#Red Dead Redemption fanfic

[writealongnowdear]

Love me Like a Sailor

Arthur Morgan x Captain!Reader

Summary: John is a little brother. The Konstantina prepares to set sail. Arthur is nervous with a side of pathetic.

A/N: Classes got me FUCKED UP and I'm sick. I hope you enjoy tho ❤️❤️

Part 1

☆☆☆☆☆

When Arthur rode back into camp, he could feel eyes on him. It made his skin prickle, the way that it always did when someone was watching.

He hitched up his horse, boots hitting the ground as he brushed up her sides and let his head rest against her neck for just a moment. He had to gather himself - wouldn't be able to look anyone in the eye if he didn't.

Morgana whinnied, brushing against him almost compassionately. Arthur snorted, patting her a few times and feeding her a sugar cube.

“Quit your worryin’, girl,” he muttered. “Don't need my damn horse on my case, too.”

Everyone else was gathered around the campfire tonight. It was cool out, fall on the air and rain on the horizon. He'd have to make sure that they were ready for the storm.

A heady laugh reached his ears, unmistakable. Arthur grimaced, looking up from under the brim of his hat.

“How was it?” John asked teasingly, immediately after laying eyes on him. Arthur glared, walking past him.

“I ain't in the mood, Marston,” he gruffed. With a huff, he grabbed a bottle of beer from Pearson's wagon and uncapped it. He raised the bottle to his lips and took a long sip that elicited a whistle from John.

“Cmon now, it can't have been that bad,” he said, shit-eating grin twisting his scarred features. Arthur grimaced.

“It wasn't, asshole,” he said, blush rising to his cheeks. “I got us a deal.”

John wiggled his eyebrows, making him look even more like the child that he was.

“Oh really? What kind of deal are we talkin-”

“Shut up, Marston.”

John laughed again, grabbing a beer for himself and clapping Arthur on the shoulder. He stood next to Arthur, watching the camp go by in silence for a moment.

“What is the deal then?” He asked eventually. Arthur shrugged, rolling his shoulders and taking another swig of his beer.

“They need extra protection. In return they'll pay us or peddle for us.”

John nodded, digging in the dirt with the tip of his boot. He always did that when he was thinking.

“What's the catch?”

Arthur sighed, rubbing his eyes. That's what he'd been trying to figure out.

“Don't know yet. But with how things are going, we ain't got time to wonder about it.”

“Amen, brother,” John snorted.

The two sat in comfortable silence. The sun had just started to set, purple and orange splashing across the lake and its shores. Arthur itched for his pencil.

And he thought of you.

☆☆☆☆☆

The ride went quickly. Charles and Javier were fast riders, always ready to run.

Van Horn was just as it always was - quiet and unassuming but for the drunks retching outside the saloon. It was an early morning; the sun was barely rising on the horizon.

The Konstantina was moored where it was last time he'd visited, almost a week ago. There was a man on watch at what Arthur thought was the bow. As they rode their horses in and tied them up, his eyes flashed over the main deck. He caught a glimpse of your silk shined hair, his heart skipping a beat.

“S'that it?” Javier asked, coming to stand next to Arthur. His bag was slung over one shoulder, his other hand coming to rest on his belt. Arthur nodded.

“The one and only.”

Javier snorted. He clapped Arthur's shoulder and shuffled his boots in the sand. Charles fell onto his other side, sighing out a breath and squinting at the boat.

“Not what I expected,” he murmured. Arthur shrugged.

“Gets the job done, doesn't it?”

Soon enough, all three men were stepping aboard the boat. The watchman on the bow greeted them, asking them to wait while he got the captain.

Javier lit up a cigarette, sitting on top of a crate. He passed it to Charles who took it with a hum of thanks.

“I'm excited to meet this captain of yours,” Javier said, leaning forward with a glint in his dark eyes. “John said she was something else.”

“John says a lot of things,” Arthur said as easily as he could manage. Charles huffed, passing the cigarette back. “Ain't none of them smart.”

“He said she had you whipped six ways to Sunday,” Charles said, crossing his arms but gesturing one of his hands at Arthur with a raised eyebrow. Arthur felt himself blush, and thanked the darkness of the early morning for hiding it.

“I don't even know what that means,” Arthur grumbled, pouting. Charles laughed, Javier slapping the man's broad shoulder with a mischievous grin.

“I bet you wish you did, though.”

Arthur glared at both men as they laughed. He was about to open his mouth and defend himself, but he cut himself off when he saw you approaching.

Your outfit was a far cry from when he last saw you; baggy cotton pants and a button up shirt that somehow hid the swell of your chest. Your hair, which was usually left long, was braided tightly and pinned methodically around your head save for a few strands in the front. When you fastened your captain's hat on your head, he couldn't tell that you were a woman at all.

Despite that, his heart still felt like it was going to beat out of his chest if he looked at you for any longer. He could've chuckled at the humor in it. Even dressed as a man, the sweep of your long eyelashes along your cheeks still made his breath hitch. The curve of your mouth still made him want to tear his hair out.

Catching the stunned glances of Charles and Javier, Arthur shrugged and cleared his throat. Their shock quickly passed, but their obvious amusement did not.

“Arthur,” Javier said in the same tone of voice that Abigail used to scold Jack.

“What?!”

“Gentlemen!” You exclaimed, greeting them with the same upbeat attitude you always seemed to have. “Welcome aboard! We're pleased to have you.”

Charles nodded, a slight smile on his face as he introduced himself and Javier, who moved forward to shake your hand. His eye flicked back to Arthur with a lazy grin that betrayed his mischievous curiosity.

“Pleasure's ours,” Javier said. “Cigarette?”

You hummed in assent, taking the cigarette between two fingers and inhaling a drag of it. Arthur stared as you let the smoke pool out of your mouth in waves.

“So you're the infamous Caspian that Arthur's been talking about?” Javier said, his charm turned up all the way. Arthur sighed heavily.

“That's Captain Caspian, to you,” you said with a wink, dissolving into laughter soon after. “For better or worse that is.”

“S'that why you're dressed like that?” Charles said bluntly, gesturing to your outfit. Javier slapped his shoulder with a venomous “Cabrón!” hissed under his breath. You smooth out the wrinkles of your shirt with a raised eyebrow.

“Sailing ain't a woman's work,” you say.

“Neither is smuggling.”

“Can't have one without the other, Mr. Smith.”

“...I suppose that's true.”

“It's better like this anyway,” you say. “Navy would be onto us in seconds if I dressed normally.”

The small talk continued as your cigarette burned down between your fingers. Arthur couldn't comprehend your words, but he figured that was okay - if it was important he'd ask you to repeat yourself and that wouldn't be so bad. He could listen to your voice like one of Dutch's terrible records.

“So, what's the route?” Charles asked, kicking Arthur's boot and forcing his attention back on the conversation.

“It'll be short - we should be in port by supper tomorrow night,” you said. “We sail from here to Saint Denis, which is where we'll drop you boys off.”

“Thought it would be longer,” Javier muttered, itching around his mustache in thought.

“Think of this as a trial run,” you said. With a shrug and a sigh you stamp out your cigarette and lay your hands on your belt. “If it goes well, we can go longer.”

Arthur nodded along, trying not to let his eyes catch on the way your hands looked clutched on your belt and failing miserably. The way he always stood, the way every man stood… it looked damn near erotic on you.

“Mr. Morgan?” You asked, jolting him once again from his pathetic thoughts. His eyes snapped to yours, meeting your amused face. “You've been awfully quiet.”

“Was just thinking,” he said, scowling. Charles snorted.

“That's new.”

“Don't hurt yourself.”

You laughed at Charles and Javier's responses, only laughing harder when you caught a look at Arthur's glare. He crossed his arms and sat back against the railing of the deck, hat falling over his brow.

“Har har,” he said. “My brand of thinking is always the least likely to get us killed.”

“Oh, really? Care to enlighten us?” You ask, clearly teasing him now because what else could he possibly be thinking about.

There wasn't any time to think about robbing and stealing and killing when he could be thinking about your hips, the swell of them and how they would give under his hands. Your eyes, how pretty they would look filled with tears of pleasure. He could be thinking about the way that your lips would form his name, and if your voice would crack with love around the vowels. Or how soft your hands would be if he got to hold them, and how the skin of your back would feel pressed against his chest after-

“Tomorrow,” Arthur said, hands fisted tight in his lap. “I was just thinking about tomorrow.”

He looked up to see your eyes soften, fondness clouding the color of your eyes. He's sure that the smile spilling across his lips is one that John would describe as dopey, but he finds that he doesn't give a damn.

Because now? All he's thinking about is how he can make you his the way that he's already yours.

☆☆☆☆☆

Bbg, this is for you @johnnysilverhandeeznuts

[johnpriceslamb]

𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐈 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐀𝐏?

❛ you ask the Van Der Linde boys if you could sit on their lap. ❜

BEFORE YOU PROCEED! ┊female ! reader . afab ! reader . reader is physically shorter than chars mentioned below . suggestive themes implied . wrds . not edited . not proof-read . Javier ver touchy . google translated Spanish . John is very drunk . 1.4k wrd-count

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍

You want to what?

You tinker your lashes multiple times innocently at his flabbergasted expression, unconsciously tilting your head at his dramatic approach. From your tone alone meant nothing but the most purest intentions, he knew well you mean no harm. But hearing those words made his cheeks burn a tad bit brighter.

“May I please— “No, no, I heard ya the first time- I just..” He abruptly cuts you. He narrows his eyes at you, sizing you up head-to-toe just to see if you were in a playful manner. You weren’t.

He grumbles softly, contemplating. He scratches behind his neck for a bit before a deep sigh escapes his mouth and he leans back on the wooden chair he sat upon.

“C’mere.”

He beckons you to come closer with two fingers lazily waving in the air. Immediately do you obey his simple commands like a lost pup, hands clasped prettily in-front of your chest as you easily plop yourself on his lap. Your back almost hits his chest, akin to a literal brick wall from all of the labour work he’s done. Unconsciously does his large hands come to your hips, positioning them slightly just so you’d be a tad bit more comfortable.

It’s easy to tilt your head upwards to see his face, the prickles of hair sticking out on his chin is the most prominent thing from your view. He feels your stare almost immediately and looks down at your beady eyes. He has to stop himself from grinning at your unawareness.

The cowpoke could only narrow his eyes at the soft giggle you produced from your mouth, a hand resting on your hip, “What?”

You look away with a tiny smile, “Nuthin’.”

He lets out another deep sigh, before pinching your cheek.

𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍

The bottle of beer in his hand almost slips to the ground after hearing your simple question.

He raises a hand to scratch at the stubble on his jaw, mindful to be aware of the deep claw-marks embedded on his skin. The bottle was placed on the table with a clumsy clatter, back supported by the edge of the table.

“..Watchu say?” He squints his dark eyes at you. He must’ve drunk too much, perhaps he heard you wrong. His tone was always raspy yet so demeaning playful even. You took it as if he didn’t want you to, and you shrink meekly.

You stutter shyly, “I’ll just go ask someone else—

He felt his guts squeeze and churn at the sight of you sitting on someone else’s lap. All sense of proper etiquette is thrown away from jealousy and alcoholic behaviour, his hand is very quick to grabbing yours as he roughly pulls you back. A tiny squeal escapes your lap as you clumsily fall on his chest and onto his hard thighs.

Your hands are clinging onto his opened top to balance yourself, the smirk on his face visible as he sees how shy you suddenly became.

The strong scent of alcohol makes your nose scrunch up. He rests his chin on the crook of your neck, stubble lightly tickling your sensitive skin. After a few minutes of making yourself comfy on his lap and finally staying still, his hand comes to grab his bottle to take another chug.

“John,” You almost whine at the way he unconsciously starts to bounce his knee up and down. A habit he’s not prone to ever since he started drinking. It was almost like he forgot you were sitting on his lap after a few minutes. Immediately does he stop his movement, a low slurr of babbles and a soft hiccup escapes his lips, “Whoops— sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart.”

Suddenly, he cheekily stares down at you.

“Y’know,” He hics.

“Yer behind feels kinda good on my-

“John.”

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇

He’s a bit clueless at first, bless his heart.

He’s busy carving a small piece of wood with his knife, hunched over as his long hair falls, covering the sides of his face almost elegantly. He wasn’t bothered to tie his hair back, nor raise a finger to place it behind his ear. He stops re-shaping the small piece of wood as he hears a soft patter of footsteps from in-front.

“Hm?” He hums, his guard lowers significantly once realising it was you. The knife is lowered too, and the items were placed afar so it does not distract you nor come in your way.

“May I please sit on your lap?” You ask with those big beady eyes of yours, hands behind your back as your tone is light and sweet.

Of course, silence is ensured for a few seconds. His brooding figure straightens up from his spot. He quirks a dark, angular brow at your much smaller figure.

“Why?” He asks with a straight face.

Your cheeks burn, and your expression was alike of a kicked pup. He catches on quickly, and he immediately feels bad for seeming so nonchalant and blunt.

“U-Um.. I just, I wanted to.. N-nevermind. Sorry.” You shyly stammer, akin to a doe whom tries to stand up for the first time.

He easily suppresses the smile which almost etched onto his face at your stuttering. Cute.

“I didn’t say no, y’know.” He gestures you to come over with a simple pat on his thigh. You beam, eagerly toddling to him like a tiny tot wanting to get her stuffies. You sit yourself on his thighs, shoes quite literally lifting off of the ground because of how big he was. Even if he sat down, he still always towered over you.

He allows you to wiggle a bit on his lap, but a hand comes down to rest on your knee to squeeze it a bit as a gentle warning to not go any higher. You do obey, of course. Your back is to his chest, your hands positioned on your lap as you almost melt at how warm he was.

“Comfortable?” At each word he uttered to you, it was more toned down in pitch, a low hum always started. You nod lazily, a smile of satisfaction of how comfy he felt underneath. You don’t mind the way he snakes his arms around your waist. “Good.”

𝐉𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐔��𝐋𝐋𝐀

You regret asking.

Simply put, he’s handsy.

The smirk on his face is very visible. The log he rests upon feels even more smaller as he slowly starts to manspread right in front of you. The guitar in his hand is placed gently just to the side before he beckons you to come forth. You reluctantly sit on his lap, almost squirming at how close he was.

A hand on your hip, another squish to your thigh, a soft roll from his hip teasingly upwards, a touch here, a touch there..

“Javier!” You whine, swatting his hand off your curves. He could only teasingly grin, before shrugging. “..Tu pediste esto.” His voice serenades.

You try to swat his hands off again, but merely give up, knowing he won’t stop any time soon. You lay your cheek on his chest, lithe arms wrapped around his waist as your back arches a tad bit from not supporting your structure. His hands are on the small of your back, rubbing small circles on the softness of your clothed skin.

The embers from the mini camp-fire is light and descends off in the dark night, crackles of the wood calms your nerves down just a bit. He does tone his touch down just a tad bit for your sake, despite wanting to desperately grab at.. literally anything. He’s had ladies before, but by far was he the neediest when it came to you.

You can’t help but take a small peak from above, wispy lashes coming to tinker a bit when he tilts his gaze to fixate on you. A small smile on his face, as he greedily eats up all of the touch you gave to him.

“..hi.” You quietly mumble, a bit muffled because of the fact that half of your face is mushed against the fabrics of his clothes. A fox-like grin etches on his tan face as he presses a tiny kiss on your forehead, entertaining you by replying with a simple “hola.”

“You’re really clingy- and touchy. I hope you know that.” You grumble when his hand comes to cup your curves again.

He smiles lazily. “I know.”

[itsallgoodmann]

I'm going to act like I did not sob throughout the entirety of writing this story holy shit.

"Charles Knew that Love Existed Because Arthur was Love"

Desc: Arthur tells Charles about his condition and they both slowly realize they care a lot more about each other than they originally thought. Apparently loss can really strengthen emotions, especially unresolved ones.

(Heavily implied Charthur, comfort, angst, death, grief, mutual confession of love...You get the idea. Inspired by the fanart above (not mine obvs!))

"Hey Charles," Arthur sat down on the crate next to Charles, overlooking the main campfire. Charles gently rubbed gun oil on his sawed-off shotgun, thinking quietly to himself, like he always did.

"Arthur." Charles nodded at Arthur, glancing at him quickly before looking back at his gun. Arthur put his hands in his lap, clasped together tightly. He closed his eyes briefly, trying his best to gather his thoughts. He had known Charles for less than a year, but somehow Arthur felt more connected to him than Dutch.

Arthur didn't want to tell him. In fact, Arthur couldn't think of a thing he wanted to do less than tell Charles the truth...

Because he was dying. Famous gunslinger Arthur Morgan, taken by a goddamn lung disease. How ironic. Charles deserved to know, he had been so kind to Arthur. Arthur remembered the weeks after the O'Driscolls had kidnapped and shot him, and who stayed by his wagon the longest.

Not Dutch, not John, not even Hosea.

Charles.

"You shouldn't get up," Charles said bluntly, staring into Arthur's blue eyes, glazed over in a Morphine-filled daze. Arthur shook his head like he did every time someone told him not to do something. It didn't stop him from hoisting himself up so his head rested on the back of the wagon. Charles just shook his head, a small smile on his face.

"Swanson's Morphine is certainly doing its job," Charles muttered, mostly to himself, Arthur scoffed in return.

