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say-hwaet · 19 days ago

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If I Had to Do it All Again

Chapter Four: The Reverend and the Refuse Previous Chapter: Three Next Chapter: Five Summary: Eliza goes on her first job with the reverend to try to con their way into thousands of dollars, but at what price? Warnings: Language, Mature themes, Attempted S/A, violence, (This chapter is intense) Word Count: ~10,200 Author's Note: I'm trying to leave as many warnings as possible, but this chapter is pretty intense. If it isn't your cup of tea, you can skip the part when you see the <<< and when it ends with >>>.

Four days have passed and you feel more set in your decision. It is happening. You and Reverend Swanson are ready to head to Half Moon City and schmooze the tycoon. After going over Alice’s schedule with Annabelle, you meet with Susan to get dolled up for the trip.

Dutch has spared no expense, having John and Bill steal a stagecoach and bring it back to the camp, it will be your carriage to the ball. You feel the tension in the air, the anticipation, riches untold if you are successful.

Arthur has been gone a couple of days. You were hoping he’d stay behind to watch Isaac while you are gone, but after what had happened, you can’t bring yourself to ask. Maybe once you come back with the money, he can see how you are right and he was wrong.

You asked Hosea where he had gone, and he said only to trust that he is working on something important. You trust Hosea, but you can’t help but feel that he’s hiding something from you.

“Stay still, girl!” Susan chides as she applies red lipstick to your bottom lip. “This stuff ain’t that easy to come off, and I’d hate to get it on your cheek.”

You are about to say sorry, but any attempt to speak is stopped with a pushed swipe over your top lip. Susan is careful to not go over your cupid’s bow, and removing her hand from your face, she makes a rubbing movement with her mouth. “Go like this.”

You mirror her movements, smearing the red pigment across your lips. Your eyelashes feel heavy from the makeup, and you can’t imagine how women must go about their lives wearing this stuff day in and day out, all for the sake of looking pretty.

“How do I look?” you ask.

Susan steps back, her eyes scanning you from head to toe, a critical gaze pinning you under scrutiny. "Like you own half the world," she finally declares with a nod of approval. The compliment feels strange on your ears, but it settles some of your nerves. “See for yourself.”

You stand and glance at your reflection in the small looking-glass. Your mouth goes agape at what you see.

It is the same dress as before, but the corset you wear underneath has cinched your waist and pushed up your bust. The blue of the gown looks different in the daylight, and you feel afraid to move, lest you fall or damage the gown. Your shoulders are bare, and your collarbone is exposed. You wish that the tan of your face wasn’t so prominent, as it makes you look less like a sheltered heiress and more like a street harlot. Your hair is done up and loose curls frame your face.

“I don’t recognize myself.”

Susan chortles. “That’s a good thing. We don’t want you recognizable should things…” She stops.

You know what she was going to say.

“Should things go wrong.” You feel the air tighten around you. Were all those words of Dutch’s just that? Words? Words to puff you up and make you feel invincible for just long enough to risk your neck? “What am I doing?” you breathe, resting a palm on your breast. “What if I do fail?”

Susan's face softens for a moment, her usual stern demeanor giving way to something gentler. She steps forward, placing her hands on your shoulders, the warmth of her touch oddly comforting despite the chill in the air. "Listen, girl," she begins, her voice low and steady. "Every one of us risks somethin’ in this racket. But never forget why you’re doin’ this — for your family, for us. This night could change everything if you play your cards right. Just remember everything we’ve practiced.”

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of her words settle like stones in your stomach. "I won't let you down.”

She nods, taking your chin and giving it a gentle squeeze. "I know you won't." Susan steps back, her hands falling to her sides. Her gaze lingers on you a moment longer before she turns away. "Time to go."

You turn, and carrying your dress high enough so you don’t trip, you leave the tent and step out into the sun.

***

Arthur is desperate to hurry back. After a couple of days of searching, scoping, and following, he’s found something. He’s found a lead. A lead tempting enough for Dutch to call this plan of his off. He didn’t think he’d make it, but knowing that today was the day, he has hardly stopped to eat or drink as he searched most of northern California.

It is a caravan. A caravan of wealthy travelers who struck gold and are now heading east to cash in on their fortunes. Gold. Enough gold for a gang of outlaws to buy land and settle down somewhere.

Somewhere safe for you and your children.

He urges Boadicea onward, his spurs nicking her sides. She breathes heavily, eager to please her rider.

The sun is lowering in the sky, casting long afternoon shadows across the rugged landscape, turning the earth into a reddish gold. Arthur’s eyes are fixed ahead as he pushes Boadicea to her limits. Each hoofbeat is urgent, a rhythmic thumping that mirrors his racing heart. He needs to make it back before you go, before you do this thing and risk death.

He sees the camp in the distance, and resounds a call to let everyone know he is back. “Hosea…!” He shouts, his voice echoing throughout the tents. “Hosea…!”

He sees Hosea slowly emerge from behind one of the tents and he feels something deep within him. Dread.

Boadicea skids to a stop, a plume of dust growing from her hooves. Arthur dismounts, patting her on the neck before running into camp to meet Hosea.

“Hosea, I found—”

“You’re too late, Arthur.”

Hosea's face is a mask of sorrow, his eyes reflecting the dying light of the day. "They've already left, headed for Half Moon City. Dutch said they couldn’t wait any longer." He lowers his head. “I tried to prolong it as best as I could.”

Arthur feels the punch of those words deep in his gut, a cold spread of fear seeping in his veins. “But what I had was solid, it is more than—”

“This is Dutch we are talkin’ about,” Hosea reminds him. “When he gets something in his mind…”

Arthur backs away. He knows Hosea is right, but he still struggles to believe it. Would Dutch have still gone forward with his plan, even when there is something else far better?”

He thinks about the repercussions, what could happen. You could…he could…

He lifts his head, looking at Hosea. “Where are my children?”

Hosea looks over to your tent. That is all the answer he needs.

Arthur turns, walking to your tent. He sees Annabelle sitting on the cot, rocking Alice in her arms. Isaac naps behind her, in the remaining space between her and the wall of the wagon.

Arthur looks at his daughter. He really hasn’t taken the time to hold her, he realizes. His own daughter, and he has only held her once.

Arthur moves forward, his steps heavy with the weight of regret and a newfound urgency. As he steps inside the tent, Annabelle looks up, her eyes filled with a mixture of calm and relief. He sits beside her, reaching out a trembling hand to touch Alice's small head, feeling the soft wisps of hair under his fingers.

“I know that look,” Annabelle says with a smile.

Arthur only looks up at her and without saying another word, she brings herself closer to him, her arms bringing the baby to him.

Instinctively, he folds his arms in the way you taught him years ago, when he first held Isaac. And just as gently and quietly as he came into the tent, Annabelle places Alice in his arms.

“There,” she sighs, adjusting the blanket to expose more of the baby’s face. “She knows she’s safe with her daddy.”

Arthur holds Alice close, the tiny heartbeat against his own offering a temporary respite from the chaos far beyond the camp. The child’s warmth penetrates the cold dread that has settled in his bones since Hosea's news.

He looks down into Alice's eyes, so innocent and unaware of the dangers that lurk beyond the canvas walls of their temporary home.

“I failed them, Annabelle,” he says after a while. “Eliza has gone to do what I should have done.”

Annabelle shakes her head. “You both are too hard on yourselves.” She looks out beyond the tent and towards the grass that sways in the ocean breeze. “I’ve been hearing it from both sides, we and it seems to me that you are both terrible at communication.”

Arthur lets out a bitter chuckle, the sound rough in his throat. "Maybe so," he admits, his eyes still locked on Alice's gentle, trusting gaze. "But it's more than just poor words between us. There are lives at stake here, Annabelle."

The wind picks up outside, howling like a warning, reminding Arthur of his faults, his mistakes.

Annabelle smiles. “We are all aware of the odds, Arthur. But we play the cards we're dealt, don't we?” Her gaze is steady, unwavering, as if she could stare down fate itself.

Arthur nods slowly, the weight of their reality settling deeper into his bones. He looks down at Alice, her small fingers curled into a fist, blissfully oblivious to the words they are speaking.

Annabelle leans close to get a good look at her. “She does look like you.”

Arthur turns his head to look at her. “You think so?”

Annabelle nods. “You and Eliza make beautiful children.”

He feels his face grow hot at her words. To be told that by anyone makes him feel uncomfortable, but coming from Annabelle, it carries a weight that is both comforting and heavy. He knows she speaks honestly, her observations always sharp and unclouded.

Arthur shifts Alice in his arms, feeling the slight pressure of her tiny body against his chest. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice as soft as the breeze drifting through the tent’s opening. The compliment, genuine as it was, still does little to ease the gnawing anxiety in his gut.

He feels a hand on his back and Annabelle speaks something that she hopes will calm his restlessness. “She will be fine, I really believe that.”

“I hope you’re right, Annabelle,” he sighs. “I hope you’re right.”

***

Half Moon City looks more like a maze than anything else. As Pearson drives the coach, you try to get a good look at your surroundings, knowing that you may not get an opportunity like this again. The only other city you’ve ever been to was Jardin City, and that was when you were around twelve weeks pregnant, being escorted by Arthur to your new home in Low Falls. You were still so new to life, being nineteen, and you only had Arthur for guidance and comfort as you traveled.

How little things have changed.

Only now, you are taking the reins. You are heading out on a job that will make you money and provide a way to get you the home that you have wanted. A place for your children to grow up, with a promise for tomorrow.

You look back inside the coach at Reverend Swanson, and he is quietly reading his bible. He has cleaned up some, and while he still can smell like whiskey if the breeze is right, you are finding more confidence that you both can pull this off.

But in case worse comes to worse, you are armored with your revolver on your thigh, and it is nicely concealed beneath the ruffles of your dress. Just a simple lift and draw should do the trick.

You just hope it doesn’t come to that.

“Do you remember what to do, Reverend?” you tentatively ask, hoping that you don’t have to school him on the entire plan.

He merely looks up at you, his head still tilted toward his bible. “Yes, Ms. Bloom.” And he swallows. “Let you do the talking, and I will throw verses around…”

That’s the most coherent thing you’ve heard from him all day. Maybe there is hope.

You nod approvingly. “Yes, that is good.”

As the coach rattles down the cobbled streets of Half Moon City, the buildings lean crookedly as if they're whispering secrets into each other's shadows. Dust clouds billow around the wheels, and somewhere in the distance, a dog barks fiercely, as if warning of impending doom.

You hear many horse-drawn carts drive by you and the bustle of the city draws louder as you get to the more active areas of the city.

You have a feeling that you are close and your suspicions are soon correct when the coach comes to a stop.

“Mr. Pearson?” you ask as you attempt to stick your head out of the coach’s opening. “Have we arrived?”

“Yes, Madame La Papillon,” he answers. “Welcome to Half Moon City.”

So, it begins. You wait attentively while Pearson climbs down from the wagon, approaches your door, and lets you out. You and him had practiced this several times, the goal to make you look as elegant as possible. Everything you do needs to appear like it’s nature. Unadulterated, blue-blooded nature.

Your heart pounds in your chest as your eyes adjust to the light and you gaze upon the Blue Lagoon Hotel and Saloon. It is tall, like the red pines a few miles north of camp. People are coming in and out of the front doors like a swarm of bees disturbed from their hive. Men in tall hats and women in silken dresses, each carrying their own dreams and ambitions on their shoulders.

You straighten your posture and take a deep breath before stepping forward. Reverend Swanson follows closely behind, clutching his worn Bible to his chest like a personal shield. Pearson closes the door behind you, and wastes no time in getting back on the coach and driving off.

He is to come back in two hours, where you will nonchalantly board and ride off with a case full of cash.

��Are you ready, Reverend?” you ask, still in awe of the structure of the building.

“Yes,” he says quietly, and you hope to take that as awe as well, not for a lack of confidence.

You continue on, practicing the elegant walk that you rehearsed in front of Susan. Back straight, head high, soft eyes. Back straight, head high, soft eyes…You repeat these tips over and over, and catching the wonton glances of some men in suits, you are reassured that it seems to be working.

Two doormen open the doors for you. “Good afternoon, miss,” they greet, and you suddenly feel like royalty, or as close as you will get to it anyway.

The lobby of the hotel is vast, the floors polished and shining in such a way that your gown’s reflection can be easily seen in it. Hotel guests walk to and fro, and you feel like you stick out like a sore thumb.

You swallow, and carry on. “Come along, Reverend,” you beckon and thankfully, you hear him stepping close behind you.

You approach the man who stands at the front desk and he eyes you in such a way that makes you feel both flattered and embarrassed. You hold his gaze without faltering, your expression serene and confident, giving nothing away.

“I have some urgent business to discuss with Mr. Steele,” you state plainly, maintaining a soft, nearly seductive voice. You feel Reverend Swanson turn to look at you, clearly surprised by your change in demeanor. “Would you kindly tell me where he is?”

The man studies you for a moment. “Mr. Steele doesn’t speak to anyone without an appointment, or unless you are sitting across from him at a game.”

A game, he must mean poker. You’ve never played it in your life, but if you can’t excuse an appointment, you will have to go that route.

You lift your chin. “Who says that I don’t play?”

The man nearly chuckles. “You, madame?”

“That is Madame La Papillon to you, sir,” you state with an edge of your voice. “And yes, an heiress has to do something to bide her time.”

You are surprised by what is coming out of your mouth. You are grateful for all of those books you have read over the years. If they have done anything for you, it would be to lend you great practice for conversations such as this.

You pause for a moment, waiting for the man to respond.

“Well, far be it from me to tell a distinguished guest such as yourself no.” He snaps his fingers, and a young man hurries over to you and the reverend. “Please escort Madame La Papillon and her guest to Mr. Steele’s table.” He eyes you with a glance that makes you feel uncomfortable. “He will be happy to allow a late starter such as this.”

You simply bow your head, carrying on the airs of propriety as the young man encourages you to follow him. Leaving the hotel lobby, he leads you to the other part of the building.

The saloon.

You remember Dutch saying that Mr. Steele runs an underground casino, and you wonder if you will get to see it. If you play your cards right, literally and figuratively, you just might be walking out of here with more than a couple thousand dollars.

The saloon is dimly lit, with low hanging lamps casting a golden glow over the patrons who mill about, their faces etched with the hard lines of life in the West. The click of poker chips and the soft shuffling of cards create a continuous, soothing undertone that belies the tension hanging thick in the air. You remain composed, despite the lustful eyes that cast glances in your direction. Maybe Susan and Annabelle are right, maybe you are beautiful.

But you’d rather no man look at you the way they do, like wild animals eyeing innocent prey. They won’t go near you, thankfully, because of the clergyman beside you.

The young man stops at a table in the corner. Four men are already seated and the young man goes around the table to the larger man seated the farthest away from you.

He wears a dark suit, with a white silk vest and red necktie. His Blond hair and mustache look neat and trimmed, his dark eyes looking up at you while the young man whispers something in his ear. You swallow and try to remain as composed as you can. Reverend Swanson, thankfully, remains still, but you don’t know how much longer that will last.

“Well,” the man begins as he leans into his seat. “I am told that you play poker as a pastime.”

You keep your eyes soft. “Only when it pleases me.” And you gesture to the reverend. “I am here on more…sacred business.”

The man studies you. “So, you have not come to play poker?”

“I’ve come to speak to you, Mr. Steele.”

The man grins, his dark eyes nearly piercing into your soul. “You have my attention, now, Miss…?”

You step forward, leaning over the poker table to offer your hand. “Madame La Papillon.”

You see his eyes drift down toward your bust and you resist the urge to slap him as he takes your gloved hand and kisses your knuckles. “It is my pleasure.” Letting your hand go he lifts his chin as he studies you. “And what business would this be of?”

“A noble kind. One that would immortalize you as the greatest benefactor of Half Moon City.”

This seems to get his attention, for he grins at the men who sit at his table. Mr. Steele's grin fades slightly as he motions for the others to leave. Reluctance shadows their faces but nobody dares question him. The room quiets as chairs scrape against the rough wooden floor, leaving you, the Reverend, and Mr. Steele in an uneasy trio. He leans back, flicking an imaginary speck of dust from his vest. "Go on, Madame La Papillon. You've piqued my curiosity." And he gestures for you to sit.

You straighten, feeling the weight of the mission on your shoulders. You feel Reverend Swanson stand close to you, pulling a nearby chair. You nod politely at him and go to sit down. Soon, he sits beside you. "Half Moon City suffers, Mr. Steele. The children are hungry, the drought is cruel. We need a man with means, with an alluring presence, to initiate some goodwill upon its people.”

Mr. Steele studies your face, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as if trying to discern the veracity of your plea. The silence stretches between you like a taut rope. Finally, he leans forward, clasping his hands together on the table's edge. "And why should I be this... benefactor?" His voice hums, hinting at the desire for flattery while also edging on skepticism.

And you lean forward, matching his intensity. "Because, Mr. Steele, you have the power to change the narrative of your life from a ruthless businessman to a beloved savior. Your legacy could be one of redemption and mercy, rather than greed."

The corners of his mouth twitch slightly as if amused by the concept. "Redemption, you say?”

And suddenly, as if in rapture, Reverend Swanson opens his mouth. “And when these things begin to come to pass, then look up, and lift up your heads; for your redemption draweth nigh…!”

Your eyes widen, unprepared for his sudden outburst. You had thought that he would remain under control, as he’s done a good job so far, but this was not what you had prepared for.

