#Red dead fanfiction

[ariseur]

hi love!! i saw that your requests are open and im here to help🫡

can i request some red dead headcanons/blurbs? maybe what their affection/kisses are like? arthur, john, javier and charles are my pookies (especially charles oh my god i love him so so much) but i would love to hear your thoughts on anybody really!!

hope you’re doing well <3

AFFECTIONATE - VAN DER LINDE BOYS

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ notes - for some reason i cannot post rdr2 with my manga headers or cutesy pink dividers it feels so off to me i have no idea why 😭 but thank you for sending this request in, i love it sooo much!’ it’s nice to see another charles lover in this fandom lolol— you take care as well!! 🫶

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ warnings - mentions of injuries in kieran’s and charles, kisses and kissing (?), hispanic!reader / spanish speaking!reader in mind for javier’s, intended lowercase, alcohol and drinking in sean’s, lmk if i missed anything!! 🫶

ARTHUR MORGAN who will put calloused hands around your waist when you’re alone in your tent at night, burrowing his nose in your hair as he lays behind you. you can smell his musk, the scent of the outdoors and faded linen, as it clings onto you with its tight grip and lingers. you don’t mind though, and neither does arthur; simply basking in your warmth as the crickets chirp in harmony with your soft exhales.

“‘ve missed you.” you say, your right hand crawling to interlock itself with his own draped over your waist as it fiddles with the soft skin there.

“missed y’too, darlin’.” you can feel his chest rumble with his voice, tone deep and gravelly from the lack of use. you let your eyes close as you savored the feeling of his hands caressing the small chub that gathered itself in his hands when he squished too much. you would give anything to have moments like these with arthur whenever you could.

JOHN MARSTON who’ll scoff as you pressed kisses along his face, sitting on his lap as the campfire graced your bodies with its warm glow. his affections held a more stand-offish tone to them but on the off occasional that he got a little too tipsy, you could never pry him off of you.

“if i’d’a known any better, i’d have thought you was in love wit’ me,” he huffed. regardless of his dumb comments, his hands never failed to find their way upon the dips of your hips, rubbing circles over the fabric of your clothes.

you bumped your head into his head as he chuckled, raspy voice rumbling throughout his chest as you halted your kisses and instead rested your head on his shoulder. your foot, bare and tapping against the ground in tune with the distant strums of javier’s guitar and karen’s drunken singing kept you grounded — kept you remembering that this was real, this was all real; and you were alive.

“why? you complainin’?”

you felt john’s cheeks widen with his grin. “naw,” was all he said.

two things that JAVIER ESCUELLA cherished most in this world were family and freedom; and he knew that he felt at peace knowing he had both of these things in that moment. you by his side, as neither of you had a care in the world. the sun glimmered and lazed around, taking its place on your backs and replacing the cool, dawn air with its heat. affection with javier is passionate and it’s scary, you never know what you’ll get or suffer the next day but it doesn’t matter — you persevere knowing you’ll find home in his arms a night more, you’ll live long enough to seek refuge and if you died in the process; it’d be okay knowing you died with who you loved.

deft fingers came to slide up and down the wooden fretboard along with his other hand plucking on the strings. you hadn’t realized you’d been staring until he peeked one eye open from under his bowler hat, a teasing smirk on his face as he mumbled, “no me miras con esos ojos, corazón.”

you rolled your eyes, “que quieres decir, javi?”

he hummed, he knew you knew what he meant — and you knew that he knew. but for now, you’d continue to stare, admiring your beloved that sat so prettily on that log; simply playing his guitar. he had his freedom, and he had his family right here.

loud laughs erupted from the obnoxious irishman known as SEAN MACGUIRE, a jug of alcohol in his hand and his darling in the other.

“i’m tellin’ ya, luckiest man alive—! they said they loved me, can y’believe it?” his accent only got thicker by the minute as he raved to everybody that walked by about how you had suddenly professed your love once more as you two sat on the barrel circling the rounded, wooden table. you smacked his arm to which he let out a rasping cackle. “shut up, will you?”

“ah, never. y’know ya love me,” he puckered his lips dramatically as you scoffed. giving him a chaste kiss, he groaned as you pulled away too quick before you went in deeper, seeing his eyes widen in shock before yours fluttered closed. he laughed out the side of his mouth before his hand, ever so gentle, buried itself in your hair. sean was a loud lover, one you’d typically be embarrassed by — but that only meant he loved you more than anything. a drunk man’s words is a sober man’s thoughts and he had you on his mind all the time.

CHARLES SMITH who’ll treat your wounds silently, as he always did except this time would be different. a tense silence would fill your tent other than murmured hisses and apologies due to the peroxide and other various natural remedies he preserved for your care. charles would always keep a level head, warning you not to go on jobs that micah would egg you on yet charles would always wait for you to return.

he never said anything during these times, charles loved silently. instead of telling you he loved you every second or having you on his lap like others, he’d bring you a trinket you remembered wanting from a storefront window or he’d take you out hunting with him; teaching you how to properly set up bait ( not in the reckless way that sean or bill would attempt to mansplain about ). he’d take care of you and he’d listen to you. so when you’d gasp and bite your fist from how badly he had to stitch your leg up, his hand would grab yours and bring it down to rest on your thigh — intertwining fingers as his thumb grazed over the crescent shaped marks your teeth left.

you really did love KIERAN DUFFY, seeing the way he’d try to puff his chest out when the guys at camp would look at you when really, he’d get all shy and blushy when you babied him. he wasn’t so used to this sorta thing, you know, relationships. everybody in camp looked at you like you were crazy, but they knew better than to tell that to you ( or him ), knowing they’d only get an earful from you about how sweet kieran really was.

you’d dress his wounds and in return, you’d find your horse prepped and groomed all pretty in the mornings — already fed and provided with water. and when you’d ask arthur or tilly, they’d always shrug and say, “must be that o’driscoll boy.”

you treated him with care, like no one had ever had, and that was the greatest gift in itself to kieran. he saw you as an angel, he’d even try telling you sometimes although backtracking a bit just to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable. kieran duffy’s affection was careful and nervous, stiff gestures presented to you although all of his worries melted away once he heard your sweet laugh. he didn’t know much about this stuff but that was okay, he’d learn just for you.

𐙚 taglist ; @ch3rryfiles @maskedteaser

𐙚 requests are closed — june twenty eighth, 2024

[midnighvtm4ss]

omg I feel like if anyone could write this right it’s going to be you. we need arthur FLUFF with a reader on her period!!!

RISES THE MOON

cw: fluff, toothaching fluff, period cramps, arthur is a sweetheart, please arthur marry me :( wrote this on my notes app, grammar errors

wc: 1,8k

a/n: this piece was so comforting to write aaa thank you anon for the request <33 i hope this will soothe anyone who’s having period pain rn, i suggest you listen to this song and this one, i had them on loop while writing this. This piece is shorter than the others but I think it suits the mood in a way,, idk ! enjoy!!

The last few notes of the sweet melody coming from Javier’s guitar floated quietly in the air.

The night had fallen gently over the camp, wrapping everything in a quiet, soothing stillness. The campfire flickered softly, casting a golden light on the nearby trees, creating a cozy circle of warmth for those near it. Most of the gang had long since retired for the night, leaving only the faintest murmur of voices in the distant watching post and the occasional pops and cracks of burning wood.

You stood near the fire, trying to find some relief from the chill in the air, but more than that, you were trying to ease the dull ache that spread through your body. The cramps had been like little devils on your lower belly throughout your day, starting as a minor constant discomfort but now growing into something more relentless, making you wince with every movement and your back aching with every step.

Your day was filled with chores left and right as some of the girls left camp and went into town under the request of various groceries items for Pearson’s wagon. You wanted to join them but unfortunately your body had other plans. You came up with a simple excuse and promised to go with them another time. You hadn’t mentioned the true cause to anyone—it was just your period, no need to alarm anyone after all—but now, at the end of the day, you were desperately ready to crawl into the comfort of your bed and hope the night might lend you some kind of relief.

Arthur had been finishing up his usual nightly chores, checking on the horses and bringing them fresh hay. He always had a fondness for horses, no matter if they were his or someone else’s. His love for them often found sketched freely in the various pages of his journal. As he made his way back from the hitching post his eyes scanned the surroundings, making sure the camp was in order for the night. His eyes, like magnets drifted to your figure near the campfire.

You could feel his eyes on you, catching the small signs of discomfort you tried so hard to hide behind your calm demeanor. But he noticed something was off, he always noticed. The way your hand kept drifting to hold your stomach, the subtle wince that crossed your face when you thought no one was looking—it didn’t slip past him.

The crunching sound of boots on dirt floated in the air making its way towards you. You knew who it was and you took a moment to regain yourself and put on a calm façade.

“Y’alright, darlin’?” The gentle rumble of his voice pulled you out of your thoughts as he came to sit down on the log beside you, his gaze full of quiet concern as he searched your face for any hint of discomfort.

“Sure,” You tried to smile through the ache, not wanting to make a fuss. “just a little sore from the day. It’s nothing.”

But Arthur wasn’t one to brush things off, especially when it came to you. He studied your face for a moment, his brow furrowing making a small expression line form between his brows in that familiar way that told you he wasn’t about to let it go. Without saying anything, he slipped a warm, steady hand to the small of your back, moving it in small comforting circles.

“Come on,” he sighted, his voice still soft but insistent. “Let’s go somewhere more comfortable.”

He guided you away from the fire and toward the tent. You didn’t argue. The idea of lying down, of finally resting, sounded too good to resist.

The two of you slipped into the quiet of the tent, Arthur hand left yours to go and close the front flap of the tent and light up the creaky old lantern on the makeshift bedside table, the lantern casting a soft glow over the familiar space.

The moment you sank down onto the bed, you let out a long sigh, curling up slightly to your side in an attempt to relieve some of the tension in your belly. But even then, the cramps persisted, growing stronger by the minute.

Arthur knelt beside the cot, his arms folded on the soft mattress watching with that careful, gentle intensity of his. He reached for the blanket, tucking it around you with a tenderness so far different from his usual hard front he put up with everyone. Then, without a word, he got up, kicking his boots away and settled down beside you, his large frame stretching out on the bedroll as he gently pulled you into his arms resting your head on his firm chest.

“You’re alright, sweetheart,” he whispered. His breath warm against your temple as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you higher against his chest.

You melted into him, resting your head against his chest, your body relaxing instantly in the comfort of his embrace. Arthur’s warmth surrounded you, his steady presence already making you feel better, more at ease. His hands, rough from all the manual work, moved with a soft, gentle care. One hand drifting under your nightgown towards your lower belly, the action far from sexual while the other moved to untangle your hair from the simple hairstyle you had for the day.

“That time of the month?”

You let out a muffled grumble against the fabric of his red union suit as an answer, making Arthur let out a small laugh.

“I can tell it’s hurtin’ you,” he said quietly, his voice low and soothing as his thumb began to rub slow, comforting circles over your stomach. “Let me help.”

You closed your eyes, letting out a soft breath as the warmth of his hand started to ease some of the ache. His touch was gentle, massaging your lower belly putting just enough pressure to soothe the tension without causing more discomfort. The pain didn’t go away completely, but the care in his movements, the way he held you, made your heart sing with joy making it easier to bear the pain.

“That’s better,” you whispered, your voice soft with relief. “Thank you.”

Arthur’s lips curved into a faint smile, though you could feel the ghost of worry still lingering in the way his hand moved over your belly, never stopping, never hesitating. “You don’t gotta thank me for takin’ care of you, darlin’,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’d do it every day if I had to.”

“Be careful of what you wish for, Mister. I might start to demand more if you spoil me”

“Oh I can’t wait,” he teased. “Forever at your service mylady.”

His words made your heart swell with warmth. Arthur wasn’t the type to shower you with flowery words or grand gestures, but it was in moments like these that his love showed itself at its truest form—in the quiet, steady way he was always there, making you smile, always looking out for you, even when you didn’t ask for it.

For a while, the two of you stayed like that, wrapped up in a cocoon of warmth. The moon rose higher in the sky and the outside world faded away. Arthur’s hand continued its slow, soothing movements, his touch tender and full of care, and little by little, the pain in your belly began to ease ever so slightly. You felt the tension melting away under the work of his hands, the cramps becoming a dull background ache rather than the sharp, insistent pain it had been just an hour ago.

“Y’know,” Arthur said after a long moment of comfortable silence, his voice a soft murmur in the quiet, “I remember Miss Grimshaw used to make me and John chamomile tea when we had stomach cramps.” his hands never stopped their movement.

“Marston used to drink a lot of it—that poor bastard always seemed to eat the nastiest shit he could find around,” he laughed lightly, reminiscing of the early days of the gang when a camp cook seemed such a privilege.

“Anyway, I can make you some if you want,”

You smiled against his chest, the simple thoughtfulness of his offer making your heart ache with affection. “That sounds nice,” you whispered, though truthfully, you were already feeling better just being in his arms.

“I don’t know how much it can be of help but it’s better than nothin’”

Arthur shifted slightly. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

Before you could protest for the lack of his warmth against you, he slipped out of the tent, moving with that same quiet efficiency he always had.

A few minutes passed, you were almost asleep when Arthur came back and with him the chill night breeze entered the tent waking you up.

“There,” he said softly, his deep voice full of quiet satisfaction as he sat the mug down the bedside table. He sat down beside you, pulling you up into a seated position before handing you the tin mug filled with the golden brown liquid. “This should hopefully help.”

You nestled into him, feeling the warmth of the mug and the steady, grounding presence of Arthur beside you. It was amazing how he could make everything feel better, just by being there—by holding you and letting you know, without words, that he was there for you.

A comforting silence fell on both of you as you drank your tea slowly, feeling your whole body relaxing with each warm sip you took.

After a while, the pain in your belly faded into the background, and you found yourself growing drowsy in the soft cocoon of warmth and care that Arthur had created around you. You laid down again and Arthur followed your action putting your head on his chest. His hand moved to your back, tracing lazy, soothing patterns there, his fingers brushing gently over your spine.

