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daily-escuella · 3 years ago

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Danger in the Frozen Dark - Javier Escuella - SFW

Javier Escuella x GN!Reader (platonic)

Operating on very little sleep, trapped by the fog and frozen half to death, can you and Javier survive through the night?

((Anon who requested SFW masc/gn!reader with Javier, I hope this fic lives up to your expectations or that you can find some enjoyment from it! <3 It's more a platonic relationship, and I wrote it with a masc!reader in mind but left out any gender descriptions and I hope that's alright. It's not my best, and it's a little long but ultimately it was a fun challenge for myself! Please enjoy reading! <3 ))

Word Count: ~4500

Warnings: Mild language, smoking/cigarette use, suspense, mentions of canon-typical hunting/animal death

Javier had only just sat down when Dutch approached, stifling the air around him with an invisible cloak of heat and rage. His sanguine gaze swept heavily over the pair of you and then to the dregs of the gang. When he spoke his voice was more a beastly snarl than human vocalization.

“You think sitting around here like a pair of lazy fools is gonna accomplish anything? While the Pinkertons are hot on our heels? We need CASH. There’s time for rest when we are free and clear of this place!” he bellowed. You shifted uncomfortably, though his words weren’t solely directed just at the two of you.

You met Javier’s tired eyes, his face hollow and sunken.

“You’re right. We’ll get back out there.” His voice was thick with exhaustion.

You winced, wishing you could have shoved the words back into his guts.

Javier had in fact been busy. He’d spent all morning chasing leads with you, and that was following a full night on guard duty. His determination was inspiring, though his motivations were questionable. All but denial kept him from recognizing Dutch’s serious decline. Your boss’s mind decayed ever further as the days clawed slowly by, and he was unable to see the damage he was doing. Folk, good folk, loyal folk, kept dying, and it wasn’t no coincidence.

Still you’d stick by Javier’s side on any mission, with the same blind loyalty he showed Dutch. He was your best friend after all.

“That’s what I like to see.” Dutch pantomimed with a dramatic hand motion towards Javier, “Finally, some goddamn faith! Bring us back a decent score, will you?” And with a dismissive wave he turned on his heel to march darkly back to his tent, Micah following closely after, simpering like a love-struck school girl.

You exchanged a look with Javier then rose to your feet, bones protesting loudly.

“Let’s do this,” you groaned as you stretched. Thankfully, you were relatively well rested and had sussed out a promising lead. One that was far and away from camp, enough that you could finally breathe.

~~~

The lead took you north. Far north. A journey neither of you were quite as prepared for as you should have been.

A sudden cold snap made the mountain air bite hard. It was reminiscent of your time in Colter, though an unfamiliar humidity hung thickly all around you. It bypassed your coats, even your skins, simply drilling the frost straight to your bones. Without a scarf, the relentless rhythm of your breath gliding over your frozen lips kept them chapped and aching and any nerves still alive in your face sang out with their discomfort.

Hunched and uncomfortable, the pair of you, the only riders on the road, would have appeared very out of place against the motionless, grey haze of chill, though there was nary a soul to witness you. The air held a quiet eeriness, but being no coward, you simply shrugged it away to the cold.

No, you weren't afraid... but a small part of you did consider turning back. From the unexpected snap of winter, to the clouds that hugged the earth and marred your visibility the higher you climbed, it seemed a fools errand to press on, but ultimately the potential score was too big to pass up.

You had a good source, tipping you off to a pitifully guarded wagon riding through Cotorra Springs in the morning. They would try to look inconspicuous, but if your intel was trustworthy, the wagon would be carrying military payroll. The robbery would be a breeze in contrast to the efforts of your travel, making it all worth the struggle.

Though the unusual silence of the earth around you played on your nerves all the same. The fog dampened the hoofbeats of your mounts, no wind shook the trees. Not even the call of a bird pierced the sky. All laid unsettlingly still. It was so unusual in fact that the two times Javier broke the silence stood out sharply in your mind.

Once, his voice pierced the air when he took note of a carcass, decaying in an unusual position. To you, just another blip of nature’s vicious cycle on the tiring ride, but his shoulders were tense.

“I don’t like that…” he muttered stiffly, lips as frozen as yours.

And again some time later, when spotted through the sparse trees hung a handmade effigy.

“That’s a bad omen.” It was barely a whisper, but with all other noises suppressed by the growing fog, his voice carried plainly to your ears.

Beyond those occurrences, neither of you spoke again, faces too stiff from the cold to bother with small talk.

In your frostbitten mind, Javier’s worries were nothing more than simple comments on the scenery. Having hunted in those parts often, you'd learned that animals, startled by the rare commotion of a wagon, would dart out from the thick underbrush, only to be struck by the very thing that frightened them. Their carcasses were often left strewn aside in a mangled heap to rot and be forgotten. The eeriness of their presence lended to human apathy more than the work of evil spirits.

And you hadn't considered the strange handmade charms an omen at all, but instead, another sign of humanity stretching its fingers through every fiber of earth’s being. They simply dangled prettily from the boughs in which they were hung, leaving your luck unchanged on the occasions you camped near by them.

But Javier was unfamiliar with those trails and plainly on edge, whether due to his exhaustion or a deep knowledge of the world around you, you did not know. Still, they were facts you would have taken into account if you weren’t so distracted by the ache of a sudden winter.

Regardless of your individual reasons, one thing was clear: the sooner you set up camp, the better.

~~~

As you rounded a bend, the flat, rocky terrain of the springs came into view. Normally, Cotorra Springs was a uniquely beautiful expanse of land, but veiled by the ever thickening fog, the crystal clear ponds, usually striking in their turquoise radiance, were muted and dull, making their positions known only by their steady bubbling.

You cautiously picked your way along as night thickly blanketed what little earth you could still see. The scalding hot water of the springs threatened your demise, hidden as they were. One wrong step and you’d be boiled alive.

Javier pulled his coat just a little higher around his ears. His dark eyes scanned the perimeter cautiously. “I’ve heard there’s wolves this way,” he said, voice rigid from the cold.

You slung your rifle off your back in reply, and flexed your frozen fingers. He was right, and the last thing you needed was an ambush while your muscles were too cold to react. You hopped down from your mount and padded your way softly around the potential predator’s territory, checking for fresh pawprints, bones or other tell-tale signs of their activities. To your growing relief, there appeared to be no recent evidence of their presence. They were likely holed up somewhere to wisely protect themselves from the weather.

“It seems safe, but let’s get a fire going before any show up,” you encouraged him through dreadfully frozen lips. Javier nodded hesitantly.

As you moved to mount up once more, sudden as a cannon, the blast of a geyser sprayed hot mist into the air, causing the horses to spook.

“Whoa easy now!” you reached up to pat your mount’s neck, gripping the reins with frost-weakened fingers and calmed it with a gentle hum.

Boaz, Javier’s mount, settled quickly, brave little horse that he was. His rider on the other hand was visibly tense. “I don’t like this…” he hissed, flashing you a look, voice low.

“We’ll be outta here in no time.” You assured him as you climbed back into the saddle and got your horse moving again. “The wagon comes through in the morning. The job’ll be a breeze.” You managed, stiffly.

“I wasn’t built for this cold,” he grumbled to himself. A glance back confirmed his lamentations. His nose and cheekbones were still cherry red despite the minor relief the hot spring-warmed air provided.

You chuckled, glad he was well enough to complain. “We’ll get through it.”

He offered you a flat look, not at all soothed by your shallow platitude.

You shook your head. Trying to keep the mood light, you added, “besides… Dutch would only trust his best on this mission.”

Javier narrowed his eyes, but grinned softly, “then why’d he send you?” he joked. You let his jab settle in the air, just glad to see him loosening up a little, when another blast of a geyser had your horses dancing nervously in place. Javier’s jaw clenched.

You exchanged a look as you settled your horses again, silently agreeing you'd need to find a quieter place to camp for the night. You angled your horse to the small clearing slightly south of the springs and motioned Javier to follow closely before he lost you in the fog.

~~~

Your cheeks stung as the modest campfire fought to thaw them. Javier scooched closer to the flame, holding his gloved hands as close as he could manage without them igniting.

The blasts of the geysers still rang out periodically, but at a distance, they didn’t bother you much.

Javier on the other hand was visibly tense. Normally, a man so cool and level headed, he’d make you look like a frightened jackrabbit. Now his eyes darted to meet any slight sound in the darkness, making you feel nervous just looking at him. It was so unusual.

He glanced up to meet your eyes and shifted uncomfortably in place, as if he knew what you were thinking. His voice, strained from chill and... perhaps fear, pierced the air to offer some small explanation. “You know… Back in Mexico, when I was a child, my mother spoke of nights like these…. The nights that are dark and quiet and hazy like this… She would tell me there are evil spirits hiding in the fog, looking to steal the souls of those who wandered in...” He chuckled bitterly, possibly an effort to disguise his growing apprehension, though it had little effect. After a slight pause he added, “I know she was only trying to keep me safe, to keep me from wandering off and getting lost but… tonight? Tonight I might believe her.”

You laughed softly in reply, trying to keep the mood light for both your sakes. “Ah, the only evil spirits out here are you and me, man.” You flashed him a grin. He forced a breath through his nose, shaking his head.

A particularly close blast from a geyser caused him to flinch.

“Aye…” he growled as he tried to mask the reaction by sitting up to stoke the fire. You examined him curiously as he prodded the coals with a long stick.

“You want me to take first watch?” you offered. His dark eyes flicked up to meet yours. “I mean... you have been awake for almost 2 days.”

“I know, but…” He stoked the flames as he chewed a chapped lip pensively. “I don’t think I’m ready for sleep yet.”

“If you’re sure…” you said slowly. “But seriously, if you need some time to get your head right-”

“What are you trying to say?” he snapped defensively, the leather of his gloves squeaking as his grip on the stick tightened.

“Whoa, brother, I ain’t sayin’ nothin’! Just giving you the option,” you explained, hands held up in mock surrender.

He scoffed, his posture relaxing slightly. “My head is right,” he stated as his eyes flashed up coldly. “There’s just been some... some bad signs, amigo…”

You cast your vision down to the coals pulsing at the base of the flames, somehow cooler in comparison to the heat of his gaze.

Javier had always struck you as the superstitious sort, though you’d never given it any real thought before. You didn't exactly believe what he was talking about, but you'd had your moments with the unexplainable too and felt isolated when no one believed you. With a steady breath in and out, you decided for the sake of your friend’s feelings, you’d try to take him seriously.

“Should I stay up too?”

Javier swallowed and sat back before huffing a small laugh, seeming to be grappling between logic and paranoia. “Nah… we should try and be fresh tomorrow morning.” he finally said, coolly. Though when he pulled a small pouch of tobacco from the waist of his pants to roll a cigarette, you noticed his fire-warmed hands were shaking.

“Listen, just… Wake me if anything seems off, okay?” you told him, making sure your expression read sincerity.

Javier closed his eyes as he took a long drag off his smoke. “I’m sure it’ll be fine…” Apprehension tugged at the edge of his voice, but he gave you a nod and you relented to his desire to tough it out on the first watch.

As you cozied up into the warm, wool bedroll that awaited you within the tent, the blast of a geyser pulled a curse from Javier’s lips. You felt a little bad finding sleep while he struggled but knew it was for the best.

