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omgahgase · 1 month ago

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nsfw charthur fic - wolf shifter!arthur

i was reading through some old wips for other fandoms and i decided to take a small thing from twt and turn it into a charthur thing bc i'm mentally ill over them. i was also driven to post this by some users who helped me realize that i can post what i want bc what i create is for me. so, thank you. you have beaten away my apprehension with a stick, and now i am DOING THE DANG THING! i'll most likely post this to ao3 after i find an appropriate title that isn't 'charles taking monster cock'

nsfw charthur fic under the cut. content warnings include: monster fucking, knotting, size difference, a dash of mpreg (but not really), and some sweet fluff to top it all off

Fur sprouts along the length of Arthur’s spine, from his nape down to the small of his back, along his arms and his legs and around his jaw. It spreads like moss on a tree, gathering into handfuls and giving Charles something to hold onto, soft like the down from the underside of a duck, sandy brown like the dirt in Flat Iron Lake. Charles grips the hair between his fingers and fits his face into the hot, stuffy section of Arthur's furry neck as he moans a desperate, fervent sound.

Arthur's cock grows three times its size, the thick girth of his length stretching Charles to a startling point, but his strangled cry isn't out of pain more so than surprise. Charles muffles a desperate mewl of a sound into Arthur's neck, humps up into his belly to ease the ache in his ass, smearing wet and sticky across Arthur's hairy lower belly.

Arthur’s fangs start to take shape too, elongating into razor-sharp incisors that could rip Charles’ throat out, but instead, he bares them and grunts, curls his upper lip into a snarl when Charles adjusts and Arthur sinks in deeper. As he shifts, his eyes change from sky blue to a dull grey then, finally, when Charles removes his face from Arthur's shoulder, a striking, stark white, nearly engulfed by his pupils.

He grows, too. Arthur's frame broadens until he towers over Charles, thick and strong, his back hunched like a predator moments away from devouring its prey. His hands and feet lengthen, extending black, blade-like claws from his nails, and, momentarily, something sharp shoots beneath Charles’ chest. When Arthur shifts, his claws leave the most damage. Their last sleeping pad was shredded to unsalvageable repair, but, thankfully, they're not in their tent tonight, so Charles' worry is short-lived.

He knew Arthur needed a night to unwind, to change away from the overbearing hands of camp, and away from Dutch and his endless list of errands he rattles off to Arthur whenever he gets the chance. The gang knows how Arthur gets when he's not allowed to run free after a stressful few days of hunting and taking odd jobs to earn a few measly dollars, of scamming people into pennies and robbing lonesome stagecoaches in the dark of night. Seeing it fit, Charles took it upon himself to do something for him this time to make up for all the things he does for camp. For all the good Arthur does for Charles.

That’s how they found themselves here, a few miles away from camp, in their own secluded piece of wild where Arthur pounced on him mere moments after they dismounted their horses. He pushed Charles onto his back over a soft bed of grass, divested both of them of their clothes, and licked into Charles with an intensity that he’d be able to feel for days. It took only seconds for Arthur to slip inside his lover and let the animal out of the cage, to hand himself over to that other part of him that he tries so desperately to tamper down.

It took time for Arthur to tell him, and it took even longer for Arthur to show him, but now that they're far past the gentle touches and first times, neither of them really cares where this sort of thing takes them.

"Cowboy," Charles calls out around a scream. He tightens his grip on Arthur's shoulders and squeezes thick thighs around his furry middle as a tidal wave of pleasure pulls him beneath the surface until his lungs burn. Arthur picks up pace, then, fucks into him with intent as Charles scrambles for any sort of coherence that goes beyond his cries of, "Yes, that's it, baby! Oh, Arthur!"

It’s not until Charles feels the fat swell of Arthur's knot kissing his entrance does he finally say 'fuck it' and starts babbling, slurring mush mouth words and pleas of Arthur's name.

Arthur whines deep in his chest as he rises to his hunches, his glowing eyes rooted to the large bulge protruding from Charles' stomach, the mound moving as he grinds his hips against the soaking wet valley of Charles' thighs. Charles’ cock bounces between them, untouched and weeping. Pearly white beads at his dark tip, shining in the moonlight seeping through the trees above. Arthur watches, growling, as he takes Charles in his hand and pumps, the entirety of his palm engulfing Charles until only his head peeks over Arthur’s fist. Charles is by no means small, but just the sight of his cock disappearing beneath Arthur’s large hand is enough to make him throw his head back, his back jackknifing off the ground. He squeezes around Arthur’s length and moans a broken sound into the cool air that has Arthur placing a soothing hand on his waist.

"Charles—darlin'. You’re doin' amazin',” he praises, wonderstruck. “You look so pretty like this."

