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dutchvanwinkle · 1 year ago

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Mr Van der Linde Pt. 10 - Dutch x Reader

This is it, angels! The last chapter of the Mr Van der Linde mini-fic. This has been an absolute joy to write, thank you for allowing me to indulge in my fantasy and for being the most wonderful group of enablers a writer could ever ask for. The response to this story has been much more than I expected, and I’ve had the best time sharing it with you. Thank you endlessly for your support and hype <3

It's on ao3, if you'd rather read there!

Summary: You deal with the consequences of your actions.

Word count: 9,037

Content warnings: smoking, drug use

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You’d blocked Dutch’s number. It was the only thing left to do.

It was the first action you took upon getting on that train. You knew that if you heard his voice or read a single word from him, you’d cave.

The level of agony you felt was like nothing you’d ever experienced. Your heart was broken, so much so that you were surprised the thing was still able to beat. All of a sudden, two of the most important people in your life were strangers. The man you loved, and your best friend.

God, you missed them.

You missed John’s laugh down the phone, or the way his eyes grew heavy after he’d had one too many drinks. You missed the way he’d snuggle into you while hungover or come and see you just so you could sit in a comfortable silence together. He was about to become a father, and there you went piling more stress onto his already heavy load.

It didn’t bear thinking about how much you missed Dutch. It was too painful to even list the things you loved the most about him, that you knew you’d never get to experience again.

It was a miracle that your other friends were still speaking to you. The boys had been quiet, siding more so with John but not quite willing to cut you out completely. The girls still got in touch with you regularly, and you weren’t sure what you’d do with yourself if they didn’t.

Abigail updated you on her pregnancy over the next few weeks, and it was like a knife to the chest at the realisation that you wouldn’t even be able to meet her baby, at least not for a long time.

She and Karen had been distraught when you announced the news that you weren’t going to attend graduation, but you’d thought it through for long enough. Everyone would be there, family members included. You daren’t even think about how awkward the whole affair would be. Not going was the most sensible thing you could do, and being sensible was at the top of your current list of priorities.

You’d received a call a week after the party from the job you interviewed for and were offered a place. Without the ability to share the news with those you wanted to hear it most, it’d only made you more depressed.

It’d taken you a few days to type out the message to John. You started off by saying you were only going to try getting in touch with him this once since you couldn’t bring yourself to ask for his forgiveness; you knew it wasn’t something you deserved. Then, you’d explained how it happened. Sparing him the details, of course, you ran through the timeline of your and Dutch's relationship and gave him the full truth. It felt false and cliché when you started talking about how you hadn’t meant for it to happen, but it was true. To a point. You’d finished off by saying that you would always be there for him, should he ever decide he wanted to interact with you again. Then you clarified that you’d never expect him to and offered him one final apology.

He’d read it not long after, and you were already prepared for him not to reply, so it wasn’t too much of a bluster when it went unanswered. There was a small, naïve part of you that clung to the possibility that he could, though.

Graduation was one week away. You wanted it over with, even though you weren’t going, and had planned to take a social media break while everyone posted their smiling photos with relatives and friends.

Curled up in bed, hiding from the world under your duvet was your most recent pastime as of late, you huffed and shut the book you weren’t able to read. Ever since that day at the Van der Linde’s, you had an awful tension headache that wouldn’t shift no matter what you did. So instead, you shut your eyes, hoping you’d fall into a nap to pass the time.

After a few minutes, your phone began vibrating and with a tired grunt, you leaned over, becoming instantly more alert at the name that was on your screen.

John.

You held the phone in your hands like it would explode if you moved it too harshly, staring at the screen until the call rang out and the vibrating stopped.

It had to have been an accident. You didn’t want to deal with the awkward scenario of picking up, to be faced with a spluttering John explaining it was a mistake. Then your phone buzzed again, this time with a message.

Call me when you’re free.

It was the longest you’d gone without breathing, your body forgetting its most basic survival instinct and going into complete shock. He was finally ready to yell at you, to call you all the names under the sun and explain how badly he wished he’d never met you. You wanted to throw the whole phone away, but he deserved the chance to have a go at you if it’s what he wanted, and you took a deep breath before pressing the call button by his name.

Time had never moved as slowly as it had during the three rings that elapsed before they stopped, and then John spoke through the phone.

“Hey.”

Hearing his voice was enough to make you tear up, but you cleared your throat and willing yourself to remain steady. “Hi.”

John sighed, and you could only imagine how nauseating it was for him to have to interact with you. “Abigail said you’re not coming to graduation.”

“No, I’m not.”

He sighed again, finding his words. “That don’t seem fair.”

Your eyebrows pulled together, unable to make sense of where this conversation was going. “I don’t reckon I deserve fair,” you said, immediately hearing how self-pitying you sounded. “It’s fine, I don’t want to go anyway.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

“It doesn’t matter.” After a beat of silence, your emotions got the better of you. “John, I’m so sorry -”

“Don’t.” He was stern but softened his voice for his next sentence. “I know we need to talk, but not like this.”

Unsure what to say, you decided to allow John some room to speak further.

“Come to graduation. We’re all staying at the house the night before,” you knew that already, just because you didn’t respond in the group chat didn’t mean you weren’t reading the messages, “before we have to pack up and leave.”

The mere thought of being there with everyone, seeing them all with their families and then seeing Dutch too was enough to send your brain into overdrive. “I can’t.”

“It won’t be the same without you.”

You pressed your lips together, hoping to keep your composure just a little while longer. “John, I’m confused. Aren’t you mad at me? Don’t you hate me?”

“Yes. Mad at you, I mean. I don’t hate you though. Trust me, I tried to,” he sounded reluctant to admit to it. “I’ve had time to think. And I know I’ll regret it if I know I didn’t at least try to get you to come.”

“You know, I think I’d prefer it if you yelled at me.”

John laughed mirthlessly. “Part of me wants to, but... it won’t do no good.”

The silence hung between you, and despite all the things you wanted to say to him, you couldn’t find a single word.

“Look,” he began. “You still mean a lot to me. You worked hard on this degree and truthfully... I wouldn’t have got mine if it weren’t for you. I want you there with me.”

You choked, because you didn’t deserve him being so kind and he repeated your name for you to just nod, even though he obviously couldn’t see you. “Sorry,” you whispered, and while it was an apology for your lack of response, you used it as a chance to let out some of the apology hoard you had stored up.

“Just come, alright? You can leave early if you want. Besides, the others want to see you too.”

After a shaky breath, you decided it was worth a shot. Even if you went to the house the night before and didn’t attend the ceremony, it was worth a try. You said you’d try to rectify it if you could, and this could be the chance to take the first few steps towards that goal. “Alright. I’ll come.”

Some of the tension dissipated through the phone, and you waited for John’s response. “Okay. See you next week.”

Then he hung up.

After the call ended, your phone navigated to the most recently used app, and you were met with your recent search history, mainly along the lines of can a person run out of tears and is anyone close to inventing time travel yet.

Had that just happened? You checked the call logs to confirm that yes, it had. John had called you. He hadn’t yelled at you. He hadn’t so much as berated you. He said you meant a lot to him. He said he wanted to talk to you and see you at graduation.

Holy shit. Your apprehension about not going was immeasurable compared with your apprehension about actually going.

The entire train journey back to university had been spent with you fidgeting, your mind going a million miles an hour at the prospect of what you were about to face. Karen and Abigail were overjoyed you’d agreed to come, and you had a sneaky suspicion Abigail had played a part in convincing John to get in touch with you, even if she wouldn’t admit it.

Instead of taking a bus to your rented house like you usually would, you decided to take the walk to stretch your legs, get some fresh air, and prepare yourself for whatever greeted you when you got there.

But when you did, it still wasn’t enough time. Panic seeped into your veins and your breaths grew short, so you took a seat on the half-wall that acted as a border around your poor excuse for a front garden. No matter what, you couldn’t still your hands, and reluctantly pulled a cigarette out of the pack that resided in your pocket. You lit it, and once you were halfway done, you heard the front door open behind you.

You daren’t look around, not wanting to face whoever had caught you wallowing in your guilt.

But the door clicked shut, and footsteps down the front path preluded John taking a seat beside you.

“I thought you only smoked casually.”

“It helps,” you flicked the ash away, not meeting John’s face. “A little.”

“I see.”

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor with not a single clue on how to have this conversation.

“How long you plan on sitting out here?” John asked.

“Not sure,” you mumbled.

“You know you can’t stay here forever.”

After a short nod, you plucked up the courage to shift your gaze from the floor and to John. Your dismal state must’ve shown on your face, as he looked at you pitifully. “It's so fucked up,” you began, the tension needling under your skin. “I know it is, I’m so sorry. Sorrier than I know how to express.”

“I believe you.”

Why must he be so calm? Where was the John you knew, the one who’d pick a fight at the first opportunity – the one who’d slammed the door open when he’d caught you in the act? “Just yell at me or something, please. I can’t take it.”

“Don’t rightly think I can, you looking all forlorn as you are,” he hummed, drumming his fingertips on the wall.

Your face was already a permanent frown, but you felt it deepen. All you wanted to do was cry, even if that was the only thing you’d done over the past few weeks. It seemed a person couldn’t run out of tears, after all.

John edged closer, and you immediately shook your head. “No, don’t comfort me, I don’t deserve it.”

“You always do beat yourself up over stuff,” he scoffed gently.

“No, John. I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.”

“You don’t gotta keep saying that.”

“I don’t know what else I can say.”

He let out a short breath, stretching his neck out. “I do have one question for you.”

Your nod in response was almost eager, willing to answer anything he asked.

“Would you take it back if you could?

“I –” you stopped to take a breath. “Yeah, of course.”

“Funny.”

“Why funny?”

“Dad said he wouldn’t. And he said that’s what he was the sorriest about, that he’d do it all again given the chance.”

You weren’t sure what to say, your heart clutching to hear such a thing but not wanting to show it on your face. You’d wondered how he’d taken the whole thing, the urge to ask Abigail had been strong but you knew you wouldn’t have been able to bear the answer either way. It didn't bear thinking about how much you missed him.

“I have another question.”

“Shoot.”

“More of a clarification.”

“Okay.”

“You really are in love with each other, aren’t you?”

You swallowed, shaking your head to look at your lap but you weren’t saying no, and John knew that. “It’s... I...” you sighed, having no more lies left in you. You met John’s concerned gaze.

“It's okay,” he reassured stiffly.

“No, it’s not okay. Nothing about it is okay. You mean the world to me,” you pressed your lips together to stop them from quivering as tears gathered in your eyes once more. “None of it matters now,” you added dejectedly.

John shifted beside you, finally taking his gaze away and instead planting it somewhere ahead of him. “I think it does.”

“What do you mean?” you asked quietly.

“He’s been... Well, he’s not been good. He’s sorry, to me, but mainly he’s... Heartbroken, I guess. He’s been so happy recently, we’ve all noticed it, and now he’s just... Not.”

It pained you to hear how hurt he was. Knowing you were the cause of his pain, denying him even a single word turned your stomach even more. “Oh, I’m... Sorry.”

John sighed. “I want him to be happy. And I want you to be happy. That’s what means the most to me.”

