#arthur morgan x reader

[dmitriene]

can i req for a little crumb of low honor arthur x hyperfem reader. . . a little he's vile and horrible to everyone else except to the reader. . . ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა

i got a little bit carried away while writing and still couldn't fit something romantic, but i hope you would enjoy your read anyway, dolly!

arthur morgan is a vile man, so you suppose, because that's what they call him all around the west, a quiet, scared whispers stuttered frantically under their noses, either some of those people encountered him themselves, or just seen the result of it, painted red over the face of some unlucky guy, made out by the hands of the big dog of van der linde gang, and you start to think all these stories are true.

in the camp, it's different, since you don't often leave the area out to stroll in the town, and for sure, don't go around for a missions, arthur flashes before your eyes here and there, when you pull your eyes up from some romance book held open in your hands, sitting in the circle of girls that read as well and giggle to each other, missing how you take a wide, curious glimpse aside.

studying arthur, from a distance, you trace every new cut he comes back into the camp with, bruised, bleeding knuckles, rough skin split open after what seems countless blows, thin cut over his bristled, rosy cheek, beading scarlet, must be stinging, but he has so many of them it's looks like he's a man made of steel, a horrible, violent man, but it's doesn't sticks together in your pretty head.

how he can be described as vile, if he keeps you a plate of breakfast when you miss waking up in the early morning hour, you've been up late lately, deep in your silly books, he called them like that once, voice low, hoarse with lingering grogginess and tobacco, and you thought it annoyed him, yet, arthur kept doing this almost every morning, should you miss the breakfast, decide to pass on the meal, or just don't feel hungry, he kept you a bite.

there was a glimpse of something softer inside of arthur, buried as deep as it can be, but sprouting out each time you encountered, turning so, you found out that he notices the way you dress up, how you try to get a new life to these worn out dresses, adding some cute frills, lace trim on the sleeves or collar, a bow to the back, perhaps, and the only thing he understands about it all, is that they look quite fancy, and he gets a little bit protective over them.

even over you, arthur doesn't let any person out of the camp touch you with their dirty hands, first wash, then hug, ain't no way anyone out of them would make your pretty dresses stained, those men need to learn some manners, after all, they also don't get to chuckle over the books you read, because he starts to linger at your side, barely listening to your shy, giddy babbles about the romance plot, busy glaring off those who try to stick in with their smart jokes.

in the end, instead of trying to gather as much information of his bad decisions as you can, you memorize each act of heart arthur does, in taking care of you, protecting, when micah get's too handsy, his tongue sharp and spitting venom, sharing, when you get too cold during nights in your tent, and he gives you some of his warmest furs, comforting, when these days, where you feel like a burden, come back, and he reassures you, gruff and awkward, that you're a delight to the eyes of everyone around you, and it's makes you giggle.

seems like arthur's not the type of a man people around suppose him to be, or, he's being nice and considerate only towards you, but it's doesn't really matter, since you don't look too deep into this, and he wouldn't tell you, happy to proceed on this new patch he embraced, alongside your charming self.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[frillydolle]

i'm not sure if you've already writen about this, but reader being seriously sick and arthur taking care of her and being really worried about her, would heal something in me.

btw i appreciate u sm <3

arthur morgan x female reader

꒰ 𝝑𓏲 ꒱ nsfw mouth use(r receiving) , sick reader , pervy arthur , he wants to make u feel better

“'m gonna be fine.. right?... right, arthur?” “...'course ye are. yer one tough girl, ain't lettin' this get t'ya.”

it's been three weeks since u have been sick. no one knew why or how u got this since u were known to be such a weary girl when it came to anything dirty. u were known to be a sweet girl.. while having the habit of freaking out at any small dirty mark that got anywhere near u.

he'd tell u about his day since u always ask, and there was not one moment that his fingers weren't intertwined with urs when he was in ur presence. he was almost forgetting to take care of himself because of how worried he was for u, he just wanted you to feel good immediately.

despite being the man that everyone was depended on, the lead enforcer, he did everything he possibly could to get back to ur side as quickly as he can to be with him. arthur was just super worried about u, not like he'd show it to u or anyone else. and one night, he was just staring into the campfire with some whiskey in hand. he wasn't a religious man, but god, he hoped u would live this one through. unbeknownst to him, micah was nearby.

“i dont know, morgan.. this is the payback for the life she lived, women like her-” “just shut up 'fore i make ya. goddamn bastard...”

you were now lying in arthur's cot, only because he completely refused u to be on the ground with the other women in ur state. he'd rather let u get him sick than anyone else. even though he was already neglecting his own needs to make sure ur okay. only if u knew what filthy thoughts would cross his mind, even if u were sick. not like he could help it, a man has needs, right?

he was on top of u and he started off slow. hid chapped lips pressing soft but west kisses against ur neck. and soon his lips trailed down to ur collarbone, he left some lovebites and other marks from his path. he just wanted u to feel better after feeling so gross with ur sickness for so long.

he just wanted to make you feel good. its been so long since he was really focused on u like this:( once he had his thought set on something, he'd do everything in his grasp to do what needed to be done. arthur knew everything about u and so it didn't take him long to get u into such a state before he head divided between ur legs-

“i dont wanna- getcha sick like me- mhmph, arthur!” “i know, i know, angel but im just makin' ya feel good. cant let my princess feelin' all bad, can i?”

he had no idea how he still had some self control in himself after hearing the way u moaned his name, his jeans were soon getting a little too tight for him but he quickly dismissed it. for now, he focus was on u and only on u. he continued his actions, just hoping he'd get u to that point he's been waiting for.

and soon he did. just like usual, it did shoot up his ego as u saw a glimpse of that cocky smirk as he lifted his head up from ur lower body.

“can ya give me another one, darlin'?”

[ariiadnes]

╭ ⿻ ･ atlas bound

i'm sorry you couldn’t find me ; i have been in the woods i put myself there because i couldn’t be good. i have been running with foxes and running with crows & i have found myself a home where no one goes.

ଓ.° ・ arthur morgan. red dead redemption 2. ଓ.° ・ note: female reader. arthur refers to her as 'missus, ma'am, darling, sweetheart, honey, etc'. she is drunk ( and also very emotional and affectionate ). arthur carries reader bridal style. high honor!arthur. discusses the nature of his self-deprecation. in this house we love and support tht outlaw i dont care what he did !! he is Good to me. quote cr : florence welch

you're certainly more outspoken when you've had a bit too much to drink. scratch that, arthur muses -- a lot more outspoken. seldom does it happen, but in the far and few occasions it does, he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it. it's too god damn cute, the way you're much more honest, much more clingier.

( and what can he say? he loves taking care of you, loves the way you murmur those soft, half coherent love you's and thank you's a thousand times over. to be honest, he can't tell if you say it like a mantra because you're just that grateful or if it's because you're so wasted that you've forgotten you said it earlier. )

"darlin'," he can't help but chuckle, managing to shut the door to the hotel room, one arm around your back, the other under your knees as he holds you close, "you really done it now, you know that?"

an instant response.

"no, i didn't."

he pauses, shakes his head in amusement before he gently lowers you on the bed, helps you sit on the edge.

"you ain't even know what i'm talking about."

there's a feign, subtle hint of sternness in his tone, but you see through it with such ease. you just smile in return, though curiosity flickers in your slightly glossy eyes as he crouches before you, calloused hands slowly taking yours in his. he looks up at you, searching with that gentle look that only you have the privilege of knowing.

& there's so much love in those eyes, you think. you always think that, heart quickening and flourishing with affection, every beat yet another blossom in devotion. you could drown in those ocean hues, sink into reverence and reverie, forget the dangerous life you survive, and dream of better days.

this life is not an easy one, but as long as you are with him, you will make it through. you always will.

you take a deep breath, face suddenly very flushed -- and you wonder if it's the alcohol or the overwhelming feeling of his gaze on you. a serene silence between two lovers in the night, hand in hand, so terribly in love in a world in which neither of you belong except to each other.

"arthur morgan," you suddenly blurt out, slipping your hands from his, only to cup his face with such quiet veneration, "i got some words for you, mister."

he blinks in surprise, brows raised slightly. his hands now rest on your thighs, thumbs occasionally tracing small circles against the fabric of your attire.

"some words, huh? i hope they're good ones."

...well, he's joking. kind of. but with the way your brows are slightly furrowed, focus utmost sharp... ah, well. shit. maybe he's really done it now.

"...i love you, arthur morgan." you say, words a little slurred. "...i think i said that before."

he takes a moment, lets out a small sigh of relief.

"...yeah, think i heard it once or twice." he responds, though there is only tenderness in his tone. "i love you too, sweetheart."

you stare. really hard. it's not quite a moment of intimacy, really-- it's more amusement on his end, and... whatever thought and feeling you're having on yours.

"okay." you say, and he almost laughs. you pinch his cheek, teasing. "but listen... 'm not done yet, mister."

"...alright, missus. i'm listenin', loud and clear."

you stay silent for a long while, just studying him intently, though your expression has relaxed, turned into something of an aching. he's not sure what you're thinking, not sure whether it's the alcohol that's getting you or something else, something deeper.

"...arthur," you finally speak up, "you're such a good man. i hope you know that."

he feels his heart break a little-- whatever remains of it, anyway. he looks up at you with wide eyes, and it doesn't take a second before he responds.

"...you know that's not true, sweetheart." a quiet answer, excruciatingly soft, just like the way he places his hands over yours. "i'm not a good man. got too much blood on my hands. did things i'm not proud of."

"you're good to me. to thousands of other people, arthur." you whisper, and he almost wonders if you've managed to sober up that quickly. "we all got blood on our hands, love. you could bathe them in red, for god's sake, and i'll still hold them."

he stills. his heart pounds against his chest, longs to be free from the thorns of doubt that have dug themselves deep into his existence.

"honey--"

"i wish you could see yourself the way i see you." your voice wavers slightly. "i see the way you look at yourself in the mirror, arthur. i hate it." a crack in your voice, and then in the decayed humanity that lays in his chest. "i hate it, love. i wish you could see all the good in you, all that kindness you got and share. you're so good, arthur, and you won't let yourself believe it. i wish you would. i wish you'd be as kind to yourself as you are to the world."

he finds himself speechless, uncertain. afraid. he wants to protest, wants to say otherwise-- because it's all he knows. he's never been a good person. he's killed, robbed-- but he's also saved, given when he's always had so little.

"...tell me that you'll learn to believe it." you say. "i don't care if it takes a week, a year, or the rest of our lives. i don't care if we're old and gray. just tell me you'll try. please, arthur."

there's a strange numbness in the beating of his heart, and just the slightest bit of wonder -- christ, you were so drunk and nonsensical just a few moments ago, and now you're here, on the verge of tears with nothing but ardency in your voice.

he wants to refuse, wants to decline, but he can't. he can never refuse you.

"i'll..." he clears his throat. "for you, i'll try. ain't making no promises, though."

you smile, and he cannot help but return it, though there's a quiet hesitance and reluctance beneath it all, and you see it.

"thank you." you lean down, press a kiss to his forehead. "i love you, mr. morgan." a pause, then a little hint of confusion in your eyes, the intensity suddenly gone ( and ah, he realizes-- still drunk as hell ). "i think i've told you that before. maybe..." you murmur, suddenly deep in thought about something so entirely casual in comparison to the previous conversation that happened, what, a few seconds ago?

still, he cannot help but laugh, and the curve of your lips grows more gentle at the sound. it was a matter of time before you started repeating yourself, anyway.

"yeah, you might've told me." he smiles when you lean down, lips pressing against his in a blithe kiss. "love you too, you drunken fool."

( you won't remember this in the early hours of the morning, he thinks, but he will, forever and always. it's just the faintest bittersweetness that comes with that realization, he contemplates, eventually climbing into bed with you, pulling the covers up as you practically drape yourself over him.

you won't remember this, and his mind haunts him ever so, tells him that you're just being kind, just taking pity. you won't remember it, and maybe you don't really mean all of it. but you have no reason to lie, and you never would-- but the heart and soul is a cruel being, and he cannot shake the thought.

he falls asleep to such troubling thoughts-- nothing new, not really. there hasn't been a single moment in his life where he granted kindness to himself.

& so he wakes to a peaceful sunlight, a nice hotel room, a comfy bed, and a certain half-awake, hungover someone next to him. he pauses, relives the memories of last night, and his mind wanders. he sees the way you look at him : a little disoriented, a little groggy, and it's only a second before your eyes light up the moment you notice he's awake, the radiance in your features so blinding and brilliant sometimes. and it's that very moment, he realizes -- in the way you look at him like he's the god damn world, that you meant every single word last night, drunk or not.

he holds you a little tighter, offering silent greeting through shared warmth. somewhere in that little space between your bodies is a gratefulness, and in time, he thinks, he'll learn to be kind to himself. )

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

Saaammmyyyy!!! Thank you so much for answering my request!!! You sure know how to fulfill all my needs!! 😏

First of all, I love the thing you added with the flowers. It's so cute!!! I think it creates such an intimate and special mood between the too of them, it's like their special thing yk? 🥹

And the teaaasing yessss that's what I was craving for!! And they go to Big Valley??? Hello, I said it before and will say it again, best location ever on the map!!

