#rip arthur morgan i missed you and i always will
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thwestal · 14 days ago
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a minute of silence for my little cutie pie Arthur Morgan who was extremely handsome and stylish thanks to me 😌
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outlaw-apologist · 2 years ago
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Saved By The Gang | RDR2 x Reader
In which your SO saves you from your kidnappers! This was a request from AO3 :) Characters: Arthur, Hosea, Dutch, Sean, Charles GN!Reader Warnings for each story: Arthur: Graphic depictions of violence, cannibalism, and dismemberment Hosea: Graphic depictions of violence and human trafficking Dutch: Graphic depictions of violence, Dutch being himself Sean: Depictions of violence, use of strong language Charles: Graphic depictions of violence. Implied SA Notes: I kinda ended up writing these more from the characters POVs, so I hope that’s okay. I apologize for any errors of if my writing is bad. I’ve been struggling with insomnia so I'm not thinking great rn. I looked at this so much I kinda hate it lmao so I’m just gonna raw dog my mistakes :’) AO3 Link Arthur: Arthur had been gone for awhile doing the craziest things. He didn’t mean to be away from camp for so long, it just kinda happens. He decided to stop in Van Horn to finish up some quick business when he noticed your horse. Was it really-? Arthur’s eyes narrowed as he studied the markings on the horse’s coat. That definitely was your horse but you weren’t the one in the saddle. “Hey there partner.” Arthur made quick work crossing the road with long purposeful strides. “Where’d you get that there horse?”
The rider looked a bit flustered. “Isn’t’e a beaut? I found it just due south of Roanoke Valley all alone. Rider abandoned it so I thought I outta take ‘em in and give ‘em some good old lovin’.” “Roanoke Valley you say?” He scoffed. What the hell would you be doing up there? “Well, I know the owner of this fine horse and they wouldn’t just go off and leave like that. Where exactly did you find it?” “Listen Mister, I don’t want any trouble.” Agitation arose in the rider causing Arthur to throw his hands up in surrender. “No trouble here. I couldn’t care less about the horse. I just wanna make sure my friend is okay.” After careful consideration the stranger finally shrugged. “I found it drinking at the Kamassa river Northwest of Annesburg.” “Thank ya kindly.” Arthur tipped his head graciously. He hadn’t been up in that area before but the stories he heard weren’t great. This undoubtedly meant trouble. Arthur hardly mounted his horse before a bit of gossip reached his ears. “Another wagon disappeared near the mines. This time three women went missing.” “It’s gotta be that Murfree Brood. I heard they eat anyone they capture. Incestuous cannibals the lot of ‘em. Doubt we’ll ever see those poor women again.” “Shit!” A growl ripped from Arthur’s throat. His heels dug into his horse’s sides and he slapped the reigns. What if that were you? Kidnapped with those women? He needed to find you and fast. “C’mon Y/N. You better not be dead.” His heart pounded in his chest, wind whipping past as he cut off other riders on the trail in haste. He didn’t mean to be gone for so long… Away from YOU for so long… He always thought you understood it. His need to be everywhere and anywhere. And you did… You do… Yet, somehow, regret was eating at him like a deranged wolf. Snapping at the back of his mind, replaying memories upon memories of him returning to your arms after being away for ages. Arthur took for granted that you’d always be there when he gets back. He shouldn’t have left you as much as he does. He should have asked you to come with him. If you had business up in this region he could have been there to protect you. That horse is your world, he knows that. Maybe that’s why his mind was racing with so many regrets and thoughts.  That horse is your everything, if you weren’t on that horse you were probably seriously injured… or worse. That realization put a lot into perspective. It was always ‘What if I never return to Y/N?’ and never ‘What if Y/N never returns to me?’ “C’mon Morgan. Keep it together.” He had to shake these stormy thoughts away. Was it possible that he’d find you alright? Maybe a mild injury? Absolutely. But fuck, if it didn’t give him so much anxiety. Upon reaching the approximate area Arthur slowed his horse using gentle praises. “Easy now.” He reached out to pet it appreciatively, allowing his body filled with tension to drop down. Blue green eyes squinted while searching for clues or any sign of his beloved. Luckily Arthur picked up a few things while bounty hunting and it only took him ten or so minutes to find footprints he thinks matches yours. While following them he started noting how far apart your steps were. You were running. ‘Running from what?’ “Christ.” Arthur’s nose wrinkled just as the wind carried over the scent of rotting flesh. Sure enough there was a dead fellow not far from your tracks. The bullet casings surrounding the corps were definitely from your gun. Was this one of the cannibals? Arthur moved the body, flipping it over using his foot. He looked malnourished and white as paper. Even his clothes were rags. Arthur wasn’t really sure exactly what a cannibal looked like but if he had to take a guess, a cannibal would look like this feller right here. “Fuck, Y/N. What’ave you gotten yourself into?” Those sinking thoughts were back, dragging him into a pit of despair. Would he find your half eaten corpse somewhere in the woods? Are you still alive? Were you scared? You’re a shit significant other, Morgan. That’s what he told himself over and over again, shifting trough the bramble. What kind of man doesn’t know what his lover is up to? If he wasn’t so far up the ass of being ‘Arthur Morgan the big bad Outlaw’ he would know. Regret. Regret for not holding you in his arms every night. For not returning to you more often. He should have had more time with you. Should’ve spent every waking moment with you. How could he be so dense? This life was dangerous! He always stressed that to everyone who would listen. So why didn’t he spend all of his free time with you? None of you knew when your last breath would be taken, how could he waste so much precious life away from you? That fear only grew when those scared eyes focused on the disturbing image of human arms sewn together into some kind of hanging tree ornament. A gloved hand covered his mouth to suppress a gag. Gore wasn’t something that usually affected Arthur, but the thought that this could be you made him feel ill. At least he knew he was going in the right direction. It wasn’t long before he stumbled upon a couple of the Brood. He couldn’t hear the exact words being said because his ears immediately attuned to your cries of pain. Creeping closer in the grass, hand on his holster, Arthur grit his teeth at the scene playing out before him. Never in his life had he felt so much white hot rage. One of the sick fucks held you by the hair while another tried to pin you down. “We’re just gonna cut yer leg off!” He laughed. “What’re ya cryin’ for?” “No!” You screamed, desperately trying to fight against them. For three nights you watched in horror as the others captured were slaughtered, tortured, and eaten. Carved like Thanksgiving turkeys. For three whole nights you couldn’t sleep, drink, or eat because you were so terrified of these monsters. They saw how scared you were and they loved it. Milking every second of it. Because of your exhausted state fighting against them was grueling. “You killed our brother, it’s only fair.” A scream ripped through you just as your flesh tore against the blunt blade of a rusty sickle. “Get away!” Everyone froze, heads snapping towards the all too familiar voice. “Arthur?” “Y/N.” Arthur caught your gaze, a look of relief washing over him. You’re alive! “Hey! Who do you think you are coming hea-” The Brood member pulling your hair didn’t have enough time to finish his sentence before his head was blown off with a crackling BANG! Silence rang out after the loud pop from Arthur’s gun, then the mans body dropped. “You shot my brother!” “And I’ll shoot you too if you don’t get the fuck outta here!” With a click of his cattleman revolver, the last man scrambled up to run. “Too slow.” A dirty finger squeezed the trigger and down he fell. You simply stared as everything unfolded before you, your cries not subsiding but becoming much quieter. After all your pain and torment… All those people gutted like human sacrifices… Arthur killed your captors so easily. “Y/N.” His voice was gentle as he knelt beside you. Finally you shattered. Sobbing violently as soon as his arms enveloped you securely. You wanted to say his name. To tell him everything that had happened but couldn’t manage anything past blubbering incoherently. Never had Arthur felt so much heartbreak. Not from any loss or any breakup he had experienced so far. You’re one of the strongest people he knew. Seeing you look so small and afraid was devastating. Especially because this should have never happened to begin with. “I know.” Was all he could say. “Shhh, I know. You’re okay.” While embracing you with one arm he peered over to inspect your thigh. “I know darlin’, I don’t wanna let you go but I need to stop the bleeding.” He quickly hushed the whimper that passed your lips upon feeling his body shift away. Arthur’s fingers trembled, fumbling with his bandanna. Christ, this affected him more than he ever could’ve imagine. It took a minute but finally he managed to tie it above your wound to limit your bloodflow before immediately picking you up. Arthur made sure you could hide your face in his chest so you didn’t have to look at any of the hanging dismemberments on your way out. “God Y/N.” His arms around you were tight. “It’s okay. I’ll protect you. It’s okay now.” He tried to console you. To console himself. Hell, if he were in your shoes this would be more traumatizing for him than the Colm O’Driscolle ordeal. He could only imagine how you feel. Arthur couldn’t even bring himself to sit you on his horse yet. The moment you were in fresh woods he dropped to his knees and held you. Rocking you, kissing your hair and breathing in your scent. Sweet nothings fell from his lips in soft shaky whispers. Pads of calloused thumbs wiping away every tear from your cheeks. All you could do was cry and cling to him. All he could do was hold you as if it were for the last time. And it almost was. The last time. “How’d you find me?” After what seemed like hours of you two embracing each other, Arthur finally helped you onto his horse and you were on your way back to camp. “Saw some feller in Van Horn ridin’ your horse. Complete coincidence.” Arthur could feel how tense that statement made you so he added quickly, “Don’t worry. I’ll get your horse back. I just wanted to make sure you were safe first.” “Thank you, Arthur. For everything.” “I know how much you love that horse, it’s nothin’.” “No, I mean… Thank you for always being there when I need you.” Silence washed over the both of you. Arthur didn’t know how to respond. “I’m sorry darlin’.” You could feel him arm gently tighten around you in a loose hug. “I could’ve lost you tonight. I got to thinkin’ and… I know I haven’t been the best to you. I always prioritize everyone else. It shouldn’t be like that.” “Oh Arthur-” “I’m serious. I’ve lost Mary and Eliza. Most of my friends are long cold in their graves. I don’t know nothin’ about gods or divine intervention. Don’t know if something led me to you or not this time around….. I guess I was always feelin’ sorry for you because you’re datin’ a walkin’ target. Thought some space between us might do us some good in case I die. Never did I once consider life without you.” Arthur let out a hollow laugh which lacked any mirth or warmth. “What a fool I’ve been. I ain’t never learn my lesson. Tonight showed me that, that’s for damn sure. I dunno what you were doin’ out here but for now on if I leave camp I’m not going anywhere without you.” An exhausted smile reached your lips. “Good. My handsome man, it’s always been you and me. You just had to ask.” “You and me, huh? I like the sound of that.” You fell asleep in Arthur’s arms long before you reached camp. Arthur held you when you arrived, petting your hair as Ms. Grimshaw stitched up your leg. Arthur was needy after your attack. He never let you out of his sight and would always insist on holding you. Especially during nightmares that plagued you for months after the accident. Arthur stayed up singing to you and rocking you for many many long nights. And, of course, he got your horse back! How he did it or by what means, you didn’t care to ask. Slowly life returned to normal and the incident was long behind you both. Arthur kept his promise to take you everywhere until the very end. ___ Hosea: Five minutes. He took his eyes off of you for FIVE minutes so he could speak to the owner of a fence in San Denis while you waited for him outside, and you were gone. “Y/N?” He called out in confusion, scanning the sidewalks and streets for any sign of you. At first he’s annoyed. Did you wander off without saying anything? Hosea waved over the nearest group of men lingering nearby. “Good day. You wouldn’t happen to have seen my associate hanging around out here, would you? They seemed to have disappeared.” One of the men nodded. “Oh yeah, some nasty business I tell ya.” Well shit. “Nasty?” Hosea cocked his head, resting his hand over his holstered gun. “How so?” “These crazies came and bonked them over the head, saying they owed money or somthin’. Decided to mind my own business because they’re all brandishing guns.” “Money, huh? What way did they go?” “That way.” He pointed Eastward. “Towards the docks.” Tipping his hat, Hosea made his way down the sidewalk. He looked both ways before crossing the road, grabbing onto the trolley as it passes, riding the step until he reached the docks. The sun was setting but he knew your form like the back of his hand. It wouldn’t be too hard to spot you against the fire of the sky. However, you nor the supposed men were anywhere in sight. “Excuse me.” He flagged down a sailor and asked him if he’s seen you. He had not. Neither had the other five people he asked. Hosea knew this wasn’t good. The trail ran cold, leaving him hopeless.  There was nothing he could do but return to Shady Belle with a heavy heart. As your husband he was always supposed to protect you. Never in a million years did he think you’d be snatched away right under his nose. Mounting Silver Dollar, Hosea struggled to hold his tears at bay. The city was starting to suffocate him and he needed to leave in order to breathe and think. The weight of the world was finally settling into his old bones on the ride back. The horror the gang had experienced the last few months was devastating. The Blackwater incident aside – Arthur’s escape from Colm, Sean’s death, little Jack’s kidnapping…. Dutch wasn’t listening to reason anymore. The gang was in shambles and now… He let out a defeated sob, hanging over his horse for privacy. What was he supposed to do without you? You’re all he has left. His entire world. What if he wouldn’t be able to find you? It all happened so quickly. To think only an hour ago you were fixing his shirt collar, hanging on his arm with a smile on your face and now POOF! Gone. This was the last drop in the bucket for Hosea. Suddenly he couldn’t stop his tears no matter how hard he tried. He was tired. So god damn tired. Silver Dollar slowed to a stop just off the road. If anyone who passed-by peered close enough through the darkness they could make out the silhouette of a broken man with his head in his hands. He kicked himself for stalling your rescue. Precious time finding you, wasted. By the time he made it back to camp it was late into the night. Dragging himself up the stairs of Shady Belle he knocked on the door to Dutch’s room. Candlelight could be seen flickering through the crack of the doorway leading to Hosea believe he must still be awake. Silence. He knocked again, this time Hosea could hear the bed squeak. “You better have a good reason to disturb me.” Those words flew sharply through the cold humid air. “Dutch…” Hosea would have cursed himself for sounding so… weak. Calling out his friend’s name with a wavering voice. It was noticeable enough to immediately draw Dutch’s attention. The bed squeaked under Dutch’s weight then heavy footsteps led to the door. Hosea kept his gaze down, watching Dutch’s shadow as he moved until the door creaked open and the faint candlelight illuminated Hosea in contrast against the inky hallway. “Hosea- What happened?” “Y/N… I don’t know, it all happened so fast.” Wrapping an arm around Hosea, Dutch led him inside, guiding him to sit. “What happened to Y/N?” “I was looking for a buyer for the bonds we have left, asked them to wait outside because I was just going to be a moment. I stepped out and Y/N was gone. Apparently a group of men took them towards the docks. I tried not to arouse suspicion, I-… Maybe I should’ve gotten there faster, I don’t know…” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Y/N wasn’t there. I may have been too late.” “Someone just took them? In broad daylight?” “Just like that.” Hosea snapped his fingers. “Somethin’ aint right.” Rubbing his chin quizzically, Dutch began pacing the room. “Y/N isn’t stupid, they would’ve screamed or something. You really didn’t hear anything?” He paused to watch Hosea shake his head. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Staring down at his hands, Hosea slowly uncurled his fingers, watching the light dance over his palms. “It was a setup.” “It was a setup.” His friend repeated. “But by who?” “Could be Milton.” “I don’t think so. He’s a thorn in our side. If it were Milton he would’ve showed up in our camp already. Waving Y/N around like a prize.” “That’s very true…” Hosea only looked up when he heard Dutch abruptly halt. “It can’t be….” “What?” “Perhaps… Bronte had a hand in this? I don’t think we’ve done anything to cross him but he’s the only man in the city who could kidnap anyone in broad daylight and not a soul would tell.” He could feel the relief wash through him, the possibility bringing him a weird sense of comfort. He hoped it was Bronte. That would mean you’re probably safe and sound somewhere just like Jack was. “We’ll get Y/N back, Hosea. Let me pull some strings. We’ll find them.” The strings were pulled quite quickly as Hosea found himself waiting outside yet another fabulous party for Arthur to return. “It wasn’t Bronte.” His heart sank. “It wasn’t? Are you sure?” “Pretty sure.” Arthur leaned against the residential fence while lighting a cigarette. He was gussied up to fit the mood. “Asked around ‘n’ nobody had a clue what I was sayin’. I did, however, get this.” Held out between two fingers was a business card. Interested, Hosea accepted it. “Exotic Imports and… Impurities?” “Human trafficking. They apparently have these masquerade parties where rich folk can bid on people anonymously. I think that’s where Y/N is.” God… Was Saint Denis truly such a shit hole? He knew this place was low, but a human trafficking ring? “Are you sure?” Arthur met Hosea’s gaze with the most sincere look he could muster. “Hosea-” “I know you wouldn’t lie to me dear boy.” “I heard someone mentioning there’ll be an auction there this Friday. They mentioned someone who sounds pretty darn close to Y/N’s description in the lineup. I’ll scope the place out, maybe we can rescue Y/N sooner than that. And if not…” Hosea tucked the card into his pocket. “I guess we’re attending the masquerade.” Arthur knows how much you and Hosea are sweet on each other. How hard it was for Hosea after Bessie’s passing and how you brought life back into him. Arthur would do anything for you. So when he had to scope out where the auction will take place he took the job very seriously. He wanted to get you out as soon as possible if you were really there. The place was heavily armed, much to his dismay. An open window was easy enough to sneak into but getting you out was near impossible. He couldn't even find you. However, in a back room Arthur discovered a pile of discarded clothing. A shoe caught his eye, one he knew you wore often. Before he was able to grab it Arthur had to leave as the area filled with guards. “Y/N is in there alright. Too busy for me to get ‘em.” He reported back upon his return to camp. That’s how Hosea, Dutch, Arthur, Bill, Micah, and Charles found themselves attending one of the most unnerving ‘parties’ in San Denis on a muggy Friday evening. They looked expensive, dressed down to the newest shoes on the market. Each donning their own masquerade mask. The building looked beautiful. Expensive. Guest flooded the entrance. “Guns aren’t allowed at this event.” A doorman held his hands out while the gang handed over their weapons. They weren’t worried. If everything was going according to plan John and Javier should already be inside posing as security. Upon entering the mansion, the gang mingled and sweet-talked everyone they could. Trying to get information, word of your safety, anything. One by one they slipped out of the room to John or Javier who gave their guns back to them before joining the guests in the auction room. The auction room was massive, theatrical even. Women in glorious gowns, men who’s suits cost more than a house, they all gathered with glasses filled with alcohol of their choosing. Chatting and laughing as if they’re about to watch a play. Hosea’s stomach churned. The curtains opened to reveal the first person to be auctioned. It was a young girl trembling and sobbing. He gripped the armrest of his seat, knuckles turning white. One by one these people were being bid on. “7,000 dollars. Do I hear 7,000 dollars? 7,500. 8,000 to the man in white!” All of this stress made him want to down glass after glass of alcohol. If he didn’t need to be clear headed he would’ve. “Next up, folks, is person number 9.” You were shoved onstage. Even though your face was covered he recognized you immediately. Almost a week ago you were idly waiting outside, gazing down at your clothing trying to fix a button when you were struck from behind. Blurry vision greeted you after, god only knows how long you were unconscious. Blinking it away you tried to move but to no avail. Hands and feet bound, you were left alone in a cold room. Little light trickled into your cell. You could hear the cries and pleas of other people who were presumably prisoners too. Every time you tried to snap at or fight against the guards they beat you. They fed you just enough food and water to keep you barely alive. It was hell. Every night you prayed someone would find you. Anyone! Hosea, Arthur- were they looking for you? It had been so long…. “Get up.” You snapped awake with a groan as you were kicked. The guard pulled you up, dragging you to get washed and dressed. Stumbling into a back room after being shoved, you blinked at all the faces staring back at you. These were the people you heard crying at night. “What’s happening?” You whispered. Only one woman was brave enough to speak up. Her low voice shook with emotion. “They’re selling us.” “What!?” “Be quiet or I’ll make you quiet!” A guard snarled at you, causing you to shy away. For hours you listened silently to the auction from backstage. Was this really happening? It felt so surreal. Fear filled you as the line moved forward until you were next. A bag was forced onto your head so you couldn’t see. Fingers dug into your arms, you could feel yourself being dragged onto the stage, causing you to stumble. “Next up, folks, is person number 9.” Your breath hitched painfully. Heart racing loudly. This is it. You were about to be sold as person number 9. Bracing yourself for the bidding a loud boom crackled beside you, so loud it made your ears ring. Your head snapped in the direction it came from. Not being able to see anything, panic arose within you as the screams and sounds of running reached you. The crowd was fleeing for their lives! Gunshots popped off in the surrounding area. You ducked down in case any bullets flew your way. “Y/N!” “H-Hosea?” The bag was lifted off your head, beaming lights above glared into your eyes causing you to squint. Hosea’s face slowly came into view. He wrapped his arms around you, throwing you over his shoulder. “I’d love to have a romantic reunion with you, my dove, but I’m afraid we’re in the midst of a shootout.” “I can see that.” You groaned, hanging onto him. For an older man he sure did carry you with ease while shooting his way out with the gang backing him up on either side. “Hosea, let’s go!” Dutch shot the guard who blocked off the door. Hosea had to pass you to Arthur, who barreled through a cloud of bullets with you safely tucked in his arms. He was able to reach the rendezvous carriage, placing you inside before anyone else could enter. Hosea slid in and gathered you in his arms. “Drive, damn it!” He called out, causing the carriage to lurch violently before moving. “Oh Y/N. Oh my little dove.” He carefully looked you over as tears filled your eyes. You were shaking, veins pumping with adrenaline. Your rescue happened so quickly it made your head dizzy. Hosea’s hands were gentle as he touched you in case anything hurt or scared you in your shaken state. He examined every inch. Face was pensive, while taking in every mark and bruise on your delicate skin. “Are you seriously hurt anywhere?” “No.” You whispered, pressing against your husband for comfort. He gladly held you, kissing your lips over and over again. “I’m sorry it took me so long my love. I shouldn’t have let you out of my sight.” Hosea rest his head atop yours and rubbed circles on your back soothingly. “Let’s get you back to camp and fed.” “Thank you.” You nuzzled him, breathing in his comforting scent. “I knew you’d come for me. I missed you.” “I missed you too.” The rest of the ride was quiet. When the carriage parked outside of Shady Belle, Hosea scooped you up immediately. You gasped as the whole gang rushed  over to greet you. “Y/N’s back!” Abigail announced. “Oh Y/N, I’m so glad you’re safe!” Mary-Beth gushed with relief. Even Pearson was there to see you. “Welcome home Y/N. Camp ain’t the same without ya.” “Thank you everyone.” You let out a watery laugh, heart filled with love. You were so appreciated amongst this group and it showed. Hosea brought you inside, cleaning you carefully. He asked if anything hurt or if anyone touched you and you responded with yes or no. He clothed you in his own clothes, hoping his scent would bring comfort. A warm bowl of stew was pushed into your hands. Hosea held you while you ate and snuggled you up until you went to bed. He played with your hair all night, unable to sleep after losing you. ___ Dutch: Dutch doesn’t notice you’re gone until the ransom note arrives. “$3,000 in exchange for your lover?” He scoffed. “Who does he think he is? We’ll light his ass up.” The page was quickly crumpled in his hand. Dutch felt a deadly fury rise in him so great his own blood ran colder than the Upper Montana river. Colm O'Driscoll won’t get away with it this time. Not after what he’s done to Dutch’s past lover and to Arthur. “Dutch, I think we should be cool about this one. He already captured me to draw you in for the Pinkertons. He’s probably not done try’nna cut his deal with ‘em. If we ride in hot-” “Not now, Arthur. A few Pinkertons we can handle. This is Y/N we’re talking about, for Christ’s sake.” He scoffed, face snarling up in anger. “Y/N would have come for you, dear boy, had we known you were taken. Y/N would have come for you.” Arthur heaved out a sigh. He still wasn’t fully well after the green gang shot him up. “I know, Dutch. I love Y/N just as much as anyone. We ain’t ever leave one of us behind. I just think… If they want to draw us in they’ll treat Y/N right. If it’s a trap it’ll make more sense for us to come in quiet and get Y/N outta there safely.” “We don’t have time!” Dutch grabbed his gun, much to Arthur and Hosea’s exasperation. “Dutch, I know you love Y/N, but I think Arthur may be right.” “Who’s side are you on, Hosea? If that were you we would already be on the road.” He waved his gun around before holstering it. The air in camp was tense. Dutch seemed… Unsettled. Unpredictable. His eyes were crazy. Love made him crazy. “Who’s with me? John, Micah, Bill?” John and Arthur exchanged looked while Bill jumped up eagerly. Micah seemed interested but didn’t bother grabbing anything extra like the others. “I’m comin’ with you.” Arthur’s shoulders fell. He followed Dutch through camp up to The Count which Dutch mounted with ease. “No, dear boy. You rest. Watch the camp with Hosea, we should be back before dawn.” “Alright, if you say so. Be careful out there Dutch. Things are getting nasty. Bring Y/N home.” “Oh, I intend to.” With the rescue party ready Dutch rode out with his boys. “If you see an O’Driscoll, shoot. If you see a Pinkerton, shoot. We leave no one alive. Not even the women. If Colm wants to play, we’ll play. By our rules.” John moved up beside Dutch, calling out over the whistling wind. “Are you sure about this Dutch? What if Y/N gets hurt?” “Y/N isn’t getting hurt.” The words were spoken as if John’s idea was ludicrous. “Now you boys know how I feel about Y/N. And I-… Well, call me foolish, but I’ll never let any man, beast, or tycoon lay a finger on the love of my life. The moment we slaughter his sons he’ll know we mean business. Colm is many things, but stupid he is not. He knows hurting Y/N would give us cause to burn his world down piece by piece and I don’t think he could take the heat.” “As is your right, Dutch.” Micah spoke up. “The O'Driscolls should know by now you’re a kind and just man. I’m sure they understand the reckoning hurting their assets would bring.” Feeding into Dutch’s anger pleased the gang leader. “That’s what I thought.” He agreed. The rest of the ride was tense with anticipation. John knew there was nothing he could say. He just hoped you’d survive all of this. Dutch was getting sloppy and with you involved… He would slaughter the whole world if he had to. “We’re here.” Dutch announced. Night had long fallen by the time they reached the O’Driscoll hideout. “Let’s make a little noise. Micah-” Riding closer to the compound, Micah lit a stick of dynamite, throwing it over the fence. Dutch watched with great pleasure as the O’Driscoll boys caught in the blast began to scream. “Let’s show them you don’t fuck with Dutch van der Linde.” The guns came out. Time slowed down, men began to rush at them. The Count reared, spooked by the sudden barrage of bullets. Dutch shot every single O’Driscoll effortlessly, one by one. You were beginning to think Dutch wasn’t coming. Why would he after Arthur outed Colm’s setup a week ago? They had kicked your face in until your mouth filled with blood and your nose cracked in three different places. Breathing was hard with your damaged ribs. The O’Driscoll’s wasted no time in beating you to a bloody pulp before tying you up. The way you were tied was ridiculous. Your hands and feet were tied separately then were tied together to ensure you wouldn’t be able to move an inch. You guessed Arthur’s escape was a sore spot. You struggled and fought until the ropes dug angry marks, rubbing the skin away. In all honestly you usually would have half a mind to spit at or curse any O’Driscoll