“I’m sure we’ll both be fine, eventually. Like I said, it’s not important how either of us feel. We did an awful fucking thing, and I guess we both deserve to feel like shit.”

“That’s just it,” John paused as you stubbed out your cig with your foot, “maybe being happy is what you deserve.”

You glanced at him, trepidation and anxiety set into his features. He looked so much older, somehow.

“I’m not saying I’ve forgiven you. Certainly ain’t forgiven him. I’m not saying I’m your biggest fan right now, either. But I just need a bit of time to get used to it. It ain’t worth losing you,” he said pointedly. “You know what my momma said to me, before she passed?” John seldom spoke of his mother, and your ears perked up at the privilege of being his audience. “She said one day, he was gonna love someone again. Said she knew it was hard to hear, hard to imagine him moving on, but that he wouldn’t be complete if he didn’t have someone to love. He loves love. Just the way he is. She also said it’d take him a good long while, and it did – I ain’t never seen him in a relationship since her. In her eyes, that meant that when he finally did move on, it would be with someone I could trust. She told me when the time came, to trust him. And to trust that the person he chose would be someone who cared for me, someone I could rely on.”

Your eyes were brimming by that point, but you didn’t want to do him the disservice of looking away while he was being so raw.

“She was right,” John shrugged.

“You really look at what I’ve done,” you said hoarsely, fighting away a sob, “as the action of someone who cares for you? John, if I cared about you I would never have even let the thought cross my mind.”

“Alright,” he nodded, a challenge, “what about everything else you’ve done in the last few years?”

You blinked at him.

“What about when you set me up with Abigail? What about when you convinced me to carry on at uni, even though I wanted to drop out? What about all the times you’ve looked after me when I was too drunk to see? What about all those deep chats we had late at night? What about when Abigail said she was keeping the baby, and you stayed up with me half the night until I finally slept?”

You didn’t have a response for him.

“I can’t forget all of that,” he said evenly, “even if right now I am mad at you. I know you, I know that you didn’t intend to hurt me with any of this.”

“When did you get so grown up?” your face scrunched, John’s words a soothing balm over your open wounds.

“Can’t expect my kid to turn out alright if I’m still acting like one.”

“Makes sense.”

“I’m not saying it won’t be weird, but... I can learn to deal with it.”

You looked at him with mild incredulity, hardly believing the words coming out of his mouth. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

Again, your eyes filled up and you couldn’t stop the tears, holding your fingertips under your eyes to catch them.

John shuffled closer once again and hesitated, but then put his arm around your shoulders, and you didn’t have it in you to resist nestling into his embrace. “Goddamnit woman,” he scoffed, his voice lighter and more familiar, “will you quit crying already?”

“Can’t help it,” you sniffed.

John rested his head on top of yours and you squeezed your eyes shut, wondering what you did to deserve such a wonderful friend.

After a time, when your tears had dried and your breathing regulated, the two of you ventured inside and were greeted with the sight of your four other friends lazing around in the living room.

You looked at them sheepishly, but they smiled in response, seemingly relieved to see you and John on the way to being on good terms.

At first, it was uncomfortable. The situation was somewhat of an elephant in the room, but it didn’t seem like anyone was up for bringing up the topic. These were your final days altogether, the last remaining part of your lives that made you students. After this, while you’d remain friends, you’d never be living together all under the same roof again. You didn’t need another excuse to cry, so you didn’t spend any more time chasing that train of thought.

Eventually, the conversation flowed easier, and it was almost like you were existing in a time months ago, where you hadn’t made any terrible choices and your friends hadn’t found out about them.

“Still can’t believe we’re meeting your infamous da,” Abigail mocked Sean, who grinned back at her.

“Oh, he’s excited to meet the lot of you, too. I assured him you weren’t all a pompous bunch.”

“My dad’s coming too. Hey,” Javier pointed at you, “make sure you don’t fuck him.”

You glared at Javier, but at the snorts of laughter around the room you couldn’t help but break into a reluctantly amused smirk. “I have no intention of doing such a thing.”

“Did you have the intention to fuck Mr Van der Linde?”

“Can we not.”

Thankfully, even John was laughing, and while you thought the subject was still too tender to poke fun at, you agreed that this may be the easy way of getting it out in the open.

“Hey,” John said, “part of the deal with you fucking my dad is that we’re allowed to tease you for it.”

You shrunk into your seat. “I was not aware of that condition.”

“No? Would you like my permission to be revoked?”

You huffed, thoroughly left without a leg to stand on. “No. Fine.”

Denying John the right to hold this over you, likely for the rest of your life, wasn’t something you could do. If he had to pick on you and tease you, then you’d allow it, so long as it meant the two of you could remain friends.

The six of you settled into a familiar rhythm, laughing and joking until you were all too tired to continue.

When morning came around and you and the girls began getting ready together, your heart tugged at just how much you valued your sisterhood with them. Despite it all, they’d remained your friends, checked up on you, and attempted to provide a sense of normalcy in your life.

“Are you nervous?” Abigail spoke into the concentrated silence, all three of you working on your makeup.

You glanced in your propped-up mirror to see her reflection behind you, awaiting a response. “I assume you’re not talking about walking across the stage.”

She shook her head in the negative. Given the past few weeks, you’d had enough practice banishing thoughts of Dutch from your mind that you’d grown rather good at it. That had included today, where you’d disallowed yourself to picture the ways your reunion could play out.

“I suppose I am a little.”

“Surely you’re excited, though?” Karen added on, sounding rather excited herself.

“Why would I be?”

“Well,” she drawled, “you clearly love the man. Ain’t there a part of you eager to be all lovey-dovey with him again?”

You turned to frown at her face-on, instead of through the reflection in your mirror. “What? No - I’m not going to carry on seeing him.”

They observed you, puzzled, and Abigail decided on a response. “But I thought that was what you agreed on, with John?”

“He said he’d find a way to deal with it. He shouldn’t have to do that,” you turned back to your mirror and continued preening. “I’m not going to start things up with Dutch again,” you lamented.

They didn’t question it, but you could feel their confusion in the air. You couldn’t blame them. They decided not to probe the subject further.

Sure, John had said he’d deal with it. He’d said he wanted you both to be happy. But before all that, you vowed to yourself that you’d do anything to have a friendship with him, and would you really be true to your word if you actively extended his discomfort?

John’s blessing had been music to your ears at first. But being so forgiving was easier said than done – who's to say he wouldn’t grow to resent you, the damage to your friendship being irreparable? It wasn’t a risk you could take.

Thankfully, the ceremony was the first thing on the agenda that day. There were no awkward encounters to be had, and you got to walk across the stage without falling over and receive your degree in relative peace. Again, you’d actively pushed the prospect of seeing Dutch again out of your mind until you were forced to deal with it in real-time.

But once the ceremony was finished, it was time for everyone to socialise in the sunny courtyard while the graduates took photos with their family and friends, leaving nowhere left for you to hide. Unless...

Thanks to your newfound habit, you excused yourself once the six of you had taken a group picture, proof that you had in fact been there, and had at least waited a few minutes before running away.

There was a quiet alley round the side of the main building, the wall of which you leaned up against and brought your newly lit cigarette to your lips. It was nice to decompress, and with all that’d happened in the last twenty-four hours alone, it was nice to have some peace.

You took your time, eventually lighting a second cigarette and deciding this would not be a healthy habit to keep up.

“When did you start smoking?”

That cigarette was nearly choked into your mouth at the baritone of Dutch’s voice, one you hadn’t heard in a longer while than you cared to admit.

You had to face him at some point, you supposed. At least this wasn’t in front of a whole group of people.

Slowly, you turned, the man himself coming into view. His hands were casually in his pockets, and as always, his suit was immaculate, and hair perfectly styled. There was one noticeable difference though; he looked tired.

“Gives me an excuse to escape. Plus,” you shunted the cigarette up a bit, “I miss the taste.” You looked at his lips, the hundreds of drunken kisses the two of you had shared that always had an underlying hint of tobacco. Dutch brushed his fingertips over your hand, and you pulled away, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Please, I can’t.”

“Didn’t John speak to you?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t matter. He’s not okay with it, regardless of what he says.”

Dutch’s shoulders dropped, and he leaned on the wall opposite you. His gaze was fixed on you, and you eventually met it.

The two of you looked at each other for a short while, and it was like you could read his mind, and tell him what you were thinking and feeling without saying a single word.

You missed him, you were sorry, he missed you, he was sorry.

More than anything, you wanted to wrap your arms around him and never let go, kiss him until your lips ached, and make a home in the crook of his neck.

“You blocked my number.” It wasn’t a question.

“I had to,” you took a drag and rolled the cigarette between your fingers once you’d dropped your hand back by your side.

“Did you really? You couldn’t have at least said goodbye – after all we’ve been through?”

“Don’t make me feel bad,” your tone came out angered, and you swiftly reeled yourself in. “I couldn’t feel any worse about the whole thing if I tried. There was no other choice, not if I wanted a chance at earning back John’s friendship.”

“The way I hear it, the two of you are already getting on.”

“He’s being kind. Kinder than I deserve and we’re a long way off repairing our friendship.”

Dutch nodded, and it hurt to see the pain that’d made camp on his face.

“How are things with the two of you?”

“Long way off,” he echoed. “He didn’t speak to me for a while, but he’s starting to be civil. I’m surprised by him, truth be told.”

“Why?”

“He’s been real grown up about it all,” his lips twitched with an unmitigated fondness, “we talked it all out, and he actually listened to my side of it. That’s two of my boys out-manning me, now.”

“Is Arthur okay?” you asked at the mention of him.

“Yeah,” he said noncommittally, “not happy with me either, but can’t say I blame him. Especially not after the Molly business.”

“I did try telling him you weren’t to blame.”

“I know.” The look he gave you was grateful, and you couldn’t only imagine the grief he’d received from the two men.

It was surreal to see him standing there. You wondered if you’d even remember this conversation in a week's time, or whether it’d be some lucid recollection you wouldn’t be able to pick out words from.

“Did you hear back about that interview?”

You nodded. “They offered me a job.”

Despite his saddened expression, a glint of pride broke its way through. “Congrats. You’ll do well there, should you decide to take it.”

“Thanks.” It wasn’t quite the reaction you’d pictured in your mind before all this nasty business, instead, it’d be Dutch pulling you into a boisterous embrace and immediately coming up with a schedule to ensure the two of you saw each other regularly enough.

His pained eyes glanced down your form and made their way back up to your face. The crease between his brows was permanently etched there now, it seemed.

“I’m sorry they found out that way,” he said.

“Me too. I don’t blame you for it.”

“Please,” he took a hesitant step towards you. “Reconsider. Is it not worth us trying, at least? John’s okay with it -”

“He is not. He’s only saying that because he feels obliged.”

“That’s not true, he came to me to talk about it, said he wants us to be together -”

“Do you not hear how insane that sounds? Why would he want his father and b- friend to be in a relationship?”

“Sorry to interrupt,” John’s voice broke into your conversation as he strolled over to the pair of you, “but my ears were burning.”

You both just looked at him, simmering back into your own spaces – it wasn’t a conscious decision to edge closer to Dutch.

“You’re arguing,” he observed.

