#Rdr2 oc | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

souiiore · 2 months ago

Text

UNDISCLOSED

arthur morgan oneshot!

pairing: arthur morgan x oc (name not specified)

cw: fluff if you squint your eyes, fingering, unprotected piv, corruption, praise & size kink, farmer's daughter trope, mentions of religion, NSFW, MDNI

wc: 4.6k

summary: Longing for something forbidden has never gotten anyone anywhere.

an: this was a request by my lovely mutual @pinescent-and-gingerbread , im not really happy with how it turned out, but i hope u enjoy<33

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The brisk evening air sent shivers down her spine as she stood up from her bed, dressed in nothing but a thin nightgown. She yawned, stretching her arms above her head, and let her steps lead her to the window in her room. The soft thudding of the rain outside lulled her senses, making her mind wander to the depths of two blue pools. Her locks hung loosely around her shoulders, long curls of thick brown hair framing her soft features.

She had spent the whole day in bed reading a silly romance novel about a man and a woman hopelessly in love. It made her think about her lover. Perhaps "lover" was a strong word for him. He did make her cheeks burn, spread butterflies in her stomach, and cause her to stutter, yes, but he was a bad man. A very bad man, and she was well aware of that. Yet the thrill and excitement, the knowledge of his lifestyle, only drew her closer to him. The fact that she, such a sweet little thing, was romantically involved with someone of his status made it all the more exciting.

Her finger came to touch her lower lip, the ghost of his mouth on hers now only a memory. The rough pads of his fingers brushing a strand of hair away from her face and behind her ear—so tender, so gentle. The twinkle in his eyes whenever she looked at him with such lust for something unknown, something so severe. And he always acted oblivious to her seduction. Clueless, even. But deep down, it made his core burn.

She had met him a long time ago in Valentine. Her father was a simple man, dedicated to his religion, and attending church every Sunday was a requirement for both her and him. Dressed in her best dress, with her hair tied into a neat braid with a bow at the end, a soft blush dusting her cheeks, the men—whether old, married, single, or young—couldn't help but flash her toothy smiles and offer her their elbows. And she was always quick to politely decline with a curt shake of her head and a well-practiced smile. It made her father shake his head in disapproval, a scoff escaping his mouth followed by a scolding.

Soon after the church service ended, she and her father entered the grocery shop to buy some necessities. Reaching up on her tiptoes for the bright green apple on the top shelf, she cursed under her breath when she nearly toppled over. Thankfully, a strong hand wrapped around her waist, steadying her against a hard chest.

“Careful there, miss,” said a hoarse voice from behind, and as quickly as the hand had wrapped around her, it was retrieved from her body with the same speed.

Her nostrils filled with the strong scent of tobacco, sweat, and gunpowder, and she tried her utmost not to pass out. Her head spun. She turned around cautiously, and her gaze was met by a pair of icy blue eyes. Eyes that looked down at her with such severity it sent a cold shiver down her spine.

“Sorry, mister,” she blurted out.

The warmth blooming in her cheeks was undeniable, and she was more than sure it hadn’t gone unnoticed by him, either. He tipped his hat with a swift motion of his hand and strolled out the door, leaving no room for small talk.

Her hand came to rest on her chest, against her heart, and she swore she could feel it skip a beat. Her mind swarmed with the memory of his scent, the way his arm felt around her waist, and the way his eyes looked at her. She could see herself in them—her reflection, so small and trembling. The unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach almost angered her, and what made it worse was knowing she was bound to dream about this nameless man.

The loud voice of her father brought her out of her haze, and she released a breath she didn’t know she was holding. The slap of her father’s hand on the counter with a billfold made her jolt in surprise, and the next thing she knew, she was being dragged away from the building by her wrist.

After that incident, she’d seen him around town, mostly alone but sometimes accompanied by a group of men. Her eyes always lingered on him longer than they should have, and his attention was quickly drawn to her after a few curious looks thrown his way. No words were exchanged in the following weeks, but she could feel the unspoken questions and sentences hanging in the air.

The gentle brush of his body against hers whenever he walked by, his eyes gliding over her body, made her desperate to see him again. And she didn’t even try to conceal it. She wanted him to know how badly she was drawn to him, attracted to him, almost as if by some unnatural force. Magnetic.