~~~

A shockwave of sensation tore through you, waking you with a start. Disoriented and confused, sleep still blackening your vision, you struggled to wrench an arm free from the bedroll to grasp for your gun. You pried your eyes open as you stirred, the walls of the tent were merely a blur. You couldn’t reckon where you’d even fallen asleep.

“Did you hear that?” The voice was distant, as if spoken from behind a wall. “Estupido! Wake up!”

Another sharp sensation jolted your body, registering to you after a further second of near-unconsciousness that it was a kick to the bottom of your foot. You took a sharp inhale, as Javier finally roused your mind back into the cold world of the living. “Wake up! Did you hear that?” he whispered urgently.

With a final great effort you untangled yourself from the fabric, snatched up your revolver from its holster and quickly bolted out of the tent, adrenaline, rocking your heartbeat and heightening your breath.

“What, what is it?” you whispered urgently back, eyes stinging in the light of the flames as you scanned the impenetrable dark haze that encircled you. Javier had his gun ready too, his sunken eyes were wide, the fire glinted off of them intensely.

“There’s something out there. It’s- aye, you have to hear it.” His chest rose and fell quickly, his exaggerated breaths only increased your own anxiety.

“Do you think it was a wolf?” you ventured, glancing back to where your rifle rested.

“No,” he answered darkly, “no I- mierda, you’ll never believe me.” Whatever he’d heard had the man genuinely scared. Anything with the power to rattle Javier’s nerves was inherently upsetting, but in your sleep disturbed delirium you were finding it a lot harder to keep your nerves at bay.

“I can try,” you assured him, though the quiver in your voice surprised you.

His nostrils flared and his mouth parted to speak when the blast of a geyser had you both jump.

“Shit,” you tried to laugh, but the humor of the situation left you quickly as you scanned helplessly for threats.

Javier’s grip tightened around his revolver with a squeak of his cold leather glove.

“What did you hear-”

Cutting you off was a horrifying inhuman cry.

The creature, or whatever it was, securely veiled by the damnible darkness, bellowed impossibly loud into the night. The sound seemed to come from all sides, the tones deep and guttural, finishing on a high pitched squeal similar to a pained human screech.

You locked eyes with Javier, face pulled into an expression of abject horror.

“That!” he hissed low, as he held his gun a little closer to his chest, scanning the mist desperately.

Blood rushed through your ears in deafening swells. Deep in your mind, you knew what that sound was, you’d heard it before. Numerous times in fact! But as you grappled with your fear, the fog that clouded both your vision and your mind stopped any sense of logic or reasoning to connect with the forefront of your consciousness.

You both assumed a crouched posture, unwilling to rise to your full heights despite the visibility being so low.

“What do we do?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Glancing around into the dark, you both recognized your inherent helplessness in the situation.

“I don’t know,” you offered back uselessly.

Another blast of the geyser sounded off.

“Should we ride out?” he questioned seriously, trying to shrug off the tension, though his muscles visibly coiled.

“Wait! Listen,” you huffed woodenly, your gaze falling to the fire as you processed his question. “The… the sound just now. I don’t think it’s dangerous... I can’t place it but… I think we should stay put.”

His eyes narrowed darkly as his chest heaved. “That- that sound… isn’t dangerous? You did hear it, right? Now isn't the time to be messing with me.”

“I promise you… I- I can’t place it but, Javier, trust me. I think we’re safer if we stay put,” you assured him as you held a hand up in pleading.

His gaze met with a thought, far beyond your field of view. The muscles in his cheeks flexed and he sniffed as his frozen nose ran. “We are sorta trapped, aren’t we?”

You sighed feeling just as helpless as your friend for a moment. “We are. Let’s just… Let’s just sit here okay? But we’ll stay armed,” you whispered as you collected your rifle and took your place by the fire again.

Javier’s eyes shifted back and forth before his posture relaxed, just slightly, with a resigned huff. “If I get slaughtered by some- some creature tonight-”

“We’ll be okay,” you comforted, half for him and half for yourself, trying desperately to believe your own words.

He drew a cross over his chest and mumbled something quietly before kneeling by the fire once again. Attempting to roll another cigarette, he spilled tobacco to the ground with his unsteady hand.

~~~

Hours passed and yet the only change was the temperature dropping yet again. Time seemed to crawl by. The only sound to pierce the night, besides the crackling fire, were the periodic blasts of the geysers, which slowly affected the pair of you less and less. Ultimately, you took comfort in the horses, who occasionally huffed and snorted, though otherwise appeared content.

At some stage, you’d convinced Javier to shroud his shoulders in the bedroll while neither of you used it. He’d been shivering so hard. With the small, human comfort of a blanket enveloping him, he finally seemed to be relaxing.

“Listen,” he started darkly, sleep playing at the edges of his exhausted voice, “I don’t want you thinking I’m some… coward, okay?”

You scoffed. “Javier, if you sense danger, I’m right there with you, man. I trust you.” You assured him and his tired, half grin acknowledged your words. “You really should get some rest though, if you can.”

He tugged the bedroll more securely around his shoulders and watched the small flickering flame before nodding. “Yeah... I’ll sleep here though.”

You gave him an approving look and threw some more frozen branches onto the fire. The twigs hissed and snapped before the flames engulfed the offering. You only felt small jealousy seeing how warm Javier appeared now, but resigned yourself to the cold, aware it would aid in your wakefulness as you kept watch.

His head lolled and nodded until he’d drifted off to sleep, though he stayed upright. Only a second seemed to pass when behind you, loud and sudden as a gunshot, the haunting cry sounded out once again, guttural and haunting, ending on a sharp, wailing pitch.

Adrenaline dumped into your veins as you took up the rifle. The sound was still so familiar, though the way it bounced off the fog-dampened air twisted it beyond recognition. Javier woke with a sharp inhale of breath, eyes wild as he cursed and fumbled about, momentarily helpless as he was pulled back from the edge of much needed sleep.

Finally, he scrambled his gun into his hand and looked into the fog, a delirious edge to his expression. “That- that sounded close,” Javier whisper-shouted, already halfway to his feet.

“Relax!” you called back, “The- the horses, Javier look!” They stood stoically, just on the edge of the fog. Boaz lifted his proud head to examine Javier as he stared back, the two locking eyes for a moment. “They’re calm.” Though your heart pounded behind your ribs, grip tense on the rifle, you tried to take comfort in the animals demeanor.

He snapped his gaze to you, his chest rose and fell rapidly. “That- didn’t bother them…?” he questioned incredulously. “That sound, just now.”

“I guess not,” you cautiously mused as you too stood slightly, keeping your arm out to stop him from stumbling into the fire.

His hand shook as he swiped it over his eyes. “Can they even hear it?”

“They’re sensitive... if they ain’t worried, I reckon we shouldn’t be either...” Again there was a small quiver in your voice as you tried to convince yourself of the fact too, but your words seemed to be getting through to Javier and that was your driving concern. “Just- just sit. Stumbling around won’t solve anything.”

Javier nodded and moved to comply when far off, as far away as the sound could possibly reach your ears, another call sounded out.

It finally clicked in your mind.

An elk.

Nerves prickled your belly as you fought back the urge to smile or laugh. You’d been a pair of fools, letting the lack of sleep twist reality into something all wrong. “We’ve been hearing an elk!” You huffed a laugh, not at your friend’s expense, but at the absurdity of the situation. The tension was finally lifting from your shoulders.

“An elk?” Javier breathed incredulously, eyes narrow with doubt. No realization dawned on his face and for a moment you wanted to doubt yourself, but the sound was crystal clear in your mind.

“Ain’t you never heard an elk before?” you asked, sitting back down. The corners of your mouth twitched. You sucked your lips into your mouth, combating the grin from taking over as you waited for his a-ha moment to come, but when no such thing happened you couldn’t help but chuckle nervously.

His expression blackened as he examined your face, hostility taking the place of apprehension, “are you mocking me?”

With that question, a flash of real fear flared in your gut. Not for the creatures, or any presence in the fog, but for the man there in front of you, crouched low, firelight cascading dramatically over the harsh lines of his face. For just a moment, looking into his eyes, you understood why his enemies sometimes chose to run.

“Never.”

“Then why are you laughing?”

You had no good answer. At the end of the day, the humor was at his expense, and truly, to laugh was to mock his genuine concern.

Your heart raced, you assumed a non-threatening posture. The man before you was sleep deprived and on edge. Gun in hand. “It’s just nervous laughter, I’m- I’m sorry.”

His chest heaved and he finally sat back down, pulling the bedroll around his shoulders once more. After a pause, eyes buried in the flames, he spoke softly. “You’re sure that was an elk?”

You nodded. “Javier. I’m positive. You know I hunt in these parts. I’m just sorry it took me so long to figure it out.”

His face was pulled into a grimace. “It’s fine.” Though doubt still tinged dark circles of his eyes as he stared blankly at the coals.

Silence wrapped around the campsite once more, a distant geyser sounded off, and to your small relief Javier finally remained unshaken. You smiled softly as you held your hands out to the flames.

“I’ll watch out for you while you sleep, no creatures are going to-”

Before you could finish your sentence, as if planned by the hands of fate to see him tormented further, there was a violent crashing sound beyond the scope of your vision. Loud and sudden, as if a train was barreling directly toward you through the forest, knocking all brush down around it.

You and Javier scrambled clumsily to your feet as you dove out of the way of a charging bull elk, stumbling ungracefully through the weak circle of light the campfire provided, missing your tent by mere inches. It squealed and bellowed as it appeared just as surprised as you were, kicking rocks and mud around as its massive hooves scrambled the earth before bolting in the opposite direction, antlers the last thing to disappear back into the dense haze.

Shocked, breathing heavily, you and Javier looked at each other, wide-eyed.

Your heavy breaths grew sharper and sharper on the exhale until you were laughing, soon uncontrollably, the tension of the night breaking all at once as the demon that haunted your friend so readily presented itself.

You collapsed back to the ground, unable to use the muscles in your legs as your whole body shook.

Your sides ached. Giddy from exhaustion you were unable to stop yourself, though you felt bad for it as you made Javier’s scowling face out through your tears.

“That was an elk I take it?” Javier spoke flatly, doing nothing for the laughter that gripped your guts.

“That was an elk,” you confirmed, voice tight and high.

“If you’re done making fun of me now…” Javier breathed resentfully as he sat with a thud, back in his spot.

“I’m- I’m sorry-” you wheezed as you pressed a fist to your mouth, in a useless bid to quell the torrent of laughter. Your breath came out in stuttered puffs, chest jumping as the muscles flexed, but with great effort you pressed the fit down. Tingling waves tickled the bottom of your stomach and the muscles around your face twitched but with a few measured breaths you managed to speak smoothly enough. “I’m sorry, I really am, I’m not making fun of you, that was just so-”

“It’s like nature wanted to make fun of me too,” he lamented, but the corners of his mouth flexed as he relaxed.

“I didn’t know you hadn’t heard an elk- shit-” you suppressed another fit of giggles with a cough, “I didn’t know you ain’t heard an elk before.”

Javier’s expression was unchanged though the redness in his cheeks seemed deeper than they previously had been in the chill. “Animals shouldn’t sound like that," he grumbled as he tugged the bedroll up around his ears.

Laughter threatened to well up again but for the sake of your friend’s feelings you forced the urge down, coughing again instead. You cleared your throat, torn up from the cold, and offered, “you’re right. They do sound creepy as hell. It had me going too!”

There was a pause before Javier mumbled under his breath. “That was ridiculous…” Then he laughed a little too, finally letting the absurdity of the situation settle in his mind. You smiled and his face grew serious once again, “if you tell anyone about tonight, any of it… I’ll flay you with my knife.”

Without looking into his eyes, you could have convinced yourself he was only kidding, but a threatening heat behind the dark circles told you he was indeed serious. You pantomimed locking your mouth and grinned, to which he responded in kind and you finally shared a laugh together.

Sounds of the breeze rattling the proud evergreen boughs and the heady crackle of the modest flame over took the camp once more before you spoke sincerely, “I’ll keep watch till morning. See if you can get some rest.”

Javier’s smile was soft, but it reached his eyes and he nodded. “Thanks. And uh,” he swallowed as he paused half way in the tent, “thanks for… for taking me seriously. I’m glad I can count on you.”

“Always,” you smiled as your friend finally found some rest.