Arthur speaks from within, raspy and throaty, the voice of the ancients. It's echoey and old as if thousands of people are speaking at the same time, all collectively using their voices to create a rumble so intense Charles can feel it in his throat, in his cock, and where he and Arthur are joined.

And when Arthur comes, his knot fits into Charles so easily. He stuffs Charles until he's pumped full and Arthur knows Charles is tight around him, firm and secure.

"You're gonna carry my pups," Arthur rumbles, his fangs dangerously close to Charles' neck. "Gonna get you pregnant, Charles. My Charles. My, big, strong, beautiful Charles.”

Arthur punctuates his words with a sharp snap of his hips, his clawed hand spreading wide over the expanse of Charles' stomach, over the bulging skin like he's trying to will his words true.

It’s impossible, and both of them know that, but Charles still lets Arthur take him, mumbling dirty promises into his ear like an oath he plans to keep. Charles feels warmth shoot into him, tepid and slick, and he takes it all, winding his arms tight around Arthur's wide shoulders and threading trembling hands through dark fur. He tries in vain to pull him in tighter when they're both already pressed so close together as if he wants to fuse them together entirely.

All it takes is for a fanged tooth to press down on Charles' neck, grazing his tendon for him to come, too, spurting white and sticky up his swollen stomach, his heaving chest. Arthur swoops down to lap at the come spread over Charles' flushed skin, collecting it in his mouth and kissing Charles with fervor.

He doesn't let up until Charles swallows.

And when Arthur's done and he's slowly shifting back, his sanity now under control, he kisses Charles slowly, with a ferocity that's near breathtaking—like he's trying to drink Charles' entire essence, consuming his heart and soul that Charles has already so graciously given to him.

Arthur's knot is still snuggly nestled inside his lover, now smaller than before but continuing its job it was made to do. Charles whimpers a weak, spent mumble of a sound, over-sensitive and tender all over as he moves, getting used to the feeling of the thick sloshing in his lower half. It should be disgusting, the state of himself, but Charles cherishes these shared moments because it’s with Arthur. It’s been years and he still wonders, out of all the people Arthur could’ve chosen, women and men included throwing themselves at him in every town, a creature of the night or not, how he still chose Charles.

And no matter how many times Arthur tells him that—that he's Arthur’s person—Charles will still gawk in disbelief because he'll never understand how he managed to tame someone like him, a man more wild than the wild itself.

Arthur moves atop him, his face now back to normal, no more fur, no more fangs. His eyes are still glowing bright blue, a sign that his knot isn't going down any time soon, so they might as well get comfortable. Charles combs his hands through Arthur's hair, and scratches at the spot behind his ear that sends tingles over his scalp. Arthur bucks his hips on reflex, making Charles cry out, and then he immediately stills, eyes wide.

"Sorry," he mumbles, voice thick.

"Don't be," Charles assures. "You know I can handle it ."

Arthur shakes his head, unconvinced. "I'm hurtin’ you."

"I never tell you to stop," Charles counters, using the remaining strength in his tired body to give Arthur a look.

Arthur ignores him and props himself up on strong arms, eyes roaming over the red lines along Charles' thighs and hips, the raised draw of skin clearly visible in the moonlight. Where the scratches turn angry and crimson, small dollops of warm blood seep out into the brisk breeze, gliding along the length of Charles' wounds. His bite marks aren’t the worst of it, but Arthur still treats them as such, eyes lingering on the teeth-sharp shapes of Arthur’s bite and fangs.

Arthur's expression turns solemn when he takes a gentle hand and trails a finger across the purpling splotches decorating Charles' body, the marks that will bloom into full bruises by morning.

Charles, not liking the flash of guilt taking root in his lover's eyes, grabs Arthur's face in his warm palms and pulls him down for a kiss.

"I'm fine," Charles says, his tone soft, like how it always is when he gets like this. "You could never hurt me."

“You’re always sayin’ that, but look at ya. You looked like you were mauled.”

“Because I was,” Charles agrees, easily, because why deny the truth? Charles isn’t a liar, and he’s not going to start acting like one to make Arthur feel better. Arthur needs to know that Charles can handle anything he throws at him, bites, scratches, wounds, and all.

Charles said he loved him, all parts of him. The good, the bad. The wolf. When Arthur shifted in front of him for the first time, Charles wasn’t scared, nor was he surprised to know that every version of Arthur was beautiful, fur and fangs included. Charles understands that he would do just about anything for Arthur, and that includes braving a few hours of being fucked stupid by a creature in the stories his mom used to tell him to get Charles to behave. Charles never complains, because he never finds an issue with it. Because there isn’t an issue.

Charles brushes their noses together, swoops in for a second kiss, and bites back a smile when he feels Arthur’s breath stutter. “I’d let you eat me whole if you asked.”

