly lets her walls come down, enjoying herself more with each verse she sings. Her voice, usually hushed and tempered by the weight of daily struggles, carries a lighter, almost forgotten joy that only music seems to coax out of her. Isaac dances around her, free of any burdens in these fleeting moments.

Arthur's heart swells, a mixture of pride and a pang of guilt wafting through the sounds and delicious smells in the kitchen. He never realized just how broken he was, until now, after just getting the pieces and putting them back together again.

And while there is the underlying worry from the news he received from Charles, he begins to let himself put it away and out of his mind. There’s no possible way that things won’t come out right in the end.

After all, hope is what keeps humans going, even in the darkest of times.

And he feels the most human that he’s ever been.

Thank you for reading!

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