RED DEAD REDEMPTION II ᨖ ➞ Roanoke Ridge, Kamassa River

Saved By The Gang | RDR2 x Reader

In which your SO saves you from your kidnappers! This was a request from AO3 :) Characters: Arthur, Hosea, Dutch, Sean, Charles GN!Reader Warnings for each story: Arthur: Graphic depictions of violence, cannibalism, and dismemberment Hosea: Graphic depictions of violence and human trafficking Dutch: Graphic depictions of violence, Dutch being himself Sean: Depictions of violence, use of strong language Charles: Graphic depictions of violence. Implied SA Notes: I kinda ended up writing these more from the characters POVs, so I hope that’s okay. I apologize for any errors of if my writing is bad. I’ve been struggling with insomnia so I'm not thinking great rn. I looked at this so much I kinda hate it lmao so I’m just gonna raw dog my mistakes :’) AO3 Link Arthur: Arthur had been gone for awhile doing the craziest things. He didn’t mean to be away from camp for so long, it just kinda happens. He decided to stop in Van Horn to finish up some quick business when he noticed your horse. Was it really-? Arthur’s eyes narrowed as he studied the markings on the horse’s coat. That definitely was your horse but you weren’t the one in the saddle. “Hey there partner.” Arthur made quick work crossing the road with long purposeful strides. “Where’d you get that there horse?”