Mr. Steele eyes the reverend, his nose wrinkled with agitation. “What?”

You try to say something, to regain his attention and save this from developing into a disaster. “Reverend Greene has a way with scripture, sir. He means only to inspire hope, to boost the morale of the community in these trying times." You glance at the Reverend, urging him with your eyes to hold his peace.

Mr. Steele stares at you both for a moment longer before letting out a slow, measured breath and leaning back into his chair. You think the chips are in your stack, or whatever figurative language you want to use. You don’t know how to play poker. “I see. I can understand his sentiments.”

You can’t help but blink. “You do, Mr. Steele?”

“But I must share my reservations. If you are seeking money, surely a woman such as you can find the funds on her own.”

You counter his argument quickly. “I am an heiress, but this problem needs more than just a woman’s money.”

He clicks his tongue. “The bank, perhaps? A bank would surely loan out the money with a name such as yours.”

You shake your head. “May I be honest with you, Mr. Steele?”

He nods. “Of course, Madame La Papillon.”

“I don’t trust banks. Haven’t you heard of the gang of outlaws that have been seen in town? My servants are too afraid to leave the estate for fear of encountering them. It is only a matter of time before the bank gets robbed.” You feign a look of disgust. “Shameful.”

Mr. Steele nods, and you begin to feel excitement. Is this rouse really working? Are you going to be able to pull this off?

“I, too, have heard of them. But, madame…” He reaches across the table and takes your hand, caressing it with his thumb. “I have already been taking care of it.”

You are clearly uncomfortable at his forwardness, but for the sake of the plan, you go along with it. You imagine that you are talking to someone else. You try to think of someone more desirable, and soon his image begins to appear.

Rugged features, marine eyes, fawn-colored hair.

You blink quickly, and the visage disappears, Mr. Steele taking his place.

You swallow and smile. “I have no doubt that you know what you are doing, Mr. Steele.”

He grins, his pupils dilating and his grip on your hand tighter. “I think that I will assist you on this venture of goodwill and charity.”

You try to contain your excitement. “I am thankful, Mr. Steele.”

He lets your hand go and begins to rise from his seat. “Why don’t you come with me to my office? My safe is there, and I can equip you with funds right now.”

You begin to get out of your chair, and Reverend Swanson isn’t quick enough to help you out of it. “That would be wonderful, sir. We will follow you.”

Mr. Steele leaves the table and you and Swanson follow close behind, weaving around other poker tables and cigar smoke.

You are soon led away from the groups of people and down a hallway. It is dark, with dim lighting the only source of a guide. You begin to feel uneasy about this, but bank on the reassurance that you have Swanson with you, a security blanket that he is a man of the cloth, or at least pretends to be.

“Swanson,” you whisper quietly. “Keep your guard up.”

But he is looking at the lights, like a moth to the flame, and you know that he isn’t listening.

Mr. Steele stops at one of the final doors in the hall, and you can see a door at the very end that leads outside, the light from the day entering in through the stained glass framed in its surface. Mr. Steele unlocks his office door and walks inside.

And you enter.

The room is well lit and you begin to let your eyes roam about the room when you hear a soft click .

“Now, did you really think I was going to fall for that?”

<<<You whip around, and see Mr. Steele braced against the door. The reverend is nowhere in the room. You think to call for Swanson, but figure that would be pointless. The door is solid oak, and the walls are paneled with varnished wood, meaning it’s soundproofed. And even if Swanson could hear you, he’s absolutely useless.

You merely take a step back, trying to be subtle but maintain a distance. “Fall for what?”

Mr. Steele's smile fades, replaced by a chilling gaze. "Playing the charitable soul in need of funds, when your intentions are as dark as this room was before the lights came on." His voice is steady, but there's a danger in it that makes your skin crawl.

You keep backing away slowly, eyeing his lustful gaze, he is practically frothing at the mouth.

You’ve seen this look before. Willy. When he cornered you in the alley, his intentions far from honorable.

“I—I don’t know what you are talking about, Mr. Steele,” you say, trying to deflect the tension in the room.

Mr. Steele takes a step forward, his heavy shoes thudding ominously on the thick, oriental rug that sprawls beneath your feet. Each step he takes sends a shiver down your spine, and the room suddenly feels smaller, suffocating.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," he hisses. “Women don’t just come to me unless they want something…” You try to circle the room to reach the door, but he corners you. “But I think it is about time that I wanted something, too.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, every beat echoing in your ears like the sound of a drum in the quiet of the desert night. Panic grips you, but you force yourself to think. The door is blocked, Mr. Steele's frame filling the gateway like a dark shadow cast by the dying light.

"You misunderstand, Mr. Steele,” you tremble. “I am not alone. You best let me out of this room, this minute!”

“Or what? The reverend will speak more verses to me?” And he hurries to you and before you can react, he takes you by the arms. You try to break free of his grip, but his hands are too strong. “I will make you speak in tongues…” he says, and kisses you on the lips in sloppy, hungry movements, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth.

Your mind races, desperate for an escape as you push against his chest, your palms slick with panic. With a twist and a sharp elbow to his ribs, you manage to wriggle free from his grasp. Mr. Steele staggers back, momentarily winded by your unexpected defiance.

Breathless and heart still hammering, you try to make your way to the door. Gripping the handle tightly, you try to turn it, but it won’t budge. It is locked. “Swanson…!” you scream, hoping that he can hear you.

Rough hands grab you and pull you backward, you try to break free but he’s prepared this time for your self-defense maneuvers. He forces you to the floor, and as you try to kick up at him, he uses his weight to pin you down, and holds your arms above your head.

You begin to cry. “Please, no…!” you sob. “Please…!”

But he doesn’t listen, his hands already at work at lifting up your dress. You feel the sudden coolness as the layers of fabric are bunched up near your abdomen, his grip on your wrists like a vice. You’re only wearing a camisole, corset, and stockings, what was a mere effort to bear the summer heat, is now making his task much easier.

He brings his mouth close to yours again, kissing you as you turn to avert him. With his free hand that was working on your camisole, he slaps you hard across the face. “Stop moving! Or you will never leave this room alive…!”

You whimper pleas, begging him to not do this.

Then you remember. You remember what you brought with you.

He begins to rip at your dress at the bust, reaching for your breasts with grabbing fingers, which is distraction enough for you to wriggle a hand free from his grip, draw your weapon from your thigh, and shoot him in the groin.

Mr. Steele howls in agony, clutching at the wound oozing darkly beneath his fingers. The sound is guttural, filled with shock and pain. You quickly rise to your feet, hair in disarray and you see him on his back, clutching at his crotch.

“You whore…!” he calls you. And in a flicker of light, you see Willy’s face.

And you feel something snap within you. >>>

Gripping the revolver tightly, you approach him, and use the grip to beat him upside the head. He cries in agony, his head falling back on the floor.

“The safe…!” you shout. “Where is it?”

He lifts his head, and spits blood at your feet.

You strike him again. “Now!”

Mr. Steele's eyes narrow, venomous fear mixing with his pain. "Behind the... painting," he gasps, every word a struggle against the tide of his agony.

You don't hesitate, turning to scan the dimly lit room. Your gaze locks on a large, ornate painting of a somber landscape hanging above the heavy oak desk. With no time to waste, you cross the room, your footsteps echoing on the wooden floorboards. Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for the painting, and with a quick tug, it moves aside to reveal a sturdy steel safe embedded in the wall.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you see the dial. You need the combination. You whip around and glare at him, pointing your revolver at his head. “What is the combination?” He doesn’t answer, and you feel a wrath inside you as you step toward him, you aim unwavering. “Tell me what it is…!”

Mr. Steele's face is contorted in pain, his breath coming in short, gasping bursts. He hesitates, eyes flickering with a desperate kind of calculation. "I'll never tell you," he rasps, his voice barely audible.

You cock the hammer back on the revolver, the sound sharp and final and that is when you see it in his eyes. He didn’t believe you would dare, but now…he doesn’t have a choice.

“I have looked into the eyes of the last man I killed…” you say, your voice raspy from screaming. “I won’t hesitate to do it again.”

The silence that follows is suffocating. You watch as the realization dawns over Steele's pained expression, the fear now unmistakably etching deep lines across his grimy face. Finally, with a cough that splatters more blood on his already stained shirt, he whispers, “Left 22...right 18...left 9...right 45.”

You keep your gun trained on him as you back towards the safe. Your fingers are clumsy with adrenaline as you enter the combination. The clicks of the dial sound monstrously loud in the tense silence of the room. Left, right, left, right—each number resounds like a drumbeat in your ears, echoing the racing of your heart. At last, you hear the satisfying click of the mechanism unlocking, and you pull open the heavy metal door. Inside, the safe is crammed with stacks of neatly bound dollar bills and several small bags that clink with the promise of gold coin to buy silver-toed boots and kerosine to last several lifetimes. You take a nearby case and shove it full of the spoils, hurriedly eager to get the hell out of here.

“You got what you wanted…” you hear him breathe. “Now, go…”

You look at the gun in your hand. You can make one of two choices.

“You’re wrong…” And you turn to face him. He sees it in your eyes. The choice you made. “I don't want you to do this ever again.”

The words hang in the air, heavy as the smoke from your last shot. Steele’s eyes widen, a flicker of a plea passing through them before it's snuffed out by resignation. He knows the rules of this game as well as you do; mercy has no place in it.

You point the gun at him, aim…

And fire.

***

You make it out of the Hotel through the back way, after seeing the exit from earlier. It is dark, but you are able to navigate your way under the street lights. You don’t see Swanson anywhere, and you try to go meet Pearson at the location where he was supposed to meet you. He isn’t there, either.

You’re frantic. You’re carrying a case full of cash. Someone is bound to have heard that final gunshot, they will discover the body, and eventually look behind the painting to find the safe empty.

You need an escape.

That’s when you see a parked buckboard. A lone horse, waiting for its driver somewhere nearby.

You’ve never stolen a horse, let alone a wagon before.

But desperation has a way of shaving the edges off your morality.

You cast a glance around the dimly lit alleyway—no one in sight yet, but your heart thumps like the hooves of a stampede against your ribs. With quivering hands, you clamber onto the buckboard, urging the horse forward with a flick of the reins. You try to be as nonchalant as possible, wiping the tears that are streaming down your face out of nowhere. You begin to hyperventilate, the trauma of the last thirty minutes finally catching up with you.

“Get ahold of yourself, Eliza!” you tell yourself. “This isn’t over yet…!”

You reach the outskirts of the city and eye the end of the cobbled streets and the beginning of dirt road and tall trees.

The darkness of the forest ahead promises sanctuary but also hides unknown threats. The horse, sensing your urgency, picks up speed, its hooves kicking up dust and small stones. The rhythm of the ride does little to calm your nerves; instead, it serves as a harsh reminder of the pursuit that might soon follow.

You have to tell everyone. You have to tell them all to start packing. Soon you won’t be welcome here.

***

Arthur closes the small book with finality. “Alright, now that is three times that I’ve read you Mother Goose.” He looks at his son, all tucked in the blankets on the cot. “Ain’t you sleepy yet?”

Isaac, only his eyes peeking out from the covers, shakes his head.

Arthur slumps his shoulders. “Why not?”

“I’m worried about Mommy.”

Arthur's face softens as he sits on the edge of the cot, brushing a stray lock of hair from Isaac's forehead. "Your mama is going to be just fine, son. She’s strong, and she’s got Pearson and Reverend Swanson with her. They’re just making sure we can get the money we need to find someplace special to live.” Though his words are spoken with calm and positivity, he finds them hard to believe. You have been gone a long while, and he’s fighting every part of him that is screaming that something is wrong.

But he has to be strong. For Isaac. For Alice. No one can see his fear.

Isaac blinks softly, studying his father for a moment. “It is strange having you here and her gone.”

Arthur nods, smiling. “It is a little funny, ain’t it?”

Isaac finally emits a yawn, and Arthur sighs, relieved that the boy is finally getting tired. “I like it when you both are here.”

Arthur reaches a hand to rub the top of his son’s head. “Me too, kid.”

Just then, the sound of wagon wheels speeding into the camp cuts through the quiet of the night, startling both Arthur and Isaac. Arthur’s heart pounds as he stands up swiftly, his hand instinctively reaching for the gun he keeps on him at all times.

“Stay here,” he whispers to Isaac, who nods, pulling the blankets closer around his face. He’s begun to learn to not question his parents when told to stay still, for danger usually isn’t too far behind.

Turning, Arthur glances at the sleeping form of his daughter, quiet as can be, and slips out from the cover of the tent.

He sees John making his way to the oncoming coach, which now comes to a halt. He recognizes the coach and feels an overwhelming swell of relief.

You’re here. Finally.

He tries not to appear too eager as he quickens his steps. Without even saying hello to Pearson as he descends from the coach, Arthur reaches for the door handle and pulls it back.

To find that there is only one passenger.

The reverend.

Arthur feels his heart drop to his stomach, his face cold, only to be instantly morphed into a cold fear. “Where is she?” He asks the reverend. “Where is Eliza…?”

By the way that Swanson moves, it is clear that he is inebriated. He stumbles slightly as he steps out, his eyes unfocused and a bottle clutched loosely in one hand.

Arthur's patience snaps like dry twigs under a boot heel. "Reverend!" His voice is sharp, almost a crack of thunder in the still night. "Where is my woman? What has happened to her?!”

Swanson sways, blinking slowly as if trying to gather his scattered thoughts. "Arthur... it's all…fffiiiine," he slurs, his voice heavy with drink and despair. "There was lots of drinkssss... at the Grayson farm. Men... generous man, Mr. Steele..."

Arthur's grip tightens around the door of the coach, confusion rattling his brain. “There was no farm…! It was a saloon!”

He turns his head and sees Pearson, a surprised look on his face. “Swanson said she was already on her way here. She’s not with you?”

Arthur can’t contain his anger anymore and in a fraction of a second, he whips around, grips the clergyman’s jacket, and pins him against the coach.

“Arthur…!” John shouts.

Arthur ignores him, his eyes narrowing on the reverend. “You drunken bastard…!” Swanson cries in fear, his feet dangling in the air as he is suspended in Arthur’s grip. “You tell me where Eliza is, or so help me—” Arthur grits his teeth, his face inches from Swanson’s.

“I…I don’t know, Missster Morgan…!” Swanson sputters, the stench of alcohol wafting from his mouth. “There was a poker table…and…and…!”

Arthur isn’t going to get anything from this useless man.

With a furious grunt, Arthur tosses Swanson to the ground. The reverend crashes into the dirt with a pathetic whimper, his bottle shattering nearby, spilling its contents into the thirsty earth. Arthur spins on his heel to face Pearson, his eyes burning with an almost palpable fire.

“And you believed him, Pearson?” He points to the trembling form on the ground. “This fool?”

“What happened?” Turning toward the voice, Arthur sees Dutch, walking for the first time since his attack. He looks calm, far from the worry that Arthur would expect him to have.

Bill, Susan, and Annabelle also appear, gathering around the coach.

Arthur points to Pearson. “This idiot let the drunken preacher tell him that Eliza was already here!” He gestures to the space around them. “Well, where is she then?!”

Dutch raises his palms. “Now, look, there’s got to be an explanation for this.”

Arthur can’t believe this.

He steps forward, the dust swirling around his boots like angry hornets stirred from their nest. “An explanation? Dutch, they took her! While this,” he kicks at a small stone, sending it skittering across the dirt towards Swanson, who cringes, “was too busy drowning himself in whisky to know any better…!”

Hosea, now hearing the conversation, steps into the gathering. “Who took her?”

“That Steele and his goons, I know they did!” Arthur’s jaw tightens, every muscle in his body taut with fury. He turns to Dutch, his brows furrowed and eyes expressing a deep ache. “I had a good score ready for you, but you had to go and use her and risk her life! I told you to stay out of it, Dutch! But you didn’t, and look what has happened…!”

The intensity is building and Dutch knows it. This is the time to say the right thing to keep everyone in line. To rally them up on his side and remove all doubt of his leadership. “I hear your concern, son. But you have got to keep your head.”

“I ain’t gonna lose her, Dutch.”

“And you won’t! We will go after her, and bring her back…!”

This surprises Arthur. It shouldn’t, but it does. “I thought you were tryin’ to heal.”

“I’ve healed enough.”

But Annabelle reaches for him. “Dutch, you’re still hurt. You can’t risk going out there right now. Send the others after her. You can stay here.”

Arthur’s heart softens towards Annabelle. While it is clear she has personal reasons, she is right about his healing not being finished. But surely, Dutch will still insist that he goes along.

Dutch goes quiet for a moment, swallowing thickly. “Alright, I will stay.” Then he turns to look at Arthur. “You, John, and Bill will ride at dawn.”

“Dawn?! She could be dead by then!”

“And risk the whole lot of us riding in the dark? Getting ambushed, perhaps?" Dutch's voice is firm, carrying the hint of an old general. "No, you will ride at first light. Fast and smart. We'll get her back, Arthur."

The nearby campfire crackles, throwing ominous shadows across their faces as each man and woman digest the plan. The somber glow of the firelight deepens the furrows on Dutch's brow, highlighting the strain of leadership etched into his features.

Arthur's eyes blaze with a mixture of anger and resolve. He knows waiting till dawn can be a gamble they can't afford to lose, but he knows that his words hardly carry their weight in this gang anymore. He clenches his fists, feeling the skin tighten around his knuckles. "Fine," he grunts, trying to mask the fear gnawing at his gut. The fire's flickering light reflects off his eyes, mirroring the flames that burn within him.

