#o’driscoll boy

[bununiii]

okay ONE MORE KIERAN BEFORE BED and its baby kieran he lost his mammy and pappy to cholera :(

[babyaiker]

I love my horsey’s and my horsey’s love me

I drew as many important red dead redemption 2 horses as I could, but it’s all in my silly, rinky-dink style. I wanna make these into charms/stickers so bad they’d be perfect

And so everyone knows who’s who:

Baylock - Micah’s

Brown Jack - Bill’s

Taima - Charles’

The Count - Dutch’s

Silver Dollar - Hosea’s

Ennis - Sean’s

Boaz - Javier’s

Branwen - Kieran’s

Maggie - Lenny’s

Bob - Sadie’s

Nell II - Uncle’a

Gwydion - Trelawny’s

Old Belle - Karen’s

Old Boy - John’s

Rachel - John’s (Epilogue)

Hera - Sadie’s (Epilogue)

Nell IV - Uncle’s (Epilogue)

Falmouth - Charles’ (Epilogue)

Buell - Hamish/The Veteran

O’Driscoll Horse - First horse you get in chapter 1

[honeyzephyr]

o’driscoll boy 🤕

w/o background + shading :)

[dollyzdaydreamz]

Whiskey and Worn out Souls

John Marston x Fem! Reader (Dutch's daughter) Description: The events at blackwater and your fathers erratic behavior has you caught up in your thoughts at the saloon with the gang as they celebrate a petty win over the O'Driscolls. Two men decide to heckle you over your gunslinging outfit and you can't help but let your frustrations out on them. ⚠️Warnings: Violence (reader is a gunslinger, reference to Blackwater massacre) sexism, some people drink, reader has Dutch’s smart mouth, reader doesn’t drink but smokes a cig (don't smoke yall:)

angst/overthinking, daddy issues lowkey (^-^)

⚠️forgive grammatical errors, it's literally 2 AM rn (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ ⚠️i dont own any of the rdr2 characters, they belong to Rockstar (≧▽≦)

The saloon was a lively mess, full of drunken laughter, piano playing, and the ever-present stench of stale beer and poor decisions. The gang had taken a petty victory against the O’Driscoll's as a reason to celebrate, and the drinks kept on coming. But while the others laughed and drank, you sat against the bar in your usual gunslinging attire: the pistol gifted by your father long ago strapped to your hip, a bullet belt around your waist, worn down jeans that reached just past your ankle, a shirt under your fur lined vest, and muddy boots. Your mood was darker than the cheap liquor in the bottles laid out on the counter. 

You were trapped in deep thought as you fiddled with a chip of wood on the oddly sticky bar counter. Maybe, it was the Pinkertons steering closer to the gang, seemingly breathing down your necks at every train heist or bank robbery. Maybe it was seeing your fathers slow, yet subtle dissent to an even more distasteful degeneracy, ever since Micah’s unfortunate introduction to the gang. Maybe, it was the image of that poor woman’s brain plastered on the wall in Blackwater after your father had let a bullet fly at her skull upon Micah’s encouragement.

A few of the boys, noticing your off-mood, had asked if you wanted to join them across the bar, but you quietly declined, unable to shake the confusing thoughts whirling in your brain.

Which meant, of course, that some fool had to try your patience.

“That ain’t no way for a pretty lady to dress, miss” a baritone voice drawled beside you.

“I don't know, somethin’ about a woman in men’s clothing does something for me.” a more nasally voice chuckled. 

You barely spared a glance at the men, hoping they'd get bored and run off with one of the working girls eventually.

Across the room, John shifted slightly, already pushing off his chair to intervene, but Dutch lifted a lazy hand, stopping him.

“Hold on there,” your father warned him, leaning back in his seat with a small grin. “Let’s just…enjoy the show” 

You shifted in your seat to face them when you realized they weren’t going to leave just yet, eyeing them down as you fished a cigarette out of your pocket. One, a wiry rat-faced fella with the confidence of someone who'd never been clocked in the mouth. His friend, bigger and dumber-looking, smirked. His yellowed teeth at display as his eyes lazily raked over your figure.

You scoffed as you brought the cigarette to your lips and crossed a foot over your knee to light a match with the sole of your boot, “And who’re you two? The local drunk and his pet pig?”

The bigger man blinked “Huh?”

He huffed, trying to regain his footing. “Well, you uh-you look like you belong in…one of them mens whorehouses up north that folk talk ‘bout.”

You snort, admittedly finding the insult a bit creative, “Like the one your pa’ works at?” 

Arthur choked on his whiskey from across the room,

“He still doin’ those two-for-one deals, or did business slow down?” you asked, feigning curiosity.

Micah, of all people, stifled a chuckle behind his beer glass, leaning forward with interest, always up for listening in on some stirring drama.

The broader man frowned. “The hell did you just say ‘bout my pa?”

“Ah your right, I was outta line mentioning your father…” you apologized.

“Damn right” the smaller one said, puffing out his sternum.

“Maybe I should’ve asked if your mama was givin’ out referral discounts” you added, crushing your cigarette with your heel before standing up and meeting the oaf face to face. 

That was the final straw. The bigger man snarled and raised his beer bottle at you,

“Who the hell do you think you are little girl?!”

Feeling a fit of anger wash over your previous indifference, your patience snapped,

“Give me that,” you grunted, snatching the bottle from him, “I’m your old friend amnesia.” (stealing lines from my pookie John(✿◡‿◡)

Without a flicker of hesitation, you smashed it over his thick head.

The man staggered, eyes rolling, before dropping to the ground in a dazed heap.

You dusted off your hands and turned to the remaining man, who was frozen in shock.

Rat-Face took one look at his unconscious friend and quickly decided he had somewhere else to be.

“Now,” Dutch groaned as he stood up, slamming his bottle onto the counter with a piercing clink “does any other brave soul care to share their unsolicited fashion advice with my daughter?” He asked, putting his arm around you as he grandly gestured to the audience.

Silence.

“Alright, boys, let’s clear out. Leave the lady be,” Arthur sighed, shaking his head as he approached the lingering onlookers, “unless you wanna end up like this poor feller” he mumbled giving the unconscious giant a sympathetic look. 