The rider looked a bit flustered. “Isn’t’e a beaut? I found it just due south of Roanoke Valley all alone. Rider abandoned it so I thought I outta take ‘em in and give ‘em some good old lovin’.” “Roanoke Valley you say?” He scoffed. What the hell would you be doing up there? “Well, I know the owner of this fine horse and they wouldn’t just go off and leave like that. Where exactly did you find it?” “Listen Mister, I don’t want any trouble.” Agitation arose in the rider causing Arthur to throw his hands up in surrender. “No trouble here. I couldn’t care less about the horse. I just wanna make sure my friend is okay.” After careful consideration the stranger finally shrugged. “I found it drinking at the Kamassa river Northwest of Annesburg.” “Thank ya kindly.” Arthur tipped his head graciously. He hadn’t been up in that area before but the stories he heard weren’t great. This undoubtedly meant trouble. Arthur hardly mounted his horse before a bit of gossip reached his ears. “Another wagon disappeared near the mines. This time three women went missing.” “It’s gotta be that Murfree Brood. I heard they eat anyone they capture. Incestuous cannibals the lot of ‘em. Doubt we’ll ever see those poor women again.” “Shit!” A growl ripped from Arthur’s throat. His heels dug into his horse’s sides and he slapped the reigns. What if that were you? Kidnapped with those women? He needed to find you and fast. “C’mon Y/N. You better not be dead.” His heart pounded in his chest, wind whipping past as he cut off other riders on the trail in haste. He didn’t mean to be gone for so long… Away from YOU for so long… He always thought you understood it. His need to be everywhere and anywhere. And you did… You do… Yet, somehow, regret was eating at him like a deranged wolf. Snapping at the back of his mind, replaying memories upon memories of him returning to your arms after being away for ages. Arthur took for granted that you’d always be there when he gets back. He shouldn’t have left you as much as he does. He should have asked you to come with him. If you had business up in this region he could have been there to protect you. That horse is your world, he knows that. Maybe that’s why his mind was racing with so many regrets and thoughts.  That horse is your everything, if you weren’t on that horse you were probably seriously injured… or worse. That realization put a lot into perspective. It was always ‘What if I never return to Y/N?’ and never ‘What if Y/N never returns to me?’ “C’mon Morgan. Keep it together.” He had to shake these stormy thoughts away. Was it possible that he’d find you alright? Maybe a mild injury? Absolutely. But fuck, if it didn’t give him so much anxiety. Upon reaching the approximate area Arthur slowed his horse using gentle praises. “Easy now.” He reached out to pet it appreciatively, allowing his body filled with tension to drop down. Blue green eyes squinted while searching for clues or any sign of his beloved. Luckily Arthur picked up a few things while bounty hunting and it only took him ten or so minutes to find footprints he thinks matches yours. While following them he started noting how far apart your steps were. You were running. ‘Running from what?’ “Christ.” Arthur’s nose wrinkled just as the wind carried over the scent of rotting flesh. Sure enough there was a dead fellow not far from your tracks. The bullet casings surrounding the corps were definitely from your gun. Was this one of the cannibals? Arthur moved the body, flipping it over using his foot. He looked malnourished and white as paper. Even his clothes were rags. Arthur wasn’t really sure exactly what a cannibal looked like but if he had to take a guess, a cannibal would look like this feller right here. “Fuck, Y/N. What’ave you gotten yourself into?” Those sinking thoughts were back, dragging him into a pit of despair. Would he find your half eaten corpse somewhere in the woods? Are you still alive? Were you scared? You’re a shit significant other, Morgan. That’s what he told himself over and over again, shifting trough the bramble. What kind of man doesn’t know what his lover is up to? If he wasn’t so far up the ass of being ‘Arthur Morgan the big bad Outlaw’ he would know. Regret. Regret for not holding you in his arms every night. For not returning to you more often. He should have had more time with you. Should’ve spent every waking moment with you. How could he be so dense? This life was dangerous! He always stressed that to everyone who would listen. So why didn’t he spend all of his free time with you? None of you knew when your last breath would be taken, how could he waste so much precious life away from you? That fear only grew when those scared eyes focused on the disturbing image of human arms sewn together into some kind of hanging tree ornament. A gloved hand covered his mouth to suppress a gag. Gore wasn’t something that usually affected Arthur, but the thought that this could be you made him feel ill. At least he knew he was going in the right direction. It wasn’t long before he stumbled upon a couple of the Brood. He couldn’t hear the exact words being said because his ears immediately attuned to your cries of pain. Creeping closer in the grass, hand on his holster, Arthur grit his teeth at the scene playing out before him. Never in his life had he felt so much white hot rage. One of the sick fucks held you by the hair while another tried to pin you down. “We’re just gonna cut yer leg off!” He laughed. “What’re ya cryin’ for?” “No!” You screamed, desperately trying to fight against them. For three nights you watched in horror as the others captured were slaughtered, tortured, and eaten. Carved like Thanksgiving turkeys. For three whole nights you couldn’t sleep, drink, or eat because you were so terrified of these monsters. They saw how scared you were and they loved it. Milking every second of it. Because of your exhausted state fighting against them was grueling. “You killed our brother, it’s only fair.” A scream ripped through you just as your flesh tore against the blunt blade of a rusty sickle. “Get away!” Everyone froze, heads snapping towards the all too familiar voice. “Arthur?” “Y/N.” Arthur caught your gaze, a look of relief washing over him. You’re alive! “Hey! Who do you think you are coming hea-” The Brood member pulling your hair didn’t have enough time to finish his sentence before his head was blown off with a crackling BANG! Silence rang out after the loud pop from Arthur’s gun, then the mans body dropped. “You shot my brother!” “And I’ll shoot you too if you don’t get the fuck outta here!” With a click of his cattleman revolver, the last man scrambled up to run. “Too slow.” A dirty finger squeezed the trigger and down he fell. You simply stared as everything unfolded before you, your cries not subsiding but becoming much quieter. After all your pain and torment… All those people gutted like human sacrifices… Arthur killed your captors so easily. “Y/N.” His voice was gentle as he knelt beside you. Finally you shattered. Sobbing violently as soon as his arms enveloped you securely. You wanted to say his name. To tell him everything that had happened but couldn’t manage anything past blubbering incoherently. Never had Arthur felt so much heartbreak. Not from any loss or any breakup he had experienced so far. You’re one of the strongest people he knew. Seeing you look so small and afraid was devastating. Especially because this should have never happened to begin with. “I know.” Was all he could say. “Shhh, I know. You’re okay.” While embracing you with one arm he peered over to inspect your thigh. “I know darlin’, I don’t wanna let you go but I need to stop the bleeding.” He quickly hushed the whimper that passed your lips upon feeling his body shift away. Arthur’s fingers trembled, fumbling with his bandanna. Christ, this affected him more than he ever could’ve imagine. It took a minute but finally he managed to tie it above your wound to limit your bloodflow before immediately picking you up. Arthur made sure you could hide your face in his chest so you didn’t have to look at any of the hanging dismemberments on your way out. “God Y/N.” His arms around you were tight. “It’s okay. I’ll protect you. It’s okay now.” He tried to console you. To console himself. Hell, if he were in your shoes this would be more traumatizing for him than the Colm O’Driscolle ordeal. He could only imagine how you feel. Arthur couldn’t even bring himself to sit you on his horse yet. The moment you were in fresh woods he dropped to his knees and held you. Rocking you, kissing your hair and breathing in your scent. Sweet nothings fell from his lips in soft shaky whispers. Pads of calloused thumbs wiping away every tear from your cheeks. All you could do was cry and cling to him. All he could do was hold you as if it were for the last time. And it almost was. The last time. “How’d you find me?” After what seemed like hours of you two embracing each other, Arthur finally helped you onto his horse and you were on your way back to camp. “Saw some feller in Van Horn ridin’ your horse. Complete coincidence.” Arthur could feel how tense that statement made you so he added quickly, “Don’t worry. I’ll get your horse back. I just wanted to make sure you were safe first.” “Thank you, Arthur. For everything.” “I know how much you love that horse, it’s nothin’.” “No, I mean… Thank you for always being there when I need you.” Silence washed over the both of you. Arthur didn’t know how to respond. “I’m sorry darlin’.” You could feel him arm gently tighten around you in a loose hug. “I could’ve lost you tonight. I got to thinkin’ and… I know I haven’t been the best to you. I always prioritize everyone else. It shouldn’t be like that.” “Oh Arthur-” “I’m serious. I’ve lost Mary and Eliza. Most of my friends are long cold in their graves. I don’t know nothin’ about gods or divine intervention. Don’t know if something led me to you or not this time around….. I guess I was always feelin’ sorry for you because you’re datin’ a walkin’ target. Thought some space between us might do us some good in case I die. Never did I once consider life without you.” Arthur let out a hollow laugh which lacked any mirth or warmth. “What a fool I’ve been. I ain’t never learn my lesson. Tonight showed me that, that’s for damn sure. I dunno what you were doin’ out here but for now on if I leave camp I’m not going anywhere without you.” An exhausted smile reached your lips. “Good. My handsome man, it’s always been you and me. You just had to ask.” “You and me, huh? I like the sound of that.” You fell asleep in Arthur’s arms long before you reached camp. Arthur held you when you arrived, petting your hair as Ms. Grimshaw stitched up your leg. Arthur was needy after your attack. He never let you out of his sight and would always insist on holding you. Especially during nightmares that plagued you for months after the accident. Arthur stayed up singing to you and rocking you for many many long nights. And, of course, he got your horse back! How he did it or by what means, you didn’t care to ask. Slowly life returned to normal and the incident was long behind you both. Arthur kept his promise to take you everywhere until the very end. ___ Hosea: Five minutes. He took his eyes off of you for FIVE minutes so he could speak to the owner of a fence in San Denis while you waited for him outside, and you were gone. “Y/N?” He called out in confusion, scanning the sidewalks and streets for any sign of you. At first he’s annoyed. Did you wander off without saying anything? Hosea waved over the nearest group of men lingering nearby. “Good day. You wouldn’t happen to have seen my associate hanging around out here, would you? They seemed to have disappeared.” One of the men nodded. “Oh yeah, some nasty business I tell ya.” Well shit. “Nasty?” Hosea cocked his head, resting his hand over his holstered gun. “How so?” “These crazies came and bonked them over the head, saying they owed money or somthin’. Decided to mind my own business because they’re all brandishing guns.” “Money, huh? What way did they go?” “That way.” He pointed Eastward. “Towards the docks.” Tipping his hat, Hosea made his way down the sidewalk. He looked both ways before crossing the road, grabbing onto the trolley as it passes, riding the step until he reached the docks. The sun was setting but he knew your form like the back of his hand. It wouldn’t be too hard to spot you against the fire of the sky. However, you nor the supposed men were anywhere in sight. “Excuse me.” He flagged down a sailor and asked him if he’s seen you. He had not. Neither had the other five people he asked. Hosea knew this wasn’t good. The trail ran cold, leaving him hopeless.  There was nothing he could do but return to Shady Belle with a heavy heart. As your husband he was always supposed to protect you. Never in a million years did he think you’d be snatched away right under his nose. Mounting Silver Dollar, Hosea struggled to hold his tears at bay. The city was starting to suffocate him and he needed to leave in order to breathe and think. The weight of the world was finally settling into his old bones on the ride back. The horror the gang had experienced the last few months was devastating. The Blackwater incident aside – Arthur’s escape from Colm, Sean’s death, little Jack’s kidnapping…. Dutch wasn’t listening to reason anymore. The gang was in shambles and now… He let out a defeated sob, hanging over his horse for privacy. What was he supposed to do without you? You’re all he has left. His entire world. What if he wouldn’t be able to find you? It all happened so quickly. To think only an hour ago you were fixing his shirt collar, hanging on his arm with a smile on your face and now POOF! Gone. This was the last drop in the bucket for Hosea. Suddenly he couldn’t stop his tears no matter how hard he tried. He was tired. So god damn tired. Silver Dollar slowed to a stop just off the road. If anyone who passed-by peered close enough through the darkness they could make out the silhouette of a broken man with his head in his hands. He kicked himself for stalling your rescue. Precious time finding you, wasted. By the time he made it back to camp it was late into the night. Dragging himself up the stairs of Shady Belle he knocked on the door to Dutch’s room. Candlelight could be seen flickering through the crack of the doorway leading to Hosea believe he must still be awake. Silence. He knocked again, this time Hosea could hear the bed squeak. “You better have a good reason to disturb me.” Those words flew sharply through the cold humid air. “Dutch…” Hosea would have cursed himself for sounding so… weak. Calling out his friend’s name with a wavering voice. It was noticeable enough to immediately draw Dutch’s attention. The bed squeaked under Dutch’s weight then heavy footsteps led to the door. Hosea kept his gaze down, watching Dutch’s shadow as he moved until the door creaked open and the faint candlelight illuminated Hosea in contrast against the inky hallway. “Hosea- What happened?” “Y/N… I don’t know, it all happened so fast.” Wrapping an arm around Hosea, Dutch led him inside, guiding him to sit. “What happened to Y/N?” “I was looking for a buyer for the bonds we have left, asked them to wait outside because I was just going to be a moment. I stepped out and Y/N was gone. Apparently a group of men took them towards the docks. I tried not to arouse suspicion, I-… Maybe I should’ve gotten there faster, I don’t know…” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Y/N wasn’t there. I may have been too late.” “Someone just took them? In broad daylight?” “Just like that.” Hosea snapped his fingers. “Somethin’ aint right.” Rubbing his chin quizzically, Dutch began pacing the room. “Y/N isn’t stupid, they would’ve screamed or something. You really didn’t hear anything?” He paused to watch Hosea shake his head. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Staring down at his hands, Hosea slowly uncurled his fingers, watching the light dance over his palms. “It was a setup.” “It was a setup.” His friend repeated. “But by who?” “Could be Milton.” “I don’t think so. He’s a thorn in our side. If it were Milton he would’ve showed up in our camp already. Waving Y/N around like a prize.” “That’s very true…” Hosea only looked up when he heard Dutch abruptly halt. “It can’t be….” “What?” “Perhaps… Bronte had a hand in this? I don’t think we’ve done anything to cross him but he’s the only man in the city who could kidnap anyone in broad daylight and not a soul would tell.” He could feel the relief wash through him, the possibility bringing him a weird sense of comfort. He hoped it was Bronte. That would mean you’re probably safe and sound somewhere just like Jack was. “We’ll get Y/N back, Hosea. Let me pull some strings. We’ll find them.” The strings were pulled quite quickly as Hosea found himself waiting outside yet another fabulous party for Arthur to return. “It wasn’t Bronte.” His heart sank. “It wasn’t? Are you sure?” “Pretty sure.” Arthur leaned against the residential fence while lighting a cigarette. He was gussied up to fit the mood. “Asked around ‘n’ nobody had a clue what I was sayin’. I did, however, get this.” Held out between two fingers was a business card. Interested, Hosea accepted it. “Exotic Imports and… Impurities?” “Human trafficking. They apparently have these masquerade parties where rich folk can bid on people anonymously. I think that’s where Y/N is.” God… Was Saint Denis truly such a shit hole? He knew this place was low, but a human trafficking ring? “Are you sure?” Arthur met Hosea’s gaze with the most sincere look he could muster. “Hosea-” “I know you wouldn’t lie to me dear boy.” “I heard someone mentioning there’ll be an auction there this Friday. They mentioned someone who sounds pretty darn close to Y/N’s description in the lineup. I’ll scope the place out, maybe we can rescue Y/N sooner than that. And if not…” Hosea tucked the card into his pocket. “I guess we’re attending the masquerade.” Arthur knows how much you and Hosea are sweet on each other. How hard it was for Hosea after Bessie’s passing and how you brought life back into him. Arthur would do anything for you. So when he had to scope out where the auction will take place he took the job very seriously. He wanted to get you out as soon as possible if you were really there. The place was heavily armed, much to his dismay. An open window was easy enough to sneak into but getting you out was near impossible. He couldn't even find you. However, in a back room Arthur discovered a pile of discarded clothing. A shoe caught his eye, one he knew you wore often. Before he was able to grab it Arthur had to leave as the area filled with guards. “Y/N is in there alright. Too busy for me to get ‘em.” He reported back upon his return to camp. That’s how Hosea, Dutch, Arthur, Bill, Micah, and Charles found themselves attending one of the most unnerving ‘parties’ in San Denis on a muggy Friday evening. They looked expensive, dressed down to the newest shoes on the market. Each donning their own masquerade mask. The building looked beautiful. Expensive. Guest flooded the entrance. “Guns aren’t allowed at this event.” A doorman held his hands out while the gang handed over their weapons. They weren’t worried. If everything was going according to plan John and Javier should already be inside posing as security. Upon entering the mansion, the gang mingled and sweet-talked everyone they could. Trying to get information, word of your safety, anything. One by one they slipped out of the room to John or Javier who gave their guns back to them before joining the guests in the auction room. The auction room was massive, theatrical even. Women in glorious gowns, men who’s suits cost more than a house, they all gathered with glasses filled with alcohol of their choosing. Chatting and laughing as if they’re about to watch a play. Hosea’s stomach churned. The curtains opened to reveal the first person to be auctioned. It was a young girl trembling and sobbing. He gripped the armrest of his seat, knuckles turning white. One by one these people were being bid on. “7,000 dollars. Do I hear 7,000 dollars? 7,500. 8,000 to the man in white!” All of this stress made him want to down glass after glass of alcohol. If he didn’t need to be clear headed he would’ve. “Next up, folks, is person number 9.” You were shoved onstage. Even though your face was covered he recognized you immediately. Almost a week ago you were idly waiting outside, gazing down at your clothing trying to fix a button when you were struck from behind. Blurry vision greeted you after, god only knows how long you were unconscious. Blinking it away you tried to move but to no avail. Hands and feet bound, you were left alone in a cold room. Little light trickled into your cell. You could hear the cries and pleas of other people who were presumably prisoners too. Every time you tried to snap at or fight against the guards they beat you. They fed you just enough food and water to keep you barely alive. It was hell. Every night you prayed someone would find you. Anyone! Hosea, Arthur- were they looking for you? It had been so long…. “Get up.” You snapped awake with a groan as you were kicked. The guard pulled you up, dragging you to get washed and dressed. Stumbling into a back room after being shoved, you blinked at all the faces staring back at you. These were the people you heard crying at night. “What’s happening?” You whispered. Only one woman was brave enough to speak up. Her low voice shook with emotion. “They’re selling us.” “What!?” “Be quiet or I’ll make you quiet!” A guard snarled at you, causing you to shy away. For hours you listened silently to the auction from backstage. Was this really happening? It felt so surreal. Fear filled you as the line moved forward until you were next. A bag was forced onto your head so you couldn’t see. Fingers dug into your arms, you could feel yourself being dragged onto the stage, causing you to stumble. “Next up, folks, is person number 9.” Your breath hitched painfully. Heart racing loudly. This is it. You were about to be sold as person number 9. Bracing yourself for the bidding a loud boom crackled beside you, so loud it made your ears ring. Your head snapped in the direction it came from. Not being able to see anything, panic arose within you as the screams and sounds of running reached you. The crowd was fleeing for their lives! Gunshots popped off in the surrounding area. You ducked down in case any bullets flew your way. “Y/N!” “H-Hosea?” The bag was lifted off your head, beaming lights above glared into your eyes causing you to squint. Hosea’s face slowly came into view. He wrapped his arms around you, throwing you over his shoulder. “I’d love to have a romantic reunion with you, my dove, but I’m afraid we’re in the midst of a shootout.” “I can see that.” You groaned, hanging onto him. For an older man he sure did carry you with ease while shooting his way out with the gang backing him up on either side. “Hosea, let’s go!” Dutch shot the guard who blocked off the door. Hosea had to pass you to Arthur, who barreled through a cloud of bullets with you safely tucked in his arms. He was able to reach the rendezvous carriage, placing you inside before anyone else could enter. Hosea slid in and gathered you in his arms. “Drive, damn it!” He called out, causing the carriage to lurch violently before moving. “Oh Y/N. Oh my little dove.” He carefully looked you over as tears filled your eyes. You were shaking, veins pumping with adrenaline. Your rescue happened so quickly it made your head dizzy. Hosea’s hands were gentle as he touched you in case anything hurt or scared you in your shaken state. He examined every inch. Face was pensive, while taking in every mark and bruise on your delicate skin. “Are you seriously hurt anywhere?” “No.” You whispered, pressing against your husband for comfort. He gladly held you, kissing your lips over and over again. “I’m sorry it took me so long my love. I shouldn’t have let you out of my sight.” Hosea rest his head atop yours and rubbed circles on your back soothingly. “Let’s get you back to camp and fed.” “Thank you.” You nuzzled him, breathing in his comforting scent. “I knew you’d come for me. I missed you.” “I missed you too.” The rest of the ride was quiet. When the carriage parked outside of Shady Belle, Hosea scooped you up immediately. You gasped as the whole gang rushed  over to greet you. “Y/N’s back!” Abigail announced. “Oh Y/N, I’m so glad you’re safe!” Mary-Beth gushed with relief. Even Pearson was there to see you. “Welcome home Y/N. Camp ain’t the same without ya.” “Thank you everyone.” You let out a watery laugh, heart filled with love. You were so appreciated amongst this group and it showed. Hosea brought you inside, cleaning you carefully. He asked if anything hurt or if anyone touched you and you responded with yes or no. He clothed you in his own clothes, hoping his scent would bring comfort. A warm bowl of stew was pushed into your hands. Hosea held you while you ate and snuggled you up until you went to bed. He played with your hair all night, unable to sleep after losing you. ___ Dutch: Dutch doesn’t notice you’re gone until the ransom note arrives. “$3,000 in exchange for your lover?” He scoffed. “Who does he think he is? We’ll light his ass up.” The page was quickly crumpled in his hand. Dutch felt a deadly fury rise in him so great his own blood ran colder than the Upper Montana river. Colm O'Driscoll won’t get away with it this time. Not after what he’s done to Dutch’s past lover and to Arthur. “Dutch, I think we should be cool about this one. He already captured me to draw you in for the Pinkertons. He’s probably not done try’nna cut his deal with ‘em. If we ride in hot-” “Not now, Arthur. A few Pinkertons we can handle. This is Y/N we’re talking about, for Christ’s sake.” He scoffed, face snarling up in anger. “Y/N would have come for you, dear boy, had we known you were taken. Y/N would have come for you.” Arthur heaved out a sigh. He still wasn’t fully well after the green gang shot him up. “I know, Dutch. I love Y/N just as much as anyone. We ain’t ever leave one of us behind. I just think… If they want to draw us in they’ll treat Y/N right. If it’s a trap it’ll make more sense for us to come in quiet and get Y/N outta there safely.” “We don’t have time!” Dutch grabbed his gun, much to Arthur and Hosea’s exasperation. “Dutch, I know you love Y/N, but I think Arthur may be right.” “Who’s side are you on, Hosea? If that were you we would already be on the road.” He waved his gun around before holstering it. The air in camp was tense. Dutch seemed… Unsettled. Unpredictable. His eyes were crazy. Love made him crazy. “Who’s with me? John, Micah, Bill?” John and Arthur exchanged looked while Bill jumped up eagerly. Micah seemed interested but didn’t bother grabbing anything extra like the others. “I’m comin’ with you.” Arthur’s shoulders fell. He followed Dutch through camp up to The Count which Dutch mounted with ease. “No, dear boy. You rest. Watch the camp with Hosea, we should be back before dawn.” “Alright, if you say so. Be careful out there Dutch. Things are getting nasty. Bring Y/N home.” “Oh, I intend to.” With the rescue party ready Dutch rode out with his boys. “If you see an O’Driscoll, shoot. If you see a Pinkerton, shoot. We leave no one alive. Not even the women. If Colm wants to play, we’ll play. By our rules.” John moved up beside Dutch, calling out over the whistling wind. “Are you sure about this Dutch? What if Y/N gets hurt?” “Y/N isn’t getting hurt.” The words were spoken as if John’s idea was ludicrous. “Now you boys know how I feel about Y/N. And I-… Well, call me foolish, but I’ll never let any man, beast, or tycoon lay a finger on the love of my life. The moment we slaughter his sons he’ll know we mean business. Colm is many things, but stupid he is not. He knows hurting Y/N would give us cause to burn his world down piece by piece and I don’t think he could take the heat.” “As is your right, Dutch.” Micah spoke up. “The O'Driscolls should know by now you’re a kind and just man. I’m sure they understand the reckoning hurting their assets would bring.” Feeding into Dutch’s anger pleased the gang leader. “That’s what I thought.” He agreed. The rest of the ride was tense with anticipation. John knew there was nothing he could say. He just hoped you’d survive all of this. Dutch was getting sloppy and with you involved… He would slaughter the whole world if he had to. “We’re here.” Dutch announced. Night had long fallen by the time they reached the O’Driscoll hideout. “Let’s make a little noise. Micah-” Riding closer to the compound, Micah lit a stick of dynamite, throwing it over the fence. Dutch watched with great pleasure as the O’Driscoll boys caught in the blast began to scream. “Let’s show them you don’t fuck with Dutch van der Linde.” The guns came out. Time slowed down, men began to rush at them. The Count reared, spooked by the sudden barrage