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red-dead-scribbles-ff · 3 years ago

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Drunken Flirtations

A/N: This is my first reader insert fic ever. I am terrified but curious to try my hand at it. I'd appreciate any feedback if it's any good 👉👈 This fic was inspired by @scarfacemarston's drunk Arthur audio post 😬

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader

Warnings: Essentially none? Fluff, flirtation, mild swearing, etc. Partially proof read

Summary: Arthur is drunk, and some drunken flirtation ensues between the two of you

It had been a good day. You and the Gang had settled outside a new town and plans to start working the settlement were underway. It had been a week on the road looking for a suitable campsite, and now that you all had finally settled, everyone was eagerly getting to know the town and opportunities available.

You hadn’t had a chance to see the town in the light of the day, but here now, late in the evening, it seemed as lively as any town would be if it had a saloon. Which this one did.

Tying your horse to a hitch post outside the building, you looked around as you gave your steed some well-deserved attention in the form of pats. Your eyes jumped from one man to the other, looking for the boys before you looked over your shoulder across the street. Your eyes found a familiar looking one standing next to a woman, and after a few seconds you deduced what you were seeing and smiled before shaking your head.

You head up the stairs to the saloon before walking in, searching for the other one.

When it became evident that John and Arthur weren’t coming back from drinking a little after sunset, Hosea had asked if you’d run into town just to make sure the boys were in fact- there. And not in the jail yet. You’d happily obliged and ridden out after grabbing a meal.

Your eyes gaze across the room of the saloon as you jump from head to head of countless men around you, before your eyes land on a head of familiar light brown hair and the dark leather hat he always had on him.

You’d known John and Arthur for a number of years now. Aside from the greetings and casual small talk that happened on occasion, you usually didn’t converse with either of them beyond that. Sometimes, however, Arthur would chat with you in the evenings if no one else was at the fire. You appreciated those talks. He was a busy man- Dutch’s right hand man. You had your uses on jobs, sure, but you were in no way as vital to the workings of the Gang as he was. The one time you had mentioned that outloud, Arthur had been quick to disagree with you. He’d said they were lucky to have you, before proceeding to shower you with compliments for the next several minutes. The fact eventually made him fluster when he felt he’d gone a little overboard and excused himself.

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been a little sweet on Arthur from then on. He was a handsome man. You couldn’t deny it. Hell- you’d never deny it. The other girls agreed he was quite charming. He himself didn’t seem to think so; he was humble in that way- but at times he seemed a little self-loathing, which you didn’t understand in the slightest.

Out of everyone in camp, he was the sweetest. Most of the Gang was a little rough around the edges. Arthur was no exception, but he had a softside he, more often than not, wore on his sleeve. At least around you.

When the man turned his head, revealing the familiar side-profile, he essentially confirmed your suspicions that it was him, and you began heading across the room and to the bar.

Since you started to see him in a different light, you’d caught yourself looking forward to interactions with him. Those “interactions” however, were embarrassing more often than not thanks to your smoothness when flustered.

Like that one time he caught you staring at him. You were washing clothes, looking for a way to occupy your mind as your hands were busy when you looked up and caught sight of the man across camp. Your actions came to a slow stop without you realizing. He was playing poker with Dutch, Susan and Pearson when he looked up from his cards and around the table. Between Susan and Dutch, he met your eyes. It took you a horrifying ten or so seconds for you to not only realize you were staring, but he’d caught you staring. He’d given you a sweet smile and even a little wave with his free hand. Your face felt like it could spontaneously combust into flames as you tried to play it off and give him a little wave back before you went back to scrubbing the life out of the piece of clothing in the wash bin.

You place your hand on Arthur’s shoulder and let it slide down his upper arm briefly as you stop at the bar to his left.

He seemed surprised by the contact and swayed around quite quickly to meet your eyes, a lightness flickered in his eyes with recognition.

“Hey!” His greeting came out quite loud and you couldn’t help but smile at his whole hearted greeting as he leaned on the counter.

“Havin fun?” You ask, voice much quieter than his as you watch him. He was downing the rest of his drink, leaning back as he did so as to not waste any of it.

“Ye-ep,” He hiccuped before turning to you as he tried to catch the dribble of alcohol on his chin with his sleeve. “Waitin on Marston. He said he’d be right back,” He looked over his shoulder towards the opposite side of the room before turning back to the bar. “Thinkin… I think I should go look for him.” Arthur grumbled as he got another drink.

“I’m sure he’s around.” You chuckle gently as you watch him. Had you not seen John trying to talk up a girl across the street from the saloon, you’d probably have offered to go look for the man. “I’m sure he’s having his own fun. Saw him with a girl outside.”

“Figures… Bastard’s always been a ladies man.” Arthur laughed as he lowered his drink.

“Ladies man?” You laugh before leaning your forearms on the bar. “I don’t know about that. I think that requires him to be successful more than not with the ladies… Shamelessly confident? Maybe.” You shrug and can’t help but smile when he laughs.

“Y’know… I think- I think you’re right.” He nods as he mimics your posture and leans over the bar, one hand holding his drink. He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again, looking over at you quietly.

“Mm- I’m seein a few of you, darlin.”

Darlin.

The term made you struggle not to smile as you met his eyes.

“A few of me?” You repeat with a chuckle.

“Yeah there’s a few of you in front of me,” He breathed before chuckling deep in his chest, his eyes meeting yours before jumping to the right and left of you. “I ain’t complainin though.”

“You’re a little drunk right now, aren’t you?” You laugh as you look into his eyes, seeing a subtle lack of awareness but also a giddy innocence that fills you with delight.

“Yer drunk!” He pushes back with half-lidded eyes as he blinks slowly, swaying against the counter.

“Me!?” You laugh as he positioned himself to still lean against the bar, but still face you. “I’ll let you know, I haven’t had a drop of anything tonight, mister. In fact I’ve been sent to collect you if need be.” You inform him.

“Y-y’got that- glint in yer eye.” His eyes narrow and he grins in a way that makes your stomach flip, forcing you to look away for a moment.

“Do I?” You shake your head in amusement and lean over the counter once more, watching the bartender for a time before you chance meeting Arthur’s gaze once again when you process his words further. “Wait- glint? What glint?” You were genuinely curious. Was this drunk talk or was there something he was actually referring to?

“Yep.”

Your brow knits as you play over his words.

“Explain.” You press lightly.

“That glint-” He points at you with his bottle in hand. “Pretty girl like you- stalkin around in here,” He gestures around the room. “These men are gonna need to watch their wallets.”

You try to hide your smile at his words. He’d called you pretty before, but it never failed to send butterflies rampant in your stomach.

Wait-

You process his full statement. “I- Arthur” You stutter, heat rising in your cheeks as you quickly look at the bartender who is now eyeing you with an eyebrow raised. “Arthur- that is not-”

“You’ll rob em blind!” He continues.

“Arthur-” You seeth and playfully knock his arm with your knuckles. “You’re making a scene!” You whisper, trying to hide your chuckle.

“S’the truth.” He gestures to you once again with his bottle in hand and looks to the bartender. “Hey- Ain’t she pretty?”

“Arthur-” You breathe, covering your mouth partially to hide your laugh but also inability to stop yourself from smiling. He was drunk. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t completely tickled by him right now.

“She’s quite a lady, sir.” The bartender amused him with a response but didn’t linger on Arthur for long as he continued getting drinks together.

“Too pretty for a f-fool like me, tha’s for damn sure.” There was a partial slur to his words as he stood up straight and leaned his side against the counter.

“Wha- Arthur!” You exclaim loud enough to catch his attention. “Too pretty for you?”

“Yes ma’am,” He nods with sincerity before settling his bottle down on the counter.

“First of all, that is not true.” You make it clear. “Where did you get an idea like that, sir?” You playfully poke his arm.

“S’just true, y/n! I dunno what t’tell ya,” He shrugs before nodding as he gazes off across the room with only partial awareness seemingly in his eyes.

“But- according to whom, Arthur?” You question.

“S’true,” He sighs, seemingly lost in his own little world.

“My god, you’re adorable.” You mutter the words quietly as you watch him with warmth in your eyes.

“What?”

“I said you’re incorrigible.” You sputter out with wide eyes before quickly clearing your throat.

“Oohhhh, ok. Got some big words there m’lady!” The sassiness of the statement almost made you choke as you muffled your laughter into your hands.

“Arthur-”

“You think differently?” He questions.

“As a matter of fact, I do!” You bite back as you playfully turn up your chin. “Maybe you’re too pretty for me!” You offer before taking his drink from his hand to take a sip of it. Your statement caught him off guard enough for you to do as such before you returned the bottle to his grasp, patting his hand before retreating to your previous spot with your arms on the edge of the bar.

“I’m too pretty for you?” He slowly repeated in a low grumble as he turned to eye you with a raised eyebrow.

You nodded and hummed as you faced him and waited. It was quiet for several seconds before he burst into a fit of laughter and you couldn’t help but smile as he did so.

“S’a good one!” He wiped at his eye as he nodded and leaned onto the counter again. He sighed. “That’s a good one… Too pretty for you.” He shook his head and laughed lowly under his breath before raising the bottle to his lips.

“Don’t believe me?” You press as you lean over the counter closer to him.

“You bein serious?” He seemed almost sober as he spoke, and you weren’t sure if you should continue to press, but he seemed to be enjoying himself.

You watched him for a moment, catching the subtle sway as he attempted to keep his balance.

“Of course I’m being serious.” You playfully scoff. “You obviously haven’t noticed all the girls eyeing you like a piece of candy.” You point at him and then around where you knew some of the ladies were about the room.

He didn’t look away from you as you did so, in fact he seemed more fixated on you the further you spoke.

“I’ve been here all but five minutes and I’ve noticed that every girl here wouldn’t mind a piece of you.”

“Every girl in here, huh? You think so?” He raised an eyebrow.

Now he was just trying to get a rise outta you. He was enjoying this. Handsome bastard.

“I know so, cowboy.”

“Well, if you’re so sure,” He turned to face you, his right arm leaning on the bar as he watched you for a moment. The change in posture caught your attention rather quickly. “Can I steal a kiss then, darlin?”

You stopped, eyeing him with a now slacken jaw as the heat rose into your cheeks.

“Huh?”

“You said every girl in here didn’t ya?” He smirked.

“I did.”

“Doesn’t that include you?”

“I- oh you smooth bastard,” You breathe as you narrowed your eyes, causing him to grin further in victory.

Arthur was always a gentleman. For as long as you’d known him, he was a relatively reserved man. He’d give you compliments here and there - always of good taste. You’d be lying if you said his compliments, as rare as they were, didn’t make you fluster as you’d trip over your ‘thank you’s.

But this? This was a first. He really must be completely wasted. You’d seen him drunk before. Usually he was just a bit more outgoing than normal, and now that you recall… more confident with the ladies, but still reserved. You’d be crazy not to play along with this. As much as you wanted a kiss, your instincts told you he was all talk right now anyway.

Feeling the flickers of an idea start to spark in the back of your mind, and with a sudden wave of confidence you weren’t ready to let pass you by, you let your lips come together before you smiled.

“Ok.” You hum before turning to face him better as you lean one elbow on the bar to mirror his stance, chin raising. “Lay one on me, Mr. Morgan.” You bat your eyelashes innocently and flashed him a smile.

The seconds tick by as you watch his face and wait quietly as the confidence begins falling from his face and is slowly replaced with confusion and surprise. His innocently wide eyes and slightly parted lips made a warmth blossom in the pit of your stomach.

Completely taken aback by your acceptance to his request, he seemed to be at a complete loss for how to react and stood there quietly, one hand still on his drink while the other gripped his belt buckle. His stance and posture exuded confidence and capability. Something that would intimidate most men and make a few ladies swoon. But his expression? It was that of a confused puppy, and it made your heart swell.

His eyes finally narrowed and he pulled his lips into a thin line before holding his beer closer.

“This’s a trick ain’t it?” He grumbled under his breath before turning further towards the bar and away from you after a moment’s hesitation.

You gasp, mostly out of amusement to his response but the littlest part of you was offended. “Mr. Morgan, I would never!” You lean further over the bar to catch his eyes once more but he refuses to meet yours as he lifts his drink. You narrow your own eyes before smirking.

“You chicken?”

“Wha- I ain’t chicken!” He sputters through his drink as he looks at you incredulously while you grin madly. You just called his bluff.

“Then kiss me, cowboy! I’m waitin!” You place a hand on your hip while tilting your head.

His expression scrunched up like that of a frustrated youngin before he looked at the bar again with a subtle pout.

You attempt to hide your smile until your cheeks hurt.

“Yer making fun of me.”

“Arthur- I’d never,” You chuckle softly at his sudden change in behavior. You lean over the counter again to get him to meet your eyes as you give him a gentle smile. He didn’t meet your gaze, despite the amount of time you allotted him the opportunity, as he swirled the bottom rim of his drink on the bar counter.

It seemed even when completely drunk, he still held those self-doubting views of himself. It broke your heart a little that he thought you were making fun of him, or trying to play him. If you were even capable of shamelessly admitting it to yourself - You’d pay money to kiss the man.

“Well, I’ll tell you what. If you insist on not taking it right now, my offer will still remain,” You sigh before standing up straight.

Only a couple of seconds passed before you smile and returned to your spot next to him at the bar.

“Mind if I steal a kiss from you then, cowboy?” You ask.

“M-what?” He grumbles as he chanced a look at you. You couldn’t tell if he was surprised or if he just hadn’t heard you.

“A kiss,” You repeat. “Can’t a girl steal a kiss from a handsome cowboy like yerself?”

He eyes you quietly for several seconds. The same, innocently confused expression on his face before his brow knits and he seems to think over your request. You smile as you wait.

“I….” He grumbles under his breath before giving a hard shrug. “I guess,” He mumbles quietly, seemingly unsure about your intentions as he looks at you again.

Lord above- he’s adorable.

You bite your lip as you try to suppress just how wide your grin was, before you collected your composure and cleared your throat.

Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his scruffy cheek, giving him a short and sweet peck before returning to your previous stance at the counter.

You watched as his ears and cheeks burned bright red and he looked down into his drink quickly. It wasn’t long before he began to smile, his spare hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck where the redness had also creeped down.

“I think you’ve had enough a’that stuff,” You gesture to the bottle in his hand.

“What’d you mean?” He laughs quietly before glancing into the empty bottle he was holding. “I’m… perfectly fine.” He responds. “I am now at least,” His hand briefly touched his cheek before he quickly lowered it to his lap and looked away.

The fact that he was so flustered from your actions only made you feel more confident about your feelings towards the man. Then again- he was drunk. So it wasn’t much to go by. You’d treasure the memory all the same regardless of what happened when he sobered up.

“Lemme take you home.” You offer. “We’ll snatch John on the way.”

Arthur sighed quietly and seemed to contemplate your words before he pushed off the counter. You toss a couple coins onto the counter for the drinks before directing the man out of the saloon.

THE NEXT DAY…

You hummed quietly as you pushed the needle through the fabrics in your lap, sealing up a small tear in one of the boy’s clothing. It was a brisk morning, and the fire was providing a nice flush of warmth when the breeze blew on occasion.

Pulling the needle through, you continued with the pattern as the minutes ticked by. Everyone came by at varying times, grabbing a cup of coffee from the percolator that was sitting on the ashes before leaving. That is until one of them didn’t leave.

When you see the shadow settle down on the log across from you, you look up to see Arthur quietly cradling his head, a cup of coffee in the other.

“Mr. Morgan,” You great with a small chuckle.

“Y/N” He responds quietly.

“Nasty hangover there?”

“You could say that,” He chuckled and nodded before taking a sip of the beverage.

You both sat in silence for a few minutes as he sipped his coffee and you continued to sew the patch onto the article of clothing. It took a while before you felt the atmosphere shift, and it wasn’t until you looked up that you realized what it was that had changed. Arthur was staring at you, his eyes slightly narrowed.

You met his eyes and remained quiet for a time before giving him a small smile to try and break the ice. The look was sending a subtle nervousness through you. Was he thinking about last night? Was he upset with you?

“Mr. Morgan?” You try.

His eyes seemed to further focus on you, and they subtly widened before he cleared his throat and looked away.

“Sorry... Sorry, y/n.” He spoke under his breath before running his hand over the back of his hand. “Mind if I ask you somethin?”

You pause your actions and nod quietly.

“Did uh… Anything- happen? Last night?”

“Last night,” You state.

“Yeah.”

“Anything…”

“... Yeah.” He says slowly.

You let the events of last night run through your head quickly before you smiled and shook your head. You didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable or embarrassed. At least not as much as you did right now.

“No, not that I can recall.” You look back down and try to continue with the patching.

“You’re sure?” He furthered.

“Mm hm,” You hum quietly, unaware that you were pulling the needle through quicker and pushing it back through the fabric in quick succession.

“So… Nothing about promising me a kiss last night comes to mind?”

“Ah-” You jerk your hand backwards as you pluck your thumb with the needle accidentally and look around the ground quickly.

“You don’t remember that.” The words tumble out as you curse under your breath.

“What?”

“What!?” You laugh nervously as you meet his eyes before shaking your hand out. You caught the way he had begun to smile at your apparent nerves before he lifted his cup to his lips and took a long drink of the beverage.

“Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t dreaming that last night.”

“I didn’t say-” You think over your options. Your own nerves made you unsure which you wished for. “I mean it was- didn’t-”

“Are you… Saying it didn’t happen?” He raised an eyebrow, cup hesitantly lowering from his lips.

“No it did!” You confirm his suspicions as you try to fight the feeling of the heat rising into your cheeks. “... It did,” You further quietly as you looked down.

“Ok good… I’m gonna hold you to that promise, darlin.”

You look up, lips parting as a response fails to come to you, and you meet his eyes and the accompanying smirk on his face from over his cup.

“Arthur,” Dutch calls across camp. “I need you over here for a minute.”

“Coming Dutch.” Arthur calls back before sighing as he gets to his feet. “We’ll talk later?” He offers the question to you and you watch him quietly, yet another response failing to come to you as you pull together your ability to nod.

“Yeah, talk later.” You finally get out before smiling.

He gives you a priceless smile and tips his hat before walking away.

You watch him for a moment as you replay the last ten seconds before taking a deep breath.

The clearing of someone’s throat draws your attention back to the fire as you meet Karen’s eyes who was now standing in front of the percolator with her own cup and a huge grin on her face.

Stepping around the fire, she took a seat next to you and pulled the fabrics from your lap and set them aside.

“Details, girl. Now.”

*Comes out of hiding* Was it okay? Absolute train wreck? Let me know please lol 👉👈

I might think about opening requests for stuff like this if I get any positive feedback since my other writings get zero traffic lol. Gotta go where the readers are I guess! Feedback appreciated 💗

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x f!reader #arthur morgan x fem!reader #arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur #van der linde gang #red dead redemption 2 #red dead 2 #my rdr2 scribbles

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curmudggeon · 3 years ago

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Southern Hope (Arthur Morgan x Female Reader)

❝ If by any chance...in another lifetime, we happen to see each other again, I'll come and find you. And I'll make you fall in love with me, over and over again ❞

In which romance novelist, Mary-Beth under the pen name of Leslie Dupont, writes a coming of age love story based on her favourite gang members in the past, You and Arthur.

