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morethantheycansay · 3 days

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save me from the nothing i've become

rated M | read it on ao3 | 3k words | next chapter

John’s eyebrows raised up in surprise. He had no idea that Abigail had settled down. “I– I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had a feller,”

She tilted her head, appearing confused. Then, understanding washed over her. “Oh, John, I’m not…” She shook her head. “I’m not married.”

She could tell he was still (justifiably) confused, so she continued. “I’d like to introduce you to someone. John, this is my son, Jack… Jack Marston.”

1899. Three months after the dissolution of the Van Der Linde gang, John reunites with Abigail, whom he hasn't seen in 5 years. Unbeknownst to him, she's kept a part of him with her the whole time.

NOVEMBER 1894

That fateful evening, everything had seemed relatively normal. Until, of course, it wasn’t.

Abigail approached John at the campfire. The New Austin heat had cooled as the sun went down, and now there was a chill in the air. As such, he had been sitting with Arthur and Javier, the latter strumming his guitar somewhat aimlessly.

“John? Can I talk to you?” She asked.

“Yeah, ‘course.” He looked her up-and-down. There was something wrong, her body language was off, her voice a little shaky. She’d been acting standoffish and strange lately, so he’d been giving her space. Perhaps she was upset by it, and they’d likely argue. But then they’d go back to normal soon enough, as they always did.

She glanced at the other two men. Arthur was nodding off, and Javier was paying no attention, instead focused on his guitar. She cleared her throat. “Can we talk alone?”

John raised an eyebrow, but complied nonetheless. He grabbed his jacket off of the ground first, slightly put off by the fact that he had to leave the warmth of the campfire. Abigail lead him to the area overlooking the rocky cliffside, where two sideways barrels sat as makeshift seats. She gestured to one of the barrels. John sat, confused.

He looked at her, tilting his head. “You alright?” He was starting to get a little worried.

“No. Yes. I will be.” She sat down on the other barrel gingerly, folding her hands in her lap.

Her confusing answer did little to abate his worries. On instinct, he shrugged his jacket off and placed it around her shoulders. She accepted the gesture with little gusto.

“It’s okay. You can tell me,” he assured her.

Abigail nodded tensely. She shook her head, a humorless chuckle escaping her throat. “Christ, I just.. I’ve been tryin’ to figure out the best way to say this. Spent all day tryin’ to come up with the words and I still can’t.”

John was silent as he waited for her to continue.

She was quiet for a good while, staring up at the stars. The sky was an inky black, and the cosmos twinkled in a cloudless sky. “I just— I can’t keep doin’ this, John.”

His heart sunk. What did she mean by that? Couldn’t continue with their relationship? He couldn’t think of anything he’d done wrong lately, besides being a little distant. But they both liked their space at different points, and it was never an issue before, so why would it be a problem now?

John opened his mouth. Closed it. “I… you’re breakin’ up with me?” He let out an awkward sort of breathy laugh as a nervous tic.

Abigail pursed her lips, mulling over her words. She shook her head. “No. I need out of this,” she gestured loosely. “This life, I can’t do it.”

What else would she do? She hated her life before. Was her old life really better than whatever existence she’d carved herself in the gang?

“So… you’d rather go back to prostitutin’?” He asked, indignant. He felt immediate regret upon seeing her expression. The way her mouth pressed into a thin line and her brow furrowed.

She stomped her foot angrily, a cloud of dust rising from the impact. “That ain’t what I’m sayin’ and you know it! Christ, you can be so—“ She cut herself off with a clench of her fists.

“So what are you sayin’, then? You leavin’ ‘cause ‘a me?” He stood up, rising to his full height. He was just about ready to storm off and leave.

“Will you get your head outta your own ass for a minute an’ listen to me? This ain’t helpin’ nothin’!” She threw her hands in the air, gesticulating with an air of anger.

John sat back down with a huff. “I’m sorry. Go on.” he forced out. He had so many questions, so much more he wanted to add. But he’d hear her out; deep down, he knew she was right. Arguing wouldn’t help her explain herself.

She shook her head sadly, not meeting his gaze. “It ain’t nothin’ against you, John. You know how much I care about you. But I gotta do what’s best for me.” She hugged herself — hugging the jacket, John’s jacket, closer.

“And?” he pressed.

Her arms were still crossed, but the ire was gone from her voice. “I need to feel safe, and livin’ on the run with a bunch’a criminals ain’t safe. I have to protect myself.”

Rationally, John couldn’t argue with her logic. But the thought of losing her hurt more than he could have ever thought.

He said nothing in response — Hell, what even could he say?

Abigail reached out to touch his arm. “I’m sorry, John. I ain’t doin’ this to hurt you.” She let out a sigh, and when she finally met his gaze, her eyes were misty. “I already know what your answer is gonna be. But I have to ask, ‘cause I’ll spend the rest of my life kickin’ myself if I didn’t. Will you come with me?”

His mouth went dry. There were two clear-cut paths laid out in front of him.

He could keep living this life — wild, lawless, dangerous. All the freedom he could want and all the danger that came with it. Going to sleep and wondering if he’d be greeted with a torched camp and a knife in his throat in the morning. The constant brushes with death and the exhilarating temptation it brought.

Or a life with Abigail. Freedom — but in a very different way; experiencing the wild, untamed world with the woman he loved by his side.

That meant no more gang. No more safety net. No more stability. No more Arthur or Hosea or Grimshaw or Dutch.

Dutch…

He thought of how Dutch would react, shuddering. He’d be labeled a traitor… and maybe Dutch would be right for it. After all, how selfish could he be? To leave his family, even if it was for Abigail? He couldn’t do that, could he? They needed him.

But Abigail wanted him. Yet she was willing to leave, seemingly with or without him. She’d survived much longer without him. True, she didn’t need him. But did the gang need him? Surely they did, he put his due effort in and in turn they took care of him. He owed the whole gang so much.

He bowed his head down, unwilling to see the look on her face when he rejected her. “I… I can’t.” You fucking coward.

Abigail nodded, seeming like she expected this. “I know,” she said sadly. She rose from the barrel she was sitting on. Silhouetted by moonlight, the grayish jacket on her almost looked like a pair of angel’s wings.

Perhaps, she was an angel, of sorts. She wasn’t meant to stay in Hell with him. She was meant to soar to the heavens, far above this life.

She was leaving. She was leaving him. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, a dull ache blooming in his chest. “Wait. Abigail?”

“Yeah?”

He couldn’t let her leave without saying it at least once. He exhaled shakily. “...I love you,” It felt only fair that if she was going to shatter his heart, he may as well give it to her fully.

She gave him a sort of sad smile. “I know you do, John. I know you do.”

And just like that, she was gone, like smoke dissolving in the air, having left his heart adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

OCTOBER 1899

FIVE YEARS LATER

Three months.

Three months had passed since everything had fallen apart.

He had rode until the horse he’d stolen (after Old Boy had been shot out from under him) until it dropped. Then another, and another after that, until he’d passed through West Elizabeth. He spent his time roaming New Austin for a few weeks, then he went north into New Mexico.

John wandered the desert almost as a ghost, wandering from place to place aimlessly. He was far enough away that he hadn’t seen any Pinkertons, and he’d done his due diligence to cover his tracks.

He hadn’t fully let his guard down yet, but he felt confident enough to stay in a settlement for more than a day or two.

That was how he had found himself in his newest haunt. For the southwest, it was a decently big town — one by the name of Brimstone. It wasn’t quite the size of Blackwater, but it was close to as large, and besides, it was a good place to lie low.

John hitched his newest horse in front of a water trough. “Go ‘head, get yourself a drink, miss. You’ve earned it,” he said, smoothing his hand down her mane.

He’d stolen the Gypsy Cob from a rather bold bounty hunter (who’d unfortunately caught a bullet in between his eyes). She was a pretty thing, white splashed-bay coated with soul-stirring blue eyes. “I’ll be back, lady. Think I’m gonna get myself a drink an’ find us a place to stay.” He had no reason to speak to the horse, but he’d been sorely lacking conversation as of late.

The horse, naturally, didn’t answer him back, getting herself a well-deserved drink.

The town’s saloon was right across from where he’d hitched his horse. It was a short walk inside, every step made a little more excruciating by the sun beating down on him.

God, he was filthy. He couldn’t remember the last time he wasn’t caked in sweat.

The saloon, of course, housed degenerates of all sorts — the exact people John fit in seamlessly with. However, it was fairly empty, considering it was high noon.

All the better. Meant less people would talk to him. The wooden floors creaked under every step he took, drawing the attention of the few patrons inside.

John fished a coin out of Arthur’s his satchel and apathetically tossed it onto the bar.

The bartender looked at him curiously. “You new ‘round these parts, stranger?”

“Guess you could say that,” John replied impassively. “Gimme a whiskey.”

The bartender poured him a shot and slid it to him. “You look rough, partner.”

“Feel rough,” John muttered before tossing his head back and downing the shot. The acrid taste and slight sting in his throat made him feel a little bit less like a zombie.

The room was quiet for a moment. The only other patrons were either sad drunks half-asleep on the floor, or crusty old men playing cards.

It was a downright depressing environment. Then again, he supposed he fit in perfectly with that.

“We got rooms and a bath upstairs, if you need ‘em. Fifty cents for both.” The bartender informed him.

John sighed deeply. He reached into the satchel blindly, then placed a dollar coin on the counter. “That should cover me for about one bath and three nights.”

“Thank you kindly, sir. Can I get you anythin’ else?”

“Nope,” John replied tersely. “Just the bath.”

“Sure, partner. Bathroom’s upstairs, first door on the right.”

He muttered a thanks in reply and pushed himself away from the bar.

As swiftly as he could manage, John sorted himself out. There was no reason to be hurried, but months of being on the run, it had become a habit to do just about everything quickly. After all, he had no idea when he’d next have to pack his things and go.

That had been his reality ever since the Blackwater incident. For most of the year, there was always someone hot on his tail, only now he didn’t have the safety in numbers that being in the gang provided.

Firstly, set down the few items he owned inside his rented room. Soon after scrubbing himself clean in a rather tepid bath, shaving, and putting on (semi) clean clothes, John walked outside, the blazing sun still high in the sky. According to the bartender, there was an open-air market the next street over. He needed supplies; it had been almost two weeks since he’d bought anything, and his rations were getting uncomfortably low. Should he have to flee town suddenly, he’d probably be up shit creek without a paddle.

It wasn’t like he didn’t have any money. When Arthur gave him the satchel, there was a ridiculous amount of money with it.

Arthur…

It still hurt to think about him. Hurt to think about a lot of people. All the people he’d lost.

Hosea. Miss Grimshaw. Lenny. Sean. Kieran. Jenny. Mac. Davey.

Even Abigail, though she wasn’t a direct consequence of Dutch’s insanity. Though it had been years, he still felt her absence keenly. Almost like a wound that never quite healed. She haunted his thoughts nearly every day — but did she still think of him?

He had no idea if she was even alive. And now, it would be nigh impossible to find her with the bounty on his head.

Perhaps it was fate that he ended up completely alone. He’d spent his formative years alone on the streets, and now it was much the same.

Of course, the difference was that he knew how to take care of himself.

Still, he was just as alone as he’d been then.

The open-air market was much larger than he expected. Not only that, but it was rather crowded considering the time of day.

Merchants came from decently far, but considering Brimstone was the only town for miles, it made sense. The closest town was Tumbleweed, and it had taken him about two days to get from Tumbleweed to Brimstone.

He was perusing the lackluster selection of fruit — granted, it was hard to get a nice selection of produce all the way out in the desert. A kindly old woman was selling plums, upselling to him about how they were the best locally-grown fruit you could find in Brimstone.