~~~

The next morning the wagon trundled passed as expected. For all the trouble you’d gone through together, the stack of cash you carried back in your pockets helped to cushion any raw emotions. You exchanged a look and smiled.

Javier motioned to his knife. “I’m serious you know,” then laughed with you.

You were both thankful for the cold receding as you picked your way back down the mountain. You’d never admit it to him, but the whole experience had practically aged you a decade, still, you were glad to be by his side, no matter what.

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confessionsofabachelor · 2 years ago

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Sunday

1. Weezer's "Pinkerton" is a masterpiece and by far my favorite album to walk to. I walk 5 miles a day. Usually before noon.

2. I got to spend time with my aunt from Cheyenne today and I loved every minute.

3. The weather this last week was brutal. 30s 40s 60s 90s all in one week. It made travel interesting and I felt like shit all week.

4. My answer to that was take a benadryl on Friday evening. This led to some interesting decisions. I regret nothing.

5. I dont have to travel much this week and I'm thankful. I am still dreading going to a fucking Cowboys game next weekend, but alas, entertaining clients.

6. My mother is going to Hot Springs, Arkansas for the week with her sisters so I am staying home to keep my father company.

7. I hope yall had a good week and you have an even better week ahead of us. I hope you are happy, healthy, and in good spirits.

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sweet-by-and-by · 3 years ago

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On the Blue Side of the Mountain- Chapter 2

gif credit

summary: After a narrow escape from the downfall of the Van Der Linde gang, you and Arthur have lived comfortably on your mountainside homestead for years. Away from any Pinkertons, Cornwalls, and O’Driscolls, you’re finally safe. All you can do now is try to find peace and hope that the shadows of your past don’t catch up with you.

pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!Reader

a/n: Another fluffy little piece for chapter 2! Apparently this will be structured like the game and things will start getting much more intense in chapter 3. So enjoy the niceties while they last lol.

(I’m kidding, it won’t all be bad)

In loving memory of the cabin trip I had planned for this spring before my country went back into lockdown in January. RIP to the hopes I had at catching a damn fish.

Masterlist

AO3

You breathed in deeply, inhaling the wonderful scent of fresh water and pine trees. Beneath you, your horse threw her head to shake out her mane. You had been riding for a few hours, taking the narrow trail to the bottom of the mountain. The beautiful weather had lured you in and soon you found yourself packing lunches to take the children fishing.

You rounded the corner, the river cutting through the trees as you all descended from the hilltop. The sound of the rushing water drifted up the hill, and the freshness of the air washed a sense of calm over you. You loved that your homestead was surrounded by trees and meadows sprawling with wildflowers. But the rush of water always brought you such peace.

Alice squealed with glee as Arthur swung her to the ground from his saddle, and he quickly dismounted to join her. You and your sons followed suit from your respective horses as Arthur unloaded several fishing rods.

You reached in your saddle bag to grab the packed lunch and your sewing, and untied the extra blanket from your saddle. The five of you walked the few steps down to the river. The children hot on Arthur’s heels while you chose a grassy spot under a tree close by.

You watched from your place on your blanket as the group of them assembled their rods, hanging on to Arthur’s every word like he was a master fisherman.

James and Andrew had been fishing a handful of times before, but this was all very new to Alice. Arthur gently instructed her on how to put the fishing rod together, and laughed at her disgusted face when he held out a worm for her.

“Papa, I am not touching that.” she declared, crossing her arms in defiance.

Arthur laughed, his hearty boom full of love. “It’s just like the ones you pull out of the garden, Sweet Pea!”

Alice shook her head, refusing to fall for his deception. “Nu-uh,” she said, “the ones in the garden aren’t food for the fishes!”

Arthur relented and hooked the worm himself, still chuckling. He knew it would get him nowhere to tell her that he had grabbed the worms from the garden that morning.

Meanwhile, Andrew was already casting, helping James as he struggled to remember how the reel worked.

Arthur took notice and came to his aid, quickly giving James a refresher. As the boys settled in to their spots on the shore, Arthur returned to your excited daughter. Arthur took her hands and placed them in the proper grip. He wrapped his arms around her and demonstrated the motion, and you reveled in the intensity in her expression as she focused deeply.

It was a rare sight to see her take anything so seriously, and it was absolutely adorable.

Together, they cast the hook into the river and waited. Arthur let go of her hands and instructed her to wait for a bite.

“How are you boys over there?” he called to his sons.

Andrew jumped at a tug on the end of his rod. He quickly jerked it back, hooking the fish at the other end.

“I’ve got one!” he exclaimed, wild eyes turning back to his father.

“Well, bring it in!” Arthur cheered. You all watched as Andrew reeled in the fish, yanking and pulling as hard as he could.

“It’s a big one, Papa!” he grunted. “A real fighter!”

After what felt like hours to Andrew, but was only a few minutes, the line finally drew close enough to shore to grab. Arthur lunged for it, pulling it in and laughing.

Andrew had won a great fight against the catch of his life: a sopping wet leather boot.

Andrew frowned at the sight of it, dangling from his hook mockingly.

The rest of you couldn’t help but join in with Arthur, your laughter mingling with the sounds of the river. Arthur unhooked the boot and patted Andrew on the back, who was glaring at the thing.

“It’s a fine boot, son,” Arthur said, “but I’m not sure your Mama’s going to cook it up for dinner.”

He tossed the boot to the side and patted Andrew on the back. His worm had been lost in the process, and he reached out to ask Arthur for another.

“Tell ya' what,” Arthur said, reaching into his satchel and rooting around for something. “I’ll let you in on a secret I was taught by an old friend.”

If Alice had been distraught by the worm, she might have fainted at the cricket that Arthur placed in Andrew’s hand.

“A cricket?” Andrew questioned, looking at Arthur disbelievingly.

“Sure!” Arthur drawled. “River fish eat ‘em right up.”

Still unsure, Andrew hooked the cricket and cast his line back out. While they waited, Arthur went back to check on Alice, who had abandoned her rod by the shore and was collecting river rocks.

“Sweet pea!” he called, his smile growing wide. “I ain’t sure you’ll catch anything this way.”

“Fishing is boring.” She said decidedly, turning back to her rock collecting.

Arthur laughed at that, booming brightly. “You know, your cousin Jack felt the same way.”

“You taught Jack to fish too?” Andrew asked. You were sure Andrew would suddenly aspire to be an avid fisher, with the way he idolized Jack and everything he did.

“Sure! Your mama and I took him down to the river when he was a boy, just like this.” he remembered fondly.

“Mama, you fished too?” Andrew asked, turning to where you were lounging on the blanket.

“Sure did. I’m good for much more than just mending holes in your shirt you know.” You teased, gesturing towards the shirt you were repairing.

“Of course you are,” he replied, “I just didn’t know you liked to fish too.”

“Knowing how to fish and liking fishing are two different things.” Arthur teased, winking at you. “I’ve made your mama do all kinds of things she ain’t liked.”

“What can I say, I’m more of a hunter.” You shrugged.

“Your Mama’s always been one for the chase.” Arthur smirked, his eyes darkening as his gaze wandered down your figure.