“Y’know there’s no need to hide when you’re hurtin’. You’re always helping everyone around, sometimes you gotta stop and look after y’rself.”

“Arthur,” you whispered, your voice full of sleep and gratitude. “I love you so much, I don’t deserve you.”

He huffed a soft laugh, his breath warm against your skin as he pressed another kiss to your temple. “Ain’t no such thing,” he murmured, “you deserve more than me.”

His words, so downgrading for himself yet full of love for you, made your heart ache in the best way.

“You’re everything I need,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as your eyelids grew heavy. As you drifted off to sleep, wrapped safely in Arthur’s arms, the pain and discomfort of the day faded away completely, replaced by the quiet, steady warmth of his love.

[allthemeniveloved]

Do I look like him?

Summary: John finds himself torn between the love you’ve built together and the ghost of the man who made it all possible, wondering if he’ll ever be enough.

wc: 2,313

Warnings: a little smut, angst, fluff, missing Arthur, body worship, hurt comfort

ao3 link

Inspired by Tyler, the Creator's song "Like Him (feat. Lola Young)" as well as a phenomenal edit I saw on tiktok the other day from @ arthursnipple with this song.

"That's it, baby," he rasped, pounding into you with little restraint. "Take what ya need."

He could feel you tightening around him, your nails digging into his back as you urged him on. And God help him, he wanted to give you everything - to make you scream his name until your throat was raw.

"You like that, sweetheart?" he grunted, angling his hips to hit that sweet spot deep inside you.

John could feel his own release building, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter at the base of his spine. But he held back, determined to bring you to the brink first. He wanted to watch you come undone on his cock, to see the look on your face as you shattered in his arms. So he repositions your leg over his shoulder before doubling his efforts, his hips snapping into yours with brutal force as he watches your breasts bounce perfectly. Your lover pressed open-mouthed kisses to your ankle as you begged for him to keep going, to keep filling you up, just as you had done so many times before.

“That’s my baby,” he grunted, “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You moved your hand to cover his on your waist, and the soft contact caused him to meet your gaze.

Do I look like him?

The thought flashed across his mind faster than he could realize, and the startling thought caused a stutter in his hips. You pretend not to notice as he softly shakes the thought from his mind, but his eyes left yours as quickly as he found them. 

John's hips snapped forward again, driving into you with renewed intensity. The bed frame creaked and groaned beneath you, threatening to give way under the force of your passion. But John barely noticed, too consumed by the unease he suddenly felt deep in his chest. 

“Cum for me, baby,” he commanded, his voice rough with desire and desperation, “I wanna feel you fall apart on my cock.” And with a final, intense thrust of his hips, you shattered in his arms, body convulsing as waves of pleasure washed over you. John worked you through it all, prolonging your climax until you were boneless and completely spent beneath him. After allowing you a moment to catch your breath, he pulls out of you and quickly finds the bandana on his nightstand to wipe up his mess. He’s slow and deliberate about it, studying every curve of your body while avoiding your gaze. 

“You didn’t finish,” you whisper. 

“That’s okay, sweetheart.” 

-

The night was still, the only sounds coming from the soft rustle of the wind through the trees and the rhythmic creak of the old wood frame beneath the weight of the two of you. The room was dark save for the faint glow of the moonlight filtering through the thin curtains. He couldn’t sleep. He rarely does these days.

His gaze fixed on the ceiling, his thoughts heavy and tangled. Your hand rested lightly on his chest, your fingers curling against the fabric of his shirt. A gesture so small, but one that made his heart ache with the weight of everything he didn’t know how to say.

You were here, with him, at Beecher’s Hope. After everything—after the chaos of the gang, the bloodshed, the loss—you had chosen to stay. Chosen him. And yet, as John lay there, staring into the darkness, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone else’s shadow lingered between you.

Arthur.

He hadn’t spoken the name out loud in years, but it lived in his mind like an uninvited guest. The man who had saved him, the man who had been everything he wasn’t—steady, loyal, selfless. The man you had loved first.

John had never blamed you for it. How could he? Arthur was easy to love in ways John never felt he was. He had been your rock, your safe haven, in the chaos of the life you’d all been trapped in. John wasn’t blind to the fact that if Arthur hadn’t been taken by sickness, hadn’t sacrificed everything for the people he cared about, you wouldn’t be lying here now. Not with him.

His chest tightened at the thought, and his free hand moved to rest over yours, his fingers brushing the back of your hand as if to reassure himself that you were real.

John had always felt like a man playing a role he wasn’t fit for. Husband, father, lover—they were words that didn’t sit right on his tongue, responsibilities that felt like borrowed clothes he couldn’t quite fill. And yet here he was, with you beside him, Jack in the next room, and a life that felt almost too good to be true.

John takes a long drag on his cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke that curls lazily toward the ceiling. “You think about him a lot, don’t you?”

You stiffen at the question, fingers wrapping tightly against the fabric of his union suit, you don’t need to ask who he means. There’s only one man whose shadow stretches this far, even after all these years.

“John…” you start, your voice soft but edged with warning.

“I’m not mad,” he says quickly, cutting you off. His eyes meet yours, and you see something in them that makes your chest tighten—an understanding that feels heavier than anger ever could. “I just… I just want to know.”

You look away, your gaze drifting to the fireplace in the bedroom. The flames flicker and dance, and for a moment, you see Arthur’s face in your mind’s eye—his crooked smile, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you. You swallow hard, the memory sharp and bittersweet.

“Sometimes,” you finally admit. “I think about what he’d say… what he’d think about all this.”

“All this,” John echoes, his voice quieter now. He crushes his cigarette butt in the ashtray on the nightstand, running a hand through his dark hair. “You mean us.”

You nod, your throat too tight to speak. You know this is a conversation you’ve both been avoiding for years, but it was bound to happen eventually. The ghost of Arthur Morgan has always been a part of your relationship, even if neither of you wanted to admit it.

John rolls to face you, propping himself up on his elbow, his lips pursed together. “Do you… do you ever wonder if it woulda been different? If he hadn’t…”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, your voice sharper than you intended. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “Don’t do that, John. It’s not fair. To him. To us.” 

He nods, but the tension in his jaw doesn’t ease. “I know it ain’t fair.” 

The words hang in the air, heavy and unspoken until now. You feel the sting of them, not because they’re cruel, but because they’re true. Arthur had saved you in more ways than one, even in death. He’d given you the strength to carry on, the courage to find something resembling happiness again. And yes, he’d brought you to John, even if not intentionally.

“Sometimes I wonder if he’d hate me for this,” he murmurs. “For bein’ with you. For tryin’ to give you the kind of life he wanted to.”

You squeeze his hand tightly, willing him to feel the truth of your words. “Arthur wouldn’t hate you, John. He’d want me to be happy. He’d want you to be happy too.”

He lets out a heavy sigh. The firelight plays over his features, casting shadows under his eyes and across his jaw. For a moment, you think he’s going to let the conversation drop, but then he leans over and cups your face gently, his calloused thumb brushing away the tears you didn’t even realize were falling.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be enough,” he says, his voice raw and unsteady. “But I’ll spend the rest of my life tryin’ to be.” 

Before you can respond, he leans in and kisses you. It’s not a hesitant kiss, or a questioning one—it’s fierce, full of need and vulnerability and love. His lips press against yours with a desperation that speaks of all the things he can’t say, all the fears he carries but refuses to burden you with. You gasp against him, your hands clutching at his shirt as if to ground yourself, and he deepens the kiss, his fingers tangling in your hair.

The world outside the cabin fades, the weight of the past momentarily lifting as his warmth surrounds you. When he finally pulls back, both of you breathless, his forehead rests against yours. His eyes are glassy, his breathing uneven.

“I love you,” he whispers, the words as much a plea as a promise.

“I love you too, John. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He pulls you into his side as you dry your tears on the fabric of his shirt. It’s not long after that sleep claims you. He turned his head to look at you, his breath catching at the sight. The moonlight painted your face in soft silver, your features relaxed and peaceful. You looked beautiful, even in sleep—especially in sleep, when the weight of the world seemed to lift from your shoulders. 

John’s breath was slow and measured as he lay beside you, the faint glow of moonlight outlining your figure against the bed. You were wrapped in his arms, your bare skin glowing like some ethereal thing, soft and inviting. His gaze roamed over you, unhurried, lingering on every curve and line as if he could imprint the sight of you onto his very soul.

He’d seen you like this countless times before, but tonight felt different— more fragile, as if this moment existed on the edge of something he couldn’t quite name.

His hand moved slowly, almost reverently, tracing the curve of your shoulder, the delicate slope of your collarbone. His calloused fingers felt clumsy against your softness, but he didn’t stop, letting his touch map the places his eyes had already memorized.

Every freckle, every scar, every mark on your body felt like a story he wanted to know by heart. The faint dip of your spine, the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you breathed, the way your hair fanned out across the pillow—all of it was mesmerizing, sacred.

John’s hand drifted to your arm, following the curve down to your wrist, where he paused to marvel at the fragility of it, at how someone as strong as you could feel so breakable in his hands. He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your palm, then to the delicate skin of your wrist where he could feel your pulse thrumming beneath his mouth.

His chest tightened as he shifted closer, his lips trailing along your arm, your shoulder, the hollow of your neck. He wanted to know every inch of you, wanted to memorize you in a way that went deeper than touch or sight. He wanted to carry the memory of you with him always, in a place where no time or distance or loss could ever take it away.

As his hands moved to your waist, his fingers splaying across your skin like he was anchoring himself to you, he closed his eyes and breathed you in. You smelled like home—faint traces of lavender soap and the earthy scent of the outdoors. He thought of how often he took for granted the simple presence of you, the way you fit against him like you belonged there.

You stirred under his touch, your breath hitching slightly as you turned your head toward him, your eyes fluttering open. The sight of you looking at him, sleepy and soft, sent a rush of something overwhelming through him—something that felt like love but was too big and too consuming to be named so simply.

“John,” you whispered, your voice heavy with sleep but laced with something deeper, something knowing.

He didn’t answer, couldn’t find the words. Instead, he leaned down and kissed you again, his lips slow and deliberate, tasting the softness of your mouth, the heat of your skin. It wasn’t a kiss of passion, though that burned beneath the surface—it was a kiss of devotion, of a man trying to capture the essence of the woman he loved in a way that words and memory alone could never hold.

When he pulled back, his hand moved to cradle your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek as his eyes searched yours. “I just… I just want to remember you like this,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion.

You smiled softly, your hand covering his as you leaned into his touch. “I’m not going anywhere, John.”

He nodded, though his chest still ached with the weight of everything he couldn’t say. Maybe you weren’t going anywhere, but life had a way of taking what mattered most. And if it ever did, he’d carry this night, this moment, with him always—every inch of you burned into his memory, like a brand on his soul.

His lips brushed your forehead, a kiss so light it was barely there, but it carried all the things he didn’t know how to say.

He loved you. He didn’t always know if he deserved you, but he loved you more than he’d ever thought himself capable of loving anyone.

John’s eyes grew heavy as he let the warmth of your body and the steady sound of your breathing pull him toward sleep. He didn’t have the answers, didn’t know if he ever would, but as he lay there with you in his arms, he knew one thing for certain.

He’d spend the rest of his life trying to be the man you needed him to be. Even if he’d never quite escape the shadow of the man who came before him.

[cowboyfromh3ll]

ever since your sex hcs included arthur and strength kink and getting lifted effortlessly i need More… part 2 of sorts of arthur sex hcs pretty please how rough he is his hidden kinks and things he wants to do to you how he likes to go down on you all of it ���🏻 he is a giver and i want to be tossed around by him very badly

Arthur Morgan NSFW HC

I didn't proofread this

Warnings: smut, size kink, strength kink, breeding kink

Depending on how he's feeling for the day his roughness would vary

Overall his touches are very heavy handed and firm

Manhandles you like you're a weightless toy

One minute you're getting pounded the next you've been flipped into a completely new position

Picks you up by your wrists and drags you across the bed or into a new position

Grabs your ankles and pulls you towards him

Or grabs your waist and moves you around like that. He especially loves doing this when you're riding him

Gives you absolutely no warnings either so you're just swept up

Wouldn't want to tie you up, instead opting towards using his sheer strength to hold you down or in place

I think for a more hidden or lowkey kink he has he'd have a breeding kink

Wouldn't indulge in it until the two of you have actual talks of having a family together

He probably also discovered for himself just how much he liked doing it

Dreams of having his own family one day and the thought of finishing inside you and you having his children gives him goosebumps

Constantly finishes inside you, it's a regular practice during sex

Even if you do fall pregnant he'll continue to do so

Watches himself go in and out of you after cumming inside you and just revels in the sight of copious amounts of cum being pumped into you

Like you said, he's a giver

He takes his time with it and everything, traces open mouthed kisses up to your inner thighs before tracing them back down again

Removes your underwear with his teeth, he knows things are about to get wicked

Kisses and breaths on your pussy, blowing on it and drawing it out before finally giving in

He's really skilled but he isn't the most messy eater, slow but passionate

Literally buries his nose into you and shoves his face in, even let's you grab his hair and push him in

Like Cardi B said, swipes his nose like a credit card

Lots of fingering while he's sucking on you, maybe he'll even slide s pinky into your ass

ALWAYS makes you finish with head too

His beard will be glistening by the time he's done

If you're smaller than him he'll want to see you wearing his clothes while he fucks you

Or if you dress in his clothes and put on his hat and try to act big and bad while domming him

Has a huge thing for you wearing cowboy boots.

Would be a little nervous to introduce weaponry to the bedroom but he'd have fantasies about rubbing his gun on your cunt through the fabric of your underwear

[kisblle]

Starved

Pairing: Low honor Arthur Morgan x female reader one shot

Author's note: This is my first fic, so please give me some grace on any errors present. Just wanted to let everyone know I am also new to Tumblr, so I am trying to learn the tips on how to work it, feel free to give any suggestions. Currently accepting requests! Also, warning on HEAVY, GRAPHIC sexual content!