of bullets. Dutch shot every single O’Driscoll effortlessly, one by one. You were beginning to think Dutch wasn’t coming. Why would he after Arthur outed Colm’s setup a week ago? They had kicked your face in until your mouth filled with blood and your nose cracked in three different places. Breathing was hard with your damaged ribs. The O’Driscoll’s wasted no time in beating you to a bloody pulp before tying you up. The way you were tied was ridiculous. Your hands and feet were tied separately then were tied together to ensure you wouldn’t be able to move an inch. You guessed Arthur’s escape was a sore spot. You struggled and fought until the ropes dug angry marks, rubbing the skin away. In all honestly you usually would have half a mind to spit at or curse any O’Driscoll out, however this seemed different. It was grim, very grim. You remember how scary it was watching Arthur collapse off his horse barely alive and wondered – would you make it? Surely they won’t let an escape happen again... Dutch would probably move camp, you thought. And if you could survive… I don’t know, a week longer, he’ll come and get you. These were the thoughts running through your head while you tried to plan your survival. ‘It’ll be torture, but I can last that long’, you reassured yourself. It didn’t work. Colm killed Dutch’s girl way back, what’s stopping him from doing it again? You knew the man had a nasty streak to him. And Dutch… well... killing you sure would make Dutch slip up enough to get caught. That bastard Colm just wanted to see him hang. Many many thoughts occupied your mind as you dozed off. Aches and pains were screaming at you so being unconscious was probably best. At the brink of sleep you were jolted wide awake by a loud explosion. You froze, halting your breath, straining your ears to listen. Silence. What’s going on? BANG BANG BANG! Dutch- It had to be him! Your face lit up with hope, eyes fixated on the door. Any minute now... The O’Driscoll’s screamed, cursed, and cried out. “Get ‘em!” “Don’t let them inside!” “We gotta hold this for Colm!” Despite anticipating its happening you still flinched back when the door was kicked in. “Y/N.” Dutch sighed out of relief. Kneeling down he cut you loose, brushing the hair from your face. You both were quiet. Just taking each other in. You because you had missed him, and him because he was stunned by how badly you were beaten. “Those animals. We’ll make ‘em pay.” Dutch’s words were said more to himself than to you. “I’m alright, I can walk, I think-” Helping you up, Dutch’s eyes filled with sadness when he noticed you wincing. He could hear your chest heave with pain and it was grading against his eardrums. “I’ll carry you. Just hang on, we haven’t cleared them all yet.” Scooping you into his chest, your arms were granted purchase around his neck. Dutch was stronger than he looked. He held onto you with one arm wrapped tightly to secure you while shooting any man who ran this way with the other. “Bastards! They’re everywhere! John, Micah, let’s go!” “You get Y/N?” John asked after shooting three more men. There were so many O’Driscolls they couldn’t even take their eyes off them to check on you. “Yeah. Let’s get outta here.” Micah covered Dutch’s right while John covered his left and back. They shot the best they could until finally they were free of the building. Dutch placed you on The Count, climbing behind you. The others quickly mounted seeing as there was no way they’d win this gun battle if they stayed. “Shit! Incoming!” Bill cried out, alerting everyone to the drove of Pinkerton galloping straight towards the gang’s direction. “God dammit!” Jerking the reigns, Dutch kicked his horse into action. “This way, c’mon! Let’s lose them through the trees. We gotta hope we can outrun them.” There you were, rocketing towards salvation on a white horse. Pinkertons and O’Driscolls crashing down around you like violent ocean waves. There was so much noise to the point where your ears rang in an effort to tune it all out. Breath didn’t leave your body. Time slowed. You watched in horror. Every bullet shot by John seemed to take ages before knocking down its opponent. Bill was screaming yet not a word of it reached you. You could feel Dutch’s arm wrap tighter and tighter around your waist. Suddenly you’re soaring through the air, hair flying back against the dusty breeze. This was it. The moment of truth. The Count’s feet touched down  after leaping over a fence and suddenly time returned to normal and everything sped up in your race for life. Your heart thuds erratically, clammy hands clinging to the saddle for dear life. “Duck!” Dutch ordered and you immediately lowered your head before a low hanging branch creamed you. You stayed low Dutch’s body now covering you protectively. You couldn’t see and had no idea what was going on. Your own breathing was so loud at this point it took you awhile to register – the shooting had stopped. There was no more screaming, no more calling out or angry orders being shouted. Only the sound of four horses huffing and puffing and your own shaky breaths filled the air. “My love… Are you alright?” Dutch lifted himself off of you, his horse slowing to rest. “I…. I think so.” You gazed down at your hands and arms before looking at Dutch with wide traumatized eyes. “Oh, my little bird. I’m so sorry they hurt you. I came as soon as I could. They’ll pay for this.” Something sinister swirled behind his eyes but his fingers were gentle against your skin while caressing your face. “Come now, let’s get you cleaned up and to bed. You need rest.” Dutch kissed your shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re here now. So glad.” ___ Sean: Sean thought you were mad at him. Avoiding him for some awful comment he made because he, yet again, went too far. It hurt his feelings but he decided you’d probably come back when you were ready to see him again. “Sean, have you seen Y/N?” Mary-Beth asked. “I haven’t seen Y/N since yesterday morning.” Sean’s heart fell to the pit of his stomach. You weren’t the type to leave camp often or without someone accompanying you. “Christ, I haven’t. Where’d you last see them?” “Over by Kieran. I already asked him and he said Y/N helped with the horses then wandered off.” “An’ no one saw them come back?” He began power walking through camp, searching the area for you. “Has anyone seen Y/N?” Tilly and Uncle shook their heads, John just gave a shrug. “That isn’t weird to any of yous?” His voice was raised enough to get the attention of Arthur who had just rode in. “What’s goin’ on now?” “Y/N is fucking missing and no one said a damn word about it.” “Alright, alright calm down. I’m sure we can find them, where were they last?” “Oh I don’t know English, lemme just take this crystal ball out of my ass-” Sean rolled his eyes while grabbing his gun. “We’re gonna have to track them down. Think you can do that?” “Well…” Arthur wipes the sweat from his brow. “Charles taught me a few things.” He paused, gently catching Sean’s shoulder. “I know you’re upset but I need you to keep your head. I’m sure wherever Y/N is they’re okay. We’ll get them back safe.” “Speak for yourself, I always keep my wits.” “That right there is what I’m worried about.” Arthur huffed while mounting his horse. Sean was silently grateful for Arthur’s words though he’d never admit it. There was a storm churning inside of him. An ocean of guilt rocking his consciousness. If only he respected your boundaries and didn’t make that joke maybe you wouldn’t have gone missing. “We’ll bring Y/N back safe.” He repeated to himself, climbing onto his saddle. Arthur gave him an affirmative nod. They rode around the outskirts of Clemens Point looking for any sign of you. Sean felt like throwing up the whole entire time. Suspense was killing him. “Over here!” Air left his lungs in relief as soon as Arthur’s voice broke through the thick air. Walking his horse over, that relief was short lived. “Fuck.” Sean hissed. Arthur held a ripped piece of fabric clearly bloodied. The fabric was from something you wore often making it was unmistakable. “Looks like three riders were here. ‘Dunno who they could be, but…” Morgan hesitated, knowing Sean probably shouldn’t hear the next part. “There was quite the struggle.” The Irishman cursed, kicking at a nearby stone, sending it throttling into the trees. “I’ll kill every last one of ‘em! I swear it.” The Van der Linde boys followed the hoof prints best they could, using other clues to figure out what way your kidnappers may have turned when the trail disappeared. With each passing minute Sean’s knuckles turned more and more white around his reigns. “I shouldn’t have said anything. This is my fault.” His feelings were so big inside of him they spilled out of his lips like a broken dam. “I’m a right bastard.” “You two have a fight?” “Sort of… We was fuckin’ around and Y/N got sick of me and asked me to stop teasing them but they look so cute when they’re angry I just- I don’t know.” He hung his head. Arthur studied him silently as they rode. “Well… Sounds about right for you two. I’m sure Y/N wouldn’t blame you.” “Maybe not, English, but I blame myself. I just hope they’re okay.” They didn’t talk any more after that unless to comment on the path changing. A few hours away from camp they came across smoke indicating a fire, right in the general direction of your kidnappers. “Must be them.” Sean was ready to charge in, but Arthur’s hand shot out across Sean’s chest, stopping him in his tracks. “We should get to higher ground first, see what we’re dealing with.” “Are you crazy? Y/N could be there!” “That’s exactly why we can’t rush in like fools! What happened to keepin’ your wits? Do you want Y/N getting shot?” Sean’s mouth opened and closed, words getting choked up in his throat. The thought of you getting shot was about to bring tears to his eyes. Shoulders slumping forward, he sucked in a shuddering breath. “Let’s go look up that hill.” “That’s better.” Arthur snapped his kicked his feet, leading his horse higher with Sean close behind. Sean wasn’t playing around now. Knowing you might be close and that you were probably hurt- It took everything in him to quench ranging fire burning within. He whipped out his binoculars, setting eyes on the men surrounding the campfire. “Stupid Lemoyne fucks.” “Do you see Y/N?” Arthur asked. Sean moved his binoculars with his turning head. “I’ve got eyes on them. They’re tied to a wagon just outside of where they’re sitting.” He bit his lip while taking in your sorry form. You were filthy, bloodied, and your face was swollen. They clearly didn’t treat you kindly. “Let’s kill those fucks, Morgan. My baby needs me.” Without another word Sean tucked the binoculars away, charging full force down the hill, cattleman revolver in hand. He managed to shoot one guy in the throat, ducking on his horse to avoid the flying bullets. His horse galloped straight for you, stopping just shy with the intention of creating a barrier between you and the shootout. Arthur did most of the shooting while Sean nearly flung himself off his horse to cut you free. “Oh my baby! What did those bastards do to you?” He gently cleaned your face with his handkerchief, ignoring all the gory sounds echoing from behind. Sean didn’t even notice when everything became silent. You had his full undivided attention. “Sean!” You wept, wrapping your arms around his neck to bury your face into his chest. “I’m sorry baby. I should’ve never let you out of my sight. I’ve got you, my rose. I’m here now.” He kissed your hair, rubbing your back. “Did they hurt you real bad?” Tears now stung his eyes when you nodded. It was difficult seeing you this way. He loves you more than anything else in the world, seeing his partner so beaten and broken- “Shhhh. We’ll make it better.” Sean attempted to calm his tears, crying silently while burying his face in your hair. His chest was warm and welcoming after what you’ve endured. Even though every bone in your body ached all you wanted to do was hug him and you were grateful he didn’t pull away immediately and put you on a horse. “I love you. So much. I was so scared.” You whimpered. “I know, I know I’m so sorry Y/N. About everything. I should’ve never pushed your buttons. I thought you ran away.” “What?” You pulled away in confusion, studying his face. “Sean… You think I’m upset about that?” It was cute seeing Sean feel guilty over a minor playful argument, something you both have often, and you couldn’t help but to giggle. “Don’t be silly.” You reached up, wiping away his tears. Confused, Sean gently caught your hand, pressing kisses to your palm while examining the bruising on your skin. “I guess that’s who I am when I’m with you, Y/N. A silly man. C’mon now.” Carefully you were scooped up into a loving embrace. Sean placed a peck on your lips. He was afraid of hurting you further so he treated you as though you were made of glass. Once you were in his saddle he pulled himself up behind you. “Let’s get you to camp, baby. I’ll make you feel better there.” “Thank you.” You pressed your back against him in relief. Exhaustion flooded your still trembling body. You never had any doubt Sean would come for you but the experience of the Lemoyne Raiders kicking your face in was rather traumatic. “Glad to see you’re okay L/N.” Arthur shot you a little smile. “Sean here was real riled up about your disappearance. Nearly bit my head off.” A faint smile crossed your lips. You winced as your skin pulled on a bruise. “Thank you for coming too, Arthur. If you weren’t here I don’t think he would have been able to rescue me.” “Oh not this again!” Sean groaned. His arm was wrapped loosely around you and he still pressed an odd kiss to your hair here or there. “I would've done just fine!” “You shot one bullet!” Arthur pointed out with a laugh. “Then you flung yourself over your lover like some actor in one of those dramas. If I weren’t here you and Y/N would be riddled with holes by now.” “I love you Arthur Morgan, but shut up. I killed that fellow with one shot! ONE!” “What was stopping you from killing the rest of ‘em?” “Y/N needed me!” “See if I didn’t come-” “Shut up Morgan!” Listening to their familiar arguments was the best welcome home you could’ve ever wished for. Your eyes fell shut as you listened and soon the pain shooting through you and the exhaustion of being awake and afraid all night  started catching up. Slowly your body fell limp against Sean’s chest. You were only faintly aware of his arm tightening around you, keeping you safely on