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willardsrestwidow · 3 months

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❝We hold it in our eyes, the answer to it all❞ - Molly O'Shea x Fem!Reader

Pairings: Molly O'Shea x Fem!Reader, Molly O'Shea x (if-you-squint-your-eyes)OC!Reader.

Synopsis: After years of living as a hermit in a secluded hut in the woods, you finally find freedom, only to stumble into a life of crime. Stealing was nothing new to you, but joining a gang of outlaws changes everything. For the first time, the allure of shimmering gold pales in comparison to the captivating gaze of a certain pair of Irish green eyes.

Word Count: 5,3k

Warnings: Dutch, toxic-relationship, couple arguing but no physical violence, Dutch again, and eventual smut - oral, fingering; wlw sex basically.

Please only read if you're +18!

A/N: girlies and pals, I'm down bad for this woman, and that's that ig. I never wrote for rdr buuuuuut ive been a reader for a long time now. And speaking of long things, it's 5k words yall.... the thirst was IMMENSE!!!

Eyes were the windows to one’s soul.

It was what you were taught still as a youngster living out in the woods with your Pa.

When hunting, you just had to look into the animal’s eyes to know what sort of prey they would be. The slight convulsing of the irises, he’d say, was an indication of weakness. A fixed gaze on something else or complete disregard for human presence meant you’d need more bullets and more air in your lungs to chase the creature through the difficult terrain. And, of course, there were the eerie stares that seemed to pierce your soul — slit pupils or fully dilated ones — creatures you would encounter only three times in your life. Pa would mention bears and alligators, foul beings not to be trifled with, and a secret third one he would take to his humble grave, never to be revealed.

Well, regardless, the hunt had grown in you over time until Pa’s death, coinciding with when your needs began to grow beyond nature’s boundaries. Like a fish drawn by the shimmery light in the ocean, you took the first step out of the small shack, not knowing it’d would be the last time you set foot there.

In civilization, you found the same types of stares in store clerks, rich folk, and equally petty thieves. For once, a bullet between their eyes was not the ideal route for most encounters, if what you faced could even be called that. You began small—a poacher with a weakness for beautiful women, using the night and darkness to act upon your urges. There was no need to grow in what became your dark habit, to seek fame or further luxuries. You were content with sleeping in a different place every night until a late-night robbery got the entire sheriff’s ‘cavalry’ tailing after your sorry-ass. In the end, you rode your stolen horse off a cliff, resulting in multiple mild injuries, including a sharp stick in your thigh that rendered you bedridden for an entire week.

Bedridden, that is, because fate granted you a chance by sending a group of broad-shouldered figures mounted on horses your way. Or perhaps it was the other way around. It was while being spoon-fed by a lovely girl with dark features that you learned to whom you owed your gratitude, and the name rang a bell, if not several.

“I ain’t cut for washing clothes by the riverbank like they do. I mean, I can, but…” you recalled saying one sunny morning, the sunlight shining upon Clemens Point, to the only person you’d seen listening to others: Arthur Morgan. His hooded, blue eyes seemed to be everywhere around camp as he listened to you, even on Mary-Something, who was mindlessly reading a novel on her break. You couldn’t tell for sure because the man wouldn’t stay in one place, forcing you to keep chasing after him. Your lungs cried for help as you continued, “I just… hah, I can be useful outside camp too!”

“What they been feedin’ you and Miss Adler, huh? Look, if Dutch ain’t lettin’ you out, maybe you should try winning his trust,” Morgan mumbled over his shoulder. “Now, if I were you, I’d start with that laundry basket.”

“Did you start with laundry too? Uh… Morgan?”

Thus, your first, real week was marked by incessant running after dirty laundry and helping Pearson with cooking — which, in hindsight, was as tiring and demanding as any other job. Oddly enough, you couldn’t catch sight of Dutch or even enter his luxurious tent, the same being kept with its flaps down at all times as a high-pitched opera always emanated from within.

Like a trapped hummingbird, your patience began to wear thin. Dangerous thoughts of returning to the woods plagued your mind for a full night, but a warm morning opened your eyes to a bigger catch.

“Can I smoke in silence, woman? In God’s name, be quiet!” was the first human sound to be heard from a tent far from where you were, early on, gathering the rags sprawled around a sleeping Uncle. The gravelly tone with a slight crack in some words made you perk your head up and forget your duties. You couldn’t understand the stance your body took, as if you were young again, with a gun bigger than your body, which could just as well have been the damned laundry basket, and back out in the silent woods. You allowed the memory to take over, and careful steps to take you just about as close as a hunter could get to a creature.

An irked Dutch, deep creases carving his forehead and squinted eyes barely visible, tried to light the fat cigar hanging from his lips in front of his tent. A few feet away, Hosea sharpened his knife, and a determined Grimshaw marched across camp, though neither seemed to be part, or concerned about what soon followed.

From behind one of his shoulders, a flash of red, curly hair appeared and then disappeared. You figured it was his woman — the name failed you at the moment, but the intriguing freckled face, often marred with sadness, did not. “Charles saw it too, y’know?” she sounded from behind him, surely standing on her tiptoes for you saw another glimpse of her hair. “Charles, and Tilly, and John — bleedin’ John who’s never here has seen it. Everybody saw how you ate her with your eyes!”

“You’ve been on it since yesterday,” Dutch answered, his face showing neither sympathy nor worry about her tone. “Go get some rest. Lord knows you need it.”

“Ah, it would be easy for ya, wouldn’t it? Surely if I slept, if I disappeared, if I died, you’d be free to roam this earth after each pair of legs that may captivate ya.”

The vainglorious leader, now with a successfully lit cigar between his fingers, turned his back to you to direct his next words to the afflicted woman. “Die you shall if you spend another night wide-awake, thinking absurdities like the one you speak of.” Being met with an audible groan, he continued, “Rest, Miss O’Shea. Hopefully you oughta wake up more elucidated.”

Perhaps it was for the better that the broad-shouldered man kept her reaction veiled behind his physique and muffled her muttered response with an audible exhale. No, no 'perhaps'—it was meant to be, for it built the perfect suspense, pushing you just a tad closer to the scene in order to experience the long-awaited climax in the first row.

And, boy, did that also serve to wake the entire camp up.

Your ears caught the words, “You will know I didn’t cross the Atlantic to be your gimcrack,” before a satisfactory crack pierced the air. Angling your curious body, you were blessed with the view of the Irishwoman’s heels stomping on Dutch’s opera shellac record, straight out of his gramophone. His reaction was as expected; he let out a roar, dropped his cigar—which dangerously disappeared between his tent’s loose floorboards—and lunged at the redhead. At that very moment, you too dropped what you’re holding and charged forward to her aid, only to be rooted in place by a firm grasp on your upper arm. You turned to confront the new target of your rage, but upon facing a huffing Arthur Morgan, the grumbles emanating from within your chest ceased.

“I wanted you to feel it for yourself, but I don’t think you even have a heart to love a ting in the first place,” O’Shea continued, sounding ten paces farther away. “I’ll break whatever you own, and hope one day your pain will come near mine!”

A glance behind your shoulder was enough to spark another fire in you; the man’s big hands were then wrapped firmly around her arms. And you were sure to have convulsed under Morgan’s grasp. Alas, the sight wouldn’t come near as infuriating as the hushed threats against her ear, and ultimately the release of her as if she wasn’t worth his time. Before gathering with a somber Matthews, who was drawn in by the fight, Dutch turned to the disheveled one to let out a last hiss, “I dare you embark on the first ship back to your land,” and riveted his warning gaze towards you.

“Brown bears; damn fools, they is! If you drop on the ground and hold yer breath, you’s fine. Just never run away from one,” your old Pa said to a younger you one fine morning, while you’re out on the porch, cleaning his rifle, as he rocked on the creaky chair. “And then there’s alligators, who’s cleverer… Yer old Pa has a few scars with a bunch o’ stories along, uhum. Those ones will test yer body—have you runnin’ from side to side, jumpin’ on trees and all that good stuff. Thing is, ya can live from an encounter. Butcha won’t be runnin’ from the third one, I’ll tell ya. Ah, better yet... Heh, let time teach ya this lesson.”

And it did. For now, the third creature, the deadliest of all, was staring right back at you, its eyes reflecting a darkness you had never known.

It felt like ages had gone by when Linde broke the intense eye contact to march away from the troubles he created, a sigh of relief exiting your lungs as he did so. O’Shea remained silent after the entire ordeal. Still having to reclaim your freedom from Morgan, you watched her kick one of the record’s pieces and wander in circles inside her tent, finally resorting to sitting on her shared cot and burying her face in her hands.

“Grimshaw’s in need of more hands to clean them rifles,” Arthur finally said, oddly softly, as if he spoke with a child. Though you’d never heard him talk to Jack like that before. “Go on, then, girl.”

To say you were willing to risk your position in the gang to go running toward the weeping woman was an understatement. You were willing to risk your life, even! But… then what? You grew up around the silence of the woods, the teachings of your father that only served for hunting, and the bloodshed of innocent creatures — gallons after gallons of blood. Trivial aspects of life, like comforting one another or curling your lips around sweet words, were beyond your reach. So what if you ran toward her? So what if you took her freckled face out of her hands into your roughened ones? Could you muster the correct words to soothe her ache?

Thus, for a second time, you followed Morgan’s advice and stomped your way toward Susan Grimshaw and the many rifles on the table. The smell of gun oil and grease that would define your afternoon was never strong enough to erase the memory of the woman’s pale-green eyes, or how they danced nervously when she looked at her man.

✤ ✤ ✤

Tilly had come to you when the sun was setting in the plains’ horizon with a pleading look to her kind features. Her gaze would fall on the black grease coating your numb fingers, for a second thinking through on her request, but surrendering to her hidden urges.

You were to resume the laundry you left behind.

“’Course, anythin’,” you mumbled when wiping the sweat of your forehead with your wrist.