"Why you here anyways?" Arthur took a deep breath and tried not to wince at the stitches from the gunshot wound in his abdomen. Charles chuckled, a lighthearted noise that made Arthur smile...Even if it was mostly because of the Morphine.

"Just, watching... Got nothing better to do." Charles shrugged his shoulders and continued sharpening his knife next to Arthur's wagon.

"I think in the time you've been with us-" Arthur took a moment to think about what he was going to say, his words slightly slurred from the drugs.

"I've never heard you speak more than two sentences to anyone." Arthur shook his head, smiling. Charles rolled his eyes.

"I just don't have much to say, I guess." Charles shook his head, but couldn't help the smile that graced his face.

"Charles...Smith... The lone wolf... A man of few words." Arthur put his hands up and made a gesture like he was reading a newspaper headline.

"If I knew you were going to act like an idiot I wouldn't have given you the Morphine." Charles shot back, but he didn't take any offense. How could someone take offense to the ramblings of a Morphine drunk Arthur? Arthur acted like he had been shot (very fitting), giving Charles an exasperated look.

"The lone wolf does speak!" He said dramatically, drawling out the 'does' to annoy Charles even more.

"You should sleep Arthur," Charles finally said, putting away the knife and other sharpening materials.

"Y'know..." Arthur yawned, the euphoric sensation of the Morphine and the drowsiness that healing cost was really getting to him.

"I'm quite fond of you, Mr.Serious." Arthur slurred, moving his head down to the pillow and looking up. Charles studied Arthur's expression, trying to read his true emotions. Arthur's eyebrows were relaxed, his lips upturned in a lazy smile. He could see the crow's feet that appeared next to his eyes, and the scar that was on the bottom of his chin. Charles meant to ask about it, but never did.

"You've always been the hardest worker in camp," Arthur yawned again, and Charles shushed him.

"Go to sleep Arthur, for god's sake."

"Somethin' on your mind?" Charles' deep voice brought Arthur out of his thoughts, and Arthur nodded. Charles looked at him, narrowing his eyes a little bit. Charles must have had an inkling of what Arthur wanted to speak about. He was quiet, but he wasn't stupid. At this point, no one could deny Arthur looked sick...Real sick. His collarbones were sticking out from his pale splotchy skin, his clothes were now bagged around him. His eyes were bloodshot, and when he ate there was a large coughing fit that followed.

The cough. It made Charles' ears ring, the violent shake of his chest, the crackled wheezes that followed. Charles saw the bloodstains on the inside of Arthur's sleeve.

"You wanna ride with me?" Arthur blurted out, Charles took a second but nodded.

"Always." He said curtly. Charles walked with Arthur over to his horse, before he mounted Taima. Arthur led the way to the outskirts of Annesburg, before riding aimlessly towards the mountains surrounding the Wapiti Indian Reservation.

"Yer a smart man Charles," Arthur started, taking in short breaths, thinking hard about how to word things. This did nothing but make Charles nervous.

"Arthur," Charles said in almost a warning, like he was afraid Arthur was going to beat around the bush and never get to the point. Charles didn't like it when people weren't straightforward. However, Arthur was the only exception to this rule. The only noises that accompanied them through the ride were the clopping of hooves on rock, and the rushing of water from the nearby Dakota River.

"If things go bad, you get yourself out of there, alright?" Arthur coughed but tried to stifle it, which only made it worse.

Charles wanted to get off his horse and punch Arthur in the face. Not because he was angry at Arthur...

But because he was scared. Charles Smith, the fearless lone wolf. It wasn't like Charles hadn't experienced loss before, hell, in the last few months it was constant... Davey, Sean, Kieran, Hosea, Lenny, Molly... Charles was sad, of course, but life went on. The sun still shone the next day, the coffee was still brewed like normal, and the songbirds still chirped their melodies.

"You got... More to lose." Arthur said, his voice softer, more vulnerable. Charles shook his head, immediately shooting back,

"No. Come on. Don't start talking like that." It was obvious though, even when Arthur explained it.

"I didn't tell you before," Arthur took in a wheezing breath.

"I saw a doctor."

Charles wanted to jump into the Dakota River and feel his entire body go numb from the cold. He wanted to push his hands to his ears and hum until he couldn't hear Arthur's words anymore because they cut like a knife. They made him bleed like no one had ever done before. Instead, Charles gripped the reins of Taima tighter, slowing down to a gentle trot.

"It's pretty bad, and it's gonna get worse."

Charles shook his head, but luckily Arthur didn't notice. He bit his lip and tried to make sense of it all.

"Take a left down this trail," Charles said softly, pointing to the slightly worn trail into the thick woods of the Cumberland forest. Charles led Arthur to a clearing, where a thick, lush layer of grass grew, and flowers erupted from the space.

"I don't remember much of my childhood," Charles said, dismounting his horse and motioning for Arthur to do the same. Arthur followed Charles into the clearing and they both sat down on a fallen log, covered in bright green moss.

"My mama though, she taught me all about the herbs..." Charles smiled gently, then motioned to the flowers. Arthur looked at him, confused.

"These are flowers..." Arthur corrected, Charles just shook his head and chuckled.

"She taught me about the flowers too, if you'd let me finish." Charles pointed to the flower with stems that held a few dozen tiny bundles of red flowers, with a bright yellow center.

"Blood flower," Charles said, Arthur nodded, listening intently. Charles then pointed at the other flower that covered the clearing, a stem that held a single, cupped, red flower.

"Field Poppy," Charles informed, Arthur could have probably guessed that, but just hearing Charles talk was enough. There were a few minutes of comfortable silence, the horses quietly grazing near them.

"Did the doctor say how long?" Charles was careful with his words, but he wanted...No, needed to know.

"A couple weeks, a couple months..." Arthur drawled, coughing again. This time the fit was so bad Arthur wheezed for breath afterward. Charles rubbed Arthur's back, hoping the contact would soothe something, even if it was just his soul.

"You're a good man, Arthur Morgan." Charles forced through gritted teeth, afraid if he said more he would have to wipe tears off his face. Arthur chuckled.

"I ain't a good man,"

Charles frowned, if only Arthur could see himself through Charles' gaze. The way he glowed, Arthur's soft smile and kind words. He acted tough, but he loved. Charles closed his eyes and took a deep breath, promising himself he wasn't going to break down.

"I'm only going to say this once, Arthur," Charles warned.

"You're one of the best men I know." Charles smiled bittersweetly like it should be obvious to Arthur.

"You're kind, hard-working, loyal, and smart." Charles removed his hand from Arthur's back, before resting it on his shoulder.

"Hell, you've probably saved my life countless times." Charles sighed, then made eye contact with Arthur. What a horrible choice. Icy blue eyes, bloodshot and tearstained, inflamed with the pain of the human condition. Charles stared back at Arthur with warm brown eyes, trying to keep his equanimity. He was normally very good at it, a skill he prided himself on, but this was different. At that moment, in the clearing, Charles realized something.

He was soft for Arthur Morgan. He wanted to see Arthur happy, he wanted to see him thrive. It took everything in Charles not to scream about how he loved Arthur Morgan... And, more importantly, how much he loved the way Arthur loved. Freely and fully. Arthur rarely shared by the campfire, but when he did it was always a story about saving a man who got bitten by a snake, or a woman who was stranded because her horse died.

"Yer' a good man Charles, one of the best." Arthur choked out, now trying to keep his own composure. Charles just smiled, it was all he could do. But Charles broke when Arthur made eye contact with him again, his face wet with the streams of hot tears that poured down his cheeks. It was instinct as he opened his arms for Arthur, hugging him tightly. In a useless wish, Charles thought about how he regretted not doing this earlier. Arthur clung to Charles and Charles clung just as much back. Arthur wrapped his arms around Charles, burying his head into Charles' chest. In a swift movement, Charles gently brought his hand up to the back of Arthur's head, his other arm wrapped securely around him. They both sat there for a good while, breathing in the scent of each other and trying to memorize the way their bodies fit so perfectly together.

"Shouldn't leave things unsaid, should I?" Arthur finally said, breaking the silence. Charles nodded, still holding Arthur close to his chest.

"Then I think I love you, Charles." Charles wasn't going to debate what exactly Arthur meant by this. Charles didn't care. He loved him back.

"I think I love you too, Arthur," Charles murmured, now gently carding his fingers through Arthur's hair.

"I always imagined you were a Bison," Arthur muttered softly, Charles nodded.

"Dutch told me I was like a buck... Unlikely friends." Arthur chuckled, but it ended in a painful cough that Charles tried his best to soothe.

"You think we'll meet in another life?" Arthur looked up at the sky, it was now dusk, and the stars were beginning to appear. Charles nodded,

"I hope so." Arthur smiled at the response, a real nice smile.

"Then I'll look forward to meeting you all over again." Arthur was always the best at bringing out even the most buried emotions. Charles froze, trying not to lose it. He didn't want Arthur to go. He can't let go. He was never able to let go, everything he ever lost is covered in claw marks from when he tried to make it stay. Charles choked back a sob, gently lifting Arthur's head to place a tender kiss on his forehead. Arthur's blue eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment, every decision Arthur ever made had spun through his mind, all leading up to this one single exchange. Perhaps death wasn't going to be that bad. Charles brought both of his hands and cupped Arthur's jaw, looking at him, trying to memorize the face.

Charles knew that love existed because Arthur was love.

That's why, when Charles carried the limp, cold, body of Arthur Morgan down that mountain, one arm around his torso, the other around his leg, he made sure to stop by that clearing. He uprooted those flowers and planted them on his grave. It was the least he could do.

"Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for Righteousness."

A/N- Woah! First fanfic on this account! Last time I regularly wrote fanfiction was when I was sixteen (I am in my twenties now). Couldn't get Charthur out of my head so I created this (it got very out of hand very fast). Unfortunately, I do not apologize for the amount of heartbreak this may cause you.

If you would like to leave a request, go for it! I am a full time college student, and I do work two jobs, so there's no telling if I'll ever get to it, but if it's a good enough request I'm sure I'll make time. It's weird to be so familiar yet unfamiliar with creating a fanfic post, but alas, I'll stop yapping. Hope you enjoyed the fic!

Fanart used can be found here, credit to conconarts!

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 1: SOMEWHERE (FAR, FAR) EAST OF THE MOJAVE

synopsis: you wake up in some cabin, half-frozen to death. a man named arthur finds you and decides to have mercy on you, as do his associates.

word count: 3k

ships: Arthur Morgan/Modern!Reader, Van der Linde Gang & Reader

notes: if anyone wants me to start a taglist just lmk <3!! also there's a PROLOGUE before this, please read it before reading this :)

THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA MASTERLIST

It’s cold. Above everything else, it’s fucking cold. 

You screw your eyes shut tighter, curling in on yourself. You’re vaguely aware that you’re on your side and in a fetal position. 

There’s a light, faintly, somewhere behind you. You let out a hiss that tapers off into a groan and draw your arms over your head.

“Hey!” A voice shouts. It’s growly and abrasive-sounding. There’s the sound of a revolver’s hammer cocking. “Turn around. Face me.”

You prop your forearm on the floor and push yourself up with more effort than you think would be needed. You pant softly, and your breath mists in front of your mouth. You manage to hold yourself up with both hands on the floor and turn your head to look at the man. 

He’s tall in a way that makes him look down his nose at you. His silhouette is stark against the door – there’s snow outside. You don’t remember it to be… snowing. It’s May in southern California. It doesn’t snow in May in southern California.

The man looks you over, his revolver still pointed at you. His hand is unwavering.

“I’m sorry,” you say. You don’t know why. “Is this your house?”

“No,” the man says simply. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“I’m…” You look down at your hands, the way they’re braced against the floor. “I don’t know. I think…” 

Your arms shake, then collapse. Your jaw hits the floor with a dull thud, and your eyes screw shut on instinct.

“Shit,” the man drawls under his breath. 

“W-wait! Wait,” you say quickly. “I’m not on anything. I – I’m stone-cold sober. Like Steve Austin.”

You force a laugh and manage to open your eyes to look at the man. He looks confused – maybe a little disgusted? It’s hard to tell.

“Like, the wrestler?” You say. “Stone Cold Steve Austin?”

The man lowers his revolver, just a little, so that it’s not pointed at your head, but still in your general direction. It’s obvious he doesn’t know what you’re talking about, in any capacity. Maybe he won’t shoot you if he thinks you’re insane? (Or maybe that would just give him more of an incentive to kill you.)

“Just – just ignore me,” you say. (Again, you don’t know why. You don’t want to be ignored – you’re very obviously in bad shape.) “I don’t know where I am. I remember being in California, just north of Los Angeles.”

The man scoffs and checks over his shoulder, like he’s checking he’s not being duped. He looks back at you. “California? Really?”

“Yes,” you say softly. You wrap your jacket tighter around yourself the best you can with the way that you’re laying. “South. Right near Mexico – Tijuana.”

The man tilts his head and takes a half-step closer. “You’re bleedin’.”

“I am?” You manage to move your arm and see dried brown blood on your jacket laced with redder, fresher blood. “I am.”

“I just…” You shift, curling in on yourself further. Now that he’s pointed it out, you do feel some type of dull pain in your abdomen. “I’ll be okay. Don’t call for a doctor, or an ambulance. Please don’t call an ambulance. I – I’ll get to a hospital on my own.”

The man shifts on his feet. Was it always this cold? It’s… it’s so fucking cold. And no matter how much you curl in on yourself, there’s no warmth. 

The black returns. 

There’s snippets of conversations you can pick up on over the sound of feet shuffling and the sound of wind blowing outside. One woman gives a few demands to others, while another woman announces that “Davey’s dead.”

You can feel yourself being lifted and laid on something that’s hard against your back. You groan and try to open your eyes and sit up, but can’t. 

The voices grow quieter. There’s a man making some sort of speech – you can’t make out the words. 

You know you’re wavering in and out. There’s the warmth of a man’s hand on your shoulder, and a murmuring voice, still fading in and out: “I commend you… your Creator… who formed you from the dust… angels, and all the saints…”

It takes all your strength to lift your hand and grab him – some part of him. You can barely open your eyes and can’t make out a lot. “Not… dead yet. Fucking pr…preacher.”

Black again. There’s a repetitive, stinging pain in your side. 

Awake, again. Somehow. A woman, her face worn but still beautiful, hovers over you. Her wrinkles are stark in the lantern light. 

“Hello?” You say, your voice a bit slurred.

The woman turns and calls another woman over – this one much younger than her. “Miss Jackson, get Dutch. Let him know Arthur’s friend is awake.”

Miss Jackson turns and walks off with a “Yes, Miss Grimshaw.” 

“Arthur?” You interject. “Is that the man who found me?”

Miss Grimshaw turns back to you. “Yes, Arthur’s the one who found you. I don’t know why he didn’t shoot you.”

You wait for her to say something more. She doesn’t.

“Where am I?” You try. “I remember being in California, just outside of the Mojave. But the Mojave doesn’t get snow in May.”

“That’s because you’re not in the Mojave,” Miss Grimshaw says. “We’re in the Grizzlies.”

“Th…the Grizzlies?” You echo. “Like, Appalachia?”

“Somewhere in there, yes,” she says. “You been out a few days now. Reverend read you your last rites a handful of times.”

You try to sit up, but groan and lay back down. She pushes you down as well, a scowl on her face. 

The door opens with a gust of cold wind. A man steps in, then quickly shuts the door behind him. He hurries over, rubbing his gloved hands together. 

He looks you over, then drags a nearby chair over and sits. “What’s your name, friend?”

You give him your name. 

“My name is Dutch,” Dutch says. “Dutch van der Linde. I think you know by now that you’ve caught us at an… inconvenient time. And you’ll forgive us for not trusting you right away.”

“No, I get that,” you say. “I just… I need a map or something. I need to get back home.”

Dutch beckons for Miss Grimshaw to bring over a map. He opens it and holds it out to you. 

You sit up, slowly, making sure not to do anything too sudden. When you’re upright, you take the map from him and look it over. You don’t recognize anything on the map, but one point piques your interest – the date. The year reads 1891.

“Sir, I don’t mean to be rude, but…” You point to the year. “This map seems a little out of date.”

“It’s just eight years,” Miss Grimshaw says. “Most everything is the same.”

You glance up at her, then at Dutch, then at the people around the cabin. Your fingers twitch and crumple the map a bit. 

This is a dream! I’m in a coma! Your mind shouts. I’m in a medically-induced coma because I was shot and holy hell – how the fuck did I go from 2024 to 1899?!

“Right, right,” you say instead. “Sorry. I’m just being nitpicky.”

“Where’re you from?” Dutch asks. 

“California. Near the Mojave,” you say. “Out west.”

“And you would leave all that… virgin paradise…” Dutch laughs and gestures vaguely around him. “For this?”

“I don’t know how I got here,” you say. “I’ve been saying that since I woke up. I don’t…” You shake your head.

“Well, I’m sure we can get you back to your home,” Dutch says. “We’re persevering folk. Do you recognize anything – anything at all – on that map?”

You look down at the map again. It’s all unfamiliar. “No. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, my friend,” Dutch says, reaching a hand out like it’s meant to soothe. “You’re a soul in need. I’m sure we can figure something out somehow. Can you at least tell me what your home is like?”

This is a coma, you remind yourself. I can just make something up. I’m not some person that couch-surfed for half my life. I can be whoever.