She found herself visiting the town more often than she used to, despite her dislike of the people and the stench it carried. At first, she stuck to Sundays, but then it escalated to Mondays as well. Tuesdays, occasionally. Then it was Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. She always found an excuse to visit the town, whether it was to run errands or to pray in the church, and she was disappointed when her eyes didn’t catch his gaze. Her father thought highly of her. If only he knew that his precious sweet daughter was secretly in love with the very man he had warned her about.

Eventually, one of their encounters led to them exchanging names. She learned his name was Arthur. From then on, their coincidental meetings consisted of greetings and a few exchanged words in between. And only the two of them knew the hidden lust behind those words. Their own secret.

Several weeks later, she met him again. This time, under slightly different circumstances.

She was in the same grocery store again when a shootout broke out. Screams, blood, gunshots. The glass windows shattered quickly under the sharp bullets, and she ducked beneath the ledge, grabbing the cross around her neck with a tight grip. Even amidst the loud chaos outside, she could still hear that familiar voice—the nameless man. He was yelling something inaudible. She peeked through the damaged window and saw him with a revolver in his hand, running down the street hastily, the law tailing him.

“Hey, over here!” She waved her hand out the window to grab his attention.

He pointed his gun at her at first, but quickly realized who she was and made his way over to the shop. She grabbed him by the wrist and, in a split second, dragged him to the back of the store. She slammed the door behind them and pressed her ear against the hard wood, the sound of her heartbeat impossible to ignore in his presence. The room was dark and narrow for the two of them, which made his body press involuntarily against her back.

The voices outside were muffled but distant, and she released a breath. Straightening up, she spun around and was met with his hard stare. His gun was holstered, but his fingers hovered inches above the weapon in case of an emergency. His chest moved slowly, and she gulped.

“The owner of the shop fled as soon as the gunfire began,” she explained, her voice barely above a whisper.

A beat of silence passed before he cleared his throat and relaxed slightly.

“Could’ve got yourself killed,” he growled, and she froze.

“I’m sorry, I thought—”

“Ya don’t got a clue, woman.”

His stare was hard, and she averted her eyes, hoping the room was dark enough to hide her embarrassment. She could feel his body shift against hers, and what she assumed was his hand brushed across her hip as he reached for the doorknob. With a twist of his wrist, the door opened, and he peeked outside, his chest pressed against her shoulder. She breathed in slowly, her eyes closing on their own.

After making sure the coast was clear, he cracked the door wide open and stepped outside, with her following. The aftermath of the shootout was indescribable. Shards of glass everywhere, splatters of blood, bullets scattered around the room, footprints. The cans, the apples and carrots, the bread rolls. Her eyes glided around the room in shock, the glass cracking under her feet. She felt something damp on her clothes and gasped when she saw the dark red liquid on her fingers. Her eyes scanned herself, and she quickly realized the blood wasn’t hers.

“You’re bleeding,” she gasped and hurried over to him by the counter.

"Am not," came his short response.

She yanked at his wrist and spun him around so he was now facing her. Her eyes gave him a quick scan and landed on the dark stain forming on his blue shirt. The fabric clung to his body, dripping with blood.

"Don't move," she ordered.

She paced around the counter and ducked down to rummage through the cupboards. It didn’t take her long to find a bottle of whiskey, a needle, and thread.

"Take off your shirt."

"Seriously?" He looked at her in disbelief, and she cocked an eyebrow in return.

With a scoff under his breath, he began untucking and unbuttoning his shirt. She whipped her head to the side to avoid the sight, but her cheeks bloomed with blush at the flash of his skin she managed to catch a glimpse of.

"Ya know, for a woman this small, ya sure got a sharp tongue," he mused as he finished, the blue fabric now resting on his shoulders.

She ignored his comment, ripping a piece of fabric from her skirt and dampening it with the beverage in her hand. Brushing the dried blood around the wound, she pressed a palm to his stomach to keep him still. His muscles tensed under her touch.

"Not from a bullet," she whispered to herself.

She then poured the alcohol on the needle and began sewing the wound on the side of his stomach. Regardless of how painful it must have been for him, he didn’t let out a sound. That made her wonder whether he was real or made of solid rock.