I am so in love with how needy you wrote him. We talked about it, we're on the same page, needy men is a BIG yes. God, all the smut part was so great. I especially loved the whole "we can make as much noise as we want here, not like at camp" and all this pent up energy finally being released.

And this part, god, I passed out!!

"He chuckled, bringing his tip to your entrance and pushing in slowly, allowing just the tip to be embraced by your warmth. "Sweet heavens..." He closed his eyes, trying not to shoot his load too fast.

His words had you giggling, his voice anchoring you to reality and the present moment. "You ain't even a believer." You brought your hands to his face, cradling it in your palms. "I know heavens exist, and it's between your legs. You devious goddess..."

Oh dear Lord, the complicity, the teasing, it just felt so realistic and HOT.

Anyway, we know how many BIG YES I felt while reading it, I absolutely loved it, thank you so much again for this Samy!!!

Okay Samy hear me out!!

Arthur and you are in this early relationship state where you just can't keep their hands off each other and basically do it all day everyday 🫣 but at camp, opportunities to be alone are rare and Arthur ends up being really frustrated he can't just take you as he pleases.

And you like teasing him knowing this😏 I mean, purposely unbuttoning more than usual your clothes to show your cleavage, bending forward to grab something just in front of him so he can see, "innocently" rubbing his forearm, stuff like that...

You drive him crazy, and I feel like at the end of the day he would just be tired of it and bring you somewhere to deal with this cheeky behavior 😌

Alone With You ➛ Arthur Morgan

pairing: high honor!arthur morgan x fem!reader

warning/content: 18+, fluff, early relationship stage, teasing, smut (unprotected p in v, hair pulling, fingering, cum eating, body worship, praise kink, oral m!receiving, creampie), Arthur and reader in crotchless historically accurate underwears

summary: Was it really your fault if your hands always ended up on Arthur? You couldn't say so. But when Arthur decides to act on it, you're in for a treat.

word count: 4.9k

a/n: english isn't my first language, please take that into consideration. Any minor interacting with this will be blocked. You have no idea how much research I made for this, about flowers in rdr2 but also about 19th century underwear, so everything is historically accurate.

red dead redemption masterlist main masterlist

You laughed at something Mary-Beth said as you kept rubbing the blood stains from the boys clothes. Your knees were hurting as you stayed on them all morning washing the camp's dirty laundry. Karen looked up over your shoulder and smirked. "I think Mr Morgan quite likes you, girl." She said as Tilly almost gave herself whiplash as she turned abruptly her head to look at the man a little further. You didn't even bother to look, you could feel his eyes on you. Just as much as he could feel yours when he was busy chopping wood. "Well, good for him because I'm quite fond of him too." You looked at her with a certain spark in your eyes. "So, you are making him all soft!" The blonde chuckled and you smiled at her. "If anything, I'm not making him soft." All three girls turned to look at you with wide eyes before you all burst out laughing.

You were about to share another bold secret when you felt a warm breath on your neck. "Having fun there, ladies?" Your friends' mouths shut as their cheeks flushed in embarrassment. But you only smiled more as you turned to face your lover. His long chestnut brown hair framing his face and tickling your skin. "Hey, cowboy." You leaned back as your felt Arthur's arms wrapped around you. He leaned down and pressed a kiss on your cheek. "Hi, pretty girl. Mind if I steal you for a moment?" He didn't wait for an answer and lifted you on your feet, the girls giggling at Arthur's behavior.

You managed to avoid Ms Grimshaw's attention as Arthur pulled you behind a tree. "Feeling adventurous, Mr Morgan?" You whispered as your hands wandered down his chest, playing with the buttons of his flannel shirt. As you were about to unbuckle his belt, his hands stopped yours and he looked sternly into your eyes. "Behave." You smiled and retreated your hands.

He knew that look in your eyes. It was the same one you usually gave him when you'd bend over in front of him, picking something up and looking over your shoulder. Or when you'd let your hand run over his shoulders as he sat around the fire and you'd pass by behind him, your fingers catching the growing locks on his neck and gently tugging on the strands.

You brought up your hands at your own chest and snapped your fingers on the first button, opening your dress just a little bit. Arthur's eyes travelled down and he could guess the swell of your chest, his breath stuck in his throat. His fingers itching at his sides, not knowing if he should stop you or help you getting rid of your clothes. But he quickly made a choice when he heard Bill's voice behind him, reminding him of where you two were. He gently grabbed your hands and took them away from your dress. He kept his gaze on your chest as he buttoned back up your clothes. "I have to leave for a few days. Can you behave while I'm away?" He asked with a little smirk and you scoffed. "Of course, I can. Where are you heading to this time?" You asked as you started playfully fidgeting with his collar. "It's best for you if you don't know. But I'll be back into your arms before the end of the week." He grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles, his eyes staring deep into yours. "Promise?" You felt your cheeks eat up at the antic. "Promise, darlin'. I'll bring you back flowers and maybe you can guess where I've been from them." He smiled at you before kissing your forehead.

He made the habit of bringing you flowers from his trips so you could dry them and keep them in a little notebook he got you. You usually could tell where he wandered off based on what kind of flowers he brought you back. "I'll miss you." You pouted as you kept rubbed his knuckles with your thumb, your hand still in his. "I'll miss you too, pretty girl." He brought your hand to his lips and gently kissed your knuckles before pecking your lips and readjusting his hat on his head. He took a few steps back and walked to his horse. A beautiful liver chestnut mare he found in the wild and tamed.

You watched him mount the horse and walked up to them, patting the animal's neck before giving her a sugar cube you picked in Arthur's satchel. "I'll be back in a few days, wait for me." Arthur looked down at you with a tender smile. "Always." You smiled back at him as you took a few steps back, leaving room for his horse to turn and leave camp.

He gave you one last glance over his shoulders and you teasingly played with the laces of your dress, earning a laugh from him in the distance. You chuckled and laced back your clothes before joining back the girls to finish the laundry.

Just as he said, Arthur was back four days later, a dead deer attached to his horse, bringing food to the camp. You watched him carry the animal to Pearson from afar, admiring how he held the heavy carcass with one arm only, the muscles beneath his tan skin tensing with the effort. He then walked back to his horse and delicately took out a purple flower. You smiled, knowing already this one was for you. He quickly looked around and crossed gaze with you. You felt your cheeks flushing as his eyes bore into yours. He quickly made his way to you and took his hat off when he got close, offering you the flower. "I got this for you." He said lowly, his voice just a whisper like he was careful not to break the bubble of intimacy around the two of you. "Thank you, Arthur. It's really beautiful." You brought the orchid to your nose and inhaled softly, the delicate smell invading your senses. "Not as beautiful as you, I'm afraid." You looked up at him and noticed the little pout he gave you, earning a chuckle from you.

You also noticed the thicker stubble on his jaw and gently caressed the side of his face. "Do you need help shaving?" You asked, your fingers finding that little scarred spot on his chin where hair just refused to grow. "I'm all good, only if it's not uncomfortable for you." He smiled as he nuzzled his face in your neck, the rough facial hair scratching your skin and making you giggle. He delicately pulled the fabric of your dress off your shoulder and placed a gentle kiss there before kissing your neck and making his way up to your face with one last peck on your lips. You felt eyes on you and when you glanced past Arthur's shoulder, you crossed Hosea's eyes who was smiling at the two of you, loving to see his alleged son happy.

"Can you guess where I've been?" Arthur's drew your attention back to him as his thumbs started rubbing circles on your waist. You dropped your gaze to the flower in your hands. It was an orchid, that you knew, you recognized the singular shapes.

"It's an orchid." You said, still inspecting the flower. Arthur hummed in approval as he made you step back to join the confines of his tent. "It's not a lady of the night or a night scented, those are white. Or a ghost orchid." You then said as you blindly trusted Arthur with each step you took. "No, it's not." His voice was low. "So it's not the bayou." You kept inspecting the orchid as he smiled, impressed by how much you knew about the flowers he brought you. "Maybe a dragon's mouth? Those are purple right?" You tried to guess, looking up at Arthur with expecting eyes. The man chuckled lowly and shook his head. "It's not a dragon's mouth, guess again."

You felt the back of your knees bump into his cot and one of his hands left your waist to pull the flaps closed. "Oh, I know! It's a lady slipper!" You exclaimed and just as you were about to look up at Arthur, he crashed his lips on yours, swallowing your gasp.

His hands travelled up your body to your face and hold you against him, slowly parting your lips to taste you after days of longing for you. "Arthur... the flower..." You managed to say between hungry kisses. He delicately took the flower from your hand and put it on the little table next to his bed. "Can you guess where I've been then?" Arthur asked as his lips travelled back down your jaw to reach your neck. You tried to gather your thoughts to form a coherent sentence but all you could think about what Arthur's warm lips on your skin, raising goosebumps along your neck. "The...the bayou..?" You said the first place that came to your mind, earning a laugh from Arthur. "Oh, pretty girl... You said it couldn't be the bayou." He openly laughed at how any smart thought you had left your brain the moment his lips found yours. "...right." You sighed and as you were about to take another guess, a very singular Irish accent was heard. "Hey, are ye all not finished in here? It's still daytime now!"

You felt Arthur groan before you hard him, the vibrations of his voice running along your skin. You regained your train of thoughts and looked up at Arthur's closed eyes. "Big Valley. You went to Big Valley." You whispered as you tried to catch your breath. Arthur opened his eyes and smiled down at you, trying to forget Sean's stupid comments. "I sure did." He confirmed your guess and kissed your forehead. "Let me take you somewhere. Just the two of us, for a day or two." He practically begged you and you couldn't do anything else than smile at him. "Of course, I'll go anywhere as long as I'm with you."

"Let's go now." Arthur took your hand in his and went to open the tent's flaps. "Now?" You giggled, following him outside, where every pair of eyes stared at the two of you. "Then when? Let's go now, the others won't miss us." You turned to look at your friends and it was mostly the girls watching you from afar and trying to catch the interesting parts of your conversation. You waved them off and followed Arthur to his horse. He helped you get on the mare, making sure you were comfortable on the saddle before he jumped behind you, surprising the proud animal with the extra weight on her back. For a moment, you were worried you might hurt her back but Arthur reassured you she'd carried heavier than the two of you. "So, where are you taking me, Mr Morgan?" You asked as you turned your torso to look back at him. His arms were at each side of you, holding the reins, and his feet locked in the stirrups. "That, my lady, is a surprise. You'll have to be patient."

"Now, you know patience isn't one of my virtues, Arthur." You giggled as he led his horse out of camp. "That I know." He chuckled and wrapped one of his arms around your waist to keep you against him.

You had spent the entire afternoon riding West, following the setting sun and when you saw the silver lupine fields, you had no difficulty guessing where Arthur was taking you. West Elizabeth, Big Valley. And just as the sun finally disappeared behind the high mountains, Arthur's horse left the main road and sank into the woods, revealing a cute little house among the trees. "Found this cabin two days ago. I saw that huge buck last time I came here. Its coat was brown and white, I'd never seen any deer that color, it was splendid." Arthur told you as he stopped his horse in front of the little cabin. "Did you kill it?" You asked, you knew how much he loved wilderness but you also knew a large deer meant a lot of meat for camp. "I did. Took the meat, skinned it, kept the antlers to sell them. Brought back the meat in camp." He dismounted and helped you get off, catching you carefully as you set your feet back on the ground. "But I drew it in my journal for you." He offered you a smile and guided you to the cabin.

"So, when I left camp a few days ago, I wanted to find it. But I found this cabin first, empty. It's been abandoned years ago in my opinion, and nobody ever came back. I stayed here, got some rest after my trip and the next day, I grabbed my best rifle and went hunting. I got him after more than 10 hours out there." He said proudly and you couldn't help but chuckle. Arthur was a quiet man, a quiet soul, but it felt like when he was with you, he always wanted to tell you his exploits. He always had a story to tell or a question for you. Always wanted to talk with you.

He made sure to lock the front door after you and you discovered the insider of the abandoned cabin. It was a little cold but you noticed an old fireplace so you had no doubt Arthur was going to light a fire to warm you up for the night. "So, why did you bring me here, cowboy?" You asked as you leaned back on your hands on the table. You watched Arthur gathering the logs in the fireplace and cracking a match to start the fire. "You know why, pretty girl." He chuckled lowly as he made sure the fire would last all night. He then stood up and turned to you with a cocky smile. "Do I now?" You arched an eyebrow as he got closer and caged you between his arms. "The camp is too crowded for what I wanna do to you." He mumbled as he nuzzled his face in your neck, inhaling your perfume.