Your legs took you close to where the damned laundry basket was, curiously outside Dutch and O’Shea’s tent. You swallowed dryly, and without realizing it, you were tiptoeing toward the flaps-down tent.

For the first time since you joined the outlaws, an obnoxiously loud opera wasn’t resounding from the infamous gramophone. In fact, nothing was sounding from within—not even the muffled whimpers of a heartbroken and awfully tired woman. But it was the glow of a lamp seeping under the tarp that kept you on edge, enticing you to approach and press a curious eye to a single hole in the fabric separating you from…

…no one.

The stage for the early, rather disturbing event was lacking its main protagonists—whether for the worst or the better. You knew the leader had fled camp to trail trouble in some corner of the heartlands. Now, the whereabouts of the red-haired lady were truly unknown.

You knew how to look for tracks, traces of wandering life, and you did your best to find those in her tent, snooping through her belongings with a special focus on her clothes poking out of her bag and how flowery they all smelled… yes, all of them. Nevertheless, your time spent rummaging through her trinkets and personal items gave not a single clue about where she could be hiding.

For the bleak moment in hands, you found yourself fond of a golden necklace you’d seen around her neck that morning, the very same one with the oval red stone that hung tantalizingly near her freckled bosoms, calling curious eyes to ogle. Without much ceremony, you swooped the necklace into the old pouch strapped around your waist and headed north, toward the riverbank.

Arriving near the flowing stream, which served that night as a mirror for the stars above, you set the wash tubs, basket, an oil lamp, and your numb behind on the gravel, mentally preparing yourself for the pile of worn undergarments before you. You cussed under your breath; your fingers ached, and your hands bore light scars from the week of rough washing. The weight of leaving Pa’s shack to pursue what had become a living hell felt tenfold heavier upon your shoulders. Your posture sagged, you sighed, and you felt as though the cries of distant coyotes were the ones your lips wouldn’t dare utter, but were tempted to.

Your hands reached for the necklace again, bringing it before the faint glow of the crescent moon and the lamp you had brought along. You watched the gold chain dance between your fingers, the red stone resting in your palm, passing on the warmth you needed at that instant. And how odd it was that upon bringing it to your lips, you could hear its owner’s voice engulfing the open space around you.

“I bought it back in Galway while waitin’ to board the ship to America. An old gentleman was selling his families remainin’ heirlooms to pay for his daughter’s treatment. I thought it was in good condition, so I bought it.”

“Mhmm,” you replied, half-lidded eyes following the hypnotic dance you forced the necklace to make. From side to side, front and back.

“It’s true,” O’Shea’s voice resurfaced from somewhere, carrying frustration at your indifference. “That purchase was the best, and single good choice I made in my entire life. Needless to say, I want it back.”

The third time you heard that outlandish accent, it began to dawn on you that perhaps it wasn’t just a figment of your imagination driven by the guilt of stealing the woman’s necklace, but rather her real presence nearby. You whipped your head over your shoulder and saw a very real O’Shea leaning against a tree, a cigarette nestled between her fingers. Just how had you not seen her before was beyond your mortal comprehension, but there she was, enshrouded in a thick curtain of mystery.

“What’s your name, hm? I don’t believe even he knows your name.” You weren’t sure if by ‘he’ she meant Dutch or God himself… both options couldn’t be far from the truth.

“It’s… It’s…”

“I saw you earlier today,” she interrupted, saving you from the struggle of letting your name roll off your tongue, which on normal days was as easy as breathing. But the woman seemed too engrossed in her own battles to notice the unpleasantry. She then took a long drag from her cigarette and placed a supporting arm over her stomach. “What would’ve you done if Arthur hadn’t stopped you?”

Long gone were the days of washing, you thought to yourself. It was high time to seek after what truly mattered to a low-life like you. So, taking the rickety lamp, you set sail over to where she was standing, letting the crickets and hoots fill the night air while ideas blossomed in your mind. One of them was stopping just an arm’s length from her and motioning for the cigarette in her hold. You proudly watched as she guided the tobacco-filled roll to your lips, and soon enough, felt the bitter smoke fill your lungs.

“No good, that’s for sure,” you replied huskily.

“Well, I must know. Should’ve I been the object of your anger, that is.”

“I would make him learn and remember my name for centuries to come. Not the other way around.”

The shadow your body casted over O’Shea’s was not enough to hide the raise of her eyebrows, like she wanted to believe it did. Had you just then impressed or utterly disappointed her continued a mystery, for she took on the duty of raising her walls even higher — a delectable challenge for you to indulge in.

“Hmph,” she shrugged lightly, busying herself with extinguishing her cigarette. It wasn’t until her perfectly pointy nose was breathing hot air against your exposed clavicle that you saw fit to place an arm on the tree above her head, in an effort to stop leaning onto her petite self. Though she didn’t seem to mind at all once she continued, “Can’t say gracing him with the knowledge of your name would be a good offensive. Other than terribly tamed, is quite… unfair, no?”

“Right,” you chuckled, taking a deep breath in anticipation of what was about to happen. First, you took the same hand that held the cigarette — soft to the touch, as you’d imagined — and placed the valuable necklace in it. Once your gaze returned to hers, your name slipped past your lips without further hesitation.

“Right,” she echoed, her tongue sliding across her bottom lip as she watched you step back, providing more space between your bodies. Suddenly, the cold air was unbearable to the Irishwoman. “You, erm…. You don’t have to meddle in mine and Dutch’s affairs anymore. I’m sure one day we’ll be back to normal again, and all shall be fine. I’m tempted, even, to say you shouldn’t have interfered in the first place.”

A chuckle paved the path for your tease, “I see a perfectly normal woman standin’ before me.”

“I bet me honor if somebody were to demand you to point at Molly, you wouldn’t know it is I, sweetheart.”

“Aha! That’s ‘cause I’d never raise a finger at yo’self! Now, if we’re talking about the high-and-mighty Dutch —"

"He loves me!" Molly yelled, her fists curling defensively in front of her torso. To you, this seemed like a stance ready to strike or flee. But instead of running, as her posture suggested, she marched toward you and used her fists to shove you. Though not hard enough to make you fall, you stumbled backward, feeling the pain her hands inflicted on your chest soon after. "You have no idea how I crossed the Atlantic for him, how I left everything in Ireland to follow him. I’ve shed who I was, who I could even become, just to fit here with him. Go ahead, join the others as they laugh at the fool I am! Surely that's what they’re all doin' now!”

Her body trembled like the tiny flame inside the lamp swaying in your hands. Just as you had once wished as a child, you wanted to reach out and touch it, despite all the evident warning signs. You remembered watching Pa extinguish a candle with his thumb and index finger while you soothed your own burned fingers. Back then, you attributed that ability, and that alone, to men — to control fire — and how you envied them to have touched what you could only dream of.

Luckily, the world seemed on your side for once when a distinguishable crunch sounded beneath your boot. You looked down to find the necklace which had been sacrificed during her outburst. Before she took notice of it, you snatched and carefully placed in her hold again, oddly welcoming. “Indeed, buyin’ this necklace is worth the title you gave it,” was your final comment on the matter, a prolonged silence being the deserving answer. “Well,” you sighed, “why don’t ya stop by my tent one of these days while you wait to become normal again? I ain’t got much to offer, but…”

“What, am I supposed to greet Tilly on me way in? Isn’t she the one you share your tent with?”

It wasn’t coarse or unpleasant in the least. The comment was, by all means, very ‘Molly’, and was met with nothing except an affectioned smile.

“Yer sayin’ the offer interested the likes of ya?”

O’Shea’s eyes wandered over the plain’s surroundings, blinking at every tree as if they were her audience, darting from the starry sky to the plain river behind you. She wasn’t pondering the question, no; she was grounding herself. When her gaze returned to you, her gentle green eyes flickered slightly, a maddened waltz not from fear of you but from the turmoil within her. You could only watch as she reached a personal conclusion, her nostrils flaring as she took a determined gulp of breath.

“What I am saying is mine’s far less crowded.”

✤

Much like a drunk bastard forced to go a minute without a drop of alcohol, you found yourself weak in the minutes it took to wash your face in the communal bucket of water and change into something less worn out. Your mind had come to terms with “Molly” being the only name that mattered, and from the vast knowledge about nature and hunting that once occupied your thoughts, now, nothing outside the realm of 'her' held any importance. Obviously, the feeble state of your mind was kept a secret as you marched towards Molly’s tent. The strength with which your boots left several holes in the patch of grass made most onlookers think a fight was brewing.

But all that energy died out once you stopped by the quiet tent.

What if it was a trap? Your primal instincts questioned as you crossed your arms and bit your bottom lip. What if Dutch were standing behind those closed flaps, his 5'11" frame proud and undoubtedly satisfied with his recent catch?

You began to taste blood.

Oh, but what if she was alone, after all? What if you came all this way, bent over backwards, only to be denied what you've been craving? Would you bite the bullet or would you die with it lodged in your head?

The inner dispute, loudly resonating across every corner of your mind, left almost no space for the muffled voice coming from within the tent.

“Didn’t take you for a quitter,” Molly said, her tone mirroring the one in your head — ardently desperate. Surely, the big shadow your body cast over the white canvas gave away your presence, not to mention the questions of several gang members about your incessant pacing, for she quickly continued, making it clear she was speaking to you, “Call me old-fashioned, but whatever you came here to do, you must to do facing me. Otherwise, be on your way.”

“Damn, you seem set on the idea that folks laughin’ at ya. Hell, do ya think I’m too? ‘Cause if so…”

“I can guarantee the only ting I’ve got me mind set on is that I don’t want to be lonely any longer than I’ve been.”

“Why, ain’t that…” you began, yet much like the chaos previously flooding your head, it watered down into pure hollowness. The sadness inflicted through her words carving unbearable holes in your insides. “I’m heading in.”

For once, the cluttered interior with its woodsy scent and Linde’s riches on display did not capture your attention. Instead, it was O'Shea who was quietly sitting on a stool, her back turned to you, holding a small pocket mirror angled to reflect your entire figure as you entered.