the horse. It was pitch black when you came to. Fear shot you awake, your eyes scanning the darkness. “Sean?” You could hear an exhausted exhale to your right, a hand reached out from the black to gently pet your hair. “I’m here baby.” There was some fumbling then a match lit, illuminating your lover who had fallen asleep sitting next to you. Sean lit a lantern and that’s when you noticed you were laying in Arthur’s cot. “We thought it best to give you some privacy until you’re in tip top shape. Said I wasn’t allowed to sleep with you in it though.” Sean leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m just glad to have you back. Get some rest, no one will hurt you now. I’m here.” Relaxing again your fingers laced with Sean’s as you settled back in to sleep. ____ Charles: Charles usually minded his own business whenever you fucked off outta camp for a few days. You had been running with the gang far longer than he has and everyone knew you to be quite capable. God only knows what you’re up to half the time. Similar to Arthur, you’d go off and do your own thing then return with money or a fresh kill and a story of your adventures. Charles likes that about you. He admires your independence and how you have so much strength. When you didn’t show up to camp for a week he didn’t think anything of it. You were probably off climbing waterfalls or helping strangers. The gang carried on as normal unless Dutch wanted to offload a job onto you, then he’d ask around. “Charles.” Dutch called him over with a waggle of his finger. He already heard him calling your name and asking the ladies if they’ve seen you so Charles had an inkling as to what this was about. “Can you go find Y/N? I don’t care what it takes, just get their ass over here. We have money to make.” Charles didn’t mind being asked. Any reason to get some peace and quiet and reunite with you was a good reason in his eyes. The problem was, you were flightly, and your tracks were old. It has rained twice since you left camp. Charles followed your prints the best he could. Up into Strawberry, then to Mt.Shann where he took a break to enjoy the view and watch the birds. Charles smiled a little when he saw you had set camp there at one point. It was a beautiful place to stay, he would have done the same. He then doubled back to Owanjila lake where you had your second camp. He wondered what you were doing in the area, having absolutely no clue. He did, however, chuckle to himself when he found one of your gloves that you must have dropped. “Oh, Y/N.” The words slipping from his lips were fond and warm. He scooped the glove up deciding to store it in Taima’s saddle bag then he carried on his way. Charles began to get confused when your trail led straight back to Valentine. So… you were close to camp and didn’t stop by to rest your horse or grab supplies? That’s very unlike you. These tracks were fresher, not more than a few days old if even. Your lover became frustrated when entering town as the hoof prints belonging to your horse became lost in the bustle of main street and Charles couldn’t pick them up again. “Excuse me. Have you seen-” He began stopping residence of Valentine, asking of your whereabouts. You had been seen at the arms store and according to the man at the front desk of the Saints Hotel you stopped by for a wash only a day before. Well… If you were here yesterday you’ll probably be back at camp soon. After thanking the clerk, Charles returned to Horseshoe Overlook to inform Dutch you’d be back soon. The next day Charles awoke early. “Mr. Smith, can you please go into town and get us some supplies? Normally L/N does it but they ain’t back yet. Ms. Grimshaw ain’t too pleased.” He was attempting to enjoy his early morning coffee when Karen approached him. “Sure.” He set his cup down, accepting the list. “Did Pearson add what he needed?” “He only asked for corn.” He raised a brow in amusement, sharing a knowing look with Karen. “I understand.” Tucking it away safely Charles finished his coffee, throwing the rest out, then made his way to Taima. Your whereabouts weighed heavily on his mind during his ride into Valentine. ‘I miss Y/N’, he thought to himself ‘I hope they return soon’. Camp just wasn’t the same without you. He liked the gang alright but he liked you more. Valentine was a breath of fresh air after Blackwater. Quite literally. Charles took deep breaths, breathing in the crisp mountain air before entering town. Taima was soon hitched outside the general store where Charles leisurely strolled in. He walked around, footsteps echoing in the empty room as he gazed at the shelves. The clerk wasn’t there. “Hello?” He called out. Soon, sound of a door being swung open and rushed footsteps up the stairs filled the silence from what he assumed must have been the store room. “I’ll be right with you.” You were bound painfully tight. Ropes dug into your skin until your wrists bled. Tied to a chair and gagged. It had all happened so fast. Days ago you were going about business as usual. You stocked your ammo; took a nice long bath; and followed a dog around you wanted to pet before returning to camp, and of course, to the arms of Charles. What can you say? You love dogs and this one was particularly funny. You had grinned to yourself, studying the animal as you followed it out back. You didn’t expect to look up and be met with the stares of men who were clearly in the middle of an illegal operation. “Shit!” Your hand flew to your holster then froze as you heard a click and felt the barrel of a gun pressed to the back of your head. Your hands slowly rose as you tried to eye whoever was behind you. “Well well well, look what we have here, fellers.” “Real unfortunate, ain’t it?” You narrowed your eyes but kept silent. O’Driscolls by the looks of ‘em. “Hey…” A tall one began circling you, looking you over as if you were bait. “I remember you. You run with the Van der Linde boys, don’tcha?” This wasn’t good. “I think you’ve mistaken, mister.” “No… No I recognize you alright.” He stopped in front of you, leaning so close you had to recoil when the stench of his foul breath hit your face. “This isn’t your lucky day-” Before you could react he drew his elbow back and punched you so hard you nearly flew to the ground. Quiet laughs rang out among the group. Pain overcame you when one grabbed you by the hair, literally dragging you into the basement of their operation where you were hastily tied up and beaten several times among other unsavory happenings. For days you starved. Your face swollen beyond recognition. Only did the grocer show you any compassion. Feeding you water while muttering little ‘I’m so sorry, I wish we could let you go’s. He was a nervous man… A sweaty man. Hell you’d be nervous too if a gaggle of insane Irishmen took over the basement of your shop. You appreciated his little kindness but the weight of the situation was never lost on you. You needed to get out and soon, or else they’ll kill you. You thought of Charles and your beloved friends Arthur, Mary-Beth, and Lenny. Were they looking for you? Did they ever realize you disappeared? Today repeated the last two. The second the O’Driscolls noticed you were conscious their abuse started again up until mid morning when they left to take care of some business. The clerk made his way into the basement, removing your gag so he could give you water. “I’m sorry but you have to understand. If I let you go they’ll kill me.” You were too tired to argue with your heavily bruised jaw, sipping at the cool liquid. Suddenly a sound met your ears. Old floorboards overhead creaked with heavy footsteps. “Oh goddammit.” Cloth was shoved into your mouth once more, immediately drying your tongue. “H-Hold on. Stray here..” You glared at the clerk. Where the hell were you gonna go all tied up like this? The sweaty man dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief, opening the door that divided you from the outside world. “Hello?” A voice called out, rushing the clerk who felt so overwhelmed and frenzied with stress that he accidentally left the door open. “I’ll be right with you.” Staying coherent is a struggle for you at this point. Listening to light footsteps run up the stairs you let your head hang limp against your shoulder. “What can I help you with?” “Just here to resupply. Do you happen to have… uh… a bushel of corn?” “Corn? Yeah, we got it.” Wait… was that? CHARLES! Energy rocketed through your veins with the hope of rescue. Charles was here! Gazing around frantically you searched for something, ANYTHING. The only thing close by was a broom. Hopping your chair over to it depleted you immediately, every bruise and broken rib screaming out. But you had to do this. You had to get Charles’ attention. It was so much work just to get close enough to tip the broom over. CLINK! Your head snapped towards the stairs with anticipation. Charles read the list over again. “Actually a bushel of apples too.” CLINK! He glanced down at the stairs then at the clerk who laughed nervously. “Haha don’t mind that. Just some junk.” Charles hummed, grabbing a few cans off the shelf. “I’ll take these as well.” “Is that all for you?” Your heart squeezed in your chest. It didn’t work. ‘Charles! Charles I’m right here!’ You so badly wanted to scream. No words left your muffled mouth beyond your hearing. There had to be a way to get his attention. Nothing else was close enough to you and you didn’t have the strength to move yourself and the chair any further. The only thing you could do was throw yourself to the ground as hard as you could and hope for the best. BANG! This time Charles froze. His eyes napped towards the basement then back at the grocer.  A terrified look flashed over the man’s face. That’s suspicious... Oh- “Just some junk, huh?” “Yes sir.” In once swift movement Charles pulled out his gun, cocking the hammer. “Then you wouldn’t mind showing me what’s down there, right?” “H-Hey listen! I don’t want any trouble.” “No trouble here. If there’s nothing down there then I’ll pay and leave.” “It’s just junk mister! Honest!” “Then it should be okay if I take a look at this ‘junk’.” The clerk folded under pressure. “They said they were gonna kill me if anyone found out!” “Then get out of here and hope they don’t find you.” Charles didn’t know who ‘they’ were but he had a pretty good idea about what was going on.  He watched as the grocer fled before cautiously making his way down the stairs, cattleman revolver still drawn. Charles was stunned. All breath left his body in disbelief the second you two made eye-contact. “Y/N!” He hurdled himself towards you, picking the chair up to sit you upright before removing the gag. “What did they do to you?” Swift work was made of your binds and soon you were pulled into the comfort of his chest. Giving a whimper of pain you couldn’t help but to cry tears of relief. “Charles!” Your voice cracked. You almost thought it wouldn’t work and he would leave without you. Charles rubbed your back, pulling away to assess your injuries. “Y/N…… I-.” He didn’t know what to say.  So many emotions hit him in waves, washing over him strongly which inevitably flashed across his face. Anger at the people who hurt his beloved. Guilt for not tracking you any further. Resentment towards himself for not considering you might be missing or in trouble. Sadness. So much sadness. He had never seen you this badly beaten and it disturbed him. Quickly he tried to hide his thoughts. You were so small and frail in his arms, crying uncontrollably now. Charles could imagine by your current state that it must have been a horrible ordeal. “I’ve got you. Can you walk?” All you could do was cling to Charles while shaking your head. You felt the weight of his coat drape around your shoulder before feeling yourself being scooped up. “You found me.” Charles winced at how weak your voice sounded. Placing a gentle kiss on your forehead he shushes you. “Save your energy my love. You’ve been through a lot. Let me take care of you.” It’s the least he can do after failing you so badly. As he carried you up the stairs Charles make eye-contact with Sheriff Malloy who bowed his head slightly out of respect – serving as a silent apology. “We’ll hang whoever did this.” He promised.  Deputies flooded the store actively as he spoke. "When we find ‘em, you’ll be the first to know.” “Thank you.” Those words meant nothing to Charles. The Valentine law was useless and it showed. All he could do now was shield you from curious onlookers while mounting Taima with you securely in his arms. “Are you in any pain?” He whispered, making his horse walk so the ride wouldn’t jostle you too much. “Yeah.” Charles had to lean down to catch your quiet words. “Try to rest against me. I’ll get some morphine from the Reverend. Just hang in there. I’m sorry, I know it hurts.” He was trying desperately to find the right words to say. Anything that might help you or ease your suffering. Anything that might relieve his guilt. Grasping at words floating around his mind yet none could be combined into something coherent. They rode on in silence. “Mister Strauss, Reverend. We need medicine.” Most of the gang couldn’t see what was going on, Charles had you tucked protectively against him for privacy. He knew you probably didn’t want everyone ogling at you. The air of the situation was enough for everyone to gain understanding and many sprang into action. “How bad is it?” Strauss asked. “I think their ribs are broken, maybe sprained jaw. Definitely a sprained ankle.” “Bring Y/N over here.” Arthur called, leading Charles to his cot. “Probably better than the ground. Shouldn’t be movin’ much with cracked ribs.” Your eyes fluttered open the second you were placed in the comfort of Arthur’s bed. Charles immediately helped you take medicine to ease your suffering. “Do you need anything my love?” His voice was gentle as if speaking to a spooked animal. Large calloused fingers brushed the hair from your face. “Food… Water…” Arthur gently squeezed Charles’ shoulder, earning a grateful look from his friend. “Let me.” Your love settled into a chair beside you, still playing with locks of your hair. “You’re so brave Y/N. And so incredibly smart. I’m so happy you’re safe now. I-… I’ll never let this happen to you again.” He watched you struggle to stay conscious. Maybe the food will have to wait. Slumping forward, he places a feather light kiss upon your lips. “I’m coming with you everywhere for now on.” He knew you couldn’t hear him but it eased his soul just saying those words out loud.