Trigger Warnings; Violence | Blood | Angst | Sexual Intentions

A/N: This is a project I've been working on for quite a while. I had the idea in mind when I had the chance to experience the musical composition of Aaron Copland's quintessential American Dream, 'Appalachian Spring' -one of my favourite pieces with such a beautiful storyline. And I wanted to retell it in the form of a book that is available on my Wattpad (ongoing) for you to enjoy from Mary-Beth's POV. I hope you show love to this book as much as I loved writing it. Have a sneak peek at the prologue!

Read on Wattpad here for more chapters to come!

PROLOGUE

Leslie Dupont; Mary-Beth Gaskill

Lemoyne, Saint Denis

November 1907

“Mademoiselle Dupont, we expect your next manuscript to be submitted by next summer. Now is not the time to be reminiscing.”

Here we go again

Mary-Beth sighed as her editor, Céline Laurent, had warned her once more for not meeting the deadline to her books. She was in a crucial position in her life. After her debut as a romance novelist, The Lady of The Manor was an instant best-seller across the country. It was the kind of thing she specializes in, silly ol’ romances.

“I promise you, I’ll get it done by then.” Or maybe, at least not for now. She shouldn't have promised something she couldn’t keep, especially in the meantime.

“I’ll take your word for that, if you don’t meet the deadline by then. Y’know what will happen to your contract, Leslie.” Céline stood at the door frame of Mary-Beth’s office with hands on her hips and raised eyebrows.

She knew exactly what she had meant. In fact, she knew the consequences on the back of her head when she first signed that contract with her publishing company. Two more books were requested of her. Or else she would be evicted of her apartment and be forced to live along the streets of Saint Denis for the rest of her life. A life of luxury slipping between her fingers.

“Yes, ma’am,” Mary-Beth disclaimed, the moment her editor slammed the door as she left her office. Heaving yet another exaggerated sigh, she crosses her arms on the grand rosewood desk, flopping her head on top of it. “What am I going to do now…” She murmured into the crevice of her arms.

Mary-Beth was in the middle of a major writer’s block for a few months now. She lost sight of that imaginative space of hers, consisting of the most swoon-worthy romances to the picture-perfect life she portrayed through her characters. A part of Mary-Beth that her readers absolutely adored. But, her head was now a clouded space of everlasting void. It was difficult for Mary-Beth to come into terms of writing again, but she couldn’t quite identify what had put her into this position.

Once she gathered the courage to write again, it all came crashing down like violent tidal waves when she came face to the daunting blank page of nothingness —almost drowning her.

It was as simple as that. Come to work, have a cup of tea, sit down, and a blank page.

Every. Damn. Time.

Maybe it was because she was already nearing her mid-thirties, and she hasn’t found someone to sweep her off her feet. Maybe it was when she first held Tilly’s baby that she found the need to be a mother someday. Maybe it was the overwhelming response towards her writing, she felt the need to hide away into an abyss. Or maybe she couldn’t stop thinking about the time she had come across John again after so many years that the memories just come flooding back.

Or maybe, just, maybe. It was because it’s November.

The most dreaded time of the year. November, in which the seemingly fearsome Van der Linde gang had officially broken up. Guns were fired, ties were broken and deaths were grieved. An unforgettable, painful memory.

She would often think about campfire songs, the girls and, Miss Grimshaw’s constant nagging about undone chores. Oh, how best of friends Céline and Miss Grimshaw would have been if she had heard Mary-Beth had been slacking again. It was her coping mechanism, think more about the good times to get rid of the bad ones.

Mary-Beth remembered when she took in her hands at being a matchmaker. Prancing around the camp, she would eye her two best contenders. You and Arthur.

She knew from the start when you had laid your eyes on each other for the first time, she could see through the inexplicable connection in between. You were both extremely awkward when it came to small-talk or addressing each other as you walked by across camp. However, it never stopped Arthur to come to camp as soon as he could just so he could see you, even just for a second.

The conversation would often start with Arthur while on his way to Dutch’s tent,

“Hey,”

“Hey.”

“I’ll leave you to it then.”

“Yea sure…”

—and that would be it.

At the same time, every single day, at the course of sunset.

You poor socially inept fools.

Mary-Beth, Tilly, and Karen would always see the interaction happen in the middle of their afternoon chores. Grinning from ear to ear. They would elbow each other whenever there was something different about the correspondence.

One time, you would walk past him, suddenly kissing him on the cheek and scurrying away.

Arthur would stop in his tracks, stunned, with a hand-over where your kiss tingled on his skin. Then he would look back at you as you laid down, smiling to yourself against a tree with a book in your hands. And Dutch would yell his name, knocking him out of his stupor before he noticed he was staring for a little too long.

The girls would start applauding for your heroic performance, it was like a groundbreaking plot twist Mary-Beth couldn’t wait to write about when the idea came into mind.

The both of you were like a walking excruciating slow, slow-burn romance novel. That was when Mary-Beth would cue in her entrance as matchmaker as soon as the interaction slowly died down. Your story had to have a happily ever after in her book.

She would pester you and Arthur separately, mentioning each other’s names and slipping in hints of romantic intentions from the other side so the both of you can address whatever this relationship was.

Mary-Beth knew it was a mission accomplished the night Sean was rescued back to Horseshoe Overlook. When she stood aside of the camp watching Dutch and Molly ballroom dancing into the moonlight, she caught a glimpse of you and Arthur behind them. Running into the woods, hand in hand, giggling to yourselves like prepubescent teenagers.

After that night, it was a considered job well done when your chance encounters slowly turned into planned ones. He would take you on dates, and you would show him affection like nobody’s business. A perfect couple, your American dream.

Until it became a nightmare.

And Arthur had passed,

your Arthur.

Ever since then, Mary-Beth wondered what had happened to you. Were you still alive after all these years? She couldn’t imagine how hard you must be coping with the news. Or what if you didn’t know at all? Even when she asked John and Tilly, they said you disappeared that night he passed.

Not even a single trace. Where were you?

Mary-Beth dismissed the thought out of her head, lifting her head away from the desk. She had to let go of these memories for her own well-being. For what seemed like yesterday were merely years ago. But it couldn’t have hurt to reminisce just a bit, for old times sake.

The story of You and Arthur was unwritten, left to collect dust from the lack of content. The perfect example of a sepia-tinted photograph, forgotten. Mary-Beth believed the both of you deserved something much more than a devastating ending. She wasn’t as ruthless as the other authors she had met that held an iron fist when killing off their characters. Mary-Beth wasn’t like that.

And the idea came to mind. She was a romance novelist for a reason; to fulfil all the possibilities for the unconditional love you shared.

And so Mary-Beth picked up her beautiful fountain pen,

She began to write on the great desk in her quiet room.

To write the most beautiful story of the century,

You and Arthur. Arthur and you.

A perfect couple. The American Dream.

A life that could have been so much more,

A life to remember…

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thepromisedbride · 4 years ago

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HELLO JESS. BBC GHOSTS ARTHURIAN AU GO (by which I mean the arthurian characters in the premise of BBC ghosts, not the other way around)

REY oh my god i love you for this here we go

So in Ghosts the alive characters are a married couple, right?? Wrong!! Well, not wrong, because yes that’s exactly what Mike and Alison are. But wrong for this version because though I seriously considered having one of the couples as the main characters I then thought “hey what’s more fun than a family!!” and luckily for us (me) we have a ready made family in the form of (drumroll please) The Orkneys!!

The rest is under a read more because I got what some might call “carried away” and others might call “obsessed”

What happens is this: as the Orkney brothers grow up, they rather naturally become separated, until at last Gareth is the last one, at seventeen, living with their mother. Their father (or at least, their supposed father: they all know that Mordred looked too dissimilar to Lot to really be his son, though they never said it) died a while ago, and Morgause could not find it in her to really focus on her children over her job.

The five of them seem to unspokenly care about each other, but in a way where it was clear that they were all waiting to be contacted first.

Nonetheless, when Morgause does die, with Gareth having just turned eighteen and seriously wondering why he had taken a gap year from university, they all show up, and find that they had jointly been bequeathed the old family house in the country.

Gawain has been recently promoted and is now working from home. This meant more time than he usually spent inside his flat, and he had been getting rather claustrophobic. So, after an admittedly short heart to heart with Gareth, who was looking quite nervously towards a future without parents and with no idea what to do, he packs up his brothers in a typically Gawain-like fashion and moves them all out to the manor.

Mordred has been able to see ghosts since an incident in his youth involving a large body of water, an ill-timed trip and a sudden storm. He hasn’t been in water since, but the near-death experience left his with the ability to see those spirits left when their bodies had departed. This is especially unfortunate for him, because half the time he doesn’t particularly want to be able to see living people, let alone ghosts who do not leave when he throws things at them. But he puts up with it enough: there is, beyond all logic, a particular cup he took from Morgause’s house when he left which somehow has three ghosts attached to it, and they happily provide a deterrent for any others.

(It does create a somewhat awkward car journey: he’s being driven by Agravaine, and between the boxes in the back and the only two seats in the front, there’s not much room even for a ghost. Aggs keeps looking at him weirdly when he fidgets, but it’s not his fault that the only free place left is his lap or that Galahad decided that he simply had to see the journey to the house rather than simply confining himself to the cup like Bors and Percival did.)

Anyway, this means that he arrives at the house and immediately sees a crowd of variously costumed figures and tries turning around and leaving. Unfortunately Agravaine anticipates some “young adult hormones” and quickly steers him straight inside.

It takes him a while to finally be alone with the ghosts, who seem to quickly realise he can see them. There are eleven of them in total, though a couple seem to spend most of their time in the little gatekeeper house rather than the main building. He immediately makes a note to avoid Dinadan, who looks at Mordred once and immediately makes fun of his choice in band t-shirts (and like, he’s a ghost, what does he know about bands, it’s like trying to talk to Gaheris—) and Lamorak is instantly relegated to Mordred’s extensive “least liked people” list, which is different to his “disliked people” list. Kay seems kind of mean, which is funny, and Bedivere is responsible enough to try and control the others, but they are clearly “not dating” which honestly Mordred has no time for.

He gets on best with Clarissant, probably, as she’s smart and not too grating but still sweet enough that she likes sitting with him when he wants to be quiet but doesn’t want to be alone. Owain, likewise, has shown him several spaces in the garden for birdwatching or other wildlife (which Mordred doesn’t particularly have used for, but he does appreciate the effort).

Owain is “not dating” a different ghost, Laudine, but in a different way than Kay and Bedivere are “not dating”, in a way that doesn’t get on Mordred’s nerves and lets him acknowledge that Laudine is kind of funny. Elaine doesn’t really talk to him: there’s a river and lake by the house and she seems to prefer it there, or else by the old tower. But she has great stories, and never minds when he really needs a vent, usually about his brothers.

It’s Palamedes and Brangaine who live (in the loosest sense of the word) in the gatekeeper’s cottage. This is very useful, because it means he can set up a little bedroom inside, though it’s mostly for storage now, and sleep there when he wants to pretend he has his own space. He has a strange nervousness that they might see him as a sort of pet, but he’s pretty sure that’s not the case.

Relatively sure.

Not that it matters. They have a clearly delicate history together, one Mordred is not about to ask after for fear that one or both will start crying, but they manage in a sort of sweet domesticity. He’s left the goblet in there for now, because Palamedes seems to enjoy Galahad, Bors and Percival’s company.

And it’s—

Nice.

And then, of course, there is Lancelot. He seems far too well meaning for Mordred to carry on any kind of maliciousness for long, except that for some godforsaken reason he has also decided that Gawain is an ideal muse. He spends way too much time following Gawain around, thinking up sappy poetry about Gawain, or else sighing blissfully out of a window (presumably over Gawain). Mordred thinks that if Lancelot were to ever be able to actually talk to Gawain (physically, he means. Or figuratively? Because even if Lancelot wasn’t a ghost he does not seem to have any cognitive abilities around Gawain anyway) then this image would be shattered. Gawain looks pretty, but so does this waterfall Mordred once read about that falls down into nothingness and despair, or the river stretch that looks like a lovely refreshing swim but actually is an fierce riptide with a 100% mortality rate. Something like that. But the point is that it’s difficult enough with Gawain constantly around without having his admirer hanging round all the time too. Gawain is insufferable already without Gaheris and Gaheris getting to add to their board of “Is Gawain Secretly (Or Not-So-Secretly) a Changeling” with ‘every time he puts something down it always seems to move just within reach when he goes to pick it up’

(If you’re wondering why there isn’t an Arthur, that is a subplot that I just suddenly decided on just now. I was going to have Arthur as a Captain-like ghost but then I was thinking and long story short there’s a tangent here—

It was Arthur’s house. He’s still Mordred’s dad, though here I guess he isn’t their uncle as well, and he left Morgause the house in his will. He heard she was pregnant, and there was a little but if him which knew he could never acknowledge his child but he still wanted to provide in some way. Arthur doesn’t have to be a bad parent.

Incidentally this also solves why the brothers didn’t really know about the house before rather than “Morgause wasn’t a big fan of the country”.)

(OH MY GOD also so Guin isn’t a ghost either bc I wanted her alive. So now she’s an important plot point. She moved into the outskirts of the nearby village because she liked the area but didn’t want to contest for a massive empty house. Anyway she’s smart and despite the problems her and her late husband went through, she does respect him for this. So eventually the Orkneys will have to go for a discovery on the house’s secrets aka there are ghosts and so they will find Guin and discover the Truth. It’s all coming together now lads)

They invite their neighbours over for dinner one night: the house needs some pretty desperate renovating, but it’s now moderately liveable at least and, according to Gawain, this requires a party.

So invite them over he does. The ones to the left, a couple named Tristan and Isolde, though Gaheris swears that when they were introduced in the village Isolde looked completely different, and the ones to the right, Morgan and Vivian. They pass a very pleasant evening, despite the fact that a fox manages to get on the roof.

No one is sure how.

Gaheris and Agravaine are charged with rescuing it, which is by far the stupidest decision Gawain has ever made. However, despite them all living together, the brothers are really not in a brilliant harmony yet, and so Gawain sends those two off whilst he entertains their guests.

The two of them are staring out the window at the fox for a while before Gaheris dares Agravaine to climb up. He doesn’t want to, but Gaheris is his little brother, and if he passes over a dare from him he’ll never hear the end of it. So he climbs out.

It’s a dry night. But it was not a dry day. And the leaves packed on all the footholds are wet and slippery, and Agravaine—

Falls—

And hits the ground, several stories below.

They’re all terrified, of course, regretting every moment they spent apart or arguing. Agravaine is declared legally dead for fourteen minutes, and it is the worst fourteen minutes of any of their lives. But finally— finally— the doctors emerge to tell them that their brother is resting, but is expected to make a full recovery.

Which he does! There are several more doctor’s appointments and physiotherapists scheduled, but eventually he can return to house. (Unsurprisingly, the arguing starts again quickly.)

There is, however, one major difference.

Agravaine can now also see the ghosts.

Mordred, having been able to see them all his life, had not considered this possibility, and thus does not prepare.

Agravaine discovers these new abilities when he walks into a room to find Mordred, pretending to be on a phone call, chatting away with Clarissant whilst Lamorak inexplicably floats nearby. He stares, screams, and blacks out.

When he comes to after a moment he is faced with a lengthy, surprisingly bored conversation with Mordred, and seriously considers blacking out again. Lamorak has not left the room despite his presence being an inevitable disaster, and Agravaine perhaps unsurprisingly decides that He is to be the newest mortal enemy in Agravaine’s list.

(Lamorak is silently gratified that he is on lists for both alive people who can see him, and chooses to ignore the reasoning behind the lists.)

Mordred has been dealing with ghosts for most of his life.

Agravaine has Not.

This means that, pretty quickly, Gawain, Gaheris and Gareth realise something is even more wrong with those two than normal.

And of course they have to come clean.

Gaheris is half convinced that the two have found his conspiracy journal and that this is an elaborate ruse to trick him into confessing love for Nessie or something. Gareth is mostly concerned about the logistics and privacy, though Mordred’s narrated conversations between him and Owain seem to make him much more comfortable with the whole thing. Gawain is genuinely tempted to jump out a window to see if he can join to newly discovered exclusive club of ghost watchers, but eventually decides that it’s too much a risk to his beautiful face.

(Lancelot silently agrees, though it has not escaped his attention that it would be nice if Gawain could actually see him.)

#arthuriana #rey thank u this is the best ask ever #i got so carried away i’m so sorry #the ghosts were just a game of ‘i love these characters and you can’t stop me’#but i’m not tagging them all #just #orkney clan #gawain #agravaine #gaheris #mordred #gareth #the fox is reynard #if you were wondering it is astolet elaine not corbenic elaine #in a more extended version of this her and lancelot best friends #arthurian literature #arthurian legend #bbc ghosts

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darlingsdevil · 5 years ago

Text

The Ballads of Rebirth (Arthur Morgan x Reader) CHAPTER 1

• Major Spoilers for RDR2 •

(I can’t put anything underneath Read More on mobile, I’m sorry)

Summary: Arthur Morgan accepted his death on that mountain, but when death never comes he gets a second chance at life.

A/N: Hello everyone! This is my first (hopefully) full fic on tumblr, I’m really going to try to finish this one! This fic will most likely be 5-10 chapters long. If you’ve read some of my other fics, you know how much I love to write about Arthur’s death haha. This fic is no different! But luckily there will be some fluff! (Only a little lol). Please mind the mistakes! (I’m also exclusively on mobile, so I apologize for strange formatting). Enjoy!

Also sorry for the shorter chapter! The rest of them will def be longer!

•••

The midsummer morning was routine for Mother Nature. The light woven through the early misty hours illuminated the life within the forest and created a warm glow throughout. Birds sang through the trees and the wild life bounced happily through the underbrush. The man on the mountain was the strange factor on this usual day.

He had been there for only a few hours. The ruckus of the night disturbed the animals for a few minutes, and the flowers cried for their trampled friends, but it was quiet now, and the man on the mountain was quiet too. His breath was nearly non existent, you would have to look closely to see that he was alive at all.

But another man had come too, and the wind sighed with relief. The other man was distraught at the sight of the man on the mountain, until he saw his chest slowly rise and fall. After that, the other man picked the sleeping man up, gently as if he was incredibly fragile. And then they were gone, and nature soon forgot about those men on their mountain.

•••

Although nature had forgotten those men, Wapiti had not. When Charles and an unconscious Arthur rode into the reservation, people began looking curiously to them.

“Please, please he needs help!” Charles shouts were heard throughout the camp as he sprung off Taima, pulling Arthur down. Arthur’s limp body was loose in Charles’s arm. The women of Wapiti stopped their chores and looked towards Charles, the men still recovering from the Van der Linde gang’s poor choices.

Charles walked frantically towards Rains Fall’s tent as the older man stepped out.

“Charles? What is wrong?” Rains Fall asked the worried man, noticing Arthur in his arms.

“It’s Arthur, please you have to help us, he’s sick and hurt.” Charles pulled Arthur closer to him, turning him slightly to show Rains Fall his abused face. Rains Fall nodded slowly and eyed the man in Charles’s arms. He motioned Charles to follow him towards a tent on the outskirts of the village. Charles eagerly followed him, paying close attention to Arthur’s breathing. Rains Fall pulled the flaps of the tent back to reveal a dim lighted room, a small bed lay in the center and various herbs hung from the walls.

“Please set him down here.” Rains Fall spoke with a certain calmness, pointing towards the bed. Charles gingerly set Arthur down, laying him on his back.