Dutch nods. “Trust me, son.” He rests a hand on his shoulder before lifting it to carefully back away. “Let’s all get some sleep. We will need to be ready for what comes.”

The gang disperses. As John turns to leave, he looks at Arthur. He sees the look on his face. He’s never seen this side of Arthur before. Sure, he’s seen him get angry and beat peoples’ faces in, but not over some woman. They lock eyes for a moment, but John says nothing, turning away and heading to his tent.

Hosea walks up to Arthur. “I’m sorry, son.”

“Sorry won’t bring Eliza back.”

“You’re right, it won’t. But it's all we've got right now. You need to hold on until morning." Hosea's voice is as calm as the night is still, but his eyes betray a deep concern for both Eliza and Arthur.

Arthur turns away, unable to face Hosea or anyone else. He walks to the edge of the campsite, to the edge, where the darkness swallows the ocean’s horizon whole. He stares out, his eyes searching through the shadowy darkness as if he could will your return with his gaze alone. The night air is crisp, chilling his lungs as he breathes deeply, trying to stifle the rage and fear battling within him.

As the night deepens, the camp settles into an uneasy stillness. Everyone has finally retired for the evening, and Alice and Isaac are in a deep slumber, but sleep eludes Arthur. He lies awake on the floor of your tent, staring up through the opening at a sky cluttered with stars, his mind racing with what the morning will bring. Beside him, he hears Isaac’s soft little breaths as he dreams, and Arthur wishes he could find such peace. But peace is a stranger these days, especially tonight.

The hours crawl by like dying snakes in the dust. Arthur's thoughts keep returning to you, your face, your laughter, the way you throw her head back when you really get to laughing. It’s been a long time since he’s seen you like that, radiant and carefree. He clenches his fists, feeling the raw edges of his emotions fray.

The sky shifts from dark and starry-eyed to light and pastel from the sunrise. He’s hardly slept at all, only catching fragments of dreams and what he assumes is rest.

He doesn’t want to move, to get up and leave his children, so he lays there, listening to the quiet softness of their synchronized breathing.

Suddenly, an odd sound from outside the tent cuts through the stillness. Arthur's head snaps towards the noise, his hand instinctively reaching for the revolver beside him. He rises from the ground, careful not to make a sound that might wake the children. Putting on his gun belt and slipping out of the tent, he steps into the cool dawn, his eyes scanning the campsite. The fire they had stoked the night before is now nothing more than smoldering embers, casting a weak, flickering light over the area.

The sound comes again — and it comes from just outside of camp. He walks around the scattered tents and around the large coach as it was left where it was parked last night.

That’s when he sees a horse, a buckboard, and a flash of blue.

You have just stepped down from the wagon.

He takes but a second to look at you, instantly running over to you, the happiest and most relieved he’s felt in months. He comes at you from behind and just as he reaches out to touch you, you whip around and scream at the top of your lungs.

“Do not touch me…!!!”

Arthur freezes, hand suspended in the air, his heart slamming against his ribs. Confusion wrinkles his brow as he stares at you, taken aback by your fierce reaction. There’s a wildness in your eyes he hasn't seen before, a raw edginess that makes you seem almost like a stranger.

He sees your gown, torn at the bust, covered in sawdust and dirt. Your hair is unkempt, streaks mark through your makeup on your face. Your eyes bloodshot and red.

“Eliza…?” he asks, concern in his voice.

Your breathing is ragged, almost as if you had been running for miles, yet your voice pierces the morning air like a sharp knife. "We…we got to go," you gasp out, your eyes darting nervously around the clearing as if expecting a ghost to emerge from the shadows. Arthur's protective instincts kick in immediately. He reaches for you again, but you quickly slap his arm. “I said don’t touch me…!”

He doesn’t know what is going on, only that something is terribly wrong. He raises his palms and takes a step back. “Alright, darlin’, I won’t.”

Your screams have alerted some members of the camp, one being Susan.

She comes running, clutching at her skirts so she doesn’t trip. “Is that Eliza? I swear—” And as soon as she sees you, she halts in her tracks. “Oh Lord…!” And she lowers her voice, speaking softly to you. “Eliza, what happened?”

You shake your head, your face pinched as you refuse to say. “We have to go,” you repeat. “We need to leave. Now…!”

“Why?” Arthur dares to ask.

You look at him, your eyes still reflecting the wild gaze but with a hint of fear. “You don't understand,” you whisper hoarsely, voice trembling. “They're going to be coming for me. They won't stop.”

Arthur’s jaw tenses, his eyes moving quickly over the clearing, scanning for any signs of danger. “Who’s comin’ for you, Eliza?” His voice is low, filled with concern.

“What is going on?”

It’s Dutch. He comes back out of his tent, clearly being awakened to your screams.

Your eyes narrow on him. “I got your money, Dutch! Are you happy?” You almost cackle, pointing to the case that sits in the buckboard. “It’s about time too, because it won’t be long before we aren’t welcome here…!”

And Dutch, stepping forward, glares at you with darkened eyes. “What did you do…?”

Your eyes widen, and you rest a hand on your breast. “What did I do? I nearly get killed, and Dutch Van der Linde asks, what did I do…?”

And the word that gets Arthur’s attention has his heart nearly stop. You almost got killed?

Arthur's gaze sharpens, his expression hardening as he steps closer, the ground beneath his boots crunching softly. "Eliza, who tried to kill you?" he demands, voice steady but with an edge that slices through the tense air.

You swallow hard, your eyes darting around once more before fixing on Arthur's steadfast expression. The fear in your eyes is palpable as you choke back the terror to speak. “It doesn’t matter…!” You return to the buckboard and grab the case. “Let’s just take the money and go…!” You walk over to Dutch and shove it at him, forcing him to take the case. “We don’t have much time.”

Dutch studies you for a moment, ignoring the heated gaze from Arthur. It is everything in the gunslinger’s power to not say anything, to throw fists, lest he make things worse for you and everyone else who counts on him. He wants Dutch to look at him, but the leader continues to stare at you instead.

Annabelle looks at Dutch with worry, waiting to see what he will do.

But he says nothing about the state of you. How you have returned with blood splattered on your skin. He looks at the case, his hands clutching tightly onto the handle. “Let’s go. We can head North, get out of sight…” He pauses. “Then make it to freedom.”

You almost relax finally, and Arthur catches it. Hoping that you will let him, he comes near you. “Eliza…” You take a step back, inhaling sharply as you watch his hands closely. He keeps his hands raised. “I just want you to sit down.”

“I want to see my babies,” you insist. “I want to see my children.”

“You will…just…I need you to rest for a minute.” He uses his arm to gesture to a large rock nearby, encouraging you to go over and sit. Without saying anything in reply, you begin to walk that way and he follows you.

Once out of earshot, Dutch holds up the case. “I wonder how much…” But he sees intense, green eyes staring at him, and he turns to see Annabelle. She looks almost disturbed, sad, and she softly shakes her head. “What?” he asks, and she doesn’t answer. “What…?!”

“Sometimes,” she sighs. “Sometimes, I feel like I don’t know you.” And she turns to leave him with his money.

After watching you sit down, Arthur sits right beside you, careful not to touch you in any way. He sees you visibly shaking and he so desperately wants to hold you, but can’t.

“I…I want to see my children.”

“They’re asleep, Eliza,” Arthur answers you. “Wouldn’t want to wake them, right?”

You are trembling fiercely, but manage to nod your head softly. Arthur knows now that you aren’t too far from reason, but whatever happened has shaken you something awful. He doesn’t know what to do and he’s fighting everything within him to do something.

“I’ve never seen you like this before,” he says softly. “Except when…” Then it hits him. And as you lift your head to meet his eyes, he sees the admission in them. “Eliza…What did he do to you…?”

Your lip trembles. “Nothing that can’t be…” You look away, your tears glistening from the light of the rising sun.

Arthur's jaw clenches as he fights the anger boiling inside him. "I'll kill him," he mutters under his breath, his hands forming fists.

“Too late…” His eyes widen and you turn back to look at him. “I shot him, Arthur.” Your hands tremble even more, your breath sharp and heaving as you sob. “I had him tell me where the money was…and shot him.”

Arthur is glad of it. “That bastard got what was comin’ to him.”

You hug yourself tightly. “And that’s the trouble.”

“What?”

“I-I looked into his eyes, and felt no remorse, Arthur…” Your voice shakes terribly, as the tears stream down your face. “I saw Willy’s face and I—” You lift your hands to cover your face. “I just snapped…!” You sob for a long while, your body heaving as you try to catch your breath. “I’m becoming something I’m not, Arthur…! That’s what being here has done to me…!”

Arthur's heart breaks as he listens to your cries, feeling the weight of the harsh life you've both been living. The sun slowly starts to brighten the coach nearby, casting long shadows that seem to creep toward you both like silent specters from your past.

You shake your head fervently. “If I hadn’t come here, none of this would have happened…!”

Arthur’s brow furrows. “You’d be dead!”

“Maybe it’s better to die…!”

Your cry echoes into the air, chilling Arthur to the bone. “You don’t mean that.”

Your eyes convey anything but insincerity. “I don’t want to remember this, Arthur. He touched me, and I…!” You hold your face in your hands. Sobbing loudly.

Arthur feels helpless and he can think of the only thing he knows how. He reaches out slowly, and this time, he doesn't hold back. His arms wrap around you gently, the warmth of his embrace a stark contrast to the cold air around you. You lean into him, your body wracked with sobs that shake you both to the core. “There are evil people in this world, Eliza,” he says. He wishes that he had the power to resurrect Mr. Steele so he would have the pleasure of killing him himself. “There ain’t no nice way around it.”

“Are…Are we evil Arthur?”

He is quiet for a moment, unsure how to answer that. “I don’t think so,” Arthur whispers into your hair, his voice steady but filled with pain.

“I’m…I’m sorry…” you whisper.

“Sorry? Why are you sorry…?”

“I’m…sorry I ever met you.”

Arthur stiffens, the words cutting through him sharper than any lawman’s bullet. For a long moment, there is only the sound of the wind whistling through the valley, carrying with it dust and the distant echo of your sobs. He doesn't let go, though every instinct tells him to recoil from the pain.

“I should have left you alone. I should have just ignored you as soon as you came back to the restaurant…but I loved you so bad…” Your voice shows the ache, the pain and regret that you’ve been deeply harboring. “It’s my fault that this has happened…I should have let you go long ago. I should have…”

Arthur’s grip tightens around you, as if he could hold the shattered pieces of your life together with his own two hands. His silence is heavy, filled with unspoken forgiveness and a deep-seated fear of losing you even now, when everything has already been so irrevocably altered. He doesn’t regret you, no, not one bit, but he can’t let you know that, not now. Not when you are expressing the exact opposite.

"We ain't got time for what should've and what could've," Arthur finally speaks, his voice rough like the gravel underfoot. "What's done is done. We have to keep moving forward, Eliza. For both our sakes."

“I…I want to go…” you breathe, your voice a whine after your cry. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“Alright…” Arthur resigns. “We’ll go.”

You back away from him, and he lets you go from his embrace. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“You—you said ‘we.’” Your eyes widen. “Arthur…?”

“Do you really regret meetin’ me?” He asks, feeling himself become more vulnerable than he has in a long while.

The question hangs in the air, heavier than the gun Arthur holsters at his side. You pause, feeling the weight of your earlier words, and the turmoil they've stirred up inside both of you. For a moment, all you can hear is your own heartbeat, rapid and desperate in its rhythm.

“Eliza?” He asks again. “If you do, I won’t hold it against you, ‘cause I am more at fault than anyone for bringin’ you into this.”

He sees you look at him, your eyes, brown like rich soil, searching his face for your own answer.

Your lips tremble, frozen between the need to confess and the instinct to preserve something fragile. "No, Arthur,” you sigh. “I don’t.”

Arthur feels a weight being lifted. You are finally breaking the walls down, and even within this tragedy, you find yourself to be the safest in his arms. “I’m sorry that I weren’t there.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Normally, that would hurt, but he knows you are right. As he holds you in his arms, he feels your body shudder with sobs. His own heart aches with each tear that falls from your eyes, but he holds you tighter, a sentinel against the chaos swirling around. “But it is the last time.”

Your brow pinches at his words. “Arthur?”

He wants to tell you the truth. The reason why he had returned to Aspen’s Way. To show you the ring and tell you.

But you are so fragile, just coming from a horrific experience.

And you need to move.

So he offers you another promise, something that will convey the loyalty that he has for you. “We’re in this together, Eliza. Always have been, always will be.”

You swallow. “Arthur, I need more than that…” you admit, your voice stern despite your trembling.

Arthur feels the sting of your words, sharp and unrelenting, but necessary. He nods slowly, understanding the gravity of what you're asking from him.

"I know," he says, his voice gruff with emotion. "And you'll have it." The wind picks up, sending a chill through the thin fabric of your dress and you shudder. Quickly, Arthur removes his jacket and places it around you. “I just need time to prove it to you.”

You nod slowly, the fabric of his jacket heavy on your shoulders but comforting in its warmth. "Time is something we might not have, Arthur."

He doesn't miss the urgency in your voice, the way your eyes dart towards the shadowy trees surrounding you. "Then we'll make it count," he says decisively, his eyes scanning the horizon as if expecting trouble at any moment. The rising sun casts short shadows across the ground, turning ground a golden hue, almost mocking the way he feels inside. Arthur's hand instinctively rests on the butt of his revolver, the metal cool under his touch. "We should move," he says and offers to help you stand up. You accept it, and taking you gently, he escorts you back to camp where the flames of a small fire crackle.

The gang is oddly quiet, their faces marked by lines of worry and exhaustion as they begin to pack. They know it, something has changed, and not just from the past few hours of events that have followed.

Arthur sees it in their faces. The calm before the storm, just before you all have to pack up and move again.

And, in many ways, the sight is more familiar to him than the safety of a warm bed or the comfort of a quiet town. It's the outlaw life; his bones know it better than anything else, always on the move, always one step ahead of danger—

Always running for his life.

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#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #red dead fandom #fanfiction #ao3 writer #arthur x eliza #arthur morgan x you #Eliza kicks trash #this isn't the fun chapter #trigger warning #tw attempted sa #Eliza defeats her attacker #protective arthur morgan

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destinyleclerc · 2 years ago

Text

Vulnerability

Max Verstappen x Reader

summary: enemies to lovers, max and y/n sorting out their shit together after she finally beats him in a race.

"In P3, Y/N L/N drives past the chequered flag!!! Her first podium since making her F1 debut earlier this year! Now it appears that Max Verstappen is taking a break from winning! He's landed in P7!" David Croft declared loudly. The British Grand Prix ended with Charles Leclerc in the first place and Fernando Alonso in second. Y/N was proud of her performance; she and Charles both won points for Ferrari and were finally given the opportunity to compete in the constructors' championship.

Most importantly, Y/N enjoyed the fact that she received a podium because Max did not. When she joined Formula One, the two had a tense relationship and were fiercely competitive. Yet, it's not like she was ever a top contender. Due to this, the rivalry puzzled both fans and teammates. At times, even Y/N was confused by it. But deep down, she was aware of her feelings for the Dutch driver, however she decided to disregard them. And as a result, she developed a strong hatred for him.

"Well, Y/N, your first podium in Formula One! What are your thoughts?" During the post-race press conference, the interviewer questioned her. A passionate grin grew across her face as she turned to face Charles to her left. "Ah! I mean, I wasn't expecting it so fast, but this was a terrific result for Ferrari. So, yes, I am quite pleased, and I'd love to have more of these podiums in the future."

As more questions were asked and answered, it came down to the final question of the night. "L/N, given you and Max's on-and-off-track rivalry......" As his name was spoken, Y/N got butterflies, and her train of thinking veered away. Until she was abruptly brought back to reality. "Y/N?" Charles nudged her leg softly with his. "I'm sorry, what was the question?"

"With you and Max's rivalry, I was wondering how you are feeling since you have finally beaten him in a race," the interviewer said again.

"I'm feeling really good about it." She giggled faintly as she responded.

She enjoyed the fact that she finished ahead of him. That meant he'd pay her more attention. And Y/N craved it.

The post-race press briefings were finally over, and the drivers returned to their hotel. She spoke with Charles while they stood in the elevator.

"I don't understand." He said this while amused.

She smiled as she turned to face him. "Understand what?"

"I don't understand how you and Max dislike each other and yet you're put on the same hotel floor. This sort of thing happens all the time."

"I know! I promise you, if I could change it, I would. Oh, and speaking of floors, this is mine." She exited the elevator, and the two teammates exchanged short goodbyes. Y/N couldn't remember her room number, so she murmured it under her breath. "2-1-3, 2-1-3, 2-1-3." She heard a loud thump as she passed by a door. She returned to the front of the door, turning her head.

She pressed her hand to the doorknob, seconds from the attempt to open it. It's probably locked anyway. She thought to herself as she drew her hand back. But what if someone is injured? The thought made the decision for her; she twisted the knob, and the door, surprisingly, was not locked. Y/N cautiously opened the door and peered inside. During the entire size of the room, she saw nothing but darkness. Except when light from the corridor shined into the room, allowing her to see who was sitting at the end of the bed. Their head was perched on their palms, which also concealed their face. Was this person crying?