RED DEAD REDEMPTION II  • scenery [81/?] — Greenery Along the Kamassa River

Seven Deadly Sins - IX

PAIRING: low to mid honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

Because if one thing is true, it is that Arthur Morgan is a sinner. Pure, organic, non-GMO smut. A continuing series.

Warnings: Smut, Violence, Low to Medium Honor Arthur (and all that entails)

Perdition: a state of eternal punishment and damnation into which a sinful and unpenitent person passes after death.

➵ AO3 Link

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“I’m really sorry for you son, it's a hell of a thing.”

Arthur’s world slowed. It shrunk down to the room in this doctor’s office in Saint Denis, closing in on him, choking, like something pressing down on his chest. Making it even harder to breathe than it already is. 

“Wha- what d’ya mean?” He hoarsely asked the doctor, who frowned before turning toward the sink opposite where he sat.

Tuberculosis. Consumption.

“You’re real sick, it's - it's a progressive disease. You’ll be… well, the best thing is rest. And getting somewhere warm and dry and taking it easy now. Is that possible?”

“Sure, I can just take my winters in my country club in California. No, it's not possible.” Arthur retorts icily.

“Well.. like I said, I’m real sorry.”

The doctor moves toward the table, grabbing a syringe. “Let me give you some more energy today, at least.”

Arthur barely registers the pinch of the needle in his arm, but he does feel the rush of energy through his blood, a warming that goes to his head and jolts his weary bones.

The doctor goes back to the table, fiddling with the syringe he just emptied.

“Doc - does it, how - c’n I give it to someone by…?”

He turns around, slowly. The doctor’s eyes flit down to Arthur’s hands - his left ring finger that was conspicuously empty.

“Are you talking about a woman? One you’re intimate with?”

Arthur nods, an even larger pit growing in his stomach.

The doctor’s frown deepens.

-

Arthur Morgan has always been an unrepentant man. He stole, he robbed, he shot and he killed his way through life. He was sure he would get his someday - at the end of a revolver perhaps, or the hangman’s noose. 

He supposed he deserved it, that the higher power he’s never truly believed in would smite him down one day for his deeds - and he had accepted that. Bad men don’t get to have a good life. Why bother changing if all of that blood was going to damn him anyway?

The horse beneath him whinnies as he pushes his spurs into her side, urging her faster, faster, through the tepid and humid marshes of Bluewater, north, north to where the gang had taken refuge after Lakay, at some old blasted hill country camp in the damp and dark hills of Roanoke Ridge.

Arthur found himself praying - to a God he’s never prayed to before - that the punishment he was going to receive would be enough - enough to satisfy the divine being his justice. 

You don’t deserve that punishment.

You don't deserve to die. Eliza didn’t deserve to die. Isaac, that bright and bouncing boy, he certainly did not deserve to die.

The thoughts of damnation and punishment invade his psyche so much so that he does not even realize he’s reached Beaver Hollow, absentmindedly going through the motions of hitching his horse and starting to walk toward Tilly, at the edge of the camp reading a book on a blanket.

“Miss Tilly.”

Tilly looks up and smiles. He doesn’t even have to ask, “She took laundry down to the river.” She nods her head to the left, motioning down the hill toward the winding Kamassa carved out of the Roanoke Valley.

Arthur nods and quickly heads down the trail, unwilling to speak to anyone else at the moment. Thoughts of his impending demise were shoved to the back of his mind - he would face them later.

He needed to see you first.

-

You’re singing, singing, of all things. Scrubbing a shirt against a rock. One of his shirts. The domesticity of it all warms his heart for a short moment - a moment before he remembers he’s a dying outlaw on the run and you are not his wife doing laundry at your homestead. Your soft laugh, your sly smile; the way you sigh his name when he’s buried between your thighs. How could he ever be deserving of your love, of all things, with this much evil he’s done?

You’re a petty thief. A saint compared to him.

You’re simply the object of his transgressions.

He’s lusted after you, your nude frame in the moonlight in Flat Iron Lake. He saw you and lusted for you and took you, that night under the bright moonlight as you sighed his name.

He’s gluttonous with your body - the sweet tang of your slick, feasting upon you in some old boathouse, head between your thighs taking of you far more than his fill.

He’s a greedy, greedy man - collecting your moans and sighs like a rich man collects gold coin - to drown himself in the pile he’s ripped from you.

He’s envious of any man who touches you - to brush against your soft skin that should be blessed only for him.

He’s killed, he’s murdered and maimed, for you - a wrathful punishment against men who dared disrespect or hurt you.

He’s guilty of slothful want - ignoring and shirking responsibilities and jobs and getting money to lock himself in a room with you and spend the hours worshiping your body.

He’s prideful in his possession, wanting all to know that you belonged to him - that you chose him, the miserable bastard that he is, above all others.

Just when he thought he was given his deliverance, laid on his knees next to you after Guarma - the karmic forces of the universe threaten to take him away from you again.

Your song falls into humming as you move to lift the wet work shirt of his - the blue one he always manages to stain, wringing out the water from it before laying it out on a large, flat stone to dry.

God almighty, does he love you. 

Maybe he will be spared this tiny bit of retribution for his incalculable sins and be damned to never touch you again. Never feeling your kiss or your warmth or the sweet clutch of your cunt on his cock again. That certainly is punishment for both of you.

Christ, he just wants to lay you down in the mossy grass and take you apart, loving each and every inch of you until he physically can’t. 

But he won’t.  If by some divine providence, he hasn’t cursed you, he swears he will never touch you again. He’ll put you atop his horse and take you to Annesburg and put you on a train with every penny he has socked away. To go on living, away from the gang that seems to be splintering by the day, away from him, slowly dying under the weight of his failing lungs-

“Oh, Arthur, there you are.” You turn and catch sight of him, a smile gracing your face as you slide across the rock to sit on the edge closer to him.

“Feel like I haven’t seen you in days,” you sigh, but cannot keep the smile from your face as he steps closer, a cold sweat breaking out over the back of his neck.

“Sweetheart, I-“

Arthur is cut off when you cover your mouth to cough, a wet, eerily familiar sound that sends his heart sinking to his feet.

“Sorry - think I’ve got a cold. Haven’t been feelin’ well since we got here, these damn hills….”

He’s been so busy since coming back from Guarma, moving the gang up to Beaver Hollow. The Pinkertons and the Indians and Annesburg and… he’s barely been around. He hadn’t heard a cough. His mind works a million miles an hour as he’s back in the chair in the doctor’s office in Saint Denis. 

“There’s a good chance you’ve given it to her, son.”

“What were you going to tell me, cowboy?”

You wipe your mouth with your sleeve and he sees the faintest red staining your teeth.

This is his comeuppance. This is everything he’s ever deserved. Every terrible decision in his life, every person he’s ever hurt - it has all come to this. Damnation and hellfire and all of the pain he’s ever dealt out to others - it comes back in a crushing feeling in his chest far worse than the sickness slowly killing him.