out, however this seemed different. It was grim, very grim. You remember how scary it was watching Arthur collapse off his horse barely alive and wondered – would you make it? Surely they won’t let an escape happen again... Dutch would probably move camp, you thought. And if you could survive… I don’t know, a week longer, he’ll come and get you. These were the thoughts running through your head while you tried to plan your survival. ‘It’ll be torture, but I can last that long’, you reassured yourself. It didn’t work. Colm killed Dutch’s girl way back, what’s stopping him from doing it again? You knew the man had a nasty streak to him. And Dutch… well... killing you sure would make Dutch slip up enough to get caught. That bastard Colm just wanted to see him hang. Many many thoughts occupied your mind as you dozed off. Aches and pains were screaming at you so being unconscious was probably best. At the brink of sleep you were jolted wide awake by a loud explosion. You froze, halting your breath, straining your ears to listen. Silence. What’s going on? BANG BANG BANG! Dutch- It had to be him! Your face lit up with hope, eyes fixated on the door. Any minute now... The O’Driscoll’s screamed, cursed, and cried out. “Get ‘em!” “Don’t let them inside!” “We gotta hold this for Colm!” Despite anticipating its happening you still flinched back when the door was kicked in. “Y/N.” Dutch sighed out of relief. Kneeling down he cut you loose, brushing the hair from your face. You both were quiet. Just taking each other in. You because you had missed him, and him because he was stunned by how badly you were beaten. “Those animals. We’ll make ‘em pay.” Dutch’s words were said more to himself than to you. “I’m alright, I can walk, I think-” Helping you up, Dutch’s eyes filled with sadness when he noticed you wincing. He could hear your chest heave with pain and it was grading against his eardrums. “I’ll carry you. Just hang on, we haven’t cleared them all yet.” Scooping you into his chest, your arms were granted purchase around his neck. Dutch was stronger than he looked. He held onto you with one arm wrapped tightly to secure you while shooting any man who ran this way with the other. “Bastards! They’re everywhere! John, Micah, let’s go!” “You get Y/N?” John asked after shooting three more men. There were so many O’Driscolls they couldn’t even take their eyes off them to check on you. “Yeah. Let’s get outta here.” Micah covered Dutch’s right while John covered his left and back. They shot the best they could until finally they were free of the building. Dutch placed you on The Count, climbing behind you. The others quickly mounted seeing as there was no way they’d win this gun battle if they stayed. “Shit! Incoming!” Bill cried out, alerting everyone to the drove of Pinkerton galloping straight towards the gang’s direction. “God dammit!” Jerking the reigns, Dutch kicked his horse into action. “This way, c’mon! Let’s lose them through the trees. We gotta hope we can outrun them.” There you were, rocketing towards salvation on a white horse. Pinkertons and O’Driscolls crashing down around you like violent ocean waves. There was so much noise to the point where your ears rang in an effort to tune it all out. Breath didn’t leave your body. Time slowed. You watched in horror. Every bullet shot by John seemed to take ages before knocking down its opponent. Bill was screaming yet not a word of it reached you. You could feel Dutch’s arm wrap tighter and tighter around your waist. Suddenly you’re soaring through the air, hair flying back against the dusty breeze. This was it. The moment of truth. The Count’s feet touched down  after leaping over a fence and suddenly time returned to normal and everything sped up in your race for life. Your heart thuds erratically, clammy hands clinging to the saddle for dear life. “Duck!” Dutch ordered and you immediately lowered your head before a low hanging branch creamed you. You stayed low Dutch’s body now covering you protectively. You couldn’t see and had no idea what was going on. Your own breathing was so loud at this point it took you awhile to register – the shooting had stopped. There was no more screaming, no more calling out or angry orders being shouted. Only the sound of four horses huffing and puffing and your own shaky breaths filled the air. “My love… Are you alright?” Dutch lifted himself off of you, his horse slowing to rest. “I…. I think so.” You gazed down at your hands and arms before looking at Dutch with wide traumatized eyes. “Oh, my little bird. I’m so sorry they hurt you. I came as soon as I could. They’ll pay for this.” Something sinister swirled behind his eyes but his fingers were gentle against your skin while caressing your face. “Come now, let’s get you cleaned up and to bed. You need rest.” Dutch kissed your shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re here now. So glad.” ___ Sean: Sean thought you were mad at him. Avoiding him for some awful comment he made because he, yet again, went too far. It hurt his feelings but he decided you’d probably come back when you were ready to see him again. “Sean, have you seen Y/N?” Mary-Beth asked. “I haven’t seen Y/N since yesterday morning.” Sean’s heart fell to the pit of his stomach. You weren’t the type to leave camp often or without someone accompanying you. “Christ, I haven’t. Where’d you last see them?” “Over by Kieran. I already asked him and he said Y/N helped with the horses then wandered off.” “An’ no one saw them come back?” He began power walking through camp, searching the area for you. “Has anyone seen Y/N?” Tilly and Uncle shook their heads, John just gave a shrug. “That isn’t weird to any of yous?” His voice was raised enough to get the attention of Arthur who had just rode in. “What’s goin’ on now?” “Y/N is fucking missing and no one said a damn word about it.” “Alright, alright calm down. I’m sure we can find them, where were they last?” “Oh I don’t know English, lemme just take this crystal ball out of my ass-” Sean rolled his eyes while grabbing his gun. “We’re gonna have to track them down. Think you can do that?” “Well…” Arthur wipes the sweat from his brow. “Charles taught me a few things.” He paused, gently catching Sean’s shoulder. “I know you’re upset but I need you to keep your head. I’m sure wherever Y/N is they’re okay. We’ll get them back safe.” “Speak for yourself, I always keep my wits.” “That right there is what I’m worried about.” Arthur huffed while mounting his horse. Sean was silently grateful for Arthur’s words though he’d never admit it. There was a storm churning inside of him. An ocean of guilt rocking his consciousness. If only he respected your boundaries and didn’t make that joke maybe you wouldn’t have gone missing. “We’ll bring Y/N back safe.” He repeated to himself, climbing onto his saddle. Arthur gave him an affirmative nod. They rode around the outskirts of Clemens Point looking for any sign of you. Sean felt like throwing up the whole entire time. Suspense was killing him. “Over here!” Air left his lungs in relief as soon as Arthur’s voice broke through the thick air. Walking his horse over, that relief was short lived. “Fuck.” Sean hissed. Arthur held a ripped piece of fabric clearly bloodied. The fabric was from something you wore often making it was unmistakable. “Looks like three riders were here. ‘Dunno who they could be, but…” Morgan hesitated, knowing Sean probably shouldn’t hear the next part. “There was quite the struggle.” The Irishman cursed, kicking at a nearby stone, sending it throttling into the trees. “I’ll kill every last one of ‘em! I swear it.” The Van der Linde boys followed the hoof prints best they could, using other clues to figure out what way your kidnappers may have turned when the trail disappeared. With each passing minute Sean’s knuckles turned more and more white around his reigns. “I shouldn’t have said anything. This is my fault.” His feelings were so big inside of him they spilled out of his lips like a broken dam. “I’m a right bastard.” “You two have a fight?” “Sort of… We was fuckin’ around and Y/N got sick of me and asked me to stop teasing them but they look so cute when they’re angry I just- I don’t know.” He hung his head. Arthur studied him silently as they rode. “Well… Sounds about right for you two. I’m sure Y/N wouldn’t blame you.” “Maybe not, English, but I blame myself. I just hope they’re okay.” They didn’t talk any more after that unless to comment on the path changing. A few hours away from camp they came across smoke indicating a fire, right in the general direction of your kidnappers. “Must be them.” Sean was ready to charge in, but Arthur’s hand shot out across Sean’s chest, stopping him in his tracks. “We should get to higher ground first, see what we’re dealing with.” “Are you crazy? Y/N could be there!” “That’s exactly why we can’t rush in like fools! What happened to keepin’ your wits? Do you want Y/N getting shot?” Sean’s mouth opened and closed, words getting choked up in his throat. The thought of you getting shot was about to bring tears to his eyes. Shoulders slumping forward, he sucked in a shuddering breath. “Let’s go look up that hill.” “That’s better.” Arthur snapped his kicked his feet, leading his horse higher with Sean close behind. Sean wasn’t playing around now. Knowing you might be close and that you were probably hurt- It took everything in him to quench ranging fire burning within. He whipped out his binoculars, setting eyes on the men surrounding the campfire. “Stupid Lemoyne fucks.” “Do you see Y/N?” Arthur asked. Sean moved his binoculars with his turning head. “I’ve got eyes on them. They’re tied to a wagon just outside of where they’re sitting.” He bit his lip while taking in your sorry form. You were filthy, bloodied, and your face was swollen. They clearly didn’t treat you kindly. “Let’s kill those fucks, Morgan. My baby needs me.” Without another word Sean tucked the binoculars away, charging full force down the hill, cattleman revolver in hand. He managed to shoot one guy in the throat, ducking on his horse to avoid the flying bullets. His horse galloped straight for you, stopping just shy with the intention of creating a barrier between you and the shootout. Arthur did most of the shooting while Sean nearly flung himself off his horse to cut you free. “Oh my baby! What did those bastards do to you?” He gently cleaned your face with his handkerchief, ignoring all the gory sounds echoing from behind. Sean didn’t even notice when everything became silent. You had his full undivided attention. “Sean!” You wept, wrapping your arms around his neck to bury your face into his chest. “I’m sorry baby. I should’ve never let you out of my sight. I’ve got you, my rose. I’m here now.” He kissed your hair, rubbing your back. “Did they hurt you real bad?” Tears now stung his eyes when you nodded. It was difficult seeing you this way. He loves you more than anything else in the world, seeing his partner so beaten and broken- “Shhhh. We’ll make it better.” Sean attempted to calm his tears, crying silently while burying his face in your hair. His chest was warm and welcoming after what you’ve endured. Even though every bone in your body ached all you wanted to do was hug him and you were grateful he didn’t pull away immediately and put you on a horse. “I love you. So much. I was so scared.” You whimpered. “I know, I know I’m so sorry Y/N. About everything. I should’ve never pushed your buttons. I thought you ran away.” “What?” You pulled away in confusion, studying his face. “Sean… You think I’m upset about that?” It was cute seeing Sean feel guilty over a minor playful argument, something you both have often, and you couldn’t help but to giggle. “Don’t be silly.” You reached up, wiping away his tears. Confused, Sean gently caught your hand, pressing kisses to your palm while examining the bruising on your skin. “I guess that’s who I am when I’m with you, Y/N. A silly man. C’mon now.” Carefully you were scooped up into a loving embrace. Sean placed a peck on your lips. He was afraid of hurting you further so he treated you as though you were made of glass. Once you were in his saddle he pulled himself up behind you. “Let’s get you to camp, baby. I’ll make you feel better there.” “Thank you.” You pressed your back against him in relief. Exhaustion flooded your still trembling body. You never had any doubt Sean would come for you but the experience of the Lemoyne Raiders kicking your face in was rather traumatic. “Glad to see you’re okay L/N.” Arthur shot you a little smile. “Sean here was real riled up about your disappearance. Nearly bit my head off.” A faint smile crossed your lips. You winced as your skin pulled on a bruise. “Thank you for coming too, Arthur. If you weren’t here I don’t think he would have been able to rescue me.” “Oh not this again!” Sean groaned. His arm was wrapped loosely around you and he still pressed an odd kiss to your hair here or there. “I would've done just fine!” “You shot one bullet!” Arthur pointed out with a laugh. “Then you flung yourself over your lover like some actor in one of those dramas. If I weren’t here you and Y/N would be riddled with holes by now.” “I love you Arthur Morgan, but shut up. I killed that fellow with one shot! ONE!” “What was stopping you from killing the rest of ‘em?” “Y/N needed me!” “See if I didn’t come-” “Shut up Morgan!” Listening to their familiar arguments was the best welcome home you could’ve ever wished for. Your eyes fell shut as you listened and soon the pain shooting through you and the exhaustion of being awake and afraid all night  started catching up. Slowly your body fell limp against Sean’s chest. You were only faintly aware of his arm tightening around you, keeping you safely on the horse. It was pitch black when you came to. Fear shot you awake, your eyes scanning the darkness. “Sean?” You could hear an exhausted exhale to your right, a hand reached out from the black to gently pet your hair. “I’m here baby.” There was some fumbling then a match lit, illuminating your lover who had fallen asleep sitting next to you. Sean lit a lantern and that’s when you noticed you were laying in Arthur’s cot. “We thought it best to give you some privacy until you’re in tip top shape. Said I wasn’t allowed to sleep with you in it though.” Sean leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m just glad to have you back. Get some rest, no one will hurt you now. I’m here.” Relaxing again your fingers laced with Sean’s as you settled back in to sleep. ____ Charles: Charles usually minded his own business whenever you fucked off outta camp for a few days. You had been running with the gang far longer than he has and everyone knew you to be quite capable. God only knows what you’re up to half the time. Similar to Arthur, you’d go off and do your own thing then return with money or a fresh kill and a story of your adventures. Charles likes that about you. He admires your independence and how you have so much strength. When you didn’t show up to camp for a week he didn’t think anything of it. You were probably off climbing waterfalls or helping strangers. The gang carried on as normal unless Dutch wanted to offload a job onto you, then he’d ask around. “Charles.” Dutch called him over with a waggle of his finger. He already heard him calling your name and asking the ladies if they’ve seen you so Charles had an inkling as to what this was about. “Can you go find Y/N? I don’t care what it takes, just get their ass over here. We have money to make.” Charles didn’t mind being asked. Any reason to get some peace and quiet and reunite with you was a good reason in his eyes. The problem was, you were flightly, and your tracks were old. It has rained twice since you left camp. Charles followed your prints the best he could. Up into Strawberry, then to Mt.Shann where he took a break to enjoy the view and watch the birds. Charles smiled a little when he saw you had set camp there at one point. It was a beautiful place to stay, he would have done the same. He then doubled back to Owanjila lake where you had your second camp. He wondered what you were doing in the area, having absolutely no clue. He did, however, chuckle to himself when he found one of your gloves that you must have dropped. “Oh, Y/N.” The words slipping from his lips were fond and warm. He scooped the glove up deciding to store it in Taima’s saddle bag then he carried on his way. Charles began to get confused when your trail led straight back to Valentine. So… you were close to camp and didn’t stop by to rest your horse or grab supplies? That’s very unlike you. These tracks were fresher, not more than a few days old if even. Your lover became frustrated when entering town as the hoof prints belonging to your horse became lost in the bustle of main street and Charles couldn’t pick them up again. “Excuse me. Have you seen-” He began stopping residence of Valentine, asking of your whereabouts. You had been seen at the arms store and according to the man at the front desk of the Saints Hotel you stopped by for a wash only a day before. Well… If you were here yesterday you’ll probably be back at camp soon. After thanking the clerk, Charles returned to Horseshoe Overlook to inform Dutch you’d be back soon. The next day Charles awoke early. “Mr. Smith, can you please go into town and get us some supplies? Normally L/N does it but they ain’t back yet. Ms. Grimshaw ain’t too pleased.” He was attempting to enjoy his early morning coffee when Karen approached him. “Sure.” He set his cup down, accepting the list. “Did Pearson add what he needed?” “He only asked for corn.” He raised a brow in amusement, sharing a knowing look with Karen. “I understand.” Tucking it away safely Charles finished his coffee, throwing the rest out, then made his way to Taima. Your whereabouts weighed heavily on his mind during his ride into Valentine. ‘I miss Y/N’, he thought to himself ‘I hope they return soon’. Camp just wasn’t the same without you. He liked the gang alright but he liked you more. Valentine was a breath of fresh air after Blackwater. Quite literally. Charles took deep breaths, breathing in the crisp mountain air before entering town. Taima was soon hitched outside the general store where Charles leisurely strolled in. He walked around, footsteps echoing in the empty room as he gazed at the shelves. The clerk wasn’t there. “Hello?” He called out. Soon, sound of a door being swung open and rushed footsteps up the stairs filled the silence from what he assumed must have been the store room. “I’ll be right with you.” You were bound painfully tight. Ropes dug into your skin until your wrists bled. Tied to a chair and gagged. It had all happened so fast. Days ago you were going about business as usual. You stocked your ammo; took a nice long bath; and followed a dog around you wanted to pet before returning to camp, and of course, to the arms of Charles. What can you say? You love dogs and this one was particularly funny. You had grinned to yourself, studying the animal as you followed it out back. You didn’t expect to look up and be met with the stares of men who were clearly in the middle of an illegal operation. “Shit!” Your hand flew to your holster then froze as you heard a click and felt the barrel of a gun pressed to the back of your head. Your hands slowly rose as you tried to eye whoever was behind you. “Well well well, look what we have here, fellers.” “Real unfortunate, ain’t it?” You narrowed your eyes but kept silent. O’Driscolls by the looks of ‘em. “Hey…” A tall one began circling you, looking you over as if you were bait. “I remember you. You run with the Van der Linde boys, don’tcha?” This wasn’t good. “I think you’ve mistaken, mister.” “No… No I recognize you alright.” He stopped in front of you, leaning so close you had to recoil when the stench of his foul breath hit your face. “This isn’t your lucky day-” Before you could react he drew his elbow back and punched you so hard you nearly flew to the ground. Quiet laughs rang out among the group. Pain overcame you when one grabbed you by the hair, literally dragging you into the basement of their operation where you were hastily tied up and beaten several times among other unsavory happenings. For days you starved. Your face swollen beyond recognition. Only did the grocer show you any compassion. Feeding you water while muttering little ‘I’m so sorry, I wish we could let you go’s. He was a nervous man… A sweaty man. Hell you’d be nervous too if a gaggle of insane Irishmen took over the basement of your shop. You appreciated his little kindness but the weight of the situation was never lost on you. You needed to get out and soon, or else they’ll kill you. You thought of Charles and your beloved friends Arthur, Mary-Beth, and Lenny. Were they looking for you? Did they ever realize you disappeared? Today repeated the last two. The second the O’Driscolls noticed you were conscious their abuse started again up until mid morning when they left to take care of some business. The clerk made his way into the basement, removing your gag so he could give you water. “I’m sorry but you have to understand. If I let you go they’ll kill me.” You were too tired to argue with your heavily bruised jaw, sipping at the cool liquid. Suddenly a sound met your ears. Old floorboards overhead creaked with heavy footsteps. “Oh goddammit.” Cloth was shoved into your mouth once more, immediately drying your tongue. “H-Hold on. Stray here..” You glared at the clerk. Where the hell were you gonna go all tied up like this? The sweaty man dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief, opening the door that divided you from the outside world. “Hello?” A voice called out, rushing the clerk who felt so overwhelmed and frenzied with stress that he accidentally left the door open. “I’ll be right with you.” Staying coherent is a struggle for you at this point. Listening to light footsteps run up the stairs you let your head hang limp against your shoulder. “What can I help you with?” “Just here to resupply. Do you happen to have… uh… a bushel of corn?” “Corn? Yeah, we got it.” Wait… was that? CHARLES! Energy rocketed through your veins with the hope of rescue. Charles was here! Gazing around frantically you searched for something, ANYTHING. The only thing close by was a broom. Hopping your chair over to it depleted you immediately, every bruise and broken rib screaming out. But you had to do this. You had to get Charles’ attention. It was so much work just to get close enough to tip the broom over. CLINK! Your head snapped towards the stairs with anticipation. Charles read the list over again. “Actually a bushel of apples too.” CLINK! He glanced down at the stairs then at the clerk who laughed nervously. “Haha don’t mind that. Just some junk.” Charles hummed, grabbing a few cans off the shelf. “I’ll take these as well.” “Is that all for you?” Your heart squeezed in your chest. It didn’t work. ‘Charles! Charles I’m right here!’ You so badly wanted to scream. No words left your muffled mouth beyond your hearing. There had to be a way to get his attention. Nothing else was close enough to you and you didn’t have the strength to move yourself and the chair any further. The only thing you could do was throw yourself to the ground as hard as you could and hope for the best. BANG! This time Charles froze. His eyes napped towards the basement then back at the grocer.  A terrified look flashed over the man’s face. That’s suspicious... Oh- “Just some junk, huh?” “Yes sir.” In once swift movement Charles pulled out his gun, cocking the hammer. “Then you wouldn’t mind showing me what’s down there, right?” “H-Hey listen! I don’t want any trouble.” “No trouble here. If there’s nothing down there then I’ll pay and leave.” “It’s just junk mister! Honest!” “Then it should be okay if I take a look at this ‘junk’.” The clerk folded under pressure. “They said they were gonna kill me if anyone found out!” “Then get out of here and hope they don’t find you.” Charles didn’t know who ‘they’ were but he had a pretty good idea about what was going on.  He watched as the grocer fled before cautiously making his way down the stairs, cattleman revolver still drawn. Charles was stunned. All breath left his body in disbelief the second you two made eye-contact. “Y/N!” He hurdled himself towards you, picking the chair up to sit you upright before removing the gag. “What did they do to you?” Swift work was made of your binds and soon you were pulled into the comfort of his chest. Giving a whimper of pain you couldn’t help but to cry tears of relief. “Charles!” Your voice cracked. You almost thought it wouldn’t work and he would leave without you. Charles rubbed your back, pulling away to assess your injuries. “Y/N…… I-.” He didn’t know what to say.  So many emotions hit him in waves, washing over him strongly which inevitably flashed across his face. Anger at the people who hurt his beloved. Guilt for not tracking you any further. Resentment towards himself for not considering you might be missing or in trouble. Sadness. So much sadness. He had never seen you this badly beaten and it disturbed him. Quickly he tried to hide his thoughts. You were so small and frail in his arms, crying uncontrollably now. Charles could imagine by your current state that it must have been a horrible ordeal. “I’ve got you. Can you walk?” All you could do was cling to Charles while shaking your head. You felt the weight of his coat drape around your shoulder before feeling yourself being scooped up. “You found me.” Charles winced at how weak your voice sounded. Placing a gentle kiss on your forehead he shushes you. “Save your energy my love. You’ve been through a lot. Let me take care of you.” It’s the least he can do after failing you so badly. As he carried you up the stairs Charles make eye-contact with Sheriff Malloy who bowed his head slightly out of respect – serving as a silent apology. “We’ll hang whoever did this.” He promised.  Deputies flooded the store actively as he spoke. "When we find ‘em, you’ll be the first to know.” “Thank you.” Those words meant nothing to Charles. The Valentine law was useless and it showed. All he could do now was shield you from curious onlookers while mounting Taima with you securely in his arms. “Are you in any pain?” He whispered, making his horse walk so the ride wouldn’t jostle you too much. “Yeah.” Charles had to lean down to catch your quiet words. “Try to rest against me. I’ll get some morphine from the Reverend. Just hang in there. I’m sorry, I know it hurts.” He was trying desperately to find the right words to say. Anything that might help you or ease your suffering. Anything that might relieve his guilt. Grasping at words floating around his mind yet none could be combined into something coherent. They rode on in silence. “Mister Strauss, Reverend. We need medicine.” Most of the gang couldn’t see what was going on, Charles had you tucked protectively against him for privacy. He knew you probably didn’t want everyone ogling at you. The air of the situation was enough for everyone to gain understanding and many sprang into action. “How bad is it?” Strauss asked. “I think their ribs are broken, maybe sprained jaw. Definitely a sprained ankle.” “Bring Y/N over here.” Arthur called, leading Charles to his cot. “Probably better than the ground. Shouldn’t be movin’ much with cracked ribs.” Your eyes fluttered open the second you were placed in the comfort of Arthur’s bed. Charles immediately helped you take medicine to ease your suffering. “Do you need anything my love?” His voice was gentle as if speaking to a spooked animal. Large calloused fingers brushed the hair from your face. “Food… Water…” Arthur gently squeezed Charles’ shoulder, earning a grateful look from his friend. “Let me.” Your love settled into a chair beside you, still playing with locks of your hair. “You’re so brave Y/N. And so incredibly smart. I’m so happy you’re safe now. I-… I’ll never let this happen to you again.” He watched you struggle to stay conscious. Maybe the food will have to wait. Slumping forward, he places a feather light kiss upon your lips. “I’m coming with you everywhere for now on.” He knew you couldn’t hear him but it eased his soul just saying those words out loud.
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rosemary-morgan · 1 year ago
Text
HC's - Making love with them includes... (+18!)
Warning: Nsfw 18+! Language, cum play, oral sex, erotic massages, chocking
Characters: Javier Escuella, Arthur Morgan and Charles Smith X Female Reader. Missing someone? Feel free to ask (❁´◡`❁)
Thanks to all who read and like my stories. Stay healthy and take care, my lovely bees 🐝🌺
Many thanks to @fangirl-ramblings 🖤 she has been beta reading for me 🌹
(Just the screenshots are mine)
Javier Escuella
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He is in a flirty mood all the time. Just like you. You both can hardly wait to be undisturbed. You need your peace and quiet, far away from the others, to give each other the love you need.
You have been a couple for three weeks now and you are madly in love. There is nothing as delightful for you as making love to Javier.
And you do it very often. But as already mentioned, you prefer your privacy.
Often you will retreat to a nearby town, where you will rent a hotel room to let your love run free. There you both can be as loud as you want; or rather, YOU can be as loud as you want.
Often, in the early morning hours when everyone is still asleep, you make love under the blankets. Quietly and secretly, Javier fucks you slowly and sensually.
⦁ Javier knows how to satisfy you and he knows what you like.
⦁ He loves to hear his name on your lips. He loves the sound of your voice as you lay whimpering before him and, by God, he loves to see your body tremble while he fucks you.
⦁ Also he enjoys whispering naughty words. His voice arouses you deeply, even more so when he whispers in your ear and nibbles on your earlobe.
⦁ You always take time to touch each other, kiss and enjoy the sight of each other.
⦁ Javier loves the feel of your soft skin, loves to feel your breasts on his body. The scent of your beautiful femininity.
⦁ Javier is very tender, makes sure you feel comfortable with him. But he also has a wild and passionate side that you can easily awaken. Then he can also get a little rough.
⦁ But there are also moments when you are getting wild. And that is when you have been separated for a while. Javier will tear your blouse off, rip it apart, and won't lose a moment to press his face into your tits, breathing in the scent of your skin. Whispering how much he desires you.
⦁ Oh, he loves to satisfy you with his tongue. The taste of your vagina, the sweet sound of your voice when you fall into ecstasy. Javier takes his time with it. Playing with your clit; sucking and licking it before entering deep into your wet hole and tounge-fucking you out of your mind.
⦁ But also he loves to receive as well. The sight of you kneeling in front of him, looking up at him while you have his cock in your mouth. Your plump, delicious tits pressing against his thighs...
He loves the way you play with his cock. Your fingers stroking his thick balls, massaging them, only to be taken in your mouth afterwards, greedily sucking them. Javier goes crazy every time you doing this, moaning loudly your name.
⦁ He is also into choking. Not too rough, but he grabs your throat during sex when he wants to increase the arousal; and you love it. And while he's chocking you, he's whispering things to you.