His stomach growled at the prospect of having something fresh to eat. He’d been living off of canned food and jerky (when he remembered to stop and actually eat, that was) for months.

“How much will it be?”

“Five cents, sir,”

He fished around inside his satchel until he found a quarter and placed it in her wrinkled hand. Then, he grabbed a second plum. “Keep the change, ma’am,”

She grinned. “Bless you, young man.”

Sometimes, it was the simplest acts of kindness that made him feel a little less like an irredeemable monster.

John nodded at the old saleswoman, then continued to wander aimlessly. He didn’t exactly know what he wanted to buy, but he was hoping something else would catch his eye the way the plums did.

The trapper’s stand didn’t have much that interested him, but he did stroll by a little slower upon seeing a few of the pelts. Nothing was quite attention-grabbing enough, and after a moment he continued on.

Until he stopped dead in his tracks — because the woman just a few yards ahead looked eerily familiar.

It couldn’t be… could it?

Abigail.

He’d recognize her anywhere. The woman who had haunted his dreams every day since she had left his life.

She looked good. Happy. Relaxed. Healthy. All adjectives that couldn’t be used to describe himself.

She turned to face him — and when their eyes met, it was as if time had completely frozen. He forgot how to speak, how to stand, how to breathe. His mind played those last moments between them, how she had left him with his heart in her palm.

“Wait. Abigail?”

“Yeah?”

“...I love you,”

“I know you do, John. I know you do.”

“John?”

“Abigail,” he whispered. He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. He pushed away the urge to run to her, scoop her into his arms and never let go, instead walking to her at a slightly hurried pace. He bumped into indignant townsfolk, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. His sights were solely on Abigail. John had complete tunnel vision; all he could focus on was her.

He was enraptured yet again by her bright blue eyes. They seized all the sadness in his heart when she looked at him.

“It’s, um, it’s really good to see you,” He finally said, dumbly. He mentally kicked himself. He’d been thinking about this moment for five years and that was the best he could come up with?

His only other want was to take her into his arms and kiss her like he’d never see her again. He had so many questions for her. How long had she been here? Why was she in Brimstone, the middle of nowhere, of all places?

“I heard what happened, it was in all the papers," she said, face scrunched in concern. “...You look like death.”

How he’d missed her. He thought about her so often, wondering what a reunion between them would be like.

"Thanks," he replied, accompanied by a dry laugh, "I feel like death."

She reached out to touch him, just a brush of her hand against his chest. Still, it made his heart flutter.

“...I thought you were dead,” she added quietly.

John could say the same about her. He sighed, trying to ignore the memories she unwittingly dredged up. “I was one of the lucky ones,”

“Karen? Arthur? Hosea?”

He simply shook his head, eyes downcast. There was so much he needed to tell her. It would surely take hours just to cover everything that had happened this year alone.

She gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. “God, I’m sorry,”

At that moment, a little boy — one with eyes that were the same blue as Abigail’s — decided to make his presence known, tugging on Abigail’s skirt insistently. “Mama, what are we doin’?”

John’s eyebrows raised up in surprise. He had no idea that Abigail had settled down and had children. “I– I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had a feller,”

She tilted her head, appearing confused. Then, understanding washed over her. “Oh, John, I’m not…” She shook her head. “I’m not married.”

She could tell he was still (justifiably) confused, so she continued. “I’d like to introduce you to someone. John, this is my son, Jack… Jack Marston.”

#johnigail fanfic #yes please #rdr #rdr2 #john marston #abigail roberts

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morethantheycansay · 3 days

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I got to watch it with my kids before my husband, so before he watched it he asked if I cried and I told him he's heartless if he doesn't. Big, tough man got a little teary-eyed. No one is immune to Bluey.

IDK ABOUT Y'ALL BUT THE BLUEY EPISODE "THE SIGN" FUCKING KILLED ME-

#Bluey

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morethantheycansay · 5 days

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Reblog if you didn’t write My Immortal

We’re going to find the author by process of elimination.

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morethantheycansay · 5 days

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Chapter 6: I'd Live And Die For Moments That We Stole

Tags: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Strangers To Lovers, Infidelity, Fem!Reader, She/Her Pronouns Used For Reader, Period Typical Misogyny, Emotional Manipulative Relationship (not with Arthur), Mostly Follows Timeline of Game, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Not Beta Read, Slow Burn, First Kiss, Tags Updated Per Chapter

Author's Note: so ttpd was released while writing this, and oh my god some of the songs on there work a little to well with either this fic or arthur morgan in general

also was not expecting so much attention from the ghoul fic and i will continue to write for him, i just still want to work on this too!

Taglist: @lokiofasgard12 @ultraporcelainpig @that-one-beannnn @morethantheycansay

Chapter List

Hans was home for three and a half weeks.

Your days were either spent alone in your house, Hans shutting himself in his office, or out on the town, heading to dinners, plays, movies, and miscellaneous events that you hardly remembered. It was always a blur to you, anyway.

You’d only caught glimpses of Arthur throughout the past weeks. He’d sometimes be roaming the streets of the cities you were in, keeping his distance, but you’d always feel his watchful eye on you. It made those days better, knowing that in a way he was by your side.

If Hans noticed the extra eyes watching the two of you, more specifically you, he didn’t say anything. He still acted the same, attentive and loving husband in the public eye, cold and disdainful behind closed doors. It was exhausting, but you pushed through.

The two of you had been at a party all night, your feet ached and the muscles of your face were strained from smiling so much. You had just walked into your house, around midnight, and you were exhausted. Hans had immediately retired upstairs, and you followed after him, getting ready for bed in your closet.

You pulled off your dress, the fabric itchy and uncomfortable, and you had slipped into your nightgown. Slipping into bed beside Hans, you fell asleep rather quickly, and the night passed dreamlessly, much to your disappointment.

You woke up alone, which wasn’t too out of the ordinary. What was out of the ordinary was that he didn't come down for breakfast, not responding when you called for him. When you knocked on his office door, there was no response. Confused, you peered outside, pleasantly shocked to find the carriage missing. He’d never just left like that; there was always some sort of heads up, and he always requested your company in bed.

You were nowhere near upset, though, and you gleefully cleaned up the kitchen. You spent the next few days in your garden, luckily not as wrecked as it was the first time, your planters holding up well.

It was the third night when you heard a knock on your door, and you couldn’t help the giddy smile on your face as you bolted to the door. You didn’t have to look through the peephole to know who was there, and you opened the door quickly.

There was Arthur Morgan on the other side of your door, hair longer than you remembered, but that same dazzling grin on his face.

You stood there, not quite shocked, but your brain was still unsure of how to react. Your body knew, though, and you nearly tackled him to the ground with the force of your hug, arms wrapping around his neck.

He wasn’t expecting your reaction, a startled whoa leaving him, but he immediately reciprocated the hug, like he needed this just as badly as you did. You sagged into his arms, a breath you’d been holding for the last three and a half weeks finally being released. Resting your head on his chest, that comforting smell of him made you smile. Oh, how you missed him.

“I missed ya too, darlin’,” he chuckled, and you tilted your head back to look up at him. It was adorable, the way his ears turned red, flustered by your sheer adoration of him.

You snuck a hand up into his hair, combing through the longer strands that stuck out from beneath his hat. He sighed under your touch, his eyes threatening to flutter close. “It’s so long now,” you muttered more to yourself, and you watched him raise a brow.

“I just keep forgettin’ to cut it,” he admitted.

“I ain’t complainin’,'' you laughed. “It suits you.”

He just hummed noncommittally, and the two of you stood in silence, simply taking in the presence of the other. You saw the way his eyes flicked down to your lips and then back up. The motion was quick, like he was unsure if you’d want him to kiss you again, if you thought the last time had been a mistake.

You didn’t give him a chance to get lost in his thoughts, standing up on your tiptoes to brush your lips against his. His beard was longer than last time, too. It was less of a stubble and more of a soft layer of hair, and it tickled less than last time.

He smiled, barely able to contain his relief, and you felt him cup the side of your face, bringing your face back for a proper kiss. When his lips slotted against yours, you reconfirmed your belief from the first time; he truly did feel like home.

“I really did miss you,” you whispered out once the kiss broke.

“I’m here now. Unfortunate for you,” he chuckled, and you slapped him lightly on the chest.

“Hush, Arthur,” you admonished, shaking your head. “C’mon, let's get inside.”

It took a few moments for you two to release each other, and you took his hand once you stepped apart, leading him into the house. You didn’t even have to ask before he was taking off his boots, and you were dragging him upstairs.

The implications of what you were doing were lost to you as you brought him upstairs, but you heard Arthur mutter your name, confused but not completely against the idea.

“For the life of me, I can’t get into his office,” you explained. “I ain’t got the skills you do.”

“And I do? Quite rude of you to assume.”

You scoffed, sparing him a disbelieving look. “Arthur, did you forget how we met?”

By this time you’d reached the top of the stairs, standing outside the locked office door. Excitement caused your heart to race, not ready for what you might possibly find in the office. Even though you were raised to not be a snoop, it was quite fun digging into peoples personal items, and it was especially fun when said personal items belong to your husband.

“Fair enough,” Arthur conceded, and he pulled a few items out of his pocket, tools you assumed he was going to use to pick the lock. “This’ll just take a sec.”

Arthur got down on his knees in front of the door, and you watched as he fiddled with the tools, silently listening for something. You had no idea what he was doing, but it was quite fascinating to watch. Besides, you got to appreciate the way hands flexed and fingers moved as he worked the lock.

It was less than thirty seconds before he was standing up, a small yet proud smirk on his face. “It… it’s that easy?”

Arthur laughed at that. “Nah, it was unlocked.”

“You’re fuckin’ kidding.”

He stared at you blankly before laughing again. “You shoulda seen your face. Yes, I’m kiddin’.”

“Arthur Morgan!” That just made him laugh harder, and you cherished the sound, locking it away in your brain. You joined in, chucklining lightly. “You bastard,” you teased.

“Sorry,” he replied, not sounding sorry at all “I had to. Forgive me.”

You shook your head, leaning against the wall. “I don’t.”

“Then what do I gotta do to earn your forgiveness, darlin’?” He moved toward you, brushing his fingers over the apple of your cheek, tucking away hair that wasn’t there.

“I could think of a few ways,” you murmured, not so subtly looking at his plush lips.

Grinning, he didn’t bother responding before kissing you, hat knocking into your head. “Am I forgiven now?”

You snuck in one last quick peck before responding. “I guess.”

“I’ll take that.”

He held your face for a few moments longer, eyes sparkling with adoration. His expression then sobered, and he shoved the tools back into his pocket, removing his hand and setting it on the doorknob. “You ready?”

You took his other hand, nodding, and he held the door open for you as you stepped into his office for the first time.

It was way messier than you expected. Stacks of books and piles of paper seemed to loom over you; one stray gust of air could topple it all down. There were high shelves lining one of the walls, filled floor to ceiling with different books, knicknacks, and various loose papers stuck between the books. A large oak desk stood in the middle, a large leather chair tucked in, equally as covered with papers, and various splotches of ink had long since dried into the wood.

There weren’t any windows, making the room stuffy, and you could feel the dust tickling your nose. You were left speechless, feeling suddenly overwhelmed with the amount of stuff in front of you. “How…” you managed to let out, and Arthur just shook his head.

He made his way to the desk, your hands still intertwined, and he began to shuffle through the papers, spreading them around on the desk. His eyes danced around the papers, and he let out a sigh, nothing sticking out to him. You opened the drawers, only seeing junk and even more paper.

You were about to shut the final one before a rectangular shape caught your eye. Pulling it out, you set it on the desk, the book automatically falling open. Leaning in to investigate further, you realized it was a ledger book of sorts, but everything was written in shorthand or codes, indecipherable to you.