You rolled your eyes and scolded Arthur half-heartedly, trying to smother the chuckle that was threatening to give you away.

Suddenly, Andrew jerked his head towards his line. He cried out victoriously as the tip of his rod bobbed, giving a sharp tug to set the hook.

He reeled in as fast as he could, the excitement making him giddy. You watched on as he drew the line in, reaching for it once it was close enough to shore. He beamed triumphantly at the sight of an actual fish on the hook.

He proudly displayed his catch for everyone to see, with a grin as wide as his face and a brightness in his eyes that was contagious. You smiled as Arthur clapped him on the back, equally as proud of his son.

“Would ya’ look at that!” He chimed, reaching for the fish to remove the hook. “That’s quite the smallmouth, son.”

Andrew beamed up at his father. “Papa,” he said, his eyes wide in amazement. “I think you might be the greatest fisherman there is.”

Arthur laughed and handed Andrew his catch. “I ain’t no such thing,” he protested, “your grandpa Hosea now, he was quite the fisherman. The stories he could have told you!” Arthur reminisced, his gaze far away.

Your smile turned slightly sad at the mention of Hosea. You remembered the stories he would tell of the great beasts tamed by his rod, always expectantly over the top. You felt such sorrow at the reminder that he never lived to see his grandchildren, that they would never know what an incredible man he was.

Another tragic casualty of the gang’s decline.

Arthur noticed your shift, his own mourning tugging at the edges of his heart. You looked to one another, remembering fondly but sadly.

Arthur turned back to Andrew, forcing his smile to return. He reached back into his satchel and handed him another cricket.

After a few more hours by the river, you all loaded back up on the horses and started your journey home with a great bushel of fish to be salted. The warmth of the sun and the fresh air had thoroughly tuckered everyone out. As you guided your horses back up the mountain trail, you knew you would have no trouble getting the children to bed that night.

You looked to where Arthur rode alongside Alice, who sat happily atop her pony. He reached to adjust the tether and whispered something to her that sent her into a fit of giggles. The sun was setting behind him, casting a brilliant array of colours across the sky. You were struck by how handsome he was, and you couldn’t help yourself from taking a moment to appreciate his silhouette.

In moments like these, it was hard to feel anything but overwhelming love for your wonderful little life tucked away on the mountainside.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #f!reader #reader insert #self insert #alternate ending #multichapter #fanfic #fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfic #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #my fic #on the blue side of the mountain

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bonniearden · 5 years ago

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hello! ❤️ stumbled across your blog and saw your hcs were open! hc for arthur and john x f!reader who gets really bad anxiety attacks during storms/any type of bad weather? was hit with some tornadoes and power outages and winds and i can’t stop panicking :( need the boahs to cheer me up haha

Arthur Morgan and John Marston HC’s: “Comforting Female! Reader During Bad Weather “

Saw this and got to work! I live in the Philippines so we tend to also get a lot of typhoons/storm surges. Tried making it longer to compensate for such a late reply. Hope you’re doing okay, anon. You can do this! Best wishes : )

(tw: Anxiety Attacks)

Arthur Morgan

Arthur noticed.

Noticed how you were no longer breathing right, how you bit at your nails and glanced wearily at the rattling window panes, how your palms wanted to shoot up to your ears and block out the noises that made you shiver with harrowing distress.

Noticed how you tried to shut off your thoughts–tried to keep quiet, but only grew more disconcerted as the quiet soon became louder and louder.

Enveloping you, suffocating you.

He’s about to call your name, yet amidst the shrieking lightning and the thunder’s booming response, all he hears is the sudden choke of your voice–the heavy rising and collapsing of your chest.

A tiny cry.

And he doesn’t even bother to ask.

Arthur crosses the room in strides, arms urgently stretching out as he reached to hold you. Assess you.

His bare palms folded around the apples of your cheeks, warming them up from the wind’s harsh whispers.

“Shh, shh.” He coos. “Just breathe, darlin’”

The man’s rough voice is delicate and quick, easing through his lips in that familiar drawl, “What happened?”

You swiftly grab a hold onto his steady digits, looking down at his feet as you tried to regain some semblance of composure–albeit frustratingly so.

“I-I’m, I don’t know, I feel anxious–”

Outside, the abrupt shrill of the night sky explodes into a cacophony of pouring rain, a bright burst of light painting your silhouettes onto Shady Belle’s creaking walls. You whimper, startling in your spot as you all but jumped at the sound.

Things seemed to click then.

Arthur curses softly, hands immediately guiding you into his giving embrace. “Alright, angel,” He mumbles, firmly speaking over the volume of the storm, “It’s okay, c’mere.”

You seemed to let out a sob at that, “God, I’m sorry–”

The cowboy’s hand goes up to the crown of your head, keeping you tenderly in place.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry about. Happens even to the best of us.”

Arthur holds you comfortably, rubbing circles over the withering shape of your form, barely even minding your frightened hands that would grip his coat like an anchor to shore.

“Want me to stay?” He whispers after a while.

You might as well have said please by the way you clung tighter to him.

Though the cowboy knew at that point what had been the cause of your worries, he finds that had it been anything different, nothing would have changed.

Nothing would have changed how he sat you down on your cot, folding up pillows that suddenly felt softer than they did before.

Nothing would have changed how he unlaced your boots and his, palms moving almost reverently.

Ministrations that glided not without rhythm, not without prose.

Muttering sweet nothings whilst he tucked you between his folded legs, chest expanding and constricting as you leaned softly against his broad torso.

Bodies curling into a fetal position.

Nothing would have changed how Arthur’s shoulders instinctively squared around your own–consoling you, securing you: the wordless affirmations of your safety, of his presence.

How he coaxes you to breathe in tandem with his own sweet exhalations. Counting one, exhale, two, exhale…

Stilling your heart, stilling your mind.

Once in a period of general rest, he picks up his sketchbook.

And from his charcoaled grip sprung the images of trees and flowers.

Things that reminded you undoubtedly of spring.

Your busy eyes were swayed by the steady looping and gliding of graphite on paper–

–whilst your ears drew comfort from the clemency of his words–that of which fanned over your cheek and above your shoulder, and sometimes hummed in broken, rough stories.

“Breathe, sweetheart, it’ll be okay,”

Arthur’s thumb drifts over your own, moving back and forth in consistent, subconscious efforts.

Little by little, the storm would dwindle away, its roar growing gentler and gentler as it slowed down to an ambient drizzle.

Your eyes, however, would flutter shut long before it stopped.

Arthur’s palm still yet to be unentangled from yours.

Their combined weight, almost feather like, resting peacefully atop the rise and fall of your chest, as you drifted easily into slumber.

John Marston

It didn’t help that you weren’t in camp.

Camp, where Uncle’s fussing and Arthur Morgan’s reproaching stretched to no end. Camp, where ambient voices shut out your worries and drunken songs reminded you that you weren’t confined in some beaten cabin strewn about the woods.

The night was looming–that much one could tell–but heaven’s downpour of rain stole whatever benefits rest could afford you.

The weather was unsettling, ominous. Dreary–like a steady sea that began to sway just ever so slightly against the sweeping winds.

The hammock you laid in creaked and thrashed in a way that made your stomach churn with bile.

You would throttle in your sleep, helplessly counting your breaths as vertigo wormed its way through your head.

With John already settled in, and the storm outside pouring like hail over the cabin’s rotting rooftops, you chose to silence yourself, holding each and every string of hot air that begged for escape out your trembling lips.

You masked desperately at your panic, actively��keeping out any incessant thought about the thundering skies or the pitter pattering that didn’t yield at your pleas.

It hits then. The painfully familiar gasps, the harsh breathing.

Just about enough to startle John awake.

He finds you thrashing upright from your hammock, legs flailing as you struggled to get a firm grip on your fickle sheets.

The force pushes his own bed, effectively chiding a surprised croak of your name from out the depth of his chest. Yanked freshly from slumber, John grows defensive, hands bolting for a gun.

“The hell is it–” He begins protectively, staring at the shadow of your back, expecting some form of response– a shout.

Till he realizes that you weren’t speaking–body too frozen into spot. There are no thieves around (as ironic as that’d be), no angry Pinkertons, nor stray, ferocious animal.

Just you.

John stares for a moment, coming down from his adrenaline high as the echo of the storm clung to the walls.

He’d be uncertain, unsure, yet already rounding your position–immediately coming face to face with the unravelling of a once delicate composure.

The thunder claps, striking the turbulent air, and it sends enough of a jolt through you to have your gaze align frantically with his.

Your fear is something he recognizes almost immediately.

The panic in your eyes an emotion he can so painfully recognize.

“Are you–”

“…you scared of the rain?” He asks unsurely–quietly, but concerned nonetheless. Your only reply is a mix between a gasp and a shaky breath; such an awfully distinct sound that titillated on a sob.

John Marston fumbles for a moment–but he knows that heart-racing weariness. He’s felt it on the days when he was a child on the run, fearing death–feeling anger. He seems to understand.

John kneels to your level, eyes meeting yours whilst he gently places his palm atop the one that was clutching tightly at your undershirt.

“Alright, just–”

He inhales, gathering his composure–guiding you. Desperately trying to mirror what Hosea and Dutch (even Arthur) once did for him.

“Just breathe with me now.”

Nodding with bleary eyes, you curl your hold round his wrist, focusing your attention into following his movements.

“That’s it,” He’d encourage you, his voice scratchy with a foreign tenderness, “You’re doin’ okay.”

“Stay, please.” You choke out after a while. He looks at you, brown eyes the deepest they’ve ever been.

He doesn’t know where it comes from, but it’s a natural reaction, a natural urge. John stutters for a moment, though eventually succumbs to the flow of his movements.

He goes with his gut.

When the storm roars just outside the cabin, and twigs smack dead center in the folds of the windows, the man wraps his arms around your waist, and hugs timidly at your form–the feel of his lean frame, a great consolation.

You expect yourself to go stiff with discomfort, instead you find yourself leaning into his embrace, eyelids falling shut as though to suppress the sudden burn that surged from behind your trodden stare.

He squeezes your shoulder, “Ain’t goin’ anywhere. Don’t you worry.”

So John Marston stays, he makes himself spare and stays, that initial uncertainty gradually fading once he grasps the levity of your state.