⦁ Things like, "Yo te quiero mucho" "You like the way I fuck your sweet little pussy, Y/N?" "You love it a little rougher, don't you? You're so naughty." And "When I'm done with you, I'm going to fuck you with my tongue. You like it, don't you? Oh, you sweet, sweet girl."
⦁ He loves to take you from behind. Your buttocks that wobble with every thrust. The smacking, wet sounds when his tight balls slap your pussy every time. 
⦁ And when you ride him, he enjoys the sight of your bouncing breasts. Your buttocks wobble with every thrust from him. The seductive sight when you roll your head back in pleasure and show off your gorgeous throat.
⦁ Loves to cover you with his sperm. 
⦁ Whether you kneel or lie in front of him, spreading his cum on your face or body will make him go crazy with lust!
⦁ And after your lovemaking, he will hold you in his arms, whispering loving things to you until you both fall asleep.
⦁ You will often find a rose next to your sleeping place in the morning, when Javier has to leave early for reasons.
Charles Smith
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King of foreplay. He takes a lot of time to please and satisfy you. You will come at least once, before you welcome him deep inside you.
⦁ Sometimes he also gives you a massage. He rubs your beautiful body with fragrant oils and he knows exactly which parts of the body he has to massage and caress extensively to arouse you.
⦁ The sight of your shimmering tits, covert with oil, makes his cock hard as stone.
⦁ And when he massages your pussy, he takes a long time. His fingers circle your clitoris while he looks into your eyes. You clearly see the fire, the passion in them. "How does that feel? Is that good, yes?"
⦁ Eventualy, it leads him to finger-fucking you. You get incredibly wet for him, every damn time.
⦁ Love to give oral sex. Charles takes his time and enjoys you to the fullest. Your scent is overwhelming and if it were up to him, he would lie between your thighs all night. You will often hear words like: "You smell wonderful" "Mhm, you taste so good, babygirl."
⦁ His lips and tongue will explore your whole body, every corner. Charles is very tender, very careful with you, like you're as fragile as flower petals.
⦁ You love the feel of his hands when he touches you, caresses you. And the tingling on your skin where he kisses you.
⦁ Making love with you is something very special and intimate for him. Therefore, he wants to be as far away from the others as possible.
⦁ You both go camping often, and love being in nature. It also often happens that you take a longer break of several days. And in these days, you love each other passionately.
⦁ During your lovemaking you smile a lot and words full of love leave your lips.
⦁ He prefers missionary, for he wants to look into your eyes while he fucks you. This is an intimate moment you share. But Charles also loves to have sex in a sitting position. Your wonderful legs wrapped around his strong hips, your heated, sweaty bodies tightly pressed together and your trembling fingers clawing at his long hair, while he kisses your throat, your round tits... just perfect.
⦁ You have a secret place by a river; where there is no human soul, you make love at the edge of the shore. Your naked and wet bodies shimmer under the sun and under the moon.
⦁ And there's something magical about embracing each other at night while the moon shines down on you and fireflies dance around you.
⦁ Charles often spreads flower petals on your cot or on your bed. Whether it's wildflowers or roses, it's a loving gesture that says a lot.
⦁ He washes you gently with lavender water afterwards, holds you in his arms afterwards. He holds you in his arms until you fall asleep. 
Arthur Morgan
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⦁ The two of you look at each other. Full of love, full of affection, holding hands and whispering words of love to each other.
⦁ He also prefers his privacy with you.
⦁ You would camp often in nature, where you can make love in your tent, protected from prying eyes.
⦁ Arthur takes his time to undress you, enjoying every moment with you. He praises your body, kisses and touches every corner with incredible tenderness. This alone arouses you so much that you get all wet for him.
⦁ The first thing he always does when you are naked is to make himself comfortable between your thighs.
⦁ He starts by kissing your inner thighs. Very slowly, agonizingly slowly, watching you very closely. Every twitch, every tremor from you he enjoys. But the most beautiful thing is to see the lust in your face.
⦁ Then, when his own lust grows to strong, he starts to eat you out like a pot of honey. He enjoys every drop. The scent of your femininity makes him crazy with lust. Arthur desires you so much.
⦁ He loves the feel of your delicate body on his manly, strong one. Your skin on his - it's heavenly.
⦁ Slow and sensual. Arthur is a pleasure seeker, but after a while the love making gets a little rougher and Arthur reaches for your body a little harder. 
⦁ He loves to press his face between your tits! It's pure pleasure for him to be able to feast on you. Greedily he takes them in his mouth, sucks on your nipple, while you claw at his hair and go for pleasure.
⦁ He also loves it when you grab his hair and pull it. Whether he's tongue-fucking you or sucking your tits, do it and he'll be yours for eternity.
⦁ He loves missionary position, for he wants to look you in the eyes while he loves you. Arthur wants to see how beautiful you are while feeling incredible pleasure.
⦁ Afterwards, he will hold you in his arms, words full of love will leave his lips. Always asking you for forgiveness, if he was too rough. 
⦁ But Arthur always takes good care of you, and lying in his arms gives you a wonderful feeling.
⦁ Sex in the kitchen is also not uncommon (depending where you live etc.) Desire often overcomes him when he sees you in, while you're making the coffee, or chopping fruit... and by God, he's going to fuck you really good from behind.
⦁ He lays you flat over the table, watching you moaning his name in pleasure. Enjoying the view every time his cock sinks deep into your pussy, his balls smacking against you... You're so wet for him...
⦁ Often he'll smack your ass, gripping it firmly.
⦁ And he is also into roleplaying - Usually he is the bounty hunter and you are his prisoner, completely at his mercy
⦁ You will often find him in the morning preparing some good breakfast for you
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therogerclarkfanclub · 2 years ago
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Tagged by @coping-via-clint-eastwood
Tag 9 people you want to know better
3 ships: Arthur Morgan x Charles/Charlotte/Albert from Red Dead Redemption 2
Last song: What a Feeling by Irene Cara Edit: I just found out Irene passed away last year 😥 RIP
Last movie: Wakanda Forever, but I wanted to watch Roger's latest horror film, Bunker, and I missed it cuz it had a ridiculously short run time in theaters. So now I must wait for the streaming version.
Currently reading: Reddit. I don't dislike books per se, I just haven't found the one that clicks with me.
Currently watching: I'm always playing some game so there's not much on the TV front.
Currently consuming: Tea
Currently craving: just plain vanilla ice cream
Tagging (but don't feel forced to participate): @teashadephoenix, @kieropal, @photo1030, @goodolrogering, @tecker
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gainprincess · 1 year ago
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"..."
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"I know you know where he is, Elder Sister. Tell me."
This standoff is unusually tense, despite the fact that they're both easily over a ton in flab.
King Arthur and the sorceress Morgan Le Fay. Sisters (once), enemies, rivals, fools. They cannot overcome this feud, no matter how hard Ruler tries, Morgan will always push back.
She could never take things lying down, after all. Always something. Even when she was young, and Morgan was just her caring older sister, she'd always tell Artoria to keep herself strong, and how one must always have the last word.
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"I'm surprised you care enough to want that information. It's your negligence that put him here to begin with, you know."
Morgan knows that she's not being fair to her sister. But that doesn't matter at this point, does it?
"Perhaps if you'd tried to be a father for once in your life, fool, he'd be less of a broken mess."
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"I didn't prey on his deepest insecurities and bubbling hatreds, digging under his skin and applying pressure on him to make him reveal himself at a time that was unfitting and unwarranted. I didn't raise him as a living weapon, treating him like a horse with all stick and barely any carrot!"
Rage is building inside her now, rage far unlike any she's felt towards Morgan before.
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"You will hold your tongue."
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"Or what, you'll murder me again? Good luck with that; The only good thing you ever produced can't help you this time, because he's fucking missing!"
She's spitting now, in a white-hot rage she's never felt before. Magical energy that's so strong it's visible rolls off her body, quaking the air around her as she steps towards the other woman.
"Neither of us were good fucking parents, Morgan, and that's probably partially because I was barely human to begin with! It's my fault that Camelot burned. It's my fault that Mordred was even raised by a hellspawn like you! I wish I'd known sooner. Then maybe I could've done something about it! But no, I was too focused on being a perfect king! A wonderful king! Do you know what that does to someone, Sister?!"
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"Artoria, what you fail to realize is-"
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"No! I don't fail to realize anything! I am starkly aware of my many failings, and as a matter of fact, Morgan, go fuck yourself! Tell me where my son is! Maybe one of us can get it right this time, instead of causing another fucking Camlann! Now give my boy back before I rip you in two and feed the fucking remains to the lions!"
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"You'd not dare."
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"Do you feel lucky enough to test that theory?"
A flick of her flabby wrists causing her mana-sharpened playing cards to appear in her hand, fanned outward like she's just about to toss them right through Morgan's skull.
"We can play ball if you need it that bad."
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"...Hm. I like this new you, Artoria."
Morgan's voice gains an odd lilt to it, one that's not really describable...Almost like sordid affection, in how it's nearly genuine. But only nearly.
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"He's in the Moon Cancer Hall. I would recommend informing Martha before your visit; The AI is most frightful of her and her abilities, and will likely be distracted before she can bother you. From there, lure him to Jeanne Alter."
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"You're not helping?"
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"Why would I? He's your son, isn't he? He's none of my concern. Remember this much, Artoria: We will never be sisters again."
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"Get the hell out of my sight, Morgan. Before I make good on my promise."
As the Berserker lumbers away, Ruler stands stock still, cards still aimed at the back of the woman's head, looking for any signs of deceit or pomp...
It's only when she rounds the corner, and Artoria's sure that she's alone, that she collapses to her knees from stress, burying her head in her hands.
"What the hell is wrong with me...?"
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"...So it worked."
Behind a wall, a certain maid completes his recon, slowly packing up his listening equipment into his suitcase as he makes for the Caster Hall.
"Mistress Merlin will be pleased that her plan was successful...This doesn't seem like her, though..."
He'll report to her anyway, though; She did ask for that.
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x-xenn · 3 years ago
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❐ ▏ 𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍 𝐱 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑.
❐ ▏ 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐈.
❐ ▏ 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 : @charliedakotariley.
❐ ▏ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 [ 𝐒 ] : 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝, 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝.
❐ ▏ Could I request a one-shot / headcanons with male reader x Arthur Morgan where a reader was doing some work alone far far away from the gang (camp) and got really badly hurt (it doesn't really matter If he fought a bear, wolf, or some a*sholes)?
He lost his eye, his cheek is badly cut or ripped so his teeth are visible and it's unfixable, his throat is badly cut too, but not like he would bleed out. He has broken ribs, arm, and basically... he looks like a train ran him over.
And because he's a lucky mf, somebody on his way home helped him (they did a "decent" job), and when he got back he tries to hide his injuries from everybody, but mainly from Arthur. Most of the time when he's eating he's inside his tent, hiding, or away but near the camp, so he wouldn't be in sight of others. But one day, when he's trying to wash himself (suffers from pain like crazy), he doesn't notice Arthur and Arthur, already nervous bc he doesn't know why is reader avoiding him, starts to panic even more and take care of a reader with tears in his eyes because a reader really looks like 💩?
He's taller than Arthur so it would be funny to see Arthur take care of a reader, his big baby.
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" ya sure you're going to be alright ?. "
" i'll be fine Arthur stop worrying, i've done this plenty of times. "
" sure, but i've got a bad feeling bout' this one, maybe i should go with you. "
you smiled at his answer, he's never been worried this much before, on you going out for a job. it's true that you would leave every few weeks or so to do jobs here and there, similar to Trelawny. but because of demands of a certain cowboy, you're trips are cut shorter than Trelawny's. guess he can't survive long without you, don't he ?.
you were talking in your tent that you shared together, he's helping you pack the things you needed. not much stuff you packed, but he still likes helping. he's been following you around all day around camp, watching you do things. but you would end up exposing him anyway, making him sit beside you and have evening tea together.
well maybe you missed each other a lot, it's been 2 months since you saw one another. you still write for each other sometimes, but letters don't get around that fast. and these past week you've been catching up again. you bring a lot with you when you return, money and gold bars for camp, gifts, hugs and kisses for Arthur.
Arthur was the first to greet you when you got back, it's a coincidence that he's at camp and not out in town. he was so happy about it, he hugged you for a good 30 seconds before letting go. this time your scent is different, you're wearing the perfume he gave you. sure it's not as expensive as the other perfumes you have, but you said you liked it a lot. it really makes him smile.
you bought this hat and scarf for Arthur, and it did cost a bit. but it'll look great on him. he always did wondered what you do out there to get this much money, sure you told him the big picture, but he wants details. no wonder you seem to have an endless supply of good quality perfume on you, you were earning this much.
but there's something you hate about bringing that much money. it's like Dutch is taking all of it, his tent always gets upgraded first, he wears fancy vests and has expensive guns. that's why you only gave 40 % to ' camp ', and save the rest for everybody else. split it even, and it's good that they're quiet about it. let's stop focusing on the leader and more to the people yeah ?.
" who would look after camp then ? who would save Dutch's ass when he angers someone ? or Reverend walking around town while drunk and making bad decisions ?. "
Arthur huffed at that. he always have to save someone's ass from getting beaten, it's tiring honestly. he's literally the camp's lifeline.
you kissed his temple, rubbing his back to assure him. " it's going to be alright Arthur, i promise you i'll return like always. "
" safely... safely right ?... "
you left around midnight, with a still sleepy Arthur saying goodbye with a kiss. he went back to sleep afterwards, he still has work to do in the morning, he needs all the rest he could take.
this is going to be another big job, but as usual it involves rich higher ups. they've got several weed farms, and they sell it all over the states. surely they've got few bucks to spare, it's far less compared to what they earned regularly.
you took your horse and made your way outside of camp, and saying goodbye to Sean because he was on guard duty. " [ name ], bring back strong alcohol this time f' me. "
" you and Karen drink too much, but i can't promise you anything Sean. "
" but you would bring anything f' Arthur ! how's dat fair ?. "
" calm down Sean, everyone's sleeping. and you know Arthur is kind of biased. " with a chuckle, you watch Sean laughed his ass off at that remark. damn, he's going to wake everyone up.
" hell yeah he is, by you at least. the man can't spend a day without at least day dreamin bout ya. "
Hosea and John would often say to you that Arthur often zone out a lot if you're away, for a good 30 minutes if not disturbed. Arthur would often zone out when he's alone or in his tent, but he can't escape they eyes of Hosea. he knows everything...
" alright Sean, see ya in a few weeks. "
" don't forget to stay alive, poor Arthur can't take it if he lost ya.. "
" i'll try my best. "
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not much happened on the journey to get there, well you almost got robbed few times, but instead of getting robbed, you ended up robbing them. those guys really lack skill and stealth. they sounded like they're still in their teens, around 16 or 17, looks like they've only done this few times. their posture is not at all confident and they did too much talking.
this world is a wild west. everyone is just trying making a living.
some towns are worse than what you thought. no sheriffs, criminals every where, ordinary people are being swept. they're treated like maids and often got beaten up. they also don't treat visitors well, so you didn't bother to stay long.
though when you made it to your destination, people tend to look and whisper to one another, then coming up to you, offering some kind of product. you know it's a scam, either the product is shite or there's no product at all.
new comers are usually looked down upon by the rich in this specific town. mine owners, factory owners, oil miners, gown designers, inventors, professional makeup artist and so on. these people have high manners, high demeanor, really fancy people live here.
but alas, if there's up then there is down.
people in the lower section are smart in this town. they'll pull up every excuse they have for an opportunity to earn money, they offer products, services and other kind. they will pull up nasty tricks to one another even if they're blood related. it's everyone for themselves.
they see new comers as opportunity, to trick and grab all their money, sweep them off the ground and kick them off town. they don't really think about the consequences, it's only money they see. it's a pity really. but with you being a new comer in this town, they can't help but try their luck.
" good evening there kind gentleman, would you care for a look at my magnificent horse i have just in store ?. "
you looked at the man right beside your horse while you're still looking around town. he looked clean, freshly cleaned, maybe he just showered ? or is he just putting up clothes to look like a horse dealer ?.
" no thank you, my horse is just fine. "
with that you left him in his demise, your horse didn't seem to like him either. you're not here to dilly dally around, it's big town. full of rich people. and who are you to pass this chance up ?.
they didn't dare to try their luck on the rich. 90 % of their attempts are resulted in some very bad beating. the rich knows what their up to, so they eventually back off. and being a new comer has it's advantages. people here has never seen you, it's a big plus.
" now to find that farm... i'm sure it's around here. "
the plan was simple enough. learn their schedules, apply as one of the new workers, when break time came, sneak in the main house or mansion as they say it, and grab the prize.
you still have a week before you have to apply, so on day 1 you need a place to stay for the next month.
learning their schedule is not an easy task. guards are everywhere around the farm and is watching all the time, you ended up paying a few people for information. they didn't have much either, but you'll get to know their full schedule in a matter of time...
" your name ?. "
" Irving Graham. "
the person in front of you stopped writing and turned up to look at you. he examined you features and your clothing. " fancy name you have. "
first impression is everything they say, and right they are.
coming in to this town with ordinary commoner's look is a great idea, now you're blending in with the crowd just fine. dressing a bit fancy would give you too much attention, they would mistook you for some rich folk with money for shoes and would love some of your richness.
dressing like an outlaw would put you in everyone's blacklist. they're too fancy to deal with people who break laws all the time. and dressing poorly would gain a lot of bad attention.
" well what can i say... my ma sure have an interesting taste. " you heard his chuckle at your statement, this guy seem to be the chill type.
" she sure does, anyway... considering that we're currently low on workers, you're in. you can start in 3 days. "
" thank you, much appreciated. "
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" alright, i think that's all i need... "
you put all the things you needed in to your bag and carried it with you. you're going to have to adapt to this life style for a few weeks, getting to know the area better, making a good impression and gaining their trust.
arriving early has it's advantages, you actually get to talk to one of the supervisors about this whole thing. he's surprisingly a friendly guy, though he still didn't spill anything. ' these people are very loyal... that's surprising... considering most of this town's populations are back stabbing folks... this is not going to be easy. '
first day was not bad, people were mostly minding their own business and just doing their job. most didn't bother you with asking questions but some did ask a little bit too much for a first meeting, much to your dismay. you're gonna have to make up a lot of story...
" you here all alone ?. "
" yeah.. didn't have much to offer back in my place, this is a new start. "
" well that's nice, don't shy away if ya lonely here, my place is not far from here. "
" thanks, i'll consider that. "
so far so good, 7 days in. people started talking with you more, seeing that you're a chill and approachable person. they like to joke a lot during breaks, very laid back people. 7 days in and it's time to start sneaking in. rounding the main house and locating the safes, locating where the keys are and slipping by without notice.
the safes are located in the basement and there's tons of them. the entrance is guarded with 2 people, but they take breaks every now and then. the keys are held by the owner of this farm, he comes by to check on the workers every 4 hours, not wanting them to slack even the littlest.
he's not a man with many words, and sweet talking him wont work in any way. so he's a lost cause. but you should be able to get in the basement without sweet talking him, you just have to be more prepared.
a month in and you're ready. people are not as tense with you, you know the round and turns of the main house, the schedules of the guards and where the needed keys are. if you did this right, the safes are all yours..
this is it.
it's already night and workers are sent home. the guards are rounding the main house and the owner is currently in panic. he had ' lost ' his key to the safes. well, more like you took it when he went to check on the workers. but he doesn't need to know that..
the workers are checked before they went home, and none found the key. you had store it somewhere inside the house, making it easier for you to slip by out the house easier. it's also isin't a hard place to get, they just didn't see it.
you sneak past the guards that was pointing their light at the farm, they're still looking for the key apparently. the door to the main house isin't locked, but you would be a fool to go through the main door, guards will pop up in your face less then a second.
the back door is your best bet, good thing you learned how to pick simple locks. the hallways are mostly empty, but people would walk by and you're forced to hide in one of the rooms. the main house is really big, but most of the rooms are useless and empty. ' they surely won with the looks, but they lack efficiency... '
you quietly went through the halls, spotting a big painting of a horse. " there you are... " walking close to the painting you pulled the painting a bit forward and grabbing the key that was about to fall. the key to the safe.. you continued your way down to the basement without notice, people must be tired at this hour, barely anyone here. when you got to the basement, the guards aren't there. " must be searching to the key as well, perfect timing... "
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maybe it isin't a perfect timing afterall.
now you're hiding. up on a tree with a bag full of gold and your shotgun in hand. it didn't went well. you were caught right as you're about to escape to the back door, you were forced to kill 3 guards that was about to shoot you. but these guards are something else, maybe that's why they have high paychecks.
well, Arthur was feeling uneasy about this one, he was right.
you have to stop the blood flowing somehow, you don't want it to drip rapidly and lead them to your hiding. you removed your cloth mask and fold them, then putting it around your head. covering your left eye. that was a lucky shot they have. " shit... "
you're already feeling dizzy from the shot and the lost of blood, but you can't give up now. it'll be fucking funny to see a corpse dangling on a tree, and you can't leave Arthur all alone. poor boy's going to cry his eyes out. just, not yet. not now.
" they're clearing up a bit.... i should move.. "
you dropped down from the tree and began moving away. you can't really run, hitting a tree would be embarrassing. crouching isin't pleasant, but you can't risk getting caught now, your horse is close by.
you put all your stuff on your horse and mounted him. " come on boy, let's go.. "
trying to loose them is hard, because they started searching on a wider scale. but you're experienced in this, you can and will slip away. you have to find shelter soon, this bleeding eye is going to be the death of you. and you don't want to die. not yet at least, Arthur is waiting..
it's night time, and the trees are providing great cover. but you can see the light of the lanterns that they carry at a distance, they're still too close for your liking.
you feel like you're about to pass out, the cloth on your eye is completely soaked, you're doomed if you don't fix this. you started to look around, nothing other than trees are in your field of sight. no shelter. maybe it would've been better if you bring Arthur along...
slowly but surely you started to distance yourself from them, the light is no longer in sight, it's a relief. but with your condition like this, you can't travel far. not to mention the risk of getting attacked by wild animals.
speaking of wild animals, you heard rustling in front of you. you horse came to a halt, you can't clearly see what's ahead of you, but you could see the silhouette of a bear...
" now is not the time for this... "
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you opened your eyes slowly, you feel bandages covering your left eye and mouth. another around your chest, stomach and left arm. you were lying on a bed in a simple shack. your whole body feels sore, and you're very tired. what happened exactly ?, last time you remembered was you're about to face a bear and... well, it looks like it didn't end well.
you tried sitting up but the door to the room you're in opened. revealing a casual dressed man holding a wooden tray with soup. " now now, your wound is still healing, don't move too much... "
you lied back down slowly, who is this guy ? did he save you during the fight ?. whoever he is, you can't ask him now, your cheek is still healing...
" you might be wondering who am i, my name is Gabriel. and i found ya barely surviving the bear that just attacked you, you were really roughed up. " Gabriel put down the tray beside you on the bedside table, he grabbed bandages from a cabinet and walked back to you.
" let me change the bandage around chest, before you eat. " he carefully helped you sit up and began undoing the bandage around your chest. it was a sight indeed, gashes are all over the place, it hurted a lot when you sit up so you've definitely broken some of your ribs. your left arm was not in a good shape too, your left wrist hurt a lot. that bear really did a lot.
" and you're still in a bad shape, i tried my best fixing you up, but i'm no doctor. " he finished bandaging your chest and unwrapped the bandage around your mouth, cheek and throat. your right arm moved to touch your left cheek, and it's way bad than you thought. it was ripped open, showing some of your teeth. your throat feels sore, the bear sure did leave a lot of love bites..
" i know you can't really chew, but you gotta eat. i made this soup for ya. your stuff is beside the bed if you're wondering, your horse is outside. what have you done ? you've got a load in your bag, don't worry i didn't take any, i want no part in this, also people have been looking for a man named Irving, is that you ?. "
you don't trust this man, but he's been helping you. or so it seems. and he said that he didn't mess with your stuff. you nodded your head at him, in which he replied with a smile. " alright then. "
you stayed under his care for the next month, your thoughts are at the fullest. thinking about how long it's going to take for your recovering, will those people found you eventually ?, what would camp think about this ?. what would Arthur think about this ?... he would be grossed out for sure, well... it's to be expected when you got back..
when you're able to talk properly again you told Gabriel a little about yourself, about the load in your bag. Gabriel is a rare one for sure, he helped you with all his might and he's true to his words. he didn't take any of the gold and he took care of your horse. he didn't tell anybody that you're here. not many like him in a place like this, and you are truly lucky to be in his care...
you helped him around on his daily chores when you're able to walk again, it's a small thank for his kindness. your last letter from Arthur was when you're about to execute the plan, which has been some time, and you haven't got the time to write for him again. what would you tell him anyway ?, everything's fine and you're okay ? you don't feel like lying to Arthur like that, you're literally half dead ? he'll be worried sick. adding more to his stress..
you're feeling better by the end of the month, most of your wounds have healed up, but the scars are still visible. the bullet in your eye is already out, but the nasty scar is still there. the gash on your left cheek are at least covered, the stitches did well for now...
" i'm gonna... pack up for tomorrow... "
Gabriel stopped wiping the table as he looked at you, sitting across from him holding a letter. " leaving already ? but you haven't fully healed yet... you've got someone waiting for ya, don't ya ?. "
you chuckled at his remark. " what gave it away ?. "
" you've been reading that letter over and over again these past weeks, surely it means a lot to ya. "
" well... it does mean a lot to me, and i have to get back to him. before he kills me himself... "
" leave it for him to decide your fate, you're gone for some time now. "
the next morning you started to get your things ready and putting your bag on your horse. Gabriel gave you food for the journey back home, he said that you started to grew on him... and you figured you'd give him something back.
" take it. " you gave him 2 bars of gold from your heist.
" but what for ? i said i want nothing to do with this. "
" just take it, as a token of appreciation from me. ya helped me get better and this is all i could give ya for the time being. there's another town a bit away from here to trade it with money if you want. "
Gabriel took a moment to look at you, you could tell he wanted to reject this, but this would help him a lot. " just take it Gabriel, i know you need it.. "
with that Gabriel took the bars, " thank you, really. " you pulled Gabriel to a hug, you patted him back as he laughs at the action. " see ya around partner.. "
" until next time.. "
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" [ name ] ? son, is that you ?. "
Hosea was the first to notice your arrival, it was around noon when you got here. though you have bandages around your left arm, hat on and cloth covering your face, he still recognized you..
you tipped your hat downwards, signaling Hosea this is you. he sighed in relief and came closer towards you as you dismount your horse. there's not a lot people in camp, they're probably out and about. you're lucky that they're still staying here...
" what happened ? you've been gone longer than anticipated. " Hosea took a second to look properly at you up and down. your clothes are clean, but you have bandages all around your left arm and eye, though you have scratches all over you, some were deep that it's stitched... Hosea looked at you worriedly, what have you been up to ?.
" a lot happened old man... " your voice sounded hoarse, something Hosea is new at. Hosea didn't ask about the cloth mask that you're wearing, he has a hunch on what happened to your eye. you're in a hard position right now, he's going to let you recover for the time being. mentally...
