#chased him all the way from Valentine to Clemens Points

[feuer-bluete]

Yeah you better run from me!

[hihomeghere]

1 and 81 for Charles smut! I’m so excited for these prompts it’s gonna be so fun!

Knight in Shining Armor | Charles Smith/Reader

I really didn't mean for this to be this long, and yet here we are! I hope you enjoy!

Prompt list

Word Count : 3.1k Prompts : 1. "Kiss me" "What-", 81. "Your heart is racing." Warnings/Tags : Mention of abuse, mentions of SH, piv smut, fingering, cleaning of cuts, getting bucked off a horse, cursing, female reader

The Parlour House was bustling with life, beer and whiskey freely flowing. Ever since moving to Clemens point, after that nasty business in Valentine, you had been frequenting the parlor house most nights. Dutch and Hosea had taught you well, pick pocketing was your specialty. It’s how you made your living in the gang, and there were more than enough drunkards to steal from in Rhodes.

Especially with the stupid rivalry between the Grays and Braithwaites. While Dutch and Hosea were dipping their hands into their pockets figuratively, you were literally doing it. 

“Honey, that must be so hard.” You cooed, not giving a shit what this Gray was actually saying. It was about the gold, always about the gold. Dutch was always talking about the gold, Hosea was always talking about the gold. Eventually to save your sanity you had to start tuning them out. You trailed your fingers down his chest, expertly slipping your fingers into his pocket, and pocketing his watch. 

“You have no idea darlin’.” He sighed, his glassy eyes raking over your body. 

“Oh but I do.” You said pouting your lips, your head lolling up and down in an exaggerated fashion. “It must be so tough.” Taking his hand in yours you lifted it to your mouth. Kissing each finger before slipping off his gold band. He wouldn’t be missing it, especially when he was flirting with any woman who would look his way. 

“Hey,” He grinned lazily, “You wanna get a room? Get a bath maybe?” He said trailing his fingers up your arm. You fought every urge to vomit, smiling sweetly at him.

“Oh honey I’m not that type of girl.” You said chuckling softly, pulling away from him. His featherlight touches turned firm, his hand wrapping around your wrist. 

“Don’t tell me you ain’t been thinking about it.” He says through gritted teeth.

“I haven’t honey, honest.” You whispered, shaking your head. Your eyes dart around the saloon for some knight in shining armor. Your eyes landing on a familiar outline outside. 

Why did it have to be him?

When you’ve been fighting feelings for the ox of a man for months. 

When he was asked to be your ‘chaperone’ after coming back to camp one too many times bruised from angry men’s fists. Turning down advances became second nature, but most boys didn’t take no for an answer.

Dutch and Hosea had given you two options, stop working or start taking a man from camp to act as muscle in case things got ugly. 

And things were starting to look ugly. 

You pulled hard against his hand, yanking your hand from his grip. Hissing as his fingernails scraped down your wrist. You turned on your heel, racing for the door. Pushing the doors open, gasping in a breath of fresh air, your eyes turned onto Charles.

“Charles!” You yelled, running into his arms. His large hands landed on your waist as you slammed into the brick wall of his chest.

“Y/n?” His brows furrowed as he looked down at you before his eyes snapped towards the sound of the parlor door busting open. 

“Kiss me.” You said grabbing his shirt, pulling him down to your height.

“Wha-“ Was all he managed to get out before you were slamming your lips onto his. He froze, his lips pursed against yours. A disgruntled huff came out of the Gray chasing you, along with a few not so kind words about your character. Although kissing Charles had deterred him, the door slamming behind the man as he headed back inside.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled pulling away from him, “I didn’t know what else to do.” You said tucking a piece of hair behind your ear as your cheeks burned. 

“I think you’ve had enough fun for tonight.” He said, clearing his throat, avoiding your gaze. You nodded, swallowing thickly as you both walked back to your horses.

Taima and your newer stallion waited for your return. You set your foot in the stirrup, swinging your leg over your horse's back. You snuck a few glances over at Charles, his brow was set as he climbed up onto the Appaloosa.

You both set off to Clemens point, following the setting sun over the Scarlett meadows. You tried to keep your eyes forward and your mind off his lips against yours. His warm hands squeezing your waist, how they would feel against your bare skin. Shaking your head, you pulled yourself out of your daydream. Glad that Charles was riding behind you, unable to see your flushed face.

It was like time stood still for a moment, your stallions ears pinned back, a started squeal leaving his mouth. Your hands gripped the reins, trying to pull him away from the diamond rattlesnake curled up. He fought against you, bucking you off of his back. You hit the ground, hard. Gasping like a fish out of water as you tried to get the air back in your lungs. Charles was immediately at your side, helping you into a fetal position.

“Deep breath in your nose, out your mouth.” He said softly, his hand resting on your shoulder. You had no idea how he possibly could have gotten off Taima that fast, maybe you had been on the ground longer than you thought. Gasping in small strangled breaths. 

Finally you were able to take in a long shallow breath. “There we go.” He said rubbing your arm, helping you into a sitting position. His thumb moved across your cheek, wiping away a stray tear.

“Stupid fucking horse.” You groaned, eliciting a small chuckle from him. 

“Well you won’t have to worry about it anymore.” He said getting to his feet, looking down the road.

“I told Hosea he was worthless.” You huffed, taking Charles hand as he pulled you up. You hissed, standing up. Your back burning, no doubt tore up from your fall onto the dirt road.

“I think you have high standards, Glory was a great horse.” He said dusting you off. You sighed, Glory was the best horse, but she didn’t make it out of Blackwater.

“She was.” You sighed, putting your hands on your hips as you looked down the road, “That was a good saddle, too.” You said, shaking your head.

“We’ll find you a new one.” He smiled down at you, his warm eyes meeting yours. “Come on, let’s get you back to camp.” He said, his hand connecting with the small of your back. Pain shot up your back as you let out a low hiss, arching away from his hand. “Everything okay?” He asked, his brows furrowed.

“Think I tore up my back.” You nodded, waving him off, “Get on and I’ll sit behind you.” He nodded, climbing up onto the gray speckled Appaloosa. You grabbed his arm, slowly moving your leg over her back. You wrapped your arms around Charles waist, laying your head between his shoulder blades. You could feel the pounding of his heart against your cheek as Taima started to trot forward.

“Your heart is racing.” You said softly, his chest rumbling as he chuckled.

“You gave me quite a scare, you know?” He said, turning his head slightly to look at you. 

“You probably think I’m a mess.” You chuckled nervously, shaking your head.

“No,” He said softly, “I don’t.”

You rode in silence, your hips bumping into his behind with the sway of Taima’s steps. You were glad you were born a female, because there is no way you wouldn’t have gotten a hard on. You didn’t have to worry about your breasts pressing against Charles' back for much longer, the familiar line of trees coming into view. 

He led Taima over to the hitching posts, giving her a firm pat before turning to help you off. His hands landed on your waist for the second time. He lifted you off of her back as though you weighed nothing. Setting you gently on the ground, his hands lingering on your waist. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” He said softly, nodding as he looked down at you.

“Alright.” You nodded, walking towards your tent. He headed off to grab some supplies while you pulled the canvas flap down. You sat down on your cot, staring at the discolored fabric of your tent. You couldn’t tell if it was anxiety or anticipation bubbling up inside you. You just knew if Charles didn’t get back soon you would explode from it.

He cleared his throat, pulling back the flap as he stepped inside your tent. “Can you take your shirt off?” He asked, “I need to clean your back.” You swallowed thickly, nodding your head.

“Yeah, yeah.” You said looking down, your fingers trembling as you began to unbutton your blouse. You bit your lip as you pushed your shirt off of your shoulders, moving your hair off of your back. The cot sank as he settled his weight down next to you. 

“This’ll sting.” Charles said softly, pouring alcohol onto a cloth before pressing against the cuts on your back.

“Shit.” You said through gritted teeth, your knuckles turning white as you gripped the cot beneath you. He mumbled an apology, pulling the cloth away from your back. Your breath hitched in your throat as his fingers replaced the cloth. Goosebumps erupting on your skin as they trailed down your back. You felt frozen, wanting more than anything to look back at him, but at the same time you were afraid he would stop if you moved.

You bit the bullet, turning your head to glance back at him. His dark eyes met yours, cautious, like he was afraid to spook you. Although you wanted to shy away from his gaze, you held it, an unspoken exchange passing between the two of you.

 He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder, holding your gaze. You reached up to cup his cheek, moving as though it was muscle memory. An intricate dance choreographed for you two. He let out a soft sigh against your skin as your hand connected to his face. Your soft palm resting against his scarred cheek. His hands moved to your waist, squeezing softly. His lips laid kisses from your shoulder up to your neck.

“Charles,” You sighed, not knowing what you were asking for. He hummed against your neck, his chest rumbling softly. You turned on the cot, pressing yourself against him. Your nipples rubbed against the cotton fabric of his shirt. You brushed your nose against his, your arms wrapped sweetly around his neck. He took the plunge, pressing his lips against yours.

Warmth flooded your body, like the first sip of whiskey. Heat spreads from your lips down into your belly. Arousal sparking between your legs as he moans softly into your mouth. You part your lips, swallowing his sounds greedily. Your tongue flicks into his mouth, dancing with his. Your hand threads into his dark locks, tugging experimentally at his scalp. 

He groans, low and reverberating through his chest. You smirk against his lip, repeating your motions. His hand, calloused and warm, laid over your breast. Kneading it gently, you gasp as his thumb runs over your nipple. You arch into his hand, closing your eyes as you pull him closer.

“Charles I-“ You said breathlessly, looking at him through half lidded eyes.

“I know.” He said softly, ducking his head to take your nipple into his mouth. You moaned, an unabashed whine pulled out of your throat as his tongue swirled around the bud.  He pulled away with a satisfying pop, his dark eyes meeting yours as he smiled up at him. “You need to stop with those sounds, sweet girl.” He whispered, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours again. A silent plea for a kiss which you eagerly gave. Your mouth clashed against his, unlike the first sickly sweet kiss you shared. 

