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...
Bundled into a carriage, the tufts of material spilled over Hosea and Bill's knees, sandwiched between the two men like a fluffed cushion.
Arthur hadn't taken his eyes off you since leaving Shady Belle. A look in adoration to his complexion, only shifting his gaze when addressed.
The black suit he wore perfectly tailored to every inch of his form. A crisp shirt sculpted his torso underneath the white silk-satin waistcoat matching Hosea's. He impatiently fiddled a white bow tie Dutch made him purchase, the Cowboy normally used to an collar.
Bill side-eyed you in annoyance, batting the dress out the way with his hand. He was already reluctant to attend the garden party, hot and bothered in a fitted suit and your over-bearing dress was pushing him to his limit.
"For Christs sakes, Morgan," he growled, "why'd y' have t' get her the biggest dress in the store?!" Bill's alcohol flushed cheeks puffed in frustration.
"Well, I for one, think you look absolutely wonderful, Miss (y/n)." Hosea lifted your dainty hand, taking it to his lips.
"Y'r a charmer, Mr Matthews," Swiping your hand away from his grip, "but ch' ain't foolin' me."
Dutch twisted the cork on a bottle of champagne, the fizz over-flowed into the footwell; erupting a loud cheer from the men.
"I ain't ever been to a ball in my life." Arthur reached for five champagne flutes he found rummaging the cupboards of Shady Belle.
"Nor have I, if I am being honest." Dutch roared as he poured the bubbling liquid into the glasses.
"Well, I used to quite often, there could be fine picking's," Hosea's eyes twinkled as Dutch wholly shot his idea down, "oh, no, no—no pick-pocketin', we're here to make real contacts." He smirked.
"What kind of contacts?" You asked, taking the champagne from Dutch's hand.
"I don't know, thats what we're here to find out." The Leader winked back at you.
"We are going to a party at the Mayors house," Dutch began humorously, "and the guest of honour, the worst crook in town—I'm sure we will find somethin'." Dutch barely able to contain his laughter at the irony of the situation. Cheers and clinks of glass rang out from the five of you, toasting a night of successful fakery.
"Nearly here boys!" Lenny called from the driving seat of the wagon.
Placing the glasses down, the men sharpened up their suits, "Okay, gentlemen, it's time." Dutch lead the way through the heavily guarded gates.
Arthur took your hand, guiding you down the steps of the carriage, "behave y'rself," he growled in your ear.
"I don't think it's me y' need to be worryin' about." You smirked back at him. Lustful flirtation peppering each-others words.
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