"And what is it you want to do, Mr Morgan?" You tilted your head back, giving him access to your neck. Your lover didn't answer, only planting kisses on your skin, his hands getting adventurous in your back. His fingers trailing down your back, his lips cascading down the column of your throat until he reached the cleavage of your dress, his nose slotting between your breasts. As he was about to reach to unbutton the front of your dress, you did it first, allowing him access to your chest. With one hand, he unhooked your corset, revealing the white chemise underneath. You watched his lips follow the path of his fingers, trailing down your chest as he tugged at the top of your chemise to kiss the swell of your breasts. "Arthur...please..." You sighed lowly, your fingers taking hold on his hair and guiding him where you wanted him.

He happily complied, devouring the supple skin revealing itself to him. You whined softly when he nibbled on the skin, leaving a light red mark before moving to your other breast. "We're all alone..." Arthur mumbled against your skin, moving back up to look into your eyes. "We are." You nodded, your breathing heavy and heart beating fast and hard in your chest. "And you're all mine." He gently grabbed your chin and made you look up into his eyes. "I am." You confirmed before he jumped on your lips, his fingers digging into your cheeks as he held you firmly against his lips. Your movements turned rushed as well, your hands trying to get rid of his coat, pulling the material down his arms as best as you could. He released your face to help you undress him, dragging his suspenders off his shoulders to pull the shirt off his torso.

The only few times you had been intimate with Arthur, you didn't really have the time to get fully undressed. He would usually push up your skirt to your waist, drag down his pants as best as he could to free himself of his confines and take you as fast and quiet as possible. The more of him you saw was when he was doing chores around camp. Chopping wood, carrying haystacks. And that only if the sun was high in the sky, forcing him to work shirtless because of the heat. So when he threw his shirt away, putting you face to face with his naked torso, you felt yourself blush. Your hands started shaking with anticipation and you fought the urge to caress the patches of hair on his chest. You looked back up at him and noticed how dark his eyes were, his pupils completely blown by desire.

"You're so beautiful..." He breathed out quietly, as if to keep the privilege of seeing you like this only to himself. Not daring to draw any attention on you and keep you to himself. Your body received a rush of confidence from his praise and you snaked your arms around his middle, pushing him onto the bed a little further into the cabin. He sat down on it and pulled you onto his lap, making you straddle his thighs. His face was once again on the same level as your breasts and he couldn't resist getting lost in the warm flesh one more time. Your hands made quick work on getting rid of your chemise, revealing your naked form to him as he maintained your hips nestled against his.

Occasionally, he'd thrust up his hips, searching friction on his hardening member. And you'd whine, feeling your arousal pool in your lower belly and soak your thighs. "Let's get you rid of this, shall we?" Arthur said in a low voice, the desire well known in his tone. He finished pulling your dress off your body, almost ripping it off you in the process. Now that you were only wearing the bottom of your undergarment, he could clearly see the wet spot on your inner thighs. Arthur was never one to really pay attention to fashion but when he saw the crotchless underwear you were wearing, he thanked all the gods that could hear him. He snaked a hand between your legs and ran a finger up your folds, finding them drenched. You moaned his name as you clutched his hair in your grip.

You leaned down and started peppering kissed along his neck, moving up to his ear to kiss the sensitive skin behind it. His free hand was on your ass, holding you firmly against him and encouraging you to ride his hand. And you did, you started rolling your hips, chasing pleasure along his digits. "Such a good girl for me. All soaked and ready for me to take her." He cooed at you, relishing on the lewd sounds of your wet cunt sliding on his hand. "Say it, baby. Say you're my good girl." Arthur looked up at you expectantly. As you were about to answer him, you felt one of his fingers slide in and curl at the perfect spot, making you whine. "We're alone. You can be as loud as you need to. Let me hear you." he said as he kissed the underside of you jaw as you tilted your head back in pleasure. "I'm yours... I'm your good girl." You managed to pronounce, that usual coil starting to tighten in your stomach.

You slightly pulled on Arthur's hair and whined his name, asking for more. He kept peppering kisses along your throat and added another finger in your cunt, feeling your walls stretch around his digits and accommodate to their size. "You're being so good for me. What a good girl you are." He smiled up at you and pulled you down to kiss you. He didn't waste any time before running his tongue along your lips and tasting your moans and whimpers. His fingers were still brushing that delicious spot inside you, bringing you closer and closer and closer. Until you forcefully grabbed his wrist with one hand, pulled on his hair with the other and your whole body tensed up with your orgasm. Arthur let go of your lips as you cried out his name, your voice breaking with the intensity of your release. Your walls spasmed around his fingers and he kept curling them until you completely rode out your orgasm.

When he made sure you were back to him, he carefully pulled his fingers out, admiring your creamy release on them. He brushed his fingers on your lips, leaving a trail of cum across them before sucking one finger into his mouth, tasting the very essence of you. Your tongue darted out automatically, tasting yourself. You opened your eyes and grabbed Arthur's hand, bringing his fingers to your lips and licking them clean. You felt his cock twitch beneath you at the action, his eyes darkening even more as he watched you suck his fingers and savoring your own release off them. As you let go of his fingers, he immediately kissed you, licking the inside of your mouth to taste the remnant of your juices on your tongue. You moaned against him and made quick work to open his pants, getting impatient and needy.

Arthur slightly jumped and flinched as your fingers first brushed his erection. "Hey, slow down, girl. I'm not gonna last long if we don't take it slow." He gently kissed your cheek and wrapped his arms around your waist, spinning you and laying you down on the bed. He pulled off your undergarment and kissed your navel before getting off the bed. He didn't take his eyes off you as he kicked off his boots and pulled down his pants, throwing the jeans somewhere in the cabin. You would've laughed at him for standing so proud half naked, hard cock standing against his belly, in a cabin that wasn't even yours if you weren't so desperate for him to take you. You reached out for him and pulled him to you.

You delicately pulled his underwear down his legs and wrapped your hands around his base, guiding him to your lips. His hand automatically reached for your hair without griping it. You watched as his eyes fell closed, lost in pleasure. You started with a few kisses on his tip, relishing at the taste of the precum gathered there. "God dammit..." You heard him swear above you, not knowing what to do with his hands. You grabbed one of his hands and brought it to your jaw, inviting him to hold your face. You parted your lips and slowly pulled him into your mouth. Arthur growled, his thumb rubbing on your cheek to distract him but the moment he felt his cock nudging the inside of your cheek and poking at his thumb, he was a goner. He pushed you off him and you released him with a pop. "I can't- I can't..." He sighed out, out of breath. You looked up at him, a string of spit mixed with precum still attached your lips to his tip.

"What can't you do?" You asked quietly, your heart beating fast with how nervous those two words made you.

He looked down at you and felt his heart break in his chest when he noticed the doubt in your eyes. He quickly kneeled down in front of you and kissed you deeply, tasting himself on your lips. "I cannot possibly last if you keep that up." He tried to reassure you between two kisses. You giggled and pulled him on top of you, laying back down on the cot. His hands were nowhere and everywhere at the same time, his hips pressing against yours and his pubes scratching your clit, sending jolts of pleasure up your entire body. You caught Arthur's lip between your teeth and nibble on the rosy flesh. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this." He murmured, grabbing his cock between your two bodies and giving it a few slow pumps.

"How long I've waited to have you all to myself and have you screaming my name. Can't have that in camp, yeah?" He pushed his tip against your folds, gathering your arousal and use it as lube. You squirmed and whined, trying to catch his cock with your hole, feeling like you were about to explode if he didn't take you soon. "Well, I wouldn't mind the others to hear. Everyone in camp would know who you belong to, who makes you feel so good you can't do anything but scream my name." He chuckled, bringing his tip to your entrance and pushing in slowly, allowing just the tip to be embraced by your warmth. "Sweet heavens..." He closed his eyes, trying not to shoot his load too fast.

His words had you giggling, his voice anchoring you to reality and the present moment. "You ain't even a believer." You brought your hands to his face, cradling it in your palms. "I know heavens exist, and it's between your legs. You devious goddess..." He sighed and nuzzled his face in your neck, slowly pushing his cock deeper inside you. You could feel every inch of him push against your inner walls, stretching them and carving them with his imprint, his veins. His hands pushed your thighs apart, giving more space for his hips to kiss yours. "Just take me, Arthur... Please." You whined and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him to you. "Alright...alright..." He put one of his hands on your hips and pushed all the way in, until he felt his balls slap your ass and heard his name gasped from your lips. He pulled almost all the way out and thrusted back in, his hips hitting yours at a dangerous pace.

You could hear him mumble things against your skin. And when he wasn't mumbling, he was kissing your skin, practically making out with your neck and leaving purple marks on your skin. One of his hands shot down to your clit and started drawing circles on the bundle of nerves, trying to get you closer to the edge. You wrapped one of your legs around his hips, the new angle having the both of you moaning as he hit that spongy spot inside you. Your voice getting higher and your cunt tighter were a clear sign you were getting closer and Arthur couldn't get more addicted. "That's it, sweet girl. Take what you need, cum for me. Cum on my cock." He grunted as he felt his own release approach, his balls tightening with pleasure as he fought against his instincts to keep his orgasm at bay.

Your moans got louder and your grip on Arthur's hair tighter as you felt your cunt contracting as a wave of pleasure flooded you before every muscle of your body relaxed at the same time, the euphoria having you see stars. Arthur couldn't help the moans from slipping between his lips as he felt your cunt squeezing him. The sight of you cumming on his cock and the sound of his name screamed in such a way pushed him over the edge. The pleasure was so intense, the thought of pulling out wasn't even in his mind, your cunt milking him for everything he had. You felt the warmth of his release pool into you, painting your inner walls white. A low whine left his lips as your cunt clenched around him in overstimulation. You pulled his head out of your neck and brought his face to yours, kissing his lips. His eyes were closed as he tried to compose himself.

"You're okay?" You whispered, pushing a strand of sweaty golden hair out of his face. He weakly nodded and opened his eyes, piercing your own with his green orbs. He gently pulled out, not without a whine from you, feeling way too empty after the moment you just shared. He grabbed his jeans and pulled them on before taking his shirt and pouring some clean water on it. You watched him carefully, laying naked on the bed, still floating in your post-orgasm euphoria. He kneeled in front of the fire and held out his damp shirt for a few second, warming up the garment before walking back to you. He delicately pulled your thighs apart and watched his release drip out of you before cleaning you up with the warm wet shirt. "I'm sorry, that was stupid of me to finish inside." He whispered as he massaged your thigh with his free hand. "It's alright." You sat up and kissed him on the lips. You offered him a smile and he gave you one back.

He went to grab your chemise and your undergarment and gave them to you before he slid under the covers, pulling you onto him when you were done dressing back up. He wrapped his arms around you and inhaled the sweet perfume in your hair, probably a new soap you found in town. He closed his eyes, relishing on the feeling of your body against his, nothing to hear except the crackling of the flammes in the fireplace. No Micah annoying the ladies, no Bill telling some perverse story. Only the fire and your breathing, the feeling of your beating heart against your chest. Those long awaited three words almost made their way out of Arthur's lips that night, but he caught them and swallowed them back, feeling like it wasn't the right time. so he simply held you close, his heart beating in symbiosis with yours.

[emmcfrxst]

im back on my bullshit, ARTHUR'S SHOULDERS!!

im knawing on him

i KNOW he marks easy as fuck. you don’t even need to press down hard when dragging your nails down his back, just a light graze is gonna make his skin go red and he used to hate it because the men in the gang used to give him so much shit about the battle-born bruises across his skin (it’s not his fault if his skin turns dark violet when bruising, goddamn it marston) and how easy it is for him to catch sunburns but ever since you two have started having sex and he walks around with the literal evidence of your love, lust and passion for him in vibrant shades of reds, pinks and purples??? he LOVES it. he does make an effort to cover them anyway, though, because he doesn’t want to embarrass you or disrespect you by exposing your private life together, but if anyone ends up seeing them despite his precautions, well he’s definitely not going to be mad about it

[wandering-gambler]

18+ -I don't usually write these-

(I may or may not have added like 80% of the characters i like... This was also lazily done so excuse any errors)

This may sound weird but, for a female reader (or other), I just need him to play with my boobs. Not in like a sexual way, but more like I sit between his legs on the bed as we watch the sunset outside the window, and he wants something to have in his hands to play with, kinda way.

-----

Characters: (GI) Wanderer Zhongli Lyney Xiao (HSR) Dan Heng Boothill Blade Veritas Ratio Jing Yuan (DBH) Connor Hank Anderson (RickAndMorty) Rick Sanchez [and whoever else you want tbh] (RDR) Arthur Morgan and Dutch van der Linde |\| And whoever else you see fit

Does that make sense?