“I’ll try.” You chuckled softly, looking at him with a lust filled gaze. His eyes only showed adoration, a look that had you faltering. “What?” You asked with a nervous smile.

“You’re beautiful.” He said nonchalantly, as though it was something as simple as saying the sky was blue. 

“Shut up.” You said, your cheeks burning as you pulled on the hem of his shirt. He chuckled softly, pulling the blue fabric over his head, throwing it onto the floor. 

Your lips met again, your hands laying on his bare chest. Feeling the heat radiating off of his body, feeding the fire between your legs. Your hands mapped a path down his chest, taking in every scar and divot. 

“I need you.” You whined, looking up at him. He smirked, a glint in his eye as he laid you back. You hissed, the rough fabric gliding against your cuts.

“That won’t work.” He said pulling you back up, you laid a chaste kiss on his lips before standing. You untied your skirts, letting them pool around your feet. He leaned back on the cot, unbuttoning his pants and shimmying out of them. You slipped your fingers into the top of your bloomers pulling them over the swell of your ass. You bit your lip, your eyes rising slowly to meet his.

“C’mere.” He said reaching for you, you took a step towards him. His hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you close. His head rested against your stomach, his other hand trailing up your thigh. You waited patiently for him to touch the place you needed him most. He didn’t make you wait long, his large hand cupping your mound. Trailing his fingers through your slick folds, his thumb pressing against the hood of your clit. 

Your breath hitched, pleasure shooting through your body. Your hands gripped his shoulders as he laid featherlight kisses on your stomach. His thick finger presses into your cunt, a low whine leaving your chest.

“Shh,” He said softly, starting to pump his finger in and out of you. You bite your lip to stifle your moans, your fingernails digging crescent shaped marks into his shoulders. 

Charles knows he shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as he is. Knows he shouldn’t like how you dig your nails into him. He knows when tomorrow comes those marks will remain, even if you don’t.

He adds a second finger and your knees start to shake, dancing dangerously close to the edge of your orgasm. You can feel his eyes burning into you, almost willing you to look at him. You’ve never felt this, this yearning for another person, not just for their body. You want Charles, you want all of him. You want him to be yours and you want to be his. You want to scream from the rooftops that you feel the closest to, well love, that you’ve ever been.

And fuck is that terrifying. 

Then his thumb circles on your clit and you’re fucking gone. Diving headfirst into a pool of pleasure. 

“There we go.” He cooed letting out a satisfied huff. You chuckle weakly, leaning your head against his. A bead of sweat runs down your forehead onto his. “You think you’re ready?” He asked, his deep brown eyes meeting yours.

“I’ve been ready for a long time.” You chuckled, shaking your head.

“That’s not what I meant.” He said taking your hand, placing it on his crotch.

Oh.

How was that supposed to fit inside you?

You stroked up his length through his undergarments. You grabbed the piece of clothing separating skin on skin and pulled it down this thick thighs. Your mouth watering as his cock bounced up onto his stomach. Painfully hard and weeping. You spit onto your hand, spreading your saliva over his cock head. You stand over him, letting his hands guide your hips down. His girthy head stretches you open, your breath catching in your throat.

“My girl.” He groans, as you slide down onto his length. My, My, My, My. It’s a constant loop in your head as he fully sheathes himself inside you. Stretching you wider than you’ve ever been before, painful in a good way. You let out a shaky breath, craning your neck back in pleasure. Charles' lips press against your pulse point, a silent apology on his part. Although there isn’t a need for it, your hips rise off of him slightly, before slamming back down. 

A near animalistic moan falls out of Charles lips, his hands dimpling your flesh. You clenched around him, gasping as his hips thrusted upwards. Concern flashed across his face before it quickly turned lustful as you grinded down onto him. He let you set the pace, wanting you to enjoy the experience as much as he was. He was along for the ride you could say. If he had it his way he would have buried his head between your thighs until you were crying.

You raised your hips until he was almost out of you before slamming back down. Repeating the motion until you could feel the coil tightening in your stomach.

“Yeah? You close?” Charles asked, sucking a mark that would definitely get you a few stares in the morning onto your neck. 

“Mmhm.” You said, your head lolling back and forth. Biting your lip to stop the wanton moans that threatened to break free. He took over, thrusting up into you. Suddenly the coil snapped, you gushed over his cock, slamming your hand over your mouth to muffle your moan. 

“That’s my good girl.” He praises, his thrusts starting to get sloppier as he goes on. He quickly pulls out, groaning as he spills his seed onto the ground. You chuckled breathlessly, smiling as you laid your head onto his shoulder. He let out a long satisfied sigh, his hands rubbing soothing circles onto your thighs. “I didn’t hurt you, right?” He asked, looking into your eyes for confirmation.

“Far from it.” You laughed, shaking your head. “That was…” you trailed off grinning.

“Yeah.” He nodded, gently squeezing your thigh. A comfortable silence fell between the two of you. Nothing needed to be said, that was the wonderful thing about you and Charles. But you wanted- no needed to say something.

“Maybe I should get in trouble and fall off my horse more often.” You chuckled, rubbing your nose against his cheek.

“You don’t need to do that again.” He mumbled, a smile spreading across his face. “Just- just talk to me next time.” 

“Next time?” You asked, hoping bubbling up in your chest.

“Next time.” He nodded, brushing his nose against yours.

[daily-escuella]

Honest Day's Living - Platonic Javier Short

Javier x GN!Reader

Today I wanted to write a little feel-good thing! You and Javier go into town to make an honest day's living :)

Word count: ~3000

Warnings: none, this is just fun happy fluff

It had been a rough few months for everyone. The massacre in Blackwater, fleeing to the mountains, the disaster that unfolded in Valentine. Finally coming to a rest at Clemen’s Point felt surreal.

The air was humid but quiet. The lake was always calm and the wide open expanse of water helped everyone feel a little more free, while still thankfully hidden away from the public eye. The stress of recent events could still be felt throughout the gang, but there had been a small collective sigh when usual life picked back up following the most recent move.

You’d been able to ride into town a few times, accompanying supply runs or the odd small job but nothing that shook any feathers of the townsfolk surrounding the area. After speaking with a local, you’d been lucky to score some work that utilized your favourite hobby: painting.

There was only one small problem. You didn’t feel comfortable going alone.

Working around strangers didn’t bother you. If you could have your back against a wall and set your canvas up to face something pretty, you were right as rain, but where you’d be working for a few hours with your back to the world, you were concerned passersby might try to take advantage of your vulnerability. Not to mention being a lone person in a new town was always a little nerve-wracking in its own way.

Despite being with the motley crew for as long as you had, you were still intimidated by the man who you’d been lucky to call Boss. His broad chest and imposing figure, deep voice and the way he commanded respect with just a look. You needed to take a breath to steady yourself before seeking him out, art supply bag in hand. You knew you could ask one of the gang yourself, but it didn’t feel right to go behind Dutch’s back like that. You knew he’d be happier giving his blessing, and he’d be able to point out which person was most available to piss away their day watching over you.

You approached the large canvas tent that stood as the crown jewel of the camp. Adorned with fine rugs and furs, at least the finest that outlaws on the run could get their hands on, it was a striking contrast to the shabby fabric tents and makeshift shelters that boarded it. Sweet sounds of opera crooned from the gramophone and the smell of a fine cigar flooded your nostrils. Carefully peeking around the corner you were relieved to see you weren’t interrupting anything important. The tent was often home to discussions of upcoming jobs or knowledge you weren’t deemed privy to, thankfully this time all was quiet. Your boss was simply relaxing on his cot with an Evelyn Miller book in hand.

“Mornin’ Dutch,” you said, gaining the older man’s attention.

“Yes, what is it?” he responded, not wasting time on greetings. He was acutely aware you were there to ask him for something.

Your heartbeat pounded rapidly from your growing nerves. You’d spoken to him from time to time about your art and his literature, but almost never to ask a favour. His curt assumption at your presence did nothing to help. “Well,” you began as you adjusted the leather carrying case in your hands to draw his eye to it, “as you know... I do paintings. Sometimes... -and I was talking to someone in town, they got talking to me about it and he said his brother has this little place in the east end of town and-”

“Cut to the chase, I’m a busy man!” Dutch cut you off gruffly, growing quickly impatient at your disjointed ramblings. Your face flushed bright red as you floundered dreadfully in the face of someone you respected so much.

“Someone asked if I would paint their shop sign,” you explained quickly, adding “they’re not paying a ton but I thought it might be worth the work… I’d just uh… rather not go alone...”

Dutch considered your words for a moment before he sighed, leaning back on his bed with his book again. “Take Javier with you.” He turned his attention away from you. “Maybe if he brings his guitar, both you clowns can make a dollar entertaining the masses.” he joked humorlessly, possibly disappointed that you’d be spending so much time on so little cash. You bowed your head in embarrassment though you hoped it looked like respect.

“Yes Dutch, thank you Dutch!” You said as you scurried away, more than happy to be done with that awful exchange. Dutch had been joking, but as you approached Javier, standing at the lake’s edge enjoying a morning cigarette, you considered asking him if he’d play for you while you worked.

Of all the men Dutch could have directed you to, Javier was actually the one you were most comfortable with. He often spent his breaks nearby while you worked, enjoying the company as he practiced his songs.

“Good mornin’ Javier,” you called cheerfully as you approached his side.

He looked over his shoulder at you and smiled, before groaning through a small stretch. “Buenos días amigo.” His voice was a little hoarse, like he hadn’t used it yet that morning.

“It’s a nice day.” You said before letting silence fall between you, trying to formulate how you were going to word your question.

