Red Dead Redemption 2 Imagines

Dutch X Reader -

Your horse trotted along smoothly, head swaying from side to side, sending silver hair in your face at particularly forceful attempts to rid flies from its eyes or nose. You had to shift in your saddle a few times, especially when a deer would run by and spook your mount. Nothing a few calm words and patting couldn't solve.

You removed your hat to fan yourself, the beating sun high in the sky like a jewel of fire, and you cursed not wearing something a little lighter. Reaching into one of your saddlebags, you paid no attention to the path ahead.

Then, abruptly, a clearing of the throat.

Your head shot up, and fear constricted without mercy. Two men, bandanas up, blocked the way. You halted your horse, realising that reaching for your gun would be, perhaps, the worst idea.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?"

"That's a mighty fine horse," One spoke thoughtfully, as if to the other, "I must say."

"That it is." The other agreed, nodding as his emerald eyes gazed across the features of your trusty steed.

You feared the worst, knowing that they were after your horse. To rustle it from you. You tugged on the reigns, and your horse backed up a little, huffing.

"You ain't goin' nowhere." The first spoke, voice a sudden growl, and he shifted to dismount his horse.

"What was that, gentlemen?" A voice piped up from behind you, and along with it came three more pairs of hoofs.

The two men pulled down their bandanas.

"Are you harassing this fine bystander?"

The two looked over your saviours, but terrified, you remained staring ahead at them, watching their now unsure movements.

"No, we ain't." The first shook his head, gaze falling intense the longer your saviours remained. "We'll, well, we'll meet again. This is a linear path, after all." And with that, the men turjed their horses around and spurred out of view.

"Are you alright, sir/miss?" He questioned, bright white horse, fitting for your angelic saviour, trotting into view. "They didn't hurt you, did they?"

You took in his look; his kind eyes, swept back raven hair, neatly kept moustache, his welcoming suit and hat. He was the drastic opposite of those two men, and something about his aura, his caring gaze, the way he looked at you in that moment, made you trust him.

"I-I'm... no, they didn't hurt me."

"I'm so incredibly glad. They are animals in the best scenario." He assured with a charming smile.

Into view trotted his two companions, a blue jacket wearing grizzled man, and a much kinder, older man, both offering smiles.

"I'm Dutch." He finally introduced, hand extended your way.

You approached a little and then leaned forwards, accepting his hand. What you didn't expect, however, was for Dutch to gently lift your hand to his lips and place a fleeting kiss to the knuckles. You blushed wildly.

"I-I'm (Y/N). It's a pleasure to know the name of my speaking saviour."

"The pleasure is all mine." He then glanced between the other two men. "These are my associates, Hosea Matthews, and Arthur Morgan."

"Sir/Miss." Hosea greeted with a tip of the hat.

Arthur nodded your way, "(Y/N)."

"I do hope we meet again." Dutch grinned, "If we do, a drink is on me."

"Of course, Dutch." You beamed happily, "Keep safe!" You called out as they rode off, earning a muffled response from Dutch.

Feeling much better, you continued on your way, humming to yourself.

Who would have known that a simple conversation with a man who had you smitten rather quickly would end with your capture? Certainly not you.

The O'Driscolls didn't take kindly to Dutch, apparently, so as you lay hogtied, you couldn't help but feel like the entire ordeal was a cruel joke. Surely it had to be.

You were done crying, fear having long settled in. You had heard their plans for you, or more appropriately your body, and you had accepted your fate.

There was a gunshot from outside.

Then another. And another. And many.

A bullet flew right by your leg, leaving a circular hole in the tent. You whimpered, expecting pain, but there was none: it was a miss.

The shooting died down after what seemed like an eternity. You were silent, just in case whatever they were shooting at wasn't dead, or was a rival gang. In your few days in the camp, you had come to realise just how hated the O'Driscolls were.

"Alright! Arthur, Bill, search the tents over there. Any survivors you find, kill 'em."

You felt the voice to be vaguely familiar, and the names proved to spur your memory. With a quick breath, you prepared to yell.

"Dutch! Arthur! Hosea!" Well, you didn't yell, but you sure did whimper loudly.

There was silence, followed by footsteps and soft 'clinking' of spurs. A shadow cast itself over the front of the tent as it knelt down, and with one swift motion you were revealed to Dutch himself.

He stared at you, eyes widening for a split second before he shuffled in, brandishing a knife to cut you free.

"Oh my God! (Y/N)?! What did they do to you?"

He cut your ankles free, and with the feeling of security and safety tied to this man, you wrapped your arms around his neck, using him for support so you could stand. He helped you get outside, quickly to his horse.

"I'm heading back to camp!" A loud announcement to the man as he mounted his horse, helping you up and making sure your arms were secure around his waist.

"Alright!" Arthur called out, followed by a gunshot.

You pulled Dutch closer, and as he began riding, he allowed a veil of silence settle over you. It felt nice, not being forced into a conversation. Especially with someone you didn't want to worry all too much.

Upon arriving to camp, he dismounted first and helped you down, directing you to get clean and a new pair of clothes. You obeyed, deciding now wasn't the time to ask questions.

A week passed, and you had spent it mainly with Dutch, remaining quiet and keeping to yourself. Despite that, you did try and socialise with the rest of camp, but Dutch proved to be your main man, the one you spoke to to feel safe and welcome.

Then, exactly eight days after your introduction to camp, he approached you with the proposal of a ride. You accepted, and off you went, his marvelous white steed trotted expertly.

You spoke on the way there, but nothing excessive. A joke here, a lighthearted topic there. Then he halted his horse, climbed off, and helped you down, all with the most charming smile.

He led you to the rocks, to stand and gaze over the valley beneath your boots. You were high up, trees a sea of emerald, birds a stream of black and white and blue. It was peaceful.

"You know, (Y/N), before we found you at that O'Driscoll camp, I couldn't keep my mind off of you." Dutch suddenly confessed, speaking with such confidence, as if saying such a thing wasn't horribly romantic in any way. "And with you at camp, I just..."

"I understand, Dutch." You smiled shyly yet warmly, taking a small step closer to him, "I, uh, I couldn't help but return those thoughts."

A relieved grin adorned his features, and an arm wrapped gently around your shoulders, pulling you a little closer.

That's how you two stayed for a while; gazing across the valley, admiring each other's touch.