Summary: You finally make a move on the cowboy, and he doesn't deny you.

You wanted to worship him.

All six-foot-one inches of him.

With your blurred vision, you fell onto your knees right infront of Arthur, finding your place between his thighs.

Arthur’s eyes immediately met yours with shock, “What’r you doin’?”

“Let me,” you begged, reaching for his gun belt.

The cowboy didn’t stop you, his breath hitching for no more than a singular moment before his lips parted, his eyes focusing on your hands near his private region.

Months he had been gone.

Months you had laid in your cot gnawing at your finger nails not knowing if he'd ever return. You weren't scared that he'd run away, Hell, the man wouldn't dare. You were more scared of that five thousand dollar bounty on his head or another unfortunate run in with the O'driscolls.

What if he had died and you never got to confess your feelings to him? That is what perhaps frightened you the most. But now that he was finally here, you would refuse to wait any longer.

Hid behind nothing more than the thin canvas flaps of his tent, you sat between his legs, working at unbuckling his leather gunbelt from his hips. You didn't care if he didn't feel the same, you just wanted to touch him, worship him, you were starved, and for Arthur was just a man.

You worked diligently, setting down his gunbelt gently next to him on his cot and quickly started on the buttons of his jeans until you saw the red fabric of his union suit start to appear. Arthur made quick work of his suspenders as he dropped them to his sides, his calloused hands swiftly unbuttoning his collared shirt.

The gunslinger didn’t talk; he didn’t have to. By the way he was quickly stripping himself of his clothes you knew he wanted you as much as you wanted him. But deep down you had known that, you knew that all those years of playful banter and shy looks across camp always meant something, and the way he undressed himself so heatedly confirmed it for you.

Once Arthur had worked himself from everything but his union suit you pulled yourself onto his lap, gently starting to tear at the buttons of his suit. The cowboy stared deeply into your eyes, his face expressionless as if he was in a matter of shock and confusion, still, he didn't stop you.

You swiftly pulled the top half of his union suit off of him, the sleeves piling at his hips. Your mouth watering as your eyes fell onto his broad, hairy chest. Your right hand gently finding it's place roaming over the soft curls of his torso.

With your free hand you placed it upon his already blood swollen member, only the thin fabric of his union suit seperating your touch. For a moment Arthur's breath hitches as you grab at his cock, leaving him wanting so much more.

Arthur wasn't one of those proper folks you would find in Saint Denis with their pomaded hair and soft hands. Arthur was a man. His fingers were calloused, his chest broad and littered with scars from years of labored work. He was a man that didn't know more than a day worth of comfort; the kind of man that took what he wanted, and you were ready to give your all to him.

You found yourself kissing his neck as your free hand roamed all over his body. He smelled of tobacco and pine, an intoxicating mixture that enveloped your nose as you nibbled on his ear.

The man did not touch you, instead he leaned back on his palms as he moaned at every touch. With every kiss of his neck his cock pulsated in your hand, with every soft caress through his chest hairs he whimpered. His head cocked upward to the top of the tent, his mouth parted as he breathed heavily. Never had you seen the man in such a vulnerable state, just the view of him sent you over the top.

As you sucked on his salty skin you dreamt of him taking you hard and needy against his cot for everyone to hear. But no, you wouldn't let that happen until you were able to worship him the way he deserved.

You knew the cowboy was ready for more when his moans started to become louder. Slowly your kisses dropped from his neck and made the way to his chest as you fell back onto your knees infront of him. His head lowering in the process as he watched your face diligently find its way to the chestnut curls right above his thighs.

Before pulling the rest of his union suit down, you looked up at him. He was a mess, the cowboy was breathing heavily through his nose as his azure eyes were nearly glued to your own. In a swift motion you pulled the rest of his suit downward, the red cloth pooling at his feet. Arthur's hefty cock was beautiful; it was large and swollen with blood as it bobbed up and down inches from your face, begging for you to touch it.

You looked up at him, trying to read any expression on his face but you were met with a furrowed brow. “Open up,” he commanded, taking your loose hair in the back of your head to his palm.

You parted your lips at his command.

He gently pushes your head towards his cock, as you let just the tip enter you. You taste small drops of his salty precum on your tongue, playfully suctioning onto the tip of his cock. Your tongue dancing on his slit, making sure no more than just the first two inches of him enter your puckered mouth.

Oh how you wanted to watch him squirm. Arthur clenched his jaw as he did his best to control himself as you continued to suck on his sensitive tip.

The cowboy finally let out a deep, whiney, whimper as he realized you were not going to stray from his tip without feedback. "Come on girl'" he whined, pulling your hair tighter in his hands as he hiked his hips up toward your mouth.

His breathless command was enough for you to release him from your lips with a loud pop. For moments you sat there with his swollen member bouncing in your face, the look in his aqua eyes begging you to take him back into your mouth. His hips thrusting up at your face as if he was trying to tell you something without speaking.

Him begging for your touch was exactly what you wanted. His breath hitching once more before you finally decided to relieve him from his predicamant. You placed his large, swollen member into your mouth once again. This time, not breaking eye contact as you slip your tight mouth all the way down his shaft, until your chin rested on his testicles.

For seconds you just waited there, his cock shoved all the way down your throat. You wanted him to watch you take it, you wanted him to know the lengths you would go to make him feel good even if it was a challenge for you. You wanted him to know that you were his to use as he pleased, you wanted him to know that you worshipped the ground he walked on. You pushed your head down even harder, until you could feel the tip of his cock hit the very back of your throat, doing your best not to gag.

You only slid back up on his cock when your eyes started to water and snot started to leak from your nose. Only then is when your mouth made work of him. Mouth sliding up and down, over and over again on his shaft. Quickly, but in repetetive, suctioned motion.

Arthur's legs started to shake in pleasure as you sucked at him as hard as you could. Your tongue massaging his shaft as your head bobbed up and down, your saliva coating every inch of his hard cock, some even dripping down to the inside of his thighs.

You knew Arthur wasn't a gentleman, so it came to no surprise when when the hands that were holding up your hair were now pushing your head deeper onto his cock. Most times you would find actions like this displeasing, but it was Arthur, and you would do about anything to make him feel good.

You let him take control of your mouth as he pushed your head up and down onto him, over and over. Your eyes started to water even more everytime the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, but you wanted this. You revelled in his pleasure.

"That's right girl, take it," he commanded as he pushed your head even deeper onto his cock, your soft hair balled up into his palm.

His eyes were fiercly glued to you and you did your best to keep the eye contact as you bobbed up and down. "S' beautiful," he huffed as you finally pulled your head back, a small trail of saliva connecting your lips to the tip of his cock.

You wanted to worship the man, you wanted to take him into your mouth over and over again. But you needed just a few seconds to collect yourself, to give your jaw just a quick moment of peace before preceeding.

Arthur eyes widened in fear as he worried that he had hurt you, gently placing his free hand on your cheek, wiping away a tear. "Did I hurt you-."

But just as quick as you pulled your mouth off of him, you had placed both your hands on his shaft, positioning the rest of his length back inside your mouth. That move alone answered his question.

Your hands made quick work as you pumped him into your mouth over and over, the cowboy seemed to like this as he readjusted himself on the cot multiple times, not being able to keep still. His teeth fiercely biting his bottom limp as he whimpered.

"Good girl," he grunted as you pumped him again, your lips suctioning to his shaft.

You could tell the gunslinger was close to finishing when his hand started to pull tightly on your hair, little whimpers starting to escape his mouth more frequently.

Seconds later he pulled himself out of you, his hand finding his way to his saliva coated cock as he started to finish on the ground next to you.

That’s not what you wanted.

You wanted him to finish inside you. You wanted to taste his salty cum inside your mouth, you wanted to see the look on his face when you swallowed it for him. You wanted him to know the length you would go for him.

So you forcefully pulled his hands away, placing your lips back onto his member and pushing your mouth deep onto his cock in a repetitive motion. Immeditaly Arthur came, the bitter taste of him erupting in the back of your throat.

Arthur's eyes rolled into the back of his head as you pulled that manuever, he grunted in pleasure as he watched you continue to suck him dry. You waited a handful of seconds after he finished to let him out of your mouth as you pulled your face to his ear, largely gulping so he could hear his cum drop down your throat.

Arthur let out a loud breath as he realized what you had just done. His eyes widening curiously at you.

You didn't kiss him goodbye, you didn't confess your feelings to him either. You took your sleeves, wiping the mess of saliva and tears off of your face as you stared at him with a mischievous grin.

Arthur was stunned as he watched you collect yourself, his knees cocked in opposite directions as his union suit still piled at his ankles. His palms placed behind him as he propped himself up, still breathing heavily in pleasure.

You didn't say a word before quietly lifting up his tent flaps to escape to your own, knowing by his dumbfounded expression that you had left him wanting more.

[eccentricallygothic]

|| The Farmer's Way ||

Description: With the gang gone for good, Arthur had retired and you were his reward. Or so he believed. 

Pairing: Dark!Arthur Morgan | Gender-Neutral Spouse!You. 

Disclaimer: I (sadly) do not own Arthur Morgan or the RDR universe. This story contains dark and mature content so browse at your own discretion, please. Minors do not interact. 

Warning(s): Noncon/Dubcon, gross stuff because that's all I think about while playing the game, age gap, groping, dirty talk, degradation, doggy style, penetration, spanking, biting/marking, sexism, wife kink but it doesn't matter what you identify as because he's gross like that so tw for sure. 

Note: Fair warning, he's a bit of a sicko and I am a mental slut. Also this is kinda my first time with gender neutral smut so I am very sorry if I got something wrong. I am willing to rectify if I did make any such mistake. 

The hot June air blew past you and pricked at your rather pampered skin. You felt a droplet of sweat trickle down your temple as you winced and shielded your face from the sun, the rays now attacking the skin of your arm instead. A grunt escaped you when you willed your feet, which were clad in some glittery pumps, to push on towards the huge barn of your family farm. A string of disgusted curses foxed their way out of your mouth when the smell of dung and hay wafted into your nostrils from the giant red wooden box that was literally radiating stinky heat. 

Your feet halted right outside the heavy double doors and you had to take a long breath to brace yourself before you entered. Your features scrunched in disdain as you tried to hold your breath, clutching the cool jug and glass that you were holding tighter as you slipped inside before the weight of the door caused it to close by itself. Clenching your jaw to focus on the task at hand, you slowly walked forwards and concentrated on your breathing to ensure you didn't inhale any of the barn filth. 

It was a fairly easy piece of work.

Give the lemonade to your husband and leave. 

Simple, right? 

No. 

Not when said husband is Arthur Morgan. 

As his fingers wrapped around your wrists to keep you from leaving after you had placed the jug and glass down, your breath hitched as you felt a bile rise in your throat from pure disgust. The dust and sweat on his fingers was gut wrenching. 

"Fixin' to leave already?" His other hand came up to tangle in one of the two silky ribbons you wore on both sides of your head in half ponytails after he had pulled you against his hard chest, the coarse hairs on his chest scratching the skin of your back. "I was missin' you so much, baby" you uneasily shifted in his hold, goosebumps rising on your skin when you felt his fingers trail up from your wrist to your forearm. "It's almost like you showed up 'cause you read my mind" you could barely suppress your gasp as your body jumped in reaction to his stubbly lips suddenly finding your ear. 

"I…" Your voice was a mere squeak and you had to concentrate to make yourself sound a bit less pathetic. "I left the food on the stove" your eyes fluttered shut before clenching as you suppressed the urge to retch at both the feeling and smell, arm folding to let your elbow press into the side of his torso. The man only hummed as his browned and dirty hands felt you up, basically frisking your barely clad body as his lips pressed rushed kisses against your neck. "A- Arthur!" You flinched when he bit down on a hickey on the junction of your neck, fingers finding your nipples through the sheer fabric of one of the many silk dresses he made you wear. 

The older man did not budge, only grunting when you probed his chest harder, hips trying to wriggle free. "The grub can wait, hush now" your limbs screamed at you to fight. Try and push him away. Hit him with something. Make a run for it. Never look back. "Mmm, baby" your eyes teared up when his other hand slipped from the ribbon to trail down your abdomen and to your nether regions. "If it was up to me, I'd keep ya bare as a jaybird 'round the clock" your jaw clenched at his words but you knew better than to hurl the heavy jug that was in front of you against his head. 

Because you had done stuff like that countless times in the beginning of your forced marriage seven months ago. 

Except, you had no idea how but your husband had somehow trained and kept a number of wolves to guard the property only God knew how. 

No one could come in and you could never leave. 

The punishments that you had been subjected to upon trying to do so were more than enough to keep you on your best behavior. 

"Oh, darlin', you taste mighty fine" you were flipped and easily backed into one of the many stables. "Now, let me try out that pretty little mouth" your eyebrows scrunched as you craned your neck backwards to get away from him. The reverberations of Arthur's chuckle buzzed through your chest as he pressed into you and left you trapped and helpless. "Ain't ya just a foolish little thing? Thinkin' you can get away from your old man?" His rough palms cupped your face as he dipped his head in, chasing your lips with his own and snickering when you tried to move. 

When you had seen this mysterious cowboy turn up to buy your family farm off of your useless brother seven months ago, you had not thought much of it. Sure, you were angry that his gambling had ended him up in so much debt that he had no choice but to sell off your family legacy, but you had bright plans with your scholarship program at a prestigious college, and you had been so ready to leave this life that you had never liked much in the first place behind for one of revolution and modernity. 

Only, when all of your documentation as well as your brother and his family disappeared the night before your final departure, the then stranger and now your husband revealed that you had been part of the deal. 

As Arthur fucked into you on your wedding night -as he had promised your brother that he would not take you before that-, the man had confessed how lovely you had looked resting on a tree branch as you chewed on your lip, completely engrossed in your book. 