“I -” you sighed, itching your brow, and abandoned your unformed sentence in favour of another drag from your cigarette.

“This is meant to be a happy day,” Dutch said guiltily.

“No, I know. I think I should go –”

“No,” John put a hand on each of your shoulders, stopping you from walking away from the situation. “Look, I’ll be honest, I’m tired of him moping,” he gestured his head towards his father.

Dutch slipped the cigarette from between your fingers and brought it to his mouth for a long drag. It was like static where his skin had brushed against yours, and your eyes lingered on his lips as he took a drag. He went to hand it back to you, but you shook your head.

“Keep it.”

“And I’m tired of you being so hard on yourself,” he narrowed his eyes at you, before looking between you both once more. “You shouldn’t have done what you did. You shouldn’t have gone behind my back for so long.”

The pair of you glanced at each other, scolded but in agreement with him.

“But I understand why you did. For the pair of you to do this, to take it this far – it must be something genuine.”

More genuine than you cared to admit. Being without Dutch was like being without a limb.

“You deserve the chance to test it out in the open. Ideally,” he huffed in mild amusement, “not too open. I don’t wanna watch you canoodling. But still. You do have my blessing,” he squeezed your shoulder, “and I’m not just saying that. I’ve thought about it, and I mean it.”

There were no words, so you rested your hand over John’s that was still planted on his shoulder.

“Thank you, son,” Dutch said, his voice cracking despite his hardened demeanour.

“Now,” John lightened his tone and the mood, “from what I hear they’re about to open the bar. And I don’t know about either of you but I sure as hell need a drink.”

“I sure do,” you agreed quietly, and Dutch beckoned for the two of you to proceed, and you all made your way over to the bar.

After John’s talk, you began to settle into the idea of trying again with Dutch. You were still hesitant, but since Dutch had reminded you to unblock his number, he’d messaged you regularly and gently brought you around to the idea.

So, you’d started talking more frequently, general chitchat and while it wasn’t quite the same, you found yourself valuing his conversation much more than you had previously. Still, you were hesitant to visit him, but Dutch agreed to ease back into the relationship, and going long periods without seeing him wasn’t an alien concept to you considering that’d been the norm for over two years.

It was only a few more weeks until John messaged the group chat saying Abigail had gone into labour, and he’d sent you a private message saying it might be a good time for you to go to his house, considering nobody would be there and you could have some alone time together.

Dutch too had messaged you, and you allowed your chest to grow warm at the thought of them colluding to convince you to come round. He’d confirmed the house was empty save for him, Tilly spending half of her summer staying at Arthur and Charles’ place.

You decided to bite the bullet and agreed, getting the train that same day before you had a chance to chicken out. Unsurprisingly, Dutch stood firm in his decision to pick you up from the station.

The car journey to his house had been quiet, the two of you not knowing where you stood or how to approach the situation. Arriving at his house and seeing the big stone driveway was enough to make your heartbeat quicken, the memory of your last visit resurfacing.

Dutch had made you a hot drink, and the two of you were sat outside in the late evening summer sun, thankful for the chirping birds that filled the silence.

“If you’re uncomfortable, please tell me. I’ll take you home, and I won’t be offended,” he said gently.

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you settled him, “it’s just a little strange as all. Didn't think I'd ever be here again.”

After a long sigh, Dutch shifted in his seat, angling himself towards you as though he had a secret he wanted only you to hear. “I have a plan.”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “A plan for what?”

“Making you a little more comfortable.”

“Let’s hear it.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a blunt.

You couldn’t resist laughing, looking at him in shock. “You want to get high?”

“Why not?”

“Because,” you began, though no reason came to mind why you shouldn’t. “Because - is that a good idea?”

“Course. Might help us loosen up a little.” His charming smile made you feel all fuzzy – his under eyes were less dark than when you’d seen him last and he looked overall more like himself. He was dressed down in a t-shirt and jeans, and you were appreciative of the delightful view of those hairy forearms of his.

“I didn’t even know you got high.”

“Where do you think John gets it?”

“You sell drugs?” your face shifted from shocked to understanding, “no wonder you’re so rich.”

“I do not sell drugs.”

“No. Just to your son?”

“No, I don’t want him buying overpriced shit from some sketchy dealer. If he’s going to do drugs, he’s going to at least do good drugs. Besides, I don’t support the criminalisation of it.”

“Right,” you laughed, not wanting to spur him onto his well-worn soap box. “Well then,” you plucked it from his fingers to rest it between your teeth and reached into his pocket where you knew he kept his lighter, relishing in the tensing of his thighs, and flicked it on to light the end of the joint. “Let us not waste any time.”

You blew out the smoke and handed it to him, his face looking close to boyish with his grin in response. “I like your attitude.” Dutch took an inhale of his own, and either you really did have a thing for guys when they smoked or this was some strong stuff, because you began to feel all tingly.

Relaxing back on the bench, you took in the view of the garden and tipped your head back, allowing the sun to graze over your face. “I have missed being here.”

“I’ve missed having you here,” Dutch said, and you cracked an eye open at him, to see him observing you fondly. “I’m glad, in a way.”

“About what?”

“It happening the way it did.”

“Why?”

“We don’t have to hide it any longer,” he rested his arm on the bench behind you, “the sneaking around was growing tiresome.”

“I suppose,” you took the blunt from him and brought it to your lips. “Still, not sure I’ll ever recover from that look on John’s face.”

“Let’s not go back there right now. I’ve spent too much time in that space recently.”

You handed the joint back to him thoughtfully. “Has your mental health been okay?”

Dutch chuckled knowingly. “It has not. Thankfully, I’ve learnt to recognise the unhealthy thought patterns, and I was on a higher dose of medication for a while.”

“You’re not now?”

“No,” he shook his head, blowing out the smoke. “After John’s talk, after I could speak to you again – it all calmed down.”

“I see. I’m sorry you were suffering.”

“That’s alright,” he shrugged, passing the joint over to you. Dutch was going to say something else when your phone buzzed, and you pulled it from your pocket, expression brightening at what greeted you on the screen.

“Congratulations are in order,” you tilted the screen towards him, and he looked over your shoulder at the photo of a baby clutched in Abigail’s arms with John leaning over, a tired grin on his face.

Dutch’s face softened into excitement, and he took his reading glasses from his pocket to place them on his face and get a better look. “Oh my, look at that.”

Another photo came through, a close-up of the baby accompanied by a message from John sent to the group chat.

Jack’s here. Abigail had a tough delivery, but she was great, and we now officially have a healthy son. Can’t wait for you all to meet him.

Very to the point, and very on-brand for John. “Jack,” you crooned, “that’s lovely.”

Dutch patted his pocket, scoffing. “My phone’s in the kitchen, let me go text him.”

“You remember the weed, but not your phone while your grandson is being born?”

“Oh hush,” he muttered as he walked into the house.

He returned a few minutes later, while you’d messaged your congratulations along with the rest of your friends.

“How’s it feel to be a grandfather?”

“Good, oddly enough,” Dutch settled beside you, noticeably closer than he had been previously, but you didn’t mind. He took the joint from you and had a couple of drags.

“He’s gorgeous,” you smiled, and the two of you settled into a rhythm of smoking and chatting while the sun bathed you in its rays.

It was a lovely evening, and it wasn’t long before the joint was burnt out and you’d slowly slipped to be nestled into Dutch’s side, his head resting on yours and fingertips running over your palm. The two of you remained like that, fully relaxed and happy just to be near each other, the odd shift in position the only thing to break the peaceful silence.

The movement of Dutch’s fingers had transmuted to the brushing of his palm up your arm, and you tilted your head to look at him. His hands felt so good, so firm and warm, his rings leaving a cool trail in their wake.

He glanced down at you, face content, and you couldn’t help but admire how gorgeous he was.

“I’m hungry.”

“I can order -”

You cupped his jaw and attached your lips to his, not sure you could wait a single moment longer. The two of you still hadn’t shared a kiss since you’d arrived, and the weeks of longing to have his lips on yours had been agonising.

“Oh,” he said once you’d pulled away.

You laughed softly, edging closer despite already being pressed up against him. His eyes had already grown hungry too, and you realised you weren’t hungry at all. You were ravenous.

The two of you demanded the next kiss at the same time, one not nearly enough to make up for all those you’d missed out on. He gripped your waist, and you twisted your hand into the collar of his shirt, the two of you not willing to part with the taste of each other's mouths.

“Darlin’,” he breathed when you both finally surfaced for air, and you touched the tip of your nose to his. “You don’t know how much I’ve missed that.”

“Believe me,” you pecked the corner of his mouth, “I do.”

He ran a hand over your hair and tilted his head when your expression turned devious. “Do I even want to ask?”

You shook your head and stood, leaving him still leaning forward where your body was now absent. “I’d rather show.”

With that you walked into the house, Dutch’s rushed and uneven footsteps soon following behind.

“What are we doing?” he said, excited, as you led him towards the study.

Once there, you sat on his desk and parted your legs. “I believe we have some unfinished business.”

“Oh,” he smirked and stopped in his tracks, running a hand through his hair and visibly less rigid thanks to the herbs in his system.

His eyes were fixed on the spot between your thighs as he stalked towards you, reaching his hands out and gripping your thighs once he was close enough, pulling them even further apart and growling from his chest as he nestled his crotch between them. You bit down on your lip when you felt how hard he was, becoming acutely aware of how much wetter you were than usual, likely a mix of your heightened senses and the given circumstance.

“I do admire your thoroughness, miss,” he murmured into your ear, trailing his lips over your lobe and down your neck.

You sighed weakly into the air and let your eyes fall shut, thighs attempting to tighten around him, but his grip was like iron as he kept your thighs in place. Then his lips were gone, and you opened your eyes to see that he was too. You looked down to find him knelt between your legs. “Thirsty?” you teased, and he grinned up at you, black pupils taking up almost all of his iris’.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he pushed the material of the dress up your legs and nuzzled his nose into your mound. “I do love you in a summer dress,” he murmured, and you could feel the vibrations from his baritone.

Dutch chuckled at your feeble attempt of pushing your hips closer to him, not relenting with his grip.

“Don’t worry sweet girl, I don’t have it in me to tease you right now.”

There was no time to answer before his mouth was on you, pressing over the wet material of your underwear. Dutch licked up your slit, tangling his tongue with the fabric and you whined, placing your hands behind you on the cool wood of his desk.

“That’s it,” he said, taking your underwear between his teeth to move it to the side, “let me hear you.”

You glanced down at him, the infatuation plain on his face as he stared at your dripping pussy. “What happened to not teasing me?”

“This is not teasing. Do you want to see teasing?”

“Dutch,” you warned, and he could hear the seriousness filter through your playful tone.

“Not tonight,” he decided, and dived right into his favourite meal.

Dutch kissed and sucked your skin, the responsiveness of your pussy providing him with more hydration than he could manage to take in, but he appeared up for the challenge. Gentle flicks of his tongue over your clit turned into a deep drag of it over your inner walls and you gasped his name repeatedly as he thoroughly lavished you with his tongue.

Your ecstatic orgasm came around fast, and you were sure you didn’t breathe for a minute straight as he drank up all you could give him. His hands had you trapped in place so you were powerless to buck your hips and instead had to let it all go right there, and Dutch was panting when he removed his mouth from you.