“I’d never ask that, ever,” Arthur says, serious and weighty as if he thinks Charles is ready to offer himself on a silver platter.

(He is, but Charles thinks Arthur already knows that.)

“But if you do, then the answer is yes. It’s always yes.”

“You’re so strange,” Arthur snorts. “Who’d willingly give themselves to a wolf?”

Charles thinks about it, then, “Abigail.”

Arthur chuckles and ducks his head into the cozy spot between Charles’ neck and shoulder. He kisses at the bite marks littering his skin as he says, “That don’t count. She’s crazy.”

“If she’s crazy enough to be with John, then I’m crazy enough to be with you.”

Arthur laughs this time, hearty and full and so him that Charles finds himself laughing too, smiling into the soft spot behind Arthur’s ear. He kisses at the birthmark just below his hairline, relishes in the shiver shooting down Arthur’s spine.

“Try again, darlin’. You ain’t any more crazy than you are foolish.”

Charles makes a show of thinking over his answer, making Arthur roll his eyes and prop himself atop folded hands over Charles’ chest, looking at him like a curious puppy.

“Someone who cares about you,” Charles finally says, earnestly, like he’s confessing all over again, but this time with actual words instead of just twisting a fist in Arthur’s handkerchief and planting one on him after a shoot-out.

Arthur smiles, fitting the shape of his mouth over the indents of his fangs on Charles’ body with gentle lips. “So your way of carin’ for me is lettin’ me eat you?”

“No,” Charles says, shaking his head and trailing kiss-bitten lips along the rough scruff of Arthrur’s jaw, “it’s giving myself over to you if you asked. But,” he shrugs, “I’ve already done that.”

“I didn’t ask,” Arthur says it like it’s a wonder and not a true fact.

“You didn’t need to. I wanted to. I’d give you anything if it means you’ll stay with me.”

“Now that, Mr. Smith, is a foolish thing to say,” Arthur huffs. “I’d be with you regardless. You don’t gotta give me anythin’. It’s my choice, bein’ with you. There ain’t ever gonna be another person out there for me. And even if there was, they ain’t you.”

Charles, feeling as if something inside his chest exploded into a supernova, bites back an overwhelming sob and surges forward to kiss him again. They both hum, moving their hands over waists and achy muscles to cup each other’s faces like they think the other might disappear if they didn’t hold on.

But they won’t. Neither of them will because this is the type of thing that leads them here: loving each other in ways neither really understands but they both accept. They love and they question but most of all, they know that they both want to stay together. For as long the lives they live will allow it.

“There isn’t anyone out there like you either,” Charles marvels when they separate, watching as Arthur’s bright blue eyes change from striking to something softer, something more delicate than what a man like him would think he’s capable of. “I’d choose you every time. In every life I’ll ever live.”

Arthur sighs and fits himself cozy between Charles’ thighs and atop his chest. “You think that’s possible?”

“Yes,” Charles answers because he’s not a liar like that. “Would you still choose me?”

“Don’t be actin’ dumb now, Charles,” Arthur jokes. “You’re too smart for that.”

Charles grins into the sharp line of Arthur’s jaw, feeling his lover’s smile stretch wide over his face.

“If you wanna make me stop, you could always just marry me.”

Arthur laughs. He laughs and shakes and snorts an ugly, goofy sound into Charles’ chest, his hair a rat’s nest tangle and cheeks flushed to the yards, and Charles thinks he’s never looked more handsome than he does right now.

“I will not take that as a proposal, not when I’m still inside ya and we’re buck naked in the woods.”

“But someday?” Charles asks, hopeful in a way he has no control over when they live the lives they have. It’s a silly, foolish little dream that he thinks about more than he wants to admit, and has only voiced a handful of times over the years they’ve been together. It’s frivolous and laughable and he shouldn’t be asking Arthur something so serious so casually.

But, when Arthur kisses him, when he holds him close and embraces him tight, when he says a breathy little ‘yes’ in between every swipe of his tongue, Charles starts to think it’s not just a silly, foolish dream.��

“Yes,” Arthur says as he kisses him hard and makes love to him soft.

“Yes,” Arthur says as he rolls them over in their bed of grass, gazes up at Charles like he’s a wonder.

“Yes,” Arthur says as he leans up into Charles’ space that hasn’t been his own in quite some time now.

Arthur kisses and caresses and repeats the word against Charles’ lips like it’s a fact and not just an agreement. Like it’s an oath he plans to keep.

#charthur #arthur morgan #charles smith #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption #idk man i just saw a vision of charles taking monster cock and i was struck dead #also them being so soft with each other after fucking is so dinluke core idc what y'all say i WILL find a way to link my two fav ships #omgahgase writes

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