“The hell?” Arthur murmured, just as confused as you were. “This even English?”

“Maybe?” You flipped the pages, the words changing but still not understandable. “I mean, it’s obviously a ledger, but that’s all I can tell.”

When you flipped a few more pages the same thing happened, you sighed. “I thought it would’ve been that easy, just finding the ledger book and having everything you needed to know be right there.”

“It usually is. Criminals ain’t the smartest sometimes.” Arthur pulled out the chair and sat in it. You sat on the arm rest, leaning against Arthur a bit, your foot still holding most of your weight. “Let’s see here…”

Arthur looked through the papers on the desk again, and you were able to catch glimpses of what they were; they were a mix of receipts, letters, and various documentation. There were a few names, none of which you recognized, and you watched Arthur scribble them down into his notebook.

“I think that should be good for now.”

You weren’t going to lie, you had spaced out a bit while scanning over the various documents, the writing quickly turning to a blur in your eyes. You jumped when Arthur stood, nearly causing you to topple over, but you felt him secure you with a hand on your waist. “Already?” You asked.

“I’ve got a few names’ I’ll see where they lead.” Arthur shrugged. “I don’t wanna spend too much time in here, anyway.” To prove his point, he led you out of the office, shutting the door behind you.

“Then why’d you come over?”

“Ouch.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you chuckled.

“Will you ever believe that I come over just to see you?”

“Probably not.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, and began to lead you back downstairs. “Where you takin’ me?” You asked, and he didn’t respond, getting his shoes on and leaving the house. “Arthur?”

“You’ll see,” was all he said, not letting go of your hand as you descended the stairs.

“What’re we doin’?”

Arthur sighed. “Have you ever heard of a surprise?”

The familiar form of Bear caught your eye, and you made a noise to get his attention. It worked, the horse flicking its head towards you, nickering excitedly as you and Arthur approached.

“Hello, Bear!” You let go of Arthur’s hand, striding over to the horse happily. You missed how affectionately Arthur looked at you, a warm smile on his lips as he watched you. “How’s my favorite boy doin’?”

“That’s the second time I’ve been insulted by you today.”

You ran one of your hands on his snout, the other patting his neck. “Ignore him, Bear. He’s grumpy.” You rambled out praises to the horse, and his eyes visibly relaxed, practically pressing himself into your hands. “Such a good boy, Bear.”

You felt his lips on your neck first, the soft beard barely tickling your skin. His arms were next, wrapping over yours, keeping you pressed close to his chest. “What did I say ‘bout spoilin’ my horse, darlin’?” He rocked with you side to side, occasionally pressing his lips against your skin.

“He deserves it,” you giggled. “He always brings you back to me.”

Arthur stilled. “I… I suppose you’re right.”

“I am right.” You broke the tension that threatened to form with a verbal jab, and Arthur chuckled.

His arms released your body, but he kept his hands on you, trailing them over your arms, and then settling on your hips. “You ready?”

“Sure, but you-”

Arthur cut you off by grasping your waist, lifting you effortlessly and setting you on the back of Bear. A startled cry left your lips, and you glared at Arthur once he set you down. “A warning next time?” You tried to not seem as freaked out as you were, clutching at the saddle in front of you for some sense of stability.

“I did,” he responded, chuckling when your glare returned. When he got into the saddle in front of you, you instinctively wrapped your arms around him, clinging on to him. “You good?” He asked, concern in his voice.

“I…” you felt ashamed to admit to him, “I ain’t been on a horse in… years. Not since I was a little kid.”

“Bear’s a good horse. He’s never bucked me off, if you’re afraid of that.”

You exhaled shakily, your head resting on his back. “Alright, just don’t expect me to let go.”

“I’ll never complain ‘bout your hands on me,” he almost proudly admitted, and in response you just tighten your grip. “Ready?” He asked again.

“Yes.” You didn’t bother asking what you were doing again, knowing you weren’t going to get an answer.

Arthur kicked his heel lightly, giving Bear the go ahead to start moving. You refrained from gripping on to him tighter, not wanting to choke the poor man, and you watched the scenery begin to move past you. Arthur kept a slower pace, no doubt a pace he normally wouldn’t ride at, but his consideration towards you had you melting.

Even though most of the wind was blocked by Arthur’s frame, you still felt it grace your skin, hair streaming behind you. It felt nice, not too chilly, and it helped you relax.

It took a few moments for you to lift your head from his back, your arms loosening, settling lightly on his waist. “Alright?” He asked, the wind not loud enough to overpower his voice yet.

“I think so. Are… are you gonna tell me yet?”

“Do you trust me?” Interesting response, you thought.

“Of course.”

“Then trust me when I say you’re gonna like it.”

“You’re no fun,” you teased, feeling comfortable enough to remove one of your hands from his waist, flicking the back of his hat.

Arthur grumbled something, but you could hear his smile.

He rode on for a few minutes, and you took the time to just absorb the beautiful scenery around you. It was much more enjoyable to look at when you weren’t crammed into a stuffy carriage with a miserable man.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a large stag, hidden between the bushes. His head followed the both of you as you passed, but it quickly turned when a doe approached him from one of the bushes. You didn’t get to point them out to Arthur before they were scampering away, the stag following the doe into the thicket, the sound of branches snapping the only proof of their existence.

You truly had no idea where Arthur was taking you, your attention focusing back on the road. He had returned to the main road, sure, but he wasn’t heading in the direction of any major towns. The thick woodland had turned sparse, making way for rolling hills of grass with the occasional flower, with flocks of animals out enjoying the incredible weather.

As Arthur continued the slow pace, you began to feel antsy, and you were also feeling a bit brace. “You can go faster,” you leaned forward to tell him, and he looked over at you.

“Yeah?”

When you made a comfiring noise, he grinned, looking positively excited. It made him look so young, so carefree, and you couldn’t help but grin in response.

Securing your grip back around him, he urged Bear on more, who was more than happy to comply. A startled laugh left you as Bear went faster, your smile widening, wind whipping against your body. It was exhilarating, but you needed more.

“Faster!” You had to start shouting a bit, the wind becoming more intense.

Arthur shook his head, chuckling, and you watched him spur Bear on again. He broke into a gallop, the world around you becoming a blur. You don’t think you’ve ever moved this fast in your life, and it was incredible. Laughing joyfully, you felt Arthur do the same, leading Bear along the road with small pulls on the reigns.

You’re not sure how long you two tore through the countryside, but it felt like no time had passed before Arthur was bringing Bear to a trot. You were still laughing, brushing back your hair which you were sure was a complete mess, but you didn’t care.

Artur led you off the main road, leading you up a large yet gradual hill. The top was completely flat, with only a few dry bushes and patches of grass interrupting the stone. A few small rodents looked at you curiously, before retreating to their burrows.

Dismounting, Arthur didn’t secure Bear to anything, but you knew that he trusted him to not run off. After swinging your leg over, Arthur helped you down, holding you even when your feet hit the ground. Something flashed over his face as he watched you catch your breath, the wide grin on your lips never ceasing. His thumb rubbed into your skin where he held you on your waist, which didn’t help to calm down your racing heart.

“Good?”

You nodded. “I’m wonderful. That was… that was incredible. You get to do that every day?” You asked, something similar to envy in your voice.

“If you ever want to take him out for a ride, just let me know. I think Bear’d love that.”

You glanced back at the horse, who was watching you expectantly. Laughing slightly, you left the comforting hold of Arthur, patting Bear's neck. Arthur moved beside you, grabbing something fabric looking from the saddlebags, as well as a bottle of what assumed to be liquor. He extended an arm for you, and you gladly took it, linking your arm with his. It was similar to the way Hans would have you on his arm, showing you off almost like an accessory. This felt different, though, like it always did with Arthur.

You shook the thoughts of your husband out of your mind; right now was about you and Arthur. He led you to the edge of the hill, and you let out a gasp at the view. You were able to see what felt like the entirety of The Heartlands, rolling fields of grass as far as the eye could see. Mountains dotted the skyline, and you could see a few small towns littered about. Hoards of different animals grazed, from bison to deer to turkeys.

So enthralled by the view in front of you, you hadn’t noticed Arthur laying out a blanket beside you, until he tugged lightly at your arm. He pulled you down to a seated position, sitting behind you so you could rest your back against him. His arms immediately wrapped around you when you did, pressing a kiss to your cheek before settling his head on your shoulder, watching the landscape with you.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, and you heard Arthur humm in agreement. “How’d you find this?”

“I was huntin’, and I was tracking somethin’ that led me up here. As soon as I saw it I knew I had to bring you here.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the fact that Arthur thought of you while he was out on his travels. “You think ‘bout me a lot, Arthur Morgan?” You teased, pushing away a feeling you were too scared to name still.

“All the damn time,” he admitted, an airy laugh leaving him and tickling your ear. “You know that.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I just like hearin’ you say it.”

Arthur didn’t respond, just holding you like you were a lifeline, and you found that you could spend the rest of your life wrapped up in his arms. Eventually, conversation started between the two of you, catching the other up on what had transpired over the last few weeks, the liquor bottle Arthur brough being uncorked and passed between the two of you. It was a decent tasting whiskey, but you only took a few sips, not wanting to have this moment be clouded over with fuzziness.

His arms had stayed wrapped around you for most of the time, but over the past hour had slowly let up, choosing to run his fingers over your body instead. It started with small touches on your side, before trialing up and down your arms and legs, to up your shoulder, brushing against your neck. It was like he was trying to memorize your body simply with his touch.

Every time he brushed over a sensitive area of your body, you’d shiver, and he’d smile, changing the infliction of his voice if he was speaking. It was hard to stay focused, either on his words or your own story.

This was the fifth time you’d trailed off while you were speaking, and you laughed, resting your head back. “You’re distractin’ me.”

“You want me to stop?”

“Never.”

Arthur chuckled, and you felt those calloused fingers brush over your arms again, moving down to your hands. “Can’t help myself. Beautiful woman in my arms, it’d be a crime not to touch her.”

You’re sure your cheeks were dangerously warm. “Well, she ain’t complainin’,” you breathed out, and you felt his hands rest on the back of your, fingers weaving into yours.

“You ain’t wearin’ your ring.” He sounded like he was almost in disbelief.

You glanced down at your left hand, his much larger once encapsulating it. You’d taken it off a day ago, setting it in your nightstand. You’re not quite sure why you did it, but it felt like fifty pounds had been lifted off you when you took it off. “No, I ain’t.”

His right hand grasped your chin, turning your face towards his, which continued to rest on your shoulder. Pure longing was written across his face, but his lips were possessive when they made contact with yours. The grasp shifted from your chin to the side of your face, fingers tracing patterns into your cheeks. It pulled you in closer to him, but you needed him closer. You needed to feel him.

You shifted so that you were facing him, hands bracing on his chest. You felt him sigh when your hands traveled up, over his neck and tanging into his hair. His hat hit the ground behind him, and he pulled you into his lap, your lips never separating once. The new angle had you leaning above him slightly, your hands in his hair pulling his head back, but he didn’t mind.

You had forgotten what it was like to be kissed with so much passion, so much energy, and you couldn’t help but admit to yourself what you’d been trying to bury for weeks: you were in love with him.

It made you gasp, pulling away from the kiss and resting your head against his. It wasn’t that you were against the fact that you were in love with him. But you had no idea if he felt the same. You knew he cared about you, there was no denying that, but was he in love with you? Knowing what kind of life Arthur lived, you didn’t see him as the committal type, not wanting to be bound to a person or place.

He took you pulling away as you needing a moment to breathe, smiling gently at you. A large hand cupped the side of your face, and you melted into his touch, like you could respond any other way.

You debated just confessing to him right there, but anxiety welded your mouth close. Instead, you opted to just kiss him again, quick but no less lovely.