You knew alcohol and the colorful powders that your brother loved to use had done his mind in, but handing you off like merchandise to a man with no regard for your orientation or taste was something you had never expected from him. Not after he had been your legal guardian for so long. 

But then again, he never understood your ways and thought revolution was a blasphemy. 

In your brother's world, you either did the hard work on the field or became a field worker's home runner. 

And your open disdain for the farm work had earned you the latter. 

The irony was laughable, because he probably thought he was protecting you by choosing a secure future for his baby sibling. The right thing. 

Your spark had always scared him, and so he suppressed it once and for all under the mundaneness of the farm by locking you up in his own kind of a gilded cage and handing the keys to the man who was all over you at the moment.  

'Excitement is a double edged sword. It is thrilling and promising but it can also be dangerous.' That you couldn't deny.

The thrumming in your nether regions was proof. 

Frightening, shameful, repulsive proof.

"Arthur…" You whimpered as your vision zeroed in on his rough lips that brushed against yours soon before pressing into them. 

The man moaned, rubbing his crotch against yours as he deepened the kiss by tilting his head to the side and forcing his tongue in your mouth, the taste of cigarettes and coffee making you cringe and try to move away but a tight squeeze to your ass with his coarse hand made you gasp and hence open your mouth. Then his tongue was down your throat. 

Everything was rough and dirty about him. 

You hated it.

Sometimes he purposely rubbed his filth against your clean clothes and body to add insult to injury. He would laugh as you would hold your breath and try to get away only to be trapped between his strong body and some surface. Arthur would then watch you squirm and struggle until you ran out of breath and had no choice but to inhale his scent. 

"Dang it, I can't hold back no more" Arthur was panting when he finally broke off to let you both breathe, one of his hands bolting down to his belt while the other one held you steady. "I need ya right now…" The kiss had flushed your lips and you could feel the change in size as you ran your tongue over them to accumulate some moisture. "You gonna be good and take it for me, darlin', won't ya?" And while your brain screamed at you to know better, you squeezed your legs and whined, taking deep breaths as one of your fists bunched some of his sweaty shirt in it. 

"Arthur…" A small smirk made its way on his face while he hurriedly relieved himself of all decency. He recognized that tone. 

"Now ya know better than to call me that, baby" heat spread across your cheeks as you whimpered, biting your lip before you lowered your head and reached for his hand that was pinching one of your nipples through your sheer dress. "Go on now, you know my preference" your eyes fluttered shut as you took a shaky breath, massaging the hand that was toying with your chest and arching your back. 

"... H- Hubby…" Arthur cursed under his breath like he always did whenever he got you to call him that. Then he reached out for your other hand and brought it to his erect cock, the feeling of its thick veins against your soft fingertips causing your hole to clench around air. 

"Aw, shit, darlin'" he guided your hand up and down his twitching cock. "Can ya feel it?" His body pressed against yours. "This here is what ya do to me" the tip of his organ released some hot precum and you couldn't help but shudder at the memories it triggered. 

Memories of how it felt inside you. 

Before you knew it, as always, reason was out the window before you could grab onto it and your mind had decided shame could come later. Who knew when or if you would ever make it out of here and Arthur was way too good at making you feel strange things that kept you giving into him for more.

"Please, hubby" you whispered, unable to hold back anymore as you worked your wrist to please him. "Please…"

"Please, what, baby?" He pecked your lips over and over before moving down to the corner of your mouth and then further along your jaw. "Use your words for me" his lips locked around a patch of your delicate skin as he sucked, causing you to bend your back outwards. "Get, now."

"P- Please take me…" You shuddered as the sound of his lips forming yet another bruise along the expanse of your neck grew louder and louder in the air. "Please… please…" You couldn't get yourself to utter any more obscenity than that. 

"You mean you want me to fuck you?" Your heart dropped at the bluntness of his words, the feeling of his stubbly lips curling against your skin almost making you want to retreat, but only almost. 

Besides, you couldn't leave on your accord even if you wanted to. 

Though you really didn't want to leave this barn anymore. 

Not before the ache between your legs was relieved. 

When you didn't respond verbally, Arthur clicked his tongue as he came back up to face you and reached for his hat before placing it on your head. He loved to take you like that. "Come on, darlin'. You know I ain't gon' do nothin' 'til you say it for me" but then one of his hands creeped between your legs to caress your intimate part and your legs trembled in reaction; body submitting at once. 

Taking in a deep and shaky breath, you braced yourself before mumbling out your words, hoping and praying they were enough for him because you knew as well as you knew it was day that you didn't have any more indecency in you to talk the kind of filth he could with a straight face.

"P- Please fuck me, hubby…" One of his eyebrows raised as he leaned in closer. 

"I'm sorry, what was that there?" You almost choked his cock between your fingers but you knew better than hostility. 

"I- I said…"

"You said?" 

Your jaw clenched in annoyance because you were so needy all thanks to his dirty hands and now he was not helping. 

"I said p- please fuck me, hubby" you said as clearly as you possibly could, tone almost blunt. 

He finally seemed intent. "Your wish is my command, darlin'" the man had you flipped and bent over the stable before you could even register it. 

Your gaze settled on the little pony in front of you as you felt his stiff tip prod your entrance, the foreplay having lubed his cock more than enough. Since you weren't allowed to wear underwear, the lack of it granted him easier access to you and Arthur was sliding in with a grunt a moment later, squeezing both your ass cheeks at the same time as he cursed. 

"Fuck, baby. You're the tightest little thing I've ever laid down with" your fingers gripped the stable as you jumped when he landed a spank to one of your cheeks, slowly moving through you to get you to adjust. "Shit, look at you. Such a pretty little farm wife, baby" your face scrunched up in both discomfort and sensory overload due to how sensitive you felt down there. 

"Please…" Your mouth always betrayed you in moments like these despite your best efforts to stay as quiet as possible. 

But it felt even better when you let it get the best of you and drown you completely, the vile words coming out of your own mouth adding to the pressure between your hips before stars exploded in your vision. 

"Please what, sweet little thing?" You felt his chest drape over your back as he rubbed his stubbly cheek against yours, hips starting to find a rhythm as the speed of his thrusts increased. 

"Please… more" you couldn't help but lean your face against his to withstand the sensitivity, eyes fluttering as you chewed on your bottom lip in concentration, your velvety walls sheathing his veiny cock with every push. 

Arthur's chest reverberated against your back. "Ya act like you're too good for all this, but deep down you're just a horny little hussy, ain't ya darlin'?" You whined loudly as you clenched around him, starting to move your own hips against his now. "Jus' look at you, whinin' and squeezin' 'round me in front of li'l Sally like a silly 'lil jezebel" that was what you had named the pony that stared at you with her curious eyes. "But ya love that deep down, don't ya?" Your eyebrows furrowed when his words started to crack the haze that had formed in your mind, making you lower your head to cancel him out and focus on your relief.

But you could never win with Arthur. 

"You can go on ahead and deny it all you want. But this trashy li'l hole of yours tells me all I need to know everytime, honey" his lips bluntly moved against the shell of your ear as he gathered one of your knees in his hands and pushed it up against the frame of the stable before finding its way to your nipples again, other hand gliding down to the quivering organ between your legs. 

As Arthur's hips sped up and your body started to rock back and forth against the wooden frame with each powerful thrust, the sound of skin clapping against its like filled up the smelly barn. His hat fell over your eyes and you knew you were in for a long day. 

[zanazirafanfic]

💞 post-nightmare cuddles with charthur pls -- dealer's choice on who has the nightmare

I loved writing this prompt, you wonderful, beautiful anon, you! I chose Charles as my "lucky" recipient this time, since one of my upcoming Whumpcember fics is a Charthur fic revolving around Arthur's nightmares.

CW: temporary major character death, semi-graphic description of a corpse (both in the context of a dream)

Whoever you are, I hope you enjoy it! (And keep those requests coming! I'm down to just 1 in my inbox right now!)

~RDR~

When Charles stirred awake in the middle of the night, it was with an immediate sense that something was horribly wrong. For a few seconds he just lay there, blinking groggily while his eyes adjusted to the dark and trying to figure out what the hell could possibly be amiss. Had he had a nightmare, maybe? One he'd already forgotten? There was no noise from outside, no indication that a coyote might have gotten into the horses' corral or a fox was in the hen house. It was just him and Arthur, lying asleep together in the quiet of their - 

Wait. The quiet.

Arthur was never this quiet. Even at rest, there was a rough, wheezing rasp to his breath that had never quite left, despite it having been years since he recovered from the TB. It was a permanent fixture in their lives now, a constant, familiar kind of background noise neither of them really noticed anymore.

And he couldn't hear it.

Charles bolted upright, as wide awake now as if he'd been dunked in an ice bath, and turned over to get a better look at his husband.

"Arthur," he said softly. The man didn't so much as twitch, and Charles's heart began to race. "Arthur, wake up," he said, louder, giving his shoulder a gentle shake. "Arthur."

Arthur didn't answer, didn't move. Even through the fabric of his woolen union suit, the arm beneath Charles's palm was unnaturally cold.

"No... no, no, no -" he whispered as dark, oily tendrils of dread began clawing their way up the inside of his chest. "Arthur, no..."

It couldn't be. Arthur was doing so well, it had been two whole years since his last bad flare-up. They had dinner plans with the Marstons tomorrow, they were going on a hunting trip with Hamish in the Grizzlies next week, for God's sake! He was better, he was fine! It couldn't - He couldn't -

Charles reached over to turn on the lamp beside the bed, if only to confirm what he already knew. Even then, he still wasn't prepared for the sight that greeted him.

Arthur's skin was ashen, lifeless, and gray. His face was frozen in what almost looked like a scream, mouth gaping, features tense. Blood trickled out of his nostrils and the corners of his mouth, thick globs of it crusted and congealing in his beard. His eyes, which had already begun to go cloudy, were wide and scared, fixed straight ahead on something only he could see now. His right hand was extended, lying in the center of the bed like he'd been trying to reach for something.

When he realized what that "something" was, Charles had to fight back the urge to vomit. While he'd been sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware, Arthur had been using his last breaths to try to reach for him, to tell him he needed him. His husband had been dying right beside him, gasping for air and choking on his own blood, and Charles hadn't even heard him. He wasn't there for Arthur, the single most important time he should have been.

Arthur Morgan was dead. He'd died alone, afraid, and it was all Charles's fault.

A raw, keening wail escaped his throat as he gathered Arthur's limp body in his arms, cradling him to his chest and rocking them back and forth. "Oh, Arthur..." he sobbed, clutching him impossibly tighter, as if he could force some of his own warmth and life back into the other man by doing so. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry..."

He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to those cold, blue lips -

- and then suddenly found himself holding onto nothing, as Arthur dissolved into a cloud of smoke and vanished before his eyes.

Charles woke with a start to find himself soaked in a cold sweat, his chest heaving with panicked gasps and his heart thundering in his ears. His face was cold, damp with the tracks of still-drying tears, and he had to blink to clear more of them from his vision before he could make out more than black, shadowy blurs all around him. He was in their bedroom, lying in bed beside Arthur, just like always. The man in question was stretched out beside him, nestled underneath about three-quarters of their shared quilt and snoring softly.

A dream. It was just a dream. 

Knowing that did little to chase the chill from his blood, though. It had all felt too real, too final. He'd had some variation of this old nightmare many times over the past few years, but it never got any less terrifying no matter how many times he saw it. If anything, it only ever seemed to get more vivid. A quiet sob escaped the confines of his chest before he could stifle it, and he clamped a hand over his mouth, hoping it hadn't been loud enough to wake Arthur up.

No such luck. Arthur was an incredibly heavy sleeper - twenty years spent napping out in the open with a couple dozen other people would do that to a man. But even the slightest noise that was out of the ordinary and he'd be wide awake in an instant, alert and ready for danger. Unfortunately for Charles, "crying husband" definitely fell into that category. As soon as the sound left his lips, Arthur's snores abruptly stopped, and Charles tensed from head to toe.

God damn it.

"Mmh...? Charlie? Y'okay?" he murmured, turning halfway around to look at him. Charles must have looked a sight, because he couldn't even try to answer before Arthur rolled the rest of the way over, blinking the fog of sleep from his eyes and laying his hand on his shoulder. "Hey, 's goin' on? What's wrong?"

"I-I... I was... You -" he stammered, before blowing a harsh, frustrated huff of air through his nose and shaking his head. I can't. That was another awful thing about these dreams; they always seemed to steal his ability to speak properly for a while after. It was humiliating, and made him feel like a child, but whenever this happened he just couldn't make the words come no matter how hard he tried.

"It's okay, you're alright," Arthur murmured, wrapping his arms around him and holding him tight against his chest. "Ain't in no hurry here. Just give yourself a second."

One of his hands gently cupped the back of Charles's head and guided it onto his chest, right above his heart. While he fought to pull himself back together, reassured by the sound of that strong, steady drumbeat beneath his ear, Arthur's fingers worked their way lazily through his hair, scratching his scalp and carefully untangling any knots that had formed while he slept.

Every few seconds, the older man would draw in a deliberately slow breath - slightly wheezy, as it always would be, but still deep, unwavering, alive - and then let it out, before starting the pattern all over again. He didn't speak, just continued that rhythmic, even breathing, silently encouraging Charles to follow along with him. They lay that way for a long time, curled up in each other's arms while they just breathed. Arthur never rushed him, or tried to ask him questions; they'd been through this enough times over the years to know it would only make things worse.

After what felt like hours, but was probably fifteen minutes at most, Charles finally let out an exhausted sigh and slumped against Arthur's chest, feeling as weak and boneless as a jellyfish. "Sorry, Arthur. Didn't mean to wake you," he mumbled guiltily.