“Du -”

He pulled you into a kiss by the back of your neck, using his other hand to undo his jeans and shuck them down far enough to pull out his cock and ease into your accommodating cunt.

“Good lord,” he groaned, unable to focus on kissing you as your walls tensed, begging for his cock to never leave the home it found itself nestled in. “I never,” he gripped your chin between his thumb and forefinger once he’d pulled himself together, “want to go so long without your pussy again.”

“Deal,” you kissed him, spotting the small window of opportunity while he was distracted to pull your legs from his grip and wrap them around his hips, coaxing him even further in and he let out a pained whimper.

His hands grabbed the swell of either side of your ass, experimentally offering a few slight thrusts, but the sensation was enough to drive you wild. His thick cock felt perfect, and you mused whether that was the extra limb you’d been missing all this time.

The small thrusts turned to longer, languid ones that had you whining, Dutch obsessive with the way he clung to your body and began fucking you stupid.

Nothing else mattered aside from the euphoric pleasure racing through your body, being drilled into and marked by Dutch in what you assumed was every way he could think of. Nips to your collarbones, fingertips digging into your flesh, pussy fucked so deeply the skin felt raw. You didn’t care. The two of you were together again, and as was always the case when you fell into each other’s arms, the world was right again.

“Shit,” Dutch grunted, blinking his eyes tightly as he watched himself disappear into you at a reckless pace, now not the time for tender loving. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pressing your nose against his neck and breathing in the sheen of sweat on his skin. He was being greedy, his brain chasing one thing, the only thing that mattered at that moment. “It’s like you were made for me,” he began to babble to himself, and you knew he was close, so you held your own approaching orgasm until he was ready, “you’re so perfect, s-so fucking -”

Even words began to fail him as your body overtook every one of his thoughts, and that was a sentiment you shared as he fucked you deep and you cried out Dutch, because what other words were there?

He came hard, leaking into you as he pressed his hips forward, the desk jolting with the motion and you allowed your release to finally come too. His hands searched for an anchor, landing on the small of your back as he held you to him until he was completely empty.

The air around the two of you hummed, your bodies becoming soft and pliant at the familiar comfort of having your arms wrapped around each other. Eventually, each of you inched away to get a good look at the other.

Dutch’s eyelids were heavy, lips still shining with the remnants of you, and his hair had fallen around his face. He took in the view of you too and relaxed into a content smile, leaning forward to press his lips to yours, a tender act considering how hard he’d just defiled you. Neither of you had anything to say that would surmount the feelings you were experiencing in that moment.

So, you remained silent, breathing in one another until you were finally ready to face him pulling out.

As he tidied himself up, you leaned back on his desk and glanced to the side of his desk, noticing a picture frame. You took it in your hands and laughed minimally at the subject of the photo. “I can’t believe you have a picture of me here but not John.”

Despite the situation, Dutch'd made sure you get a photo with you at your graduation, you not realising he’d intended for it to take pride of place on his (now tainted) desk.

“I look better in this photo,” he said matter-of-factly. His expression softened when you raised your brows in questioning. “Or, perhaps you just make me look good.”

You shook your head, for him to shrug himself of judgement and join you in admiring the photo after he’d planted a kiss on your forehead.

It was true; you did look good together.

You’d intended to only stay at Dutch’s for a few days but found yourself not wanting to leave his side. In the end, you’d gone home for a single night to grab more stuff and made your way back to him first thing the next morning.

The day finally came when Abigail and John returned, and you watched them from the window as they made their way up the driveway, a carrier in hand. Dutch’d been fretting about the nursery – which the blue spare room had been turned into, and you were glad you hadn’t needed to part with ‘your’ room even if you did stay in Dutch’s - and whether it had everything it needed, despite already buying far too much stuff. Little Jack was surely going to be spoilt.

While you were overjoyed to get to spend so much time with the baby, Abigail and John were also happy to have you and Dutch on hand to take over when they needed a break, you ended up returning home for a time after being there for a couple of weeks, the start date at your new job just around the corner.

Since you spent the majority of your time working from home, it didn’t matter whether you stayed at your house or Dutch’s. Not wanting to rush too much into your relationship, or crowd the new family under the roof, you and Dutch agreed to a few nights a week at his place, then you'd spend the rest of it at yours. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t attempt to convince you to stay one extra night every time you had to leave, though.

Being around John while staying with his father had been awkward at first. But soon, as with all change, it became the new normal. It was nice, really, having him and Abigail so close by. It hadn’t taken long for Jack to become your favourite member of the family.

It was a few months down the line, and the Van der Linde house was full. John had worked through his nerves, but having family on hand, he’d begun taking fatherhood in his stride. He’d been grateful for you too, and you couldn’t deny that you were secretly pleased about having the advantage of the chance to be Jack’s favourite Auntie, aside from Tilly of course.

You were all in the garden after Dutch’d done a small barbeque, you stood by the table bobbing little Jack in your arms. “I do love being an auntie,” you expressed to the group, infatuated with the baby’s gorgeous cheeks.

Abigail turned to you; her face pensive. “Wouldn’t you be his step-grandma?”

Not that you’d expected anything less, but even Abigail had taken to the now-popular hobby of teasing you. Somehow, even Dutch had gotten in on the action. He snickered, John’s laugh echoing from the kitchen (his selective hearing was truly a wonder) before he walked outside and gave Abigail a proud kiss on the head.

“Isn’t your momma just the funniest?” you said down to Jack, after taking an offended pause.

She grinned at you, and you couldn’t help but return the smile.

Eventually, you’d parted with your nephew (no, he was not your step-grandson no matter what anyone said) and began taking the plates into the kitchen, loading them up into the dishwasher.

Dutch seized the opportunity to pat your ass as you were bent down, and you scoffed at him. “Perv.”

He laughed easily, bringing in the cutlery and loading it in himself. After you’d turned on the washing machine, you both took to watching the small family through the window, sitting on a mat on the grass and marvelling at Jack who’d recently learnt how to roll over.

“Now that kid will be a genius,” hummed Dutch, and you tutted at him.

“Will you leave the poor boy alone before you start locking him up with the books?”

Dutch ran his hands around your waist, holding you comfortably from behind, his warm and inviting torso a perfect cushion for your back. “I’ve half a mind to lock you up.”

“Oh, I’m sorry – do I not allocate enough time to you?” you quipped, and he chuckled into your hair.

“Not nearly enough to satiate me.”

You tsked through your teeth, resting your hands on top of his.

“I’m serious,” he added, and you glanced round to catch his eye.

“Oh, come on, what now?”

“I’ve been thinking...”

“I’ve learnt to view that sentence as a warning.”

Dutch’s eyes crinkled with his amusement, and he placed a kiss on your temple. “All I’m saying is I would love to have you here permanently. I say it not as a demand, not for something to do right now, but something to let brew in that wonderful mind of yours.”

“And you say I’m the one always jumping to the next step,” you kissed him sweetly, and he tightened his hold around you as you looked back out the window.

“It’s a mere suggestion, darlin’. Something for you to ponder when you find yourself bored.”

All you could do was smirk, this irrevocably charming man always willing to prove his need to have, which you’d deduced was just another name for a more potent form of desire; a thing he seemed to have in bucket-loads for you. You rested your head back against him, revelling in the promise of comfort and belonging that kept you company whenever you found yourself in his arms.

“Whatever you say, Mr Van der Linde.”

a/n: hopefully none of you need the reminder but pls don't fuck your best friend's dad, author does not condone it. also I know Dutch would probably be an absolute nightmare on weed given his paranoia, but in this universe that’s not a thing because I don't want it to be :)

#dutch van der linde x reader #dutch van der linde x f!reader #dutch x reader #dutch van der linde #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #fanfiction #my stuff

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theambivalentagender · 2 years ago

Text

Valley Echoes Year One

SPRING

The Last Straw (1)

Awkward Introductions (3)

The Stardrop Saloon (1)

I Don't Know You, and I Don't Want To (3)

Meeting the Squad (2)

The Old Mineshaft (1)

I Don't Want Your Garbage (2)

Meeting Marnie/Grapefruit (2)

The Wizard (2)

A Joja Employee Found You Last Night (3)

Egg Painting With Emily (2)

Year One Egg Festival (1)

In the Cans (1)

Thanks, This is Nice (1)

No Matter What You Do, You're Gonna Fail (2)

Year One Flower Dance (3)

Maybe I Can Microwave Myself (1)

SUMMER

Summer Seeds (1)

Stolen Pizza and Dead Roses (5)

Seb the Programmer/Sam the Skater (2)

Apply Water to Hangover (4)

Year One Luau (1)

Emily's Movie Night (2)

A Train of Nightmares (3)

Zeke's Birthday (3)

Fucking Lewis (3)

Visiting the Mullners (3)

Emily's Secret (1)

Zeke and Shane in the Mines (5)

Shane's Mine Rescue (5)

Advice From a Cat and a Lesbian (4)

Year One Moonlight Jellies (2)

FALL

The Wind Took My Hat (1)

Chicken Adoption and the Winter Star Spirit? (3)

No Answers From the Wizard (2)

Clint's Many Problems (3)

Action Girl Abigail (3)

Zeke vs Pepper Poppers (1)

Shane Starts Having New Dreams (1)

Netflix and No Chill (2)

Don't Get Lost in the Woods (2) (TW: Abuse Mention)

Here Goes Nothing (1)

Stardew Valley Fair Year One (4) (TW: Violence)

Consequences (5)

Shane Makes a Decision (1)

WATCH OUT (1)

Cold Turkey (3)

The Accident (2)

A Day in the Life of Sam (1)

In Which Zeke is a Little Upset (1)

Too Small and Stupid (4) (TW: Suicide Mention)

Going to the City for Therapy (3)

Year One Spirit's Eve (3)

Childhood Memories (8)

Shane Chops Wood (1)

WINTER

Snow and Shadows (2)

Relatives in High Places (3)

In Which Abigail is Ignored for Her Guinea Pig (1)

Why Do You Have a Bomb?!? (3)

Gus Doesn't Fuck Around With Drinks (5)

Shane's Back Says Goodnight (3)

The Man With Stardrop Eyes (3)

Year One Ice Festival (6)

Purple Conversation (3)

Emily's Clothing Therapy (4)

Year One Night Market (5)

What is Rasmodius Hiding? (2)

Leah's Problem (2)

The Road Trip (3)

There Was Only One Bed, Said Emily (3)

The Dog Heist (3)

A Talk in the Desert (3)

Oh Shit Ghosts (2)

Zeke the Chicken Whisperer (1)

Year One Feast of the Winter Star (5)

#valley echoes masterlist

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specialbluehens · 2 years ago

Note

What are the crack theories 🎤

short version: shane is the son of the witch & the wizard & got his memories erased. boom.

long version:

"rose what the fuck" LISTEN.

this is known. the witch is the wizard's ex-wife. he mentions after they split she began flying around the countryside cursing everything.

and then marnie has this dialogue when u talk to her in the ranch:

the noise could've been anything given wtf the wizard is doing HOWEVER. u could say the terrible noise was her hearing the witch & the wizard fighting/arguing. why?

