[In life you have two paths who you want to become]

Type A Y/N : I like to do illustrations ☺️💕

Type B Y/N : I like to dissect people, did you know I’m utterly insane ☺️💕

Sharing clothes with Arthur Morgan

Paring: Arthur Morgan x male!reader

Warning: sex mentioned a few times.

Summary: Very short headcanons about sharing clothes with Arthur

Masterlist

It started with you borrowing his shirt.

Back before you were really dating and more so just fucking, you'd done it of accident

You'd nearly forgotten about the man you'd brought home, rolling out of bed and picking up the first shirt you saw on the floor.

Forgoing any other clothes and heading to the kitchen to cook, only to be forcefully spun around a few minutes later by a mildly possessive Arthur.

“That's my shirt.”

“I'm borrowin’ it, you can have it back in a minute.”

When you turned back around you could still feel his presence behind you, and see his hands caging you against the counter in front of you.

“Looks good on you..” he hummed out, sleep still evident in his voice.

You smiled to yourself but eventually had to break away from him to continue preparing breakfast.

As your casual fucking turned into dating your habit of wearing his clothes increased.

Stealing his hat straight off his head, then disappearing on a hunt for days.

“Accidentally” washing your clothes together and claiming what's his was yours.

Wearing his spare coat during the winter seasons.

Complimenting him on his clothes only to steal them later.

Buying him new clothes that you knew would end up back with you eventually.

Arthur isn't completely innocent either.

He's a clothes thief too, thought he might not be as conniving as you were when it came to this particular area of theft.

He’ll purposefully steal your clothes after sex, you hardly even realize it until you see him walking around camp wearing them.

Getting confused as to who clothes are what.

“That’s my shirt!”

“It was mine first!”

Your clothes eventually become a giant mixing pot of both of your things until it is impossible to tell what used to belong to who.

A Fine Night For Debauchery (Arthur Morgan x Reader)

NSFW - Minors do NOT interact

Warnings: near drowning, Arthur is a cheeky bastard (Who also gets a raging boner when he sees boobies), lots of teasing...I mean LOTS, filthy shameless smut, fingering, P in V, unprotected sex, pet names

Word Count - 3k

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Trelawny. Goddamn Josiah Trelawny. You blamed him for the impure thoughts that were keeping you up. Not that they were about the man himself but that dress he made you wear. You and Arthur were the main distraction for the Riverboat mission you had been sent on. The two of you were playing a newlywed couple there to win a little extra money for the success of your marriage. And to rub your “riches” in since Arthur had recently hit a score in the oil business. None of that was true, of course. And it wasn't the first time you and Arthur had been paired together for a mission where you had to pretend to be a couple, but tonight seemed more intimate.

You sat on his lap, one arm wrapped around his shoulder while he played the poker game. You could feel Arthur shifting under you now and then, his eyes subtly glancing down at your chest that was practically shoved in his face. The dress that Trelawny had picked out for you was extremely tight and revealing. Your corset pushed your breasts up to the point they were practically spilling out of the top. And although you usually wore low-cut dresses, you never wore corsets. You found them to be too claustrophobic, so you avoided them. You felt uncomfortable in the thing; it was digging into your sides and seemed to be a size too small. The feeling of it cutting into you caused you to squirm often, and every time you moved, Arthur flinched a little, sucking in a breath. At first, you thought he was shifting from your weight; maybe he was just trying to get more comfortable under you and the unnecessarily heavy dress you wore. But once you realized why he was actually shifting, you felt hot. If the makeup you wore wasn't as heavy as the dress, everyone would have been able to see how red your cheeks were burning. 

Once he had won the game and got up to collect his reward, tension seemed to be released from his shoulders. You assumed he was uncomfortable, not wanting to be seen as just another one of those men. He wasn't, you knew that. Things like that weren't controllable, so you washed it off as just the compromised position you had been sitting in for so long. 

All of those thoughts were quickly thrown out of your brain when shots were fired. You ducked behind the bar and pulled your skirt up, pulling your gun out where it had been nestled on your thigh the whole night. Once the coast was clear, everyone made a run for it. You, Arthur, Javier, Trelawny, and Strauss jumped off the side of the boat and started swimming for shore. The only problem was your dress made it impossible to swim. As soon as you hit the water, it quickly weighed you down, getting heavier the more water it absorbed. 

“God damn this dress!” Your arms flailed as you panicked, hardly being able to keep your head above the water. Arthur noticed your distress and swam towards you, helping to keep you up,” Get this thing off of me!”

Arthur tugged at everything he could, trying to untie the corset and undo buttons, but they weren't coming undone quickly enough.  

“How the hell am I supposed to do that!” He started to panic as you continued to struggle in his arms. He was able to unhook the front of your corset, pushing it off before seeing the maze of strings that held your dress up.

“I don't know, figure it out!” Arthur hesitated for a moment before grabbing the seams sitting against your breasts and ripping the fabric. One hard jerk was all it took for the dress to come off. He pulled you flush against him with one arm and pushed the rest of the dress down your legs. 

“That works,” you felt your cheeks flush red. You still had your undergarments on, and despite wearing them around camp often at night, you had never felt more exposed in front of the man. Although you could swim on your own now, Arthur still kept his arm firm around your waist as the two of you swam to shore together. 

Now here you were, lying on your bedroll, staring at the rotting ceiling above you. Your hair was still damp from the water, and although you had changed out of your wet bloomers into a nightgown, your skin was still cold to the bone. Your mind was flooded with impure thoughts you were trying desperately to get rid of. With Dutch being your brother, you had known Arthur the whole time he had been in the gang. He was 14 when Dutch and Hosea found him, and you were 12. Although you had always found him attractive, you would have never admitted to having a crush on him.

The two of you were close, supposed to be like family, but as you continued to lay there, you questioned if your relationship had ever been like that. The constant subtle touches, the occasional flirty banter, the few times the two of you had slept in each other's arms looking for warmth or comfort. Nothing inappropriate had happened those nights you slept next to each other, but now you couldn't help but wish something had... 

The thought of Arthur ripping your dress off so easily made your cheeks burn again. You let out a heavy sigh before getting up from your bed roll and making your way up the creaky, old stairs of Shady Bell. Your heart pounded with each step you took. You stopped in front of Arthur's door, hesitating for a moment before opening it. Arthur was sitting up on his bed, journal in his hand. He looked up before quickly closing it and clearing his throat a little. You noticed his cheeks turned a soft shade of pink. 

“You alright?” He asked, standing up and putting the journal on his map table. You still stood in the doorway, your hand sitting on the knob. 

“I uh…,” You looked away from him and out the broken window, trying to form a thought. He stepped closer, which clouded your brain even more,” Never mind.” 

Just as you went to step away, Arthur grabbed you. His hands placed firmly on both of your arms as he kicked the door shut. Your heart rate picked up as you looked up at him. Arthur was looked down at you in a way he had never done before. Like a predator stalking its prey. Your brain finally formed a sentence as you stared at the burning desire behind his eyes. 

“I need you, Arthur,” the words came out quiet.

“Im a bad man, darlin’,” His voice was just as low. You moved your arms slightly, and he immediately let you go. You wrapped them around his shoulders, pulling him down slightly. 

“You know Im worse,” Your eyes were fixed on his lips as yours hovered above them. Arthur dropped his head, his lips hungrily devouring yours. He stepped back, dragging you with him, his lips still on yours. He pulled you with him until the back of his legs hit his bed. He pulled away from you, a strand of saliva following as he did. 

“You sure you wanna do this, girl?” His words seemed genuine as he stared at your eyes and lips. 

“I've never been more sure,” You pushed his shoulders down, making him sit on the edge of his bed. Stepping back a few feet, you grabbed the bottom of your nightgown and pulled it over your head, throwing it onto the floor next to your feet. Arthur's eyes gazed over every inch of your body, drinking in your features like you were a smooth glass of whiskey.

“Come here,” you stepped closer, your legs against his. His rough hands immediately went to the back of your legs; one stayed put with a heavy grip. The other drug up your leg to your stomach until it was grazing dangerously close to your breast, “ Sit.” 

You obeyed. You were a rough woman yourself... hell, probably more ruthless than Arthur. You almost never took orders from anyone, not even your own brother. Anyone who told you what to do would get a gun in their face, and it often ended with their brains on a wall. But here you were doing exactly what Arthur was telling you to. Like a dog eager for a treat. You sat on his lap, straddling him. Arthur smirked, his thumb swiping over your nipple. You wrapped her arms around his shoulders and leaned down, kissing him feverishly. Your hands grabbed his suspenders and pushed them off of his shoulders. You leaned back and started to unbutton his shirt. While you did, Arthur's eyes never left your face, his hands slightly roamed your body, feeling every curve he could. Once the final button was undone, Arthur took the shirt off and threw it to the side. Your hands immediately went to his chest, feeling him up and down. 

He knew you watched him whenever he would do chores around camp. The way his muscles flexed through his shirt when he carried the hay bales or threw bags over his shoulders. And your eyes would never once leave him if he was chopping wood. His shirt off, suspenders hanging from his hips, just like they were now. His back and arms flexing with every swing. He wouldn't look at you while you stared, but he could feel your eyes burning a hole in him. And oftentimes it would end in Miss Grimshaw yelling at you to get back to work. You were staring at him the same way now, the same hungry look in your eyes burning a hole through him. 

Arthur couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed and shy about it, his cheeks flushing slightly, but you didn't care. You leaned back down to kiss him again, hands still roaming his chest and memorizing every defined muscle on his arms. His own hands still wandered your body as he moved one from her breast and her heat. One finger dragged slowly up her cunt causing you to let out a quiet whine. 

“God,” He groaned into your mouth, “Yer’ soaked, and I've hardly even touched ya. Whatchu’ been thinkin’ about, girl.” He removed his mouth from yours, his finger still barely touching your heat.

“You,” You breathed quietly, “The way you-” he pushed a finger inside of you, cutting off your words as you moaned. 

“What about me,” He smirked, his mouth hovered right above yours, his breath hot against your lips.

“The way you ripped my dress off…so,” he pulled his finger out and pushed two in this time, “God- so easily.” 

“I've been thinkin' bout’ that all night too, darlin’. Can't sleep because of me? Can't sleep because you've been thinkin' about fuckin’ me? Hmm?” He picked up his pace, his two fingers moving quickly, his thumb barely grazing your clit. You dropped your head to his shoulder, mouth open, but nothing came out. You knew you had to be quiet, or someone would hear. There may have been walls, but they were thin and rotting, and the broken window didn't help, “Is that it, Darlin? Gotta answer me, or I'll stop.” 

“God, yes. Please, Arthur,” You let out another quiet moan, biting his shoulder slightly to muffle it. He groaned as you bit down, his hips moving slightly to ease his own throbbing heat.

“Please, what?” His teasing frustrated you, but your brain was too clouded to tell him off. 

“Fuck me, Arthur, please.” That was all it took. He pulled his fingers out and flipped you onto the bed so that he was on top. Your hands quickly went to his pants, unbuttoning them and pushing them down his hips slightly. Your finger traced his hip bones and V-line. He sat back up and pulled them off the rest of the way. 

“So eager…all for me,” He leaned down, whispering in your ear before planting a wet kiss on your collarbone. He placed a heavy hand on the base of his cock, pumping it a few times and letting out a groan before lining it up with your entrance. 

He pushed into you slowly, both of you letting out a sigh. Arthur dropped his head to your chest, kissing one of your breasts as he bottomed you out. The man was large on every term, towered over most men in height, could easily toss anyone over his shoulder, so it was no surprise he was blessed below the belt too. 

“You alright?” He looked you in the eyes, letting you adjust to his size before continuing. You nodded your head and bit your lip slightly, “That ain't gonna work, darlin'. Use your words.” 

“Yes,” He connected his lips to yours once again and slowly moved his hips. You moaned into his mouth as he moved quicker, “Please, Arthur. Faster.” You threw your head back against the hard mattress. 

“You like it rough, don't ya,” Arthur groaned as his hips continued to hit yours, picking up his pace. You couldn't speak, only nod your head and let out another strangled moan, “ I should've known, you dirty girl.” The noises coming from between your legs were filthy, getting messier as Arthur's strokes became more desperate. 

“God, Arthur,” You moaned his name, your hands pulling at his hair. He clamped a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. 

“Yeah, that feel good?” He asks, his tone mocking her slightly, “Gotta be quiet unless you want the whole camp knowin’ how much of a whore you are.” He grunted, pulling one of your legs up further and kissing your neck. He bit down on the soft skin on your collarbone, trying to mask his own noises. The coil in your stomach tightened, your legs wrapping tighter against him. Arthur could tell you were close, so he steadied his pace, wanting you to finish before him. He lifted his head from your shoulder and watched your face as you got closer. You bit your lip to keep yourself quiet, pulling yourself closer to Arthur as your back arched. Your breathing got heavier as you let out a breathless moan, your nails digging into Arthur's scalp. You let go, feeling everything in your body tighten before immediately relaxing. Arthur pulled out, his hand desperately finishing what had been started, wishing his hand was your warm walls. You watched as he finished, groaning to himself as his filth leaking out onto your stomach. 

“Jesus,” He let out quietly, leaning forward to kiss you. You wiped the loose strands of hair that stuck to his forehead out of his face. He pulled back, looking at you. This time instead of being full of lust, he looked at you with the sweetest eyes, a slight smile on his face. The two of you stayed like that for a few seconds, drunk on each other. He sat up slightly, grabbed his shirt off of the floor, and cleaned you up, “Shit, yer shakin’, darlin’.” 

“I'll be okay,” You planted a small kiss on his forehead and wrapped your arms around his shoulders again, pulling him closer as he finished cleaning you up. He layed down next to you, wrapping his heavy arm around your middle. Your back was against his chest, his face buried in your hair. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while now,” Arthur said quietly, placing a small kiss on the back of your head. You smiled slightly to yourself, resting your hand on his arm. 

“You been havin’ dirty thoughts bout me for a while, Cowboy?” You teased him slightly, his arm wrapping tighter around you. 

“The filthiest,” You could hear the smile in his voice as he kissed your neck. 

“Well, I guess you'll just have to tell me all about them, so I make sure they come true.” You turned in his arms so that you were facing him.

“I won't say no to that,” Arthur leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on your lips, “But for now, I just wanna hold you and get some sleep.” He gave you a soft smile, and you agreed with him. Both of you closed your eyes, enjoying the warmth of each other's arms once again, only this time, the night hadn't been innocent.

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Saved By The Gang | RDR2 x Reader

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

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

Incorrect Quotes - Arthur Morgan x Y/n Edition

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

Y/n : "That sounds amazing! Doesn’t that sound amazing, Arthur?"

Arthur : "...No."

Y/n : "I think I speak for both Arthur and I, when I say that it sounds amazing!"

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

Y/n : "If you don't stop talking bullshit, I'm going to jump out of that window."

Arthur : "...We're on the ground floor, Y/n."

Y/n : "I know but I want a dramatic exit."

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

Arthur : "Why do you think I don’t like you? Of course I do. I would kill for you."

Arthur : ...

Arthur : "Ask me to kill for you."

Y/n : "...First of all, calm down-"

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

Y/n : "Did you really have to stab them?"

Arthur : "You weren’t there. You didn’t hear what they said to me. "

Y/n : "What did they say to you?"

Arthur : 'What are you going to do, stab me?'

Y/n : "I guess that's fair."

DOWN IN THE MEADOW

🎧 deep in the brook, catfish are waiting for the hook!

pairing: arthur morgan x fem!reader

synopsis: you, a former saloon girl, and your relationship with arthur through a song in accordance with the seasons.

content: family dynamics, domesticity, relationship timeline, a little bit of insecure arthur, horrible transitions between jack and arthur povs, messy intro and conclusion, soft gentle love thats the fic

wc: 2.9k

a/n: i haven't posted anything in nearly a month...SO sorry about that but here's this! i promise i've been working i've just been pickier with what i choose to post + theyre all lengthy as shit. this is different from what i usually write but we're trying some new stuff </3

Something that not many people were aware of was how very boring the outlaw life could be.

More often than not the lifestyle meant a whole lot of housekeeping, hunting and fishing; and that was only if you were old, strong, and experienced enough to handle such activities. To Jack Marston's misfortune, he was none of those things. 

Life as an outlaw could be especially boring for a young boy such as himself, with no one of his size to cancel out each other’s boredom by becoming playmates. His momma and various aunts and uncles did their best to entertain him when they had the spare time, and he too found amusement in the beauty and wonder of the outdoors.  

Fortunately, the worst of winter's wrath was over with, and beside the occasional snowfall, the weather was tame enough to settle down in a new camp and lounge about.

Because he cannot leave the camp very often, Jack settles for sitting by its outskirts. And it’s one of these even days that become odd when he spots his Uncle Arthur return from a trip into town accompanied by a stranger on the back of his horse.

Jack was closely acquainted with every member of his misfit family; he could recognize every worn face within it. Who wore which scar and where, which voices were more often fussy or brimming with glee, and even the ones that one day disappear and never return. This face that his Uncle Arthur brought back with him was a face he didn’t recognize, kind and curious as he observed it to be.

The small boy had been taught from a very early age not to trust strangers. There are few people in this cold and cruel world that wholeheartedly care for him; the vagabonds in this makeshift home of his were a couple.

But Uncle Arthur had brought her to them with reassurances that she would fit in just fine within their family, to them and seemingly the timid woman herself, who looked onward on at him for guidance. And Jack trusted what the older man deemed safe to accept this new member with hardly any worry in the back of his mind.

It didn’t take long for all of camp to learn that she had been a saloon girl from the town over where Arthur had been frequenting on business. It explained why she had arrived with nothing but a dagger in a holster sewed to her boot and a guitar on her back. 

The strange woman, however, adored Jack from the moment she had introduced herself to him, sitting in the tallgrass and braiding its strands. Jack observed, outside of her initial nervous demeanour, that she had kind eyes and a wit about her that he observed in many members of the gang, including those he loves and cares for the most. A mouth that his mother found often laughing as a result of and along with, and one that spun tall tales in the form of song and dance with various camp members. 

However, everyone was expected to contribute to bringing about funds and resources for the gang. It meant Arthur, the primary enforcer, spent most of his time out of camp running errands. 

You often asked to tag along in the shotgun seat of his wagon, whether to satisfy your own intrigue of the terrain or on Miss Grimshaw’s orders, but the extension of his hand gently escorting you on board was confirmation that Arthur didn’t have very many qualms with his company. 

Between light-hearted conversation, the two of you admire the thick blankets of shiny snow that had built up over various days of steady snowfall through squinted gazes as the light reflected back into your eyes. It glimmered and gleamed under arrays of sunlight, and crunched satisfyingly beneath each turn of the wheel. Your boots are thick and comfortable enough that you’re also able to enjoy the crunch beneath your feet when you arrive into the nearby town and hop off the wagon, with Arthur assisting in steadying you on your way down. 

You scout the town for work while Arthur does his shopping, and it isn’t all that long until you find it in nearby saloons. A couple of standalone gigs for a fair sum of money is perfect for your circumstances. Arthur offers to drive you into town nearly every day, the exception being when he’s already out of camp prior. It’s your primary contributor to the gang’s stability, besides helping around camp when you could. 

Uncle Arthur and the saloon girl often accompanied one another in their errands, by the shore of a river, or on a log beside the campfire. Jack could often find the two of you exchanging everything from anecdotes to laughs to something more shy and intimate. There are a set of unspoken social customs and courtesies when it came to confronting such curiosity, but Jack was too young to understand such customs; and far too curious.

So curious as to go so far as to one day innocently ask his Uncle Arthur if he was sweet on the girl—in front of her. His bluntness had the poor man choking on the rum from his flask as his cheeks flushed from either the suffocation or the embarrassment he felt over the situation--or perhaps both.

“Wha…N...No, you can’t just—“ he attempts to recollect himself, letting out a couple of coughs into the crook of his elbow before inhaling a strangled breath in. His eyes dart nervously between you and the boy. “You can’t just ask things like that, Jack. It ain’t polite. Where'd you even learn that...?"

But your warm eyes only crinkle in amusement as you laugh.

“I don’t mind. Besides, what does your lot know about polite?” 

Jack liked her songs, and found his feet eagerly carrying themselves over when he hears her by the campfire with Javier, guitars out and voices in sweet harmony. Sometimes she’ll get up and dance, and Jack will join her on her feet. One evening, there's already someone else swaying with you to a melody, and your gleeful laughter is paired with Arthur's bashful chuckles.

Oh, curse his northern attitude for leaving him so stiff, burning under the intensity of your warm gaze. The ambers from the campfire leave a little twinkle in your eye that makes his stomach stir uncomfortably, his muscles seize up the slightest bit. But your appreciative smile and courtesy as he bows playfully tells him there was nothing to forgive in the first place. 

Spring eventually sprouts up from the ground, and with it, more opportunities for leisure activity. Abigail kindly asks if you would take little Jack with you and Arthur to bask in the serene nature trails by the meadows, to which you happily oblige her request. 

Arthur leaves camp with you on the back of his horse or on the shotgun seat of the wagon more often than not. Sometimes--Jack overhears--it's on Miss Grimshaw’s orders. Other times, one or the other is in need of some company to assist with a personal chore. And very occasionally, the reason lies solely in wanting to be around one another (though this is more speculation on the gang's part, who by now have also taken note of that lingering something, and coming to this conclusion from the longing gazes as if it were obvious). 

