A Red Dead Redemption story.
A seasoned bounty hunter, you've buried your past beneath the weight of your work. But a brush with the notorious Van der Linde gang unravels everything. Amid bullets and bloodshed, you discover love and a sense of belon...
Hazy morning rays forced their way through the canopy you were lay under, given Karen's antics the previous night, you assumed she thought she was cuddled up next to Sean. Gently pushing away the arm wrapped around your waist, you closed your eyes again in attempt to nurse the pulsing headache that shot through your skull every time your heart beat.
The same hand you pushed off, not a minute before, made it's way under your blouse, settling just over your breast.
"Y' should prob'ly get outta here before anyone wakes up." You recognised Arthur's husked tones subtly nibbling at your ear, his hungover kisses making their way down your neck.
Panic blinked your eyes wide open. Oh, shit. You thought to yourself.
•
"Everyone," Dutch announced, "gather 'round, c'mon, the stew can wait." Dutch bellowed. "Now," he prepared. "We've had a tough few weeks, in Colter we battled the snow. We lost some folks who were dear to our hearts," A few of the outlaws' heads nodded; others cast their eyes to the ground at the mention of their fallen family members. You did not feel comfortable enough to listen intently nor agree, instead, offering a smile of support for those who caught your eye during Dutch's soliloquy.
"Yet, what we lost, we gained in Mrs Adler, Miss (y/n) and the return of Sean to safety." Dutch's warm eyes met with yours, flicked to Sadie's and finally to Sean's. Abigail and Karen each nudged your shoulder, causing you to sway between them like a marble being tossed between two children.
"Tonight, we drink to celebrate the lives we've lost, those we've met and those who have returned, against the odds." Dutch raised a bottle of Whiskey in his right hand, whilst a cigar plumed in the other.
"Let's get this feckin' party started then, ey!" Sean's profanities sent a roar of hails around camp, clinking of glass bottles filling the air.
Grabbing a bottle of beer from one of the many crates dotted around camp, you headed for a round table, where Javier strummed the melody to Louisville Maid, causing Uncle, Sean and Karen to clap and cheer with joviality.
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"In Louisville I met a maid," "Mark well what I do say," "And she was a mistress of her trade," "It was a diddle-diddle-diddle all day."
Shrieking laughter erupted from Karen; Sean lustfully gazing at her. Uncle as oblivious as ever, you laughed along with them.
"I put my hand upon her toe, mark well what I do say," A gruff voice sounded behind you.
"Arthur!" Karen shrieked once again at the supervisory outlaw enjoying himself for once. His cheeks grew rosy, "Ah! Don' be so coy, Ar'tur!" Sean chimed in his native dialect.