we all know this theory. it's a very strong theory given dialogue from the wizard, caroline, pierre, & abigail herself (contradictory dialogue exists too, like saying abigail's hair is dyed & she naturally has brown hair like pierre)

but i'm adding more to this.

shane & jas are godfather & goddaughter, respectfully. shane & jas are also both marnie's nephew & niece. so?? my hc is that shane had a sibling (i go with an older sister) who got married & had jas, named shane her godfather. he avoids acknowledging his sibling's death hence why he says godfather, not uncle, & never brings the sibling up. they have hair like jas's. shane's hair is natural (it's never mentioned as dyed sooooooo)

now. there's this smaller, not as commonly accepted theory that jas is the wizard's daughter due to her having a very similar skin tone & purple hair. i'm going with granddaughter :)

and i'm going with abigail being the biological daughter of the wizard & caroline, which would make shane & her half siblings.

but they don't know that :)

to continue down this rabbit hole, in the witch's hut are the three dark shrines. memory, selfishness, & night terrors. only two to focus on for this are memory & selfishness.

bc the wizard was going to use them.

with the way the farmer just like. has access to the witch's hut from the wizard's tower after completing the quest... that had to have been there. maybe when they were married it was just the place to keep the dark shrines & do other things. but then the wizard cheats & caroline gets pregnant with abigail.

the wizard was planning on erasing the witch's memory & turning shane & his sibling into doves to avoid consequences of his actions. at this point he feels no remorse, only that it'll be a hinderance in what he's trying to do. esp bc at this point, neither shane nor his sibling are showing they've got magical abilities like him or the witch. shane is like, 5 years old by this point (marnie is not magical, but she is the witch's sister).

the witch finds out, & their fight is the dreadful noise marnie heard. the witch keeps him from getting to the shrines but in the end, he uses smth else, a spell, to erase the memories of shane & his sibling of him & the witch, who is so angry, but she can't let him get to the shrines. her children losing their memories is better than turning into doves never to be seen again. she's able to get them to marnie, but then she makes the decision to erase marnie's memory for the sake of shane & his sibling, as well as marnie. (to stay away from the wizard).

shane & his sibling move on, end up in the foster care system (marnie believes her sister & her husband have gone missing & eventually gives up trying to remember bc it feels like ages ago). shane & his sibling visit often though, mostly during summers. but his memory wipe is why shane says he never had much of a family & why he doesn't believe in magic.

the wizard never expects shane is become a true resident of the valley again. but when shane does, the wizard has given up by this point & has moved on. he feels remorse now, but he also doesn't try to ammend, seeing no point as it's been nearly 30 years. the witch has lost herself in her anger & curses throughout the valley as the wizard explains.

until one spirit's even when she is going to curse an unsuspecting ranch house & sees someone walking towards it. he makes her pause. he's familiar. she can't quite put her finger on it. shane goes inside, completely unaware. and that's that.

...

until the witch decides to go find out for herself :)

(shit hits the fan from here but this post is long enough & entering more like. story/fic territory... which i do wanna write LMAO)

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honeyandberryjuice · 5 months ago

Text

A Mutual Agreement

summary: arthur gets super drunk over his romantic woes and finds comfort in the arms of abigail relationship(s): abigail roberts/arthur morgan word count: 2,082 warning(s): 18+, MINORS DNI

author's note: i wrote this in the ungodly hours of 4am, eyes stinging, and the need to impress my bestie with some porn. this is my first lil fanfic piece, please be kind to me ;w; tags: this is set before abigail is with john ok, i am an adamant john x abigail shipper & i'll die on this hill just let me have this please, some praise kink and reward stuff idk, arthur being an idiot (affectionate) & not thinking about the consequences of his actions, mutual drunk fucking, let's not think about what this means, top!arthur morgan

🍯 prefer to read on ao3? 🍯

The crackling of the fire floats softly up to Arthur’s ears, face warmed both by its heat and the bottle of whiskey in his hand. Over the last couple of days, his nights had followed the same routine— He’d done whatever chores needed doing, argued with whoever stood too close to him, grabbed a crate of alcohol, and sat sullenly by the campfire. For the first few nights, several members of the gang had attempted to come over to him and get to the bottom of his attitude, though his expression and biting words had sent them all on their way with a scowl or injured retort.

Now, the only one left was Abigail.

The woman had only been with them for a little while now, shorter than some of the other girls but enough for her to get acquainted with the many members of the camp. Arthur wasn’t one to judge— Everyone had to make their living one way or another, and he was glad she at least had people to look after her now. Whatever she chose to do in her spare time was up to her, and Arthur quite honestly couldn’t care less. He’d hardly looked her way during her time here, most essentially because a particular blonde had been keeping his attention.

His vision blurred as he looked up at her, eyebrows furrowed. Recently, she’d become slightly more… Present around the men, especially John. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the woman had developed some sort of attachment for him, for whatever reason. He loved John; the younger man was like a brother to him, but he really was only two cents short of a complete imbecile. Arthur truly believed that he wouldn’t ever learn to appreciate a good thing right before him, even if someone were to hammer it into his forehead to stare at in the mirror every day.

The brunette sighed, clasping the bridge of his nose as the fire swam in front of him. He’d definitely had too much to drink…

Soft, cold hands brushed against his arm, and the scent of berries, coffee, and fresh linen enveloped him. It took all of his willpower not to suck it all in like his last breath of air. Instead, he focused on trying not to pass out, reaching out his own hand to brace against the support on his arm. “Thanks, Abigail.” He managed, head pounding. The woman’s hands patted him in response before the warmth of her pressed against the side of his leg.

She didn’t respond to him, though she’d evidently come closer for some reason. Arthur guessed that maybe she was trying to look after him, though her hands fidgeted in her lap, and her eyes continued to search the camp.

Arthur clicked his tongue, pulling himself back up into a respectable sitting position. “Y’deserve better than that damn idiot.” He spat out. His words sounded bitter, even to his own ears, and Arthur wondered if he was really even talking about John at all.

“Oh, Arthur. You… You don’t know him like I do. He’s sweet— And, well, he…” The first words she’d spoken since sitting with him at the fire, and they were all to defend the flaky outlaw. It infuriated Arthur to no end.

His hot-headedness sparked easier next to the blaze warming his body, and the response escaped him angrily in his next breath. “Yeah, I bet he is. That boy’s always had a gift for charm, y’know. But he ain’t ever committed to nothin’ in his damn life. Y’better off not wasting yer time.” Words that hit too close to home, that made his chest squeeze as if a boulder flattened it. He pushed it down into the depths of him.

There was only silence from the woman. It spread for so long that Arthur almost spoke an apology, though Abigail springing forward and grasping a bottle of whiskey from the crate froze it in his throat. Had he ever seen her drink? He decided he’d be much better off without saying a word, and instead leaned back and concentrated on sobering up a little. His eyes went from watching the fire to watching the black-haired woman, her own attention taken by the burning pit in front of them.

Some time passed; it wasn’t awkward, or tense, but actually rather pleasant, with the crackling of the fire filling in their lack of conversation. It took a little while, and the opening of a new bottle of whiskey, for Abigail to seem to relax. Arthur noticed with some smugness that her attention no longer searched desperately around the camp, but rather she looked at her hands folded in her lap. After a while, she spoke again. “What happened, Arthur? Y… Y’seemed so content before. Did you…” She trailed off, likely thinking her questions were far too personal to ask.

Arthur’s vision had unfogged slightly, and he leaned forward to give her more of his attention. His eyes were drooping lazily, though he could see her face clearly, features illuminated by the orange glow of the campfire. He realised, with his breath slightly hitching in his throat, that she really was quite beautiful. The next words didn’t hurt as much as they had in his head, the same ones he’d been berating himself with over the last few days. His voice was hardly audible when he said, “I lost her.”

Their eyes met, and there was no surprise in hers as she looked at him. Maybe she’d already known about Eliza — women’s intuition and all that — or maybe he really wasn’t as good at hiding secrets as he liked to think.

Abigail’s gaze softened, and her eyes drifted down to his lips.

Oh.

Arthur licked them, his thoughts tumbling away as the heat and the drink and proximity of the woman before him hit him. For a moment, he really took her in— the dark hair that reminded him so much of his first love, of the gentleness and sincerity that mirrored so very closely to the one who owned his heart. The three women became one, morphing into the lovely face barely inches from his own.

He was kissing her before his thoughts began to make sense again.

Though once the realisation hit him, it wasn’t followed by immediate regret like he would’ve thought. Abigail’s own lips only met his, and didn’t inch away— Instead, she seemed to be full of the same longing as he was. A mutual agreement of desperately needed comfort.

He lifted her into his arms, walking towards an empty tent with pure muscle memory. If anyone walked past them or noticed them, they didn’t speak— But Arthur wouldn’t have cared anyway. He needed this, to feel like he, for just a moment, wasn't a monster. That a blonde woman, the mother of his child, didn’t hate him for leaving her. Even if she wouldn’t even know it was for her own good.

The frame of the bed hit against his legs and caused the two of them to tumble into it. A breathy laugh escaped Abigail, which only made his ears roar at the sensational sound of it. Her hands pulled at his hair, his clothes, his skin and it took all his effort not to roll his eyes into the back of his head. Abigail’s tongue probed at his lips, and the man could only think of how wonderfully experienced this woman was with her mouth, kissing her back with a moan.

He pulled off his shirt and her hands rubbed down his chest, causing goosebumps to prickle lovingly against them. Arthur fought back his shiver as her nails scraped against him, his lip catching in his teeth as a shuddering breath escaped him. His cock ached against his pants, so he quickly fixed the problem by unbuckling his belt with one hand, the other reaching to touch the now-naked woman.

Despite the drink causing Arthur to lose focus, he wanted to make this enjoyable for Abigail, too. The earlier roaming hand found its target, and the next groan came out strangled. She was wet. The cockiness came back, and he whispered, “Y’been waitin’ for this, aintcha?” The dark-haired woman nodded, though the motion wasn’t a good enough answer for him. His fingers caressed the opening, and he teasingly rubbed against her clit, eyes hard. “What was that, sweetheart?”

“Y-Yes. I have.” Her voice was strained as his teasing intensified, though Arthur didn’t make her wait too long before he rewarded her by pushing his fingers into her pussy. The moan that erupted out of her made his cock twitch, and a throaty chuckle came from him as he relinquished it. He made her make that sound. The man wanted to cause her to make many more.

Hovering over her, he continued to push his fingers in and out of her, holding onto her thigh with his other hand. He watched her with growing smugness as the delightful little sounds she made grew in both intensity and volume. “Arthur—” Abigail gasped, hands gripping into the sheets, “‘m gonna cum.”

His name from her lips sounded like music, especially with it so strained with pleasure like it was. The man’s movements grew faster, his grip on her thigh harder. “Cum for me, darlin’,” Arthur responded, tone commanding yet encouraging. His mouth teased lightly against the inside of her thigh, and his teeth grazed her skin, begging her to fall over the edge of her climax.

It didn’t take long before she was coming apart in his arms, legs shaking. Her breath was hot as he pressed his body into hers again, holding her for a moment. “Good girl,” Arthur’s voice positively purred, before he was standing over again.