“I… it’s odd,” you say to buy yourself some time. You say the first thing that comes to mind. “There’s a few tribes that live in Zion Canyon – the Dead Horses and the Sorrows. I was a courier delivering goods to the Dead Horses. There were two men there that convinced me to stay.”

A Black man – broad, intimidating, with long, dark hair – perks up at the mention of tribes. His dark (almost black, honestly) eyes find yours, then he looks down at the floor again.

“None of it rings a bell,” Dutch says. “But, these men – what’re their names?”

It’s in that exact moment that you realize you just prattled off part of the storyline of Fallout: New Vegas. Then you realize that, if this really is 1899, no one here would know what you’re talking about. 

“Joshua Graham and Daniel,” you say. “They’re white – they work with the natives and help them trade. Joshua’s acting as the Dead Horses’ war chief and Daniel is a healer that works with the Sorrows.”

Yes. You’re totally friends with Joshua Graham and Daniel and the Dead Horses and the Sorrows. And from the way Dutch nods solemnly, you think he believes you. 

You hold out the map and he takes it back, folding it neatly. 

“I don’t have anywhere to go,” you say. “I’ve never even been this far east before.”

“Don’t worry,” Dutch says. “You can stay with us, for the time being. At least until we get to some… some town, or city. Let you rest your feet while you recover. We’re a gang of… violent criminals and degenerates, but we care. I can’t say the same for the rest of America.”

Your hand instinctively goes to your side, where you felt the stinging, repetitive pain earlier. “Right. My side doesn’t feel as bad as before. Thank you for that.”

You look around and slowly swing your feet over the side of the table. A lightning arc of pain shoots down your leg, causing you to gasp and tense. As with everything else, you force through it and stand. 

“I need to get some air,” you say. Dutch just nods. You walk (shamble, really) to the door and open it, slipping outside.

The cold is even worse out here. There’s footpaths in the snow. You stick your hands under your arms and walk one. It leads to a man standing by a fire in front of a cabin, dressed in a winter poncho with a gun in his hands. 

You hold your hands out towards the fire and rub your hands together. It doesn’t replace the warmth you had while you were inside, but it’s still something.

“What’s your name?” The man asks. He shifts the rifle in his hands, but doesn’t move to point it at you. (An improvement, if a small one.)

You give him your name. “What about you?”

“Javier,” Javier says. “Javier Escuella.”

“Where are you from?” You shift your focus to the fire. “Not trying to be rude. It’s just that there’s a few ‘Javier’s where I’m from.”

“Northern Mexico,” Javier says. “You?”

“I’m originally from the South, but I live in the Mojave. I moved to the Frontier to be closer to my sister,” you say. “So I guess we weren’t that far off from each other.”

You look up at the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow. It’s the man from way earlier – Arthur. You look back at the fire instead.

Arthur nods at Javier and spares a glance at you before entering the cabin. People are talking inside, and you catch a snippet of voices before Arthur closes the door again.

“It’s too cold to be May,” Javier says. You can tell he’s trying to be polite by making conversation. “I’m not designed for this snow.”

“I know, right?” You laugh under your breath. “Neither am I. I’d go back inside, but I don’t want to intrude. Any more than I already have, anyway.”

“It’s below freezing,” he says. “Everyone needs shelter. Come on.”

With that, Javier turns and walks into the cabin, holding the door open behind him for you. You thank him and follow him inside. 

Inside is a group of men and the overwhelming smell of cigarette smoke. You tense when they all turn to face you. Most of them are, in fact, smoking. You nod politely and tuck yourself into a corner, next to a man with a blond mustache. 

A hefty man is sitting across from the blond man, and a much younger Black man is sitting on a table next to him. Javier is by the door, and you try your best to ignore Arthur’s huge presence beside you. You can see him throw a small log into the woodstove out of the corner of your eye.

The man sort-of across from you looks at you, then returns his gaze to the man sitting beside you. “I guess folks miss them… that fell.”

“Well, when I fall, I don’t want no fuss,” the man beside you says.

“When you fall…” The young man waves his hand, which is holding a lit cigarette. “There’ll be a party.”

“A party!” The hefty man echoes, laughing. “Hah, probably.”

You feel the beginnings of a smile start to cross your face. You don’t know these people, and while they aren’t exactly doing their best to welcome you, they aren’t exactly making you feel unwelcome, either.

The man beside you holds out a bottle to you. You hesitantly take it, even though you’re confused. “I don’t want this.”

He pays you no mind and stands, looking down at the man. “That funny, huh?”

“Sure,” the man says, the remnants of laughter still in his voice.

One man strikes another, and it’s loud, absolute chaos. On instinct, your eyes snap to the door. Unblocked. An exit if needed.

Arthur and the young man are holding the hit man back, and the blond man speaks. “Maybe  I don’t feel like being laughed at by the likes of you two!”

It’s going to escalate. You can get to the door. Dutch was right – this is a gang of violent criminals and degenerates. One you want nothing to do with.

But Dutch bursts in with a gust of cold wind. As soon as he sees what’s going on, his face twists. The men dissipate from their tight proximity and distance themselves from each other.

“Stop it!” He snaps. “You fools punching each other when Colm O’Driscoll’s needin’ punching – hard! You wanna sit around, waiting for him to come find us?”

Arthur slips out of the door as Dutch continues. “All of you, we got work to do. Come on.”

The men turn and start to file out of the cabin. You can hear Arthur and Dutch talking outside. By the time you’re outside, most of the men are over by the horses or on one of them.

Dutch is talking quietly to Arthur while they’re both mounting up – you couldn’t hear them if you tried. He straightens up on his snow-white horse and shouts. “Mister Matthews, Mister Smith, Mister Pearson, would you please look after the place? There are O’Driscolls about!”

With that, he snaps the reins and his horse darts off. The rest of the men from the cabin, now all on horseback, quickly follow. 

You resign yourself to following another footpath. This one leads to a partly-sheltered, partly-dilapidated garage-type-thing with something like a kitchen inside. There’s a deer hoist against the wall, but it’s empty.

Your eyes dart to some sort of cauldron-looking pot hanging over a fire that’s mostly coals. You walk over and hold your hands out to it, trying to get warm again. 

“You’re new.”

Your head snaps up to see the broad Black man from earlier. He still has that impassive look on his face. 

“Yes, sir, that’s right,” you say. You introduce yourself. “What’s your name?”

“Charles Smith.” Charles walks and stands beside you, mirroring you and putting his hands out towards the fire. “You were talking earlier about tribes.”

“Yeah,” you say. “What about them?”

“I’ve never heard of the ones you were talking about,” he says. His voice is deep and smooth and calm. (You try your best not to latch onto that sense of calmness. You now know how quickly things can turn.)

“The Sorrows and the Dead Horses?” You rub your nose as you try to think of an excuse. “I wouldn’t expect you to. They live in Zion Canyon – in the Mojave. They’re fairly isolated, but they’re good people.”

Charles hums and his eyes return to the fire. You try to think of something to keep the conversation going.

“Who’s Colm O’Driscoll?” You ask. “I’ve heard his name a handful of times.”

“A rival gang leader,” he says. “Runs the O’Driscolls.”

“Oh. Yeah.” You scratch your cheek. “That makes sense.”

A silence settles over the two of you again. Charles must be comfortable with it. Unfortunately, you’re not. 

“Is there anything people need done?” You ask, glancing at him. “I don’t like being idle for too long.”

He looks over at the empty deer hoist. “We need food.”

“I’m no good at hunting.” You look at the fire and rub your hands together again. “Sorry.”

“You apologize a lot,” Charles says. His eyes flick to you. “You know you don’t have to do that, right?”

You bite back another apology and force a laugh. Your breath mists in front of your face. “Force of habit.”

Charles hums and his focus returns to the smoldering coals that make up the fire. A nagging thought in the back of your head tells you that you made him mad (even though he’s given literally no indication you’ve done so). 

You follow his lead and look at the fire. There’s nothing else to do in this kind of cold, anyway. 

[eternalsams]

Let Me Go ➛ Arthur Morgan

pairing: arthur morgan x fem!reader

warning/content: bit of fluff, angst, rdr2 spoilers, high honor arthur, mention of death, tuberculosis, horses death (it's a fair warning), little bit of blood

summary: there is only one thing Arthur wants, get you somewhere safe, no matter what it costs.

word count: 2.1k

a/n: english isn't my first language, please take that into consideration. This is also my first time writing for Arthur, please be indulgent!

red dead redemption masterlist main masterlist

Arthur didn't think he'd let himself fall in love a second time. The first time it happened, his heart had been broken as he was on one knee, proposing to Mary. He swore he'd never let any other woman sneak her way into his heart ever again, he would've done anything not to feel that tightening feeling in his chest if he ever got rejected once again. But Eliza happened, they met in a bar in the West. She was a cute waitress, he was still young and handsome. And he almost felt like he could fall in love with her when she gave him a son, he was ready to. He wanted to forget his own promise and be a real family with her and little Isaac. But it all ended way too soon when he stood in front of those two graves next to the cabin they thought they'd be safe in.

Years passed by and he couldn't look at any woman anymore, his heart broken, stained by grief and sorrow. And after the Blackwater disaster, he didn't even had the thought of seeking comfort in a woman's arms. So when Charles came back to camp with your curled up figure in his arms, he didn't pay much attention. Strauss was harassing him to collect some debts for the gang and meeting a new unfortunate soul brought back by Charles was not in his plans. But one night you came up to him and tried having a conversation with him. You spent hours talking with him, captivated by his low voice telling you all kind of stories about people he met, animals he'd seen.

And from the moment he started falling for you, he just couldn't stop. You were just so easy to be around, to talk to. He loved spending his late nights chatting with you close to the camp fire, telling you his exploits and you telling him the funny stories that happened at camp while he was away. The first night you spent together was the best one of Arthur's life if you'd ask him, simply holding you in his arms for hours, feeling your heart beating close to his.

But right now, the feeling of your heart beating close to him was everything but comforting. One of your arm were tight around his waist, trying not to squeeze the air out of his sick lungs. John was right ahead, his horse galloping through the trees to escape Dutch's madness and the Pinkertons. You tried your best to hold onto Arthur's rifle in your hand, sometimes letting him go to aim the barrel at the agents surprising you on your way as your lover rode his horse like his life depended on it. Except yours did too. His breathing was starting to grow heavy and loud, feeling like he had to spit the blood out of his lungs.

"Pinkertons on the left, they'll keep the others busy!" You heard John shout and looked to your left. You could hear Micah's voice behind you, insulting you and calling you traitors. "This way!" John indicated but before Arthur could do anything, you were both ejected from your horse, tumbling on the ground. Arthur was quick to make sure you were okay before taking his rifle from your hands and shooting the Pinkertons up the hill. You crawled your way to his horse and soothed him, murmuring sweet things to him as you watched him suffer in pain, blood spurting from his wounds. When all the agents were killed, Arthur came running back to you and gently caressed the horse's neck. "Come on, guys. Let's go." John called after you. You looked up at Arthur and could see fresh tears in his eyes as he watched his horse live his last minutes. "Gimme a second." Arthur asked and leaned over his horse, whispering a thank you to him.

You stood onto your feet with John's help and Arthur grabbed his hat before turning to the two of you. "What about the money? Abigail gave me the key." He asked before looking into your eyes. He once told you he'd get you a part of the Blackwater money and you'd get a ranch somewhere in the west, somewhere nice where the two of you would grow old and die happy. But now that he was sick and dying, you didn't really know if you could even get that ranch with him. "The money's not important, Arthur. Let's just get out of here and find some place safe to hide for a while." You tried to convince him, seeing the hesitation in his eyes. He wanted to give you that money, to you and John. He didn't need it but you did. John's family did. "If you want the money, you head down. I gotta go to my family." John said in turn, holding you upright in his arms.

Arthur looked at you and nodded before putting his hat on his head. "I'm coming with you. I'm gonna get you out of this bullshit if it's the last goddamn thing I do." He said to John before taking your hand in his and helping you walking up the hill. The three of you started running up the cliff as you started to hear new gunshots behind you. "Come on, sweetheart, up we go!" Arthur made you run in front of him, making sure you weren't forgotten behind. You quickly ran up John who also helped you not to fall but often looked over you shoulder to check if Arthur was still following. When you realized he was being too slow, you ran down to him and grabbed his arm, pulling him up. "Don't you worry about me, darling. Just keep running, I'm right behind you." He tried to push you off him. "I'm not leaving you alone, Arthur."

When you reached a high point on the cliff, Arthur pushed you down behind a rock before giving you his two pistols. Two customized Cattleman revolvers. On each handle were a buck and a doe carved. Arthur had them engraved after your first night together, saying you'd always be with him, and him with you. "Remember what I taught you?" Arthur asked you as you looked down at the pistols. "Both eyes open and hold your breath when pulling the trigger." You repeated what he always told you when you trained shooting with him. He smiled at you before taking his rifle from around his shoulder and firing at the Pinkertons with John. You sighed and checked if the guns were loaded before aiming at the Pinkertons, the three of you eliminating them one by one.

"We need to get outta here. Let's go!" John called as he started walking back. You shot another agent and joined John as Arthur tumbled on his knees, his breathing heavier by the minute. You took his hand in yours after you put the pistols back into Arthur's holsters. "Come on, Arthur. Stay with us." You hurried him as you pulled him with you. "You two go..." He breathed out, gently pushing your hand away. "No, Arthur. You're coming with us." You immediately said, refusing to even think about leaving without him. "Keep pushing, Arthur." John encouraged him. "No." He said before coughing more blood. You were about to pull a tissu from your satchel but he wiped his mouth with his hand. "I think I've pushed all I can. You two go." He straightened up and looked at you. "Go with John, sweetheart. Don't make this harder than it is."

"No. You're coming with us, Arthur Morgan. Don't even think I won't drag your heavy body with us." You walked up to him, frustration clear in your voice. That made Arthur chuckle then cough. He softly grabbed your face in his hands and looked into your eyes, lit by the moonlight. "I know you would, darling. That's why I need you to go with John and don't look back." He told you before sending a heavy look to his friend behind you. "No..." Your voice broke and you grabbed his wrists to pull his hands away from your face. "We ain't all gonna make it. And you know it." He tried to reason with you but you refused to listen to him. John came up behind you and grabbed your arm to pull you with him. You snatched your arm from his grip and ran up to Arthur, taking him into your arms. "Please come with us. Don't leave me alone." You cried, your tears rolling down your face and soaking his shirt collar. He wrapped his arms around you and kissed the top of your head. He pulled back and took his pistols out of his belt, handing them to you. "Keep them with you." You reached for them and looked at the carved doe on the first one. Arthur's finger brushing over the worn wooden handle. He then gave you the second one, where the beautiful buck was standing proud, forever engraved into the wood.

"It would mean a lot to me." He closed your hands around his guns before kissing your forehead. He then took off his hat and walked up to John, holding himself onto the younger man's shoulder. He placed his hat on John's head and smiled at him. "Keep her safe for me." He said in a low voice, but not low enough for you to miss it. "No!" You screamed and was about to reach for Arthur but John's arms wrapped around you, pulling you with him as you fought to join your lover. Arthur looked away, not able to watch your tears, and grabbed his rifle, loading it with the shells he kept in his bandolier. "I'll hold them off. Run and don't look back until you find somewhere safe to stay." He ordered, ignoring your cries. "Come on, lady." John tried to pull you with him but you fought with everything you got. "Please. There ain't no more time for talk." Arthur said, looking at you one last time, his eyes shining with tears.

Your knees gave away and if John wasn't holding you so tight, you would've fallen on your knees, scraping them on the rocks. Arthur simply looked at you, trying to memorize how your face looks like, even all red and puffy from crying, you were still the most beautiful woman he's ever laid his eyes on. "Arthur, please..." You pleaded, thinking this was just a bad dream, that your Arthur would never give up and leave you alone. "Go with John, darling." He said, not having the strength to hear your cries more longer. "Arthur!" You called after him. "Just go with him!" He shouted back at you before pausing. You tried not to take it personally and looked at him. "Promise me you'll come back to me." You murmured into the quiet night. The gunshots would eventually come back but right now, all you heard was the wild life. "I love you, darling. Now go." He only said. "Promise me, Arthur!" You tried to run to him but John started walking back, pulling you with him. "Go!" Arthur shouted at you as he noticed more Pinkertons running your way. John saw them too and pulled you harder as you cried in his arms to go to Arthur. "Come on, we gotta go."

"No! We can't leave him! John, please!" You cried out as he made you walk away from the love of your life. Eventually, you heard him shout at the Pinkertons and the gunshots started all over again. When John thought you wouldn't try and run to Arthur no more, he let go of you and only took your hand to run away with you. It was like your body was acting on its own, your brain not following the recent events. You lost the only thing close to a family, lost the sweetest creature you've ever met. You still remember when Arthur first helped you ride his stallion by yourself, you were so scared to do it on your own, the horse was enormous next to you. But he turned out to be the sweetest thing in the world, answering to your calls and keeping you safe when Arthur wasn't there for you. And now you just lost Arthur. Arthur.

It wasn't fair.

The moment John saw a man riding towards the two of you on his horse, he pulled his scarf over his face and took out his gun. "Sir, we need your horse. Right now." He pointed his gun at the man and helped you get onto the horse when the man got scared and tumbled down the saddle. John quickly mounted the horse and had you wrap your arms around him to secure you. He kicked the animal's rear and started riding away. "You okay back there?" He eventually asked you but all you could do was stare at the cliff where you left the man you loved. When you turned to John, you could see the sun rising on the horizon and hoped Arthur could watch it one last time.

