Sorry Miguel, but “I took the place of a version of me that died to live the life I thought I deserved” is not equivalent to “I saved a few lives in another universe and would like for my dad to not die in mine please” Dawg.
alright here i go with another hyperfixation. re-watching markiplier play red dead for the third time really brings out my love for cowboys and specifically arthur morgan
arthur morgan x female!reader
summary: after the disaster in blackwater, the van der linde gang are on the run. caught in the middle of a harsh snowstorm, they need to find shelter and food, fast
word count: ~8.7k
warnings: cursing, violence, mentions of death/corpses, micah being a creep as usual, little bit of angst, slight sexual suggestions
next>
By 1899, the age of outlaws and gunslingers was at an end. America was becoming a land of laws. Even the west had mostly been tamed. A few gangs still roamed around, but they were being hunted down and destroyed.
The cold winter wind bites at your cheeks, searing them a dark shade. Your gang, Van der Linde, had been traveling through a harsh storm for days. It’s May for god’s sake, why is the weather like this? It was Dutch’s idea to travel north across the mountains to lose the law and you’re sure it worked considering how lost you all are.
It’s been a hard few days. Ever since a botched ferry job back in Blackwater, your group had been struggling. You had already lost three men and Davy, bless his heart, likely wouldn’t last much longer.
At least you managed to get out with a cat.
It’s getting more and more difficult to see and you can tell it’s getting darker outside by the second. Sunset would be soon and you had nowhere to set up camp just yet. Dutch sent Arthur out to look, but he hadn’t returned yet and you were beginning to get worried. John and Micah had been sent out as well and while you don’t care how long Micah is gone, John has been gone almost a whole day.
Your horse whinnies underneath you and she’s struggling through all of this snow. You shush her and stroke up and down her neck. “It’s alright girl, you’re fine. Come on.”
With a gentle tap on her sides, you urge her forward in the group towards the front to where Dutch and Hosea are leading. You keep your head tilted, the wind stinging your eyes. Of course it’s in the direction you all are walking.
“If we don’t stop soon, we’ll all be dying,” Hosea says as you approach, just catching his voice above the wind. “This weather, it’s May. I’m just hoping the law got as lost as we did.”
“Dutch!” you call, turning towards them and keeping a gloved hand atop your hat to avoid it from blowing away.
The two older gentlemen turn to you and Dutch exclaims, “Ah, Miss Y/N. How’re ya faring?”
“Been better, that’s for sure,” you answer in an attempt at a joke. Hosea chuckles. “Dutch, Arthur has been gone for a while and it’ll be dark soon. Let me go look for him.”
Dutch shakes his head. “No, Y/N, I’d rather you stay here. Bad enough we haven’t heard from John or Micah, can’t have you getting lost either.”
You frown and huff. He’s right, but you don’t like it. You’d rather you get lost and then possibly find Arthur than stay here and do nothing. But you give him a reluctant nod and keep a slow pace beside them.
Hosea says something but you can’t quite hear him. You turn to him and lean forward. “Pardon?”
“I said he’ll be fine,” Hosea repeats. “You and I both know Arthur well enough to know he won’t get lost.”
“There!” Dutch exclaims, pointing forward and you both follow his finger.
Squinting through the snowy haze, you can faintly see a figure of a man on a horse. You would recognize that hat anywhere.
“Arthur!” you exclaim as he approaches your group, covered in snow.
“Any luck?”
He tips his hat up and says, “I found a place we can get some shelter. Let Davy rest while he…you know.” He tugs his horse’s reins and they turn. “An old mining town, abandoned, it ain’t far. Come on.”
“Come on!” shouts Dutch and your group moves out, strengthened by the notion of shelter. A fire and the possibility of a cot is enough to encourage you to keep moving.
You give your horse a kick and she pushes on up towards Arthur’s horse. He looks at you and says over the storm, “How ya feeling?”
“Fine,” you answer and it’s honest. Sure, you’re tired and thirsty and cold, but you’ve been worse. “I can’t feel my toes, Arthur.”
Arthur Morgan laughs. “Good thing you’ve got a horse.”
You smile.
You and Arthur went way back. Like him, you were taken in by Dutch and Hosea as a young teen after escaping your abusive father and emotionally unavailable mother. For weeks, you had been moving from town to town trying to survive. In one town that you can’t even remember the name of, you ran into Hosea, literally. It was intentional and you nicked his pocketbook and got away with it under the guise of an orphan little girl. But, of course, when you went into an alley to look at your score, you were caught red-handed by Dutch.
He tried to take the pocketbook from you but you ducked and dodged and almost got away with it until Hosea caught the back of your shirt and literally shook it out of your hands.
After admitting you had been on your own, Dutch offered you a place in his gang. You accepted once he promised you food and a bath.
Since then, you have been by his side. Arthur was there before you, but since you were both close in age, you became close friends. Dutch and Hosea found you as a daughter of sorts and you found them as father figures.
Over the years, Arthur remained your closest friend. You had been through a lot together and that never drove either of you apart. You were there for him at the death of his son Isaac and Eliza and he was there for you when Antony, a man you had an interest in, turned out to be a serial killer. He had your back and you had his, no matter what. Often, you were both inseparable. You went on errands together, on heists and missions, and even hunting sometimes.
“How far is this mining town?” you ask him.
“Just down this hill,” he tells you, pointing forwards.
Sure enough, at the crest of the hill, you can see the town. It certainly looks like it’s seen better days, but no one appears to be home. It’s dark and quiet but there are walls and roofs.
The gang slowly makes their way down the hill, being careful with the wagons before entering the town. It feels like a ghost town and that is comforting in a strange way. The law would never expect you all to be here this deep into the mountains.
Dutch sends you to inspect the buildings and you hop off your horse to take a lantern. Abigail lights it for you and you head towards the closest building you can see. With your revolver drawn in front of you, you nudge the door open with your foot. It swings inwards and the wind slams it against the door.
The lantern lights up the room well enough and once you see it’s abandoned, you motion with your arm. “Bring Davey in here!”
The gang trickles in as you push a table towards the center of the room. Bill and Arthur carry Davey in on a cot and place him on the table. The gang trickles in and you watch from the door before shutting and latching it once everyone is inside.