It took you a moment to fully take in her appearance: her delicate frame clad only in white undergarments, her hair braided to the side to showcase the golden necklace resting around her neck, and her bare shoulders rising and falling with the slow, hypnotic rhythm of her breathing.

The steps you took towards her had caused cracks from the loose floorboards, but even then, even if a gunshot sounded from within the tent, you wouldn’t have taken your eyes off the figure before you.

“For your information,” she began with a tilt in her tone, “he never hurt me. Physically, that is. He never made me regret me choices, either. I love him. I painstakingly love him; with all my heart, in every breath I take.”

Sacrificing your knees, you leveled your face with the back of her head, fingers aching to touch the crook of her neck and her soft hair but instead choosing to play along with her game. “That sounds like a big ordeal.”

Once again, she used her mirror to gaze at you, but you could only see her parted, red lips reflected in the tiny surface. You watched them exhale a shaky breath, if not for the sudden lack of oxygen felt inside the tent. “That it is.”

“Then you must be tired of lovin’ too much and receivin’ nothin’ in return...”

Whether it was from the drunken haze her scent indulged you in, or from the deep-seated urge in your heart to make her forget about Dutch, you wasted no further time and pressed your lips to her bare back, prompting a short melody to slip past her lips. Her skin, as expected, was on fire, as if each freckle was an ember in the bonfire that Molly O’Shea has become. And of course, it drove you crazy, urging you to plant more kisses across the small region until she graced you with a proper answer.

“Tired? I — Ah — am nothin’ of the kind. All this lovin’, all this sacrifice will eventually pay off.”

You grinned against her skin, teasing a small area with the tip of your tongue and finishing with a light bite. “You know, lovin’ someone shouldn’t involve sacrifice. You're puttin’ in overtime, honey. Maybe it's time to find some shade under someone else's tree,” you rasped out.

The pocket mirror shook, and in the exact second your eyes poked out from behind her shoulder you saw a glimpse of her closed eyes, “What do you suggest, then?”

“I think the woman ‘fore me was promised many things already, hm?”

“It pains me to say this,” Molly mumbled with a single nod, dropping the mirror to reach out for your compliant hands, intertwining them with hers in front of her. “But you do know me so well.”

Never before had you tasked your lips with such a delicate mission as trailing kisses from her shoulder to her neck. It was a challenging endeavor, especially since with each touch, the Irishwoman would gasp and lean further back into you, igniting the flames of what had once been an innocent and rather controlled fire between the two of you. When you reached her ear and playfully bit her earlobe, she had surrendered completely — squirming, moaning, and despite her efforts, unable to conceal the squeezing of her thighs from your hungry gaze. And you ventured to the edge of boundaries, indulging in the pleasure of sliding the straps of her nightgown down, unaware that gravity would reveal more than just the skin of her shoulders.

As for Molly, she loved how the realization that her breasts were bare had you scrambling to your feet and circling her body. Finally, driving someone crazy wasn’t met with dire consequences; instead, it brought a familiar blush to her cheeks and made the remaining clothes draped over her curves feel too tight.

“Damn me,” you choked as you sunk to your knees again, throat bobbing several times with the moans you successfully strangled.

O’Shea smiled for the first time before your eyes, leaning forward just to tease what had your mouth rapidly watering. “Someone definitely will, sweetheart. Perhaps even God himself. But I honestly couldn’t give a bleedin’ damn.”

“And to me? What’ll you give?”

Her hands suddenly flew to your hair, fingers getting tangled in the mess of knots, adding to the delicious pain as she pulled them against the roots. Soon, you understood her message and leveled your face with hers, closing any distance as she pressed her lips to yours, inviting your body closer with the opening of her legs. When her lips parted between kisses, not for air like you had thought, she blurted her answer…

“Everything.”

You had no exact answer, but you figured that the second you began flicking her nipples, to outright tugging on them, Molly had to internally scream at each of her bones to support the weight of her flesh as it seemed to feel tenfold heavier. Needless to say, the second your mouth left hers to envelop one of her hardened nubs, the woman couldn't hold her tongue any longer. A loud moan tore itself from her throat, echoing throughout the room. The sensation was overwhelming, causing every nerve ending in her body to spark alive with pleasure. The grip she had on your hair tightened, pulling slightly as if trying to force your head down even further onto her nipple.

Feeling emboldened by Molly's pleas, you slowly ventured your fingers downward, past the hem of her nightgown. Your fingertips brushed against the delicate fabric, teasing her further before finally dipping below into the wet mess she had been housing between her legs. Your fingers slid easily through her slick folds, the warmth and wetness enveloping them almost immediately. Molly's breath hitched, her body stiffening beneath yours as you explored her most intimate area. Her inner walls clenched around nothing, desperately seeking something — someone — to fill them.

You could practically hear the desperation in Molly's ragged breaths, her body writhing beneath yours as you continued to tease her clit with your fingers. “You're makin’ me crazy,” you gasped, though the swell of her breasts, which your face had been wantonly buried in, muffled each of your words. Regardless, every brush of your fingers against her sensitive clit sent shocks of pleasure coursing through her body, causing her to buck and writhe beneath you. The feeling, you came to understand, was more than mutual.

“You’re wasting your breath on something useless as words,” was all Molly managed to get out. Her hips jerked upwards involuntarily, seeking friction from your wandering hand.

Taking advantage of her exposed position, you shifted down, trailing kisses along the valley between her breasts, to her stomach, down to her mound. With deliberate slowness, you replaced your fingers with your mouth, swirling your tongue over her swollen clit.

Molly's reaction was immediate and visceral. Her hands sought support at the edge of her stool, her knuckles turning white.

Your tongue worked tirelessly over her clit, lapping at the throbbing bundle of nerves with relentless determination, releasing sinful sounds into the warm air. With each flick and suckle, Molly’s breathing grew heavier, her moans louder. Then, without warning, her entire world narrowed down to the point where your mouth was touching her. Every worry, every heartache seemed to fade into the background, allowing her the rare moment to exist outside of thoughts about Dutch, her family back in Ireland, and the love she had longed to experience. Her back arched off the stool, her core clenching and releasing in rhythmic spasms as she came hard. And hard she came.

You couldn't control yourself either. The same whirlwind that had clearly swept through the Irishwoman had also affected you, though the chaos it caused within you wasn't as visibly exposed as it was on her. In other words, even the sweat coating her freckled skin deserved your appreciation, as it added a glow to the already god-like figure looking down upon you with something akin to adoration.

“Will you stay the night?” Molly purred tiredly as you took on the duty of securing her weakened body into her shared cot. Your eyes glimmered with lust as she wrapped her arms around your neck, planting open-mouthed kisses on your skin. Alas, even that seemed to wear her down completely. Gently, you laid her bare body down on the cot, unable to resist giving her one last kiss, though you kept it brief.

“Ah, don’t go playing games now,” she chuckled upon seeing you fix your clothing and ready yourself to leave. “Stay.”

“I’m gonna take ya outta this sorry life…”

“Mhmm.”

It was your turn to chuckle at the utter beauty of her sleepy face. “I’ll try with all my might to give Molly O’Shea the life she deserves.”

Her face suddenly grew grim, though her tiredness limited the severity of the grimace she meant to flash you. “Promises…” she breathed out, her eyelids growing heavier. “Promises,” she murmured before surrendering to the strong force pulling her into the depths of slumber, but not before a final, “promises,” slipped past her lipstick-smudged lips.

On the nightstand beside the now-sleeping figure, along with an oil lamp, was a forgotten glass of whiskey with a residual liquid resting at the bottom. There were no traces of red lipstick on its round edges, so you figured, as you brought the glass closer to your face, that it belonged to Van der Linde. Not that it gave you any pleasure or — God forbid — played into any fantasy you might’ve had for him, but taking the glass to your lips, feeling the bitter liquid burn down your throat, and later placing it back next to Molly’s spent figure felt like fulfilling a duty.

With that in mind, you tucked the woman in, giving her forehead one last kiss before making your way out.

The camp, much to your relief, was still buzzing with life. No one seemed to have any idea of what had transpired inside the tent, including the newcomers who had just arrived.

Yes.

Just as you stepped outside the tent, Dutch and four other men rode into camp on their horses. Some people welcomed them, while others, like you, stood their ground. It was dangerous, and you knew it: standing there in the predator’s den, bearing nothing but a victorious smile on your weary face as he made his way to his resting place. But old Pa didn’t know — and how could he? — that the deadliest creature was, in fact, an easy kill.

Only, it wouldn’t take a bullet or an arrow.

It would take some cunning and the golden necklace tangled around your fingers.

#molly o'shea x reader #rdr2 imagine #red dead redemption imagine #rdr2 community #rdr2 smut #red dead redemption 2 #time to blast chappel roan #sapphic #molly o'shea #molly o'shea x female reader #one shot

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i-am-a-bad-influence-writes · 5 months

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Wherever I rest my head is home if it's with you

Part 1, Luck be with you

Masterlist Word count: 2 k Charles Smith x Fem!Reader Arthur Morgan x Mary Linton John Marston x Abigail Roberts Dutch Van der Linde x Molly O'Shea Mary-Beth Gaskill x Kieran Duffy

Summary: Looking for gold is a men's world in a town run by women. The amounts of violence and suffering these men go through with the hope of getting rich is insanity. Gold fever broke marriages and relationships alike until the settlement was nearly all women. It's a small settlement, nearly a small town, next to the Elysian Pool. Most men red hot with gold fever pass through to stock up on supplies before heading down to the mines near Beaver's Hallow or Annesburg. The settlement has only one law set in stone, as lawmen do not want to come there, and it is praised like it was one of the ten commandments. You do not harm the women.