"Charles," Arthur sighed. "You never gotta apologize, you know that. Just... are you okay? "

"Yeah," Charles sniffed, wiping his eyes. His entire face felt swollen and puffy, and it was hard to breathe through his nose. Fantastic. "Just a nightmare. Same one it usually is."

Arthur nodded and hummed, a low rumble that vibrated through his chest beneath Charles's ear. "I figured as much." Arthur's lungs weren't the only things left scarred by his long illness, and they both knew it. "But you gotta know I'd never do that to you, darlin'. After everything we've been through, all the things you put yourself through for me, you think I could ever just up 'n leave without even tellin' you goodbye?"

Charles chuckled, a watery, fragile thing. "You'd better not, you bastard. Or I swear I'll find a way to bring you back just so I can kill you again."

"And it would be well deserved," Arthur said with a smile. He wrapped his arms tighter around Charles's back, shifting both of their weight until the younger man was lying fully on top of him like a very warm, very heavy blanket. "But it ain't gonna happen, I promise you."

"I know," Charles whispered, turning to press his lips against Arthur's - no longer cold, like they had been in the dream, but warm and soft and perfect. "I love you."

"Love you too, sweetheart." He pulled the quilt over them both, smirking when he realized Charles had once again let him steal the vast majority of it while they slept, and brought his hand back up so he could comb his fingers through the long, silky waves of raven hair. "Go back to sleep. Still a few hours 'til morning, yet."

"You still gonna be here when I wake up?" Charles teased, knowing full well that Arthur was now completely pinned until he decided to move off.

Arthur smiled, pressing a kiss to Charles's temple, and then whispered into his ear, "Always."

[aoioozora]

Secret Moments

Character: Kieran Duffy (Red Dead Redemption 2) Content: Fluff, Fem reader Word count: ~800 Photo credit: prairiepoppy18 (Pinterest) Summary: While Kieran is busy tending to the horses, you sidetrack him for a bit with a little lovin' <3

It was a lovely morning. The morning sun shone warmly over the camp, the country air was crisp, clear, and filled with the scent of flowers, grass and horses. Birds twittered and flitted about the trees, squirrels scampered about, and all of nature seemed thrilled for a new day.

Kieran was no different. The happy air of nature rubbed off on him and he was in an excellent mood, humming a tune and interjecting it with whispered words of praise and affection to Branwen, his horse, as he brushed out his coat. The horse neighed softly and nuzzled Kieran, appreciating his rider's love.

You, afar and mending one of the gang members' torn shirt, raised your eyes and spotted your dear lover. With the warm golden sunlight falling on him and Branwen contrasted by the cool shade of trees behind them, it was as if a Renaissance painting came to life. Your hand paused on its own and you were transfixed, appreciating the sight of his happiness.

Kieran was utterly engrossed with his horse, and noticing this, a mischievous grin pulled the corners of your lips. You rose to your feet, abandoning the shirt and needle, and tip-toed, walking quietly and carefully on the grass so as to avoid detection. Your heart thumped with excitement as you neared him.

"Kieran!" you exclaimed, pouncing on him by putting your arms around his waist.

He flinched and yelped at the sudden attack. Branwen and the other horses hitched nearby squealed and neighed, spooked by Kieran's shout.

Kieran turned back immediately. "Oh, it's you!" he chuckled, shaking his head. He patted Branwen's neck, trying to calm the horse down.

"It is me," You giggled, squeezing him and placing your cheek against his shoulder. "Did I scare you?"

"Real good, darlin'. You're very sneaky," he praised, feeling his entire body become warmer in your embrace as the seconds passed.

You chuckled proudly and squeezed him. "You're just as skittish as a horse," you observed.

He shook his head slightly, amused and embarrassed by the observation. "Well... that's how it is, I reckon," he answered. Changing the subject, he said, "Ain't you in a loving mood today," as he continued brushing Branwen.

"Ain't I always?" you answered, pressing against him tighter and nuzzling your cheek against his shoulder. You felt the curve of his back against your chest and the ever so slight movement of his shoulder blades as he moved his arms.

He felt your breasts press against his back; unused to such a delightful sensation, he felt his face and ears turn warmer, but managed to keep himself nonchalant and composed. Though shy, he found himself smiling. Your arms around him, your cheek pressed against his shoulder, and your body melting against his felt so right to him, like two pieces in a puzzle put together to make a seamless whole.

His affection and desire for you was bursting at the seams, and he felt a lump in his throat. Swallowing it down and looking around, he gently pulled out of your embrace.

You also pulled away, a little confused. He took your hand and pulled you over on the other side of Branwen where the trees shaded him and the other horses, away from the eyes of the gang. You watched as he cautiously looked around a second time; his cheeks were very pink and you smiled, knowing and loving how you affected him.

When he finally turned back to you, he stepped closer and cupped your face in his calloused hands, gently pressing his lips against your cheek. "I love you," he whispered, his eyes still nervously and cautiously darting about.

"Don't you worry, darlin'. Nobody will see us," you assured him. Raising your hands to cup his cheeks, you pulled him still closer and stole a little kiss from his lips.

His shyness was forgotten. He hungrily kissed you back before you even pulled away. You happily melted under the warmth of his love, instinctively wrapping your arms around his neck, and feeling his rough hand gently slide to the base of your head, lightly pressing his fingertips into your neck.

The moment passed when the two of you pulled away, smiling stupidly at each other. You smiled wider, seeing how puppy-like he appeared with his big green eyes, his pout, and his glowing cheeks almost begging you for more kisses.

"I'll see you very soon," you promised with a playful wink, leaning in and kissing his cheek.

"Sure," he answered breathlessly, staring at you as if bewitched. His fingers longingly dragged against the supple skin of your neck as he pulled his hand away to let you go, leaving a fluttering and a warmth in their wake.

You happily sauntered off and his eyes followed you like a dog follows its master. He was left there weak in the knees and hungrier than ever but hopeful for the evening to spend another moment in quiet secrecy.

[RDR Masterlist]

[alligator-tearzz]

Why Didn’t You Stop Me?

A Javier Escuella x Reader Fanfic.

Tags:

Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Love Triangles, Everything is against this relationship, Angst, Lots of Angst, Angst with comfort, Angst with no comfort, Tragedy, Mentions of grief, Mentions of Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Arthur Morgan Has Tuberculosis, Slight Canon Divergence, Dutch van der Linde Being an Asshole, Reader is NOT a damsel in distress

Summary

Dealing with the grief of losing your best friend in the Blackwater incident, you tend to find solace in the silent company of your close friend, Charles.

When your conflicted feelings about Javier start to bubble to the surface and paint over your friendship with Charles, you are faced with a new problem. Navigating your feelings for Javier while dealing with the inevitable downfall of the Van Der Linde Gang is no easy feat, especially when friendships and relationships are breaking all around you.

Oh my god guys no way i finally decided to write a Javier Escuella fic after complaining about the lack of Javier Escuella fics 😵‍💫😵‍💫 I’m having so much fun writing this so I hope you have just as much fun reading it!! If anyone wants me to drop the playlist I made for this fic pls let me know bc I am more than happy to!! I just wanna make sure ppl actually want it LMAO

[moonlightkitties]

First Snowfall of the Year - Sean MacGuire x Reader

Plot: You and Sean celebrate the first snowfall of the year with some needed quality time.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 522

Ever since Colter, you've despised the snow.

It's been eight years since then but the memories of almost freezing to death were still raw.

That's why when you awoke in yours and Sean's newly built homestead and saw that it snowed overnight, you audibly groaned. Sean grumbled at your groaning and turned over, his green eyes fluttering open "What is it?" he asked, sitting up. You pointed to the window, the ground was covered in a soft, white blanket.

Sean blinked sleepily, his brow furrowing as he followed your finger to the window. He chuckled once he saw the snow "There's no reason to be groanin' bout' a lil snow, love," he said, laying back down on the bed. You let out a sigh "It is," you tell him "We have chores to do and I don't want to do it in a bunch of snow," you finish, sitting on the edge of the bed, about to get up.

You felt a hand wrap around your wrist and your body being pulled back on the bed. Sean chuckled and kissed your forehead, as he looked down at you "Stay with me, love, just for a few more minutes," he said, laying down and pulling you to where your back was pressing up against his chest.

"Fine," you, teasingly, sigh and let him rest his head on your shoulder. Thinking more and more about the snow made you anxious, you shoved the thoughts away, you had Sean and a warm house, you weren't going to freeze to death.

"Always so eager," he said, kissing the back of your neck "Chores can wait, it's just me an' you now." You smiled softly, basking in his attention, even though you both had tons of chores to get done today. "It's just...after Blackwater, we had to travel in the freezing cold, you weren't there of course, but I almost froze to death if it wasn't for Arthur," you explained to him, your heart tightening in your chest at the mention of your fallen friend. Sean sighed "I know, love, but you're safe now, you're not in the middle of the mountains, you're with me."

"Just lay in bed, stay with me for a while, chores can wait," he murmured, feeling up your body. You smiled and turned your head towards him "What do you think you're doing, Mr. MacGuire?" you ask. Sean smirks "I think ya know what I'm doin, Mrs. MacGuire." Sean rubs his hands up and down your body, and before you know it, his hands are tickling your sides. You squeal in laughter "Sean!" you shriek "Stop!"

He laughs at your pitiful attempt to escape. "Sean!" you laugh as he kept tickling you. He stopped after you lost the ability to breath after a while and you gasped for air, still laughing. "That was not funny!" you gasped. Sean smirked "I think it was," he said, wrapping his arm around you "But seriously, love, let's lay down for a least a few more minutes."

As your heartbeat settled, for the first time, the snow that was falling outside didn't worry you one bit.

[ariseur]

How do you think Arthur Morgan would react to a reader who has a great connection with animals? The reader knows how to calm animals, from horses to pigs and chickens, she also ensures that the animals have a good food and she will always be seen with a cat or a dog in her arms.

animal whisperer 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

arthur morgan x reader

┊ ˚➶ notes ｡˚ 🎼

this request was sooo cute!! sorry it took me a little while to complete it, i’ve been working on like fifteen different drafts at once !! 💗

┊ ˚➶ warnings ｡˚ 🎼

mentions of animals ( dogs, cats, horses ), mentions of arthur getting bucked off of his horse 😭, intended lowercase, lmk if i missed anything!!

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

❥ let me start this off by saying that i think arthur would literally adore you and your presence. like, he already thinks you’re such a beautiful lady and that you’re amazing within your own, but seeing you so domestic with animals does something to him.

❥ arthur’s lived a hard life, he’s calloused and struggles with letting himself enjoy some of the nicer moments in life alone. but when he finds you, it feels like all of the toughness that everybody sees melts away. all he wants is you, and now that’s he’s experienced the feeling of you, he never wants to let that go

❥ if you have a more curt and blunt nature to yourself, but you just melt around animals? oh, man— he’ll do anything to see that side of you. whenever it slips out and he sees you care so much for the horses or actually supply them with hay bales and proper necessities, his eyes will always follow you curiously

❥ and even if you’re a super sweet and outwardly kind person, he’ll still adore you!! he thinks it’s cute how you care so much for animals even if he wont say it to you, he has a fondness for animals too— except it’s more so updating his compendium and hunting them rather than taking them under his wing and feeding them 😭

❥ if you have a dog, he will love that baby to death let me tell you. doesn’t matter if they’re mangy or a mutt or even purebred, he will love them regardless. if we’re going based off what dogs you can get in rdo, i think he’d get along with a chill bigger dog— but even if your dog was energetic or more on guard like a chesapeake bay retriever or a labrador retriever, he will still adore them. i can just imagine arthur with a little guard dog by his side walking through camp as it follows him everywhere. having a dog will probably make him remember his old dog copper as he tells you tales of his journeys with him at night while rubbing your dog behind the ear as it lays its head on his lap.

❥ arthur’s not really a cat person but he won’t mind if you have one!! cats are very independent and he understands that so he’ll give them their space until one day they just like.. drape themselves over his lap and he has no idea what to do. he feels bad if he stands up but like.. he doesn’t know what else to do 😭

❥ and while i’m writing this i’m thinking of how in the game, micah would literally kick the crap out of cain in rdr2 and would scold him for no reason :(((. let me just say that arthur would literally not stand for that ( and yes i only write for high honor arthur, but i feel like regardless of his honor he wouldn’t be okay with it either way ). also why am i imagining micah getting bit or scratched and arthur just like laughing at him— like even him and your animal share a look because do you see this utter buffoonery? micah’s more of an animal than anyone if we’re being honest

❥ if you don’t like seeing him hunt or watching him skin animals, then he’ll suggest you turn away or he’ll point out something in the distance ( probably another cute animal prancing around or something ), and if it’s something small like a rabbit or a bird then it’ll be done in no time and he’ll redirect your attention back to him, jumping back on his horse and saying you guys should continue on with your journey

❥ if you need him to stop by to get any necessities or food for the animals at camp, he’ll stop by on his way back and get them the proper things they need. if you thank him, he’ll just brush it off and say it’s no problem— ( he was like two counties away but he’d gladly go back if you needed him to do so ).

❥ in summary, i feel like arthur would do really great with a partner with pets or a love for animals in general. he doesn’t get the fascination too much but he’ll support you nonetheless, as long as you don’t get hurt trying to pet something that looks cute when it’s not lmfao.

❥ holy crap i need jelp whyisa rthjrorhajgan so fne

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

“shh.. calm down, boy.” with your hands held out cautiously, you slowly approached ARTHUR’s bucking horse— the tennessee walker’s chestnut coat glimmering in the sun as it shone on its back. its alarmed neighs filled the air with only the distant rushing of water to accompany it, along with arthur’s huffs behind you as he caught his breath.

“‘s alright.” you cooed at the horse, waiting until its breaths slowed down slightly before you moved closer. your arms slowly extended out to reach his snout, his eyes widened and looking everywhere but you. you softly shushed as you halted your movements. your hand hovered over the white of his proboscis before finally placing a gentle hand on its nose, feeling its heavy breathing upon your arm.