He glanced at you, aware you were being unusually quiet. “... It is,” he began suspiciously, “I feel like you’re gonna ask me something…”

“Could you come with me into town to keep an eye on things while I paint?” You blurted, your words tumbling out with little tact. “...Dutch told me to take you so you don’t have much choice,” you added sheepishly.

Javier laughed, then moaned in fake despair, “You’ve gotta be kidding me, a babysitting mission?”

“Oh come on, it’s an excuse to put your feet up all day,” you insisted playfully, knowing he was already on board. A little shyly you added, “you could bring your guitar too… If ya want…”

He dropped his smile for a moment as he considered it, “That could draw unwanted attention.”

“It’s not like I’m robbing anyone. A man in town wanted me to repaint his shop sign. He’s paying me a wage and everything!”

He took a pensive drag on his cigarette and blew it out slowly. As you waited for an answer you realized he might be nervous about playing in front of strangers. You’d only ever seen him practice in camp after all.

“Y’know, sometimes I’m nervous painting in front of folk, I get it if you’re shy-”

“I’m not shy.” He asserted, then laughed in spite of himself realizing how his quick response came across. “It’s just in Rhodes right?”

You nodded.

He rubbed his chin a few times while he gave it some real thought, “You know what? I will bring it. I don’t care what those cabrones think.”

You whooped gleefully and he shook his head at you with a mock eye roll. You followed after him as he walked to pick up his guitar. It was small, the perfect size to wear while horseback. Though he would never risk taking it on a normal job, you were so happy to see him finally play it outside of camp.

~~~

The two of you rode into town side by side. The sun had barely burned off the morning fog as you crossed the train tracks and turned your mounts towards the town’s main street. It was a short trip from where you were camped, thankfully for Javier. You’d been unable to contain your excitement, informing him of your plan for the sign, the notes you’d taken last time you were in town, trying to describe the sketches you’d made and recreating the conversation you had with the local man who got you the job. You knew Javier wasn’t a big fan of incessant chatter, but you couldn’t help yourself. Instead of looking annoyed however he seemed fairly content, as if the sound of you buzzing in his ear was some nostalgic thing.

You smiled at him when he glanced your way as you finally fell silent. He shook his head as he couldn’t help grinning back. You exuded happiness that morning, it was infectious. “I’ve never seen someone so happy to work before,” he joked at you.

You just laughed as you pulled your horse up to the small shop front and dismounted. You walked up the wooden steps and pulled open the front door, with Javier quick to follow.

The older man behind the counter looked up at you and smiled warmly, “morning folks, how can I help ya?”

“Hello! Good morning!” You said a little loudly, you cleared your throat and started again, “I’m the person you hired to paint your shop sign.”

“Oh! Yes, that sign’s been lookin’ so awful it’s scaring my business away.” The man said as he ducked under the counter, pulling out some old cans of paint for you. “These are the colours I used before, you’ll do a sight better ‘an me I’m sure,” he laughed. He turned his attention to Javier, looking briefly apprehensive as he took in his intimidating presence. “Uh, and what can I do ya for sir?” The man asked, trying to keep the same lighthearted tone.

“Wha-” Javier started, seemingly snapped out of a daydream, “oh, I’m just here with them.”

“You don’t mind if he plays guitar while I work, do ya?” You asked, flashing the man your excited smile, adding, “he’s really good.”

Javier snorted at your praise but the man agreed with, “of course, I trust you’ll draw in customers for me with that.”

“I believe so!” You nodded and scooped the can’s of paint up, Javier picked up one you missed and followed you back out.

You set to work mixing the old paint up and assessing the sign versus your notes. You moved quickly about, gathering your tools from your horse and setting things up in a way you felt comfortable, while Javier stood by. When you were settled you glanced to see what he was doing and noticed he had found a spot near the opposite corner of the front porch to lean, arms folded over his chest. He looked uncomfortable.

“Are you alright?” You asked quietly.

“Hmm? Oh yeah, I’m fine.” He replied, shifting his shoulders as if he was stretching.

“Okay,” you affirmed before turning to start your work.

~~~

The sun rose lazily in the sky as you painted. You’d laid down a basecoat of the main colour before switching to the next one to start your detailed work. Javier had gone through several cigarettes in silence as he monitored the public around you. He seemed so out of his element. Guiltily you spoke, “I’m sorry Javier, I didn’t mean for this to turn into an actual babysitting job.”

He shook his head, as if snapping out of a thought, “oh it’s fine, it’s nice to have an excuse to rest.”

“But… you’ve been standing.” You pointed out.

He shrugged.

“I’ll… probably be fine on my own if you wanted to lea-”

“No amigo, don’t worry about me,” he said with a smile, but it looked forced. He lit yet another cigarette.

You looked at your work for a moment before getting an idea. “Ya know, if you played something it might pass the time…,” you glanced up at him with your eyebrows raised, he scoffed. Slyly you added, “but if you’re too shy-”

Javier huffed. “I’m not.”

“Sure, whatever you say!” You laughed mischievously. “It takes guts, doin’ what I’m doin’, letting my art be a spectacle for the people! It’s not for everyone!”

Javier flicked the half finished butt to the ground, walking over to the side of the porch where you were painting, his spurs ringing out dramatically with each step. He said nothing, but grabbed the guitar from Boaz’s saddle and climbed the ledge to sit next to you against the building. He strummed the strings once defiantly looking up at you. His attention was drawn forward when a group of townsfolk walking by stopped momentarily to seek out the sound. He pulled his hat a little lower and you heard him let out a small sigh. Your smile couldn’t be bigger.

Finally he collected himself and began to strum a small tune quietly. You sighed in satisfaction at the sweet music. His playing never failed to relax you. As you swiped more paint onto the sign you felt your hand flow a little more freely, the swirls and adornments you were adding to the edges were just a little more playful. When the last note of his song rang out, the gentleman reading his paper on the balcony next to you gave a thankful clap. You beamed at Javier.

He just groaned. He didn’t look so tough and scary with the guitar in his lap. You figured that might be why he only played in camp, because he felt comfortable enough to let his guard down a little. Your smile faded to a look of concern.

“You don’t have to keep playing if ya don’t want to,” you said softly so only he could hear, “I’m sorry I forced the issue.”

He pushed his hat up and glanced at you through his eyelashes. “It’s alright. It was actually kind of fun.” He shrugged before assuring you again, “I’m not shy.” You couldn’t be sure before he pulled his hat back down but you thought you caught a little redness on his cheeks.

You smiled again. He could be so sweet. “Could you play El Coyotito?”

“Sing?” he exclaimed, looking up at you sharply before catching himself and adjusting his posture to examine his guitar, “Ehh, not yet.” he added, trying to recover his cool composure.

He took a deep breath and began to strum again, this time louder. You loved the song he’d chosen. It was one he practiced at camp fairly often but the melody never got old for you. You softly hummed along, painting away until suddenly he stopped with a scratch of his strings. Glancing up you saw a coin sitting at his feet. He stared at it for a moment before looking up at you with an amused look on his face.

“I told you! You’re really good!” You cheered for him, glancing back at the passerby who’d tossed the coin. They looked a little bewildered that Javier had stopped but carried on their way.

“I guess so,” he mused, picking up the coin and pocketing it.

“If you place your hat in front of you maybe it’ll happen more often,” you suggested with a shrug. You knew he took excellent care of that hat so the likelihood of him doing that was low. He just chuckled in reply before plucking away with another tune.