Preview

Going up towards the Grizzlies always brings a bone chilling wind along. It's that kind of cold that flows right through your lungs, into your bloodstream, and infects your every inch of being. But the four men on the road to prosperity aren't in that part of the woods yet. These men being Arthur, Charles, John, and Hosea. None of them are particularly fond of finding the gold around these parts but they are concerned about their friends who rode up weeks ago. Before their journey, the men had been told and warned about a settlement. According to the men that came back, you're lucky if you leave with a broken heart and a nugget of gold in your saddlebag. If you're not so lucky, well, you don't make it out alive. So many stories about this little settlement. They could just push through to Van Horn or go straight to Annesburg, but they have to admit they're curious. All the stories about beautiful, cruel women only fanned that curiosity. Hosea, with all his experience traveling through America, had never heard of the settlement which strengthened their desire to go see for themselves even more. After all, they've all had their hearts broken before, so what’s another chip? What Hosea did seem to know is the major of the town. He had met the woman down by Emeral Ranch while she was picking up a delivery for the town. Hosea had, so kindly, offered to be a hired gun for her in hopes of taking over the stocked wagon but was met with the barrel of a shotgun against his back when he tried to get up onto the driver's seat. She had smiled at him and kindly told him to fuck off. How he had managed to get onto her good side after an encounter like that was a mystery to the other men, but she had offered a place to rest their heads if they were ever close and in need. As they reach the edge of town, they can already tell this is a settlement like no other. Though most settlements are one street, a good place to ride through, this settlement is spread out like a village. Down by the lake is a huge ranch and down by the train tracks seems to be a hotel and post office, but no train station which strikes both John and Arthur as curious. There's a grocery store, a tailor, a saloon, a barber, a gun store, a doctor's office, everything one might need. And, as the stories predicted, a lot of women wearing pants and barely any men. Hosea points at a large house a little bit higher up on a small mountain: 'From what I've been told, that's where the major lives. Let's go introduce ourselves gentlemen.'

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jasminesjournal · 2 months

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I’m feeling angsty and this might be a series?

Title: Lady Conned

Pairing: Dutch van der Linde x fem!reader

Warning: none

Plot: She knew she shouldn’t fall for him but she did it anyway.

She could see him in his tent, leaning with an arm on the support pole. It has to be for show. There's no way that pole could support a grown man. She knew that everything that had to do with Dutch van der Linde was for show. His clothes, his interest in philosophy, his grand way of speaking. Even the way he preferred a cigar over cigarettes. All of it.

For. Show.

And she sure fell for it.

The way his clothes were fit to him just right even though she knew he had the same money as the rest of the gang. How his tent was bigger, more roomy than the small tents everyone shared. He was the leader and he looked it.

She had heard how he was with women. Went for the young ones and then when they got too old for him or he found someone better, he left her. She'd seen it. Now that she's turned 18 she doesn't doubt that Dutch will be vying for her attention next.

She hated that.

But also loved it.

She didn't just want him. She wanted him to want her. Dutch paid her no mind until he found she turned 18. Dutch paid her no mind until he found that she was legal. Dutch had it in him, even though he had a lady he was already with, to make her feel she was his world.

It all started when he smiled at her after Molly O'Shea left his tent in a huff one night. Y/N felt a flip in her and she just knew she was in trouble. She was young and naive even though she was smart. Dutch van der Linde could fool anyone it seemed, especially a young woman whose heart skipped a few beats whenever his lips curled in her presence.

His smile stayed on his face as he sat back in his chair, crossed his leg, and bit off the tip of a cigar before lighting it and smoking it. His long legs were parted, like an invitation for someone to sit on his lap. She wanted to sit on his lap. His smile seems to turn into a smirk as he realizes he has her. As she realizes he has her. She knew she was in trouble.

#fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic blog #fanfic writing #fanfic #creative writing #wattpad writer #dutch van der linde imagine #dutch van der linde x reader #rdr2 dutch #dutch #dutch van der linde #lady conned

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tiredcowpoke · 1 year

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A BETTER EVENING

Pairing: Molly O'Shea x Fem!Reader Request: Anon sent “Hey! I was wondering if you’d ever consider writing Molly? Something about an angsty molly/f!reader just makes me 😩. An “I can treat you so much better” type situation and both are aware there’s feelings there? (one-sided or otherwise! however it comes to you!). Smut if you are up to it, but no pressure at all!“ Warnings: Cheating (emotional, at least), pretty Dutch critical, angst, pining. Note: I'm upset I had to take forever with this, but I'm always down to write something with Molly. lol Thank you for requesting, anon, and I hope this at least lives up to your expectations? Regardless, I hope you all enjoy.

She disappeared down the shoreline again, fists clenched and arms swinging at her sides as if she was going to punch whoever might appear at the end of her march.

A part of you, not born out of frustration toward her or her situation, almost wished that she’d just keep going. You had seen and heard her issues with Dutch, that she had taken a punch from Karen a day or so back for some sort of fight between the two of them, and you knew she would fare better if she just left. Yet, you knew she wouldn’t. She was loyal to Dutch, she loved Dutch, and you could see her trying to win his affections back.

Given how he’d been acting around Mary-Beth, who was unwillingly dragged into this mess without wanting to be, you had found yourself biting your tongue a few times from making a comment or two to him about everything. Yet, you knew your time would be better spent giving Molly your time. Things had been good between you two–you had been warned by the other women a few times about her temperament and how Molly kept her distance. You still found a way to get her to talk with you–it wasn’t hard, back in Horseshoe. Spirits were high, or better than they had been since Colter, but now things felt…different.

Molly was distancing herself. Didn’t really want to talk with you for too long, and her anger was rearing its head a lot more since the gang had moved camps. With her and Dutch going head-to-head most days, you couldn’t blame her for the foul moods.

Still, you wanted to try. Even if it was a small conversation or she would brush you off.

Upon seeing her sit down on a rock just out of eyesight from most of the camp, you started to make your way over toward her. There was some apprehension to your movements–at most, you just didn’t want to ruin her day more than it already has been. It wasn’t even midday yet and she was sitting out on her own again after another shouting match. You knew you would have to tread carefully, at least.

“Molly?” you asked once you came within a couple steps of her.

She glanced toward you, eyes sharp but you could tell from the puffiness that she was holding back the tears. Seeing her like this, it pulled at something in your chest–sympathy, but also anger toward Dutch. You realized you were about to give her the apology that he wouldn’t.

“That was horrible…” you started, “I’m sorry. I know things aren’t good with you, but I just wanted to check on you.”

“I’m fine,” she stated, voice tight. You didn’t believe that for a second, but you didn’t press as you gestured toward the space beside her.

“You mind if I sit?”

“Go ahead,” she replied shortly.

With a small exhale, you finally crossed the space between you two and sat down beside her. You looked out at the river, the islands across from you that were still shrouded in the morning mist. Even with the tension, you didn’t want to speak. To push Molly into talking when she didn’t want to. Yet, you just…wanted her to know you were there, you supposed. You had wanted that more than you cared to admit, and not just within situations like your current one.

You knew you were just putting yourself into more pain in the end, but it was hard not to feel drawn to her. Yet, you knew you couldn’t act on it. As far as you were aware, Molly hadn’t made any signals that she returned your sentiments, and you knew trying to pursue the woman who was with your gang’s leader was just asking for trouble. Reason pointed largely toward why it was a bad idea, but you couldn’t seem to help yourself.

You had wanted to see her smile. See her laugh. Anything other than the shouting and crying that you had seen out of her as of late.

“I don’t know what to do,” Molly admitted, pulling you out of your thoughts as you glanced toward her. Her voice was shaky and tired, her Irish accent thick with the tears you could hear she was holding back.

“I know you’re all watchin’ me, too,” she continued, the venom in her voice taking you aback somewhat, “Just waitin’ for the next show–well, I’m sure you’ll all keep gettin’ it.”

“I’m not finding any amusement,” you said, tone even despite the anger that clearly sat her own. “You’re one of the first people I got close to in this camp. I care about you.”

Molly turned to glance over at you, then. While she didn’t say anything, you could see her expression shift. The sharp gaze she gave you when you first approached fell away to something a little softer, though you could clearly see the hurt in her eyes before she turned to look away from you. This place was draining her–clearly. You could see that, and you knew others did too. Yet, you had the feeling that you might be one of the few, if not the only one, to try to talk to her directly about it.

“Let’s get out of here,” you said, the words slipping out without much thought, as much as you knew an idea had been forming in your head.

“What?”

“Just for a while,” you continued, “I know a quiet place that would be nice for the afternoon. I…well, I think we both could use some time away from here.”

“I…I don’t know,” Molly replied after a pause, looking conflicted. You raised your hands somewhat in a placating gesture–you didn’t want to stress her out, but you thought that maybe it would be nice for her. You knew nobody else was going to, anyway.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought I would offer. I can lead my horse around, you won’t even have to explain it to anybody else. It’s not like I’m asking you to rob a bank with me or anything.”

Molly seemed to debate that for a few moments–in that time, though, you had noticed a change in her body language. Even if it was just a suddenness of the offer, she seemed to perk up somewhat at the idea, even if she hadn’t voiced it out loud just yet.

“…Not for too long,” she settled on, making a small grin appear on your face.

***

You appreciated the shift in temperature from Lymone into New Hanover.

Perhaps more than you did when the gang had been staying in Horseshoe, but the current camp was stifling in more ways than just the tension you had noticed in places. While it wasn’t a major drop in temperature, you didn’t want to go too far out, it felt like you could breathe a little easier. Well, as much as you could in the current situation.

Honestly, you were a little nervous as your horse trotted along at an easy pace, you being all too aware of the passenger you had behind you on the horse. Molly’s hands rested on your hips, the two of you not really talking much on the journey toward a little spot you knew from a while ago. A place you took off to from time to time to be alone with your thoughts, or when camplife got to you a little too much. It was quiet, isolated, and sometimes it felt like you were separated from reality for a while. Little peaceful places like that, you had learned to appreciate where you could.

You didn’t know if Molly would get the same experience, but you hoped so. At the end of the day, you were just hoping that perhaps it would give her a chance to relax. To get away from the camp, Dutch, and all the rest. (As much as a small part of you did wish that it’d be your company that would help her do that, but you didn’t want to put her in that position. As much as your mind tormented you with the idea from time to time.)