His hands gripped hard against her hips as he pulled her closer to the edge of the bed, where his hard cock begged to enter her. The man teasingly stroked it against the sensitive area, though he didn’t push into her just yet. Arthur’s eyes pinned her, roaming over her heaving breasts before focusing on her drooping gaze. “Y’ready?”

Abigail can only nod, body still trembling, before Arthur’s pushes himself inside her. The wet heat of her pussy envelopes him, and a deep and hoarse moan comes from him as he fully enters her. “Fuck, y’feel so good, darlin’.” Another breathy laugh from Abigail causes another ache, and he becomes ever more desperate for a release.

His thrusts grow in intensity, hands still gripping her hips as he slams into her, over and over. Shivers of pleasure roll down his body, and another strangled groan as her nails begin scraping down his back. They dig into him, stinging deliciously as the pressure in his cock grows.

Arthur’s hands move to cup her breasts, the calluses of his fingers causing exquisite friction on her skin. He pinches a nipple lightly between his fingers before he’s leaning down and closing his lips around it. The man’s tongue flicks against the skin hardened with pleasure, his own mirroring hers. He grazes his teeth playfully against the nipple, praising her as her sounds become more frequent, “Louder for me, darlin. I want th’whole camp t’hear ya.”

He’s pounding into her, harder and harder, the noises from Abigail growing into gasps as another orgasm builds up inside her. Arthur growls out, “Y’such a good girl, takin’ all of me so well. Y’my good lil slut, ain’tchu, sweetheart? Y’want me to fill y’up?”

The dark-haired woman’s response is whiny as she responds with, “Yes. Oh, god— Fuck—” Her body once more trembles as she cums, pussy pulsating so enticingly around his cock. He can feel his own orgasm upon him as he releases another choked moan.

Arthur can’t fight the building sensation for long before he’s finishing inside her. Abigail’s legs wrap around him, a vice grip, as his cock twitches with the last of his load, warmth spreading through the woman as he pants against her. His hands are shaking as he brushes a hand through his hair, head leaned back as the pulsing of his orgasm subsides.

With a wince, he pulls out of her and tumbles onto the bed beside her. His eyes are heavy as he clasps an arm around her, seeking comfort of a non-sexual kind. Abigail’s fingers trail soothingly against his arm, head against his chest.

Arthur’s eyes flutter shut before he can think about what he’s just done.

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption #red dead redemption community #red dead fandom #red dead redemption fanfic #red dead redemption arthur #rdr2 community #van der linde gang #arthur morgan #abigail roberts #abigail marston #🌵 cowboys

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cann1balwill · 1 year ago

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Hannibal only eats people that he thinks are lesser than him, pigs in his eyes, and elevates them into art making them into something beautiful despite or rather because of their previous ugliness . So when I first watched the show I was rather curious why he would want to eat Will Graham, since he obviously had way more complex feelings than disgust and resentment for Will. But at some point, he decides that the only way to get over the betrayal and guilt that Will made him feel is to eat him. Will wouldn't be the first person he cared for that Hannibal would kill/consume (Abigail/Misha) so is it a pattern? or is it another one of his more impulsive characteristics, where he is so thoroughly consumed by anger and betrayal, that he cannot stay cold-headed and calculating, as he is most of the time?

I am also rather curious if the act of killing Abigail was impulsive or planned. he was obviously aware of the betrayal that Will had committed, but was he still hoping for Will to run away with Abigail and him or was Abigail sentenced to her death from the beginning? The way Hannibal killed her in the exact same way Garret Jacob Hobbs, her own father, tried to, could be used to symbolize the paternal care that he may have developed while hiding her in his residence, it also could represent a similar desperation that G.J.H felt while trying to kill Abigail. Hobbs wasn't planning on killing Abigail, at least not in such a spontaneous way, where he wouldn't be able to consume her as he did his other victims. it was an act of emotion. Just as in Mizumono Abigail's actual murder was. it was supposed to hurt Will and make him feel the pain Hannibal was feeling because of his betrayal. but it was also meant to symbolize, that the previously gathered teacup is once again shattered, with no way to reverse time.

If we were to go back to the question "Was Hannibal's act of trying to consume Will an act of impulsive emotion or a calculated plan" I would say it is a mix of both. While Hannibal wanted to consume Will's brain since the beginning of season 3, it was still a raw display of emotion. He didn't know what to do with his emotions. He was confused, about why he was not only able to forgive Will, even though he betrayed him on such a deep level, but also feel guilty for what he did in the season 2 finale. He was so consumed by this feeling of guilt and betrayal, just because of one single man. So he thought the only way to finally understand his feelings, would be to consume the brain of the person causing them. Not for the purpose of elevating him into art, but to finally understand the deep emotions he felt around and because of Will.

Hannibal is not one to regret any of his decisions. He plans everything in a way that it is impossible for him to regret something. But in season 3, it is revealed, that he was writing down formula, trying to turn back time. Hannibal is not a person used to feeling regret and since he wasn't forced to cope with that kind of burden until now the only possible solution in his eyes is to turn back time, gather the teacup once again, and rebuild the relationship he had with Will before killing Abigail. So it is obvious that his attempt of trying to eat Will wasn't planned in the cold-blooded way he normally planned his murders, but rather planned in an emotional act of distress. His fierce anger and stabbing feelings of betrayal made him ignore the consequences that would follow his actions. This was probably the same after Mizumono, after his act of killing Abigail and stabbing Will, in an attempt to replicate the anguish and hurt he felt because of Graham.

His feeling of regret and obvious desperation for forgiveness is in my eyes an obvious sign that Hannibal acted upon pure emotion in both Season 2 (Mizumono) and 3 (Dolce), when being forced to act upon his feelings surrounding Will. Will is the only person who makes him feel out of control, while that was appealing in the start, he notices later on, that he will never be able to predict Will which is a concept rather hard to grasp for Hannibal since he didn't feel so out of control since the death and (probably) forced consumption of his sister Mischa, making him relive all those memories connected to his childhood and his own version of "becoming" the monster he is now.

#nbc hannibal #hannibal lecter #will graham #mizumono #dolce #cannibalism #abigail hobbs #hannibal nbc #character analysis #new here #new here so dont judge #constructive critism welcome

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mks-grin · 2 years ago

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The Quarry AU Headcanon: The counselors each gained superpowers. What power would each of them have?

(( EDITED bc I forgot to include Max’s other power.))

You’ve absolutely MADE my day with this question let me tell you!

So I’ll give you two for each person - “The Power they would most naturally have” (like if they were born with it) OR “the power they would have later in life because it would torment them” (like it happens in order to force them to grow.)

Jacob - “Super Strength” OR “Time Travel”

Super Strength makes sense at first glance for Jacob because he probably is already a strong guy. He would fall into typical Superman rules. Minus the flying and laser? Vision.

However, Jacob is the type to deeply regret his actions, he also seems like the type to not be able to accept reality. He might use a time loop ability to go back in time in order to change his relationship with Emma. Yet overtime he would realize that there are some things time travel can’t change. Others will always have free will, desires, and will die. Nothing can change that.

(He ALSO has the most possible deaths / therefore you’re most likely to use your Death Rewind on him vs. any other character! Get it? Rewind? Ok.)

Ryan - “Invisibility” OR “The Touch of Death”

Ryan would prefer to be invisible, I’m sure, most of the time in canon. Invisibility would allow him to eavesdrop without consequences and hide when he wants to avoid others. It would come so naturally to him. He might only be visible when giving his lessons or when talking to Chris.

However, being given a “touch of death” ability would doom him to always be alone in some capacity. He would feel othered and have to constantly be aware of how close he got to others. While he doesn’t want closeness - knowing he can’t ever have it would make him a little bitter. Or really bitter! I think he would actually opt to try and remove this power vs. adapt to it.

Abigail - “Manipulate Nature” OR “Lie Detector”.

Abi would naturally connect to nature, because she can appreciate the world in an artistic sense she would also have the connectedness needed to manipulate said nature. Being able to better care for plants and ecosystems, she would thrive doing this wonderful and peaceful work.

However, if she were to be able to detect lies, without others knowing, she might lose faith in them faster. She may not trust people or will simply be disheartened with most people. It may cause her to have a gloomier look on life. Until of course she realizes people also lie to hide good things like crushes and surprises - realizing that people are more complex than their actions. Their intentions are just as important!

Emma - “Charm” OR “Mimic”

Initially Emma is our summer season heartthrob so it makes sense that she might have the ability to charm others! She would use this power usually for good, but the occasional boost in an interview never hurt anybody? People might question whether or not they’re under her spell on a day to day basis. She would insist however that she doesn’t use it on a daily basis for constant life hacking.

However, because Emma lacks a true sense of self she might be given the power to look and sound like other people. She is able to use this ability to have conversations with someone without them knowing it’s actually her. This leads her to realize her peers know a lot more about themselves than she knows about herself. This may bother her until she knows more about who she is.

Dylan - “Calculation” OR “Clean Slate”

Dylan, being a little genius, might be able to solve problems with more confidence than another. He may have a better sense of geometry, physics, surface area, and bodily capabilities that he can quickly solve those sorts of issues. In a tight situation he might be able to work out a solution! Can you fall from this height without breaking a leg? How fast can you swerve to not hit a deer and not flip your Minicoop? Sometimes it feels like guesswork to others - but it’s almost like having a completely accurate scientific instinct.

Clean Slate meaning he can clear someone’s mind of a specific thought. He can wipe information into the subconscious. Sadly, he would find this power to be a burden and find himself feeling guilty whenever he would wipe away a memory. Dylan eventually feels that mistakes, failures and loss are all important aspects of life. Wiping those experiences away from friends stunts them a little and robs them of development. They are capable of remembering what they forget - and when they do they also remember that he wiped away that memory. This has ended in a fight before.

Kaitlyn - “Ice Breath” OR “Intuition”

Ice Breath, while ironic, would be a fun power for Kaitlyn. She would say her typical snide or cynical comments to friends and whenever it hurts their feelings she would remind them she is “ice cold”. She may even sing “Ice Ice Baby” as a sort of theme song. Having this sort of narrative following her and in her mind / she would be able to actually believe it. Therefore, hardening her heart and increasing her ability to thrive in a crisis. She would be a worse team player on a day to day basis but when you NEED her she’s there.

Intuition is a little more haunting for Kaitlyn. While she is smart, her ability to understand the intuition isn’t too sharp. Intuition is a sort of meeting of the mind and heart, in a way a lot of people can’t describe. Kaitlyn is a very logical thinking person. When gaining this ability she struggles to understand what the “feeling of dread” is. She gets little premonitions and cannot always figure out what will CAUSE that premonition to happen. Sometimes her actions, intended to avoid a specific future, are what lead her to that future. She wouldn’t share her premonitions with other, and instead feel guilty when she can’t motivate someone to do what she thinks they ‘need’ to do. This hurts her relationships because she starts to become pushy and has too alienated of a mindset to share her issues.

Nick - “Shield / Bubble” OR “Animal”

Nick seems like the type to obtain a sort of ‘boring’ power like this. He wouldn’t mind it in the slightest and would make it look cool because he has the sense to use it well! He certainly could manipulate the shields for practical use and for party trick use! It’s one of the few abilities that can be used to embarrass Jacob, which Nick can easily appreciate.