In the back of the wagon, you observe the thawing of the snow with Jack through the harmony of your guitar, each firm, yet soft, strum ringing through the warm spring air. The smiles in your voices coupled with the gentle hum of your singing soothes something hard and tense in Arthur’s soul as he too basks in the sweetness of your melody while he drives at the front, melting it to the equivalent of the sludge of the snow. 

When Mr South Wind sighs in the pines

Old Mr Winter whimpers and whines

Down in the meadow, under the snow

April is teaching green things to grow

From prairies to creeks to small forests, your journeys take you in all sorts of places. The grass only grows greener, the sun only shines brighter, and the day is perfect when the wind is cool, too. More and more often are you and Arthur out of camp, and every time you return, Jack observes, you’re both in quite high and satisfied spirits. 

Arthur sits cross legged in a meadow just along one of the trails he takes to and from town filled with wildflowers. His journal sits in his lap, and he carefully sketches a scene not too far down from him. Just a few meters away do you sit with Jack by the wagon with your guitar on your leg as you sing affectionately, with grins plastered on both of your faces as you sway with the rhythm. 

When Mr West Wind howls in a glade

Old Mr Summer nods in the shade

Down in the meadow, deep in the brook

Catfish are waiting for the hook!

You participate in crafting jewelry out of the yellow flowers alongside the boy, using the back of your guitar as a makeshift table as you carefully pluck the dandelions and daisies surrounding you, watching one another as you weave the stems and excitedly present the final products to one another. Later, you’d teach him how he can store all kinds of leaves and flowers and herbs between the heavy pages of his storybooks. That was just the sort of thing you did; bring about this an innocent wonder and awe into peoples lives like no strange character Arthur has ever met; and he’s had quite his share of encounters with strange folk. 

He doesn’t remember the last time the world has brimmed with so much color, full of a kind of special magic. He finds it impossible to replicate the scene to perfection in his journal, but each additional detail--your tooth peeking out from your smile, the crescent shape of your eyes, the gentle dexterity in your hands-- reduces him to some sort of breathlessness.

And each time he picks up his book and flips back to his illustration, he returns to that beautiful day, the same feeling of sheer admiration returning with it, so maybe he didn’t do too terrible of a job.

Arthur's journal holds a dirty secret: that perhaps he was in love with you.

A fair portion of the pages were filled with sketches of you, whole portraits and mini doodles, of passages detailing your endeavours together, transcribed song lyrics of yours, and worst of all, the ever changing feelings of his toward you. They aren't very becoming from a man such as himself, but perhaps nothing good really was. A sort of guilt and hefty embarrassment weighed on his heart the more he reflected on it, too depressingly for a man who should be only elevated by the realisation. But what other than sorrow did love ever promise Arthur?

Old Lady Blackbird flirts with the scarecrow

Scarecrow is waving at the moon

Old Mr Moon makes hearts everywhere go bump, bump

With the magic of June

It’s Jack’s favorite part of the song because of a little smack! you give the body of the guitar over halfway through the verse, and he either claps or slaps his own knees along to the rhythm with a giggle. 

As dusk approaches the horizon, Jack finds the two of you sitting on the shore of the river just beside camp, and through the gaps between tall pine trees and tents with their equipment alike, Jack can see your legs thrown over Uncle Arthur’s lap. A gentle hand of his rests on your clothed thigh, smoothing down the fabric of your skirt as the other is placed behind him, keeping him upright. You play around with the placement of Arthur’s hat on his head. For whatever reason, it amuses you to no end, and the unimpressed look on Arthur’s face only fuels your laughter. Still, he’s only able to maintain the expression for a moment before it morphs into one of endearment. 

The water from the river sparkles behind the two of you as the scene unfolds before the boy’s eyes, and he’s forced to look away when he feels a tug at his arm.

“Oh, Jack, aren't you nosey? Let’s not bother Uncle Arthur right now,” his mother quickly ushers him away toward the opposite side of the camp, glancing between her son and the pair of you. “He’s busy.” 

Jack is able to spare one final glance over his shoulder in your direction, catch a glimpse of your foreheads resting against each other as your laughter subdues, before he turns away and allows his momma to lead him to help his pa with some of his chores. 

When Mr East Wind shouts over head

Then all the leaves turn yellow and red

Down in the meadow corn stocks are high

Pumpkins are ripe and ready for pie

Autumn, specifically, is an interesting time to be out and about. Arthur chaperones you and Jack on your scavenger hunt of various fall plants and beauties. The two of you point out the various colors in the trees and on the ground, the mushrooms growing between blades of grass, and the various herbs and flowers and crops that grow in the fields. Arthur doubles as a delightful treasure trove of knowledge, with some of the items already having a portion of his page in his journal dedicated to its likeness, and some he adds in as you go along. 

You entertain his insight as you walk arm in arm, and something about it is just so delightfully domestic, Arthur recognises, that it makes him feel like mush again.

For a moment, he nearly forgets what his life really is, what sort of gruesome deeds he’s responsible for, the consequences of this lifestyle, and he’s desperate to hold onto the moment. Innocent and peaceful, a life he's been unrightfully yearning after for a while now. The foraging all in all reaps well, yet Arthur can’t help but find the real reward in the way you lean your head against his arm as if he were a pillar of security, not an anchor that weighs you down.

Old Lady Blackbird flirts with the scarecrow

Scarecrow's waving at the Moon

Old Mr Moon makes hearts everywhere go bump-bump

With the magic of June

Unfortunately, the magic of the warm weather does not last forever. Yet not even the encroaching winter chill could freeze up the warmth in your chest. But it did nip at your fingertips--at your’s and Arthur’s and Jack’s. 

The groups joint efforts are relied upon a hundredfold when the snow starts to fall and the chill breezes through the flaps of the tents in the camps. Like a clock tower bell, it indicates that it’s time to up and move and find more secure shelter, with stronger walls and better furnaces. Somehow the bitter cold doesn’t leave a quiver in your heart, and it's proven when you sit on the edge of Arthur’s wagon with Jack and Abigail and your guitar in your lap as you strum through a melody for Jack’s entertainment. 

When Mr North Wind rolls on the breeze

Old father Christmas trims over trees

Down in the meadow snow shoftly gleams…

The lengthy trip wears everyone down eventually, and after an indefinite amount of time consolidating the various paths, the gang happens along an abandoned town in which to take refuge from Demeter’s grief. 

By the time you arrive at the safe destination to set up camp, the stars have made themselves visible in the sky. Arrangements are quickly made to set up camp and settle everyone into a room with a place to sleep, wagons being unloaded and horses tied to posts. Thankfully, the snow has ceased attempting to bury the gang in a thick blanket, and the winds howl has lulled to a short whistle. Arthur’s sleeping arrangement differs for the first time in years; Miss Grimshaw tells him he now shares a room with you. 

As it is your first time relocating, the move takes a harsh toll on both your physical and mental exhaustion. Along with young Jack at the back of Arthur’s wagon you both lie dead to the world with uncomfortable expressions. Abigail raises the boy into her arms when she comes around with a huff, cradling him close to her jacket. 

“Alright little man,” she tells him with an affectionate, exasperated tone as she turns to trudge to her cabin, “let’s get you to bed now.” 

Arthur turns to stare at you, hugging your body in an unconscious effort to keep even the slightest bit warm and relaxed, and for some reason cannot find the heart to wake you from your uneasy slumber. So he huffs, strides over, and situates an arm under your legs and another behind your back.

“C’mere, sleeping beauty…” he grunts as he lifts you in a similar fashion close to his chest, slowly making his way toward your shared cabin. “Didn’t realize you were so adverse to traveling.” 

Then again, it wasn’t anybody’s particularly favorite part of the lifestyle. 

Yet an endearing smile plays on his lips when you unconsciously snuggle closer to him, and he knows that the love in your touch and the song in your heart would keep him warm even after the thaw. 

…earth goes to sleep and smiles in her dreams...♡

return to masterlist.

➳ quality service

pairing: arthur morgan x reader

warnings: female reader, smut with a helping of fluff, bath sex, praise kink, arthur morgan being sexy and perfect (needs a warning bc… damn)

summary: Arthur has a surprise for you that results in some... antics.

word count: 6.1k

a/n: first rdr2 fic !!! this is unnecessarily long and very self-indulgent but i hope u all enjoy nonetheless <3

The saloon is loud tonight; bustling with businessmen clinking their drinks while laughing boisterously and young women nattering away to one another. The music is overshadowed by the noise, but people are dancing anyway. There’s enough going on in the area where you feel confident in slipping your fingers into the coat pocket of the man standing next to you, just to the left of the staircase.

Taking a sip of your whiskey, you carefully search with your other hand through the deep pocket; the man chatting away to his friend is none the wiser. The pads of your fingers touch a cold object, and as you slowly remove it from where it was snug in the gentleman’s coat, you smile to yourself upon seeing what you’ve accumulated: a platinum pocket watch.

Swiftly, you slip the finding into your own coat pocket, eyeing your victim one last time and making sure he hasn’t noticed the weight disappearing from his jacket. He hasn’t. Not yet, anyway. Of course, you’ll be long gone before he does. And to think, you never thought you’d be good at this. That Dutch Van der Linde and his gang could make a thief out of you.

Satisfied, you turn around, planning on looking around the saloon for the cowboy you’d seemingly lost. But as you turn away from the staircase, your heart plummets to your stomach and you gasp when your eyes meet with a broad chest, and then avert upwards to meet a pair of blue eyes you know very well.

Arthur chuckles as you swat his chest; you’re relieved to see him, despite being unimpressed with his re-emergence. “The hell is wrong with you?”

“Sorry, darlin’. Didn’t know you frightened so easily.”

“I don’t,” You huff. ”I just don’t like being snuck up on.”

“I wasn’t sneakin’,” Arthur says. ”I told you to wait at the bar.”

“Well, you was takin’ too long.” You shrug, pressing your lips to your glass and sipping your drink. Arthur eyes you for a moment, taking in your playful smile before shaking his head.

“My sincerest apologies, then,” He responds. Quickly, he snatches the drink from your hand and throws his head back, downing the rest of the strong liquid. You scoff, but don’t even have time to berate him for stealing the whiskey you paid for before he’s placing a hand on the small of your back, urging you out of the saloon. “C’mon,” He nods towards the exit, placing the empty glass down on a clear table. “Let’s get outta here.”

You let him guide you out of the building, the cool evening air hitting your face feeling instantly more calming than the ruckus going on in the saloon. You’re not the biggest fan of Valentine, but admittedly, you’re rather fond of the town at night. The street is quieter, there’s no one yelling at you to buy a newspaper or preaching about a religious organisation you’ve never heard of. It’s not hot and busy with wagons and horses, but there’s a chill in the air, and the street is quite pleasant to stroll down when there isn’t the risk of being knocked over by someone speeding down it with a cart full of goods.

Winding your arm around Arthur’s, you pull yourself close to him, looking over your shoulder at the saloon in confusion as you step down onto the street. “I thought you was taking us out for drinks?”

“I said I’d take you into town, didn’t I?” The man looks down at you. There’s a knowing look in his eye that makes you suspect there’s… something out of sorts going on.

“Sure…” You reply, knitting your brows. “Where’d you get off to, then?”

“Just sortin’ out some things,” The cowboy says nonchalantly, and when you don’t respond, he glances at your face, your puzzled expression prompting a smile to pull at his lips. “What?”

You quirk a brow. “Arthur, what are you up to?”

“I ain’t up to anythin’,” He claims, but you can tell he’s hiding something behind that smile. Arthur may be good at acting alongside Dutch and Hosea, but he is not a good liar. “What were you up to, anyway? I saw you slip somethin’ into your jacket. Good job I ain’t a lawman.”

Though you’re certain he’s evading your questions, you decide to play along. Reaching a hand into your coat, you pull out the pocket watch, getting a good look at it for the first time. The platinum is smooth against your fingers, and there isn’t a finger mark to be seen on the glass. It must’ve been brand new, poor guy.

You hold it in front of Arthur, smiling to yourself out of pride as you observe the watch tick. “Mary-Beth’ll be pissed; all the ones she picks up are only silvers.”

“Well, look at you,” Arthur nudges you lightly. “I remember when you wouldn’t even pickpocket a man with his bag wide open. Now, you’re robbin’ off the clock. Hosea’ll be proud.”

Your chest warms at his words. Hosea has spent a lot of time since you’ve been with the gang teaching you how to thieve from pockets and satchels belonging to businessmen and wealthy folk alike, even after Miss Grimshaw decided pretty early on that you’d be better off just carrying out camp chores under her supervision. He will be proud, you think.

You look up at the man through your lashes, slipping the pocket watch back into your coat. “Are you proud, Arthur?”

Arthur smiles knowingly. “You know I’m always proud of you.”

“Yeah, well I like hearin’ it.”

“Oh, I know you do.” The man lets out a laugh, and heat pools in your cheeks. Arthur Morgan, the tease. He likes to act all humble and oblivious, but he also has a habit of making your face flush and your heart race whenever he pleases.

It’s only now you realise that you’re no longer outside of the saloon, and the conversation has distracted you from where you’ve been walking. Looking up, you see that you’re both heading towards the hotel, and again, you’re turning to Arthur curiously.

“It’s a little early to be turnin’ in, ain’t it?”

“That’s why we ain’t turnin’ in just yet,” The blond says, walking the two of you up the steps to the hotel and pushing open the door, moving aside. “After you.”

“Arthur, what—?”

“After you, go on.”

You sigh, wanting to both laugh and scoff at his insistence. It’s as if you’re both actors and you’re not remotely following the script. Obligingly, you slip past him through the door, into the hotel reception. The door shuts behind you, and Arthur’s hand is then enveloping your own, pulling your past the reception desk.

Chuckling, you shake your head. “I know we ain’t exactly law-abiding citizens, but we at least need to pay for the—”

“Jesus, woman.” He suddenly turns around, raising a brow at you while squeezing your hand in his. “Do you trust me?”

You pout. “That ain’t fair.”

He gives your hand a tug. “We’re just down the hall, c’mon.”

Finding that your questioning is seemingly completely futile, you decide to simply shut up, and follow Arthur behind the hotel lobby and through the hallway. The baths are down here, you know that much. But they need paying for too, otherwise you’re not allowed in.

Except when Arthur pushes open one of the doors, it’s unlocked, and by the steam clouding the small window and the smell of soap filling the room, it’s obvious a bath has already been made up. Made up for the two of you, apparently.

But that’s not all. The shelf over the bath carries a bottle of expensive whiskey next to two glasses, alongside a large vase filled with vibrant pink tulips and a fresh bar of soap. Rose petals scatter the mat underneath the bath, and a few even float on the surface of the clear bath water.

You breathe a laugh, hearing the door shut behind you. Then, there’s a hand on your lower back, and you turn around to face the cowboy, who looks all too happy with himself at your reaction.

“Arthur Morgan, what the hell?” You say, looking between him and the scene in front of you, not knowing quite where to look or what to say. “Did you do this?”

He tilts his head to the side, smiling. “I may’ve had a part in it,” He turns you back around to look at the bath, the water still steaming hot. “Looks nice, don’t it?”

“It’s…” You trail off, stepping towards the bath and leaning forward, taking in the fresh scent of the tulips. “God, it’s just lovely.”

“Well, it’s all yours.”

Standing up straight, you look over your shoulder. Arthur takes off his hat and places it on one of the chairs to the side, his skin beginning to glisten from the steam. You blink, still in shock.

“They do all this for twenty-five cents?”

“God no,” The man laughs. “Nah, this was…”

“This was you,” You grin, slowly crossing the room to him. You wrap your arms over his shoulders, letting your fingers thread through the hair at the nape of his neck. “What did I do to deserve this, then?”

Arthur places his hands on your hips, letting his thumbs run over the bones there above your skirt. “You always deserve nice things. And I ain’t a man of grandeur, nor can I afford to be, but… I thought you’d like this.”

The smile on your face hasn’t gone away since you walked in the room, and you shove your grin into his neck, feeling like pure bliss as his arms move to envelop you. “Oh, Arthur… you great sap.”

The man grumbles against your shoulder, his beard tickling the bare skin there. “Guess I can’t even argue there.”

You could stand here forever, breathing in his scent and basking in the warmth of his embrace, and you’re sure Arthur realises this, as he pulls away after a few moments, nodding towards the bath. “Water’s gonna get cold, darlin’.”

Letting your hands fall from his shoulders, you frown. “I don’t want you to leave just yet.”

“Now, who said I was leavin’?”

It takes a few moments for you to assess the situation, but then it clicks, and you suddenly feel very… hot. The two whiskey glasses should’ve been a giveaway. Is it even allowed? Couples sharing a bathroom? Though, Arthur has a talent for convincing any man of anything when he looks at them with cold, hard eyes. But he isn’t looking at you like that now, no — his eyes are soft, matching the smile on his lips. 

Stepping back from him, you shrug off your coat, idly throwing it over a chair to the side. “You are somethin’ else, cowboy.”

He ducks his head, something he always does when he’s somewhat flustered. You smirk, your stomach bubbling with anticipation.

You begin unbuttoning the front of your dress, but a few moments later, Arthur’s large, calloused hand comes to rest over your own, and you look up at his face.

“Let me,” He says quietly, moving your hands aside and beginning to work carefully on the buttons himself. “You’re not lifting a finger tonight, alright?”

Nodding, you bite your lip, watching as the buttons come undone one by one. Eventually, Arthur is able to slide the rest of the dress down past your hips, and the garment falls to the ground. It’s not like the man hasn’t seen you in your underthings before, not to mention in much less, but it always feels like the first time you’ve been bare to him. The racing in your heart and the goosebumps on your skin make that clear.

You lift your arms when his hands move to the hem of your undershirt, pulling it from where it was tucked into your bloomers and riding it up your stomach, then past your chest and head. He even takes the liberty of folding it properly and placing it on the chair along with your coat, as if your dress isn’t currently a heap on the floor.

Half naked now, you purse your lips, feeling your nipples harden instantly even in the warm room. You wait patiently as Arthur folds your shirt, and his breath noticeably hitches when he comes back to stand in front of you. Lightly, he runs his thumb across your collarbone, then down the curve of your breast. You can tell he’s tempted to forget the warm bath and just have his way with you, but this isn’t about him.

He runs his hands down your waist and then removes the rest of your clothes, and once you’re fully bare to him, he lets out a long breath.

For a few moments, he simply rakes his eyes across your body, taking you in as if he hasn’t seen you like this countless times before. Then, he hums, leaning in to press his lips to the spot just underneath your right ear with a hand at your ribcage. “Beautiful.” He whispers, and your lips break into a grin despite yourself. Doesn’t seem so concerned about the bath cooling down anymore, you think. Lightly, you push against his chest.

“Water’s gonna get cold, darlin’.” You imitate his words from before, leaning forward to press a kiss to his jaw. Arthur reluctantly steps back and shakes his head, holding out a hand for you to take. You take it gladly, before lifting a leg and climbing into the bath, the hot water nipping at your ankle as you swing your other leg over.

Placing your hands on the sides of the porcelain tub, you sink into bath, a breathy sound leaving your lips when your body is almost fully submerged.

Arthur positions himself on the side of the bath, just in front of the shelf. “That feel nice?”

You nod, letting your head fall back against the tub. “Feels like heaven.”

“Mm, good.” The man responds, content with your answer. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, eyeing your exposed neck and parted lips. This is the closest he’ll get to heaven, he thinks, getting to see you like this.

Turning around, he picks up the whiskey bottle and twists off the lid, before pouring a small amount of the liquor into each glass. You lift one of your hands to retrieve your glass of whiskey, but Arthur holds up a hand, leaning forwards and bringing the glass to your lips himself.

“You weren’t kiddin’ about me not liftin’ a finger, then.” You grin against the glass, letting the man slowly tip the glass and pour a small amount of whiskey into your mouth.

“No, ma’am, I wasn’t.” He replies, pulling the glass back after a few moments and setting it back down on the bath shelf. There’s a drop of the spirit sitting on your bottom lip, and he bites the inside of his cheek when you swipe your tongue across it and sigh contentedly at the taste. He lifts his own glass then, taking a generous sip. This evening is supposed to be about your pleasure, and his stomach is doing somersaults just at the sight of your lips like he’s a goddamn teenager.

“Now that’s good whiskey,” You marvel, your voice bringing Arthur out of his thoughts. “We got the funds for that back at camp?”

“We can dream.” Arthur drawls, knowing he had to borrow some money out of the funds box just to buy one bottle. He’ll make it back, of course, before Miss Grimshaw notices his loan in the ledger.

You hum, shutting your eyes. “This feels like a dream. You’re like a dream, Arthur.”

You squint open an eye when you hear the man scoff, picking up the whiskey bottle momentarily and turning it over. “Christ, how strong is this stuff?”

“That ain’t the whiskey talkin’, you silly man,” You laugh, leaning forward to grab one of his hands, playing with his long fingers. “I mean it. How many other ladies get this treatment from their fellers, hm?”