He does all he knows he can.

He guides you back to lay on the hammock, sitting around edge of its sturdy canvas, back turning to look at you whilst his feet subconsciously rocked the bed to and fro.

John tells you he’ll just be right here, that there was nothing to worry about.

Occasionally, in the moments he thinks he sees your eyelids sinking, he’d bring his palm up to your forehead and tentatively brush away the tiny tresses that clung to its sweat. His voice quietly imitating a few songs he’s think he heard Javier sing around the camp.

They’re dry and awkward attempts, but they fill out the white noise you so earnestly wanted gone.

The ambience of the camp. The feel of home.

When you feel sleep claim you, John lights a lamp and sits it visibly at the front of your makeshift bedding, allowing its warm, orange glow to eat away at the darkness that consumed your room.

He lingers there, swaying you gently to sleep.

You keep your pupils trained to its light, attempting to steady your breaths, as you felt its comfort gradually grow from within you.

–feeling it even more when his weight dips behind the hammock and folds around you just slightly.

“It’ll turn out okay,” He tells you, no longer thinking twice as his arm rests lightly over your waist. Holding you close.

The empty wind drifts by the gap left by two unmet bodies, carrying no sound, but only the chill of the weather.

You don’t shiver, you don’t tremble. You only close your eyes, and think about the comforting weight on your hip, breath calming when your hand perches upon it.

As it is a cold that simply won’t withstand the warmth emulating within you.

A warmth that carried to the break of next day’s mildewed morning, where you find John still asleep next to you, and the light of last night’s lamp still flickering brightly.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 john marston #john marston #john marston x reader #rdr2 arthur morgan #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 matchups #rdr2 fanfic #rdr #requests and match-ups still open!#anon #ask away

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fangirl-ramblings · 4 years ago

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I'm slowly slogging through some of the WIPs I have (or rather should I say requests I still haven't finished. Sorry everybody who's still waiting🙈) and just felt like sharing some extracts while I motivate myself to finish them.

(Click under the cut to have a sneek peek)

1) Bill Drabble

"Me?" Bill flustered, his face growing red with anger and embarrassment by the second, "How come when I make one mistake it's my fault and the end of the world? But when the great Arthur Morgan does something wrong it's always a case of "aww shucks, never mind?"

"Arthur's mistake was listenin' to you about this robbery," Tilly barked with venom at Bill "Your mistake was thinkin' you could take the lead on this and not share any of the details of plan with us, just exceptin' us to blindly follow your lead...you obnoxious idiot."

You watched as Bill blinked back the tears in his eyes as frustration started to take over his body.

"Now hold on there, who are you callin' an obnoxious idiot?" Bill stuttered, waving his hands around in protest.

2) Arthur (possible multi chapter)

You swallowed hard. Had you made the right decision bringing him back here to your home? What if someone was watching, waiting for their next victim? Or what if this man was something to do with all that talk of gangs and Pinkertons around Annesburg? It was too late to do anything about it all now. You'd brought him home and he was starting to stir.

His eyes fluttered open and you found yourself staring into them. A mesmerising blue-green colour, they reminded you of the hot springs up in Cotorra. And surprisingly they gave you a similar feeling of warmth as you looked into them, allying any fears you had just moments ago.

3) Arthur Drabble

The tears ran down your face as you stared at her image; talk around the campfire was that she'd broken Arthur's heart into a million pieces when she called the engagement off, yet they looked awfully cozy together before. Were you just a stopgap? Something to fill the emptiness in his heart until she came back to him?

You didn’t realise how hard you were gripping the frame until you heard the glass cracking and your blood streaked all over her stupid, perfect face.

#bill Williamson #Arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #fangirl writes #fangirl wips

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harleymaster09 · 4 years ago

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Pinkerton Hot Spring in Durango, Colorado

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whirlybirbs · 5 years ago

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Great now she has to get HIM off!!!

PRACTICE & PERFECTION ;

summary: miss turner catches arthur in the throes of something more private. a companion piece of this work.pairing: arthur morgan x reader, turner as a placeholder surnamerating: explicit! masturbation, first time handjobs + fingering! wahoo!word count: 3.4k, oopsa/n: hahahaha i am horny for arthur morgan. this is a part of my simpler said aloud series. if you’d like to read more about these two, here’s the masterlist!

He can’t sleep.

He tosses, for the fifth time in ten minutes, and curses himself as he does. It’s the fourth night in a row of this hellish curse — He should be exhausted, but the heavy pull of his eyelids is absent. A fan of his beauty rest, he finds himself irritated with the fact he could be asleep by now, snoring loudly and blissfully unaware of the world.

But, Arthur Morgan can’t sleep.

He tosses again. His tent is illuminated by a strip of light glimmering through the gap in the canvas — the dying campfire floods his space in oranges and inky blues. It’s late now, and the camp is silent save for the lap of waves on the shore of the lake and the peepers in the tall grass.

Somewhere in the distance, coyotes bay and yip as Dutch snores, like a chainsaw, cutting through the night.

Christ, it’s annoying.

Arthur kicks at the sheets tangled around his feet.

Draping an arm over his eyes, he tries to block out the light and count the crickets chirping, but his mind keeps wandering to places that leave sleep just out his reach.

It’s anxiety, Hosea had said, commenting on Arthur’s sudden evasion of sleep, keeps you up, just like me.

After another half hour, he strangles an annoyed sigh behind his hand as he rubs his face and grits his jaw. He imagines the circles under his eyes are dark as coal now. He’s sure Micah will make a comment over breakfast — something about Miss Turner keepin’ you up, Morgan?

... That’s a nice thought.

(It’s Pinkertons and Bounty Hunters and the O’Driscolls, really.)

Arthur, then, decides that maybe that very thought could be his saving grace and he sets out to tire himself in the best way possible — hand fisted down his union suit, teeth barred and eyes clamped shut.

He intended for it to be quick — not drawn out nor luxurious in any fashion; after all, the other tents were only feet away. Sound carries and Arthur would rather the others not hear the more explicit parts of his mind playing out in the early morning hours.

... But, you are a lovely thought.

Nails digging into his shoulders as you try to grapple under the mounting heat between your legs, knees shaking as he winds you up like a toy, thumb grazing that sensitive bundle of nerves...

Fingers work at peeling away the top of his union suit, a flash of hot interest peaking in his gut at the mere recall of you whispering his name in moments more heated. You have a way of doing that to him; you get him going quick with the brush of a kiss, utterance of a name, touch of a hand. It’s embarrassing, almost, how tight you have him wrapped around your thumb and how willingly he lets that become his place.

Arthur blinks down at his hips, heavy lashes fluttering as he palms at his arousal. He’s hard already, shamefully so, and he can’t help but chew his lip as he runs a hand along himself over his wool suit. The friction is nice. He thinks about you, keening along his fingers, and the friction gets nicer.

He’s distracted, mind in the field you’d both stood in three days ago. You’re propped up on that wall, snakebite forgotten, as his lips attack love-bites into the delicate flesh of your thigh. He remembers the sounds, the breathy little whimpers and the way you’d pleaded his name — he remembers the slick heat between your legs as he’d happily delved across the lace with nimble fingers. The moment is seared into his brain, and suddenly Arthur wishes he’d had the courage to rip your bloomers off and away and get a taste.

His hips buck a bit at the thought of you, legs spread and ankles hitched around his shoulders as he laps at the delicate folds of flesh there. You’d be warm and sweet and wonderful, he thinks, and his chin would be slick with evidence of your arousal.Arthur shudders a breath, trying to keep it down. He passes another touch across himself and shifts on his cot, lip pulled between his teeth tightly —

Arthur can hardly speak when his tent floods with light and you’re suddenly there, a soft gasp worming itself from your lips.

In the light of the dimmed fire, you glow; but Arthur doesn’t give himself a moment to linger on the sight. He curses in a harsh whisper, hands flying to cover himself and tug at the sheets at the foot of his bed.

What he’s been up to, though, isn’t lost on you.

“Miss Turner —“

“Sorry,” you whisper coyly, not at all unsettled by the thought of Arthur Morgan taking care of himself — quite the opposite, “Am I interrupting?”

(You’d been in the same predicament as him, sleep lost and worry high.)

Arthur’s clutching the sheets over his arousal when you speak, head dropping back to the pillows as he tries to overcome the sudden shame and embarrassment that flies across his face. Arthur knows he’s been caught, there’s no sense in tiptoeing around this, and yet all he can manage to grit out is a sarcastic:

“Not at all, sweetpea, not at all.”

“You’re an outlaw, Arthur,” you whisper, moving towards the cot, “Not a liar.”

He bites his tongue, blue eyes moving to follow you as you drift closer. Your chemise is hanging from your shoulders, hair spilling over your back in sleep kissed knots and you look like an angel, something that should stay far from the dirtier thoughts he’d just been having about you —

“Can’t sleep?” you ask, kneeling beside his cot, eyes roaming him greedily.

Arthur doesn’t trust himself to speak. He nods his head.

“... Could I help?”

It’s like leaping off a bridge — it’s a dive into uncharted waters. You’ve never done something like this, not with him nor anyone, but the thought is hardly there thanks to how much you want it. Arthur seems to notice the hungry look in your eyes and succumbs to it fully, hands moving to push away the sheets in acceptance of your help.

“I, uh, just —“ the sentence burns up in your gaze.

You decide, very quickly, that Arthur Morgan looks rather pretty like this.

His union suit is unbuttoned, splitting him up the middle and exposing the plains of his chest and abdomen. His skin is hot, from the summer night and the burning arousal, and you find yourself quite enamored with the view before you.

Arthur is bright pink. Even in the dark of his tent you can see it. He can’t help it — this is the thing of fantasy, having you admire him so openly, having you reach to touch him in a way so intimate. The rosy blush that has settled neatly across his cheeks and ears steals your breath away.

The evidence of his arousal is outlined in his union suit and his entire body lurches when you reach, one finger tracing the side of him as you smile so sickly sweet that Arthur feels like he’s been punched in the chest.

This is going to be the death of him.

He can hardly look at you, too taken by sheepishness but hips spurred by the greedy look you give as you rise from the floor. He shifts, arching to follow your touch, and you give a breathless little laugh when you settle back down beside him on his cot.