You smiled peacefully as you enjoyed the music.

~~~

Evening took hold before you two had realized it. With the last swipe of the brush you completed your work for the shop owner. You stepped down off the deck and into the street to examine your work. Javier joined your side, guitar in hand.

“You did a great job,” he praised, adding, “your hands must be exhausted.”

“Speak for yourself!” you laughed. Javier had played by your side for hours, taking a break to eat lunch with you and to smoke but otherwise strummed most of the day away.

“Eh, I was glad to have the chance to practice,” he said with a content smile. You loved the way music changed his mood. He was like a different person when he played, brighter and happier, like all the stress of the outlaw life melted away with the melodies.

“The folks around here seemed glad for it too,” you said, motioning to the coins in his pockets. Around midday you had placed your spare hat down for him, and it worked as you hoped. Folks milling about admired the music with both praise and cash. By the end of the day you’d both earned a tidy sum.

He just shrugged, grinning.

You both walked back to the shop together to collect your payment. The shopkeeper was thrilled with your work, and grabbed Javier’s hand to shake, leaving him with a tip as well. “Ya’ll brought me more business today than I’ve had in weeks, if you’re ever back in town you’re welcome to stop by and play again!”

You both bashfully thanked him for everything before walking back to your horses. The sun was beginning to set when you mounted up again. You turned your horse to head back to camp when Javier stopped you.

“Before we go… could I buy you a drink?”

You looked curiously back at him, you were covered in stray splotches of paint and not really dressed for going out. You figured if he was asking though he didn’t mind all that. “Sure, but what for?” There was playful suspicion in your voice.

He was still grinning happily when he said, “celebration for our first honest day’s work.”

You both laughed as you pulled your horse alongside his and made your way merrily together to the nearest saloon.

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Hello! I hope it's not much trouble, but I'd really love a little fic of reader coming back to camp devastated because she got her heart broken and Arthur tries to comfort her. Maybe if he's secretly in love wih her would work too. I'd appreciate it, thank you! :)

Anon, I’m so sorry I took so long!!!! But this one turned out so extra fluffy and sweet, it’s almost offensive. Honestly if you think it’s too mushy, I get it. But the truth is I live for this kind of fluff. 

Masterlist

Read on AO3

You walk across camp, humming lightly with a small bundle of flowers in your hands. You can’t wait to see your boyfriend, and you hope he’ll appreciate the colorful petals you’re bringing him. Although you don’t notice, there’s a pair of eyes on you. They belong to Arthur of course, he watches you far more than you could know. Not in a predatory way, of course, but he has quietly harbored feelings for you for years. 

He’d never tell you this though. Even if you weren’t involved with another man, he would never bring the shame of his affections to you. He’s too much of a bad man for someone like you, or at least that’s what he tells himself. You’re better off without him, and your boyfriend is likely a good man. 

You mount up after tucking your flowers away and then ride off towards Valentine. The town is still bustling with rumors about the reported train heist in Scarlett Meadows, though you’ve been very careful to not tell anyone that your gang was involved, not even your boyfriend.

When you pull up to his house, you pull out the flowers that you’ve been careful not to crush. Beaming, you walk up to his door and knock. He opens it and gives you a smile. You’re enough of a fool to not notice how fake it is. 

“I brought these for you!” you say, holding up the flowers. “I know they’re your favorite color.” 

“Oh,” he says lightly and takes the flowers. You notice his smile flicker, his eyes almost look disappointed. “Thanks, y/n.” 

He turns and pulls out a vase and puts them in. For the remainder of the day, you stay with your boyfriend. He has you bake a few things, adding just enough physical affection for you to not notice how patronizing he is. 

You do notice a few of his remarks sting. Your boyfriend thinks you have an honest job (he knows nothing of you being an outlaw). He doesn’t approve and he does mention quite often that when the two of you are married, you won’t have to work. Of course, you’ve never really noticed that he implies more that you won’t be allowed to work when you’re married. The idea of being married catches you too off guard to notice his implications. The only thing that has prohibited you from getting married to him is your loyalty to the gang you’ve run with for most of your life. 

The other thing that has stopped you from marrying your boyfriend is your thoughts on Arthur Morgan. He’s helped you so much throughout your life, he’s the person you can always depend on. You’ve quietly held a flame for him too, but you watched him too often chasing after Mary to feel like you ever had a chance with him. He just wasn’t able to notice you the way you wished he would, which is why you’re involved with your boyfriend now. 

Sure, he’s not as attractive, burly or kind as Arthur is, but he’s steady at least and you do love him. There have been times when you’ve wondered if everything between you is just an illusion based on how your boyfriend will talk to you or treat you, but you convince yourself it’s just your perceptions due to low self confidence. 

That night, you leave to return to your gang, despite your boyfriend pleading with you to stay. He’d tried convincing you and he’d made it very clear he’d intended to have sex with you all night. However, you just really didn’t want to. Sure, you’ve slept with him a few times, but the truth was he just didn’t do it for you in the bedroom and sex was a chore. You lied and said you had to get up early for your job. 

“All the more reason to consider marrying me, little woman,” your boyfriend said. “When we’re married, you won’t have to get up early for a job.”

When you returned to camp, you sat near the fire, feeling down about yourself. Lately, you’ve started to feel like shit about yourself when you’ve been with your boyfriend, but you’re sure he loves you. Why would he constantly talk about marriage if he didn’t?

“You okay?” a familiar voice comes up from behind you. You turn and smile at Arthur.

“Yes, just fine,” you say, hiding your feelings. 

Arthur sees right through you, of course. He’s seen your boyfriend with you a couple of times, and every single time he’s had to leave your presence quickly to prevent himself from punching your boyfriend in the jaw. That bastard treats you so poorly and he tries to put a lid on everything that makes you unique, the things that makes Arthur love you. 

You’re aware Arthur doesn’t like your boyfriend just on the fact that he avoids you when you’re with your boyfriend, although you don’t really know why. There’s been a couple of times when Arthur has asked you about why you’re with him and you’ve tried coming up with reasons, but even to you they sound feeble. 

Arthur sighs as he sits next to you. “That boah still treatin’ you right?” he asks, though he already knows the answer. 

“Of course, Arthur. He’s okay.” 

He suppresses another sigh, knowing you’re lying. But the two of you have had a couple of mild arguments about your boyfriend and you essentially told him to leave you alone about it. But he can tell you’re feeling down about yourself, so he settles for simply trying to be with you as a comfort. As much as he wishes to put his arms around you and tell you how amazing he thinks you are, he doesn’t. You made it very clear you’re not interested in him. 

The next day, as you’re finishing your midday chores, Dutch and John gallop into Horseshoe Overlook with Strauss riding behind John. Dutch yells at everyone to start packing things up and that the camp is moving. 

After a few minutes of scrambling, you hear that the gang is moving to the next state, quite a bit further south. This means you’re going to have a harder time seeing your boyfriend. You tell yourself that when the gang has moved and chosen a new spot, you’ll make a trip to go and see him and try to explain the situation that you won’t be able to see him nearly everyday. 

After a couple of days when the gang has settled into Clemen’s Point, you leave early in the morning to go and see him. You just hope he’ll be understanding and you’re going to try and leave out the fact that you’re an outlaw if you can help it. 

You buy a bottle of your boyfriend’s favorite wine. As you walk up to his porch, you feel a little nervous. Maybe a part of you knows this is a bad idea, but you beat that idea down. He loves you, right? Therefore he’ll accept the things you have to do. 

However, when you begin to tell him just that you won’t be able to visit as much due to moving away, he grows very upset. He starts pushing you for more and more reasons as to why you’re moving and finally you just have to come out with it. 

“It’s because I’m an outlaw, okay?!” you holler at him. “And my gang got found out by some Pinkertons, so we have to leave! I promise though, I’ll come and visit when I can.” 

“You’re an outlaw? Wait, your gang is the one that shot up Valentine!” Your boyfriend flies off the hook then. No matter what you say or do, he screams at how horrible you are. He accuses you of being a prostitute, claiming that as an outlaw you have no morality or a sense of honest work. He calls you stupid and weak. 

After he rants at you for a long period, you’re sitting at his kitchen table, sobbing. “Please,” you beg him. “You… you kept talking about how we should be married.” 

“You think I wanna marry you now? I ain’t marrying some trashy outlaw! Now get the fuck out of my house!” He grabs the bottle of wine you bought and then smashes it onto the floor, stating he won’t take anything you brought. You literally run from the house, afraid he might grab his gun and threaten to shoot you. 

You ride back towards camp, unable to stop the tears. You just wish you could disappear. How could you have been so stupid? It’s obvious now how controlling and manipulative your ex was, constantly bringing up the marriage thing. 

When you return to camp, you stay on the outskirts, feeling too crushed and heartbroken to mingle with the others. They all know you were involved with someone and most of them really didn’t like him as he was in Valentine frequently. You don’t want to hear them talk about how much they disliked him, or to see their pitying stares. Worse, you know that in their minds they’ll be thinking exactly the same thing you are, that you were a damn fool to be involved with him. 

As you sit on the log close to the lake, you hear someone approaching from behind. You really wish they’d go away. But then you hear the last person’s voice you want to hear. 

“Somethin’ wrong?” Arthur asks, stopping just behind you. However, you can’t help but look up at him, aware of how messy you must look. 

“I… I’m doin’ okay,” you sniff. 

He sighs and sits next to you. “You don’t look like it. Look like hell. Can ya tell me about it?”

Something about Arthur makes you want to open up. Maybe it’s because you know he’ll always protect you, just like he does with nearly everyone in camp (except Micah), or that he makes it clear he cares about everyone in camp. Or maybe it’s just because you still have a massive crush on him. 

You wipe your cheeks dry and tell Arthur about how your boyfriend dumped you. You end up crying again, but Arthur doesn’t interrupt. He even puts a hand on your knee. Normally you’d question this movement, but it’s comforting. 

“He didn’t hit you, did he?” Arthur asks softly. 

You shake your head, sniffing again. “No, but… I know he thought about it.” 