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[todorokies]

THE ONE WHERE YOU REFUSE TO KEEP QUIET. . !

𝝑𝑒 contents: john marston x female reader, nsfw, modern au (sawry im a sucker for 'em), cunnilingus, fingering, pet names (pretty & darling), pussy drunk john. . . 754 words

𝝑𝑒 a/n: dabbling in a diff fandom for my comeback to writing is crazy ik but i hope u all enjoy regardless :3 im rusty i alr know

“did i ever tell you about what happened at my work last week?”

you let out a shaky breath as you cautiously ran your fingers through the hair of the man who is currently situated between your legs, eagerly lapping at your dripping cunt collecting everything you could offer to him.

there’s a momentary lack of a response from your companion, your question hangs in the thin air as the crude sounds of squelching bounces off the walls alongside with your airy moans that seep out more than intended to.

you rack your fingers once more through his long hair and tug at his roots which aids as a warning.

with not enough force to seriously hurt him, but for a low guttural groan to escape from his chest causing small vibrations against your already sensitive pussy.

he apologetically sucks on your puffy clit before he comes up for air then replaces his hot mouth with two fingers to rub tight circles on your nub, “no, pretty, you haven’t. what happened at work?” he inquired with a strained expression on his face.

his pupils are blown out and unstable as he quickly shifts his focus between your glowy face and your pussy that’s aching to be stuffed by him. however, you were pretty adamant on him eating you out instead.

john ducks his head back in between the plush of your thighs continuing his ministrations, noticeably slowing his pace for you to get your words out.

you whine with a small buck of your hips, “apparently we’re having some budget cuts nggh in a f-few weeks. . . which —oh fuckk— also includes employees.”

“uh-huh?” john mumbles against you. your words enter one of his ear and exits the other, more focused on alternating from long vertical strides from your hole to your clit then skillfully circling around it with his tongue.

his calloused hand grips at your ass pulling you even closer to his face in attempt at get every last drop.

“y-yeah, and my manager had the damn nerve to—mghm keep doing that and i’ll cum~”

your chest heaves as john spreads open your folds to dip his tongue into your pussy, visibly enjoying the way you desperately clench around the wet muscle.

he deeply chuckles and you shiver due to his stubble scratching at your skin, “what did your manager do, darling?” he incoherently slurs his words but you were able to pick it up.

“she broke the news during rush hour. i-i mean what a bitch, right!”

“a bitch indeed,” he affirms as he slowly pushes two fingers in your wet hole, ogling at the way you take his digits with ease, fully coating them with your slick.

you throw your head backwards against the leather couch that’s supporting your back. you once again find residence in his black locks, roughly tugging this time around.

a broken whimper lively dances off your lips as your eyes roll back; you could feel the coil forming in the pit of your stomach.

“feels so good… don’t fuckin' stop..” you mindlessly ushered out. the sensation of his fingers pumping in and out, dragging against your tight walls as well as the added pleasure of his tongue swirling and suckling at your sensitive clit almost has you over the edge.

just when john finally thought he’d shut you up for good this time, your lewd moans and pants get broken down till you find the strength to add another comment about your dilemma.

“a-and there’s talk of my f-favourite coworker—”

“—ya know, how about you tell me the rest of ya little story after i make you cum.” john interrupts your soon-to-be babbling session, stopping all of his movements altogether.

he places a chaste kiss onto your clit and looks at you for permission to continue. you nod with a squeaky whine, already dizzy and eager for him to resume.

“oh darling, what am i ever gonna do with you?” he whispered against your cunt as he continued pumping his fingers at a steady albeit fast pace and quickly reattached his mouth back on your clit.

you soon cum hard on his fingers followed by a few more tugs at his hair to signal you were ready to tap out.

he licks his fingers, maintaining eye contact as he groans loudly at the taste of you. so sweet. . .just for him.

his voice is hoarse as he slips your panties back on and then gives you his undivided attention,

“so…what was that about your favourite coworker?”

reblogs & feedback is extremely appreciated !! <3

[pursuedbyamemoryy]

For the Dawn's Valentine's day event, I would LOVE to see the promt  “i thought you’d at least ask me to be your valentine…” “we’ve been together for three years, i thought that was a given.”

With Sadie Adler and a female reader, if you could do it 🥺

cowgirl valentine 💌

author’s note - tysm for participating!! i love sadie so much she’s actually my wife and the father of our three children 😇. it’s a crime that i haven’t written for her until now honestly

an unusual silence fell over the dinner table. on any other day the two of you would be chatting idly about anything and everything. how her bounties had gone today, what you did, old memories you shared and ones you didn’t, and so on. however, you couldn’t help but be upset tonight.

sadie was a busy woman. you knew that better than anyone, and you respected how hard working she was. or at least you usually did. your girlfriend had yet to ask you to be her valentine, and you didn’t know if it was because she was so busy she had just forgotten, or that she simply didn’t care enough to ask. february 14th was just days away, and you grew more frustrated as the days passed, but you were too embarrassed, and perhaps a bit too stubborn to bring it up.

sadie watched as you picked at your food, a look of worry spread across her features. “you alright, doll? you’ve been awfully quiet tonight.” her raspy voice broke the otherwise quiet atmosphere.

you practically grunted an “‘m fine” in response and continued to pick at your food.

“no you’re not. what’s up.” she said, placing her fork down. she reached across the table to grab your hand, frowning when you pulled away slightly.

with a sigh you asked “what month is it sadie? and what happens this month?”

"it's february.. and i dunno, it snows a lot?" she said, clearly confused. her brows were furrowed and she was trying to figure out why you were so upset about the month of february. it was just another month, was it not?

you rolled your eyes, she has forgotten, hasn’t she? “well, yes, but that’s not what i’m getting at. it’s valentine’s day.” you paused, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “i know you’ve been busy but… i thought you’d at least ask me to be your valentine” you said, avoiding eye contact.

finally, it dawned on her. you saw as her features softened. “we’ve been together for three years, i thought that was a given” she said, huffing a laugh. she reached across the table yet again, placing her hand over yours, and you didn’t pull away this time. “‘m sorry i didn’t ask sooner, but you’re my girl, i wouldn’t want nobody else to be my valentine. will you be my valentine?”

your expression softened along with hers, and you smiled too. “yes.”

she stood up and walked over to you, offering you a hand. you took it and she pulled you up and into her arms. “i love you.”

“i love you” you whispered back, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips, one she gladly reciprocated. your earlier frustrations melted away as you melted into her touch, remembering just how much you loved your girlfriend, and how much she loved you.

[m-oddinsdottir]

LAW OF SURVIVAL

the bison .ˊˎ 🦬

Charles Smith x Fem!Reader

Words: 2,384

Warnings: fluff, angst, mentions of death, references to past sex experiences, oddly soft! charles, no use of y/n, established relationship, cursing

Summary: Charles decides it’s time that you learn how to hunt but you have your reservations.

A/N: so… I’m definitely playing rdr2 again. english isn’t my first language so please feel free to correct me <3

Masterlist

•••

It couldn’t be so hard, right?

That’s what you had thought after being approached by a frustrated Charles, his mind hazed with concern as he had returned to camp after a few days away… And by the look in his eyes, you could tell whatever Dutch had sent him to do didn’t end well.

You knew you couldn’t say no to him at that moment, Charles was usually surrounded by a peace that he willingly shared with you calming your troubled mind immediately, so seeing him so… disturbed and concerned made you agree immediately.

‘Breathe’ His voice was like a caress against the skin of your ear, a balm against the nerves that seemed to emerge from you, resulting in a small tremble of your hands.

His hands moved up your arms, grazing against the fabric of the blouse that covered your skin as he straightened your shoulders and positioned his face close to yours to try and have a similar field of view as the one you owned. ‘Careful with your posture…’ One of his fingers moved to push the bow slightly to the side. ‘And your aim’

The small force he applied to the side of the bow made it aim directly at a deer’s head. Your breath hitched and a small frown appeared on your demeanor as you tried to steady the bow.

His fingers grazed the skin of your shoulders to soothe you as he leaned in closer to you. The warm heat of the man pressing against your side as he fixed your posture again. As you tried to keep your eyes on the prey and not on the fellow hunter close to you, your breath hitched.

‘Breathe in…’ Charles indicated as he pressed one hand against your back to help you control your breathing pattern ‘Breathe out…’

Attempting to do as he said, you copied every breath he took following with one of your own and trying to hold your breath inside the same amount of seconds he could.

But it just wasn’t in you. Even he knew that it wasn’t. Charles adored that of you, in a way, he fell for the gentleness of your soul. The way you treated everyone around you in such a kind manner warmed his heart. Sometimes, he even saw you with Jack, and his thoughts couldn’t help but wonder about how perfect you would be as a mother.

‘I… I can’t do it, Charles” You whispered when the deer moved his head upwards and it tilted to the side.

‘You need to’ His voice perhaps sounded harsher than needed as he stiffened beside you ‘An animal is always… Easier’

While holding your breath, Charles moved two fingers over the ones you had already tensing the thread of the bow. His hand hovered over yours and the contact of his skin against yours made goosebumps blossom where he landed a finger.

‘I can’t’ You repeated and when he pulled your hand backward so that you could reach the point where you couldn’t maintain the tension of the bow and would let the arrow shoot, your breath hitched and your eyes widened with surprise.

His name left your lips as a warning but when he didn’t move you quickly pushed the bow to a side. The arrow shot breaking through the wood of a pine tree. You quickly shoved him away from you, lips parting open in surprise.

‘What are you even doing, Charles?!’

His gaze followed the way the deer ran away after being startled by the loud sound of your voice and the arrow that was shot near its body. His lips pressed together in a line and he remained silent.

Not showing any visible evidence of his anger, the man took a step closer to you. His eyes were dark as Charles towered over you, he didn’t move his gaze for you for even a moment. You had seen that look in his eyes before.

Fuck.

Charles rarely got angry or at least he rarely showed any manifestation of the ire that could be burning his body from the inside out. However, there it was. That look in his eyes gave him away, a look you have seen before. But, in this case, it was directed to you.

‘Don’t look at me like that’ You managed to mutter as you tilted your head backward so that you could gaze into his eyes.

That was dumb. You realized that right after you had mumbled the words. He was never angry and now that he was… It was the moment you had decided to push his buttons?

Therefore, when he moved one hand up to cup your cheek tenderly, your lips parted open with surprise. ‘Did I startle you?’ His whispered question confused you even more.

And then it hit you. It wasn’t anger, it was fear… He was scared, terrified even.

You managed to shake your head gently as a response. ‘Good… I just want you to be able to protect yourself.’ Charles grumbled, his hand caressing your cheek gently. ‘In case…— You have to know how to survive’

Charles can’t afford to lose you. Loss has been a constant variable during his life. He can’t remember one important person for him that he hadn’t lost… Despite you. For now at least. With you, he had managed to live, not just survive… But living with you by his side and finally losing the only thing he wanted to lose: his solitude. Charles usually felt like his only purpose in life was suffering, life is usually complicated but for the man it has been even worse. He lacked life's understanding until now at least.

The lone wolf now had a pack. He had found the gang in Blackwater a few months again and with them, he had found you. Of course, you were the one who approached him first. A gentle smile over your lips to make him feel welcomed and a plate of warm stew on your hands, a small offering for him to eat something.

You had wrapped up his injured hand with some old bandages you managed to pack before running away from Blackwater. And you had constantly checked his burnt skin over that time without being invasive.

So it didn’t take him long before he found himself wrapped around your finger even though you were unaware of his feelings back then.

Until one night.

One night he had drunk more than he usually did. Another celebration of a successful mission in which they all had gathered along the fire, listening to Javier’s guitar and singing in the barely illuminated night. Voices loud and carefree. A rare moment of peace taking into consideration the times they were living.

Charles had approached you to your surprise and probably even his. He never talked to you first, it was always the other way around so when he offered you to go for a walk you couldn't deny the offer. Shy smile over your lips as you walked in silence next to him until you two were far enough.

Next thing you knew, his lips were over yours. Soon, you were whimpering his name while he was buried deep inside you, back against a tree and nails digging deep into his broad back.

‘Can't we practice with inanimate objects?’ You whispered gently leaning into the hand that was cupping your cheek, a small smile over your lips as you looked up into his eyes. ‘I know how much you hate hunting animals when there's no reason...’

The man visibly tensed in front of you. He despised any form of blood spilling, human or animal. That was the reason he had left the other gangs he had been implicated with, most of the members usually being dishonorable and just murdering for the morbid it supposed.

He did have a far more compassionate soft spot for animals, knowing they weren't able to defend themselves in most cases. Especially, for bisons. It wouldn't be the first time he had encountered problems confronting vicious killers who murdered them for sport... And it wouldn't be the last time either.

‘There is a reason... You- You need to practice with something that moves’ He mumbled as his other hand moved to your hip, seeking the warm comfort of your skin against his when he pulled you closer to his body.

‘Charles... You and I both know that an animal ain't the same as a person’ Your soft whispering seemed to soothe his tense muscles as his hand gripped the fabric of your blouse, calloused fingers digging into your skin and creating small indents.

‘It will do’

‘Teaching me how to hunt with a bow isn't teaching me to defend myself, darlin'... An arrow has nothing to do against a bullet’ Perhaps you were being harsh, but you needed him to understand. You knew him which meant you were also aware of how his worry was clouding his judgment.

‘I—’ His brows furrowed together before he leaned in closer to bury his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent as his hands moved from your hips to wrap around your body in a tight embrace, shaky breaths escaping his lips. The situation had your heart aching, Charles never lost his composure... Ever.

‘What's going on, darlin'?’ Your strained voice was perceived by his senses and so were the gentle caresses your hand delivered through his long dark locks of onyx hair, in an attempt to soothe him. At first, the only response that was received was his hold tightening around you.

His breath hitched in your ear, his nose nuzzling against the length of your neck, soon finding your pulse point. ‘I can't lose you’ He whispered shakily, his lips brushing against your skin while he spoke. ‘I can't... Not you too’ He mumbled and his body trembled slightly between your arms.

‘I ain't going anywhere, love’

‘How can you know?’ He asked back to you, lips still hovering over your pulse point. ‘The missions... Each one turns worse than the one before. We're always running away from camp to camp. You know the day in which we can't escape will eventually arrive’

You swallowed hard and he pressed a gentle kiss against your neck to soothe you when he felt the way your throat moved, Charles pulled away to be able to look into your eyes. One of his hands moved up to brush some of the hairs that framed your face behind your ear.

'’And in case I'm not there...’ He began and you immediately looked into his dark eyes. ‘If I'm not alive...’ At the thought, your eyes widened softly, head shaking as you tried to stop the stinging sensation that the tears beginning to form caused. ‘Don't go down that path, Charles’ Your words and the sight of your teary eyes made him sigh.

‘Angel...’ He whispered and you unconsciously held your breath in your lungs.

Charles usually never called you by any pet name... Unless you two were tangled in the darkness underneath the security of his tent, there the man was somehow unrecognizable.

‘I want you to keep living’ He mumbled out gently as he leaned in closer to press his forehead against yours noticing how one tear dropped down your cheek so he quickly wiped it away. You weren't dumb, you knew the dark times the gang was suffering so his words made your heart shutter... It sounded like a goodbye.

‘Don't you dare say goodbye to me, Charles’

‘Let me do it, my angel... Just in case’ He whispered gently and his lips moved to kiss the damp path another tear had left over your right cheekbone. ‘I want you to know how to survive... But not just that, I want you to live your life, get away from this life, have pretty little babies, and grow old on a small porch. I want you to die happy’

You were quick to shake your head. ‘I want that with you... I am going to die happy because you're going to be by my side. Old and wrinkly and by my side’ You repeated gently as you moved your face to gently caress your lips against his.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips making them spread over his face as you leaned in even closer. He used his thumb to wipe away another one of your tears. ‘I don't want anything else more than that' Charles assured you gently. ‘But to know that you'll still live that fantasy even if I'm not there’

‘No’

‘Please, angel...’

‘No, Charles.’ Your voice was firm as you gently held onto his arms trying to stand your ground ‘You're going to be there 'cause you ain't dying, goddamnit...’ With brows furrowed together and tears falling down your cheeks, you stepped on your tip toes to be closer to his lips. ‘I want to grow old with you, I want to have my babies with you... Maybe when this is over we can go somewhere else... I dunno, maybe to Canada’

‘Canada, huh? That sounds nice...’

‘So going to Canada sounds nice but not the idea of having a family and growing old together?’You asked teasingly trying to lighten up the mood.

That made a small and short chuckle escape his lips. Charles usually didn't laugh much so you rejoiced in the small choked sound. ‘That sounds more than nice, baby...’

He mumbled before his lips captured yours in a gentle and short kiss, tasting the saltiness of the tears that had managed to fall down to your lips before he had managed to wipe them away. The kiss wasn't passionate or hungry like the ones you two usually shared after he had spent the entire day out of camp. No, this one was tender and filled with unspoken feelings that didn't need to be put into words,

When Charles pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours still savoring the taste of your lips. ‘Now, angel... I was supposed to be teaching you a hunting lesson here’

Your laugh resonated alongside the small field in between the forest scaring away the few animals that could be left.

Definitely, hunting was that hard.