The small crowd eventually wandered off, some returning to their drinks whilst some distracted themselves with poker. 

Dutch tapped a heavy hand on your shoulder, “I trained you fairly well.” He chuckled drunkenly with Micah, who turned to you with a loopy smile,

“Youu, had them twisted like a pair of knickers!” him and Dutch cackled once more, before taking another swig of beer. 

Your gaze drifted to the man on the floor, then at your crimsoned hand, before it caught the dried O’Driscoll blood on your father’s knuckles as he tightly gripped his beer glass. A shiver ran down your spine, What the hell is wrong with me? Maybe I am a damn man, starting dumb bar fights. Suddenly you were hit with the overwhelming need to just get out of there. You sighed, grabbing your hat from the counter and pushing your way past the saloon doors.

John’s grin faltered as he watched you grab your hat and storm out of the saloon, clearly still stewing in your thoughts.

He exhaled and followed.

He found you by the lake, leaning against a lamppost, flicking stones into the water absentmindedly. The moonlight reflected off the surface, casting a silver glow over the waves and onto your face.

John approached quietly, hands in his pockets. He picked up a rock and tossed it in, but instead of skipping, it plopped straight down.

You huffed. “You never were good at that.”

John smirked. “Well, at least I didn't drown tryin’ this time.”

You turned, arching a brow, oblivious to his obscure reference.

He crossed his arms, leaning on the post beside you. “You really don’t remember? When we were kids? That time I tried skippin’ a rock real far to compete with you, but I-” he faltered a little, face flushing slightly, “I tripped and fell face-first into the lake.”

You paused, raking your mind for the memory until it came back with a chuckle, “Right, now I remember. Arthur had to haul you out, didn’t he?”

“Damn right he did,” John muttered. “I thought I was done for!”

You let out a small chuckle, but your face still held that quiet tension.

John sighed, skipping another rock. “You wanna tell me what’s…goin’ on? or are you just gonna keep throwin’ stones ‘til the lake dries up?”

You hesitate, rolling a smooth rock between your fingers, unsure of how to express everything on your mind. 

“I guess…” you exhaled, feeling your chest tighten, “I just keep thinkin’ about what happened on that boat in Blackwater. About my fathers recent…behavior. That woman? She didn’t-she didn’t deserve that.” 

You slouched, kicking the ground with your feet, “but if I say somethin’ then suddenly I’m just a doubter, hell maybe even a softie. Now I got random bastards at every corner telling me I ain't ladylike enough for not wearin’ a damn corset with my jeans” you huff, throwing another stone.

John’s faltered, initially unsure of how to comfort you, “Well…they don’t know a damn thing about you.”

“Maybe,” you murmured. 

“But sometimes-” you turn to him, letting out an exasperated sigh, “I wonder if I even know me.” 

“Well, what do you mean?” 

“I spent my whole life hating my father’s ways, the blood he’s spilled,” you scoff, looking at your cut up hand, “but, really, I’m just like him.” 

John was silent for a moment before shaking his head. “That don’t make you him. You ain’t Dutch. You’re you. There ain’t a soul in this world that can tell you who that is but yourself.”

You looked at him, feeling something warm settle your chest, before thinking of a quick way to divert the sensation “Well, that might be the most well put together sentence you ever uttered Marston.” 

John rolled his eyes, “Shut up.” 

He nudged you with his shoulder, before turning around to head back to the saloon.

“And Marston?” you call out, to which he turns back around

“if I ever see you near a lake again, just—y’know. Make sure Arthur’s around.”

He let out a genuine laugh, shaking his head before walking back, and for the first time that night, the weight on your shoulders felt just a little lighter.

divider is made by dollywons on tumblr :) images from pinterest, but collaged by me

[joelsprettyprincess]

Taming of the Shrew - Part 2

Pairing: dark!Arthur Morgan x f!reader Summary: Although you've ended your relationship with Arthur, he gets you to agree to one final rendezvous. Series-wide tags: Toxic relationships, manipulation, obsessive behavior, smut, secretly unprotected piv, babytrapping, pregnancy, canon-typical violence, slight canon-typical misogyny. Wordcount: 3.7k A/N: I was not expecting that much love on part 1! I'm so glad yall enjoyed! Here's part 2 and where things get juicy 🤭. And before you ask, yes they had condoms in 1899!! They just weren't very good.. Also, I do not profess to be an expert on pregnancy, I just looked things up and hoped for the best. 😭 Sorry if anything's inaccurate. This chapter contains smut. And as always MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Tags: @dandelion-ranch @i-will-give-you-love @amaranth-writing @heloixe @buneio @warmsideofthepillow03 @thoughts-of-bear @luzzbuzz

Part 1 Part 3

Several days had passed since you told Arthur to never speak to you again.

You didn’t mean it. You couldn’t have. Your love, though short, had burned like a phoenix: though it was currently snuffed, Arthur knew it would soon rise again.

He knew better than to approach you again, though. So he wrote a letter.

My love.

My darling, my princess. I am in pain while writing this. Not because of any physical injury, but because I miss you badly indeed. My heart burns for you, for your touch, your skin on mine, even just one last time.

I am certain you feel the same way. If you do, please meet me at our spot near Ringneck Creek at noon next Monday.

I swear this will be the last time I will contact you. If you don’t show, I’ll know your decision is final. However I know you will. I know our love was something real. Please don’t make a fool of me.

Forever yours,

Arthur

Arthur posted the letter on a Monday, giving you nearly a full week to make a decision. He was on edge after that, wondering if you would actually show. Would you bring your father, or even a bounty hunter, to capture him? Or would you just not show at all?

Thankfully most everyone in camp left him alone; the news of your loud departure had spread fast. There was the occasional ribbing from Micah, but he was like a mosquito buzzing in everyone’s face. Arthur paid him no mind.

Dutch told him it was a waste of time. 

“Women are a complete mystery, son,” he told him Sunday night, puffing on his cigar. “Trust me, you’re better off being single forever.” He didn’t seem to care that Molly was behind him in the tent, hopefully sleeping.

But he didn’t know the inner workings of Arthur’s mind. Didn’t know what he planned to do.