"Hello?" She spoke quietly. The person looked up, surprised at the unexpected company. It was still dark, but Y/N didn't need to see the person's face to figure out who it was.

It was Max.

He sprang up quickly and shut the door behind her, turning on the light. "Y/N? What are you doing here?" He moved a few steps away from her, attempting to hide the dried tears on his face. Yet it was pointless. Because Y/N happened to see hat he had been crying and she saw the object that had caused the loud noise, which was scattered around the floor.

"Are you all right?" She asked, entirely ignoring his own question.

"What does it matter to you?" Max gave a gruff response before starting to sweep up the strewn objects on the ground. An excuse to avoid looking at me. Y/N considered. "It doesn't matter to me. I'm just trying to keep my only good opponent on the grid from quitting just because he didn't win one race."

Max scoffed and rose from his crouching position. He stood directly in front of her, making eye contact. "I'm not going anywhere. You happy?"

Y/N shook her head and laughed to herself. Making him slightly confused. "Then why are you so frustrated? You came seventh, isn't that good enough?"

Max stared at her blankly, before he answered simply. "No. It isn't."

His answer made her laugh yet again.

"What? You enjoy seeing me fail just so you can feel better about yourself? is that it?" He retorted.

"I do. Yes."

Max closed the gap between them, only inches apart from her. It made her heart beat ten times faster. "You're pathetic." He whispered.

"Same goes to you."

He pushed her up against the wall and kissed her rather harshly. He pulled away for air, "I still hate you."

As they made out with a fiery passion, Y/N overthought everything and pulled away. "No, no, no, this shouldn't be happening. You're just using me as a distraction." She turned away from him and stood there for a minute. Trying to process everything. Until she heard sobs coming from behind her.

She turned back around and saw Max sitting up against the bed with his hand held up to his mouth to lessen his sobs.

"Max..." Y/N uttered.

He controlled his crying and looked up at her with bloodshot eyes. "I am sorry. I really am. I just- when I don't win a race my dad gets really bad and gives me a lot of stress. I didn't want to take it out on you."

She nodded her head in understanding. "I think it's best if I go." After she said that, she turned to walk out the door. But he softly grabbed her wrist and pulled her back in. "Wait- there is something that I need to tell you. And then you can leave and you never have to talk to me again."

She sighed, "Ok."

"I never hated you. I found you interesting and unique. I even told my father about what I thought of you. But because of how highly he prioritises my racing, he told me to get over it, and that you would only distract me. He said that I should see you as an enemy."

"Max I-"

"No, shut up, let me continue. Anyway, so after all of that, I blamed you for my liking towards you. Instead of myself. But now, I want that. I want these distractions in my life so that I can finally be free of my dad's grasp."

Y/N then realized something. Something she wished that she had noticed before. Max could tell that she knew something. She felt his breath fan across her ear as he whispered something to her.

"Say what's on your mind."

She took a deep breath and whispered back, "You don't like losing races because of him..."

"Correct."

"I liked you as well. I tried hiding it and it made me hate you. So we have similar situations." She blurted. Not wanting to hold in the truth anymore as well.

The two stared deeply at each-other. Suddenly having a stronger understanding of one another and a deeper connection. Max leaned in, his breath now gave her butterflies. "Can I kiss you again?" He asked quietly. Yes. She so desperately wanted to say yes. She had craved his touch for so long.

"Fuck it." She said before pushing him onto the bed and kissing him like her life depended on it.

Because it did.

If you liked this, I am also putting my imagines under my Wattpad which is @pissticks (don't ask)

#f1 #red bull f1 #formula 1 #max verstappen #max verstappen imagine

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river-of-wine · 2 years ago

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A little more on Molly and Grimshaw.

Grimshaw’s description calls her “the undisputed boss and arbiter of justice”. A line between her and Mary-Beth reveals that she has killed girls for betraying them before. That’s the rule. The traitors die. Molly declares herself as the traitor, and Grimshaw is the executioner. Except she doesn’t shoot to kill. Not really.

Molly is shot in the stomach, a wound she could have survived for several agonising seconds, left to bleed out in pain surrounded by people who detested her and the man she loved who detested her even more. A shot to Molly’s head would have been an easy one to make given both her skill with a weapon and how close Molly was, but Grimshaw chooses her stomach. There was deliberate cruelty in that. She chooses the potential of pain for Molly O’Shea over the immediate death of a traitor. It is justice. When Molly is gone, it is Grimshaw who calls to burn her. To destroy what is left of her after the girl already lost her mind and her life, to leave no memory that she existed behind. It is justice.

Molly’s lie was an obvious one to anyone who cared about her, but there was no one who did. Not enough. Not Dutch, who was rarely around. Not Arthur, who couldn’t get past his loyalty to Dutch to see how he was making a young woman suffer just yet. It was impossible for her to leave camp and she didn’t, spending her days on the floor of Shady Belle or smoking outside while talking to herself. But no one knew her well enough to attest to this, and that includes Grimshaw. She says she loves the girls, but Molly is not included in that statement. She never was. After all, Molly is not one of them. Molly doesn’t work and doesn’t think she has to. Molly doesn’t speak to the other girls despite her attempts, with her conversation with Tilly in chapter 2 ending with Tilly telling her to clear off while she is in the middle of a sentence and her conversation with Abigail hitting too hard, cutting too deep, showing her a blunt truth that she is not ready for and being too upset to keep talking to her. Molly doesn’t steal or kill. Molly is not one of them. Molly does not see it that way and neither does Grimshaw, even if Molly’s view comes from being raised in a different world and the eventual disdain from the rest of the gang that she picks up on, even if Grimshaw should know better than to build her opinion of this girl on her own lashing out. So she pays no attention to her, doesn’t keep track of her, and does not think that Molly may be lying when she states her guilt before serving the justice she believes is right.

Even without the proof that some care for her would have provided, not everyone believes Molly’s guilt so certainly. Karen didn’t, drinking and screaming at Grimshaw and calling her a murderer, telling her that she liked shooting Molly and that Molly was just in love. Karen didn’t like Molly, at least not outwardly, and yet she is the one to dispute the boss, the arbiter of justice, for killing an innocent girl. Arthur isn’t quite sure either, an attitude shown in how he holds Dutch back from her and tries to talk him down when Molly confesses, and antagonising Grimshaw after it happens (with high honour) will have him ask who she’s going to shoot today.

Of course, it is later revealed that Molly was lying, protecting the gang rather than ratting them out. In the final stand off between Micah and Arthur, it is the real traitor who kills her. A shot to the stomach. A deliberately cruel place to wound somebody, not where you shoot to kill. Grimshaw survives it unlike Molly, who only had time to register she had been shot before collapsing. We hear the pain she is in, groaning in agony, and I wonder if in that moment she thought of Molly. The girl she killed who never said a word against them, who she shot instead of Micah, who must have felt this very pain before life left her. A miscarriage of justice carried out by her, only now for the same to happen to her.

Grimshaw and Molly are more similar than either of them would like to admit, women who love Dutch with short tempers and fierce loyalty. In Molly’s conversation with Arthur before she is pushed aside for a robbery, she is about to ask Arthur about loyalty. She mentions how Dutch says loyalty is everything, but she is cut off and we never hear the rest of what she was going to say. Even when she knows Dutch is being disloyal to her and him calling her delusional, she stays by him. It is only in chapter 4 when she truly gives up on them both. Grimshaw is loyal to Dutch until the end, staying with the gang no matter their circumstances. But Molly is young and Grimshaw is not. Molly, for a short period of time, gets Dutch’s attention and Grimshaw does not. Molly dies quickly and Grimshaw does not.

It is the extension of Grimshaw’s pain that really makes the death feel like the justice she failed to carry out. In addition to that, she was killed by the real traitor. Micah shooting her in the stomach only further highlights the intentions of Grimshaw shooting Molly, for pain over a kill. The arbiter of justice fails for perhaps the first time in her life, and it all comes back in the end.

#rdr2 #I think you can guess my feelings about grimshaw but I tried to be more objective here for the sake of my thoughts #her death is much less plot relevant than the rest so it’s really just Molly getting her justice at last #also rewatching grimshaw’s death she is also the last person to pull her gun in that stand off #aside from dutch and the others who weren’t there yet #molly o'shea #analysis

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annaphoenix1994 · 1 month ago

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Horseshoe Overlook - Exit, Pursued by a Bruised Ego

Previous Chapter - Masterlist - Next Chapter

Her nerves rattled within as she did everything in her power to ignore nausea coming over her, but the strong grip on Arthur's coat and constant bouncing from his horse walking failed to make anything better. "I feel like I'm going to faint," She whispered, hating to admit that she was weak when she was known to be strong. She was gripping just his jacket to keep herself centered, afraid to avoid physical contact.

"You need me to stop?" He asked, slowing his horse, sitting up slightly.

"N-No, I'll be fine." She waved her hand, feeling dizzy, encouraging him to continue.

"You sure? I can take you to a doctor if you need me to." He suggested.

"No," She panted. "I don't know why you just won't leave me here."

"I don't have that in me, Miss," He replied, feeling her grip loosen on his jacket. He immediately turned his head to check on her, seeing that her sunken eyes were starting to shut. To keep her from sliding off of his horse, he stopped his horse completely, using both of his hands to wrap her arms around his waist, his heart fluttering as he felt her head rest on his back just between his shoulder blades. "You'll be okay, just hang on." He assured her, feeling her nod her head weakly in response.

An hour later, he had returned to camp right at early evening, seeing that almost everybody's head had turned to see that Arthur returned with a woman. "Arthur!" Hosea said, quickly walking up to him, grabbing his horse's reins, helping him stop his horse. "What happened? Who is this?" He asked worriedly.

"Found her back at that cabin Kieran told us about. They killed her father and had her tied up for a while. Figured we could give her some food and get her back on her feet." Arthur explained, dismounting his horse carefully before reaching up to help her down, noting how weak she was. Hosea nodded as he looked at the poor woman, taking in her features as she looked familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"Okay," Hosea sighed. Although he was eager to help, he didn't like the fact of constantly rescuing strangers and bringing them back to camp. He liked dear Sadie, but for now, she had no benefit to the camp as she was another mouth to feed, this woman all the same. "You know Dutch ain't gonna like this." He whispered.

"Dutch'll be fine," Arthur scoffed. "Besides, this is who you think it is." He hushed, watching the old man's brows rise in surprise. Minnie Barlow was a woman he had always wanted to meet. Arthur ignored the camp's wandering gaze as he led Minnie towards the main wooden table the gang had their meals at, helping her sit down before rushing to his tent to retrieve a wool blanket to drape over her shoulders as she was cold to the touch.

"Arthur..." He heard Dutch say in a low tone as he was watching him tend to her from his tent, a pipe hanging between his lips. Arthur turned to walk towards him, his arms open and his face begging for forgiveness.

"I can explain. I-"

"Explain why you just brought a woman back to camp without askin' me?" He scolded in a whisper.

"It's not like that, Dutch. I found her at Six Point Cabin where Kieran led us to. Turns out Colm killed her father and he was keepin' her hostage as he was gonna turn her in for the bounty."

Dutch raised his hand to stop him from speaking much more, "Bounty?"

"Yeah, she's Miss Barlow." He replied.

"Minnie Barlow, huh? How do you know she's tellin' the truth? Is she really who she says she is?" Dutch questioned, nodding his head as he looked at the woman as her back was turned to him as she was sat at the table with her head resting on her forearm as she fought another round of nausea.

"Just look at the 'wanted' poster, Dutch. I'm sure it's her," He begged. "She hasn't eaten for days. I told her I could take her to a doctor, but-"

"Why didn't you anyway? Then leave her there? If she's who she says she is, she should need no help from us." Dutch argued in a hushed tone.

"I wouldn't do it..." He frowned, feeling embarrassed.

"Because you have a crush?"

"No!" Arthur argued. "I'd do it to anyone else, not just her. Just let me make sure she gets back to her feet. She'd do it to one of us..." He suggested.

Dutch scoffed, "You don't know what a woman like that is capable of."

"Oh, I do. She pointed a gun to my chest when I stepped foot in that cabin. I thought she was dead. I believe all the stories." Arthur remarked.

"Okay, so if you know she's that dangerous, why is she unbound in my camp?"

"She can't do much, Dutch," Arthur frowned.

Dutch smirked, "If you're gonna have her here, she needs to earn her keep until she gets back to her feet. We're gonna have to treat her just like that O'Driscoll. Tie her up to that tree and give her what she needs. Once she feels better and gets some food in her belly, we'll question her, then decide from there."

"I don't think we should do that, Dutch." Hosea intervened, keeping his voice low.

"You gentlemen have to understand that we are wanted men. You know her history. How do we not know she's settin' us up right now? I ain't takin' no chances!" Dutch hissed.

"You fools are actin' like I'm deaf!" Minnie said, keeping her back turned to them.

Dutch shot Arthur a glare before making his way out of his tent to her, cautious in every step. Hosea and Arthur shared a look as well as a smirk, enjoying Minnie's attitude. "She's a pistol," Hosea chuckled, patting Arthur on the shoulder before following Dutch. "We got our hands full with this one, I can tell."

"That, you may be right," Arthur said, keeping his voice low as he too followed Hosea.

"Minnie Barlow, is it?" Dutch questioned.

"Unfortunately." She replied, looking down at her lap.

Dutch chuckled, "Well, you're not known to be frail and scared like this, what happened?"

Minnie rolled her eyes, "What happened? My father was killed and I was tied up like a damn mule for days with barely any food or water. Tortured by those men who call themselves O'Driscoll's. You can take me over there to that cliff and shoot me in the back of the head for all I care. I got nothing more to live for." She seethed.

Arthur frowned, his heart breaking for the poor woman as he knew she was everything he had heard about, hating how Dutch was treating her like she was a liar. In a way, he could understand where Dutch was coming from. By how Hosea told it, she worked for the Pinkerton Detective Agency for a while before she became an outlaw. She made a living in exposing crude acts and lying to get answers. The brief thought of her lying to them at that moment crossed his mind, but his gut was telling him that she was what he was seeing: a brittle and frail woman who needed help.

"That could be an option if it becomes one, Miss," Dutch replied, taking a seat across from her. "Listen, since our dear friend here has let his heart swell for the past few weeks and as much as I don't want another mouth to feed, you're welcome to stay here until you feel better, but I have to treat you just like any threat, in which you are. You get to make friends with that tree over there, so make sure you're comfortable." Dutch explained.

'You goddamn bastard,' Arthur thought to himself, glaring at Dutch.

"Hosea, you and Arthur make Miss Barlow comfortable by giving her something to eat and drink, then tie her up at that tree. Can't have her runnin' off and tellin' the law about us." Dutch demanded, standing to his feet.

"I don't think this is necessary, Dutch." Hosea said, catching him by his elbow as he was walking back towards his tent.

"Oh, it's completely necessary," Dutch replied. "Do you not remember those stories you told me? I'm not takin' any chances. If she's who we think she is, she could kill every one of us with no problem or run off and tell the law about us. If she earns her keep here, then that's how it is. But until the time being, she's our prisoner."

Arthur pursed his lips as he watched Dutch walk away before looking at Hosea, "Looks like Micah's been tellin' sweet nothin's in his ear."

"I know," Hosea shook his head. "We'll figure it out. Go take care of her, Arthur, but make sure you follow orders." He warned.

"Sure," Arthur nodded before walking to the pot to get her a bowl of stew and a tin of water, setting it down in front of her. "You need to eat." He said as he took a seat next to her, keeping his eye on her.

"I know," She frowned. "Can you just kill me now?" She asked, her hazel eyes looking into his blue orbs, the sight of her making his breathing hitch.

Arthur gulped, "I'm not doin' that, Miss."

She rolled her eyes, hiding a sly smirk, "It needs to happen soon. Beats bein' tied up like some mule."

"I know," He sighed. "But you have to understand that I have to do what I have to do. You're a dangerous woman. We can't risk someone with your background turnin' us in..."

"Someone with my background? You mean when I worked for the Pinkertons, thinking I was doin' honest work when they tried to have me killed because I knew too much so I became an outlaw?" She questioned, her brow raising.

"Y-Yes..."

"You think I'm gonna turn you in, huh?" She chuckled. "Listen here, you're right, I am dangerous, but if I was gonna turn you in, you woulda been dead by now since I done had ya by the ear back at that cabin. I'm nothing to mess with, but I'm not doin' nobody dirty. I may be an outlaw, but I don't thrive off of claiming bounties on other gangs. If they leave me alone, I leave them alone. Simple as that. I used to investigate the mob, not gangs like this. Shit, that's petty work. I was doin' big jobs in big cities, not shit like this." She explained.

Arthur's mind searched for a response as she explained herself, believing every word she was saying. His gut was telling him that she wasn't lying. "I understand, but I still have to follow orders. Now eat somethin'." He said in a low tone, biting his cheek as her words hurt him - hurt for her.

───※ ·❆· ※───

"Alright, you know the drill," Arthur said as he led her to the tree that Kieran was once tied to. She nodded as she willingly put her hands behind her back, her arms erecting chills as she felt Arthur's hands grip her wrists cautiously as he guided her back to the tree before gently tying her wrists together after she slid her back against the trunk as she sat down. "Are you uncomfortable?" He asked, his face flushed as all he wanted to do was nurture her, not make her feel like he was torturing her.

"Well, I've had my shoulders in an awkward position for a few days now, I'm sure it's now seen as normal." She replied with sarcasm to which Arthur couldn't help but chuckle at.