Arthur shrugs, clearly discomforted by the attention suddenly turning to him. “Well, I wouldn’t know about any other ladies…”

Stifling a chuckle, you give his fingers a squeeze. He’s just so goddamn sweet, your cowboy. “Ain’t that good to hear.”

After a few moments, you reach for the bar of soap on the shelf, but once again, Arthur’s hand stops your from retrieving it. Instead of arguing, rather excited by the idea of the man washing your hair and scrubbing your body clean, you simply lean back in the tub and let him grab the soap.

It must take at least fifteen minutes for him to make his way down your body with the soap and his hands. First, he threads his fingers through your hair, working the soap from your roots to the tips of your hair; you almost fall asleep at the sheer feeling of his fingers massaging your scalp. Then, he brings the soap to your neck and chest, lathering it in his hands before smoothing it across your collarbones and shoulders. The soap trickles down the valley of your breasts, and Arthur bites his cheek and he runs a hand underneath one breast, lathering soap across it before doing the same to the other. He hears your breath hitch the moment his fingertips touch you there, and God, there’s a tent forming in his pants already.

He cleans across your arms, laces soap between your fingers, and then moves on to your lower body.

As he’s leaning forward to splay a hand over your stomach, you press a hand to his chest, and he pauses momentarily, looking down at you.

“Your shirt’s soaked.” You say, and it takes Arthur a moment to register your words considering all he can focus on is your long, wet lashes and glistening skin.

“Oh,” He replies after a few seconds, looking down and indeed seeing that his shirt had grazed the surface of the water while he’d been taking care of you. He glanced back over at you, before beginning his work again. “Doesn’t bother me, darlin’.”

But then you’re pressing a hand to his chest again, more insistently this time. “You’ve gotta take it off to dry, or it’ll still be wet in the mornin’—”

“It’s fine, really—”

”For God’s sake, Arthur. Will you just—” You drop your hand from his chest, pulling your knees close and resting your chin on them, eyeing the man through your lashes. “Will you strip off and get in here with me?”

Oh.

Arthur looks down at his soaked-through shirt again, then at you, staring at him so fuckin’ prettily that he’d be an absolute fool to decline you. 

“You sayin’ I could do with a bath?” He jokes dryly. This is meant to be an evening for you, and now… Jesus. You want him in there with you, skin to skin. Something about it seems so intimate that even he wants to ensure that you’re sure of yourself on this.

“Arthur, I wanna share this with you,” You say softly, bringing a dripping hand to his cheek. “You deserve this just as much as I do.”

If you had the time, Arthur could list a thousand reasons why that certainly isn’t true, and that a man like him shouldn’t be sitting in a bath of rose petals. But it’s your night, he guesses, and if this is what you want, then so be it. 

Not that he’s at all complaining about the change in his plans. As he stands and begins to unbutton his shirt, he revels in the smirk that overcomes your lips as you watch him undress. He chucks the shirt along with his pants over a different chair to where your clothes are, not bothering at all to fold them neatly like he did with yours, until he’s down to his underwear.

God, your legs feel weak despite the fact you’re sitting down. You leisurely take in the view; Arthur’s broad chest on show, lightly covered in hair that trails down his abs and below the waistline of his underwear. His thighs look strong and big as always. Every time you lay your eyes on them, even clothed, you’re hit with a desperate urge to sit yourself all comfy on his lap.

He’s quiet as he finally slips down his underwear, as if he knows your mind is running wild and it’d simply be rude to interrupt your train of thought. There’s an ache in your core as your eyes avert downwards; he’s half-hard.

The man takes a second to remove the bath shelf from over the tub, making more room for an extra person to slip in. You lick your lips despite yourself as Arthur then steps over to the tub, and shuffle yourself forward before he climbs right in behind you, one leg at a time.

He breathes a sigh of relief as he sinks into the hot water, his knees bending on either side of you. When he’s fully lowered himself in, you turn your body around and wrap your arms around his neck, your breasts pressed against his chest.

“This alright for you, girl?” Arthur says, his hands cautiously coming to rub up and down your back, gushing the bath water back and forth.

Smiling, you press your lips to his, wishing there was a way you could sink into his skin just to be impossibly close to him. His hands tighten on your waist, and you kneel forward, sighing into the man’s mouth as you feel the head of his cock graze over your lower stomach. Arthur pulls back then, smoothing a hand over the side of your face as you frown at the interruption.

“Let me finish taking care of you.” He says, though he’s rock fucking hard now from you being pressed so close against him. He wants nothing more than to dip his hand below the water and between your legs and really take care of you, but he’s a gentleman before he’s a man with needs. At least when it comes to you anyway.

“Do whatever you want with me, cowboy.” You breathe, turning your head in his hand and pressing a kiss to his palm. 

It’s meant to be your evening, you know, but what you want frankly is for Arthur to take complete control. The hot bath is wonderful, of course, but the only thing that can provide you with utter euphoric pleasure is him. Doesn’t he know that, after all this time? Surely after tonight, he will.

A low grumble elicits from the man’s throat, and he resists the debilitating temptation to lift you up and sit you right on his hard length, instead pushing you to sit back on the other side of the tub, and he grabs the soap again.

Starting at your left foot, he lathers his hands with soap and rubs them from your ankle to the tips of your toes. Then, he runs a soapy hand across your knee. He notices you sitting as stiff as a board, and he smiles to himself, knowing that you’re likely as worked up as he is.

Carefully, he starts working on your thigh, caressing the soft skin there as he slides soap from your upper knee all the way to your ass. It takes him all he has to not stop there and pull you right to him, instead controlling himself and doing the same process on your other leg.

You’re silent throughout the whole thing, eyeing his large hands smoothing soap over your wet skin, feeling your stomach tighten with every caress, your cunt throb with every stroke of his thumb against your inner thigh. You toy with your bottom lip between your teeth, controlling your breathing as best as you can while Arthur’s hands roam your bottom half, until you feel his fingers ghost over your lower stomach once again, and you just can’t take it anymore.

Quickly, you grab his hand, pausing his movement. His eyes meet yours then, dark and heavy with lust.

“Arthur, please.” You whimper, and well, that’s enough to make the man forget his self-control and completely give in to you.

He pulls you forward by the hand you took, onto your knees kneeling over him and pulling your lips down to his. You moan into his mouth, and God, his cock is hard. One of his hands moves to your breast, kneading it as he tilts his head further to the side, pushing his tongue into your mouth.

You push his shoulders back, pressing him against the back of the tub and climbing into his lap, straddling his thick thighs and almost sloshing water onto the mat below.

His name leaves your lips in a soft moan as his mouth latches to your neck, your skin tasting like both soap and salt. His left hand stays at your breast, thumb grazing over your nipple in a way that makes your mind fog up. At your hip, his other hand grinds you down onto him, your clit grazing against the shaft of his length, hard against his stomach.

After sucking a dark mark onto the delicate skin in the crook of your neck, Arthur pulls back, putting both hands on your hips now to move you against his lap.

“You’re so fuckin’ good,” He says against your collarbone, planting sloppy kisses there. “Such a fuckin’ good girl, ain’t you?”

A hand moves across your stomach, then trails lower, and you gasp and callous fingers press against your throbbing clit. Even under the water, he can feel the actual slick between your legs, the heavenly warmth of your cunt. In slow circles, he rubs two large fingertips against your bud. You grind onto his fingers, your mind clouded with the sensation of pleasure.

“Please.” Is all you can muster out, your hands tight on his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

“Please what, sweetheart?” Arthur utters, dipping his lips so he can press them to the swell of your breasts. “Tell me what you want.”

Against your clit, his fingers move faster. “I…” You sigh, attempting to rack your brain for a string of words you can say to make a coherent sentence.

“That’s it, girl. Use your words.” He speaks against your chest, large blue eyes looking up at you. If he was younger and maybe a virgin, he’d probably come at the sight of you right now. Your brows knitted, lips plump and parted eliciting broken sighs, your chest damp and nipples pebbled, a mark he made dark and bruised on your neck. Such a fuckin’ sight for sore eyes.

“Shit, Arthur,” You breathe, moving a hand to run through his blond locks. “I… I wanna ride you. Wanna ride your cock.”

It’s Arthur’s turn to moan now, a low sound against your skin. When he tells you to use your words, you use them, alright. But he loves that you’re honest, that you’re comfortable enough to tell him exactly what you want from him, and of course, he’s more than happy to provide.

And well, he also just loves that foul mouth of yours.

Swiftly, he slips a long finger into your pussy, and you gasp at the sudden new sensation. New, as if he hasn’t been knuckles-deep inside you too many times to count now. Yet it’ll never not feel like the best sex you’ve ever had. Each time is simultaneously utterly perfect yet somehow better than the last.

Another thick finger slides into you and you can’t help but grind onto the two fingers inside of you now, feeling them prod against the sweet spot deep in your cunt. Arthur’s lips move to your right nipple, circling it with his tongue as he curls his fingers just perfectly.

You drop your head, pressing your lips sloppily to his temple. “Fuck me, Arthur. You’re… you’re so…”

You’re not even sure which word you’re searching for, but maybe it’s already obvious to Arthur what he does to you by the way his fingers are pumping in and out of you so easily and by the sounds falling from your lips.

“Let me ride you now,” You mumble against his cheek, his scruff tickling your jaw. “Please, Arthur?”

Arthur pulls his mouth from your breast and looks up at you. Your eyes are teary with desperation, and when you clench around his fingers, he elicits a throaty noise, his hand at your ass lightly squeezing the flesh there.

Please. The damn word drives him crazy when you say it. When you breathe it in his ear while he has his fingers snug in your cunt, begging for his cock to replace them. When you say it after anything and everything, as if he wouldn’t give you the world and more if you only looked up at him through those pretty lashes.

So good. You’re just so good. Too good for him, in his opinion, but he’ll try his damn best to be what you deserve.

Slowly, he removes his fingers from your pussy. You frown at the empty feeling, but then Arthur presses his lips to yours, and suddenly you feel a sense of fullness again.

When he pulls back, he brings his thumb to run over your bottom lip. “Whatever you want, sweet girl. You wanna be fucked good and proper?”

You nod, grinding down on Arthur’s cock, prompting him to buck his hips upwards, his tip hitting your clit.

“Words, girl.” He warns, taking his shaft in his hand and pumping it slowly, relieving some of the frustration he’s had since you started unbuttoning your dress.

“Yeah, good and proper.” You say, lowering your mouth to his neck and kissing upwards from his collarbone to just below his ear.

A desperate whimper leaves your lips when there’s suddenly something running through your folds. Hiding your face in Arthur’s shoulder, all you can focus on is the throbbing of your clit as he rubs the head of his cock up and down your slick cunt.

“Wanna see you, pretty girl,” He rasps against your ear, sending shivers down your back. “Sit up for me.”

Obediently, you push your hands against his shoulders so that he can see your face again, and you don’t even have a moment to prepare yourself before Arthur is slowly pressing inside of you. He keeps a tight grip on your hips, slowly sinking you down his thick length, inch by inch. He’s always slow with this part, half because he wants to make sure he doesn’t hurt you, half because the feeling of your walls engulfing him is worth more gold than he could ever want.

Both of you inhale sharply once he’s fully sheathed inside of you, and Arthur’s grip on your hips is bruising. He catches your lips with his again, before he slowly lifts you up from his lap, beginning to move you up and down his length.

You let out soft whines against his mouth as you feel the head of his cock nudging against your sweet spot over and over, holding tightly onto his shoulders and helping him manoeuvre you up and down. You go slow at first, getting used to the stretch of his cock, pleasure shooting through your core each time he pulls you to his lap.

But as you gain your bearings, you find the strength to start controlling the pace. Against the pull of his hands, you begin rolling yourself down onto Arthur quicker. The man’s breaths grow heavier, his hands loosening on your hips. He moves one of them between your legs, sliding his thumb across your clit once again.

“God, you’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” He growls against your cheek, relishing in the sounds falling from your lips. “Prettiest damn thing I've seen, you ridin’ me like this…”

It’s overwhelming and amazing and obscene, the pleasure erupting in your core, Arthur’s other hand moving from your waist to your breast to your ass, wanting to feel everything all at once as he rubs your clit faster and faster, the bath water sloshing over the sides of the tub and making a mess on the floor. 

You bite your lip at his words, taking a hand from his shoulder and placing it on his jaw, stroking the scruff there. “So fuckin’ good, Arthur. Always fuck me so good.”

Arthur can act like he’s above getting hot and bothered just by some dirty words in his ear, but when say his name like that, especially while he has you bouncing on his cock, it drives him completely insane.

“Mm, that’s right,” He responds, beginning to buck his hips up in rhythm with the rolling of your hips. “Always take me so well, don’t you, darlin’?”

Teary-eyed, you nod quickly, feeling your climax gradually creeping upon you. The water that originally levelled at your chest is now barely kissing your navel, and it’s now sweat rather than water spreading a light sheen over your chest and face.

Pulling you with him, Arthur leans right back against the tub, and you’re pressed close against his chest once again. The new angle allows him to fuck deeper into you as he moves his mouth to nibble on your neck again. You practically cry into his shoulder, the pain and pleasure being all too much.

“You’re alright, girl,” He soothes, his lips moving against your neck. “You’re nearly there.”

He’s right. Your legs are trembling either side of his thighs, and your cunt is clenching tightly around him involuntarily. The gruff sound of his voice makes your heart swell with adoration for him. You think his voice could get you through just about anything, and the way he praises and assures you like it’s second nature, that alone is enough to tip you over the edge.

Arthur’s getting close too, you can tell. His brows are deeply furrowed and every rock of your hips into his prompts a guttural sound from his throat. You could just about do this forever, draw Arthur Morgan to his high over and over again so that all he knows is divine pleasure. It’s what he deserves, you think. It’s what he deserves for everything he’s done for you, anyway.

It happens before you can register it; Arthur ruts impossibly deep into you, hitting just the perfect spot, and with a final swipe of his thumb against your clit, you’re coming apart right before him.

“Mm, there you go,” Arthur raspily guides you through it. “Atta girl…”

The man watches it happen with pleasure. Revelling in the hearty moans falling from your lips, in the contortion of your expression as you ride through the climax, in the pride that he did that. He made you come right around his cock, his sweet girl. 

Just as you’re coming down from your orgasm, Arthur feels himself about to unload. You whine as his hands grab your waist and slam you onto him a few more times, even the slightest pressure on your sensitive clit making you shudder. But the pain is enjoyable when his thrusts are sloppy and slowing down and you know he’s about to come.

With one final rut, Arthur quickly palms himself and removes his length from inside you, and suddenly hot white strings are shooting from his tip, decorating your stomach. You smile lazily as he moans lowly, milking his cock and watching as he makes a mess on you.

Within a few moments, the two of you are quietly catching your breath, and entirely spent. Tiredly, you sit back properly on Arthur’s thighs and let your head rest against his shoulder, feeling utterly content as two strong arms come to wrap around your body, and a long kiss is pressed into the crook of your neck.

“I have to say,” You breathe into his chest, running your hand over his stomach. “I ain’t ever had service like that here before.”

Arthur huffs a chuckle, trailing a hand down your back. “I’d damn well hope not. That part of the service was meant for the room we got rented, anyway.”

“Well, the night is still young,” You smile up at him, reaching up to kiss his jaw. “And you ain’t that old…”

Truthfully, you can feel his cum still sticky and trickling down your stomach, and you aren’t exactly… unaroused by it.

An amused grumble vibrates in his chest, and he squeezes your waist, leaning forward to reach around you and grab the discarded bar of soap at the other end of the tub.

“C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

You smirk into his chest, and he must be able to sense the smug expression on your face.

“Again.” He adds.

SELF INSERT BULLSHIT I LOVE THEM IDC

day 24, primal play

arthur morgan x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie, spanking, dubcon but they're roleplaying, medium/low honor arthur, public sex, bondage kinktober ☠︎︎ main masterlist ☠︎︎ read on ao3

It was a stupid game, really, and you truly shouldn’t be away from camp for such a long time. You tried to justify your absence by robbing and hunting as much as you could. This week, however, you were the one being hunted. 

The rules were simple. Arthur would give you a day head start as you got as far away from camp as you could, and he would track you and eventually ‘catch’ you. You were careful not to make this game last longer than a week. The need to ravish each other and the obligation to be at camp were both too great to deny yourselves for too long. 

In the beginning, you’d leave Arthur little gifts for him to find along the way. They’d have clues as to where you were going or small tidbits of the things you wanted him to do to you. He always made sure to keep your fantastical writings and make them a reality. 

It was the anticipation that kept you on edge for as long as the game lasted. You never knew whether the rustling you heard was just the wind or Arthur coming to claim his prize. 

You knew it was risky to turn your back, even just for a moment. Your fears came true when the familiar cool metal of a blade was pressed against your throat. You hadn’t even heard him come up behind you. 

“Now you oughta know better,” Arthur’s gravelly voice murmured against the shell of your ear. “Pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be all alone out here… Not with dangerous outlaws running ‘round these parts.” 

He dragged his knife slowly down your front, tracing every little dip and curve of your chest. You were ashamed by just how much his actions riled you up. He wrapped his bicep around your neck, keeping you trapped against him, as his knife trailed across the tops of your thighs. 

“You one of ‘em?” you questioned, pressing your ass into his groin. 

You felt the scratchy fabric of his bandana brush against the side of your neck as he pressed his nose against you, breathing in your scent. 

“Some would say that,” he hummed before sliding his knife into the holster on the back of his belt. Your body hummed with excitement and something… more. 

The rope of his lasso hit the back of your thigh, and he removed it from his belt with his free hand. “Hands behind your back, darlin’,” he ordered, and you wriggled against his grasp, feigning to put up a fight. 

He looped his foot around your ankle and brought you to kneel on the tall grass before pushing you to the ground. You thrashed in his grip as he settled his weight on your bottom half, and wrestled your hands behind your back, tying them together. 

“What are you doing?” you whimpered, tugging against the rope that bound your wrists. 

Arthur shimmied down to rest on the backs of your thighs and spread his hands across your ass, kneading the flesh there. “Little thing out here for the taking,” he murmured as his hands trailed up your sides and slid under you to grope at your breasts. 

You bit your lip, attempting to stifle the whine that threatened to escape you at his touch. He lifted himself so he was hovering over you and pulled your hips up so your ass was in the air, inviting his touch. 

He slid a hand across your calf and then under your skirt. His calloused fingers drug over the smooth skin of your thighs before moving to caress your clothed heat. You gasped as he teased you through the thin fabric of your undergarments. 

The unsheathing of his knife caused your ears to prick up and you felt the familiar cool metal of the blade pressed against your neck once again. 

“Gonna keep quiet for me, darlin’?” Arthur questioned as he used his free hand to tug your undergarments down your legs, leaving you bare for him. You gasped as the cool night air brushed against your cunt. 

You nodded quickly, “Yes, anything you want.” 

“That’s what I thought,” he hummed, satisfied with your answer. 

At the clinking of his gun belt leaving his hips, you pressed your core against him whining at the feeling of the rough denim of his jeans against you. He was quick to free his weeping cock from his jeans. He stroked himself once and then twice before sliding his length between your folds, eliciting a breathy moan from you. 

He leaned down so his chest was pressed against your back. “So wet for me, darlin’. You want this outlaw to use this pretty little cunt of yours?” he said as his breath fanned across your cheek, having pulled down his bandana at some point during your encounter. 

He didn’t give you enough time to answer before he was pushing his cock inside you, inch by aching inch. You groaned at the way he stretched you, the sharp prick of him entering you had you squirming. 

He pushed your thighs further apart with one of his knees as he began to rock his hips against yours. 

“Shit, darlin’,” he hissed with the slow drag of hips leaving you a moaning mess under him. “Should tie you up more often.” 

Each rut of his hips was deeper and harder, filling the open air with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and Arthur’s soft grunts. He moved his knife away from your neck and trailed it down your back, the tip of it leaving goosebumps in its wake. He moved to drag his knife over your clothed breasts, each thrust of his hips pressing the blade dangerously close to your skin.

With his free hand, Arthur reached around you to rub harsh circles around your clit. His pace was brutal, but you loved every second of it. He tossed his knife to the side, opting to grip your hip with one hand while the other stroked your clit.

A jolt ran through your being as a harsh smack lands across your ass, earning a yelp from you. Arthur was quick to run a soothing hand over the reddened flesh as his hips stuttered against yours. 

“Good girl,” he grunted, and his praise went straight to your core. 

He landed three more smacks across your ass before you were cumming harshly on his cock, squeezing him in a vice grip while your orgasm ripped through you. Each drag of his hips through your heat was bringing him closer to the brink as his pace increased. He came with a strangled groan as he filled you to the brim, his white hot load coating your walls. 

You relished the feeling of him inside you. His cock twitched as he came down from his orgasm and his hips slowed. Within a few moments, he was pulling out of you and a whine was escaping your lips. You loved the feeling of his cum dripping out of you and covering your thighs, and Arthur groaned at the sight. 

“So beautiful,” he hummed as his fingers danced across your thighs. 

You rolled onto your back, grinning, “Think this was the quickest you’ve caught me.”

Arthur grunted, “I had Charles teach me a few tricks. Told him I needed some help hunting.” 

You laughed as you looked up to the stars. You’d have to give Charles your thanks.