Monday morning, he bathed and trimmed his beard. As much as he hated to admit it, Arthur was nervous.

He scoffed. Headshotting O’Driscolls barely raised his heart rate, but the thought of seeing you again had him jumpy like that Kieran boy.

Arthur rode over to the spot early. It was a good isolated spot a little ways away from the creek, where you two had slept together a couple times.

He spread down a blanket and cleaned his guns while he waited for you.

About half an hour later, he heard the crunching of leaves and turned around. Your familiar form entered his field of vision; suddenly, Arthur was breathless.

You were here. You’d actually come. And you appeared to be alone.

You hitched your horse next to his, then came down to the blanket. “Hey,” you said, smiling softly.

“Yes, well.” You smoothed your skirts. “Just can’t help m’self, I suppose. But listen, Arthur…this is the last time I’m seeing you. Seriously. I don’t even know why I came here–”

Arthur pulled you down beside him. “You came.” He cleared his throat. “I knew you would.”

“Alright, shh,” Arthur interrupted, taking your hand in his and softly pressing his lips to yours.

“Mm,” you sighed, immediately melting into his touch. He might be rough around the edges, but Arthur surely knew how to treat a woman. You’d already forgotten what you were gabbing on about.

Arthur wasted no time in deepening the kiss and pushing his tongue past your lips. “That’s my good girl,” he murmured, one hand cupping your cheek and the other on your hip.

You spent a few minutes exploring each other’s mouths and letting your hands wander. Eventually your positions shifted so Arthur was nearly laying on top of you. He spoke again.

“Come back,” he whispered. “I can’t live without you.”

That voice. It was sweet as honey. It made you want to follow him to the ends of the earth.

You avoided his gaze, pursing your slightly swollen, glazed lips. “Arthur, I can’t–”

“You love the bloodshed,” he spoke in your ear. His hand went under your skirt and ghosted over your bloomers. “You crave it. Stop actin’ like you don’t.”

“No–”

Arthur silenced you with another kiss, capturing your lips and claiming them as his, as he had done so many times before. Yet it never got old; the lusty looks and burning touches lit you on fire.

You whimpered as he slipped his hand inside your bloomers.

“We both know this doesn’t lie,” he murmured, barely grazing your folds. He kept his bright eyes steadily focused on you while he used just one finger to tease you.

A quiet moan escaped your lips.

Arthur seemed eager to get on with it. He lifted your skirt and removed your underthings, carefully setting them beside you on the blanket.

“Did my pretty girl miss me?” he breathed, massaging your thighs. You whined just a little, already anticipating his touch.

Arthur traced your bare cunt, enjoying watching you squirm.

“Arthur,” you whispered in a choked voice. 

He shucked off his pants, then laid down between your legs. 

Arthur was gentleman enough to service you first. He put your legs on either side of his face, and breathed in the natural scent of your pussy, again barely grazing the already soaked lips with his finger.

“S-Stop teasing me, dammit,” you moaned. He smiled. It was almost fun to see how quickly he could get you to come undone, begging for his touch.

Arthur started with small licks on the inner parts of your thighs. Your legs immediately tried to come together, but he held them apart and kept licking. Your chest heaved up and down as you tried to stay still. 

He traveled up your thighs and paused just before he got to your cunt. Taking two fingers, Arthur spread your lips apart, marveling at the amount of slick already coating your entrance.

“Ah- ah, d-don’t- mmgh,” you cried. His touch was so depraved and satisfying. 

Arthur dove in, pushing his tongue into your warm, sticky entrance. He gripped your thighs with his hands and held them up as he fully ate you out. He got messy with it very quickly, suckling on everything he could get a hold of.

You cried out and gripped his hair hard, bucking your hips. This kind of pleasure was completely unheard of and forbidden for girls like you, and that made it all the more filthy. You loved it. You loved every second of it. No man had ever touched you like this before, and you doubted any man ever would.

He removed his mouth for a second and rubbed circles around your sweet spot. “You’re lovin’ it, aren’t you, sweet girl?”

You breathed in and out loudly. “Yes,” you whined shamelessly. 

Arthur pushed his tongue back in, appreciating how your walls tightened around him. He swore he could feel your heartbeat, pulsing in time with his.

You grinded against his face, spreading your juices everywhere, going crazy at the lewd noises being produced.

“Arthur– oh, Arthur, yes, please–”

You were getting close. It never took long for you to cum, but apparently you were touch starved right now.

Abruptly, Arthur pulled back from your pussy, breathing heavily and licking his lips.

You panted too. “Why’d you stop?”

He paused, then quickly pulled off his boxers. Oh.

Arthur pushed you down again and rubbed his girthy, veiny cock up and down your soaked pussy. 

The thick mushroom head was poking at your entrance, and you wanted to let him in, but…

“Do you have…protection?” you whispered.

He nodded. “Course.” He pulled a condom packet out of his pants pocket. A primitive thing, to be sure, but it was part of the plan.

Arthur pulled it on, then nosed his tip so it was just breaching your entrance. You sighed loudly, spreading your legs a bit more.

He pushed in. A creamy noise was produced, but even louder was your pained moan. It was a stretch to fit him in, even when he had prepped you first.

This was only the second time he’d gone all the way like this. There was no reliable way of avoiding pregnancy, so you simply didn’t allow him to do it. But this was a special occasion. After this, you were done with each other, forever.

Arthur sighed and pushed into you even further, watching your pussy lips greedily suck in his cock.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured. “Letting me in so nicely.”

He started to thrust in and out slowly. You threw your head back and panted, whining loudly and mumbling his name.

His cock repeatedly filled you to the brim and you squeezed your tight walls around him. Your juices quickly coated the condom, allowing him to more easily push the rest of his cock in.

Soon he was pushing in and out, all the way to the burst of hair at his base. Arthur groaned lowly, biting your shoulder and holding onto your hips with his big hands, kneading your ass.

After a few minutes of bliss, he shifted positions; Arthur pressed your legs almost to your chest and held them there, hitting deeper and deeper into your sticky cunt. 

You moaned loudly, finding his hair again and holding it tightly. His full balls slapped against your ass.

“Like that?” he muttered. “You like that, you uppity little–” He groaned loudly, going faster and rougher.