Sitting back on his lap, the sun was beginning to disappear below the horizon, just behind Arthur. The lighting made him look ethereal, brown hair golden, and you’re sure you were staring at him like a lovestruck fool. “You’re so beautiful,” you sighed out, laughing a bit when he looked away embarrassed.

“Shouldn’t I be sayin’ that to you?”

“You already have. It’s my turn.”

He chuckled, still not believing what you were saying, but he was humoring you. “Alright, darlin’, how much whiskey did you have?”

You were drunk on something much better than the whiskey, that’s for sure. “I mean it, Arthur. You’re gorgeous.”

It was clear that he still didn’t believe you, but he thanked you anyway, kissing you lightly again. Resting your head on his shoulder, you wrapped your arms around his broad body, holding him in a embrace.

You sat in Arthur’s lap for a good while, simply holding each other, and you felt the occasion kiss on your head. The two of you didn’t feel the need to talk, and you got lost in the sound of Arthur’s breathing.

The sun had set, and as it left so did its warmth, cool night air hitting your body. You shivered, Arthur’s body heat doing nothing to protect your back from the cold. “As lovely as this is, I’d hate for you to get sick,” you heard Arthur murmur, and you hated that he was right. You didn’t want to leave, but you knew you’d regret it if you didn’t.

“Alright,” you huffed out, untangling yourself from him, which just made you more cold. Standing up, you grabbed his hat for him as he stood, and you placed it atop his head. He grinned up at you, grabbing the blanket and draping it over his arm, extending the other for you again.

Just like he had led you up the hill, he led you down to where Bear was resting, his ears flicking happily when he saw the two of you approaching. You gave him a few pats before Arthur lifted you on to his rump, and even then you were sure to murmur to him. Arthur handed you the blanket, and you wrapped it around your shoulders, keeping it secure between your two bodies once he joined you on Bear.

As he took off, one of his hands went back to rest on your thigh, like he was making sure that you were still with him. Like you’d want to be anywhere else. And if someone tried to take you away, then you’d fight like a cornered animal to get back.

The ride back was different at night; scenery that was once peaceful and comforting now becoming foreign and terrifying. Arthur went quick, not as quickly as before, but fast enough that said terrifying scenery went by fast.

The ride felt shorter than you wished, the familiar sight of your house causing you to sigh, holding on to Arthur a tad bit tighter than what was necessary.

Pulling up to the porch, he dismounted quickly, helping you down again. You were sure to leave the blanket on Bear, giving him a goodnight pat before climbing the stairs, Arthur following behind.

You lingered in the doorway after he held the door open for you, an invitation for him to come in on the tip of your tongue. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say them, not wanting to scare him away. So you just smiled at him, kissing him lightly on the cheek.

“Wait,” you heard him say before you were about to wish him a good night, “I’ve got somethin’ for you.”

Curious, you cocked your head as he dug into his satchel,pulling out a torn out piece of paper. “Read it when you get inside,” he instructed as he handed it to you.

“Should I be worried?” You joked.

“Nah,” he chuckled. “Just… you’ll see when you read it.”

Well, now you were excited. “Okay…” you laughed, before kissing him for the final time that night. “I had an amazin’ day today, so thank you. Sincerely.”

“Of course, darlin’. Have a good night.”

“‘Night, Arthur. Come back to me, okay?”

He nodded, tilting his hat at you, stepping down the porch. In the back of your mind, you remembered the lessons you’d had in the backyard with Arthur, learning how to shoot and gun. You remembered that today you were supposed to learn how to reload it, but it had completely slipped from your mind until now. You let it pass again, though. There was always next time.

You stood in the doorway until Arthur was long gone, clutching the note to your chest. When you finally retreated inside, you sighed happily, still caught up in the trance that the night had been.

Sitting on the couch, you looked over the small piece of paper, clearly torn from his journal. There was an address scrawled across the top in that familiar messy cursive, some place in the state of Ambarino. It didn’t make much sense to you, so you read the following note left by Arthur, which started with your name.

It took a bit of asking around, but I was able to find the new address of the Van Buren estate. From what I can tell, they’re doing well. It wouldn’t be a bad time to reach out, if and only if you feel ready.

- A

There was something scribbled out before his name, like he was planning on writing sincerely or something like that, but he must’ve deemed it too formal for a note like this.

You sat there, shocked, tears welling in your eyes as you stared at the note. Two years of no contact with your family was almost over. It was so close.

Leaning back against the couch, you held the note back to your chest, thanking the heavens for Arthur. There was no denying it now; you were so in love with him.

#awww #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fic

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morethantheycansay · 5 days

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I like him angsty so much, I commissioned @enerisart to use their amazing skills for it! What do you guys think?

#hello handsome #eomer fanart #eomer #lotr #amazing art #amazing artist

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morethantheycansay · 8 days

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The Marriage Bed of the Brute and the Bookworm: Chapter 5

Encouraged by his family members, Éomer tries to communicate with Lothíriel, knowing that the onus is on him. He is pleasantly surprised, yet he is left frustrated in the end.

#i'm enjoying this story immensely #The Marriage Bed of the Brute and the Bookworm #Éothiriel #lotr #eomer #lothiriel #lotr fanfic #love this

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morethantheycansay · 12 days

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Me too. He's so beautiful, I swooned.

BRIDGERTON (2020) | s01 ep01 'DIAMOND OF THE FIRST WATER'

#bridgerton

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morethantheycansay · 12 days

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Chapter 5: Your Opal Eyes Are All I Wish To See

Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

Synopsis: A fic based off the song “ivy” by Taylor Swift. After a startling introduction to the man, Arthur Morgan became the most important part of your life. Married at a young age to an older, wealthy man to help your family, you were trapped in a loveless marriage, your only sense of escape with the rugged cowboy. Will you be able to keep your affair hidden, or will your husband find out, and destroy the last thing that made you happy? Tags: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Strangers To Lovers, Infidelity, Fem!Reader, She/Her Pronouns Used For Reader, Period Typical Misogyny, Emotional Manipulative Relationship (not with Arthur), Mostly Follows Timeline of Game, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Not Beta Read, Slow Burn, First Kiss, Tags Updated Per Chapter Author's Note: this is a short chapter sorry! Taglist: @lokiofasgard12 @ultraporcelainpig @that-one-beannnn @morethantheycansay Chapter List

It was comical, the way the cricket chirping filled in the silence as you stared at the older man. Your mouth formed the words but nothing came out, leaving you looking like a fool. You glanced between the two men, Hosea having a sympathetic look on his face. You couldn’t see Arthur, as he was behind you, but you quite honestly didn’t want to see his reaction. A sinking feeling formed in your gut. Did he know the entire time?

“I… what?” You finally found your voice, barely. You had to admit, it did make sense. You knew so little about his work, only knowing that he did distillery work, but made a surprising amount of money from it. It wouldn’t be surprising if he was actually invested in more… illegal means of work.

“If there’s a moonshine shack in the western states, then Mr. Kerrigan is tied to it. Either he owns it, supplies it, or gets a cut from it. No matter where you look, his fingers are all over it.” Hosea spoke, he and Dutch had moved closer to you now, now that they realized you wouldn’t lash out angrily at the information.

“Alright…” you took a breath. “So how does this include me?”

The two gentlemen looked surprised at your willingness, and that predatory smile returned to Dutch’s face. “You see, Arthur told us you might be willin’ to help us… deter your husband from further illegal endeavors… while we get our own cut, of course.”

At the mention of Arthur, you turned to look at him, finding him glaring at Dutch. “I thought I told you I don’t want her involved in this.”

“I know. But we couldn’t pass up an opportunity like this.”

Another sinking feeling formed, this one stronger than he last, and the thought was dizzying. Did he only get close to you to secure a job?

You had to turn away from Arthur, no longer able to look at him. You didn’t think he’d be that cruel, right? Still, you couldn’t help the hurt and anger swirling in your mind.

Silence hung in the air now, and even the crickets seemed to realize the gravity of the situation, halting their songs. “Let’s continue this conversation inside,” you said through the lump in your throat. Climbing up the stairs of the porch, you held the door open, gesturing for the men to come inside. “Go ahead and take a seat in the living room. Just take your shoes off,” you added as they entered.

Arthur stayed put, looking at you with an indistinguishable expression. He murmured your name gently, but you just shook your head. Sighing, Arthur slowly climbed the stairs, halting in front of you in the doorway. When you still didn’t look at him, he continued on inside, glancing back at you with guilt in his eyes.

Dutch and Hosea sat on one of the couches, chatting between each other, and Arthur sat on the one beside them. They stopped their conversation when you walked in, and you shook your head, signaling for them to continue. “I’ll go get some tea,” you murmured, heading to the kitchen, and you heard them resume talking, but you couldn’t make out what they were saying.

You took a shaky breath once you were alone in the kitchen, bracing yourself against the countertop. You felt like you should’ve been more surprised about your husband's true business, but that wasn’t what was causing the negative emotion you weren’t feeling. Those two questions were playing on repeat in your head, and left you analyzing every moment you’d had with Arthur, questioning the authenticity of them.

The clinking of his gun belt moving as we walked brought you back to the present. Straightening up, you grabbed the kettle, filling it with water and setting it on the stove, and began the process of boiling it. You didn’t even look at Arthur, not even when he said your name again.

“I’ll be out in a moment,” you responded, grabbing teacups and saucers. You hated the way your hands were shaking slightly.

Arthur didn’t respond, and you thought he left, until you felt him beside you. He didn’t touch you, but you could feel the proximity of his body. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and that all but confirmed your thoughts.

“So you knew?” You stepped away from him, grabbing the tea leaves, strainer, and a few sugar cubes in a small bowl. Tears welled in your eyes, his silence speaking for him. You laughed bitterly. “You didn’t think that was important to tell me?”

“I didn’t know it was moonshine.”

“But you knew he was doin’ somethin’ illegal.”

Again, his silence spoke volumes. “I could care less if he was breakin’ the law. I don’t care that he’s sellin’ moonshine, or whatnot. But imagine if someone found out. I mean, y’all were able to. That would wreck my family. Any credibility gone, like that. And then what? I’m married to some old sack of shit with no income who can’t help my family and who doesn’t give a damn about me!” You really tried to keep your voice down, but you still found it rose in volume as the words spewed from you. “Those two years I sacrificed, worth nothing. So I apologize for my anger, but I don’t think any of you realize how ugly this could get.”

You barely felt the tears streaming down your face, panting as you caught your breath. There was still one question that burned in the back of your mind. Finally turning to face him, he stared at you wide eyes. “You know, you’re a damn good actor, Arthur Morgan. I guess I should’ve expected that from an outlaw. For a moment, I really thought you actually cared about me.”

That seemed to get him out of whatever shocked trance he was in. “Whaddya mean?” He asked, genuinely confused. Or at least you thought it was genuine. You couldn't trust your judgment anymore.

“Don’t lie. All this, gettin’ close to me, little touches, nearly kissin’ me. It was all a ruse, wasn’t it? Just to get the money, and once you get it, you’re gonna vanish, leaving me heartbroken and alone and stuck.”

“Darlin’,” he muttered, and you scoffed.

“Don’t. You don’t get to call me that like you… like you mean it.”

“But I do mean it. I know what this looks like, but please… please don’t think that the past weeks have been fake.” Arthur slowly moved toward you, and when you didn’t back up, he continued until he was right in front of you, just like he had been a bit ago.

“Then what should I think, Arthur?” You whispered.

“I can’t tell you that,” Arthur admitted. “But I can tell ya what you should know. You should know that I fought ‘em both on this job. You should know that I’ll make sure that nothin’ happens to you and your family. And you should know that I truly do care ‘bout you, darlin’. More than I can put into words.”