“Mm, I’m sorry, sweetheart. That’s bad business. But… once this pain has passed, I think you’ll see there’s a lot better out there waitin’ for ya. ‘Sides, now you won’t have to make it a point to go out there and see him. Sounds like he didn’t appreciate ya properly.”

You look up at Arthur and smile a bit. He returns it, his eyes bright. Before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning on his arm. You just want his physical touch. He stiffens when you lean against him, and after a minute, he moves. You begin sinking again, knowing you’ve crossed a line. However, Arthur surprises you by draping his arm around you and bringing you closer to him. Your chest begins to burn with affection and pain as you lay your head on his chest. 

Little do you know, but Arthur’s glad for this excuse to hold you. He’s been wanting to do this for ages. It was only out of respect for you that he didn’t, knowing you were in a relationship and believing he wasn’t worthy of your affections. However, as he holds you close now, it feels so right and so good. You fit against him like a puzzle piece and your heat seeps through his shirt to his skin. 

The two of you stay in that position for sometime. By the time you pull away, you’re no longer crying. In fact, the pain of what happened is greatly lessened. You rub your tired eyes a bit and then look up at him, blushing. 

“Sorry, Arthur. Didn’t mean to inconvenience you like that.” 

“You think you was inconveniencing me, miss? I’d call it the opposite.” He gives you that adorable crooked smile you’ve only seen a handful of times but is your favorite. His hand is still on your back. You look down and see yours is still on his chest. You’ve imagined cuddling with him a hundred times, maybe more, but they never came close to how good the real thing felt. 

Throughout the rest of the night, Arthur stays close to you, wanting to be a comfort and provide himself as your rock when you need it. You’re incredibly grateful, he helps fend off nosy questions from the others. You notice he frequently puts a warm hand on your shoulder or your back, but it helps to make you feel more steady. 

By the time it’s late enough to go to sleep, you realize you don’t want to sleep alone. Arthur leans over and whispers in your ear that you’re welcome to sleep in his cot and he’ll sleep on the ground. As much as it pains you to hear where he’ll be sleeping, you accept his offer. However, when the two of you settle down to sleep, you realize you’d love for nothing more than to have him beside you.

“Arthur?” you whisper, leaning up to see him lying on his ox skin rug. 

“Hmm?” he says in his deep tone. 

“Will you come up here with me?” you say before you have the chance to chicken out. 

Arthur sits up. “You sure?” When you nod, he stands up and slides into the cot next to you. Instantly you slide into the crook of his arm and put your head on his chest. His heart beats hard and a little fast in your ear, but his arm winds over your back. Just as you’re beginning to drift off to sleep, you feel his lips brush against your hairline. Is it possible that he feels something affectionate for you too? You like to think he does. After all, why would he be treating you like this if he didn’t?

That thought warms you up and sends you to sleep. Arthur stays awake for a long while, thinking about you. When you’d told him what your boyfriend had done, it filled him with anger. Maybe he’ll go and pay your ex a visit in a day or two when you’re more settled. But not now. He’s too happy to be here with you draped over him, your head tucked under his chin. He’d be happy to stay with you like this for a thousand years.

[victoodles]

Exhibitionist (Low Honor Arthur x Female Reader)

Back again and nastier than ever. Hope y’all enjoy! Find it here on AO3

Warnings: Rated N for Nasty (smut smut smut!)

Kieran Duffy had finally started acclimating into the Van der Linde’s dynamic. More comfortably than he expected thanks to you. Your hospitality paired alongside your boundless compassion had been nothing short of a saving grace to him since he became a “honorary guest” within the confines of the camp.

The gang held nothing but contempt for him, seeming to take pleasure in taunting him relentlessly as a former O’Driscoll. And for the more aggressive members, roughing him up without any fear of repercussions.

Not you. No, despite your secure place within this self-proclaimed family you had shown him nothing but kindness.

While bound to a post at the gang’s camp in Horseshoe Overlook, not even trusted enough to relieve himself in the woods, you would sneak out to him. Just before daybreak while the rest of the camp slept, bringing him cups of water and small pieces of stale bread. You'd apologize profusely that you couldn’t acquire something more substantial to help him regain his strength.

Kieran could never muster up the courage (nor the energy) to tell you that your goodwill alone was more than enough to reinvigorate him. Speaking to women was never his strong suit. More often than not he found himself red in the face, unable to meet your tender gaze.

After each of these encounters he could’ve sworn he saw Arthur Morgan pulling you away to his tent. He always looked rather cross with you, whispering what Kieran assumed were reprimands in your ear.

Arthur was Dutch’s primary enforcer - a brute of a man to say the least. If he knew what you were up to in the wee hours of the morning, he didn’t voice his displeasure. To his leader or any other gang member for that matter. Kieran had hoped you weren’t finding yourself at the opposing end of Arthur’s rage because of him.

If you were, Kieran truly was a pity of a man because he could do nothing to defend your honor.

Now the gang was residing comfortably by the lake side of Clemen’s Point, and Kieran had been granted the simple liberties of unrestricted movement around camp. While the mistreatment from the others didn’t subside, being able to sit next to you on his own accord was enough to make up for the incessant ridicule.

On his luckiest days, he would see you sitting by the shoreline with your toes teasing the edge of the gentle waves. Your hair always in a loose braid and gentle gusts of wind would blow stray tendrils in a way that framed your face so perfectly. A faint smile adorned your lips as you idly thumbed through an unknown book, seemingly without a care in the world. Your life was surrounded by bloodshed, yet your exterior gave no hint to the world you truly resided in.

Kieran had never seen a sight more brilliant. He didn't dare to interrupt you though; he would just soil the tranquility of the moment being the bumbling fool that he was. He was more than content just to be a silent onlooker.

Much to his credit he had tried to express his feelings, albeit it not with words. Kieran could never find the courage to verbally affirm how he felt towards you.

When he was finally allowed to leave camp without supervision, Kieran had gone directly to the general store in Rhodes. He bought a fine, silk ribbon for you, already imaging the fabric dancing in the breeze, complimenting your beautiful locks.

He could barely keep his composure as he gifted it to you, pathetically stuttering through an explanation of how he thought the color would suit your complexion.

You had laughed so sweetly in response; Kieran could only compare it to the tinkling of bells. And in return you had earnestly thanked him for thinking of you. His mouth hung open in response, looking like the human embodiment of a fish out of water.

Sentences, words, language. It had all eluded him.

It was all so simple in theory-just tell you that he was sweet on you and take it from there. As enchanting as you were, something else caught his attention however.

Only a few feet away, he could make out Arthur’s form as he intently watched the two of you. Every muscle in Kieran’s body went rigid as he saw the ferocity in Arthur’s eyes. One wrong move and the wolf would pounce, tearing his throat clean out.

Kieran was well aware that Arthur trusted him as far as he could toss him, but did he really expect any harm to befall you by simply talking to him?

It not only amplified his apprehension towards the man, it also struck him as rather peculiar. Arthur did seem to keep a closer eye on you in contrast to any of the other women. But it never seemed driven by any sense of affection. Maybe he was just imagining things but it almost seemed carnal in nature.

Kieran decided to stop humoring the thought and diverted his attention back to caring for your horse. The fondness you had for your spotted Appaloosa, Moonstone, was unparalleled. He remembered fondly when he first properly groomed her and the only way you found you could express your gratitude was with a heartfelt embrace.

His heart nearly ceased beating. And what a way to die, in the arms of an angel.

With deft fingers, he braided the mare’s mane just the way you liked it. As an added surprise he wove some wildflowers into it. White daisies aptly looking like stars against her stark black hair.

He vividly pictured the smile you would give him in return. Your happiness palpable, sweet as honey. Maybe, just maybe, you would reward him with a kiss on the cheek.

Wishful thinking, but a man could dream.

Speaking of, he was wondering where you had run off to. He hadn’t seen you since breakfast which struck him as odd. Your bow was still in your tent so you hadn’t gone hunting with Charles, and he couldn’t find you at your usual spot by the lake.

Strange, perhaps you had gone into town with one of the other girls?

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard soft, almost muffled, gasps coming from the woods just beyond the outskirts of the camp. Stranger and stranger. Had Jack wandered too far from his mother’s side, tripping as he chased squirrels in the forest? It wasn't an uncommon occurrence.

Or worse, had someone discovered their little hideaway and was attempting to kidnap one of the notorious Van der Linde’s? Bounty hunters had become a persistent problem since the gang’s shootout fiasco back in Valentine with Leviticus Cornwall.

Mustering up what little bravery he had, Kieran decided to investigate in an attempt to discover the origin of these sounds. He was a Van der Linde now, and even though that meant very little to most of the gang, he would still do what he could to protect all of them.

Trepidatiously, Kieran advanced towards the tree line, careful to avoid any stray branches that would alert this potential intruder. As he continued on, the noises had escalated into airy moans and staccatoed breaths. Dread surged through him, blood running cold at the sheer implication that a bounty hunter could be having his way with one of the girls.

He prayed to God above that wasn’t the case, that his fear was misplaced. But doubt weighed heavy on him that a pair of lovers would find themselves all the way out here for a lascivious romp.

Kieran took shelter behind a tree as he mentally prepared himself for what was waiting just beyond. It had slipped his mind to bring a gun along with him - not that any of the men would even lend him one to begin with. He had only his fists to rely on (and that wasn’t very reassuring to say the least).

But once he heard another whimper resonate from the clearing, there was no time to turn and run. With one final deep breath, he turned to peer from his cover to see what he was actually up against. He soon found his heart lurching up into his throat.

No one was being taken advantage of, that was explicitly clear.

There you were on your back - hair wild and loose splayed out behind you in the grass. Your skirt had been hiked up, fabric pooling around your waist with your drawers discarded and leaving you bare. A deep crimson flush warmed your cheeks as a painfully familiar name fell from your lips.