“Arthur, Arthur,” you sobbed, curling your toes. “Please, I’m g-gonna–”

With a muffled cry, you came undone on his cock, toes curling, legs shaking, cunt spasming and letting out more of your juices all over his cock and the blanket.

“That’s right, let it out, sweetheart,” he gasped. “I’m close too, baby, shit–”

Arthur pressed himself into you and stilled, panting, eyes tightly shut. You could feel his cock twitching as he rode out his orgasm in your soaked through cunt.

His lips collided with yours in a sloppy, desperate kiss, and he slowly thrusted a couple more times before pulling out.

The condom was smeared in your juices.

Arthur sighed. “Hopefully it didn’t break. I tried to get a good one.”

You chuckled nervously. “Hopefully not.”

He helped you clean up, wiping you down and putting your clothes back on. You hoped his smell (it wasn’t a bad one, just distinct) wouldn’t cling to your clothes.

“I’m sorry it had to be like this,” you told him as you prepared to remount your horse. “But if you ever decide to stop being an outlaw…you know where to find me.”

“I love you,” Arthur said simply.

You flushed, and looked away. 

“Goodbye, Arthur.”

You rode off.

Arthur waited till you were out of sight to smile.

You were really gullible. A condom, seriously? Even pulling out was more reliable. These things broke more easily than a cheap lock. Even if it hadn’t, he’d cut a small hole into the tip that ensured he’d painted your walls white. If it dripped out, you would probably just assume it to be your own juices.

Now it was just a waiting game.

Two months later.

Your maid, Elisabeth, stared at you frightfully as you bent over a bucket for the 3rd time this week, vomiting horribly. You breathed heavily, then vomited again. There was nothing even in your stomach, which made it so much worse.

“Are you alright, ma’am?’ she squeaked, standing by with a towel.

You were too nauseous to answer. You clutched your stomach, head spinning and mind racing.

Your stomach had been in shambles this week and the last, and it was getting concerning.

After a few labored breaths, you grabbed the towel and wiped off your mouth. “Let's visit the doctor.”

Elisabeth gave you some cool water to sip, which helped a bit but not much. You could hardly stand to get on the carriage, and then it was like you were on a merry-go-round with the way it was hitting every bump in the road.

You leaned over the side and emptied your stomach yet again.

It was possible this sickness had a terrifying explanation, one that you couldn't even begin to imagine. Lord, protect me, you prayed despairingly. 

One agonizingly slow and nauseating ride later, you pulled up next to the doctor's office. Elisabeth had to coax you down, and she was clearly scared you would projectile vomit on her. The world was swimming around you and had a hazy feel.

You stumbled into the office and leaned against the cool wall.

“You alright, ma'am?” a voice asked. It was Dr. Williams, an older gentleman who'd been in Rhodes for years.

“I-I think I have a fever,” you whispered, fanning yourself. “Been throwing up everywhere.”

He quickly escorted you to a room in the back, and you collapsed into the chair. 

Dr. Williams examined you, looking inside your mouth and pressing various points on your body.

“Any symptoms besides vomiting?” he inquired.

You shook your head. “Don't believe so.”

“When did they start?”

“I'd say…maybe two weeks ago.”

He hummed and thought for a bit while examining you. “Is there a chance you could be with child?”

You started, then stopped, then froze.

No…

“Err,” you stuttered.

He waited for your answer.

“I-I-...well, I suppose it ain't impossible,” you admitted fearfully.

Dr. Williams nodded. “Unless you have some strange fever, it is my opinion that you're suffering from morning sickness.”

Your heart dropped to your feet and started beating like a jackrabbit's. No. No. Lord, please.

“That can't be true,” you said desperately. “It-It- was so long ago…I don't…”

“It takes a bit for symptoms to present,” the doctor explained.

“B-But I can't, I can't be,” you cried, panicking. “You don't understand, my life is over if I'm with child. Over!” You stood up and started pacing around.

“Admittedly it’s still too early to tell for certain,” Dr. Williams allowed. “However, I have seen this many times before. There are options–”

“No! There are no options!” you snapped. “I am the daughter of an oil baron and a society lady! J-just imagining the shame, the disgrace–...my mother will kill me. And if she doesn't, I'll be sent away to the corners of the earth.” 

You burst into tears at this declaration, falling to your knees and covering your face in shame. Dr. Williams hung back, perhaps sensing that you needed a minute.

After you collected yourself and stood up, you said in a quiet, cold voice: “There is no way I am pregnant. I thank you for your expertise, Dr. Williams, but in this case you are incorrect. I simply have a fever. Good day.”

You swept out of the building with your head held high, collecting your maid and getting back on the carriage. 

The two of you had barely left the town borders before you broke down and started crying again. Pregnant? A child? You? It could not be true. It could not. 

And…and definitely not by Arthur, of all people. He was like a firecracker, burning hot and dangerous, the exact opposite of a…father.

Even that word burned acrid on your tongue.

“Do you need somethin’, miss?” Elisabeth asked tentatively.

You sighed, wiped your face, and shook your head sadly. “No…no thank you. I'm alright.”

The ride back home was silent save for your sniffles and forlorn sighs. You refused to accept this possibility.

You felt you would rather be tarred and feathered than even think about telling your mother about your condition. Your outburst at Dr. Williams had barely covered it; your parents were continually telling you to act perfectly, to never step out of line. Even though they were far from perfect.

Your mother was the biggest hypocrite you knew. She thought you didn't see her inviting the help in for "tea". Well, you did, not that you cared much. It was just sickening that she set expectations for you that she herself had never reached.

She'd threatened you with the nunnery before, after catching you with one of the stable boys. Said that “wicked girls were destined for the deepest pits of hell.” Hmph. She was definitely an expert on the subject.

As for your father, well, he wasn't much better. Though he didn't verbally abuse you like your mother, he viewed you more like a liability among his property. You were certain he would marry you off if it would benefit his emerging empire. He would see this…predicament as something that could damage his reputation. If your mother chose to send you away, you doubted he would make much of a fuss.

Thankfully, the churning in your stomach faded on the way home, and only your mind remained in shambles. 