Susan Grimshaw immediately gets to business, ordering Mary-Beth to start a fire and Karen to grab some blankets. You stand beside Arthur and peer at Davey’s pale face. His eyes are closed.
“Davey’s dead,” announces Abigail.
“There was nothing more you could have done,” says Reverend Swanson in an attempt to comfort.
You didn’t know Davey all too well, but you’re still sad. It’s hard to lose people and Davey was a nice kid. It’s a shame, really. You hope his brother is alright, but he was captured, so you have no way of knowing.
“What are we going to do, we need supplies?” Hosea asks.
Dutch turns to him. “First of all, you’re going to stay here and you’re going to get yourself warm.” You and Arthur gather around them to learn what to do next. “Now I sent John and Micah out scouting ahead. Arthur, Y/N, and I, we’re gonna ride out and see if we can find one of ‘em.”
You raise your brows. “In this?”
Dutch glances towards the door before giving you a small, reassuring smile. “Just for a short bit. I don’t see what other choice we have.”
Your breath comes out in a fog and you nod to step back while Dutch addresses the group.
“Listen, listen to me, all of ya, for a moment,” he begins. “Now, we’ve had…well, a bad couple of days.” There’s a heavy pause. “Now, I loved Davey, Jenny. Sean, Mac, they may be okay, we don’t know. But we lost some folks.” The wind blows and creaks the building and you spare a wary glance at the roof. “Now, if I could throw myself in the ground in their stead, I’d do it, gladly. But we’re gonna ride out and we are gonna find some food.” You find yourself nodding as he talks, perhaps to hype yourself up more or to keep warm, you’re not sure. Your hands are buried deep in your pockets and you’re leaning against Arthur just a bit. “Everybody, we’re safe now. There ain’t nobody following us through a storm like this one. And by the time they get here, well, we’re gonna be, we’re gonna be long gone. We’ve been through worse than this before. Mister Pearson, Miss Grimshaw, I need you to turn this place into a camp. We may be here for a few days. Now all of you, all of you! Get yourselves warm. Stay strong. Stay with me. We ain’t done yet!”
With that, he turns and commands both of you to come with him. You give Arthur a pat on the arm and follow him out. Immediately, you regret it as the freezing wind and snow meets your face, but it’s alright. No one knows how to make a speech like Dutch and they always seem to renew your determination.
“Well, we ain’t run into them yet,” Dutch says once the three of you are outside. “So, they both must’ve headed further down the hill.”
“Sure.” Arthur nods before catching both your and Dutch’s arm. “Hey. I ain’t had time to ask, but what really went down back there on that boat?”
You and Dutch share a look before you turn back to your friend. “We missed you, that’s what happened.”
“Come on,” says Dutch, heading out.
A voice calls out from the distance, “Hey, you need horses?” It’s Charles, pulling along three horses. Your’s, Dutch’s, and Arthur’s. Behind him, in the snow, you spot an orange, fluffy cat. He’s yours, the one you snagged from the boat in Blackwater. You named him Harold for some reason and he quickly became your cat over just a few days.
“Oh, yeah,” Dutch answers with a sigh. “And Mister Smith, get yourself indoors. You need to rest that hand.”
Harold mews at you and rubs against your legs. You lean down to give him an affectionate scratch at his neck before mounting your horse, watching him trail behind Charles.
“I’ll live,” he says, waving a hand. But when Dutch literally yells at him, he complies and heads inside.
The three of you head out into the snow to search for John or Micah. You hope you find John first, you can’t stand Micah. He always seemed rude and shifty to you.
“I ain’t sure what we’re gonna find out here, Dutch,” says Arthur warily.
“If we find anything at all,” you add.
“Well, we have to try,” Dutch says. “Stay close, we’ll do our best to stick to the trail.”
“This goddamn weather,” Arthur mumbles.
“It’s gotta blow over soon,” you say, shivering. “It’s been like this for a couple of days.”
The three of you continue to ride in silence. At one point, Dutch warns of a bridge and you take it slow and steady so your horses don’t slip. That would be the opposite of what you wanted. Dutch asks the two of you to ride beside him and you take his left while Arthur takes his right.
The moon begins to come out as the clouds thin a bit, but the snow keeps coming in heavy. Normally, you love snow. You love how pretty it looks on the ground and in the trees and you like to take little boy Jack sledding and making snowmen with him. But you don’t like the snow when it doesn’t stop getting in your hair and when it’s hindering your movement. You're soaked to the bone and freezing, but you don’t let that deter you.
“Can’t believe we lost Davey, too,” Arthur states after more riding in silence.
“He’s the last one, Arthur,” Dutch says. “No more.” While you really truly want to believe that, in your line of work, it’s not likely. “We need to get those people warm and fed.”
“At least we don’t need to worry about the Pinkertons tailing us in this,” you comment as your horses pick up a bit of speed.
“Ah, a couple of more days and we’ll be on the other side.” Dutch looks at both of you. “You both need to help me pick the others back up. You’re the only ones I can rely on to stay strong right now.”
You let out a short laugh. “Wish I could, Dutch, but I think I’m beginning to lose feeling in my fingers.”
“Here, take this.” Dutch hands you the lantern. The handle is cold, but the flame is enough to make up for it.
“Oh, thanks,” you tell him and he nods.
Dutch looks ahead and slows his horse just a bit. “Wait, is that someone coming towards us?”
The three of you slow down some more and peer ahead through the snow. Sure enough, there is a figure on horseback, and for a moment you panic, thinking it’s the Pinkertons or someone else.
“You, up ahead!” Dutch calls, his voice deep. “Who’s there?”
For a moment you think it’s John. But it’s not. Instead, it is Micah approaching, holding up his own lantern. “Gentlemen.” He catches sight of you and gasps. “Oh, and lady.”
“Micah,” you reply, tipping your head.
If there’s one person you don’t like in the entire gang, it’s Micah. He’s always been a nasty man. Sure, you’re a group of outlaws and bandits and murderers, but most of you have morals. Not Micah. He never seems to think about what he does before he does it, which is dangerous. He’s snarky and sarcastic and rude and mean. Regardless, you put up with him because Dutch trusts him.
“Found anything?” asks Dutch.