“Arthur,” you mewled, your legs resting on Arthur’s broad shoulders. Your rear was slightly elevated and supported by his free arm, with his tongue deep in your cunt. He smirked against you, giving you a few more languid licks before pulling away from you with your slick glistening on his lips.

“Sweet as a peach, and all for me,” his voice was rough with unadulterated lust as he looked down at you in your pleasure-filled haze. It gave Arthur immense gratification to know he was the only one who could do this to you. And he was going to be the only one who ever would.  

Kieran knew he shouldn’t be watching, it was countless forms of wrong. But he was too riddled with shock to even move an inch.

The woman he had been pining over all this time was Arthur Morgan��s.

The intensity of Arthur’s lingering gazes. Foreboding glares he would send Kieran’s way when he dared to speak to you a moment too long - it all clicked into place. He originally believed that the outlaw was just doing his job to protect you from the “big, bad O’Driscoll”.  When in actuality, it had run much deeper than just that.

Arthur didn’t want him encroaching on his territory - on his woman.

As Arthur began to resume his place between your legs once more, Kieran caught his attention. Unbeknownst to you however, remaining in ignorant bliss beneath Arthur.

Fear wracked through Kieran, now having been discovered. But if he was furious, Arthur’s eyes gave no indication. Kieran waited for him to rush over and beat him within an inch of his life. You would likely never speak to him again for peeping during their heated moment of congress.

Unexpectedly, Arthur just devilishly smirked at him before delving his tongue back inside of you earning him another rapturous moan. Arthur would teach this lovesick idiot who you belonged to - show him what he could never attain.

Arthur wasted no time teasing you with his ministrations, quickly dragging the flat of his tongue up and down your slit. You found yourself getting wetter and wetter as he continued his relentless, rapid cadence (much to his delight).

His tongue plunged deeply inside of you, reveling in the way your muscles lightly clenched around him. He thrust the tip of it in and out of your soft warmth and you keened. Your fingers found their way to his hair once he started feverishly sucking on your clit, occasionally flicking it with his tongue.    

Kieran was in disbelief-he couldn’t believe such wanton cries were coming from you of all people. He had heard men with working women occasionally in hotels, but never had he heard such raw, undiluted desire like this before in his life.

Again Arthur broke away from you, replacing his tongue with two of his fingers, tracing feather-light circles around your entrance while his thumb hovered just tortuously above your clit.

“Look at you darlin’, such a pretty girl,” he whispered huskily, letting his fingertips slip into you ever so slightly. He looked back to Kieran before adding, “My girl.” A sentiment that was more so a statement of fact, laced with a silent threat that he should never dare forget.

“Y-yours,” you panted, breasts heaving as he began applying pressure with the pad of his thumb to your clit. He hummed in response, clearly pleased with your answer. And he rewarded you accordingly, sinking his fingers into you up to the knuckle.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he pulled out of you for a moment before slamming back in, “mine.” He continued this unabated rhythm, his arm around you keeping your wriggling hips still in his firm grasp.

“Whose,” thrust, “are," thrust, “you?”

You desperately tried to suppress your cries being so close to the camp, but to no avail.

“Yours!”

The pressure in the pit of your stomach, sending waves of heat throughout your body, was becoming unbearable. You wanted to beg Arthur for your release, but in your current state you knew your wishes would just come out as an incoherent mess. Besides, he always gave you what you wanted. One way or another.

Arthur hummed in satisfaction, withdrawing his fingers from you once more despite your discordant protests. “Good girl,” he praised lowly, a shiver making its way up your spine at his approval. A man of little patience, Arthur was ravenous and could only be satiated by your delectable essence.

He didn’t think himself an accomplished man, but the way he could make a delicate woman like you sing with his touch alone, he considered himself up there with those great composers that Dutch fancied listening to.

With haste, Arthur sank three digits back into you and began a once again unabated pace with his tongue finding a familiar place on the tender nub at the apex of your womanhood. He lapped at it greedily, moving his head left and right in perfect tandem with the movement of his fingers.

The sensations were like pure Hellfire surging through your veins. And if Arthur was the devil incarnate, you would gladly let him envelop you in his flames time and time again.      

Arthur could sense you were on that beautiful precipice, so close to spectacularly breaking. Your toes curled on his shoulders and hands clutched the ground below with white knuckles. He glanced up once more, and fueled by a twisted sense of pride, was delighted to see Kieran had not left with his tail between his legs.

Shamelessly, Arthur shot him a wink. Assuring when you came, the name that fell from your lips would remind that fool that you would never utter anything so fine in his direction. Arthur was not left disappointed.

You finished with a silent scream, hoarsely chanting his name repeatedly like a passionate mantra as he eagerly drank up your climax.

Kieran had seen nothing Arthur didn’t want him to, and with shame heavily apparent on his face and a throbbing problem within his jeans, he scurried away like the coward he always knew he was.  

~

A handful of days had come and gone since Kieran had stumbled upon you and Arthur during your moment of...intimacy.

Kieran had become dramatically more skittish since then - especially around you. The rest of the gang paid him little mind despite this. He couldn’t look you in the eye without recalling you in such an indecent state: smooth legs exposed, your sensual cries during your throws of passion, the way you looked when you ca-

“Kieran?” Your melodic voice had broken him out of his exceedingly inappropriate trance - about you no less!

His ears turned beet red, threatening to bloom into a deplorable flush on his cheeks. You cocked your head to the side, seemingly puzzled, as you waited for him to compose himself.

“M-Miss?” He blubbered, attempting to cover his embarrassment with his hand.

“I was just checking to see if you were alright. You’ve been a little...off recently.” Bless your heart and endless supply of empathy for those around you. “Are you sick,” you asked in earnest, reaching out to determine if he perhaps had a fever.

Kieran stumbled away from your touch leaving you shocked, oblivious to what prompted such a dramatic reaction.

“I’m f-fine Miss, don’t you w-worry none about me,” he floundered through his excuse. He became even more short of breath as Arthur came up behind you, placing a firm hand on your shoulder.

As if expecting him, you looked back and gifted him a small smile, expression softening in his presence. He nodded his greeting to you in kind.

“Mr. Morgan! Are we still on for our hunting trip? I’ve been hearing rumors of a pure-white fox just shy of Rhodes and they sound promising,” you explained enthusiastically and Arthur gave a low chuckle in response.    

“Course’. Why don’t you go get your things, I’ll be right with ya.” With that, you headed back towards your tent. Not before giving Kieran a farewell wave, leaving the two men alone with one another.

Arthur stared him down, his expression passive as Kieran all but trembled in his boots unsure of what was to come. A wolfish grin played on his lips and a laugh rumbled in his chest like thunder, further unnerving Kieran.

Arthur broke the tense silence first.

“Hope you enjoyed the show, O’Driscoll,” he stated bluntly, reveling in Kieran’s extreme anxiety. Flabbergasted with a nervous sweat forming at his brow, Kieran was completely at a loss for words.

Arthur sneered and began making his way past him, stopping at his side only to discreetly whisper something in his ear.

“If I so much as suspect you thinking ‘impure’ thoughts about my woman, I’ll personally see you gelded.”

[sunshinexlollipops]

this is going to sound weird but could u write a parody version of "we didn't start the fire" except could you write it as a rdr2 synopsis? its something i didn't know i needed until i thought about it

anon, you asked, so I answered.

it’s way longer than the actual song but oh well. 

———–

Beginning in chapter one,

Colter’s where our problems have begun.

Fucking scared and cold as shit,

Blackwater fucked us didn’t it?

-

Dutch is still arrogant,

promising group betterment,

even though people died,

and some have been captured alive.

-

Pearson cries that we have no food,

Arthur captured this O’Driscoll dude,

Found out about Colm’s train,

Hit it and stole every god damn thing.

-

We didn’t have a plan!

And we never did,

And it’s obvious!

Chased east by the Pinkertons,

Further from the west,

Our decisions aren’t the best!

-

Hey now we’re in chapter two,

at a place called Horseshoe,

Down the road from Valentine,

everything is gonna be fine.

-

Got in brawls and stole a bit,

Stole even more of Cornwall’s shit and took Jack to fish,

Arthur sold the walker for the Morgan,

When Hosea asked to hunt again.

-

Robbed another fucking train,

Guess under whose fucking name?

Beat debtors and a man named Downes,

Cornwall ambushed and attacked us while in town.

-

We didn’t have a plan!

And because of Dutch,

we’re pretty fucked!

We’re on the run again!

Still going the wrong way!

But whatever it’s okay!

-

Lookie here it’s chapter 3,

Clemens Point by Iron Lake you see.

Lemoyne is just full of shit,

So guess we feel at home in it.

-

Braithwaite and the Grays,

got supposed gold and moonshine for days.

Arthur was made a deputy,

and delivers Beau’s letters to Penelope. 

-

Sadie is a fucking god,

Oh my god we got a fucking dog,

Burn the fields and steel some steeds,

Both sides now know of our misdeeds.

-

Kidnapped by Colm and ambushed in another town,

The Grays shot Arthur’s little brother down,

Micah is an even bigger fucking dick,

And Milton paid us a visit!

-

Jesus fucking christ,

When will this end?

We’re moving again!

Dutch what the fuck?

You said we’d lay low,

but yet here we go!

-

Oh my god we’re in chapter 4,

Shady Belle been here before.

Went to Bronte to get Jack,

and didn’t even bring spaghetti back.

-

Went to the mayor’s and saw Bronte again,

Got told to die in Italian,

Got a lead on trolleys,

Dutch is stupidly pleased.

-

Kieran’s missing where has he gone?

Got Tilly before she was gone for long,

Oh okay that’s where he went,

O’Driscolls sent him ahead.

-

Turns out the trolley was bust,

Dutch ‘bout bust a nut,

Like his stupid fucking head,

he now wants Bronte dead.

-

Snuck in the swamps at night,

Bronte begged for his stupid life,

Dutch went and drowned that bitch,

Arthur thinks it was inappropriate.

-

Now it’s time to get our score,

as Dutch says “just one more,”

Burst through the bank’s door,

Shouldn’t be a problem we’ve done this before.

-

Ohmygod we were wrong!

The Pinkertons knew we were coming all along!

They killed two and captured John,

now we’re on a boat and to Cuba we have gone.

-

Just Kidding there’s a storm,

On an island and in the middle of a war,

Arthur has started to get sick here in chapter five,

I’m the maddest bitch alive.

-

Rescue poor Javier,

Please help us get out of here,

back on a boat and to the states,

I just wanna forget this place.

-

CAN SOMEONE HELP OUR BOY?

HE’S NOT DOING WELL,

AND I’M CONCERNED AS HELL.

DUTCH THIS IS YOUR BOY,

AND I SUPER SCARED,

BECAUSE I THOUGHT YOU CARED.

-

Fucking Beaver Hollow shit god dammit,

now we’re in chapter six,