You tried to avoid your mother when you arrived at the manor, but of course she was in the front room, waiting for you.

“What did the doctor say?” she inquired as you put down your things.

“Just a mild fever,” you replied shortly, then power walked to your room. But she followed.

“Are you sure? Do you have a temperature? Did he give you any medicine?” she pressed, following your impatient footsteps right up to your bedroom door.

“Mother, I'll be fine. It's not serious,” you said angrily, then closed the door behind you firmly.

You waited until her heels clicked away down the wooden stairs, then collapsed on your bed and sobbed some more.

My life might be over.

A month and a half later.

Your life was over.

Completely and utterly.

The nausea had not stopped, and in fact it got worse the week after you went to the doctor. That had been the peak of pain, but it still remained for another two weeks afterwards, lurking like some shadowy beast.

Your dresses, tailored exactly to your measurements, had become just a little bit tighter. At first you had brushed it off as an indulgent diet, or just stress weight, but even your mother had commented on how your dress was pulled tight over your torso.

After that, you took care to hide your body under the heaviest dresses you could manage. But it was summer by now, and staying out of sight was a tall order.

Your mother repeatedly asked you to go to the doctor again, and perhaps seek out a second opinion, and you refused, insisting that it was just a fever. But you could tell she wasn’t believing you. She gave you strange looks when you said you felt nauseous yet again.

It was a stormy day in June when you finally had the courage to take off your clothes and examine your body in the floor-length, gilded mirror in your boudoir.

A mistake.

Your blood turned to ice as you saw the unmistakable bump that was forming.

Your breathing accelerated along with your mind, thoughts racing and jumbling and colliding, coming to one stunning, awful conclusion:

I’m pregnant.

You were pregnant. With child. An expectant mother.

What a joke.

You? A mother? What a ridiculously absurd notion. You would sooner be a clown in a traveling circus.

And…that man was the father. The man that haunted your thoughts and your dreams, the man whose scent still clung ever so faintly to one of your riding dresses. The man whose mere name sent shivers down your spine.

Arthur Morgan.

-

You put your clothes back on, then left the room, intending to get a snack, but before even making it to the stairs your mother pounced on you.

“Alright, I simply must insist that you tell me what is really going on,” she declared. “No fever lasts this long, and you have no temperature at all.”

You tried to dodge her, but she blocked your path, clearly dead set on getting an answer from you.

“It’s nothing, Mother, I told you before,” you said, irritated. It absolutely was not nothing, but you needed time to plan your strategy. 

“If it’s nothing, why have you been nauseous for the past…” She paused, then narrowed her eyebrows. 

Before you could step back, she poked your stomach with one finger. You of course involuntarily jumped back.

“What- What are you doing?” you gasped, nervous.

“Let me see your stomach.”

“What?”

She pushed you towards your room. “I said, let me see your stomach, girl. Lift up your skirts.”

You scoffed, heart pounding like a drum. “Why would I do that?”

You were forced back into your bedroom, and your mother closed and locked the door behind her. “I just want to look at it.”

This was quite a pickle.

“I- I really don’t think that’s necessary, Mother-”

She grabbed at your skirts, impatient. You jumped back. “Stop it! Fine, I will.”

She was going to find out eventually.

Your mother crossed her arms and waited with anticipation as you slowly lifted your skirt. The blood was rushing in your ears and you prayed to God that you would survive the next five minutes.

Eventually your skirt revealed the still developing but definitely noticeable bump you had.

The room was dead silent. Your mother stared at your belly in shock, lips slightly parted. 

Then her mouth closed and formed a hard scowl. “Would you care to explain the meaning of this?”

You blinked several times, trying to find your voice, but it was lost and long gone.

“Are you-” She swallowed hard. “Are you…with child?”

She stared at you. Her glare kept you still and pinned you down like a bug on display.

You eventually nodded, wordless and terrified.

“And who is the father, pray tell?”

You just stared at the ground.

“Answer me, girl,” she said sharply.

There was no way you were going to tell her that. It would genuinely be better for her to assume you were so loose you couldn’t even pinpoint the father.

Your mother pinched her nose, and sighed, shaking her head. “We’re going to have a little talk with your father when he comes home. Remain in your room; I have no desire to see you anymore.” With those pleasant parting words, she stomped out, slamming the door behind you.

Once her footsteps faded away, you sat on your bed, numbly thinking of what to do. 

Your father was sure to agree with any punishment your mother dreamed up. He was more like a manager than a father, and he had no qualms about letting a bad employee go.

Or…or maybe he wouldn’t? Perhaps his indifference would work in your favor, and he would tell your mother not to bother? Maybe he’d even pay someone to take care of it.

These were all hypotheticals. There was no telling what would really happen until it actually occurred.

Your father was due home soon. It was just your luck that he was taking a half-day in the office.

Ugh.

End of Part 2.

[twola]

Two words: messy blowjob.

Teehee, let’s go. 

Also, s/o to @revolversandlace, who mentioned writing a possible 1k+ scene literally describing a blowjob, so obviously, I had to give it a try myself. 😉

Convalescence

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

Feelings are realized as you nurse Arthur back to health after his run-in with the O’Driscolls. Actions, however, are a bit limited during his convalescence.

Everything hurts. From the searing pain in his shoulder to the overall ache of his muscles, this definitely ranks as one of the most painful experiences of his life.

Regards sent to Colm O’Driscoll, of course.

He opens his eyes and a shadowed figure slowly comes into focus, a small, feminine frame seated on a stool next to his cot.

It’s you, but your normally tressed hair hangs limply in a ponytail, your eyes bloodshot and puffy, and it was obvious that you’ve been crying as his vision clears up.

“Wh- why are you cryin’ there, sweetheart?” He hoarsely whispers, voice rough from disuse.

You rub at your eyes, but it is mostly in vain as you can’t stem the flow of tears tracking down your cheeks. “When y-you fell off your horse when you came back, I-I thought you were d-dyin’.”  

Your voice cracks on the last word.

Arthur frowns, “Sweet girl, I ain’t worth them tears. Save ‘em for a good man.”

“You - you’re such a fool,” You grit out, teeth clenching, “You - you are a good man. The best of them, Arthur Morgan.”