“I haven’t done this in a long while, you know,” Molly said suddenly, pulling you from your thoughts as you turned your head toward her somewhat over your shoulder. “Dutch used to take me on rides like this before, but…not so much anymore.”

“…He’s busy these days. You know how he is,” you offered in reply, though your tone betrayed the fact that you didn’t put much heart into your defense of Dutch. It kind of felt like a knee-jerk reaction, sometimes. You cleared your throat somewhat, perking up a little. “Though, I’m happy to take you out for a bit. It’s not too far now, I think.”

“Ya don’t have to defend him to me, you know,” she said, “He…I just want someone to tell me that they see what I do.”

“What do you see?” you asked after a pause.

“That he’s…different, now,” Molly said, you feeling her hands tighten a bit on your hips as she shifted on the back of your horse as you steered down toward a familiar patch of trees.

“A lot of things have changed lately, haven’t they?” you asked, “Not to dismiss your concerns…”

“Yes, but…” Molly trailed off, sounding a little frustrated but you were glad that at least she wasn’t bottling it all up. “Even before Blackwater, you saw how he was. I thought things were getting better in Horseshoe, but now he has no time for me. Can’t help but resent the man.”

“I can’t say I know him that well,” you said, “I’ve only been around for…maybe half a year? Yet…well, I’ve seen the way you two yell at each other now, so I can’t say I haven’t noticed a change.”

“Mortifyin’, that’s what that is,” Molly muttered, “I just don’t want to sit there and take it. I just want him to listen.”

“I know,” you replied, reaching a hand back to grasp at her own where she was gripping your shirt, “Dutch…he…Don’t tell anybody I said this, but it feels like doesn’t listen to anybody unless they are agreeing with him. From what I’ve seen, anyway. He may change. Come to his senses or something…”

God, listening to yourself say those last couple of sentences didn’t make you believe you believed what you were saying. Molly didn’t say anything in return–you couldn’t blame her. You wanted to respect her relationship with him; and for all you had to say, Dutch did help you out. Yet, you really didn’t want to force yourself to defend the man you saw hurting someone you cared about, day after day. You knew Molly hurled her own share back at him, but after seeing what happened with Mary-Beth and her discomfort, you couldn’t help but want to stand with Molly.

It wasn't your place to get involved, anyway. Not directly, at least. You could just offer her things like this, you supposed.

Finally, after making sure to take a path into the clearing that wouldn’t get you both smacked by tree branches, you arrived at the little clearing. The little stream, some rabbits running off into the bushes on the other side and the early evening sunlight giving you plenty of shade. You steered your horse to a stop near a tree, slipping out of the saddle first before offering your hands out to Molly for some help down with a somewhat awkward chuckle.

She took your offered help, slipping off the side of your horse with your assistance, gripping onto your hands as she glanced around herself. You couldn’t help but notice the freckles that dotted her cheeks, a few strands of her red hair resting against her shoulders as you still gripped her hands in your own. Your heart was beating hard, both worried about her reaction and the fact that you were still standing like you were.

Finally, you dropped your hands to your sides as you looked around yourself before giving Molly a small grin.

“Like I said, it’s not a gala or anything, but it’s nice.”

“I don’t think I could handle anythin’ more than this,” Molly said, “It’s…quiet.”

You made a sound of agreement, moving toward one of the trees to rest under as you gave Molly the option to follow. Really, you couldn’t say you had many hobbies that you could do in a place like this, but just taking in the relative quiet was enough for you. Though, you noticed Molly walking over to join you after a few moments, lowering herself down to sit next to you as you glanced toward her.

She pulled her legs up to her chest somewhat, crossing her arms on her knees as she looked off at the treeline across from you both. It was probably the most casual you had seen her.

“I used to look for places like this to write poetry,” Molly commented, making you raise your eyebrows at her somewhat.

“You’re a poet?”

She chuckled lightly at that, the sound pulling at your heart a little. “I appreciate the flattery, but I wouldn’t say that. I don’t write nearly enough.”

“You could always pick it up again,” you encouraged, “I’ve seen Arthur with his journal many times, Sean and his whittling. Javier and his guitar, even Uncle with the banjo…”

“I know, but…” Molly started with a small shrug of her shoulders, “I don’t think I could write the same. About nature, love, folktales…things have changed too much.”

“I don’t think that means you should stop…” you replied, “Not to pressure you. Just…well, I know Mary-Beth writes romance, but I doubt Arthur’s journal is sunshine and rainbows. It’s a way to express yourself, I guess.”

“I never took you for the creative sort,” Molly commented in some mild amusement, which made you huff.

“I just think I’m overcompensating for the fact that I don’t have a creative bone in my body.”

“Well…I don’t think many people have encouraged my poetry in a long while,” Molly admitted after a few moments, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” you said with a nod, glancing down at the tips of your shoes, “You deserve to have people supporting you.”

“You…always do that,” Molly said after another pause, which had you glancing back toward her, “Since we’ve met. You go out of your way to lift my spirits. I know I don’t appreciate that enough.”

“I just…” you started, squeezing your hands together, “I want to help. I like you–your company. I think you deserve better than a passing greeting or…” Dutch, you wanted to say. You deserve better than Dutch. “I know you appreciate it. You don’t have to say it.”

“…Why me?” Molly asked, the question taking you a little off guard. “You’re friendly with others, but you go out of your way for me…”

“I…It’s…” you said, trying not to stammer as you could feel your heart in your throat, “I mean…you have to know by now, right? I appreciate your company and friendship a lot, and I shouldn’t even say anything more, but…I’m sweet on you.”

“You’re sweet on me?” Molly asked, her tone not quite as shocked and put-off as you had been expecting. “That…makes sense, I just never thought…”

“You don’t have to say or do anything,” you said, meeting her gaze with your serious one, “I just know that you deserve better than Dutch. I know you love him, but I’d hate to see you chasing after someone who isn’t there anymore. The idea of him, at least. I don’t want to say I’d be the one who would be better for you, but…I just think you deserve better than to be brushed off and ignored. Certainly better than being condescended to and yelled at.”

Your gaze had dropped as you spoke, feeling like you were saying too much and should stop while you were ahead. Yet, it was all true. You knew you had felt some sort of way toward her for a while now, and to see her and Dutch had taken on a particular sting. Especially with how things had been lately. Still, it wasn’t your place. You were expecting to be told off or something along those lines, and you’d understand that.

So, you were surprised when she leaned into you, her head resting against your shoulder as she wrapped her arms around your middle. You returned the embrace, holding onto her as she didn’t say anything. You knew it was a lot to take in, and you were concerned that you had ruined things, but this reaction was a bit of a relief. You rubbed your hand over her shoulder lightly in a small, soothing gesture.

“Regardless of how you feel about this now or later, I just wanted you to hear that from somebody,” you muttered, Molly nodding before she pulled back somewhat.

It looked like she might say something for a few moments, but instead she just reached out for your arm again as she leaned her head against your shoulder. You sighed, turning your head and pressed a small kiss to her hairline before pulling back to look across the clearing where some rabbits had returned to graze.

“I know,” you muttered.

#my writing.#molly o'shea x reader

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amorgansgal · 2 years

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A Pretty Temper

Part 3 of A Pretty Cage and you're not best pleased with your new circumstances, now that you're staying with the Van Der Linde gang at Shady Belle! Part 4 will probably be posted this evening.

Warnings: None, some minor physical violence and ye good olde sexual tension!

‘You will!’

‘I certainly will not!’

‘I think you’ll find, Miss Cornwall-!’

‘I think you’ll find, Miss Grimshaw, that I am not in the habit of being told what to do, least of all by someone beneath me, least of all by the people who have kidnapped me!’

‘You should be grateful, girl!’

‘Grateful!’ You let out a furious gasp. ‘Grateful? For what exactly? For having my guard and driver shot? For having my maid terrified beyond all measure? For being dragged off to this hell hole?’

‘You have been treated very well, fed, given a decent bed-!’

‘A decent bed! You wouldn’t know a decent bed if it danced a jig around this camp!’

Grimshaw raised a hand, but Hosea was already up and out of his seat. He placed a hand on her elbow. Grimshaw irritably turned on him, but when she saw who it was, she lowered her hand.

‘Mr Matthews, something must be done about this girl, she does nothing but waste her time gossiping with Molly and reading books and then complaining she doesn’t have enough to do, but will not lift a finger!’

You gave a snort of contempt. ‘Oh, forgive me for not wasting my time on repairing the pants of the men who kidnapped me!’

Grimshaw gave a growl like a tiger but you returned her contempt with a withering look.

‘Susan, why don’t I take Miss Cornwall on a walk, get her out of your hair and we can have a chat about this?’ Hosea suggested.

You’re about to give Hosea a piece of your mind, but he’s already grabbed your elbow in a surprisingly firm grip and pulled you away. You glared at Miss Grimshaw as you passed her, but she was already focused instead on Karen’s sloppy stitches!

You were absolutely fuming, storming ahead until you heard Hosea give a chuckle. He coughed a little, then laughed once more.

You turned around to look at him, he was laughing fit to burst and you couldn’t help the rueful smile that came to your own lips.

‘You are certainly causing a stir in camp, but I warned Dutch that would be the case!’

‘I could stop causing a stir if you would let me go back to my father.’

‘I would if I could, Miss Cornwall. But I believe Dutch is convinced your father will pay considerably for his daughter and heir.’

You gazed out at the swampy marshland and the tall trees that blocked out the sun, but kept the heat sinking into the boggy land. You pulled out your fan, it was now a dirty, off-white colour and the blue forget-me-nots had faded.

You weren’t exactly popular around camp, but you almost hoped that by causing a stink about everything eventually they would get fed up with you and dropped you back in Saint Denis.

You complained bitterly when your tea dress got dirty and the lace was ripped during careless washing.

You hadn’t made any friends with the girls when you said you would know if they stole a pearl button, because you had counted them all. There were five gone by the time you got it back, all in odd places so the thing wouldn’t do up properly.