Rains Fall walked to the outside of the tent where an older woman waited outside, Rains Fall nodded to her and she entered. Charles followed Rains Fall as he walked back to his own tent. He entered, as did Charles and sat down on a wooden chair, it was rickety and old, but it brought him a certain grounding factor that pulled him down from his panic.

“How long has he been out?” Rains Fall asked after a moment of silence after Charles somewhat regained his composure.

“I don’t know, a day, maybe two? John Marston stopped by last night and told me what happened. I went to go find Arthur. God, he’s sick. He’s really sick.” Charles mumbled, the thought of Arthur not waking up was nearly unbearable. The idea pulled on Charles’s chest, like a weight had been dropped directly onto his heart.

Rains Fall pulled out a pipe and nodded.

“I see.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, Charles’s thoughts flying a mile a minute. Rains Fall’s dark eyes studied him intently, but Charles didn’t notice.

Despite Rains Fall being a wise man, he knew that some moments were owned to silence, and this was one. It was better to allow Charles to get a hold of his thoughts before they assessed the situation, and Charles knew it too.

•••

It was dark when the old healing woman stepped outside of Arthur’s tent. Charles quickly got up from the fire he sat at, many of the other people of Wapiti noticed too, but it was none of their concern, Arthur was not one of their own and their debt to him had already been repaid.

The wise woman rolled her sleeves down, she smelled of a mixture of medicine and natural herbs. There was blood on her sleeves and the apron of her dress was damp.

“I treated his wounds. He’ll be out for at least another day.” The woman told Charles. He looked towards the opening of the tent, only barely able to make out Arthur inside. He sighed with relief, Arthur was fine for right now, but the woman thoughtfully avoided talking about Arthur’s illness. It was uncertain if he would survive, though his chances drastically improved since being here. Charles’s quick actions saved Arthur’s life, had he been a mere hour or two later he would have found Arthur’s corpse on that mountain, not the living breathing person he had seen moments ago.

“May I go inside?” Charles asked the woman. He felt the breeze sweep his hair in front of him, it would be cold tonight, and Arthur needed to keep warm, so Charles would take care of the fire all night.

The woman nodded, looking out towards Rains Fall. The chief walked over to the healer and they began talking quietly about what Charles could only assume was Arthur.

Charles stepped inside.

The sight of Arthur’s battered face was like a stab in the gut. His best friend, the only man he could ever truly trust was walking on the line between life and death. And it hurt. It hurt bad. Charles had accepted Arthur’s ending when he had left the gang right before all went to hell, but seeing him now was so much worse.

Arthur deserved so much better than this fate that had been so cruelly placed upon him. But this was his chance at a new life, to the rest of the world Arthur Morgan was dead. To Sadie, to John, to you and even to Dutch, he was dead. But in this small village of Wapiti, a man named Arthur Morgan was alive, but he was no longer the outlaw that everyone else had come to know. For the first time since the beginning of his life, he was truly, wholly Arthur Morgan. He was a new man, since the very first second he accepted his death on that mountain. Arthur Morgan was Arthur Morgan, not the marionette to Dutch Van der Linde, not the cold blooded killer who murdered a man for a few bucks and not the man who had died on that mountain. He was himself, and Charles could see that too.

#The Ballads of Rebirth #Arthur Morgan x Reader #rdr2 #charles smith #arthur morgan #red dead redemptiom 2 #john marston #angst #rdr2 angst #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 au #rdr2 fic #rdr2 spoilers

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the-awkward-outlaw · 5 years ago

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Holà ! Could you write an imagine / headcanon about Arthur meeting a mermaid ( maybe in Guarma ) and falling for her ? And you can choose the ending ( but not too sad please he deserved better )

Ah, I’m so sorry Anon this has taken me so long! My life is weirdly busy right now even though none of the reasons it’s busy are important. This turned out really long and doesn’t neccessarily have a happy ending, but it sort of does at the same time. Anyways, I hope it’s at least semi-satisfactory.

When Arthur found himself stranded on the beach after the boat wrecked, he was horrible disorientated. A mixture of exhaustion, heat stroke, dehydration, and a horrible burning in his lungs didn’t make anything better. The ground was white hot and he could barely see when he opened his eyes. Once they’d adjusted, he realized he was standing on sand with islands of grass and bushes.

Hot. That’s the only sense his mind can process. unbearable heat. The sand burns his feet, the sun burns his face and eyes. The air is thick and soupy. Gulls cry happily as they soar above him. How can any living thing be happy in this place? Hell itself could not be worse.

As he stumbles around the beach, he sees something sparkling on a large rock poking from the waves near the shore. He thinks it must be some water collected in the fissures of the rock, or perhaps some strange birds. He’s heard of sea turtles, maybe it’s coming from them. As he approaches, though, he sees a little better and it’s obvious that none of his previous impressions were correct. He’s looking at what looks like a woman. Or what looks partially like a woman from the waist up anyways. Where her legs should have been was instead a long, shimmering tail, the flukes trailing back and forth slowly. Her head was tipped back as though enjoying the rays of the sun, her long brown hair trailing over her chest and back.

Arthur blinks multiple times. His condition must be making him go insane. She can’t possibly be real. He’s heard legends of course. He heard some drunken sailors at the saloon in Saint Denis discussing their sightings of mermaids, but ten minutes later they were black out drunk. Yet here she was, visible proof that perhaps they weren’t mistaken.

Arthur lifts his hand. “Y-you!” he calls, his voice weak.

The woman looked to him, unafraid. She was very familiar with the land folk, her people called them. She was unimpressed with him. Sure, he was a large specimen, broad shouldered and barrel chested, but most men she’d seen wandering shores or atop their strange, massive floating carved trees were. Luckily for him, she wasn’t feeling particularly hungry. Land folk were regarding by her kind as a delicacy, but she had never grown to like the taste. There was just something about land meat she never craved. She preferred her usual game of fish and the other creatures that dwell in the ocean with her.

She flashed him a smile though. Her pod would definitely appreciate her bringing in an offering of land folk. They were becoming harder to come by as their carved trees became more advanced. Faster and sturdier. A land folk who had been ship wrecked was the perfect target.

“You there!” he yelled again, slightly stronger.

“Arthur!” another land folk approaches him. Taller yet thinner in build with disheveled black hair and mustache. Three more men followed him and she knew it wasn’t safe. Luckily none of them saw her and she slipped quickly back into the water. Her sun bathing would have to continue later.

Over the next few days, she saw the man again and again in the same spot as the first time. It was like he was looking for her. The boulder he’d seen her from happened to be her favorite sun bathing spot as it was easy to access and surrounded by deep water which made hiding easy. She knew the island was heavily populated despite its small size, making her vulnerable.

The man seemed harmless enough, but he was clearly wary of her. She allowed him to spot her a handful of times, both in and out of the water. Despite how little she liked the taste of land folk, she was very good at hunting them. Something the matriarch of her pod was befuddled by.

The third time the man came calling, she slid right to the edge of the water, allowing him to get the closest he’d ever been. She found herself growing curious about him. He wasn’t like other land folk she’d stalked and killed. He wasn’t frightened nor did he try and kiss her like some misguided sailors had. He was simply intrigued and she was too.

Mayani, as was her name, soon learned the land folk’s name was Arthur Morgan. She learned, like all merfolk do, his native tongue along with the languages of other land folks. It was part of learning the hunt. She spoke with Arthur for many hours that first day and he told her many things about where he came from. He described the hot deserts, seas made of grass, mountains taller than the highest waves capped in snow. It was intriguing. In turn, Mayani , or Maya as she preferred, told him the secrets of the ocean. Listening to the haunting songs of whales, hunting giant squid, outrunning sharks, the colorful and vibrant corals and how to tell which kinds were safe to eat and which kinds were not.

Arthur found himself longing to join Maya in her watery kingdom after a week had passed. Dutch was still working with Hercule in order to get off this god-forsaken island, and he felt envious of Maya and the freedom she had to come and go from it as she pleased. She told him that she was breaking her matriarch’s boundaries though. Last year, three of her pod members had been killed on the shores of this island by those who occupied it and the matriarch forbade the rest of the pod from returning. Maya still found the warm, shallow waters worth the risk, plus it offered some of the best foraging corals and hunting grounds. The temptation was too great.

Arthur made her laugh easily. When he asked her if it was true that a mermaid’s kiss could give a sailor the ability to breathe underwater, she found it hysterical. A kiss could not change one’s abilities, she said. Nothing could do that. She learned that his kind were called humans. As they divulged more secrets of their lives to one another, they found that their species were not so different. Merfolk possessed their own cultures, though the females were the leaders and not the men. The females were also the only ones allowed to do hunting. The idea was that since they were the only ones to give life, they should be the only ones to take lives. The males spent their time foraging and helping raise the offspring.

Arthur quickly became interested in the mermaid. She was beautiful, sure, but he found himself more attracted to her spirit than anything else. She was in a very similar position as he was in his own gang, the third highest ranking member of her pod but she enjoyed wandering the ocean on her own, though her loyalty was unwaverable. Arthur wished there was a way they could be together, but he knew that was impossible. She could not survive on land for more than a few hours, her tail and even skin was heavily dependent on the salt water. Without it, she would quickly dehydrate and die. He of course could not exist in the water.

The time finally came when only one thing was left to do before he and the others could return to the mainland. Arthur approached his and Maya’s meeting spot with a somber expression. She was miserable too as someone in her pod had spotted her “fraternizing” (as her matriarch had put it) with a land folk on a forbidden island. This was the last time she’d be able to see him. They told each other how things were standing for themselves. Arthur didn’t want to leave her with nothing, but having no object to give, he kissed Maya gently.

“Thank you,” he said. Maya smiled, but something about the way his lips tasted was off. She knew immediately he was sick. She told him to wait and then dived down and foraged for a rather rare coral that she knew grew around the island. It luckily didn’t take her long before she found the tiny organism and she gave it to him.

“You’re very sick, Arthur,” she explained. “Your kind carry many sicknesses. If we didn’t learn to identify them, we’d get sick too. When we’ve eaten sick humans, we eat this coral and it cures us. You should do the same.”

Arthur did not question. His lungs had been burning more than ever before and he’d developed quite a cough, so he studied the strange, bumpy coral. It was only the size of a quarter but the texture was awful. Squeezing his eyes, he swallowed the coral as quickly as he could, for Maya said cooking it would destroy its healing properties. She smiled at him when he had swallowed it and he kissed her one last time.

“I promise,” he said. “I will never forget you.”

“I wish our paths could cross again,” she said.

The sun was beginning to set and in the distance they heard Dutch calling Arthur’s name. He sighed heavily and brushed her cheek. “Thank you,” he said. He got up and walked away towards the voice. Maya watched him for a moment and then dipped into the water. She tried to imagine how things could have been between them in another world, but her matriarch had told her time and time again that wanting what could never be was the most fruitless venture of all.

#red dead fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female #awkward asks #rdr2 fanfic

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journal-of-an-outlaw · 5 years ago

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Price to be Paid - Chapter 24

AO3 Link here!

That night the gang gathered to celebrate Jack making it home safe and sound after his ordeal with Angelo Bronte. Crates of beer and other liquors were brought out, the fires roared full and bright, and a weight seemed to be lifted from the shoulders of everyone as they settled into the surroundings of Shady Belle.

Except for you, who couldn't stop thinking about the letter you found from Mary.

All this time. They had been writing back and forth for however long and about god knows what. Maybe she just needed help or someone to vent to, their story was still classified as a mystery to you. But never once had Arthur mentioned her or made you think that she was still a part of his life.

Javier strummed the guitar and caught your eye. His eyebrows danced when he asked you to sing and you agreed quickly, needing a distraction from the way your thoughts were headed. This was a party after all, might as well have fun. The two of you spent almost an hour around the warm flames of the fire, dancing and singing to entertain the others. Jack loved the attention even if Abigail was unwilling to let him go. You understood; Jack was her whole world and he had only just gotten back after the terrifying ordeal.

You walked around after the music had ended and others wanted to sing admiring the love these people shared and the many ways it was communicated. Sean pulled Karen into his lap and whispered something, most likely dirty, in her ear causing the woman to be taken over by a fit of giggles. Hosea and Dutch stood as watchful figures from the porch. Lenny was tapping his foot from his spot on guard duty and humming along when he thought no one could see him.

“YN! Where’s that fiance of yours at?” Tilly called from her spot next to Mary Beth and you sat with them.

“That’s something I’d like to know. Saw him earlier, wonder where he got off to?”

Mary Beth looked at you with bright eyes. “Maybe he’s hiding, planning something big for you!”

Clearly she had a few drinks in her as she rocked back with laughter. You and Tilly shared a glance at her reaction and chuckled along, enjoying the carefree way her hair rolled around her shoulders.

You left them and wandered back inside, calling out for Arthur. It didn’t come as a surprise when you got no answer, standing alone in the big house that was falling apart around you.

A small cheer went up outside and you walked out to find Arthur hitching his horse up, waving off those greeting him and tipping his hat as he walked in, embarrassed at the extra attention from his drunken cohorts. Dutch slapped his shoulder with encouraging words and Arthur stopped for a moment before spotting you standing on the porch.

You tried to hold the memory of the letter in your mind as you stared him down, but the moment his face broke into a smile you knew you couldn't fight it. Arthur was many things; kind to those in need, fiercely loyal to the gang, loving and caring to you after all those months of hiding his feelings, and something inside of you said he would never cause you harm. Brushing the thought of Mary aside for the night you let him scoop you into a hug once he ran up the steps and held on tightly, inhaling his scent of tobacco leaves and leather.

“Sorry I ran off darlin’, Dutch needed something from town and I thought I would be back before now.”

“Wasn’t too long. Just enough time for me to worry about my fiance, but ain’t nothing new there.”

Arthur growled low in your ear and pushed the doors behind you open. After confirming that no one was around he laid you back against the wall and held himself against you. His hands swirled your hair between his fingers and he looked at you hungrily, eyes darting to your lips and breath coming in short. A warmth pooled in your belly at the glint in his eyes.

“Arthur, everyone is right outside they might -”

“They won’t.”

The slow smile that spread across your face broke him and in a heartbeat he pinned you to the wall in a kiss, one hand lazily roaming your hips while the other gently cupped your cheek. You grabbed each side of his leather jacket and swirled one finger against his chest in the hair that peeked out before pushing his shirt open a few buttons to fully explore. You found your way down and rubbed the bulging spot in his jeans, laughing lightly at his response. Arthur groaned against your mouth, bucking his hips in response to your touch.

“Why, Mr. Morgan, so quick to arouse! Whatever could that be for?”

He hung his head into the crook of your shoulder and sighed. “Got this woman that fills my head with thoughts that are pure torture and sin. Have to watch her walk around, knowing what she sounds she makes when it’s just me causing the noise. After all that, when I finally get to touch you? Sweetheart it’s hard to not...well, you know.”

A blush worked its way up his cheeks as he pulled away from you. You knew his mind would quickly turn to shame so you grabbed his hand and pulled him away; through the house and up the stairs to the room you shared together.

“I’m, I’m the same Arthur. I didn’t mean to tease you. Anytime I find myself dreaming of you...it’s not decent.” You laughed with your arms crossed and watched for his reaction. His eyebrows shot up at your words but he kept his gaze on your face as you spoke. “I’ve never felt like this Arthur, like at times I might burn up and die if you don’t touch me right that minute. It’s crazy and wild, but I hope it never goes away. Wouldn't trade you for anything in this world.”

Arthur’s blue eyes sparkled as you approached him and he hung his arms around your waist. “How’d an ugly old cowboy like me get so lucky with a woman like you? Maybe you hit your head harder than we thought leaving Blackwater.”

You chuckled. “I’ll happily spend the rest of my life convincing you you’re more than you see, Arthur Morgan. I hope you know I’m in for the long haul.”

“Well,” he grabbed your hand and kissed below your engagement ring. “I’m glad you know what I meant when I asked you to marry me.”

You threw your head back laughing, feeling happy and aglow inside. The conversation would have continued if a voice down below hadn’t started to yell for Arthur to come join the group, leaving you to sigh. “One day, we won’t be dictated by everyone around us.” Arthur agreed and followed you out.

Hosea greeted you both with a beer, smiling and starting some idle chatter. Arthur and he discussed his run into town, and you could have sworn once or twice Hosea’s eyes cut to you before speaking but it may have been the beer warping your thoughts and perception.

Sean was leading the group in an Irish song about being back home in Donegall and motioned for you to join, eager to have another voice in the mix. You smiled and raised your beer to decline his offer as you enjoyed resting against Arthur for the time being.

“You ever sing Arthur?”

He shook his head. “Nah, wouldn't subject anyone to that kind of torture.”

“Sure he does!” Grimshaw pipped up next to you. “Heard him humming along when he does chores or helps out, thinks no one is around though.”

You laugh as Arthur tipped his head down. Clearly it was something that he didn’t want to be pressed on any further.

The night continued on with a beautiful sparkle. Everyone was relaxed and happy as the music filled the air to cover the melody of crickets and frogs coming up from the swampy bayou. The drinks flowed freely and the sight of Abigail holding little Jack again was enough to put a smile on just about everyone’s face, even Charles who wandered over every so often on guard duty. Dutch had declined making a speech early on in the night and stuck to his resolve, Molly close by his side as they drank and talked. It felt like it had been ages since the two got along for more than a few minutes and you could see how young Molly looked as the scowls and crying stopped. You felt like a real and proper family for the first time in ages and it warmed you that things felt semi normal.

Javier approached you later on with a bottle in his hand. “YN! Have you seen Miss Tilly? I have a question but can’t seem to find her anywhere.”

You shook your head. “Last I saw her was with Mary Beth going on about something, Arthur may have but he’s over talking to Lenny and Sean.”

The two of you looked over at the sound of roaring laughter and Lenny nearly falling off of his chair. Sean was bent in half, laughing harder than you had ever seen him while Arthur wiped tears from his eyes in between speaking. He must have been telling some story to the younger men as there was a lull and he leaned in dramatically to tell the last line and off they went again. Javier muttered something under his breath and you laughed along, happy to see them all enjoying the evening. After a few moments of chatting Charles came up to tell Javier they were switching for guard duty, much to Javier’s pleasure. He nodded to you and headed off towards the perimeter of the camp.

“Seems to be a lively mood tonight.” Charles looked around the group as he spoke.

“Everyone is lighter, we got Jack back and it’s a good time, I think. Dutch hopefully has something up his sleeve and I’m so happy I could burst. Not to talk about it all the time.” Charles smiled at you as you continued to gush about camp and being happy with Arthur. He understood you meant it out of love and not to overshadow anything else going on.

“Just hope we can get out of here soon. Being in the swamps makes me anxious. I’ve seen gators out there as tall as me and twice as strong, I have no intention of going near that water anytime soon.”

You shuddered at the thought. The swamps had not called to you while staying at Shady Belle and you hoped to keep it that way. “Something about the way they move. Give me the creeps.”

“Speaking of creeps,” Charles muttered to you. Micah walked into camp and held his arms up like a king greeting his subjects. No one met him the way they did Arthur hours earlier and his face soured into a scowl. Dutch called out a greeting but it was only met with a wave before he made his way to the fire to sit down by Bill. The two of them scoured and slumped in the corner while the rest of the camp carried on lively.

“Hey! Bring me a drink.”