He knelt down to her level, "Just be on good behavior. You cooperate with Dutch, you'll be just fine. I don't want you havin' to live like this, just know that," He whispered, hoping to assure her the best he could. She nodded as she accepted her sentence before leaning her head back against the tree's trunk.

Arthur was hesitant to leave her tied, but he knew he couldn't bring much attention by constantly tending to her, even though that's all he wanted to do. He sighed as he entered his tent, sitting down slowly on his cot, pulling out his journal.

"Arthur," Hosea whispered, breaking his attention from his writing. "Meet me in the mornin'?"

"Sure," Arthur nodded. "Whatchu need?"

"I may have a huntin' trip on our list..." He suggested.

"Good, I could use one!"

"What do you think Dutch is gonna have us do with her?" Hosea questioned, keeping his tone quiet.

"I don't know," Arthur shook his head. "We'll figure it out."

"Sure," Hosea nodded. "I'll check on her before I turn in for the night. Meet me after you check on her in the mornin'?"

"I'll do it."

───※ ·❆· ※───

"Did you get any rest last night?" Arthur dared to ask as he checked on her as soon as he awoke, seeing that the morning dew had moistened her clothes.

"What do you think?" She frowned. He looked at her with guilty eyes, feeling like he could have done something to prevent her from being treated this way, but he knew he had to follow the rules. He was at least grateful that she was being cooperative.

He lowered his head in shame as he thought about how her night could have possibly gone. Being cold and hungry all while trying to rest as she was tied to a tree while he slept soundly on his cot. He felt so selfish that maybe she would have been better off staying behind. "I'm sorry. Do you need me to get you anythin'? Pearson is cookin' some eggs and ham for breakfast." Arthur suggested.

"No, save it for the fortunate and worthy mouths." She replied.

He could tell by just looking at her that she needed food. She was not a skinny woman naturally as she had more of a pear shape body instead of an hourglass, but she carried herself well. "How do you like your eggs cooked?" He asked, not taking any stubbornness from her.

"Excuse me?" She asked, confused.

"You heard me," He raised his brow. "How do you like your eggs cooked?"

She looked him up and down, "And I think you heard me, Mister..." She said, suggesting an answer to her question as she wanted to know his name.

He sighed in defeat, "Arthur, Arthur Morgan."

"Well, Mister Morgan, I would gladly shake your hand and introduce myself, but I'm kinda restricted to do so," She replied with sarcasm. "But to answer your question, I do not need food as I am perfectly fine in the confines of my sentence."

She looked up at him as she watched him smirk, which was almost too attractive for her, "Not to be rude, Miss, but I don't really care what you have to say about the matter. I'll be back with some food for you."

She nodded in defeat and hung her head, feeling ashamed that she let her stubbornness get the better of her, desperately not wanting to admit that she was hungry, but she felt like she didn't deserve it.

"You gonna feed me, too?" She scoffed playfully as he soon approached her with a tin plate.

"If you wanna act like a baby, I will," He remarked. "I can untie you so that you can eat, then I gotta tie you right back up." He explained.

She nodded, "After I eat, can I please get approval to go down to the river and get a bath? I can't stand feeling like I stink." She asked hopefully.

"I don't see why not, but you'll need to be chaperoned."

"I'll sit and rot in my own filth before I have someone chaperone me while I take care of myself." She rolled her eyes.

Arthur smirked, "Well, I guess you'll sit and rot then, huh?" He teased.

"I guess so." She sighed, looking up at him as he held the plate of food in his hand before crouching to her level.

"You ready to quit bein' stubborn and eat somethin'?" He asked.

"I guess I have no choice."

Arthur nodded as he set the plate down on the ground before unsheathing his knife, cutting away the rope binding her wrists together carefully. He helped her bring her arms around to where they were sitting in front of her as she rubbed the raw skin on her wrists, clear that the rope had made a dark red mark on her flesh. She flashed Arthur a weak smile as she took the plate from his hand, slowly raising the fork to her mouth to take her first bite of food since the prior night.

"Can I trust you to sit and eat while I go talk to Hosea?" He asked.

"If you didn't trust me to begin with, you never woulda untied me." She warned.

He pursed his lips as he nodded, hating her sarcasm when all he wanted to do was help her. He thought a lot of her as a mirror of himself as he did the same thing. He always was the giver, being reluctant to accept help when he truly needed it. In a way, he couldn't blame her. She was scared and in a position where she couldn't trust anybody herself.

"Hosea." Arthur said to the old man, seeing that he was oiling his favorite rifle.

"You wanna go huntin'?" Hosea asked, seeing that he was finished tending to Minnie.

"What are you hunting, an elephant?" Arthur asked as he took the rifle from Hosea, examining it.

Hosea chuckled, "I wish! No, I saw a huge bear. One of the biggest I ever saw. I reckon nearly a thousand pounds..."

"My God. What, you need me to come with you?"

"Of course, that is if you're finished tending to Miss Barlow..." Hosea teased.

Arthur chuckled, hiding his smirk behind the brim of his hat, "You were right, that woman's a pistol. She may be in a weak state now, but she's a tough nut to crack." He admitted.

"She reminds me of a mustang whose spirit can't be broken," Hosea admitted. "Remind me to have a talk with her when we get back. She looks timid right now and I can't blame her."

"She is. Probably just where she's so used to bein' alone and losin' her father... I don't know." Arthur shrugged.

"Let's go. I'll go get the horses ready and you go check on her before we leave?" Hosea suggested, hinting that he could already see that she meant far too much to Arthur already, but he wasn't going to let him know that.

"Sure," Arthur replied as he nodded his head, turning on his heel to proceed to the task at hand. He slowly walked up to her, seeing that she had only eaten the two eggs that were cooked for her, taking little bites of the ham. "You okay?" He asked.

"I guess so," She shrugged. "Time to tie me back up now?"

"Unfortunately." Arthur frowned.

She nodded and accepted her sentence, willingly putting her arms behind her as they wrapped around the base of the tree. She was never going to admit that her legs and lower back were aching as well as her shoulders feeling out of place. Somehow, someway, she felt like she wasn't in danger anymore. Even though she was in the possession of another gang, she didn't feel like she was going to be tortured nor starved. 'I really gotta earn my keep around here...' She thought to herself as she felt Arthur's presence kneel behind her, crouching down to carefully tie the harsh rope around her wrists.

"Thank you again for bein' so cooperative, Miss." Arthur said in a low tone.

"Pleasure," She said sternly, hearing a faint chuckle from him.

"I'm gonna be gone huntin'. May be gone for a couple of days. Until I get back, Susan and Mary-Beth will be lookin' after you." Arthur explained.

"So I take it you're my assigned nursemaid?"

"Well, I did bring you here, so yeah, I am. Like it or not," He replied, somewhat agitated. "I'll be back soon."

"Yes, I long for the weary timed trial for your return," She swooned, rolling her eyes in a teasing way.

Arthur stood up and looked down at her, "You keep talkin' like that, and I won't be and I'll have old Dutch breathin' down your neck." He warned.

"So terrifying..."

"Spirited little thing, ain't ya?"

"Maybe," She teased. "Won't you go kill that bear and make a man outta yourself before I bruise your ego."

Arthur raised his brows, "Yeah, I'll bruise you." He said playfully.

"So tough! Wouldn't be the first man to put a bruise on me, 'cept I bruise harder." She warned with a playful wink.

Goddamn this woman, already makin' my heart beat, He thought to himself before rewarding her with a smirk before walking away. He could feel her eyes on him, and he would proudly admit that he liked it.

He soon met up with Hosea, seeing the sly grin on his wrinkled face, "Your chemistry you have with her is recognizable." He said.

"I don't know what you're talkin' about." Arthur blushed as he quickly mounted his horse.

"Whatever you say," Hosea chuckled. "Let's go get this monster."

#rdr2 arthur #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthurmorgan #arthur morgan #reddeadredemption2 #red dead 2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 #red dead redemption

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21witnokidz · 2 years ago

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IN THE GHETTO

Chapter 20

A/N: I'm sorry I've been inactive due to pure laziness so as an apology here's a long and satisfying chapter

“Alright good boy copper!”

It was your turn to take the dog on a walk and he managed to catch himself a rabbit. Despite you and Arthur splitting you still decided to keep the dog and take turns taking care of him.

When you got back to camp you could hear the loud cries of a baby.

Jack Marston, John and Abigail’s son was born 2 years ago. He’s a good kid but he can sure cry his heart out. Especially since John up and left us.

John’s explanation was that he thought the baby wasn’t his. Before he got Abigail pregnant she had already been with half the gang so it made him anxious. When the baby came out he couldn’t really tell who’s it was but as the days went on it started to look more and more not like him.

John is still pretty young but damn you thought having a baby would mature him a little.

“Hey Abigail you doing alright?” You stepped inside Abigail’s little tent.

“Does it look like it? The baby won’t shut up and his father ain’t even here. How am I supposed to do this alone?”

“You’re not alone”

“This baby needs his father!”

You took Jack from her arms and tried to rock him a little. Since you were still getting used to handling a baby you didn’t really know how to calm him down. He just kept on crying.

Abigail sighed and took him back.

“It’s ok y/n you shouldn’t have to. I just wish I wasn’t so careless. Even now Dutch and them look at me differently. The only ones who still treat me the same is the girls, you and Arthur. Y/n.. you and Arthur have known John way longer than I have. Can you please bring him back?”

You never really been on a job with Arthur ever since the break up so you really didn’t want to do this. But you were going to for your friend.

“Alright I’ll see what I can do”

You walked out the tent and let out the deep breath you were holding ever since Abigail mentioned Arthur’s name. God you wished he didn’t have such an effect on you.

You looked to see Charles heading your way.

“She ok?”

“Yea but she asked me to go with Arthur to try and find John”

“I could come with you guys”

“No you don’t have to. I know you're a good hunter but I don't know if that'll still apply to humans"

Charles sat you down and began massaging your shoulders.

“You’re so tense. I think you should rest up and go tomorrow. I saved you some food while you were gone”

“Thank you Charles” See Charles was nice but the thing is. You can’t stop thinking about Arthur. You just didn’t want to do anything about it because you didn’t want to break his heart.

“Speaking of Arthur I’m gonna go see what he wants. He was calling me earlier when I was busy so I’m gonna go check on him”

Charles walked over to the horses where he found Arthur feeding his horse.

“Arthur” Charles nodded.

“Charles! I was asking if you could teach me how to use that bow of yours. If you’d be so kind”

“Sure thing”

Charles handed Arthur his own bow and they went into the woods.

“Sorry about what happened between you and Mary”

“Yea it was never meant to be anyway”

“What makes you say that?”

“I dunno I guess things just weren’t in their right place. You ever feel like that sometimes?”

“Yea. Hey look. A boar”

The men ducked and quietly kneeled towards the beast.

“Oh Pearson will be happy with this one”

“Ok just put the arrow in the string and slightly draw it back. Not too much though”

Arthur drew the arrow and missed completely, scaring off the boar.

“Damn! It got away. I'm sorry my mind wasn’t clear”

“What’s wrong?”

“Just everything from y/n to Mary and John. This is exactly what I meant when I said everything isn’t in the right place”

“What about y/n?”

“Oh don’t play dumb you kno- oh that’s right… you don’t know”

Charles stopped what he was doing and raised his brow.

“Well I didn’t wanna be the one to tell ya this partner but before you joined us we had some history”

“She never told me that”

“I mean there's nothing between us now but I can’t lie. I think about her a lot. Even with Mary, I only got with her to try and forget about what we once had”

“You still love her?”

“Listen that don’t matter. You two are in love now and that’s it”

“I’m not sure about that. Even when me and y/n are together it never feels like she’s really there. And whenever we talk she somehow always makes the topic about something that has to do with you. I didn’t want to believe it then but I guess I always had a feeling there was something between you two”

“I’m sorry. Let’s just go back”

“No it’s fine. Just let me know how you feel about her and I’ll leave you two alone. And be honest”

“Well.. I only ever talked about this with Dutch and Hosea. We first met and got together when we were just kids. She was my first everything. God we were so young and stupid. We’ve been through a lot of things together. Done a lot of things together… said a lot of things. But like I said that don’t matter no more. You two are gonna have a baby and that’ll be the end of whatever we had”

“Baby? What the hell are you talking about?”

“When you guys were in town. I heard you talking about a baby in the store”

Charles couldn’t help but bend over laughing with his hands on his stomach.

“No Arthur you got it all wrong. We were talking about Abigail’s baby”

“Oh” Arthur scratched his neck “well now I feel stupid”

“Not to be mean but you really are an idiot. If you love that girl so much then go get her. I’m sure she still loves you”

“What about you?”

“Forget about me. I’d want her to be with the man she really wants”

Arthur just shook his head “Man you really are different from everyone else here. How’d a guy like you even end up with guys like us?”

“Sometimes I wonder that myself”

By the time Arthur and Charles made it back it was already dark.

“She’s most likely sleeping now so you might as well go in the morning”

“Thanks again Charles”

Morning

You walked out your tent to get some coffee and sat down next to Charles.

“Hi” you kissed him on the cheek.

“Y/n can I talk to you?”

“Yea what’s up?”

“Arthur told me all about you two and I realize now that I’ve been holding you back. I heard your story and you two really belong to each other. Because you’re both idiots”

You just had a blank stare and started laughing a little.

“Aw man. No, you’re right. I’m sorry for all this Charles. This whole thing has been a mess”

“Don’t dwell on it too much. I just think everything should go back to how it used to be. John should be back and you and Arthur should be together again. Even when you aren’t together you still compliment each other perfectly”

“Thank you Charles” you got up and hugged him.

You heard Arthur call your name from the horses for you to get ready and ride off.

“Ok I gotta go now I guess I’ll see you when I get back”

“Yea. And bring that other idiot back with you. It’s not the same without hearing the banter between him and Abigail”

You walked. No you power walked to where Arthur was. Now that everything was resolved you were happy to be around him again. Well almost everything was resolved. You still had to deal with Mary. Still you’d find your way around that soon enough.

Arthur had a smug smile when you approached him. “Hey troublemaker”

“You call me the troublemaker? Get real Morgan. Weren’t you the one who got John stuck in that O’Driscoll camp?”

“Who was the one who thought it’d be a good idea to shoot at birds deep in the night?”

“Who was the one who decided to burn the tent down trying to boil WATER”

“So we’re not gonna talk about that one time you almost led an actor to suicide?”

“No that was you! Don’t put that on me!”

“But you definitely made a contribution”

“Ok fine we’ll call it even”

“So I heard some people saying that there was a man who was camping out at the woods taking bounties”

“Yea that sounds like him. Come on”

You got off your horses and walked into the nearby town with the witnesses.

You saw a woman hanging out her clothes to dry and Arthur kicked his boot up on her wash bucket to greet her. Is he trying to show off or?

“Excuse me ma’am. Have you seen a dirty man bout yay tall” he put his hand up to his chin to show a poor demonstration of John’s height “he’s dirty and smells like dog”

“Oh you know what we should’ve gotten Copper to track him down that would’ve been easier” You explained.

Arthur lowered his head and sighed. “Listen can you just tell us where he is?”

“Well folks said he was gettin’ rough in that bar over there. I wouldn’t recommend gettin’ him riled up though I heard he bites people” The woman responded

You and Arthur just laughed. “Thank you ma’am. Let’s go”

“Y’know I never got the chance to tell you this but I’m happy for you and Mary”

“Me and Mary ain’t together no more”

“REALLY? I mean- really?? Why what happened?”

“Just didn’t feel right” he looked at you.

When you two entered the bar you already heard a ruckus.

“I told you my name ain’t John Marston. It’s Rip Van Winkle!”

“And I told you I don’t serve criminals. This is your wanted poster right here ain’t it?” The bartender pulled out the bounty and John let out a noise you could only identify as shock.

“That’s uh- that’s not me”

“Oh that’s him alright” you spoke up.

John slowly turned around with a scowl on his face.

“What are you two doing here?”

“What are YOU doing here?”

“Listen I don’t care what y’all have to say I’m not coming back”

“Abigail is really struggling without you and you’re just out here getting drunk without a care in the world“

“Y/n I put all my heart into caring for Abigail when she was pregnant. Now I come to find out that the baby ain’t even mine. It looks like it could be Dutch’s”

“Does that even matter? I thought you loved her”

“And I thought she loved me!”

“Alright I’ve had enough” Arthur came and grabbed John by the ear “yer coming back with us ya hear? You need to grow up and be a man!”

Arthur dragged him outside with you behind them and you were found surrounded by the police.

“I told you it’s them. Arthur Morgan, Y/N L/N, and John Marston all lined up!” The bartender slipped away while y’all were talking and got the law here.

“Well I’ll be damned” one of them tipped their hat. “Alright all of you come nice and easy now”

“What do we do?” You looked at Arthur.

“Just comply” he put his hands up and you and John followed.

IN JAIL

Now you three idiots were sitting looking dumb in jail. Now you finally realized why you three got that nickname. After all, before John came it used to be the two idiots. Me and Arthur. It makes you wonder. When Jack grows up is he gonna be a new addition to this unruly group of dimwits?

“I really thought she loved me” John muttered.