[moonlightkitties]

You are your father's daughter - Red Dead Redemption reader insert (Part One)

You are Dutch Van der Linde's eighteen year old daughter. Your mother was Annabelle but you don't remember her since she passed away when you were young. Dutch and the others took care of you and taught you to read, ride, fish, write and even hunt. Ever since the Blackwater ferry job you had a feeling like things were only going to get worse.

Part Two

A/N: This is mainly just a platonic story but you will be having a few romantic interactions with Sean and Kieran. But there will be some chapters where you, Arthur and John are bonding because y'all are basically siblings.

Chapter One - Colter

You rode behind one of the wagons on your chestnut blanket appaloosa mare, Whiskey. You longed to be in the wagon in the warmth instead of being out in the cold but your father insisted you ride outside since you were "old enough." You didn't argue, you were about to until Miss Grimshaw gave you one of her famous looks that screamed "Watch your attitude" so you complied.

You could hear Reverend Swanson and some of the others talk about how Davey wasn't doing well and that we should find somewhere to make camp. Your mind went back to the Blackwater job and you shivered when you saw your father and the rest of the men ride back into camp, covered in blood. It was awful, Mac and Sean got taken, Jenny died, and Davey was seriously wounded and about to die any second. The wagons stopped and Reverend Swanson hopped out of the wagon you were riding behind. He gave you a nod of acknowledgement and walked to where Hosea and Dutch were.

You pulled your coat closer to your body as you waited for the wagons to start moving again. You never knew it could get this cold in the middle of May.

You patted Whiskey as she stood, you made a mental note to give her some extra pampering since she carried you all the way since you and the gang left Blackwater. Finally, after a few moments of just standing idle, you heard Dutch yell "Come on!" and the wagons started moving again.

You could hear Arthur's voice as you rode alongside and your eyes caught the sight of a run down town. Once the wagons stopped you sighed in relief, dismounted Whiskey and made your way to the wagon to help everyone out.

The rest of the night went by fast and you were exhausted by the end. You were starting to get one of your "famous" headaches as Dutch called them and you let out a pained groan.

"You okay?" Arthur asked you, a concerned look on his face "Fine" you grumbled, standing in the corner of the cabin "My head's starting to hurt but that's it" you said, rubbing your temples. Arthur gave you a sympathetic look "Is it a migraine?" he asked and you shrugged "Maybe, I guess we'll see in the morning."

You didn't sleep that night, you tossed and turned until your head started pounding and the light from the fireplace was making it worse. You let out a pained groan and covered your head with your blanket. You tried to keep quiet but you couldn't, your head was killing you, like someone was stabbing it with a hunting knife but you couldn't see them to stop them.

You heard shifting and instantly felt bad. You must have woke someone up because you heard them walk over to you. The person gently shook you and you uncovered yourself from the blanket and was staring face to face with Tilly "You alright sweetie?" she asks you.

'Do I look alright?' you threatened to ask.

"No" you groaned instead, covering yourself back with your blanket.

"Is it a migraine?"

"Yeah" you groaned.

Tilly rubbed your back and pulled up a chair beside you "You don't have to sit next to me" you told her, your voice muffled by the blanket still being over your head.

"I know, but you shouldn't be alone when you're in pain" she told you "Just try to get some sleep"

You had no idea how you were going to fall asleep. When your migraines get this bad there's nothing you can do but groan and hope to something that it will go away soon. Nevertheless, you fell asleep, soothed by Tilly rubbing your back and the warmth of the blanket over you.

You awake with the sound of arguing. Either Grimshaw and Karen or Micah and Bill.

You groan and you can't even lift your head up, it felt heavy and every time you would try to get up it was if some other force was pulling you down.

"Well look who's awake" you open your eyes and face, ugh, Micah.

"What do you want?" you grumbled, not in the mood for Micah's teasing.

"You see, while you were sleeping, me and the rest of the gang well, we were working." he tells you "Micah, you know I can't work when I get migraines" you mumble. Sure you felt bad, but the last time you worked with a migraine you passed out in the middle of a shoot out.

Before Micah could reply you heard Charles step in "Leave her alone Micah, you know she doesn't feel good." You felt grateful for Charles, his voice was so quiet and calming, it was the only voice that wasn't making your head throb.

Micah scoffed but left you alone.

"Are you okay?" Charles asked, sitting beside you "Fine" you replied "You don't have to sit with me" you say "You have work to do." Charles gave you a smile "Why? You don't want me to sit next to you?" he asked, a tease in his tone but his face was serious.

"Well kind of, I-I mean, you can if you want" your face turned red, and another wave of pain went over you.

"Ugh, just don't talk" you groaned, clutching your head.

"Alright, I can do that" Charles said, a hint of a smile in his voice.

You fell asleep again and awoke, to the sound of commotion, again. The door swung open and you caught a glimpse of Bill and Lenny helping John inside. You were feeling a little better and you were starting to get thirsty so you sat up and caught yourself when you were about to fall.

"What happened to him?" you asked Arthur, who was standing next to you "Wolves" he simply responded "Wolves?" I ask "Who gets attacked by wolves?" Arthur chuckled "Apparently Marston does." He turned to you "You feeling better?" he asked and you shrugged "A little, can you get me some water?" Arthur nodded and left, leaving you to listen to Abigail fuse over John's state.

You pushed yourself off your cot and made your way to where John was "Wow" you exclaimed "That's one nasty wound" you said in a sarcastic tone "Ha, ha, very funny" John said, rolling his one good eye.

"How's our maiden in distress doin?" Arthur asked, handing me a canteen of water.

"He'll live" you said, not giving John a chance to respond for himself. John scoffed and just ignored you before talking to Abigail. You took small sips of water and groaned when another sharp sting hit your head "Migraine?" John asked and you nodded "I'll be fine, I got work to do anyways."

"Work?" Arthur asked, following you as you left the cabin. Your head was throbbing but you considered that you'll be fine.

"Yes, work" you repeated "What you need to do is rest" Arthur said, grabbing your shoulder and stopping you "I'll be fine" you rolled your eyes "Honestly, I'm not a kid anymore, you don't need to fuss over me." Arthur sighed "I just worry about you, that's all" you felt bad and playfully punched his shoulder "I know, that's why you're going with me" you smiled.

"Great" Arthur sarcastically replied. You walked over to Whiskey and stroked her nose "You love that horse, don't you?" Arthur asked, patting Whiskey's neck "Of course I do, I've had her since she was a foal, remember?"

"Oh yeah, you and Hosea found her" he replied "Yeah, she was all alone, her mother and herd were no where to be seen" you told him "I begged dad to keep her and he gave in of course" you smiled.

"Why'd you name her Whiskey anyways?" Arthur questioned as you grabbed her reins and the three of you walked to the stables. I shrugged "I don't really know, I guess I just liked the name." Arthur opened the stable doors and I led Whiskey inside. The rest of the gangs horses were inside and I gave The Count a pat on his neck.

"Remember when you tried riding him?" I asked, stifling a laugh. Arthur chuckled "Yeah, don't remind me, I was sore for weeks." Before you could say anything else the stable doors opened again and Dutch walked in "Oh, good, you're feeling better" he noticed and I nodded "A little."

"Well, I need you for a job if you're up for it."

A job? He never lets me go on jobs.

"A job?" Arthur asked "Yes, Arthur, a job" Dutch scoffed "She can handle it, she's old enough."

"You up for it kid?" Dutch asked and you nodded "Yeah, of course!"

Wow! My first job, it's either going to go super well or super terrible.

Yay!!! Chapter one is over! Chapter two might come out tomorrow or even tonight lol (I have too much time on my hands). Like I said up top, this is going to be more of a platonic fluffy fic but when a write Chapter Three that's where it will get more...emotional and more angst. Arthur does get TB in this fic (sorry 😔). I LOVEEE comments so please if you want to, comment (I love likes and reblogs too 😼)

[abbysbunny]

arthur morgan helping you draw^_^

warnings: fluff, probably ooc, this is my first time writing for him PLEASE don't hate me or kill me I'll cry

you always wanted to draw, you didn't know how but you truly believed you could learn, all you needed was the right teacher

you were out hunting with arthur, you had already killed two deers, enough for now, as you rode your horse back to camp you saw a beautiful tree, something you could try drawing

you suddenly stopped, you pulled your journal and a pencil out, you got down from your horse and arthur followed after you, 'what are you doin'? he chuckled

'shh I'm trying to draw this' you looked back up at the tree and started to trace it's form

'no that's- that's not how you do it' he moved behind you and put his hand around yours, he helped you get the form of the tree right, even the small details

once you were done with your messy sketch you both back on your horses, you rode back to camp, occasionally making some conversation

once you arrived arthur followed you to your tent, 'hey uh, I just wanted to tell you,, if you need any...help with drawing and all that, I'm here'

you smiled and nodded, 'thank you arthur, I appreciate it' as he turned around to go back to his tent you swore you saw a small smile on his face

[amrass]

These Days finished!

My Morbell threeshot set in the 2010s - and epilogue to my Van der Linde Biker Gang AU - These Days is now complete on Ao3. I'd describe it as abnormally spicy domestic fluff with a main course of rough old man yaoi and a side dish of a crippling fear of death.

Below is a cool doodle my friend @og-doeiika made of this AU, featuring old man Micah and pit bull Baylock. I liked the doodle so much I ended up writing it into part 3 😎🖤

[johnpriceslamb]

hiii i love ur hcs smmm 🩷🩷😭 can we pls see arthur w a super affectionate clingy adorable cheery girlfriend pls im dying to see that man happy w an optimistic angel 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓺𝓾𝓮

❥ Headcannons w/ Arthur + his affectionate gf

𝓑𝓔𝓕𝓞𝓡𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤 𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓒𝓔𝓔𝓓 ! ꒰ ❥ female ! reader ❥ hyper-feminine ! reader ❥ reader is mentioned 2 be physically shorter than characters mentioned below ❥ 1k wrd count. ꒱

❥ Oh, he loves you.

❥ He was a bit reluctant to be in a relationship because of his past experiences. But he knew you wouldn’t handle his heart with carelessness, and as he gave in to his decision of being with you- he felt as if he entered into a relationship with an angel.

❥ You were so kind to him, so sweet, so utterly gentle it made him almost throw up rainbows and glitter. Sometimes he wondered how you even managed to be in the gang.

❥ He wouldn’t be so used to the clinginess at first. Before you came in his life, he didn’t get hugs nor felt someone cling onto his arm unless they wanted something, so it was a big change for him personally.

❥ But did he hate it? Absolutely not. When you first wrapped your little arms around his arm, his demeanour softened up immediately but his urge to protect you became even greater.

❥ PDA was new to him. Again, he was reluctant at first since he wasn’t so experienced in this field despite having past experiences, but he’s managed to get comfortable over time.

❥ The first time you’ve managed to display affection publicly with him was by interlocking your pinkie with his as you both walked around Valentines. A discreet action that no one could see unless if they were to near the both of you and squint their eyes.

❥ His cheeks became embarrassingly red when you intertwined your little pinkie with his, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the cheeky sight. He coughs awkwardly, tilting his head down which made the hat he wore block out the view of his face as he murmured that it was the sun making his face warm.

❥ It was cloudy that day.

❥ Each act of affection he’s received from you makes him all sappy and mushy inside, even if he was about to die from anger.

❥ Let’s say Micah manages to piss him off again the umpteenth time this whole week and his veins were visible on his forehead, a simple hug from behind by you or a little kiss on the cheek would make him droop and deflate, the anger which was bubbling inside his system was somehow replaced with comfort and relief just by your little action. He wonders how you manage to have that effect on him.

❥ Arthur is a big man, no doubt about it. It was kind of silly to see such a large comparison between the two of you. Even if you were as large as a wolf, or as tall as a palm tree, Arthur still manages to tower over you.

❥ Arthur enjoys your cheeriness. He envisions you as a puppy that yaps all the time, little tail wiggling at the back eagerly as he amusingly gives into your little babbling sessions of how you hoped that you made his day today.

❥ And he figures that you’ve already made his day just by existing.

“Arthur!”

There you were. Zooming to him like an excited puppy, hands giddily behind your back as you stand in front of the looming man. You can feel his eyes sizing you up and down multiple times to see if you’ve managed to get any blemishes from the time you and him didn’t see each other.

“Easy, girl.” He lets out a soft grunt at the feeling of your demure figure clinging to him like a koala. He holds you tightly with one arm below your tush to stabilise yourself, hoisting you up like a toddler. It takes him barely any effort to keep you still.

“Arthur,” You happily nuzzle your cheek into his chest, cooing out his name like a mantra, “I’ve missed you oh-so much!”

“‘S only been a day, darlin’.” He replies with that slow, southern drawl of his, “I missed you too though.”

“You better!” You beam as he strolls to his tent, plopping himself on his bedroll. You sit on his lap prettily, but you still manage to cling onto him like a koala.

He narrows his eyes at you, before sighing softly at the tiny kiss you give him on his cheek, “You’re a handful, y’know that?”

It doesn’t take long for him to reciprocate that little kiss of yours, landing his thin lips on your cherub-like cheek.

[male-fanfics-for-days]

Check-ups Can be Rough

Arthur Morgan X Male Reader

A/n: A little fanfic idea I had while doing laundry, please don't ask why I am just really gay for this cowboy.

Warning: a slight sexual theme towards the end

Some of the men in camp had just gotten back from a decent-sized robbery, Arthur and you included in that group. Now in camp, you were quick off your horse and ushering the men into your medical tent to be checked before they were allowed to go about the rest of the day.

You were the camp's actual doctor, as helpful as Reverend Swanson's medicines could be in the harder situations, you were actually trained in what you did by professionals. Those same professionals taught you how to use a gun, specifically long-ranged weapons, you favoring the sniper. It was actually your attempted killing of Dutch van der Linde that brought you into the gang.

Charles went into the tent with you first, as he was usually the one in first if no one was obviously hurt. He wasn't ashamed to get checked over by the doctor, other men in camp thought going to you was a slight show of weakness.

After Charles was Javier, then John, a stubborn Bill Williamson, then Micah

Arthur would have gone after Charles but Dutch wanted to speak with him just as he had gotten back. Never one to half-ass things, you had Arthur promise to come to visit the medical tent after he was done, even if you gave him a quick once-over to see he was fine.

So, after talking with Dutch, he made his way over to your tent. Most times your tent flaps were closed when checking over someone, but you had assessed that none of them were hurt enough to need the privacy of a closed area. This meant Arthur could see you looking over Micah as he walked up.

He stayed quiet outside the tent, crossing his arms and leaning against one of the poles of the tent fixed to the ground, simply watching you work.

Arthur wasn't too ashamed to admit he was impressed by you. You worked in an efficiency he could only dream of achieving, always on point with everything you do but especially your shots. He's seen you first hand down men 100 meters away, and that was with a bow!

Then came your medical work. You never left anything to chance, not a cut, bruise, cough, or sneeze that happened in camp you didn't hear and check on. It was seen as overbearing and unnecessary to some, but Arthur knew that this carefulness came from a good heart.

You'd confided in him about how you were taught. Sure, you had read some books, but you were mostly learning by action. You saw firsthand how even the smallest cut could kill a man by infection, that an unassuming bruise of the skin could lead to amputation because of an ignored issue.

You knew you could be a bit too much sometimes, but after coming to care about (almost) everyone in camp, their wellbeing was on your mind constantly.

He watched you switch between looking over Micah's physical form to listening to his breathing and his heartbeat, which made the man swat your hands away.

"Alright alright, we're done here." He stands from the chair you had everyone sit in, glaring at your hands. "I ain't need to be fussed over anymore, I'm fine."

"That is for me to determine, Mr. Bell." You grit your teeth at him, putting away your stethoscope, pushing on his shoulders to sit him back down.

"Everyone gets the same checkups, and I just had to dig a 3-day-old bullet out of your shoulder."

"And I'm telling you, Doctor," Micah spits out in mockery. "I'm fine."

Micah goes to push you off him, but you shove him into the chair quickly. You put your knee on his chest, forcing the chair to lean back and hit the table behind it. Micah flailed for a moment but went still when you just as quickly brandished a small nearby scalpel (still clearly covered in Micah's blood from getting the bullet out) and put it close to his throat.

"Now, Mister Bell," You speak lowly, your eyes going dark as you lean in closer to him.

"I am a doctor, the only one here, in fact. You may not like it, but I'm the only one who can keep you alive in this camp, and if I see fit? I could turn a blind eye to your injuries."

Despite being pinned in a chair, leaning back on a table, and unable to sit up, Micah chuckles darkly.

"You ain't got the nerve." His voice dripped with venom. " The only kills you've gotten were from people dumb enough not to look in the trees, you monkey. Even today, you were hiding away and shootin' from afar, too afraid to fight like a real man."

"A real man, you say?" You scoff, leaning back and letting Micah's chair fall back to the ground as you back away.

You turn from him to the table on the other side of the tent, and having thought he won, Micah smirks.

Then, yelps and flinches as a much bigger knife than a scalpel embeds itself into the chair, right in the space between his legs and extremely close to his nethers.

Micah looks at the blade in shock then turns his head up to look back up at you, still standing in the motion of throwing it. A dark look in your eyes as you sigh through your nose.

"I'll tell you right now, Micah Bell, as good as I am with a rifle?" You point to his crotch. "I'm even better with a blade."