I put way too much effort into this I think

IN WHICH MANEATER!reader admits their feelings for the van der linde boys. [p.2] [p.1]

includes: charles ∿ lenny ∿ sean ∿ bill

content warning: fluff, a little angsty in bill’s part, no pronouns [GN]

a/n: i think half of them are so ooc nd im so sorry omdgshjq i’m still trying to figure out how to write for lenny and sean but i promise i’ll get better with time 🦾

✦ ﹒ charles smith

you caught him off guard, that's for sure..

charles is used to being perceived as intimidating and scary, considering his origins and his size, but that's what you like about him.

he never noticed how you'd stare lovingly whenever he'd explain his cultural way of hunting down animals or practice some other things.

and you never noticed how much he had to turn his head away when he saw you flirting men according to dutch's plan. but charles have dignity, and would admit to have found himself jealous every time you'd coo love words out of those pretty lips of yours.

probably needs time to acknowledge that you're dead serious about this relationship, and really looking forward to it. he's not against it tho, he's just.. surprised.

be ready because those massive hands of his are never leaving your waist the moment he gracefully accepts your confession. like never ever. and he doesn't have any shame either, and maybe he'll refrain from being too much of a sweetie in camp for your sake, given you can be easily embarassed if he surprise you with his loving demeanour, but he won't hold back as soon as the gang members are away.

"my mother taught me all the ways to treat a lover.. i hope it'll meet your expectations."

unfiltered romantic. it makes you blush how much he says the most romantic thing out of pocket and pretend like that never happened.

your name is the only thing that comes out of his mouth every now and then, you know because arthur keeps mentioning how much charles talks about you as if you were the only beautiful thing that's plaguing his mind.

✦ ﹒ lenny summers

lenny is so flustered, i'm sorry, god, he's baby

he probably stammered like a fool after you confessed, why wouldn't he? you're perfect, so perfect and he's just some kid, trying to be a big bad outlaw. perhaps that's what you like about him. he's nervous like a little kitty, and lord knows how much nervous men makes your day.

"i- i.. ahem.. yes, yes, of course!"

you made him so embarassed, i hope you're proud of yourself.

he'll struggle telling you how jealous he felt, it didn't really struck his mind first before you even confessed, i mean, sure he did think you were charming, but he never really bat an eye at your work.

he only got feelings because you were fun to listen to, you didn’t notice how he’d watch you every time you went on your drunken rants. it’s only recently that you found out according to karen.

for most of the part, lenny would rely on you. i mean you can’t blame him, you’re popular. in a way, you are, you’re like dutch. you have a lot of contacts, and charisma, he’s been a bystander. he’s pretty awkward, he doesn’t know what to do, but you find it cute, somehow.

of course, he’ll start to man up eventually when he feels more confident by the time you’ve shown him what you’re most comfortable with in terms of love languages, and he easily adapts himself to it. i mean, he absolutely loves spending time with you, and the amount of patience you put in for him really melts his heart in a way, but he’ll never admit it. ever.

depending on what you’re most comfortable with, lenny would gladly ride all the way to saint-denis for the simple wish of getting you something expensive, or even bring you along with him so you get to choose what you want. something he didn’t expect to see is you using your flirtatious ways of getting an item for free.

“you really know how to fool a man.. please don’t make a fool out of me.”

✦ ﹒ sean macguire

“ha! i knew ya’d fall for me!”

absolutely did not know you’d fall for him.

sean likes to be confident, at least he likes to appear confident. but often mix things up with arrogance, and if you were to call him out on that, he would tone it down a little. he doesn’t mean to be rude to you, he’s genuinely happy, he just doesn’t know how to properly express it.

sean have a loud mouth, and he didn’t hide the fact that he was getting irritated when men were attracted to you, often times he’d be barked at by arthur or john for fucking up your plan for being jealous. he never understood it, he thought he was being a gentleman chasing those creeps away.

he’s a comedian, on accident. you don’t know how to describe it but there’s something really sweet in seeing him ramble to the point where he’s humorous like that. you guess that’s how you fell for him. sean is so honest. and so dumb, too.

what you most love, is when he gets drunk. that’s where he starts to be overwhelmingly affectionate. and the gang teases you about it, but you couldn’t care less. he’s adorable that way! why would you make fun of something as precious as his honesty? especially when he’s slurring on his words, too?

he’s not a charmer with words, and he knows it. that’s why the best he could do to prove his love is by teasing or joking around with you, he’s trying his best.

“these english men keeps bullyin’ ya… just tell me! i’ll shoot ‘em right between thei’ eyes, yeah?”

he wants to look strong and fearless for you, he wants to impress you in every way he can. sometimes, you’d see him getting angry about the fact that he lost something, wether i’d be a fist fight or a game, but the moment he sees you, he gets embarrassed.

you’re the only one who can reassure him that what he failed to achieve doesn’t matter much, the effort is more important.

✦ ﹒ bill williamson

doesn’t believe you. at all.

bill was always made fun of, or teased by others to get a rise out of him. and he doesn’t believe you, because he thinks it’s just another way to make him mad. but he can’t help and think how evil this is, using you, someone he truly admire, to pick on him?

when you insist that you’re not joking, bill starts to get angry. not at you, but it’s just the way he is, he’s trying his best but he’s still in doubt.

given your reputation with men, and how many times he have to ignore you on duty, he just think it’s purely for the entertainment of seeing him falling like a fool. williamson is someone who’s not joking around, and that you know.

“if you love me, why would you?” he snaps. then immediately regrets. he doesn’t wanna lash it out on you, and he’d drink himself to death if he’s actually convinced that you love him that way.

he wants to apologize, but no words are leaving his mouth. and there’s an unbearable amount of pressure on his shoulders by this point, but when you take your time and explain to him the reason behind your fondness, he softens up a tad.

you had the patience to deal with him, surely you were serious?

“fine. i believe you. but i’m warning you, if this is some sick joke, i’ll—… i’ll…”

he won’t do anything.

for the past few weeks, you’ve been awfully affectionate towards him to prove your point. and he complains about it, tho he secretly enjoy having your full undivided attention. every time dutch planned to take him for a mission, you’ve been prepping his saddle and equipments, and when he came back, you’ve welcome him back with your arms open.

and while you were acting like some kind of stay-at-home spouse, bill would be silently protective over you. when you have to talk to men and women and fake another of your identity to wrap them around your finger, bill would silently sit at a table nearby and watch carefully, making sure no one lays a finger on you.

and when you thank him for his care through kisses, all you hear are grumbling noises and a little “you’re welcome”.

he’s just an angry worked up man, but you love him for it. (surprisingly!)

EVERY DAMN TIME!!

Early Morning Breeze

arthur morgan x f!reader ꔫ 9.7k ꔫ emotionally fueled smut, icky gooey lovey-dovey stuff for thou // based off of the Dolly Parton song // religious themes

A/N: this is my first rdr2 fic & my first post on tumblr & english is not my first language so critique is highly encouraged

You sniffle, forearm coming up to wipe away stinging tears clinging to lashes. 

A rough exhale escapes your lips, and you can feel the sweeping glance Abigail sends you. Sniffling again, you press the heel of your palm to an eye, the other shut just as tight. 

“Guess a couple’a vegetables is all it takes to get you cryin’,” she jokes, cleaver slicing off the head of a trout; her apron stanches the briny blood, scales scattered across her forearms like small slivers of moonlight. 

“Onions,” is all you can muster as you finally allow yourself to turn away from the cutting board. You turn your face upward, cracking reddened eyes open to peer at the sky. 

Big clouds– white, ozonated mountains beyond imaginable reach– float by lazily. 

Another sniffle escapes you, but the dam of your eyes has been rebuilt, and the tears secede. Your sinuses still burn though, sending a horrible ache to the back of your throat. 

Swallowing, you return to chopping onions. 

Other than Abigail’s humming and the incessant clucking of hens in the distance (Grimshaw and chickens alike), the camp is quiet. 

Shady Belle is certainly an improvement to dirt-ridden tent floors and crickets in your pillow, but it’s rather gloomy at times. You’re sure that it’s simply the haze of Bayou Nwa and the spectral creeping of ivy along chipping, gray paint. But it would be foolish, and most of all, naive, to ignore the simmering discomfort lingering under everyone’s skin. 

Kieran’s death. Jack’s kidnapping. Dutch’s… nerves, if you were to give it a name. 

Arthur feels it, and so do Abigail and Hosea, but all four of you are unwilling to mention his waning psyche for fear that it’ll only darken the already half-lit moon of his mind. It isn’t worth it. 

And frankly, Arthur’s loyalty to Dutch is suicidal. 

He will hem and haw, but in the end, orders are followed with abandon. Loyal to a fault, you tell him. It’s all I know, he says back, gently smiling as if an inside joke has been said. This ol’ dog can’t learn new tricks, and he’ll chuckle wryly at the quip, head shaking like the sins of the world have been settled and folded into the intestines of his mind. 

You can only let him wallow for so long when he gets like that. 

Though you’ve learned (after too many years as friends and a few more years as something quaintly more) how to put an end to it: a routine. Artfully mastered, a precariously balanced act that includes a succinct scold paired with a slap to his shoulder before pressing a soothing kiss to his cheek as he grovels over his journal like an overgrown child. 

But another layer to the quiet and unease around camp is unarguably Micah's presence. Filthy, bastard leech of a man. Suckling away at Dutch’s good faith. 

The fifth horseman of the apocalypse: treachery.

The way he saunters about is simply nauseating— skinny fingers pricking and prying into people’s souls. And he’s always been particularly taken with you. Disappointingly. 

Micah finds sheer amusement in laying out your arteries on cork board, needles stabbing; displaying your heart like a prize butterfly, blood glittering like topaz stained glass. 

It was simply infatuation at first, back all those months ago. 

A game he had played with many women before and one you brushed aside easily. And then he discovered that you and Arthur were something— and Micah became a true savage, fueled by both contempt and his peculiar fascination with having taken women. 

Even now as he makes his rounds with the gang, purposefully adding to the gloom, his eyes linger on your figure. 

Micah veers closer, and you take a step towards Abigail. Her shoulders straighten, so do yours– a useless attempt to create some sort of fortress. He’s approaching in your peripheral and Abigail slams her cleaver down onto another trout, a singular clawed scale landing on your blouse. 

You’ve moved from onions onto potatoes, your knife cutting away skin in precise shallow strokes.

When he’s close, Micah says your name– a horrible rasp of letters strung together by cigar smoke and glowing ash– the depths of hell holed up in his esophagus. You ignore him. And in turn he grins wildly, as if presented with riches beyond King Midas’ imagination. Your jaw clenches, eyes set on the knife and the naked, golden flesh in your palm. 

“How’s Morgan’s broodmare?” 

Abigail side eyes him. Your next slice is thicker than the last, heavy handed, taking off more flesh than you’d like. A waste. 

“Or has he moved on after all these years? Got tired of the same fuck.” 

You set the nude potato aside, picking up a new one. You imagine it’s Micah’s prick: dirt ridden and calloused. You begin to skin it too, taking extra care to needle out any dark spots. 

“Been awhile since he’s been back in camp too. Makes you wonder.” 

“Oh piss off, Micah,” Abigail hisses, her cleaver resting threateningly against the dark wood of the table. A sharp, glaring warning. 

His smile widens. 

He shifts his stance, shoulders slackening as his thumbs hook on the flap of his pockets. “Hit too close to home? Remind you too much of Johnny and how he ran off?” 

“Micah,” you finally interrupt, picking up a new potato. “Shut up.” 

“So that’s how I get you to talk.” 

You stay silent, returning your attention to vegetables and other honeyed daydreams of skinning the Devil alive. 

“Ignoring me again.” His eyes linger, thinking of horrifically creative ways to dissect and tear you apart as you stand. “Wouldn’t you be worried though? He’s been gone for a week.” The statement is mocking and cruel. 

He wouldn’t know what concern was if it ate his face off, ravaged his eyeballs and devoured his tongue. 

Abigail glowers, this time pointing the cleaver at Micah. “Yer just jealous.” 

Micah sneers, the cylinder in his revolver shaking off a warning like a rattlesnake curling up to bite. “Jealous of what Miss Roberts?” 

“Jealous she ain’t with you.” 

Micah opens his mouth to retort something evil and violent, obvious in the way his pupils have contracted, gray eyes gone silver with wrath. You stab the knife into the cutting board, punctuating the air. 

Both of them have stilled, turning towards you. 

“Quit it.” You snarl. Abigail gives an apologetic look, but not before sending Micah another scowl. She’s back to chopping off fish heads. 

And Micah, damn him, always needing the last word spits out a, “Bet he got himself killed,” before he rushes away, seething and gnashing his teeth. 

It’s quiet again. 

You get through six more potatoes before speaking. “You didn’t have to do that.” It’s a gentle chide towards Abigail, one that makes her huff.

“I just hate how he talks to us. ‘Specially you. And I hate how you don’t do anything.” Her hands wring together harshly, not having any more trouts to dismember. 

“It’s best to ignore him. He gets off on it, the sick freak.” You keep your gaze fixed on your work. 

Abigail relents, fingers stilling momentarily. 

Her gaze rises, eyes trained on Jack’s small silhouette at the far edge of camp, playing in the weeds and brambles. He seems completely ignorant to such plights. What bliss. 

Abigail’s raised him well. 

“Ain’t ya worried though?” She says suddenly, spinning to look at you. You pause your ministrations, glancing into her perturbed blue eyes. “I mean,, well, Micah had a point, I guess.” She’s annoyed at the admittance, even if it is her own. “Arthur’s been gone for a while. It ain’t like him.” 

You sigh. “It is like him,” your teeth chew at the flesh of your cheek, “but you’re right. He wouldn’t leave for a week without saying something.” 

Abigail nods but her fingers have knotted and tangled once again. “Hunting trip?” 

“Yeah, but with how long he’s been gone you’d think he’s trying to take down an entire herd of angry caribou in heat.” 

She snorts. “He would try. Strong enough for it.” 

“Bullheaded, that’s what he is.” And you scowl, starting to dice the potatoes far too quickly; bound to cut yourself. Abigail sends you a sympathetic, knowing smile. 

“So you are worried.” 

“Whatd’ya mean?” 

“I mean you ain’t as calm and cool as yer pretendin’ to be.” 

You continue chopping away, somehow not having cut yourself. Years of practice you suppose. 

“Course I’m not. I’m always worried when it comes to him.” 

Abigail snorts. “Well, ya never act like it.” 

“Because if I act like it,” and you finish dicing off the last potato, ‘then that means something bad would actually be happening’, “then who would you have to talk to when you’re worrying?” And you give a knowing smirk.

She laughs, shaking her head, hands coming to a rest. You feel your own face brighten to a smile. 

That’s the way it is with her; with all the girls. Quilted conversations complaining about men and life and backaches all riddled with coy smiles. 

The breeze picks up then, and Jack comes tumbling along it, hands rusted with the red Lemoyne dirt and beaming at his mother like a little sun; too bright; seen without looking. 

His eyes barely peek over the table, but he’s determined, placing a bundle of messy daisies next to dismembered fish, yet to be fileted. 

“For you Mama,” he adds with his gift, hands clutching the edge of the table to watch her. And Abigail smiles tenderly, picking the flowers up. They drip, raw with dew and fish blood. She tries, ever so delicately, to wipe away the crimson stain on their petals. 

“Thank you kindly, Jack,” she says. And he gives a toothy grin and runs off— on the breeze once again. Abigail ponders the daisies for a moment before offering you one with a teasing smile. “M,lady,” she jests, giving a sloppy curtsy. A true country princess. You snort, but fawn delighted shock, pricking the flower from her nimble fingers. 

“Oh how romantic,” you add, putting a hand to your chest. Pocketing the daisy, Abigail does the same with hers, now fully smiling. 

And with a few giggled words you separate; the chores around camp  looming as Grimshaw’s eyes sharpen into blades, her tongue preparing to tear you both apart. 

You help Tilly with the laundry. 

Karen and you care for spare guns. 

Under the shade, you patch up holes in socks and shirts and handkerchiefs all while Mary-Beth tells you about her new book— a romance, of course— about an outlaw and upper class woman finding love. 

It makes you snort.

Amusement brewing in agitated, annoyed swirls in your chest as you’re reminded of Mary.  

You’re too smart to be reading those kinds of things, you tell her, needle pricking your finger as you push it into the cotton of Dutch’s union suit. She shrugs; tells you she likes it. 

You don’t blame her. You used to too. 

And the sun has begun to set, casting long shadows on long faces after a long day. And people begin returning. 

Javier and Bill from a home robbery. 

Lenny with a wagon of purchases from Saint Denis. 

John and Sadie each with a few rabbits in hand. 

But no Arthur. 

It’s a bit disheartening.  Like a sunshower with no rainbow. What’s the point of the rain then? 

You’ve grown anxious, your hands fussing the linen of your apron though there’s nothing to wipe away. And you don’t have the stomach to eat or the heart to make conversation— so as the gang begins settling in for the night you grab a basket, your revolver, and leave. 

Charle’s, keeping watch, eyes you like a ladybug in winter, but keeps quiet. 

You thank him with a glance. 

And you’re not stupid. You know it’s dangerous in Bayou Nwa— whether it be under God’s sun or the Devil’s moon— crawling with bipedal predators and freaks of nature beyond comprehensible understanding. Arthur has warned you. Don’t you go out, firm words with even firmer hands on your shoulders. Not without me.

But you go.

You need to, if only to catch your breath; to steel yourself away from prying eyes if he doesn’t show up for yet another week. 

And in the tall, marsh grass and bundles of cattails you’ve found something quiet and private; a place where you can crouch and pick away at plants with a frown you don’t have to hide. 

And your fingers are shaky and uncalculated as you rip apart the oleander and sage, like a newborn colt, teetering across grass. You shove the foliage into your basket as if it took Arthur away personally. As if they’ve laced their way into his veins, choking and drying him out. 

You’re upset, but you won’t cry, obviously. There’s no reason to, it’s hysterical and ridiculous, but you’re frustrated.

Because even if Arthur is painfully terrible at communicating, he at least has always told you how long he’d be gone for. 

It’s a luxury you’ve gotten used to. And out of all the silks, jewels, and luxurious baths the world offers, it is your favorite.

The promise of his return. 

“Yer mutterin’.” 

The voice would’ve made you jump if it weren’t for the far too familiar rumble of it. Too often has it soothed you and brought you to climax for it to scare anymore. 

You look at Arthur over your shoulder, glaring. “I do not mutter.” 

“Sure ya do,” he says, stepping over a log to reach you. 

His horse stands in the distance behind him, grazing and chuffing indignantly at the occasional alligator. Flighty things, horses are. Arthur’s is braver than most. 

You turn back around before said man reaches you, hands resuming to the ripping and the pulling and the tearing. 

“I told ya not to come out here without me,” he’s standing right behind you now. 

“I know,” you grunt. And it’s quiet— heavy under the screeching of crickets and cicadas— until Arthur sidles his shins up to your skirts and places his hands on your shoulders, leaning. 

“Yer mad.” 

“I am not mad.” 

“Sure ya are.” 

“I am not,” and you look up, seeing him gaze out into the bayou with a gentle smile. “I’m annoyed,” you correct. 

“Did Reverend chat ya up again?” And he chuckles, stepping aside to finally crouch beside you. 

His knee brushes against yours, a touch starved way of saying hello.  Under the golden sky, his blue eyes have filtered into grays and greens, seafoam and jade alike. 

He looks tired but that pleasant smile is still there; too happy with your presence to be bothered by such ridiculous notions as the human need for sleep. And as much as you’d love to sooth the eyebags away, you continue frowning. 

“You may be surprised to learn that Reverend was astonishingly quiet. For a week.” You add the last part roughly, hoping Arthur gets the message. 

For a second, you think he doesn’t. 

But then his hand raises, the pad of his thumb passing over the furrow of your brow. Achingly attempting to pacify you. To tell you he’s sorry. 

“What’d I do this time?” And his voice rumbles over the question, soft and sweet, a tone he takes only with you. You sigh, turning back to the plants. 

His hand retracts as you pick away at the leaves, but his eyes are heavy on your face, as if he trying to kiss you with just his gaze. 

You’re sure he wishes. 

“I just don’t like when you leave like that without telling me, or anybody really,” you say. And with Arthur, you always keep things succinct and out in the open because lord knows he won’t read between the lines. 

He’s not like you, where you can tell he’s in a bad mood just by the way he drinks his coffee in the morning. 

And Arthur takes a deep inhale, and then an exhale. “Yeah, I know.” 

You look up, raising a brow. 

“Sorry,” he coughs and you know it’s the most you’ll get out of him. It’s always that way with Arthur. Hands-on approach. Not much in the way with words. 

The only way he failed Hosea. 

“Abigail was worried too,” you add absentmindedly, finally letting yourself dawdle a bit now that he’s by your side again. 

Arthur scoffs. “She’s always worryin’ about somethin’. Jack, John, you, me.” 

You can’t argue with that, but you can’t blame Abigail either because you worry too. You just hide it better. 

And you look up, less angry this time. 

He left with a stubble and has returned with a beard. And though you’re sure his hair hasn’t grown much in a week, you notice the way the sandy blond locks brush against his shoulders— like golden willow on blue hills. 

Finally, you acquiesce. 