The kettle whistled, but it was all background noise to you. You also noticed the way Dutch and Hosea had ceased their conversation, blatantly eavesdropping on the two of you. You didn’t care. All that mattered was the man in front of you. It was hard to stay upset at him though, when he was looking at you so fondly, so softly.

“You mean it?”

Arthur smiled a bit, relieved. “I do.” You felt him bring his hands up to your face, gently brushing away the tears. “I hate seein’ you cry. And I hate that I was the reason why.” He held you for a few moments, and you felt the tears subside, your cheek only slightly damp.

The kettle’s noise finally registered in your brain, and you gestured to it with your head. “Mind takin’ that off for me?” You croaked out, voice still recovering.

Without another word, Arthur did as you asked, the annoying noise disappearing. You grabbed the teacups with their saucers and set them on a tray, along with the other components needed. You walked past him with the tray in your hands, heading to the living room. You walked with the confidence of someone that wasn’t just crying, and you prayed that your eyes weren’t puffy.

“Go ahead and bring that kettle with you,” you called over your shoulder.

Setting the tray on the coffee table, you took the kettle from Arthur. Pouring out cups for each of the men, you sat once you’d finished, leaving the kettle in reach of the men. Sitting across from them, you observed them preparing their drinks, and Arthur stood around, not quite sure where to sit. Moving over, you patted the cushion next to you with a soft smile.

With an equally soft expression, he sat next to you, and you resisted the urge to burrow yourself in his side. “Mrs. Kerrigan, thank you for inviting us into your home-”

You cut Dutch off with a light laugh. “No need to be so formal. We’re alone, ain’t we?”

“That we are,” Dutch agreed. “Should we get straight to the point, then?” You nodded. “As we said, Mr. Kerrigan runs the moonshine business in this part of the States. As you were made aware, we ain’t exactly upholders of the law, so we ain’t exactly looking to stop him. We only wish to sabotage him a bit. Attack his supplies on the road, destroy a few of his distilleries. That way, he starts looking for guns to hire. And that’s where Arthur and the rest come in. We’ll offer our services, protect his goods, and we’ll get paid.”

“Alright, that sounds like a decent enough plan, but how does this involve me?” You watched Dutch set the drink down on the tray, halfway drunk.

Hosea spoke now. “We have no idea where anything is at. We have no idea where the caravans are, where the shacks are, who he gets his supplies from. Nothing. We need you to get information for us.”

“You’ll probably have better luck doin’ it yourself, to be honest. He tells me nothin’.”

“We know that. We’re talking about physical evidence. Letters, logbooks, stuff like that.”

“That’ll probably be in his office, but I ain’t got access to that. Again, why don’t you go ahead and just break in yourself and I’ll just, I dunno, not pay attention.”

Hosea sighed. “Because the man sitting beside you would kill us if we broke into your house.”

So that’s what he meant when he said that you weren’t to be messed with.

You still didn’t think that they needed your help, but a new thought had you grinning. “Are… are y’all askin’ for my permission to rob my house and husband by havin’ me do it myself?”

“In a backwards way, yes,” Hosea conceded, and you snorted. “Arthur did also say you might be interested in… getting back at Mr. Kerrigan, in some way.” It was Hosea’s turn to set the cup down, this one completely empty. You noticed that Arthur hadn't made a move for his own cup, which sat steaming where you’d set it.

You had to admit, the thought was appealing, and you told them that. “It’s just, I’m afraid how this might end up affecting my family. What if he stops sendin’ my them money ‘cause he doesn’t want to lose more?”

Dutch and Hosea looked at you, confused. That’s when you realize you said too much; the only person beside you to know what was actually going on with your family was Arthur. It did mean that he had upheld his promise that he wouldn’t tell anyone else, though, and you were grateful for that. Still, you explained to the two men your situation, withholding details you deemed they didn’t need to know.

“I see,” Hosea shifted in his seat, giving you a sympathetic look. “We can’t promise that he won’t stop sending money, but we don’t plan on asking for a significant sum. Just enough to… help us.”

“And I want to help you, too. But you have to understand where my priorities lie. The minute he even debates ceasing his help to my family, then this is done. You stop attackin’ his supplies, his shacks, everything. If I find out you’re continuing afterwards, then I will be involvin’ the law.”

Hosea nodded, content with your response. “So you’re willing to help us?”

I want to help Arthur. You nodded, and Dutch extended out a hand. “It’s been a pleasure doin’ business with you, Mrs. Kerrigan.”

You took his hand, shaking it. “You too, Mr. Van Der Linde.”

You could feel Arthur’s eyes on you, unknowing that you knew what his last name was. You weren’t stupid. As soon as Arthur began to talk about the group that he associated with, it was pretty easy to link them to the Van Der Linde gang that's been headlining the newspapers Hans read. You didn’t mind the headlines; you knew this world was vicious, you had to do what you had to do to survive and protect your way of life. Maybe in another life, you’d be with them, escaping the confines of “civilized” life.

Dutch raised a brow. “Are there gonna be issues in the future, Mrs. Kerrigan?” You knew there was a threat under the disguise of a question, and you smiled sweetly.

“As long as you keep your end of the deal, then we won’t have an issue. I promise.”

The tension dissipated from the room instantly, and Arthur visibly relaxed in your peripherals. Hosea leaned into Dutch’s ear, speaking too quietly for you to make out, and you felt him drop your hand. “Now, I believe that it’s a good time to mention that Hans will be arriving back any day now. He had eyes on him during his travels, and last we saw he was in Valentine, heading back to Rhodes.”

You expected his trip to Tumbleweed to have taken significantly longer than that, but you realized that he was most definitely not there, probably somewhere in New Hanover instead. “I appreciate that. I’ll… I’ll try to get the information to you as soon as I can, but don’t expect it when he’s home. I can’t tell you how long that’s gonna take, so be patient.”

“We have all the time in the world,” Dutch reassured, but even you could tell that he was lying through his teeth.

“Good. Now, was there any other business we wished to discuss?”

“Not today. Thank you for the tea, ma’am.” Hosea smiled at you, and you were surprised to find how genuine it seemed. Out of Dutch and Hosea, you liked the gray haired man more. But maybe that was all a trick, you were talking to the leaders of the most silver-tongued gang in the States.

“It was my pleasure. Arthur, go ahead and wait down here. I’ll get that payment for you.” Without another word, you stood, collecting the tray and the different components. First dropping those off in the kitchen, you then made your way upstairs. You saw the three of them still in the living room, chatting amongst themselves as they got ready to leave. You failed to notice the way Arthur’s eyes trailed after you, Hosea and Dutch exchanging a look between each other.

Entering your room, your hands shook as you grabbed the money. It was ten dollars this time, payment for last time and today. You would be a liar if you said you weren’t scared to do what you were about to do. You’d never done anything that even hinted on being against the law, at least now knowingly. But you’d also be lying if the thought of it didn’t excite you, doing something to get back at Hans for the two years of hell.

The other reason your hands shook made his presence known with a light knock on your open bedroom door. Snapping your head over at him, startled, he stood in the doorway, leaning with his arms crossed. In the dim light, you could only see his silhouette, unable to make out any expression on his face. It had your heart beating, even more so when he slowly made his way into the room.

“How long have you known?”

“That you run with the Van Der Linde gang?” You shrugged. “Since you showed me the drawings.”

Arthur just hummed. “I don’t mind, you know,” you continued.

“You should,” Arthur countered.

“Why?”

“Because we ain’t good men, darlin’.”

“I dunno. From what I’ve seen, y’all are better than most.”

Arthur didn’t respond, unable to disagree with your statement. Tucking the lockbox back into its hiding spot, you met him halfway, holding out the bills for him to grab. He looked down at them, then back up at you. “You don’t gotta pay me anymore.”

Was… was he stopping his visits? Did he lie to you earlier? Dejected, you tossed the money on the bed, taking a step away from him. “So you’re not comin’ back, then?”

“I never said that. I only said you don’t gotta pay me.”

“Why?”

“You sure are askin’ that a lot tonight,” Arthur teased. “Would you believe me if I said your company is payment enough?”

“I’m sure my company is incredible,” you scoffed. “Sad married woman in the woods, nothin’ interesting’ ‘bout her besides being rich.”

“Are you callin’ me a liar, then?” Arthur challenged.

You almost wish you could. It would make things so much simpler. Instead, you found yourself shaking your head. “Why do you keep comin’ back?”

The atmosphere of the conversation shifted when you asked that question. The conversation had started out almost confrontational, but now it was shifting to something more… tender.

“I can’t get you outta my head, darlin’. Every single thought I have is of you. Even in my dreams, you’re in them. I can’t stop comin’ back to you, it’s like I’m fuckin’ addicted to you. And just when I think I’ve got it under control, you take my breath away with one of ‘em gorgeous smiles, those soft touches, those shy glances, and I’m hooked again.”

Arthur had closed the distance between your bodies sometime during his little speech, large hands grasping your hips with surprising gentleness. One of them danced up your body, caressing your side, then over your arm, causing you to shiver. You could see him smirk, loving the way you responded.

He eventually settled on your jaw, tilting your head back lightly. His eyes were dark, but you felt warm under his attentive gaze. Your lips parted, a small gasp leaving them. “Beautiful,” he murmured, almost awestruck, before his mouth was finally on yours. They were soft and overwhelming and they felt like home, and you felt yourself immediately melting against him. It was almost hard to believe that he was an outlaw with how gentle he was being.

He pulled you in closer, and you wrapped one of your arms around his shoulders, your other hand cradling his cheek. His beard prickled the delicate skin, but it just led you to think about what that would feel like elsewhere.

The way he kissed you was gentle, but the tightening grip on your hip and jaw was telling you he was quickly losing the battle with his restraint. Before you could push him further and lead to something more, he broke away, resting his head against yours. At least, as well as he could, his hat mostly got in the way.

Joy unlike anything you’d ever felt bubbled inside of you, escaping you in a small laugh. You’d just kissed Arthur Morgan, the man you thought was unobtainable. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” you confessed, breathless.

“Me too, darlin’.”

He moved a bit, kissing your forehead, before resting his chin atop your head. One of his hands cradles your head to his chest, the other wrapping around your waist. Neither of you said anything, simply savoring the moment, and Arthur rocked you slowly. Taking a deep breath, it was mostly the scent of him that filled your senses, making your head spin even more.

He held you like that for a few moments, until you heard the voice of Dutch break the bubble the two of you had created. “Arthur! We’re leaving!”

You felt him sigh, leaning his head back to look at you again. “I’m sorry, I-”

“It’s alright, Arthur.” You wanted nothing more than to have him stay with you, but he had responsibilities. You couldn’t fault him for that. “Just… kiss me again?”

He chuckled, holding both sides of your face now. “Don’t gotta ask me twice,” he whispered before reconnecting your lips, a pleased sigh leaving you. Fingers curled against your head as he deepened the kiss, pulling away when he heard his name getting yelled again.

You chuckled “Go. Before they come up here.”

With one final short kiss, Arthur pulled away, walking backwards to the doorway, eyes not leaving you for a second. “Have a good night, darlin’,” you heard him say before he went to turn, about to head downstairs.

“Wait.”

He did, almost immediately, turning his head to look at you with confusion on his face. You really weren’t quite sure what you were about to say, but you needed to say something to him. “Come back to me, alright?” It wasn’t what you really meant to say, but it would have to do for now.

“Always,” he responded with a smile, before vanishing from the doorway. You heard the sound of the stairs creaking as he headed downstairs, the voices of Hosea and Dutch audible soon after. Eventually, you heard them leave, leaving you in stunned silence.

Another light laugh of disbelief left you, holding your fingers to where Arthur’s lips had been. Everywhere burned where he’d touched you, and your whole body felt like it was on fire. The whole meeting with Dutch and Hosea had practically vanished from your mind, the only thing playing on repeat was the way his lips felt, the way he held you, the words he uttered.