[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 24 - The Story of That Past

Summary: Tension runs high as Arthur grapples with the weight of impossible choices, his loyalty to the gang tested against his growing desperation to protect Kate. Meanwhile, Kate endures her own silent battle, caught between the chilling reality of her imprisonment and the lingering hope that Arthur will not abandon her.

Ao3  Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Previous Chapter /

AN: This is a shorter chapter (8k words), a bit of a break from what happened in the last one while also setting up what's coming....

Tag List: @photo1030 @ariacherie @thatweirdcatlady @ultraporcelainpig @marygillisapologist @eternalsams @lunawolfclaw  @yallgotkik

**please let me know if you would like to be tagged in future chapters!

Story Tags: Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved, Sexual Tension, Friends to Lovers, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Violence, Survivor Guilt, Caretaking, Period-Typical Racism, Anxiety, Emotional Constipation, Self-Doubt, Men Crying, Sweet/Hot, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff

In the center of the clock, inside the now–choices gather, waiting to be made. The swamp is alive with anticipation. Dangers and saviors. Lovers and predators. The lie is in the separation. The truth is always growing. ~ Lily Brooks-Dalton

The darkness begins to dissolve with the dawn. The morning birds take up their chorus and claim the day as the encroaching sun warms the land and chases the fog. Arthur trudged toward Shady Belle; their home, their refuge. A kingdom of lesser glory, nestled within the embrace of the bayou. His clothes clung to him, damp and heavy, a physical reminder of the regret and fury that weighed on his soul. The events of the night replayed endlessly in his mind, each iteration amplifying the bitter truth: he had lost her.

Kate was gone—taken prisoner. 

The woman he loved was in the clutches of the law. Being held in a cell he knew was meant for someone like him. The money they'd risked so much for was swallowed by the Lanahachee.Whatever riches they had, slipped from their pockets in their escape. The river's hungry waves lay claim to the treasure. 

Time was of the essence now, the ticking clock posed the next greatest threat. Like a predator nipping at his heels. Arthur needed to act fast, before a fate that should have been his own was inflicted upon her. He couldn’t bear the thought of the noose tightening around Kate’s neck, of the life they’d barely begun slipping away forever.

At camp, the day unfolded with routine indifference. Figures moved sluggishly through the morning haze: Pearson cracking eggs and humming an off-key tune, the girls gathering laundry into baskets, and others nursing steaming cups of coffee as they shook off the remnants of sleep. A few greeted Arthur, their voices warm and casual, but he ignored them. His gaze locked on the weathered table where Dutch, Hosea, John, and Micah sat in conversation, and he made a beeline for it.

“Arthur!” Dutch called cheerfully, a smile curling beneath his mustache. “You look like you’ve seen better days. Where’s your companions?” His eyes flicked to the muddy, damp clothing and Arthur’s lone arrival.

“Riverboat was a bust,” Arthur snapped. “We lost the money—and they took Kate.”

The atmosphere shifted in an instant. Hosea and John turned toward him, their faces mirroring his urgency—first shock, then confusion. Dutch sighed, leaning back in his chair and swirling his coffee lazily. “That’s a shame,” he mused. “There was a lot of money on that boat.”

Arthur’s anger boiled over, his fist slamming onto the table with enough force to rattle the plates and cups. “Did I stutter?” he growled in a low roar. “The law has Kate, we need to hit the prison before they hang her!”

His outburst drew the attention of the entire camp, heads swiveling to watch the confrontation. Hosea raised a calming hand, his tone measured but firm. “Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, son. They’ve no reason to hang her—not yet. Most likely, she’ll get a trial.” His gaze softened as he gestured for Arthur to sit. “But we need to know exactly what happened on that boat.”

Arthur leaned forward, his fists pressed against the splintered surface of the table, knuckles whitening under the strain. His breath hissed out, slow and measured, as he fought to temper the storm building inside him. “Same thing that always happens, ‘Sea,” he began, low and ragged. “Ran into some fella that recognized me. Didn’t have time to think—I killed ‘em before he even drew. You know how the rest goes.”

John tilted his head, his curiosity cutting through the tension. “How’d he recognize you? From Blackwater?”

Arthur shook his head sharply, his lips pressing into a grim line as guilt weighed on him like a millstone around his neck. There was no time to dwell on the how or the why, not now. But the truth corroded the edges of his mind—this was his fault. It always was. 

Having lived his life with a heavy hand, Arthur carved his way through the world with the kind of cruelty that had been beaten into him from the start. It was all he knew, but that didn’t make it right. 

If only he’d done things differently—if he’d been kinder, softer, more patient. Or maybe if he’d refused to help Mary altogether. His chest tightened at the thought, a bitter cocktail of regret and remorse. If he’d turned her away, none of this would’ve happened. Kate wouldn’t be rotting in a cell because of his choices. But there was no going back, no undoing the path he had carved.

“Does it matter?” He didn’t wait for an answer, the words tumbling out in a growl. “Javier and I damn near killed every lawman on that boat. Civilians got caught in it too.” He hesitated, his jaw tightening as emotion threatened to overwhelm him. “Kate’s pianist...he—” Arthur stopped himself, swallowing hard. “None of it matters. What matters is Kate’s not well, hasn’t been for some time. She’s alone in that cell, and she’s countin’ on me to get her out.”

The table fell silent, John and Hosea exchanging somber glances. Hosea leaned back in his chair, his face creased with thought, while Dutch smoothed the edge of his mustache, staring off into the distance as if searching for answers in the murky swamp beyond.

Dutch exhaled slowly, setting down his coffee with deliberate calm. “Arthur,” he said finally, measured yet edged with caution. “I understand how you feel, but breaking her out right now? That’s suicide. The law’s probably on high alert after last night, and Saint Denis is crawling with Pinkertons. You’d get yourself killed—or worse, all of us.”

Arthur straightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “She ain’t just anyone, Dutch. She’s one of us.” His voice cracked, betraying his anger and desperation. “We can’t just leave her there to rot.”

“We’re not leaving her,” Hosea gently reminded. 

Dutch countered, his eyes narrowing. “We need to be smart about this. Rushing in without a plan isn’t going to help anyone, least of all her.”

Micah, who had been lounging in his seat with a smug grin, leaned forward, tapping the table with his finger. “Now hold on a second,” his oily voice drawled. “Ain’t the Saint Denis Bank on the same block as the jail?”

The air went still, everyone turning to look at him. Micah’s grin widened as he leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Two birds, one stone, gentlemen. We plan it right, we hit the bank and spring the lady. Walk out with Kate plus a whole lotta money.”

Arthur shot Micah a look of pure disdain. “What the fuck are you gettin’ on about? This ain’t about the goddamn money, Micah—”

“Now, wait a moment, Arthur,” Dutch interrupted cautiously, leaning forward with a glint in his eye that Arthur had seen too many times before. The gears in Dutch’s mind were already spinning, and his voice took on that same smooth edge, the one he used when trying to sell his schemes to the gang. “That… is certainly an idea,” he said, a finger rising to punctuate the thought. “This might be a new opportunity for us.”

John scoffed audibly, shaking his head with exasperation. “Jesus fucking Christ, Dutch,” he muttered under his breath, loud enough for everyone to hear. “It never ends with you, does it?” 

Arthur could feel the heat rising under his skin, his anger simmering close to the surface. He stared at the man he had devoted his life to, the man who was supposed to lead them—not gamble their lives for profit. “You want to rob the bank and break Kate out at the same time?” His voice dripped with disbelief, tinged with bitter disappointment. “That,” he emphasized, shaking his head, “is how you’ll get her killed.”

“You’d be risking her life, Dutch,” Hosea added firmly in agreement, carrying the weight of reason. Arthur felt a flicker of gratitude for the older man’s support, but it did little to cool the fire inside him.

Dutch waved them both off with a dismissive flick of his hand, taking a deliberate sip of coffee as though the conversation didn’t warrant urgency. Before anyone could speak again, Micah leaned forward with that snake-like grin, slick and taunting. “She knew the risks when she started sleepin’ with ya, cowpoke. Hell, I’m surprised—the women you touch don’t seem to live long—”

The words barely left Micah’s mouth before Arthur lunged across the table, his hand gripping Micah’s collar and yanking him forward with a crash that sent cups and plates flying. The sound of clattering metal rang out as Arthur hauled him over the table, his voice was venomous. “You got somethin’ to say to me?” Arthur snarled, eyes burning with fury. “Go on, say it again—I’d sure love to shut you up right now.”

Dutch shot to his feet, his chair tumbling back against the dirt floor as he shouted, “That’s enough!” 

His voice carried a commanding weight, but Arthur didn’t let go, his grip on Micah tight as iron. Dutch stepped closer, grabbing Arthur’s arm in an attempt to pull him away. Arthur wrenched free with a sharp jerk, his glare snapping to Dutch.

“We need money, Arthur!” Dutch bellowed, his gravelly voice echoing through the hollow, rotting camp of Shady Belle. “We need more money! Or do you think this world is just gonna hand us a goddamn miracle?”

Arthur released Micah with a rough shove, sending him sprawling backward, but his fury didn’t fade—it only burned inside him, bitter and heavy. The tension around camp was substantial, every gaze locked on the fractured core of their so-called family. Their fearless leader and his right-hand man. 

With a growl Arthur shot back, “you’re gamblin’ with her life, Dutch. Or is she just another pawn in your grand plan?” His eyes darkened with anger. 

“You lost the money and the girl. What do you expect me to do? March in there, guns blazing, and demand her release? Oh, and while I’m at it, maybe ask for ten thousand dollars too?” Dutch snapped, sharp with irritation as his patience wore thin.

Dutch’s words hung in the air, unyielding, echoing with the desperation of a man who had tied his soul to his schemes. Arthur didn’t need to hear any more to know the truth: Dutch wasn’t thinking about Kate, or the gang, or even their survival. It was the allure of money, of power, of proving to the world that he was still the man with all the answers. 

It burned in his eyes, that unrelenting need to reclaim what he thought he deserved. Arthur could see it clear as day, a fire that consumed everything—loyalty, love, even common sense. No matter how much Arthur wanted to fight it, to question his authority, he knew it was already too late.

The weight of it settled in Arthur’s chest like a stone, pressing down with every breath he took. He’d been through this too many times before—watching Dutch chase an ideal that was as hollow as the promises he made. Arthur’s heart twisted with something deeper than anger, even deeper than frustration: it was betrayal. 

Using Kate’s imprisonment to achieve his greed goes far beyond Arthur’s moral code. It was unforgivable. 

A bitter realization that no matter how hard he fought, how much of himself he gave, he was losing the man he had once believed in. Kate’s life, the gang’s safety, his own hopes—they were all just collateral in Dutch’s endless pursuit of an impossible dream. 

Arthur turned away, his gaze falling to the dirt beneath his boots, as if he could find some clarity there. But all he saw was the shadow of what they had been and the ruin they were becoming.

Hosea cleared his throat and stood up cautiously, his movements slow like he was approaching a spooked animal. “Dutch, please,” he said, soft but firm. “I insist we discuss this in more detail before making any rash decisions.” He gestured toward the decrepit manor, trying to guide Dutch away from the growing tension and toward a calmer space where reason might prevail.

“Indeed,” Dutch nodded, the fire in his eyes momentarily dimming. “Let’s work out the kinks, old girl. We could pull this off as soon as a week from now,” he mused, already envisioning the glory of his next big scheme.

The words hit Arthur like a physical blow. A week? The thought of leaving Kate alone, vulnerable, for even another hour gnawed at him like a caged wild animal. As Dutch passed by, Arthur reached out, his hand clamping down on the older man’s shoulder with restrained force. 

Leaning close, he growled in his throat, “all these years Dutch, you’ve had my devotion. But you know, I can really hate you sometimes.”

Dutch stopped, his expression unshaken, the picture of calculated calm. “You can hate me all you want, son,” he said, his tone almost paternal, as though scolding a rebellious child. 

“But you will respect me. I know this woman means a lot to you, but these people,” he gestured broadly to the camp, “they follow me. And when I’m gone, they’ll just find another monster. Do you know why, Arthur?” 

He leaned in close, dropping to a near whisper, heavy with the weight of his convictions. “Because they have to. They have to justify their wages. You’ll see.”

Arthur’s glare lingered, his fists tightening as Dutch walked away with that same confident stride, the one Arthur had once found reassuring. But now, it filled him with bitter resentment. The man he’d followed so faithfully, the man he’d believed in, felt more like a stranger with each passing day. Every decision Dutch made seemed to pull them further into chaos, and Arthur could feel the threads of his loyalty fraying, unraveling one by one.

