Love Letters for Molly - Molly O’Shea x Reader/OC/Canon
*crawls out of my grave* I LIIIIIIVE. It’s a year since I’ve written for RDR, but I couldn’t miss out on @rdrsapphicweek. I’m too gay for Molly for that. So here is my haphazardly written love ode to that angel. I wrote it vague enough you can fit yourself, an OC or any canon character you fancy. If they would write love letters that is!
The first letter fluttered out of Molly’s book. She plucked it from the grass and read the slightly smudged words carefully. Once she had finished, she glanced nervously around. It was a very dangerous letter. There was no signature, but she knew it wasn’t from Dutch. He didn’t write like that. The love letter in her hands was from a secret admirer.
It was poetry. Not copied from a book, but written for her. It described how her copper curls caught the morning sun, haloing her in soft angelic light, and the envy they felt of her lipstick as they watched her paint her lips. How they longed to be closer so they may admire her better.
Molly couldn’t help thinking about it. As she lay in bed beside Dutch that night, her heart thrummed with curiosity. She wondered who else in camp thought about her like that. Were they thinking about her now, too?
She felt guilty. She shouldn’t let herself be swept away by an unknown admirer. Not when Dutch needed her to be by his side. And yet, she couldn’t stop looking around the next morning as she put on her makeup, hoping to catch her admirer in the act. But no one seemed to notice her.
The next letter she found in her pocket a few days later. It was longer than the first, filling the entire page with tender words. She felt embarrassed reading it. She had no idea someone was paying so much attention to her. They seemed to read her as though she were an open book, her heart laid bare, and they held it kindly.
They spoke of her green eyes, how they shone like emeralds, and the freckles which covered her from head to toe, little kisses from the sun. Her face when she read her favourite books, the leap in her voice when she smiled, the change in her walk when she knew Dutch was watching, and how she cried under the trees when she thought no one was looking.
The letters kept appearing every few days, always in a new place only she would look. They grew more emotional over time, giving Molly brief glimpses into their thoughts and feelings outside of love. They were conflicted about Dutch. They both loved him as a leader and envied him as Molly’s love, a battle of wills they had lost the moment they began to write. They hoped, at least, that the letters made Molly happier.
She was falling in love. Though she didn’t know who they were, not for a lack of trying their heart was easy for her to fall into. Dutch had become cold. She had forgotten what it felt like to hear she was beautiful and worthy of love. He barely spared a second glance to her these days. She was becoming the same. Her eyes scanned the camp hawk like all day, hoping to uncover her mysterious admirer.
When they were forced to move camps, the letters stopped. Molly found she missed them. There was little joy without them, as Dutch barely spoke to her and the others were as distant as ever. She wondered if her admirer hadn’t been one of them after all. Perhaps it had been a Pinkerton trap, hoping to lure her away.
Her fears were set aside when she got another letter. A pressed flower fell out of the envelope, an apology for the delay. They had noticed she was down, and they dared to hope she missed them. But they missed her smile, which lit up their whole world, and hoped to see it again now that they could write. And finally, they told her they loved her with all their might.
Molly couldn’t hide her joy. She smiled at everyone in camp and hummed without the gramophone. Dutch noticed, and he wondered why. He hadn’t been kind to her, or paid her any time, yet she was acting as if she didn’t mind. It bothered him, but he didn’t know why.
She found a letter in the hollow of her favourite tree. It was quite unlike the others, more forward and full of steam. She found herself breathless as she read how they’d like to hold and kiss her, and deeper thoughts than that. For the first time she closed her eyes and imagined her admirer, and at first imagined him.
Then she realised something, and he changed from him to her. Instead of waistcoats and trousers, she thought of long hair and skirts. She knew her admirer couldn’t be a man. They were different. Softer, kinder, warmer and reminded her of her. At first she was confused, but soon found herself excited to explore a whole new world.
Molly watched the other women as they worked. She thought about all of them in turn, trying to figure out which she preferred and who might be her admirer. They gave nothing away, seeming not to notice her. But Dutch noticed Molly and finally had enough. Their argument shook the camp and made everyone run off.
He demanded her attention, which had been stolen away. Privately, she blamed him for neglecting her. If he hadn’t made her feel lonely and unloved, she would have thrown the letters away. Of this she said nothing, but argued back at him. She demanded his attention but knew he wouldn’t give in. In her heart she knew she no longer loved him, and that he didn’t love her.
Three days she waited for the last letter. It was heavy and when she opened it, a necklace fell into her lap. Emeralds glittered in the gold, a perfect match to her eyes. She picked it up and looked at it with surprise. The note with it was short, barely more than a line. But it was the best of all the letters.