This time, the pressure is a bit more — your whole palm grazes him and he shudders, dark lashes screwing shut as he swallows and tries to form a coherent string of words.

He gives up when you hook your fingers in the last set of buttons, springing him free.

His cock is big — flushed a pretty pink at the head and thick. It’s a sight that you always imagined would have you uncomfortable and horrified and running for the hills. Seeing a man naked, on any night beside your wedding night? It was always warned against, always battled back with deep settled fear; women like you aren’t meant to be doing things like this in the quiet hours of the night, but it doesn’t scare you, doesn’t disgust you. Instead, it kicks something alive inside of you that’s anything but innocent. It’s far from it.

“Look at you, cowboy.”

Arthur’s eyes roll shut, head dropping back to the sheets as he lets out a weak laugh. Finally he speaks. His voice is horse. “This has got t’ be a dream.”

You pull your lip between your teeth as you smile, fingers finding the bare skin of his hips as he squirms on the cot. His breath hitches as you tug at his union suit, hands moving to scale his side as he exhales long and hard.

“You look like a dream,” you mutter, “I could watch you for a while.”

Arthur gives a weak sound at that. His hands move to pull you down into a needy kiss — one that leaves his cock pressed to his belly and you don’t think twice before you’ve moved to run a tentative touch along it.

Arthur’s eyes jump open and his whole chest heaves.

“Sh-Shit.”

“Good?”

He can’t even respond, just chew his lip and flare his nostrils and nod.

Your nose brushes his as you lean over him, lace of your chemise skimming the exposed skin of his hips and chest; it’s a sensory trap, luring him in at the welcoming softness. You take him gently into your hand and give one hesitant pump.

Arthur nearly gives in then and there.

You have to rush up to silence the groan that flies from his throat. You bite his lip, pulling away with it stuck between your teeth. Arthur’s eyes are rooted to the way you look at him, like he’s some revered man.

He feels unworthy of it. Unworthy of you.

“Shh,” you whisper, nudging his face with your nose. You move to bite a kiss along his throat, “You want Dutch t’ hear you?”

Arthur gives a pitiful, daring laugh, then -- as if to say, “why not” -- a breathy rumble that shakes his chest and leaves you grinning into the skin along his shoulder. You kiss him again, amused, lips lingering by his cheek as you climb over his leg and situate yourself above him; he follows, chasing you upwards as he props himself up on his elbows. Arthur is slack-jawed, face bright in a rosy glow, eyes half-lidded as you move.

Under his eyes, you feel small.

“Is this okay?” you whisper, leaning to set a slow pace, lips falling along his cheek.

Arthur pants, nodding desperately at the hot touch. “Y-Yea -- Christ, yer gonna kill me.”

You snicker, settling against his thigh fully now -- your chemise pools around you and you can’t help but bunch a hand into it, hiking it up over your thigh in a flash of skin; Arthur gravitates towards it, chasing the searing contact, finding under calloused fingers there’s no lace around your hipbones. No cursed bloomers. Just skin. Blue eyes anchor themselves to the expanse of skin up your hip, awe rooted there, as he realizes you’re bare and flush right against his thigh.

“Jesus --”

His head drops back against the sheets and you grin above him, thumb slipping along the head of his cock to find it slick -- Arthur jolts at the sensation, chest heaving in a gasp as you quirk a brow and slip the wetness down his length, earning a low moan, mingling with a desperate laugh. He screws his eyes shut, hands moving to grasp at your thighs like a ship lost at sea.

Eagerly, you lay a hand over his and drag it upwards, under the lace, grinning happily when it settles along your ribs. His hands are warm and rough and big, settling to press you against his thigh -- his voice is hoarse when he speaks.

“Yer th’ prettiest damn thing I ever seen.”

Arousal crawls up your chest, heat flaring in your face. No one has ever touched you like this. Certainly not brushed their thumb over your nipple and moved to haul your chemise off you totally when you say their name.

The outlaw surges up, pulling the nightgown from your frame as his mouth moves to latch itself to the curve of your breast --- his stubble tickles, tongue moving flat against your breast as he bites a little mark there; a reminder of the night, something tangible, something secret. Blue eyes connect with yours and Arthur smiles, happy to at least have thrown you off for a moment. It’s a shift in the power balance, one that sends a hand through his hair eagerly.

You move then, hips squirming against him as you pick up the pace -- it earns a low groan from Arthur. Planting a firm hand on his chest, he settles back against the cot without a fight. You’re in charge; he’s the one who needed help.

“This is about you, Arthur.”

His eyes can’t help but shut, lashes kissing his cheeks. The idea that this is all about you giving -- the idea of you happily surrendering yourself to him stirs his arousal further. His hands crawls up, calloused fingers brushing the curve of your hip again, this time urging a pace out of you. You chew your lip, lids going heavy, as you move your hips in tandem with your wrist; it’s not easy, but the reaction is worth it.

“Y’ sure y’ never done this before?” he asks, words broken by pants.

“Never,” you lean, biting a delicious little mark along his collarbone, “Though, I think I’d benefit from some extra practice, Mr. Morgan.”

He can’t hide the desperate sound that’s pulled from him at the name.

Arthur is a mess, eyes on you and on the roof of the tent and on your core bucking against his clothed thigh. He’s trying to remember how to breathe, how to think -- it’s hard when you’ve come along and robbed all worldly abilities from him. The sounds in the tent are sinful; breaths mingle in the quiet, names exchanged in eager little prayers that wind both of you higher and higher.

This is not how he anticipated his night going.

“Practice -- fuck,” he squirms, spurring a grin out of you, “ -- makes perfect.”

Your thumb brushes the head of his cock again, sending the outlaw gasping after the remark. He tightens his hold on your hips, dragging himself up and smothering your grin with a kiss that’s bruising. He bucks you forward, dragging you along his thigh, and the friction is wonderful. Your hand falters, slipping up along the ridge of the swollen head and Arthur’s breath hitches -- enough that you chase the exact reaction through the same ministration.

It’s the right one.

His hands are shaking when he winds them around your back, mouth digging harsh bites into the column of your throat as you whimper -- you pry at his jaw, face gripped in a tight hold; you heave a gasp, eyes darting to his swollen lips. Arthur happily lets you assert the gesture of dominance, mostly because you brush the underside of his cock with fingers slick with pre-come in that exact moment and his eyes roll right into the back of his head.

“Shit --” he gasps, hands moving to grab at your backside as he falls back to the cot, a bit too locked in the pleasure to do much else, “Sweetpea, please --”

“Like that?” you ask quietly, mimicking the motion.

His hips lift, arms tensing as he nods; his lip is pulled between his teeth. “Y-Yeah.”

“Arthur Morgan,” you nearly purr, falling along his hips and pressing your chest to his as you concentrate your hold on his arousal, “I think I’m awfully lucky -- a man like you, lettin’ me touch 'im like this...”

You kiss his cheek and his heart flutters.

He moves to root his fingers in your hair.

You give him another slick pump. Another curse.

It’s the look that does him in, though; one look, a smile, illuminated by the dying fire outside his tent -- you’re a dream, chest pressed against his and hair spilled along your shoulders -- he comes hard; it’s like a tsunami, washing over him so hard that he’s floating and his world is dark and his hearing is gone. He’s dead, dying, gone, in heaven. Arthur Morgan has died in your arms.

He’s laughing, then, eyes still screwed shut as you grin above him.

“Miss Turner,” he pulls his eyes open, “I -- This...”

He’s come along your wrist. The first thing he sees is you dropping a finger to your tongue with a coy look.

He’s dead. This is heaven.

Now, he doesn’t want to sleep.

But, you’re happily pulling yourself from him, snagging his handkerchief from the wardrobe at the end of his bed and moving to clean him up with a gentle hand. Your fingers nimbly button his union suit back up, mouth chasing the skin of his chest -- and he just watches, touch fond.

“Think you can sleep now?” you ask as you chuck the handkerchief over your shoulder. You sit up, settling on the side of the cot. You scoop up your chemise, “Did I tire you out?”

Arthur stops you. His eyes are narrowed.

“Where you think yer goin’?”

You blink. Oh.

He moves, then, pulling you down beside you and winding his arms around you desperately -- as if you’d run off. You can’t help but laugh, sheepishness settling across your cheeks as you chew your lip. You’re naked, pressed against him and a bit cold, but the ache between your legs is the biggest problem.

“Honestly,” you mumble sweetly, “I was going to take care of myself, but --”

Arthur pulls an eye open.

His smirk is dangerous.

“Were y’?”

He winds you into a kiss, then, your head turned to engage over your shoulder, when his hand slips between your legs. You can’t help but lift your leg, hiking it over his hip and opening yourself up to the searing touch.

“I could take care a’ this” Arthur mutters, greedy mouth kissing your shoulder as you gasp, “Like y’ did fer me --”

You’re soaked. His fingers slip along the velvet folds easily. You breathe his name.

“Won’t take much,” he chirps, “Look a’ you.”

God, you wish you could shut him up. That, however, had happened earlier -- and now you’re at Arthur mercy; you grip at his hips, fingers winding tightly in his union suit as he seemingly curls around you and presses sloppy kisses to the back of your neck as he works a pace along your clit; it’s dangerous and wonderful and you say his name like plead, begging for something you don’t even know.

Then, a crooked finger slips inside you and you jolt.

That’s it.

His thumb moves, coaxing another cry of his name before a second finger stretches you nicely -- the feeling is foreign but it’s good, you feel better than you have when you’ve been the one doing it, certainly. His fingers are thicker, rougher, warmer.

“That alrigh’?”

“Don’t you dare stop.”

Your legs are shaking.

Arthur grins.

“Yer close,” he rumbles lowly, “C’mon, practice makes perfect.”

Just like your smile did him in, it’s those words that do you in -- you come along his fingers hard, hands wound in his union suit and gripping the edge of his cot as he smothers your sounds with a bruising kiss; it strangles your rational thinking skills and you’re stuck in a honeyed glow as the come down follows.

Before you even realize it, Arthur is tugging the sheets up over you and pulling you close to his chest. You melt into the touch, smile permanent on your face as you bury yourself in the hold.

His beard scratches your forehead as he kisses you there.

“I wasn’t kiddin’ when I said yer gonna be th’ death a’ me,” he says slowly.