You looked at Micah as he called over to Charles. Standing frozen you began to worry how this would play out. Micah yelled again, this time including a slur which was met with protests from those sitting nearby. Charles tensed up and you laid a hand on his arm to try and keep him away but by then Arthur had sauntered over. His eyebrows narrowed at the sound of Micah’s voice.

“Just ignore him, Charles He’s trying to make himself feel powerful.”

Charles nodded but his hands balled into fists as Micah continued to yell. Finally he burst.

“Get your own damn beer, you coward!” Charles smashed his bottle on the ground and huffed his chest, breathing heavily. Micah stood and began to stalk over but not before Dutch stopped him in his tracks.

“Enough! Micah, take a walk. The rest of you relax, there’s not much that can bring down my mood like infighting.” He shook his head, looking around the group. “Really. Tonight is a celebration, let’s keep it that way.”

You let go of Charles and watched him stalk off to the other side of camp. Arthur sighed beside you. “Here’s hoping he gets lost in the swamps.”

Laughing, you dug your elbow into Arthur’s ribs as he raised his bottle. It was a good thought but you didn’t want anyone to hear his nasty thinking. It was one thing to know Micah was disliked by the group, but another to be the ones actively voicing that opinion.

The rest of the evening carried on in a much lighter mood. People continued to sing and dance even after Javier retired his guitar for the night. He wanted to spend some time out on the docks and enjoy the moon and the stars. John and Abigail got into it for a bit, biting remarks coming one after another until Jack told them to stop and they seemed to sober up. Up until that point their normal had been to disagree, but you hoped moving forward things would change. Hosea retired early, as well as Grimshaw and Uncle leaving most of the gang gathered in clumps around the house. At one point you thought you saw Mary Beth and Tilly run off together, but no one could find them by the time you went to bed. Kieran had just left for guard duty when Arthur tugged on your arm to head upstairs. Never before had you been so grateful to see your mattress, even if it was just too small for the both of you.

The sun crept through the broken blinds the next morning to greet you. Knowing you should get up but not wanting to, you rolled over and snuggled into Arthur’s side to block out the sun. His snores drowned out any thoughts you had of sleeping in for a while, but you eventually stood and stretched to start the day. The beauty of the sun shimmering through the leaves and broken bits of paint drew you outside into the morning light. You picked off a piece and held it in your hands, admiring the way the dew settled so gently on its edges. As you enjoyed the moment a sound caught your attention, and you could just see two figures pressed up against the wall of one of the small structures out behind the house. Stretching as far as you could over the railing, you caught a glimpse of Tilly’s yellow gown as she and the other person moved out of your sight. A giggle floated through the air and you froze, knowing what kind of sound that was. Tilly wasn’t alone, but she definitely wanted to keep up the illusion and not be found.

You smiled and made your way downstairs, pondering about who the lucky person could be. More than once you had caught Javier speaking in hushed tones to Tilly and thought they would be very suitable together, she seemed to bring a softer side out of the passionate man.

But that thought was dashed as Javier greeted you from the gazebo at the front of the property. He was cleaning his fishing pole after returning from a short trip with Hosea. A box of perfectly gutted fish sat next to him and he lightly sang until you approached. Javier was a perfectionist; making sure that each stroke of his blade was worth the effort he put in to move it.

“Morning, YN! Why the face? Something wrong?”

You shook your head, looking around the grounds. “Not wrong, I just thought I knew something but turns out I was wrong. I didn’t have anything figured out.”

“Ah, now I see. And what is it you thought you knew?”

Javier was a proud man and your friend, and you didn’t want to upset him by saying an assumption that was clearly so far from true. You leaned back against the railings of the structure and crossed your arms. “It’s silly. You’ll just laugh at me.”

“Nonsense!” he cried while dropping his fishing pole. He gave you his full attention. “How about I promise not to? Make you feel better?”

Just as you were about to confide in Javier, a soft giggle interrupted your thoughts. From around the back corner of the house Mary Beth walked alone with a flush in her cheeks and a smile across her face. You watched her as she seemed to float by, ignoring everyone who passed in favor of the thoughts moving around her head.

You tilted your head, thinking, when something seemed to settle in place.

“Oh!” You whirled around to face Javier who looked conflicted, eyes darting between you and Mary Beth off in the distance.

“YN, just let it go, don’t say anything you -”

“No, Javier don’t worry!” you smiled. “It’s not, I just saw Tilly out back and thought it was you with her! That’s why I didn’t say anything. But you knew, didn’t you?”

Conflict flashed across his face as he watched you. “I...yes, fine, I knew. Tilly came to me to confide and talk about it, she felt like it was wrong from what others have told her in the past. But...love isn’t wrong, it should be taken and cherished in any form it’s sent. And Tilly is one of the best women I’ve ever met, reminds me why I’m in this gang in the first place.”

“Javier, that was beautiful. And please know I would never say anything to her, the secret is safe with me.”

He sat back relieved and smiled. “Some people don’t get it. Glad you’re a good one.” You chatted for a few more minutes before your stomach gave you away for being starving, and you left Javier to sing again once more. Breakfast had just been served and you wanted to go wake Arthur.

The door pushed open slowly and you found Arthur kneeled down by the bed. He faced you with a smile that melted your heart and you sat next to him, gently squeezing his shoulder before greeting him for the day.

“What are you doing down there, cowboy?”

A smile tugged his mouth to one side at the nick name. “Need to head into the city for a few hours, trying to find something though, ain’t where I left it.”

“Is it by any chance a letter? Perhaps from Mary Linton?”

Arthur had a dark expression on his face for an instant. “You found it.”

“It was on the floor of our room, Arthur, but I thought you would talk about it with me instead of just running off. Is that who you’re going to see? Mary?” Your voice was quiet but steady as you spoke. The emotion coursing through your veins didn’t have a name yet, and you couldn't tell if the beating of your heart came from fear or something else.

“I...she wrote me for help, YN. That’s all.” Arthur avoided your gaze as he spoke. “Mary and I go back, way back, and I swear this is the first time she wrote me in years. I found her in Valentine when her younger brother got involved in something stupid, and now it sounds like her family is in trouble again. I don’t like being yanked every which way, but I owe her.”

“Is that all it is?”

Arthur drew in a sharp breath. “Of course! You think I’m running around behind your back?”

“No,” you looked down at your hands. “But from what she said it didn’t sound like it was the only time you had spoken of late. I get keeping people from your past, Arthur. I’m not mad. I just wanted to hear it from you.”

“I promise, YN, there ain’t anything to tell. Years ago, we were engaged but her daddy knew better than to let his only daughter run off with an outlaw and put his foot down. We tried to stay in touch, didn’t work well. Kept fighting and bringing up things neither of us wanted to discuss. So I told her that if she knew what was best for her to never write again. Turns out she married some old fool; we both moved on.” Arthur shuffled around while talking, clearly a sign of talking of uncomfortable subjects for too long. “Like I said, first time I heard from her in years was needing help back in Valentine. Her brother joined some group, she had me convince him to leave and go home. I’ve always been good at scaring people into doing things they don’t want to and she knew it. I’m not looking forward to going into town, but I don’t like to leave people in need.”

You snorted and thought to yourself before responding. On one hand, it made perfect sense that Arthur would help Mary. She was a single woman in the city with nowhere left to turn, and wasn’t in a position to make it publically known she was in need of assistance. Women who ran families did so at a detriment to themselves, for every move was over analyzed and ridiculed at the first sign of weakness. On the other hand you didn’t want Arthur spending time with someone he used to love and wanted to marry, even if that was years ago. It felt invasive and you made up your mind.

“Arthur I...I don’t think you should go.”

He looked at you surprised. “This ain’t really up for discussion here. She needs help and I’ll see her off.”

Your heart started to pound at the impending conflict. You had always had a small temper and you felt it rise as you spoke, unable to hide how much this choice had hurt you.

“But as your fiance, I thought we would talk about it. Look at it from my point of view; a woman who was engaged to you suddenly wants your help? Right after we get engaged?” Your voice kicked up in volume and you heard the heat in your words. “And what if this isn’t the end of her requests? Will you always just run off after her and leave me here?”

Arthur stood in front of you with a dark look in his eyes. It was times like these that you knew why Strauss sent him off to collect debts. His deep blue eyes had seen many things in their lives and knew how to bend the will of the person before him. It would be terrifying to face this man and hope to win.

As he spoke his shoulders rose in anger. “As my fiance you should trust me, and know I’m making the right call. This ain’t about you, sweetheart, you best leave it alone.”

The use of your favorite term of endearment felt like a slap across the face and you stood to match him. You were unsure of why you spiraled so quickly into anger about this but you felt your hands shake as you balled them into fists at your side.

“Don’t call me that. And answer the question; will you always be running away from me?”

“Only if you sound as shrill as you do right now!”

You took a step back. “What is wrong with you? That’s all you have to say?”

“I’m not...god dammit.” Arthur rubbed his eyes and turned away. “I didn’t mean that, I just, you two get in my head and it -”

“Don’t you dare lump me in with her, Arthur Morgan.”

Your voice was low and cold. The mood in the room shifted from quick, fast anger to something much more permanent and heavy. Arthur turned to face you and it was all you could do to hold his eyes and not burst into tears. This was your first fight over something real and tangible, not the silly squabbles that were fixed with a few words and a smile. At first this thing with Mary was nothing more than a question as to why the letter was hidden away like a secret. But now it felt like you were defending yourself as Arthur’s choice over Mary, which you knew was utterly ridiculous.

Wasn’t it?

He took a deep breath before continuing. “YN, I didn’t mean for this to go so wrong. All I wanted was to help out someone who needed it, and things got all messed up. Please know, darlin’, I would never run away from this, you are exactly who I need.”

It was sweet; a plea and a lifeline that should have ended things right then and there. You should have smiled and sat down to talk about the situation like adults and explained your point of view. But something about that route felt too easy, a way out, so you pushed it to the side and threw your caution to the wind.

“It sounds so nice, doesn’t it?” Your tone caught Arthur’s attention as something was clearly wrong. “That I’m exactly who you need. Wrapped up with a little bow. But there’s something missing, and it’s clear in the way that you want to help Mary. We cannot live together in your life, Arthur, you either have to bury the past and move on with me or ignore what we have for what used to be. I won’t fight you on going to see her today, I don’t like ultimatums. But know I won’t stay if I know your heart is divided.”

With his hands on his hips he walked the length of the room. He picked up a photo and stared, lost in the memory for a moment before setting the frame back down. For a few more minutes Arthur silently stalked the perimeter gathering his thoughts as he went. You felt like your heart was about to leap out of your chest from the way it kept time with his footsteps.

Finally, he broke his silence. “Did you misunderstand me the day I proposed?”

“What?” you sputtered, completely thrown off.

“I asked you, as a woman, to be joined to me, as a man, for better or for worse.” Arthur stridded over and stood before you. “There’s no division in my heart and I won’t stand here and be accused of loving another woman. Now, I’ve done some pretty bad things in this life, but breaking my oath? My word? I would never do that. You know loyalty’s all we got sometimes. As long as you’re going to act like a child, you’ll be treated like a child, so you’ll forgive me if i ignore the nonsense coming out of your mouth.”

You moved to block Arthur as he began to leave the room, but he continued without a glance back and ignored your protests.

“Once we’ve had some time to cool off we can discuss this, but I don’t trust myself not to say something I’ll regret later.” With a tip of his hat he left, the door swinging closed behind him and ended the argument.

In a fit of rage you picked up the nearest photograph and hurled it at the wall, rejoicing in the way the glass shattered into a thousand little pieces. It was satisfying to see something physical to represent how you felt inside, angry and still unwilling to let go of your side. Never had someone had such an affect on you, not your father or your mother or even poor sweet Henry. Arthur Morgan affected you so completely it was enough to make you scream. It made you feel powerless and fully in control at the same time, which when you thought about it too much made your head spin from the beating of your heart and the blood pulsing in your veins.

You stood still to calm yourself down and watched the sunlight pass through the leaves outside the window. They swooped and swayed in the breeze, and thinking of them brought you back to a normal level of thinking. You sighed looking at the damage from your outburst and began to clean up the tiny shards so no one would be hurt later. When you turned the picture over you let out one barking laugh, for you had serendipitously selected the photograph of the woman who brought you to this place; Mary Linton.

The door opened slowly after a soft knock. Abigail stuck her head in and saw you hunched on the ground looking at the broken picture.

“Oh, dear I’m sure we can fix it. Here, let me see the damage.”

“Oh,” you sighed, “it runs deeper than you can see.” You handed her the picture and watched her face intently. At first Abigail was surprised, then confused, and she finally settled on angry.

“Ah. I see she’s finally crawled back out of her hole and wormed her way into Arthur’s life again.” She brushed off the bits of glass and picked up the rest in her skirt, dumping the trash out of the window. “I wasn’t here last time, obviously, but John said she nearly broke him. What a vile woman coming after him now! He’s got you, he’s happier than I’ve ever seen him and she just wants to ruin that.”

Part of you agreed. The selfish, small part of you that wanted to hate this woman because she simply had poor timing. It was the same part that made you lash out at Arthur instead of talking about it, as he so fondly said, like a child. You told Abigail about everything that had happened from the letter to your fight and she listened intently, always paying attention to you.

“She ain’t evil, Abigail. She’s a woman in need. And honestly I should be grateful that I’m with someone who sees the good in the choice he made. Imagine if it was you or me asking, reaching out to someone we knew could get the job done no matter what, for help. Would you want to be turned down just because they’re with someone new?”

Abigail stood by the window, mouth opening and closing as she tried to formulate a response.

“I made a mess of things just because I got a little jealous. Do you think I should go after him?” You watched your friend smile.

“I want to say you should never chase a man after a fight. That it’s his job to come around to your side and see he was wrong, but we both know my experience lies with someone a little less brainy than Arthur.” She moved back to lean against the window frame. “You’re more adventurous than me, YN. You’re brave and smart, so I think we both know that you’re going to go after him and set things right. I’ve always admired your ability to put goodness first. I never got a chance to see that way of life, but I’m sure glad you did.”

You swept Abigail into a hug, laughing. How lucky had you been running into her? She had told you before she rarely befriended people, but something about you made her change her ways in Blackwater and you had found a true life friend. That was something you would always be grateful for.

“Alright then, it’s settled. I’ll head into Saint Denis and track Arthur down so I can apologize for being a total ass.”

Abigail laughed and squeezed your arm. “Well, you’re a lady so I’d say you only have to apologize for being half an ass. Never let them know when he’s seen the whole thing. Sets a standard."

An hour later you were riding off with Charles who had agreed to your plan. He had a need to go into the city anyways, despite hating the place, and thought he knew a good place for you to start your search. Arthur had taken the letter to Mary so no one knew exactly which hotel she was at but there were only a few which meant it would be easy to locate.

"A friend told me to head towards the old market, the one in that alleyway. Not sure why but said I would find it interesting. I'll take you to Arthur on the way."

You didn't reply beyond a nod at the strange request Charles had. The gang often found themselves running errands without knowing the full purpose. It was hot in Saint Denis and you regretted putting on the long dress you had chosen to impress Arthur. Although the colors were beautiful the multiple layers seemed to grow in weight the longer you sat on Eclipse's back, sticking to your skin with sweat.

Charles led you down a maze of streets and you found yourself lost again in the wonder of the city. You knew most of the group hated to be in the pit of civilization because it threatened their ideals and way of life, but you loved the pulsing vibrancy that radiated from people walking down the street and the bustling of change in the air. It felt like each building had a story, good or bad, and was only waiting to be listened to so its secrets could be told. It was exactly what the gang hated that drew you into the melting pot of Saint Denis.

“You say a friend of yours led you to the marketplace? And who might that be?”

As he dismounted, Charles grunted. “Just someone I met who I can trust. He lives in the city, travels around and gives information when he can.”

The two of you stood at the entrance of a street market. Behind you, the train yard was loud and busy with the metal screeching of brakes and shouts going to and fro. You took in the sights and the smell with a deep breath.

“You like it here, don’t you?” You nodded back at Charles. “I can’t stand it. Feel like I can’t watch my back, someone’s always there watching.”

“There’s so much life!”

In the market itself were about a dozen or so stalls, all decorated with bright colors of rugs and food being sold. People shouted their wares and you were tempted to stop and sample a few, but one look at Charles quieted that option. No matter how wonderful everything was around you, Charles Smith was unshaken in his resolve to be stoic and rocklike in appearance.

“I like the feeling of freedom, how it moves in the people. There’s art and education and all of the things I never had sitting right at their fingertips.” You were quiet for a moment as you contemplated the city again. “It’s not jealousy, if that’s what you are thinking. It’s the opportunity to make your own decisions here, to know that you would be allowed to fail and grow. It’s, well, it’s true freedom if you ask me.”

“Not everyone is free here, though, do you know that my child?”

You had made it through the market without anything catching Charles’ eye and as you reached the exit a voice called out to you. A monk in long black robes stood against the stone wall holding a bowl out to you with a few donations thrown in. He had a kind face with lines around his eyes and mouth that deepened when he smiled. While a full beard covered his jaw and neck, his head had been shaved and shone in the midday sun.

“I’m sorry?”

“Well, while you and I are able to walk around and enjoy this beautiful freedom, some are starving and will have to fight just to get by. Are you able to donate so that they won’t go hungry tonight?” The man gently extended the bowl towards you and without any hesitation you dropped in a handful of coins. The man’s smile widened and he put the donation tin down before extending his hand.

You introduced Charles and yourself. “Brother Dorkins, a pleasure to meet you.”

“How are you getting on out here, Brother? Enough food to last?” Charles’ gruff voice spoke behind you and at first you thought he was being sarcastic. But he had a soft look in his eye and you could tell he respected the Brother for using his life to help those less fortunate.

“These are a somewhat apathetic lot, I’m afraid.” Brother Dorkins peeked around the wall into the market as if he was checking on something. You shared a look with Charles before he spoke.

“Our uh, mentor says that America is designed to induce apathy in people.”

“That’s a wonderful insight!” The monk crossed back over and stood in front of you. “He must be a wise man, your mentor.”

“He’s probably the best of the lot of us.” You replied. Charles hid a smile behind his hand as you winked in his direction.

“That’s wonderful. The, the thing is I’m...well, poverty will always be with us, but slavery I-I thought we had banished that.” Standing on his toes Brother Dorkins looked over the stone wall back into the market. You started at his words and saw a flash of anger in Charle’s expression.

“Slavery?”

“Saint Denis is acting as a staging post for shipping slaves off to some of the islands.”

“Where are they coming from?”

“South, mostly Mexico. You should take a look for yourself, I’ve heard that the pawnbroker down the block around the corner, the one with the green door, well they say he sells more than forlorn trinkets.”

Like a bullet Charles took off, shoving through the crowd to get to the pawnbroker. You cast a sympathetic look back at Brother Dorkins and promised to return shortly after dealing with the supposed slavers. Part of you wouldn't believe what you had heard. Slavers? In this day and age? But from the way Charles was dead set on putting a stop to it you realized it must be a reality for people who didn’t look like what folks thought of as ‘American.’

Just as you rounded the corner Charles put an arm up, holding you back. Silently you looked on to see what slowed his war path when you saw him. Holding who you could only imagine was the pawn shop owner pinned to the wall, Arthur hissed a threat out between clenched teeth as a woman stood nearby, peeking around the corner onto the encounter.

“What’s he doing?” Charles shook his head as his eyebrows pulled together in confusion. A few moments went by and finally the shop owner pulled something from his pocket, slamming it into Arthur’s hand as a pass to be let go. Your fiance dropped the man and stalked off down the alley towards the woman as the owner ran back into the green door, slamming it behind him.