“i still dont— fff.. get how you.. do ‘at.” arthur wheezed, bent over with his knees supporting him as he placed firm hands on them. he let out a breathy laugh, tipping his head up so you could catch a glimpse of his eyes under the brim of his hat. “i dunno what he even gotten spooked over.” he shook his head, watching as you pulled out a small carrot from your pocket and carefully fed it to his horse who munched on it in delight.

you didn’t pay him a glance as you were enveloped in the tenessee walker instead, smiling as you replied, “probably just somethin’ in the grass.”

“fair ‘nuff.” he shrugged, brushing himself off before placing a hand on his back while he winced. arthur sucked some air between clenched teeth as he struggled to stand upright. “think he got somethin’ in my back, too.” with a string of muttered curses, he hunched over once again.

your head turned this time, still focused on giving small pats to the horse’s nose as you tilted your head. brows furrowed, you asked, “need me to get you something from outta town?”

“naw, ‘s fine—“

“arthur, i was heading out that way already,” you pointed a thumb behind you— leading his vision to your horse stationary in the distance, tapping its hooves against the ground as it waited. he looked back at you as you held a gentle smile on your face and continued, “i don’t mind stoppin’ for something.”

arthur sighed, his fingers still kneading his lower back as he let out an occasional groan.

he let the silence take hold on the situation for a second, contemplating his options. letting his fingers twist and grab at the grass beneath him— his eyes flickered between the two horses, and then finally back to you. realizing it wouldn’t make a difference and you’d probably get it anyway, he waved a dismissive hand around and finally nodded his head.

“yeah, sure.”

𐙚 taglist ; @maskedteaser

[midnighvtm4ss]

Rosemary

Summary: Kidnapped in the middle of the night you’re dragged far away from camp by the ruthless Lemoyne Raiders. Your disappearance a painful wound for Arthur who has to, quite literally, fight for your love back.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

AO3 link

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Content: angst, hurt/comfort (finallyyy !!!) description of gun fight, kidnapping, heavy themes

wc: 5k

a/n: so we’ve finally come to the end of this silly little story. The comfort is finally here woohoo !! I’m actually kinda proud of this chapter because I tried a different approach to writing and idk,, i like it. Thank you from the bottom of my heart to every single one of you who liked Rosemary and filled my days with love, I’ll forever be grateful to all of you. A slightly better version of Rosemary will be posted on my ao3 account along with a new series im writing following John Marston and the reader. The plot for it will be revealed in a few days. As always let me know what you think of this chapter <33 (gif from pinterest)

Pain.

The very first thing you noticed was the pain—a sharp, throbbing agony spreading from the back of your head to the front. You winced as you tried to move your hands to support your head but your limbs felt heavy, almost as if you were trying to lift one of Pearson’s flour bags.

Everything was dark. A muffled piercing sound rang through your skull. You blinked, trying to clear your vision, but failing as the pitch darkness of the thick woods clouded your vision. Trying your hardest to get out of your dream-like state you decided to focus your mind on what exactly was happening, the last thing you remembered was your fight with Arthur and taking a walk into the woods outside camp. And then the pain. Oh, the pain was killing you.

You had to go back to camp and ask Reverend Swanson for some medicine.

You once again tried to raise your hands to your head to check for blood but your action, unfortunately, was unsuccessful. And then you felt it. The rough, scratching sensation of rope digging into your wrists. Your arms were bound tightly behind your back, the coarse braided fibers of the rope biting into your skin with every slight movement. Panic flooded your mind, its freezing tide rushing down on you as you realized that you were tied up.

“She’s comin’ to. We better hurry up before she starts and give us trouble,” A low, hoarse voice cut through your panic haze.

From your lying position, what seemed like the figure of a large man could be made out approaching you in the darkness. You felt yourself being hoisted roughly into the air, before you were slung harshly like a sack of potatoes, across something hard. A horse, you judged by the pungent smell of hay that invaded your nostrils. The saddle dug painfully into your side as the animal began to move forward under the command of its rider. The sudden movement made you almost throw up, your head pounding rhythmically with each rapid beat of hooves on the woods ground. You wanted to scream but no sound escaped your throat, the pain in your body too intense. As the horse rode further and further into the woods you could feel your consciousness slowly slip away,

‘Arthur,’ you managed to utter before darkness took over you.

The second time you awoke, it was due to the biting cold of dawn. The sky above was just starting to lighten, the first rays of sunrise penetrating through the dense treetops, coloring everything in pale hues. You were lying on the ground again, your body stiff and muscles aching. You shivered uncontrollably, teeth chattering together, your dress doing a poor job at keeping you warm, as you tried your best to gather your scattered thoughts. The men were still nearby, the sound of their hushed voices mixing with the rustling of leaves blowing in the wind. Despite the overwhelming pain and tiredness you felt washing all over your body you forced yourself to stay awake.

You rolled to the side as best as you could, mud staining the soft colored fabric of your dress and cheeks, trying to find out where they had taken you. You knew you had to think clearly, to find a way out of this nightmare. Your eyes, although blurred, scanned the area in front of you. You were in the Bayou area, the shadow of tall trees and surrounding swamp a dead giveaway of the location and judging by the various bottles of moonshine all over the place, your kidnappers probably took you to an old moonshine distillery camp.

“You sure she’s worth all this trouble?” a high pitched voice asked.

“What, a beauty like her ? Absolutely partner,” another man responded, his tone cruel. “Just keep her quiet until the boss comes back, then we’ll have ourselves a real party,” he added laughing.

Fear gripped your chest like a vise—you could hear footsteps approaching, quick and heavy. Rough hands grabbed you by the shoulders, flipping you over onto your back, your eyes focusing just enough to see the blurred outline of a man’s face looming above you, the bitter smell of liquor and tobacco taking over your senses, the end of his yellow scarf tied around his neck dangling down in front of you. Lemoyne raiders.

“Well, look who’s finally awake,” he muttered, his voice dripping with mockery as he smiled down at you. He took out a small pocket knife from his satchel leaning in closer. The blade flashed in front of your eyes as he lowered it down to your cheek, slowly moving it down towards your neck without breaching your skin.

Your breath caught up in your throat, your chest rising and falling rapidly making you lightheaded as the blade touched the sensitive skin of your neck. Your heart pounded so violently in your chest that it made you physically sick. A strained whimper left your lips as tears welled up in your eyes blurring your vision. You were completely frozen in place, terrified under the man’s knife. The man menacingly laughed at the sound you let out, flashing his yellow teeth at you, satisfaction evident in his cold eyes.

He roughly manhandled you up by your arm, his tight grip leaving dark bruises on your skin as your feet dragged in the mud. The man pushed you inside a decaying wooden cabin, its interior surprisingly worse than the exterior, you noted as you were sat down on a small chair positioned in the corner of the entrance room, far away from the door.

Another man, much smaller than the previous one, grabbed you by your hair lifting your face towards his making you wince.

“You’re gonna stay nice ‘nd quiet Miss,” he said before stuffing your mouth with a dirty piece of cloth, the bitter taste of dirt making you gag.

The two men spared you one last glance, a satisfied expression painting their faces, before leaving the cabin to join their other men outside, locking you in.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

The usual cheerful chirping of birds coming from the trees surrounding Clemens Point camp acted as a morning alarm for Arthur. The chill morning air biting at his exposed ankles, his blanket messily tangled up his torso as a result of the restless night he spent tossing and turning, waiting for you to come back. He knew that following you was the wrong choice. You wanted some space from him and he respected that, but his heart couldn’t help but ache at the missing warmth of your body in his bed. He waited and waited for you, his eyes growing heavy as he rehearsed in his mind all the ways he could make it up to you, until his body succumbed to its tiredness and fell asleep.

Putting on his hat he lazily walked towards the coffee brewer on the campfire near the ladies’ tents, his mind replaying the events of the night. The way you looked at him as if he had just shoved a knife into your chest, your pretty eyes bloodshot and puffy from the constant crying. Your trembling form making its way out of your shared tent hunting his mind like a vengeful ghost. He loathed himself for that. It was his damn fault. He had to make it right and he’d do anything to take all the pain he caused away.

Sure you had slept with the girls since you never made it back to your tent last night, he expected to find you chatting away with Tilly as the both of you usually prefered to start early on your morning chores, his steps carrying him with a determined aura, but once he made it in front of the ladies’ tents you were not there. His face scrunched up in confusion as a small glimmer of concern planted its root in his head. That same glimmer grew rapidly as he darted his eyes around camp seeing no signs of your presence.

“Arthur,” the gentle sound of Abigail’s voice snapped him out of his turmoil.

“Abigail, hi.” he answered absently, eyes still scanning the camp’s grounds in hope of catching a glimpse of you.

“Look, I don’t want to be nosy but is everything alrigh’ between you two ? I heard you two yelling last night, she was pretty shaken up before you arrived”

“Yes, no—I don’t know. We had an argument, and she didn’t sleep in our bed last night. Can't blame her really, but I can’t seem to find her,” he explained, concern radiating out of every fiber in his body “Have you seen her ?”

“No, not since last night. Maybe she just needs some time alone” she reassured, placing her hand on his shoulder. The gesture soothing his worried thoughts.

“Yeah maybe you’re righ—“ Arthur didn’t get to finish his sentence as the cutting voice of Leopold Strauss interrupted him.

“Herr Morgan, Herr Morgan. Busy, my friend ?” The Austrian man approached him, a folded piece of paper in hand.

Arthur's shoulders dropped. He dreaded working for Strauss, but the older man was persistent, always ready with another fella to squeeze dry for some cash. Sure, the money helped keep the gang afloat, put food on the table, and clothes on the backs of the women and children, but the work, well, the work was dirty. It was the kind of work that gnawed at a man’s conscience.

“What is it now,” Arthur turned to face him, Abigail excusing herself, patting his back before leaving to wake Jack up. Strauss handed him the piece of paper, fortunately for Arthur only one name was scribbled down. ‘Gwyn Hughes’

“He’s an undertaker in Rhodes, he shouldn’t be giving you any trouble but he’s a slippery fellow. Just scare him and collect the debt” he explained. Arthur sighed accepting the job, wondering when all this loan sharking business would come to an end. You always hated when he’d go out dealing with Strauss’ business, saying how the gang should steal from the rich to help the poor and not steal from the poor to help the poor. He knew deep down inside of him you were right, but unfortunately money is money and with the gang’s situation looking far from good, every single cent counted.

He put the paper in his satchel before walking towards the hitching post, his gaze falling on your Tennessee Walker before mounting his horse.

“Oi english!” Sean called out from his lookout post “you look like shit this mornin’”

“Yeah well, don’t I always,” Arthur groaned before signaling his horse to move forward.

The collection of the debt turned out stranger than Arthur ever imagined. As it turned out Gwyn Hughes, the debtor, planned to pay back his debt by robbing a woman’s grave and as if that wasn’t enough he tasked Arthur to clear the cemetery and eventually stop the people from coming in. By noon, Arthur left Rhodes with a diamond brooch, a few bruises on his face and a confused conscience.

He returned to camp exhausted, his body and mind heavy, the dirty work weighed heavily on him as he hitched his horse near camp. All he wanted now was to see you, hear the sweet sound of your voice, even if you’d yell at him. He just wanted to see you. But as he ventured inside the camp, the usual hum of chatter was gone, the atmosphere heavy. Something was off. Abigail and Sadie were the first to come up to him, Abigail face pale while Sadie scanned around camp anxiously.

“Arthur,” the brunette called out, her voice rising with an edge of worry as they hurried towards him. “She ain’t been back”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat “Wha—What do you mean she ain’t been back ? Nobody’s seen her ?”

“Last time I saw her was last night, I was on lookout and saw her headin’ out towards the woods, thought she was goin’ for a walk” Sadie explained, her expression filled with worry. “I asked ‘round camp and no one has seen her today”

His stomach dropped as numerous possibilities of what could’ve happened to you flashed through his mind. Without muttering a word to the two women, Arthur stormed over to Dutch’s tent, the latter standing outside talking to Hosea about the recent developments on the Gray-Braithwaite situation. The moment they saw Arthur approaching their conversation dissolved, the look on his face signaling them that something was off.

“What’s the matter Arthur ?” Dutch asked, concern dancing in his eyes.

“It’s about her, she went out last night and no one has seen her since” he explained, his voice strained. Dutch expression hardened

“You think something happened to her ?”

“I do, yeah”

“Alright then better move quickly, Charles! Bill !” Dutch called, his voice reverberating across the camp calling out the two men. “Arthur’s Miss is missing. I want you two to go out with him, see if you can track her down. The others, I want all eyes on the perimeters of camp, if she comes back you holler. Nobody moves from camp.”

Charles, who had been crafting some poisonous arrows near by the campfire, quickly dropped his task as he listened to what happened. He quickly gathered all his gear and began to move towards the horses, Bill just a few paces behind him.

“We’ll find her, Arthur. She’s gonna be okay” Hosea consoled him, but the older man's words did little to calm Arthur’s racing heart.

Within minutes, the three men were mounted on their horses and heading into the woods where Sadie had last seen you. Arthur’s mind was racing, a dangerous storm of fear and anger bubbling beneath the surface. He couldn’t lose you, not like this. Not after everything that happened.

The woods were dense, the tall trees casting deep shadows that made it difficult to see much of anything, but luckily Charles was an expert tracker, the hunter’s keen eyes scanning every inch of the ground for any sign of you.

After what felt like an eternity for Arthur, Charles held up his hand, signaling the other two men to stop. He dismounted Taima and crouched down, examining something on the ground. Arthur quickly joined him, his breath catching in his throat as he saw what his friend had found.