“She does John” you walked over to his side and put a hand on his back “and if you think she didn’t love you back then she has to now after all you’ve done for her. And to be honest, she’s not the only one who needs you. We need you. Including Arthur”

“Nah don’t bring me into this” Arthur asserted. “But y/n’s right. Some people in the camp need you”

You nudged his arm. “Ok I need you too from time to time”

“What the hell do you two know about love anyway? It’s not like you ever made it work out with each other. When we first met you two was like Romeo and Juliet and now it's all messed up. Arthur has Mary and you have Charles”

“Well actually..” you started.

“We kinda got..” Arthur continued.

“Dumped” you both said in unison.

Immediately John’s face brightened.

“So you two are going strong again!?” He said with a smile.

“We never said that-“ Arthur started.

“We’re just open now” you finished.

“Oh come on. You two are literally finishing each other’s sentences. Maybe if you two get back together then my mind will be convinced that me and Abigail can get back together too”

“Or how about if you go back to camp now then maybe me and Arthur will think about it”

“Alright”

Arthur looked at you and smiled, happy that you were ready to try again.

“Hey buddy!” You called out to the sheriff keeping watch of you three and handed him a 20 dollar bill. “Come on I know you want it”

The sheriff took the dollar and released you then shut the door when John and Arthur tried to walk out.

“What the hell?”

“She was the only one who gave me the 20 so she’s the only one who gets to leave”

They rolled their eyes and put the money into his hands and they were released.

Back at camp

Everything was back to normal now. John was back. Everyone was happy and you didn’t have to worry anymore.

You sat by a lake with Copper right next to you until you heard Arthur come up behind you.

“I ain’t bothering you am I?”

“No”

He sat down next to you and started petting Copper. “So we’re open now huh?”

“How would you explain it?” You laughed.

“I don’t know. All I do know is that I was a fool to try and get with Mary when I was the one who broke up with you. Are you mad at me?”

“A little”

“I understand. I don’t expect you to forgive me but I’m sorry”

Copper stood up to lay across you and Arthur’s legs.

You two looked at each other.

“Do you forgive me y/n?”

You put your hand on top of Arthur’s and he knew his answer.

#arthur morgan x reader #rdr 2 x reader #red dead redemption x reader #arthur morgan #yeehaw

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realityhelixcreates · 7 months ago

Text

By Talos, This Can't be Happening ch. 11: Ruins of Empire

The past always leaves its mark, in some way or another.

@cardwrecks @captainbaddecisions @whocares-idont I just realized it's been some time.

?~?~?~?~?

They crept away from the farmhouse just before the break of dawn, having been awoken by odd sounds neither of them trusted. They gathered up their things very quickly, dousing the fire and gathering the chickens which had been smoking and drying all night, then began putting distance between the farmhouse and themselves.

“Could have just been a mountain lion.” Helix said.

“Y'get how that's also bad though.” he answered, and they lapsed into silence as the stars faded against the slowly rising sun.

Helix spotted a fallen tree and left the road to examine it while Swag kept a look out for...everything plus mountain lions apparently.

“Thoughts?” he called.

“Hickory. Not new enough to be green, not old enough to be rotting. It's perfect!”

She took her hatchet and began chopping merrily away at a long branch. Little wood chips flew everywhere; she would likely be brushing them out of her hair for hours. After a few minutes, she presented him with a length of solid wood roughly three feet long.

“Good weight?” she asked. “I can thin it out a bit, if you need.”

“No, it...” he hefted the branch, gave it an experimental twist, a spin, a swing. It was thicker, heavier towards one end, and the balance of that was familiar in his palm. “Yeah, I can work with this.”

“Great!” she chirped, then chopped up the rest of the branch into semi-even lengths, and tied them into a bundle which she slung over her back. “This will come in handy later tonight. I doubt we'll reach the city before tomorrow.”

They made their way back to the road, Swag picking the larger chips of wood out of her hair like a grooming monkey.

“So, can you tell me anything about Markarth?” he asked. “Since I'm supposed to be from there?”

“It's beautiful. I was only there once, but it left an impression. There were great spires of stone that the homes and shops were built into, so the city was mostly vertical. The palace was built into a cliff face. There was an attempted murder in the marketplace in broad daylight, the first day I was there.”

“Sounds like a party.”

“There was a lot going on. The Nords have left their mark on it, but it was originally a Dwemer city, and the architecture and metal works really showed it.”

“Now, what does that mean though? What is a Dwemer? I take it they're some kind of people?”

“Yeah...a kind of elf. But they don't exist anymore. If I've got it right, they went to war with the ancestors of the dark elves, like the ones at Azura's shrine, and they did something that made them all disappear overnight. Probably the biggest mystery in Tamriel.”

“Now when you say 'disappear'...”

“I mean gone.” she snapped her fingers. “Poof! No corpses, no clue where or how. Just gone. Left their cities still running, but empty. They used steam power thousands of years ago, had gas lights, created an alloy that still hasn't been reformulated, and built clockwork and machines out of it! They rejected the known gods and made a religion out of logic and philosophy, harnessed sound as magic, but...we know so little about them. Their language was unique, and no one speaks it anymore...but...if I could get my hands on one of the texts...”

“Do you think? They sound pretty neat. Clockwork, steam power, and machines? In this setting? If you could read the books, you might revolutionize this whole world!”

Something in her face fell.

“I'm...not sure I want to do that. It's just, this world seems quaint on its head, beautiful and fresh. Sure. But it's constantly at war. This is an empire. It has filled out to the edges of the continent, spreading its cultural influence like a suffocating blanket, just like we did, and the British before that, and the French before that, and the Spanish before that, and the Dutch-”

“Right.”

“And the point is, they would dearly love to reach past those edges, and so would every other empire on the planet. They're limited right now, in key ways. But a Tamrielic Age of Exploration-and everything that comes with it-is not something I want to be responsible for. And even if I didn't care about that, if I were to supply this knowledge, I'd never know another moment's peace. Everybody would want me, whether I wanted it or not. I do not belong to this world. I do not belong to any world. And though I might have to live within this empire right now, I won't be a slave to it, and I won't make it any easier for it to make slaves of anyone else.”

Naturally. The only chains on Helix were forged and placed by herself, and could just as easily be thrown off. She would never allow herself to be caged.

He eyed that ring on her hand once more. Only ever by her choice.

“That's a good point. This place feels so different from home, but it's still full of people, isn't it? And people are gonna people.”

“Even the Dwemer were known to be slavers. They destroyed an entire race of elves in that way. Their remnants still wander, down in the depths of their ruined cities. I've seen them.”

She shuddered.

“Those places were...disquieting. So perfect and precise, so united in their aesthetic. It made the parts that were broken almost more beautiful by comparison. Everything exactly as it had been left. Beds made. Plates on tables. Steam still hissing through the pipes, gears still spinning. The sounds of industry still groaning through an empty, otherwise silent city. It was...almost obscene. It wasn't even a tomb. Not even a memorial. It was a...a lie. 'Wait for us', it said. 'We've just popped out for a moment. We'll be back soon.' But no one's coming back. Their leavings should at least be allowed to return to the earth. It made me want to bring it all down.”

“My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings?”

“Yes. That's how its supposed to be.” she replied to his poetic interjection. “I was in a terrible place when last here, and I never want to go back down into those empty lands.”

“If we see any, we don't have to go in. Maybe we can kick over a stone or two and then leave.”

It was kind of a shame to leave info on the table like that, but this world would develop at its own pace, and on its own cycles. Helix lived by cycles, and it wasn't his job to rain advancement upon these masses.

The morning fog burned away as the sun climbed higher, lighting up the crumbling tops of mostly toppled stone walls in the distance.

“Speaking of ruins...” he murmured.

“Looks Imperial from here. Another watchtower maybe? Wanna go look?”

“Looks like the road is taking us that direction anyway. If there's any more of that grainy hard cheese, I'm taking it all.”

Helix giggled.

“You're gonna miss it when we leave.”

“Nah, it's like a Grana Padano, I can get it back home. You ever tried it? I'll get you some, the really good stuff. We can feed each other little bits, figs and pomegranate seeds, finocchiona maybe, that apricot preserve you make. That one cocktail you like. That silk wrap dress of yours, the purple one that comes off easy if you pull the ties right. Make a night of it. Whatever avenues of hedonistic debauchery we decide to wander down.”

She smiled, favored him with that glance of hers that always felt like it was about to set his hair on fire.

“You spoil me.” she purred.

“You know I love it.”

“I do.”

She did. They knew each other's love languages to fluency. Give. Share. Touch. Adore.

Off the road, inside those crumbling walls, no one would be able to see them. He didn't particularly care if they were watched, but she did, and that was part of it.

That little flame tickled his blood, lightened his step, and she skipped along beside him, buoyed by that same anticipatory elation.

The ruins were larger than he'd thought; three towers at least, and a wall all the way around. Almost none of it remained, no roofs, and only portions of wall. But that was all they needed.

Maybe it had been an important place once, sacred ground or a military outpost. Now it was merely overgrown grasses, flowering bushes, and moss-covered stone, a place to back her up against a stable section of wall, to grasp at warm flesh beneath layers of cloth, to thrust tongue between yielding lips-

-To screech in surprise as a sword tore through his cloak and stuck between stone blocks, barely missing Helix's shoulder.

“Goddamn cockblockin, motherfucker-!” Swag snarled, rounding on their attacker, only to scream again and press Helix harder against the wall behind him.

Creaking and clacking, a fully de-fleshed human skeleton tugged uselessly at its trapped sword. Several others emerged from behind the flowering bushes, carrying weapons, but nothing to identify who they might have once been but rotting scraps of armor.

Terror washed through him. It was ridiculous. Skeletons were a joke. A cartoonish spooky-scary holiday decoration, or a goth kid's aesthetic. They weren't actually frightening.

Right up until they were right there, in all their radiant wrongness, advancing with weapons raised. Until they outnumbered you. And no amount of pedantic killjoy Twitter rationality made them disappear, no perfect understanding of how the lack of muscles, ligaments, and tendons should mean they shouldn't be able to move, they just did. They had no eyes to see him, and it didn't matter. They knew where he was. They had no brains for motor control, and it didn't matter. They held their swords anyway. Logic and reason were no longer a shield, and he was completely disarmed.

One of them dashed forward, sword swinging, and Swag took Helix to the ground with him as the ragged blade whistled through the air where they were previously standing. Helix screamed beneath him, a startling sound of hatred and fury. She whipped one hand out from under him, and unleashed a bolt of purple lightning that blasted the bones apart.

Helix wriggled free from his protective panic, and destroyed the stuck skeleton with a double handed swing of her hatchet, shattering its naked skull.

“Edward, your cane!” she hollered. “Fuck 'em up!”

That galvanized him, the weight of the branch in his hands dredging up years-old know how. Weaving between them-they were clumsy, erratic-dodging stabs and swings, bashing limbs and splintering bones with the heavy end of the cane. They were brittle things, vulnerable to a good smash, to Helix's crackling electricity, but they had numbers.

“Over here!” Helix demanded, backed up against a crumbling section of wall. “Bring them over here! Just do it!” she cried at his wordless protest.

He danced back over to her, several skeletons recklessly chasing him.

“What now?”

“Get ready to duck!”

Helix slapped her hands against the decaying wall, releasing a ball of lightning that demolished the blocks. The wall wobbled; Helix dragged Swag back down to the ground as the top several feet of stones toppled down onto the approaching skeletons.

The last of their bony foes continued to advance, whatever fell magic that animated it unable to return any brains to its weathered head. Swag kicked its legs out from under it, dashing its skull against the stones.

Helix dragged herself back to her feet and stalked the area with her hatchet, demolishing every skull she came across, loathing swirling around her face. Swag rested against the wall, just letting her do it. Maybe it kept them from getting back up again, like zombies.

Oh god, were there zombies too???

Shoulders heaving and hands trembling, she returned to lean against the remnants of the wall beside him, catching her breath.

“All okay?” he asked.

“Lucky.” she breathed. “They were poorly made. Old. Fragile. Ugh, I hate the undead. I hate the magic that makes them, and I hate the people who use that magic. Necromancers. I hate Necromancers.”

“I can...understand that.” he said, but he was thinking, thinking...

And she caught the thread of thought, wound it around her fingers.

“Narci is a wight.” she said simply. “A spirit. All worlds are full of spirits. They aren't like this. They typically have their own minds and wills. But these? These are just slaves. Dolls. Mockery and desecration. They need to be returned to the earth.”

“That was a fuckin' nightmare. Never thought I'd be scared of skeletons.” he said. “They were just so...wrong.”

“They are dead. And we have freed them forever. Now put me up against that wall and fuck me senseless.”

He raised an eyebrow, but his blood was still high.

“...As my queen commands.” he said, reaching for her shaking shoulders.

?~?~?~?~?

#by talos this can't be happening #swag!riddler #helix #elder scrolls #elder scrolls au

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mellowpiepizzalamp · 3 years ago

Text

Cutting Buck’s hair

Summary: Bucky’s hair didn’t sit good with him anymore.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X F!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, my rubbish writing (it’s a warning)

Word count: ~1300 words

A/N: just a disclaimer I AM NOT A HAIRDRESSER, I just put Brad Mondo’s video into writing. Also, I love Bucky with long hair, but I couldn’t help but imagine something like this. Also, I think it’s free if like skin colour and hair colour description of the reader, exept she/her pronouns. If you find something let me know because it’s not supposed to be here. If I get any shit from someone for using dutch at the end I will block you because it’s my first language and I’d like to use it sometimes because I know I would if I was with someone who didn’t speak dutch. Bye loves!

“Buck, can we go to the store today? We can get your favourite crisps too and- Are you okay?” she was cut off by the sight of Bucky tracing his scars with a judging look while his hair kept falling into his face as he stood before the mirror.

He jumped when he realised she stood at the bathroom door. “Yeah, Yeah, fine. I was just uhm, what were you saying?” he said and scrambled to put on his shirt.

“Bucky calm down. What’s worrying you?” she asked him and held him by his elbows. His hands were trembling and he doubtfully put his hands on her skin.

“I- I just, I-” he couldn’t get the words out, avoided her eyes, breathed heavily and tears started to form in his eyes.

“Do the breathing exercise with me yeah? In and out, slowly.” They breathed together until he could keep the rhythm.

“I had a nightmare last night, but you were still sleeping when I woke up, so I didn’t want to wake you up, but that nightmare was horrible.” He managed to keep his breathing even but the tears still started.

“You can always wake me, okay? No matter the reason,” she soothed and opened her arms for a hug.

“I hate the scars and the stupid arm, but worst of all, I hate the hair. It reminds me of the Winter Soldier and I don’t want to be him anymore, never wanted to be.” He cried into her neck as he hid his face.

After the year they had been together, she was proud of how far they had come. It was still hard at times but they faced it together.

“Your body might have been the Winter Soldier but your heart and mind never were. And your body had changed too you know. You have scars from fighting on the side you have always wanted to, you have a different arm that’s way stronger, you get to decide who you are, who you love, where you go, everything. And if your hair is standing in the way of you being happy, we can cut it,” she smiled.

He lifted his head and rested it against hers. “Will you do it?” he asked, just above a whisper.

“I’m not a hairdresser,” she said nervously.

“I don’t want anyone else to do it,” he said as he took a step back and look at the ground.

“Okay, I can try. Don’t kill me if it looks bad,” she smiled and pulled him back and gave him a kiss.

“I’ll lock you in the house with me if that happens.”

“Ah, so I get to fuck up your hair and get a reward.”

Three days later she came back after buying some things she might need after the advice of a real hairdresser.

“Buck, I’ve got everything, literally. I’ve got clippers, a comb, official hair scissors, even thinning sheers, metal hair clips, a water bottle spray thing and advice of a hairdresser.” She smiled as he came out of the kitchen, half his hair in a bun, and still eating cereal.

“Thanks, doll, can we do it now?” he asked with his puppy eyes.

“Of course! You go and sit down and I’ll get a towel and fill the bottle.”

When she got that all she put the towel around his neck and carefully secured it with a safety pin.

She grabbed the stool on wheels from her office before sitting down on it. “Want me to tell you what I’m doing?” He nodded and smiled at her through the mirror once she put it upon the table.

She placed a kiss on top of his head before she began. “First I’m going to chop off all this length,” she grinned in an American accent she knew he hated.

He mocked a fake glare that faded away with a kiss on his cheek.

“Ready?” she asked as her scissors stood at the ready to cut the fist strand halfway. He nodded and met her eyes in the mirror.

“You’re going to need to talk, otherwise it isn’t my fault I fuck up your hair,” she smiled.

“Yes, I’m ready,” he said and heaved a breath of excitement. She cut it off and handed it to him. As she did the rest, it fell to the ground as Bucky still saved the first strands. “

Now, we have a very nice bob, something for you, monsieur?” she asked with a smile and he scrunched his nose. She kept playing with European words, as in words from European languages, as she was used to, due to her very Dutch background.

“Then we need to section your hair,” she smiled and wheeled to get the metal clippers and comb from the table in front of them.

“I’m going to comb it back and from here I’m going to do it like this and clip this up, see?” she turned his head for him to see and he smiled.

She finished sectioning and took him through the process. “Now the clippers, with the longest thing for on it, I don’t know what they’re called,” she said and plugged it in.

“Guards, need me to put them on?” “Yes,” she handed it to him.

“Okay, she said I needed to hold the comb in one hand and the clippers in the others and do it like this,” she started and went around his whole head with a certain motion.

“If I shave your ear off, that’s not my problem,” she murmured as she now did the parts by his ears as she’s been avoiding those. He smiled, making his ears move and she gave him a look through the mirror.