Your own hand raises, reaching out. And before you can even touch him, his fingers brush against the skin of your forearm. Ferns to sunshine.

You meet his cheek, wiping away at a smudge of dirt before tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear and hat. 

“Your hair’s gotten long.” 

Arthur looks amused, leaning into your palm not unlike the way a puppy does. 

“Want me to cut it?” 

You shrug. “That’s up to you. But at least take care of this.” And now both hands are on his cheeks, rubbing childishly over his beard. You beam at the way his nose crinkles. 

“Wha’ I thought you liked my beard?” 

“Not when it’s this long. You’d give me a rash every time you kiss me.” 

Arthur smiles, dropping his head to laugh quietly. 

And you stand, hand reaching to pick up your basket, but Arthur already has it in his grip, rising too. 

“Oleander. Sage.” He notes expertly. You hum. “Tryin’ to poison someone?” He asks. 

“You,” is your easy reply as you step away from him and to his horse. He follows in a pavlovian fashion, well trained. 

“That mad about me leavin’ huh?” Long strides quickly bring him to you, arm brushing against shoulder. 

“I wasn’t mad. I was annoyed,” you correct once again.

Arthur makes an entertained sound as he grabs for his horse’s reins. You finally notice all the carcasses strapped to the poor creature. A doe, a fine pelt, geese and rabbits hooked here and there. “Ya missed me?” He teases.

And before you can snort and tell him off, he leans down to kiss you. His hand cups the back of your neck gingerly; giving you all the ability to pull away if you’d like. 

But you don’t. You never would. 

Instead, your eyes slip closed as Arthur presses further. His lips are uncomfortably chapped, dried from the days on the road but so incessant in their need to feel you that you wouldn’t dare tell him to stop. 

Instead your hand rises to hold his wrist loosely, a move that’s always made him melt for one reason another. 

Then just as quickly, he pulls away, brushing his nose against yours. 

“I missed ya.” And he breathes in as you breathe out. 

“Me too,” You admit, though it’s not a secret. He knows. His favorite little luxury it is; the promise you’ll be there, awaiting his return. 

Hasn’t gone a day without it since meeting you. 

Admittedly, 1891 was a bad year to meet Arthur. Grieving, and angry; Eliza and Isaac freshly dead. 

But you were there, picked up by Dutch, almost like a feral animal. Rabid enough to shut down Arthur’s (correction: everyone’s) bullshit immediately, yet organically compassionate to soothe him through bad nights. Even when you barely knew each other. 

That was you. 

Strained it all was at first. Funny, what time can do to two people. 

Unraveling knots and kinks to smoothly twist two lives together. 

And you watch as Arthur starts walking, not bothering to clamber onto his mount— even if the exhaustion in his step is obvious, like meatpie in a patisserie. 

“You’re not gonna ride?” 

He pauses and shakes his head, turning to look back at you. 

“Personally? ‘M tryna get as much time alone before we have to be surrounded by fools and degenerates.” 

You snort, strolling over to his side. “So what kept you away for a week?” 

The back of his hand brushes against yours as you both begin walking. 

“Heard about a wolf in Cotorra Springs. Wanted to check it out and well,” he eyes the pelt. “ Didn’t think it’d take me that long to hunt her down, but she was sneaky.” 

He shrugs. “The rest of this I got on the way home, knowing how Pearson’ll be if I don’t come back with somethin’.” 

You nod knowing how the man can get. Feisty about food, placid about most everything else. Sometimes he reminds you of a bear going into hibernation, and you doodle it on scraps of paper— messy, untrained caricatures of the gang. 

They make Arthur laugh. 

“Me and Abigail joked about you hunting caribou in heat. Not to give you ideas.” 

Arthur flicks a brow. “I wouldn’t do that.” 

“You would if there was money in it.” 

“Is there?” 

“I’ll say no for my own sake.” 

Arthur laughs at that, and you grin, his joy infectious. A bad disease you’re willing to catch. 

“So what have you been up to then, if not grumblin’ and mumblin’?” Arthur asks, eyes sweeping your frame. 

“Cooking. Cleaning. Sewing.” You shrug. Arthur frowns a smidge. 

“You gotta get out more.” 

“I wanted to go out to Saint Denis but I got caught up with Grimshaw, I guess.” 

All he can do is press against you a bit closer. “I’ll go with you soon then.” 

An incredulous look is sent. “No you’re not.” 

And Arthur looks so genuinely offended you have to laugh. 

“What do you mean I’m not?” 

“You hate Saint Denis.” 

“I know but-“ 

You lean your cheek into his bicep. “Thank you, but you don’t have to torture yourself for me.” 

He pouts. “It ain’t torture.” 

“Mhm, sure.” 

Voices in the distance become louder, the echo of Molly’s gramophone and Uncle’s drunken singing coming to a crescendo— smashing and breaking the isolation in a gradual blunder. 

And you pull away, taking the basket from Arthur’s hand as you do. 

Charles greets as you approach, and you hand him the spoils of your anger-fueled gather with another silent thank you. He nods politely, in his own grateful way. 

And as Arthur hitches his horse— cooing with all the affection in the world— you leave him, going up into your shared room. 

You know he has to take care of a few things before you can really have him for yourself: 

Talk to Dutch. 

Contribute money and check the ledger.

Load the hunt’s catches into the kitchen. 

Help with any last minute chores. 

Say ‘hello’ and ‘how are you’ to Hosea, Jack and John; Abigail and Tilly; Sean if he’s in a good mood too. 

So you sit. Passively reading and waiting as you lean against the bed’s headboard. 

And half an hour later, Arthur pulls open the door and then shuts it tight. Like maybe if he held it closed for long enough, the walls would thicken then burst fantastically into a hot air balloon; sending you beyond reach of civilization. 

Under the yellowed light of the lantern, he seems entirely exhausted; the slope of his shoulders dooming, his usually straight back hunched. 

Ain’t no rest for the wicked, Arthur jokes at times. 

He sits down on the bed. For awhile he’s like that; just sitting and staring at the white canvas of the wall. And his eyes are flicking back and forth, like he’s sketching whatever he’s seen in the past week on the molding wallpaper. 

It’s strange when he gets like this. 

It’s not that he’s sad or upset, just caught up in his head. 

“You should get undressed,” you command gently, sliding off the bed as you undo the buttons of your blouse. 

Arthur watches. You pause. And then you deadpan. 

“Are you serious?”  But he says nothing, and neither do you, not as you come to stand between his knees. 

You take his hat off, shoving the worn leather jacket down his arms, and he rests his head against your collar bone, pressing impossibly close into the revealed skin there. 

Like maybe, just maybe, this time your atoms will combine and he won’t have to leave your side ever again. 

When you begin unbuttoning his shirt, his hands finesse to undo the clasps of your skirt and you have to momentarily brush him aside, slapping his hands like a toddler gone for the cookie jar. 

“Hey,” he protests, blue eyes pleading. But the way they blink slowly and idly tells you everything. 

“No. Sleep. We can do that tomorrow.” 

Arthur groans but listens; hands dropping, head knocking against your chest. “A week,” he grumbles. 

“And whose fault is that?” 

He’s quiet as you work, up until he catches a look at the thin silver chain around your neck. His finger notches on the ring that’s hooked to it. 

“I wish you would wear it,” he mumbles languidly. 

“I can say the same thing,” and you glance at the gold band he keeps tucked away on the rope of his hat. “Maybe if things get better.” 

“When,” he amends. “When they get better.” 

“Sure.” 

He glares, the lines of his face darkening. “Don’t be like that.“ 

“Arthur.” And you cup his face, kissing him quickly and quietly. “It’s late.” 

He stares up at you, an odd mix between enamored and frustrated. 

A huff then escapes his lips, and he unbuckles his belt as you finish with the last button of his shirt. Your hands toys with the hem momentarily as if gripping to the tendrils of his soul. 

But you let go, and turn away. 

Getting rid of your own clothes is quick work, but Arthur makes even quicker work of kicking his pants and boots away, collapsing onto the furs and blankets of the bed. And as insistent as he was, he’s out quicker than nightshade, his arousal forgotten. 

You’re sure he’ll remember it in his dreams. It’s happened before. 

And you dim the lantern, laying yourself next to him in your chemise. Even though his back is facing you, a half-hesitant hand runs through his hair. 

He’ll need a wash tomorrow. 

You’ll force him into it, chase him around with a bucket if you have to. But for now, you let him rest; let sleep capture him like a firefly cupped between two soft palms. Pleased, your cheek presses against his bare shoulder blade. 

Obviously, you wake before him. 

Already dressed before he can even become lucid enough to call for you, hand reaching out to grab your missing form. You bend down, press a hand to his forehead, and whisper for him to forget you in favor of his dreams. 

His soft snores ensue. You drift away. 

And today, like yesterday, is quiet. But it’s less gloomy, more of a peace that’s settled because, praise be, Micah is out for the morning. It is both surprising and delightful, and nobody takes it for granted. 

And you drift around the manor and camp, helping with the odd chore, saying hello, sipping at coffee. 

At some point you walk off, where the ground is more solid and less swamp to have a quick word with God in the early morning breeze. 

He doesn’t reply though you knew he wouldn’t. Still, you hope he heard. 

At your return, Grimshaw unloads a torrent of harsh words, quickly placing you on dishes duty. You accept it. 

Mean spirited, but kind hearted, that one. Always has been. You don’t have the will to complain though— not since Arthur’s come back. 

He pacifies you, Hosea has teased, a coy smile hidden by the brim of his hat. At first it was embarrassing, but soon you came to realize denying it is like looking for oranges in an apple orchard. Psychotic and pointless.

Abigail has said the same thing, John nodding along enthusiastically. 

It’s annoying and the truth, and you have no energy to argue. 

Arthur is still asleep by the time you’ve scrubbed both the cast iron and your skin raw. Unsurprisingly. You’ve seen him passed out for nineteen hours once. 

You wish you had that ability, especially with how hot and sticky the Lemoyne air is; boiled molasses in your lungs. You would sleep the entire afternoon just to avoid it all. 

But in the slowness of the day, and your boredom, you approach Dutch, reading as always. 

“Anything interesting?” You ask, readjusting the basket of laundry at your hip. It’s a conversation you have often— ever since you’ve joined the gang your time to read has dwindled— being much more preoccupied with needles and guns and terrible men instead.

He hums, flipping a page. “A collection of essays done by Ralph Waldo Emerson. I presume you know him?” 

You nod, stepping closer. “He wrote before the war. A Transcendentalist, wasn’t he?” 

“Yes,” and Dutch smiles. He’s always told you that you’re too smart for your own good. Smarter than he deserves— than the gang deserves. But you never indulge in his compliments (at least not too much).

And you’ve never really been sure if they’re true.

He’s kind, though that may not be the word. Merciful. Insightful. And perhaps that has fueled the compassionate part in him. 

But as of late it’s all been brought into question you suppose. His sanity. Whether or not he’s still the same old, reliable Dutch that he always has been. 

But you brush it aside for now, letting yourself pretend it’s all normal and everything is okay. A happy family. 

“Which essay are you reading?” And you lean against the doorframe, fixing your apron. 

“Man the Reformer. Do you know it?” 

“Only parts. I think. Care to read me some?” You tilt your head, tucking one ankle behind the other. 

Refined with him, always, even with his penchant for savagery. 

“For you, my dear? Anytime,” and his eyes scan the pages, flipping through to find a piece he likes. “Ah,” he says after a moment, knuckle tapping the paragraph. He clears his throat, then starts. 

“Hence it happens that the whole interest of history lies in the fortunes of the poor. Knowledge, Virtue, Power are the victories of man over his necessities, his march to the dominion of the world. Every man ought to have this opportunity to conquer the world for himself. Only such persons interest us, Spartans, Romans, Saracens, English, Americans, who have stood in the jaws of need, and have by their own wit and might extricated themselves, and made man victorious.” 

He turns away from the page, his face lilting towards yours. “Isn’t that lovely?” he asks you. “Just gorgeous, isn’t it?” 

And Dutch, like most men, has a strange idea of what gorgeous is. Finding it in bloodied knuckles and revenge. In essays about man and power. 

In hatred. In violence. 

You’re unsure why you suddenly remember this— but when you were young, still attending school, you had read that Moses was not allowed to enter the Promised Land. 

It had confused you. Hurt you even. 

And when you had asked one of the nuns: Why? What was the reason? Why couldn’t he? What was the point if his fate was to die? 

And you remember that nun, with reverent eyes and sad smile, told you: 

“For freedom to be reached, the memory of subjugation has to die.” 

And that is why Aaron, and Miriam had died as well. Zipporah too. 

You stare at Dutch. 

“Do you see yourself as Moses?” You ask. It’s a blurted question, not entirely thought through, and you’re embarrassed the moment the words leave your mouth. 

Dutch stares back, his own dark eyes swirling with momentary surprise before he laughs, hitting his knee. Shoulders slacking, your own breathy chuckles escape as you watch. 

“You’ve heard The Good Word?” he questions, almost shocked. 

“Read it.” 

“My, aren’t you full of surprises?” 

“Are you calling me a sinner, Dutch Van Der Linde?” 

He tilts his head, raising a brow. “Aren’t you?” It’s said as if it were common sense. 

“Maybe I’m not a saint, but I don’t think I’m a sinner.” 

Dutch hums, bouncing his knee. “You pray?” 

“When I’m dying,” you tell him, half joking. 

“And how often is that?” 

“More than I’d like.” 

Dutch doesn’t laugh, but a warm, hearty chuckle rumbles in his chest and he picks his book back up. 

“Isn’t that the truth.” 

Looking away, your eyes flick about the greenery outside his window. The chickens cluck incessantly, bouncing about like cotton ball clouds on grassy mountains. 

You can make out the outline of Jack, bounding around a tree with a stick in hand, occasionally swiping the trunk. Abigail keeps a watchful eye. 

And it’s all very domestic. 

A little green rectangle of quiet love, framed by rotting wood and sin. It seems so far away, you can’t tell if it’s real. But you know for a fact it is, and it makes the deep, longing pain in your chest all the worse. It’s a dream really, one you think of often and one you and Arthur have only discussed either after sex or in the early morning— when everyone is still asleep and when things are a little imaginary. 

When dreams rule the plain of existence. 

Suddenly Hosea passes by the room. His gaze stabs through you, a knowing familiar look he’s sent over the past few months. 

Like you’ve discovered a dirty secret. 

And it seems you’ve both come to a conclusion you’re both equally unsure of. Same with Abigail. Same with Arthur, even if he denies it. 

“I should get back to work,” you mumble, pushing yourself off the doorframe.

“Atta girl,” Dutch simpers, but you’ve already walked off, head full of fears and doubts and thoughts you know you’re not supposed to have. 

Hanging laundry is one of the easier chores, one that eases the nerves. Gentle afternoon breeze, as humid as it is, drifts by, wafting the smell of soap and swamp water. Earthy and clean, rolled into a lavender clay. 

Jack hovers around your skirts as you work, and you easily indulge him in poems, songs, and stories, all with a gentle smile. 

He glances at the manor. “Uncle Arthur sure does sleep a lot.” 

“He does, doesn’t he?” 

“Where did Uncle Arthur go?” 

Clipping a bedsheet to the line, your eyes gleam, turning to Jack. “He went beyond civilization” and you crouch down, making claws with your hands, a playful grin at your lips, “hunting wolves.” 

Jack beams, grabbing at your hands, easing the claws. “I wanna hunt wolves!” 

You laugh a little, pulling away and reaching for a pair of drawers in the basket. 

“You’re still too small— they’d eat you up.” 

Jack frowns. “No they wouldn’t.” 

And you hide an amused grin with the back of your hand, thinking of John. After a moment, you nod. “You’re right. They wouldn’t eat you, you’re too skinny.” 

“Hey!” And Jack pouts, tugging at your skirts. You finally laugh, dropping a hand to pat his head, fingers sifting through soft brown locks. 

“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t let them eat you. None of us would.” 

Jack seems appeased. “Do you think Uncle Arthur will take me next time?” 

And not wanting to break his little heart, you say, “I think that’s something you have to ask him.” 

And Jack seems to be somewhat miffed by the answer, reserving himself to sit by the laundry basket as he watches beetles and ants march along the dirt. 

Little brown capped soldiers. 

“Have you ever hunted wolves, Auntie?” 

You hang up the drawers, humming. “No. But one time Uncle Hosea took me hunting for a bear.” 

“A bear!?” And Jack crawls a bit closer. “I don’t remember that?” 

“It was before you were born.” You add gently. 

“Ohhh. Was it scary?” 

“Well only at first. It tried to eat me, but Uncle Hosea wouldn’t let that happen.” Embarrassment bubbles at the memory. The way Arthur had laughed when you sulked, telling him and Hosea you would never hunt again.

Jack smiles. “Do you think Uncle Hosea will take me bear hunting?” 

A downturned smile marrs your features. “I hope not.” 

Jack complains at that, and you gently assert that bears are much worse than wolves, and they wouldn’t care how skinny he is. 

And the moment is sweet and funny and utterly ruined when a horrible, rasping voice says, 

“There she is.” 

Micah’s back. 

Setting your shoulders, you gently tell Jack to find his Ma. Tell her those stories I told you, murmured by his ear. And he scurries away, an excited smile on his face. Your full attention is then granted to the laundry basket and the sodden clothes inside. 

Micah stands on the other side of the clothesline, watching you between the flaps of bedsheets and button ups. A fabric jail cell keeps you separated. 

“Heard our workhorse is back, hm? Where is he?” 

A sock is hung up, next a union suit. 

“Oh, so you won’t even talk about your darlin’ Mr. Morgan with me?” 

You’re running short on clothespins. 

“You gettin’ tired of him?” 

There’s still enough for now. 

“Mr. Morgan, running off for days on end, only comes back to fuck his little mare good and then runs off again. Ain’t that just sad?” 

You could use a new skirt maybe. You’ll head into Saint Denis tomorrow. For now though, another sock is hung. 

“I could take care of ya, while he’s gone. He’ll never have to know.” 

Two blouses are clipped on the clothesline and you’re officially out of pins. 

“So, what d’ya think? Offer stands.” 

You step away from the hanging laundry, your eyes meeting Micah’s. It startles him but turns him on just as quickly. 

And then you walk away, to the manor in search of more pins. Micah doesn’t follow, though you feel his eyes burning holes into you, gaping pits of Tartarus on your skin.

You’re surprised to see Arthur leaning against the windowsill, cup of coffee in one hand, the other scratching away at his journal in long precise strokes; a wolf. And he’s trimmed his beard and hair, his skin clean. 

Washed away of filth and stress. 

An easy smile comes to him when he turns to see you— he downs the rest of his coffee, closes his journal, and steps over. 

“Good afternoon,” you say. 

“Afternoon,” and Arthur glances around for peeping eyes before kissing you chastely. “Thought we could go to Saint Denis today like ya wanted,” he offers. 

You shake your head. “I can’t today; maybe tomorrow?” 

He pulls away, looking bemused. “Always ‘tomorrow’ with you, woman.” 

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s too late to go to Saint Denis anyway.” 

“We could rent a room.” 

“I am not spending money on a bed I have here,” you chide. 

He raises his head to look at the ceiling, hat tipping back slightly back as he does. A stiffness overcomes him, like a thousand rocks have settled into his stomach. “You always gotta make things difficult.” 

“Shut up,” and you pat his chest, stepping around him to continue your search, “I’ll see you tonight.” 

That seems to help him digest the rocks but he still grabs at your wrist, stopping you. And there’s a deep longing in Arthur’s eyes; lust and sorrow mixing to create something entirely desperate. 

“I love ya,” he mumbles quietly. 

And it’s not something you say often, never really finding the need to. You know. He knows. You’re on the same page. 

But sometimes, you’ll indulge each other with those three little words. 

And Arthur lightens when you smile and nod and tell him you love him too. It’s like he’s seen the ocean for the first time, eyes sparkling in wonderful adoration. So he lets you go, assured he has you no matter what. 

Expectantly, you barely see eachother for the rest of the day, each preoccupied with your own tasks. Small glances are thrown, like pebbles against windows, but nothing more. 

Not until night falls. 

You’re sitting around the fire with Abigail, snorting over a not so appropriate story Karen is telling when you see him in the distance, past the embers, crawling back into the manor. Admittedly, it is late but not late enough for Arthur to call it a night. 

Usually, he’d stay with the group– drink a bottle of beer and sing a tone deaf melody with Tilly and Javier. But not tonight. Tonight he’s waiting you out. 

And so when Karen finishes her story, you give one last laugh and leave. 

Arthur is sitting on the bed when you come in, writing something slowly; the clear mark of verbal constipation.

And the lantern is lit low, warm and golden like a dying star. He only looks up from the page when you close the door, his hand pausing. There’s a droll moment where you stare at him and he stares at you– the little lift of amusement curling your lips can’t be helped. 

In a brisk moment, you’re standing between his knees; but this time it’s him who undresses you. And you let him take his time with the clasps and buttons, resting your palms on his shoulders.

“Jack asked me if I’d take him wolf huntin’,” Arthur mumbles, standing to kiss at the junction of your neck and jaw. In nothing but your chemise, it’s easy to feel the hard line of him press against your hip. “Did’ya put him up to that?” 

You laugh, hands rising to undo his own shirt. “Maybe.” 