Those memories continued to repeat themselves as you got ready for bed, your thin nightgown doing little to cool you off. They caused you to lay awake in your bed, tossing and turning for what felt like hours. The heat hadn’t subsided one bit, and you groaned frustratedly, sleep coming nowhere near you.

Getting out of bed, the cold floor felt nice against your bare feet, but it wasn’t enough. You debated grabbing a cigarette, the lighter Arthur had given you in your hands but you decided against it. For once, you didn’t want to forget the way someone’s hands were on you, and so you placed the lighter back into your nightstand.

Still, you stepped outside, the air of the night cooling your skin. Your mind still raced with thoughts of Arthur, but you were cooling down. Eventually, the air caused goosebumps to appear on your skin, and you took that as your sign to try and go back to bed.

Like you always had to, you had to pass the locked door of Hans’ office, and you finally remembered the meeting you had that night. Setting your hand on the doorknob, you debated trying to get in right then, but you realized you had no idea how. You didn’t know how to pick a lock, and breaking it down would be difficult and obvious. A problem for later, then.

Getting back under the covers, you felt better than you had the first time you went to bed. Sleep was closer now, and as you turned on your side, about to succumb to unconsciousness, you saw the empty side of the bed.

How you longed for Arthur to be there instead.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

You didn’t wake up alone.

It took a moment for your sleep-addled mind to realize that, nearly turning over and going right back to bed. But when it clicked, you nearly bolted out of bed, dread and sadness chasing away the happiness that came from your dreams of Arthur.

Hans was asleep next to you, his suitcases stacked in the corner of the room, snoring lightly as he slept. You knew he had to come back eventually, but it still wrecked you. Getting out of the bed as quietly as you could, you snuck downstairs, not ready to face reality yet.

You paced around your kitchen, running your hands through your hair. You weren’t ready to put on the act again. You weren’t ready to pretend like you were content being Mrs. Kerrigan. You weren’t ready to pretend like Arthur hadn’t just kissed you last night.

Groaning, you slumped against one of the counters, burrowing your head in your arms. That familiar feeling of guilt returned, but you fought it. You weren’t hurting anyone, being sweet on Arthur like you were. It’s not like your husband actually loved you, so you doubt he’d be too upset. He’d be more upset that something that was ‘his’ was ‘being used’ by someone else. Besides, what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

And if you were happy, who was to tell you that that was bad?

Standing up, you rolled your shoulders, forcing a smile on your face. You could do this, you told yourself. This wasn’t any different than the last two years. Just suck it up and pretend. And then before you’d know it, Hans would be gone again.

You got to work cleaning up the kitchen from last night, washing the dishes used by the guests last night. Next, you started making breakfast, the smell of it probably being the reason Hans woke, walking downstairs blearily.

He sat in his chair at the dining table, and you served him a glass of coffee with a soft ‘good morning’. He didn’t respond, just sipping on the steaming beverage. It was hard to not look at him in a different light, now that you knew what he was really getting up to behind closed doors. But you kept your face impassive, heading back into the kitchen before the food burned.

Eventually, you served him his food, and you sat in your respective seat, much farther than you had with Arthur. He didn’t even acknowledge your presence, assumedly too tired to do so. “Sorry for wakin’ you,” you apologized, and he grunted.

“How was your trip?” You tried to engage him in a conversation, but were immediately shut down with a glare. All right, then. It took everything in you not to laugh at him. I mean you weren’t a morning person either, but at least you didn’t treat others like this. What an ass.

You turned your attention back to your plate, poking at it with your fork, appetite now gone. The two of you ate in complete silence, the only sounds being your silverware against the china and the scratch of your chair against the floor as you stood to refill his cup.

About fifteen minutes passed before Hans left the table, leaving his dishes for you to take care of. You didn’t have to look up to know where he was going, and you heard the sound of his office door shut moments later. When you confirmed that you were alone, you sighed, tired of just pushing the food around your plate.

You found that you desperately missed Arthur’s warmth, both physically and emotionally. The house seemed to agree with you; it had never felt so comforting, him being there making it so. Now it felt like a prison, your only company the memories of the last weeks.

You stared at the now empty seat across from you, forcing yourself to eat a few bites of breakfast, hating when you wasted food. You found that you were glad you agreed to Dutch and Hosea’s scheme; you were excited to make Hans hurt.

But for now, you had to push those plans out the window. You couldn’t do anything right now, at the risk of you getting caught. All you could do now was play his little housewife and wait for the moment that Arthur’s lips were back on yours.

#yessss #rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader

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morethantheycansay · 13 days

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“Then hope unlooked-for came so suddenly to Eomer's heart, and with it the bite of care and fear renewed, that he said no more, but turned and went swiftly from the hall.”

The challenge is now complete! It was really fun and I am happy it ‘forced’ me to draw new characters. Eomer won the poll so he got to complete the collection ✨

#LOVE LOVE LOVE #lotr fanart #lord of the rings #eomer #faramir #thranduil #merry and pippin #galadriel #fili and kili #lotr #amazing art

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morethantheycansay · 14 days

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Chapter 4: Your Touch Brought Forth An Incandescent Glow

Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

Synopsis: A fic based off the song “ivy” by Taylor Swift. After a startling introduction to the man, Arthur Morgan became the most important part of your life. Married at a young age to an older, wealthy man to help your family, you were trapped in a loveless marriage, your only sense of escape with the rugged cowboy. Will you be able to keep your affair hidden, or will your husband find out, and destroy the last thing that made you happy? Tags: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Strangers To Lovers, Infidelity, Fem!Reader, She/Her Pronouns Used For Reader, Period Typical Misogyny, Emotional Manipulative Relationship (not with Arthur), Mostly Follows Timeline of Game, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Not Beta Read, Slow Burn, Tags Updated Per Chapter Author's Note: this chapter is super dialogue heavy and sets up a backstory for the reader so if this isn’t your cup of tea sorry. i need this chapter to set up the story later on lmao. also the title did use to be different if you noticed that lmao Taglist: @lokiofasgard12 @ultraporcelainpig @that-one-beannnn @morethantheycansay Chapter List

“Have you ever shot a gun?”

You stared at Arthur, shocked. That certainly wasn’t the question you’d expect him to greet you with today. You stood in the entrance of your home, a soaked Arthur Morgan standing on the other side. “Well, hello to you too, Arthur,” you laughed. “Why?”

“‘Cause-”

A crack of thunder tore through the conversation, shaking the frame of your house. “Get inside, please. Before you die right out here on my porch.” You stood back a few feet, giving Arthur plenty of room to come in.

Water pooled on the floor as he stepped inside, the mat doing little to soak it up. “Sorry,” you heard him mumble, and you shook your head.

“Don’t worry about it.” Arthur leaned his head forward, and all the water from the rim of his hat hit the ground with a splash. “I’m goin’ to grab some towels,” you stated, backing up to the stairs. “Get yourself warm by the fire. And those boots better be off!”

Arthur said something in response, but you couldn’t hear him, already up the stairs. Grabbing an armful of towels, you quickly returned downstairs, surprised to find him still lingering in the entranceway. “Arthur? What’re you doin’?”

“I ain’t gonna stay a while-”

Another clap of thunder cut him off, like Mother Nature didn’t want to hear what he had to say. “Like hell you ain’t gonna stay a while. Have you been outside?” Arthur gestured to his currently soaked attire with a teasing grin. “Alright, stupid question, but my point still stands! It's horrible out there! At least try and wait it out a bit. Please.”

He had looked so adamant when he said he wasn’t going to be staying for a while, his face hard and determined, but it quickly softened when you asked him to wait it out, even more so when you said please. “Alright, darlin’.”

He began to undress, taking his jacket off first, hanging it up on the nearby coat rack. His hat and satchel were next, joining the coat on the rack, and he finally took his shoes off, which were covered in mud. More and more water hit the floor, the poor mat absolutely soaked through with it.

You had set a majority of the towels on the back of the couch, but you still held one in your hands. Walking over beside Arthur, you dropped it beside him, soaking up what the mat couldn’t. “Go stand by the fire,” you instructed, feeling slightly victorious when he did.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him pick up one of the towels, wiping down his face and hair. He didn’t sit on one of the couches, instead choosing to sit on the rug in front of the fireplace. You were about to ask why, until you noticed the way his clothing clung to his body like a second skin, absolutely soaked, leaving little to the imagination. It was a kind gesture, to not wreck your furniture with rain water, but less than proper thoughts flashed through your mind as you observed him.

Of course he had to wear a white shirt today. You could see the muscles of his broad shoulders move as he continued to dry his hair, and you could see the way the muscles tapered down his back, powerful and entrancing to watch. You were just grateful, or disappointed, you couldn’t tell, that you weren’t able to see the way his jeans clung to his lower body.

No longer looking at him in your periphery, you tried to ignore the way your cheeks warmed as you watched him. “What’re you doing here?” You asked, hating how raspy your voice sounded.

Arthur looked over at you, confused. “It’s been a few days, hasn’t it?”

And it had been since his last visit. Your first dinner was almost a week ago, Arthur stopping by every couple of days like he promised afterwards. You’d chat, eat dinner, pay him, and then he’d be on his way. “I mean, yes,” you made your way over to him, grabbing a towel as you did so, “but I wasn’t expecting you to come today. I’d hate for you to get sick comin’ over here, and this late in the evening. Besides,” you glanced outside, “I highly doubt anyone’s gonna willingly come outside to cause problems.”

“Well, besides me.”

You laughed. “Are you here to cause problems, Arthur?”

“Well, that depends on how you answer my question. Have you ever shot a gun?”

Shaking your head, you responded. “Can’t say I have.”

“Then you’re gonna learn today.” Arthur stood up, discarding the towel on the floor.

“Wha- right now?”

“No better time than the present, right?”

“I think the present is an absolutely terrible time! I ain’t steppin’ foot out there.” As if to prove your point, thunder boomed, and Arthur sighed. “Why are you adamant about me learning to shoot all of a sudden?”

“Because I ain’t always gonna be around, and I couldn’t bear… I’d hate for somethin’ to happen to you. I wanna give you a way to defend yourself.”

“Oh… I see. Well,” you sat down by where Arthur had just been, “I ain’t opposed to the idea. I’m just not doin’ it right now. Let’s see if the storm’ll let up.” You patted the ground beside you. Looking up at him, you were met with the glorious sight that was Arthur in wet, tight jeans. You knew he was a large man, but it was always hard to tell when he wore loose jeans all the time. His thighs were huge, about the size of your head, and you wanted nothing more than to sit on them, to feel them beneath you.

When he sat back down, you could finally breathe. “I would offer you some dry clothes, but I don’t think I’ve got any that’ll fit you.”

“I appreciate the offer,” Arthur chuckled, “but you’re probably right. Besides, I ain’t so stranger to wet clothes. They’ll dry soon enough.”

You handed him the towel you’d been holding, and he took it with a small nod. Another roll of thunder shuddered the house, and you instinctively felt yourself moving toward Arthur, your shoulder brushing his arm. He didn’t make any move to create distance between you two. His wet shirt was kind of uncomfortable against your skin, but you couldn’t care less.

You watched Arthur’s eyes travel over the photographs again, this time settling on one of you and your family. You could tell he was brimming with questions, but he kept his mouth shut. You stood up, but you weren’t away from him for long, grabbing the picture he was looking at and sitting back beside him, your shoulder remaking contact.

“Meet the Van Burens,” you said, handing him the framed photo, and essentially consenting to any questions he might ask.

“Are those your parents?” He asked, pointing to the two older looking folks.

You nodded. “Raymond and Irene. Married for thirty some years.