“That’s dangerous Barnes.” She finished and got him to switch it to a smaller guard and repeated the motion but in a different way, Bucky didn’t know anymore but went along.

She switched guards again and he figured out she was doing some sort of gradient on his hair, it started to look really good.

“I’m fixing these bits now,” she smiled and cleaned up his hairline.

She took the thinning sheers and cleared the top parts until they were both happy with it. She let down his top hair and parted it in two after wetting his hair. Then she proceeded to section it in more bits and cut it at an angle. She combed it back into the next small section and cut it off at the same angle and length.

After measuring if the front two bits were the same lengths she did the other side too. She kept his hair wet throughout and was now putting a heat protector in his hair and blow-dried it.

She styled it a bit to one side and then revealed it to him, although he had been looking the whole time.

“I left it a bit longer on top so I don’t ruin it for the barber but I hope you like it.” He kept looking at it and couldn’t help but touch the back of his head.

“Also, I uhm, I went off of this picture with styling. I hope I wasn’t doing wrong by doing that,” she held up a very old picture of him and Steve on a mountain on a mission.

Bucky was speechless and just flung himself at her while he cried tears of happiness.

“Thank you, how did you get that picture?”

She smiled softly at him and said, “Steve owed me,” and winked. “I’m asking you later about that,” he said in her neck and dragged her over to the sofa and laid down with her.

As he started to cry again she held him and let him do so.

“Thank you so much, I’ve never felt more myself since falling off that fucking train.” he said with a teary smile before kissing her softly.

“Anytime mijn lief.” [my love, in dutch]

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barns imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x y/n #marvel

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hockeyshmockey · 3 years ago

Text

Max Verstappen- My Girl

Max Verstappen x oc

summary: after Bahrain, Max is riled up and goes looking for fight.

warnings: angst w a happy ending don’t yall fret, cursing possibly

“Oh no,” Anna gasped from her couch as the tv began airing the soundbites from Max’s radio. Her two roommates were sitting on the couch with her, and though they didn’t understand the race, they could tell by Anna’s face and Max’s voice something was going wrong.

what is happening, Anna texted Victoria quickly. Max’s sister had been able to get away for the weekend to attend the Bahrain GP, but with Anna’s role as a Social Media Manager with a sports foundation, she had few weekends she could take off to watch Max race.

something with the engine? they think he’ll be fine to finish, Victoria responded promptly, loosening the tightness in Anna’s chest a bit.

The girl got up to go to the kitchen for another glass of wine and more popcorn. She was gone for maybe 8 minutes, and by the time she was back in front of the TV, Max had retired to the pit.

“No,” she groaned as the tv showed her boyfriend hauling himself out of the car.

“What does that mean?” Ella asked as she and their third roommate Alejandra saw the stress on Anna’s face.

“He gets no points for the race,” Anna sighed as she thumbed through her phone to text Max for whenever he got his phone back on.

I am sorry bebe, this race didn’t go the way you wanted. You did the best you could, now its up to the engineers to figure out what is going on. Call me later, te amo

Anna finished watching the race, smiling briefly for Carlos’ win but her spirits fell again when Checo also was out of the race. “Jesus,” Anna shook her head as she turned off the TV shortly after Charles took the podium.

She and the other girls chatted as they cleaned up from their snacks and the living room before heading to their rooms for the night. Anna texted back and forth with Victoria, the girl letting her know Max had done dinner with his team and family and were now heading to the hotel.

She scrolled through twitter a little, trying to stay away from the F1 tag but it kept popping up. With a sigh, she set her phone down and picked up a book on the nightstand to keep her occupied while waiting for her phone to ring.

An hour later, Anna was jolted out of her book when the small chimes began coming from her phone. Smiling sadly she picked it up, accepting the facetime call.

“Hi honey,” she greeted softly as Max’s tired face came on the camera. He had definitely just gotten out of the shower based on his wet hair and bare chest. “How are you doing?”

“Not good,” the dutch man grumbled as he shuffled around in his hotel bed. “It’s just bullshit.”

“I know,” she soothed. “What did they say after the race? Any updates?”

“Not sure, I’ve been dodging calls until I can talk about it without blowing up,” Max sighed.

“Oh babe.”

“Don’t look at me like that Anna,” Max’s eyes got fiery. “I don’t need that.”

“Max what-”

“With pity. It’s bullshit.”

“Max,” Anna said softly in confusion. “I don’t pity you, I wish you had had a better outcome because I know you’re going to be hard on yourself.”

“Why shouldn’t I be hard on myself, and my team?” He barked, sitting up in bed.

“Max, I don’t even know whats happening right now. I’m trying to be sympathetic but my patience Is running out when you’re speaking to me like this,” Anna tried to stay calm.

“Yeah well I don’t need your sympathy. I needed you here. I needed you to take the time to come be here with me,” Max ranted as he carded his hand through his hair.

“Max, we talked about this,” the girl said through gritted teeth. “I was able to get clearance for 10 race weekends this year, if I stayed back for the first. Would you rather me be at 3 races this season?”

“I don’t care Anna, you should’ve been here,” he glared through the phone.

“Listen Max. I don’t know what you think is happening here, but you having a bad race does not give you the right to start lashing out at everyone. If I am going to be to blame because my job won’t let me hold your hand every weekend, as much as I want to, whenever you have a bad race, we need to reevaluate.”

The blonde man stared at Anna through the screen as her chest heaved and her cheeks went red with anger.

“Nothing to say?” She snapped. “Well then, maybe I’ll see you when you get home.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

48 hours later, with no contact from her boyfriend, there was a knock on Anna’s apartment door. She opened it with a sigh, nodding at the blonde in front of her who had a bouquet of flowers and a rolling bag.

“Hello,” Max greeted sullenly as Anna observed him. She stepped to the side to allow him in without another word. “You alright?” He asked as he set down his things and turned to face her in the kitchen.

He internally winced at the frown on her face and her crossed arms as she shrugged in response. He silently held out a hand, waiting for a moment for her to deflate a little and accept it. He pulled her gently into his arms, burying his head in her neck as she began to scratch his back by habit.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “I was pissed with the race and the car and the engineers and took it out on you. That wasn’t right of me, and I’m going to be better.”

“I appreciate your apology,” she pulled back. “But I’m worried this will become a thing. You know I can’t be at every race. And I don’t want you to be resenting me for it.”

“I know darling,” he pulled her back in to his arms. “I don’t, I promise. I know how important your job is to you, and I know you are making sacrifices to come and support me. I need to show you more appreciation for it, and I’m sorry I haven’t been.”

“I just don’t want this to be a habitual argument,” she sighed, nuzzling into his chest as she relaxed into his familiar embrace.

“It won’t Anna,” he pulled back slightly so he could smirk down at her. “You’re my girl.”

With that he leaned down to kiss her frown away.

#f1 #f1 imagine #formula one #formula one imagine #max verstappen #max verstappen imagine #red bull racing

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sweet-villain · 2 years ago

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Sorry~ Dacre Montgomery

Summary : You don't feel good enough for Dacre and Dacre tries to make it right even if it's just with words on the phone.

Author's Note : This is is short but I really like it.

m-rae23~palomam18 ~irish-newzealand-idian-dutch

It all happened so fast, you and Dacre never fought. You raced out the apartment with tears in your eyes heading to your sisters. You couldn't be in the same room as his anymore. It hurt too much, you felt like you weren't enough for him. He stopped making you his first choice, he stopped asking what you thought on things he made decisions on, he stopped telling you how much you mean to him and all of this made you blow up. You had enough.

It's been weeks since you have seen him. He called you every day, leaving you voicemails begging you to come back. He tells you he loves you. He tells you how more beautiful his life is with you by his side.

You glance down seeing his name again pop up on your phone watching the phone move on the table.

" You're not going to answer him?" your sister asks as she places a plate of spaghetti in front of you. You shake your head, " I have nothing to say to him."

She sighs and grabs your phone before you can even utter another word as she passes the green answer button, putting the phone on speaker setting it back on the table. You shoot her a glare while she shrugs and points at the phone.

There is sniffling on the other line, and little gasps as you listen to him trying to calm himself down. He had been crying for weeks now, looking at pictures of you on his phone. It hurt that you left without another word to him.

" I really want you to know how much I love you, Y/N" he says. Dacre feels his heart in his stomach as he tries to tell you what he wants to say. He feels as words aren't enough but it's all he has right now. " Please, please, god-" he lets out a sob just wishing you'd talk to him but your silent on the phone. He can hear shuffling on the other end of the line as you move the plate around the table and tap your fork against the side of your plate.

" I can hear you" he says. " I know you're there and listening. Baby, please" he begs swallowing the lump in his throat.

You don't even notice how mean you are treating him like this. You're shutting him out and pushing him away. It's hurting the both of you.

Your eyes drift over his name on your phone as your eyes trace it continue to hear him begging for you. He begs for you to come back to him, that things will be better as long as your by his side.

" You treat people like jewelry and it's not a nice look" your sister mutters to you as she comes back from the kitchen. " Hi, Dacre" she says to the phone. Dacre greets her but his heart is yearning for the sound of your voice.

You don't mean to be this harsh but this is how you are.

" Your mother's birthday is coming up soon" he mentions, " I know you were working on a song for her. You want to sing it to her, and you said you wanted me to join otherwise you might not even have the guts to do it."

He was right. You were working on something for your mother, wanting her day to be special. You couldn't be there sadly, she understood because work got in the way but you still were going to call her and sing to her. She deserves it.

" I hate that we fought. I hate that you left the way you did. I'm so sorry pretty girl, I didn't mean to let my anger get the best of me. I'm not like that, you know this"

" My insecurities got the best of me" you finally speak up, Dacre sits up as he hears your voice and frowns. " Pretty girl, you're perfect just the way you are"

" I don't feel good enough for you, Montgomery" he runs a hand down his face as he listens. " You're plenty good enough baby, you're my everything and you're smile lights up the room whenever you walk in it. You're beauty outshines everyone else that looks at you. You're laugh is my favorite sound and it could cure me if I'm sick"

You chuckle.

" There is my girl" you shook your head.

" I will never understand why you fell in love with me. Out of everyone else in the world, it was me who you fell for" Dacre pulls his phone from his ear as he stares at it in disbelief.

" There are so many reason why I love you Y/N, you're smart, you're beautiful, you have a big heart, you're kind, you're amazing, you're funny, you're passionate, you're outgoing, you're wild side, the way you look at me and touch me. Everything about you is why I love you, all your flaws too. You're everything to me."

" I didn't mean to leave you the way I did" you mutter to him, feeling bad that you walked out on him when you should of stayed and talked things out.

" It's okay pretty girl, we can work through this"

" I always run away when things get like this, you're too good to me and I don't deserve you" Dacre shakes his head and even though you don't see him, you know he's doing just that.

" I do deserve you, pretty girl. From the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew that I wanted you to be my person"

" You're blue eyes with your freckles will be the death of me" He laughs.

" What a way to go" you laugh, joining him. " Do you love me, pretty girl?" he asks. His heart racing as he nibbles on his bottom lip with his hand in his hair.

" Yes. Do you love me?"

" Yes, I do" he looks down at the ground adding, " I miss you"

" I miss you too, I'm coming home" Dacre smiles wide hearing the words. " I'll be waiting" you end the call and look up at your sister.

" Thank you for letting me stay with you"

" Just go to your man" she smiles, kissing on top of your head laughing as you stand up too quickly knocking the chair over and grabbing your shoes.

You haven't even grabbed your jacket as you race home. The cold wind hits you making you shiver but that doesn't matter as you just want to see him. Your boyfriend.

The door to the apartment opens as he stands in the doorway waiting for you with open arms. You crash into his arms, wrapping your arms around him breathing in his sweet and wood scent. Dacre wraps his arms around, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

He has you back and that all that matters.

#dacre montgomery x reader #dacre montgomery x you #dacre montgomery x y/n #dacre montgomery #imagine dacre montgomery #dacre montgomery fluff #jewls writes

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chocolatemilklvr · 3 years ago

Text

Here & There | Arthur Morgan x Reader

Summary: It’s been almost a day and Arthur can’t find the reader. As he searches for her, he reflects on what happened. Meanwhile, the reader thinks about her time with Arthur, wondering if it was ever real. She wonders if this would be the end of them. Unfortunately, a rude awakening brings their relationship into perspective.

Author’s Note: I apologize for the last chapter. What’s a good story without any conflict, though? Thank you so much to those who have read the entire story and are following along. I appreciate it! (I saw how everyone was debating over Mary and just want y’all to know this isn’t me slandering her. I just thought it would be a decent way to progress the story along.)

TW: Violence, blood, death

Part Four

You didn’t exactly plan on leaving camp for so long.

Your plan was to be alone by the river for a little while and then return. Dutch just happened to catch you as you rode in.

The leader had asked you to go check out Six Point Cabin where the O’Driscoll boys were apparently occupying. You immediately agreed, wanting to get away from camp for a while.

You didn’t feel it would be necessary to let Arthur know where you were going, considering he couldn't offer you the same courtesy.

Thankfully, you had cleaned yourself up a little before going into camp. If anyone had seen you in such a state, they would've never left you alone. Hosea seemed to notice that something was off, so he approached you before you left.

“Is everythin’ alright, dear girl?” The older man rested his hand on your shoulder, letting you know it was okay. You looked at him, trying to keep calm. But, he watched as a tear slowly made its way down your face. You closed your eyes, wishing to be struck down.

He guided you over to the cliff’s edge to speak so nobody could hear.

“What happened?”

You looked at your hands and attempted to keep the tears at bay. “Arthur lied to me and told me he was checking out a job for Dutch over by Strawberry.” You looked at Hosea, who nodded, signaling for you to keep going.

“I found him at the Chadwick Farm. He was with Mary.”

A look of disappointment washed over the older man’s face. He shook his head and reached over to grab your hand. Saying it made it feel so much more real.

“How bad?” Hosea wanted to know just what you saw at the farm. After his conversation with Arthur about Mary, he couldn’t imagine what you had seen.

“She was standing so close to him, looking all sad and whatever. Anyone with a brain could see that she still loves him. I think he loves her, too. Then she put her hand on his face. He didn’t even flinch.”

You stared off into the distance. You couldn’t believe Arthur lied to you. How bad were his feelings for Mary that he couldn’t tell you he was going to see her.

Hosea squeezed your hand. “I’m sorry, dear girl. Don’t know what’s gotten into that boy.” You nodded. You were glad to at least have Hosea.

You stood up and wiped the tears that had managed to escape. You weren’t aware that Arthur had seen you. He was only a couple of minutes out from camp.

“Well, I better get going. I don’t want to get too into this right now.” The older man nodded. He knew what you needed was time and space away from Arthur. “I’m gonna sit down by the river for a bit before heading out. I’ll be back in a couple of days.”

You bent down and kissed Hosea’s forehead. He gave you a sad smile and gave your hand a final squeeze. “Be careful out there, girl. Remember, don’t go in guns blazin’. Check it out and gather all the information you can. When it’s time, we’ll get’em.”

You nodded. “Of course, old man.”

You gave him a small smile before turning to leave. Suddenly, you turned back around to Hosea.

“Oh...don’t tell Arthur where I’m going. It’s not really any of his business right now. Make sure nobody tells him.” The older man nodded.

You quickly headed out of camp and made your way to the river. You wanted to have a moment of peace before heading out.

That was about five hours ago.

You had set up camp a couple miles away from the cabin, waiting for midnight. You had already scoped the area during the few hours of daylight you had left, trying to get an idea of their routine. Now, you were preparing to see how many guards were stationed at night and who all went to bed. Your plan was to figure out the best time of day to attack when it was time.

Thankfully, Arthur hadn't shown up or found you yet. You figured he would’ve spent the entire day with Mary or gone on his own job.

You heart ached for the outlaw. You just couldn’t wrap your mind around the fact that he lied to you. After everything the two of you had been through, you figured honesty wouldn’t have been an issue. Arthur had spent almost an entire decade telling you everything. Or, so you thought.

You sighed and sat down on your bedroll, pulling your knees up to your chest. Everything hurt. Your chest, your stomach, even your limbs ached. Any hunger you felt disappeared and you felt like you were going to throw up. You had a huge headache from all of the crying you were doing.

You just felt downright pathetic and stupid.

Before you could pity yourself anymore, you felt someone’s presence approaching you. You groaned, thinking Arthur had finally found you.

“Arthur, go back to camp.”

But, when you looked up, it wasn’t Arthur.

“Well, look at what we ‘ave here, boys. Princess of the Van der Linde gang.” O’driscoll’s.

You stood up quickly, hand hovering over your revolver. There were three of them, all looking at you like you were a prized animal.

“Colm’s gon’ be real happy to see you, girl.”

You weren’t in the mood to entertain the men. You remained silent, ready to use your gun should the opportunity arise.

“I heard you liked to talk, princess. What you so quiet for? No more jokes in that pretty little head o’yours?”

Silence.

All they did was laugh. You raised your eyebrows, confused. “That’s alright, princess. You won’t be quiet for long.”

That’s when you felt the footsteps behind you. You quickly spun around, grabbing your gun.

Then, all you saw was black.

----

Arthur had been looking for you for hours.

He had no idea what direction you went or where you could’ve gone. He checked every single establishment in Valentine and Strawberry. He asked almost everyone in town if they had seen you. Hell, he even went back to the Chadwick Farm to see if you were there.