“C’mon now, darlin’. Stop your lyin’.”

“I’m not lying.” You move to sit on the side of the cot, hovering over him, “Why can’t you see what a good man you are? Why are you so blind to it?”

He remains silent. Silly girl. You haven’t seen what he can do - what he does - to other men. The blood on his hands. You’d be far less likely to be praising him, far less likely to be…

…leaning in closer to him.

A pang sears through Arthur’s chest, sharp as a whip, when he realizes you aren’t pulling away from him.

“You’re by far the best man I’ve ever known.”

“Reckon you haven’t known many men then, little miss.”

“Shut up.” You mumble, and in that moment, you lean completely over him and press your lips against his, a move he’s not completely surprised by.

His good arm, unburdened with the wound on his shoulder, winds around your shoulders as you press against his chest gently, still hovering so as not to put too much weight on him.

Arthur allows it all, from the first timid press of your lips on his to the far less timid pressing of your tongue, demanding entry into his mouth. He groans in response as he lets you in, and a mewl works its way up your throat.

It's only then, with you hovering inches above his chest, lips, and tongue working against his own, that he realizes that this is quickly turning into a predicament. Of course, it is, considering the view he’s gotten down the front of your blouse.

Someone, god, hopefully not you, stripped him of his bloody union suit, which probably did need to be burned, but failed to re-dress him. He was nude as the day he was born underneath the blankets, and it became increasingly clear as he felt his blood rushing toward his groin. 

Of all the times to act like a damn teenage boy-

He cannot help the groan that wells up in him as you shift, the curve of your waist at the flare of your hip pressing against his own - pressing against his hardening member.

He internally curses when you slowly pull away. 

But your eyes are lust-blown, a red blush settling on your cheeks. 

“Darl-”

“Let me take care of you.” You say, slowly sitting up and reaching for the edge of the blanket with your small, thin fingers. 

He wants to tell you to stop, that you don’t have to do this, that you don’t have to do anything, that he’s been smitten with you since you rode in half-starved and doe-eyed on the back of Davey’s horse all those months ago. 

But silent he remains as you slowly draw the blanket down his body. Your nose crinkles as your lips turn downwards as inch by inch of his chest is revealed to you - bruises and lash marks and signs of the torture he received at Colm’s hand.

“Oh, Arthur.” You sigh sadly, eyes watering over again.

“ ‘m gonna be fine, sweetheart. Just a little uglier than usual.” He tries to lighten the mood with self-depreciation, but the deepening of your frown tells him that’s not working. You blink the tears collecting away and continue to pull the blanket downward, revealing his navel and the trail of dark, wiry hair leading downwards.

He sucks in a breath as the collecting fabric brushes against his ramrod-hard cock.

Finally, finally, your hand slowly pulls the blanket over his hips, first over the curls at the bottom of his pelvis, to expose his cock, leaking from the tip and laying heavily over his thigh. 

You look back at him, and he’s wide-eyed, biting his lower lip, looking down at you hovering over his hips. You can see his chest expanding with his breathing, speeding up as he stares at you. 

You lean down and Arthur’s good arm swings over his head to block his vision, because if he sees this, he’s sure to make embarrassing noises loud enough for the whole damn camp to hear.

He feels your small hand wrap around his cock, and he bites his lip not to make a sound as you gently pull it upright.

But he is not able to stifle the noise he makes when his cock is enveloped in something wet and warm - his arm flies upward and he cranes his head to watch you take him into your mouth. An embarrassingly needy whine escapes his mouth, but that’s better than the shout he wants to let out as you suck gently at the head, your tongue pressing against the weeping slit of his cock.

“Jesus Christ.”

You let go of the head of his cock with a pop, and he bucks up slightly, as if to follow your warmth as you look up at him.

“You alright? Need me to stop?” You ask, one hand still wrapped around his length.

“Oh, darlin’, please, please don’t ask me that.” His forearm slides across his eyes again as his other hand.

“So you want me to keep goin’?”

“Jesus fuck, of course.” He replies incredulously, flabbergasted that you could doubt this felt amazing.

You smile for a moment before turning back to his length, enveloping him once again in the velvet warmth of your mouth. His head hits the pillow as he loudly sucks in a breath.

You slowly, deliberately, work your way down his length, bobbing up and down, sucking on his skin gently as you take more and more of him into your mouth.

It feels like years you’re doing this, inch by inch of velvety skin warmed by your wet cavern. 

Finally, you gag slightly as your nose touches the chestnut curls at the base of his cock, saliva dripping down from your lips and slowly running down toward his heavy, full testicles, and he has to actively clench the sides of the cot to stop himself from bucking upward. 

“Oh, oh god, woman.” He mutters as you slide back up, fingers once again grasping the base of his length as you suck in a breath, looking up at him with a hint of a smile, your lips and chin shimmering with your spittle. His cock shines against the oil lamp’s yellowed light, absolutely dripping wet from your mouth.

You lean back down again, but instead of taking his length into your mouth, you run your tongue down its side, all the way down where you nuzzle against the globes at the base of his cock, gently sucking one into your mouth. He whines, whines, this gunslinger, this outlaw, this hardened mountain of muscle beneath you. All being torn apart as you suckle on him.

After several moments, you pull back, and he’s panting, chest heaving, a sheen of sweat developing over his clavicles, and the bandages wrapped tightly across his pectorals and shoulder.

Your thumb presses gently on the underside of his cock, and he closes his eyes and lets out a low, long moan. You smile, rubbing at his hip affectionately.

“Christ alive, woman, you’re killin’ me.”

“Ain’t done yet, Arthur.”

And with that, you resume, leaning down and retaking him, sucking harder than you have before, leaving him squirming beneath you. 

You suck, and bob, you squeeze his balls and rub at his thighs. Lord almighty, he must have died at Colm’s hand - this had to be heaven.

The burning in his gut reaches a fever pitch, and he knows he’s not long to last.

He tries to sit up, but can’t with his shoulder bound, and finds that he just has to make enough noise to tell you to get off of him.

“Darl- darlin’, I’m gonna come- you- you need to move-”

His sentence goes unfinished as you look up at him, mouth full of his cock, and slowly, deliberately, slide all the way down, saliva dribbling out of your mouth again as the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat.