You turned your nose up at the food, insisting the smell of the stew made you feel ill and you wouldn’t feed such slop to a dog.

You hated your bed, even though it was apparently a great honour to be given a proper bedroll and not just a blanket on the floor! Even if no one was listening, you still whined about the lumps in the mattress, the bugs that had bitten you, the room was too hot and your blanket too thin.

Evidently, you had got under the skin of so many that a foul man, by the name of Williamson, had once stormed up to you and told you to shut up or he’d make you.

You’d slapped him sharply across the face and it took Arthur getting in between the two of you to prevent a full fight breaking out.

Not that a lady would suffer the indignity of involving herself in such matters.

Though the other girls had warmed up to you a little after that. Karen even returned two of your peal buttons.

‘Ah, Arthur! Come here a second.’

You glanced up as Arthur walked towards Hosea, nodding his head in greeting at the older man and giving you a quizzical look.

‘I think it would do Miss Cornwall some good to get back to civilisation. Why don’t you see if you can get Mary-Beth to lend her a dress and take her for a bath and a bite to eat in Valentine?’

Arthur grumbled slightly. ‘Long way to go for a goddamn bath!’

‘Rhodes is too close to Saint Denis, too many people might recognise her there.’

‘She goin’ to behave?’

‘I am not a child, Mr Morgan. If I can have a hot bath and something decent to eat, I might even become pleasant to be around!’ you snapped, scratching at a rather irritating mosquito bite you had on your arm.

Arthur suddenly reached out and grabbed hold of your arm, stopping you from what you were doing.

‘Hey!’

‘Yer goin’ to make it worse.’

You yanked your arm away, hating the way your heart had leapt into a full gallop when he had touched you. Arthur exhaled noisily, looked at Hosea, back to you, then raised his hands as though in surrender.

‘Fine! I’ll take her,’ he said, then continued walking back to the rest of camp.

‘When?’ you called after him.

‘Once I’ve spoken to Mary-Beth ‘bout that dress!’

You supposed you should thank Hosea for the idea about the bath. But when you looked at him, you frowned slightly on seeing his amused expression and raised eyebrows.

‘What?’ you asked suspiciously.

‘Nothing! You go wait by Arthur’s horse, I’m sure he won’t be long.’

You’d like to question Hosea further, but he had already left your side and was walking back to the dominos table.

You sank into the hot water, grateful for the soothing warmth and for the first time feeling you might actually get clean. The bites and stings of insects on your arms stung a little, but eventually even the irritation of that disappeared.

You scrubbed every inch of you with a plain bar of soap. You would’ve given anything for your rosewater and geranium soap, but it at least got you clean. Truth be told you would much rather bathe in your own bath, the cool smooth ceramic of the porcelain tub certainly felt nicer on your skin than this rough wood.

The room here was kept warm by a fire and the bath woman said she could bring you more hot water if you needed it, but you much preferred the ease of simply turning on the tap and allowing the hot water to fill the tub.

Even as you gazed dreamily up at the ceiling, you had to face facts that you were not alone. Arthur was just outside, waiting for you. If someone thought it odd that your “husband” wouldn’t even allow you to bathe in peace, they hadn’t said anything!

You eventually found yourself looking at a window. It was a small one, presumably to allow the steam to leave the room. It had a chintz curtain over it to stop people looking in. You wondered… it was big enough to probably allow a person to slide through it, if you ducked your head and kept your arms tucked in.

As quietly as you could, you got up out of the bath and then tiptoed over to Mary-Beth’s clothes. She had been kind enough to lend you a yellow skirt and grey blouse.

You hadn’t exactly been polite to her, sneering in contempt when she began to pester you with questions about what your house was like, what it was like to have a maid, what it was like to attend balls and dinner parties and afternoon tea.

Eventually she stopped talking to you. As did the other women. Except for Molly. But then Molly was different, she was at least the closest in class and station to you, and had proven herself to be intelligent and well read.

Choices of romantic partner aside, you liked her, and she agreed with you that it was absurd Miss Grimshaw asked you to help with the camp chores. ‘After all, you didn’t exactly ask to come here!’

You grabbed your clothes and then headed back over to the bath. You picked up the scrubbing brush and began to slosh it about in the water, so hopefully Arthur would still think you were in the tub.

With some difficulty, you managed to dress yourself and then snuck back over to the window. You pulled back the curtain and carefully lifted the latch. To your great relief the window opened with ease and you pushed it open.

You picked up a nearby stool, climbed up and then managed to slide your way out of the window. You were fortunate that the bathroom overlooked the back of the hotel, so the only people there were in the distance and hadn’t noticed a woman clambering her way out of a hotel’s window!

You glanced around you and then began to make your way towards the Post Office. If you could just send a letter to your father, tell him where the gang was and how he could rescue you, then surely-!

You staggered to a halt as Arthur Morgan lazily walked around a barn and smirked at your shocked expression.

‘Guess you forgot there’s a window in the hallway, so I could see your little dash from where I was sittin’. Got to admit, I’m impressed you got the nerve to do somethin’ like that.’

He stepped towards you, and you found yourself backed up against the barn. You were hidden from view and more so when Arthur placed both his hands either side of your head. You couldn’t help but stare up at him, his eyes gleamed wickedly. You were all too aware of his bare forearms.

His leaned closer, his mouth just hovering above your jawline, his nose tracing down your neck. You closed your eyes, trying to ignore the heady rush of desire that was flooding your body.

He could easily pick you up, carry you in his arms or even over his shoulder. You felt hot shame prickle on your cheeks as a dull ache between your legs made you squeeze them together.

A hand, rough with callouses, gripped your chin and cheek. You were amazed that his hand could even cover that, everything about Arthur was so big. His hands, his arms, his shoulders, his thighs…

You quickly brought your eyes back up to his face, but he had seen you all too clearly and let out a rich, throaty chuckle.

‘C’mon, darlin’, think we need to have a nice, long chat.’

And with that he suddenly scooped you up and was carrying you across the yard, back to the hotel.

‘Arthur!’ was all you managed to cry out, as you clung to him. His hand under your legs gave a quick squeezed to your thighs and the one around your waist dug into you more firmly.

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its-deputy-caleb · 3 years

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Hello again! My idea is for a female!reader x Molly O’Shea fic. Perhaps it takes place when the gang is falling apart and the Pinkertons are closing in. The Reader and Molly (who have secretly been a couple) decide to escape the chaos together. As they’re trying to get away, the reader gets mildly hurt, maybe when she has to protect them from someone during their escape. Then when they finally get to a safe place, Molly is worried about her and takes care of her. Thanks for considering my request! :)

ahhh i was so excited when i saw this request anon!! molly is my one of my favs and i wanted to do it straight away but i've been so busy!! i hoped i lived up to what you wanted!! enjoy <333

—————————————————————————

“They’ll kill us!”

Molly’s voice was hushed as she finished packing another saddle bag. Dutch had left the comfort of his tent for a moment to wander through the caves surrounding the camp at Beavers Hollow. You saw it as an opportunity to grab the essentials and leave this gang before it was too late.

You already had Arthur’s blessing to go and live the rest of your life with the woman that you loved and it seemed as if half the gang was trying to leave this doomed family.

Beside you was Molly who was stuffing some of her old jewellery into a pouch for extra measure. She was worried sick that the gang who weren’t looking to run away, namely Dutch, Micah and his threatening friends who’s names you’d already forgotten would try to kill you both if you were caught fleeing.

You ran to her, taking her hand in yours and squeezing tightly.

“Molly… we’re as good as dead if we stay here. The Pinkertons will find us regardless and I can’t bare to lose you.”

Your voice wavered slightly in the end and she caught it, pulling you into as hug before kissing you softly but with all the tenderness and love in the world.

“Common now, I’ve saved enough from my last few jobs running with this gang to get us out of here, let’s go or we’ll never make it out alive.”

You kept her hand tightly in yours as you both walked out of the tent with your bags.

Coming around the corner was a very unimpressed Dutch and a sly looking Micah. The two of them looked like they were ready to cause trouble, and you put your free hand on your revolver in case there was confrontation. You felt Molly squeeze your hand in fear and you nodded at her gently, your stoic and protective gaze breaking to show her comfort.

You never make it to the confrontation with Dutch because the sounds of hooves arrive and a swarm of Pinkertons show up and begin firing.

The bags are dropped as you duck for cover behind a wagon, pulling Molly with you. You can see the fear in her eyes when you lean out behind the wagon to start shooting at them but she pulls you back before you can.

“Don’t. Let’s go while we can.”

You nod at her, taking one of your duel revolvers and handing it to Molly. She looks uneasy with the gun in her hand but you both knew now was not the time to argue.

“You stay right behind me and you use that if we get separated.”

Kissing her temple gently, you make sure Molly is properly shielded behind your body before you both emerge from the wagon and shoot your way through the crowd.

You pull Molly to sit side saddle on your horse, fastening the last of the saddle bags.

“Watch out!!”

Molly’s voice rang in your ears before you turned to shoot the Pinkerton that was no doubt behind you. As you turned the bullet ripped through your shoulder but it didn’t stop you shooting until you saw him hit the ground.

As you stood there you saw Arthur and John hidden behind a flipped over table for cover. The two of them nodded at you and you gave a swift salute in return, your own way of saying thank you to the people you considered family. You knew it was probably the last time you’d ever see them again but you didn’t let the pain in your chest affect you as you climbed onto your horse and rode away.

Molly’s arms were wrapped around your waist and her grip only tightened when bullets went flying past you two.

You turned your head and saw three Pinkerton’s had followed you on horses. You knew Molly couldn’t fire the gun, if not for her lack of experience then it was her shaking hands.

You swapped the reins for your other revolver and fired upon the Pinkertons, managing to hit one.

The remaining two were harder to hit and seemed more experienced. But when a bullet nearly hit Molly and caused the horse to spook, the severity of the situation hit you like a train and you were aware of how danger she was in.