As soon as she was done with her work, she poured the whiskey on the wound and pressed the piece of cloth against his skin. Her gaze gingerly wandered across his toned stomach, and before she could even realize, he began buttoning up his shirt again. She stepped back, watching him dress. The dried blood on her hands made her shiver in disgust, and she mentally cringed at the feeling.

A beat of silence passed, and she could feel the tension lingering in the thick air between them. She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by the sound of horses and male shouting. In a split second, she was pushed back against a wall, and a hand came to cover her mouth. His body was pressed against hers, and she watched him with fear in her eyes as the voices inched closer to them. The adrenaline coursed through her system, and she opened her mouth to bite the rough skin of his palm. He retrieved his hand with a wince, and she snuck a hand around his neck and brought him down for a kiss.

He didn’t resist, but neither did he surrender until a short while later. His mouth melted against her lips, and his body pressed into hers with more vigor. His hands rubbed the clothed skin above her hips, and her knees nearly buckled, her mind blank. Soon, the voices became more distant, and he pulled away from her, licking his lips. He watched her with lust-blown pupils, and she swore she could see herself in his eyes again.

A hand came to brush a strand of hair away from her face, and there was something unspoken lingering in the air between them that made her feel uneasy but excited at the same time. He observed her face for a moment longer before stepping back and pulling himself away from her completely. Without a word, he gave her a long, almost apologetic look, and with that, he walked away.

And there she was, months later in her room, looking out the window in the hope she’d spot him outside, leading his horse, holstering his gun, or speaking to someone. Months later, after their last encounter, she hadn’t had a clue whether it was all a dream or whether he was real. No knowledge of whether he was alive or dead. And that gnawed at her like a sickness, twisting her guts, her heart heavy. He was all she could think about. His lips, his eyes, his scent, his hair, his touch, his blood, his chest, his shirt, his face. The stain on her shirt, the sound of his heartbeat against her own ribcage, almost as if his heart was in her chest instead. His voice remained engraved in her brain, repeating the few words he had spoken to her. She heard those words nearly as many times as a prayer, if not more. And there was something about that that made her feel ashamed.

A girl of her likes, hopelessly daydreaming about a man when he should be far from her concerns, and all she should concern herself with was God and God only. And she tried. She truly did, but her heart swelled with the heavy weight of love, and there was nothing in this world that would make it vanish.

With a sigh, she shuffled back to bed, letting the covers drape over her waist, and she soon drifted to sleep. What jolted her awake hours later was the faint sound of spurs jingling up the stairs. She was more than sure that her father didn’t own a pair of those and quickly came to the realization that an intruder had invaded their house.

She ruffled the sheets around herself and lay as still as possible to appear as though she was sleeping, hoping the intruder was only there to rob their property. She listened carefully and heard footsteps down the hallway. The slow creaking of the door on the other side of the hall gave her a good idea of where the person was, but then she heard the door shut quietly, and the footsteps now inched closer to her bedroom door. Suddenly, the sound stilled, and there was a pause before the door to her room made a creaking sound and the person on the other side entered. She held her breath to not draw any unwanted attention and squeezed her eyes shut.

The silence that spread across the space made her wonder if the person had actually entered her room, and she dared to turn around in her bed with one eye cracked open. She was met with a dark silhouette, and within a split second, a hand came to rest over her mouth, the other one gripping her hands. She squirmed desperately against the firm grip but soon gave in and surrendered.

"Shhh," cooed a male voice. "Promise ya won’t scream."

He retrieved his hands, and she let out a breath, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness of the room. It didn’t take her long to realize who was sitting on her bed, and she gasped in surprise, covering her mouth to muffle the sound.

"Arthur?"

His heart skipped a beat at the sound of her voice, so meek whispering his name, her tone laced with relief. The tips of his fingers prickled, needles as if pushed into his skin, and the feeling of warmth spread inside his ribcage, swallowing his heart and encasing it in a strong grip.

"Couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout ya."

Her eyebrows knit together, confusion plastered on her face. "How did you find me?"

"Been watchin’ ya for a while now," he whispered, his eyes searching for hers in the dark.

"How come you never said anything?"

He remained silent, the sound of his own pulse and breathing echoing in his ears, and he internally cursed himself.

"It’s been months, Arthur," she cooed and scooted closer to him.

Her hand came to touch his arm, and when he didn’t flinch away, she put her hand on his shoulder, the bare skin of her thighs brushing against his hand propped up on the soft sheets of her bed.