It was evening already and you were nowhere to be found. He decided to go back to Horseshoe. Maybe you had returned.

Arthur rode into camp, immediately looking for your horse. Unfortunately, the Blue Roan Nokota was nowhere to be seen. He groaned, frustrated with the fact that you had run off without talking to him. Arthur had to remind himself that it was his own fault.

He walked into camp, planning to ask everyone who was awake if they knew where you were. The first person he saw was Abigail.

“Abigail.” Arthur quickly walked towards the young mother, hoping she would know. “Do you know where Y/N is? Haven’t seen her in a couple o’hours.”

The woman shook her head. “No, she didn’t tell me where she was goin’. But, I’m sure she’s fine, Arthur. Lord knows that woman can take care of herself.”

Abigail walked away before Arthur could say anything else. He grumbled to himself and walked over to the ladies’ tent. Thankfully, they were all awake.

“You ladies know where Y/N is? She’s been gone for a little bit.”

Mary-Beth and Karen gave each other a quick glance before looking at Arthur. Tilly immediately shook her head no.

Mary-Beth was the one to answer. “Sorry, Arthur, we don’t know where she is. Maybe on a job or somethin’.”

Arthur was getting more and more irritated. If these girls didn’t know where you were, nobody would. He was thinking the worst. What if you ran away, not wanting to return to the gang because of him? What if you were hurt?

“Y’all don’t...y’all don’t think she’s hurt, do ya?” He rubbed his face, stressed.

Karen laughed. “I pity the fool that tries to hurt, Y/N. They have a bad thing comin’.” The other girls nodded.

Arthur had a feeling that they knew more than they were letting on. But, he walked away, already going on to the next person.

Luckily for him, Miss Grimshaw was already walking towards him.

“Arthur-”

“My apologies, Miss Grimshaw, but have you seen Y/N?”

The older woman gave you a funny look. “Mr. Morgan, she’s probably out workin’. Always was good in bringin’ in money, that one. Now, will you please listen?”

Arthur rolled his eyes, earning a glare from the woman. “I need you to go huntin’. We’re runnin’ low on meat and Charles is out right now.”

The outlaw groaned internally. He needed to be out looking for you, and now he had to put that on pause. Arthur knew what Dutch would say if he said no.

“I’ll leave tonight.” Grimshaw was happy with the answer and walked away. Arthur sighed and rubbed his face.

He was in for a long night.

----

You had an awful headache.

You woke up tied to a chair with your bandana stuffed in your mouth. Your entire body ached along with your head. You smelt blood and realized your nose had been bleeding.

Upon inspection, you deduced you were in the cabin. Clothes and empty cans were thrown around the cabin, indicating men were staying here.

You tried to move around and feel how tight the ropes were tied. Unfortunately for you, they did a decent job at tying you up. You groaned, trying to figure out how to get out of here.

Suddenly, the door swung open. Two men walked in. They were at your camp.

“Good afternoon, princess. You were out a long time. How’s that pretty head?” The two men seemed to be enjoying the sight of you.

One of them walked towards you and stroked your cheek. You didn’t move, not wanting to give them a reaction. The last thing they needed to see from you was fear.

“Ain’t it about time you leave old Dutch’s gang? Get yourself a real man, like me?” You almost rolled your eyes. You told yourself to remain calm.

The other man stepped towards you. “Quit playin’ with her, Thomas. We need information.”

The man who you now knew as Thomas sighed and took his hand away. “Liam, I can never play with any of ‘em.” This man was disgusting.

He took the bandana out of your mouth and threw it in your lap. You tasted blood.

“Now, we can make this easy, or we can make this hard, girl. We only wanna know one thing. Where’s Dutch?” Liam got straight to the point.

You refused to answer. You knew it would make them, specifically Liam, angry, but so be it. You couldn’t rat out the gang. Never.

“Let me say it again. Where is Dutch?”

Silence.

Not surprisingly, Liam grew upset. Thomas only rolled his eyes and sat down. “You’re not gonna get her to talk. I told y’all we shoulda just left her to die.” How kind of him.

Liam walked closer to you, pulling out his knife. “Oh...she’ll talk. I’ll make sure of it.”

You looked at his knife, knowing you were in for it. Still, you had to be strong. Liam saw you eyeing his knife and laughed. “What’s wrong, girl? You scared?”

You looked at him, emotionless.

“Not at all.”

----

Arthur walked into camp carrying a large buck.

He also managed to get a rabbit and a turkey. He placed everything on Pearson’s table, earning a ‘thank you’ from the man.

He was so focused on giving everything to Pearson, he didn't check to see if you were back. When he finally was able to think, he looked around for you.

Nothing.

He was extremely worried now. Something didn’t feel right. You would never be gone this long without telling someone. Surely, Hosea had to know where you were.

Arthur started making his way to Hosea’s tent before he realized the older man was talking to Dutch by the cliff. They were whispering and Hosea looked like he was in distress.

Before Arthur could make his way over to the men, he felt a hand on his arm. He turned to see an upset-looking Tilly.

“Arthur. We need to talk. Now.”

Arthur was taken aback by her tone. All he could do was nod. The younger woman led him towards the trees, hiding from the gang’s eyes and ears.

“What's goin’ on, Tilly? Everythin’ alright?”

She shook her head. “Y/N’s not back yet. She should’ve been back by now. Somethin’ don’t feel right.” Arthur immediately stood up straighter at the mention of your name.

“What do you mean? Do you know where she is?” His heart rate started to accelerate.

Tilly hesitated before answering. Finally, she shook her head. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell ya, Arthur. It's just...she’s my best friend and I wanted to do right by her. She was upset and didn’t want ya to know where she was.”

Arthur tried to be mad at Tilly, but she was just trying to do what she thought was right. He couldn’t blame her.

“I understand, Tilly. You was bein’ a good friend. Where is she and why should she be back by now?”

The younger woman started to grow even more nervous. Like the answer would set Arthur over the edge.

“She went to check out Six Point Cabin. Spyin’ on the O’Driscoll boys.”

At the mention of the O’Driscoll’s, Arthur’s blood ran cold. Why did you think not telling him would be a good idea? No matter how mad you were at him.

“Who knows?” Arthur was furious.

Tilly sighed, knowing the men in camp were in for it. “The men.”

That was all Arthur needed to hear. He thanked Tilly and stormed into camp. He quickly made his way over to Dutch and Hosea.

“You sent her to Six Point by herself?” Arthur’s question was mostly directed towards Dutch. The gang leader just gave him a blank stare.

Arthur continued. “What the hell is she doin’ over there by herself?” He was furious with Dutch for sending you alone. Not that you weren’t capable, but they didn’t know how many O’Driscoll’s were at the cabin. Anything could happen.

“She was just doin’ some reconnaissance, Arthur. She’s fine.” Dutch tried to downplay the situation.

“She shoulda been back by now, Dutch. I’m gettin’ worried.” Hosea expressed his concerns to the raven-haired man. He knew you could handle yourself as well, but something did feel off.

Dutch just sighed and rubbed his chin, thinking of what to do. “Maybe you’re right, Hosea. Arthur, take Charles and John. Quickly.”

Arthur nodded and left to find the two men. Charles was sitting by the campfire, messing with his arrows, while John was sitting in his tent.

“Charles! John!”

The two men looked at Arthur, a curious look on both of their faces.

“Ride with me?”

They nodded and quickly joined the outlaw. They mounted up and followed Arthur out of camp.

“What’s goin’ on, Arthur?” Charles was the first to ask why they were suddenly summoned.

“Y/N shoulda been back by now. Dutch said she were only checkin’ out the place. No need for her to be there this long.” Arthur urged his horse to move faster, wishing he was there already.

“She seemed pretty upset when she left. Anythin’ to do with you, Morgan?” John was already poking fun at Arthur.

“I think it’s best if we didn’t discuss that, Marston.” There was a warning in Arthur’s tone. His usually short fuse was even shorter now that you were seemingly missing.

John only chuckled and didn't say anything else. They rode in silence the entire way to the cabin. The two men were aware of Arthur’s sour mood and didn’t want to push his buttons.

It was midday by the time they arrived at the cabin.

They dismounted and left their horses in the trees, not wanting to be heard or seen. Arthur scoped the area, looking for you. But, you were nowhere to be seen.

“What do you think, Arthur?” Charles whispered to the outlaw. They were hiding behind some rocks.

“Not sure. There’s a lot of ‘em. If she’s here, they might shoot her the second they hear gunshots.” There were so many things that could go wrong, including the fact that you may not even be here. If you weren’t, Arthur truly had no idea where you could be.

“How ‘bout we-” John was cut off by men shouting.

“Outta the way!”

The three men peeked over the rocks to see what the commotion was. Two O’Driscoll boys were carrying someone tied to a chair. The person lifted their head up, looking around slowly.

Arthur’s heart stopped when he realized it was you. You didn’t look good. Your face was bloody and your clothes were ripped up.

“Those bastards.” Arthur was enraged at what they had done to you.

They stopped by the campfire and set the chair down roughly. Arthur could hear your groan from his hiding spot. One of the two men walked away, leaving you with the bigger one.

“Not so tough now, princess?” He was taunting you.

You, however, were over it. “Why don’t you untie me and see how tough I am, princess.” The man gave you a death glare at you and punched you in the stomach. You wheezed and tried to catch your breath.

“My friend’s kid hits harder than you do.” You struggled to speak, but managed. Even at a time like this, you were making jokes.

John chuckled besides Arthur. They were able to hear everything. Arthur was not amused and glared at him, but John just brushed it off.

The man ignored you and pulled his knife out of its sheath. He stuck it in the fire and waited for it to get hot.

Arthur immediately stood up and aimed at the man. Charles quickly grabbed the gun and pulled Arthur back down.

“Charles-”

“The gun will be too loud. Look.” Charles gestured at the camp. “No one is paying attention. Do it quietly. That’ll give us the chance to get her out safely.”

Arthur huffed, but listened to the wiser man. Your safety was top priority, not his need for revenge.

Arthur took out his bow and aimed at the man. He waited for him to turn back around so he would have a clear shot. Finally, he was done heating his knife, and turned to face you.

Arthur took a deep breath and focused. Then, he released the arrow.

It hit his throat, causing him to tumble over. You flinched, but remained silent. Arthur slowly crept forward, not wanting to alert the others. You turned your head as much as you could to see him out of your peripherals. Of course, you heard him.

When Arthur reached you, he softly grabbed your leg and put his finger up to his mouth, telling you to keep quiet.

You nodded, still a little out of breath from the blow. You were still upset with Arthur, but were willing to put it aside so you could get out of here.

Arthur quickly cut the ropes, finally giving your wrists some relief. After you were free, he carefully picked you up bridal style and tried his best to keep quiet. As gentle as Arthur was trying to be with you, your entire body was littered with bruises.

You groaned into his chest, trying to remain silent. Everything hurt.

Arthur was almost to Charles and John when someone noticed him.

“Hey!”

Your eyes widened and you looked at Arthur. He gave you an apologetic look and tightened his grip on you, causing you to wince in pain. He started running to the horses while Charles and John did their best to hold them off.

When Arthur made it, they ran to join the two of you. Charles helped lift you onto Arthur’s horse. Arthur got on behind you and wrapped his arm around your stomach. The four of you quickly rode off, trying to avoid getting shot at.

When the coast was clear, you grabbed the reins from Arthur, startling him. You slowed down and came to a stop.

“What are you doin’, darlin’?” Arthur scooted forward to try and look at your face.

You ignored him and turned to Charles. “Charles, my...my horse. My camp is just...just about a mile east of here. I hate to ask, but he’s my-”

Charles gave you a small smile. “I’ll make sure he’s back safely.”

You smiled and relaxed a little bit. That horse was your companion and closest friend.

“Come on, John. They should be fine.” John nodded and tipped his hat to you before catching up to Charles.

You gave the reins back to Arthur and leaned forward, trying to stretch your aching back.

He set off in a slow trot, not wanting to hurt you anymore.

Neither of you said anything for a while. Arthur didn't want to push you and you just didn’t know what to say. Eventually, you were the one to break the silence.

“Can we head to Valentine. Kinda don’t wanna show up to camp lookin’ like this. And...I would like to sleep in a bed tonight.”

Arthur was just glad you were speaking to him. He hated the silence. “Course, my lady.”

The rest of the ride to Valentine was quiet. There was still plenty of day left, but all you wanted to do was sleep. Exhaustion finally caught up to you and you fell asleep against Arthur.

He rubbed your stomach with his free hand, grateful that you were safe with him. All he wanted to do was make things right with you.

Eventually, the two of you rode into Valentine. Unfortunately for you, Arthur had to wake you up to take you to the doctor’s office. He wanted you to get checked out and make sure you were okay.

You didn’t have the energy to fight him over it, so you stumbled into the office. Several bandages and stitches later, you joined Arthur outside. He gave you a small smile and helped you walk to the hotel.

After paying for the room, Arthur basically carried you up the stairs. You were grateful though, your legs were incredibly sore. You entered the room and carefully laid on the bed.

You groaned and massaged your body. “Good God...everything hurts.”

Arthur didn’t say anything. He just looked at you. He didn't have the chance to really see the damage, but now it was on full display. Your nose had dried blood all over it, while there was a small cut on your top lip. You had stitches on your forehead and a large cut across your right eyebrow with a bandage over it. Your eyes were swollen and there were several cuts and bruises littering your cheekbones. The rest of your body was banged up and there was a lot of blue and purple.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to protect you, Y/N. This never shoulda happened.” Arthur sat down on the other side of the bed, wanting to give you your space.

You avoided his eyes, not wanting to look at him. “I can protect myself, Arthur. They just ambushed me.” Arthur rolled his eyes.

“You knew goin’ alone coulda been a bad idea. Why did you?”

You were silent for a minute or two. You were dreading this conversation and wanted to shrivel up just so you could avoid it.

“I wanted to be alone. Simple as that.”

“You’d risk your life for some alone time? You’re smarter than that, Y/N.”

You were getting frustrated with Arthur treating you like you were some child. “Arthur, I’ve gone on dozens of jobs by myself and you’ve never said nothing about it. The one time I want to be alone because of something you did, it’s a crime and I’m not smart?”

Arthur was not expecting this. “That’s not what I meant-”

“Then what did you mean, Arthur? Please, enlighten me.” You sat up and looked at him expectantly.

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I just...I never got the opportunity to explain myself. You ran off ‘fore I could say anythin’. When Tilly told me where you were, I panicked. Your head weren’t in the right place to be on a job that risky.”

You stared at Arthur for a bit before looking down at your hands. They were covered in scratches and your wrists had been burnt from the rope.

Eventually, you looked up at Arthur. He watched a tear roll down your cheek and finally saw all of the hurt on your face. Past the cuts and bruises, the only thing on your face was hurt and sadness.

“Why did you lie to me?”

It was a simple question. But to Arthur, it was the most difficult question in the world.

“I...I don’t know. Guess I just thought you wouldn’t understand.”

“Understand what? That you were in a big hurry to go see the person who has had your heart for years? That you lied to me about it and pushed me aside for it? I ain’t the most intelligent person alive, Arthur, but I understand.”

Arthur didn’t really know how to answer your question. But now he was thinking he said the wrong thing.

“Look Y/N...I hadn’t seen her or talked to her in years on account of her wishes. I wanted to hear what she had to say all of a sudden. I just didn’t go about it the right way with you.” It was the truth. He did want to know what she had to say.

“What did you want to hear from her? Were you hoping she’d come running back?” You knew his answer could hurt you, but you had to know. What was it about this woman that enamored him so much?

He didn’t answer at first. But finally, he figured out a way to explain himself.

“I don't know what I was expectin’, Y/N. Maybe some part o’me was wantin’ to see her runnin’ back. I chased her for so long, it would’ve been nice to see.”

Arthur stopped to see how you were, but you just had a blank expression on your face. So, he continued.

“It was wrong o’me to lie to you and cast you aside. I weren’t thinkin’ clearly and I made a fool o’myself. It was never my intention to hurt you, darlin’. And for that, I apologize wholeheartedly.”

Arthur stood up from his side of the bed and went to go sit by you. He carefully touched your cheek, not wanting to cause you any more pain. He looked at you, waiting for your eyes to meet his.

“The moment I saw you at that farm, I knew. I knew anythin’ I’ve ever felt for her, would never surpass the way I feel for you. Watching you leave, knowin’ how much I’d hurt you, hurt me in ways I never knew. Y/N...I would live my life a million times if it meant I’d get to meet you every single time.”

You looked at him, searching for any indication that he was lying. But, you knew. Arthur would never lie about something he cared about.

“I am all yours, Y/N. You have me until the end of time.”

Finally, you smiled.

“What if I get sick and tired of you before then?”

Arthur's heart swelled and a grin appeared on his face. “Afraid you’re stuck with me, ma’am.”

You chuckled and nodded. You didn’t feel like saying much, but Arthur understood. Instead, you laid back down and gestured for Arthur to lay beside you.

You were both on your backs and just held each other’s hand in silence. All you wanted was to feel safe, and all Arthur wanted was to protect you.

“Arthur.”

“Yes, my lady?”

You turned your head to look at him.

“I forgive you.”

Arthur turned his head to look at you, as well. He had a small, grateful smile on his face.

“Can I tell you something?”

You nodded, curious.

“I love you.”

It was like time had stopped.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #pretty boah

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