“I think so,” he answers. “I found a little homestead down thataway.” He jerks his head backward.
“Okay. Anyone home?”
“Sure. Place is blazing with light and noise. Sounded like a party.”
“Let’s go see.”
“Follow me.” With that, Micah turns and heads back the direction he came. You three follow him along, saddles clinking. “How’s Davey doing?”
“He didn’t make it,” you call up to him.
“Nor did little Jenny,” Dutch adds.
“That’s too bad,” Micah says. “Davey was a real fighter. Both of them Callander boys is. Er, was. And Mac and Sean?”
“We don’t know.”
“Quite a business.”
You fall behind a bit to ride beside Arthur. “You good?” you call to him.
He nods. “Yeah. Was kinda hoping to sit inside by a fire for a bit, but…”
“Yeah, I feel you. We’ll be there soon enough.” A strange feeling washes across you. You know what it is. Quickly, your face screws up, and before Arthur can question it, you sneeze, hard, into the elbow of your jacket. Arthur blesses you but then you sneeze again and one last time, harder.
Your head hurts and you sniff, wiping your nose with your sleeve, and groan. “Ouch.”
“You alright back there?” Dutch asks, turning around on his horse.
You just wave a hand. “Yeah, ‘m fine, keep going.” Your voice sounds a bit more nasally, but you assume it’s just because you sneezed half of your brain out.
Arthur touches your arm. “You sure you’re okay?”
With a shrug, you grin at him. “Not sure. Pretty sure I lost most of my braincells.”
He smiles and the tension lifts. You really hope you’re not getting sick, this would be a bad time for it.
Arthur calls ahead to Dutch, “Ask him if he’s seen John!”
Dutch repeats the question to Micah and then says, “He hasn’t seen him!”
“He’ll be fine,” you say. “Things always turn out right for him!”
“I hope. Mac and Sean are still out there, somewhere, too. Hey, I’ll take the rear, you two.”
You and Arthur gallop towards the middle while Dutch falls behind you both.
“Hey, have you seen anyone else, Micah?” you ask, moving a bit further ahead to be within earshot of him.
“I–I reckon we’re the only ones crazy enough to be out in this, Miss L/N,” he answers with a laugh.
You scoff. “Micah, you’re certainly not one to talk about crazy.”
He lets out an offended gasp. “Aw, what, no ‘glad you’re alright, Micah’?” Before you can reply, he continues on. “Look, it’s all going to work out, L/N. We lost a few folks, but that’s just how it goes sometimes.”
“Oh, well, it’s great that you sound so good about it!”
Micah dismisses your comment and changes the subject. “Where are all the others?”
“Old mining camp Arthur found, little ways back,” you answer. “It’s not a whole lot, but it’s better than nothing.”
Micah squints ahead and slows down. “Okay, let’s keep it down, gentlemen and lady. It’s just up ahead.”
At that, you frown. You’ve told Micah and some others at camp a million times to not single you out. It makes you uncomfortable and it makes you feel like less of a camp member. You know it’s not true, you’re more of an outlaw than most of them, but it still hurts when they feel the need to specifically single you out just because you’re the only lady that rides with the gang.
Regardless, you don’t mention it as you come into view of the house.
“Snuff and stash those lanterns, boys,” Dutch advises, specifically looking at you. That’s more like it. “Best you three lie low on this.”
You blow the lantern out and hook it onto your horse as she stops at the top of the hill. You can just make out a home down near the bottom of the hill and remark on how nice it looks. The house itself isn’t too big, but there are a few pens for animals and a barn near the back. These people may have some food they could spare.
“Alright, let’s head down there,” Dutch says before making his way down the hill. The three of you follow behind him. You approach the gate to the farm and you four hitch your horses behind a small cluster of trees.
Even from where you are, you can hear loud and slightly drunken singing. Dutch decides to take the lead and for the rest of you to get out of sight, explaining that ‘one lonely man is a lot less intimidating than four nasty degenerates.’
He’s right and you and Arthur take shelter in a cattle shed while Micah kneels behind a wagon. Your legs are stiff, but you still find it in yourself to crouch down close to Arthur with your back pressed against a half-wall, giving you a good vantage point. There’s fiddle music playing from inside the house and while everything seems well and good, part of you is inclined to suspect something worse may be happening.
Reaching a hand up, you brush some snow from Arthur’s hat. It once belonged to his father and he’s always worn it for as long as you can remember. It’s in surprisingly good shape. The snow falls to the ground in front of him and he gives you that half-smile of his. Then he takes your hand and he presses his chapped lips to your fingers. Arthur isn’t too affectionate judging his past, but he always does these little things to you that never fail to give you butterflies in the pit of your stomach.
Dutch approaches the stairs to the porch and stops, calling out, “Hello? Hello, anybody home?”
You and Arthur peek above the wall and watch as a man steps out of the home to confront your leader.
Dutch plays the part of a lonely man well and sounds relieved when he says, “Oh, well, hello friend.”
“Whatchu want?” demands the man standing on the porch. His southern accent is strong and it reminds you of something.
“I am very sorry to disturb you. Uh, my friends and I, well, we got into some…some trouble up the way. Lost in the storm.” A couple of more men walk out and down the steps, approaching Dutch. You don’t like this. “Ah, gentlemen!”
“We can’t help you, Mister,” one says, sounding hostile.
Yeah, this is bad, you determine. You try to listen to more of their conversation but Micah is breathing heavily and moving around. Is he trying to get you all caught?
“Arthur,” he suddenly says lowly towards the both of you. “Y/N, we got a problem. There’s a corpse right here.”
Your stomach drops and you hastily pull out your revolver and click the safety off. You quietly curse your breath and spot another man approaching Dutch from the side of the house. Dutch doesn’t seem to be in immediate danger, but you know things are going to turn south quickly.
“Guys, there’s a body in the wagon,” Micah repeats.
“Yeah, we heard you,” Arthur says, pulling out his own gun. “Just keep your eyes on Dutch.”
“I think you should go now, buddy,” says one of the men talking to Dutch.
Yeah, they’re certainly catching on.
“Now, friend,” Dutch begins, choosing his words carefully. “I ain’t asking for much. Please, I am…kinda desperate.”