"I know, and I’m sorry," he sighed, disappointment lacing his tone.

The soft thudding of the rain enveloped the two bodies in a soft embrace. Her hands reached up to his head and cupped his face, lips finding his in the safety of her dark room. His body tensed against hers momentarily but soon relaxed, and he let himself melt against her, all of his worries washing away with waves of never-ending foam. For the first time in years, he was able to admit he felt safe. Her embrace was all that mattered. Her voice, her sweet vanilla and lavender scent, her hair, the warmth of her gentle touch that spread across his skin, the rosy cheeks on her face, and her eyes that always looked at him, the two orbs pleading for something unmistakable, were what made him weak. And she was there to wrap her limbs around him, whisper sweet praises into his ear, and tell him everything would be fine.

His strong arms circled her waist, pulling her up against his body. She yelped in surprise but smiled against his lips, her fingers now threading through his hair at the back of his head. The hat on his head toppled over, and she brushed it off of his head with a simple motion, the piece of clothing falling to the hardwood beneath her bed.

"I missed you, Arthur," she mumbled against his lips, a soft whimper escaping her.

"I’m sorry," he breathed again.

His hands settled on the back of her thighs, pulling her on top of his lap, wrapping her limbs around his torso, and then gently setting her down on the bed. Her ankles locked behind his lower back, heels digging into his skin as the bottom of her nightgown rode up her thighs, exposing her already soaked bloomers to his clothed crotch. She mewled against his mouth when his calloused hands kneaded the flesh of her ass, and he didn’t waste a second before slipping his tongue past her lips into her mouth. His teeth then bit her bottom lip, the action making a moan escape her.

His mouth left her lips and kissed along her jawline, his kisses traveling down her neck to her collarbone, leaving a wet trail in their wake. She arched her back off the bed, his palms now gliding to the front of her stomach, raising the thin white fabric of her nightgown up her body. His fingers hooked over the waistband of her bloomers, and he stilled, detaching his lips from her skin and lifting his head to observe her face.

“It’s okay,” she nodded and flashed him a gentle smile, eyes meeting his.

Pressing a tender kiss to the middle of her chest, Arthur dragged her bloomers down with her help, as she raised her hips. The fabric was tossed to the ground, his hand slowly skimming over her thigh up to her core. She squirmed beneath his frame, hands clawing at his chest, nearly ripping his shirt off. With a quick motion, reaching behind his neck, he dragged the shirt over his head and tossed it to the ground, his chest now bare and exposed to her curious sight.

The view made a blush creep up her cheeks, thousands of needles piercing through her skin and burning her flesh. Moments later, he returned to her figure, fingers ghosting over her sensitive skin. She sighed, her vision blank and her rational thinking clouded by nothing but pure wantonness. The hand that was inching closer to her core made her clench around nothing, and she panicked, blinking rapidly and steadying herself against Arthur’s chest. That made him pause.

“Arthur, wait,” she whispered, unable to look him in the eye as he observed her with worry lacing his features. “I’ve never done this before.”

She could hear his breathing pause. Then he cleared his throat, seemingly taken aback by her sudden confession. He’d lie if he said it didn’t turn him on. The idea of someone like him — an outlaw, a criminal, a bad man — ruining someone like her — so sweet, pure, and innocent — sparked a flame in the pit of his stomach and made his cock harden.

Her chest rumbled with a silent sob, and Arthur’s hand immediately came up to cup her face, soothing her.

“It’s alright,” he cooed into her ear, thumbs rubbing her cheeks. “Ya still wanna do this?”

She nodded in his grasp, and he let out a puff of hot air. He pulled her into a gentle kiss, their lips locking as his hands traced down her curves until they reached her hips. “I wanna do this right.”

Arthur looked down at her, their lips now separated, and she nodded hastily. Her legs spread around his torso, baring her cunt to him, and he sighed. His practiced hands glided down her stomach, caressing her tender flesh until she felt his finger swipe across her folds, her breath catching in her throat. Oh.

To say she had never felt anything like this before would be an understatement. His fingers felt so different—thicker than hers and working with more precision. He eyed her reaction, a small smile tugging at his lips, and he silently thanked the Lord above that the room was dark enough to hide his smirk.