You reloaded, and in a fit of rapid fire you hit the remaining two pinkertons and watched as they fell from their horses.

Molly handed the reins back to you and her arms returned to holding your waist tightly, one hand holding your injured shoulder as she wrapped her arm around your chest.

She kissed your shoulder blade and rested her head, letting out a sigh that you both were holding in.

—

You arrived in Saint Denis by nightfall where you’d agreed to meet Trelawny on the outskirts of the city.

Josiah had been the one to arrange the ferry passage for you both, the vessel taking you both up north to Canada where you could either stay or continue moving on. He’d taken your horse and ensured they’d be properly stabled and taken care of.

He was a good friend to you in the years you’d known him and you were one of the few people who’d had the privilege of knowing about his family.

The two of you were escorted to the docks, where Trelawny introduced you to the captain who was an old friend of his and ensured your bags were taken care of.

Once the formalities were sorted and the captain was paid you turned to your dear friend and brought him in for a tight hug, one which he happily returned.

“Thank you Josiah… for everything. I-I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done, for—“

He shook his head and cut you off gently, standing back to look at you like he already knew what you were going to say.

“Its alright my dear, no need for formalities. Your friendship over the years has already showed me everything you wish to say, now go and be with your family.”

Josiah turned to Molly and gave her a nod of understanding, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles like the gentleman he was.

“You take care of her now Miss O’Shea, she’s reckless and she’ll need you to look out for her.”

You watched as the two of them shared a friendly smile which was soon cut off by the sounds of whistles which were no doubt from the Saint Denis Police Department.

You gave Trelawny one last bear hug before you had to leave.

“Be well Josiah, take care of the boys alright? Good luck.”

—

That night when you were sitting in the small cabin of the ship, you were laid out on the bed while Molly patched you up.

She had just finished with the stitches and was currently applying the bandage when your free hand reached up and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear weakly.

“Why’d ya do that for?”

Molly’s voice was smooth and gentle and it never failed to make you feel safe and sleepy. She smiled down at you and you couldn’t help but smile back up at her, you loved her so much and no matter how much pain your arm caused Molly could always make you smile.

“Because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and I love you so much.”

If she asked about the pain in your voice you would have said it was due to the searing pain in your arm but you both knew it was because you were scared to lose each other.

When she finished with the bandages you opened your arms for her and she tucked her head under your chin. You wrapped your arms around her and brushed her hair from her face so you could kiss her forehead.

Just before Molly fell asleep wrapped in your arms with her head on your chest you heard her hushed words.

“I love ya too.”

#i can't get over the gif #she's gorgeous #molly o'shea #molly o'shea x reader #molly o'shea x fem!reader #molly o'shea imagine #rdr2 #rdr2 writing #rdr2 headcanons #red dead redemption 2 #fem!reader

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vanderlindemangofarm · 6 years

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Can you please write something where Molly goes to a female reader after an argument with Dutch and it turns from reader comforting her to reader *ahem* /comforting/ her? I feel like Molly would start it in her emotional state but after that my mind blanks >.

I love this request so damn much, holy shit. Poor Molly, she breaks my heart a little bit more every time I think about her.

This turned into a full fic, purely by accident. Bullet points just didn’t cut it for me with this, so here we are.

Molly O’Shea x F!Reader - comfort

Word count: 1,423

CW: smut

“Youdon’t know the first thing about a woman’s needs!”

Molly’s words echoed across thecamp, making everyone shift uncomfortably, or pretend not to hear at all. Thearguments with Dutch were becoming worse, and more frequent every day, to the pointwhere he was barely even looking at her any more. You observed the way her eyesfollowed him around camp, brimming with longing, with hurt. You saw how shetried not to notice how he looked at Mary-Beth. You bit your tongue every timeyou overheard the way he spoke to Molly, how he called her needy. You had halfa mind to shoot him in the heart there and then but had so far refrained.Besides, you knew that losing him would finish her off completely.

As Molly stomped away from Dutch’stent, arms folded, tears swelling in her eyes, she glared at you.

“Jus’ what are you lookin’ at,Y/N?”

You shook your head, pretendingto focus on the clothes you were folding, lips pursed together. You wanted to standup, grab her by the shoulders, give her a good shake and scream that she deservedbetter, that he was nothing but hurt waiting to happen, that he would be theend of her if she wasn’t careful. But silence engulfed you, as it always did.Molly was still standing over you, still channeling all her anger through hereyes as she watched you. Eventually, you sighed.

“There’s no use looking at me likethat, Miss O’Shea. I’m not the one who’s neglecting your needs.”

Molly’s mouth fell open. “Jus’who do you think you are to say…”

“No one,” you said simply. “I’mno one at all. But I’m around, if you need to talk.”

She stalked off with a sharpexhale, but you saw the way she looked back at you, how she hesitated.

A few days later, you weredrinking around the campfire, singing along with Javier, clanking bottles withKaren as you laughed together over some silly anecdote Sean was telling, whenyou heard the familiar raised voices of Dutch and Molly. Karen rolled her eyeshard.

“Here we go again,” shegrumbled, taking another swig of beer. You made some non-committal noise,looking over your shoulder, watching Molly scream obscenities at Dutch, who wasbarely even responding by this point. You stood up, making some vague excuse,and walked to your tent. You gathered yourself in front of the small mirror youowned, trying to steady your breathing enough to stop the urge to run back outthere and punch that stupid bastard right in the mouth. How dare he not seewhat he had with Molly? How dare he?

“Y/N?” said the soft Irishaccent from the crack in your tent. “Y/N, are you in there?”

You swallowed hard, watchingMolly’s silhouette in the lamplight. A few moments of silence passed. You heardher sigh and turn to leave. “Never mind…”

“Molly, wait!”

Molly reappeared, her facepeering at you, her eyes wide, her make-up smudged. You smiled, beckoning herinside. She scurried in, pulling the flap shut behind her. She paced up anddown the tent, her shawl pulled around her shoulders, chewing her bottom lip. Furyseemed to be coming out of her ears, her knuckles white from tension.

“Molly?”

She snapped round to look at you.You swallowed again.

“How…how about you sit down?”

“Sit down? Oh, that’s alwaysthe way, isn’t it? Be quiet, Miss O’Shea. Not now, Miss O’Shea. Sit down, Miss O’Shea. I…I’m so…lonely.”

Her voice wobbled, tearssuddenly spilling down her rouge-tinted cheeks. She looked shocked to feel themdampening her face, quickly taking a corner of her shawl and dabbing them away.You stood up, wrapping your arm around her shoulders and guiding her to thebed, sitting her down and offering your own handkerchief instead. Molly sniffedgratefully. You both sat in silence for a few minutes as she calmed herself.She lit up a cigarette, exhaling slowly, the smoke gently billowing around you asif you were both caught in a cloud. You barely noticed that her hand had foundits way into yours. You cleared your throat.

“He doesn’t deserve you, youknow.”

Molly snorted.

“I mean it,” you said, moreforcefully. Molly blinked, and you squeezed her hand.

“He doesn’t even touch meanymore,” she confided, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I don’tunderstand what I’ve done, what I’ve said.”

“You haven’t done anything! It’shim, it’s all him…he always does this. Always. Molly, please don’t go letting yourselfbelieve that you don’t deserve…that you don’t deserve to be touched.”

Your heart was thumping like a hammeras she turned to face you properly, taking another long drag of her cigarette.You reached out and gently took it out of her hands, helping yourself to a dragof your own before you planted your lips on hers. It was the briefest kiss – a peck.The barest taste of the wine she had been drinking, the slightest moment ofrelaxation before she pulled away hurriedly. You were humiliated.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…I’msorry…”

But she cut you off, kissingyou again, this time with vigor, with intent. You knew her lipstick wassmudged beyond repair, that your hands were tangled in her curls, causing thepainstakingly put together style to come loose, but you were just past thepoint of caring. You pulled away only to confirm what you knew she needed.

“Are you sure about this? I…whatabout…what if Dutch?…”

Molly paused for a moment, stubbing the cigarette on your bedside table, herlips twisting slightly as she considered her options. “Fuck him.” she finallydeclared, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you back into the kiss. Youtore off her shawl, pushing her down on the bed, feeling how hungry she was foryou, for this. As her hands ran up and down your spine, pulling at your shirt,you gently grinded your knee between her legs, hitching up her skirt. She inhaledsharply.

“We don’t have to, you know,”you said softly. “If you’d rather we just kiss…”

“Please, Y/N.” she breathed,her hand cupping your face as you looked down at her. As you ran your hand upher thigh, kissing her neck, you felt her entire body melt into the mattress. Yourfingers found their way to her core, delicately tracing along her entrance,already wet. As you started to massage small circles into her clit she closedher eyes, her chest heaving, her hand running across your lower back and overyour ass.

You sat up for a moment to slipoff your shirt, smiling briefly as her eyes widened at the sight of your breasts.Her hands reached up to cup them, her thumbs caressing your nipples, makingthem harden. You helped her remove her own blouse, falling back down to planttiny kisses across her soft, warm chest. As you worked your way down her body,kissing as you went, she arched her back, her breathing becoming more rapid. Whenyou reached her centre you looked up at her, waiting for that last moment ofconfirmation. She nodded, biting her lip, and you let yourself taste her. Shecried out, gripping the mattress as your tongue ran over her clit. Her thighstrembled as your let your hands settle gently on her hips.

“Mmmf…fuck…” she hissed, subconsciouslygrinding against your tongue. You could feel the delicious heat building, howher abdomen tensed, her legs wrapping around your body, her feet on your back.She gripped your hair, sitting up almost entirely straight, her mouth open butno sound coming out as she exploded onto your tongue. She fell back onto thepillow, whimpering softly, her forehead glistening, her cheeks flushed.

You gathered yourself, layingdown beside her, tracing patterns across her stomach. Her eyes scanned the roofof the tent, as if she was trying to process what had just happened, what shehad just done. For one horrible moment she looked like she was going to cryagain, but her face settled into a beautiful aura of calm. You stroked her faceand she nuzzled into your palm. As you covered her up with your blanket andtucked her hair away from her face she sighed, watching you.