“Hey…” one drawls. “I don’t believe it. Come here, partner. Come here!”
You lock eyes with Arthur and you both say the same thing with just a look. Dutch has been found out.
“It’s goddamn Dutch van der Linde, you morons!” one exclaims and you quickly hear the drawing of guns. “Colm is going to shit his pants.”
You stand and take aim.
“Put your han–”
Before he can finish his sentence, you shoot him straight in the head. The gunshot cracks through the winter wind and the man falls to the ground with a squeak into the snow. Your ears ring and your heart is thumping painfully in your chest but this is the first time all day you’ve been warm. Adrenaline flows through your veins and suddenly the cold isn’t as noticeable as the fight ensues.
Arthur and Micah arise from their hiding places and join the shootout. The enemy faintly cries for reinforcements and Dutch backs off to find some cover. You shoot down a man hiding behind a crate and the whiz of a bullet flies past your ear, causing you to duck down. Men come out on horses, but you can just about make out a man shooting from the top window.
“Come on, bastards, you’re dead now!” shouts a man who is standing out in the open. A rookie move, you shoot him in the chest and he too falls.
“One of them’s making a run for it, Arthur!” shouts Micah.
With the area in the yard mostly cleaned out, Arthur gets up to go after him. No one’s still gotten the man in the window and he makes an attempt to shoot at Arthur, but the bullet is short. Gritting your teeth, you stand and vault over the stable wall to get a better aim. When the man’s head comes into view as he lines up another shot, you aim and pull the trigger. Your bullet finds its mark, buried into the man’s skull. He slumps over the window.
There’s one more gunshot and you turn to see Arthur standing with his arm extended. Just feet in front of him is a fresh body.
And that’s that. Just as quickly as it’s begun, it’s over. Your measly group of four degenerates took out a whole group with no casualties.
Dutch stands and puts a firm hand on your shoulder. “That’s my girl, Y/N. Excellent shooting.”
With a small smile, you let out a breath and put your gun back in her holster. “Oh, it was nothing, Dutch, really.”
He lowers his hand and turns. “Goddamn O’Driscoll boys here? Why?”
“I dunno. Maybe same reason as us?” suggests Micah.
You typically loot bodies after a kill, but there’s not too much on these men. Just some spare ammo and maybe a pack of cigarettes. You just take the ammo. You have plenty of cigarettes in your saddle bag.
“Micah, go bring the horses closer to the house,” Dutch says, approaching the ajar door to the house. You two, let’s go search the cabin.”
You nod and trail behind Dutch into the cabin, Arthur not far behind. The interior is warm and bright and somewhat cozy, save for all the alcohol bottles strewn about.
“Smells like a party in here,” Arthur comments.
“Turn the place upside down, grab as many supplies as you can,” Dutch says. “We need the essentials. Food, medicine…whiskey.”
While Arthur searches the kitchen and Dutch looks at the table, you busy yourself with the drawers and cabinets. There appear to be a fair amount of things, some health tonics, and supplies, and plenty of canned foods like baked beans and pears and peaches. Canned peaches are Arthur’s favorite.
“I’m starving,” Arthur complains with a groan. At that, your own stomach growls. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were yourself until someone mentioned it.
“You should eat something now,” Dutch advises. “Get your strength up for the ride back.”
“Hey, Arthur.” You catch his attention and toss him a can of peaches you just pulled from a shelf.
He catches it with ease and turns the can around to look at the label. Then he gives you another one of his half-grins. To your surprise, he looks around in his pack and then tosses you your own can.
Caught off guard, you nearly don’t catch it. But you do before it smacks you in the nose and realize he gave you canned apricots. Your favorite.
Arthur truly is your best friend.
After searching the remaining cabinets, you stand beside the roaring fire, devouring your apricots. The juice is always your favorite part. Arthur continues to rummage around while Dutch stands beside the table.
“O’Driscolls, I can’t believe it,” he continues on with a shake of his head.
“It’s a strange one, alright.”
“Maybe they’re hiding up here like we are?” you suggest with a mouthful of fruit. Dutch gives you a look and despite being a grown woman, you still feel embarrassed and quickly swallow the fruit. Even though you’re outlaws, Dutch always did tell you to at least act like a human. “I mean, it makes sense. There’s a big price on Colm’s head. Hell, it’s almost as big as the one on yours.”
Dutch nods in understanding. “Wanting Colm dead is about the only thing Uncle Sam and me agree on.”
Arthur, who had been previously rummaging around upstairs, comes down and says, “Place is warm and dry. We could maybe move the women and Jack down here.”
You take another bite of your fruit as Dutch says, “Maybe. We’ll see how they are when we get back. I don’t really want us to split up.” Then he stands. “You two keep searching. I’ll pack these on the horses.”
“Okay,” you tell him again between a mouthful of food. He doesn’t even get a chance to reprimand you before the cold winter wind slams the door shut behind him.
The moment the door is closed, Arthur walks to your side by the fire. “There ain’t anything left in here.”
The two of you stand in silence for a few moments save for the howl of the wind, the cracking of the fire, and your scraping at the inside of the can. After polishing off the fruit, you place the empty can on the mantle and hold your hands out before the fire to get some more feeling in them. Now that you’ve eaten something and had some juice, you’re beginning to feel a bit better.
“I haven’t thanked you for saving my ass back there,” Arthur says from beside you after a beat.
You give him a confused look. “What?”
“At the shootout. Guy on the roof almost got me till you shot him.”
“Oh, that. Don’t worry about it, Arthur. You’d do the same for me.” You bump his hip with yours and give him a smile.
He returns the smile and takes your hands from the fire. He gently pulls you closer to him and tucks your arms inside his coat. Understanding his meaning, you wrap your arms around him in a hug with your arms inside his coat. He’s tall, at six feet four inches and you lean your head on his chest. Arthur’s own arms wrap around you and squeeze, pulling you tighter and closer together.
The two of you stand there in a hug to conserve warmth. It’s something you do often. You love physical contact and while Arthur isn’t the biggest fan, he’ll do it for you. His head bends down to rest atop yours and you find yourself closing your eyes for a moment, the firelight painting the insides of your eyelids in yellows and oranges.
“You’re cold,” you comment, feeling the dampness of the back of his shirt from the snow.