" set yourself down for now, Arthur and the rest should be back in a minute. " Hosea softly patted your back and walked with you to your shared tent with Arthur, though as you walked by, other people in camp began noticing.
" woah [ name ]... what happen to ya man ?. " Sean who just left his tent looked at you, he looked like he just woken up.
" i'm all good Sean. "
" well ya surely don't look like it. "
you reached your tent and began rearranging all your stuff. while Dutch is out you can use this time to split the money to everyone here and gave the rest later on. so you started rounding around, giving people their share of the gold without saying much, they were thankful once again...
how are you going to tell Arthur about this ? your whole face almost being tore open by a bear... what if he's disgusted by you ? would he ?.
you're back in your tent, still not having the confidence to face everyone without your mask on. Hosea probably told them to leave you alone for now, because everyone didn't ask you anything about your mask and eye... they could tell how bad it is by your hoarse voice, they're also aren't brave enough to ask in case you get mad.
to add up more to your anxiety, you hear chatter and footsteps outside. they're back already. you exited your tent still with your mask on, but you bumped heads with Arthur who was just about to enter. he pushed you back in the tent and gave you a tight hug. " you didn't reply my last letter... "
" sorry... "
Arthur was taken aback by your voice, he looked up at you with concern in his eyes. " what happened to your voice... and eye ?. " Arthur's hand reached up to your face, about to take your mask off. but you grabbed his hand...
" just... not yet Arthur, i'm... still processing all of this... "
" r-right... of course.. "
you could tell that Arthur is disappointed, but you're still very self conscious of your whole face now that it's messed up. you're going to take some time to reveal you're face to Arthur, you can't imagine what his expression is going to be. how can't he be disgusted ?, even you didn't like it. can't wait until the whole gang find out, it's going to be one hell of a day.
you continued doing chores throughout the week, minus going to town. you hunted, feed the horses, and offered miss Grimshaw to help around with washing clothes and other chores, at least you're doing something than just lay around and do nothing. hunting is hard with only one eye, but you didn't disappoint anyone when you managed to catch 2 dears.
you tried avoiding people in camp as much as you can, especially Arthur. it's probably better this way for now.
little Jack has come up to you while you were fishing close to camp. he asked what happened to your eye, in which you didn't reply the specifics but you said " it's alright Jack, my eye just hurts. "
" wouldn't it better if mama take a look at it ? she's pretty good with bandaging wounds... "
" you don't have to worry Jack, i patched it up just fine. "
you went back to the river few days later, wanting to wash up a little bit, and change the bandage around your eye. you didn't know why but your eye decided to be a bitch and bleed today, the bleeding should've stopped by now. you were too busy to notice that Arthur was following you, he stopped a few feet away from you. but he went closer, he didn't want his lover to suffer alone...
" so it's ripped ?.... your cheek.. "
you flinched when Arthur put his hand on your shoulder, but relaxed right away. one thing disappoint you, he found out by himself, because you were such a coward to reveal it to him. " yeah... it's a long story... but this is what i look now. it's okay if you're disgusted by it, i am too... "
Arthur sat down beside you and grabbed the bandage on your hand, he helped bandage your left eye while you sit there, watching him work his magic. " don't be silly, you've seen me in my worst and you're still here with me till this day. don't think that this would would keep you away from me. "
you gave him a tiny smile, he really does know how to comfort you. you chuckled though when you found out that he was holding his tears in, his glossy eye can't lie. " don't cry Arthur, it's not very manly of you. "
Arthur chuckled and finish up the bandage around your eye, he wiped his eye with the sleeve of his coat and faced you again. taking in your still handsome features even if you're face is messed up. you're still the same person he loved and cared for all those years until now. and that's not about to change anytime soon.
" ya know you could've just told me... "
" i didn't know how you would react to it, it scared me t' death.. "
" don't be so scared, the most i would do is kill ya if you don't tell me anything.. "
" see ? exactly... "
" still, you're the same person i fell for all those years... and ya stayed with me when i'm at my lowest. it's only fair if i do the same to you, so please... don't avoid me on situations like this, i'll start to think that you're sick of me... "
" i would never do that to ya Arthur, you're to precious to let go. "
Arthur chuckled at that. " you big baby... " he grabbed your neck and pulled you closer him, bringing you to a kiss.
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© x-xenn
ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʀᴇꜰʀᴀɪɴ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ, ᴘʟᴀɢɪᴀʀɪᴢɪɴɢ / ᴜꜱɪɴɢ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪꜱʜ ᴛᴏ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴀꜱᴋ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ.
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shootybangbang · 2 years ago
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Hi. I had to psych myself up to ask un-anonymously ☺ I feel like a stupid derp new kid bc I'm new to tumblr & struggling w/ fanfic. Anyhoo, I absolutely adore & look up to your writing. Your descriptions are always so brilliant & lovely, sth I struggle with. Your nsfw pieces perfectly mix spicy & moving. I especially love "In Which You Both Demonstrate How Not to Ride a Horse." I was so touched & wanted to cry, & with so few words. Waiting to read "Things Asked & Promised" bc I know I'll enjoy it & want to give it undivided attention.
Could I pls ask for a nsfw Arthur x fem reader piece where they're accidently voyeuristically discovered in a hot n spicy moment? If not it's ok. Thank you for your writing!
I realize that what I am doing is the equivalent of handing someone a cup of tuberculosis after they asked for ice cream and for that I am sorry
[Ao3 link] [Part 2]
In which quills are shed [Part 1/2]
Bluegill scales cover the oak slats like a scatter of half moons. Or, viewed through the lens of your current mood, a scatter of torn fingernails, each one ripped clean. Glancing up at the man at the other side of the table, you drag the back of the knife viciously against the dead fish’s decimated mail, and another shower of parts falls against the notched wooden surface like a morbid spray of rain. 
Micah asks. “You and Morgan still fucking?”
He says the words loud enough to carry across the whole of what ragged remainder is left of the camp at Beaver Hollow. The two strangers sitting by the cave’s open maw look up from their card game, and you feel a faint, falling sensation in your chest. The kind that flutters through when you miss a step going down the stairs.
Keeping your head down, you continue scraping at the bluegill.
“Nah, can’t be. Doubt that miserable bastard can even get hard, the state he’s in now. And even if he could, can’t see him lasting more’n two minutes without, y’know…” Micah wheezes dramatically, adopts a wet, hacking cough that sounds despairingly close to the real thing.
You put the tip of the knife to the seam of the bluegill’s belly, then rip it open with unwarranted violence. Droplets of fish blood spatter against the front of your dress.
“Now, if what you’re looking for is satisfaction, I’d suggest you head on down to my tent.” From the periphery of your vision, you can see Micah jab his thumb towards the lean-to set up in the shadow of Dutch’s tent. A hint of bile rises to the back of your throat. “I’ll show you how a real man fucks a woman.”
Come any closer and I’ll show you how to skin a snake, you think, groping for innards with your fingers. Grasping the bluegill’s pebble-shaped heart, you yank out a string of entrails that glistens dark red and gleaming, and let it drop from your hand onto the table with a wet plop.
“Best time to do it’d be now, while Morgan’s out gettin’ himself killed.” Micah says this affably, as though you’ve acquiesced. “And on the off chance that he does come back, what he don’t know won’t hurt him, right?”
You lever up the flap adjacent to the fish’s cheek with the tip of the knife, then reach in to tear out the gills. The fanned red edge nicks the pad of your thumb. Wincing, you jerk your hand away to check the cut.
“Aw, didja hurt yourself? Here, let me see—”
The moment he steps towards you, you flinch and brandish the knife like a weapon. “Alright, alright,” he says, holding up both hands, retreating. Under his breath, he mutters, “Goddamn touchy little bitch.”
Beside the mouth of the cave, the shorter of the two strangers (what were their names? Joe and… Clem, or something?) stands up and rests his hand on the hilt of his holstered gun. 
You flick your eyes towards the overturned soapbox beside the campfire. There, Dutch glances up from the book in his hand and holds your gaze just long enough to acknowledge your plight. He raises his eyebrows, then deliberately turns his head away, returning his attention to what might be his millionth perusal of Evelyn Miller.
All of your potential allies are either departed or well out of sight: the girls at the river, Charles on the hunt, Sadie on guard duty. John, scoping out a potential lead up north somewhere.
And with him, Arthur.
With exaggerated precision, you lower the knife and lay the edge of its blade at an outward slant adjacent to the bluegill’s puckered mouth. You lift your head to look Micah in the face, then slam your hand against the dull heel of the knife hard enough that it decapitates the fish in one swift motion, slicing through scale and muscle and bone with a beautifully crisp thunk.
He doesn’t seem impressed. Micah says, “You really gonna keep on pretendin’ you can’t talk? I heard you well enough the other night, while I was sittin’ out here on guard duty.” In a high, breathy voice, he squeals, “Ohhh, Arthur!”
Blood rushes to your cheeks. Hot with shame and anger, you duck down and glare instead at the dead fish. Its round, sightless eyes stare pointlessly back at you.
“Alright. If you’re still gonna play at bein’ a deaf-mute, lemme spell things out real clear for you.” Micah makes an obscene gesture, points at himself, then rubs his fingers together to indicate that he has money, all the while enunciating loud and slow, “HOW… MUCH… TO… SUCK MY—”
“I am not for sale,” you snarl. “And I would sooner cut off my own tongue than put it anywhere near your diseased prick.”
“So she can speak,” he says, unfazed by the insult.
“Probably speak better than you and every other contemptible fuck in this camp. Van der Linde included.”
“Wouldn’t say that if I were you. If word got to Dutch that you were disrespecting him— well, ain’t no telling how he’d react. Might even find it… disloyal. And I’m sure you wouldn’t want that.” As he speaks, he nods towards the northern stretch of woods banking the cave, where the blackened and twisted branches left from an impromptu pyre still lie scattered. And beside it, the shallow grave of what little had remained of Molly O’Shea afterward, unmarked and unmourned. 
A cold trickle of fear runs down your spine. “Arthur wouldn’t—”
“Arthur this, Arthur that.” Micah pronounces the name as though it were something foul in his mouth. “Open your eyes, you dumb cunt. Black Lung’s gonna be dead within the week. If not from the fuckin’ plague, then for sure by the Pinkertons. Just look at him. He can barely walk.”
Within the week. God. No, he’s not… he’s not quite that bad…
(not that bad yet, a voice murmurs from inside your head)
“And when he’s six feet under,” he continues. “You’re gonna have nobody on your side. That is, unless you start courtin’ new loyalties now.”
Micah Bell has laid all your worst fears out in front of you as frankly and bluntly as an assortment of dead fish at market. And to this, there is but one response. Not denial. Not anger. Only the deepwater chill of utter despair.
“You ain’t that stupid. I’m sure you can see the writing on the wall.” His voice smooths to something unctuous and oddly familiar. It takes a second for recognition to click. This is the same voice he uses when flattering Dutch. “So what’s it gonna be? You gonna cast your lot in with a corpse, or you gonna make the smart choice and go with the man with the highest chance of making it outta this place alive?”
“I’ll go to the grave with him before I go to bed with you,” you hiss.
Micah laughs. “Oh sure, you’re all bravado now, but we’ll see what you really are when the shit hits the fan. A whore. Just like every other cunt here.” He raises a hand in farewell and starts walking away, calling over his shoulder, “You know where my tent is, honey. Come find me after you ditch Morgan.”
With a great deal of effort, you force yourself to train your focus back on the bluegill. You slip your knife to a space just above its spinal cord and angle the blade parallel to the table, then begin carving its pale meat away from the thin, clustered bones. 
Filleting has always seemed inordinately wasteful to you– throwing away perfectly good meat, that’s what it is. A stupid and tedious method, and truth be told half the reason you hate doing it is because you’ve never been particularly good at it— but Arthur always complains about spitting fish bones otherwise, so… so…
The realization sifts in as soft and cold as autumn rain. So soon I won’t have to do this anymore.
No. No, no, no— that’s not true at all— you’ll be filleting fish until your dying day, and you’ll roll your eyes and sigh all the while, and he’ll be just as annoying, asking melodramatically whether you want him to choke to death on a fish bone, and… and… 
A teardrop falls onto the back of your hand. Another falls onto the half-stripped bluegill, then another, and another, all raining down in rapid succession until you have to put the knife down to wipe at your eyes with your sleeve.
— — —
You hurry to the hitching post at the first, faint rumble of hooves, standing next to the grazing horses straight-backed and overeager. The light blue dress you’d borrowed from Tilly looks nearly white in the pines’ damp shadows, and it cuts through the gloom so starkly that when John emerges from the woods, he startles.
John is alone. 
“It’s alright,” he says, answering the anxious, searching look on your face. “Arthur’s just a little ways back. Shouldn’t be more than a minute.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Nothin’s wrong. Said he was gettin’ somethin’.”
A white-hot curl of contempt coils tight in your chest. You narrow your eyes. “Dutch is sending him out on another errand before he’s even back from this one?”
“What? No, nothin’ like that. S’cuse me,” he adds, swinging his leg over the saddle to dismount. 
Gathering your skirts in your hands, you hastily backstep a few paces away to give him space enough to maneuver. “Shit, I’m sorry,” you apologize. “I’m pelting you with questions before you’re even out of the saddle—”
“You don’t gotta apologize,” John interrupts. “You ain’t done anythin’ wrong. And hey, uh…” his voice drops low with the gentle lilt that seems to always accompany well-intentioned white lies. “He’s… I think he’s doin’ a little better. Weren’t coughin’ as much as he usually does.”
Over and over again, you’ve played along with these small farces. Little fictions woven for your benefit. The only one who’s taken it upon himself to tell it to you plainly is Micah, and in a sick, bitter way you’re almost grateful for it.
You force a smile. “I’m glad to hear it.”
John sighs. He looks at the thin path that picks through the mountains and into camp and sets his mouth to a stubborn, flat line. “Listen,” he says, and there is conviction in his words now, whether true or misguided not for you to determine. “Arthur’s gonna be alright.” Awkwardly, as though sympathy were an undertaking largely unfamiliar to him, he pats you on the shoulder. “He’ll pull through,” he says. “He always does.”
It’s another twenty minutes before Arthur finally arrives, his clothes gritty with buffeted dust and his shoulders slumped with apparent exhaustion. Bedraggled and drained, and when he spots you standing by the hitching post, his smile is weary, worn thin by the long miles he’s traveled.
“Hey there,” he calls out.
“Hey,” you reply. “What kept you?”
“I’ll show you in a bit. C’mere.” He sets himself on the ground, and pulls you into what’s clearly meant to be a quick embrace before he unsaddles Athena. But when he lets go, you don’t. Bemused, he rests his gloved hand on top of your head, runs his fingers through your hair. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” you say, hiding your face against his chest. “I’m just glad you’re back, and not— shot full of holes, or skewered, or something.”
“Course not. Just scopin’ the place out for now. Gettin’ shot full of holes and skewered comes later.”
You raise your head to fix him with a severe, unamused look, and his smile quickly fades. “You’ve been cryin’,” he says, frowning. “What’s wrong?” 
What isn’t wrong? The blood flecked at the corner of his mouth and shirt collar, the quietly pursuant eyes of the strangers by the cave, the cold portent of what might come next, all of it building up day by day like a red rime of rust. 
“Nothing’s wrong.” With a note of mechanical cheeriness, you tell him, “Hey, that net Charles set up in the river finally worked out! Caught a bluegill, so I—”
From the staging ground behind you comes Dutch’s voice from on high, shouting his name. A master calling for his errant hound. Arthur doesn’t even look up. “Tell me what happened.”
You shake your head. Reluctantly, you step away from and gesture towards camp with an unenthusiastic wave of your hand. “He won’t be happy if you keep him waiting. Especially on my account.��
“Dutch,” Arthur says, and he sounds more tired than angry, as if even resentment has been ground out of him by the sheer weight of his fatigue. “I won’t be long,” he says. “Meet you at the tent.”
— — —
His cot is uncomfortable without him in it. Especially these days, as the first tinge of autumn begins to assert itself. The evening chill that much sharper, the afternoon that much darker. Pulling one of his jackets over your shoulders, you sit yourself on the cot’s rickety edge and lean towards the crate set at his bedside, gently lifting the chipped saucer you’d covered the plate of roasted bluegill with to keep it warm.
It’s long since gone cold.
With the tent flaps drawn down, everything here dims to an ambient blue, tinted by what light manages to filter through the navy canvas. Rather gloomy, really. Near impossible to read anything without squinting hard at the print.
But with the tent flaps up, they’ll accuse you of eavesdropping. Which is an activity that you’d partake in enthusiastically, you admit, were it not for your precarious position in camp. A position predicated solely on Arthur’s wellbeing and Dutch’s (extremely conditional) goodwill.
They’re having some sort of protracted argument up there on the ridge. An argument which has lasted— you check your pocket watch, peering irritably into its cracked glass face— about sixteen minutes now. It takes some effort to make out who exactly the participants are. Dutch, of course: his booming baritone is difficult to mistake. And Arthur, and John, and… Bill? Micah, too. And a voice you don’t quite recognize. 
Bill shouts something that carries the tone of accusation, and Arthur snarls something in reply. And… now it seems like they’re all yelling. Then Dutch again, cutting in to mediate. 
Things quiet down after that, diminishing back to just a muted murmur of dissent. You hear Arthur’s heavy, plodding footsteps a short while afterward, crunching against hard-packed dirt and the scattering of dead leaves that have begun to fall. He pulls up the tent’s left flap and pins it back and you throw a hand up to shade your eyes against the blinding mid-afternoon sun.
Against that brightness he is momentarily cast in silhouette. In that shadow, he is imposing still, his broad shoulders and looming height undiminished. But when you’ve blinked the dazzle out of your eyes, it’s just Arthur again, looking well and truly expended. 
He doesn’t even bother taking off his coat or setting his satchel down before he sits down beside you. The cot’s metal frame lets out a pitiful squeak.
“What was that all about?” you ask.
“I ain’t sure myself.” Idly, Arthur presses a palm between your shoulder blades. Tentative, then firm, as if feeling for a solid surface in the dark. With things gone to vapor, something to hold onto, to follow through to the end. “Lot of bluster. Lot of talk about ‘loyalty’. And faith.”
“I thought I heard you snap at Bill.”
“Yeah. He called you a Delilah.”
That’s a new one. “A Delilah,” you repeat, smiling a little. “That’s surprisingly literate, for Bill. I’m almost impressed.”
Arthur’s voice is quiet and worried. “He sure as hell didn’t come up with it himself.”
“Then who do you think…”
He doesn’t answer this. Just briefly curls the hand at your back into a fist, bundling the cloth there between his fingers. Holding on tight before he lets go in that way that says, later. “Anyway,” he says. “I got you something.”
“Arthur, you don’t have to—”
Rummaging through his satchel, the straps and leather of the thing just as battered and scarred as himself, he pulls out something small and round, and tosses it into your lap.
An apple.
“Found a little cluster of fruit trees not too far from here,” he says. “Someone’s attempt at an orchard, looks like. They’re only just comin’ in to season, and most of ‘em are still green, but I found a few ripe ones. Could take you there later today, if you want.”
“You were late because you went apple picking?”
“You’re always whinin’ about how much you miss sweets, and I figured this was the next best thing.”
Ah. He’s caught you. As he does again and again. Without even meaning to, he’s trapped your heart in his hands like a child catching a grasshopper: guilelessly, heedless of the desperate, dire flutter between his fingers. No escape, but you’ve never been more willing to die like this, so long as he keeps smiling at you the way he does now. Soft and focused, as though everything else has fallen away.
You bite your lip against the inopportune swell of emotion and argue, “Twice is not ‘all the time’.”
“Oh yeah?” His smile turns to a smirk. “Abigail said you keep openin’ that biscuit tin she keeps her sewing supplies in and lookin’ all disappointed. Like you think those needles are gonna magically turn to biscuits the forty-seventh time around.”
“It’s not a biscuit tin. It’s a macaroon tin,” you say, your voice petulant with longing. “I love macaroons.”
“Yeah, well. Eat your apple and pretend then.”
You run your thumb over the plump curve of the apple. Speckled gold and striated with crimson, it’s smaller than what you’d find at the grocer’s, but with a richness of color that makes it look like something plucked from a fairytale forest. You almost can’t stand to eat it. 
Almost. When you bite through to the apple’s white flesh, the clarity of its sweetness catches you off guard. Like a last, golden taste of departed summer.
“It’s good, right?”
“Thank you,” you say through a mouthful of fruit. “I really… I— um… ”
It’s not something you’ve ever gotten good at, showing appreciation. With kindnesses like this, it’s all you can do to stumble through the words and lay your hand on his knee, hoping to convey with touch what you cannot do with words.
He lays his own hand over top, keeping you there. Arthur traces over the ridge of your knuckles as you gnaw the fruit down to its knobbly core, then asks gently, “So, you gonna tell me what happened?”
No use in putting it off any longer. He’s more persistent than a dog at a bone, with some things. You happen to be one of them. Staring down into your lap, at the apple’s yellowing hull held loosely in your hand, you say, “Micah told me I should fuck him if you… you know.”
“If I die,” Arthur says flatly.
You give a single, reluctant nod.
“I’m gonna kill him.” He says this calmly, as though it were a task as mundane as any other. Chop wood, draw water, murder Micah. Arthur starts getting up, and you have to grab at his coat to drag him back down.
“I told him I’d sooner die than fuck him,” you tell him. “And I mean it.”
At this, Arthur sours. He fixes you with a long, hopeless look, too exhausted to be angry but with just enough energy left for irritation, then sighs and passes his hand over his face. “You think I like hearin’ you say shit like that? Scares the hell outta me, the way you keep talkin’ like you’re gonna follow me to the grave.”
“But I—”
“But nothin’. Listen” he interrupts, and he drops his voice down to little more than a whisper. “I’ve been talkin’ to Sadie and Abigail. When I’m gone, you go to them and they’ll—”
“Stop it,” you say in a small, shrill voice. “You’re not gonna die. I won’t let you.”
And then you start crying so hard that your shoulders shake. Big, heaving sobs that you’re sure half the damnable camp can hear, but you’re past caring. Let them hear what they’ve done. How they’ve ruined you, ruined him until he’s become but the torn up shadow of his former self. An apple core chewed to its very stem.
Arthur pulls you against his chest. He tucks your face against the junction of his neck and shoulder, and you can feel the heave and fall as he draws in a deep breath, then lets it out shuddery and slow. “No,” he murmurs, gripping you tight as you soak the collar of his shirt with tears. “Of course I won’t.”
When your sobs abate to hiccups, he shifts to press a kiss to your forehead. Then another to your cheek, and another to your mouth. And though it begins chastely enough, it deepens almost immediately into something urgent and hungry. Clutching at each other as though drowning, your hands frantically working him out of his coat and the nip of his teeth at your neck— until abruptly, he shoves you back and turns away, shoulders hunched as he shoves his hand over his mouth and coughs.
Relatively speaking, it’s not so bad this time. Just a few frightening seconds of hacks and wheezes. The terrible whistle of air through his ruined lungs, and then the short, choppy inhales afterward as he tries to catch his breath. At this point, there’s nothing unfamiliar in it, but the sharpness of that newly ruptured horror— the jagged ridge of horror at that first glimpse of blood at his lips— splinters through with each iteration. The wounds of the past do not mitigate those yet to come, and so it is with this. 
You scramble off his cot and start towards his trunk, but he grabs the sleeve of your dress and shakes his head. He’s not yet recovered enough air to talk. Panting hard, he holds out the hand he’d covered his mouth with and flips it palm up to show you the absence of blood.
“I still think you should take some,” you reply, frowning. 
“…s’alright,” he gasps, not looking it at all— face flushed from exertion and eyes bloodshot, spacing every cluster of words with a strained and shallow breath. “Besides, we’re gonna… go through that bottle of tonic in no time if you…  keep givin’ me a spoonful every time I cough.”
“Water, then.” But when you pick up the pitcher by his bed, you find it empty. “Goddammit, I keep on forgetting to— alright, give me a second,” you say, skirt flaring out like a dervish as you turn and sprint out of his tent.
 The barrel of rainwater is a ways up the ridge, wedged behind the chuckwagon. On your way there, you run past Charles, who calls out to you as he carries a clutch of dead pheasants that hang from his hands like bloodied feather dusters. You return his greeting with a hurried “hold-on-i’m-getting-water”, then promptly slam into someone very large and solid and fall on your ass, dropping the pitcher in the process.
“I’m so sorry,” you start to say, but the last word dies in your mouth, because halfway through saying it, you decide no, you’re not very sorry at all, actually.
The black-coated stranger, the one who’d put his hand on his gun when you’d pointed a knife at Micah, looks down at you with an inscrutable expression on his face. The pitcher has rolled to a stop right beside him, and when you reach for it, he steps on its handle with his boot. 
He, Micah, and that other skinny bastard. You’d like to gut them. You’d like to see them choking on the gallows, legs dangling and dancing feebly in midair. You’d like to fasten the noose yourself, see in their eyes the same fear you feel now. Instead, you smile very sweetly and say in as polite a voice you can muster, “I sincerely hope to see you get hit by a train someday.”
The man spits on the ground and the smile he returns resembles the rictus grin of rigor mortis. “Micah did say you had a mouth on you. See if we can’t put it to some other use.”
“I bite,” you reply tersely.
“Not without teeth—”
“That’s enough.” Charles interrupts, striding over. His voice is calm and forceful, in that quiet way those assured of their own strength eschew volume. He stands over you, and you find yourself face-to-face with one of the dead birds he’s carrying, its round amber eyes glassy and still. A compatriot, you think. Both your fates wholly dependent on the volitions of men with guns. 
The stranger’s mouth tightens to a half-sneer, but he raises his boot. You snatch the pitcher away as though he might change his mind, clutching it to your chest like it’s precious. 
For perhaps a second— a second that seems to stretch to minutes— he stares Charles in the eye. And though you can see neither of their faces very well from your place on the ground, you can well imagine the line of tension drawn between them, taut and electric as wire. Then he shrugs and steps to the side. He continues down the ridge, deliberately clipping Charles by the shoulder as he stalks towards the hitching post.
You wave away Charles’ outstretched hand and get to your feet by yourself, patting dirt from your dress in faint puffs of dust. “Thank you,” you say. The second time today that you’ve had to subject yourself to the uncomfortable ordeal of gratitude.
“Don’t know what Dutch was thinking, letting Micah bring in men like that,” Charles says in a low voice. “The way he looks at you and the other women…”
“Yeah, I… think I’ll stick closer to the girls from now on.”
“You do that.” He watches as the stranger’s back diminishes with distance, the black coat melting in with the shade of the pines. “And I’ll keep an eye on him.”
As he walks with you towards the chuckwagon, you wipe the pitcher clean with your skirt and briefly mention the day’s catch, the bluegill bright and iridescent in its panic as it had flapped against the netting. The foolishness of fillets. The abundance of wild game in spite of the dearth of everything else, and poultry dishes. But for all your blathering, you’re unable to steer the conversation away from the inevitable. All roads lead to Rome, and all talk leads to Arthur. 
