(Arthur Morgan X Female Reader)
'Love in a hurricane,
Playing a Dangerous game...'
You are a newly adopted rescue into the Van der Linde gang after being held hostage by the dreaded O Driscolls.
A sudden fascination kindles in you for the mysterio...
'Darling, Darling, Darling; I fall to pieces when I'm with you. I fall to pieces; My cherries and wine, Rosemary and Thyme.'
-
For days now, the Mayor's home had been a fit of panic and bustling. Every other day, something was being delivered – whether it be flowers, food or the most expensive wine from France. You witnessed the chaos from the window of your room.
Not only this, but now you had a growing anxiety each day, collecting in the base of your stomach. Mayor Lemieux had informed you that Bronte had requested specifically you be in attendance at this party – which unnerved you incredibly. You had heard stories about how Bronte liked to get at parties – very drunk, a lot of expensive cigars and a group of his rather rowdy friends who liked nothing more than a bit of debauchery at the end of the night... with a group of girls. The thought repulsed you, and so you were naturally very upset about the prospect of having to make an appearance at the party.
Dress shopping for the event had been a dreary affair. Like some kind of money drip – Bronte had sent across some cash specifically for you, so that you could buy the nicest dress possible. The trip out into Saint Denis on the Thursday morning had you feeling like you'd rather buy the blackest dress and hang about miserably instead.
But as appealing as that seemed – you rather wanted to keep your head on your shoulders a while longer – whilst you finalised a plan to get out of this city once and for all. The thought often occupied you whilst you did the berating tasks you really did not wish to do – like seeing to your clients and buying this goddamned dress for the party.
Although you were highly averse to being in attendance at this party, the girlish part of you wanted to find the nicest dress so that for once, you could feel pretty, elegant and everything you hadn't felt in this life before. Surely this dress could maintain the façade for a few hours.
Eventually – after spending what felt like hours in the sweet boutique in the centre of the city, you settled on a beautiful petal pink dress with gold threading on it – which rather resembled wheat. It was your own little private ode to the life you were forced to leave behind out in the country, the wilderness. An ode to a man you were now convinced would hold your heart forever.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
With rather a lot of money left over, you headed up to the jewellers to buy yourself some nice earrings and a necklace, perhaps a ring too. You had counted the money before you left, and there was a few hundred dollars in your purse. Bronte must've valued you slightly beyond just being a whore to fund you like he was.
In the jewellers, you acquired some drop silver earrings, with a few accents of gold to match the threading in your dress – and of course, some statement pinks diamonds. The smartly dressed man behind the country looked as if he were about to have a fit when he saw you pick out a pink diamond ring too – and a necklace. He didn't question you verbally, but he questioned you with his gaze, as you happily handed over the cash.