Arthur chuckles and says, “So are you.”
You squeeze him and he squeezes you back.
“Arthur?”
“Y/N?”
“Since it’s so cold, do you want to share a bed? To, you know, conserve body heat?”
He laughs again and asks, “Is this your way of asking me to sleep with you?”
“No, gross. You’re ugly,” you tease with a smile. He chuckles and sways you a little. “No, I mean, if you don’t want to, that’s fine, I get it. But it’s just a suggestion. My feelings won’t be hurt.”
“Ain’t like we haven’t done it before.”
“So…”
“Sure. To conserve body heat.”
You smile into his chest and give him another squeeze.
Finally, you both break away. You’re so tired you’d probably fall asleep standing up that way. Before you can completely pull away, Arthur grabs ahold of your forearms to stop you. He leans his head down and bumps his forehead with yours a couple of times. You smile and do the same. Headbutting is Arthur’s form of affection and reassurance. You’ve come to find it quite cute.
Then he lets your arms go and you continue on with business.
“Who do you think this house belonged to?” you ask as you both do one final sweep in case you missed anything.
“Probably a couple, there’s only one bed.”
“Hey… do you think that body that was in that wagon belonged to…to someone who lived here?”
“Well, knowing the O’Driscolls, I wouldn’t put it past them.”
You shiver and this time it isn’t from the cold. “Those guys suck.”
Arthur nods and heads for the door. “Sure are. Ready?”
You nod, pull your jacket closer to yourself and head back outside, bags a little bit fuller than they were before. Dutch and Micah are outside with your horses and you make your way to yours to stash your goodies and give her a couple of oatcakes.
“Arthur, Micah, you keep looking for stuff,” Dutch orders the two men. “Arthur, go see if there’s anything in that barn. Micah, you search the cabin, see what we missed.”
“Sure,” Arthur nods and trudges his way across to the barn. Micah heads inside the cabin.
You give your steed a nice rub on her nose. You’ve had her for quite a bit and have grown quite attached. She’s a Missouri Fox Trotter you bought a while back named Hazel. She was always very pretty, her coat light and dark brown with tan spots on her body. One of her back legs is partially white and she has pretty black markings around her eyes. She’s a strong and loyal horse and you had quickly grown attached.
As she munches through her food, you shiver and shift on your feet. Now that you’re back outside, you regret ever leaving the cabin.
Dutch walks up alongside you and strokes down Hazel’s neck. “How’re you feeling?”
You shrug and sniffle. “I’m okay.” Then you sneeze again, hard into your elbow.
“Don’t sound okay to me.”
You just wave at him and sneeze again, doubling over with the force. Dutch puts a hand on your back as you rise up, head throbbing now. “Shit.”
“You’re sick,” Dutch says to you, a hand gentle on your face.
“Am not,” you insist but part of you begins to suspect you are. With all the stress as of late and traveling in the freezing cold with little nutrients, you feel weak. You’re cold and sniffly, your head is beginning to pound and your throat hurts when you swallow. “Dutch, I’m fine, I’m just cold.”
Dutch has always been overprotective and you’re not too surprised when he takes a glove off and touches your forehead with the back of his hand. You let him, but roll your eyes, embarrassed. He shakes his head and hastily puts his glove back on. “You need to get back and get warm.”
“I’m not leaving by myself, I’ll get eaten by wolves.”
Dutch just smiles and pushes some hair from your eyes. “Yeah, sure, kid.”
“Dutch, I am a grown ass woman.”
“Not to me.”
“Oh, god, don’t get all sappy.” With a huff, you roll your eyes and shove your hands into your coat. “I’m gonna go check on Arthur.”
As you walk through the snow, you can’t help but wipe your eyes, tears beginning to form. Dutch had been like a father to you since you were in the gang. Your own birth father never acted like a father and instead was a drunken monster that you knew to fear since before you could remember. But Dutch was different. He cared for you deeply. He taught you to read and to write, something neither of your parents ever bothered to do. He taught you how to ride a horse and how to fish. He taught you to give to those who needed it more, he taught you to be selfless but also showed you how to preserve yourself and protect yourself. He taught you to dance for one of your first dates and he was there when that date never happened. Dutch, like Arthur, had been one of the few truly stable people you ever had in your life. Your father was abusive, your mother was never there, and that’s why you left. But you found Dutch and Hosea and Arthur. They stayed with you and you stayed with them. You always would, no matter what.
As you near the barn, you can hear the sounds of a struggle from inside and pick up the pace. The door is wide open and when you reach it, you see Arthur in the middle of a fistfight with an O’Driscoll boy. Arthur is winning, not like it’s surprising.
“What’s going on?” you ask, keeping a hand on your gun to be sure but watching with a mildly amused expression.
“This guy just jumped me,” he answers between punches.
With a smirk, you chuckle. “Oh, yeah?”
Arthur has always been good at fights and brawls and clearly, this kid isn’t too experienced. He doesn’t block his soft spots correctly and every time he tries to take a jab at Arthur, he exposes his weak points.
“Hey, kid!” you shout to him, leaning on the doorway. “Throw with your right, not your left. You’re exposing your sides.”
Arthur lands another blow to the kid’s torso as he does the opposite of what you just told him. “Why you helping him?”
You just shrug. “Just trying to make it even at least.”
After landing a few more hits, Arthur throws the kid to the ground. The O’Driscoll looks up at Arthur with a frightened expression and an arm up, as if that would do anything. “Sneaky little bastard,” Arthur says down to him. “Should I kill him?”
With a tilt of your head, you say, “Ask him what they’re doing here first.”
Arthur grabs the boy by the throat and leans down to him, his fist raised. “Oh, he’ll talk. Where’s Colm O’Driscoll?” he asks him in a low and threatening voice that even gives you chills.
The man is quiet for a moment before he weakly says, “With the others at an old mining camp southwest of here, near the lake.”
“So what are you bastards doing? Why are you up here?” Arthur questions.
“We’re fixing to rob some trains, gonna blow up the tracks,” he answers, shaking with wide eyes. “I don’t know more than that, I swear!”
“Wow, he’s just given’ you everything,” you remark. How can someone give up so much information willingly without even getting punched yet?