“I don’t know,” you reply dully when Charles asks after him. You balance the lid of the rain barrel against its wooden rim, and the reflection that stares back from the crescent of revealed water is dark-eyed and wan with uncertainty. You dip the ladle through the image like shattering a mirror and splash the water into the pitcher. “John said he was doing better. But I think he’s losing weight again, and he’s so pale, and…” Humorlessly, you huff out a bleak laugh. “He did promise not to die, so we’ve got that going for us, at least.”
Charles is quiet awhile. The rain water sloshes a little less noisily against the pitcher with each addition until it is nearly silent. Finally, he says, “I’ll see if I can’t convince Dutch to let me take on some of the scouting jobs in his place. Have him focus on hunting instead. It’d be easier on him. And he’d come back to you every night.”
The third thank you of the day, and by far the most meaningful. There is no simple phrase that springs to mind that doesn’t feel grossly inadequate. 
“Charles,” you say, and the measure of trust you have in him makes him one of the perishingly few men you’d ever offer this to. “If there’s anything I can do for you, anything at all…”
“Just be well,” he says. “Both of you.”
It’s funny, actually. You’d made this same proposition to Arthur early into your acquaintance, and his answer had been much the same. A simply stated, don’t die.
When you get back to the tent, Arthur’s lifting the saucer and peering at the roasted fish with some curiosity. “You cut me a fillet?” he asks.
“Yeah.” You fill the tin cup from his mess kit until there is scarcely a millimeter between rim and ripple and set it carefully on the bedside crate.
“Well, thanks. Appreciate it. Guess I should be sick more often if it makes you this sweet.”
The possibility of future illness is dementedly reassuring. He’s clearly trying to needle you a little, drive you to irritation to distract from despair, and you have to bite your lip to fight down wretched sentimentality.
“I still think it’s a stupid way to eat fish,” you say.
“Right,” he replies, groping in his satchel for a fork. “Because it’s so much smarter to risk my life every time I want a cut of trout.”
“Only because you think it’s appropriate to try and inhale half the fish with a single bite. You’re supposed to take small bites. You ever heard of savoring a meal?”
“You ever heard of efficiency?” he asks, and you playfully kick at his boot in response.
He says something impolite about your general taste in food. Impractical, he snickers, before gracing you with the worst mispronunciation of “hors d’oeuvres” you’ve ever heard. And you fall easily into the old pattern of banter, an ersatz normality at best. Like a single strip of gauze over an axe wound, fragile and frayed, but it’s something. It’s something.
He drains the cup only after a considerable amount of coaxing, and you suspect that it’s rather on purpose. Caretaking has never been your strong suit. It must be bizarre, and not without a considerable amount of confused satisfaction on his part, to watch you fuss over him like this, trying hard to turn the reticent, abrasive impulse to something gentle. Like a porcupine pulling out its own quills, shedding that which has cloistered its taciturn heart for so long.
When the plate is empty, he sets it aside and wipes his mouth with his sleeve, then makes as if to set out again. You pull at his coat with both hands and state rather than ask, “What the hell are you doing.”
“Told you I’d take you out to that orchard.”
“Not when you’re half-dead on your feet, you’re not.”
He scoffs. “Can’t tell you how many times I been sent out on jobs in even worse shape than this.”
You say, “I know.”
“If you know, then—”
“It’s because I know!” you snap at him, a little spark of anger flaring like a sputter of hot oil. But not at him. “I’m not Dutch. I’m not about to ask you to drag yourself back on the road when you’re sick and exhausted and… and like this.” You sweep your arm horizontal as if presenting him for show. “And all for my sake.”
He stares at you like you’ve just recited something blasphemous to him. And him sitting there like a penitent silent to this new heresy. Not a word of denial.
“You keep doing things for me,” you say, voice breaking. Both your hands are balled up in your skirt, wadding up the worn linen with your knuckles white. “Even when you’re…” 
Dying is the word that you won’t say. 
… even when it’s supposed to be the other way around,” you amend. You kick his boot again. “You stupid man.”
The added insult has him quirking up the corner of his mouth. “Guess we’re well matched, then.”
“Two idiots.”
“Two idiots,” he agrees, kicking off his boots. Arthur shrugs off his coat and tosses it expertly against the back of his chair, where it hangs in a perfect parabola, then heaves the rest of himself onto the narrow cot, squirming to the left until there’s just enough room for you to lie sideways.
When you pull down the tent flap and crawl in beside him, he stretches his arm out to accommodate you, letting you rest your head against his shoulder as he unties the ribbon binding your braid with one hand. He loosely combs through the plait until your hair curtains your back, the ends still waved.
“I talked to Charles about fish bones today,” you say, cheek pressed against his shirt.
“What’d he say?” His voice is vague and drowsy. A good sign. It’s the nights he can’t sleep that worry you the most.
“He said fish bones are thin enough that you can just eat them if you chew long enough.”
“And what do you think?” 
“I think it’s awful.”
“Thank god,” he says. “For a second there I was a little worried you might agree with him. And that I’d have to beg you to never serve me fish again.”
You flick him on the shoulder and he kisses the top of your head, which seems an appropriate microcosm of your usual interactions. And as he drifts into sleep, you lay there awake for a long while, listening to the cadence of his breathing. The slow in and out of it, and the occasional wheeze interspersed like an afterthought. By the time you’re able to fall asleep, the bright line of sunshine splashed at the gap beneath the tent flaps has deepened to orange, stained red by evening.
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squidproquoclarice · 2 years ago
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Yeehawgust Day 18: Bandolier
October 1898
Eagle’s Bluff, Wyoming
As he came back to the cabin from where he’d gone and brushed down his father’s pretty Appaloosa mare, Boadicea, he heard them talking, and not just usual pleasantries.  Meant something was up.  They never talked too much, his mother and father, unless it was about him.  Sometimes Isaac felt like he could fill ages with the things they never quite said, for all their silences had the comfortable well-worn air of familiarity to them.  “It’s coming up on winter real fast.  We’ll be headed up over the Grizzlies, so…”
“The last we’ll see of you till spring.  I see.”
“Or even later.”  Pa sighed heavily.  “Look, I know you don’t want to hear about no particulars.  But…by the sound of it, we’re planning to stay east of the mountains for a time.”
In other words, I don’t know for sure when I’ll be back.  He’d heard time after time when Pa rode away, making some vague forecast of when he might return again, and Ma always took it with polite acceptance.  Pa left, Ma and Isaac turned back to the rhythms of their lives, and then Pa would come back at some point, and Isaac could never help the leap of excitement he felt at it even now.
The way it seemed between the two of them, comfortable yet formal, a well-settled habit, Isaac was surprised to hear her pushing back this time.  “Arthur…he’s getting older.  Twelve now.  It was one thing for you to miss things real early when he was a baby and he didn’t realize, but you’ve been here regular enough ever since.  He’s come to count on that.  He’ll be a man soon enough.  He needs a father maybe more than he ever has, not you off doing God knows what…”
“What of it, Eliza?”  Pa had a temper on him, which he fully admitted, but Isaac rarely saw any of it turned on either Ma or him.  Just bits and edges of irritation, but there was something like actual anger in Arthur Morgan’s voice now, a raw rough edge to his deep voice.  “We had this little talk already twelve years ago, and you made it damn clear you wouldn’t have me.  The boy’s a McCready, ain’t he?  In all them years, not a single thing’s changed, we’re just the same as we both was then, and now you want to tear a strip off me for it again?”
A McCready, whose father “Arthur McCready” seemed to go on a lot of awful long cattle drives and the like, despite that being a dying way of making a living.  But people in town accepted it, more or less.  He’d never heard people talking about it in a nasty, speculative way.  That helped.  Mostly they clucked their tongues in sympathy that Mr. McCready couldn’t seem to find steadier work rather than being a relic doing the same job he’d done a dozen years ago, and Mrs. McCready kept having to wait tables in the saloon to make ends meet.
“I said I wouldn’t come join your outlaws, yeah.  You’re his father,” she insisted back, her own voice rising.  “You ain’t done that bad by him, but you just want to up and vanish out of his life now?  He loves you.  If you’re just gonna hurt him in the end, I wish to God I’d stuck to my guns and told you to just get lost that day you came back.”     
“Hell, you probably should have.  Better for the both of you.”  Words all low and fierce, and then Pa pushed his way out the door, cursing at the way it always stuck, and stalked off, a tall figure whose long black duster coat blended into the gathering darkness among the trees quickly enough.  Not seeing Isaac standing there near the door, heart suddenly in his throat at the notion of getting caught.  
Feeling curiously like some veil over things had gotten ripped away, and Ma was right, he was getting older, because he could never go back now to childish assumptions.  Odd as the arrangement was between his parents, how his father being an outlaw and unable to settle down had been about the only explanation he’d got, it had always seemed warm and friendly enough between them.  But now all he could see was that there was hurt and even fury in it for both of them, going back years and years.  And he was the cause of it.
Before he could think much about it, he’d followed his father’s path, knowing where he’d probably be.  That same old rock near the river where they liked to fish.  A good place too for some quiet when he was alone.  Apparently Pa thought the same, because as Isaac came up on the rock, he saw him standing there, arms folded over his chest, staring out into the distance like all the answers to the world were written there.
Isaac must have made some sound, because just like that, Pa had whirled around, hand sweeping towards the butt of the gun at his hip.  For just a moment, Isaac saw the man his father must be away from here.  Someone fearsome, deadly, quick with a gun, who he’d seen today even had a bandolier tucked away in his saddlebags for having more ammunition in whatever situation he found himself in.  Isaac couldn’t imagine exactly what in God’s name that kind of battle might be to require that many bullets, but he was pretty sure it was nothing nice.  
Pa saw who it was, and sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.  “Don’t tell me you heard all that.”  Sighed again, nodding.  “Of course you did.  Wouldn’t be out here otherwise.”
“Pa…”  Now he didn’t know what to say.  Suddenly a burst of inspiration struck.  “If you got to go, just take me with you, all right?  I ain’t much of a kid no more, I could ride with you…”
Pa came over, and took him by the shoulders.  “Isaac.”  He said the name gently, and the words that followed, soft but spun with a core of steel to them that Isaac could tell meant he wouldn’t give an inch.  “That ain’t gonna happen.  The last thing I want is you turning out like me.”  He gave a low, bitter laugh.  “One thing your ma and me agree on, I expect.  It ain’t a pretty life.”
“Then why do you even do it?”  The words came out before he could help it, demanding and sharp.  “If it ain’t good for you?”  
It took Pa a moment to answer.  “Things got set for me real young, even younger than you, and just…well.  I ain’t sure I chose it, but it’s the life I got.”
He looked at his father in that fading light, seeing more now with clearer sight of things.  Saw the lines around his green eyes, the weatherbeaten look of him.  Seeing not some fearsome outlaw, or the affectionate father who taught him things, but just a tired, sad man growing old before his time. 
He might not always love his life either, but he at least had Ma, and Pa when he was here, and this cabin.  Thought about the pallet Pa slept on all these years, on the porch if the weather was fine, in the kitchen if not.  He’d grown up with that, so it hadn’t seemed strange to him, but it did now.  Both he and Ma had a bed, after all.  He belonged.  He had a home.  It struck him like a fist to the belly to realize that Pa probably didn’t.  “You ain’t had no other place to go?  Nowhere that’s home?”
“Well, I got some people…”
“Didn’t ask if you got folk, I asked if you got a home.”
 “Not really.”  He paused, adding in a softer voice, almost to himself, “Never really did.”
His breath caught at that, something in him aching for the loneliness of it.  Hearing the admission that Pa knew he’d never belonged here, but that could change, couldn’t it?  All someone had to do was welcome him.  And it couldn’t be Ma, because it seemed like things between them had gotten stuck in a rut years and years ago.  “Then stay here.”  Hating the crack in his voice at the plea, but wanting, needing so much to ask.  Not willing to let him slip away, perhaps forever, and wanting so much to believe that perhaps he was enough to make him stay.  “Then if I can’t go with you, I want you to stay, OK?”
Another of those tired sighs, and his voice took on the tone of explaining something obvious, like Isaac was a stupid little boy.  “Your momma’s put up with enough nonsense from me over the years, coming to see you.  I don’t think she’d like me hanging around for good.”
“You think that, but you ever ask her?  Maybe that’s what she wants.”
“Son.  When a woman in trouble turns you down flat, you’d best take the point she’s making–no, never mind.  That’s all old business between Eliza and me.  No need to bring you into it.”
“Yeah, well, I got born into the middle of it.”  Snapping the words, and maybe there was something angry in him about all of it too, and that felt both terrifying and satisfying all at once.  “So I’m involved, ain’t I?”
Pa stared at Isaac, and some expression he couldn’t quite place passed across his father’s features.  “Goddamn,” he said, almost under his breath.  “You really did go and grow up.”  Pride and melancholy all at once in his words.  
“I heard what she said.  She said she wouldn’t go be no outlaw, but that don’t mean she wouldn’t let you stay.”  The anger was slipping from his grasp, and the edge of fear came back, but mostly Isaac just felt the sense of rightness in saying it.  “You got a choice, Pa.  Just…ask her.  Please.  Come home, for good.”  
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strangeradventuresofp · 4 years ago
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symphony (arthur morgan x reader)
this story involves smut!! please do not read this if you are not over 18 years old
a/n: not entirely back to writing yet, but i did this and i sorta like it so lemme know what you think. also this is my first time ever writing smut that wasn’t for a roleplay so im super nervous about it. but anyway have a story with my favourite boy 
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It felt like your gut had been ripped open, like there were pins where your heart was before it cracked and shattered into thousands of fragments that would never be found. It was like someone had put a bullet in your skull and it was rattling around, hitting against every nerve and causing as much damage as it went along. 
Your blood turned to ice in your veins at the sight of him. Never had you seen him look so weak. So helpless. How in his voice he seemed okay despite the state of his body – at least two open wounds, his shirt stained multiple shades of red that weaved in with brown from what had already dried. Hot tears stung in your eyes when they studied him. Despite the warped vision, it was obvious to anyone that he was in pain. How his face contorted and twisted whilst Miss Grimshaw washed over his wounds to get a better look. The grunts and curses that left his dried lips were unbearable to listen to. 
Once you tore your eyes away from him, you assessed the others in the scene. Dutch stood at the foot of the table, his arms crossed over his chest and his hands balled into fists so tight that his knuckles whitened and cracked. Every now and again he mumbled words of encouragement or instructions to tell Miss Grimshaw what to do, despite her knowing much more about how to patch someone up. 
Miss Grimshaw had taken charge immediately, as soon as he had been brought into camp by the others on the job. She removed his shirt swiftly, washing his wounds with a cloth and water. Her expert hands cauterised his wounds and though she winced at every sound of discomfort, she knew that she was helping, and so she continued.
Tilly was around helping Miss Grimshaw, running to get things that she needed presently or that she would need, or that she might need just in case. She fed him alcohol for the pain and listened close when she was asked to do something to help.
You? You simply stood there, frozen. Miss Grimshaw had asked you for something, but you neither moved nor even heard her request for your brain was travelling at a speed that caused you physical pain. The noises he made left an awful taste in your mouth, knowing that you couldn’t help despite wanting to more than anything in the world. 
It was about then that Hosea took your hands in his and gently pulled you away with a “Come on, sweet girl.” And though you protested, you let him take you, because you couldn’t do anything else. You couldn’t just stand and watch him as he was an inch away from death. It hurt. Hosea took you far enough away that you couldn’t hear the sounds of pain that each felt like a bullet to the chest.
He held you to him, wrapping his arms around your shoulders.
“I’m sorry, Hosea.” Was the first thing that came out of your mouth once you had remembered how to use your voice. The man smiled a fatherly smile.
“Nothing to be sorry for. Nothing at all.” He assured, though you couldn’t seem to meet his eye. Gently, he squeezed your hand as a sign of reassurance. Though, reassurance for what, you couldn’t be entirely sure. “I know you wanted to help. It’s difficult when the people we love get hurt.”
You scoffed. “I… I don’t even know what bein’ in love feels like. But, I guess, maybe…” Trailing off, your mind began to wander just as the thoughts pulled a sigh from your lips. 
“Hosea, I don’t—”
“Do you think I don’t see the way you look at him?” Hosea asked with a raised eyebrow, clearly amused that you had tried to deny his claims. 
“Sweetheart, you look at him like you’re starving and he’s a hot meal.”
“I do?” Your voice sounded so small against the deafening silence. As much as you wanted to deny it, Hosea was right, and he knew it. It was terrifying. “I—I’ve never been in love before.” Startling thoughts began cascading down you. You and Arthur were close, real close. You told each other everything. You could be vulnerable around each other. You were there for each other. Was all of that about to be ruined because you were stupid enough to catch feelings?
“What do I do?” 
Hosea chuckled at that. “Get some rest, sweetheart. Try not worry about him, he’ll be fine. He always is.” While you appreciated his attempt of reassurance, you honestly didn’t feel much better at all. Instead, your brain was flooding with the thought of being in love with Arthur on top of the question of whether he was actually going to survive his injuries. 
You stayed just out of camp for a while longer, until you could hear the noise inside start to die down until it was obvious that everyone was asleep. You crept back in, being sure to not make too much noise, you didn’t want to wake anyone. No, not that, you didn’t want anyone to know that you were visiting him. Grabbing a chair, you pulled it up beside where Arthur’s was body was lay and took a seat. You looked over him, humming lightly, Miss Grimshaw really did a good job of patching him up. Your hands wrapped themselves around one of his, and you simply sat at his side until morning, being sure to move away at least two hours before everyone else woke up.
~~~
A few weeks later 
~~~
Chores. Although you helped out on jobs sometimes, since Arthur and Hosea taught you how to shoot properly, you enjoyed helping out around camp, too. It was the least you could do to help out Miss Grimshaw, considering she saved the man that you loved. Besides, most members of the camp were out either on jobs or shopping, or at saloon, so, you were spending your time washing clothes to help out.
Arthur, luckily, survived his injuries and although he was still recovering, he was back up and out on jobs again. Dutch did make sure not to put him on any dangerous (by his standard) jobs, despite Arthur protesting because he’s fine, it was just a couple of scratches and—Goddamn it, Dutch I don’t need supervision, I’m alright and—
“Careful you don’t rub a hole in that shirt.” A deep chuckle came from beside you. Your head snapped up immediately at the sound.
“Arthur!” You only then noticed how hard you had been squeezing the shirt in your hands and how hard you were scrubbing it against the washboard. Loosening your grip, you smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, I—Wait a minute, what the hell are you doing up and around? Dutch told you that you rest today.” A laugh left Arthur’s lips as he held his hands up in surrender. “You should be resting.” With that, you stood, ushering him back to his tent where he could lay down. He took a seat on his bed, looking up at her with a strange expression. Was he… Nervous?
He reached out for your hand, gently tugging you over to take a seat beside him. Instead of letting go of your hand, he held it, his gaze fixed on it. He delicately traced over the veins that peeked through your skin, too delicate, like if he held you any firmer that you would shatter before him. His eyebrows drew together, and you hummed slightly, searching his eyes.
“Arthur? Y’alright?” You asked softly, your eyes furrowing in concern. 
“I’m alright, darlin’, I just…” He took a deep breath. “Going through all that and, not knowing whether I was gonna die, it, uh, it made me realise a couple things. Shit, uh…” 
“It’s okay. Take your time.” You assured, a smile crossing your face. Arthur looked up at you, a troubled look in his eyes that gave you an awful feeling in your stomach. You breathed out through parted lips, ready to take in the bad news that he was about to tell you. His eyes flickered slightly, quickly looking down your lips before he swallowed thickly, looking back up at your eyes.
“It made me realise that, I’m terrified of losing you. And—And I think that I… Shit. I’m in love with you.” Arthur’s face burnt up entirely as he confessed, flushing red from head to toe. When you didn’t respond, only blinking blankly at him, he pulled his hands away from yours, looking away as he rubbed the nape of his neck anxiously. Your hand reached out to cup his cheek, tilting his face back to you where you planted a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. You could feel how his breath was pulled from his lungs as you did so and his eyes lit up, though his face still looked worried.
“I love you, Arthur Morgan. More than anything in the world.” And with that, his lips captured yours in such a way that had your own breath hitching at the sensation. Your lips danced against each other’s rhythmically, and your chests moved up and down in sync. 
You had always loved Arthur. From the moment that he had saved your life in the woods when you first met. This big, scary outlaw meant everything to you. This gang was the closest thing you had to family. No, it was your family. Things had always been different with Arthur, though. Things you had never given a second thought about until now. Longing glances from across camp, touches that were a little too long to simply be considered friendly. Putting his arm around you at the campfire so that you wouldn’t be cold, bringing each other stew so that the other wouldn’t starve. The way he spoke to you; how his voice changed to be much softer when he addressed you. The urgency in his voice when he thought that you were in danger. The way that he always worried about you, just how you worried about him. The way that he looked at you, just how you looked at him.
It all made sense now.
The kiss was incapsulating. In this moment where nothing else mattered, merely you and him. You each opened your mouths, delving your tongues in to dance with the other as your tastes swirled together. He tasted like honey and cigarette smoke, you tasted like wild berries and rum. His hand hovered over the curve of your waist for a few seconds, before he hesitantly placed it down, pulling you close to his chest. Your arms snaked up his chest and wound around his neck. Arthur hooked an arm around your waist, gently lifting and shifting you over to sit in his lap.
You broke the kiss, breathing heavier than usual as you looked at him. A sweet shade of rose covered the cheeks that you gently pecked before stroking with your thumbs whilst you cupped his face. 
“We don’t have to go any farther.” Arthur declared; his voice low despite there being no one around. You breathed for a moment, scared of all the new feelings that erupted throughout your body. Though, the fireworks in your stomach couldn’t be denied. So, you smiled.
“You—Your wounds…” You mentioned, and he chuckled softly.
“Darlin’, I’m fine. But we can stop if you ain’t comfortable.”
“I don’t want to stop.” 
A smile spread over Arthur’s lips at your words and he hummed in response. “Tell me if you wanna stop, okay?” He asked, cupping your cheek, to which you nodded before leaning in to kiss his lips once again. You couldn’t get enough of him. He tasted so good. Whilst your lips worked against his, his practised hands ran over your body and his fingers began to work at the buttons on your shirt, threading them back through the hole before pushing it off of your shoulders. His hands moved up to knead softly at your breasts, rolling your nipples between his calloused fingers which earned a mewl from your throat. 
He pulled away from your lips, jaw falling slack when his eyes fell over your now bare top half. He hummed as his excitement grew, moving your head to the side with his thumb before burying his face in your neck which he peppered with open mouthed kisses and gentle nips that began to purple the flushed skin, branding you to him. With your noises of approval and your fingers unthreading the buttons of his blue shirt egging him on, he began to suck the skin at your clavicle to which a breathy moan was pulled from your throat. 
Shrugging his shirt from his shoulders, you moved your legs on either side of his hips, straddling him. Your fingers gently caressed each of his scars that you felt. He was beautiful. As he continued to leave his mark on you, your hands reached up to tangle in his locks, tugging ever so slightly, but a growl left him, nevertheless.
“Do it again.” Arthur pleaded, his lips brushing against your skin to cause goose bumps. A low groan fell out of his kiss swollen lips when you repeated the action. His large hands cupped your ass, pulling you closer against him, his arousal rubbing against you through layers of fabric that separated you from feeling all of him. You needed to feel all of him. You moaned at the contact, fumbling messily with his jeans while you kissed him, but he pulled away. 
He picked you up, laying you down before he shed himself of the remainder of his clothing. While his back was turned, you did the same. When Arthur turned around, he bit his lip at the sight of you, flushed, sprawled out for him on his bed. He licked his lips hungrily, cock twitching before he lay above you, pressing a bruising kiss to your lips which you held while his hand dug lower. His fingers spread you open, teasing by gently brushing against your clit. He smirked at your wetness.
“Arthur—” You whined. “Please.” He took your endorsement, groaning in delight at the sounds you made when he quickened his pace, curling his fingers inside you. The hot coil began to grow in your stomach, and he watched as you writhed beneath him, moaning deliciously at how good he was making you feel. His cock was painfully hard and ached for release, but he wouldn’t stop until he had brought you over the edge at least once before he fucked you. 
“This for me?” Your hips bucked up in a silent plea for more friction and he chuckled slightly into your mouth before pushing a digit inside you. With a sharp inhale beforehand, you moaned in approval, causing him to add a second finger, pumping in and out of you at a slow pace. 
“So good for me, darlin’.” Arthur’s voice was husky when he spoke, his words wrapped in lust and desire, eyes dark with adoration. His free hand reached up to toy with your nipples, pinching gently, teasingly to bring you closer to your release. 
It wasn’t until your hips bucked uncontrollably and a strangled cry left your plump lips that Arthur pulled his fingers out of you, the hot coil snapping in such a wonderful way that left you aching for more. His mouth opened and closed around his fingers, coated with your juices. When the taste hit his mouth, a low groan rumbled in his chest, and the mushroom head of his member leaked with arousal. 
Arthur didn’t touch himself once until he had brought you over the edge one more time with his tongue alone, and when that hot coil broke in your stomach once again, he lapped up the remainder of your juices, making sure to not waste a single drop by licking along the insides of your thighs for any excess. His cock throbbed painfully from the influx of lust, his hand stroking himself up and down a couple of times before he pushed himself into you. The sound you made from him entering you alone nearly made Arthur cum there and then, but he was determined to make you feel good. After pushing in about halfway, he pulled back out completely, groaning at the sight of your slick on his cock. You whined at the lack of contact, reaching to touch him but he swatted your hand away.
“I don’t think so.” He said with a chuckle before pushing into you entirely. You cried out, digging your nails into his shoulders, loving how he stretched you. “Mm—” Arthur’s hips thrusted against yours once as he moaned at how you clenched around him. “Such a good girl for me.” He set a fast pace, each thrust increasing in power and might, and soon enough an animalistic desire consumed him, his hips clashing against yours. Your names left each other’s lips among curses and beautiful sounds of pure pleasure. Series’ of moans spilled out from your reddened lips.
Arthur kissed you, hard. You could feel the swelling of your lips. The bristles of his unkempt stubble tickled your skin. When your tongues met, you groaned at the taste, your taste. Your nails sunk further into his skin and he groaned at the sensation, his spare hand reached down to focus your sensitive bundle of nerves with the pad of his thumb. His cock throbbed against your walls as the familiar feeling began to grow in your stomach once again. He pounded into you with a near primal hunger, your plea for him and your beautiful sounds being the only thing to fill his ears. Arthur made his own share of delicious noises, both of your voices ruined with pleasure though it sounded like the most stunning symphony.
You felt your third climax nearing, the white-hot coil repeating but so much stronger than before. With your legs wrapped around his waist and his hands on you, he made you feel wanted. He made you feel loved. It was nearing closer, and closer and you covered your face to which Arthur removed your hands from your face, pinning them above your head with one hand while the other returned to its spot at your clit.
“Nuh-uh, darlin’. Hafta see you.”