“And the rest are…?”

“My siblings. I’m the eldest, 17 when this photo was taken. My brother, Joseph, was born a year after me,” you pointed to him in the photo. “Next was Margaret,” you pointed again.

You went through the rest of the rest of the photo in similar fashion, reading their name and identifying them in chronological order. The twins, Ruth and Ethel, were next, followed by Edward, Henry, John, Helen, and finally Bessie. Arthur had a slight reaction to the last name, body tensing slightly, but you didn’t ask him about it.

“And finally, Bessie. She wasn’t even a year old in this photo.” You sniffed, and you reached a hand up to your face. Hot tears were streaming down it, and a concerned Arthur was watching you. “Shit, sorry. I…. I miss them,” you explained through the tears. “I haven’t seen them since I got married.”

“Two years?” Arthur asked, shocked. You were shocked that he remembered, having only brought it up once back in Rhodes. You nodded. “You said they were up North, right?”

You nodded again. “Around Van Horn.”

“That ain’t too far, though.”

“You think if I could’ve gone to see them, I would’ve?” You laughed bitterly. “No, I ain’t allowed to.”

“He… he doesn’t let you?”

“No. Won’t even tell me why, either. And the worse part is, I have no way of even seeing them when he’s gone. If you didn’t notice, the only way to get anywhere for me is on foot, or gettin’ picked up by a stranger.” You wiped away another tear, but another just took his place. “And besides, I have no clue if they’re still livin’ in the same house, after all the financial troubles they went through.”

“Financial troubles?”

You forgot the general public didn’t know what you did. If anyone else would’ve asked, you would’ve shut them down, but it was so easy to tell the truth to Arthur. “Yeah, my parents went bankrupt a few years back, nearly lost everything. The house, the business, everything. So, for financial security, they set up my marriage with Hans. He gets a wife, and every month they get a substantial amount of money from him.”

Arthur didn’t respond for a good amount of time, your words processing in his head. His jaw clenched and unclenched, and there was an almost dangerous glint in his usually soft eyes. “Your parents allowed this?”

“My father was the one who married us.” You whispered. You realized that you’d never told another person your situation, and you looked at him with panic on your face. “No one knows that, though.”

“I won’t say nothin’.” Arthur promised, and you relaxed. Tentatively, you felt him reach his arm around you, settling on your waist comfortingly, pulling you into a side hug.You let him pull you into him, your head resting on his shoulder. The cold wetness of the fabric felt nice against your warm cheeks, and it hid the tears quite well.

He comforted you for a bit, hand soothingly rubbing your side. It took every ounce of self-restraint to not just climb into his lap and throw your arms around him. The idea of it was very appealing, though.

“If you got any more questions, I don’t mind answerin’ them.” You sighed. “I haven’t been able to talk about it before, so this is… therapeutic, in a way.”

“Do your folks know?”

“Know what?”

Arthur chuckled humorlessly. “That you’re absolutely miserable for ‘em?”

“I… Well, no. I wouldn’t want them to know, anyway.”

Arthur paused for a few seconds. “You’re probably one of the most selfless people I’ve met.”

You scoffed. “If this is what it feels like to be selfless, then I don’t wanna be anymore.”

“I don’t think anyone would blame you if you were selfish.”

You shook your head. “Maybe not. But every time I think I’m gonna try and do something I want, I feel so guilty. Insurmountable guilt, something I can’t just move past.”

“And… and what do you want?” It was barely noticeable, but his voice went lower.

You. “I want… I wanted to take over my family’s tobacco farm. I wanted to travel. I wanted to fall in love.” You laugh. “I ain’t so sure what I want now. Well…” you trailed off. Were you really about to confess to Arthur? “There is one thing I do want, but there’s no way I can have it.” The ring on your hand felt like fifty pounds.

He didn’t respond, just continued to rub his hand across your back and side. You took a deep breath, and even under the rain you were able to detect that distinct scent of him; gunpowder and tobacco. Your body couldn't decide if it calmed you or made your heart race faster.

“Do you have a family, Arthur?”

“In a way, yes.”

“In a way?” You repeated, confused.

“We ain’t blood, but we sure as hell act like a family,” Arthur explained. “There a group of us, twenty-somethin’ strong. Big group of outsiders, free from the clutches of society. Men, women, even a kid. We take care of each other. You met two of ‘em already, Dutch and Bill. Dutch’s the leader of our little group. He’s… he’s somethin’ of a father to me, as much as I hate to admit it.”

“That… that sounds nice,” you admitted.

“It has its ups and downs.”

“Do you have any photos of them?” You asked. Arthur stilled, and you regretted your question. “You don’t have to show me nonthin’ you don’t want to.”

Wordlessly, Arthur stood, first placing your family’s photo back where it was, then walking over to where his jacket was hung up, pulling something out the satchel he kept. As he sat back down next to you, you noticed he was holding a leather journal, which you honestly weren’t expecting.

“I ain’t got any photos… but I’ve got drawings.”

“Drawings?” You rested your head back on his shoulder. “Well, now I’m intrigued.”

“They ain’t anything good,” he prefaced, and he began to thumb through the pages. “Here.” Arthur tilted the journal to you, and your breath caught. On the left page was an absolutely stunning portrait of who you recognized to be Dutch, along with a paragraph of fast cursive, the same handwriting you saw on the thank you note. On the other page was a full body sketch of an older gentleman cleaning a gun, along with some sketches of a bear and a plant, which were labeled to be English Mace.

“Oh my God, Arthur,” you hovered your fingers above the drawings, following the strokes of the pencil, “these are beautiful.”

Because you were so focused on the journal in front of you, you missed the way that Arthur blushed at your praise. “You’ve already met Dutch, and the other man’s Hosea. Him and Dutch practically raised me.” His voice turned soft, like he was reminiscing.

Clearing his throat, he flipped through a couple more pages, halting when a picture of a younger man appeared. He had longer hair, about neck length, and two angry lines cut up from his jaw, covering his nose. Another angry line cut across his mouth, cutting through the shortly cut facial here. “John Marston. Grew up with him.” You noted the way his voice was short, like he was upset with the man.

“What happened to him?” You asked, pointing to the scars.

“Wolves nearly tore him apart. Me and Javier had to go rescue him. I don’t think I’ve gotta drawin’ of him.”

“That’s alright. Just show me who you’ve got.”

Arthur flipped the page. A woman was there, sitting on a rock. Even in the drawing, you could feel the rage in her eyes. Her expression, even though it was neutral, had such a deep feeling of grief and anger beneath the surface that it almost made you uncomfortable. “Sadie Adler. Found her up in the mountains. A gang known as the O’Driscolls killed her husband, kept her alive. Her house ended up burnin’ down, so we took her with us.”

That rage in her eyes made sense then. It was surprisingly familiar, too, as it was the same anger you saw in the mirror. “Was she who you were talking about earlier?”

It took Arthur a moment to remember what you were talking about, laughter shaking his shoulders when he did. “Sure, darlin’.”

Strange answer, you thought. “Is she… is she doin’ better?” Will I be able to move on from the events in my life?

“She is. Mad as a hornet’s nest, but she’s tough. Even goes out on jobs with us. One of the best thieves in camp.”

You felt a pang in your heart, and you realized you were envious of her. You wanted the freedom she had. “I wanna meet her,” you found yourself muttering.

Arthur chuckled. “She said the same of you.”

You both paused. Were you that important to him that he was telling his “family” about you? “You… they know of me?”

“Well, they kept wonderin’ where I was sneakin’ off to every couple of days,” Arthur explained, clearly not meaning to reveal that. “I didn’t tell ‘em too much, if you were worried ‘bout that.”

“I don’t mind. Just tell ‘em they ain’t allowed to rob me.”

“Oh, they know,” Arthur reassured, and you watched him thumb back to near the beginning of the journal. “I made it clear that you ain’t to be messed with.”

“You make it sound like I’m some tough outlaw,” you teased. “I ain’t even shot a gun yet!”

“Yet.” Arthur reiterated, setting the journal back on his lap. A man occupied the top left corner, and the rest of the two pages were covered in a sketch of a town labeled Blackwater.

“And you say these ain’t good…” you said, voice disbelieving. “Who’s that?” The man in the drawing had even longer hair than John, extending far beyond what was portrayed in the small drawing. A scar similar to a bolt of lightning streaked up his jaw, and another one cut through his brow.

Even though your tears had stopped, you still found yourself resting your head on the man’s shoulder. You couldn’t help the pleased sigh you let out when you felt his arm return around you, keeping you close. “That’s Charles Smith. Best hunter and tracker in camp. Nice guy, too. He joined us recently, surprised he hadn’t run off after…”

“After?”

Arthur sighed. You could tell he was debating telling you or not, but little did you know that he couldn’t say no to your questions. “After Blackwater.” Your eyes flicked to the sketch of the town. It looked peaceful enough, so why did Arthur say the name with such… disgust? Fear? Regret? You weren’t quite sure.

“That’s out West, right?” You’d heard of Blackwater before, and you knew that Hans would probably be traveling through it on the way to Tumbleweed. You also knew that it was no stranger to crime, large ones at that.

Arthur nodded. “It was supposed to be a simple job: rob the ferry and then get the hell outta town. ‘Course, things didn’t end up that way. Innocents were killed. We lost two of our own as well. One of ‘em was captured, too, but we got him back.”

“What happened?”

You felt him shrug. “I ain’t gotta clue. I wasn’t on the boat when things turned bad. We had to drop everythin’ and run. Law chased us out of the state. We thought we’d lose them in the mountains, but they found us once we left. Chased us out of New Hanover, and now here. Won’t be surprised if they pick up our trail soon.”

“Will you have to leave if they do?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur answered earnestly. “I hope not.”

“Me neither.”

It didn’t feel right to speak, so neither of you did. Arthur simply pulled you closer, and his head practically rested atop yours. You swore his lips brushed the top of your head in a kiss. Rainfall filled in for your voices, the occasion clap of thunder growing softer and softer as the storm progressed. You were so at ease, probably the most relaxed you’d felt over the last two years laying against him like this. He was so warm, his soaked shirt slowly becoming dry, and the fire wasn’t helping you keep your eyes open. Tiredness washed over you, which wasn’t too unexpected because it was already nighttime. You yawmend, and you felt Arthur chuckle. “Go ‘head and rest your eyes, darlin’. I’ll be here.”

You hadn’t even realized you’d fallen asleep until you woke up in your bed the next morning. Sitting up, startled, you saw that you were still in your clothes, simply being placed under the covers. Glancing around, you saw a small piece of paper, presumably ripped from the journal Arthur had shown you yesterday. Grabbing it, you cleared sleep from your eyes, and it took a few moments for the words to become understandable.

Next time you’ll learn to use the gun. Have a good couple of days, darling.

There was something written below it, but it was heavily scratched out, and you weren’t able to make any of it out.

Smiling, you leaned back down on the bed, clutching the note to your chest. A small laugh left you, pure happiness radiating from you. It was insane that this man could get you like this just from a small note.

That giddiness was instantly replaced with dread when you imagined how Hans would react if you were to see the note. You’re not sure what would freak him out more; you using a gun or the fact that Arthur called you darling.

Getting out of bed, you grabbed the lockbox hidden beneath, opening at setting on the bed. There were still some bills left, but there was plenty of room to set the note in. It was then you remembered that you hadn’t paid Arthur at all. Next time he came over, you’d give it to him. Remembering the other note you had from him, you quickly grabbed it, setting it in the lockbox as well. With one final glance, you closed it, tucking back into its original spot.

You got ready that day with a grin on your face.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

The next couple of days were filled with menial tasks and garden visits. You wished you had a book, cards, something to pass the time that wasn’t laborious tasks. The lower floor had never looked so clean, though, so there was that.