The O’Driscoll sniffles like he’s on the brink of tears. “I don’t know anything else, please…please, spare me. I promise you, you won’t see me again, partner. I won’t breathe a word to nobody.”
Arthur seems to debate for a long moment before shoving him roughly onto the ground. “Go on. Get outta here.”
At that, the O’Driscoll quickly scampers away. You back out of his way, hands held up, and watch as he runs into the storm.
“You let him go?” you say, watching as Arthur bends to pick up his gun. You spot his hat and quickly grab it and replace your own hat on your head with his to see if he notices.
“Yeah,” he says, standing now with his gun in his holster. “Won’t get far in this storm anyways.”
You hold out your hat to him and he takes it. But rather than putting it on his head, he takes his hat off of your head and puts it on his own.
“Aw, I thought you wouldn’t notice,” you say with a frown.
He places your hat atop your head and replies, “I ain’t that stupid. Now come on, get that horse and we can be out of here.”
After calming the horse, you both head back towards the cabin.
“What was going on?” asks Dutch as you both approach. “Saw someone running out of the barn.”
“Arthur got into a tussle,” you tell him, head bowed because the wind keeps stinging your eyes.
“That’s a fine horse,” he comments. “Arthur, you should keep him. Y/N, get that horse hitched up.”
You give him a nod but before you can take another step, there’s a scream from inside the cabin. A female scream and a voice that shouts, “Get away from me!”
Your heart drops and the three of you rush inside the cabin to see Micah chasing a frightened blonde woman around the table.
“Ooh, look what I found in the cellar!” he exclaims with a nasty smirk on his face. “Wild thing, ain’tcha?” he questions, holding his arms up to block as she throws a bottle of bourbon at him.
“Leave her alone!” demands Dutch, approaching slowly.
“I wasn’t doing nothing!” Micah says but you know that’s unlikely. “She’s one of them O’Driscolls!”
With a huff, you step up. “No she ain’t, fool, look at her!” The lady now has a knife in her hand and continues to scream, looking hard at the four of you. Cautiously, you hold up your hands and take another small step forward. “Miss, miss, are you–”
Micah pushes the table over in an effort to get closer to her, but in the process he breaks an oil lamp, sending flames scattering over a pool of alcohol. The lady screams more and you grab the back of Micah’s jacket before he can get any closer to her and pull her back with all your might while Dutch holds him back. “You fool, Micah!”
“Hey, hey,” you tell the woman calmly with your hands held up and voice even, acutely aware of the growing fire. “Miss, you’re fine now. We don’t mean you any harm.” You approach her slowly and she attempts to jab at you weakly with the knife but you catch her wrist and hold it back. “Miss, come on, you ain’t gonna stab a fellow lady, now, will you?”
With the other hand, you take your hat off and her face changes. Before, she was staring at you hard and angrily, like you had just killed someone dear to her. But as you drop your hat to the ground, her eyes soften just a bit and her grip on the knife loosens. Her breathing calms and she blinks and looks around.
Gently, you put an arm around her. “Come on, now, you’re going to be okay, we just got to get out of here.” Slowly, you guide her out of the home, an arm around her shoulders. “Come on, now.”
“We’ve got to get out of here, quick,” Dutch says as the fire slowly grows larger. Stupid Micah, burning the nice house down. This is why you don’t like him, you’ll never understand why Dutch keeps him around.
“Are you alright, miss?” you ask the woman as you get outside where Micah is already waiting.
Dutch gives her his coat and you help her wrap it around her shoulders while he grabs your horse.
When she speaks, it is shaky and hoarse. “Th–they came three days ago… and my husband, they–”
She breaks off, her voice strained and you take her hand and lead her to your horse. She gasps and sniffles and you nod. “I understand. I’m sorry. But you’re safe now. And you can’t stay here…”
The gang turns to see that the home is quickly burning now, fire coming from the windows and smoke seeping through the planks.
“Would you like to come with us?” you ask her as Hazel stamps her feet impatiently.
Slowly, she nods. She doesn’t have much choice. “Okay…”
“Alright.”
Arthur appears beside you and hands you back your hat while you mount your steed. “Miss, it’s okay, alright? We’re bad men, but…but we ain’t them, so…”
“Here.” You take one of her hands and help hoist her up onto the back of Hazel so she can ride sidesaddle. Her hands immediately go around your waist.
“We’ll keep you safe,” Dutch promises, his own horse trotting next to yours. “We’ll take care of you until you figure out what you wanna do.”
Once Arthur gets on his new steed, the now five of you ride back in the direction of the temporary camp.
“What’s your name?” you ask the woman behind you. She takes a moment to reply and her grip on your waist gets tighter. “Miss?”
“Adler,” she finally answers.
“Adler?”
“Sadie Adler. Missus. I…he…”
You put a hand over her own and give a gentle squeeze to her fingers.
“He was my husband,” she continues.
The man in the wagon.
Your heart breaks for her. You can’t imagine. “I’m sorry, Missus Adler. I really am.”
She says nothing back.
“I like your hair.”
“...Thank you.”
The ride back to the camp is short, but quiet. So much has happened in such a short while. Dutch takes the lead while you and Arthur ride towards the middle with Micah pulling up the rear, leading the spare horse. It’s likely Sadie’s horse or perhaps her late husband’s. She says nothing about it, but you think about bringing it up to Dutch. The least you all could do is give her her horse.
Lenny is on watch duty when you make it back to camp.
“Hey, somebody’s coming!” The kid hastily pulls up his gun and cocks it before realizing it’s you four. “Looks like it’s Dutch. Hey, everybody, Dutch is back!”
Hosea comes out and asks, “How’d you get on?”
“Micah found a homestead, but…he weren’t the first. Colm O’Driscoll and his scum, they beat us to it.”
You stop your horse as a group approaches and someone carefully helps Missus Sadie off of your horse.
“We found some of them there,” Dutch goes on. “But there is more about apparently scouting a train.”
You dismount Hazel and lead her to the makeshift stable while Dutch relays information to Hosea. You glance at Sadie and in the lantern light, you can just about see the faint smile she gives you. You give her a thumbs-up and continue on your way.
After giving Hazel one more oatcake, you transfer all of the loot from her saddlebag into your own satchel, the first one Hosea bought you for the first birthday you celebrated with them. “Here, girl. You can rest now.”