A rough palm presses between your shoulder blades, the other cupping your cheek as he nudges you to tilt your head with his nose. 

“Yer evil,” Arthur mutters into your skin, “making me be the one to say no to him.” 

“Was he angry?” 

“Nah,” Arthur sighs, knocking his hips with yours, “just said I’m no fun.” 

And you slip his shirt off, revealing broad shoulders and firm muscle, laced and sewed with scratches and scars. 

You run your hand down a particularly marred one at his ribs. Knife fight. 

“Did he hurt your feelings?” You tease. The hand at your cheek drops, bundling the hem of your chemise up your thighs. And before you can poke his ego again, the hand dips, grazing against your bundle of nerves. 

You sigh, leaning into him as he lazily dips a finger in and out, in and out. 

“John looked like he was ‘bout to have a panic attack,” Arthur rasps right in your ear. “If I had said anythin’ other than no I think he woulda killed me.” 

“Can’t have that,” you hum, and Arthur snorts. 

“Ya need me around to fuck ya, is that it?” 

Scoffing, you pull away. “You’re ridiculous.” Your chemise falls back over your thighs, covering the slick Arthur built up. And he gives a soothing smile, hands lifting yours to twine fingers together. 

“Did I hurt yer feelin’s?” And though you’re frowning, you let Arthur guide you to the bed— let him push you down onto the mattress. At your silence he runs his lips across your face; kissing at your brow, your nose, cheeks and chin. “I didn’t mean any harm by it.” 

Lifting himself on his forearms, he watches you. You’ve softened exponentially, pliant and willing under him. 

Only him. 

And the look on your face is so fond— too loving and so soft, that he feels as if you must be a figment of his imagination. A sick twisted trick his mind is playing to feel something. 

But you’re here, breathing against him, and looking like a drop of sunshine under the lantern’s light. 

He’s struck gold. 

Bending down, Arthur kisses you and in turn you breathe him in, arms coming up to wrap around his neck. You roll your hips, and a groan verberates in his chest— the sound makes your bones rumble— the first sign of an avalanche. 

He lifts the chemise once more and a knee comes up to sit between your exposed thighs. Arthur dips his hand again, this time spreading you open on two fingers. 

The both of you have gotten very good at being quiet after so many years of barely any privacy; a tarp or tent at most; but in Shady Belle, bless the heavens above, you allow yourself little, quiet whimpers. 

The gift of walls. 

And Arthur feels himself pulse as he edges you on, fingers increasing in speed. His thumb brushes against that bundle of nerves again and you choke back a moan, hands gripping onto the sheets. 

“Arthur,” you pant, eyes shining with adoration. And he pauses. You stir something in him, some sort of odd childlike devotion he hasn’t felt since he was in his early twenties. 

Not since Mary. 

And he remembers when you had first gotten together, back in ‘94, you had told him you wouldn’t ask him to stop loving Mary. I could never, ever do that to you. It’d be cruel and unfair of me, you had whispered. 

And you knew he never would stop because that’s how first loves are. Permanent. 

But maybe now, maybe in this moment— just like every other moment with you— he has stopped loving Mary. Perhaps not entirely, but he wouldn’t chase after her like he used to. 

Not when he has you. Not when you beg his name. 

And Arthur rises, lifting you up with him as he sits up against the headboard, huddling you into his lap. His skin is warm, as it usually is, and you can’t discern whether that’s just him or if the Lemoyne heat has to do with it too. 

It’s overwhelming and you’ve barely gotten started. 

Making a pathetic little noise in the back of your throat, you see the way it lights his eyes on fire, as if you hold the keys to enter the Gates of Hell. And it’s almost too easy for him to pull off your chemise, leaning forward to press his lips against yours. 

He’s scarily and surprisingly gentle. Always has been. But tonight there’s an underlying torture in the way he bites at your bottom lip, then soothes it, admonishing his own efforts. 

And Arthur, this sweet, sad man who has killed, murdered, and torn apart men from sanity has resorted to fluttering his fingers against your hips; as if you were a prized butterfly, ready to fly off at any second. 

For one reason or another, it makes your heart ache. 

Your own hands cup his stubbled jaw as you lean down, opening your mouth and letting his teeth gently collide with yours clumsily. 

There’s another rumble in his chest when you kiss the corner his mouth, an apology for your gauche actions. And you can’t tell if it’s a breath or a moan, but you assume that it’s something good. 

A quiet plea for you to continue. Don’t stop. 

Because if you do Arthur’s sure he’ll sob in a pitiful, defeated way that would leave him rutting into the mattress. 

To his relief, your thighs press against his hips all the more, and your chest meets his. One of his own hands slides up your side, and he moans into your mouth at the feeling of your skin against his palm.

Silk against stone. Soft where he is rough– ruined by bullets, knives and meaningless labor. And he decides then, he’ll preserve this. Preserve your warm humanity, if it’s the last thing he does. 

And he is a fool, but he isn’t insolent. He knows you’ve seen and experienced things that would have him reeling with nausea. 

You’re a woman, of course you have. 

But if he can help it, he will keep you like this. Coy and kind. Too good for him and too good for what the world has to offer. 

Arthur realizes he’d gotten engrossed in his worship when you pull away to look down at him, giving a shaky exhale. Running your fingers through his scalp, you let your hand settle at the back of his neck, peering at his face as if he were a saint. 

Arthur can only stare back. Fervently and biblically.

He follows every unspoken order you give him with a ferocity bordering desperation that only stems from his complete adoration. And you’ll never know how or where it started and you won’t ask, in fear of an answer that that any other man could give you. But this outlaw, brute, grunt; this man of all men has become an angel under your gaze and touch. 

It’s intoxicating.  

For awhile this continues. The kissing– the petting and exploration. Whispered ‘I missed you’s’ brushed across your lips, neck, breasts. At some point, Arthur wraps his mouth around one of your nipples, and you stifle a whimper against his temple. 

A hand pushes into the curve of your back, imploring and needy, making you keen. The other, brushes against your core unexpectedly and you almost yelp from the sudden contact. But he dips his fingers into you gingerly, restarting the ministrations from earlier. 

You all but melt. 

You’re panting into his neck, gripping onto him as he plays with you. It’s shameful how a week apart has ruined you so terribly. 

You’re oversensitive and overstimulated. 

When your breathing becomes more desperate (which happens quicker than you’d like) Arthur pulls away again. And he likes this game; the build up before breaking you. An annoyed sigh puffs out from your lips, and you find yourself grinding into his lap for some form of relief.

His trousers have become a hindrance. 

Arthur’s leaning into your chest, eyes half-open and cheek pressed against the space between your breasts. His mouth is hot and open, panting as you grind further into him.

And though you can feel him twitching against you, it isn’t enough. He’ll need more than the dull pressure of your core. But for now, he lets your hips roll, watching brightly as your slick coats the seam of his pants. 

“No more,” he suddenly rasps, the first words said in a long time. “Please, no more teasing.” 

You ponder him for a moment, then nod.

The trousers are off in an instant. 

And his skin against yours is a relieving sin. Hands on your hips, he rubs you against him— and all you can do is sit it out and watch with bated breath. Arthur, at the feeling, lets out a stilted, raspy whimper. 

Before he can do more, you lower a hand, pumping him up and down, up and down; a choked sound catches in the back of his throat when you do. 

He’s bigger than average, but not impressively so. The real volume of his size comes from his width, noting that your thumb and middle finger don’t and have never connected when you jerk him off. 

And you do this for some time, listening to his gasps and mumbled moans, only stopping when he begins pulsing in your palm. 

Arthur whines when you pull away, eyes gleaming almost angrily, and you have to smile at the hypocrisy of his behavior. He bites back a curse at the way you look at him, too entranced to be upset. 

Then, pushing him flat onto the mattress and straddling his waist, you kiss him. His hands land on your back once more, begging to press you closer, further. 

Wanting nothing more than to simply have you against him. 

And finally, you slide onto his length. 

It’s jarring at first, uncomfortable in the way it splits you open. And you feel his every millimeter and every movement. It takes a minute for your body to adjust, to realize it’s him. Arthur lets you wait it out, lets you take your time as you finally sink down completely. 

He thrusts, once, shallow and uncertain, brows furrowed in concentration. And your eyes close shut with a gasp, squeezing your legs even tighter around his waist. 

Then, you lift your hips off him and sit back down. And then you do it again. And again. And again. 

The pace you’ve set is slow, but it allows you to further assimilate to the stretch. Furthermore, the friction is accumulative. You quickly find that Arthur’s hands have lifted to clasp around your own shaking ones in an act to sooth you. 

To quell whatever ache has settled in your abdomen (for the time being). 

And his eyes are shining with an indiscernible emotion as he watches you; something that makes you want to cry out of sheer wonder. 

You’re so sure it’s love. It has to be. You refuse for anything else. 

You refuse to be a broodmare or quick fuck. 

And something must flip inside of Arthur because suddenly, he flips you two over, and moreover, he turns you over onto your stomach. 

“Arthur,” you mutter, as you lift yourself up on your forearms. And he bends down pressing a kiss to the vertebrae in your neck as if they were jewels on a crown. 

His hands return to your hips and bring you towards him. 

“I know,” he replies. It only takes a second for him to slip into you again, letting a deep, pleasant groan out. 

In this position he’s quicker, rougher. Less careful. 

Arthur utters the occasional incoherent word and you can only pant in reply. After a while of this— of his hips slamming against yours— your shaking arms collapse under you, and your cheek presses into the mattress. 

Arthur doesn’t stop though, nor does he slow, and the whole thing overloads your nerves. 

Yet somehow, his touch is still loving— even as he takes you so harshly. It’s an odd dichotomy. You’re not quite sure he knows his own strength in this moment. Maybe he never does. 

And you can’t help but be utterly grateful that this is the only way Arthur uses his strength on you. To fuck you into a mattress. 

And the only noises you can make are broken little gasps for air, an entire lifetime’s worth of vocabulary forgotten. He’s moving in and out of you at a far quicker pace than you had initially anticipated; and you feel yourself begin to shake, quivering for help beneath him. 

“Please,” you beg. 

“Please, what?” 

Your face flushes, hot and embarrassed even if you’ve done this hundreds of times before. “Arthur,” you whine, and he gets the message, quickening his pace as more broken, unintelligible syllables bumble out of your lips.

He brings one hand away from your hip to cup under your chin, lifting your face slightly so he can press his cheek against yours. 

A loving act that tells you this is more than lust and cum. 

Your hands claw into the mattress and his other hand leaves your hip to land on top of your own— fingers moving to curl into the spaces between yours. You’re crying now, sobbing quietly for some form of release at the absolutely brutal pace he’s set. 

And you feel yourself coming close to climax, warmth pooling and subsequently dripping from your abdomen. 

Arthur’s close too. You can tell by the way he twitches inside of you and by the way his groans have become hoarse and breathy. 

He then removes the hand from your jaw and you sink back into the mattress, his fingers reaching for that bundle of nerves and rubbing it. You leave an open-mouthed whimper into the bedsheet, your breath and spit creating a hot and sticky spot. 

Delicately, he pushes your body over the edge.

The orgasm rushes over you like a snap— quicker than lighting but drawn out like thunder. It singes and quakes as you quiver around him, moaning dumbly and begging for some form of sanity. Your back, arching, pushes him further into you, ignorant of your own overstimulation. 

Arthur’s grip is tight on your hips as he watches, having to stop himself from spilling into you right then and there. He would. 

He would if things were better. He would if he were stupid and ignorant. 

But he holds himself back, teeth gnawing at his lip. Eventually you calm, the bedsheet loosening in your grip, leaving linen hills in your wake. And as soon as you take a quiet, deep breath, he continues to thrust just as quickly. 

It’s now his turn to gasp and whimper, and you’ve never heard him so desperate— properly crying as he presses his face into your neck. 

Your own tears bead at your eyelashes as you let him use you, abandoning any and all self respect for yourself. 

But it doesn’t last long, as he’s quick to follow you over the edge. His hips begin to stutter and you know it’s over. 

Arthur pulls out, and you feel him throbbing against you as he cums into his hand. He’s practically collapsed on top of you as well, his body gone boneless and weak from the aftershock. 

He’s still for some time, catching his breath and his mental faculties. 

And you’re not sure how much time has passed until his lips press against your neck and shoulders gently; but you sigh quietly at the feeling, pleased and sated. 

He reaches under your body, cupping your waist so he can roll the two of you over to lay on your sides. And Arthur curls himself around you protectively, like he could obstruct everything evil with the slope of his shoulders. 

It’s quiet and peaceful, as the aftermath of sex usually is. 

And each time he kisses your skin indolently, you press back into him— a silent message that you want to kiss back. He seems to understand.

After a while, he mumbles your name. 

You don’t expect it, his usual preference for silence being the norm. But either way, you hum in reply, entirely lost in comfort and bliss. 

“I’ll kill Micah.” It’s said so simply, like an everyday part of his itinerary. Cleaning, hunting, murder. Well, maybe it is then.

You don’t open your eyes though. This is not a new conversation, nor is it one you like. 

“You heard him today I’m guessing.”

“When you were doin’ the laundry.” 

You want to frown. “It’s fine.” Is all you can say. 

“No it ain’t.” 

You pull away from him a little. “I don’t wanna talk about him. Ever. He doesn’t matter.” 

Arthur’s quiet again. But then he nods and closes the space you created. 

“Okay.” 

arthur morgan x male reader where reader joins the gang and finds comfort in arthur and at one point gets hurt away from camp and arthur finds them and helps them they camp out at night since it was too dark to go back to camp, and reader and arthur drink and reader drunkenly confessed and there’s some kissing? sorry this is long lmfao. i like ur writing!!

Arthur Morgan x male!reader

Summary: in the months since you've joined Dutch’s gang, you befriended Arthur Morgan, when you can't get ahold on your feelings you start avoiding the man like the plague .

Word count: 2,609

Warning: hunting, guns, mentions of skinning a dear, reader sees a dead dear, reader gets shot, alcohol, reader (and Arthur) get drunk, bugs, period typical (internalized) homophobia, Arthur thinks reader is dying, hozier reference

Masterlist

“Mr. Morgan.” You muttered with a tip of your hat.

Arthur has strode up next to you on his horse, finally back from his days long expedition, just when you were getting ready to leave on yours.

You’d joined the gang not too many months back. You’re parents had been outlaws way back when, and friends of Dutch- they were able to get out of that business early on, settle down, only to be pulled back in while doing a little favor for Dutch and the boys. They lost their lives doing the “little favor”. Years later you still try not to think too hard on it.

Being outlaws, the others weren’t all too welcoming to a new, strange man joining the gang, even if Dutch had vouched for you. You didn’t mind, they would have their own opinions of you until they rolled over and died and there wasn’t much you could do about it. You did, somehow, manage to befriend Arthur. Well, “befriend” might be a bit strong, but he was friendly enough with you. Friendly enough for you to- without meaning to- gain a sort of attraction to the man.

You figured you could just shove it down as far as you could, appreciate the little kindness the man did you, and make it enough. It wasn’t, you wanted more from him and you weren’t supposed to. The comfort you felt around the man dried up like an old well and the relationship you were building had come to a standstill. Your interactions have gone from friendly stories around a fire and taking on the town together, to short, stiff nods as you left- or as he left. You made it a point to leave whenever he came back from one of his trips- nearly jumping to your feet and running to your horse when you heard him coming.

“Where ya headed?” He asked, not looking at you, but instead down at the mane of his horse.

“Hunting…”

He hummed, “Want me to come along?”

Yes.

“No, I'll be alright, ‘m only gonna be out there for a couple of hours, and you just got back, you should get some rest.”

With a short sigh, Arthur dismounted his horse. Shooting you one last glance before saying, “Be careful out there, Y/n.”

“Will do, Arthur.”

—————

Your lungs burned as you rested against a thick tree, hunting rifle in hand, you free had clutched the leaking wound on your side. It was just a graze, you could tell without even looking at it, a grave that only oozed blood due to the fact that you took off running the second it happened.

You were maybe 5 feet away from a deer, so close you could grab the damn thing and slit its throat if you wanted to. But you didn’t, not yet, you just wanted to look at it for now. It had been shot before, a shot you were shocked it survived, straight through its stomach, blood dried around the creature's wound. The deer walked with a limp, and let out a pained noise every time it moved. Big, pitch-black eyes stared into yours, and all thoughts of killing the animal left your mind.

Then you heard a gun fire. The deer ran off, and you’d been knocked to the ground. The bullet gets maybe an inch into your skin, and exits a second later. Grabbing your riffle you took off as fast as you could.

Which leads you to where you are now, back at the little camp you’d made for yourself. The hunter- as godawful of a shot he was, was long gone, you watched him leave, the hide of the dear tossed over his horse's back. You wanted to leave, head back to camp and get patched up, and pretend like tonight hadn’t happened, like everything was normal and fine. You pushed yourself up on the tree, the uneven bark chipping and leaving little wood fragments on your hand, using the rapidly drying blood as an adhesive. your side throbbed painfully, the blood leaving a mark on the light colored tree.

With a groan you turned towards your horse, only for her to drop to the ground, letting out a neigh, which you decided was her way of telling you that she wasn't going to let you ride her covered in blood- or that she was tired.

“You ass.” You muttered.

She seemingly sunk deeper into herself, getting comfortable.

Dropping back down to the floor and resting your head against the tree with a groan.

It took you longer than ever to collect dry wood for a fire. Bending down felt like hell and you considered for a moment just letting the elements take you. You pulled yourself together eventually, starting a fire, eating some dried meat, using your bag as a pillow you tried to get some sleep. You wouldn’t usually leave a wound unattended but you had no supplies, no alcohol, no clean water, and no bandages. You figured you'd deal with the consequences of your frantic packing later. For now, you just wanted to rest.

Your fire had died down, just barely lit. But the cold wasn't what woke you. The familiar sound of a horse galloping against the dirt, growing closer by the second, caused you to jump out of your sleep. You groaned, pushing yourself up in an attempt to move out of the way, the throbbing in your side had turned to a seating pain, and you hissed as you tried to drag yourself away, finding yourself back against the same tree as before.

The tiny clearing quickly became overwhelming as another rider approached. You could hardly see them it was so dark, your fire from before now a pile of smoke. You heard them drop off their horse, footsteps, slow and even, making their way toward you. You tried to use the tree as leverage, trying to push yourself up, be at least a little less pathetic. Your breathing was pained and labored, and with little regard- for yourself, you stood. The man finally stepped close enough for you to make out his features in the dark, standing less than 4 feet in front of you was Arthur.

“Y/n..” he breathed out.

Relief flooded your body as Arthur looked over you, his hands firmly set on your shoulders.

“Arthur, what are you doing out here?” you asked, more awake now, but still pained.

“Saving your ass, apparently.”

“‘M fine.”

You leaned back against the tree, the pain from your wound becoming far too noticeable for your liking. You pressed your hand to it without thinking, blood once again spewing from the wound.

“You’re hurt?”

“It’s nothing..”

He grabbed your hand, snatching it away from your wound, covered in blood and dirt, he looked at it, then looked back up at you. The blood soaking through your clothes and making them stick to your skin.

“I got shot..” you muttered, snatching your and away.

Arthur gave you a look, a look that had a few strong words associated with it, but he saved them for later. Lifting your shirt, glaring up at you, seeing just how unattended the wound was.

“So you were just gonna stay out here and bleed to death?”

“It’s not that bad..”

“Could’ve been-“

“But it isn’t-“

“I told you to be careful-“

“I didn’t get shot on purpose-“

“You didn’t come back to camp on purpose-“

“My damn horse wouldn’t-“

“Well you should’ve woke it’s ass up-“

A particularly painful throb ended your argument with Arthur, clutching your side, you pushing him away with your free hand. You kneeled down, deciding to collect more wood to rebuild the fire and show Arthur that you were fine. As you gathered sticks in your hand you heard Arthur kneel beside you, you didn't look at him, your hands shook but you still tried to gather the sticks in front of you. Your irritation grew immensely, only to be snuffed out when you felt one of Arthurs's hands cover yours.

“Let me handle this..”

You wanted to argue, but you didn’t, your hands were shaking and the wound was only becoming more irritated. Resisting the urge to throw the sticks down and stomp off like a child, you let him take them from your hands, then, with one hand on your chest, he guided you down.

You glared up at him, but he only looked at you with worry. He held your eyes in his for a second before going to check the wound. Moving your coat and lifting your bloodied shirt, he let out a long sigh, glaring up at you for a moment, then back down at the wound.

You so desperately wanted to be mad at him, but as his finger caressed the tender skin around your wound, you couldn’t keep up the act. Your body relaxed, as did your mind.

“Wait here..” he said, you didn’t argue.

Laid on your back, staring up at the trees, and the beautiful clear sky, you listened to Arthur shuffle around the little camp. A few minutes later, a fire was started, and even from here, you could feel its warmth.

He came back to you with his hands full of supplies, bandages, a cloth, and a flask. You could finally see him fully, the warm light of the fire casting a dim light on the side of his face.

“Let me look at ya’” he said quietly.

After a moment of examining you under the light, he reached for the flask.

“This is gonna sting..”