“Probably got roped into helping someone...retrieve something.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” you chuckled. The scene disturbed you but it was something you were going to have to deal with later. You walked behind Charles towards the store.

A small bell rang as you entered the cluttered shop. Only a few rooms wide, the shelves were packed to the ceiling and it was a wonder anyone found what they were looking for. Books were next to pictures and boxes of jewelry in odd arrangements and made no organizational sense. It got worse the further you walked, and around the corner you saw the man from the alley wiping his brow.

“Oh, customers. Well if you’re going to buy something, be quick about it and if not, get out.” You placed a hand on Charles’ arm at the man's words and walked up to the counter, leaning over and resting your head in your hand.

“I’m looking for something...special.” You began. The man was still flustered and not paying attention and for the distraction to work he needed to be watching you.

“This is a full shop you must be more specific,” he snapped before finally turning to face you. You batted your eyes and leaned in close to block the view of Charles snooping behind you.

“I was thinking of a necklace, something long and daring. Can you help me out? Want it to hang down to here…” the man’s eyes trailed down your bust as you dragged a finger south to keep his attention. “What do you think?”

“I, umm,” he fumbled with the handkerchief in one hand and his glasses in the other. “I think, hey! You, get away from there.”

As the owner moved around the counter towards Charles you stopped him with the sound of your pistol hammer clicking into a loaded position. He looked down at the cold metal being pressed into his midsection and jumped back, confused about your quick change of appearance. You shrugged, a small smile playing on your lips.

“What on earth is going on here? Is this a robbery?” You shook your head as a loud sound behind you made you watch Charles. He had found a secret doorway behind a bookshelf and dragged the structure away to reveal a set of stairs. He nodded at you then headed down. A sigh escaped from the shop owner before you hushed him, bringing your gun up a bit higher to level with his chest. He must know what was going on.

Not five minutes later Charles emerged with two other men speaking quick Spanish to each other. As the trio left the main room a thought occurred to you.

“Actually, we’re robbing more than your slaves,” you spit out. “Give me the cash in your register and know that if my friends and I hear of more trouble you’re causing that it will be your last. People aren’t objects, you sack of shit.” With the cash in your hand you finally left, feeling good about what you and Charles had accomplished together.

Your victory was short lived however as Charles grabbed you by the shoulder and practically dragged you back towards Brother Dorkins on the other side of the market.

“What the hell!” You hissed.

“Don’t look back, he’s here.”

You rolled your eyes. “We saw Arthur together, ain’t a bad thing to be out -”

“Not Arthur,” Charles looked around before pushing you and the freed slaves at the monk. “Your father.”

“He’s here?” You could feel the blood race through your veins as the adrenaline pumped faster through your body. Your heart kept time with the footsteps all around you and it was suddenly hard to focus.

“Brother Dorkins, you were right. We broke them out and took the cash. Here, please,” Charles handed over the wad of cash you had secured. “Not to cut this short but she has to get out of here.”

The monk nodded solemnly. “God works in mysterious ways, my friends. I see the trolly coming around the corner, perhaps that’s a good escape?”

You nodded. “Charles, go with Brother Dorkins, make sure he gets them out of here safe. I’ll meet you at the end of the line.” He nodded and patted your back, taking one last glance behind you before leaving down the street with the other men.

You anxiously walked towards the approaching street car and flagged it down, desperate to be hidden and out of sight. The driver slowed and waved you up. Just as you took a seat next to a young woman your father walked out to the street, looking around to where you had just been as two of his agents turned back to wade through the market. You ducked down to hide your face, apologizing as you pushed up against your poor neighbor to keep yourself safe. After the trolley moved down around the block you sighed and leaned back.

“I am so sorry, ma’am, please forgive my brutish behaviour. I was trying to escape someone I knew, my father actually.”

At first her dainty features were pulled together in annoyance. It was deserved, you had shoved yourself into her seat and hidden in her dress without saying a word. But after you apologized she softened and laughed lightly.

“I can tell you a thing or two about trying to outrun a father, must be some womanly rite of passage in this city. But all is forgotten.” She fanned her face gently as the afternoon heat hit its peak. “I actually just had a run in with my father myself, chased him all around town just to end up back where I started. What is it about men that they think they can outsmart us?”

You laughed, the tension quickly leaving your shoulders. “Must be something to do with the fact they sired us, like a paternal bond they will forever lord above us.”

“I agree! Although I’ve never heard someone talk about it so boldly as yourself. You sure you’re alright, miss?” You nodded. This woman was sharp and you instantly liked her. It probably had something to do with her not screaming as soon as you sat down and confessed you were outrunning your father.

“I’ll be fine. Truth be told this isn’t the first time I’ve had to hide from him.” You paused for a moment before speaking again. “I probably shouldn’t say that to a stranger.”

At that she held out her white gloved hand in an introduction. “If we’re going to continue to share secrets we can do away with the strangers part. You might as well know my name. I’m Mary. Mary Linton.”

#price to be paid #rdr2 #fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #i'm so dumb and I literally forgot to post the text #smh #female reader

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arthurmorganuniverse · 6 years ago

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A Place For Us

Pairings: Arthur Morgan x F!reader

Word Count: 4,434

Summary: Arthur has let you tag along on his latest hunting trip. Only you’re now caught in a snowstorm and need a way to keep warm. (AKA the ole’ sharing a bed trope)

Warnings: Poorly written smut ahead my friends. Tread carefully. Also, I twist property law to suit my purposes. Law aficionados, look away.

Notes: Might make this a series of drabbles or something for this particular pair. Like, one about when they go hunt the bison. Might have Arthur get her the white Arabian. Maybe when they get back to the main camp they keep buying stuff to take back to “their” cabin, etc. Let me know if I should!

You and Arthur had been on the road for several days now hunting down something he called a “Ghost Bison.” While you were excited that he’d asked you to come along, you hadn’t ever traveled this far on horseback before. Your ass felt permanently glued to the saddle and you were exhausted. Not to mention that the skies were looking rather ominous today, dark clouds signaling a storm on the way.

You hadn’t mentioned anything to him, of course, since you didn’t want to mess this up and make it so he’d never invite you along again. The two of you had never really had much of an opportunity to spend time alone together before, and although you were terrified that you’d make a fool of yourself, it had been too good of a chance to waste.

Even so, despite you keeping your complaints to yourself, he still seemed to catch on easily by himself. He stopped and camped regularly enough, making sure you ate and drank plenty and got moments to stretch off of the giant Shire you’d grabbed on the way since it was the only one big enough to handle carting everything back.

Judging by Arthur’s frequent glances towards the sky, he also was beginning to share your worries about the storm. You were getting closer to where the bison was rumored to be, but finding shelter from the inevitable snowstorm was going to be difficult. Your meager tents were not going to get the job done.

Finally, after yet another full day in the saddle, and with the clouds looming above signaling the snowfall would hit at any moment, the two of you came across a decent looking cabin. To find anyone out this far into the mountains was a miracle, and you just hoped the folks living here would give you shelter without anyone resorting to violence. Hell, you’d even sleep in the small barn off to the side, no arguments. Anything was better than trying to risk the coming storm in the small tents you had.

Arthur silently signaled you to hold back while he walked towards the house. You did as you were told but brought your revolver out just in case.

“Hello? Anybody home?” Arthur called out as he raised his hands up. “Weapons are away. Just looking for a dry spot to sleep tonight!” The weapons were technically away, although the both of you had your fingers at the ready.

He rapped on the door, and after a few moments of silence tested the doorknob. It opened easily and he peeked inside, keeping his hand on his holster in case anyone was trying to get the jump on him. Finding nothing, he finally gestured to you to follow.

You hitch the horse to the porch and walk inside, surprised to find the place looking somewhat decent. It was a little dusty, but the overall appearance of the place was clean and well kept. After poking around in some cupboards, you see that the kitchen is fully stocked, which could be helpful if this wasn’t a trap. After further inspection, you also find a massive bed in one of the rooms, covered in at least four quilts and even some fluffy feather pillows. Both the living room and the bedroom boasted a good sized fireplace as well. All in all, this place seemed almost too good to be true. Where were the owners?

“You look like you’re thinkin’ what I am, so I’m gonna go take a look around outside, see if I can’t find our host,” Arthur stated as met up with you in the kitchen. “Stay around the cabin and keep your gun handy.”

“I will. Be careful.”

Arthur nods and squeezes your shoulder when he passes on his way to the door. He shuts it quietly behind him as you stare vacantly at the space he’d just left. You could still feel the weight of his hand on your shoulder, heavy and comforting. You blush at your stupidity, acting like a little girl just because some fella touched her innocently. Never mind that he’d never touched you before.

You shake it off and keep your hand on your holster as you wander around the house, taking stock of anything that might be valuable. There wasn’t much, as it seemed whoever lived here was more of a practical soul, even if the everyday things were made to be comfortable. There were no womanly touches to be found, but the person did enjoy plush linens and good sturdy furniture. You’d even found an enormous copper tub in the other room, along with a huge stash of sandalwood soap. You hoped you get a chance to use it, as you hadn’t had a proper wash in four days. There was only one bed in the house, leaving sharing the bed the only option so you would feel better about sleeping next to Arthur if you knew that you at least smelled okay.

You continue your search, rifling through a little writing desk until you find a series of letters.

“Well, well. Good to meet you, Elijah Foster,” you mumble as you read the address. You skim through the letters to find any hints of what kind of person lived here, hoping it was someone that Arthur wouldn’t have any trouble dealing with.

Based on the stack of letters, it was a single man with no family, as he often complained about having to live alone. He mostly wrote back and forth with some friend of his talking about the good ole days and swapping homestead advice. It sounded like he was just an old man.

You wander towards the back door and poke your head out, listening for anything suspicious. There was nothing more than the usual sounds of nature, which could be both good and bad. Still, you trusted that Arthur could handle himself, so you won’t too worried. Instead, you take note of the chicken coop and large garden that could prove to be handy soon, then head back into the relative safety of the cabin.

Moments later, Arthur comes in through the back door, blowing into his hands to warm them.

“Found an old fella out near the well. No wounds or nothin’. Was probably doin’ chores and his heart just gave out. I buried him not too far away.”

You nod and show him the papers you’d found. He quickly glances through them, coming to the same conclusion you did.

“I’ll go carve his name tomorrow. I want to head back out to this shed I saw on my way back right now. Looked like a smokehouse, so we might find something for supper.”

“Sounds good. If not, there are lots of things here in the kitchen too. Dear Elijah sure loved his food,” you chuckle, waving Arthur off as he heads back outside.

With the news that it seemed safe to stay, you let your guard down a little bit, peeling off your filthy jacket and hat. You set them off to the side, wondering if you could convince Arthur to stay long enough to do some laundry. You were sure he needed some clean clothes too.

Upon inspection, the wooden stove seems in perfect working order and already has a stack of kindling and wood ready to go next to it. You set the kindling inside and light it up, knowing it will take a while to get to a good temperature for even cooking. While the stove warms, you hum and go through the cupboards as you try to figure out what to make for supper. Arthur comes stomping back inside moments later, arms filled with goods and grinning happily.

“I was right about the meat. He had a whole root cellar going on underground. Found some ham, bacon, and some sort of sausages. The best part is the place was filled with home canned goods and even some fruits and vegetables. Got some peaches and apples, even found some eggs and butter. Figured we could do with a little treat.”

“We can make all kinds of stuff with that! I am starving right now, so we’ll make something quick. Maybe the sausages and a potato hash? Might have the stuff to make some fry bread with it. Then maybe a cobbler for dessert. We’ll save the bacon for breakfast and make some fried apples too.”

“If you say so,” Arthurs deadpans and settles all of his finds on the dining room table.

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “You still don’t believe that I can cook.”

“Didn’t say that, Miss. Just haven’t seen any evidence to support your claims.”

You should probably be offended, but a smiling and teasing Arthur was such a rare treat that you could only bring yourself to blush and smile back.

“I’ll show you. Out of my kitchen, mister. You should get both of the fireplaces going. The chill is really starting to hit this place.”

“Good idea. I’ll get the tub filled too. Try not to burn my food, woman.”

“So rude. Now, where did I put that poison?”

Arthur laughs as he heads outside. You focus on cooking while he comes in and out, carrying loads of firewood and huge buckets of water. The poor man was certainly getting a workout today. You were sure he was looking forward to a bath now.

Dinner was nearly done by the time he joins you in the kitchen, poking his head over your shoulder to look at the cobbler you were putting together.

“The man sure liked his comforts. That bed is big enough for four. I think the two of us will be plenty comfortable.”

You were glad he couldn’t see your face, as the reminder of where you’d be sleeping tonight must have made you resemble a tomato. You stick the cobbler in the oven to avoid looking at him and begin to dish out the sausages, potatoes, and bread you’d put together for supper while Arthur continues looking through the cupboards.

“There must be forty pounds of beans here. Could feed an army. Would be good with some of that bacon.”

“I am not making you any beans if I’m supposed to be sharing a bed with you, Arthur Morgan.”

“That’s probably smart thinkin’,” he chuckles, sitting at the dining room table as you set the plates down, along with a pitcher of water he’d pumped earlier.

You roll your eyes as Arthur playfully makes a big show of sniffing his fork before he takes a bite. Your smile quickly turns smug as his eyes widen.

“Now why in the hell have I been eating Pearson’s slop if you can cook like this?”

You giggle and take a bit of your own food, pleased as he starts to dig in with relish.

“Pearson would never give up his job. Besides, this is pretty simple. Hard to mess up sausages and hash. The real test is my cobbler.”

Arthur grunts, shoving an entire half a sausage in his mouth as he chews happily. The meal soon became a quiet affair as your hunger caught up with you as well, and the two of you went to work devouring every bit quickly. The cobbler went by just as fast, with Arthur’s moan of delight being compliment enough.

Once your bellies were full with nary a crumb of leftovers in sight, the both of you leaned back into your chairs, sighing in contentment.

“Pearson can keep cooking for the rest of them, but I’ll only eat if you cook for me. You’re not gonna let me starve, right? You’ll cook for me again?” Arthur asked as he rubbed his belly, his soft smile sending your insides fluttering.

“You’re ridiculous. Yes. If we happen to be in camp at the same time and Pearson won’t kill me for using his supplies, I’ll cook for you again.”

Arthur helps you bring the dishes to the sink and even dries them while you wash. The easy way that the two of you work together makes you feel like you’ve done this millions of times.

When everything is clean, Arthur heads to the bedroom while you sit down on the sofa near the fire and begin pulling off your boots. They have a couple of new holes after this trip, making you cringe a bit. You’ll have to find a new pair before these fall apart completely. Arthur comes out a few moments later, carrying one of his union shirts. You were very familiar with those shirts, as they were usually fairly tight on him and highlighted his impressive back muscles.

“Thought you could use something to wear to bed. You can take the bath first.”

You accept the shirt, knowing the thing will probably reach nearly to your knees and cover you well enough.

“You sure? You’ve worked hard, so I don’t mind waiting.”

“Nah, it’s alright. The water will be dirtier for you if I go first. Little thing like you can’t hold much dirt.”

You snort over your shoulder as you head to the bathing room. “You’d be surprised.”

You strip quickly once you shut the door behind you, glad that you wouldn’t have to put any of those clothes back on when you were done. Everything you had was filthy. You didn’t even have a clean pair of bloomers to wear. The coals under the tub had kept the water nice and warm, and you sighed as you slid into the blessed comfort. Arthur had even set out a couple of washcloths and a bar of soap on the end table near the tub.

As you wash the days of grime away, you peer out of the window and see that the snow is finally coming down hard. It’s probably a pretty good guess that the two of you might be snowed in here for a couple days unless Arthur wants to tough it out. You really hope he doesn’t.

You quickly finish up in the tub, wanting to leave Arthur with plenty of warm water, and dry off, wringing your hair out as best you can. You slip on the shirt and take a little sniff, pleased that it smelled like Arthur. Looking around, you find an unopened container of tooth powder, so you wet a washcloth and do your best.

You take a deep breath and open the door to find Arthur lounging on the sofa, his boots and hat already off, and he was near to dozing off by the looks of it. He cracks open an eye as you step out, then slowly sits up straight, staring at you wide-eyed as you shyly stand there.

“It’s all ready for you,” you mumble, the cold air reminding you of just how exposed you are right now.

Arthur audibly swallows as his gaze travels from your hair drying wildly and loose, to your bare legs, glimpses of your thighs poking from underneath his shirt if you shifted.

Finally, he clears his throat and picks up the clothes he had handy, holding them in front of his lap as he hurries past you. The door closes behind him without another word. You quirk an eyebrow at the door, then shrug and bank the fire in the main room before heading to the bedroom.

The bedroom is sufficiently cozy, with the fire a gentle heat now and the windows weatherproofed. You slip under the covers on the right side, knowing Arthur will want to be on the left and closer to the door. After that it’s just a matter of trying to remember to breathe despite how nervous you were.

You lose track of time and the warmth seeps into your bones, making you drowsy, and you close your eyes for a few moments. Eventually, the gush a cold air hits your face as Arthur enters the room and quickly shuts the door behind him.

The room is suddenly filled with the scent of sandalwood as the freshly bathed man settles his things around. You can hear him putting his guns on the nightstand before the bed dips a little and the blanket is moved to allow him to slip underneath.

The bed is big enough that you aren’t touching each other, but you can feel the heat of his skin and he settles onto his back next to you.

“Night, Arthur.”

“Night.”

You nervously listen to his breathing, your heart going crazy being in such an intimate setting with a man and not being allowed to touch. Eventually, you heard him drift off, and allowed yourself to follow soon after.

You were so damn warm. Too warm. The air around you nearly stifling your ability to breathe. Your eyes flutter open and you sleepily look around. It’s barely morning, just a hint of light showing through the window.

There’s a heavy weight across your back and waist, so you peel the blanket back to peer under. Arthur has molded himself to you during the night, his legs tangled in yours and his arm across your waist. His skin is so unbelievably hot, and you guess that’s what woke you up. Your shirt had been ridden up a little too high for comfort, but at least you weren’t completely exposed.

This was nice, though. You knew the proper thing to do would be to sneakily climb out of his tangled limbs, but it was so good. It had been a long time since you’d felt this safe and secure.

Your plan was simply to fall back asleep like this and deal with the awkwardness in the morning. As you closed your eyes and began to let the heaviness of slumber take you over again, it seemed like a great plan.

Until he shifted in his sleep, pulling your hips closer to his lap and settling something hard and warm against your backside.

Suddenly all the blood in your body pooled downstairs, making you throb and dampen as you realize what that is and how close you are to it.

You slowly peer over your shoulder and see that Arthur is still fast asleep. And apparently having a great dream, judging by the twitching appendage that was being rocked against you ever so slightly.

You bite your lip and debate stopping him. Waking him up and acting like nothing was wrong was probably the polite thing. A good girl would even smack him and demand he apologize for acting like an animal even in sleep.

No one had ever said you were a good girl.

Your hips seemed to move of their own volition, pressing harder against his erection as his movements sped up. The massive hand that had been gripping onto your waist slowly slid up until it was cradling one of your breasts, somehow gentle with them in sleep. Arthur grunted and pressed his head into your neck, nipping at the skin lightly.