She released a shaky breath when his thumb pressed on her clit, circling that bundle of nerves slowly. Her hands came to rest atop his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as if to prolong the little stimulation he was providing. Another swipe of his digit, and he slid his finger between her folds.

Time became irrelevant. Nothing could compare to the feeling of him shielding her body from the keen eye of the Lord above in the sky, watchful. The feeling of his hand, gently rocking into her with every thrust of his finger, working her open for him. She mewled and pawed at his chest, the only thing resonating in her ears being the timbre of his voice.

“Good girl,” he drawled into her ear.

Her lips sought out his, their mouths locking in a hungry kiss as he swallowed the moans escaping her throat. Praises, whispers, sighs, and groans — it all bled into her skin like ink, ruining her. Yet it all felt so incredibly good. But then the guilt, punched deep in her gut, enveloped her chest — doing something sinful, filthy, forbidden. She couldn’t blame Eve for eating that apple.

Her brain could barely form coherent sentences, let alone think, when his hand pulled away from her core and grasped her hip to pull her up against him. Her bare cunt brushed against his clothed erection, and she hissed in surprise at the impact. His nimble fingers busied themselves with unbuttoning his pants, freeing his length from the tightness of his work pants. Arthur then pressed their hips together, the underside of his cock rubbing against the hooded bundle of nerves slotted between her legs, and she gasped.

Coating himself in her moisture, Arthur spat into his palm, gripping himself at hand and giving his cock a few firm strokes. His length, blood-darkened and with precum weeping from the tip, slid down her slit, her inner thighs slick with her wetness too. His eyes searched for hers, seeking any type of discomfort scattered across her features but finding none. He leaned down, looming over her, and pressed a gentle peck to her temple.

“Relax, I’m gonna enter you now, okay?” he spoke, leaning his forehead against hers and craning his head down to watch the head of his cock catch at the rim of her cunt. “Ya tell me if it hurts.”

“Ar-Arthur,” she stuttered at the sudden stretch.

With a gentle rock of his hips, he slowly worked himself inside of her. Slowly, inch by inch. And with every barely audible sound she made, he dotted her forehead with soft pecks. The pressure in her stomach suddenly snapped, and she moaned in pain, her walls constricting around him and her nails digging into his skin.

“It’s alright, I’m here,” he soothed, his thumb rubbing gentle patterns above her hip.

The world, as if, stopped for a second. She craned her neck and watched him slowly disappear inside her. The sight of him slotted between her legs was beyond sinful; she’d have to make sure to pray extra hard for God to forgive her. The line of his muscles on his stomach tensed, his biceps flexing underneath her touch, the strands of hair glued to his forehead and framing his beautiful face. She gawked at him with lust-blown pupils and had to try her utmost best not to melt under his gaze.

Moments passed, and he began to gently rock his hips back and forth, all the while whispering sweet praises of how good she was taking him. Arthur lowered himself closer to her, his face now pressed to the crook of her neck, his warm breath fanning over the pale, thin skin. She felt safe beneath him, his tall figure covering her whole, and her walls swallowed him to the hilt at the thought of being significantly smaller than him.

He rolled his hips into her firmly, delivering a gentle thrust into her core, and her breath got stuck in her throat, eyes slowly tearing up at the apprehensive feeling. Arthur’s hard chest brushed against her sensitive nipples, and she lulled her head back, letting it rest against the pillow beneath her head. He groaned into her neck, puckering the skin above her collarbone with his lips as if to enhance his thrusting.

Her vision suddenly blurred, and she arched her back off the mattress, her pussy clenching down on him with a wail escaping her mouth. The coil in the pit of her stomach turned upside down and then, without warning, snapped. Her hands clawed at his shoulders, the feeling of his cock sheathed inside her fully bringing her a sense of something she couldn’t possibly describe.

“Good girl, there ya go,” he crooned.

He raised his head from her neck, lips catching hers to swallow her moans, and with his thrusts quickly faltering, he pulled out of her completely, stroking his cock with his hand before he released his spend over her bare stomach, a groan filling her mouth.

The room suddenly fell calm, not silent, as the sound of their rapid breathing coming down resonated across the space. He collapsed on top of her, the spend on her stomach smearing across his own, but that was the last thing on his mind at that moment. Arthur’s hand lifted to her face, cupping her cheek and bringing her in for a gentle kiss before he rolled to the side and exhaled deeply.

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