Soon enough, your release washed over you like a wave of pleasure. A ravishing sound forced itself from you, your legs trembled, your body shaking violently from the pleasure. Arthur felt your climax all over him, his body entirely racked with pleasure. As you clenched around him, he pushed in once more and pulled out, releasing with a husky shout that you would dream of for weeks on end. His juices lay atop the bedsheets and he sighed happily, pulling you in for a soft, loving kiss.
Arthur reached over into his pile of clothes to find a dark piece of cloth, his bandana. He soaked in some water from a bucket outside his tent and gently dragged it over you skin, revelling in how incessantly beautiful you were. At first, when he reached your folds, you whined from the overstimulation, but soon relaxed at the feeling.
Once you were cleaned up, he lay beside you, cradling you in his strong arms. You pecked his lips before resting your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Your eyes fluttered closed and Arthur hummed contently. “I love you, darlin’.”
lmk if you want to be added to any of my taglists!!<3
“I love you too, Arthur.”
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its-deputy-caleb · 3 years ago
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would u possibly do some NSFW morbell? where they're up in colter ( i loved ur original morbell post on them ) pls do more as i love ur blog 💛
this is an absolute mess oml i literally have no idea how to write anything smutty but here we go i guess. I love this pair but i kinda went off topic and centred this on a praise kink for micah. ANYWAY this is probably terrible since i'm melting, its literally 40 degrees and the aircon is broken so its unedited af and i wont look at it again until i have a cold drink. but pls enjoy some morbell <333
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‘Cold up in Colter’
Fuck, what a mess Blackwater had been. The Pinkertons were on them faster than ever and they found themselves fleeing from a blood bath.
That was almost three days ago and Micah hadn’t had an ounce of sleep. He’d been sent out with John to scout ahead, having found a homestead which ended up burning at the hand of O’Driscoll’s. Okay maybe house burning down was his fault but he tends to make stupid decisions when he’s had little to know sleep. And it was so fucking cold.
That didn’t stop heat rising to his face when he felt Arthur’s hands on his shoulder, pushing him back with a roughness he could only wish for in another way. Damn Arthur Morgan and his ability to have Micah curling in on himself and blushing like a virgin at the mere thought of a hand on his shoulder.
He should hate Arthur, really the two are nothing more than rivals, competing for the spot of Dutch Van Der Linde’s right hand. At the beginning, almost six months ago now, Micah couldn’t stand the sight of the man but somehow that anger tapered off into something more akin to admiration and that admiration slowly turned to desire.
He’ll never admit to how badly he wants Arthur but he won’t deny however that he’s pushed the man’s buttons more than once just to have an interaction with him. All he had to do start a silly argument over camp earnings or a bet at five finger fillet to have the man shaking him by the collar and threatening to break his nose.
It almost always ended with Micah sneaking off into the woods with half a bottle of whiskey and his pants bunched around his ankles as he thought of the way Arthur roughed him up by his shirt collar. Fuck he was pathetic sometimes.
There were other occasions where the two had actually managed to get along and that’s what pissed Micah off more than any threats of violence. Arthur just had to go and bring him a beer as he grabbed one for himself, letting their fingers touch accidentally. Or he went and offered him a seat by the fireplace where they ended up much to close for his comfort. Damn Arthur for always leaving him short of breath with a hole in his heart.
Despite what Micah did to impress Dutch, Arthur was still the camp’s favourite by a mile and he never failed to outcompete him in the eyes of the gang. Micah never minded much, not looking for anyone’s approval, but the thought of proving himself to Arthur, of being worthy of his praise is enough to have his wild side reined in.
Naturally that didn’t stop Micah from losing it from time to time and wasn’t surprised when his jealousy shot up again as Miss Grimshaw announced Arthur got his own cabin while he shared with the rest of the fellers. And he’d be damned if he had to share a room with Williamson who didn’t stop snoring.
That’s why he found himself huddled in the makeshift stables, choosing instead to wrap himself in his coat and down a bottle of whiskey to wait the night out. He cold planks he was sitting on offered little comfort and the draft in the room had his lip shaking. But at least he wouldn’t have anyone in his hair and he’d be left alone, just the way he liked it.
Of course that didn’t last long when the cranky wooden door was barged open, spooking some of the horses in the opposite end of the room. A broad figure entered the room, blocking most of the door way but that didn’t stop to whoosh of cold air flood into the room, draining even more colour from his face.
It wasn’t until the door was closed and the man stepped closer when he realised it was Arthur.
“Micah? What the hell are you doing in here?”
Arthur sounded surprised, with only a hint of concern in his voice.
“Sleepin’— what the hell ya doing here Morgan?”
There wasn’t much of a response from Arthur, only a quiet noise which was barely heard over the whistle of the wind between the planks. He walked over to the horses, checking over them and ensuring none of them were freezing to death. Micah watched in silence, scared to disturb the man as he patted along Taima’s neck.
It wasn’t until after Arthur had checked over all the horses did he turn his attention to Micah.
Micah watched as Arthur’s gloved hand extended out and offered itself to him, he hesitated before taking before taking it and being pulled to his feet. Arthur’s hand draped over his shoulder which he didn’t realise had shaking in an effort to keep warm, having drunk the remaining whiskey from the bottle.
“Common now, yer gonna freeze in here alone.”
Micah dug his heels into the ground, not allowing Arthur to pull him any further to the door as he tried to hold his voice steady. He’d be damned if he ever let Arthur know just how much he affected him.
“I ain’t sharing a bunk with Williams—“
Arthur tutted, pulling Micah out the door as he pushed him towards his cabin in the snow storm.
“Quit yer yapping, you’re sharing with me and I ain’t having any more folk die tonight. Now let’s go.”
Arthur didn’t utter another word until they were well and truely in his room, wrapped in a blanket that was barely big enough for the two of them. The bed wasn’t much bigger, having been made for one person which was evident by Arthur pressing against Micah’s back in efforts for them to fit. The only thing that kept them apart was the fabric of their jackets, otherwise Arthur would probably hear Micah’s heartbeat which was beating much to fast for his liking.
The uncomfortable silence was broken when Micah cursed under his breath which caused his teeth to chatter and Arthur spoke up.
“Yer still cold, c'mere”
Micah’s breath fell short as Arthur’s hands slid under his coat, resting his hands on his tummy to use his body heat as a source of warmth. In doing so Arthur had moved even closer, ensuring Micah’s back was flush against his chest.
Despite that Micah wanted to protest, to go straight to his default of arguing he couldn’t help but feel as he began to warm up and he slowly relaxed under his hands.
A blush rose high on his cheeks as Arthur also relaxed into their embrace, accidentally letting his hands drift lower until he felt the hard press of Micah’s straining erection against his knuckle.
Micah instantly sucked in a breath, panicking and trying to push his way out of Arthur’s hold.
“Shit Arthur I—“
Micah froze as Arthur gently pulled him back to the bed and rubbed slow circles along his stomach.
“S’alright Micah, I’m not mad…”
Arthur held him close, letting him relax before talking again before he whispered right into the shell of his ear.
“…This what you want? Is this why you’re always staring at me from across camp, why yer always picking fights and asking me to robberies?”
A high pitched noise left Micah as he shivered, feeling Arthur’s hot breath against his ear. His blush deepened as he pushed back slightly into him, whimpering at the feel of Arthur’s own erection pressed against his ass.
Fuck it, he thought as heat pooled in his abdomen and he finally allowed himself to have the one thing he’d been craving for months. He nodded frantically, grinding back onto Arthur’s clothed dick and squirming in his grip.
“Relax boy, gonna give you everything you’ve been waiting for— just be good and you’ll get it”
Micah nodded in agreement, a needy, desperate sound leaving him at the promise of praise. He wanted, no needed to be praised by the man so badly that he’d do anything for an ounce of it from the man.
“Oh god Arthur! I need it, need you. Fuck I can be good I promise.”
He knew he was probably being too loud but apart of him didn’t have it in him to care. He moaned softly as Arthur moved him to roll onto his back, towering over him but ensuring they were still kept under the blanket.
Arthur spent the next ten minutes undressing him without exposing much of his skin to the cold. He unbuttoned the lower buttons of his leather jacket, enough for Arthur to work his fly down and pull one pant leg off. He whined pitifully, grabbing at the lapels of Arthur’s coat in a silent plea for him to undress him properly.
Micah mentally scolded himself at just how desperate he was for Arthur to rip his clothes off and fuck him like a bitch in heat but he knew that wasn’t happening any time soon. Arthur however caught on pretty quickly to what he wanted, it seemed the man knew just what made him tick.
“I know sweetheart, once we’re well and truly outta here I’ll get us a room and we can do this properly.”
Micah’s eyes beamed at the thought of Arthur taking him to a hotel in the future, panting as his mind raced with images of Morgan making him fall apart on his cock for hours on end.
While Micah was busy in his mind, Arthur took the opportunity to retrieve the gun oil from his satchel. It certainly wasn’t the best option but it was their only choice with their limited supplies.
Arthur draped himself back over Micah’s body, kissing at his jaw and nibbling as he coated his fingers. The air was cold, only making the oil feel colder as he slowly dipped his index finger past Micah’s rim.
A devilish grin came to Arthur’s face as he heard Micah sigh and take his finger easily, deciding to work his way up to two sooner than he was expecting.
“You’ve wanted this for a long time haven’t you? I saw you once, bout a week ago. Head down, ass up with three of yer fingers inside you while you cried out for me to fuck you. It all clicked in my head then when you started acting different around me at camp.”
Micah flushed a deep red, coughing on air as he realised Arthur knew about his little crush. He tried to think of an excuse, to weasel his way out of it but his thoughts died in his head when Arthur twisted his fingers, scissoring and stretching him open before adding a third.
Arthur dragged a lip along Micah’s cheek to his lip, ghosting his lips over his before kissing him properly. This time Micah didn’t even try to fight for dominance, opening his mouth instantly for Arthur’s tongue to enter. Instead he sighed into it, pulling his legs to wrap around his waist as his hands wrapped around his lover’s shoulder.
It went on like that until Arthur was satisfied that Micah was well prepped enough, simultaneously rubbing against Micah’s prostate while he kissed him deeply. He only pulled away to pull his own leaking member out, bunching his pants around his thighs so he had enough room to move but could stay warm. He coated the rest of the oil onto his member, jerking slowly as he stared down at the sight of Micah below him.
Micah looked like an absolute mess against the pillows already, his face was flush and the scarf around his head had unwrapped slightly, revealing his disheveled blond hair. His chest was heaving as he panted and his thighs shook from pleasure as the weakly wrapped around his waist.
“You look so pretty like this sweetheart”
To say that Micah hated the pet name was a lie, one that he didn’t try deny as he moaned softly. His back arched and he gripped Arthur’s coat tightly as he felt his cock slide between his cheeks and over his hole. He’s wanted this for so long now and yet somehow it still didn’t quite feel real as his mind was clouded with arousal.
Micah’s toes curled and he moaned when he felt Arthur push into him, slowly inching forward until he felt him bottom out.
“Ah— ah! Oh Arthur fuck! Please fuck me, I’ll be good I swear.”
Micah practically sobbed with pleasure as Arthur set up a fast pace, pulling almost all the way out till just the tip was left inside his tight hole before pushing back in quickly, brushing his prostate in the process. His cock twitched from where it rested against his tummy, pinned between Arthur’s jacket which caused a string of moans to fall from his mouth.
“Look at you, so good for me— fucking perfect Micah. Such a good boy”
Arthur’s hands came to hold onto Micah’s hips for leverage, pulling on his slight muffin top under the jacket to help pull him back to meet his thrusts. Beneath him he heard Micah whine and whimper at the praise so desperately needed to hear.
Micah bought a finger up to his mouth, biting on his knuckle to silence any more noises he deemed to be pathetic from slipping out of him. He hated how close he already was just from being praised by Arthur.
It seemed Arthur wasn’t having any of it when he pulled his finger away from his mouth before kissing him like he had done not that long ago. He swallowed every one of Micah’s noises, mindful of Dutch sleeping next door and slowing his thrusts to something deeper and slower.
His hands roamed all over Micah’s clothed body, breaking away for air and whispering praises down his ear.
“That’s it, make those pretty noises for me sweetheart.”
Micah eye’s rolled into his head as he cried out.
“You’re mine, all for me— my good boy.”
More moans slipped from his lips.
“Atta boy— taking me so well, so good.”
His back arched and he withered in his embrace
“So eager to please aren’t you? I’ll take care of you now boy.”
“—Arthur! I’m close— Ah, I’m gonna—“
“Go on sweetheart cum for me…that’s it good boy.”
Micah’s whole body when rigid as he finally came. His mouth hung open, tongue lolling out as his orgasm dragged out with each thrust Arthur delivered, eager to chase his own.
He collapsed into the pillow, thighs shaking as he whined at the oversensitivity. It didn’t last long before Arthur’s thrusts changed pace to something more erratic, picking up the pace as he spilled his load inside him.
Arthur groaned into his neck, pulling him close and collapsing into him as he regained his breath.
He pulled out slowly with a wet and obscene pop, sitting up and helping Micah put his clothes back on. Micah only weakly managed to fiddle with the button on his jacket while Arthur gently manhandled his jelly-like limbs to fit back into his pant leg. He used the blanket to wipe the cum off his tummy, a weak attempt at cleaning up and something they would both no doubt regret come tomorrow morning but for now they were keen to sleep after such a horrific and chaotic few days.
Arthur pulled Micah into their original position for the night, the only difference being that his face was now tucked into his chest. Arthur rested his chin of Micah’s head, littering his hair with kisses as he played with his hair between his rough fingers.
Micah was the first to fall asleep, curled up with his forehead against Arthur’s collarbone. Arthur wasn’t far behind him either, finally letting himself get some much needed rest but not before he pressed a soft kiss to his hairline.
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fanfiction-inc · 2 years ago
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Heya!! Could I get an arthur morgan x fem reader who came from a very hot area and is not used to the cold climate? thanks!
Hello there! I hope you enjoy and this falls in line with what you may of had in mind!
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Snow, chill, it was a far cry from your typical sunny, hot days back in Rhodes.
Laying out in the sun, heat raining down over your skin and peaking through the straw hat that was adorned with a cloud wasn't in sight.
Now here you are, curled up by the fire and wishing it was a blazing inferno, something to engulf you and bring you back to the heat of Rhodes, even if just a smidge.
Your nose was running off your face, teeth chattering any time the door opened.
And lets not forget the breeze when snow is blown around.
You rub your hands together, hoping friction would take effect and warm your tingling digits.
The door opens and you about have half a mind to berate whoever dared allowed the chill back in, only to soften when you see the broad man who brought you along to this chilled hell enter and kick the door shut behind him.
"Still gettin' used to the cold, darlin'?" He drawls, his hat coming off and shaken to remove the snow from it, his boots next. 
"Can't seem ta get there." You admit, hearing him give a soft chuckle and turning when he steps closer to you.
He takes the rusted, metal poker sitting beside the fireplace and stokes the fire, humming when just the slightest shift of temperature began to make the room feel warmer.
You blow warm air into your cupped hands, willing your digits to warm sooner.
"Gimme yer hands." You hold out your hands, the man taking them in between his bigger ones and holding them there.
He was so warm.
Always so warm.
A smile blossomed to his lips, hidden beneath the scruffy beard he had begun to grow to combat the chill, watching you melt at the warmth taking over your digits.
His lips joined your joined hands, planting a soft peck.
Heat met your cheeks at such a sweet action.
He may be this big, tall, and gruff cowboy who just so happens to rob things, but he was a softie under all that.
He was your softie, and no matter how many years you've known him and been on jobs with him, he still made you feel all warm and tingly with his sweetness.
"Better?" He questioned gently, hot breath fanning over your hands as he releases them, giving a final peck before letting you retreat.
"Much better. Thank ya, Arthur." A smile lingers on your lips as you move closer to place a gentle peck on his cheek.
The man brings you closer to him, a moan damn near ripping from your lips at the contact with his warm body.
So warm.
So hot.
Fuck, he would burn you alive if you stayed too close. '
But you missed the heat, and he always reminded you of it when he's close.
He holds you close against him, lips pressed against your temple and and humming sweetly at the way you fit perfectly against him.
Warmth, you're finally getting warm.
"I can't promise ya we'll be out of here any time soon, sweetheart, but I can promise ya that I'll do m'best to keep y'warm." His fingers gently brush hair from your eyes, tracing your cheek until he can cup in with a warm palm.
"Y'er too good t'me, Arthur Morgan."
"Nah, 'm just doin' what y'deserve."
RDR2 TAG LIST:
@lise-soontobemarried  | @imtootiredforreddit | @morgans-cowbaby | @btsloversaregreat | @sokkasdarling | @the-internet-ruined-me
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outlawsworld · 4 years ago
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Trusting strangers - Chapter One
Arthur Morgan x Female reader
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Summary: Reader is new to camp. Can she trust these outlaws and can they trust her?
Author notes: this is my first time ever writing anything so please no hate. Any helpful criticism is appreciated. Hopefully to be more chapters if people like it.
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You woke up to the morning birds singing in the trees and the sun rising over the mountains. The smell of smoke from the burnt out fire was overpowering. The cold air surrounded you as you crept out of your blanket and quietly approached the fire in the middle of camp doing your best to restart it. 
The rest of the camp were still sleeping as you sat on a log in front of the new embers to try and warm up. You had only been in the camp a couple of days as a prisoner more than a gang member. One of the men... a big strong man with a full beard and rocks for brains brought you in after he found you in the woods alone. Bill you recall him being called. The group assumed you must have been a spy of some kind and you were too weak to correct them. 
Before last night, they had tied you to a wagon to make sure you couldn't run away. They fed you and swapped your clothes from the dirt ridden ripped ones they found you in. You were scared...helpless. Although no one was particularly cruel to you, no one was too kind either. They didn't trust you. Mostly because you stayed very quiet as to not draw too much attention to yourself but also because they had no idea where you had come from. 
''She must be a pinkerton!'' A man said. He had black hair and dressed very smartly.
''Well..She won't tell us nothin'. She must av' been half dead when I found her wondering in the wood'' Bill had replied in a rough tone.
''Give her something to eat and she will soon be able to talk'' an older man interjected. ''Can't you see she is near starving, I doubt she is a spy. Just look at her''
''Just to be sure, tie her to the wagon over there. Don't want her taking off and giving away our whereabouts. Give her some food and then we will find out where the hell she's come from'' The man with black hair bellowed. You could see the whole camp staring in your direction as Bill lazily threw you over his shoulder and headed towards the wagon to tie you up.
 You studied each and every gang member to try and work out the hierarchy and who were the kinder of the bunch. 
Mary-Beth and Tilly would often come and sit near you and ask you questions but you could never fathom the words to reply. Each time they tried one of the men or a woman called 'Mrs Grimshaw' would shew them away. The men never spoke to you....they would walk by and ignore your existence. However, one man who you haven't caught the name of yet would look over to you every so often with soft eyes. A look someone would give an injured puppy. But these looks only lasted seconds before his stern face would come and jump him back to reality. 
You would sometimes watch him around the camp as he did his chores and talked to the others. He seemed to be respected in the camp and many of these people relied on him. You guessed that's why he would sometimes disappear for hours on end. He was tall and broad, you could tell he worked hard as he had huge muscled features and bags under his eyes showing he hadn't had a good night sleep in weeks. The rim of his hat always seemed to cover his eyes but the few moments you caught them they were a bright blue and green.  You hoped that whenever he would look at you that he would come over and let you free but he never did. In fact he never went near your wagon, almost like he was avoiding you completely. He was quite a handsom man, although very tired and rough. Whenever he spoke to another member of the group it was either comforting them or antagonising them. You couldn't work him out.
The cold night started to draw in and you could hear voices around the campfire. You tried to listen in to the talking but everyone was just out of earshot. After being tied to the wagon for two days the strength was starting to come back to your body. You were able to hold yourself up and sit properly rather than slumped over. The pain in your legs and back stung whenever you moved after being in such an uncomfortable position for so long. 
''I think she must be ready to talk, don't you?'' You were able to recognise the black haired man's voice as Dutch from conversations around the camp. You heard rustling and next thing you know four men are approaching you. Their figures could only just be seen against the ever darkening sky until they came into view.   
''Now'' Dutch closed in on you ''Why don't you tell me where you have come from? We have fed you and shown you kind hospitality, the least you could do in return is talk'' He looked at you intensely waiting for an answer. You were just about to speak when you were interrupted.
 ''You some sort of spy? O'Driscoll maybe? Can you even speak or you a mute?'' Bill spat at you.
''I ain't no mute'' You spat back, although your voice was slightly hoarse. 
''Ohh she speaks'' He laughed back at you. He raised his hand to you. ''Well maybe you should learn some manners'' His hand started to come down, you closed your eyes and braced for the impact but before it can make a connection to your cheek it was intercepted. The man you had been watching with the soft eyes had grabbed his wrist and shoved it away from you.
''The hell do you think you are doin'?'' His voice was angry and baritone. 
''I was gonna teach her not to speak back to the man who saved her life'' Bill confronted the man. However, the man didn't back down, his frame became bigger and his brows furrowed. He clenched his fists and Bill backed off throwing his hands in the air in surrender.
''You ain't no man if you think you can hit a lady like that'' he threw back before turning to Dutch. ''Please continue'' He gestured in a sarcastic tone.
You couldn't help but feel thankful for this man. However you couldn't help think if Bill, the mountain of a man who is as mean as they come, backed down then was this man worse? Meaner and tougher? You wouldn't like to find out.
''Why thank you Arthur'' 
Arthur. That was his name. Finally you could put a name to the face. His face softens as both Dutch and him turn to you. 
''Miss?'' Dutch asked you to carry on.
''I ain't a spy'' You choke up the words ''I don't even know what a O'Driscoll is! I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time'' you let out a big sigh and hung your head low as if admitting defeat. 
''Why were you out here?'' The fourth man smiles lightly and crouches into your view. His eyes were soft as if to try and assure you that you were safe. You remembered him being called Charles. A big, strong man that you had always seen being kind to not only the people but the animals too.
''I was dragged from my home and left out here'' It wasn't far from the truth but you were not ready to tell them everything just yet. If they didn't trust you then why would you trust them. After all you have been tied to a wagon for two days. They all stood around you whilst looking at each other. Contemplating what to do with you. 
''Dutch'' Arthur looks questioningly at the man. ''May I have a word?'' Both the men walk to a quiet spot to talk in private. You watch them as they leave trying to read into what they were saying about you. 
''What is your name?'' Charles speaks softly. Bill scoffs at Charles speaking to you like it was a crime against nature.
'' (Y/N) '' You whisper softly. Not daring to look him in the eyes. 
''Nice to meet you (Y/N), I'm Charles. I'm sorry you have had to go through this. We are not the most trusting bunch but I assure you it is for good reason'' 
You smile weakly allowing yourself to look at him. 
''Okay! Charles let her go'' Dutch makes his way back to you, Charles and Bill with Arthur following behind.
''We do not do this often but we want to help you Miss''
''(Y/N)'' Charles informs Dutch before he carries on.
''(Y/N), you can stay here for as long as you need as long as you can earn your keep'' He looks you in the eye and you find you can't escape his stare. ''Mrs Grimshaw will give you some chores to do around camp in the morning unless you would rather decline the kind offer''
You shake your head at the four men staring at you. You lowered your head once again to look at your wrists.
''Great!'' Duch continues ''Bill let her go. Charles find her somewhere more comfortable to sleep. I guess I will see you in the morning (Y/N)''. 
Dutch turns on his heels and takes Arthur with him. As they leave Arthur looks over his shoulder to you and nods his head. You can't tell if your freedom was his idea or if this was a test to see if you would run and betray them. Either way you decided not to test the theory. Bill cut the ropes around your wrists and you rub where they had cut into your skin. Charles held his hand out to help you off the wagon and took you across the camp. He gets a bedroll from inside a tent and places it neatly on the floor.
''I know it's not a lot but I will find you something more permanent tomorrow'' He crouches beside you as you steady yourself down onto it. ''Get some rest. Tomorrow is a new day and you will find your place in the group before you know it'' He smiled once more at you before getting up to leave. 
You laid on the bedroll, you were so tired and you knew you needed a proper rest. Things suddenly came rushing to your mind. What chores will I have to do? What if I don't fit in? Can you trust anyone? And is Arthur as bad as you think? Sleep came over you quickly as the bright stars filled the night sky.
"Miss (Y/N)" the voice brought you back to reality as you were sat in front of the fire on the cold morning. "Dutch tells me you are staying with us so I have a couple of things you can do" the older woman steps in front of you as she speaks. Mrs Grimshaw is very assertive to all the gang members but especially the women. As you were watching the last couple of days you saw that she was always making sure everyone was busy and if they weren't she would be on their case faster then a fly on horse shit.
You look up at the woman slowly. "Of course Mrs Grimshaw, what do you need me to do?" You grimise as you try to sound helpful while dreading what she had in store for you.
The next couple of days past quickly and you managed to gain most of your strength back. The chores weren't so bad and it helped you to get to know everyone in camp. You helped the girls with cleaning and washing of clothes. Javier, a Hispanic man with an amazing acent thaught you how to make bait for him to go fishing with. He was very sweet but you could sense that he was a flirt with all the girls so you managed to not look into his comments too much.
Charles managed to make you your own tent to sleep in and you helped him to look after the horses in return. This was one of your favourite things to do because you have always loved these majestic creatures. Plus no one bothered you when you were with the horses.
Hosea offered to take you into the little town of valentine with Karen to shop for your own clothes. He was a kind man who always seemed to make sure that you were okay and settling well. If it wasn't for him the gang might not have fed and helped you as you recognised him from your first encounter there. You accepted, it was the first time you had left the camp in over two weeks now. Riding out in the back of the waggon you took in your surroundings. The way the trees broke into heartlands and the dirt tracts filled with civilization the closer you got into town. The bright blue sky with the sun baring down to touch your skin. Breathing a sigh of relief, feeling relaxed for the first time. Valentine was a small busy town that smelt of livestock. Karen turned her nose up at this as they pulled the wagon up to the hitching post.
"Here we are ladies" Hosea announced as he hitched up and helped you both down from the wagon. "I will collect some things from the post office and meet you back here" he tipped his hat to you both with a smile before leaving.
Karen was so excited to go shopping, she explained that she has only gotten out of camp for the first time yesterday.
"Two days out of that dump in a row" she smiled "must be my lucky week" she looped her arm through yours and you both made your way to the general store.
Before you reached the store there was the sound of smashed glass as aough man was thrown from the saloon window and onto the muddy street. Th biggest man you have ever seen followed behind him dragging him to his feet and punching him in the jaw.
"Is that Arthur?" Karen ran over to join the crowd and watch the commotion. You followed behind her watching the two men throwing punches at each other. It was Arthur. The man he was fighting was twice the size of him but Arthur wasn't backing down. Javier was sat on the stairs Infront of the saloon watching among the crowd shouting at Arthur to give it everything. At first the big man had Arthur beat pinning him to the ground but somehow he got loose and beat the man to the floor. Arthur was now ontop of the man, throwing punch after lunch into his skull. His face was full of rage and no amount of punching was going to shake it. A smaller man pleaded and managed to break them up, saving the man's life from Arthur. Covered in mud Arthur rose off him and wiped the blood from under his nose before walking away.