His mind drifted to Kate, the only constant in a life of shifting sands. She was the one who truly held his loyalty, the one who knew his heart. And now, she was alone, locked away in a cold, unforgiving cell, likely wondering if he was coming for her. He wanted nothing more than to pull her out of this mess, to take her far away from Dutch, the gang, and the endless trail of blood and lies. For once, he longed to devote himself to something pure—someone who had become his entire world. His reason for breathing.

The weight of his past chained him to this life, and the thought of breaking free left him torn between duty and desire.

Micah stood next, brushing off his shirt as he sneered at Arthur. “You should be thanking me, you know,” he drawled, grin cutting like a dagger. “I just saved your girl’s ass back there— I’d say she owes me more than you do.” With a snide chuckle, he sauntered off, leaving Arthur’s fists clenched and his jaw tight with rage.

Only John remained at the table, leaning back in his chair as he watched the others disperse. After a moment of silence, he spoke, steady and reassuring. “You know I’ll help you, Arthur. I owe you that much.” His words carried a quiet resolve, a loyalty that Arthur felt down to his core, and for a moment, the weight on his shoulders felt just a little lighter.

Arthur let out a weary sigh, dragging a calloused hand down his face as if trying to wipe away the weight of the day. His body felt heavy, drained of energy, but his thoughts churned endlessly, circling back to Kate. She was strong—he knew that. Capable. But the thought of her sitting alone in that cell plagued him like a sickness. He clung to the small mercy that they wouldn’t hang her without a trial, and the trial was still days away. 

There’s still time, he told himself, as much to convince his heart as his mind. It was a fragile hope, but it was all he had.

“Thanks, Marston,” Arthur muttered, his voice rough and quiet. 

He didn’t wait for a response before turning and heading toward the manor, towards the room he shared with Kate. As he climbed the stairs he thought about how the space that once felt warm and alive, illuminated by her presence, now felt empty and hollow. He ached to change out of his damp, grimy clothes, to collapse onto that bed and let the weight of regret crush him fully. The anger that had burned so fiercely earlier had faded, leaving only a raw, consuming grief that settled deep in his chest like a parasite.

Arthur couldn’t help but toy with the thought of turning himself in to secure her freedom. He’d been a wanted man for so long—maybe it was time to finally hang up his old hat and face the reckoning he’d been dodging. But what good would he be to her if he was dead? The thought gnawed at him, twisting his insides. Maybe she’d be better off without him anyway, safer without his shadow looming over her. 

A bitter voice in the back of his mind whispered that, after all this, she might not even want him anymore. Perhaps seeing the darker, unforgivable side of him had poisoned whatever bond they shared, leaving her with nothing but regret.

But it mattered little what she thought of him now, he would never leave her behind. Arthur loved her too much for that.

As Arthur finished buttoning his shirt and adjusting his suspenders, the momentary calm was shattered by a sharp, piercing cry that cut through the morning air. The weight of his exhaustion vanished in an instant, replaced by the familiar sting of adrenaline. Grabbing his revolver and rifle, he pushed through the bedroom porch door, his boots heavy against the wooden floor. His eyes scanned the camp, every muscle tensed for action.

A lone figure approached on horseback, and Arthur’s heart skipped as he saw the women scattering in distress. His eyes narrowed, and he lifted his rifle, ready to take aim. But as the figure drew closer, he saw Mary-Beth running toward the rider.

Her voice breaking as she screamed, “Oh God! It’s Kieran!” 

Arthur squinted, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, but the grotesque sight made his blood run cold. Kieran, once a quiet member of their gang, was now an unrecognizable horror. His head, gruesomely severed and held in his hands, revealed empty sockets where his eyes had once been. Mary-Beth’s horrified wail pierced the air as she reached for him, but Tilly pulled her back, sensing a deeper threat.

The horse reared, and Kieran’s lifeless body slumped to the ground with a sickening thud, the wet crunch of his fall echoing through the camp. The silence stretched on for a moment, as everyone anticipated what’s next. Arthur’s stomach churned, but there was no time to grieve. The trees at the edge of the camp shifted, and figures began to emerge—more men. 

The O'Driscolls.

Arthur’s blood turned to ice. “Everybody take cover!” he shouted, voice carrying over the chaos. 

Their quiet morning was changed in an instant. He moved swiftly, taking shelter behind the railing and firing off shots, his mind racing as he aimed with precision. Colm O'Driscoll had finally found them, and was taking his revenge. The time for sorrow and regret was gone. He couldn’t afford to hesitate now. 

The sight of Kieran’s brutal end ignited a new rage in Arthur, but it was quickly buried under the cold resolve that had become his second skin. The gang was fractured, and their world was falling apart—the bitter truth was that there was no saving it. Dutch was blinded by his obsession with power, and the others were powerless without him, each consumed by their own sins and survival. 

There was no hope in this place, and there hadn’t been for a very long time. 

But for Kate, Arthur knew he had to make it out alive. He reminded himself he had to keep fighting for her. He wasn’t going to let her die in a cell, forgotten and abandoned. No, he would tear through every O'Driscoll in his path, and when this war was over, he would go to her. Even if he had to crawl on his knees.

He would make damn sure of it.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate stirred in the darkness, the cold seeping into her bones as her consciousness clawed its way back to the surface. Flashes of the previous night's event assaulting her mind in fragments. Her body felt impossibly heavy, her limbs unresponsive as she lay curled on the rough, cold bench of the jail cell. A sharp chill ran through her, and the air reeked of unfamiliar smells, making her stomach churn. As her senses slowly returned, her head began to spin, a pounding ache radiating behind her eyes. She squeezed them shut, but the motion only made the dizziness worse. Her vision blurred when she finally forced them open, the dim light of the jail swimming before her like a mirage.

Her mouth was dry, her throat raw, and bile rose to the back of her throat. She tried to make a sound, but all that came out was air. Panic gripped her chest as she realized she was going to be sick. She tried to push herself up, her weak arms trembling beneath her. A distant murmur of voices caught her attention, faint and distorted, as though underwater.

“She’s waking up,” one of the guards said, sharp and impatient.

Another voice, gruffer and closer, barked out an order. “Get her a bucket before she makes a mess of herself.”

Heavy boots echoed down the corridor, each step reverberating in her pounding head as Kate struggled to focus on the sound—anything to ground her swirling thoughts. Her stomach churned violently, her trembling body coated in a cold sweat as she desperately fought back another wave of nausea. Darkness threatened to close in around her again, and she feared she might lose consciousness. The sharp clang of the cell door unlocking jolted through her like a gunshot, intensifying the ache in her skull. The heavy door groaned open, its rusty hinges protesting, and a metal bucket clattered to the floor in front of her, the noise cutting through the suffocating silence. 

On cue, her stomach lurched violently, a wave of nausea sweeping over her with crushing force. She barely managed to grab the edge of the bucket they had shoved toward her, retching up what little remained in her stomach. The sound was harsh and guttural, echoing through the small cell. Her chest heaved uncontrollably as she gagged, the sharp spasms making it nearly impossible to catch her breath. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mingling with the drool that clung to her trembling chin.

Shame washed over her like a tidal wave, burning hotter than the fever she could feel building in her body. She imagined how pathetic she must look to the guards watching, and the thought made her throat tighten with fresh humiliation. The effort drained what little strength she had left, her limbs trembling as the world tilted dangerously. Darkness crept at the edges of her vision, and as the cold stone pressed against her cheek, she gave in to the pull of unconsciousness once more.

In her senseless state, Kate dreamed she was riding with Arthur through endless fields of tall golden grass, the warm sun bathing them in a soft glow. Lorena’s steady breaths beneath her thighs were a comforting rhythm, and Arthur’s smile—a real, genuine smile—made her heart flutter with a fleeting sense of peace. She wanted to linger in the moment, to hold on to the rare sight of his happiness, but a creeping dread began to seep in. 

The sky darkened, and a massive black wave rose on the horizon, surging forward with roaring ferocity. Its foaming white edges swept over the field like a predator’s teeth, and before she could react, it tore Arthur away from her. The distance between them grew vast, and she reached out, calling his name in desperation as the wave swallowed the light and left her alone in the void.

Kate woke with a startled cry, her body convulsing as her stomach churned violently. She lunged for the rusted bucket, pulling it into her lap with trembling hands, her knuckles bone-white against the cold metal. She heaved, dry and fruitless, each spasm tightening the iron vise around her throbbing head. The pounding pain drowned out her senses, and it wasn’t until a calm, authoritative voice broke through that she realized she wasn’t alone.

“You don’t look too well, Miss McCanon,” the man said, carrying a weight of control that sent a shiver through her fevered body. 

Something about it scratched at the edges of her memory, but before she could piece it together, another wave of nausea hit. She doubled over, dry-heaving again, the sound pitiful in the quiet cell.

The man turned sharply, addressing a guard with a harshness that cut through Kate’s misery. “I want a doctor in here, now.”

“Sir, we have strict orders from the chief. No outside contact,” the guard replied hesitantly, his words laced with unease.

The man’s growl was filled with impatience. “Your chief takes orders from me. Go get the doctor.” 

His voice cracked like a whip, and the command froze Kate mid-breath. She wiped her sleeve across her mouth, the lingering taste of bile stinging her tongue, and watched as the man unlocked the cell door and stepped inside.

He carried a stool in one hand, a small tray with food and water in the other. Each movement deliberate, he bent to set the items on the stone bench, and Kate’s breath hitched as recognition struck her like a blow to the chest. 

Agent Andrew Milton, lead detective from the Pinkerton Agency.

Her heart sank, ice spreading through her veins as she stared at the man who had haunted their every step, the very agent of destruction threatening to unravel Arthur’s world—and hers—with a noose. She had crossed paths with him twice before, each encounter a warning she and the gang had barely escaped. Now, there was no running. No one to shield her.

Milton settled onto the stool, his gaze boring into her as if cataloging every weakness. Kate’s mouth went dry, her eyes flickering to the cup of water on the tray. It tempted her, offering the promise of relief to her parched throat and knotted stomach. Milton followed her glance and gestured toward the tray with an open palm. The gesture caught her off guard—calm, almost courteous, yet it felt like a mirage to something more sinister.

Leaning back on the stool, Milton’s fingers drummed a steady rhythm on his thigh as a cold smile tugged at his lips. “What an unfortunate circumstance we find ourselves in,” he said smoothly, as though they were sharing afternoon tea rather than a cell.

Kate ignored him, her trembling hands reaching for the cup. She drank deeply, the water cool and soothing against her raw throat. It felt like heaven, a small mercy in the nightmare she was living. Setting the cup down with a soft clink, she reached for the plate. The apple slices and crackers were humble offerings, but to her, they were a feast. She bit into an apple slice, the tangy sweetness stinging her cracked lips, and chewed slowly, savoring every bite.

“Why bother calling for a doctor if you’re just going to hang me?” she rasped, her voice hoarse and brittle, a faint shadow of the woman she once was.

Milton chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I’m not a monster, Miss McCanon. I’m simply a man doing his job,” he replied casually, as if he were commenting on the weather.

Kate scoffed, the sound rough in her throat. She bit into another slice of apple, her jaw working mechanically as her mind raced and throbbed with every pulse of her heart.

Clearing his throat, Milton shifted his tone to one of authority. “We’ve been digging into your past,” he started in a light voice, but his words carried weight. Kate’s stomach tightened, her heart pounding in her ears. She kept her focus on the plate, refusing to meet his eyes.

“The second-born child of Italian immigrant Madeleine Biviano and Englishman Thomas Walker,” Milton recited like a storyteller weaving a tale. “Raised on a modest dairy farm outside Boston. Your first tragedy was the Wollaston train derailment in ’78. Lost your mother and little sister in the wreck.”

Kate’s chest tightened as the memories clawed their way to the surface, raw and unrelenting. She was only twelve years old at the time, but that day had shattered her childhood. Clenching her jaw, she forced herself to chew, as if by continuing to eat she could stifle the rising tide of pain. The story of her past was one she had spent years burying beneath layers of resolve, yet here it was, laid bare by the stranger across from her. Her mind whirled, trying to untangle the threads of why this man was weaving her history into his game.

“The farm was lost a few years after their deaths. So you and your father moved in with family friends. Where you met your deceased husband Noah McCanon. Then your brother took up work in the mines, only to meet his end in a collapse in ’86.” He shook his head, his mock sympathy dripping with condescension. “And poor old daddy couldn’t handle the grief. Tough break.”

Leaning forward slightly, he continued, “Kate McCanon,” emphasizing her name like he was peeling away a mask, “orphaned. Widowed. Childless after the red death claimed what was left of your family. You’ve had a hard life—a long way from Boston now, aren’t we?”

Kate’s fear tightened its grip around her throat, but she swallowed it down. “You don’t know anything about my life,” she bit out, sharper now, though it wavered at the edges.

