Playing Dangerous ? ||RDR2 // Arthur Morgan X Reader||

chapter 11; pretty when you cry

"Ah-! Quit your yappin'." Arthur grumbled, letting go of your hand and leaving your grasp feeling rather empty and cold in the fresh night air. As you took your first few foot steps away from the campfire, your eyes trailed back a secretive glance across your shoulder – and you drew in the sweet and rather adorable sight of Arthur looking so bashful whilst the boys were ribbing him about the tender moment the pair of you had just said. You almost felt a little guilty, leaving him to fight out this playful banter whilst you went to bed.

You wished you could treasure the image of the boys all laughing together and ridiculing one another, it was rather odd to say – but they obviously didn't realise how wholesomely happy they all looked whilst they all sniggered away. It was just another indication to you of how much of a family this gang was – despite the occasional spats and the disagreements, at the end of the day – they all looked out for one another.

You were exceptionally proud to be apart of that.

Exalting a light sigh with a sleepy smile, your hot breath plumed out into the chilly night air – rising high and dispersing into the twinkling starlit canvas above you. The grass beneath your kid boots was almost crunchy, having stiffened a little with the cold temperature. The more time you spent in the cold the more you appreciated that your warm bed roll was merely a few seconds walk away.

By now, you had made it away from the crackling campfire and around the back of Pearson's wagon – and you could see your tent tucked in the near distance, looking as inviting as a sweet dessert.

Gathering the blue skirts of your dress in your hand, you picked your little pace up to a jog – bound for your bed.

However, your stomach dropped like you had just fallen down a steep flight of steps, when a rough hand ragged your wrist to the side, between the trees that fenced the outer perimeter of the camp.

You had wanted to scream, to call for help – but the hand had clapped over your mouth. You hated the feeling of this cold unwanted touch on you, and so your body writhed and wriggled desperately to break free.

The hand suddenly lurched away from your mouth – and you had been scarcely able to draw breath through your now-chapped lips before your body was unceremoniously thrown around, your back slammed harshly into the thick and coarse trunk of the tree behind you.

"Don't. You. Dare. Scream." That poisonous and maniacal voice hissed, your eyes now adjusted to take in his repulsive face with that malevolent stare. Micah.

A furious frown appeared on your brow, and you struggled roughly – but getting nowhere considering you were caught between and tree and Micah himself. His closeness had you wanting to throw up with the sickened feeling in your stomach.

"What the fuck are you doing?" you spat, uttering that heavy curse word you never usually said. You had very much saved it for the more dark and turbulent times in your life.

Sneering like a crafty creature, Micah cocked his head at you. His eyes spelled this highly disconcerting look that reminded you of a cat when it toyed with a mouse – right before it would kill the poor thing. He was making this into a game for his own entertainment.

"Hey now, little lady – ain't no reason for words like that." He condescended, before a dark chuckle rang through, "Or is it cause you went runnin' with them boys that you now think you're some goddamn tough-talkin' gunslinger?" he tried you, annunciating some of his words by pushing his body against you – each time the gesture made your stomach knot a bit further.

"So what if I went out with them?" you responded, eager to not let yourself bottle under the pressure of Micah's crazed nature. "I am doing my part. Earning my keep. As much as you don't like me getting along in this camp – I do." You spat, getting up in his face a little. "These people are my family."