You laugh sleepily. “Weren’t you the one who said dyin’ happy comes much later?”

A low laugh. “Yeah, well, that was before y’ got me off --”

“Go t’ sleep, Arthur,” you chirp, pinching his side, “Sooner morning comes, the sooner I’ll make you, again.”

And on that note, Arthur Morgan goes right to sleep.

#simpler said aloud #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan nsft #rdr2 imagine #rdr2 smut #rdr2 reader insert #arthur morgan x oc #Anonymous

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moody-cowdaddy · 5 years ago

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Friends in Low Places [Part 2 - End]

Arthur Morgan x Reader | Imagine #2

Summary: You finally make it back to Horseshoe Overlook with Arthur.

Category: Action, Fluff, First Meeting.

After riding for a while, Arthur's horse came to a stop in a wooded area that sat on top of a hill. The area surrounding you was lit up by a campfires, along with more than a few tents and wagons that were set up all along the perimeter. He clearly hadn't lied to you about a camp, there had to be at least 20 people here.

"Home sweet home," Arthur said, turning his head back to you.

He threw his leg over the filly before dropping down to the ground. He reached up for you to take his hand. You reached down, wrapping your slender fingers around his, his hands were rough and calloused, with a firm grip. He helped you keep your balance as you dropped to the ground. Clearly, the folks around here didn't miss a beat, as soon as your feet hit the dirt, a tall man with dark hair and mustache came barreling towards the two of you from the raging campfire that sat in the middle of the camp as the rest of the residents looked on, nervously. The man's hands were at his hip, ready to draw his gun at a moment's notice.

[[MORE]]

"Arthur," the man barked, pointing in your direction with a scowl, "Who is this?"

You shot Arthur a nervous glance. He returned a reassuring nod of his head to you before turning his attention back to the man, holding his hands out as he walked forward to separate him from getting over to you. But you peeked over Arthur's shoulder to get a gander at what was going on.

"Calm down, Dutch. It's safe. The girl just needed a place to stay tonight," Arthur gestured to you.

"Safe?" The man he had called Dutch repeated. "Arthur, are you forgettin' that we just barely made it out of Blackwater alive?" He shifted his eyes to you. "She could be workin' with those Pinkertons just like the rest."

Arthur hummed, seemingly in disbelief at the sheer paranoia that the man in front of him was presenting. "Well, she's one hell of an actress then, I'm bettin'."

You took a step forward,"I'm not the law, if that's your concern.. sir"

"Hell, she robbed a man before we high-tailed it outta there." Arthur spoke, throwing his hand up to rest on his gunbelt.

"It's true." You nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Is that supposed to ease my mind?" Dutch looked between the two of you, "I told you to keep a low profile, Arthur."

Arthur nodded, "Sure. An' I have been. Fella was gettin' rough with her, so I handled it. All I'm askin' for is the night, Dutch."

Dutch looked at the two of you again before letting out a tiresome breath. "Just the night," he said before turning to you directly, "This ain't no handout camp."

You gave him a thankful expression, "I hadn't expected that it was." You reached down into your pocket to pull out the gold pocketwatch you had lifted off Jack. "How's gold plated sound?" You handed it over to him.

Dutch looked flabergasted at what he was witnessing. You had figured that he thought Arthur's comment about you robbing somebody was bullshit, but this was the thing to prove him wrong. He took the pocketwatch from your grasp, rolling it over and over between his fingers, inspecting it before a pleased expression came over his face as he finally placed it down into his own pocket. He looked down at you and gave you an acknowledging nod.

"We have food if you're hungry, and I'm sure Mr. Morgan will show you where you can lay your head for the night," he said, exchanging glances turning on his heel and walked back over to the others.

"Damn," Arthur whistled as he turned back to his horse, unstrapping the bedroll that was tied to it's saddle. "If I had known a pocketwatch was all it took for Dutch to stop his fussin', I would have tried it years ago."

"The first one's free." You smiled at him.

He smirked and tucked the bedroll under his arm, motioning for you to follow behind him as he led you through the camp. You were still receiving a few odd looks from people as they sat around the campfire, wondering who you were.

"Howdy." you said politely, giving a nod to the few men and women who scanned their eyes over you as you passed by.

A few of them nodded back at you, giving half-hearted smiles. Arthur led you over to a wagon that was setup as a makeshift sleeping tent, complete with a cot and small rickety table beside it.

"This is mine. Ain't much, but it'll keep you from layin' your head in the dirt. Take the cot," he said, unfolding the bedroll and placing it on the ground across from you. "I'll take the ground."

"No, Mister Morgan," you shook your head, "I couldn't possibly."

He held a hand up to stop your protest, "You can," he gestured to the cot, "I insist."

You sighed bemusingly and nodded, knowing he wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. "Just for tonight."

"'Course." he shrugged, pulling his hat off as he lowered himself down to the bedroll.

You sat down on the edge of the cot, checking out your surroundings as you pulled off your coat. You looked over to the small table that was setup beside the cot, your gaze landed on a few odds and ends laying on it, including a picture of a woman.

"Would that be a lucky lady, or family?" You said, staring at the old photo.

Arthur squinted, looking over in your direction. He followed your eyes to the framed photo and gave you a small chuckle. "No such luck. That's my momma. She died when I was a kid."

"Oh," you said, turning back, "I'm sorry to hear that."

He shook his head, "No harm done. It's been years, feels like a lifetime ago."

You hummed, "I never knew my parents. Died when I was around 5."

"Shit," Arthur said, his rough voice going soft, "That's no way for a girl to have to grow up."

You shrugged, "Not so terrible, I reckon. But that's a story for another time, I guess."

You glanced over at the photo one last time before pulling yourself down onto the cot. You pulled your jacket over you as cover. The night air was still cool, and the stars were shining brightly tonight. It was nice to be able to stay outside and see them again. There low mumbling from the few people still around the slowly dying campire, the crackling of it's flames and the various sounds from the wildlife hidden within the dense collection of trees in the forest beyond being the only sound filling the night air.

You watched Arthur as he settled down onto the ground, kicking his feet up as he laid his head down onto a rolled up blanket. Luckily the night air was warm, so there wasn't wasn't a whole lot of need for any cover. You secretly stared at the man for a moment, before lowering yourself down onto the cot. There was something about this man that made you feel safe, even though you had barely known him for two hours, and Lord, he wasn't bad on the eyes either.

"Goodnight, Mr. Morgan," you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Night, Ms. (Y/L/N)," he said, tipping his hat to you before pulling it down over his eyes.

It had been quit a while since you had a proper night's rest, and before you knew it you were out like a light.

When you woke up the next morning, there was a cool breeze in the air and the sound of birds chirps echoed from the trees. It had been a long time since you had a good night's rest, and now you were thankful that Arthur lended you his cot for the night.

You cracked your tired eyes open, letting them adjust to the morning sunlight that was now beginning to peek through the tent. Most of everyone in the camp seemed to be up and about already, including Arthur. You sat up on the cot, alone in his tent, rubbing the sleep away from your weary eyes.

After a moment, there was a sound of a throat clearing as you brought your eyes up to the entrance of the tent. Arthur was standing there with two tin cups in his hands, the steam rising up from them gently.

"Mornin'." His lips pulled into a small smile as he stepped forward, offering one of the cups to you. "Figured you might want some coffee."

You nodded silently with a small smile as you took it from his hand. He took a seat across from you in an old wooden chair as he reached down into the breast pocket of the blue button down shirt he was wearing to pull out a pack of cigarettes. He poked one of the hand rolled tobacco cylinders between his lips, swiping a match across the bottom of his boot to light it. You caught yourself sneaking a few peeks at the quiet man as you sipped the hot coffee. The warmth of the tincup on your hands felt comforting on this chilly, spring morning.

You weren't able to get the best look of him lastnight, so seeing him in this early morning light was almost as if you were meeting him all over again. You had to admit that he was a very striking gentleman. He was tall and lean, but he had no shortage of muscles from what you were able to see. He had a fair amount of stubble on his chin, and his hair was almost past his neck. You knew it was wrong to stare, but you couldn't help yourself.

But your admiration for his good looks were cut short once he glanced over to catch you staring at him. You quickly averted your eyes back down your cup of coffee, clearing your throat as you took another quick sip of the hot liquid.

"So, how long have you and your group been here?" You asked, breaking the silence.

"'Bout three weeks, give or take," he said, taking a puff of his cigarette. "Some times we move 'round so much, it can get hard to keep track."

"Travellers, huh?" You asked, jokingly. It wasnt much of a surprise to you what they were doing.

You had travelled with enough outlaws and gunslingers in your time to know what a group of them looked like.

He chuckled, seeming to find amusement in the question. He gave a small shrug, "Yeah, I reckon you could say somethin' like'at."

There was silence for a moment before you finally spoke up again, "how long are y'all sticking around here for?"

"Ehh, probably 'til we get ourselves in trouble," he said honestly. He looked up at you, his piercing blue eyes looking directly at you, as if he could see into your very soul, "How long ya stickin' 'round, miss?"

Your breathe hitched just the slightest when he looked at you, but you were able to shake it off fairly quickly, even if you did stammer on your words just a tad.

"I -I," you trailed off, letting out a breathy chuckle.

You knew you were being silly, and you knew that there really was no need for you to get yourself all flustered, you wouldn't know him long enough to have a reason to. You took a small breath and composed yourself. Arthur waited patiently, seeming to not mind that you were coming off as a right fool, but he probably chalked it up to you being a little nervous after your ordeal lastnight.

"I'll probably be heading out as soon as I get a horse. I figured I'd go out today and see if I can rope me a wild one," you finally finished.

He gave a small nod as he took the last drag off of his cigarette. "Well, I can give you a hand with'at, if ya'd like. Breakin' horses ain't no easy business."

You smiled warmly at him, "I would like that, Mr. Morgan. Thank you."

Later on that morning, you were over by the small makeshift pasture that the camp had to help Arthur get his filly, Athena, saddled up to go. It was a rather quiet morning and you could hear the low humming of voices and talking in the background again as you stood there with Arthur. For what it was worth, this was a rather nice place, and the company you were keeping for the time being wasn't so bad either.