It was her bracelet, the golden one he had gifted you for your first anniversary. The small wristlet laid in the dirt, the delicate chain now broken. Arthur felt the whole world crashing down on him as he picked it up, his hands shaking in a mix of anger and fear.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

As the hours dragged on, you struggled to stay alert. The pain in your head had dulled to a persistent ache, but every muscle in your body screamed in protest with every small movement. Your wrist burned, blood dripping down your hands as you tried to wriggle them out of your ropes, the process slow and agonizing, but you could feel the ropes loosening further and further. You just needed to grit your teeth through the pain. The men had become less concerned about you, talking and drunkenly laughing amongst themselves, making you nauseous at their inhumanity.

Then a man entered the cabin, followed by two others behind him. He was tall and well built, his hairline receding leaving his hair to hang awkwardly on the sides. By the way he dragged himself around you deduced he was their leader. He crouched down beside you, his face dangerously close to yours, his breath fanning in your face making you scrunch your nose at the rancid smell of his breath. He reached out to check your ropes, tightening them furthermore, the action causing bolts of pain to shoot through your body.

“What was a pretty lady like yourself doing all alone in the woods mh?” He took out the now drenched piece of cloth out of your mouth. You swallowed, feeling your dry throat burning at the action.

You couldn’t muster the strength to respond. Your head lolled to the side as the man stepped back, a sinister grin plastered on his face. Then a harsh, stinging sensation hit your cheek.

“I said what were you doing all alone in the woods, slut” Tears welled in your eyes, both from the pain and the hopelessness of your situation. Your thoughts kept drifting back to Arthur. You had to hold on, had to find a way to escape, if not for yourself, then for him. He would come for you—you knew it deep down in your heart, but you needed to survive until then.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

Arthur’s eyes burned with anger and fear. He clenched his fists around the bracelet, his mind racing. “She was here,” Charles said quietly, his voice grim. “And she wasn’t alone. Look at these tracks, it seems like there was a struggle. She was taken.”

“By who?” asked Bill.

Charles pointed his finger to the ground, where the faint outline of various boot prints led away from their spot. “Judging by the tracks, it looks like a group of men. Three, maybe four. Could be Lemoyne Raiders. They must’ve grabbed her and taken her somewhere nearby. At this point the only place near is the old moonshine distillery.”

Arthur’s blood ran cold at the thought of you in the hands of the Raiders. The Lemoyne Raiders were known for their brutality, his encounter a few weeks prior with Sadie confirmed their reputation. The thought of what they could be doing to you filled him with a rage so intense it nearly consumed him.

“We find their hideout, and we get her out,” Arthur said through gritted teeth, already mounting up on his horse “I’m gonna kill all them goddamned bastards. I don’t care what it takes.”

Mounting their horses they followed the tracks, the three men riding fast through the woods. Thankfully it hadn’t rained so the trail was still clearly visible. It led them deeper into the Bayou region, the trees growing thicker and the air heavier with humidity and tension.

Finally, after what felt like hours, they spotted the moonshine distillery through the trees. It was a crumbling mess of buildings, half-hidden by the vegetation in the shadows, but there was no mistaking it. A few horses were tethered outside, and faint light flickered from the windows of an old cabin.

Arthur’s heart pounded as he dismounted. Charles and Bill followed him as they hid behind a crumbled stone wall, his hand instinctively reaching for his gun. Their eyes scanned the area, there was a man guarding the horses while a group of five others were sitting near by the campfire, drinking and laughing with each other. He exchanged a quick glance with Bill and Charles. This was it. They’d kill those bastards outside, storm the cabin, take out anyone who stood in their way, and get you out of there.

“Let’s go, I’ll take that guard near the horses out” Bill whispered, his voice steady with resolve. He made quick work of killing the guard, his knife glimmering just a second in the light before settling into the man’s neck. Charles and Arthur joined Bill in action. Arthur was the first to shoot his gun, the bullet piercing clean through one of the men’s chest. Then all hell broke loose.

Bullets went flying as the Lemoyne Raiders spotted them, the air filled with smoke and gunpowder as both sides fought violently. Their position didn’t offer too much cover, the Lemoyne Raiders, although drunk, fought hard, their guns never stopping. A stray bullet scraped Arthur’s arm but that didn’t stop him as he barely registered it. His mind was singularly focused on one thing—getting to you before it was too late. And in just a few minutes Arthur, Charles and Bill managed to take down all five men outside. Moving quickly out of their cover they reached the front of the cabin, and with a nod from Arthur, they burst through the door.

Chaos erupted as they stormed inside. The few Lemoyne Raiders inside the cabin barely had time to react before Bill and Charles opened fire, cutting them down where they stood. Arthur moved with deadly precision, his eyes scanning the room for any sign ofyou. And then he saw you, tied to a chair in the corner of the room, your face bruised, wrist bloody but alive. You were alive

The last of the Raiders fell as Arthur rushed to your side, his hands quickly working to untie the ropes that bound you so tightly. Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice, you thought this was just your mind playing tricks but tears welled up in your eyes falling rapidly down your face when you realized it wasn’t your mind playing tricks, it was really him. Arthur had found you.

“Arthur,” you barely whispered, your voice hoarse and weak.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Arthur murmured, his voice shaking as he finally freed you from the chair. He quickly checked you for more injuries before pulling you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he’d never let go. “I’ve got you sweetheart. You’re safe now.” You were still in shock from the whole ordeal, overwhelmed by the mix of emotions—fear from the attack, but also a deep, undeniable relief that Arthur was there with you. In this moment you both forgot your fight, your mixed feelings and both held each other, the intensity of the moment washing over you. You held each other for a few seconds longer before separating. A strange turmoil of emotion took over you as you looked around the room seeing the body of your kidnappers unmoving on the ground. Unable to look at them a second more you diverted your attention back to the group of outlaws in front of you.

The first who broke the silence that fell around you was Bill, awkwardly clearing his throat before adding “We need to get movin’ all this gunfight definitely caught someone’s attention”

Arthur offered his hand to you and you took it, using it as leverage to get yourself up to your feet. Your vision spotting for a second before coming back. You didn’t find in your heart to let go of his hand, his warm skin offering you peace. They escorted you out towards the horses. Arthur helping you up on his before sitting behind you, his strong arms holding you tightly to his chest giving you support. The last thing you felt was Arthur chaste kiss on your temple before you let yourself fall asleep.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm orange glow over the camp as the day slowly faded into night. The air was cool, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the trees surrounding your tent. Inside the tent, the air was still, heavy with unspoken words and lingering tension.

You were finally out of the cot after three days of recovery. The girls had come to check up on you in the morning, bringing you a mug of coffee and a pack of chocolate biscuits Mary Beth had managed to steal from the general store. The pain had dulled, your wounds were slowly healing, but the ache in your heart was still fresh, raw from everything that had happened. Arthur had barely left your side the entire time, his presence a constant, quiet comfort, but the words exchanged between you could count on your fingers. The silence between you two was loaded, filled with everything unsaid, with everything that had been tearing at you long before the kidnapping.

The both of you were now in your shared tent, you sat on the edge of the bed absently tracing the edge of an empty tin cup of peaches with your fingers. The room felt suffocating, but you knew you couldn’t keep avoiding this conversation any longer. The memory of those letters, the sight of Arthur and Mary together in Rhodes, his lies. it all still stung, a wound that hadn’t yet healed.

Arthur was seated on the small chair at the foot of the bed, his head hung low, hands toying with the rope that wrapped around his worn hat, face brim as if bracing himself for what was to come. He had watched over you, cared for you, over the past three days but there was a palpable distance between you two now that neither of you could ignore. You could see the lines of worry etched into his face, the guilt that had been gnawing at him for days.

Finally, you broke the silence. Your voice barely above a whisper “Arthur, we need to talk.”

He looked up at you, his aqua eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and something else, something that made your heart ache more at his sight. “I know,” he replied quietly, his voice rough and tired from the last couple sleepless nights. “I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout what happened, before all this mess.”

You took a deep breath, gathering the strength you needed to confront him, to confront the hurt that had been tearing at your heart. “You lied to me, Arthur. About the letters, about Mary. About everything.”

He winced at your words, the truth of them hitting him hard. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “I thought—I thought if I didn’t tell you, it would hurt less. That it wouldn’t matter, ‘cause it was supposed to be nothin’. But it was a mistake. I should’ve been honest with you from the start.”

Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, the pain of those memories sharp like the ghost of the tip of the Lemoyne Raider’s knife on your neck. “I saw you two together, Arthur. In Rhodes. You both looked so happy. It felt like, like my worst fears were coming true. Like I was losing you.”

Arthur stood up slowly, taking a tentative step in front of you. His hand reached out, but he stopped mid air, hesitating as if he wasn’t sure if he had the right to touch you. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he repeated, his voice thick with emotion. “Mary, she just needed help after the passing of her husband. She didn’t have anyone else to turn to and I didn’t have the guts to shut her down. So I helped her. I didn’t want to drag you into it ‘cause I didn’t want you to worry.”

You looked up at him, searching his face for the truth. “But you lied, Arthur. And that hurt more than anything.”

He nodded, his expression pained. “I know. I know, and I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to make things worse between us. But I can see now that I did that anyway by not bein’ honest.” A tear slipped down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away, trying to keep your composure. “I love you, Arthur. But I can’t live like this, I can’t live wondering if there’s something you’re not telling me, if there’s a part of you that’s still with her.”

Arthur’s face scrunched with regret. “There ain’t. I swear to you, there ain’t. She’s from another life, a life I walked away from a long time ago. Jt’s you I love darlin’. It’s always been you.”

You looked down at the tin cup in your hands the juice residue sloshing as you toyed with the cup, your fingers trembling with the heavy weight of your next decision. “I don’t know if I can just forget what happened Arthur, it hurt too much.”

He stepped closer, this time his hand gently cupped your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “I don’t expect you to forget. All I’m askin’ you is to try. Try give us another chance. I’ll do better, I swear it. I’ll be honest with you, about everything. No more secrets.”

His touch was warm as his thumb stroked your cheek, comforting you and despite the hurt, you couldn’t deny that bright flame of love that still burned inside of you for him. You met his eyes, seeing the sincerity, the sheer desperation in them. He made a stupid mistake of thinking for you, but he was now acknowledging his mistake, he was willing to try and be a better man for you, a man you could see your future into.

You let your tears fall freely now as you nodded, your voice barely a whisper. “I want to try, Arthur. I want to believe in you, in us again.”

He kneeled down to your height and held you into his arms, holding you close as you cried against his chest, the tension of the past days finally breaking down. His hand gently stroked your hair, his voice a low murmur of comfort in your ear.

“We’ll make it work, I promise. We’ll get through this.”

[allthemeniveloved]

Almost

Summary: John may have slipped up and called you his wife after you failed to rob a drunken man.

Tags: hyper-feminine female pickpocket reader, John Marston x you, fluff, one derogatory name used.

a/n: I'm feeling super uninspired and am struggling to come up with new ideas but I just know I'm craving husband/father/family man/epilogue/rdr 1/protective John Marston BAD.

The saloon in Rhodes buzzed with its usual mix of raucous laughter, clinking glasses, and the faint strain of a piano in the corner. You had slipped in earlier, your heels clicking softly against the wooden floor as you scanned the room. It wasn’t your first time playing the damsel in a bustling saloon, using charm, lip gloss, and wit to ease a few coins out of careless pockets. Tonight, though, your mark—a swaying, red-faced man with a sloppy grin—seemed an easy target.

Or so you thought.

Your fingers had just brushed the edge of his coat pocket when he spun around, his meaty hand slapping yours away. “What the hell d’you think you’re doin’, lady?” he barked, his words slurring but his anger sharp.

“I—I’m sorry!” you stammered, backing up a step and clutching your bag to your chest, your heartbeat thundering. Your wide eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape, but the man’s booming voice drew everyone’s attention.

“Tryin’ to rob me, huh?” He staggered closer, his breath reeking of whiskey. “You think you can get away with that? Little whore!”

A heat rose to your cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and panic. The saloon grew quieter as the patrons turned to watch the scene unfold. You took another step back, your voice soft and pleading. “I didn’t mean—please, it was a mistake—”

“Don’t give me that!” he snapped, his voice loud enough to rattle the glasses on the bar. “You’re nothin’ but a—”

“Hey!”

The sharp, commanding voice cut through the tension like a knife. Your head whipped around, and there he was—John Marston, standing just inside the saloon doors. His eyes locked on the drunken man, his jaw tight and his expression dark. He crossed the room in long, purposeful strides, the spurs on his boots clicking with each step.

“You leave my wife alone,” he growled, his tone low and dangerous.

Your breath hitched. His wife? The words hung in the air for a moment, and though you knew it wasn’t true, the way he said it—so fiercely, so protectively—made your heart skip.

The man blinked, momentarily confused. “Your wife? She—she was tryin’ to rob me!”

John stepped between you and the man, his broad shoulders blocking you from view. “That so?” he said, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge. “Funny, all I see is a drunk fool harassin’ a lady.”

“She—”

John didn’t let him finish. “I don’t care what you think happened,” he said, his voice dropping even lower. “You’re gonna turn around, walk back to your drink, and forget all about it. Or we’re gonna have a problem.”

The man’s face reddened further, his chest puffing up like a rooster preparing for a fight. But then John’s hand drifted casually to the revolver on his hip, his fingers resting on the worn grip. The tension in the room thickened, and you could feel the weight of every eye in the saloon on the two men.

After a long, tense moment, the drunk muttered something under his breath and stumbled back to the bar. John didn’t move until the man was seated and glaring into his glass. Only then did he turn to you, his sharp gaze softening when it met yours.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

You nodded, though your legs felt shaky beneath your petticoats. “I—yes. Thank you.”

John sighed, running a hand through his hair. “What were you thinkin’, tryin’ that in a place like this?” His tone wasn’t scolding, more exasperated, and laced with something else—worry.

“Well, I thought he wouldn’t notice!" you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Well, he did." John said, a sigh escaping his lips as his gaze drifted to his feet.

You bit your lip, your heart still racing, though for a different reason now. “You didn’t have to say I was your wife,” you said softly, looking up at him through your long lashes.