Arthur’s eyes go as wide as saucers, and he audibly swallows before his head hits the pillow once again. You slide up and down, sucking, tongue working around his length, the gentle suction of your mouth causing him to whimper.

He grunts, hands clenched around the wooden sides of the cot, hips moving despite his attempts not to. He is completely at your mercy - each lick and suck of his cock sends him further down that road of unabashed pleasure.

“Sweet- oh god, oh - fuck - I’m -” Arthur cannot finish his sentence before he trails off into a groan, his hips bucking up as you press down, and he shoots his spend down your throat, you pull back, gagging slightly, and as you sit up, Arthur can barely believe his eyes as he watches a dribble of his white, milky spend drip from the corner of your mouth. Christ, it makes him want to come again.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, clearing your throat, and pull the blanket up to Arthur’s chest once again, where he just looks at you, stupefied.

You cock an eyebrow at him as you slide up the side of the cot, sitting next to his chest. “You alright? That wasn-” You frown, “God, I hope that wasn’t bad.”

Arthur’s good hand grabs the collar of your shirt and yanks you down, where he presses his mouth to yours desperately, not caring at all that he can taste the bitter tang of himself on your tongue. You draw away after a moment, and Arthur tucks a strand of your hair that escaped its braid behind your ear.

“Woman, you’re the only one takin’ care of me from now on.”

[allzelemonz]

Boys’ Night: The Van der Linde Boys X Male Reader

Dutch Van der Linde, Arthur Morgan, Charles Smith, Bill Williamson, Micah Bell, Sean MacGuire, Kieran Duffy, Javier Esquella

Fictober Prompt: Day 31, Orgy Pronouns: None Mentioned Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut Warnings: Orgy, threesomes, kissing, anal fingering, anal sex, oral sex, blow jobs, rough sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, Sean’s drunken mind, marking, viagra-esc tonics, almost everyone is passed around to everyone else, Reader takes both top and bottom roles Summary: Sean has an idea that leads most of the boys in the gang to a damn fun time.

Sean, in his mildly drunken wisdom, decided that a boys’ night needs more than just poker, five finger filet, and songs. With most of the older folks and women out of camp for a special con, Sean knows his only hindrance might be Dutch. So he enlists the best sycophant he’s ever met.

“Can’t tell me it won’t be fun.” Sean grins. “All a’ us-“

“I ain’t gonna be a part a’ some invert orgy.” Micah mutters.

Sean leans closer. “Oh, really? Even if a certain cowpoke’s involved?”

Micah glares up at Sean from his seat by the scout fire, then follows the Irishman’s eyes to the filet table. There you stand, arms crossed as you watch Morgan and Marston play. And Micah might be able to turn it down, let his senses say no again, but then Dutch leans a little closer and whispers something in your ear. Micah’s head swims with lewd images of the two men he finds himself pining for in his alone time despite his best efforts.

“Fine.” He snaps, holstering his gun and glaring at Sean. “But ain’t no one ta know ‘bout this, understand that?”

Sean grins with a little chuckle. “Ya mean ‘side from the boys fuckin’ ya?”

Micah’s fists clench at his sides, but he stops himself from punching Sean. He’s in too deep at this point, half hard in his pants and more frustrated than he’s ever been. “Shut yer damn mouth, cowboy, ‘for I decide ta leave ya with blue balls.”

Sean puts his hands up, giggling to himself. “Got it, big man.”

Micah stomps off and Sean watches him carefully. The blond makes his way over to Dutch, coaxing him away from the table and back to the fire. This might be easier than he thought.

Dutch is skeptical at first, concerned about how the gang might take such a proposition. But with Micah’s easy words, Sean watches the gang leader become so much more comfortable with the idea of the gang doing this for bonding and morale.

And the word spreads fast.

Folks are a little nervous at first, shuffling and unsure. Plenty of pining goes around camp on the average day, but being given the green light is a little daunting. So, Dutch being Dutch, he makes the first move. Shedding the hat from the blond’s head, Dutch pulls Micah into a kiss by the collar of his shirt. Most of the gang watches as he walks Micah back into the filet table and lets his hands wander. Sean gets the next burst of confidence, practically lunging to kiss Lenny. John bursts out laughing when they fall onto the ground together, but he’s silenced quickly by Javier. Then Bill sheepishly cups Kieran’s face before the former O’Driscoll puts his arms over Bill’s shoulders and kisses him as if he’s been waiting to for years. It’s only yourself, Charles, and Arthur left standing in the midst of the mess, looking around at the others of the gang in various states of intimacy and undress.

Arthur clears his throat, the red of his face only getting worse as he glances around. “Well… suppose…”

You look over at him, those pretty eyes staring back at you. “You…uh, you wanna…?”

There’s a weight on your shoulder and you turn to see Charles, his other hand held out towards Arthur. The workhorse dips his head, his hat hiding his face as he steps forward and takes Charles’s hand.

“We could go somewhere a little private.” Charles suggests, nodding towards Arthur’s tent.

The thought is comforting, making your pounding heart calm a bit. Most others have simply started at their partners where they happened to fall. Only Bill and Kieran have moved behind the chuck wagon. Sean nearly has Lenny out of his pants on the ground, Javier is shamelessly grinding into John against the tree, Dutch has Micah surprisingly whimpering at the attention he gets, Charles simply leads you and a bashful Arthur away from the others.

Arthur sits on his cot, rubbing a hand down his face as he takes a breath. You don’t blame him given the circumstances.

“We don’t have to.” Charles says, sitting next to him with a kind hand on his shoulder. “Just because Dutch said it would be a good idea, doesn’t make it true.”

Arthur shakes his head. “No… I been…” He sighs. “Been wantin’ somethin; fer a while.” His hand reaches up to hold Charles’s on his shoulder, his eyes finding yours as they scrunch from a smile. “Guess I got a dirty mind.”