"That's our boy" Karen exclaimed. "Come on (Y/N), let's get you come clothes" she headed back for the store.
"Are we not gonna see if he's okay?" You questioned as you gestured to Arthur.
"God no! That man gets himself into situations like these all the time, he'll be fine! Plus he ain't one for pitty" she shrugged you off. You couldn't help but be impressed, the man Arthur was fighting was clearly biger and stronger then all the men you had ever seen. But somehow he still managed to overpower him. You glanced over to see Arthur with a few of the other men from camp before walking into the store.
Browsing the catalogue it didn't take you long to find what you wanted. Two laced shirts (white and blue), dark blue pants, some undergarments and boots to finish.
"Are you sure you don't want a skirt?" Karen pleaded. "You would look so elegant in this one" she pointed out a blue long skirt.
"No thanks" you giggled at her slightly seeing her face frown.
"Alright then. Suit yourself" Karen giggled back. "At least I know you ain't trying to impress anyone" she paused to think for a second. "Have you seen anyone in camp you like the look of?" She finally asked with a raised eyebrow.
You were shocked at what she had just asked. The camp had only been your home for a couple of weeks and you still haven't spoken to everyone properly. Your eyes widen in your response.
"What? No, I'm still getting to know everyone and besides I ain't looking for any man"
Karen searched your face to see if you were telling the truth. "No one?" She sounded shocked "Charles? You both seem to get on well"
"No, Charles is a nice man but we are just friends" you said defensively.
"What about Javier?" She insisted.
You shot her an unforgiving look and shook your head.
"John? Bill? Lenny? Micha? Please say it's not Micha" she giggled.
"No, definitely not, no and I would rather be shot" you giggled back "can't you just believe I ain't sweet on anyone". You paid for your clothes and thanked the store clerk kindly before making your way back to the wagon.
"What about Arthur?" Her words made you pause for a moment. Arthur. You hadn't seen him much around camp since the night you were released from being tied to the wagon. He would come to rest for a couple of hours always bringing either money or what he had hunted that day and leave again. You never spoke to him though, you felt very intimidated by his presence especially after seeing him fighting in the street. He carried himself with such authority like he was there to protect and provide and nothing more. When he was around he mostly kept himself to himself and sometimes would get involved with some conversation but because he was rarely there you didn't know if he was someone you could trust or someone to keep at arms length like Bill and Micha. Yet something was very intreging about him, but you didn't want to explore your curiousity as you may find that he was worse then the rest of them.
"No" you shook your head in response.
"Alright then. Well, I want to be the first to know if you change your mind" Karen winked at you.
Hosea was waiting for you both with new supplies in the back of the wagon. He helped you both into the back and before you knew it you were on your way back to camp. The journey back was quick as Karen told Hosea about your day out together. She seemed extatic that she was the one out of all the girls that was able to go into town again and for a full day too. You almost felt sorry for her that she was not able to come and go from camp as she pleases. However, you could relate to how happy she was to be out of camp. It was only a short trip out but it was the best day you have had in a very long time.
When you arrived back in camp you were greeted by an Irish man you had never seen before.
"Sean!" Karen screamed and jumped into the man's arms. He caught her and spun her around before placing her on the floor.
"Hello there, did you miss me?" He laughed at her. Before placing a kiss on her cheek. You could see the way she blushed when he did this, indicating to you that she was sweet on him. "And who is this stranger?" He turned to you.
"(Y/N), nice to meet you" you jumped off the cart and went to shake his hand. He pulled the back of your hand to his lips and kissed it sweetly.
"I'm Sean and the pleasure is all mine" he cheekily smiled at you.
It was already dark when you arrived in camp. You had been out from the early hours of the morning and didn't get back to camp until late. Everyone seemed in such high spirits as you all sat around the campfire listening to Sean tell the story of how he was imprisoned. Drinks were flowing and laughs were shared. You were sat between Abigail and Charles as everyone was sharing stories and laughing.
"And there is my saviour" Sean stood up to announce, gesturing to the other side of camp. Arthur rode in and hitched his horse up, gave the stallion a good pat before heading towards the group.
"I would have happily left you there like I told you" Arthur scoffed to Sean as he sat next to the fire opposite you. You couldn't help but wonder if he was joking or not but Sean giggled and slapped Arthur on the shoulder.
"Nah you love me really Englishman" he laughed and handed Arthur a bottle of whiskey. He took the bottle and raised it to him before taking a mouthful and passing it back. This was the first time you had properly seen Arthur interact with anyone so you observed him descretly. Abigail was talking to you about Hosea teaching her how to read. You couldn't help but not focus on what she was telling you but on what Arthur was doing. He was speaking to Uncle about how lazy the man is when suddenly he looked up and your eyes met. You panic looking away but it just made it more obvious that you were clearly stareing at him. From then on you avoided looking in his direction but still listened to the convocations around the campfire. Arthur stayed quiet most of the night only getting involved with convocations that were aimed at him which he would soon brush off. You tried your best to get involved with everyone and enjoy yourself. Finding yourself sat with most of the girls talking about past loves that you happily listened too.
The party went on into the early hours with everyone singing and dancing. Dancing had never been one of your strong points so when people had started to get up and dance you got up to go 'check the horses'.
This was your chance to slip away to your tent and get some sleep. You hadn't drunk a lot because you knew Mrs Grimshaw would be on your case to clean after the party in the morning. The last thing you wanted was to have a huge hangover whilst doing chores. Your eyes became very heavy and even the singing from the dying party couldn't keep you awake.
It became the normal for you to wake before the rest of the camp. You stretched your arms above your head, tied your hair into a braid and put on your new clothes before heading out of your tent towards the campfire. The morning was dry and a crisp chill ran through the air as you strode across the camp. Everyone was still asleep in there beds as you assumed they would be and all you could think of was your morning coffee. Before you reached the fire you saw a figure sat on a log facing you with coffee in hand and the steam rising to their face. You squinted your eyes to see if you could recognise who the figure was as you edged closer. Suddenly your heart stopped as you saw the man's clothes. It was Arthur. He hadn't seen you yet as his eyes were covered by the rim of his hat as he sat quietly. Your mind suddenly told you to turn around and go back to your tent before he catches sight of you. As you were just about to turn Arthur lifted his head to catch full sight of you. Damn it, you couldn't walk away now. Slowly you made your way over to the campfire and sat on the log opposite Arthur, much like the night before.
"Mornin'" Arthur lent forward and offered you a cup of coffee. He had a big black eye from the fight the night before and a split lip.
"Mornin'. Thank you" you took the coffee from him and settled onto the log. Your heart was beating hard. In the whole time you had been in the camp you had not spoken to Arthur Morgan. You tried to think of something to say to break the silence but your mind had gone blank.
"You settlin' well?" He looked up to catch your eye.
"Yes, thank you" you replied before taking a sip of your coffee and averting your gaze. A small smirk appeared on his lips. "What you laughing at?" You said defensively.
"Nothin'" he smirked again "Do you ride? Horses I mean"
"Yes but why?" You were confused by his question.
"Jonny boy was supposed to come out huntin' with me this morning but he ain't waking anytime soon after last night" Arthur laughed under his breath. "So I need someone to ride out with me" he looked you in the eye. "My horse can't carry two deer and you seem to be the only one awake. So you comin'?" Arthur stood up from the log and finished his cup of coffee before turning to you.
"I guess. Not sure Mrs Grimshaw will be too impressed me runnin' off" Arthur's gaze sharpened on you as if he knew you were just making excuses.
"I'm sure she will be just fine, if anything I'll get in trouble for stealing you away".
And with that he strode off towards the horses. You quickly finished your coffee and followed behind him until you were at his side. Now stood next to him you realised how tall and broad this man was. You felt very small compared to him knowing that you wouldn't stand a chance trying to escape him. The overwhelming thought of going out alone with the only man in camp that you couldn't read was filling your head. You were always a really good judge of character and you were able to know all the gang members before even talking to them. However, Arthur you were just clueless. At this point you just accepted that you may never know but now you are here going out of camp for the day with him.
"Take John's horse for now. Not like he'll be missin' her today" Arthur walked over to the mare and unhitched her before turning to help you mount. However, before he knew it you had placed your foot in the stirrup and mounted by yourself. A slightly impressed smirk blushed across his face before mounting his own stallion.
You followed close behind Arthur at a steady trot out of camp. The feeling of riding overwhelmed you with happiness. It had been so long since you rode last and it was one of your favourite things to do. A huge smile was plastered across your face as you patted the mare. You came out of the trees onto a dirt track and the urge to gallop came over you. Arthur could see the look in your eye and before you knew it you were both in flat out gallop. Johns mare was fast but was not as fast as Arthur's stallion. He was slightly Infront of you looking back to make sure you weren't dropping too far behind with a smug look on his face. You were not one for races although, the thought of you beating him to the small lake you were headed too sounded more than amusing. Without a word you spurred the mare to go faster, leaning forward and taking the weight into your feet as to not sit on her back. Arthur did the same but he was too late. You had already galloped past him and we're still gaining distance between you. Once you had reached the point of destination you slowed the mare down to a canter, then trot before walking. Soon Arthur caught up to you and your face was beeming because you had won.
"Good girl" you reached down to pat the mare.
"Damn girl" you looked up expecting to see an enraged Arthur but his face was bright red and smiling. "You can ride. That mare has never traveled so fast" he took a deep breath as the race had clearly tired him out.
"Told you I could" you laughed "she can be fast huh?"
"Not with Marston riding she ain't" he leaned down and patted his horse "even Siego couldn't keep up" he looked up at you still smiling. This was the first time you saw Arthur properly smile. Maybe he wasn't as bad as you originally thought but only time will tell.
You both rode side by side until you came to a small wooded area.
"Hitch up. We will go on foot from here" Arthur dismounted and you followed suit. He reached for a bow and arrows off his saddle and you realised you had nothing with you. No shotgun or bow. How were you supposed to hunt anything?
"Arthur, I ain't got anything to hunt with" you blushed embarrassed that you had come this far with no thought of what you would hunt with.
Arthur turned to you confused. "I only needed you here so I have an extra horse to carry the hunt back. Don't need you to actually do the huntin'" he shook his head as he started to walk into the woods the smile suddenly gone from his face. "Follow close to me and keep quiet".
You couldn't help but be frustrated with his comment. Did he not think you were capable of hunting because you are a woman? You didn't question him as you were still unsure of him and didn't want to annoy him. But your face was frowned and you both avoided any eye contact as Arthur carefully started tracking a herd.
It didn't take long before you came to a herd of dear. You crouched behind some trees and Arthur shot two down in no time. He had managed to kill the big buck and a doe which would feed the camp for the next couple of days. Although you were strong you were not able to lift the doe all the way back to the horses so Arthur sent you back to get them.
As you were on your way back to Arthur with the horses you suddenly heard gunshots coming from his direction. There was no time to think before you grabbed Arthur's rifle from his saddle and ran through the trees towards him. You suddenly felt your heartbeat climb and you temperature rise as you questioned what you are running into. Did any of those gunshots hit Arthur or is he hunting something else? Could he be dead. You got past the trees and you managed to catch a glimpse of Arthur.
He was crouched behind a tree with his shotgun at the ready. There was on coming fire from ahead and you could see five men shooting at Arthur. You had the advantage because they thought he was the only target so they weren't aiming for you. Eyeing up each of the men who were shooting at Arthur, you aimed 3 shots each meeting there target in a fateful blow. Arthur managed to gun a fourth man down as you turned your aim onto the fifth. You were both now shooting at the one target who was well covered behind a tree. Without communication, Arthur carried on shooting drawing the mans attention and you snuck round to his left side. You now had a clear shot and took it. The man dropped to the floor with a thud. Before making your way back to Arthur you looted the men for all they had. As you were doing this you noticed three other men that Arthur had shot before you had gotten to him. You made over $300 and two packs of cigarettes. By the time you reached Arthur he was busy tieing the doe to the back of his horse before lifting the buck like it didn't weigh a thing.
"Who the hell was that?" You approached Arthur. He didn't respond at first and you assumed this was because he didn't know and was too busy stowing the buck. You split the money and passed half to Arthur along with his rifle. He remained quiet as he finished hitching everything onto the horses before swinging round to face you.
"Who the hell are you?" He glared at you. "You ride like you have been in a chase, you are a bloody good shot too. Damn girl, where have you come from?" He had a serious tone and didn't break eye contact with you as he closed the distance between you until he was right Infront of you looking down into your eyes. You began to feel your heart beat increase as this strong man towered over you, like you were a helpless bug waiting to be squished. He didn't break eye contact with you once and his hand was hovering over his pistle holstered in his gun belt.
As much as you wanted to keep the truth to yourself for just a little longer, at least until you could trust the gang, you couldn't avoid Arthur. Especially after what has just happened. You were defenceless against him, you had no gun and he was double your size. Running wasn't an option considering how fast he was with a gun and you wouldn't stand a chance trying to disarm him.
"It's a long story" you look up into his eyes. His face was stern and he was not willing to back down.
"We got time".
--
Chapter 2
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Text
I Loved Him... Once - CH 6
Title: I Loved Him… Once
Author: jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Heid (Aaron Hotchner x Spencer Reid)
Rating: This ones General but eventually as the series goes it will be Explicit
Tags: canon typical violence and gore, eventual smut as the series goes, angst, fluff, pining., its gunna be a slow burn guys.
Summary: A series following the team as they solve crimes and take down the bad guys.     
In Part one of this series, we follow the team as they take down a serial killer that has taken a piece of one of their own. And through it all, Spencer and Hotch come to a few conclusions and realizations of their own.
AO3 
Masterlist 
*** My works are not to be posted on any sites without my permission! But comments and reblogs are love! <3 Please and thanks!!
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Chapter six
     Spencer slowly walked into Eric's house. He had been here so many times in the past. Back when they were in university together they spent most of their time here, rather than studying in the overcrowded campus library, or Spencer's way too small single dorm room. But all the times he'd been here, he never once in his life thought he would ever be here as a profiler instead of a friend. 
     Being here again, it was strange, almost like he was in a dream. Like he was floating and couldn't get his feet back on the ground. As he slowly wandered through the small bungalow there were constant reminders of the fact that he and Eric had been as close as they were. Pictures on the walls of the two of them graduating, the entire collectors edition of the Sherlock series by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle that he'd bought him for his twenty eighth birthday, the awful matching ugly christmas sweater they had bought for one of the few parties they had been invited too, Spencer still had his and wore it every christmas. Everywhere he looked it seemed Eric had tried to keep him close even when they were far apart. It made him hurt even more that he hadn't seen Eric in over a year, that every time he tried to make plans with Spencer for a visit he had to call it off, most of the time because of work. He always thought there would be more time, now he knew he should have never taken any of it for granted.
     As he continued to wander through, he searched for something, anything, that might help them understand exactly what was going on here, or at the very least lead them to the killer. But there was nothing. The place was as pristine as it always was, Eric was always as much of a neat freak as Spencer was, and not a single thing was out of place. There had been no struggle here, so Eric had been taken and killed somewhere else, and Spencer didn't think they would be finding anything helpful in his house. Which made him all the more frustrated. 
     "Hey, kid, come here!"
     Spencer followed Derek's voice from Eric's bedroom to the pantry in the kitchen. Derek was in the far back corner of the pantry, standing on a small step ladder digging around on the top shelf. "Did you find something?"
     "Yeah," he grunted, passing a few boxes down to Spencer and making more space on the top shelf, then Spencer saw it. 
     "How did you even find that? Who thinks to look for a safe in the pantry?"
     "I wasn't really looking for anything up here," he explained, passing him more boxes of food, "but when I came in just to check it out, I noticed that most of the stuff in here hasn't even been touched. There's dust on most of the boxes of food, except right here the dust had been disturbed. So I looked and found the safe. Now, we can either wait for someone to come and break this open, or we can try to figure out the code on our own. Six digits, kid, what do you got?"
     Spencer thought for a moment, then said, "Try his birthday, November second, seventy-eight."
     "Nothing," Derek shook his head, "got another?"
     "May fourteenth, eighty-four, the day his parents were killed."
     He shook his head again, "Still nothing."
     "Okay," Spencer searched his memory again for another important date in Eric's life, "maybe November tenth, ninety-six, that's the day he was released from foster care."
     "Nope."
     "September seventh, ninety-seven, his first day at Caltech."
     "Not that either, kid," Derek sighed and turned away from the safe towards Spencer, "anything else?"
     "Maybe, one second," he quickly dug out his phone, dialing a number and putting it on speaker.
     "Office of the all and powerful Oz, speak your wish and it shall be granted."
     "Garcia, we need your help," he moved closer to Derek on the ladder, lifting the phone more towards him, "we're trying to crack a safe in Eric's house, six digits, can you tell us what his real birth date was."
     "Sure, sure, honey… that would be June twenty-first, seventy-three."
     "... He was eight years older than me…" Spencer whispered to himself as Derek tried the new date and…
     "Not that either. Any other important dates in Mason Maddox's life, baby girl?"
     She typed for a few seconds before answering, "Maybe January eighteenth, ninety-seven? That's the day he made his new identity as Eric Watts."
     "Nope," he sighed then turned to Spencer again, who was now just aimlessly staring at the floor, "maybe we should just wait for someone to come bust it open. Reid? Hey, kid, you still with me?"
     Spencer closed his eyes as his heart sank to his stomach. It was obvious. "Try October twelfth, eighty-one."
     There was a minute of tense silence, no one really wanting to breach this wall, but Derek said anyways, "That's your birthday."
     "Yeah," he breathed, still not looking up from the floor, "try it."
     Derek turned back to the safe, slowly inputting the six digits of Spencer's birthday, and turned the dial one last time. Spencer shut his eyes tight at the click that signaled they had cracked the code, and tried not to let the stinging in his eyes spill over into the sobs he could feel sneaking up on him. 
     "Why your-"
     "He never missed a single one," he said, a little distantly, "called me every year we weren't together."
     Derek just turned his head away again, not sure what he could say to help, and started digging through the safe. 
     "What's inside?"
     "Woah…" Spencer finally looked up at that, a mixture of curious and worried crossing him.
     "What?"
     "Kid, I dunno if-"
     "Just tell me what it is, Morgan!" He was getting a little short, he wanted everyone to stop treating him like he was fragile and just let him work the case. 
     "Alright," Derek sighed, but handed Spencer the file he had just been looking at, "but I don't know if it's a good idea." Spencer looked down at the file in his hands, hesitating. "Reid, it's still closed, so if you don't want to open it you don't have to. You can just hand it back to me."
     He took a deep breath, contemplated what he really wanted to do and weighed all the outcomes in his mind, before looking up at Derek with a slight nod and opened the file. He instantly felt sick, betrayed, angry, he wanted to lash out but he kept flipping through. Inside were pictures upon pictures of brutal murders. Full eight by eleven sized photos of multiple different women being tortured, stabbed, bleeding. Pictures of the dump sites, pictures of these women before they were taken and after they were killed. 
     He could not believe what he was looking at, he didn't know why Eric would have these things locked up in a secret safe. Well, he did, but it was something he didn't want to have to admit, something he didn't want to have to accept. 
     He looked up at Derek once more, not able to say anything, then dropped the phone and file in his hand and ran out of the house. Derek didn't even have a chance to say anything or try to stop him before he was out of the pantry and gone. 
     He sighed, got down from the ladder, and grabbed up the file and phone Reid had dropped. Penelope was still on the line. "What happened?! Is our boy okay? What's in the file?! Oh god, Derek, tell me what's in the file."
     "Our boy's not doing too well, baby girl," he started, gathering the photos and closed the file, "and according to the pictures we found in the file, it looks like Eric was a part of some very brutal murders."
     "Oh… oh my god, poor Reid, oh…"
     "Yeah, and I don't think there's much more we can do aside from just letting him work through it, and being here when he needs us. And breaking this case I'm sure will help too." He reached up inside the safe and pulled out something else. "Speaking of which, there's a laptop in here, baby girl. If I start it up do you think you can connect and unlock it? Start digging through his files?"
     "Yes, absolutely."
     "Alright," he stepped out of the pantry and into the kitchen, "you get that started and I've gotta make another call."
     "I will call you back when I'm in."
     Once she hung up, Derek dialed another number, not sure if he'd get an answer, but the call was answered immediately. "Reid?!"
     "It's Morgan. You guys finished at Tyler Prince's place?"
     "Yeah, he's not here. We're getting officers to go through the apartment now to try and figure out where he could be. How are things at Eric's place? Did you find anything?"
     "Yeah, that's the reason why I'm calling," he hesitated a second, thinking back on what Rossi had said earlier, then said, "I think… I think I need you down here."
     "Why? Is everything alright?"
     Derek turned and looked to where Spencer had run out the back door. Hopefully David was right and this wasn't what he was worried it was.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
     "He's not here." Hotch holstered his gun and turned to David who was doing the same. "If he is finished with his revenge list, he could be anywhere by now."
     David nodded his agreement, "Let's get the officers and rip this place apart. Maybe we can find some hint as to where he may have gone."
     They started heading outside to retrieve more officers when Aaron's phone started ringing in his pocket. He dug it out and upon seeing the caller ID answered immediately. "Reid?!" 
     "It's Morgan. You guys finished at Tyler Prince's place?"
     "Yeah, he's not here. We're getting officers to go through the apartment now to try and figure out where he could be. How are things at Eric's place? Did you find anything?"
     "Yeah, that's the reason I'm calling." Then Derek hesitated and Aaron's stomach dropped to the floor. He had been worried the moment Spencer's name flashed on his phone, he had told him to call if he needed anything, and then even more worried when it was Derek's voice he was met with instead of Spencer's. And now, he was sure there was something wrong. "I think… I think I need you down here."
     "Why?" He was sure the panic in his voice was evident to a profiler like Derek, but he couldn't care to mask it right now, "Is everything alright?"
     "It's Reid-"
     "I'm on my way."
     He slammed his phone shut, and without even a single word between them, both Aaron and David ran for the car. 
     With the sirens blasting, the lights on, and Aaron driving with the gas pedal practically floored, they made it to Eric's house in less than ten minutes. Aaron parked and jumped out of the car as fast as he could, taking the porch steps in two bounds, and was skidding to a halt in the kitchen when he saw Derek. 
     He looked up from where he was sitting at the laptop at the kitchen counter and said, "He's out back," and Aaron was gone before he could say much more. 
     David strolled in soon after, joining Derek in the empty bar stool at the counter, and Derek turned to him with a still skeptical look. 
     "It's all good, Morgan, just let Aaron handle this." Derek just turned back to the laptop, still not satisfied with the lack of information he was getting. "What did you find that freaked the kid out so much?'
     He slid the file across the counter to him, not taking his eyes off the screen, "We found a safe hidden in the pantry and broke in. The first thing that kind of freaked him out was that the code for the safe was his birthday. Then I found that and this laptop inside. I told him he didn't have to look, but he did."
     "He wants to see this through," David nodded to himself, knowing he would probably do the same as Spencer in his case, then flipped open the file. He instantly recoiled at the sight of some of the pictures in the file as he filtered through, then sighed and closed it. "I can see why this freaked him out. It looks like Eric, or rather Mason Maddox, was involved in some very dark murders."
     Derek nodded, running a hand down his face and turning to David, "I feel bad for him. He thought he knew this guy, obviously felt a little something for him, and all those years he's been murdering people behind Spencer's back. I can't even imagine being in that position, especially as a profiler. The kid's probably beating himself up over this."
     "You're probably right, though none of that is his fault. From the outside Eric seemed like a completely normal man." He then turned his attention to the laptop in front of Derek. "And what about this?"
     "Nothing yet, but Garcia's working on it. Hopefully she can get it unlocked, there might be something on it to help us find Prince."
     David sighed, looking out the back door where the two agents had disappeared, "I hope you're right, for the kids sake, he at least deserves the closure."
~~~~~~~~~~~
     Aaron ran out the back door as fast as he could looking for Spencer, but he was not in eyesight, so he bounded down the porch steps and into the backyard. Halfway across the lawn he heard the undeniable sounds of retching coming from behind the shed and ran to it. 
     Spencer was there, hunched over the bushes, heaving. Aaron hurried to him, wrapping one arm around his stomach while the other alternated between running fingers through his hair and rubbing his back. He helped him through it waiting until the heaving stopped and his legs gave out, and he let Spencer lean back against him as he softly lowered them to the ground. 
     Aaron leaned them against the shed, holding Spencer against his side while he clung to him and sobbed. But he didn't say anything, didn't ask what they had found that had upset him, he just waited. He let Spencer cry as long as he needed to, with his face buried deep in Aaron's shoulder, and held him tightly until he felt he was ready to talk. 
     "He killed people," he whispered, so quiet Aaron almost didn't catch it, before he lifted his head slightly, "Morgan found a safe and… there were pictures inside."
     "Pictures of what?"
     "Women, so many women," he sucked in a shuddering breath, "he tortured and killed them, and I never knew."
     Aaron pulled Spencer close again, tucking him back into his neck, and running his fingers through his hair again. "You couldn't have known. Some of these people fit so well into society outside of their crimes, we would never know."
     "I could have stopped him."
     "It's not your fault," he turned his face to nose at the top of Spencer's head, "there was nothing you could have done."
     He was quiet for another moment before whispering into his neck, "I feel so betrayed," and his sobs wracked up again.
     "Hey," Aaron soothed, turning to wrap his other arm around him, "I know this is hard, and it's going to be for a while, but know that I am always here for you, and I will never betray you. No matter what, you will always have me."
     He didn't say anything, just dug himself impossibly deeper into Aaron, and they stayed like that until then sun was starting to set and Spencer's sobs had finally died down. 
     Aaron was eventually able to get Spencer off the ground and guide him towards the house. Once inside, he asked Derek to take Spencer out to the cars and wait for them there. And without a word of argument after seeing the state of his friend, he grabbed up the laptop and left with Spencer under his arm. 
     Aaron watched them until they were out the front door then turned to David. "They found proof that Eric was killing people?"
     He handed the file to Aaron who quickly looked through it, then closed it with a sigh. His heart bled for Spencer and ached to hold him again, tell him it was going to be okay, so he decided to hurry this along so he could try and do just that. "And the laptop Morgan took?"
     "He found it in a safe along with that file. He's hoping Garcia can unlock it."
     He nodded, then motioned for David to follow him out, "Let's all head back to the hotel for the night. I'm sure Prentis and JJ will have information to share with us as well, but we'll deal with all that back at the station tomorrow. Call them from the car?"
     "Can do," David said, walking out with him, "and what about the kid? How's he doing?"
     Aaron shook his head, "Not well, but can you blame him?"
     "Not at all. He's actually held it together longer than most people would have," he turned to Aaron then, "you need to stick close to him, he's going to need you more now then before."
     They were at the cars then, Aaron not even giving Derek the chance to argue, led Spencer to the passenger seat of his car then hopped in the drivers side. David guided a quite irate looking Derek to the other car, then both cars left the driveway heading for the hotel. Spencer didn't do much more the whole ride then look out the window, but Aaron held his hand the entire ride back. He needed Spencer to know that no matter what happened with this case, or how much worse it may get, he was not alone.