“Oh, I know plenty,” Milton said evenly. “I know you fell in with savages after leaving home. Played Injun for a while before striking out on your own.” His gaze was steady, pinning her in place.

Kate turned her face away, her mind racing. How could he know all of this? How had they pieced together her past—a life she had buried so long ago? None of it mattered now. The truth wasn’t her ally here; it was his weapon. He would twist it, use it, until there was nothing left of her to defend.

“We only brought justice to those who deserved it,” she said quietly though the words rang hollow. 

Milton clicked his tongue, “doing my job for me, I can imagine.” He quipped sarcastically. 

“I was a different person back then,” Kate countered, though the effort was futile. 

Her heart raced as Milton leaned back in his chair, the faintest smirk curling the corners of his lips. “We talked to a few people in town after Van Der Linde fled. Picked up a kid in Rhodes, heir to the Gray family fortune. Beau, as I’m sure you remember.” He paused, watching for her reaction. “He was a chatty kid. Only had pleasant things to say about you.”

Kate’s eyes darted up, her breath catching in her throat. Confusion settling over her pallid features. “What does he have to do with this?” she asked.

Milton raised a brow, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on his thigh as he shrugged. “Well, it’s not every day we come across someone with such fond memories of a criminal,” he said casually. “Beau told us all about Miss McCanon. How you stood by his side when nobody else would, helped him stand up to his family. Even mentioned how you wanted to leave that gang behind for good.”

Kate’s stomach churned, the apple slices she had forced down threatening to come back up. “If you’re trying to guilt me, it won’t work,” she bit out, though her voice trembled with the effort.

“Oh, I’m not here to guilt you,” Milton replied smoothly. “Just pointing out that you’ve got a history of helping people in need. As you can imagine this came to me as a surprise. It’s admirable, really.”

The subtle compliment aroused something in her, giving her a morsel of confidence. Straightening herself she answered, “like I said, I’ve changed.” 

“But it does make me wonder…” He leaned forward, his dark eyes boring into hers. “What is a woman like you still doing with Arthur Morgan?”

Kate was quiet, and the silence stretched between them for what felt like an eternity. “Arthur he’s—,” Kate said quietly. “He’s just trying to protect his own.”

Milton’s expression hardened. “He’s a degenerate murderer, same as that maniac they all follow so blindly. Don’t tell me you’re naive enough to think otherwise. The rose-colored glasses have to come off, Miss McCanon. He is a killer. Last night should’ve been enough to prove that to you.”

Kate swallowed hard as fractured memories from the night before clawed their way to the surface. “Th-there must have been a reason,” she stammered. “We weren’t there to hurt anyone—”

“Yet innocent people always seem to end up dead wherever he goes,” Milton interrupted, his voice biting.

Images she had tried to suppress flooded back: lifeless bodies crumpled on blood-soaked floors, the screams of panicked bystanders, and the chaos that seemed to follow in Arthur’s wake. Her stomach churned as the memory of Vin, her pianist, lying among the carnage, forced the air from her lungs, tightening her throat. She clenched her fists, willing the nausea to subside, the weight of Milton’s words pressing down on her like a stone.

What had happened? Kate's mind raced, desperately trying to piece together the chaos of the previous night. Something had gone horribly wrong—she’d known it the moment she saw the hollow, detached look in Arthur’s eyes. The memory of his body pressed against hers brought a painful mix of longing and grief. Even in the throes of his rage, he had shielded her from the damage, clinging to the last shreds of his humanity. 

She was the thread holding him together, the link between the man he was and the man he was trying to be. The weight of that realization made her stomach twist violently. Reaching for the bucket, she retched, the taste of bile and apple burning the back of her throat.

As if on cue, the sound of heavy boots echoed down the hallway. The guards approached, a doctor trailing in their wake. Milton greeted the physician and stood, gathering the stool and empty tray with ease.

Before leaving the cell, the agent paused, cold eyes settling on her. “I know you and Mr. Morgan are quite fond of each other,” he said smoothly. 

“I’m counting on that connection to bring him right to me.”

Kate’s chest tightening as the weight of Milton’s words settled over her. Her hands trembled, curling into the fabric of her skirt as she watched him leave. The cell felt colder, smaller, as if his threat had sucked the air from it. Her mind raced, the implications twisting into her gut like a knife. Milton wasn’t just toying with her—he was using the situation to his advantage. Kate was the bait, and Arthur was the prey. Her heart ached with equal parts dread and guilt, knowing that her capture might lead him straight to his death.

The doctor set his worn leather bag on the bench and knelt down, his weathered face creased with both age and a quiet concern that seemed out of place in this grim setting. His hands trembled slightly as he rummaged through his tools, the faint metallic clink of instruments filling the tense silence. When his gaze met Kate’s pale, sweat-dampened face, his eyes lingered on the dark shadows beneath her eyes and the unsteady tremor in her frame.

“You’re in a bad way, miss,” he said softly, his voice carrying a kindness she hadn’t anticipated. He adjusted the glasses resting on his nose and leaned in closer. “Let’s get a proper look at you.”

Kate sat still, her fingers gripping the edge of the bench as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. She winced as his fingers pressed gently against her throat and around her temple. Every touch sent a fresh wave of pain radiating through her skull. Her throat burned with each shallow breath, and her heart thudded unevenly in her chest.

“Dizzy spells? Vomiting?” he asked, his tone calm but probing. Kate nodded weakly, unable to find the strength to respond aloud.

He worked methodically, his hands steady as he pressed along her scalp, searching for signs of injury. She flinched when his fingers found a tender spot at the base of her head, drawing a quiet hiss of pain from her lips. The doctor pulled back, his brow furrowing. With a heavy sigh, he sat back on his heels, folding his hands on his knee.

“You’ve got a nasty concussion, likely from a blow to the head,” he said gravely.

Kate didn’t respond, her grip tightening on the bench as her vision swam slightly.

The doctor moved on, lifting her wrist to check her pulse, his lips moving silently as he counted. He pinched the skin on the back of her hand, watching how slowly it settled back into place. 

His frown deepened. “You’re anemic,” he announced, his voice edged with clinical detachment.

Kate blinked at him, her mind slow to process the words.

“Your blood’s weak,” he explained. “Could be from malnourishment or blood loss. Either way, you’re in no condition to withstand much. You need iron-rich foods—beef liver, beans, leafy greens—and plenty of rest and fluids. When was the last time you ate properly?”

Her memory felt fragmented, the previous night already blurred by exhaustion and trauma. “I don’t know,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor straightened with a groan, his joints popping as he stood. He turned to one of the guards stationed outside the cell. “She needs proper meals, quiet, and a few days to recover,” he said firmly. “Don’t expect her to run—she doesn’t have the strength for it.”

The guard gave a curt nod, his expression impassive.

The doctor gathered his tools, casting one last glance at Kate as he slung his bag over his shoulder. “Try to rest,” he said, his tone softening slightly. “It won’t be quick, but you’ll mend.”

Kate nodded faintly, watching as he exited the cell. The heavy door slammed shut behind him, the sound reverberating in her aching skull.

Leaning back against the cold wall, Kate closed her eyes and let her fingers trail over the frayed hem of her dress, the coarse fabric grounding her in the present. Her thoughts churned, a dark cocktail of worry for Arthur combined with Milton’s threatening words. 

She longed for him—the warmth of his presence, the way he always knew how to calm her fears, how he had shielded her from the cruelty. How he spoke to her softly despite the intensity of their situation. But now, in the cold silence of her cell, his absence was a weight that crushed her chest. The doctor had said she would mend, but she felt as though she were unraveling piece by piece—and somewhere in the shadows, the storm was only beginning. 

Silent tears slipped down her cheeks, her breath hitching in quiet sobs as she struggled to hold onto the hope that by some miracle Arthur would come for her, even as Milton’s words echoed in her mind.

Threatening to tear everything apart.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The smoke of gunfire still hung heavy in the air around the shattered remnants of their camp. Arthur leaned against the crumbling fountain in the courtyard, his body burdened with exhaustion. His breath came in shallow gasps, the adrenaline that had carried him through the attack now ebbing, leaving a dull ache in its place. The old wound on his shoulder throbbed deeply, the pain radiating in waves with his drumming heartbeat. He was so terribly tired.

Arthur’s hands trembled as he reloaded his revolver, though the threat had passed for the moment, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t over—not truly.

“Arthur,” Charles’ steady voice broke through the haze. He approached carefully, his bow slung over his shoulder, the faint lines of concern etched into his face. “You alright?”

Arthur nodded stiffly, though he knew he didn’t look it. His shirt clung to his back with sweat, and his legs felt like they might give out any second. “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine,” he muttered, waving Charles off even as the other man’s steady gaze lingered.

“You should try to find some rest,” Charles said, his tone leaving little room for argument. “You’ve been carrying too much lately.”

Arthur managed a bitter chuckle, his gaze averting to assess the damage of the rest of camp. “Ain’t nobody else gonna do it,” he muttered under his breath, though he knew Charles heard. The truth of it was a weight he couldn’t put down. No matter how hard he tried.

Charles sighed and sat on the edge of the fountain beside him. “Colm can really hate,” he said after a moment, his eyes trailing to the lifeless O’Driscolls littering the ground. His gaze lingered on Kieran’s body, a stark reminder of what loyalty cost.

Arthur rubbed a hand over his jaw, saying nothing. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant murmur of the gang regrouping. Charles tried again, his voice softer this time. “I heard what happened to Kate,” he said. “Part of me is glad she wasn’t here to see this.”

Arthur turned to him, and in his eyes, Charles saw the weight of unspoken words. Sorrow. Remorse. Anger. A storm of emotions that spoke of a burden far heavier than exhaustion. It wasn’t just the weight of the world that was crushing him, but Kate as well. He had let her down.

“Oh, Arthur,” Charles said quietly. “She’ll be okay. She’s alive—that’s what matters right now.”

It was the only solace he could offer, though he knew it would never be enough. The truth hung heavy between them: they were all at the mercy of uncertainty now, clinging to hope in a world that offered none.

The others were emerging cautiously from their hiding spots, murmuring amongst themselves as they took stock of the damage. A few broken crates, some scattered supplies—but no one was hurt. For that, Arthur was silently grateful, though it didn’t ease the gnawing pit in his stomach.

His gaze drifted toward the central campfire, where Dutch’s figure loomed. Assessing the damage and the situation they’ve found themselves in. Arthur hated to admit it, but they needed him now. More than ever. The gang was shaken, uncertain of their next steps, and as much as Dutch had steered them wrong in recent days, his voice was the only one they’d follow.

“Arthur,” Dutch’s sharp voice cut through the heavy stillness of the aftermath, carrying an edge that demanded attention. His measured strides crunched against the dirt, his eyes flitting over the wreckage of the camp and the wary faces of the gang. “We need to get moving.”

Arthur straightened with an effort, his body screaming against the weight of his fatigue. His shoulder throbbed where the bullet had grazed him earlier, but he pushed the pain aside. He was the gang’s anchor, the one who couldn’t afford to falter. His jaw clenched as Dutch stopped in front of him, his expression unreadable. Whatever Dutch had to say, it would come with consequences.

“You thinkin’ we should start lookin’ for another camp?” Arthur asked quietly, careful not to stir the simmering tension among the others.

Dutch’s lips curved into a thin smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. Before he could answer, John and Hosea approached, their steps slow and cautious. Charles rose to stand beside them, his stance rigid and ready, like he was bracing for a fight.

“You’re not thinking big enough, Arthur,” Dutch said finally, carrying a note of patronage. He gestured broadly to the ruined camp, the lifeless O’Driscolls scattered across the ground. “You’re focused on the small picture—survival. I’m looking at the bigger game. Vast problems require vast solutions. And opportunities.”

Arthur shook his head, standing to meet Dutch at eye level. “I’m not sure I get what you’re sayin’, Dutch,” he said, though the weariness in his voice gave it a sharper edge than he intended.

Dutch’s grin widened, his expression almost feverish, like a man on the brink of revelation. “Oh, you will, son,” he said with unnerving confidence. He turned, addressing the small group that had gathered. “We can’t stay here. Colm’s made sure of that. He’ll bring heat down on us, and we can’t afford the attention.”

Arthur folded his arms, his frown deepening as Dutch’s words sank in.

“Tomorrow,” Dutch continued, “we move deeper into Lagras. We’ll find a temporary camp, and after we regroup, we start preparing.”

“Prepare for what?” Arthur snapped, his exhaustion sharpening his tone. “We’ve been scramblin’ for more money for six months, Dutch. You really think another move’s gonna fix all this?”

Dutch’s gaze darkened, but he kept his composure, tilting his head like a patient teacher lecturing a stubborn student. “The bank,” he said simply, his voice cutting through the growing murmurs of unease.