Looking back down, Micah sees that the blade was so close to his crotch and so sharp, that it sliced a thin hole right through it. While looking at the knife he doesn't see you walk over and pull it out of the chair's wood, swiping it near his face so close that it took a few strands of hair with it.

You take a cloth off your belt and wipe the blade down as if it being close to Micah was enough to dirty it. You turn your back to him once more and wave the blade out, dismissing him.

"Now get the fuck out of my tent."

Micah sat for a moment in stunned silence, as if he didn't expect you to openly threaten him within earshot of others. But then he huffs, standing quickly and stomping out of the tent, pushing past Arthur even despite having enough space to leave.

Arthur had watched all of that happen with so much focus, he only just noticed after Micah had left that his eyes were dry from leaving them wide open the whole time.

He wasn't sure why, but his heart was racing and his face felt hotter with every passing moment as he replayed what happen in his head. The way you silenced Micah, the way you held the blade, the way you stood, the way you talked. Everything about what happened made Arthur feel... something.

"Arthur," you called out, snapping him out of his thoughts as he looks at you.

You have a growing grin on your face as you clean your hands off in a bucket of water.

"Looking to camp in my workspace?"

Arthur gives you a confused look as you chuckle a bit and point down at his pants, a mischievous look in your eye.

"With your tent pitched I assumed you'd be staying awhile."

Horrified, Arthur looks down to see that, indeed... he had a very visible bulge in his pants. He gave an awkward cough, taking off his hat to cover himself, all the while you laughed.

If he wasn't red and hot in the face before, he sure as hell was now, your laughing at him sure didn't help.

"Alright, big boy, let's get you checked out quickly so you can deal with that in private."

With the realization of some feelings he had towards you, he also came to the conclusion that this was by far the most embarrassing medical checkup he's ever had.

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 2: CHARLES SMITH, THE MAN THAT YOU ARE 

synopsis: charles makes sure you're getting on okay as you continue to try to evade arthur (poorly, might i add).

word count: 3k

ships: Arthur Morgan/Modern!Reader, Van der Linde Gang & Reader

notes: i almost leaked this to my classmate when sending her a link. nearly shat myself but we're all good this is all still under wraps

TOSoA taglist: @one-green-frog (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask <3!!)

THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA MASTERLIST

Charles was right. Even though you want to help, there’s really nothing to do besides hunt – and the good Lord knows you’re useless when it comes to that.

For the last day or so, you’ve just been hanging around the garage-made-kitchen. Even though Javier told you you weren’t intruding (and that “everyone needs shelter”), you feel like you are. It’s not a good feeling. So you stayed outside, in the company of a man who introduced himself as Simon Pearson and the camp cook, Charles, and occasionally Javier when he found the time to swing by. 

A fair few people have introduced themselves as well – Hosea Matthews, Bill Williamson, Lenny Summers, Reverend Orville Swanson, Leopold Strauss (who just oozed sleaze), Miss Karen Jones, Miss Tilly Jackson, Miss Mary-Beth Gaskill, and little Jack alongside his mother, Miss Abigail Roberts. Those who didn’t directly introduce themselves to you were pointed out by Karen and you were given a run-down on them.

So far, these are the people as you know them: Missus Sadie Adler is a grieving, skittish widow. Uncle is a lazy sack of shit. John Marston is better at being wolf food than being a father. Miss Susan Grimshaw is stubborn (but caring – somewhat like how neighborhood mamas care). Miss Molly O’Shea has a stick so far up her ass she spits splinters when she talks. The man tied up in the barn, Kieran Duffy, is an O’Driscoll (or ex-O’Driscoll, if what he insists is true is really true). Oh – and the blond man that punched Bill? That’s Micah Bell: a man with the eye of a viper tasting the air and the nose of a shark waiting for blood in the water. From what you’ve deduced, his general vibe is “I would take sexual relationship advice from Bill Cosby if given the chance.”

All in all, a healthily diverse group of people – even if the traits that make them diverse aren’t all that desirable. (Mostly Micah’s. Especially Micah’s.)

But Charles is nice enough. So you’ve stuck with Charles. Even if you need to hang around Pearson to hang out with him. Pearson isn’t an intrinsically bad guy, just… a little off-putting.

Right now, you’re able to put your hands to use by opening canned vegetables and putting them in the cauldron-looking pot Pearson has for rabbit stew. Across the table, Charles is butchering and deboning a rabbit as best he can with his injured hand. You try your best to keep your eyes on the cans of carrots and celery you’re opening. 

There’s footsteps. You glance up. It’s Arthur. You look back down. 

“I can’t believe it’s come to this,” Pearson gripes to no one in particular. 

You watch Arthur approach the fire and he holds his hands out towards the coals in your peripheral vision. He shakes his head. “Ah, we’re okay.”

“We have a few cans of food and a rabbit. For, what – ten, twelve people?” Pearson gestures over to where you and Charles are working. “Even more with them and that widow.”

Despite yourself, you can feel the tips of your ears start to burn. What do you have to be embarrassed about? Needing to eat? If anything, Pearson should be the one feeling embarrassed for talking about you in front of you. Yeah… that’s it. 

Pearson continues. “When I was in the Navy…”

Arthur immediately interrupts him. “I – I do not wish to hear about what you got up to in the Navy, Mister Pearson.”

And yet, he keeps going despite Arthur’s protest. “We were stranded at sea… for fifty days.”

“And you, unfortunately, survived,” Arthur drawls. 

You glance up at him from underneath your eyelashes and smile. His eye catches yours, and your gaze drops, as does your smile. Instead, you work on getting your finger under the tab of a can of chopped onions – which is hard, considering the thickness of your gloves.

You feel Arthur’s eyes leave you and let out a soft sigh of relief that clouds in front of your face. Charles holds out his knife to you. You tip the top of the can towards him, and he wedges the (bloody – ew) blade of his knife underneath the tab and opens it. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly. You clench your jaw when you feel Arthur’s eyes on you again – yes, very briefly, but still. You can count the number of times you’ve made eye contact with him on one hand, and you don’t want to add to that total. 

Thankfully, Pearson seems ignorant to your plight and continues complaining. “When we ran away from Blackwater, I wasn’t able to get supplies in!”

“Well, when government agents are hunting you down, sometimes shopping trips need to be cut short,” Arthur snaps. “We’ll survive. We always have. And if needs be, we can eat you – you’re the fattest.”

You bite your lip to suppress a laugh and clear your throat to mask any noise you might’ve made. You pour the onions in the pot and glance at the rabbit carcass, now carved up and stripped of meat.

“Damn, there’s nothing left on that thing,” you say. “You’re good at that.”

Charles nods in response. “If you’re done, you can put it on the fire.”

You lift the pot with a grunt – it’s heavier than you expected, but nothing you can’t handle. You move over to the coals and hang the pot on a hook over the fire while Pearson and Arthur continue talking. 

“I sent Lenny and Bill hunting, and they found nothing,” Pearson says. 

“Well, Lenny’s more into book learnin’ than huntin’,” Arthur says. You perk up at that. “Bill’s a fool. Unless those mountains are full of game that wanna read, ain’t no wonder they haven’t found –”

“Enough of this,” Charles interrupts. Even though his voice is relatively quiet and deep, it still cuts through whatever Arthur was planning on prattling on about. “We’ll go find something. Come on, Arthur.”

“Well, take them.” Arthur gestures vaguely in your direction. “Since they seem so keen on helpin’ out, and all.”

“I, um…” You shake your head. “No, thanks.”

“They don’t even know how to hold a rifle correctly,” Charles says. (His bluntness stings a little, but it’s true. You know how to hold a handgun, but not these old-timey types.) “If they knew how to hunt, we would’ve gone already.”

Arthur sighs and shrugs. “If you insist.”

“Wait a second, hold on.” Pearson hurries over to the table you and Charles had been working at earlier. He pulls out a can from the small pile you had organized and tosses it to Arthur. “You’re gonna need something to eat out there.”

“Hm… “assorted, salted offal”,” Arthur reads off the label. He levels Pearson with a dead stare. “Starving would be preferable.”

You stifle a laugh and, again, clear your throat.

“Come on, let’s go,” Charles says, adjusting the bandage on his hand. 

“You can’t go huntin’,” Arthur says. “Look at your hand.”

“I can’t stay here listening to you two,” Charles says. He gestures to you without looking at you. “The conversation they make is tolerable, but, again, they can’t hunt. Look, if there’s game in those hills, I’ll find it – and you can kill it.”

“You need to rest, Charles,” Arthur insists.

“You think this is rest?” Charles’ face twists into a scowl, then he turns and walks towards his horse with a “Come along.”

Arthur scoffs under his breath and his eyes flick to you. You do your best to suppress the temptation to duck away from his gaze, as piercing as it is. You win, and he looks away, following Charles to the hitching post. They quickly mount up and ride out.

You draw your shoulders up to your ears and shudder. When Pearson shoots you a questioning glance, you excuse it with “What? It’s cold.”

When a few seconds have passed, you roll your shoulders back. You settle down on the chair that’s inside the kitchen, just watching a few late, fat snowflakes fall outside.

After a good ten minutes of watching Pearson and playing with your hands, you figure he’ll be fine on his own and wander out along the footpaths in the snow. You find who you’re looking for quickly. 

Lenny gives you a polite nod as you stand across from him, the fire on the ground separating you two. He has a rifle – the sight of which doesn’t surprise you as much as it first did – and he settles the butt of the gun in the inner corner of his elbow. 

“You’re Lenny, right?” You try. 

“Yeah. And you’re…” Lenny gives your name. You nod in response.

“I just…” You clear your throat and bat away the embarrassment and anxiety that’s creeping up on you – something that always comes with approaching strangers. “Arthur mentioned that you like books. I, uh… I read, too. Sometimes.”

“Really?” Lenny says. “What kinda books have they got out in the Mojave?”

You look down at the fire and think, trying to come up with some excuse and build your backstory. “We don’t have a lot of books – I live in a pretty isolated part of the desert. But there’s traders, and they bring medical books, and a few storybooks. I like the medicine books they bring. You?”

Lenny seems to hesitate for a moment. “Poetry.”

“Poetry?” You hum. “Huh. Poems are nice.”

There’s a lapse in conversation. You don’t know how to fill it. You say the first thing that comes to mind. 

“Micah’s kinda a prick, right?” You blurt out. 

Your eyes snap up to Lenny’s face. He’s surprised, but his face quickly melts into a smile and he laughs. You feel the coil of anxiety in your stomach loosen. 

“Why, I didn’t expect you to come out and say it,” he says. “But your assessment is correct.”

“Yeah, sorry.” You laugh nervously, your eyes falling to the fire again. “I just get bad vibes from the guy.”

“Bad vibes?” Lenny echoes. 

The coil is tight again. You think for a moment. “Uh, yeah. One of the tribes I live with believes in, um… vibrational energy, that kinda thing. When you look at someone and you get a bad feeling without knowing them that well, they give you bad vibes.”

“Hold on,” Lenny says. “Vibrational energy?”

You nod and continue to pull things out of your ass and curse Lenny for being scholarly. “Yeah. Life… um, well. I don’t remember the explanation too well. But I remember White Bird – the Sorrows’ shaman – saying…”

You tilt your head and look to the side and think for a moment.  “He said, “All life is music – all music is rhythmic – all rhythm is life.” And that somehow relates to vibrations. I don’t know, you seem smart. Maybe you can understand what he was talking about.”

“Well, I don’t know what it means, but it sure sounds pretty,” Lenny says. 

“They’re good people,” you say. “Maybe you’d like to meet them someday – if you’re ever so far west you’re in the desert, I mean.”

Why the fuck did I say that?! You curse yourself in your head. They’re not real! The Dead Horses and the Sorrows and Joshua Graham and Daniel are all made up! They’re fictional characters –

“I don’t know, maybe,” Lenny says. “For now, it doesn’t seem like we’ll be goin’ that far.”

You hum and pretend to act disappointed while you fight the urge to crumple in on yourself in relief. “That’s a shame. I’m sure you’d like them. They’re interesting people, especially the Sorrows. Though, Joshua…”

You trail off as you check over your shoulder. Hoofbeats, you’re pretty sure. And you’re right – Arthur and Charles are riding back into camp, a dead, snow-dappled doe on the back of each horse.

“Brought some food back, boys,” Arthur calls.

They both hitch their horses at the post and hoist the limp does onto their shoulders, carrying them over to the kitchen. 

You look back at Lenny and jab a thumb over your shoulder at them. “Should we…?”

“I don’t think so,” Lenny says. “From what I seen, Arthur’s a butcher – a mean one, at that. I don’t think he’ll like it if his work’s disturbed.”

“That’s fair,” you hum. (Secretly, you want to thank Lenny profusely. You already know that Arthur’s a mean man – you don’t want to see him even meaner.)

You check over your shoulder again. From where you’re standing, you can see an old man has taken your seat in the kitchen, and you can hear Arthur giving him hell for whatever reason. What was his name again… Uncle, maybe?

Unfortunately, your staring caught Uncle’s eye. He beckons you over with a wave of his hand. You give Lenny a quiet, polite “See you later,” and head over, trudging through the thick layer of snow that’s settled on the ground.

“Yeah?” You nod at Uncle as soon as you step into the kitchen. You sidle up to the fire, warming yourself with the smoldering embers. 

“Thought it’d do Arthur some good to see the…” – Uncle waves you up-and-down – “…wonders some modernity will do you.”

“What? Modernity?” You repeat back. You tell yourself to calm down – you haven’t been found out. (Not yet.) “I’m far from modern.”

“Why, you’re perfectly modern!” Uncle says. 

“You don’t even know me.” You scoff and turn away. 

Your eyes catch Arthur wrapping wire around the back ankles of one of the doe corpses. He pulls it taut, then hooks both legs to the deer hoist. He lifts it with a grunt and puts the hoist on the hook sticking out of the wall. You avert your eyes before he turns around. 

“Well, I mean…” You shrug. “I guess I’m… sort of modern? But I don’t see any issue with what Arthur’s doing. He’s just hunting.”

Arthur’s eyes fly to you again when you say his name. You wish that the Spanish Flu had come sooner so you could wear a facemask to hide your pursed lips and clenched jaw. After a moment, he looks away.

“What a surprise,” Arthur drawls, “to find the camp rat loiterin’ around in the kitchen, chargin’ dimes for his thoughts.”

He pulls away from the deer hoist and walks over to the fire. He keeps a healthy distance, but you can still feel some sort of heat coming from him when he stands next to you. You guess a man that tall and broad would be a furnace in cold like this. 

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” Uncle asks. “I feel we haven’t spoken for days.”

“I do my utmost to avoid you,” Arthur retorts.

Charles approaches the fire, standing on your other side. He gives you a small look that says “Ignore them. They can, and will, go on for hours like this.”

Uncle looks over at you and laughs. “He loves me, really. It’s his… sad way of showing affection.”

“I doubt that.”

“No, it isn’t.”

You and Arthur turn to look at each other. You hadn’t meant to speak over him, and from the kind of-surprised look he’s sending your way, you think he didn’t mean to speak over you, either. You nod, gesturing for him to continue.

“It isn’t.” He turns back to face Uncle and waves a hand. “Now shoot, get lost.”

“Well…” Uncle shrugs and stands. “See y’all later.”

Pearson swipes a bottle from Uncle as he steps out. He then looks over at one of the deer. “See you got on just fine.”

Arthur nods toward Charles’ direction. “Charles is a wonder.”

“Have a drink, my friends.” Pearson holds out the bottle across the fire. “Ya earned it.”

Arthur takes the bottle after you wave it away. He takes a swig and sputters, coughing. “Jesus!” His voice cracks. “What is that?”

He passes the bottle to Charles, who sniffs the rim and takes a tentative sip. 

“Navy rum, sir. It’s the only thing – the only thing!” Pearson laughs as Charles hands the bottle back. “Keeps you sane, it does.”

“Yes, seems to have done a treat on you.” Arthur glances at Charles and waves a hand in his general direction. “You go rest that hand, Charles.”

“I’ll be fine in a few days,” Charles says. 

He makes eye contact with you and nods towards the cabins, indicating for you to follow. You do so while listening to Arthur and Pearson talk about skinning the deer. (And you hide a smile when Arthur asks Pearson if he gets to skin him, too. He’s mean, but at least he’s funny with it.)

“You settling in okay?” Charles asks when you’re in a somewhat secluded area. It’s not all that isolated, but it’s out of earshot for most people.

“Yeah.” You nod. “Thanks. For… y’know. Not being a massive asshole about everything.”

“You’re lost,” he says. (You notice he leaves out the very obvious “and scared” he could’ve tacked on the end.) “And you need help. It would be cruel not to give it to you.”

Yeah, totally! You think to yourself. You’re literally one of the kindest people alive and I’m… what? A scumbag that’s taking advantage of you? Oh, it’s so sweet that you’re ignoring the blatant lies I’m throwing in your face! Thank you, Charles! Thanks a fucking million.

“Still. Thank you,” you say instead. “You could’ve easily kicked me out in the snow and left me to freeze.” 

“We could’ve.” Charles looks out at the horizon. The way he pauses almost makes you think he’s considering it. “But we didn’t.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. You didn’t.”

Apparently, he doesn’t feel the need to reassure you or continue the conversation at all. After a few moments, you awkwardly hook your thumb over your shoulder.

“I’m gonna, uh…” You nod. “I’m gonna go. I’ll see you later?”