You couldn’t hold back the moan as Arthur suckled a little harder on your neck, and you felt the jolt as he woke up, stilling almost instantly.

“...Y/n?”

He was trying to pull his arm off of you, but you clutched it hard.

“I’m so sorry. Fuck, I’m just gonna...” Arthur tried to pull away again, but you tugged him closer, peering at him over your shoulder. His breath hitches and you know what he sees. Your lips chewed from trying to keep quiet, hair mussed and bite marks on your neck. Debauched.

“Arthur, please.”

He gulps and settles back, letting you bring his hand back up to your breast.

“You really want this? I don’t think I’ll be able to stop once I start.”

You hum and wiggle your butt against his erection, pleased to hear his whispered curse.

“I want this. Want you.”

You can feel him nod behind you, then he slides his hand slowly down your body, reaching underneath the shirt that was now bunched up to your waist.

“Easy girl, I got you,” Arthur mumbles as his hand reaches your core.

“Darlin’ you are soaking wet.”

His fingers part your folds, circling around to gather up your essence on them before slowing slipping one inside.

“Shit, you are so ready to go. Feel so good. Take one more for me.”

His hips are slowly grinding into you from behind, betraying how excited he is despite the calmness of his voice. He slowly slides another finger inside as his thumb circles your clit.

“There’s a good girl,” he groans against your neck.

You can’t help the little giggle that escapes.

Arthur props himself up to lean over and look at your face.

“What is so darn funny? Ain’t polite to laugh while a fellas trying to make you feel good.”

“I’m sorry, it feels amazing. Really. You’re just so adorable I couldn’t help it.”

“Adorable?” Arthur crinkles his nose like you’d just insulted him.

“You talk to me like I’m your horse,” you giggle again, unable to stop it.

He groans with embarrassment and presses his face back into your neck.

“Just have to make it so you can’t laugh then.”

He pulls his fingers out, leaving you feeling horribly empty. You can feel him messing around with his own pants, trying to pull and kick them off under the covers. Then he picks up your leg and slings across his hip, his cock now laying heavy against your core.

He slides it around, coating it before settling it against your opening.

“Last chance to back out. You sure you want me?”

“Yes. Do it, please.”

Arthur slides in embarrassingly easy, grunting and tightening his hold on you as he fully sheathes himself.

“You are so tight. I’m worried I’m not going to last long,” he mutters as he starts to thrust.

You are pretty sure you’re not going to last either, because you’d barely started and you could feel your orgasm building up. You could hear how wet you were, every thrust creating an embarrassing squelching sound. He speeds up, his hips slamming into you, and the room is filled with the slaps of skin on skin. You can’t even think anymore, the only sounds you’re capable of making are whining and grunting his name. Arthur leans across your back to kiss and suck on your neck, one of his hands reaching under you to rub your clit.

“You feel so good, darlin’. You’re so tight and wet. And you sound so pretty. Am I making you feel good?”

“Yes! Please, I’m so close!” You moan loudly, thrusting your hips back to meet his.

“Oh god, sweetheart, I’m going to cum soon. I can’t hold off anymore. Cum with me.” He whispers in your ear, biting the lobe, and you let go, screaming his name into the pillow. He thrusts hard three more times and cums with a loud, guttural groan into your neck. You both stay like that, breathing heavily as you come down and he strokes your stomach. After a minute, he finally pulls out, leaving you cringing as you feel yourself spill onto the sheets.

It’s quiet as you both catch your breath. You can hear Arthur’s heartbeat slowing down as you lay on his chest. You wanted to know what this all meant. If this was just sex for him or if he was sweet on you. You had no idea how to go about asking him without sounding desperate.

“I can hear you overthinking.” He chuckles into your hair. He leans back and tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“So what’s it gonna be? This a one time thing, or is it more?”

“I’d like it to be more,” you answer shyly, and he seems pleased with your response as he pulls your closer to him and leans over to peck your lips.

“Alright. We can do whatever you wanna do. You call the shots here.”

“Well, I don’t know how smart it is giving me that much power, Arthur Morgan.”

He chuckles, grabbing a handful of your hair and playing with it.

“Don’t think I’d mind if it’s you.”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence for a few moments before the urge to find the outhouse became too great. After taking care of business and freshening up, you make breakfast while Arthur goes looking through all the papers in old Elijah’s desk.

“Here, look at this one.”

You wipe your hands off on the dish towel and hold the paper near the window, seeing that Arthur has found the deed to the property.

“You know,” Arthur says thoughtfully, rubbing his hand across his beard. “He didn’t have nobody else. It’d be easy as hell to write something up and say he sold it to us. Go to town and have ‘em file it up. It could be ours.”

You stare at him in wonder. “Really?”

“Not gonna leave the others in the dust, of course, but we could have a place out here for when we need it. Or to just get away sometimes. Just the two of us.”

You’re absolutely beaming with you throw yourself at him and he pulls you into a hug, placing a kiss onto the top of your head.

“A place for us.”

#Arthur Morgan #Arthur Morgan x reader #arthur x reader #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #sharing a bed #au #lemon

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galadrieljones · 5 years ago

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That he may hold me by the hand: chapter 8

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Albert Mason

Rating: Mature (Adult Themes and Situations, Violence, and Sexual Content)

Summary: After saving Albert from stumbling off a cliff in the Heartlands, Arthur invites him to Valentine for a drink. What ensues after that is a quiet love story, in which both men find themselves completely undone.

Masterpost | AO3 | Epigraph

Chapter 8: St. Denis was never enough.

“Goddam cemeteries,” said Arthur. He was loading his volcanic. It was early night, and they were creeping through the mausoleums. It had become imperative for them to play errand boys, running out grave robbers in their final push to bring Jack back. It was by far the most ridiculous bullshit with which they had ever been tasked. There was a dog barking somewhere amongst the tombstones, and they kept finding vagrants crouching here and there as if the dead could somehow keep them warm. It all made Arthur feel sick in his bones. “This place is hellish.”

“I appreciate you being here,” said John. He seemed nervous, but not by ghosts nor vagrants. He was terrified about Jack. “Seriously.”

“Of course I’m here,” said Arthur. "Don't be a moron."

“Braithwaite Manor weren’t no picnic. I still smell like smoke.”

Arthur lit a cigarette. He was smoking it and feeling dry in his throat and in his eyes. He was tired. He hadn’t slept properly in two days. “Ain’t sure what you expected.”

“Dutch is losing his mind, Arthur,” said John. “Don’t you think? I ain’t too keen on what I see.”

"I don't see much of anything no more."

“I ain’t sure how much of it I see neither. Seems an awful waste. Of a life? All this time, and running? I don’t even know what he’s talking about half the time.”

“You really ought to leave,” said Arthur, looking around. There was a sad dove singing somewhere nearby. It was creepy. Arthur swore under his breath.

“Leave and go where?” said John. He stopped, like he had got confused by his location.

“I don’t know,” said Arthur. “Anywhere. We get Jack back, and then I reckon you ought to wrangle him, Abigail, and leave. Ain't no reason to stick around no more if you don't follow.”

"What about loyalty?" John said.

Arthur said nothing of it at first. In his mind, he had traveled far from the notion of loyalty. His loyalties had changed. He didn't know what the goddam word meant anymore. "Be loyal to what matters," he said, pulling words out of his ass. But they sounded true.

John seemed pensive on this. He had stopped cold and Arthur along with him. They were officially lost, but neither of them seemed to care, or even notice. “Interesting,” said John. "Real interesting. What about you then?"

“What about me.”

“You and Albert.”

Arthur looked at him, taken off guard. John was unwavering in his resolve, gazing through the fog. “Come on,” said Arthur, ignoring the question. “Let’s get a move on.”

“You can tell me the truth,” said John, following behind. “I ain’t—I would never judge you, Arthur. Not for that.”

“For what?”

“For loving a man. It ain’t like that. And hey, maybe I’m wrong? But I’m just calling it like I see it.”

“You ain’t wrong,” said Arthur. He had the cigarette crammed between his lips. He’d started to get freaked out by the atmosphere of the cemetery, so he holstered his volcanic and opted instead for his repeater. He looked back at John who was earnest and reminding him of a dog who had wandered into a field of corn. He looked so young, thought Arthur. He looked as young as he had the day Arthur took him out that noose in Chicago. Arthur remembered how he’d had ligature bruises on his neck as if he had been dragged for a mile, and when they got him back to their camp in Putnam all the way over on the Illinois River, he did not speak for two days. It still broke Arthur up inside, to think of it.

“Arthur?”

"It’s just—” He shook his head out, to get brave. “You ain’t wrong. Okay?”

John nodded. He didn’t push nor prod. He just said, “Okay.” He seemed satisfied. “I think the place we’re looking for is just ahead.”

“Thank Jesus.”

They finished the job upright and got out clean inside twenty minutes. As they rode home, John struggled with Jack, who seemed enamored of the brief, fancy life he had lived while sequestered at Mr. Angelo Bronte’s. He talked in ecstatic, shiny terms, which intimidated John at first. Arthur mostly found it amusing, though he understood. He was relieved to have Jack back. He was relieved. He had known all along how bad it could have gone, and he had to close his eyes to shake the old fear from his heart.

It wasn’t long before they were back at Shady Belle, and the gang was celebrating Jack’s heroic rescue along with the false comeuppance of all those who had wronged them. Arthur smoked idly and stood off grooming his horse so as to avoid Dutch and even more so Hosea who was sick and getting sicker and whose love he knew to be true but constantly misguided by his thirst for the life. Arthur had never felt any such lust for anything and standing now, in the swamps of southern Lemoyne, he felt farther away from his own life and his own love than he ever had. It took him a great deal of will to finally enter their camp that night. A big haunted house in a big haunted country.

It had been four days, and Albert, in a fit of boredom and cabin fever, rode his horse out of the city and to a safe camping spot, north of Rhodes near Dewberry Creek. It had been so long since he’d slept outdoors that he was beginning to wonder if any of it had ever happened. The creek was an Arcadian dream, full of Whitetail, fox, rabbits. Scarce boar. He tracked a twelve-point buck for a while and took its picture, felt free and alone and calm. He built a fire and his tent, fished a fish in the creek, cleaned and cooked it up for his dinner in the manner taught to him by Arthur. He poured a glass of bourbon whiskey and ate as the sun went down behind the tangled tree line, feeling proud.

Before he had left St. Denis, Albert stopped at the post office where there was waiting for him a letter from his mother. He had been looking forward to her correspondence for a couple weeks now. Before he went to sleep that night, he leaned against a fallen tree trunk, sipping more of the whiskey, and he read that letter by the light of the fire. His mother’s letters were long, requiring time and commitment. They often read like opinion editorials full of immaculate grammar and journalistic observations upon her own life and his and the lives of those she deemed worthy of conversation in the high society of Philadelphia. She was a good writer, educated at Vassar College prior to marrying Albert’s father, the son of a prominent businessman from New York. She was into her mid-fifties now, living in Philadelphia, and she had been alone for many years. He worried about her, sometimes. She had always seemed a tough cookie, but knowing Arthur had tough him well that a strong armor is worth little more than the human sadness it protects.

In his last letter, Albert had told his mother of Arthur—not in a bid for her approval. He just wanted her to know. The letter he received in return now was several pages long and full of life, but it did not mention Arthur until the very end. He smoked several cigarettes as he read, and by the time he got to the final paragraph, he was happily drunk and sat up off the fallen tree, leaning closer to the fire, for what he read would serve to change his life—

Well, dear Al, we are nearing the end of this most current exchange, and in the spirit of your previous letter, I would like to close things with a quaint proposition for you. You remember my brother, your Uncle Matthew, who recently purchased a large stake of land out on the central coast of California? Well, Matthew has taken a wife, and together they have purchased a home in San Francisco. In the wake of things, he has offered the ranch to me, free and clear. I have taken him up on his offer, of course, and plan to leave in three weeks time. As you well know, I have been aching for departure to the west for many years, and as a result will be closing up the Philadelphia estate indefinitely.

The property in California is comprised of 200 acres of terrain with water, plus a wide stable and two free-standing homes. It also holds a significant quarters for farmhands and stable boys and finds its end on a cliff that drops off into the wide, blue Pacific. I have seen photographs, and it is quite beautiful. Obviously, it is far too much for me to occupy by myself, however, and what I mean to propose is that, should you and your Arthur find yourselves in need of a home once your stretch in St. Denis comes to a close, you should pack your bags and get on a train to Monterey. Technically it is in a little place called Carmel-by-the-Sea, but you catch my meaning. I hope you’ll come. I am certain you would discover a wealth of inspiration for your work out west, Al. And Arthur as well, for I know how you mentioned he is an artist.

Please be in touch, hastily, as if the two of you plan on coming to stay, I will need to ready the property. I like to be prepared! Good luck with your opening, and remember how I love you. Give Arthur my warm regards. I do hope to meet him soon. You sound happy.

Your Loving Mother,

Cynthia

Much later, with the night winding down, Arthur stood chain-smoking on the swamp as a thunderstorm now raged over the horizon of the Lanahechee. With the adrenaline wore off, his body felt beat as he looked at the dark water ahead of him. It seemed endless and humid. Behind him there was the party, still going on and on as ticker tape. Javier played the guitar while Karen sang with Miss Grimshaw and they drank whiskey by the fire.

The colors of the world in which Arthur lived were changing, all around him. He felt sour and uncomfortable there, held up inside and anxious to unleash himself from the life to which he had been yoked for so long. Having forged a life of his own, separate from the interests of the gang, this was now all that Arthur could think about. He knew that it was selfish but he could not remember any other time in his life in which had allowed himself to entertain his own needs long enough to even register what selfishness felt like. He was bored and agitated as he looked out at the swampy river’s edge.

Mary Beth came down at some point and stood beside him, a welcome surprise. She had a pale scarf tied around her hair as if to protect from the occasional blowing rain. Arthur gave her a cigarette, lit it for her off the burning end of his own. Together they stood, looking at the lightning for a while, and smoking like old times.

“You did good, Arthur,” she said after some time. She glanced at him from behind the scarf like she was hiding part of herself. Thunder went off in the distance and shook the land. “Getting Jack back. It was a real good thing you did for John.”

“I know,” he said. “Thank you.”

“I’m supposed to tell you that Dutch wants to talk to you.” She said it half-heartedly. She did not even look at him.

Arthur said nothing.

“Anyway, John’s inside,” Mary Beth went on, smoking. “He’s with Abbie and Jack. Things seem good between them, for once.”

“I’m glad.”

“Arthur?” said Mary Beth.

He looked at her, sensing the curiosity and the concern on the edge of her voice. She wore it so often with him. They had been friends a long time. “What is it?” he said.

“I’m gonna ask you something,” she said, watching the water, “and you don’t have to answer. I won’t mind. I promise. But if you do answer, please tell me the truth. Don’t spare my feelings.”

“Go ahead, Mary Beth.”

Out on the edge of the horizon, lightning threaded the sky. The storm was moving fast. It was headed to sea.

“Mr. Mason,” she said, looking at her hands, “do you love him?”

He smoked. He finished his cigarette, tossed it to the earth and put it out with the heel of his boot. He nodded, gripping his belt, glancing to her and her freckled cheeks. “Yes,” he said.

Her breath did not catch, and she did not hesitate. She simply nodded, took a drag, and blew the smoke out in the air. “Okay,” she said.

“Mary Beth,” said Arthur.

“It’s okay,” she said. She smiled at him, through a fierce façade, as if she were trying desperately not to cry. “Please don’t apologize. I’m glad you found somebody, Arthur. Somebody decent. I surely am, as I want you to be happy. You deserve love.” She put the hair behind her ears and looked at her cigarette. “I never held no expectations for us. I know it sometimes seemed that way but I swear.”

“I know,” he said, studying her. “I know.”

“We’re friends. Ain’t we?”

“Always.”

“Good,” she said, like she was relieved. “You know I used to be filled with all these fantasies, especially when I first joined up with you boys. Knights in armor, all that. They saved my mind for many years. You always fit that bill.”

“I ain’t no knight, Mary Beth.”

“You are to me,” she said. “And I ain’t forgotten.”

“I will always protect you,” said Arthur. “Any way I can. And I am thankful for you. Taking care of me after all that nasty business, in ways that no one else would. For listening to me. You will find love, Mary Beth. If that is what you desire. I know it.”

“Thanks, Arthur.”

“You’re welcome.”

They smoked. The sky churned. “I been saving up, you know,” said Mary Beth, finishing her cigarette, throwing it into the water. She adjusted the scarf in her hair. “I got more than $800.”

“Saving up for what?” said Arthur.

“For leaving the gang,” she said, like a revelation. “It won’t be long now. I been reading a lot, about the Midwest. There are places up there I could live forever, on a much longer dime. I could get a room, with a desk. Maybe even a cabin. A place to write all these stories I been cooking up in my mind. I don’t doubt they’re terrible, but still. They’re mine. I want to make something, Arthur. I can’t do that here. Try as I been, it’s too much running, too much uncertainty.”

“I get that,” said Arthur. “And I think that’s a fine plan.”

“You should go, too,” she said, growing wistful, like she had stars in her eyes. “With Albert. He loves you. He has money. He can take you away from here. From all this. You should let him, Arthur.”

Arthur looked at her, and then he glanced back to the party where he could not see nor hear nothing but debauchery. It was a mixture of those he loved and those he no longer understood, and he knew that in time, all would draw to a close, and it would make no difference. None at all. The hour was growing late now. The night was long. He did not go to see Dutch. He breathed.

The next morning when Albert returned from his camping trip on Dewberry Creek, he opened the door to his apartment and found Arthur inside, waiting. He had been sitting on the sofa, sketching furiously, and when Albert came in, he looked up, relieved, stood and closed his journal.

“Where you been?” he said.

“Arthur,” said Albert, happily surprised. He set down his valise and his tripod, and he removed his hat. “How did you get in here?”

“I uh—I picked the lock,” said Arthur. “Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," said Albert.

"I got here late last night. You wasn't here."

“I went for a ride,” said Albert. “Don't worry. Did you find Jack? Is he okay?”

“Yes,” said Arthur. “He’s back with his family now. Thank you for asking.”

“Of course,” said Albert. “I’m relieved. It seemed so serious.”

They stood across the room from one another now, as if yet too hesitant to cross. Both of them looked at their shoes for a moment, very still in this liminal space.

At some point, Albert finally came over, and both of them sat down on the couch. Albert reached for Arthur’s hand and held it steadfastly. They looked at each other. Arthur studied Albert’s face closely and said, “So, you went for a ride, huh? You look a little windswept.”

“Yes,” said Albert. “I went out camping, just one night. Over on Dewberry Creek.”

“Dewberry Creek?” said Arthur. “That’s pretty country over there. Bold move, Mr. Mason."

“Well, we are untamed," he said, smiling to himself. "I got some wonderful shots of a twelve-point buck. I caught a fish as well.”

“You did?”

“I did.”

“Very good."

“Thank you,” said Albert. He blushed. “I got a letter from my mother yesterday.”

“That sounds nice,” said Arthur. He ran his thumb across Albert's knuckles. His whole body calm, safe. His heart was quiet. “What did she have to say?”

“A lot, actually,” said Albert.

“Oh yeah?”