Charles let out a low sigh, and John shook his head, muttering something under his breath. The tension was thick, every man weighing Dutch’s words against the grim reality they faced.

“We hit the bank tomorrow,” Dutch declared, his voice rising with conviction. “We send a group ahead to set up camp, and the rest of us get what we need to leave this hell behind for good.”

Arthur felt his blood start to boil, the fatigue giving way to something hotter and more dangerous. “And what about Kate?” he insisted, voice rising despite himself. “You just plannin’ on leavin’ her behind in all this mess?”

Dutch raised a hand, silencing Arthur with a single commanding gesture. “Kate,” he said, drawing out her name like a curse. “She’s coming with us. You, Hosea, and a few others will go get her from the prison. While myself and the others rob the bank.”

As he spoke, Dutch stepped closer, placing a heavy hand on Arthur’s injured shoulder. Arthur’s teeth clenched against the dull pain, but he didn’t pull away. The weight of Dutch’s hand was no comfort—it was a warning.

Dutch’s voice dropped, low and menacing, just for Arthur to hear. “I’ve got a plan, son. It’s all coming together. But if you keep doubting me, you’ll be the one who doesn’t make it out alive. And poor Katie…” His lips curled into a cruel smile. “She’ll be waiting on her loyal cowboy for the rest of her goddamn life.”

Arthur felt a chill crawl up his spine, but he refused to flinch. Dutch leaned in even closer, his voice a venomous whisper. “I need that loyalty, Arthur. But I have a feeling you’ll betray me in the end.”

Dutch pulled back, his expression smoothing into something almost fatherly as he addressed the rest of the group. But the words he’d left in Arthur’s ear burned hotter than the ache in his shoulder. Arthur swallowed hard, his fists clenching at his sides, the weight of Dutch’s manipulation pressing down like an iron shackle. The mask was finally starting to crack, and Arthur was seeing the ugly man beneath it. 

Tomorrow. 

The word echoed in Arthur’s mind, heavy with both hope and dread. It was a promise he clung to—Kate would be with him again soon. But Dutch’s plan, reckless as it was, turned that hope into something fragile, like a thread pulled too taut. His gut churned at the thought of what lay ahead. To use her escape as a distraction for robbing the bank—it wasn’t just risking her life. It was risking everything. The dwindling trust, and what little sense of unity the gang had left.

Arthur’s mind raced, playing out the million ways it could go wrong. Colm O’Driscolls might already be planning another attack, the law could close in too fast, or Dutch’s obsession could spiral into chaos. And yet, what choice did he have? She was in this mess because of him. Every path forward felt like it sent them two steps back. And it always ended in blood. 

But no matter how it all played out, Arthur would shoulder the responsibility. He always did.

There was no room for hesitation. No time to dwell on the "what ifs." Arthur rubbed a hand over his face, his fingers coming away grimy from the sweat, dirt and blood that clung to his skin. He needed to pack, needed to meet with Dutch and Hosea to finalize the plan, needed to keep moving. 

Sleep was a luxury he couldn’t afford, not now. Not until she was safe in his arms again. Even if he tried, he knew the voice in the back of his mind would rob him of any rest, whispering doubts, fears, and guilt like an unrelenting ache.

The weight of what was coming pressed on Arthur’s chest, squeezing his resolve tighter with every shallow breath. He didn’t deserve absolution, not from Kate or anyone else. But still, a quiet, desperate plea slipped through the cracks of his battered soul.

Please, forgive me Kate.

AN: Alright guys, another heavy chapter coming up next. I'm really excited to get into the next several chapters, I've had them planned out since I first began brainstorming this fic and I can't believe it's finally time to work on them!

I'm going to try and work on Ch 25 throughout the week and have it up before Christmas but I can't make any promises because I'm going to be so so busy with the holidays. So at the latest, hopefully two weeks. Thankfully, I work for a public school so I have the entire holiday break off :)

[red-doll-face]

someone said Arthur and bear in the same sentence and my brain went fuzzy 🥴 inspired by this post by @ccghastly .there is like a vague x reader thing going on here but mostly bears are my favorite animal and arthur is bear to me now 😊 something small in between me struggling in the trenches that is ch 7 of my stupid fic.

werebear/hybrid medium honor Arthur Morgan x reader

Ok but like Arthur who’s tall, with his wide shoulders and his soft body hair and him putting on some extra pounds for winter. His belly being all fuzzy and cute and he gets a little grumpy when you cuddle on it, but accepts it, rubbing your hair while you laze on his belly.  You might think he is very cute but he gets a little miffed about that, he's supposed to be big bad bear arthur morgan. doesn't like to think of himself as a softy but when you're rubbing his beard and belly, he may let it happen. "don't go tellin' nobody about this," he mutters when you get a small groan for petting his chest.

And he’s extra aggressive, possessive, he hoards you like he hoards food.

He has an embarrassing stash of sweets, which he will let you pillage, very reluctantly. 

Arthur doesn’t really want you anywhere he can’t see you. He’s either following you around or keeping you with him. Grumbles around looking for you, you can hear his spurs jingling while he's stomping around looking for you. Once he sees you, he visibly relaxes, not so gruff when he gathers you in his arms for a big bear hug. Loves to mark his territory, predator style. Definitely finds a way to do this with you. Gives you love bites to show off or he's making you wear his clothes in some way, big or small. Does not care if this embarrasses you, sorry. "gotta let people know you're spoken for," he just has a smug little grin.

Thinking of him scratching his dark sandy belly hair and yawning, ambling around all bear like to find something to eat 😭😭😵‍💫❤️

For the most part, he’s pretty calm, gentle, around you, and the people he trusts, but strangers in his territory, threats to your safety, people poking him and pushing him to the edge. Very scary bear Arthur, killing with deadly efficiency, intense protectiveness, anything to prove he’s the biggest bear in his territory. ☺️

He might be pretty predictable for you, he doesn’t lash out at you very often but to other people, he’s quick to show how they can never guess what he’s going to say or how he’s going to react. If someone is annoying him, he might not care and let it roll off his back or Arthur might snap back and show them that he can’t be bothered to control himself. Arthur's self control is harder to gauge, it's really up to his mood or whatever whim he's come up with.

Drooling thinking of Arthur and his chest hair and his thick ass happy trail. And as some sort of werebear/hybrid? Big predator teeth and cute little bear ears. If he can shift into a full bear, he would be a bit of a menace. Snuffing in your hair and softly play biting you. Scent marking by rubbing himself all over you. He has fun throwing his weight around with you but he doesn't like to hurt or scare you. Too much anyway. Arthur has his meanie moments where he's letting his predatory instinct take over but he also has his sweetie docile and sated moments.

Thanks so much for this delicious idea omg, i could go on forever about arthur with his little bear traits. 💕💕💕🥴🥴😳😳😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 so sorry if this is not what you had in mind but this was my vision. 😔

[mediocrecowboyhat]

Set in sand - Chapter 1

We mark the year 1934 and a peculiar journal falls into your hands. It's telling the tale of an outlaw and the downfall of a gang. Some pages are torn and others are downright unreadable, but nevertheless, you are still able to make out some parts of the tragic story.

With the help of a certain time traveler friend of yours, will you be able to safe the author of the journal or will you be the cause for his demise?

Next chapter

Word count: 3543

Disclaimer: This is based on the side quest "Geology for Beginners" so the reader is from the future and aware of some things that happen, but not everything. The reader will also have she/her pronouns and this fanfiction follows the story of RDR2. Also English is not my first language so pls forgive me for any grammatical mistakes!

TW: end-game spoilers will be mentioned very early on in the story, 18+ MDNI, sexual themes, violence, gore, death, misogynistic themes (anything that happens in the game as well)

With the help of a certain time traveler friend of yours, will you be able to safe the author of the journal or will you be the cause for his demise?

The harsh cold cuts through your many thick layers of clothing and your limbs gradually grow number by the minute. Pain shoots through your fingers everytime you move them just to make sure they're still working. The last thing you want is to loose any body parts to hypothermia this early on in your journey.

One foot at the time. Come on.

As you stumble through the knee-high snow and fight your way through the merciless storm, you silently curse yourself out. Maybe your friend was right. Maybe you shouldn't have gotten yourself involved in this.

-

"Arthur Morgan? That name rings a bell, actually.", Francis mumbles under his breath as his eyes trail over the words of the journal you had handed to him earlier.

The book is in poor condition with most of the pages missing and the ones that are still attached, are barely readable. Only a few passages are intact, but it's enough to let you roughly know what happened to the author.

"I thought you might have maybe heard of him during your travels.", you answer with a hopeful tone. Your eyes stare expectantly at the red head as you wait for him to finish reading.

The author wrote the journal around the end of the 1800s which is the same time Francis likes to visit every now and then.

"I think I remember now!", he exclaims with raised eyebrows and you jump up from the chair you're sitting on.

"You do? Can you...help me out then?"

-

You have no idea why the story of Arthur Morgan had moved you so much. His life and the way he put it into words had shaken you to your core.

A shuddering sigh escapes your lips and even through the scarf that covers half of your face, you're able to see the cloud of air.

-

"You want to safe him? Why?", Francis asks and his tone is laced with utter disbelief. Yes, he met the man during one of his travels and even though Arthur didn't know him at all, he still had helped find all the rock carvings.

"The way things went and the way they ended for him...it doesn't feel right.", you explain with furrowed brows.

"It's dangerous. Yes, the country started to enforce the law more seriously during that time, but there were still so many gangs, robberies and shootings. I can't even begin to count all the things that could go wrong on your journey."

Francis' gaze is serious and stern. He's making his disapproval of your idea more than clear, but you're not willing to give up on your plan. Not yet.

"Nothing will go wrong if you help me prepare.", you answer and take both of his hands in yours to give them a reassuring squeeze.

His expression is unmoving, but his eyes betray the crumbling resistance within him. He's only a couple more arguments away of giving in.

-

The memory makes you chuckle. It's a low and bitter sound. Indeed, he had helped you get prepared for your adventure. Your leather bag is stuffed with canned food, some clothes and other equipment that might come in handy.

All the shirts, skirts and pants fit the style of the 1890s to make it easier for you to blend in. Francis had even been so kind to give you a quick history lesson that covered all the basics.

-

The cattleman revolver feels unfamiliar and heavy in your hands as you study the weapon more closely.

"Do you know how to shoot?", Francis asks and crosses his arms infront of his chest as he leans against the edge of the table.

The closest you have ever come to working a gun was reading about it in Arthur's journal, but admitting that might make Francis change his mind about the whole thing.

"Of course.", you lie with full confidence and slide the revolver back into the holster.

-

In the beginning you were a bit disturbed by the sight of the weapon attached to your belt. Feeling the weight of it now and the way it sometimes brushes over your thigh...it brings you some comfort. Comfort, knowing that you have the means to protect and defend yourself.

If only you have been aware over how soon you'd have to use that thing.

-

"There is an abandoned settlement called Colter nearby.", Francis explains and points at a spot on the map that is spread out over the table. "They will be hiding there after that whole ordeal in Blackwater."

This would be your chance to join the gang and get close to everyone. The mere thought of actually meeting these people fills you with both excitement and anxiety. You don't know any of them and it makes you wonder how they'll react to you.

"The winter was particularly bad that year so make sure to move quick and don't get lost.", he says, ripping you out of your thoughts.

"Don't worry."

-

Yes. Don't worry, I said. It will be fine, I said.

Nothing could have prepared you for the pack of wolves that had shown up right after you traveled back in time. Not a single bullet had hit its mark, but the ear piercing noise from the shots had driven them away.

Everytime you recall that encounter in your mind, the beat of your heart picks up frantically and you hear your blood rushing in your ears. The experience had scarred you for sure.

Finally, the snowstorm seems to calm down and your vision clears up again. As you blink the remaining snowflakes away, you spot smoke in the distance. Could that be the settlement?

Without a second thought you pick up your pace and quickly make your way towards the dark pillar of smoke. It's further away than you had anticipated, but after a while you arrive at the place just to be met with...well, no one.

The fire has died down and there is not a single soul to be seen in the area. You notice that the wood is still slightly warm though so whoever had camped here left only recently.

Your eyes wander around, trying to find a sign, anything that could indicate where that person might have gone to. There is only one set of footprints in the snow, accompanied with prints that look like hooves.

It could be someone from the gang who is out hunting at the moment. It's also possible that they went back to the others so maybe these tracks could lead you right to their hideout.

With a new found hope you quickly follow the tracks. Even if it isn't anyone from the gang, that person you're searching for could still give you shelter or food. Any type of help is welcome, really. You're in no position to be picky at the moment.

The tracks lead up a mountain and you see something dark laying on the ground. A pit forms in your stomach as you approach it and recognize what it is.