He was right, it did, you choked on a breath as he poured a generous amount of alcohol onto the open wound. Your hand reached for his coat sleeve, gripping it tightly as he dried the wound with the cloth. You were patched up a couple of seconds later, the bandage pulled tight around your abdomen.

Arthur helped you sit up, your wound, cleaned and pampered, stung considerably less. Then, with one of Arthur’s hands on your back, and the other resting on your unwounded side, you felt warm. Your face flushed and in your mind, you blamed it on the fire. You stayed like that for a moment, letting him touch you no matter how little and amicable they might have been. The moment didn’t last, he moved away, reaching for the flask from before and unscrewing the cap. He offered it to you first, and you shook your head no. He didn't say anything, just taking a quick drink and setting it on the ground between the two of you.

You didn't mean to, but you couldn't help but think of how pretty he was in the firelight. So peaceful, relieved- you looked away, glaring into the fire. You reached down for the flask, took a quick drink then set it back down, just as he had.

Minutes passed, you took turns drinking. He drank when he wanted to, you drank when your thoughts got away from you. Every time you thought about it just being you and him out here, about how nobody ever had to know, how you could just leave and it could just be you and him, forever. About his laugh, his smile, the little sigh he let out every time he took a drink- you drank again, and again, and again. Until finally Arthur snatched the flask from you.

“That's enough..”

You groaned, “Not really.”

You could feel the heat radiating off your body, your head was spinning, and no matter how hard you tried, your train of thought never strayed from Arthur.

Silence passed between the two of you, the sounds of bugs clicking and other little creatures crawling played dully in your ears. Tapping your foot in the dirt, you watched the ants crawl, watching the majority of them line up, only for two to break off, form their own line, a line of two. Marching around. You let out a little laugh.

Then, suddenly.

“Are you dying?”

You turned to Arthur, face scrunched in confusion.

“… What?”

“You’re dying..” he mumbled.

“I ain’t dying, Morgan.”

He sighed, dropping himself down into the dirt.

“Then what’s wrong with ya’?”

You laughed, “I got shot.”

“No, no, no- before that, whenever I’m at camp you-you run off like I’ve got the damn plague! You’re never there anymore, at least not when I’m around. I know you’re not getting on with the rest of the gang, but I don’t understand why you’re running from me.”

Flopping down in the dirt next to him, you sighed.

“I’m not dying, Arthur, I swear..”

His voice was slurred, and he fumbled as he tried to screw the cap back on his flask.

“Then I’m sorry, for whatever I did that hurt you- I didn’t mean to I swear I just-“

“You didn’t do anything..” you turned over to your uninjured side, “..something ain’t right with me. I think things I'm not supposed to and feel things I shouldn't, and it's…harder to stop when I'm around you.”

You didn't meet his eyes, focusing squarely on the ground even though it made your head spin.

“Y/n..” he said, quietly.

You pushed yourself up faster than you should have, regret forming in your chest, pulling at your heart.

“Forget it…”

“Wait.” he sat up, vertigo claiming him for a short second before he continued. “Wait, please.”

He grabbed ahold of your wrist as you stood unsteady on your own feet, lifting himself off the ground, just as wobbly as you are.

When he asked you to wait, you did, as he searched for the right words, your mind raced thinking of what they could possibly be. And when he said nothing, just stared at you with those sad blue eyes, the alcohol flowing through your blood took over.

“I love you, Arthur, and I'm trying not to. I really am, but you just-” your rant, however guilt ride it was, was cut short.

Grabbing you tight and pulling you so close that you could feel his breath on you. Then, he kissed you, slow and gentle. Your eyes fluttered shut, you could feel his hands move from your shoulders to the small of your back, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. You didn't pull away, not until Arthur did, he stared at you, his eyes searching your face for a long moment, then, when you finally let a smile find its way onto your face, he kissed you again.

The kiss, even though it was uncoordinated and desperate, was everything you wanted. So much guilty, and shame, just for this. Your grip on the back of his coat tightened, he pulled you closer.

You would have stayed like that forever if a sudden wave of vertigo hadn't nearly made your knees buckle, your already unsteady stance faltered, you stumbled back, then forward into Arthur. And he laughed, watching you try and hold your fleeting balance, entirely unhelpful.

“Shut up, Arthur-” you laughed, lightheaded and in pain.

But he kept laughing. Holding onto him by the collar of his jacket you pulled him in for another kiss, he stopped laughing, he smiled though, like he was the happiest man in the world, so you kissed him again, and you kept on kissing him until it was true.

The night ended with you in a drunk heap with Arthur, arms, and legs intertwined, giggling and babbling as you drifted off to sleep.

The forest didn’t seem too harsh that night, despite the bug and the dirt, and the distant howling of wolves.

Save Yourself | GN!Reader x Various (RDR2)

Summary: It’s the beginning of the end and gang members are starting to flee. Things are looking grim, fights are breaking out. Arthur begins to realize you’re in danger. However, he’s not entirely sure whose side you’re on. It’s time for an unfortunate conversation.

Multiple endings if a specific gang member is your lover

Pairings: Friend!Arthur, Arthur, Charles, Hosea, Javier, John, Kieran, Dutch

Warnings: Mentions of death,  Murfree Brood activities AO3 LINK

The air was so thick you couldn’t breathe. Was it the humidity of this shit-hole or the unsettling presence of iron and burnt skin wafting forward from the cave so rank you could almost taste it? Perhaps it was the mood everyone was simmering in now that betrayals have been made? You weren’t too sure, but it was hard to exist inside of. Whatever it was, it was only worsened by the heavy loss you held in your chest. Hosea, who had been a father figure in your life, and Lenny. Truth be told, you thought Sean’s death was pretty horrific. Never did you imagine you’d lose so many of your family in such a short period of time.

Molly’s death seemed to haunt everyone, even those who hated her. Was she a rat? Nobody could agree on an answer. To certain gang members it was a just cause and a good riddance; while to others it birthed paranoia in their minds that they, while innocent, may be next. You couldn’t sleep. Not that most of the gang could. Echoes of the Murfree Brood washed over Beaver’s Hollow all day and all night creating a sense of unease. They could return and attack at any moment. Slit your throats and skin you alive. Could you really trust those on guard duty when arguments are breaking out daily?

The line was being drawn in dirt before everyone eyes. Sides were being picked. You knew it was coming. Everyone did. It was hard to believe. Hard to accept. Everyone here… You love them all so much! Some more than others, but the fact still stands that these people have been your life and your family for years. This was all you knew. It scared you. Who were you without the gang? What would you do? Where would you go? That monstrous weight of reality sunk in while you watched Arthur physically remove Strauss from camp. No one said a word.

Because soon it’ll be their turn.

Because soon it’ll be yours.

Waiting for the other shoe to drop was agony. Frightened whispers were exchanged between the women as the men threw words like ‘brothers’, ‘loyalty’, ‘rat’, and ‘betrayal’ around violently. “It’ll be okay.” So many tried to comfort each other, but you know the truth. You know it’ll only get worse from here and it weighed heavy on your mind the past few nights while staying up listening to strange calls from the forest and arguments around the fire.

You didn’t know what to choose or where to go. You love everyone so much, life without them seemed terrifying. A loss within its self you’ll have to grieve hand in hand with the deaths. How could you do that to yourself when you’re already so down? Maybe dying with them would be best… You could tell Arthur’s nearing his end and he seems to know it too. Watching him die, watching everyone lose their heads trying to make sense of everything, knowing more deaths will come and not knowing who will be the next to go… Hell… It was hell.

“Looks like Trelawny is gone for good.” You gazed up as Arthur leaned against the tree across from where you were trying to read in an attempt to escape the reality of things. With a sigh you folded the book shut, studying Arthur’s pale face. It’s hard to believe this is the man who had been so strong for you all these years. Who was as healthy as a bounding deer only months ago. Seeing hin in such a state broke you in ways you couldn’t even describe.

“It’s probably for the best.” Was all you managed to say. It was hard but you tried to keep your feelings swallowed away. Arthur didn’t need that on his plate right now.

You were surprised when he bent down, meeting you at eye-level. “Ride with me.” There was no room for argument, it must be something serious. You both rose in silence, making your way through camp towards the horses. As you walked you couldn’t help but to check on Karen who was passed out drunk, making sure she won’t choke to death on her own spit while you’re gone. Jack waddled past the two of you. “Have you seen Kane? I can’t find him anywhere.” Your eyes scanned the area as you realized you too haven't seen the dog around for some time. “He might be out exploring. I’m sure he’ll come back.” Your words were little comfort for the boy who walked off with a pouted lip to ask someone else.

“It’ll be okay.” Arthur’s voice startled you out of your thoughts. He must’ve noticed a tint of darkness wash over your face. “I mean… It’s not okay, but we’ll make it okay.” Tired eyes searched your features. He was trying hard to understand where your head-space was at in all of this.

Pulling yourself into your saddle, you tugged the reigns of your horse. “I know. We always do the best we can, right?”

“That’s right.” Something in his voice gave way to his heart in this moment. He was just as torn up about all this as you were.

The ride was silent. You both just sat with your peace while riding towards the East Grizzlies. “I thought… Uh… We’d head up to O’Creagh’s Run. Maybe do some fishin’.”

“Sounds good, Arthur.”

“I had a friend up here, Hamish, he’s a funny guy. An old veteran who lost his leg. Found him on the side of the road one day while I was uh,” he shrugged, “wonderin’ around. Said his horse bucked him and took his false leg, asked me to get it back. After that he invited me to go huntin’ a few times. We had a nice talk, recalled our lives and the things we should’ve done different. That’s how I got Buell here.” Arthur pat Buell lovingly as he spoke. “Old Hamish didn’t make it back from one of our hunting trips, asked me to take care of him. How could I say no?” His voice was soft since Arthur switched from talking to you to talking to the horse himself.

A fond laugh found its way past your lips. Arthur loved animals so much, it was endearing. You could tell he cared greatly for Buell. “I did wonder when I saw Buell show up suddenly. Found a good match after Boadicea?”

“I think so.” He flashed you a brilliant smile. “I hate to think our time together might be cut short with all this-” He waved his hand as if motioning to some abstract thought-form created by Dutch’s recent behavior. “Boadicea was my girl. But Buell? Well, I think I can trust him to carry me for the rest of my days. He’s strong, stubborn-”

“Like you.” You interjected cheekily, causing Arthur to playfully roll his eyes.

“If you say so.”

Soon you came upon the lake and slowed your horses. Despite his physical state, Arthur still helped you down, giving you an affectionate pat on the back. “The real reason I wanted to bring you out here… Well… We need to have a talk, away from all this mess.” You could tell it was hard for him to get these words out. Arthur didn’t quite know exactly where you stand and a part of him was worried he’ll make the situation worse than it already is.

Your legs carried you until the front of your boots were licked by lapping water. This place is peaceful, you thought. Not muggy. Not decaying. Immediately you sucked in a deep inhale, allowing your lungs to fill with crisp clean mountain air. Deer bound across the other side of the lake and you can see colorful fish dart beneath the waters surface. In this moment you felt so much gratitude towards Arthur for taking you here. “This is a good place to have it, can probably keep my head straight here for once.”

He grunted in agreement. “I know what you mean. Beaver’s Hollow…”

“More like Beaver’s Shithole.” You sat a moment, screwing the components of your rod together before accepting the bait Arthur stretched out in the palm of his hand. He let out a hearty laugh which then dribbled into a coughing fit. Without a second thought you rubbed his back while passing over your water canteen.

“I’m fine.” He waved it away, wiping his mouth while his chest settled.

Silence spread over the shore. You and Arthur soaking in each other’s company. The only sounds that reached your ears for awhile were of your lines casting and the chattering ducks. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Shoot.” You cocked your head to look up at Arthur. His eyes were trained on the water, as if trying to see something.

“Where’s your head at with all this? I mean Javier is…. And Bill hasn’t had a thought a day in his life, but he’s stayin’ with Dutch. Then there’s that business with Marston being broken out too early, there was talk of hanging him for Christ’s sake!”

“I know…” You paused, reflecting on the tone in Arthur’s voice. His heart is broken for his brothers. For his family. “I saw the way Dutch talked to you yesterday, couldn’t believe my own ears. Looks like Micah’s the golden child now.”

Arthur let out a mirthless laugh. “I said to John just the other day, looks like we don’t gotta worry about who Dutch’s favorite is anymore.”

“You went and blew that bridge up, right?”

“Yeah, we did it.”

“How’d that go?”

He shrugged. “Almost got ran over by a train, but it went as well as expected. Don’t know if this is the noise Dutch wanted. Seems idiotic if you ask me.”

“I’m gonna be honest Arthur, I don’t know what he’s thinking. I don’t understand any of this. New York? We hardly survived Saint Denis and that’s nothing compared to New York… It makes no damn sense. He gets pissed off when people treat us like a bunch of yokels but that’s who we are. That’s who we’ve always been.”

“Don’t I know it. But Dutch… He’s gone. He’s changed. I don’t know when it happened or why. I-” Arthur shook his head, eyes tilting up to watch the clouds float by, “I tried so hard to make sense of it all and I just can’t wrap my mind around it.”

“John mentioned he thinks it was the trolley accident but I remember even at Horseshoe, Hosea was calling him out on his bullshit. He started changing things then. The plan he had was good, was solid. If we had just gone West, back to our home… And bought some land we could’ve lived peaceful lives.” Old feelings of upset swelled in your belly as you reflected on your time camping out at Horseshoe Overlook. It now seemed as though it were a lifetime ago instead of mere months. You paused to let it settle before continuing. “Hosea knew then.”

Arthur’s eyes squinted and you could tell he too was recalling these moments. “I remember that. He said something to Marston, told him to get out while he can. Take Abigail and the boy and run far far away. Suppose he knew something was up before the rest of us did. Hosea knows Dutch best… knew…”

The correction made you both flinch. It still wasn’t real, Hosea being gone.

Thankfully attention was diverted when a fish tugged at your line. Jerking the rod sideways you quickly reeled it in with excitement. “I caught something!”

“Let’s see it.” Arthur leaned down to scoop your fish out of the water, showing off a nice pike. “Not bad.”

Pulling out the hook, you decided to stow the fish away. “Nice dinner, we’ll have to cook it before we head back, I don’t think Pearson would be happy with our fish haul.”

“Probably not.” Arthur mused. “I’ve seen him drinking recently. Karen too, poor Karen.”

“She hasn’t been the same since Sean.”

“None of us have, but she definitely took the worst of it. This whole thing… I guess we’re at the end now.” He side-eyed you in an attempt to measure your reaction. “You know, while we’re about all this…. I know it’s not easy but you should get yourself out. Start makin’ a plan, do something. I don’t want this to end with you gettin’ hurt.”

Anxiety shot through your heart like a streak of lightening across a pitch black sky. “Arthur-”

He said you name quietly in an effort to silence you. “There’s no way forward now and some distance between you and this will do you some good. You’ve been with us for a long time. Hell, we had a good run. But, John and I were talking, and I know you wanna stay loyal to Dutch, but we ain't the ones who changed. I’m afraid… well… I’m afraid Dutch’s gonna get you killed. Losing you ain’t worth all the money in the world.” The tears in Arthur’s eyes showed you just how much those words meant to him.

___

If Arthur is your friend/brother and you have no lover in the gang:

“Obviously I can’t tell you what to do and I don’t wanna force you to pick sides. Javier and Bill are our brothers and I don’t wanna fight them. You’re my family before everything else, before money, always. Get yourself out. Make a life for yourself.”

You stay silent, holding eye-contact with your long time friend. “Is this really how you feel?”

His head dipped down as he kicked at a stone. “It is.”

Nodding, you let out a tensed breath. “What about you?”

“I’ll be fine. Just- put yourself first. You worked yourself to death for this gang, that’s good enough. I don’t need to be burying you too. So get out of here. It doesn’t have to be now, it doesn’t have to be tonight.” You watched as Arthur fished a bill clip out of his bag. “When the time comes, take this and go.”

Taking the wad of cash, you flipped through seventy bucks. “Arthur, I don’t need your money.”

“Oh yes you do! Don’t pretend with me, I ain’t that stupid. How you gonna start a new life with ten cents to your name? Dutch has all our money, every last dime of it hidden somewhere out there. You take this and you make the best of it. I don’t need it anymore.”

You reached over, gently squeezing Arthur’s shoulder in solidarity. There was a moment where you both swapped fond smiles. “Thank you Arthur, truly.”

“Don’t mention it. Go somewhere and start right. No more of this life, got it?”

“Got it.”

“Now,” he picked up his rod again, “let’s catch me a fish so I don’t go hungry.” Arthur’s laugh rang out across the lake, sounding wonderful to your ears. There was something so bittersweet about this moment in time. The other shoe has dropped. This will probably be one of the last peaceful moments you’ll have with Arthur.

___

If Arthur is your lover:

You could feel your own oncoming tears now starting to burn the corners of your eyes yet not ready to spill. No… Not like this. This can’t be how things go. “Run away with me!” You blurted desperately.

Arthur seemed confused as you grabbed his hands, squeezing them tight as if you were afraid he would leave you. “What?”

“Run away with me, Arthur. We can… I don’t know. Get you somewhere warm and dry. I heard Colorado’s a great place for people with tuberculous. We can go West, just like we wanted. We can make a home for ourselves, get another dog.”

Arthur forced himself to turn away in an attempt to hide his tears, shaking his head while repeating your name like a mantra. “What about the rest of the gang?”

“They can come with us! Listen, we can make plans for everyone to slip away and make their escape. Then, if they want, they can join us again. We can get that land together. Build a house or two. That was our idea all along, right?” You gently pulled him towards you, wrapping your arms around his thin waist. God he had lost so much weight in the past month… “Arthur… Please look at me.”

“Christ.” Came Arthur’s trembling words. He finally looked at you. Crying. He wanted so desperately to have a life with you. A future. Reaching out he caressed your cheek. “It won’t work, sweetheart. Not with the price on my head. We’d be runnin’ forever and you need to get out of this life.”

You frantically searched his face, hopelessly trying to hold onto any crumb of information that might aid your racing mind. “Then… We’ll help everyone else get out and we hide in the Rocky Mountains. I heard the Pinkertons don’t bother searching anywhere past Telluride. Let’s go to Colorado city, it’s our kind of place. Real rough and the law is loose there.”

He scoffed, pulling away from you in frustration. “Damn it! Just stop. Why’dya gotta be so damn stubborn all the time?”

“Oh, I’m the stubborn one?”

“Look at me.” He raised his arms out, doing a little spin so you could take in all of him. “I ain’t making it to no Colorado city. I’m dying. It’s too late for me. But you? You have your whole life ahead of you.”

“Arthur-”

He interrupted you, words cutting like a knife. There was no changing his mind. “Get yourself that plot of land in the West. Somewhere nice, peaceful. Get yourself a hound, okay?” You hadn’t noticed in the heat of things; tears of frustration and heartache that were clouding your vision now fell freely over your rosy cheeks while Arthur pushed a huge wad of cash into your shaking hands. “There’s a thousand here.”

“A thousand?” You breathed, simply staring at the money. You made no move to count it or put it away. It was just too… surreal. Too fake. This couldn’t be happening…

“Should be enough. I can try to get you some more, but…” The flat of his palm dragged across his tear stained cheeks. “Don’t waste your life on me. Find a nice man to settle down with, you deserve that much. I can’t go with you… I wish I could I-”

“I don’t want to leave you.”

Arthur flinched at the heartbreak in your voice. This was just as hard on him as it was on you. “I know darlin’. But I rather die happy knowing you got out and you’re long gone before anything can happen to you. You can finally live the life I could never give you.” His large hand gently folded your fingers over the money and he guided you to your satchel, prompting you to tuck the money away safely. “Please… Please, this is all I ask.”

A gut wrenching sob ripped through your trembling form. All of your pent up negative feelings were rearing their ugly head, stampeding through you like wild horses until you completely broke. You found yourself in Arthur’s arms, sobbing miserably into his shoulder. “I love you.”

“I know.” His voice held just as much pain while he said your name and kissed your hair. “Now set me free. I’ll always love you, wherever you go. So leave.”

“Okay.” You whispered. “If this is what you really want, I’ll do it.”

“Thank you.”

___

If Charles is your lover:

“Charles has a good head on his shoulders. He and I’ve spoke about this and-”

Now it all made sense. “He asked you to talk to me.”

“He did.” Arthur confirmed. He gently said your name to draw your attention back towards him. “Look, I get why he’s worried. You’ve known me far longer than he’s known you. We’re family and you’re one loyal piece of work.”

It was hard to fight the small sad smile that made its way to your lips. “He wants out then?”

“Charles? Shit, he’s your partner. You know what he wants. He just doesn’t know if you’ll choose him or me.” Abandoning his rod, Arthur took out a pack of smokes, placing a cigarette between his lips. “Choose him.” He struck the match on the bottom of his boot only to flick it away once the cigarette was lit.

“Arthur-” You scoffed. “Charles knows what you and John mean to me. What this gang means to me. I know he won’t ask me to pick sides, but you and I’ve been together for far too long. It seems wrong if I don’t see this through with you ‘til the end….”

He simply shook his head. “This is the end. Everything beyond this is some fucked up story we ain’t got time for. Dutch’s twisted fairy-tale. I’m already on my way out a different route. Hell, even Marston’s realizing he needs to pack his family up and leave. You’re right about Charles, but to be frank, he shouldn’t have to ask you to pick sides. You choose him. You always choose him, you hear me?”