Because we see Nick go absolutely 😬 in canon, I think it makes sense to transfer that here. He’d just turn into a more werewolf-esq version of himself. I think this power would be triggered by Nick’s emotions. Not because he is new to the power, but simply because that’s a trait of the power. This would force Nick to have to come to terms with his emotions more directly than he does in canon. ( He can’t let emotions bubble up or take the back seat anymore.) Simultaneously he needs to keep a leveler head to remain human! If not he becomes a feral version of himself.

Max - “Healing” OR “Sense Deprevation”

C’mon obviously Max would be born with a healing power. He’s just mad sweet.

( Also did you see the lawsuit Max’s actor is going through right now?? Look that shit up. Yikes! Skylar, as many Judge Judy episodes have taught me, idt he has anything to sue over”.)

Anyways, Max would absolutely love to help people and has the right sort of temperament to help others. Medical school wouldn’t be his thing - but hey if he’s born with the ability that’s different!! Line up because this clinic is OPEN! (Also Skylar plays a character in another series as a kid where he is a fake church healer!)

In contrast, Max might have the ability to rob someone temporarily of one of their five senses. He might do this when people argue, by taking vision away for a few minutes, these people can’t keep hitting each other. He does this for Laura whenever she wants to eat something healthy that she doesn’t enjoy. He also could do it for kids (and Jacob) who need medicine. He never uses it on people without saying he’s going to use it though.

However he has faced instances where the sense didn’t come back when he thought they would and he does not know the rhyme or reason to when this happens. Once Laura lost vision in one of her eyes for like 12 hours. Whoops!

Laura - “Animal Communication” OR “Regeneration”

We see why this would be Laura’s calling right? Best vet ever. Or a constantly sobbing vet. She also would be able to tell more about animal abuse and rats people about to her and Max’s buddy, T-Money. Laura loves and hates this ability bc she now has the ability and responsibility to do more than just yearly pet checkups.

And regeneration! The ability to not die / or can’t die as easily as others do. It’s a blessing and a curse. In her everyday life it’s good to know she heals from paper cuts, burns, and hangnails faster than everyone else - but realizing that her mortality could come into question might sorta ruin her summer vibes ya know? Could she die? Would she age?

Despite this she decides she absolutely must use this power for vigilante justice.

#the quarry #TQ #supermassive games #laura kearney #max brinly #ryan erzahler #dylan leviny #emma mountebank #abigail blyg #jacob custos #Kaitlyn ka #nick fucillo #the quarry headcanons #headcanons for the quarry

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mayhemproduces · 3 months ago

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It’s been a number of weeks since Paul Heyman screwed both Josh Bishop & Pandemonium out of their shot at the MPW World Championship, and both wrestlers warned him & the rest of the Fallen when it happened that he would live to regret it. Ever since, Josh Bishop & Pan have been doing everything in their power to get their hands on Paul, MJF, Abby, Julia, & Syn, and here they come once again, this time the tandem attacking together! Julia tries to slide out of the ring and stop them short, but Pan knocks Julia down with a Superkick, making quick work of Julia Hart! Bishop slides right into the ring, as Syn throws Devitt aside, only for Bishop to grab Syn by the throat, lift him up high, and drive him down, through the door, and through the thumbtacks with a MASSIVE Chokeslam!

Bishop rolls out of the ring, and goes right after Abigail as the two start brawling, as Heyman once again tries to book it out of there. This time, he doesn’t get very far, as Pandemonium has Paul by the tie! Paul can’t run, as Devitt goes up to the top rope! Devitt sets his feet, and crashes down on Syn with a BIG Coup De Grace, caving in Syn’s chest! Devitt into the cover, and as he hooks the leg on Syn, Bishop grabs Abigail, and chokeslams her through the announce table!

1….2…3!

“Here is your winner, Prince Devitt!”

With Devitt victorious, and the match over, Pandemonium throws Paul Heyman into the ring, as Bishop grabs a microphone. Malakai Black joins Devitt in the ring, and raises his beau’s hand, before the two elect to help stand guard for this!

Bishop holds the microphone, as Pan traps Paul’s arm, and gets the Peruvian Necktie locked in, but doesn’t put any pressure on the hold yet. Bishop holds the microphone in front of Pan’s mouth, allowing her to speak.

“Paul… I warned you, I really, really warned you, not to fuck me… You can consider this… the consequences of your own actions.”

And with that, Pandemonium starts cranking back on the hold! Paul’s face is quickly turning red, almost a shade of purple, as he’s tapping furiously, and trying to say something. Pan alleviates the pressure just long enough to allow Paul to speak in gasped breaths. MJF tries to slide into the ring to save Paul, but Prince Devitt smacking a chair on the mat is enough to dissuade MJF.

“Okay! Okay! I’ll give you what you want! I’ll give you a chance to earn your way into the title match at Hell on Earth! Please!”

Bishop looks at Pan and shrugs, and puts the mic back by her mouth.

“Glad we’ve reached an understanding… I’m still gonna choke you out, though.”

And with that, Pan wrenches back on the hold again, and no matter how much Paul fights and struggles, he can’t seem to escape! Paul Heyman’s body goes limp, as Pan throws him aside, and gets back up, looking down on their crooked boss. Pan and Bishop then turn their attention to Devitt and Malakai, and they share a nod of appreciation, as Pan grabs Prince by the wrist, and holds his hand high in victory, as Malakai & Bishop join in, the faces of MPW standing tall here as we end the night!

Next week, Bishop & Pan get a chance to earn their way back into the MPW World Title match at Hell on Earth. We’ll see you then! Goodnight!

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arbitrarygreay · 7 months ago

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I think I've finally put my finger on what bothers me about Bellweather unit unity in the show's actual footage: They only get into trouble together in extremis. When you look at other iconic magic school trios (such as Akko/Sucy/Lotte from Little Witch Academia), they get into relatively low stakes shenanigans, and have each others' backs in facing the consequences. The closest we get to that for the unit is episode 2, with Abigail covering for Tally Wind-striking the civilian. However, the nature of that action means that they got away with it. When Anacostia referred to the unit as pains in her ass, what we saw was the members getting up to things individually, or squabbling with each other. The unit hug each other with all affection, and in S2 we even see them being friends between classes, but they only work together when the plot is really serious in tone (chasing Raelle to the lighthouse, Tarim, Nicte mission, Rite of Proxy, Penelope). The Bellweather unit do not get into Shenanigans with each other. Not the three of them, anyways. Raelle and Tally got to sneak up on their own guard rotation over the break. And maybe you can count Elayne's bar for Tally and Abigail. Sad trombone noises for Bellcollar.

When they're together, unless the plot is forcing them to do otherwise, the Bellweather unit are honors students.

#motherland fort salem #bellweather unit #raelle collar #tally craven #abigail bellweather #category: tv

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dsrtrose · 1 year ago

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“ You… helped them? “ the man’s voice is scarily level, the kind of wavering tone bordering on a volcanic eruption. It is taking everything in him not to sound off the absolute fury and betrayal he feels at learning that not only Arthur, Sadie… but ELIZA had gone behind his back. He had thought… he…. He can’t believe this; any of this. After all he’d DONE for her, for THEM—and they’re proving every bit of a pack of snakes as Micah says! He pauses, then furrows his brow, as if giving her chance to explain. A chance to excuse herself, if there is any. “ … Eliza…?” / violence !!

it's a tone of his that - for all intents & purposes - she is rarely on the receiving end of. it's a side of dutch that she has all but turned a blind eye to for too damn long, only presently faced head-on with the consequences of time sealed into the pressure-proven chamber that is their lot in life.

"dutch -" she makes no excuses, claims no ill-will or anything except the truth of her actions; eliza's hands raise, palms open toward him as she pleads for understanding, speaking slowly & softly in a means to implore him to see what her intentions were, "- please."

she, who has followed him till the very pit of her soul said otherwise. she, who put respect on the name of the man who'd brought them all together. she, who stands in front of him, honest incredulity on her features thanks to a situation that she cannot explain in a manner that makes any more sense than sheer survival ... yet is painted as the villain in his eyes.

"he could've died in there, dutch. you - ... we abandoned him, an' you wanted us to jus' leave him there?" her own temper begins to rise, standing & pushing back, relentless in heartstrings held behind her tongue, "you would've robbed jack of a father, abigail of a husband? why?" they're questions that have no answers - questions poised at a mind poisoned by doubt, by delusion.

eliza's volume quiets once more, emotion hidden heavily behind her eyes; "we love you, dutch, i love you, i care about you - but you're scarin' me to all hell an' back. i didn't do anythin' wrong by goin' to get someone in my family."

* / @gravityfought 🤍

#gravityfought #* arc iii.#* writing.#(laughs in feAR)#AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA -

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queenxxxsupreme · 4 years ago

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Protector (Arthur Morgan x f!reader)

A/N: In most of my Arthur fics, if I mention the reader’s horse his name is Calvin and he’s blind in one eye so if you’ve noticed it that’s awesome! If you haven’t no worries! I just wanted to point it out before anyone gets confused. I’m not sure how many times I’ve mentioned it but I know in my head that’s how it is 😂

Warnings: Micah being a dick, no actual animal abuse but it almost happens, Micah roughly grabs reader but that’s it, nothing out of canon

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: You can defend yourself. Arthur knows this. But he makes sure Micah knows you aren’t the only reason he should keep his hands to himself.

***

You hummed softly to yourself as you helped Mr. Pearson prepare dinner.

You looked up from the potato in your hand for a moment, eyes flickering around camp to take count of who was present.

Mrs. Grimshaw had pulled Pearson away from his wagon and all the way to the other side of camp. Mary-Beth was sitting on a chair near her shared tent with the girls, busying herself with a book in hand.

Abigail and Jack were towards the back of camp. Abigail was doing her best at keeping Jack occupied with the flowers growing in the grass back there. Molly was fixing her makeup in her tent at the center of camp.

Micah was near the horses, messing with a saddle bag on his horse. Everyone else was gone. Today was one of those days that everyone was busy away from camp.

“Son of a bitch!”

You lifted your head up from the potatoes you were peeling, turning your attention to where the horses were hitched.

Micah stood by your horse, a gray Dutch Warmblood named Calvin. Micah was cradling his hand to his chest as he cursed, but then he looked at your horse and pulled his fist back as if to strike the animal.

You were on your feet and crossing camp in a matter of seconds, grabbing the back of his coat and pulling him away from your horse.

“Don’t you dare put your hands on my horse, Micah Bell.” You spoke through clenched teeth, holding the knife you’d been using to peel potatoes in your hand at your side.

“That damn bastard of a horse bit me! Nearly took off my fucking hand!”

“Then don’t get close enough to him for him to grab you!” You raised your voice to match his, holding his gaze as he glared at you.

Micah took a step towards you, knowing very well that he could use his height to appear more intimidating. But you weren’t one to back down so easily.

“Maybe if someone taught you a lesson in manners, that horse would behave better.”

“You don’t get to say shit about me and my manners, Bell.” You shook your head, pointing at him with the tip of the knife. “Don’t touch my horse, or I’ll put a knife between your ribs.”

You moved to return to the potatoes but Micah wasn’t about to let you off so easily.