“You can sleep here tonight,”you offered sheepishly. She smiled, rolling her eyes a little.

“You don’t have to tell metwice.” she said, pulling you towards her, her hand finding its way betweenyour thighs this time.

#anonymous #ask #request #mango juice #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #molly o'shea #molly o'shea x reader #fem reader

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eveenstar · 4 years

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I don't know if you write for her but if you do then can I get some Molly O'Shea and a fem reader? Just go nuts

Hi! I never wrote for her before (like x reader) so I hope it isn't too bad! ♡

Molly O'Shea

Friendzone kinda friendship in the beginning. You'll have to support her so much because she's head over heels over Dutch and we know he doesn't pay her much attention. She seems like such a friendly lady, Molly doesn't deserve that kind of treatment.

There were many afternoons that you had to hear her vents about it. Your wish was just go to Dutch and slap the plan out of him. Such a proud bastard, he doesn't deserve her.

You want Molly to find someone better, someone who's going to respect and cherish her forever. (Maybe you, who knows)

She loves when you help her with the hair or makeup, it's makes her all happy! She'll also help you gladly if you ask. Help with the outfit? She's your girl too!

The other gals don't understand your friendship with Molly, they don't like her. For them, Molly is just another naïve girl who thought this was gonna be some silly ass romance story with Dutch staring as Prince Charming. It isn't. Also because she does nothing for the camp.

You ask her stories about Ireland, about how life was back there. You deeply wish (without telling her) that Molly could go back there, to her family. This story wasn't going to end well for her and you knew it.

She doesn't talk much about her family neither. You assume that they're some rich folks who think they're better than anyone else and perhaps that's why she ran away looking for adventure.

Sometimes you give her fancy gifts you got from "some place in town" or "some kind fella gave it to me." Of course, she doesn't trust those stories much but she accepts them!

You're the only person in camp who can actually bear with her and Molly's glad for your friendship, she definitely has your back.

#now i feel even worse for molly #poor girl didn't deserve dying like that #i would 99% try to become her friend #rdr2 #red dead redemption x reader #red dead redemption 2 #molly o'shea #molly o'shea x reader

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ly-luna · 3 months

Text

"please"

molly o'shea x fem reader

part 2 of "say it back"

You looked at her deciding what to say next, Molly's hand slightly gripped your arm tighter guiding you down onto the bed. You let her pull you down and her other arm reached out to wrap around you. Molly's breathing was slightly heavier and her eyes seemed to water the longer she held you. Her lips parted and closed again hesitating to speak but after a few seconds she finally decides to say something.

"i just need to hear the words" Molly whispered holding you against her holding herself into your chest. She could hear your soothing heart beat and closed her eyes savoring the feeling of you. Molly let out a slightly shaken exhale, Your arms finally wrapped around her body and held her against your body. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at her expectantly as her nails dug slightly into your arm.

Molly's body pulled you next to her best she could and her legs began to tangle with yours holding you like you were the only thing she needed at that moment. Her forehead rest on your breast and she laid there with you hugging you like a koala, Her breath felt hot against your chest and your cheeks flushed slightly.

She began to slowly nip at the soft flesh of your breast and pressed her own against your torso, You felt her lips leave light kisses along your collar bone now tilting her head up slightly to look at your reaction.

"say it back to me darling, please" Molly whispered and shifted her body up more for her lips to kiss your neck up to your lips. She moved her hands from your back to your cheeks holding your face close to hers placing soft feather like kisses against your lips. Your breath hitched slightly at the sudden affection and you leaned in resting your forehead against her own as she kissed you.

"i love you too" You finally whispered into her ear as she let out a soft content sigh at the words.

A soft smile appeared on her lips as she uttered the words. Her kisses slowly stopped and she rested her head against the pillow now looking at your face, her hands still holding your cheeks.

A/N: idk guys i wanted a happy ending for molly at least🤕

#molly o'shea fanfic #molly o'shea x reader #molly o'shea #rdr2 molly o'shea #molly o'shea x fem reader #red dead #red dead redemption 2

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fangirl-ramblings · 5 years

Note

Howdy ♥ Could I please request caring prompt 7 with Molly and a fem reader? I really think she needs more love and I'd love see some from you! 💖 I love youu 😘

Pairing: Molly O'Shea x female reader (mention of Molly x Dutch but we all know she can do better than him)

Word count: 1100

Notes: Pining & Fluff, Molly deserves all the happiness in the world

Ahhh - Hana I love you too! 😘💖 💝🥰 And as a token of my affection please accept this short story just for you! (I hope I’ve done the concept justice)

~* Tumblr Masterlist | Stories on AO3 *~

‘I’ll make sure nothing bad happens to you’

“Can you please make sure you are chopping the vegetables correctly?” Pearson asked with exasperation “too chunky and everybody will complain that they’re not cooked”

“Hmm, what?” You murmured as your attention was drawn elsewhere, watching intently as Dutch stood at one end of this tent, cigar in hand, surveying his empire, while you could hear Molly attempting to talk to him.

The sweetness in her voice as she tried to speak to him made the butterflies in your stomach flutter once more. You’d knew the moment you first laid eyes on her you were sweet on her, but you brushed it aside and put that feeling down to lust as you often found yourself admiring her fair features.

In all the weeks you’d been running with gang you couldn’t summon the courage to go speak with her, while she did act a touch haughty and singled herself out from the other camp members, you were more concerned that over the fact she saw herself as Dutch’s girl, and didn’t want to tread on the toes of the man who offered you sanctuary when you needed it most.

It wasn’t until you walked past her tent one day, a piece of paper fluttering off the table and landing at your feet, that you realised your feelings ran much deeper than the primal attraction you’d been feeling towards her. Picking the sheet of paper up of the ground, you cast your eye over the neat handwriting and you felt your heart break for Miss O'Shea as she laid bear her soul in this short poem which all but confirmed to you that Dutch was not worthy of this woman.

I was a girl - until your call

Commanded me to cross the sea.

I’ve nothing left. I gave you all.

My darling Liffey was so small.

Your land and love are vast and free.

I was a girl until your call.

You stood so strong. and dark and tall.

You stole the heartbeat out of me.

I’ve nothing left. I gave you all.

Your lips enchant, your eyes enthrall.

Your empire is of ecstasy.

I was a girl until your call.

Your parasites and lackeys crawl,

Mocking a love they dare not see.

I’ve nothing left. I gave you all.

I sit in solitude and scrawl

These wretched words, and wait for thee.

I was a girl until your call.

I’ve nothing left. I gave you all.

As you carried on watching the bickering unfold, the way Dutch dismissed Molly and her questions made the butterflies in your belly disappear and a rage build up inside of you. Slamming the knife down to chop the carrot in front of you, you didn’t realise until it was too late that you’d caught your own hand.

“For Christ’s sake miss (y/n), we don’t need your blood as seasoning” Pearson told you as he pushed you away and took over from your duties “Go and wash up and see if you can make yourself useful elsewhere”

Nodding sheepishly you walked over to the barrel of water to clean your wound and create a make shift bandage as you heard behind you the argument reach it’s conclusion.

“But you haven’t even touched me in weeks”

“As you can see Miss O'Shea, I’ve been a little busy” Dutch sighed while Molly pleaded with him

“You’ve been busy before, but always managed to make time for me”

“Why is it always about your needs? What about my needs? And what I need my dear” he condescendingly sneered at the her “I need some peace and quiet away from you”

“Arghh” Molly shrieked as she stormed passed you toward the camp outskirts, “you’re a real bastard Dutch van de Linde”

“So I keep getting told” he muttered drawing on his cigar “so I keep getting told”

You waited a moment, quickly trying to secure your bandage, before following the direction in which you last saw Molly heading.

Finding her sitting on a rock, almost hidden away, you carefully approached her asking if she was okay .

“What do you care?” She sniped “what do any of you care? I’m just a joke to all of ya”

“That’s not true” telling a half truth as you took a seat on the ground near to her. You knew the other girls often laughed at her expense, but you’d often find yourself reprimanding them for such remarks “Anyway I’m here if you want to talk” you told her as you turned away to face the luscious landscape of the Dakota River, digging a book out of your satchel.

Sitting in silence for a few minutes, you heard Molly sniffling and shifting behind you before she broke the silence.

“So, er..what did you do to your hand?”

“This?” you replied lifting your arm into the air “I wasn’t paying attention when I chopping vegetables for Pearson.” Closing the book and turning back to face her, your heart sunk as you looked upon her puffy red eyes and the sorrow etched on her face. “It’s gonna be okay you know” you whispered

“You know, all that I ever wanted in life was somebody to love me” she sobbed wiping her tear stained cheek“and what did I get instead, this. Living with a group of people who couldn’t care less if I suddenly disappeared”

“I’d care” you told her taking hold of her hands “Oh, Molly you don’t realise how much I care about you”

“You’re just saying that” she huffed

“I’m not, I’ve been in love with you since the moment I first saw you” you blurted out causing Molly to reel back from you.

“You’re ridiculous. How can you be in love with me?” she blushed “I’m with Dutch for starters”

“You’ve worth so much more that the way Dutch treats you” you confessed, feeling emboldened by the fact she hadn’t outright brushed you away. “I er…I saw your poem” You watched as Molly’s eyes grew in horror as she realised somebody knew her deepest darkest secrets “It seems to me that you know yourself that you can do better than Dutch – even if you do love him”

“And what - you think that’s you do ya?”

“Molly, if you were to run away with me – I’d treat you like the Goddess that you are and personally make sure nothing bad happens to you” you told her while brushing a loose hair from her face. Leaning into the palm of you hand, her face softened into a smile at the mere touch of you.

“Oh (y/n), that’s all I’ve ever wanted” she sighed as you placed your lips on hers.

#molly o'shea x f!reader #she just deserves the world #as do you #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #wlw fic #fangirl writes #fangirl answers #cupofhanatea

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