Arthur’s words dissipated into the air followed by a long silence as you tried to register everything being said. “I hear you.”

“Good.” He picked his rod back up, attempting to keep the fish interested by reeling it in a bit. “I’m happy for you, ya know? Out of all the men you could’ve ended up with I’m happy you’re with him. He’ll take care of you, treat you right.”

You gently elbowed him, wearing a shit eating grin. “Does that mean we have your blessing to marry?” You took delight as Arthur squinted at you.

“As if you need my blessing. But yeah, you have it.”

You both laughed and for awhile it was peaceful as you fished. “It still feels wrong.”

“I know it does. It is wrong, Dutch should’ve never gotten us in this situation to begin with.”

“And now I have to leave my brothers behind.” Even though they were your own words they shocked you as they reached your ears. Realization finally hit you like a fearful deer frozen in front of an oncoming train. “I don’t want this situation to be the last time I see you, Arthur.” You reached up to brush away a stray tear. “I can’t bear the thought of that.”

He hummed in appreciation. “I know. But we’re all leaving one way or another. I rather you leave right.” Shuffling beside you drew your attention over to him as he pulled a bill clip from his satchel. “It ain’t much but Charles is a capable man. I’m sure this’ll last you long enough.”

You counted out fifty dollars. “Arthur-”

“Don’t you say you can’t go accepting my money. You can and you will. Charles sure as hell won’t. That doesn’t change the fact that you need money to survive.” He eyed you almost threateningly. “Put that way before I make you.”

There was no arguing with him, you knew better and so the money disappeared into your bag without fuss. “Thank you. For always taking care of me. I wish you could come with us, I know Charles feels the same.”

Arthur simply shook his head. “I have a lot of unfinished business to take care of. And, if I’m honest, I’ll sleep better at night knowing you got out safe before anything gets worse.” He took a final drag of his cigarette before stomping it out, then he pulled you into a tight embrace. “You live a good life for me, okay?”

A shaky breath rattled your body while you hugged him for dear life. God, did you love this man. He always cared about you before anything else. “Okay. I will.” The promise was true to your heart. Anything for Arthur.

You two stayed hugging for awhile until a tug on Arthur’s line diverted the emotional tension. “Looks like I got dinner!” He giddily grabbed at the pole, reeling it in. “Check out the size of this one! You sir, are a fish.”

You couldn’t help but to laugh and admire the way the setting sun illuminated him. There Arthur was, one of the most genuine human beings you’ve ever met. Your heart swelled with love and adoration for him in that moment, just appreciating it for what it is. This will be one of your last core memories with him, you thought. Might as well make it last.

___

If Hosea was your lover:

“I know you stayed loyal to us because of Hosea, but… I think he’d want you out.”

It was hard considering what Hosea would want for you in this situation. He had wanted you out since Blackwater but you insisted he should stay with his found family… The family that got him killed. Not that you blamed Arthur and John, but you weren’t stupid. You knew Hosea didn’t feel great about the bank robbery and you knew Dutch played his hand. There was a time you were upset with Arthur for not taking Hosea’s side that evening, yet you had seen how much guilt riddled him already and so any harsh feelings fell away almost as quickly as they began.

“He would. He did.” You finally spoke, idly playing with a loose strand of your hair. “But I know if he were here he’d want to make sure you boys were safe. I can’t do that to him. I want to fulfill his wishes if I can.”

Arthur scoffed, shaking his head while cursing your name beneath his breath. “Don’t do this to yourself. Look at’cha,” he motioned to you, “you’re exhausted. You’re miserable. You need to go. Before Dutch decides his dear old friend’s lover is a rat or- whatever’s going on now. Don’t stay in this mess on his account. That’s what got him shot. He should’ve left with you when he had the chance.”

“There’s no point in should’ve’s Mr. Morgan.” Arthur’s face softened when he realized you’re on the verge of tears.

“I know.” He said quickly, voice dropping to a harmless tone. It wasn’t Arthur’s intention to drag you down further. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I just want you to understand.”

“The message is loud and clear.” You sat yourself on a nice rock, needing something solid beneath you in an attempt to help ground your raging feelings. “Hosea loves you boys so much. I love you boys… And the girls too, of course. I guess… I feel like I have a responsibility to make sure you’re all okay.”

Arthur stepped forward and bent down to meet you at your level respectfully. “Thank you. I truly do mean that, but you’ll get yourself killed. Now, how are John and I supposed to live knowing Hosea would beat our ass for letting you get hurt? I know it’s scary. Hell, it’s scary for me too. Hosea’s gone. He made it out his own way. It’s only right you go too. Live your life for him, it’ll make him happy.”

You looked down when Arthur placed something in your hands. “You’re giving me this?”

“Sorry it ain’t much, but you’ll need the money. Abigail snatched up Hosea’s savings before they moved camp, gave it to me in case I wanted to put it in the box but it only seems right if you have it. This is your money now.” He gently squeezed your hand, flashing a tired yet genuine smile. “Thank you for making Hosea happy for all these years. We had a good run.”

You searched his fatigued face, taking note of how genuine Arthur looked. His eyes heavy with pain and his smile was somber from old memories. “Yeah,” you breathed out a mirthless laugh, “we did.” It was truly over now. Time to let go. “I know there’s nothing I can do for you, Arthur. That’s why you’ve been so quiet with everyone, isn’t it? Because it’s bad…. Hosea, he-” Your fingers idly played with the dollar bills in your hands. “Well, you know. He was sick for awhile. Not sure if it’s what you have or not but- He lived quite long.”

“He did. Not as long as he should have, but you’re right. Can’t say I have the same fortune as he had, or maybe I do in another sick way. I don’t know. All of this is confusing. Despite everything, one thing has been clear to me for some time now. You belong somewhere you can build a nice peaceful life. I don’t know exactly what I believe in just yet, but I do know… Wherever Hosea is, if he can look down at you and know you’re safe and happy, then that’s enough.”

No longer could your tears be held back. You let out a soft cry, leaning down to rest your forehead on Arthur’s shoulder “Thank you Arthur. I wish I could do more… Just… Please keep him company until I can come home to him.”

“You have my word.”

____

If Javier is your lover:

“I won’t stop you if you choose to stay. I know your loyalties probably lie more with Javier than Dutch himself, but Javier is… Well…. He’s something else. I ain’t gonna lie, it hurts knowing this is what he’s choosing.”

You nodded slowly, seeming to understand what Arthur meant. He and Javier have been brothers long before you joined the gang. It must be hard knowing a bond like that was being broken. Javier himself has been devastated Arthur and John aren’t on his side.

“After everything Javier’s been though… I don’t think he can picture a life without Dutch. Whether he’s giving too much importance to him in his life or not, it’s not my place to say.” You turned kind eyes towards Arthur. “Just know there’s more to this than loyalty. This is bringing up a lot of feelings in him and I don’t think he knows what to do with them. Somewhere along the way Dutch become his safe place.”

Arthur hums slowly, squinting as he listened. “I’m not sure I fully get what you mean, but I think I understand. I’m just worried is all.”

“You and me both.” You sighed, staring up at the orange sky. Your eyes followed the darkening clouds as night approached. “If I’m honest, I don’t know what to do. I can’t lose Javi... He’s my everything.”

“I know. I can’t even begin to imagine how you feel. I know your relationship is none of my business, I just can’t help but to worry about you. Javier ain’t got his head on straight and I’m afraid Dutch’ll have the barrel of his gun right at your temple while Javier’s swearing he won’t shoot you. I don’t know how much he can be trusted right now and I mean no offense by that. He’s my brother, and you’re my family same as him.”

Arthur rubbed the sweat from his brow before continuing. “I’m not gonna tell you to leave him or nothin’ like that. Just… Make yourself scarce for awhile. Get out of the line of fire. Javier’ll find you again. Come what may, he does love you.”

It killed you to consider something like this. Everything was happening so fast it was frightening. There’s even a small part of you that fears someone will claim you’re a rat and you’ll end up with a bullet in your skull. If that happened… would Javier watch you die with disgust on his face? Or would he be heartbroken for you, his lover?

You know Javier would never hurt you. He’s always been sweet on you, so much so the camp used to playfully make sick noises whenever they ran into you two… It’s hard to believe that wasn’t so long ago, when you were all friends and jokes were harmless. You hated how things became. You finally got your Javi back from Guarma and now… This all must be so traumatic for him. It sure was for you.

“Arthur… If I leave it’ll destroy him.” You finally look down, electing to study a rock beside your shoe. “I can’t do that to him.”

Arthur was silent for a long time. You could tell this decision pained him. He’s always been someone who cared deeply for you and your well-being. “Okay.” It was such a simple response, yet it was not uttered lightly. Arthur knew there was nothing he could do. “Just pretend I didn’t say anything.”

You gently pressed your elbow to his arm in an attempt to lighten his mood. “And Arthur?” He grunted in response. “Thank you for always being such a good friend. I’m sorry it’s come to this. I hate seeing you two fight. I know you’re doing the best you can and it hasn’t been easy on you… Just… Thank you.”

A warm arm embraced you in a side hug, causing you to look up at Arthur’s smiling face. He really did just want you to be happy. “Don’t worry about it. Just catch me a fish. I’m hungry!”

“Huh?” You laughed, wiggling out of the hug. “What makes you think I’m catching your dinner?”

“You’re the one who knows Javier’s secret fishing techniques. I’m sure you can manage.”

Maybe this decision isn’t the right one. You didn’t know. But, for now, you enjoy the last moments of happiness with your dear old friend, Arthur Morgan.

_____

If John is your lover:

“Your relationship is none of my business. I know you and John are sweet on each other, but I also know he cares for that boy and his mother. If you can… take them with you. Maybe some good can come out of Jack’s life.”

You took time to consider Arthur’s words carefully. “I hate that everything’s so complicated.” You admit. “I know our relationship ain’t the most proper thing to do, but you can’t choose who you fall in love with.”

“I know-” Arthur laughed a little followed by a few body shaking coughs. “Maybe I fell in love with the wrong people, I don’t know. But I get what you mean. Love is complicated business.”

“Jack, he’s… Such a cute kid. John already told me Abigail might know where Dutch hid the money… I understand she’s not fond of me and I don’t blame her. I’m worried she might only help herself and Jack.”

“Abigail? No, she’s not like that.” Arthur’s hands came to rest on his gun belt while he took you in, giving you a gentle smile. “Even if she did, she has every right to. That boy should come first.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

“You and John will be fine. You’re a good shot and he’s… A mangy coyote of sorts.”

Arthur’s comment amused you enough for a chuckle to pass your lips. Your eyes settle on the ducks resting across the shore for awhile, watching them prune themselves. Life as a duck must be so peaceful, you thought. They only had to worry about surviving… Then again maybe you and the ducks were one in the same. In the end everything is just trying to survive, including you. “You don’t think John’ll leave me to save Abigail and Jack, do you?”

“I don’t know,” he confessed, “but what I do know is that he loves you. At least, I think he does. It’s hard to tell with him sometimes. After he left Abigail and Jack like that… I’m glad he realizes he messed up. But… Marston…” Shaking his head, Arthur slowly began reeling in his lure in hopes it would invite a fish to his hook. “My best advice is to get friendly with Abigail and all three of you make a plan together. Don’t try to go it alone, it’ll only make things harder.

You nodded in understanding. “I love Jack, I really do. Every day I hear him ask Abigail why everyone’s being so mean and it breaks my heart. He shouldn’t have to grow up like this. And John… Well, of course I want him out too. He almost died for Dutch’s foolishness. Dutch could’ve saved him in Saint Denis!”

“I agree with you, but maybe it was a blessin’ in disguise.”

You scoffed, brows furrowing with both upset and confusion. “How can you say that, Arthur!?”

He held his hand up in surrender, signaling that he meant nothing nasty by it. “Our boat sank to the bottom of the ocean. The chaos was so great, I’m not sure if I could’ve grabbed Marston before the damn thing went under. You know he can’t swim. I’m glad he was in prison than with us. If he was there… You can break a man outta prison but you can’t break a man outta death.”

Shoulders falling, you searched Arthur’s face. It was easy to get lost in your feelings nowadays but you knew Arthur’s words rang true. So much gratitude was held in your heart for Arthur Morgan. Saving John all those times… You didn’t know what would happen without him. “I know I haven’t said it enough, Arthur, but you’re a good friend.”

“Maybe sometimes, but not always.” He gave you a knowing look, offering a small smile to show he appreciated your words. “Take care of them for me, okay? Make sure Marston stays straight and Jack has a good life.”

“I will.” You promised.

____

If Kieran was your lover

“I’m surprised you stuck with us for this long after….” Arthur trailed off. He was struggling to figure out the right way to bring him up. “Kieran was a good kid. I didn’t know him well but I liked him enough. I know you loved him a lot and he was real sweet on you… After what happened to him... After you watched…” He fell silent again, afraid he’ll say the wrong thing. “Look, all I’m sayin’ is maybe it’s time to find somewhere peaceful.”

You searched Arthur’s face, desperation reflecting on your own. “But… Where will I go?”

“I don’t know.”

“How will I make money?”

“I’ll give you some money, so don’t worry about that. I’ll find something for you. We’ll figure it out. It’s the least I can do after all this mess. Kieran didn’t deserve what happened to him. If you want to watch Colm swing you’re welcome to come with us, but I doubt that’s any business you wanna stick your nose in. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of O’Driscoll boys there.”

You sucked in a shaky breath, eyes clouding up at the very thought of your beloved Kieran. What a gentle soul with his whole life ripped away from him. You two had spoken about maybe one day owning a stable together, or trying to make a life for the both of you… Those dreams shattered your heart these past few months. The image of his death still haunts you. “I’ll thank about it.” You responded to Arthur’s hanging comment. You weren’t sure if you wanted to see any more death. “I’m going to be honest… I don’t know if there’s anything out there for me.”

“Sure there is.” Arthur gently nudged you in a brotherly way. “I know it’s hard to see the future now, but Kieran had big plans for the both of you, didn’t he? You can still do that if you want. Wherever he is, I’m sure that would make him mighty happy. Or- uh… I don’t know… We’ll figure something out.”

Imagining yourself surrounded by beautiful horses made you smile. “It would be peaceful. I could use a little peace in my life after all this.”

“Yeah, me too.” He chuckled. “Whatever you decide now you don’t have to do that forever. Just take each day at a time. But one things for certain, you need to leave.”

“I know.” Your voice shook with emotion. “This has all been scary and I feel so overwhelmed.”

Stepping sideways, Arthur wrapped an arm around you and pulled you into a warm side hug. He rubbed your arm in an attempt to soothe your fears. He wasn’t good at comforting people but he hoped this would do something. “Hell, I feel the same way. But we’ll get you taken care of. Don’t you worry.”

“Thank you, Arthur. I’ll try to be strong. I think… I want to live the life Kieran always wanted but never had. And maybe… If he’s ever here with me… He’ll be able to enjoy it too.”

“That sounds nice. I think you’re right, I’m sure he’d love it.” Arthur’s blessing lifted a weight off your shoulders. He was one of the few members of the gang you trusted with your life. If he agreed it would be good for you then it must be the right choice.

Calmness washed over you for the first time in days. Your gaze met the clouds, wondering if Kieran could see you right now. “Then it’s settled.” You decided. “I’ll pack tonight.”

____

If Dutch is your lover

“I know you love him.” Arthur gently placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. “Dutch is.. was my family. But all this insanity…”

You immediately pulled away from Arthur. You weren't upset with him, Dutch had been treating you coldly too. But to think your Dutch wasn’t the man you loved anymore was terrifying. What happened to him? Was everything a lie? Did Dutch sell you a dream? It made you ill trying to make sense of everything. Arthur pulled you out of your thoughts by gently calling your name.

“Look, I’m sorry but after Molly they’re already looking for someone else to be the rat. Now, I don’t know if we have a rat or not, but if we do it sure as hell ain’t you. Bill’s been talkin’. His words don’t mean much to anyone with half a brain but Micah’s starting to agree with him and now those words are gettin’ into Dutch’s ears. I don’t want to see anything bad happen to you.”

Your jaw dropped in disbelief. “They’re saying all that… About me?” A dark look washed over Arthur’s face confirming his truthfulness. Fear froze your blood ice cold. Suddenly you were hit with a silent understanding that you probably won’t make it out of this alive even if you didn’t want to betray Dutch. “Shit!”

“I know.” A weary sigh left Arthur’s lips. “The girls in camp are real worried about you. Molly loved Dutch in her own special way, look where that got her.”

Wrapping your arms around yourself in an attempt to find comfort, you stared at the ground in contemplation. “I know... Shit, Arthur! Dutch… The Dutch I know is such a loving man. Someone who always wanted to do right by everyone, who wanted to see orphans taken off the streets. This isn’t him.”

“Look at me.” Arthur murmured your name so you’d raise your head. “That Dutch is gone. I wish it weren’t the case, but it is.”

“Is he still in there?”

“I don’t know. If he is… He’s buried deep inside. I can’t see him no more and I tried… I really tried.”

“I can’t give up now! I-” You trailed off in an attempt to swallow down the cries that wanted to escape your lips. “After Hosea, I’m afraid of leaving him alone.”

Arthur understood. You could tell he felt similarly and that this was destroying him as much as it was destroying you. “It’s hard. I hate going against him like this, he’s all I’ve ever know. I wish there was a way to… Uh…. I don’t know… But we can’t risk it. I can’t make you do anything you don’t wanna do. All I’m saying is that it might be better to cut your losses. Leave now so you can remember Dutch as the savior you knew instead of the man he became.”

“Betrayal is out of the question even if I don’t wanna stay.”

“C’mon now. That’s not true.” You could hear the groan in his voice. “You stayed loyal far longer than you needed to. Sometimes things just end. Knowing when to step away isn’t betrayal.”

“I guess.” Your finger brushed against your cheek to catch a falling tear. “I don’t know what happened to him, Arthur. I miss him so much. All I want is my Dutch back.”

Arthur abandoned his pole to pull you into a tight hug. Such a simple gesture, you hadn’t been hugged in so long. You didn’t even realize how badly you needed a hug until your emotions broke through your walls. He gently rubbed your back as you wept openly into his shoulder. Arthur’s voice was soft and soothing while he spoke. “Me too. But he ain’t comin’ back. I wish he was… Believe me. We’ll have to do the best we can. We’ll get through this. Just consider it, alright? That’s all I ask.”

“Alright.” You whispered, holding onto him for dear life. You couldn’t bear the thought of your family falling away just yet. Trying to dismiss your anxiety you close your eyes and take in a shaky breath. All the crying in the world won’t help you. It was over whether you liked it or not.

You felt gratitude towards Arthur for being so patient with you. He held you until you felt well enough. “Now, let’s get you that fish dinner.” You could feel the rumble of laughter in Arthur’s chest as he responded heartily with ‘Gladly!’. Dutch was gone, but it made you feel better that you at least still had Arthur.

A Quick Sketch

✿ Arthur Morgan x gn reader ✿

Warnings : Use of Y/n, Violence?? (Reader hits Arthur with his journal), fluff, fluff and more fluff

Author's Note : Just a quick read of an idea that popped into my head, I'm currently in my Arthur simping era so enjoy 💙

Summary : You catch Arthur trying to draw you.

"Are you drawin' me, Mr Morgan?" You raise your brow in question as you smile, watching Arthur carefully as he lets out an awkward cough before glancing up to look at you.

"I-uh." He closes his journal quickly. "Just keepin' track of the camp funds, is all."

"Camp funds?" You hum softly; standing up from the log you were sat on and making your way around the campfire, dusting off a small crate beside Arthur before you sit on it. "Can I help at all?"

"Easy enough to keep track of, I'm fine." He nods, turning to face you. "Thank you, for offering."

"You are a terrible liar, Mr Morgan."

"Me? I would never lie to you!" He replies, his gaze is now set on the flames in front of him.

"You just did!" You grin.

"I did no such thing!"

"Oh really?" You laugh gently, holding your hand out towards Arthur. "Show me."

"Show you what?"

"Don't go acting all dumb on me now, Morgan." You motion at the journal on his lap. "Show me." He sighs, taking his journal in his hands.

"Fine, here." He flips through the many pages of his journal and stops to hand it to you; you take it from his grip, nodding as a thank you.

"Oh, Arthur..." You gleam, running your fingers over the charcoal sketch that he had been drawing prior to you questioning him about it. "You have amazing talent." You state.

"Sure, whatever you say." He hums.

"I'm bein' serious, Arthur!" You scold him, closing the journal and hitting him up the side of his head with it.

"Jesus Christ!" He hisses, snatching his journal back from your grasp. "Ain't no need to get violent."

"Y/n is right, Arthur. You have a gift." You grin, spinning on your heel to face Charles.

"How long have you been listening?" Arthur groans.

"Long enough." Charles shrugs. "It's not like you two were having a quiet conversation between yourselves."

"See though, Arthur." You point to the journal in his hand. "I ain't the only one who thinks you got talent."

"S'nothing special." Arthur says. "Thank you though, both of you."

"You're very welcome." You smile, facing Arthur again. "Now, finish that drawing- I want to see the end result."