He shifted, scratching the back of his neck, his cheeks taking on a slight flush. “Seemed like the fastest way to get him off your back,” he muttered. Then, after a beat, he added, “Didn’t figure you’d mind.”

You smiled despite yourself. “Not at all.”

His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Then he glanced around the saloon and offered you his arm. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get outta here before he gets any ideas.”

You took his arm without hesitation, the warmth of his touch steadying you as he led you out of the saloon. The cool night air hit your face as the door swung shut behind you, but you barely noticed. All you could feel was the solid presence of John at your side, his protective energy wrapping around you like a shield.

As you walked to the horses, you couldn’t resist teasing, “So…wife, huh?”

John smirked, his lips quirking in that way that made your stomach flip. “Don’t you get any ideas either, little miss.” he said, though his voice was warm, almost playful.

You laughed softly, the tension from the saloon finally melting away. “Too late,” you said with a grin, and though John rolled his eyes, you didn’t miss the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

John shook his head at your teasing, his smirk lingering as he helped you up onto your horse. The warm press of his hands at your waist sent a flutter through your chest, though he seemed entirely unaffected, like it was second nature to him. He mounted his own horse in one swift motion, settling in with an ease that only added to the rugged charm he wore so effortlessly.

The two of you set off at a steady pace, the quiet night settling around you. The occasional chirp of crickets filled the silence, the moonlight casting a silver glow over the dirt road. You glanced at John out of the corner of your eye, but he was focused ahead, the lines of his face hard to read.

Finally, unable to stand the quiet any longer, you broke the silence. “You really didn’t have to do that back there, you know,” you said softly, your voice carrying in the stillness. “I could’ve handled him.”

John let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he adjusted his reins. “Sure looked like it,” he said, the sarcasm clear in his tone. “What were you gonna do, bat your lashes at him and hope he forgot he was mad?”

“Well, it usually works,” you shot back, a playful lilt in your voice. “Just not on belligerent drunks, apparently.”

John glanced at you then, his dark eyes catching yours. “Guess it’s a good thing I was there, huh?”

You huffed, though you couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at your lips. “I could’ve talked my way out of it.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, his voice dry but tinged with amusement. “You’re lucky he was too drunk to really make trouble.”

You sighed, your gaze drifting to the moonlit trees lining the road. “I hate being caught off guard like that. Makes me feel… small.”

John’s expression softened, though he kept his eyes on the road. “You ain’t small,” he said firmly. “You’re smart, quick, and you’ve got more guts than most folks I know. But next time, maybe don’t go tryin’ to pick a fight you don’t need to.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Pick a fight? I was picking his pocket.”

“Same difference,” John shot back, smirking again. “Just stay outta trouble, alright? You’re too pretty to be tanglin’ with folks like that.”

The unexpected compliment caught you off guard, and your cheeks warmed despite the cool night air. “Too pretty, huh?” you teased, trying to cover your flustered reaction. “That’s what you think of me?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly realizing what he’d said. “Don’t go twistin’ my words,” he muttered, though there was no real bite in his voice.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” you replied with a sly smile. “But for the record, you make a pretty convincing husband.”

John chuckled, the sound low and rich. “That so?”

“Mm-hmm,” you said, leaning slightly toward him as your horses walked side by side. “You had everyone in that saloon believing it. Even me, for a second.”

He didn’t respond right away, his jaw working as though he were weighing his words. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, more thoughtful. “Did what I had to. Ain’t gonna let nobody hurt you.”

Your chest tightened at the sincerity in his tone, and you looked at him more closely, trying to read the expression on his face. He didn’t meet your gaze, his eyes fixed straight ahead, but there was a tension in his shoulders, like he was holding something back.

“You mean that?” you asked softly.

He finally looked at you, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “Every word,” he said simply, his voice steady and sure.

The weight of his promise settled between you, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fall away. You wanted to say something—anything—but the words wouldn’t come. All you could do was hold his gaze, your heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the lingering adrenaline from the saloon.

John cleared his throat, breaking the moment. “We’re almost back to camp,” he said, his voice gruffer now, like he was trying to shake off the vulnerability that had seeped into it.

You nodded, your throat tight. “Right. Camp.”

The rest of the ride passed in comfortable silence, though your mind was anything but quiet. By the time you reached Clemens Point, the camp was quiet, most of the gang already asleep. John dismounted first, tying his horse to a post before turning to help you down. His hands found your waist again, his grip steady and sure as he eased you off the saddle.

When your feet touched the ground, he didn’t immediately let go. His hands lingered just a moment too long, his eyes searching yours in the dim light. “Get some rest,” he said finally, his voice softer than before. “You’ve had a hell of a night.”

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Thanks, John. For everything.”

He gave you a small, lopsided smile, the kind that made your chest ache in the best way. “Anytime,” he said, before stepping back and turning toward his tent.

[cowboyfromh3ll]

Hcs for how each of the boys to react to "I'm pregnant"?

Any of them that you want to write for :)

So excited

English not my first language. Sorry

Van Der Linde Gang's Boys' Reactions To "I'm pregnant" (And Eagle Flies)

Hehehe this was so cute and also I didn't edit this ❤️

Warnings: none

Arthur Morgan

He'd be so fucking happy

Probably in disbelief at first but oh my God he'd be overjoyed

Ask you if you're serious over and over

Once he's convinced he's gonna ask all these questions about your physical and mental wellbeing

Celebrates with you (whatever that entails wink wink)

In his elated haze he's gonna wanna ask all these questions about your future together as parents

Is aware the gang ain't the best place to raise a kid but he'll reassure you that you'll have the whole gangs support

John Marston

Oh god

Let's just say he wouldn't be the most elated parent 😭💀

He's already got Jack and now he needs to take care of another?

If this were a revelation that came earlier in the game he's gonna be very irresponsible but I feel like he wouldn't deny that the kid was his

So at that point he's sort of forced to actually give a damn about him

And believe me he'd try but he wouldn't be the best at it, would need guidance

If this came later in the game like epilogue he'd probably be WAY more happier.

Your lives are finally settled and you can afford to have a kid

He'd be the happiest and more supportive husband and dad

Still wouldn't be sure about all the ropes but he'd try

Dutch Van Der Linde

He'd be SO happy

Like genuinely he'd shower you with gifts and praise and reassurance

I feel like part of it would be a power thing for him because not only can he lead a gang, but now he can lead a family

Also some sort of weird power symbol for him. Idk how, but it is

Wouldn't let you lift a finger

Would probably keep you in his tent to rest 24/7 and only allows a few people (Grimshaw, Hosea) to see you

He's going to hope and pray it's a boy

Charles Smith

HE'D BE IN SO MUCH SHOCK AND FEEL SM HAPPINESS IT'D BE SO CUTE

You sorta have to repeat the news to him a few times for him to fully absorb it

Literally a dream of his to start a family one day so now that he has it he's ecstatic

Probably incentive to leave the gang though, doesn't want his child growing up in that environment

Would prefer if you sit back and rest but won't hold you back if you don't want to

Javier Escuella

This is cause to celebrate

Takes you into town on a date

Offers you massages, foot rubs, hand massages

Sings to you to calm you

Holds your hair when you throw up (true love)

Buys you clothes to accomodate to your changing body

Kieran Duffy

THE SWEETEST REACTION

I feel like he'd start crying

Asks to touch your belly and would speak to it

That night he'd fall asleep while holding it

Wakes up the next morning and remembers you're pregnant and his day is already off to an amazing start

Get drunk while celebrating it and he'd boast to everyone about how he's gonna be a dad

Sean Macguire

He'd say some stupid shit I already know it

Probably crack a sex joke

He's getting stupid, fucking drunk. I'm talking black out

He's probably gonna wanna celebrate if you catch my drift HAHAHA

He'd forget to be gentle sometimes out of excitement, like carrying you around and cheering

Refuses to let you do any work

In private I feel like he'd cry

Lenny Summers

He'd probably panic a bit at first

Ask all these questions about how you guys are gonna be parents and if you're even ready

Once the two of you talk through it a little more he'll calm down and his nerves turn to excitement

I'm assuming y'all would be real young so he'd seek for a lot of guidance in the others

Constantly asks you questions about what you want and need

Bill Williamson

He'd be so flustered and nervous

Probably in disbelief for a while and asks if you're serious

I wouldn't blame you for thinking he's upset with the news at first

But he just needs time to process how his life's about to change!

He becomes even more gentle with you, more than he already is

Will argue with Miss Grimshaw about letting you rest/lightening your work load

And let's be real, she would lower your work load but he'd insist it stops altogether

Micah Bell

He'd be in disbelief, but bad disbelief

That or the sleaziest reaction

I'm leaning more towards sleazy reaction

Talks about how he's gonna raise the bravest kid and he's constantly gonna reference to the kid as he because I'm convinced he wants a boy

Brags to the others

Don't get me wrong the gang's happy for you but the way Micah uses it as a point of elevation is IRRITATING

Hosea Matthews

He's the cutest like seriously

He'd be sooo happy

Probably in disbelief that he even managed to get you pregnant

I believe he'd cry, and openly, he's not ashamed! He's happy!

Announces it to the whole gang, means for celebration

Takes you on dates to buy cute little baby items ahhh

Eagle Flies

HE'D FREAK THE FUCK OUT

Pace around the room asking if you're for real, contemplates his entire life, curses himself for cumming inside

You'd have to calm him down and talk him through it

It'd be a super emotional moment for the two of you, eventually he'd realize he's fine with the idea of kids and he's just nervous!

Would ask his dad and a lot of tribe members for advice

Over time he'd get way more excited and bring up the topic more often

[sixgunluvr]

Sneak peek below for 18 + ONLY!

Arthur would be the type to grab you by the waist and force you up against a tree, his lips on yours in a searing, desperate kiss. The nighttime air would be filled with the sounds of your muffled moans, his deep growls of satisfaction, and the rustling of leaves as your bodies writhed together.

His calloused hands would grip your thighs, pulling them up around his waist and drawing you into him. With each thrust, you could imagine his cock hitting that spot deep within you, leaving you trembling with the intensity of your building release.

As you let your imagination run wild, the ecstasy gripped you tighter, your thighs clenching around your hand, desperate to feel the delicious friction against you that built and grew with each stroke.

You imagined Arthur, his powerful voice whispering filthy, filthy things into your ear. Crude, dirty promises echoed in your brain as you desperately sought relief from the storm of arousal inside you.

"Fuck, baby," he'd growl. "That sweet little pussy belongs to me.

[rdr2stories]

"Am I somehow so terrible that the woman who birthed me no longer deserved the affection of the man whos love created me?" A rdr fanfiction.

A short fanfiction about Jack Marston.

My uncle stood next to me, the brim of his hat shielded his eyes from the sun coming down from above. He held a fishing pole in his hand, his line ended somewhere out in the middle of the river where he had thrown it. My line is only half his length, my small arms could not handle more, he had caught three fish, I had yet to catch anything. I found fishing boring, the flowers in the grass further up the shore looked pretty, they made a nice necklace to mama.

Father, I can’t help but remember that day when you asked me to fish with you, when you grabbed the bucket and the two fishing rods. You looked awkward, but happy somehow, you didn’t quite know what to do with me, I didn’t quite know what to feel. I still found fishing boring but caught a fish before you did, you were impressed and I was unsuccessful in keeping spite from my voice when I told you it was uncle who taught me. You simply replied “oh did he now?”

Uncle was never a good fisherman, yet the day he taught me he told me I was the second little boy he had taught to fish, I used to wonder why I didn’t have a cousin if that was so, but with time it simply made me realise why he hated you.

He died eight years prior to that fishing trip with you father, meaning it had been eight years since my first fishing trip. I had been just four and when I stood with the rod in my hands again I had been just twelve, it had been just eight years since uncles death, you barely talk about him, your brother, I barely remember what he looks like, but I remember what I had seen him as; my father. He brought me a comic book, and I drew him a drawing of a family, it had been him who had taken the place of the father, not you, I carried not his blood but to me he was my father.

It has been eight years, eight years since your eyes last held disgust, eight years since you last yelled at me, eight years since you decided that you wanted to be my father.

While I forgave I never forgot and I never stopped wondering. Oh father, what did I do for you to reject me? What did I do to be unworthy of your love and why was it first when you decided I fit into your life that you allowed me to be your son? Whatever could a child still growing in the womb have done to make you hate it? I am a creation of love, I shared the blood of the woman you held dear, yet that affection not only did not extent to me it was also cut off from her when she came to carry me.

Am I somehow so terrible that the woman who birthed me no longer deserved the affection of the man whos love created me?

Father, did you forget? That day on the riverbed, had you forgetten the way you used to look at me? The way you never even tried to hide your disgust but would shout it so everyone would hear, you were so ashamed by me that you chose to humiliate your son of four years in front of everyone in the area. I cried to mama that day because my child brain did not understand that you hated her just as much as you did me, that she was just as hurt by the way you shouted at her as I was by the way you looked at me.

Father, did you know I used to hide in my aunt’s skirts yet I could still hear the sound when she slapped your cheek through the fabric? I remember it even now though she has not laid her hand on you for eight years, she wanted you to accept me. I was too young to know then, but I now know what she meant when she said “I don’t care how you feel about me, but at least make an effort with the boy.” Did you yell at her for telling you to love me?

Father, did you know I don’t react to my own name? The one we share? The one given to me by my mother before you decided to give me a nickname because the idea that the two of us would share four letters made you angry? I have never once been called by our name, though it has always been a dream of mine.

When you speak to me, you speak as if your voice has never carried anything but love, I wish it was the truth, and although I am happy it doesn’t give sour comments no more I can’t help but wonder when you decided I was worth your time? Was it first when you saw someone else take the role you had taken for granted?

I know the man you called father, the man I called grandfather, never carried your blood and you never his, yet it was also him you drew on drawings and it was him you taught you to fish. We are similar in that sense and because of that I can’t help but wonder when you took me to that riverbed, did you hope you could teach me to fish?