The sight infront of you is revolting and you fight back a gag. A horse is laying spread out in the snow with its stomach shredded to pieces and the insides hanging out. A foul stench penetrates your nose and you abruptly turn away.

Whatever happened here, it hadn't ended well. Weirdly enough, the horse is the only dead body here though. There is no sign of the owner and you stumble upon more footprints.

It must be the same person from the makeshift camp, by the looks of it. At least the size and shape of the boots are similar. You keep following them and swallow a lump in your throat when your eyes fall on blood. It seems like the person got hurt as well by whatever attacked the horse.

Could it have been wolves? Perhaps even the same ones that wanted to make a meal out of you? You banish the thought before it could make you panic. Now is not the time to contemplate about your near-death encounter.

Someone obviously needs help and that is the whole reason why you're here in the first place. Just because the person in need of help isn't the one who you're actually here for, doesn't mean you should abandon them.

The footprints lead around the mountain and with lots of huffing and panting, you climb over rocks and duck under them. It's exhausting your body more than anything you had ever done before and your muscles grow heavy.

"Hello?", you yell out into the vast nothingness and calm your breathing to be able to focus on listening for a response. Nothing.

You give it another try, but again nothing happens. Frustration boils up inside your chest and you mutter a few curses to yourself.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Now you're not only extremely tired and worn out from this unnecessary hike, you're also way off the trail that leads towards Colter and who knows if you will even be able to find your way back.

Sure, you could easily follow your own footprints, but by the way your luck has been the past few days, another snowstorm will most likely ruin that plan. Unless the thing that killed the horse earlier comes back to put you out of your misery as well.

Perhaps Francis was right. Perhaps you were being stupid and naive to think that you could possibly travel back in time to-

"Help!"

There it is. A voice. A person! You bite back a relieved sob and take a deep breath to answer the call.

"I'm over here!", the other person answers and you jog towards the source of the voice.

As you peek over the edge of a wall, you're being met with a pair of glassy, grey eyes. A man with long black hair and messy clothes, is sitting in the snow and looks up to you.

"I didn't think I'd meet anyone out here.", he jokes with a raspy voice and you climb down the wall to kneel next to him.

His face is covered in blood and there are deep wounds on his right cheek. It looks like claw marks.

"What happened?", you ask breathlessly as you hurry to open your bag.

"Wolves. A whole pack of 'em." His answer comes out more as a grunt than anything and it's obvious that talking alone brings him too much pain.

You fish out an alcohol bottle and pour some of the content onto your handkerchief. Gently, you dab the cloth on his wounds to disinfect them and he let's out a harsh hiss.

"I'm sorry.", you mumble apologetically, but he simply waves it off. He knows you're only trying to help.

None of you are saying anything while you tend to his wounds and your mind is racing with thoughts and questions. What will you do now? The man doesn't look like he can stand up and you don't have the means to carry him down this mountain.

But even just considering the option of leaving him here to the elements makes you feel a tang of guilt in your chest. Leaving him alone means leaving him to die and you don't know if you can live with that.

"Do you think you can get up? I can't carry you, but if you lean on me we could make it down this mountain.", you suggest and the man opens his mouth to answer you.

Before he can even bring out a word, a gunshot cuts through the air and you let out a startled noise. Another person? This is starting to become quite a party.

Yelling can be heard from a distance. A man. No, it's two.

"Marston!", one of them screams from the top of his lungs and the bleeding stranger infront of you responds almost immediately.

It doesn't take long for the others to find you and you stand up from your spot. The two men are standing on the edge of the wall and one of them jumps down. The next moment you find yourself at the end of a gun.

You lift your hands and take a careful step back while your eyes are fixed on the weapon pointed right at your face.

"Who are you?", asks the man. He's wearing a thick blue coat and a worn cowboy hat with a few bullet holes in it.

"Put the gun down. She found me here and helped.", answered the injured guy and for what feels like eternity the man finally lowers the gun.

You allow yourself to let out a relieved breath as he turns away to face the one still sitting on the ground.

"You look even uglier than before, Marston.", he says to the injured stranger and something clicks inside your brain.

Marston? John Marston?

While your mind pieces all the clues together, the man who is still on the wall reaches out his hand towards you. A friendly smile graces his lips and you return it before taking his hand and letting him help you climb back up.

"You guys are lucky that we found you.", he says and you nod. He's right. Even with your plan to have John lean on you while you walk back, there is no guarantee that it would have actually worked.

You're pretty sure that you would have probably slipped and fallen to your certain death. A few moments later John and the other guy are on top as well.

"Arthur, carry him on your shoulder while we go back to our horses.", the man who helped you up the wall said and your eyes fall on one with the blue coat.

Is this Arthur Morgan?

You lock eyes with him after he throws John over his shoulder and he gives you a confused look.

"What are you starin' at?", he grunts.

Embarrassed, you cough into your fist and let out a flustered chuckle.

"I'm so sorry, sir. It's just that you remind me of someone, is all.", you hastily explain and turn away to prevent any more awkwardness.

What a great first impression you're leaving. As you all make your way back to the horses, the three men introduce themselves to you and you give them your name as well.

"What are you doing out here by yourself?", Javier asks and throws you a curious look over his shoulder.

"I had to leave my home. We...we got robbed and lost the house.", you answer. It's a lie that you and Francis have come up with.

If anyone asks you'd tell them that a gang robbed your home and burned down the house. No one can check your background if you tell them there is nothing left to check. At least that's what you're hoping for.

"You said 'we'. Is anyone else out here?", Arthur asks and shoots you a quick look.

"No. I'm alone now.", you answer which is not really a lie. You are alone indeed.

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that."

Before you're able to thank him, Javier points at something in the distance.

"Guys, I think we got company."

A small group of wolves appear on the hill a few meters away from you guys and your heart sinks. The gunshot and all the yelling must have caught their attention or maybe it's the smell of John's blood.

Arthur hands him over to Javier and pulls out a shotgun as he walks towards the wild animals.

"I'll distract 'em. You guys go to the horses.", he yells over his shoulder and you and Javier start running.

A few shots are being fired behind you, but you don't dare to look back. Your heart is beating a thousand miles an hour and adrenaline rushes through your veins. It's the only reason why you're able to move this fast.

Javier mounts his horse together with John and you climb onto the back of the one you assume must be Arthur's. Just as you turn your head to see where the said man is, he's already by your side and jumps into the saddle.

Without another word, the two horses start sprinting. The sudden acceleration startles you and instinctively your arms shoot forward to wrap around Arthur's torso. Then you notice something in the corner of your eye.

"We got more coming from the right!", you let the others know and grab the cattleman from your holster.

Thankfully, Arthur proves himself to be more than competent with his own gun and takes out the entire pack in a matter of seconds without you having to help out. At least that's what it looked like at first.

Another wolf jumps out from between trees right at the both of you and you extend your arm to fire a shot. It hits. For the first time you have actually hit something.

The rest of the ride goes by quietly with no deadly surprises. So far it's all going to plan (besides the fact that you almost got your face bitten off that is) and with a little luck and persuasion on your part they might even let you stay with them.

Once you reach the settlement, you slide off the back of Arthur's Tennessee Walker and take a step to the side when a large group of people start pouring out from the run down houses.

But the person who catches your attention the most is a man wearing a black coat and a red scarf. It's not his outfit that draws your gaze towards his direction, but more the energy he gives off. There is something about him that makes you feel like you have to be on your toes.

Maybe it's the authority that radiates off of him like the heat of a house on fire or maybe it's something else. Obviously, he's the leader of this group with the way he's barking orders. They don't seem to fear him though.

Then his eyes fall on you and he takes your whole appearance in. You recall a name from the journal as he approaches you with an extended hand and you shake it firmly.

"Dutch Van Der Linde. Arthur told me that you helped them with John."

You only manage a nod.

"Thank you, miss. I appreciate that you went out of your way to help one of my men. Come on, let's head inside so we can talk.", he adds and leads you towards one of the cabins

There is a fire burning inside, but with all the holes in the roof and walls it does barely anything to keep the cold away. Dutch motions towards one of the chairs next to the fireplace and takes a seat infront of you.

Arthur's blue coat appears in the corner of your eye as he closes the creaking door and leans against it with his arms closed. Yes, Dutch said it would be a casual talk, but now it feels more like an interrogation.

Quietly you fold your gloved hands on your lap and wait for Dutch to say the first word. You plan on telling him only the most necessary stuff and would rather avoid getting tangled up in your web of lies.

"So, Arthur tells me you lost your home?"

You avoid his piercing gaze and look down at your lap.

"I did, sir."

On the side of your vision, you see him nod to himself.

"I'm so sorry to hear that. Now, miss..."

Your head snaps up to look at him as he bends forward to get a better look at your face.

"This is a harsh winter and I'd feel bad sending you out in this cold all by yourself, so if you want, you can stay with us."

His offer makes you nod hastily and you try to mask your excitement. There is no need to make them suspicious with your eagerness. No person with a clear mind would be this happy to stay with a bunch of outlaws and you have to play the part.

"We may not be good people, but we care for one another. As long as you pull your weight, we will happily welcome you."

With these words you place your bag on the floor and open it up to reveal the canned food you have been traveling with.

"I got some food on me. Agreed, it's not a lot, but it's all I have."

A pleased look spreads over Dutch's face and he nod.

"It's greatly appreciated. Go find Mr. Pearson and give these to him.", he says and you throw your bag back over your shoulder after getting back on your feet.

Once you close the door behind you, you overhear Arthur say something.

"Are you sure about this, Dutch? It's another mouth to feed."

You hold your breath so you have an easier time listening in on them. Of course, he's right to be concerned about you becoming a member. By the sound and look of it, they're struggling to keep everyone fed.

"We have been through worse.", Dutch answers and a wave of relief washes over you. It's good to know that you won't get kicked out on the first day.

So where is this Mr. Pearson?

[shoot1ngst4r]

going out of your way to search up [insert character] ANGST and all you get is smut

[hihomeghere]

[ruerecs]

PSA! you don't have to have smut in your fic to make it good.

for all the butthurt people in my reblogs, i’m literally a writer too. that’s literally why i made this post, never said you shouldn’t. just said you don’t have to? (all the people complaining about this post just know i’m laughing at your replies🙂‍↕️)

[bitin-and-barkin]

STRONG OLDER MEN. I want to see a man, so rough and tough in the streets actually be a big sweetheart and SO nervous in bed. All flustered and whiney, rutting against your thigh like a one dollar whore. I need to see them overstimulated and crying from pleasure while you suck them off or eat them out. I want to see them be so scared about hurting you while they fuck you oh so gently, SO horny, but so afraid of hurting you. I wanna see one cry and whimper into your neck while they ride you soo well like a good boy <3 you let them cum as much as they want because they're being soo good for you (and they NEED that privilege cause they are soo sensitive and will cum so much) and they eat ALL of your praise up

[abstractpyschopomp]

[emmcfrxst]

It is so revolting how much I need Arthur Morgan. I need him I want him so pathetically. Okay anyways I would like to know Arthur reaction to an s/o who’s so down bad for him. Would it stroke his ego or make him blush?

it honestly catches him off guard every single time, no matter how long the two of you have been together. he has extremely low self esteem and considers himself a little ugly on a good day (you’re still working on breaking that cycle in his mind, but it’s a long process full of trials and errors and a lot of repeating) so to see you, who he considers to be the most beautiful person he’s ever seen in his entire life, be so unashamed and forward with your attraction towards him really sweeps him off his feet. it’s not uncommon for you to hang around and “do chores” close to where he’s working while in camp, and he has to will himself to ignore the nervous, elated butterflies in his tummy whenever you react, either audibly or physically, to something he does. he’ll never forget the first time he bent over to pick up some hay for the horses, causing you to let out a mixture between a groan and a moan at the curve of his ass in his pants— he nearly broke his neck snapping his head towards you, flushing a pretty pink color all the way down to his chest because the sound you made was borderline pornographic, but even that could not have prepared him for the sight of you biting your lip and looking at him with the sultriest look in your eyes— one that still fuels his fantasies to this day whenever he’s away from you on a job. there’s also this other time where he was busying himself with chopping wood for the fire, sleeves rolled up all the way to his elbows, and you walked over to him, soft hand running up his arm and down his chest, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear as you mumbled a soft, urgent “meet me in the meadow in ten minutes.” that had his cock throbbing in anticipation— and he definitely wasn’t disappointed when he met you there only to find you already half undressed, your hands making quick work of the buttons of his shirt and your lips meeting his in a frenzied kiss that almost had him cum in his pants. you really never miss an opportunity to express your attraction to him and it truly baffles him because he doesn’t think he’s much to look at, but he’ll be damned if he let that go to waste— he’s just as crazy about you as you are about him.

[stray-cat-with-internet-access]