passed out after a coughing fit,

turns out Downes gave Arthur tuberculosis.

-

Man this all feels fucking great,

the gang is even shittier as of late,

all these fights and people leave,

think I know where this is heading.

-

At least we got back John,

but the happiness doesn’t live for long,

the gang begins to fall apart and split,

and Micah is at the core of it.

-

Most of them want to leave Abigail,

that shit doesn’t go over well.

Sadie and Arthur go to rescue her,

Dutch and the others don’t concur.

-

Manages to save who he can,

Arthur tells John to become a man.

Gave him his hat and told him to run,

He’s going to settle this on the mountain.

-

Breathing rough and facing east,

We watch Arthur’s body admit defeat,

deer, coyote, or a wolf,

it’s the end for our cowpoke.

-

OHMYGOD IT HURTS.

WHY THE FUCK,

DID I PICK THIS GAME UP.

WOW THANKS ROCKSTAR,

I AM A PUDDLE OF TEARS,

AND WILL BE FOR YEARS.

-

Flash forward some time,

it’s the epilogue and John is doing alright.

But the family has separated

until John can get situated.

-

Took a loan and bought some land,

ran into Charles and Uncle by happenstance,

Got drunk and built a home,

Abigail and Jack return once they know.

-

Holy shit it’s Sadie our lord,

and she gets the boys on board,

To go hunt Micah and Dutch,

to finish shit from where it ended up.

-

Found these fuckers hiding away,

Micah is even worse nowadays,

John ain’t fuckin’ around,

But Dutch is the one to put him down.

-

Sadie sadly got shot,

but die she did not,

John and Abigail marry,

and that’s the ending to our story.

-

DON’T THINK ABOUT RED DEAD 1,

OR LISTEN TO DEAD MAN’S GUN.

I’LL JUST RESTART THE GAME,

I’M IN DENIAL BUT IT’S BETTER THIS WAY.

—–

this was a journey. thank you for taking it with me. :0

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Hey, it's been awhile. May I request angst mixed with betrayal from the reader to Arthur? She's an undercover Pinkerton and quickly falls in the VDL gang (Milton ordered her to after his visit in Clemen). She then later finds out about Micah and refuses to team up with him, but make their agreement he can have Dutch and her Arthur. She unintentionally falls in love and can't kill him. She betrays Milton and leaves Arthur. He chases after her but she's long gone, riding away in a train.

Okay, don’t hate me, but this one is not as detailed and skips over a lot of stuff that happened in the game, but that was to save on time. Even then, what I have below was ten pages! This request really could have made out to be a multichapter fic. 

Masterlist

Read on AO3

You stand in the center of the clearing, inspecting the various items scattered around. They were here, that damn gang you’ve been chasing for weeks now. From the way the things they left behind lie, they left in a hurry. But where? The trails they took out of here in their wagons point to the main trail where it’s impossible to track them. 

Ross walks over to you, holding a broken pocketwatch. “Find anything?” he asks you, and you respond with a shake of your head. 

“We need to find these… people,” Milton says, astride his horse. 

He was assigned the mission of hunting down the Van der Linde gang shortly after the Blackwater incident. His focus on them has been nothing short of an obsession. He bumped into one of the higher ups in the gang about a week back. The man had been out fishing with a young boy, presumably his son. Then Cornwall showed up in Valentine and shot Van der Linde and some of his boys out of town, screwing up everything. They clearly fled shortly afterwards. 

You’ve been following the movements of the gang along with Milton and the other men. Their path is dribbled with blood and corpses. You won’t soon forget finding that river full of dead men, the result of a shootout involving some of Dutch’s boys after they robbed a stage. It’s believed the dead belong to a rival gang, though nothing is confirmed yet. 

“You there,” Milton barks at you, beckoning to you. “Have you found anything? Any tracks? I want these men caught.” 

“No, sir.” You say stiffly. Of course he would expect you to have found something, even though no one else has. 

Agent Milton. Even to the other agents, he’s a bastard. He’s worse to you because you’re the only woman. You were recruited into it by your father, who wanted to prove, after the pleadings of your now-dead mother, that women could do the same jobs as men. Milton clearly disagreed with your father and wasn’t afraid to voice it, but as your father is head of the Agency, there was little he could do to dissuade your father. 

“Well, get looking, woman. Otherwise all you’ll be doing is proving sweet old daddy wrong.” 

You ignore the remark and go back to searching. Just because your father put you here doesn’t mean Milton can’t dismiss you, as much as you hate him. Besides, you want to prove that you are just as capable as the rest of the fellas here. 

However, after another few hours of searching, nothing is found that points to where the gang has fled. Milton believes they went either north or east. East is more likely as the mountains in the north are still locked in snow. 

After a couple of weeks go by, rumors have been sprouting up from the town of Rhodes of civil unrest between the two most prominent families in the regions, the Grays and the Braithwaites. Something about it catches your attention. You’ve heard of these families of course, they’re the richest in the area. Could Van der Linde be playing them both in his endless attempts for money? 

You bring the idea up to Milton who dismisses it at first. Of course he does. He can never admit that some of your ideas are actually good. That is until word gets out that most of the Grays were killed during a massive shootout and the Irishman who escaped bounty hunters in Blackwater was shot and killed. Even Milton couldn’t deny that your previous predictions were right, so he takes you and Ross down with him to investigate. 

Finding the gang’s hideout isn’t hard. Ross spotted a huge group of them leaving a cluster of trees in an area called Clemens Point. Van der Linde was with them so Milton deemed it pointless to go into their hideout until morning when it was sure he would be there. 

When it’s time to go to the hideout, Milton stops you. “I’m not going to be held responsible when you get shot,” he says nastily before riding off. That’s it, you’ve had it. You’re sick and tired of Milton and his patronizing. When Ross and Milton return, announcing their unsuccessful attempt at taking down the gang, it’s obvious the gang is going to make another run. It’s time for some real action. 

You ditch your agent’s uniform and don some ordinary clothes, trying to look the part. You’re fairly sure the gang will continue to head east. You would if you were an outlaw. Saint Denis is a good place to hide. Plenty of criminals find a place to disappear there. So you position yourself on the trail and before long, a wagon train led by Van der Linde himself comes your way, so you pretend to be injured. 

You couldn’t have expected things to go so well, but before you know it, you’re ingratiated into the camp. They’ve moved into Shady Belle, but you have to be careful about sneaking off to report it to Milton. Many of the members are suspicious about you, not that you blame them. Your fake backstory has plenty of holes, even you can see that. 

That’s not the only thing stopping you from reporting the gang to Milton, though. After only a couple of weeks, you feel more accepted here than you ever did with Milton and the other agents. It’s clear that both men and women are treated fairly equal. Hell, only the first night, two girls named Karen and Tilly invited you to go robbing, which you did to try and prove you weren’t an officer. 

As you dig yourself deeper in the gang, you find yourself becoming more involved in their lives. They’re not what Milton said they were, savage people who would do anything out of desperation, lacking sympathy for any and all other people. They’re a tight-knit family people and most of them were handed a raw deal in life and are simply trying to make the best of it with what they have. The best example of this is Dutch Van der Linde’s right-hand gun, Arthur Morgan. 

It didn’t take you long of digging to find out his backstory (followed up with what Milton told you). Orphaned at a young age, he was forced to turn to a life of crime for survival and was taken in by Dutch and Hosea. Despite the amount of people he’s robbed and killed, you cannot deny that he is one of the best people you’ve met. Brave, determined, and one of the most loyal people you’ve ever known. 

Throughout your time with the Pinkertons, you saw plenty of cases of agents turning their backs on one another in order to elevate themselves in the ranks. But Dutch and Arthur, they don’t do that. Not because they are the highest in the gang, but because they care about the others. It’s not long after you spend some time with Arthur that you realize you’ve fallen for him, and his behavior towards you says he feels the same. 

Arthur’s sweet and caring. He immediately took you in when you joined, trying to dig into your back story. Then Tilly was kidnapped and you’d gone with them to find her and it was obvious how much Arthur cared. You also witnessed Arthur comforting Tilly when she was found and it melted your heart. A few weeks later, you and Arthur shared your first kiss in the theater in Saint Denis. 

Things quickly changed between you after that. Arthur quickly became the best companion you’ve ever had. Protective, thoughtful. He even liked to go around in camp and hug you, sometimes even kiss you. One night he pulled you onto his lap while he played poker with John and Susan. A few nights after that incident, you and Arthur got drunk and ended up having sex in his bed. It was easily the best of your life. 

A few days have passed since you and Arthur first made love. The gang is busy as a big bank heist is being planned and it’s supposed to happen today. The Pinkerton part of your brain knows you should slip away from the gang and tell Milton about this, but the other part of your brain, the one loyal to Arthur and Dutch, says in a much more powerful voice to leave it alone, so that’s what you decide to do. 

You sit up in Arthur’s cot, stretching. A large hand suddenly slides over your back. 

“You nervous?” Arthur’s voice says. “Your first big heist.” 

“Arthur, I’m not even going to be part of it. I’m staying here, remember?” you laugh and turn around, putting your hand on his bare chest. 

“Yeah, but still. It don’t take a genius to know you’re green at this sorta thing.” 

“Sure, but I don’t think it’ll be a problem. After all, you all seem capable.” 

“Sure,” he says. “Now come here. I’m feelin’... stressed.” 

You smile, knowing Arthur wants to get busy with you again. “Liar, but I’ll humor you.” You lean down and kiss him before straddling his legs and getting to work. 

A few hours later, Arthur walks out of the manor, dressed in his fancy suit. He pulls you into a long, tight kiss before mounting his horse. You watch him and the others ride off. Micah Bell turns and gives you a look that unsettles you for some reason. 

**************************************

Shortly after the heist, the news came that the robbery had gone as far south as it could have. Most of the men who went are missing, John’s imprisoned and Lenny and Hosea are dead. Somehow Milton found out about the robbery, even though you haven’t seen him since the gang left Rhodes. However, you can’t shake a feeling of guilt for the incident. How could you not? You’re a Pinkerton, and it was your men who destroyed everything. 

While Dutch, Arthur and the others are missing, you help the gang as best you can, but you also have a feeling that Milton’s patience with you has grown extremely thin. So when you can manage to slip away from the gang without attracting suspicion, you meet up with Milton. 