The morning sun was pouring in through the windows, soaking the room and making it warm. There were some loud and joyful noises then, coming in through the wide open French doors from the bustling street outside. It sounded like a bunch of kids, getting loose, playing tag, being free.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #albert mason #arthur x albert #arthur morgan x albert mason #albthur #that he may hold #john marston #mary beth gaskill #happy new year !!#<3

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ladyboltontoyou · 6 years ago

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Arthur Morgan x Reader: Farmer’s Daughter

Ask: Ok well I was wondering if you could write an Arthur Morgan x Reader where the reader is the daughter of a rich farm owning family and Arthur rides up to the farm/ranch one day to scope the place out and see if they're easy to rob but somehow ends up with heart eyes for the reader and starts sneaking around to see her. Doesn't have to be smut, but that would be awesome. Thank you!

Warnings: Probably cursing. A bit of an age gap since Arthur is, you know, like 30 something, and the reader is still living with her parents.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader

A/N: So this turned out longer than I had originally planned oops. ALso apparently freezers were invented around the 1830′s so don’t come at me for having ice cubes in Arthurs drink ok. I really hope this is what you imagined and it doesn’t seem rushed, even though I spent like 4 hours on it. Hope it’s not too short or too long. OKAY I’M DONE RAMBLING YOU CAN READ NOW.

The last thing you expected to see on a Friday afternoon was a stranger on a white horse riding up your dirt road. You had been reading a book on your upstairs balcony when you saw him, at first just a small white speck a ways away. But when that white speck started making noise you looked up and saw it was a man on a horse, a visitor. You rarely got visitors here that weren’t two men on a wagon full of supplies.

You set your book down on the table and leaned forward to get a better look as he neared the front of your house. He looked handsome enough, even though you were on the second story balcony and he was on the ground below. From what you could see he was a rugged man about thirty or so, not the kind of men your parents usually dealt with. Your curiosity got the best of you and you walked back inside and downstairs where you saw your father opening the front doors. One of his work friends stood beside him in case things were to go south, his hand sitting comfortably on his pistol as a gentle warning to the stranger that stood on your porch.

“Sorry to bother you folks, I was looking for the Braithwaite manor and it looks like I got myself lost. Do you know whereabouts that is?” His voice sounded so friendly and warm, you would never expect that he was there to see if you would be easy to ransack. You watched the conversation go down from the bottom step of the staircase and tried not to look too obvious.

Your father was totally oblivious and way too trusting. “No worries friend, these back roads are tricky. Fancy a drink? You look like you’ve been riding all day. Come inside and I’ll have my wife draw you up some directions.”

The man looked hesitant but eventually shrugged. “You’re too kind. I’d really appreciate it.”

You took the chance to walk into the tea room since you knew they’d come inside any minute, and you didn’t want to look suspicious. Plus, you wanted to be nosey, it wasn’t often attractive strangers came by. You sat down at the table and picked up the book from the table, something you had already read before, and tried your best to look as if you had been doing it for some time already.

“Who’s that man outside?” Your mother had snuck up behind you and scared the daylights out of you when she leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“I don’t know.” You said after you recovered from the scare. “But he sure is good looking.”

She peaked at the front door and nodded in approval at your taste. “You’re not wrong about that.” Thank god it was your mother and not your grandmother, she would have chided you for hours about being indecent.

Finally, they came in and the man took off his hat, looking around as his eyes adjusted to the change of light. He looked even better looking close up. His facial hair was trimmed neatly but looked like it had grown in a little, the hair on his head the same. His face was partially spotted from the dust in the air from horse hooves but he didn’t look truly dirty, nothing compared to your farmboys.

He looked around and seemed impressed with the place, his eyes looking into every room he could see from his spot. When he looked into the room your father began walking into, the tea room, he only spared you a short glance.

Alright, well, you weren’t used to that. Most men who saw you immediately started complimenting your parents on how gorgeous you were, praising you and never failing to remark some version of ‘You’ll make a wonderful wife/Someone a very happy husband/Beautiful children’. But he didn’t say a thing.

“Darling, would you be so kind as to draw some directions from here to Braithwaite manor? Our friend here has gotten lost.” Your father asked your mother who smiled and obliged, heading upstairs to get some paper. “Oh! I didn’t even see you there!” He said when he noticed you sitting on the couch. “Could you bring our guest some tea?”

The stranger looked at you and looked like he was about to decline and tell you not to worry yourself but you were already standing up. “Sure thing daddy, need anything else?” You asked sweetly with a smile.

Your father looked to the man who just shook his head and tried to say ‘I’m fine’ and ‘No thank you’ at the same time. “No, I’m, thank you,” He jumbled over his words and looked visibly embarrassed. “I’m alright.”

You smiled widely, amused by that. He looked away and scratched the back of his head awkwardly. Your father paid no mind and led him to the couch, talking about how harsh the month had been with no rain at all.

When you got back from the kitchen with a glass of tea he looked up and accepted the glass from you happily, muttering a ‘thanks’ before he almost chugged the entire thing, even chewing on some of the ice. Your mother came down the stairs with a piece of paper in hand and one of your nice fountain pens in the other.

“You’ll have to excuse my writing, I’m not the best artist.” She joked and sat on the single chair across from the couch. “You should have told our artist here to do it instead, she could draw him the best map he’d ever laid his eyes on.” She joked and you tried not to let them see how bashful she made you. She always bragged about you and anything you did, you could draw something purposefully awful and she would still treat it like a priceless painting.

“Oh it’s alright, I’m sure I’ll manage.” He chuckled, taking more ice into his mouth.

You sat down on the other side of the couch and watched the man from the corner of your eye. He looked around the house while his jaw moved to chew the ice as if he was taking note of every single window and door. “Say, you folks-”

Your mother sighed in frustration, putting two fingers on her forehead in exasperation. “I’m sorry, I can barely draw a line. Darling, could you please?” She slid the paper across the table and gave you a sweet look.

“I’ll try.” You laughed and leaned down, taking the pen from her.

“What were you saying?” Your father asked from his seat and the man looked confused before he remembered.

“I was just going to ask if you knew of some good people to hire for security. Assuming those men at the end of the road are what I’m thinkin’ they are.”

“Yes, they work for a man named Michael, he hires men that used to be in the war and sells their services to those who can afford it.” Your father said proudly. Arthur just nodded.

“Here’s the house.” You said to the man as you drew a small house next to the scribbles your mother had done. He scooted closer to you carefully and watched as you drew. “And here’s the road. The corn fields are on the right, the tobacco on the left.” You kept talking as you drew and tried to focus on moving the pen instead of how close he was to you. His body heat radiated off of him and grazed your bare arm and neck, you could hear him breathing slowly. He smelt like smoke and day-old cologne mixed with the leather from his coat.

As you gave him directions he would never need Arthur felt morality tug at his heartstrings. You were such good people, welcoming him into your home and showing such hospitality. He would have to tell Dutch there was no way, there were too many workers and guards, he would make something up. He came expecting a snooty rich family but was caught off guard by good people. You all had the generosity, kindness, and respect of poor folk.

When you finished you slid the map over on the table. “Let it sit for a minute before you touch it, the ink’s still wet.” You warned and put the cap back on the pen. “Especially here.” You laughed softly and pointed at the words of his destination where you had spelled it wrong the first time and scratched it out.

He nodded and muttered an ‘alright’, looking at you from a side glance. Your father talked for a while about the people who lived in the manor, not being shy about his opinion. Arthur couldn’t have agreed more but he kept up his facade and played dumb.

“It’s dry now.” You said and Arthur looked away from your father. You were looking at the paper so he took the chance to actually look at you, unintentionally admiring you. Normally he was good about keeping his eyes where they belonged. If there was anyone who respected women it was Arthur, but it was hard not to appreciate your beauty. He figured your sweetness was the only reason he stared. It had been a while since he saw a sweet girl who wasn’t trying to pickpocket him or get him to spend a fortune in the saloon.

“Thank you.” He picked up the paper and admired your work. One of the few things he could really appreciate was art. You drew so effortlessly, the small roads and hills looked like the maps he’d seen the professionals sell. “Well, I reckon I better be on my way, I’ve taken up too much of your time.”

“Not at all.” Your father stood up and so did the stranger. They shook hands as he thanked your father who shook him off and pat his back a few times. “You sure there’s nothing else we could do for you?”

“You’ve done more than enough.” He promised and looked back to you and your mother, the paper held gently in his hands. “Thank you both for your hospitality. And for the map.” He held up the paper and you smiled, causing him to unknowingly do the same.

When he started walking out the door with your father you ran upstairs and almost fell off your balcony to watch him ride off. The hot wind hit your face when you reached the banister, just in time to watch him ride off. He put his hat back on and took one last look behind him, not failing to notice the beautiful young girl watching him leave.

***

The frogs and crickets sang while the fireflies lit the black air with soft pulsating gold. You were on your banister half reading a book and half watching the farmboys work in the fields below, their lanterns bobbing gently through the rows of plants, stopping occasionally to pull up weeds or a dead plant.

It was hard to read. It was stupid to even try. But there was nothing else to do to take your mind off of your thoughts, even though reading wasn’t doing a good job at that. At least it was something.

A dog barking in the distance made you set your book down. It was the dogs they kept up at the end of the road to warn when someone was coming. You waited a minute to see if they would calm down but they didn’t. You heard your father yell downstairs to the men at the end of the road, and they responded with something about deer in the woods.

You believed it for a moment until you heard rattling from the other side of your balcony. The first thing that came to mind was some kind of greasy gunslinging bastard but before you could start screaming two arms hooked over the side of the ledge, covered by that same damn leather jacket you had been so close to earlier.

It shouldn’t have made you feel any better considering his original intentions were to rob your family for everything they had. But for some reason you had a feeling he wasn’t a threat to you. That made you incredibly stupid and naive but thankfully, for once, you were right in this situation.

When he finally pulled himself over he looked surprised to see you standing there watching him. “Now, before you start screaming,” He said as he reached up to grab the lantern that hung above him. “I’m not here to hurt you or anything like that.” He blew out the small flame and the two of you were suddenly surrounded by darkness.

“Then why are you here?” You asked cautiously. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to see him again, but the last thing you expected was this. If anyone saw him your father's politeness would be out the window as well as Arthur.

He sighed as if he didn’t know why himself. “You been on my mind girl, and I don’t know why. I don’t know why my dumbass thought it would be a good idea to risk not only my ass but yours, just to come back up here and ask for your name.”

You covered your mouth to stifle that bubbled in your throat. “Truly? That’s why?”

Arthur laughed softly, shaking his head when he realized how ridiculous it was. “I suppose so. And I wanted to ask for another one of those hundred-dollar drawings you make.”

You laughed again and put your fingers on the bottom lip you held between your teeth. “Oh yeah? Was my map that good?”

He grinned and looked down at his boots, kicking them against the floor to kick some pebbles loose from the bottoms. He couldn’t believe how young he felt then, like he was only sixteen again flirting around with the farmer's daughter. The only thing different from that was he was much, much, much older. If the other men in the gang saw him they’d make fun of him till the day he died for sneaking around for a girl.

“Well, okay, I guess I can make you something.” You smiled while biting your lip. He put on a show of acting grateful, clasping his hands together and placing them in front of his forehead. When you recovered from quiet laughter you went into your room to get some paper and a pencil. You made sure both your doors were locked before you went back onto your dark balcony. You stopped in the open doorway, noticing how little you could see. There was no way you could draw anything out there unless a lantern was lit, but that would be too bright and anyone nearby would be able to see the two of you. “I can’t see out here, maybe we should go in my room.”

He was reluctant for a minute, considering how fast he’d be able to run and jump out the balcony if need be. “Yeah, sure.” He sighed and walked towards the doors. The spurs on his boots lightly jingled and you could hear fabric moving against fabric as he moved past you into your dimly lit room. “Been a while since I’ve been in a room this nice.” He admitted as he looked around your room.

“You live in a barn then?” You teased and sat down at the table near the windows. “Oh, I never told you my name. It’s (Y/N).”

Arthur leaned against the wall near you and crossed his ankles, nodding as he thought over your name. “(Y/N). Never met anyone with that name before.”

You smiled proudly, twirling the pencil in your fingers. “And yours?”

He paused, considering while he looked out the window. “Arthur.” He said finally and looked back to you.

“Arthur.” You mused before remembering what you were supposed to be doing. “Ah, sorry, what did you say you want me to draw you?”

He snorted and crossed his arms. “I didn’t give that any thought, do anything you’d like.”

You bit your lip and looked him up and down. “Okay. It might take me a little while though.” He wanted to say ‘good’, but held his tongue and settled for a ‘That’s okay’.

After about an hour of talking, constant talking, you were finally finished. “If I had longer I could have done better, but, here.” You slid the paper across the table to him. After a while, he got tired and had sat down across from you.

He took the paper in his hands and squinted before his eyes widened. “Christ, girl.” He breathed and looked over the lines and shading. “You’re better than me.”

“You draw too?” You asked with sudden interest but he didn’t respond, he was too caught up in the paper in front of him.

“I can’t believe this. Did you take a picture of me when I wasn’t looking?” He shook his head and scratched his chin as he continued admiring it.

You blushed and ran a hand through your hair, he made you into a flustered mess with those praises. They were different when they were coming from someone who wasn’t kin. “Thank you.” It was all you could say. You didn’t expect him to like it that much, it was a hurried sketch of him leaning against your wall, but as much as you liked to pretend your art wasn’t that good there was no denying that this was an exceptionally realistic drawing. You were almost sad to see it go.

Arthur shook his head and looked up from the paper, looking at you completely different. Like how your father looked at your mother the first time he saw her shoot a gun. Newfound respect and admiration glinted in those pretty blue eyes of his, all directed to you. He was going to say something else but the sounds of heels coming up the stairway stopped him.

“(Y/N)! I just found a letter from June, it came yesterday but-” She grabbed your doorknob and tried to open it, only succeeding in causing the door to shake slightly. Arthur looked at you with wide eyes as she called out your name a second time.

“Go, hurry!” You whispered and he sat up as quickly and quietly as he could, tiptoeing to the open doors. “One second, I’m changing into my nightdress!” You called back to her as you rushed the grown man out of your room.

He paused in the same spot he had climbed up, one hand on the jasmine covered lattice he had used as a ladder. “Could I come see you again?” He asked boldly, the paper in his hand slightly moving from the breeze.

You laughed in disbelief. “There’s no way I could say no to that. You better.”

Arthur smiled then, the widest and cheesiest smile he had worn in a while. If it wasn’t for the lantern sitting inside your room next to the window he stood near, you wouldn’t have seen it. You wanted to say more, but he swung his legs over the edge and left you to explain to your mother why you spent so long doing something so simple.

#red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 x reader #arthur morgan imagines #rdr2 imagines #rdr2 x reader #ask #request #myfanfic #farmersdaughter

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rheyninwrites · 5 years ago

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Old Friends Part 4

Arthur loosened his arms around me and looked down, doing his best to peer into my face, but after the memories that had just flooded my brain, I had no interest in looking at him. I guess he picked up on that, because he gave me a little squeeze with one arm then put his hands back on the steering wheel. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, closed it, then opened it again.

“Look, why don’t you stay with me for a bit?”

Well, that got me to look at him.

“It’s just, you ain’t got no place to go right now, and I damn sure ain’t gonna leave you deserted somewhere. Besides, it’s just me in that big three bedroom out in the country, and it’d be nice to have some company for a change.”

Dammit, he knew my weaknesses too well. Making it out like I was doing him a favor made it almost impossible to say no, even though I was afraid my old feelings were going to well up too much for my comfort. I stared at him with steely eyes that were none too effective with the tears still seeping out, and gave him a hard pout before throwing my hands up with an exaggerated sigh.

“Fine, cowboy, you win! Take me away from all this misery to your wonderful farm, where I’ll bake pies all day and we can live happily ever after!”

That got me a good hearty belly laugh as he pulled back onto the highway, beginning the short drive to his place.

“Well, now, I don’t know about all that. You know I’ve never been fond of pies. You want happily ever after, try making me some nice cookies.”

We sat the rest of the drive in silence, but this time it was a more comfortable one. I could tell he was giving me some space to think, sort out my feelings and try to make a plan. But the truth was, I was just too damn tired for any of it. The time spent worried, angry, and crying, coupled with the early hour, had zapped my reserves, and I laid my head on his shoulder. If it startled him, he didn’t show it. He just rested his cheek on top of my head for a minute, then kept driving.

When we got to his place, he helped me out of the truck, and I took a minute to take in my surroundings. I hadn’t been out to his place in a long time, so I had forgotten exactly how isolated it was. Of course, that’s how he liked it- a big field, nothing around him but grass and trees. Plenty of darkness, too. I’d almost forgotten how nice just looking at the stars could be, when you didn’t have city lights competing.

“You, uh, you gonna come in, or you gonna stand in the front yard and gape at the stars? It don’t matter to me none, but I thought you was tired.”

I followed him through the doorway into the living room, spacious in part because it was so bare. A brown leather couch, matching chair, and tv. That was it. Bare kitchen counters, except for the coffee maker and toaster, plus a dish rack that held exactly one each of a bowl, plate, coffee mug, knife, fork, and spoon. Plenty of beer bottles in the trash can, though.

As he locked up behind me and went through to the bedroom, I turned to ask him where the bathroom was, and if it was okay if I took a shower. I was desperate to wash off the awful smell of the house I’d been in. Then I realized.

I don’t have any clothes!

I don’t know if he saw my face and made a great guess at what was going through my mind, or if he had thought that far ahead of me, but he came out of the bedroom holding a soft green t-shirt and an oversized pair of pajama pants.

“Thought you might want to take a shower, get out of those clothes. I know I sure would. I know you’re a good bit bigger than me in the hips, but those pants have always been a little loose, and the material stretches too, so I reckon you’ll be alright for the night, at least. When you get undressed, throw your clothes out the door and I’ll put ‘em in a wash, then they’ll be fresh for you tomorrow.”

“Arthur, you really are a godsend, you know that? Thank you.”

He showed me to the master bathroom, got me a fresh cloth and towel, then left me to myself. Removing the jeans and clingy t-shirt I was wearing felt soooooo good, but not as good as getting off the sweat drenched bra and underwear. That was a big part of the reason I hated living in the south so much. It almost didn’t even matter if you dried your underwear in the summer, after an hour of wearing them, they were gonna be wet again anyway.

Once I’d undressed, I opened the door a small crack and pushed my dirty clothes out with my foot, just like he’d asked me to. I stepped into the shower, and before long I had a nice cool stream running over my body, chasing away some of my sadness. It was unbelievably refreshing, almost making me forget my troubles.

When I was done in the shower and dried off, I pulled on the clothes he had given me. I was glad he was broad shouldered, or the shirt wouldn’t have fit at all. As it was, it was tighter across the chest than I would have preferred for sleeping in, but beggars can’t be choosers. As for the pants, I was extremely grateful they had a button to close the fly. I just hope it didn’t pop off, because even with them being loose on him and stretchy jersey, they were doing all they could to go around my hips. At least the waistband wasn’t tight.

After running my fingers through my wet hair and pulling it back, I stepped out of the bathroom, noticing that it was already close to dawn. The queen sized bed in the master bedroom had the covers neatly pulled back, crisp cotton sheets looking ridiculously inviting. I longed to slip into them and fall asleep, but I wasn’t about to kick Arthur out of his own damn bed. It seemed he had other thoughts, though, as I found him laid out on the couch in his sweatpants and t-shirt, pillow under his head.

“Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing?!?!?”

“ I’m trying to sleep, woman, if you could shut your mouth.”