Charles is still looking out at the treeline, looking at the way the snow weighs down the leafless trees and the way even the smallest sound could disrupt everything. 

“Yeah. I’ll see you later.”

[absentcigarettes]

Whiskey Through Anger

Relationship: Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith

Word Count: 6751

Summary: Arthur near pitied the women who'd slept with Charles. He confused pity for envy. charles is mad bcs of the poachers who killed the bison, Arthur cheers him up by lending him his ass

Note: was my first time writing smut so it may be cringe. also it's completely un-beta'd so it might have mistakes

read on ao3

I need a drink.

That was the first thing Charles had thought after leaving the hunter bastards' camp. It was likely the only thing that would take his mind off of the merciless cruelty imposed upon those poor bison. It would also distract him from the unneglectable urge within him to hunt down the man who'd paid those poachers himself. That- and a quick fuck. Preferably with one of the saloon girls. The prostitutes would work, but most of them weren't as appealing to Charles; most looking for rich men rather than a good time. And it did well for Charles's ego whenever he successfully wooed the women into sleeping with him. On the way to Valentine, he'd suddenly remembered Taima's need to be brushed and fed. So with the most miniscule amount of sense left in his mind that had thankfully not been overtaken by the rumbling rage travelling through his veins, he turned back and rode towards camp.

He leaned against a tree, beside the horse's hitching posts, awaiting Taima's return from the lakeside. Earlier, he'd decided to settle for a quick shave. If he was gonna fuck, may as well be presentable. He shaved frequently but not daily; he wasn't into the scraggly, unkempt beards most men in the gang had. Except Arthur. That man could make anything Charles found revolting to be absolutely alluring.

Taima had returned, as he knew she would. "Here, girl.." He reached his hand out, to which she happily nestled her head in the palm of his hand. He felt his fury dissipate.

Until Micah came.

"Darkie!" The rough shrill of his voice called, "Where's your boyfriend?" Boyfriend. A nickname begun by Dutch to tease Arthur as he'd been seen frequently hanging around Charles more often. It ain't helped that they'd barely ever spoken up 'til Colter and that Charles rarely hung out with people. At best, he drank with Javier and John. Any other interaction with the gang members weren't personal. He didn't mind the nickname. But Arthur sure did, and that stung somehow.

"Excuse me?" His fury returned.

Micah leaned nearer, "You deaf, redskin?" He snarled, shoving him back. Charles could smell the nauseating toxins released from his mouth; Micah's breath was worse than a pile of rotting corpses.

Charles shoved Micah back. Harder. Micah fell back, knocking over the wooden crates behind him, as well as everything on them. The sound of the gang's belongings clattering on the dirt caused heads to turn in their direction. With the tip of his boot, he'd kicked Micah hard in the stomach, "Fuck." Another kick, "You." One final blow.

He considered spitting on him, but decided against it. He wouldn't resort to such feeble means to take his anger out.

"Let's go, girl," He said to Taima, jumping on his horse, who neighed in agreement before galloping away.

"Gimme a whiskey." He'd barged into the saloon and sat at the counter. The bartender was often friendly with Charles; despite the short time they'd been there, Charles had frequented going there to drink with Javier and at times, uninvited imbeciles such as Bill and when really unlucky- Uncle. Instead of striking up a conversation, as Charles usually would to pass the time, he stared at the bartender with dark eyes, expectantly awaiting his drink. It was evident that he was in a sour mood, so a glass was poured and served swiftly and without a word.

He took the sip, taking pleasure in how the burn in his throat so effectively distracted him from the seething wrath consuming him. Stirring the clear bronze liquid with his finger, he couldn't help but remember how he'd confronted those poachers. The anger that had overtaken him in that moment. The loud blast of the gunshot he'd heard after subconsciously shooting a dent in the man's face. He didn't regret it.

Suddenly, he remembered the cowardly pleas of the second poacher. How much he took pleasure in watching the man squirm. And suddenly- Arthur stepped in.

Arthur.

Oh, how his heart softened for that man.

He'd regretted yelling at him for letting the pathetic bastard go. He was always much more of a better man than Charles could ever be. Through his blind hatred, he couldn't think right, but there Arthur was. Returning to him his sight and helping him retrieve his mind- though, simultaneously overtaking his heart. After having first laid eyes on him back in Blackwater, the snarky cowboy with wits as well as beauty- he could never stop looking at him. For him. Whenever he'd leave Charles's line of sight, his eyes would instinctually begin to search for the man once more. He remembered wandering around the area for no particular reason but to catch a glimpse of him. At the time, he wasn't the kind to drink often, but whenever he was asked to tag along and told that Arthur would follow, he accepted immediately.

Pathetic. He thought. How delusional.

The man would never love him. He knew this. If by some miracle Arthur Morgan, the Van der Linde gang's best shot and toughest member, somehow held interest for the male sex, there was absolutely no way in hell he'd choose Charles.

It was enough for him that he could be considered a friend to Arthur. He was satisfied.

His solution to escape from his anger led him to wallowing in self-pitiful sorrow. Far worse than anger.

When the whiskey reduced to drops, he requested a second glass. Feeling his temper cooling, he sighed. Maybe time for that fuck.

A rough voice came, one he'd recognise anywhere: "I knew I'd find you here!" A slap on the back.

"Arthur." He near smiled.

The cowboy took a seat beside him and requested a beer. Charles took a sip, placing the glass down with a thud, "What are you doing here?"

His drink was served and Arthur took a sip. A smile played on his lips, "Heard a friend of mine were here. Unfortunately, it was you."

Though he knew Arthur joked often, he couldn't help the thought that lingered telling him it wasn't a joke. "Come on. Really."

"Well," Another sip, "I'd been searchin' for you."

"Hm?" He felt his cheeks heat up.

"Yeah, after I'd looted them bastards' camp, I rode back home. Thought you'd be there but all I'd seen were a very mad Micah." Arthur grinned, knowing damn well who caused Micah's well-deserved fury, "Second place I'd thought you'd be was here. Drownin' your anger in whiskey."

"You know me well." Charles smiled, taking a sip of whiskey.

"'Course i do."

Arthur accompanied him throughout the evening, 'til the sun had set and the customers increased. He provided a very welcome distraction for Charles from his foul mind and Charles was grateful.

The words they spoke became slurred and he couldn't help but notice how Arthur's lips turned more pink and how visible the flush on his cheeks were. They were both drunk. He knew that.

He hadn't drunken enough to puke his guts out or haze his vision 'til all he saw were distorting waves. But he was drunk enough for his lust to take over. Something that always happened when he drank and it certainly didn't help that right beside him was the man he oh so desperately craved for. They sat close. Too close. Charles could smell the wooden scent of his soap as well as the smell of cigarette smoke that lingered within his clothes. The whiff of whiskey on his breath, as he'd purchased a bottle for both him and Charles.

It didn't help the erection growing in his pants that their knees kept touching. And it certainly didn't help that Arthur was one touchy fella. Every few minutes a hand was placed on his thigh, shoulder or knee. It lingered a few seconds longer than natural that Charles nearly would've thought it was intentional if he didn't know any better.

When intoxicated he spoke his mind. It took a mighty amount of effort with the little composure he had left to prevent himself from yelling out his desire to fuck his closest friend. Instead he said, "I need a fuck."

Arthur stopped, "Don't wanna drink no more?"

"Mm.. not really."

"Really. Not enjoying my company?" He teased. God, of course he was.

"I always enjoy your company, Arthur," He said, slurring slightly. "But unless I can fuck you, I don't think I can sit here much longer. I'm still mad about this afternoon. Can't be sittin' here anymore- shit- I'd probably fuck you if I did." Fuck. Why would he say that. Why did he say that. Fuck fuck fuck.

The words Charles had uttered sent a spark down the pit of Arthur's stomach. Surely he didn't mean it like that. He was drunk. But then- so was Arthur. So he swallowed, "I wouldn't mind." The words come out before Arthur can stop them.

That had to be the alcohol talking, right? There would be no way in hell, that Arthur Morgan would ever say such a thing. Even if Charles was lucky enough to be blessed with the chance of even touching Arthur's bare torso- he wouldn't even dare to in fear of causing Arthur even the slightest bit of discomfort.

But.. Then again, he may never get such an opportunity again. Was Arthur bluffing? Or was it the whiskey. God, he couldn't think straight.

Finally he spoke, "What.." A pause, "What do you mean?"

He didn't dare look at Arthur.

Despite the bustle and laughter of the drunkards behind them and the sound of drinks being poured into glasses continuously, all that surrounded them was the awkward noise of silence. He looked at Arthur, surprised to find a prominent flush painted upon his cheeks, intentionally avoiding Charles's gaze, "I-" He cleared his throat, "A..As long as it'll help you."

Silence.

"Help me?"

A nod.

"You know what that means, Arthur?"

He swallowed. Another nod.

They sat in silence for a bit before Charles spoke, "Okay."

"..." Arthur chugged down his whiskey, "Okay."

Suddenly they were upstairs. In a room they'd rented, with Charles's large frame pressed up against Arthur's, pinning him against the door. With their mouths pressed together, moving messily in terrible synergy. Wet and sloppy as saliva ran down their chins. Their hands running across eachothers' bodice in desperation, eager for the most meager amount of contact. Charles's hands running down Arthur's sides and Arthur intertwining his own hands into Charles's hair, tangling the once straight strands and tugging at the scalp.

Immediately after renting a room they'd headed upstair, uncaring of the eyes that may have followed them nor the whispers that could've trailed behind. Once in said room, the door slammed and Arthur was shoved up against the door, Charles's lips crashing into his with drunken desire. Catching Arthur by surprise, taken aback by his aggressive passion. He didn't know what to do except melt into the sensation and oh. Oh, how good it felt. The way Charles kissed him was- he'd never been kissed like that before. Charles kissed him with hunger. With need. As if he were a man who'd starved for so very long and it was only Arthur who could satiate that hunger.

Charles placed a knee in between Arthur's thigh causing the man to break the kiss, eliciting a moan from him, "F-Fuc...k," He whispered. God, the sound was heaven. He couldn't believe this moment was real. That Arthur Morgan himself was so near. Pressed up against him in such a vulnerable position. He connected their lips once more, pushing his tongue into the man's open mouth causing Arthur to groan into the kiss. God, he was perfect.

Charles broke the kiss and stared at Arthur. His lips reddened and lustrous, slightly parted as Arthur panted heavily. Beautiful.

Leaning in once more, Charles pressed his lips upon his jaw. Trailing his jawline with kisses a small nips, down to his neck and collarbone. Arthur whimpered from receiving Charles's not so gentle bites and sucks. He wanted more.

"Arthur.." He hummed, leaving marks upon his collarbone.

"Y-yeah?"

"You're doing this to help me.. right?" He sucked another mark onto his terribly sunkissed skin.

He swallowed, "Y..es.

"Good.." He whispered, his voice low and sweet, dripping of luscious, sweetened syrup, it made Arthur feel something he hadn't felt before and he absolutely loved it. "Get on your knees."

"What?"

Charles caught a hint of doubt hidden among his words. He kissed his jaw, "You sure about this.. right?" He whispered, "You can still back out.." It was the last sober part of himself that spoke. He knew once they'd gone farther he would've been far too intoxicated by Arthur to stop.

"Yes." Arthur whispered, low and breathy.

"Good.. On your knees, Arthur." Arthur did as told.

He ran a hand through Arthur's hair in admiration, taking in every bit of the man. His eyes peering up to stare at Charles, his cheeks so very flushed and his lips. God. His lips. "Good boy.." He spoke. The praise sent a terribly satisfying warmth down the pit of Arthur's stomach.

Charles could feel his erection hardening at the sight of the man. Arthur watched as the man undid his belt, unbuttoning his pants, his eyes widening when they caught sight of the beast of Charles's cock. The length was slightly over average, nothing special but fuck, the girth. He near pitied the women who'd slept with Charles. He confused pity for envy.

He flushed. Beginning to understand what Charles wanted. "Charles.."

"Yes, Arthur?" Charles traced his jaw, tilting his head further upwards.

"I.. I ain't ever done this before.."

A force tugged upon Charles's lips. He smiled, "Don't worry, I'll guide you.."

A nod from Arthur.

"Use your mouth, love. Hands too. Just lick it, suck it.. yeah.. like that." Love. He'd never called him that before.

Arthur placed a hand at the base of the cock. Fuck, it was huge. He could barely wrap his hand around it. He swirled his tongue around the tip, flicking at it once in a while, simultaneously pumping at the base. He mouthed the sides of the prick before enclosing his lips around the head of his cock. A groan escaped Charles's lips, encouraging Arthur to continue. He tried hard to remember how women he'd been with in his past did it to him but it was so long ago he'd forgotten.

Pushing his head down further he felt the tip of the cock hit the back of his throat, he fought hard not to gag, pushing the cock down his throat 'till his nose was buried in the man's pubes.

"God, you're so beautiful.." Charles whispered. Arthur felt his own erection growing as he pulled his head back and forth, gagging on his cock each time. It felt so good. He never would've thought he could get off on choking on another man's cock but Charles made it feel so good. The hand tangled in his hair began to grip harder, taking control of Arthur's motions as it forced Arthur's head up and and down. The cock hitting the back of his throat repeatedly made him gag. Arthur choked. Tried to pull back but Charles wouldn't let him, thrusting into his mouth as if he was nothing but a hole to relieve himself in.

Fuck, the thought made him harder.

His eyes rolled back as he choked on the cock, allowing Charles to take complete control as he relished in the his groans. "Fuck, fuck.. fuck, You're so good Arthur, so good for me. I'm gonna cum Arthur. Stay put for me, sweet thing.." Charles pushed his head down hard on his cock, not releasing the vigorous grip he had on Arthur. The man moaned, sending vibrations across his cock as he felt the hot, sticky liquid spill down his throat. Finally Charles let go, Arthur pulling back, panting hard as Charles's spend dripped down his chin. His lips reddened from the friction and his tongue stuck out with drool hanging off of it. His eyes glassy and face flushed. The sight was obscene. It nearly made Charles hard again.

"Arthur.." Charles sighed, his heart near implosion from the bliss of this moment. He pulled him up, pressing their lips together as they moved messily in poor attempts of synchronised rhythm. Through sloppily sensuous movements, Arthur panting in-between each slow motion. They stumbled towards the bed, Charles pushing Arthur not so gently down on the thin, old mattress. Finally he pulled away. Arthur panted, "D.. Did I do well?" His voice rasped.

God.. How adorable, "Yes, Arthur," He smiled, pressing a kiss upon his nose, "You were so good Arthur.. So good for me.."

The words unleashed a whine from Arthur, his cock pressing so hard against the fabric of his pants he feared the cloth would tear. Suddenly a palm rubbed at his groin. The moan Arthur let out was more than shameful. He covered his mouth with both hands, embarrassed of the volume of the sound.

"Don't cover your mouth," Charles whispered, palming harder between his thighs, "C'mon.. you made me feel so good, Arthur.. Tell me what I can do for you."

Arthur flushed, he didn't expect to receive any pleasure from this- though, in truth being this intimate with Charles was already far more pleasuring than anything he could ever have in his sad life. But he'd expected to help Charles release stress, doing anything Charles wanted, and once done he'd shamefully jerk off in silence with the thought of Charles's body above his (however far they'd go,) to help him relieve himself.

"I-It's fine Charles. I'm helpin' you get off, you don't gotta worry 'bout me."

"Yeah, but what if getting you off is what gets me off?" He spoke, pressing kisses across his clothed thighs.

"Then.. go ahead."

"Take off your clothes, sweetheart." Fuck, these pet names were getting out of hand. Arthur was enjoying them far too much.

He did as Charles said. With the cold air hitting his freckled skin, he couldn't help but feel so ashamed. Of his body and how turned off Charles might be. He felt too exposed. Charles just stared at him, his eyes never leaving, his gaze never faltering. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Did he just fuck it up? Was Charles so disgusted by his body he couldn't even utter a measly syllable out of his soft, soft lips? Fuck. Of course. He's such an ugly fuckin' bastard, no wonder-

"You're beautiful, Arthur."

"Huh?" He must've misheard him.

"God, Arthur.." He spoke as if breathless, "You're so perfect." He kissed him. Slow and steady, as if trying to take in all of Arthur. As if this moment was going to end if he didnt do so. God, he hoped it'd never end. "You're so beautiful." He whispered, leaving a trail of kisses down to his throbbing, weeping cock as he whispered bits of praise and words of affections. Arthur nearly believed it.

"Have you ever done before, Arthur?" He spoke lowly against his unclothed thighs, sending scalding reverberations across his lightly haired skin.

"Not.. Not with a man, no." He slurred, the effects of the whiskey still weighing heavily upon him, stirring his mind into a hazed blur as it rushed all the blood from there to his cock.

"You do this frequently, then? With women?"

"No, not- not in a long while now."

Arthur gazed blearily at the man whose face had been positioned between his thighs, aware of how vulnerable this position was for himself- as well as how it was so terribly tantalising.

"You," He broke the silence, "You done this before? With men?"

"Yeah. Not too often but it isn't anything too rare."

"I ain't thought you were the kind."

"What kind?"

"Y'know, the-"

"Cocksucking kind?"

Arthur flushed at his bluntness, "Well.. Yeah."

"I don't mind sucking cock. Don't mind fucking anyone with one too. As long as the holes attached to a warm body, I don't mind."