You had already spoken to a few other of the camp members this morning, and most of them were pleasant. Hosea, Lenny, Charles, and Sadie had all introduced themselves when you came out of Arthur's tent. You were even able to get a spare change of clothes from one of the camp women whom said her name was Ms. Grimshaw.

But every place has somehing, or someone, that made everyone miserable and you'd come to find that out way sooner than you had liked.

"Athena, huh?" You hummed at Arthur. "Wouldn't've thought of you as a greek mythology buff, Mr. Morgan."

He scoffed back gruffly as he ran a corse brush over the filly's neck. "No, I reckon most wouldn't. Can't say I'm an expert, but I've done some readin' on them old Gods. Figured a strong horse like this needed a strong name."

"She is a fine animal," you nodded in agreeance, patting the horse on her side.

You weren't much for small talk with most people, but with this man, you genuinely were interested in what he had to say. He didn't didn't seem like the average man who had a whole lot of nothing to talk about. This man was intelligent and kind, which was a rare combination, especially in this neck of the woods.

The conversation was cut short when a long-haired man with a permanent scowl and look that practically screamed he was untrustworthy approached the both you.

"Now Morgan, I know you aren't tryin' to keep our house guest all to yourself," the man taunted.

You could instantly see Arthur's body go tense and stiff when he heard the man's voice sound beside him. His jaw went tight, and you could see the blank stare on his face as you watched his cheeks flair beneath his growing beard as he turned towards the voice.

He gritted down on his teeth with an exaspertlated sigh. "Watchu want, Micah?"

"Oh nothin'," the man held his hands up. His eyes were narrowed and it reminded you of the way a wolf looked when it was stalking it's prey. "I just want to introduce myself to our guest is all."

You looked up at the man with caution as he finally turned to you, holding his hand out for you to take it, and reluctantly, you did. Something seemed very off with this man, and he gave you the goddamn creeps.

"Name's Micah Bell, at your service," he smiled, bowing his head to you, slightly.

"(Y/N)(Y/L/N)." You answered back, forcing yourself to usher as smile through your lips that were pulled tightly into a firm line.

"See, that's how ya communicate, Morgan," Micah gave a smug sounding chuckle.

"There anyhin' in particular you wan't, Micah? 'Less it's orders from Durch, we don't have any business here," Arthur snapped at him. He was clearly pestered by him from the moment he slithered up to the both of you like a rattlesnake.

"Well, fine then," Micah answered. He turned to you, tipping his hat, "lovely to meet you, miss (Y/L/N)."

"Of course," you said, trying to be polite.

Once he walked off and made his way out of sight, Arthur seem to tense up just a little less.

"I take it he's not the camp favorite?" you inquired.

He hummed and nodded. "Sure as shit ain't my favorite. Pigeon-livered sonuvabitch's been ridin' with us for months now. One problem after 'nother. Don't trust him far as I could throw him, which ain't very,"

You shook your head, biting your lip as you tried to hold back the small laugh trying to escape your throat at his comment.

"Find that funny, do ya?" One corner of his lip tugged into half a smirk.

You shook your head, "I do apologize. But I see what you mean, the man seems insufferable."

"He's about as pleasant to be around as a horse with the colic." He shook his head, turning to you, "But enuff'a that. You ready to ride?"

You nodded, "Sure am."

He hopped up onto the filly, holding his hand out for you to take as helped lift you up onto her back with ease.

"Alright, let's go find you a horse," he said, giving Athena a slight tap with his feet, making her move forward.

You and Arthur stood on a small cliff that overlooked the plains. It was a beautiful sight with a clear view of the landscape and the towering mountains in the background. Arthur scanned the area with a pair of binoculars, waiting on a herd of horses to make an appearance.

"So, where ya headed next?" Arthur asked, lowering the binoculars.

You sighed, "I'm not really sure. I've usually just take a train and wherever it stops, that's where I am for a while. But, I figured if I get a horse, I'll just make my own way."

"Sounds like you live quite the adventurous life, miss (Y/L/N)," he remarked, cutting his eyes to you.

You rolled your eyes playfully, "Please, just call me (Y/N)."

"A'right then, (Y/N)," he said in that gravelly tone of his.

You'd be a liar if you said that his tone of voice, or, the man himself in general didn't make you weak in the knees, because he surely did.

"Ah, gotcha," he spoke quickly to himself, pulling the binoculars back up to his face. "We've got a heard of four. Hard to to say what the breeds are. Look like Standardbreds to me."

You walked stepped closer to him to take a look in the direction that he pointed out. You hadn't even noticed that you were damn near brushing up again him until he finally lowered the binoculars down for you to take a look. You could feel your face flush red as you took a step back from him, taking the binoculars from his hand. He must have noticed how close you were to him as well when he cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Jus' take a look there. See which one you like," he said, pointing towards them.

You brought the binoculars up to your own face to get a better look. "Yeah, I'm willing to bet those are Standardbreds."

You looked over the heard for a moment, and the one that ended up catching your eye the most was a beautiful, solid black stallion.

"That black stallion," you said confidently. "That's the one."

Arthur sighed a tad, "Sure a stallion ain't gonna be too much for ya?"

Your narrowed your eyes at him slightly as you clocked your head to look at him.

He put his hands up in defense, with an impressed smile, "Okay, okay. C'mon, let's go get 'em."

The two of you mounted Arthur's horse once more, and the two of you took off on the trail that led down from the cliff as the horses came closer into view.

"Grab my lasso, will ya!" Arthur called back to you.

"No need," you said, "Ride up along side the black one."

Even with only one side of his face visible, you could tell this cowboy was questioning what the hell you were even talking about right now.

"Whatchu mean, girl?" He asked, sounding half impressed and half concerned.

"Just do it, Arthur," you called back. "Don't worry, I've done this plenty of times."

He shook his head at you and tapped his heels against the filly's sides again, making her speed up from a gallop to a sprint, until you were right on top of the herd. You could hear the neighing and snorts of the wild stallions and fillies as they darted off in the other direction, trying to put as much distance in between you and them as possible, but it didn't take Athena long to catch up to the black stallion that you had your eyes on. As Arthur guided Athena up beside the wild equine, you threw one of your legs up onto the saddle, hanging tightly onto Arthur's vest as you readied yourself to jump onto the spooked horse's back.

"Ya gonna get yourself killed, woman!" Arthur barked as he swung his head back around to you.

You flashed him a determined smile, "We're all gonna die sometime, Mr. Morgan."

You leapt from Athena to the black stallion as it ran parallel to you. You landed on it's back with an audible thud, you quickly tightened your legs around it's abdomen as tangled your fingers tightly into it's mane as you felt the first few shockwaves of it's bucking as it's gallop faltered and it began to slow down, moving more erratically in circles to try to get you off of it's back. The horse reared up, snorting angrily at you, stomping it's feet aggressively on the ground while kicking it's back feet outward. You did your best to hang on as it slung you around like a ragdoll, giving you more than. a few close calls. But you had your grip locked in tight on it and you knew not to let go for any reason.

Arthur's horse galloped in circles around you with his lasso at the ready as he watched in pure shock and amazement at what he was witnessing you do at this moment. He surely hadn't expected anything like this from you. He had never even known many men to be as bold as this this bold. The only other woman he had seen show fearlessness was Mrs. Adler.

"You crazy woman," he breathed. He was saying it more so to himself than he watched you, his lips parted as he watched you in amazement.

After a few more hard bucks and still failing to throw you off, the stallion slowed up his erratic movements to a few odd rears and kicks here and there as a last ditch effort, until it finally decided to give up all together as it snorted and threw it's head back a few more times. You finally loosened your grip on him enough to fit comfortably atop his back once you felt it was settled down enough. The adrenaline was still coursing through you as you sat there, letting yourself breathe. You gave the stallion a firm pat on the neck.

"Good boy," you praised.

"I think ya might be one'uh the craziest women I've ever met," Arthur's voice broke through the silence.

You were so caught up in what you were doing, you forgotten that he was there watching all of this.

You sighed, guiding the horse over to him, "Perhaps a little."

"So, what'dya do anyway? After last night an' today, I'm guessin' you ain't a church girl," he said bluntly, turning his head curiously at you.

You shook your head, the two of you headed back towards camp at a leisurely pace. "You'd be right about that. I feel like me an' you are probably in the same type of business, Mr. Morgan," you admitted, giving him a knowing glance.

He raised a curious eyebrow, "An' what kind of business might that be?"

"I know a group of gunslingers when I see them. Wouldn't consider myself much of a gunslinger, but you did see me rob a man lastnight," you said, shrugging.

Arthur nodded in agreement. He made no effort to try an deny what you already knew. "Yeah, well, that was deserved on that bastard's part. We do the best we can. We try to live as right as we can. We were all just'a bunch of misfits 'til Dutch found us. We're family more than anythin'."

"He definitely struck me as the leader. How's he likin' that pocketwatch?" you asked Arthur, jokingly.

"Safe to say, I think ya made yourself a friend for life on that'un. Ya know, he was askin' me this mornin' if you're plannin' on stickin' 'round camp," Arthur said, turning his head towards you, waiting for a response.

He said it as if he too wanted to know the answer to that. You couldn't help but smile, surprised by this revelation that Dutch had more or less given you his blessing to stay if you wanted to, and the fact that Arthur himself didn't seem to mind.

"I'd hate to impose on anyone, Arthur."

"Hell, who'd you be imposin' on, darlin?" He retorted.

You could feel yourself go flush again at his words. Hearing him call you darlin' had instantly lit a fire inside of you with an intensity that you weren't even aware that you were capable of experiencing. Your thoughts started to go hazy, and you began to wonder what real harm would come from staying just a little while longer with the group. They all seemed nice enough, except Micah, but you weren't too much worried about him, and you had to admit that Arthur livened up the place, and he definitely sweetened the deal when it came to you sticking around these parts.

You glanced over to Arthur, whose blue eyes met yours at an instant. You could feel the chills running down your spine anytime he looked at you directly like this. He looked as if he had a small smile on his face, like he already knew exactly what your answer to him would be.

You bit your lip absentmindedly as you stared at the handsome cowboy before you. "Maybe I can stay a few more days, if you wouldn't mind having me."

"I wouldn't. It'd be a pleasure, ma'am." He tipped his hat to you as his eyes lingered on yours for a moment more.

Maybe spending some extra time around here wouldn't be so bad after all.

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