ᴍᴜʟᴛɪғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ | ᴏʟᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴇᴡ ғɪᴄs ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍʏ ɴᴏᴛᴇs

Strays and Secrets (Arthur Morgan x borther!reader)

Summary: meow meow...woof woof and so on..

Warning: HERE WE GO AGAIN!, brother reader, reader love animals, love, wholesome

based on this request, tq!

As usual, I'm sorry if there are any wrong sentences or typos or grammatical mistakes, please forgive me and again English is not my first language, so I try to improve my language and writing in this way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It started with a dog.

A wiry little mutt with a torn ear and eyes too big for his skull, trailing after you near Rhodes like you'd paid it to. You threw it a bit of jerky. It wagged its tail once and promptly decided you were its god now.

So you brought it to camp.

Secretly.

"Stay quiet," you whispered as you snuck it behind the old ruined shed near Shady Belle. "Arthur's gonna throw a fit if he sees you."

The dog blinked at you.

And sneezed.

"...Great start."

Then came the second dog.
And the paint.
And that raccoon you swore was "just passing through."

You had a system.

You fed them scraps from your own plate, stashed little bowls behind the ruins, gave them codenames — “Scout,” “Mittens,” “Captain Washbucket.”

It was going fine.

Until food started disappearing.

Pearson was the first to notice.

"Who the hell took the salted beef?! I just cured that!"

Then it was the biscuits. The jerky. Half the stew.

Arthur started getting suspicious when he found paw prints near the horses and fur on his bedroll.

"You lettin' wild animals sleep in my tent?" he barked one morning.

You shrugged innocently. "Maybe you're just shedding."

But you couldn't hide it forever.

The breaking point came when Dutch found a chicken inside his tent.

A chicken.

Wearing a little bandana you'd tied around its neck.

It clucked once, jumped onto his cot, and took a shit on his pillow.

Dutch's yell echoed across the swamp like a gunshot.

And in the silence that followed... Arthur turned his head towards you.

Slowly. Very slowly.

"You got ten seconds to explain."

You opened your mouth.

Paused.

Closed it again.

"...They followed me home?"

Arthur marched straight towards your hiding spot behind the shed — and there it was.

Three dogs. Two cats. The raccoon (asleep in a boot). The chicken. A limping possum. Even a small family of frogs you'd carefully placed in a bucket labeled "Do Not Touch - Science."

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose so hard you thought he might crush his own skull.

"Y/n," he said slowly, "what in hell possessed you—"

"They were lonely!" you said defensively. "And hungry! And it's not like they're causing much trouble—"

"THE CHICKEN CRAPPED ON DUTCH'S PILLOW."

You folded your arms.

"He leaves me outta heists. That chicken has taste."

Arthur stared at you for a long, exasperated moment — then burst out laughing.

It surprised both of you.

He bent forward, hands on his knees, wheezing. "You—Goddamn it, you're hopeless."

You grinned. "But they're cute, right?"

The raccoon chattered in agreement.

Arthur looked at the chaos around him — and you, beaming like a fool in love with every stray soul you could find — and sighed.

"...We're keepin' the dogs," he muttered.

You cheered.

"But the raccoon goes."

"It's a camp doctor in training!"

"The raccoon GOES."