The Feller With The Scar, (slight) Arthur x Reader, John x Reader

Chapter 1

You rode through the heartlands, just outside of Valentine. Your horse snorted and panted with every gallop as you dug your spurs into his sides. Pushing and urging him to up his pace as 3 men yelled behind you, "You thieving whore!" The man leading the group yelled through the air but his insult fell on deaf ears, the adrenaline rushing through your veins caused you to have tunnel vision. Your only goal was to have this horse run as fast and far as he could. A dirt path to your right entered your vision taking a look back, the men were far behind you there was no way they would see you turn. You jerked the horse onto the path and continued to run. A raspy voice yelled out as you rode by "Hey! What the hell are you doing, lady!" The voice scared you as you didn't expect anyone this way you turned back towards the voice just in time for a low-hanging branch to smash across your face and fling you backward off your horse which continued to run as you flew through the air.

You landed with a thud and a gasp as your body clung to any oxygen in the air. You breathlessly groaned feeling the blood already streaming down your face. Footsteps approached from behind and in front of you. You opened your eyes, the left one stained with blood and looked at a long-haired, scarred man holding a shotgun less than inches from your face. "What the hell do you think you're doing here!" He demanded, you opened your mouth to explain but nothing less than a squeak escaped your lips. "Dammit, John! Get that gun outta' her face does it look like she could hurt anyone right now?!" the man at your feet yelled at the gun-bearing man. He lowered his weapon but kept his eyes trained on you as the man at your feet squatted down next to you.

"Miss? Are you alright?" John scoffed "Does she look alright, Morgan? She damn near got killed by a tree, you fool!" The man squatted next to you narrowed his eyes and shouted "And yet you still pointed a damn gun in her face ready to finish her off! Git' the hell out of here!" You squeaked again but couldn't speak. The man looked back at you his face red with anger as he urged you not to speak and try to breathe. "Susan! We need help over here!" He shouted in the direction he came. He slid his rather strong arms under your shoulders and knees before beginning to carry you towards Susan as she laid eyes upon your face and neck, she grimaced. "It can't be that bad." you thought still unable to speak but at least you could finally take a breath as you turned your head towards the man carrying you, he pasted a false smile of hope onto his face. He wasn't a very good actor but you appreciated his attempt to calm you.

A well-dressed man shouted "Arthur! What the hell is this? Who's this woman?" Arthur continued to walk and spoke over his shoulder "She's hurt, Dutch it's real bad, she needs help!" You thought for a moment, Dutch, Arthur, John? The men you read about in the papers? No, there's no way you had managed to damn near kill yourself right outside the Van Der Linde camp. No way in hell. The government couldn't catch them, yet you managed to fall right at their feet? As you finished your thought you were laid onto a table. The survival adrenaline had begun to wear off and the pain settled over your body every bone in your back, shoulders, and ribs ached and you began to groan, hoarsely but loudly.

A German man came over and began to look you over, sizing up your injuries and determining his next course of action. He asked Arthur to set you up, Arthur grabbed your hand and slowly began pulling you up, and you began to groan again. "Fuck!" You hoarsely cried, the pain had seriously begun to sit in and you felt every bit. Water began pouring over your face as your bloodied eye began to clear. The small man handed you a bottle of whiskey and through a thick accent said "Please madam, drink this. You're going to need it." He winced as he began to further examine your facial scars. You drank from the bottle, heavily, hoping it would take away the pain or knock you out, either one was preferable right now. Thank god for the strong whiskey and your low tolerance to alcohol, specifically to whiskey, you began to drift in and out of consciousness as the man started to stitch your face.

After a few hours you woke on a bedroll beside an ammo cart, and your entire body hurt. More than you believed was possible. You attempted to sit up, but your body felt as though it was weighed down by all the force in the world. You groaned slightly, at this sound Arthur who was nearby rushed over, "Woah, woah, woah" His deep voice urged "Don't sit up, you've been through too much, you need to lay down." he pleaded as he sat down next to you. You followed his instructions, you would've got up and left by now if your body would've let you. You weren't one to let anyone care for you.

Arthur sighed before asking, "What's your name? I don't believe I ever caught it." You smiled silently "Y/n L/n" you replied, he sighed through his nose resting his arm on his knee and leaning back against the large ammo crate. "Well, Y/n L/n." He began, "What the hell were you doing riding that fast through the woods?" You moved your head towards him even though your body begged you not to. "I-..." You squeaked as your voice was slowly returning. "I stole a man's money, and him and his men was chasing me-" You had to take a deep breath as you continued to speak. "I thought he wouldn't find me in the woods." Arthur chuckled a little, even in your pain you couldn't help but notice how handsome he was. "Well you were half right, you would've been fine if only you had ducked just a little bit sooner." He teased, holding his fingers up in a pinching motion. Your face twisted at his jest but then silently laughed at your stupidity. "I've been shot at, tied up, and beaten damn near to death. But, a tree branch just about kills me." you added to your embarrassment. Arthur's face seemed almost impressed at everything you had been through. "So you're pretty accustomed to running, I take it?" You nodded while closing your eyes and sighing, turning your head to face towards the sky. "For about 10 years now, running, killing, and stealing is all I know."

He chuckled again "Well, then you'll blend in perfectly here!" He said gleefully, as he patted his hands onto his thighs. "It's a thieving, killing, and running party here!" He continued. Humor was his mechanism as a response to pain and awkwardness. You smiled and laughed breathily. "Yeah, I've read a bit about you if I think I've got the right people in mind." He laughed again, a hearty, deep, and attractive laugh. You caught yourself smiling at the sound of his laugh. You quickly stopped yourself, you can't fall for an outlaw!