He should have known. He should have known.

People around him get hurt. 

They die, because of him.

Because he’s a bad person.

“Arthur? What is it-”

He moves to you in quick steps and falls to his knees, taking your hand and pressing it to his lips before moving against his cheek.

“I’ve damned us both.”

Your eyebrows quirk up in alarm, “What are you talk-”

“I- I’m dyin’. I got TB.”

“What? How - ?” You mumble incredulously, eyes like saucer plates.

“One o’ Strauss’s debts - beat him, he was already dyin’ and I beat him goddamn bloody….”

Your eyes start to lose their focus as you look down at your hand, small, pinkish splotches of blood faintly stain your fingers. You look back to him as color drains from your face.

A dawning of realization sweeps through your eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart. I - I…” he stumbles as his heart breaks. 

Words fail him.

He’s sorry, he’s sorry he’s sentenced you to death, a terrible fate of drowning within your own body. That you’ve been caught up in the punishment he was fated to receive in the life he’s lived. 

His bloodshot eyes water over as he can’t look at you anymore. He presses your hand to his lips again.

You pull it away violently. You may as well have shot him, the searing, visceral pain he feels piercing his heart - he would rather be shot than feel this.

“I…I need… I need to...” You whisper, standing up from your seat on the rock. You stumble a step away before catching yourself, eyes distant.

You may as well have stabbed him in the chest and ripped out his beating heart. He reaches out to you on his knees and you bat his hands away.

“I need to be alone right now,” Your voice has gone low and you refuse to meet his gaze.

“Sweetheart-“

“ Leave me alone.” You snarl back at him.

You turn away from him, quickly walking further down the riverbank, stumbling across the smooth river stones. He jumps to his feet, quickly following you, catching up to you after several steps.

“Darlin' - let me- let me take you to the…”

You stop in your tracks, not turning around. Arthur tries to grab your hand, and you nearly hiss at him, drawing away. You finally turn your head partway toward him, and a burning, smoldering, naked hatred reflects back at him.

“Haven’t you done enough?” Your frame shudders as you try to hold in a cough.

Arthur stops - painfully close to you. Close enough to reach out and draw your small frame to his, but his arms don’t work. 

Your eyes narrow before you turn and walk away, your body language obvious that you do not want him to follow.

He’s watched before as someone he’s loved walked away from him. The stabbing, crushing feeling as real as any bullet or knife, or blow. The slow bleed of being left alone. The exsanguination of his beating heart - where love is given, but not received in return. 

-

Arthur lies in his cot. It feels so empty. It truly is only made for one person, especially one of his size, but he’s gotten so used to you being in it that he can’t bear to sleep without your warmth next to him.

Roanoke is cold. Damp. He’s stripped to his dark blue union suit, underneath a heavy blanket on his cot, staring at the flicker of the oil lantern as darkness settles in.

Arthur stumbled back into camp as the dusk was falling in, he somehow managed to avoid needing to interact with people and was able to pull the canvas shut on his tent as the hours wore on.

He’s listening for you, your soft voice or shy footsteps. Staring at the pocketwatch he left on the bedside table again, vowing to wait just a bit longer before storming out of his tent and going straight for his horse to scour the countryside for you. The nagging feeling in his chest was compounded by the damn Murfrees around.

Fortunately, for his sanity, he is not forced to make that decision.

The tent’s flaps are drawn back and a form slides between them. The burning lantern throws light on you, as you step closer, wringing your hands and staring at the ground. Your bare feet peek out from under your skirts.

“Sweetheart?”

You quietly pad toward the cot, and sit yourself down on the edge, swallowing and finally meeting his gaze as he sits up, shedding the blanket and placing his legs over the edge of the cot. Your eyes are red and bloodshot, and he knows that he’s the cause of it.

“If we’re dyin’, then I don’t want to spend any more time bein’ cross with you. I want to be with you as much as I can.” You say softly, almost a whisper.

“I’m so sorr-”

“Don’t. We’re here now. Ain’t nothing gonna change that.”

You settle in to sit next to him, and he puts his arm around you as he kisses your shoulder. For a moment you stare at the pitch of the tent before turning your head toward him.

His hand gently cups your cheek as he leans to kiss your forehead. “You’re… you’re the best thin’ that’s happened to me.”

You’re silent, and each moment that goes by drives the stake deeper into his heart as your eyes search his face.

“Darl-”

You cut him off by pressing your lips to his. By throwing your arms around him and pushing your body against him. By crawling into his lap and weaving your fingers through his hair.  He pants gently, eyes wide as you pull back only inches. He thought he’d never taste your lips again. 

“Make love to me, Arthur.”  

“Are y’sure?”

Your eyes flit downward to his lips before coming back up to his eyes. Your hand moves to cup his cheek as you lean into him again, pressing your forehead against his. You nod, slowly, to answer his question. 

You press your lips to his and he drinks of you as if he were a parched man. His arms wind around you, pulling you against him, plastered against each other.

“Oh, darlin’…” He sighs between kisses, having maneuvered you to straddle his lap, his hands settle on your hips as you begin to slowly roll your hips against his.

Your knees settle on either side of his hips as he sits on the cot, and through the layers of cotton of your skirts and his union suit, he swells. A groan escapes his throat as his blood settles hotly in his lap.

With one slow undulation, you cant your hips so that his burgeoning cock settles against your folds, parting them through fabric. Arthur’s eyes flutter open as you sit up straight in his lap, and your fingers slowly move to the collar of his dark blue union suit, undoing the first two buttons with practiced ease, as if you had been undressing him all of your life instead of only a couple of months.

More and more of his chest becomes visible to you as you work your way down, the bones of his ribcage much more prominent under the layer of muscle than they ever had been before.

He wheezes. Your fingers stop haltingly, the third button of his union suit halfway undone, falling back against his sternum. His bloodshot eyes catch yours once he has recovered his breath, pained, vulnerable. 

“We don’t have to do this.” He mumbles, gaze locked on yours, the blue-green of his irises betraying that while the low tones of his voice say one thing, his tortured soul pleads for another.

“I’m not leaving.” You whisper back at him, your fingers slowly moving back to the buttons of his suit. Your gaze flutters down to his chest again as you continue your work of disrobing him.

You’re completely caught by surprise when he lifts you from his lap and easily maneuvers your body to lay on the cot before he climbs atop you, pressing his hips into yours again before chasing your lips as he settles his elbows on either side of your head.

Even ill, even dying, Arthur has more than enough strength to move you however he pleases.

His lips trail from yours down your neck, nuzzling his beard against your skin, leaving warm, wet splotches as he works his way down. He pulls back, balancing on his knees, shrugging out of the arms of his union suit, letting the fabric hang at his waist. You pull your shirt from your skirts and up and over your head, letting it fall to the wayside over the side of the cot.

He leans down and catches your lips briefly before sitting back up again, unbuttoning his union suit completely and pushing it down to his knees. His swollen cock bobs before he places his hand upon it and strokes a few times.

You shimmy your bloomers down from underneath your skirts, kicking them away as you draw your skirts to lay limply around your waist, baring your lower half to him as he hovers above you. 

Arthur’s hand moves slowly from his cock toward you. He slides the sleeves of your chemise down, and the cotton falls from your skin as his fingers tug at it. He traces the pad of his thumb over your nipple, and you shiver as the skin pebbles as he passes it over. Arthur’s large hand then moves to cup your breast, squeezing lightly. His other hand weaves into your hair as he kisses you breathlessly. 

The hot line of him settles against your soft belly as he settles between your hips, your legs falling open for him as the cotton layers of your skirts fall away.

Arthur wants to spend every waking second he has left in his miserable life in the gentle warmth of your embrace, skin to skin, about to bury his cock in your hips.

And when both he and you are bare and tangled in each other in his dark tent, with nothing but the heavy beating of your hearts and panting of your breath in the tent, Arthur gently, slowly slides his cock into your folds. A soft groan escapes his mouth as your hips touch, and you wrap your legs over his hips, crossing your ankles over his back as you whine back, the stretch of when he enters you sweet and overwhelming.

He takes his time, waiting for you to grow used to his intrusion into your body. When he does start to move his hips, it’s slow, gentle, as if he were savoring each and every second of being locked inside you. He slides down your chest, leaving small love bites upon your skin as you squirm underneath him with each thrust of his hips downwards to press you into the cot.

Your fingers spread out over his back, his hands weaving through your unbound hair, and your hips moving together in the dance of lovemaking without rush or the ferocity of your normal coupling. His hips roll and you accept: the sound of wet skin on wet skin periodically interspersed between soft moans, cut off gasps, and the creaking of the cot as your bodies move together.

You come and it’s completely by surprise, a choked-off whine as you clutch at Arthur’s shoulders, trying to smother your noise into his neck. He grunts and continues his pace through your orgasm, whispering soft affirmations into your ear as he fucks you, until the clutch around his flesh is too much to stand.

“I’m gonna… god-” he rasps into your ear, you can feel the muscles in his stomach clench against yours as he careens toward orgasm, “Where d’ya -”

“Inside - always inside, until -” you whisper, and he presses his mouth over yours to stop you from continuing further, from speaking into the world the terrible, unfailing truth.

He hitches his hips into yours, and a stifled moan rumbles from his chest against your mouth, as you can feel his cock twitch within your cunt. Arthur pours himself into you, coating your inner walls with his warm spend. How many more times would he be able to do this before he or you couldn’t?

He gasps, far more winded than he should be.

Arthur pulls out and you feel the slow drip of his cooling spend from your body, knowing it doesn't matter anymore. He quietly settles himself next to you, his hand moving to cup your cheek.

The tears in your eyes spill over, and he knows, it’s not from joy or physical satisfaction. He pulls you into his chest and his throat gets tight as you sob into his skin. Your hands are gathered tightly between the two of you, and he’s afraid you’re going to feel the rattling of his failing lungs under your fingertips.