“Now see, girl, I don’t much care for that attitude you have.” He grabbed your arm and pulled you back around to face him. You didn’t even get a chance to use the knife to defend yourself because he’d grabbed the arm that you held the knife in.

“Let me go, Micah.” You spoke through your teeth, glaring up at him.

“Oh, Mr. Morgan isn’t here to save you, sweetheart. You’ve gotta face the consequences of your actions.” He smirked as he looked down at you. His grip on your arm was unbelievably tight and no matter how much you tried to get loose, you couldn’t seem to break free. “Don’t you raise your voice at me like I’m some little bitch of yours. I’m not your cowpoke. I ain’t scared of you, and I ain’t scared–,”

You cut him off by headbutting him. He immediately released you and stumbled back, cursing.

“Don’t put your hands on my horse, Micah Bell.” You repeated your warning, readjusting your grip on your knife.

“You think you’re big and bad because you’re sleepin’ with Morgan, don’t you?” Micah took a step towards you, wiping the blood from his lip. “Goddamned whore! Probably sleeping with half the fucking camp too!”

“Micah!” Charles called his name.

You turned your head to see Charles moving towards you and Micah.

“Is she sleeping with you?” Micah pointed an accusing finger at Charles but Charles ignored him.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Charles asked you.

“I’m fine, Charles.” You gave him a little smile, hoping that maybe he’d let the whole thing go. “Just had to have some words with Micah.”

“Looks like it was a little more than a few words.” Charles glared at Micah before following you back towards Pearson’s wagon.

“Well, with someone like Micah Bell, words barely get through to him.” You returned to peeling potatoes. “Too damn stubborn.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

Just a few moments later, Arthur, Bill, Javier, and Lenny returned to camp, hitching their horses up beside Calvin.

Bill tethered Brown Jack to the same post Calvin was on.

“Be careful of Calvin, Bill.” Lenny warned, pointing to your horse. “He likes takin’ a piece off of whoever passes by too close.”

You grinned a little as you listened to them joke around about Calvin. He was a sweet horse, he was just crotchety and being that he was blind in one eye didn’t help that either.

“I think it’s just you boys he don’t like.” You spoke up as the small group made their way into camp. “Kieran can brush him down any time of day and Calvin is just as sweet as could be.”

“That’s ‘cause Kieran sneaks the old man treats.” Javier spoke as he sat down at the table not too far away from Pearson’s wagon. “Found out how to get to Calvin’s heart. Sugarcubes.”

“Oh, it’s just ‘cause Kieran’s a sweet kid.” You teased, eyes flickering up to watch Arthur.

He grunted, shaking his head.

“Ain’t nothin’ sweet about an O’Driscoll.”

You finished cutting up the potato in your hand and then put the knife down.

“Damn bastard!” Karen shouted as she hitched her horse to a post.

“Who are you cursing at, Karen?” Lenny asked.

“Micah! He nearly ran right into me running outta this place!” She brushed her skirt off. “What’s got him all pissed off?”

“The wind probably blew the wrong way.” Arthur said.

You chose to stay quiet. You turned your head to look at Charles. He was near the backside of Pearson’s wagon. His eyes found yours. You took a deep breath, shaking your head just slightly, then turned your attention to Calvin. He was okay, you knew that, but you couldn’t help feeling the need to make sure he was okay.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” You wiped your hands off on a rag and set it on the table before making your way towards the horses.

Arthur took note of your behavior. You usually were the first one to poke fun at Micah, to comment on his antics. It was unlike you to stay silent when his bad attitude was brought up.

Arthur sat down in the seat you’d previously been in, absentmindedly scratching his scruffy jaw.

Seeing that Javier and Lenny were engaged in a conversation of their own, Charles moved to Arthur.

“Arthur?”

“Hey, Charles.” Arthur greeted him.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Arthur nodded and followed Charles towards the lake away from everyone else.

“I didn’t see everything, but I was coming back from switching out guard duty when I saw Micah had ahold Y/N’s arm.”

Arthur’s eyes darted across camp to you.

“Don’t worry, Arthur. She’s okay.” Charles assured him. “I just wanted to tell you because I don’t trust Micah. I don’t know if he’ll do anything or what he was trying to do. I don’t know what goes through that man’s head, and I don’t want anything to happen to Y/N.”

Arthur let out a heavy breath, running his hand over his face. Anger bubble in his veins.

“He’s a snake, Arthur.” Charles spoke quietly.

“I know he is, Charles.” Arthur shook his head, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Did you…. Did you see him put his hands on her in any other way?”

“No. All I caught was him holding her arm and she headbutted him. Caught him right in the nose and mouth.”

“He didn’t hit her or nothin’ did he?”

“Not that I saw.”

Arthur nodded his head, letting out a heavy breath through his nose. He put his hand on Charles’s shoulder, nodding his head once, then moved across camp.

***

You approached Calvin on his right side so that he could see you. His left eye was the one that was blind and he didn’t react well to anyone coming up to him from that side.

“Hey, handsome.” You cooed, smiling softly as you reached out to rub his nose. He huffed and leaned into your touch. Your touch moved along his neck and down his side, then to his hindquarter. “My good boy, huh? Just don’t like no one else, do ya?”

“Think you have a thing for grumpy old fellers.”

You looked up to see Arthur rubbing Taima’s nose.

“I like the challenge that comes with the grumpy ones.”

He chuckled.

“You, uh, you know why Micah left like he did?”

“No.” You shook your head, moving around to Calvin’s blind side. “But it’s hard to tell what’s going through that man’s head.”

“Just thought maybe you’d know since you were here with him.” Arthur thought at loud.

You shook your head. You could feel his eyes on you, studying you like a book.

“You’d tell me if something happened, wouldn’t ya?”

Your eyes flickered up to meet his. You were quiet for a few moments, locking your jaw.

“Charles told you, didn’t he?”

Arthur nodded silently.

“He almost got a knife in his gut. He raised his fist like he was gonna hit Cal ‘cause Cal bit him. But I had it under control. No need to worry. Micah’s just a sour bastard. Don’t like being told off, especially not by a lady.”

Arthur let out a sigh.

You gave Calvin a loving pat on the shoulder and moved to go back to Pearson’s wagon.

“I don’t like leavin’ you here at camp with him.” Arthur followed behind you.

“I know you don’t, but you don’t have much of a choice.” You washed your hands and started to get back to work.

His hand wrapped around your wrist and he carefully pulled you back around to face him.

“Don’t egg him on when I’m not here.”

“I can fight my own fights, Arthur. And I’m not gonna let him hit my horse-,”

“That’s not what I’m sayin’, Y/N.” He cut you off, looking down at you. “If he ever put his hands on you, I wouldn’t hesitate to kill ‘em.”

“I know.” You placed your hand on his chest. “I know. But you, Arthur Morgan, also know that I can kick ass just as good as any man here. You shouldn’t worry so much.”

“I’ll always worry.” Arthur took your hand and brought it up to his lips. “Micah’s a snake.”

“Worrying is bad for such an old man’s heart.” A grin tugged at the corners of your lips as you moved away from him. He allowed you to slip away, watching you return to your chair by Pearson’s table.

Arthur chuckled at you, shaking his head.

***

Arthur settled back into bed, getting comfortable while you changed into a chemise and fixed your hair for the night.

“I think I gotta go to Strawberry tomorrow.”

“What for?” You slipped on your chemise, pulling it down over your head and into place.

“Dutch said there’s someone there who has information on a train comin’ through.” Arthur tucked one hand behind his head and watched you turn to face him. His eyes flickered down to look over you.

Though the lighting from the lamp wasn’t the best, he could see an odd marking on your bicep just above your elbow. It was darker than the rest of your skin and seemed out of place.

Arthur sat up, brows furrowing together.

“Come here a minute, pumpkin.”

“What?”

“Just come here.” He patted the bedside next to him.

You moved to sit on the edge of the bed, confused but unaware of what he had seen.

Now that he was close enough to see just exactly what they were, he could tell they were bruises.

You looked down to see what he was looking at.

“What is that?” You furrowed your brows together.

“Looks like finger shaped bruises.” Arthur just barely brushed his fingers over the markings. “Micah’s lucky I don’t cut off his goddamn hands.”

“Don’t, Arthur.” Your eyes shot up to find his. “I’m serious.”

“I am too.” Anger clouded his blue eyes, making them a stormy gray instead of the pretty vibrant blue you adored so much.

“He ain’t worth you gettin’ in trouble, Arthur. I probably broke his nose anyways.” You stood up. “Let’s go to bed.”

Arthur was silent as he laid back down and you climbed into bed with him. You curled up against his side, resting your head on his chest.

“Just don’t want nothin’ to happen to you, pumpkin.” He murmured, kissing the top of your head.

“Nothin’s gonna happen to me.” You assured him.

***

Once Arthur was sure you were asleep, he put his clothes back on and slipped out of his tent.

He looked around camp, spotting a small group gathered around a campfire near Pearson’s tent. He could spot Dutch, Hosea, Javier, Bill, John, and most importantly Micah.

Arthur took a deep breath, fighting the urge to cross the camp and start throwing punches at Micah.

Instead, he calmly made his way to the fire and sat down on the log next to John.

“Thought you went to bed.” John commented.

“Nah, can’t sleep.” Arthur shook his head.

“Arthur! So glad you could join us!” Dutch’s voice was unnecessarily loud. Arthur hoped you wouldn’t wake up.

“Hi, Dutch.”

“Thought you and Miss Y/L/N had gone off to bed for the night, cowpoke.” Micah offered him a beer but Arthur declined, lips pressing together in a tight line. “What happened?”

“Figured I’d stay up a little longer. Spend some time with you guys.” Arthur forced a smile on to his lips. “Don’t get to do that much anymore, do I?”

“No, as a matter of fact you don’t. You’re either off playing hero or-or…. or your off playing hero.” Bill swayed in his seat. He had too much to drink.

“Or you know, you’ve got certain people around here up your ass.” Micah shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t have time to sit around and drink with your brothers.”

John furrowed his brows, looking over at Micah.

“What the hell are you talking about, Bell?”

“Shut up, Marston.”

“You know what? Maybe you’re right.” Arthur tilted his head to the side a little as he looked at Micah. “What happened to your nose? I’ve never noticed it was so crooked.”

Micah scowled.

“Or maybe it’s not.” Arthur shrugged his broad shoulders. “Maybe I just never got a good look at it.”

“My god, Arthur, I think you’re right.” Hosea leaned forward as if to take a closer look at Micah’s nose. “Looks absolutely terrible, Micah. You might need to get that checked out.”

“Go to hell.” Micah started to stand up.

Arthur stood up too, stepping towards Micah.

“The next time you think about putting your hands on Y/N or her horse, the least of your concerns is gonna be her breakin’ your nose or pullin’ a knife on you, you hear me?” He spoke lowly.

Micah held his gaze for a few moments before turning and skulking away.

Arthur turned back to those who sat at the fire. Everyone was silent and didn’t know what to say.

“Is Y/N okay?” Hosea asked.

“She’s fine.” Arthur muttered, clenching his fist together. “I don’t like that fella.”

“Don’t think many of us do.” John sighed, standing to his feet.

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