“Uh-uh. No. I woke you up in the middle of the night, dragged your ass into the middle of nowhere to help me with my drama, and you’re giving me a safe place to stay. There is NO FUCKING WAY I am taking your bed from you after all that.”

“Jesus, it ain’t that serious. I ain’t about to make you sleep on the couch after all you’ve been through.”

“ Well I ain’t gonna take your bed after all you’ve done, so you can either get your ass up in your own damn bed or we’re BOTH gonna be sleeping on that couch!”

Why the fuck did I just say that?

Arthur got that damn smirk on his face he used to get when we were kids and he thought he had me backed into a corner. He got up, slowly, and walked over to me, until we were less than a foot apart, his steely blue eyes staring down into my pale green ones. But I wasn’t gonna back down in this fight. I stood staring up into his eyes with the same intensity he was giving me.

“ Alright then, missy. You want me to get in my bed, I’ll get in my bed. But you’re coming too, if I have to wrestle you and tie you to the posts.”

Fucking smug look. Fucking smug asshole.

Shit.

Why did I get so hot at the thought of him tying me down?

“Fine. It’s not like we ain’t never shared a bed, Arthur Morgan.”

#arthur morgan fic #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #rdr arthur #rdr 2 #rdr2 fandom #modern rdr2 #modern arthur morgan #arthurmorgan #writeblr #writing

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ilwililow · 5 years ago

Note

Ello! If requests are closed just ignore this. So, how about the reader being the secret wife/girlfriend of Arthur or John (if you do John just image he never had Jack with Abigail and all that stuff and ye, I kinda got a thing for John) and one day the reader is in Valentine and meets Micah who starts touching her and all that kinda stuff and the reader thinks he's gonna rape her. Ends with a almost dead Micah, thanks to Arthur/John.

congrats on being the first person to request something from me! i’m flattered 💖💕

i decided to do both john and arthur! i hope you like it, and i’m sorry it took so long!

TRIGGER WARNING: If you are triggered by mentions of possible rape, PLEASE don’t read this!

Meeting Micah: Female Reader x John Marston / Arthur Morgan

You had known John/Arthur for the past year or so now

You’d been able to meet some of the people in the gang he was a part of; you didn’t mind that he was a part of a gang. Let the man live his life, as long as he didn’t get hurt.

Everyone in the gang seemed nice enough. The leader, Dutch van der Linde, even said that if you needed a place to stay, he’d take you in.

Of course, you were sure that John/Arthur would take you in without his permission.

But finally, he’d gotten the nerve to ask you out, and of course, you said yes.

It was your and his first date - nothing fancy, just something simple, going out to drink and chat. That was enough for you, and that meant it was enough for him.

John/Arthur rose you to the saloon in Valentine, chatting happily, you on the back of his horse. You hopped off after him and he politely escorted you (in his own way) to the bar.

It didn’t take long for you two to start taking shots together, laughing at stupid jokes and smiling like there was nothing ever better to exist.

Eventually, John/Arthur had to take a pee break, which left you alone at the bar counter, drumming your fingers on the wood.

You were a little bit tipsy at this point, however John/Arthur had a stronger tolerance to alcohol than you. If only by a little bit.

You wouldn’t have noticed him come back to you until you felt a hand on your shoulder. You looked up to him with a grin, before realizing, oh shit it wasn’t him

The man matched your grin, and you slowly moved your shoulder away from his hand.

“Well look at you, pretty lady. Ya sure had a few to drink?”

He was right, you were pretty, and you did have a bit to drink.

But he was fairly close to you, closer than you would let a complete stranger be. You could smell the whiskey on his hot breath.

“I guess I could say the same about you... the drink part, I mean.”

He laughed a bit, moving to stroke your cheek. This was beyond creepy, beyond bad.

“How ‘bout I take you ‘round the back and we get to know each other?” He asked you with a little smirk. He was so damn close you could almost feel the hairs from his mustache over your lips.

This was BAD.

But then, he came back. ‘Bout damn time.

Arthur Morgan

It didn’t take very long for Arthur to return, but it felt like forever.

And when you heard the door open across the room, a wave of relief washed over you as his looming figure quickly made its way towards the two of you.

“Well now, appears you’ve met Micah. Not under the best terms, I see.”

He was quick to set a firm hand on who you now knew as Micah, and aggressively pull him away from you.

“Woah woah woah, cowpoke, what’s your deal? You don’t even know this lady.”

“In fact, I do, and she’s mine.”

You didn’t like being called someone’s property? However, you’d much rather be his than Micah’s.

Micah didn’t seem phased, however he waved his hand when Arthur stepped closer to him.

“I can’t be bothered.” And off he went.

Almost immediately after that, Arthur turned his attention to you, asking if you were okay. You were fine of course, and he sighed a breath of relief once he heard you say so.

However, he began to apologize, and you chuckled and did your best to calm him down.

“Easy big guy, I’m fine, I promise.” You give him a little kiss on the cheek, and that gets the man to become a blushing mess.

You two eventually forget about the event and have a lovely night. An interesting first date, to say the least.

John Marston

It doesn’t take long for John to come back, and it takes even less time for John to approach the two of you.

At first he seems confused, as if you had just dropped him and gone for... Micah, of all people.

But once he noticed your nervous glance towards him, he KNEW something was horribly wrong.

This man might have a weaker tolerance to alcohol than Arthur, but he could still definitely throw a fight if necessary.

This, was absolutely necessary.

John stormed closer towards Micah, pulling him away by his coat.

“MICAH! Get the HELL away from my woman!” John’s voice was loud, firm. He sure as hell didn’t mind everyone knowing in Valentine knowing you were now together.

Micah seemed to laugh, almost in disbelief, at him. “Your woman? Now that surprises me. When the hell did you get the nerve to get a woman?” Micah teased, which seemed to infuriate John further.

And the next thing you knew, the sound of a loud crack filled the room, and a thud.

You worriedly looked over to the two men, to discover that Micah had a now broken nose, and he was on the ground.

“Don’t get cocky with me, and I’ll do much more than that.”

You quickly went to John’s side, gently pulling him backwards.

Micah got himself up, letting out an angry huff. “You watch yourself, boy! You and your dirty whore!” And then, he rushed out, to both of your relief.

“John, you know you didn’t have to do that.”

“I sure as hell did! I gotta protect you.”

John then proceeded to say that he knew Micah, and he was a part of the gang he was in. He was new, apparently.

You both chose to try and forget what happened, both agreeing that maybe going to a different saloon would be a good decision.

So, that’s what you did, and it was like nothing bad happened that night. Just a little bump in the road.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #john marston #micah bell #red dead redemption #rdr #rdr x reader #rdr2 x reader #writing

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homiegeesus · 5 years ago

Text

The Year of Magical Thinking, Ch. 4

Summary: Francis Sinclair believed Arthur Morgan had not finished living. In a second chance at life, Arthur discovers what it means to love himself.

At the edge of a precipice and nowhere to run, Arthur concedes defeat. In an extraordinary turn of events, he is sent through the ether to another time where his path crosses with a group not too unlike his own family. After discovering the fate of those he loved before, he races to find a way back. But what if he realizes that there is something worth staying for in this new world? Can two people separated by nearly a hundred and twenty years of living find their happily ever after?

AO3 Link

Author’s Note: First of all, thank you TheTiniestTortoise AKA @shallow-gravy for betaing this mess of a story! Your insight has been invaluable!

So sorry for the wait. I got sick last week then had to play makeup at work so life has been busy. Things should start slowing down during the holidays, and I'll have more time to post. I already started the next chapter and should have it up very soon. The chapters should be longer in the future as I start to get into the nitty-gritty of the plot.

Thank y'all so much for reading. Constructive criticism welcomed and appreciated.

The Year of Magical Thinking

Chapter 4 - Pace Post Bellum

“I loved you when I saw you today and I loved you always but I never saw you before.” - Ernest Hemingway, For Whom the Bell Tolls

In the serenity of a quiet meadow, a buck dips his massive twelve-point head into the calmly moving spring. The early morning sun casts an ethereal glow on its surroundings. A branch breaks in the distance causing the buck to lift his head in an abrupt movement.

A rifle shot resounds.

Arthur’s eyes opened as he took a deep, unsteady breath. The fog of sleep leaving him, he sat up straighter as he remembered where he was. A faint melody wafted through the air, a sad-sounding duo singing about a girl from the north country. This was more to his taste, if he had one, than the ear-killing music that had assaulted him earlier.

Cool air flowed over Arthur’s face and arms, a nice contrast from the heat outside. He felt grimy and so tired, the old wound in his shoulder irritated from sitting in one position unmoved. He glanced at his traveling companion. Steven, head leaning back against the seat, hummed the tune quietly, seemingly unaware he was being observed.

Good-looking enough, Arthur admitted, with a strong jaw and dimples when he smiled. The man had a kind face. Too trusting in the eyes, the outlaw noticed, inadvertently looking for any crack in the young doctor’s façade that he could exploit. Inwardly chastising himself he thought, not this man; he’s been kind to you, ya fool . Looking away from Steven in self-disgust, he took in the surrounding environs outside the vehicle. Tall pines had given way to flat, mostly empty fields smattered with oak trees dotting the landscape. Random buildings, some large, passed by in a blur before he could describe their features. A lake that Arthur remembered well came into view along the horizon. Steven finally noticed the other man was awake.

“Hey, you get any rest?” He asked.

Arthur nodded, “Yeah. ‘M fine.”

Looking towards the fast-approaching Flat Iron Lake, Arthur glanced at the other man.

“We gonna catch a ferry, or –,” he trailed off.

Steven just shook his head. “Nah, they built a bridge a while back.”

“’Cross the whole lake?” The outlaw replied, a little amazed at the ingenuity of such a feat.

The other man shrugged, “At least the fork part of it, or whatever.”

Silence eclipsed the cabin as both men looked across the lake. Arthur, lost in thought and a little mesmerized by the passing water, didn’t hear when Steven began speaking again.

He turned his head, “What’s that?”

“I said that I spoke with that friend of mine, while you were sleeping.”

“Okay,” Arthur nodded. “And?”

Glancing between the road and his passenger, Steven elaborated, “she said to come on over.” He huffed out a small laugh. “Ada’s like that, ya know, taking in strays and such.”

What an apt description of himself, Arthur thought. The only thing close to a home he’d ever found was with his people, and even that had sometimes seemed alien.

“She’s a sweet girl,” Steven continued. “Quick-tempered if you rile her, but a good person.” He regarded Arthur with a look the outlaw knew well. Distrust and wariness. “She’s like a sister to me, more family than my own blood.”

The tone and intent was loud and clear: don’t you think about hurting her . Holding his stare for a moment, Steven finally looked back to the road. Silence once again descended. Arthur had only a few minutes to wallow in shame before they crossed the long bridge. That’s when a sight that would stick with him for a long while came into view.

In the distance, buildings even taller than those he had seen in Chicago once upon a time. Standing upon the horizon like eerie monoliths, they were a testament to progress.

Arthur leaned forward in his seat. He exhaled a breath, “What the –”

Steven looked over at him. “Yeah. They’re somethin’, aren’t they?” Receiving no response, he continued, “That’s downtown Blackwater.”

Peeling his eyes from the skyline, Arthur turned his head to the other man. “Yer kiddin’,” he replied, unbelieving.

One corner of Steven’s mouth ticked up, but he said nothing.

____________________________________________________

Arthur could hardly believe the sheer amount of people that now populated Blackwater. Steven had explained that an oil boom in the early to mid-1900s had caused rapid economic growth in the area. With all that money came all the people. And good God, there were a lot of them. Blackwater had become a veritable center of industry in the midst of the otherwise empty Midwest.

Feeling out of his depth and overwhelmed by all the visual stimuli, he breathed a silent sigh of relief when they drove away from downtown to a calmer, tree-filled neighborhood. Great big old-growth live oaks and pecans littered each oversized front lawn, while a mix of attractive Victorian and newer build homes sat far from the curb of the street.

“It’s a really old neighborhood,” Steven said. “A lot of the houses are from your time, some early twentieth century.”

He explained that this Ada woman had inherited her house from her now-deceased grandmother. When Steven spoke of this girl that would take him in, Arthur could not help but imagine her as a well-to-do heiress, riding the coattails of previous generations’ success. Dutch’s populist ideals had been ingrained into him from a young age, and despite all his good intentions, Arthur could not shake them.

They stopped in front of a pretty little house with a small balustraded stairway that led up to a semi-wrap-around porch and a stark red door. The porch started in the center of the house and continued to wrap around to the left. To the right was a bay of double-pane windows with the upper halves decorated in a simple stained glass. Unadorned brackets dotted the eaves of the house, with two high-peaked gables holding small single-paned windows. Light beige siding with white trim made the blood-red entry stand out all the more. Looking familiar to any city house he would have encountered in his time, Arthur felt an iota of comfort.

He glanced at Steven, waiting for an indication that they should exit the car. The other man turned the vehicle off, removed the key and leaned slightly back in the seat. He looked over to Arthur and asked, “You ready?”

No, he wanted to say, I ain’t ready for any of this. False courage won out. “Sure.”

Apparently reading Arthur’s mind, Steven gave him an encouraging smile.

“Trust me when I say she’s a good person. I mean, she’s been through shit of her own. You should get along famously.” Steven was obviously trying to reassure him, but Arthur took no comfort in his words; he wondered if trust would ever come easy to someone like him. Still, the young doctor pressed on. “How ‘bout this? You have any reservations when you go in, I’ll take you to get a room at a hotel. I just really think you should have someone with you, ya know?”

Embarrassed and feeling like a child, Arthur grumbled, “Nah. This is fine.”

Steven nodded, “Good.” He waved a hand, “Come on, let’s go then.”

Exiting the vehicle, Arthur followed the other man down the walkway towards the stairs. Before they could reach the door, it opened. If the old outlaw had been drinking at that moment, he would have unceremoniously spewed it all over this nice porch. He immediately recognized the girl from his would-be memories seen during his journey to this place. She had painted nearly every frame, with her long blonde hair, bright smile and apple cheeks. Though the visions had not done her justice. Even from a distance, her moss-colored eyes stood out underneath fine brows. Plump lips thinned with her toothy smile below a button nose, all encased in an attractive oval face.

Arthur distantly heard someone say his name. Realizing he was staring at the poor woman like a degenerate, he cleared his throat and looked to his boots. He felt a slight annoyance at Steven’s light chuckle.

“Did y’all stop at the Stockyards in Cowtown on the way here, or is it already Halloween?” The girl joked in obvious sarcasm.

Arthur lifted his head and narrowed his eyes at her. I ain’t no cowboy, he wanted to say. Well, not really.

Steven motioned between the outlaw and the girl. “Ada, this is Arthur. Arthur, Ada.”

“Ma’am,” was all Arthur said with a slight nod.

The blonde smirked. “You can call me Ada,” she laughed lightly, making Arthur feel a fool before pointing over her shoulder. “Come on in.”

Following the pair, Arthur crossed the entry into a narrow foyer. He was immediately hit with the scent of baking bread. Nearly salivating at the smell, he’d only realized in this moment that he was starving. Passing by stairs to the left and a cozy sitting room to the right, they stopped near the rear of the house. A large open kitchen, with different strange-looking metal contraptions, sat next to a living room full of drape-covered floor-to-ceiling windows. A single door seemed to lead to a porch out back.

“Dinner’s about ready if you’re hungry.”

Arthur stopped his observance of his surroundings and looked to Ada. Realizing she was staring expectantly at him, he gave her a small nod.

She turned to Steven, “You sure you can’t stay? I made plenty.”

Steven gave her a reproachful smile, “Nah, sorry I can’t. Nick would kill me if I stood him up.” He then tilted his head towards the back door. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

Ada glanced between the two men, “Sure. Arthur, make yourself at home.” She gestured to the open living room before walking out the door onto the back porch outside.

Steven paused for a moment before addressing Arthur, “We’ll just be a minute.”

The outlaw nodded, and the other man walked out and closed the door behind him.

Itching for a cigarette to calm his nerves, his hand once again went to his side and found nothing. Looking for another outlet for his anxiety, he decided to look around. Forgoing the couch, Arthur spotted some photographs on the mantle of a fireplace sat between windows facing the backyard. He walked over to get a better look, boots sounding heavy on the dark wood floors in the quietness of the room. Photographs of all shapes and sizes crowded the shelf, but a solitary unframed picture caught his eye. Picking it up carefully as not to disturb the others, he looked closer. An older woman with long silver hair and a kind, cheeky smile sat wrapped in the arms of a younger version of the girl he had just met. Ada had that same look that Arthur had seen in his visions and had haunted him since; in brilliant color a smile so bright, he hardly believed anybody could be that happy.

He flipped the photograph over. Written in a distinctly feminine script: Gramma Signy & Adeline, ’08. It took his mind a moment to register that it meant 2008, not 1908.

Eyes automatically going to the girl in question through the window, he found her looking right back. Feeling as if he’d been caught doing something nefarious, he immediately returned the photograph to its place. He turned and marched straight to the plush couch and took a seat to wait for the two friends to finish their talk.

About ten minutes later, Steven and Ada walked back into the house. Standing up from his spot on the couch, Arthur looked to the other man for a clue on how the talk went but found only a dimpled smile.

“Well, I’m gonna head out. Have to get to Uptown in, like, an hour.”

“That far away?” Arthur had no sense of direction in this place.

Steven shook his head. “Nah, ‘bout thirty minutes in traffic.”

Arthur nodded and then turned his attention to Ada. It seemed in the last fifteen minutes she had developed a semi-permanent furrow in her brow. She looked at him like he was alien, and maybe he was. Made uncomfortable by her stare, Arthur averted his gaze.

Steven cleared his throat. “Uh – well – if everything’s all set here, I’m gonna head out,” he repeated.

Arthur remembered his gun belt. “I’m gonna need to get my – er – things outta yer automobile.”

“Oh, yeah. Just, uh, follow me out then,” Steven replied.

They stepped outside, Ada only following to the doorstep. Steven had given her a tight hug, and Arthur had barely heard her whisper “I trust you” into the other man’s ear. Feeling like he was intruding on a private moment, he continued the walk towards the vehicle.

Steven appeared beside him a moment later. The younger man took a deep breath and placed his hands on his hips. Staring straight ahead, Steven addressed the man to his right. “Ada’s like a sister to me.” He finally turned to look at the outlaw, “I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

Understanding where this conversation was going, Arthur's gaze lowered to his boots.

Steven continued, “I’m trusting that you’re a decent man – considering.”

“Not gonna lie to ya. I ain’t a good man.” He looked up at Steven. “But, I don’t bite the hand that feeds me if ya get my meanin’. And I sure as hell ain’t gonna hurt no woman.”

Steven smirked and nodded. “Well, you might think differently after a day or two,” he said with a small laugh as he lightly slapped Arthur’s shoulder. “Let’s get your stuff.”

After retrieving his gun belt and shaking hands in that ancient show of masculinity, Steven was off. Looking up at the darkening cloudless sky, Arthur could not see any stars. Just as he had imagined, the developed world had blotted out the heavens and replaced it with a colorless haze. An unconscious yearning for belonging came over him, and Arthur felt his gaze being pulled towards the house. Ada stood in the doorway, waiting for him. Watching each other for a moment longer, a small smile pulled at her lips. With a motion of her hand, she beckoned him inside and he followed.

#Red Dead Redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fic #The Year of Magical Thinking #arthur morgan #arthur x oc #arthur morgan x oc

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