It had been two days since Arthur had carried you up to your bed, and he would be coming over any day now. Even if there wasn’t anything romantic between you two, you loved having him over, getting close with the outlaw. Your loneliness had never been so far away.

There was a light knock on the door, and you heard your name being called from the other side of the door. You set aside the stitching you were doing, your hands shaking slightly and a smile growing on your face.

“Hello, Arthur.” You greeted the man as you opened the door.

Arthur was resting his hands on his belt, a warm smile on his face that had you melting. “Hello, darlin’. You ready?”

You stared at him blankly, completely forgetting what he had planned for you for a moment. “As I’ll ever be,” you sighed, getting your shoes on. “You sure this is a good idea?”

“Are you doubtin’ me?” Arthur joked, extending a hand to you once your shoes were on. “I promise you won’t get hurt.”

You snorted, taking his hand. “I ain’t afraid of getting myself hurt. I’m more afraid of what I might do to you.”

Arthur led you out of the house, continuing to hold your hand even after helping you down the stairs. He only laughed at your words, shaking his head as he did. He led you away from the house, away from his horse tied to the same tree as before, into the woods near where your garden was. A large tree stump was there, and about ten bottles that Arthur put out littered the top. Your hands were now no longer shaking from excitement over seeing Arthur. Instead, anxiety over firing a weapon caused them to shake, and you hoped he couldn’t feel it.

He let go of your hand, and he unholstered his weapon, holding it towards you by the barrel. “First rule,” he said when your hand rested on the grip. “Keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to fire. Nothin’s worse than a misfire.”

You nodded, fully grabbing it in your hand. He let go of it, and you weren’t expecting how heavy the revolver actually was. It wasn’t unbuildable, no, but it definitely had a weight to it that would hurt your wrists after a while. “Second rule. Only aim it at folks that need hurtin’.”

“Do you follow these rules, Arthur?”

He hesitated. “No. But you should. You don’t wanna end up like me.”

He moved around you, so that his chest was barely brushing your back. You felt his fingers brush the underside of your arm, signaling for you to raise your arm. It shook slightly as you raised the weapon, but no longer because of nerves.

“Bring your other hand up like this,” he moved so that you could see what he was doing, and you copied the action, wrapping both hands around the gun. “Got more stability like that,” he explained, moving back behind you. “Make sure to keep your arms all the way out. And spread your legs a bit.”

Doing as he asked, you heard him hum approvingly, low and right next to your ear. You had to suppress a shiver. “You see those two iron bits stickin’ up at the end of the barrel? You're gonna want your target in between ‘em. When you’re ready, you’re gonna pull the hammer back,” he tapped it with his finger. “Then squeeze the trigger. Just… brace yourself.”

Taking a deep breath and trying to ignore the way his hands rested on your shoulders, you pulled the hammer back with your thumb. The stretch was uncomfortable, and it took a few tries before your finger eventually caught it.

Click.

“Very good,” Arthur praised almost nonchalantly. “Whenever you’re ready, darlin’.”

Bang!

The birds, which had been peacefully minding their own business, scattered out the trees, cries of warning leaving them. Your ears rang, mainly because of the gunshot, but also because of the continued words of praise spilling from Arthur’s lips. You were nowhere close to hitting the bottle, hitting the stump below them, but you were still proud of yourself for hitting something that wasn’t alive.

Exhaling shakily, you lowered the weapon. The recoil was worse than you expected, and you could already feel that your wrists were going to be hurting later. “Both of us are still alive, right?”

Arthur laughed behind you, and you could feel the way his chest shook. “Very much so. You did good.”

“Thank you,” you replied breathlessly. “Does it always take that long?”

“Whaddya mean?”

“This,” you gestured to the revolver. “Feels like it took an hour before I shot.” Turning to him, you followed the same way Arthur handed the gun to you, you grabbed the barrel, presenting the grip to him. “Show me.”

Cautiously, he took it from you. “What?”

“I wanna see you shoot.” When he didn’t move, you deflated a bit. “Please?”

Arthur sighed, but you saw a small smile tug at his lips. “Fine. Here, move back.”

Moving so you were behind the man, you waited with bated breath. Only Arthur’s eyes moved, flicking across each target with speed, like he was pinpointing exactly where they were. The revolver hung loosely in his hand, an air of casualness about it, like the gun was just an extension of his arm.

Four shots rang out, faster than you expected, and you watched four of the bottles shatter. The whole action couldn't have been longer than two seconds, and if you had blinked, you would’ve missed it. He aimed the gun still with one hand, the smoke of the barrel intertwining with his arm.

“Oh my God,” you whispered. “That was…” Hot. “Incredible.” He didn’t respond, but you watched as he twirled the gun around his finger before holstering it. “Alright, now you’re just showin’ off.” You laughed, returning to Arthur’s side.

“Hey, you asked,” Arthur defended.

You rolled your eyes. “Alght, before I go inflatin’ your ego more, can I try again?”

He handed you the gun, and you found that you weren’t as nervous as the first time. “There’s one round left. I’ll show you how to reload it once we’re done.”

Nodding, you returned to the position he showed you, and even though you didn’t need his support, you felt his hands brace your shoulders. The warmth of his hands were distracting, and you quite literally had to shake yourself out of it.

Bang!

You were starting to get used to the noise it made, your ears not ringing as badly as they were before. This shot still didn’t hit a bottle, but it hit the stump right next to one. You’d take that.

“Look at you.” His face was right next to your ear, low timbre shaking you to your very core. God, his voice should not be doing these things to you. “You’ll be hittin’ those in no time.”

“You think?” You didn’t dare turn your head towards him, knowing it would then be inches away from his own. You don’t think you could stop yourself from kissing him then, guilt be damned.

Arthur nodded, and you could cut the tension between the two of you with a knife. He breathed deep, like he was trying to calm himself. “C’mon, lemme show you how to reload the thing.” Stepping away from you, what should’ve been a warm breeze felt freezing against your skin, no longer feeling the warmth of his body. Turning, you saw Arthur begin to head back the way you came. You were able to sneak your hand in his before he moved too far away, walking along beside him.

A bit shocked, Arthur glanced at you, looking down at your intertwined hands, but he made no move to separate them. Instead, he smiled gently, and he brought your knuckles up to his lips, kissing them gently. With the gun in your other hand, the two of you walked back, not saying a word. It’s not like you would’ve been able to hear him anyways because of how loudly your heart was beating in your ears.

Arthur’s horse’s ears perked up when he noticed your arrival, but otherwise seemed undisturbed, the recent loud noise seemingly not bothering him. It made you wonder how used to gunshots the creature was.

Arthur led you to the horse, and he sniffed curiously at you. You couldn’t help the slight flinch, not used to being around horses. “He won’t hurt ya,” Arthur reassured, pulling his hand away to grab something from the saddlebags. “He acts like he’s tough, but he’s a real softie.”

“Sounds like his owner,” you teased, and you heard Arthur scoff. You reached out a hand for him to smell, and you watched him meet you halfway. His nose was wet, and you felt him nibble at your fingers, making you laugh. Moving your hand away from his nose you trailed it down his neck, petting gently. “You not all that mean, ain’t you? You just need some love,” you cooed at the horse. “You’re a good boy, ain’t you?” You pet his neck a few more times. “What’s his name, Arthur?”

You didn’t get a response, so you turned your attention toward the man, stilling your petting. “Arthur?” He was facing towards you, something in his hands, but he had stilled, completely silent.

He cleared his throat, and you swore you saw the beginnings of a blush form on his cheeks. “Sorry,” he rubbed at his neck. “His name’s Bear.”

You didn’t think much of his behavior, moving your attention back to Bear. “Bear?” The horse responded immediately, acknowledgment flashing in his eyes. “Ain’t you a good boy, Bear. Oh, yes you are.” You spoke like you would to a dog.

Eventually, you moved away from Bear, and you saw him follow you with his head. “Sorry,” you apologized to Arthur, having forgotten what he’d brought you over to do.

Arthur shook his head, smiling and laughing. Yeah, he had definitely been blushing, his ears still tinted pink. “Are you done spoilin’ my horse?”

“For now.” You stepped closer to Arthur, handing him the gun. “What does he like to eat?”

“Bear?” Arthur shrugged. “Most things really. Grass, hay, apples, carrots. He loves peppermints, though. Goes crazy for ‘em. Why?”

“No particular reason.” You tried to be nonchalant, like you weren’t totally planning on buying some the next time you were in town.

“You tryin’ to steal my horse from me?” Arthur asked, setting what you saw to now be ammunition in his hands on the saddle, taking a step towards you, making you tilt your head back farther to look at him.

You stuck your chin out defiantly. “Maybe.”

“I don’t much appreciate that, darlin’.” You knew he was teasing you, but his voice had dropped dangerously low, and in any other context would’ve sounded threatening. He was so close now, holstering the gun back on his belt, and you felt your confidence falter as he stared you down.

“What’re gonna do about it, then?” It came out as a whisper, but at least it wasn’t shaky. You maintained eye contact, even when he moved closer, his chest bumping into yours. One of his hands slowly held the side of your face, like he had done when he wiped the dirt from your cheek. His other hand locked on your waist, tugging you impossibly close, and you sucked in a breath.

Those beautiful blue eyes danced over your face, settling on your lips, an unspoken question spoken. You nodded, the movement barely noticeable, but you didn’t trust your voice. His thumb brushed the apple of your cheek, and he tiled your head back a bit more. Arthur leaned forward, and you felt his hat brush against your head, knocking it back slightly, but it didn’t deter him.

His lips almost brushed against yours, and you could feel the air leave him as he almost closed the gap, until a loud calling of his name had him snapping his head up. His hat nearly tumbled off his head, and he caught it using the hand once caressing your face. The voice was familiar, but you couldn’t see who it came from, the form of Bear blocking the speaker.

Once the initial shock wore off, you could practically feel the annoyance and anger from Arthur. “What?” He growled out, and you were thankful that his head was turned so that he wouldn’t see the way your cheeks flushed.

“Where are you, son?”

You recognized the voice now: Dutch. Why he was here, you had no idea. Exasperated, Arthur looked at you, an apology on his tongue. You silenced him with a kiss on his cheek, his beard tickling your lips when you made contact. His hand tightened where it still held on at your hips, and felt him sigh, both pleased and irritated. Leaning your head back, you answered for him. “He’s by the house.”

Arthur let go of you now, taking a step back and creating an appropriate amount of room between the two of you. “Good evening, Mrs. Kerrigan,” you heard Dutch respond, and you and Arthur stepped from around the horse and walked to the front porch.

Dutch came riding into your homestead on a beautiful white horse, and another man followed behind him, hat over his face, so you couldn’t get a glimpse of his features. “Good evening, Dutch. Is there something you need?”

“We need to talk to you,” Dutch responded, and you blinked back, confused. You glanced at Arthur, and he just sighed. You could tell he was still frustrated, though, because he practically glared at the other men as they got off their horses.

“Me? You sure you don’t mean Arthur?”

“Both of you,” the stranger responded, taking off his hat and keeping it with his horse. He was an older gentleman, probably in his mid-fifties. As he turned to you, you recognized him instantly from one of the drawings: Hosea.

“This here’s Hosea,” Dutch made his way over to you and Arthur, Hosea following closely behind. “You see, me and him have a proposition for you, Mrs. Kerrigan. And Arthur, I suppose.”

“Okay.” You drew out the word. “What is it?”

“It involves your husband,” Hosea chimed in. “We’d like your help.”

“And I’m glad to provide it, if you tell me what’s goin’ on.”

“Mrs. Kerrigan, are you aware that your husband is runnin’ a moonshine business?”

Author's Note: i swear they’ll kiss eventually don’t kill me

#love this #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader

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