"So I'm just another warm body to you?" Arthur teased, though his heart near cracked open at the thought.

You're so much more than that, Arthur. Charles thought to himself. And his drunk self said exactly that as he pressed more kisses along his jawline, Arthur flushing at the words.

"So- how does this work? Sex with two men."

"One of 'em takes it up the ass."

Arthur's eyes went so wide, Charles feared it'd remain that way.

"And you.." Arthur muttered, "You took it up the ass before?" He asked in hopes of there being a chance he wouldn't have to take Charles's horse cock up his ass.

"Never. The other guys always just happened to want me to do them."

"Oh.." He didn't really like thinking of Charles and other men. Other people.

He opened his mouth to speak before Charles did so, "You don't have to take it up the ass. You already made me feel good, I just want to do the same, Arthur."

In truth he did want to take Arthur in the ass. He wanted to fuck the man so hard he begged for more. He wanted to fuck him into the bed. Hard enough that the rusted springs of the lumpy mattress no longer worked. He wanted the man to forget his own name and for the only thing left, engraved in his mind would be how good Charles made him feel. Oh, how he wanted to ruin the man.

The last sober part of himself had fought every other terribly, drunkenly lusted part of his body saying those few words. Though in truth he did want to pleasure Arthur. It was just that he wanted to fuck him while doing so.

"Will it hurt?" Arthur's raspy voice came.

"What?"

"If I.. took it.. there. Would it hurt?"

"Not if I do it right."

"Okay."

"Okay..?"

"Lord, Charles- Are y'gon'make me say it?"

A smile drew upon his lips, "I wasn't. But now I am."

"You're a bastard, Mr. Smith."

"Bold choice of words for the man who holds your precious orgasm in the palm of his hand."

"You make it sound like a threat. I don't need you to get me off." He spat.

"Really.." Charles leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of Arthur's ear, "You really think I can't just tie you up? Leave you here, splayed out on the bed for whoever comes next. Your lassos right on the ground, at my disposal." The words sent all the blood to his cock, it cried for release as it leaked precum upon Arthur's belly. Charles reached a hand down, rubbing a calloused thumb over the head of the cock, "You like that, Arthur? If I tied you up with your own lasso. While your cock's begging to be touched. Weeping for release. You like that? If I left you here for someone else to find. Someone else to fuck." Charles was bluffing, anyone else who tried to fuck Arthur- let alone touch him wouldn't still be alive to try anything.

"Christ, Charles." He breathed. Each word had sent a shiver that travelled down to his cock, "I want you to fuck me."

"Really. Where are your manners?"

"Please." He gritted out, "Please fuck me, Charles."

"So sweet, aren't you, Arthur?"

Arthur merely rolled his eyes in response.

Charles travelled downwards. Trailing kisses down his neck. Down his torso and up to his ass. Purposefully avoiding the man's terribly hardened cock as he whined for friction. He pressed kisses around the man's puckered hole, earning sweet, sweet moans that'd leaked out of the man's sweet, sweet lips.

Suddenly, his tongue begun to stretch the man's tight ring of muscle, earning a sharp gasp from Arthur. He was invading uncharted territory, savouring the sounds Arthur made and how beautifully his body reacted each time his tongue moved around within him.

Finally he'd pulled away, earning a loud whine from the man writhing beneath him. Grabbing the back of his knees, spreading them further open, he spat on his hole, making a mess as he coated the spit around the hole with his fingers. A finger doused in spit pressed up against his hole, "I'm putting a finger in, Arthur."

Arthur nodded before feeling something stretch him out. The burning sensation was not enough for the man to tell him to stop. It didn't hurt, but it sure as hell hadn't felt good. Why any man would willingly want this was completely unfathomable. But then- if the man was doing it with Charles Smith, he wouldn't mind.

"Does it hurt?" He whispered, pushing the digit in and out of the hole in slow, unhurried motions, taking care not to hurt the man.

Arthur hated being treated so- kindly. So properly taken care of, as if he were something fragile- something worthy of care. It made him feel so pathetic. "No. Put another finger in."

Charles merely hummed in response, slipping out the digit before swiftly pushing two fingers deep within him. Thrusting inwards and out, he kept wondering whether the men who enjoyed taking it up the ass were delusional. No way in hell could this have felt good-

Oh. Oh.

This was good.

"A-Ah.. More- there, Charles." He whined, it felt too good for him to be ashamed of the near ludicrous sounds he let out. Curling his thick fingers upwards, Charles massaged the man's sweet spot, splitting both fingers apart, scissoring him from within as he stretched him apart.

Briskly, he pulled out both fingers and pushed them back in, along with an additional digit as he spread them all out, stretching him out so well the uncomfortably pleasurable burn had morphed into a terribly intensified pleasure. He wasn't aware of the sounds he'd made, all he could focus on was how much Charles's perfect fingers stretched him out.

It wasn't enough. He wanted more.

"Fuck me Charles. P-Please, I need you."

"So polite now, Arthur.." He could hear the smile in Charles's tone as he felt him press more kisses around his collarbone.

"Please, Charles.."

"Since you asked so nicely."

He pulled his fingers out, soaked and wet with his own fluids. Swiftly, he pulled off his shirt and spat on his own cock, aligning its length in-between Arthur's flawlessly imperfect ass cheeks. It rubbed against his hole, he couldn't wait anymore- he felt so empty. So- So-

Full.

Fuck..

Charles had pushed all the way in, from the head to base, he took it all in. He forgot the girth of the man's cock, how thick and heavy it'd laid on his tongue earlier. Fuck. It stretched him out. His cock rubbed at the walls of his ass, just grazing upon his prostate. "Fuck, you're tight.." Charles groaned, placing a hand under his knee, rubbing circles upon the skin with the pad of his thumb in attempts of comfort, "Relax, love.. Just tell me to stop and I will." Arthur nodded.

Despite feeling Arthur relax around his cock, the warmth enveloping him still felt as if it was clenching around him. Threatening him to stay, restraining him from pulling out.

"I'm going to move now, Arthur." Another nod.

Slowly, he pulled out and slowly, he pushed in. Repeating these motions 'till he felt the man completely relax around him. He picked up the pace, thrusting in faster. Harder. Arthur began to whine loudly. Too loud.

Charles moved his legs which had previously wrapped loosely around his hips, upwards. His shoulders just beneath Arthur's knees. The position allowed Charles to hit deeper within him. Every brutal thrust inwards inflicted such terrible abuse upon Arthur's bruised prostate. Arthur loved every bit of it.

Pushing Arthur's knees against his chest, near folding him half, he whispered to the man, "Quiet down, Arthur. We can't have people hearing your sweet noises, now can we?"

Arthur merely babbled incoherent syllables before clamping his hands over his mouth. Adorable.

He hadn't assumed Arthur to take him so literally.

"You're so beautiful, Arthur.." He repeated for likely the millionth time during their encounter. Taking in Arthur's beautifully flushed and freckled face along with his beautifully glassy eyes as tears spilled out of them. He pressed kisses along those tears, tasting the salt on his lips, "So, so beautiful.." He whispered, burying his face in the crook of the man's neck, sucking and biting at his neck, leaving bruises and marks, that he was sure wouldn't leave for at least a week.

Arthur unclasped his hands from his mouth, "Ch-Charles, I-I'm- I'm gonna-"

"Go ahead, sweetheart.." He mumbled into his skin.

Arthur's moans grew louder and far more risqué as he wrapped his arms around the back of Charles's neck. "A-Ah! More, more, Charles! Pl..ease- There! Right there!"

As his pleas grew needier, his whines grew more lubricious. His intensifying grip around his neck reminding Charles of his strength. Despite how strong the man was, he submitted so willingly to Charles. Oh, how he loves the man.

Nearing his release, he let out louder cries that practically flooded the enclosed space, he didn't bother to silence Arthur, now uncaring of the possibility of them both being hanged if someone were to discover the intimacy of the position the were in. Instead, he revelled in the sweet symphony of his whines, his cries and his moans. He relished in the scent of sweat coating Arthur's olive skin and the sweet scent of sex as he fucked faster and harder into Arthur.

Hot, white cum spurted in-between their bodies. Onto Arthur's abdomen and Charles's toned belly. Dazing through Arthur's post-orgasm haze, he didn't feel Charles stop. Instead he fucked him harder. Faster. Arthur felt like he was going to burst from such overstimulation, "C-Charles, a-ahh, stop! Stop, stop, stop please- it's, it's too much!" But he didn't stop. Instead, a hand wrapped around his worn out cock, pumping it hard as his erection reformed.

"You can take it, Arthur.. You promised to make me feel good, didn't you?" He continued fucking him, rubbing hard on the terribly sensitive crown of his cock.

"Yes- Yes, Charles.." He moaned, "A-Ahh- I can't cum no more, Charles! Please-"

"You can, love.. C'mon.."

Arthur merely whined in response, squirming powerlessly beneath him. It was all too much. Everything felt like too much. Arthur soon felt his orgasm bubbling up as Charles fisted his once-again hardened cock. Feeling Charles pounding harshly within him whilst pumping his cock was too much- He was gonna- gonna-

"I-I'm gonna cum, Arthur.." He heard the low pitch of Charles's voice.

"M-Me too." He forced out, lacking the mundane ability to string together proper sentences due to having his brains fucked out by the man above him.

He let out the loudest moan known to man. It near shook the entire saloon but he was far too fucked out to be embarrassed of the noise. The man was utterly debauched.

The warmth of Charles nearly depleted as he felt the man about to pull out before he wrapped his legs tighter around him, "Cum- inside.."

The sight of Arthur was enough to make Charles heed his plea without a thought. He hummed, fucking him harder as he chased his release.

Finally- through his own orgasm, he felt a warm, viscous liquid released inside him. It felt so good. His load felt never ending, it continued to spurt out all over his ass after Charles pulled out. Such a position should've made him feel degraded, pathetic, instead- he felt completely raptured. The feeling of Charles's semen all over him nearly made him hard again.

Staring at his own thick cum spilling out of Arthur's so very reddened and swollened asshole, the white droplets sliding the bruised skin of both his inner and outer thighs that pressed so tightly together. He couldn't help but admire the work he'd done.

His eyes trailed upwards from Arthur's terribly abused hole to his wonderfully rubescent face; taking in how his eyes brimmed with saltwater as they so gracefully fell down his rosy, freckled cheeks. As if he'd lost himself in the mere sight on Arthur. In his red, swollened lips; glistening and nitid, wet from their shared , sloppy kisses. They parted slightly, taking in shallow breaths, panting from the sex mere moments before.

"Why're you lookin' at me like that?" Arthur spoke, his voice raspy, never-changing.

"Like what?" Charles responded breathlessly.

"Like you wanna goddam' eat me." A chuckle from Charles.

"Maybe I do." He pushed apart Arthur's bruised thighs and leaned into him, pressing more kisses at his already purpling jaw. "Charles Smith." He whispered, his tone meaning to be teasing but coming out broken and breathy.

"Arthur Morgan." He said in response at the shell of the man's ear.

Charles rolled off of Arthur, laying at his side. "I can't believe that just happened." Charles sighed ever-so blissfully, as if all his troubles had just been washed away and the sex they just had had granted him the secrets of eternal life.

"Y'mean- the fuckin'? Or the fact that it was with a man."

"The fact that it was with you."

"Oh." Arthur's eyes began to avoid his gaze, his cheeks beginning to redden as he muttered several minor words, "I can't believe it too well either."

"Y'know.." Charles turned to him, a hand reaching out to trace his cheekbone with his knuckles, "I've been wantin' this for so long now."

"You're kiddin'"

"Not at all." He swallowed, the alcohol that continued to coarse through his veins gave him courage to utter these pathetically buried feelings. Feelings he'd never admit to if well and sober. It was now or never. "I.. I've been interested in you for a while now."

"Since Colter?"

"Since Blackwater."

"You- Charles.." He stammered, unable to find the words to say, Charles merely chuckled at his bashfulness.

"It's alright Arthur. I knew those feelings would go nowhere," He'd uttered, Arthur missed the hint of sadness within his words, "The moment I heard you speak- your quick wit as well as your sarcastic quips, they immediately charmed me. You were just so oddly charismatic, and your beauty- Arthur. Your beauty. You were breathtaking. You are breathtaking."

Arthur couldn't utter a single word, his face merely continued to overheat as his mouth stood agape. "In Colter, when Mr. Pearson asked you to go hunting with me- My heart absolutely flipped. I jumped at the chance."

"Yeah, it was weird that you wanted to help me out. Y'know 'cause o' your hand an' whatnot."

"You wanna know how I injured my hand, Arthur?"

"Been wonderin' for a while now."

"In Blackwater, durin' the heist- when you came to the boat, I saw a fella'. Probably a Pinkerton, wasn't sure. But he aimed his gun at you, I didn't think- I just put my hand at the barrel then knocked 'im out after."

A pause. His eyes traced the apple at Arthur's throat, watching how it bobbed as he swallowed. Watching how he took Charles's hand off his face and held it so very gently. Arthur Morgan. The Van der Linde gang's toughest, most intimidating member. The man he'd just fucked. That same man held him so, so softly. Tracing the grooves and bumps of his dark knuckles as well as the veins behind his terribly calloused hand. Then he spoke, looking up to reach his eyes, "Shoulda let me get shot."

Charles merely smiled, "I know. I'm a fool."

They laid beside each other, bathing it the afterglow of their previous activities. The only thing on both of their minds being the unknown mutual hope that it wouldn't be the last time they were so intimate. So Arthur broke the silence. "You tired, Charles?"

"Not.. in particular."

"Think you can go another round?"

An imperceptible smile, quirked upon Charles's lips, "I could go for several more rounds."

With those words, Arthur got up and straddled the man all in one swift motion. He leaned downwards, pressing their lips together for the millionth time.

His hands reached down to Charles's pants, "You gotta get these off though."

"No rush. We have all night.

The thought of Charles's fucking him into the mattress all the way 'till morning made his dick twitch. He kissed Charles once more, whispering through the kiss, "I wanna have our whole life."

He took a breath. "Let's have that then."

When the sun rose, casting it's amber hues across the rented lodging of their room and bathing the town with its slight warmth, Arthur's eyes fluttered open, wandering blearily around the foreign room before landing on the sleeping face of Charles.

Charles.

Charles?

He stared at the man beside him, the strong, sculpted arms wrapped around him. He couldn't move if he tried. The memories of the night before blurred through his mind, a flush crawling up his neck. Untrusting of his own intoxicated mind, he looked beneath the thin, cream blanket that barely covered them as it was clearly meant for merely a single person. As if their naked bodies pressed together and the near dried cum spilling out of his ass wasn't enough proof, the sight of Charles's bare cock underneath the blanket surely was.

Attempting to shuffle within Charles's death gripping bear hug, still processing the knowledge of getting fucked by the man the night before. Multiple times. The memory of Charles's cum in his mouth still lingered. The taste of salt and texture of slime that would've made him puke if it was anyone else but last night- was absolutely intoxicating.

With curious eyes he looked at Charles, taking in every curve and crevice on his face. Seeing things he'd never seen before. Every pore was visible, as was every spot of hair that trailed from his chin to his jaw. The memory of Charles's words to him as he laid beside him upon the white, dirtied mattress sheets made Arthur's heart absolutely dance. In truth, he'd felt the same. Ever since speaking to him at Colter, all that lingered within his mind was the faint thought of Charles. If the night before hadn't happened he'd never admit the fact he felt this way about another man. He didn't even know how he felt.

Suddenly Charles's eyes opened, blinking a few times as he looked at Arthur with half-lidded eyes. A lopsided smile bloomed upon his face, "G'morning, Arthur." He leaned nearer, pressing a kiss on his lips. The action made his heart thud so hard upon his ribcage he feared it'd explode. "Mornin'.." He forced out.

He didn't know how to act, considering the fact that they'd fucked continuously throughout dusk, passing out just before dawn. He hadn't had sex in years. Not since Eliza's death.

Charles merely continued to run a hand through Arthur's sandy, uncut locks, long overdue for a haircut. "I still can't believe last night." He heard Charles murmur.

"Neither can I."

A smile from Charles. "Thank you, Arthur." He looked at Charles, into his eyes, noticing the slightest bit a sorrow within them. As if unwillingly acceptant of the fact that last night was and inevitably would be nothing more than a one night stand. Charles parted his lips, as if wanting to say more. But the words never left those soft lips.

"What for?"

"Last night. Helping me blow off steam."

Oh.

Was that all it was to Charles? Were all the sweet nothings said the night before just a result of too much whiskey?

"Arthur?" Charles's voice, "You alright?"

Before he could stop it, the words ran out of his mouth, "I don't want last night to be the last."

"What?"

"I-" Fuck. He'd already said all that. Might as well. "I wanna do it again. With you. "

"Right now?"

"No- Charles. I mean-" He was never one for words. He wasn't even that good at English himself. "Arthur."

He looked up. Charles smiled.

He spoke.

"I'd like that."

"Yeah?" Arthur had never been the emotional kind but fuck. The knowledge that it wouldn't be the end made him near tear up. Or maybe getting fucked in the ass had shredded up his masculinity.

Nah.

"Yeah." Charles couldn't stop smiling. Fuck, the man was handsome.

"But- ignoring what I just said, you ain't too tired for another fuck, are you?"

Charles only laughed, crawling on top of Arthur and smashing their lips together through the laughter that bubbled throughout.