Hazel whinnies and you make your way back to the group. Sadie is being led to a building with a few of the women and you touch Arthur’s arm to let him know you’re there. He holds onto your hand and gives it a squeeze.
“They turned her into a widow. animals,” Dutch is saying, sounding extremely disdainful. Then he lowers his head. “I need some rest. I haven’t slept in three days.”
Miss Grimshaw steps up. “You’re over here. Miss O’Shea will show you the way. Mister Morgan, Miss L/N, we put you in a couple of rooms over here.”
You give her a kind smile. “Thank you, Susan.”
“Mister Bell, you’re with the fellers over there.”
Micah looks towards the men’s room and asks, “How come Morgan gets a room and I get a bunk bed next to Bill Willamson?”
“Get yourself to bed,” Hosea chides.
You snicker and Arthur gives you a smile. You two part ways when Susan Grimshaw shows you your separate rooms and you give her your thanks when she opens the door to yours. It’s nothing to write home about, but it’s safe from the wind and there’s a bed.
“Are you alright, Miss L/N?” she questions as you discard your bag and weapons onto a desk filled with random papers. “You don’t sound too well…”
“Ah, I’m alright,” you answer her with a scratchy voice. “Just been outside for too long.”
She gives you a wary and unconvinced look, but she nods anyway. “Alright. Get some rest now.”
“Thank you, again,” you say to her just before she leaves.
“Of course.”
She closes the door behind you and it’s finally quiet. It’s heavy, silence isn’t something you were able to run across for a couple of days. The room is dark save for the lit oil lamp on the desk where you discard your supplies. It’s moderately warm, at least warmer than it is outside.
After taking a cigarette and a match from your coat pocket, you discard it and hang it over a chair and place your hat on a crate beside your bed. You sit down on the bed and sigh. Your legs hurt. Your arms hurt. Maybe you are sick.
Nothing a cigarette can’t solve, you always say. Dragging the match across your boot a couple times, it lights. You place the cigarette between your lips and hold the flame to it until it begins to burn. You stamp the match out with your boot and take a long drag before blowing it out. Yeah. That’s all you needed. You lean back onto the bed and continue to smoke, watching it rise to the ceiling as you get a buzz going.
It had been a hard few days. With running from the law and the storm, you hadn’t found much time to relax, even for a second. Being in a gang is hard, but you still love it. Even if you get sick because of it.
By the time you’re done with your cigarette, there’s a knock on the door. You lift your head up and whisper loud enough for him to hear, “Come in,” because there are people trying to sleep.
Arthur opens the door and a flash of orange runs in before jumping on you onto the bed. Harold knocks the wind out of your lungs but you still find it in yourself to laugh and scratch his neck as he purrs.
“I brought a friend,” Arthur says, closing the door.
You sit up and hold the cat up to your friend. “Just means more body heat.”
Arthur smiles in the firelight. He looks more relaxed, his own hat off and dressed out of his coat and boots. He props one leg up next to you and pets the cat’s head. “I still can’t believe Dutch let you keep the thing.”
With a shrug, you set Hector down on the floor momentarily. “What’s he going to do, tell me no? Besides, I’m a grown woman. I can have a cat if I want.”
Arthur nods and lays down, groaning lowly and long in the way he always does after being on the move for a few days. You just laugh and flop down next to him, repeating it in a mocking way. He’s not completely wrong, though, as the bed certainly is comfortable. It has a mattress and that’s all you care about.
“Quit mocking me,” Arthur mumbles with his eyes closed.
“I ain’t mocking you,” you argue. “You’re just sensitive.”
Arthur pokes your side and you yelp, slapping his hand away as he laughs.
“Now who’s sensitive?”
“Asshole.”
“You’re the one who invited me.”
“You wanna leave?”
He quickly grabs hold of you and pulls you to him. “No.”
You snicker. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. But move, I wanna roll over so I don’t have to wake up to your ugly face in the morning.”
“You sure know how to make a guy feel special, Y/N,” Arthur teases and releases you.
The two of you get comfortable. You take off your boots and throw them down on the ground and roll on your side as Arthur pulls a blanket over the both of you. Then he scoots closer and wraps his arms around you, pulling you and squeezing you close to his body. Your stomach flips while he rests his head on yours even though your hair probably tickles his nose. His hands come to rest around your stomach and you place yours over his, grabbing his fingers.
“Are you cold now?” he asks quietly like he’s afraid someone else will hear him.
You smile, staring at the dark wall. “No. You?”
“Never.”
Harold jumps onto the bed and comes to rest at your feet.
The room is quiet and dark and you’re warm beside Arthur. And yet you can’t sleep just yet. So, after a long and stretched moment of silence, you quietly say, “Arthur?”
“Y/N?”
“You think we’re…gonna be okay?”
He nods against your hair. “I think so. We always end up being, don’t we?”
You laugh a little. “Yeah.” Then you pause and ask again. “Arthur?”
“Y/N?”
“Do you think John is okay?”
He doesn’t answer as quickly but after a moment he nods again. “He is. That kid always ends out fine.”
“Yeah.”
“Y/N?”
“Arthur?”
“Are you sick?”
Okay, now it’s getting annoying. You huff and snap, “Just because I have a scratchy throat and I sneeze means I’m sick now.”
“Was jus’ a question…”
“Sure.”
“Are ya?”
“...Probably.”
Arthur gives you a long and affectionate squeeze. “Get better, dummy.”
“Yeah, ‘cause it works like that,” you answer sarcastically.
He chuckles, the action rumbling against his back and he presses his lips against the back of your head. “Go to sleep, girl.”
“No.”
Arthur curls his legs under yours and moves his hands up just a little bit to rest in the middle of your torso. “Go to sleep,” he repeats in a quiet voice.
But your eyes are already closed and not long later, he hears you begin to snore softly. Arthur laughs under his breath and presses his lips to your head once again before he himself passes out to the sound of the wind and your deep breaths.