~~~~~~~~~~~
     They arrived at the hotel and went straight to their rooms. They didn't even bother stopping to see if Emily and JJ had arrived yet, Aaron had already decided whatever they had found could wait for tomorrow. His main concern right now was making sure Spencer was okay. 
     When they reached the hallway where their two rooms were side by side, Derek wasted no time in wrapping a protective arm around Spencer and sharply turning him towards their room. His key card was out before he even reached the door, and without a step of hesitation, the door was open and he was ushering Spencer inside. 
     Aaron stepped towards the door but Derek had placed himself firmly between him and Spencer, holding the door. "I'll make sure he gets some sleep, good night guys."
     And with that firm dismissal, Derek closed the door. Despite the fact that Spencer's eyes never left Aaron's the whole time, and the fact that Aaron so desperately wanted to break the door down and take Spencer back, he couldn't. He didn't want to arouse any suspicion that there might possibly be something there, something between them, especially when they hadn't even had the chance to figure it out on their own yet. Not to mention that he didn't want to put any more stress on Spencer than he already had with this case, so he just resolved himself to turn around and head for his own room. 
     He all but stormed inside and then just stood, stock still, in the middle of the room with one hand over his face. All he wanted to do was get to Spencer, make sure he was okay and that he had the comfort he needed, but he couldn't do that with Derek as protective as he was. So all he could really do right now was sit in his room and stew. 
     David on the other hand, had plans of his own. He marched in after Aaron, going straight to his own bed and grabbing his go bag. He quickly packed his few belongings he had spread throughout the room, and walked past Aaron to the door. 
     "Where are you going?" Aaron asked as he turned back to face him. 
     "You two are killing me," he shook his head with the smallest hint of a grin, "so trust me on this one. You'll both thank me later."
     Without any more explanation than that, he opened the door. And as he was halfway out he stopped, turned back, and said, "Also, I fully and wholeheartedly expect to be the first person invited to this wedding."
     Aaron couldn't help but smile and even blush a little as David left. And if he let himself indulge in the thought of that while he stood there and waited, then that would be his own little secret. 
~~~~~~~~~~~
     Derek was sitting on the edge of his bed, watching with horror as the young genius paced the room with an almost frantic sense. His movements were jolted and his fingers were taping wildly on the sides of his arms as he moved. And Derek, for all that he knew about Spencer, had no idea how to help him right now. 
     A sudden knock on the door had Derek up and moving, cautious as to not touch or disturb whatever trance Spencer was in, and he opened the door to find David. "Hey, Rossi," he looked down, eyeing the go bag in David's hand then back up with a raised brow, "Something happen? We going somewhere?"
     "Not we, just the kid." He walked in past a still very confused Derek and grabbed Spencer's go bag from under his bed, handing it to him. "Up and attem, kid, let's go. The boss is waiting for you."
     He had finally stopped his manic pacing and was now racing through the room to gather his things, not even giving a second thought to Derek as he tried several times to stop him. So instead, Derek turned on David, "What exactly is going on here?!"
     "We're switching rooms," he shrugged as if it were obvious.
     Derek huffed, shoulders tense, "I can see that, Rossi, but why? What's wrong with this one? Why can't he stay with me?"
     "Aaron just wants to keep an eye on him, that's all," he tried to ease Derek's mind, but it didn't work. 
     So as Spencer came out of the bathroom, his now full go bag in hand and heading for the door, he stopped him and said, "Reid, are you sure Hotch isn't giving you a hard time?"
     "I'm fine, Morgan, I promise." And he was out of his grasp and heading for the door.
     "Kid, you're good with this?! You can stay here you know, I can keep an eye on you too without-" But he was gone, the door closing behind him as he practically ran down the hall. Derek just shook his head and turned back to David. "He really doesn't need to babysit him like this. Reid is fine, he'll be okay. I know this is a rough case for him, it would be for anyone in his situation, but he's got all of us to help him through this. Hotch does not need to keep him on a tight leash and make him feel like he's incapable. And I can make sure Reid's okay just as well as Hotch can."
     "I know, Derek, I know you can, but it's not about that. Any of it," he tried to answer as calmly as he could in an attempt to being down Derek's anger, raising both hands to his shoulders, "just let it be, alright, it's not what you think."
     "Rossi-"
     "Let it go, Derek," he smiled and gave Derek's shoulders a squeeze, "it's nothing bad, Hotch is not giving Spencer a hard time, and he does not think Spencer is incapable of doing his job. The kid's fine, just let him be with Aaron right now."
     "Not like I have much say anyways. The kid's already gone," he said, nodding towards the door, "is it me?"
     Dave couldn't help but laugh a bit at that, patting Derek's cheek lightly as he replied, "It most definitely is not you."
~~~~~~~~~~~
     Since Dave had left, Aaron had also picked up a frantic pacing of his room. And when finally a knock came at the door, he rushed over to open it and let Spencer in. 
     He was standing in the doorway, go bag in his arms and looking anxious, worried, maybe even a little scared. All of which had Aaron concerned. He wanted to ease Spencer, not make it worse. 
     "I…" He started, looking down at his shuffling feet as he spoke, "Are you okay with this? Cuz if not I can-"
     "I would prefer it this way, actually."
     "Good," that brought a small smile to Spencer's lips, the first one Aaron had seen since the start of this case, "me too."
     He walked past Aaron and inside the room, taking up the bed that was still made on the left. He quickly grabbed his pjs from his bag along with his toiletries, and excused himself to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Aaron followed suit after Spencer was finished, and when he came out, he hesitated at the edge of his bed for a moment. 
     He stood and stared at Spencer, Spencer staring right back. It was clear they both had something to say, but neither was sure if it would be okay to say it, worried the other would react in a way that might make things worse. So Aaron just turned away and broke the gaze, getting into bed.
     They both said goodnight and Aaron reached between them to turn off the bedside lamp. He turned over, making every effort to try and sleep, but every thought on his mind went to Spencer, every part of his body itched to touch him and hold him like he had earlier. He wanted to run his fingers through his hair and comfort him, make sure Spencer knew that no matter what Aaron was here and he was not going anywhere. And what the hell, maybe David was right, he wouldn't know anything unless he asked.
     "Hey, Reid," he turned back over and sat up, seeing Spencer was already in the same position as him, "I know today's been hard for you, so… so if you-" And before he could even finish his sentence, Spencer was up and out of his bed. 
     Aaron moved back and held the blankets up for Spencer to shuffle under beside him. Spencer had planned on leaving some space between them, not wanting to just barge into Aaron's personal space, and just happy to be in the same bed as him, but Aaron reached over and pulled him against his chest before he could. And Spencer wasn't going to complain or protest. 
     Aaron laid on his back, tucking Spencer tight against him, his head under his chin and Aaron's arms wrapped tightly around him. Spencer sunk into the warmth and comfort of Aaron's body, digging his nose into his neck and breathing in the smell that was only Aaron, that smell that Spencer found the most comforting thing in the world, and he finally felt himself relaxing for the first time since they landed in California. 
     They laid like that for some time, just content being together. Aaron ran his fingers through Spencer's hair, whispering to him over and over again the same thing, until he finally heard Spencer's breathing even out and he knew he was asleep. And once more, before he fell asleep himself, he whispered right against Spencer's ear, "I've got you, and I promise I will never let you go."
~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: Lots of Hotch and Reid together in this chapter! Let me know what you think <3
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whirlybirbs · 4 years ago
Text
𝒜.𝑀.   ;   watering hole   |    a high-society drabble
summary: arthur and the boys have a bit to drink. reposted since the read more was glitching in the ask! anon asked: psst, i know u wrote about drunk!arthur before but. mayhaps, some more?
pairing: arthur morgan/reader (turner placeholder lastname)
a/n: drunk arthur absolutely kills me - i just replayed the lenny mission last night so this is (chef kiss) timing. part of a companion piece to simpler said aloud. this is a drabble for the collection high-society, which follows the events of that fic. 
It's a quiet night.
You're posed by the fire with a needle and thread in your hands. In your lap sits a tumble of blue fabric. The stitch along the shoulder has been ripped, leaving a gaping hole in one of Arthur's favorite flannel shirts — and with all the washing and cooking done for the night, you'd settled in beside Tilly and Abigail intending on finally fixing up the shirt for the outlaw.
Fireside chatter is nothing but a gentle lull; the majority of the camp has settled in for the night, save for Hosea and Lenny, playing cards at the table beyond the fire, and the handful of boys who'd ridden out just after dinner set on gathering some supplies from the General Store.
You're tying a knot in the thread when you hear the clamor of laughter and hooves coming in from the woods — immediately, Tilly spares you an unimpressed look.
"Here comes th' carnival," she sighs, "No wonder it took them so damn long."
"Christ, I can almost smell the whiskey off them from here," chirps Hosea, holding his cards and shaking his head. That muscles a laugh out of you.
Abigail snorts. "This'll be a real show."
Considering the fact it was Charles and Javier and Bill and Arthur... well, of course, it oughta be. Anytime that posse decided on a drink at the local saloon, it almost always turned into a flurry of laughter and one too many bar fights.
Standing, you smooth down your skirts and pull the patterned shall around your shoulders a bit tighter. You fold Arthur's shirt neatly, pop it on the log you'd previously been perched upon, and make your way over to the jovial gaggle of men with a smile.
You aren't surprised to see Arthur hanging off of Charles with Sugarcube hitched to Taima — the blonde outlaw clings to his dear friend as laughter rocks his shoulders and he slips gracelessly off the back of the appaloosa and into the tall grass.
"Whoah!"
The thud sends all four of them into a barrage of laughter; and as legs wobble down from their horses, you wonder how the hell they even made it back to camp. Even Charles, a notorious heavy-weight, sways with a buzz as he hitches Taima and stumbles towards Arthur — he's hellbent on offering a hand, only to crack a wry grin when he spies you nearing.
"Arthur, look who it is."
You have to laugh when a blonde head suddenly pokes up from the grass like a field mouse. The crooked little smirk on his face is terribly charming, and you just shake your head when the outlaw gives a big holler and scrambles upright.
"Y' look a lot like th' girl m' gonna marry —"
He trips over his own two feet when he finally stands — and he laughs it off, blinking down at the gilded steel-toed boots as if they were to blame — but manages to stagger on over your way with a goofy grin on his face.
"I been singin' about y' all night," he slurs, hands moving to his hips, "Did y' hear? All th' way from Rhodes... reckon I was loud enough..."
"Singin'?" you gasp playfully, sparing Charles a look over Arthur's broad shoulders, "Is tha' true?"
Charles manages a pained nod.
"He wouldn't shut up!" comes Bill's bark.
"He really does try," Javier grins, moving to press a chaste kiss to your cheek as he weaves by in friendly gesture. You roll your eyes, patting his arm as he bids goodnight.
God, Hosea was right.
They all smell like whiskey.
"My, my, Arthur Morgan," you croon, watching as he tips his head back and adjusts his gambler's hat as he swaggers near. There's a prideful grin on his face as he wobbles, "It's a shame I missed it."
He nearly giggles then, leaning into Charles as the equally-broad man wraps an arm around the outlaw's shoulder. As the others wander off, it's the two gentle giants left to muscle each other around like brothers.
"Maybe next time, y' can come with us, then."
"An' see me at my worst?" he scoffs, waving his hands and giving a toothy grin, "Can't be havin' that."
"Oh, yes," you agree, shaking your head as Arthur snorts at your tone — it's playful and sweet and oh-so-amused and he finds himself rather enraptured with which your hair disagrees with the humid air. Tumbles of tresses fall around your shoulders and you press an unruly tangle behind your ear, "God forbid I see Mr. Arthur Morgan piss-drunk, howlin' at a piano... I mean, if I tagged along, at least I could play while y'did."
His laugh is distracted. He's busy being moony-eyed, stuck on the soft glow you hold in his heart. It doesn't make much sense but it does to him. You're so damn pretty he swears it's like someone's shoveled a bushel of roses right into his lungs. He forgets how to breathe around you.
"Christ, I love you."
It comes out like an exhale.
Soft enough to remind you how much you love him, and earnest enough that Charles suddenly wonders if he is intruding on this moment.
"Maybe it's best we get you to bed, Arthur..."
"I love you, too, you goon — now c'mon, Charles s'right."
You spare Charles a fond look, fingers moving to touch his free hand gently in thanks — for all of it. Carting Arthur back, keeping an eye on him, being his friend... Being your friend. He squeezes your hand back as Charles' brows quirk at the trading of affections and you can see the gears turning as you slip an arm around Arthur's waist.
"Didja hear that, Charles?" Arthur slurs, "Sh' loves me."
"I thought we went over this —" you laugh, sing-song sweet.
"Yea," a chuckle bubbles up as he staggers along towards his tent, supported by yourself and Charles, "Still like hearin' it, though."
"Once you're in bed," you grunt at the sudden weight being leaned your way, "I'll tell y' it all you'd like."
Safe to say, Charles Smith has never seen a drunk Arthur Morgan be put to bed that fast.
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neon-junkie · 4 years ago
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Prompt #2 w/Kieran? 👀
oh??? OH?? here we go ;:)  female reader!
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You're still unsure why Dutch chose you as a suitable member to attend the Mayor's party, especially since you weren't allowed to cause any trouble - no robbing folk, all you were allowed to steal was information, and you didn't seem to get much. You gave up after an hour in, deciding to engulf yourself in the free snacks and champagne. It tasted cheap, that cheesy flavour to it, but booze is booze, and it's always better when it's free.
"You alright, Miss?" Kieran asks you as he sees you attempting to climb out the carriage, swatting away Arthurs hand for the tenth time.
"She's real drunk," Arthur chuckles, informing Kieran. "Cmon, ___. Just let me help ya," Arthur puts his hands out again. Despite your blurry vision, you manage to swat his hand away yet again on your first try.
"No no, I've got this. You men are always so eager to help us women. We can do things ourselves, you know," you sarcastically respond, slurring some of your words.
"Just pull her out, Morgan," Bill huffs from behind you, still stuck in the carriage. To no ones surprise, Bill had forgotten about the other exit directly behind him.
"Right, come on," Arthur says. Before you can protest, you find yourself on the ground. Arthur was quick to lift you by the waist, pulling you from the carriage.
"Finally," Bill grumbles, exiting the carriage and storming off into camp to rip off his undersized suit.
"You need a hand?" Kieran asks you. Your eyes finally lock onto him, noticing the man in front of you, his index fingers pressing against each other as he nervously approaches you.
"Kieran!!!!" You grin, lifting your dress ever so slightly so you were able to run over to him, eagerly pulling him into a hug. "Oh, are you coming to the party too?" You ask him as you break away.
"We just went," Arthur tells you, making you look over your shoulder. He notices your confused expression, "we're back at camp, you moron," Arthur chuckles, shaking his head.
"Oh?" You question, looking at your surroundings. "So it seems we are," you say as you notice the camp in front of you. "Well, why don't we go back? We did leave early." As you speak, you grab a hold of Kieran's hand, pulling him back over to the carriage.
"The party's over," Arthur tells you, putting his hand out to block the entrance to the carriage, a very confused Kieran following behind.
"No it ain't," you scoff, shaking your head and rolling your eyes.
"It is. A errr... a shoot out happened," Arthur tells you.
"It did? Hmm. I don't remember leaving, to be honest," you shrug, Kieran's hand still in yours. You had subconsciously locked fingers with him, and the poor man looked like he was going to pass out from the physical attention he was receiving.
Everybody in the camp, minus you, knew of the blatantly obvious crush Kieran had on you. Despite the amount of camp members directly telling you, you had always brushed it off, saying Kieran was just being friendly with you. The two of you were extremely close, you taking a liking to him the second you saw him tied up in the stables back at Colter. You'd fed and watered him when no one was around, sneaking a blanket over him whenever you could, and spent countless hours just getting to know him.
All your acts of kindness had softened the man, and despite how much he tried to hide his feeling, everybody else had clearly picked up on them. He'd had a few camp members approach him in private, threatening him, saying they'll shoot him on sight if he does anything to hurt you. "Don't worry, I would never do anything to hurt her. Hell, she wouldn't go for me anyway," Kieran had told them.
  "Come on, why don't we go get you some water?" Kieran asks you, managing to slowly walk you away from the carriage.
"Water? Phfft. No thanks, Kieran," you protest.
"Okay, erm, a beer?" Kieran suggests. Arthur is glaring at him from behind you, shaking his head, warning the other man not to feed you any more alcohol.
"Sure, lets go!!" You grin, dragging Kieran into the camp.
By the time you reach Pearson's wagon, the usual crate of beer left on the table had mysteriously disappeared, making you pout. Arthur had managed to, without you somehow noticing, sprint past and hide the crate.
"How's about you go get changed into something more comfortable whilst I go look for the beers?" Kieran suggests, making your eyes sparkle.
"Okay! I'll go get changed," you repeat, letting to of Kieran's hand and making your way across the camp, practically falling into your open tent. You close the flaps behind you as you begin to undress.
Kieran lets out a sigh. How did he get into this mess? You'd practically picked this man out to be your drunken babysitter, but Kieran doesn't protest. You've helped him many times before, the least he can do is help you now.
Arthur approaches him. "Here," he says, handing him an open bottle. "It's full of water. She won't know the difference," he chuckles, then gives him another opened bottle, "and this ones for you. This ain't water, and you'll probably need it."
Once Kieran's taken the bottles from him, Arthur gives him a pat on the shoulder. "Good luck," he says, before heading into Shady Belle, probably off to bed.
Kieran sighs once more, then takes a big swig from the beer, walking over to your tent. He waits outside, not wanting to walk in on you changing.
"You decent?" Kieran asks.
There's a few moments of silence before you huff "no."
"Oh, I'll wait," he says.
"No, I mean... I can't get this damn thing off," you huff again. Kieran can hear the struggle in your voice.
"Erm, I can see if any of the women are awake to come give you a hand?" he offers.
"They're probably asleep, don't disturb them," you tell him. "Could you come help?"
"A-are you alright with that?" Kieran nervously asks, a slight stutter in his voice.
"Yeah, come in," you tell him.
"Alright," Kieran sighs.
  He enters your tent, surprised to find you still fully dressed. Kieran places the bottles down on your desk then turns to you.
"Can you unzip this?" you ask, turning your back towards him, looking over your shoulder. "Please?"
"Alright," Kieran gulps though you don't seem to pick up on his nervousness.
His hands are a little shaky as he takes hold of the zip, slowly managing to unzip your dress. The zip's halfway down when Kieran suddenly stops.
"You ain't wearing a corset?" he squeaks, sweating out from the sight of your skin, the small of your back appearing the further he goes.
"Why would I? I wanna be comfortable," you tell him, facing forward, unaware of the nervous mess of a man behind you.
"Oh, okay. That makes sense, I guess," Kieran sheepishly replies.
He continues to unzip you, the zip stopping just above your tail bone. Kieran definitely wasn't expecting this turn of events - to help you undress, to see your hidden curves, to blush even heavier as you turned around to face him. You're holding the shoulderless dress up in one hand, covering your cleavage. If you were to let go, the dress would quickly fall to the floor, grazing over your hips and pooling beneath you. That's all Kieran can think about.
"You alright, Kieran?" you ask him in a soft voice as he didn't respond when you thanked him.
"Yeah... yeah, I'm alright," Kieran stutters, his eyes quickly moving off your body to meet yours.
"You ain't ever helped a woman undress before?" There's a seductive tone to your voice. You've picked up on the way Kieran's looking at you, with his rosy cheeks and damp forehead.
"N-no ma'am," Kieran swallows.
"Do you want to?"
"...Yes please."
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the-awkward-outlaw · 4 years ago
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Hey! Since requests are open just thought I’d pop in and ask: please do something with Arthur arriving at Lakay while reader thought he was dead. Like super angsty/fluffy 🥺
Anon, I am so sorry this has taken so long! Things have just been crazy and unpredictable for the past 7 months for me, but I really don’t have an excuse. Anyways, I hope you enjoy! 
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Arthur crumples the letter from Sadie into his pocket, his mind set. It’s no surprise Shady Belle is empty, he expected no less. Not after that whole mess in Saint Denise with the Pinkertons. He won’t even let himself think of Hosea or Lenny. It’s too much. 
However he would be lying if he said he didn’t want to find you here. You’ve been his rock and anchor for some time now and he’d dreamed of coming back to the safety of your arms all that time in Guarma. All that time, he found comfort in picturing your face, feeling your body, remembering your scent. 
He wonders why you aren’t here. Surely you’d stay behind, knowing he was too tough to die, right? Then his questions as to your presence is answered when four Pinkertons come. As he hides and listens to them chat for a moment, it’s obvious they believe this old manor belonged to this gang and they’ve visited everyday since the failed heist. 
As they conveniently spread out, allowing Arthur to take them out silently one by one, Arthur knows now why you didn’t stay behind and he’s glad you didn’t. If you’d ended up in jail or worse because of your devotion for him, he wouldn’t know what to do.
He mounts up onto the black and white paint he’d stolen from Van Horn, his face resolute. He’s going to go and find this Lakay, find you. Of course, his mind is heavy with the potentially deteriorating state of Dutch, but maybe back here in the states he will return. But Arthur will focus on that later. Right now, all he wants to focus on is getting back to you. 
************************************************************
The pier beneath your thighs is sending your legs into uncomfortable fits of numbness, but you don’t care. It’s easier to focus on the physical discomforts rather than what’s going on in your heart. Under your hand lies the worn out newspaper article you’d scrounged up from Saint Denise, detailing the facts of the boat your gang, your partner, had snuck onto after the heist and had later sunk. There’s a lot of uncertainties about the heist and the future of the gang, but one thing you know is that Arthur Morgan, your Arthur, is dead. 
Tears well up in your eyes once again as you dwell on the fact that you’ll never see him again. As you reach up to wipe them dry, though it seems pointless, you hear the stomping on the planks that heralds the coming of Grimshaw. Sure enough, she snarls from above and behind you. 
“You need to get yourself together, miss!” she snarls. Although you can’t see her, you know her hands are on her hips. It’s only because of your current state of mind and her own worry that prevents her from grabbing your ear and tossing you into the middle of camp. “There’s work to be done!” 
“Just go away,” you mumble, just loud enough for her to hear. 
“I’ve just about had it with this mopin’, miss! You ain’t the only one who’s lost someone, we all have! However, the rest of us are workin’! Pearson could use some help, I wanna see you at his table in five minutes!” 
With that, she marches away. You sigh, not feeling anything when it comes to her. You’re honestly surprised she hasn’t gotten nastier by this point. After all, you’ve kept yourself distant from the others since arriving to this shithole of a town. 
When Sadie and Charles announced back at Shady Belle that the gang needed to move, you were determined to stay at the manor. Even after it was pointed out that the Pinkertons would search any location within a mile radius of the city for potential hideouts, you were going to stay. You had to, you felt. You knew Arthur had to be alive and would come back to you. It was all you could believe. 
But you were forced to leave with the rest of the gang, done by Charles and Grimshaw manhandling you into one of the wagons as they fled the manor. You screamed and thrashed for a good portion of the way until you wore yourself out. Luckily for you, most of the others understood your tantrum and your determination to stay. It was the help you got from Sadie that helped calm you down when you first arrived at Lakay. She explained her coded letter and how Arthur was a smart man, he’d find a way to get back to you. 
That was until you found the newspaper announcing the boat had sunk and that there were no expected survivors. After you found the article, you distanced yourself from the gang in your grief. You stopped helping around the gang and would spend hours on this pier attached to the boathouse. Most of the others were too nervous to come onto it because of its poor condition and the threat of gators below, but you didn’t really care. There wasn’t much you cared about anymore. Losing Hosea was hard enough, but losing Arthur was too much. 
You know you can’t stay like this forever. Arthur wouldn’t want this for you. Maybe moving around, being productive will help you feel better, you think. Of course, you don’t have a lot of energy, but you’re determined to try. You stand up, and honestly that’s about as much as you can do. Already the thought of just going down the pier seems to be too difficult. 
You lean onto the handrail, trying to muster up the strength to actually do things. It’s not clear how long you stand there, but then you hear someone walking up from behind you. Crap, Grimshaw has come back. You wouldn’t be surprised if she gets physical this time. You don’t notice that the footsteps are slower and heavier than Grimshaw’s. 
You slowly straighten up as the footsteps stop right behind you. Suddenly you feel strong, familiar arms wrap around you, his chin resting on your shoulder. You fold your arms on top of his. It hasn’t been unusual for you to feel Arthur’s presence recently, his arms around you. Usually it’s at night when you’re trying and failing to sleep, but on occasion you’ll feel him in the middle of the day, like today. 
Your throat closes up, signalling you’re about to break down. God, you miss him so much. However, he seems to be warmer this time, more firm. Maybe you’re just more desperate to feel him. 
The hallucination tightens his grip around you and then he sighs. He sighs? Never has your hallucination of him made a sound. Then you feel him kiss your neck so gently. “Hey, darlin’.” 
Your eyes widen. You’ve been so desperate to hear that voice again. That’s when you rip around in his arms, your eyes landing on him. Tears instantly spark in your eyes and you give him a small smile, the first time you’ve smiled since the failed heist. 
“Arthur?” you whisper, your palm going to his scruffy cheek. His face is red and burnt, his hair and beard messy and in need of a good wash and trim. He smells strongly of salt, gunpowder and body odor. It’s clear that whatever he’s been through has been extremely difficult. However, his eyes haven’t changed, though they’re a little more watery than normal. 
“It’s me, darlin’. I told ya, I’d always come back for ya.” 
You can’t help but openly sob when he says that. His arms tighten more around you, bringing you closer and encouraging you to curl into him. His hand tangles into your hair, pressing your face to his chest. 
“It’s okay, darlin’. It’s all gonna be okay.” 
He kisses your head and you finally pull just enough away from him so you can kiss his chapped lips. When he pulls away, his thumb comes up to wipe your cheek dry. 
“You look tired, darlin’. You been sleepin’?” 
“N-not really,” you mumble, sniffing. You know he always gets bothered when you don’t take care of yourself. “But I could say the same about you.” 
He smiles a bit, a soft laugh rumbling through his chest. It warms your own. He kisses you again and then he suggests that once the others return, you and he will go into town to take a bath, but for now he suggests you go and sleep. You take his hand and kiss is his calloused fingers. “Only if you’re with me.” 
He agrees, so you lead him into the boathouse. You don’t want to go to the main house where your bedroll is. It’s too cramped in there and people bicker too often for you to relax. Inside the boathouse though, you’ve set up a hammock. Arthur looks at the hammock, then he takes off his boots and falls into it. 
There really isn’t space for a second person, but you don’t care. You climb in and settle on top of him, which he seems to be fine with. His arms wrap around you again and he kisses the top of your head, one leg draped over the edge so he can gently push the hammock from side to side, slowly lulling you to sleep. 
As you drift off, you listen to his strong, steady heartbeat. As you listen to his heart, you notice his breath is a bit more ragged than usual. Maybe he’s just tired or exhausted. You run your hand over his chest, trying to relax him. The last thing you think before finally falling asleep is that the worst is finally behind you. The only direction you can go from here is up.
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