“We managed to catch Van der Linde in the act of robbing the bank without your aid, Miss (your last name). If it were up to me, I’d have you imprisoned with the rest of those men who remain for aiding criminals.” 

You swallow nervously, knowing he could easily have you arrested. There’s enough evidence to prove his word too. Not even your father could keep you out. 

“However, I am willing to make a deal for those who have earned it,” Milton says, his eyes cold. “So I will make you one now. Give me Van der Linde and I will not give your dear daddy the horrible truth.” 

“I can’t,” you say. “I don’t know where he is. After he managed to escape your lot, he disappeared along with the other men left alive from the heist.” 

“My lot, hmm?” Milton says. “My, I never thought highly of you to begin with, but even I gave you credit to not stoop so low.” 

You blush a bit, aware of the other men staring hard at you. “Milton, give me one more chance. I can try to fix this with the least amount of damage. I’ll do my best to bring you Van der Linde.” 

To your surprise, Milton agrees, so you return to the gang. A few weeks later, Dutch, Arthur and the others return. Soon after, the gang moves up to Beaver Hollow and then things really fall apart. Molly gets killed for supposedly ratting the gang out to Milton, which doesn’t sound right to you. Milton never mentioned a member of the gang spilling the beans. 

Things quickly go downhill after this. Dutch has clearly begun to lose his mind, his ideas are getting wilder and more risky. Arthur and some of the others try to slow him down, including you, but you’re also under a lot of pressure. Milton made it clear that you’re expected to report to him in order to avoid him telling your father what you’ve really been doing. He’s using your role as a double agent to his full advantage. Somehow though, Dutch still evades Milton’s grasp, and luckily so does Arthur. You, however, are not counting on this to last. 

Soon after Arthur and John destroy the bridge near the fort, you sit Arthur down, finally at your wit’s end. This pressure from Dutch and Milton is really straining you. In the quiet and privacy of your shared tent, you beg Arthur to run away with you. 

“Arthur, I have a way for us to get out. I… I can’t guarantee everyone else will come with us.” 

“What you talkin’ about, darlin’?” 

It’s time to come clean, you decide, so you tell him the truth. Arthur is beyond furious He storms out of the tent without bothering to give you a response. It’s not long afterwards that everyone else discovers your dirty little secret. Dutch stomps over, grabs you by the hair, and throws you down in the center of camp. 

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t shoot you now!” he hollers as you try fruitlessly to fight him off. 

“Because Milton wants me dead just as much as you! And I didn’t ask to be a Pinkerton, my father forced me to.” 

“Lies! You’re the reason Hosea and Lenny are dead!” 

“Bullshit! I didn’t say a damn word about that to Milton! That was Micah, all Micah! Milton told me.” 

Micah walks up, smirking. “Really? And who do you think everyone here is going to believe?” 

Dutch throws you to the ground and Susan walks over, a shotgun in hand. By the look of her face, you know exactly what’s coming for you. No one steps up to defend you either, not that you can blame them. Your secret is the worst kind of betrayal. 

Without thinking, you stand up and run, smashing through the circle by pushing your way through Tilly and Jack. Shots fire out and somehow they miss. As you mount your horse, you dare one last look at Arthur. The look on his face breaks your heart. Dashing down the trail, you know what you’re going to do. 

*************************************

Milton paces back and forth in front of you, pondering your proposal. “So… I have your word, miss, that you’ll give me Van der Linde?” 

“Yes. As long as you spare Arthur Morgan. And maybe John Marston and his wife and child.” 

“I get one life and you’re spared the lives of three degenerate murderers and criminals and their bastard child? No, you can pick one.” 

“Fine,” you say, your heart breaking. “Then Arthur. Give me your word you’ll spare Arthur and I’ll give you Dutch Van der Linde.” 

Milton gives you a sickening smile. “Deal.” You make him sign the contract you wrote up and then Ross signs it as a witness before you do as well. This way, Milton has no way to go back on your word and you take the paper. Sighing after resolving yourself to this complete betrayal, you tell Milton where Dutch is. Shortly afterwards, Milton leaves with his men and he orders you to stay put. 

The next few hours are nothing short of hell. Will Milton keep his word? Will he spare Arthur or will he bring back the news that he got killed in an “accident”? You can only imagine the rage Arthur will feel if and when he finds out what you’ve done, but you can only hope he understands why. Dutch has gone insane. He’s been on a suicide trail ever since Guarma and he’s taking everyone down with him. 

Finally, gratefully, the group of Pinkertons returns, but Milton isn’t with them. Ross explains that after Milton shot Dutch, the gang scattered and Milton was killed in the crossfire. When you ask about Arthur, he sneers. 

“You don’t have to worry about your poor choice in romance, miss. Mr. Morgan escaped without a scratch, just like we promised. I may have uh, let slip that you’re the reason why his devoted leader died.” 

Fuck. You were hoping he wouldn’t find out, but you’re not surprised. Ross is nearly as loathed as Milton was. 

“Very well. I held up my end of the deal. Now tell me where Arthur is and let me go.” 

Ross shrugs his shoulders and tells you that Arthur’s heading back west with some of the others who escaped. You quickly mount up and run in that direction, hoping to find him. After a few days of scouring and trailing, you find Arthur riding along with John, Abigail, Jack, Charles and Sadie. You scream his name and Arthur stops. 

When he sees you, Arthur looks beyond furious. As you approach, he whips out his gun and points it at you. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill ya where ya stand!” he roars. 

“Arthur! It’s… it’s me,” you say, tears streaking down your cheeks. “I didn’t want to, but I had to. To keep you alive.” 

“I saw Milton put a bullet through Dutch’s head. That was on you! If it weren��t for the fact that you and I were lovers, I’d be putting one through yours too.” 

“Are… are we not lovers anymore, Arthur?”

His face tells you that he could not be more disgusted by you. “You could have done anything else, Y/N. Anything! We coulda protected ya from Milton and his men. It ain’t like you were the only one hiding from the Pinkertons.” 

“I told you and you all threw me out! Hell, Susan tried to shoot me!” you scream, trying to make Arthur see why you did it. 

“You shoulda told me from the start! Instead, you lied to us, you betrayed us!” Arthur narrows his eyes. Sadie and John have pulled out their guns by this point, but he instructs them to put them away. “I loved you once, Y/N. I’m giving you this one chance to live. Now get outta my sight.” 

Your heart breaking, you turn your horse and run off. Arthur’s reaction is like a slap in the face. Of all people you thought might understand, you thought he would. 

However, you decide to try and learn from this mistake. Instead of heading home and to your father, you stay out west and become an outlaw. 

Years pass with no word from Arthur. Nothing would make you happier than to see him again, to apologize properly and wish him a true good bye, but you understand his desire to stay away from you. Word comes of a JM who bought a property called Beecher’s Hope outside of Blackwater and you have a suspicion it just might be John Marston, but you don’t visit. You choose to stay at Hanging Dog Ranch, running your own gang. They like calling themselves the Laramie Boys, which you don’t discourage. 

One afternoon, you’re sitting in the attic of the house on the ranch, planning to rob a train that will be coming through in the next week. The air is suddenly filled with gunfire, men shouting. You quickly grab your own guns and head out, fully aware that your ranch is being attacked.

Just as you hit the bottom of the stairs, the air goes silent. However, there’s a lingering feeling that someone is outside, waiting for you. After peaking out the window, your heart stops when you see who it is. 

Arthur stands there, a rifle in one hand. Standing next to him is John. Something tells you they aren’t here for a social call, but they also don’t know it’s you. With a heavy sigh, you open the door and walk out. 

John holds up his gun and points it at you, but Arthur looks shocked. 

“Hello, John. Arthur. You two look good. How’s Jack? Boy must be… what, fifteen?”

“We ain’t here to chat, Y/N,” John says. He gives Arthur a sympathetic look. 

Arthur sighs heavily and looks at you properly. “Y/N. Ten years ago, you betrayed us. You betrayed Dutch in order to save me. Your selfish deeds have been called in.” 

Your stomach drops when you realize what he means. “Arthur, why? You were happy to let me live before.” 

“I’m sorry. I wanted to let ya go, I really did. But… The Pinkertons weren’t satisfied.” 

“They have my family, Y/N. We were told to… to hunt down all our old gang members so I can get them back.” 

This doesn’t seem right to you. “John, I made a deal with those bastards. I gave them Dutch, and Arthur and I got to live.” 

“They see things different, Y/N,” Arthur says, his voice heavy. He doesn’t say it, but he still loves you. He was heartbroken when he found out what you did to get Dutch killed, but there were many times in the years following when he wanted to find you. After all, he knew Dutch was beyond saving and would have taken everyone down with him, but he didn’t want to see it then. 

You swallow, tears filling your eyes. “I see. Well, do what you must, friends. But don’t think that they won’t betray you as they’ve betrayed me. You think they won’t kill you both? You’re gang members too. They want us all dead.” 

“I can’t think about that, Y/N!” John shouts, almost desperate. “They have my family!” 

You hold your head high and look at Arthur. “Okay. Do me one favor though. I’ll make it easy.” You unhook your gun belt and let it fall. “My one request is that you do it, Arthur. I did the worst thing to you, and you deserve your revenge.” 

Arthur looks away, and then he looks back at you. “Don’t you remember what I told ya about revenge? It’s a fool’s game.” 

“Arthur. My family.” 

Arthur turns to him. “We can get them back still, Marston. After all, we got a former Pinkerton here. Something tells me she’s got some dirt she’d be happy to dig up on ‘em.” 

You smile. “Oh do I. If I told the agency the filth Milton did in order to meet his ends, they’d be shocked.” 

Arthur smiles and drops his gun. “Good. Then come with us, darlin’. We can protect ya.” 

You sigh and shake your head. “I don’t deserve it, Arthur. I’m the reason this all happened.” 

Arthur walks up and stops a few feet from you. “I know why you did it, darlin’. You didn’t have a choice. I didn’t see it that way before, but I’ve had enough time to see it for how it really was. Dutch would have killed us all, but you managed to only let him get killed and the rest of us got away. Not to mention the Wapiti. Who knows what trouble Dutch would’ve gotten them in to.” 

Before you can respond, Arthur’s arms are around you. He pulls you tight against him and you begin to sob. Only God knows how much you’ve missed him. John clears his throat and reminds you both that he has a family to save. 

“Sorry, Marston,” you say, wiping your eyes. “Now let’s go get your family.” 

With a new resolve, you walk back to the horses hand in hand with Arthur, determined to fight to the very death if you must to set things right. It seems a lot easier now that you have Arthur by your side. With him here, you could take on the entire world if you wanted to.