If you write for arthur morgan and john marston from red dead redemption 2, would you kindly reblog this so i can check out your works/follow? I am starving for john fics lmao
warnings: possessive Arthur, spit kink, low honour Arthur, shameless filth, very suggestive, mentions of sex
moodboard
a/n: i simply Cannot Write Drabbles... thank you so much @elifsukirdaghehe for the spit kink request and anon for the low honour Arthur request! I hope this lives up to your expectations! This is very heavily inspired by this bc its one of the hottest things ive ever seen lol
also click the link at the end for a wonderful surprise and say thank you to @cowboydisaster
tagging: @cowboydisaster @cassidylynnj
“I do believe these belong to me…” Arthur quips, a cheeky grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he pulls the pile of chips towards him. A relatively old guy with a fantastically twisted handlebar moustache throws his cards down, cursing as he walks away from the table empty handed. A low chuckle reaches your ears when you squeeze Arthur’s shoulder, proudly standing behind him while his winning streak continues.
“Baby, we’re in the money!” He smugly exclaims, completely ignoring the grumbles of his fellow players. You roll your eyes playfully, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. The action gives your outlaw a pretty fantastic view of your chest, if only for a brief moment, but of course he catches it. The envious eyes of every other man at the table follow you back up to a standing position.
“I’m gonna grab a drink. You want a whiskey?”
“Thanks, darlin’.”
You catch the coin that is expertly flipped through the air, winking a silent thanks to Arthur and swaying your hips just a little more than usual when you strut to the bar. You know all eyes are on you, as does Arthur, and you know how crazy and possessive that drives him, usually culminating in mind-blowing sex that sends you dumb to everything but screaming his name. He loves knowing how much everyone wants you, knowing that he’s the only one who will ever have you.
It’s only a few strides to the bar, the next hand in Arthur’s game already being dealt by the time you lean one hip against the wood.
“What’s a pretty lady like you doin’ with a dog like that, huh?”
The unpleasant feeling settles in your stomach almost instantly as the worst kind of booze breath reaches your senses. Rolling your eyes, your gaze falls to the origin: a man, probably in his 30’s, with a clean shaven face and a suit that didn’t quite fit right. He isn’t completely unfortunate looking, you’d have to give him that, but the invisible layer of slime coating him from head to toe is enough to send women running for miles. That, you’re sure of.
Glancing back to the table, you see Arthur engrossed in the game. Maybe it’s the devil on your shoulder, or the promise of the kind of fucking that can only be fuelled by the fiercest jealousy, but you subconsciously decide what simply has to be done. The buzz of four drink and the electricity in the air only found in a packed saloon of an evening spurs you on, dragging your fluttering eyes back to the stranger and plastering a sickly sweet grin to your plump lips.
“Why, you reckon you could show me a better time, cowboy?” Your drawl is sickening, but it does the job as a flash of false hope ignites the man’s features.
You place your elbow on the cool bar, sliding down to place some of your weight on it. Naturally, your chest never rises and falls so dramatically with each seductive breath, but you can smell a free drink a mile away, and this one is much closer than that.
“Oh, don’t you know it, baby, I-I could show you the time of your life.” He’s nervous, clearly not used to making it this far without having a drink thrown over him.
What’s more, Arthur has noticed, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds with the most delicious frown on his face. You can practically hear the territorial growls being ripped from the depths of his throat, low and gravely and vibrating your very being.
The bartender finally arrives, glancing awkwardly between yourself and the other man, not knowing who was there first and who to serve. Luckily for him, and for your grand plan, your slimy admirer speaks up.
“I’ll have a beer. And whatever the lady likes.” He gestures to you, all bravado and ego as he places two coins onto the countertop.
“Whiskey, please. Neat.”
The bartender nods and turns to get the drinks, leaving you alone to be gawked at.
“Oh, I love a woman who can handle her drink.”
“Really? Do you know something, mister, that is just fascinating.”
Every nerve ending in your body is set aflame as you feel a hand snake around your shoulder, resting just above the hem of your low collar. Arthur’s sarcastic drawl has dropped about three octaves. He’s mad.
“And who might our new friend be, sweetheart?” His theatrics boom around the room, earning a few sideways glances from curious patrons, most certainly hoping for a bit of evening entertainment. One wrong word from your ‘friend’ might just make their dreams come true.
Standing beside Arthur, the once-hopeful devotee is realising just how large the outlaw is, how his strong arms fill out the sleeves of his duster coat and how one of those sleeves is hemmed with a bloodstain you just couldn’t seem to get out.
You’re saved from having to introduce your pawn to your king when the bartender places two drinks between the three of you, one beer, one whiskey.
“Aw, for us? Y’shouldn’t have.” The arm draped over your shoulder wraps tighter, twisting around so that Arthur’s thick fingers cup your jaw and squeeze your cheeks. You’re tucked so close into him that the movement forces your neck to crane up to look right at Arthur. You’re putty in his hands, his dominating stance moulding you to his whim. The action is enough to brand you as completely and utterly his, but it’s Arthur and that just isn’t enough.
He tips his own head back, throwing the whiskey into his mouth in one swift movement. A firmer squeeze on your jaw opens your mouth and you lock eyes with Arthur as the fiery liquid is spat from his mouth into yours. It burns your lips and warms your throat. You feel it all the way from your head to your toes, and you’re not talking about the drink. It takes you a second to catch your breath after you swallow, Arthur’s thumb wiping a little droplet of the spirit off your chin and popping it back into your mouth. You suckle on his thumb, just for a second, letting the rest of the busy saloon melt away. In that moment, it is just the two of you, your plan falling oh so cleverly into place. You’re gazing lovingly, seductively at each other, which Arthur only breaks to turn to the man kind enough to pay for the drink he’d just spat into you.
“Hey, cheers, pal. Real nice of ya’ to treat the lady.” He pats the man just a little too hard on the shoulder, sending him stumbling a few steps. You don’t notice, too entranced by your possessive cowboy to notice anything else.
“Let’s get you home, missy. Seems I gotta teach you some manners about talkin’ to strangers, huh?”
my friend is very confident and free and i always want to know how she does it so once i asked her and she just said “the only difference between me and you is that when people treat you badly you think it’s because there’s something wrong with you but when people treat me badly i think there’s something wrong with them.” scalped
media doesnt exist to teach you moral lessons it exists so you can learn about a fucked up guy in a fucked up situation and go "woah thats so fucked up"
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