He’s afraid that he’s going to feel the rattle from your lungs as you’re wrapped in his arms.

You weep into the curve of his neck. You weep for the impending death of dreams, of futures, and for your collective demise.

He cannot stop the tears from spilling from his own eyes. They track down his cheeks, hollowed and gaunt, as he stares at the pitch of the tent where the two of you are slowly dying in each other’s arms.

He weeps for you, that you are a casualty of the damnation he was always destined for. 

Somewhere along the Kamassa River, Roanoke Valley

kamassa river, bayou nwa

Of Swampy Dreams

Well as promised, here's my little fic based on the dream I had where Arthur shoved me through a window into a swamp, in order to escape from a house we were robbing! Anyway hope you all enjoy!

‘Aw shit,’ you heard Arthur mutter behind you, as you were rifling through a drawer. Thus far this home robbery had not proved fruitful. The most you and Arthur had found was a couple of dollars, some brass candlesticks, a few cans of food and that was about it. Evidently, the tip Arthur had received from a thief he had helped escape the law, was either deliberately wrong or he had mixed up the houses.

‘What is it?’ you asked, glancing over your shoulder.

‘We got company, dammit, why the hell is he back so early?’ Arthur barely let you push the drawer back into place, when he was already hurrying you into a back room. Dusk was creeping in rapidly and you could barely see anything apart from what little light was let in from a window. The window was set quite high up in the wall and there was no other way of getting out what looked like was a glorified store cupboard.

‘Well shit,’ you whispered, ‘How are we going to get out of here?’

Arthur rolled his eyes and pointed to the window.

‘I can’t reach that!’ you snapped.

‘I’ll give you a leg up, but hurry up, quit yappin’!’

He forced open the window and cupped his hands together to form a little step. You sighed heavily and then placed your foot in his hands, while grasping the window frame and inelegantly hoisting yourself up. You were busy muttering under your breath about this all being a pointless waste of time, when you realised as you were wiggling out the window that the murky, stinky swamp of Lagras was right underneath rather than any wrap-around porch or solid ground.

‘Arthur, wait!’ you hissed.

‘We ain’t got time to wait!’

‘The swamp is-!’ But he had already shoved you through the window and you landed in the swamp with a squelchy plop. You were lucky to have taken a breath before you entered the murky water, but as you breached the surface you wiped away the weed and mud from your face, as Arthur landed beside you.

‘You goddamn ass-!’ you began to exclaim, but he was already dragging you off.

‘C’mon, don’t want to wait to get caught, hardly be worth Hosea breakin’ us out of jail. And I assume ya don’t want to get eaten by an alligator?’

You squelched your way out of the bog, sticking to the reeds and bullrushes, so the homeowner would not spot you both. Though you doubted very much he would even notice the missing two dollars and would probably think he had misplaced the candlestick. You made it to the road, though you hated the way your boots were stuck fast to your feet and your clothes were drenched. Arthur whistled for the horses and you glared at him.

‘Some god damn robbery this was!’ you muttered.

‘Look, it don’ always go to plan.’

‘We may as well have pick pockets in Saint Denis or played poker, we’d have earnt more money!’

Arthur sighed and caught your horse’s reins as she ambled up to you both. Lacey nickered softly and Arthur gave her neck an absentminded pat, before gesturing for you to mount up.

‘C’mon, we’ll ride back to Rhodes and I’ll pay for you to have a bath,’ he said.

‘Rhodes? Ride back to Rhodes? I’ve got to ride all the way back-!’

‘Well how else you goin’ to get home?’

‘We are finding a god damn stream or river and I am washing the worse of this off. You can grumble all you want, but you aren’t soaked from head to toe in stinky swamp water!’

You mounted Lacey, without Arthur’s help and he stomped off. You barely waited for him to mount up on Topaz, instead kicking your horse into a quick canter and riding off down the forest path. You heard Arthur mutter something under his breath as you passed him, but he soon caught up with you. The sun was just sinking below the horizon and the hum and whine of insects was slowly growing louder, the boggy warmth from the swamp was cooling rapidly. You knew you weren’t far from the Kamassa River and even though the water would likely be very cold, you would be glad to wash yourself off.

There was a small island ahead of you, right in the middle of the river, and you pushed Lacey across to reach it. Once you had reached the middle, you jumped off Lacey and began to strip off your dress.

‘Woah! Easy!’ Arthur yelled, then quickly turned away as you caught his eye.

‘What am I meant to do?’ You snapped. ‘You get a fire going, so I don’t freeze to death, while I wash off.’

You stomped off over to the river, though you heard Arthur mutter under his breath about you being ‘So goddamn dramatic!’ First you gave your clothes a good wash, though to get out the smell you would probably need to wash them properly back at camp, but a thorough scrub removed most of the mud. Once you were done, you headed back to the fire Arthur had got going and flung your soaked dress over a nearby tree branch. Arthur was determinedly focusing on adding more twigs to the fire and you rolled your eyes at his stubborn back.

‘Not like you ain’t seen Karen or Mary-Beth in their underthings!’ you muttered. Half the women would walk around in the evening and early morning in their chemises or combinations, you included. You didn’t know why Arthur was making a big show of respecting your modesty all of a sudden!

You carefully dipped your toes into the river and hissed at how cold the water was. You bit your lip hard, so you wouldn’t shriek as the water lapped at your calves, then your thighs and your belly. This would be a quick wash and no mistake! You took several breaths, then counted in your head ‘1, 2, 3…’ and dunked yourself under the water. You let out a small scream in the water and quickly surfaced. God damn, it was freezing! Your head felt like it was full of icy needles. You scrubbed yourself furiously, then sloshed your way to the shore.

You suddenly realised that you had been a bit of an idiot. You didn’t have any other clothes and your combinations were completely drenched. You would need to strip off and wear your blanket wrapped around you, hopefully Mr Morgan would not faint in shock!

You darted through the small camp, grabbing the spare blanket from Lacey’s back and making your way into your tent.

‘I thought you was just goin’ to wash yourself off?’ Arthur said, you saw him look up at you, then quickly avert his gaze. Granted you’d forgive the modesty act this time, seeing as your combinations were sticking to your skin and you could easily see your nipples through the thin cotton material.

‘Well I did!’

‘I thought you was just going to wash your hands and face.’

‘Hey, you were the one who decided we should rob a house with nothing in it in a damn swamp! And then you shoved me through a window into said swamp! You don’t get to act like we’ve both been making great, smart decisions here.’

Arthur let out a small huff of laughter and lowered his head. ‘Alrigh’, sorry. But get out those things, ya goin’ to catch ya death.’

‘As if I didn’t know that!’ you grumbled, then walked over to your horse and pulled off the spare blanket you had. You began to strip off your wet clothes and scrubbed yourself dry. Once you were dry and tied your hair up, you wrapped the blanket around you. You brought your combinations with you and flung them over the tree branch. You took a seat by Arthur, next to the fire, and tried to get yourself warm, though you kept shivering with the cold.

‘Yer a damn fool,’ Arthur muttered, bringing out some dried meat and a can of beans he left near the fire to warm up.

‘You’re the one who decided to rob an empty house!’

‘I had a tip!’

‘Oh yeah, and it was a really good one! We’d have made more money shooting an alligator or getting their eggs and selling that in town.’ You managed to say through chattering teeth.

Arthur sighed, then began to rub your arms, almost making you lose your grip on your blanket.

‘Hey, easy! Thought Great Aunt Arthur Morgan was going to faint if he saw my tits!’ you exclaimed.

‘Great Aunt what now?’

‘What? Most men would be quite happy to have a naked cold woman all alone in a wood with them, but you act like you’re going to faint because you saw my ankle!’ you grinned, even though you were cold and Arthur’s hands on your arms were very warm. You couldn’t help wriggling closer to him, in an attempt to get warm.

‘I ain’t like most men and I ain’t goin’ to faint on seein’ your goddamn ankle, just… just tryin’ to be respectful, that’s all.’

‘Oh Arthur, you really are a gentleman, shoving ladies out of windows into swamps and then almost pulling their blanket down when trying to warm them up.’

‘Do you ever shut up?’

‘Only when I’m being shoved through a win-‘

He suddenly cupped your face and pulled you in for a kiss. His hand slipped behind your head, tugging you in closer and you felt your cheeks burn, as his lips met yours and you almost went to put your arms around him, but then remembered the blanket you were still clutching to your chest. He was so warm and smelt of whiskey and smoke and something earthy and sweet. You almost wanted to wrap yourself up in his jacket. Your heart was racing, every nerve ending alive with electricity and he was still kissing you, passionately, deliciously. Finally, he pulled away, though his hands still gently cupped your face, as he gazed into your eyes and a shy smile graced his lips.

‘Sorry, ya still stink of the swamp,’ he said.

You smacked his arm, though you couldn’t help laughing. ‘Well you owe me a new dress!’ You smiled gratefully as he pulled off his jacket and draped it around your shoulders.

‘Sure, think it’s the least I can do.’

Arthur Morgan [13/13] Lemoyne - along the Kamassa River

Is anybody else catching big Catfish in the Kamassa River near Blue water Marsh for Online or story mode?

aliveafterdark.tumblr.com

🏷 · Kamassa Rivers, Bayou Nwa. Lemoyne 1898 } Photographie par helly vonheart.

Kamassa River

Kamassa River

PC:

I was trying to get a nice pic of Dutch, but John tripped and ruined it...

New Hanover / Roanoke Ridge / Kamassa River ~ Red Dead Redemption 2 © 2018; developed by Rockstar Games Caps made by purpledragongaming​.  Please do not delete credits.

If it’s not O’Driscolls, it’s some other stupid gang trying to get the better of Arthur. Took care of those raiders, Moonshine was an absolute trooper as she always is. (GOD I love that mare!!!)

Kamassa River