You chuckle lightly at the joke, happily taking Charles’s hand again as he pulls you into his lap. Charles kisses you softly, one of his hands on your waist. You gasp, pulling back slightly, when he starts to rut against you with a half-hard dick. Arthur has moved behind Charles, kissing at his neck while his hands lift up his shirt. Charles’s chest is broad and built, firm to the touch when you rest your hands on him. You watch Arthur’s hand move, twisting into your shirt to pull you forward. You’re pressed flush against Charles as Arthur kisses you over the other man’s shoulder. It’s Charles’s turn to give neck kisses now, his hands firmly holding your hips so you grind down into him.

“I want ya.” Arthur mutters against your lips. “Ya wanna fuck me, partner?”

You nod, kissing him again.

“What do you want from me?” Charles asks, his hand tilting Arthurs head so they can look at each other over his shoulder.

Arthur’s breath hitches as he looks at the man. “I… I wanna suck ya off, Charles.”

Charles smiles and that in itself is a slight. “Of course you do.”

The three of you move, hands guiding and wandering as clothes are shed. In the distance, Sean can be heard begging and groaning, there’s some curse shouted in Spanish, and the camp echos with skin slapping skin and the slurping, popping, and smacking of spit. It’s all overwhelming and you try to focus on what’s in front of you.

Arthur’s on his back, Charles nearly sitting on his chest as his dick is sucked. You’ve already spread Arthur’s legs, the tube of gun oil feeling heavy in your hand. You open it quickly, spilling half of it before getting your fingers covered and entering Arthur. In front of you, Charles throws his head back with a deep groan as his hips begin to stutter and fuck into Arthur’s mouth. You can’t help your free hand pumping yourself as you watch, your other scissoring Arthur open. It’s premature, you know it is, but you can’t take it anymore. You should stretch him more, but your dick aches in your hand and you retract your hands to grip Arthur’s hips instead.

You press into him and hear a muffled moan as Charles shivers from the vibrations it brings. Both of you still, giving Arthur time. You watch his hand grip at Charles’s hip, pulling him forward. Charles sits up, propping himself on the box behind Arthur’s cot so he can get the proper angle to fuck down into Arthur’s mouth. You start your pace, rough and fast like Charles. Arthur’s legs shake as he wraps them around your waist, his hand squeezing at Charles’s ass. You wish you could see their faces, but you can imagine. Charles’s is likely twisted in pleasure and concentration, Arthur’s might be slobbery and tear stained.

It’s Arthur that comes first, his dick untouched as it releases a flood of cum onto his stomach, a few spurts hitting Charles’s ass. Arthur’s body goes still as he whines, being used as a set of holes by now. Charles is next and you watch the bounce of his ass lose its nice rhythm as he shoots his release down Arthur’s throat. Charles seems to bury himself deep and Arthur grips his hips as he swallows what he’s given. You double your efforts, wanting to fill Arthur from both ends. You gaze falls downwards to watch yourself fuck into Arthur’s tight hole. Charles catches you off guard, tilting your head up for a kiss as he straddles Arthur’s stomach. His hand reaches down, passing your furious thrusting to fondle at your balls as they bounce off of Arthur. The heat builds fast and you release just as Charles bites at your lip.

When you let go of Arthur’s hips, he falls back down to his cot completely. Charles continues to kiss you as you pull out, smiling into it. You can hear Arthur’s labored breaths beneath you and you’re so in your own head that you don’t register the footsteps.

“Mind if I try somethin’, fellas?”

You turn from Charles to see Micah leaning against Arthur’s shaving stand. He only has his red shirt on, half buttoned, and a smirk rests on his face. Charles’s hand has yet to leave your balls and you feel him squeezing slightly as his other turns your head back to him for another kiss, silently telling you to ignore Micah.

“Aw, come on, Smith.” Micah drawls. “Lemme have a turn.”

Charles pulls back, his lips wetted and dark from all the kissing. “A turn?”

You hear Micah take a step forward and Charles moves fast. He leaves you and you nearly fall onto Arthur, only just catching yourself before collision. You look over your shoulder to watch Charles push Micah down to bend over Arthur’s weapon’s chest. A new pool of heat starts when Charles sucks on his fingers before shoving them into Micah, eliciting a moan from the older man.

“Shit…” Arthur mutters under you.

You turn to look down at him, chuckling. “Don’t think it’s what he had in mind.”

Arthur smirks. “Yeah, I doubt it.”

His hand finds the back of your neck and pulls you down for a kiss. Micah’s whimpers and curses fill the tent and you feel yourself getting hard again. Arthur grunts against you, pressing up until he brushes his dick to yours.

“‘m gettin’ too old fer this.” He mutters, blushing at his still soft dick.

Behind you, Micah gasps and you look back to watch him bury his face in his arm as Charles enters him roughly. Charles thrusts like a beast, fucking every last pathetic noise he can out of Micah. Kind of serves him right.

“C-Charlie…” Micah gasps, his voice light and breathless. “Ah! Fuck…”

Arthur hisses, his hand wrapping around his dick and trying to get himself going again. You trail your hand down, helping him stroke himself, but to no avail. After a few seconds a bottle lands beside Arthur on the cot, a tonic bottle. You look up as Arthur cranes his neck in the same direction. Standing to the side is Bill, a timid looking Kieran right behind him. Both of them are bare besides a blanket draped over Kieran’s shoulders.

“It helps.” Bill mutters, his eyes trailing over to watch Charles and Micah for a moment. “Works fer whiskey dick at least.”

Arthur looks the other outlaw up and down strangely. “Thanks.”

Bill clears his throat. “Ya wanna trade, Morgan?”

You look down at Arthur who glances between you and Kieran. He catches your nod before looking at Bill. “Sure.”

Kieran steps forward, a sheepish grin on his face. You give Arthur a final kiss before standing. As you pass him, you chance giving Kieran a kiss and he accepts it, melting into you for the few seconds it lasts. When you pull away and turn to Bill, the large man has taken himself in his hand at the sight. Your eyes catch on that motion, swallowing thickly at the size, nearly as big as Charles. You find the sense to step closer to Bill and kiss him. Behind you, Kieran squeaks from something and Arthur mumbles an apology. Bill’s hands find your hips, pulling you against him well enough to smush your dicks together between your stomachs.

Charles practically growls behind you and you hear Micah gasp again. “How’s that for a darkie, Micah?”

There’s a thud and you imagine Charles let Micah go or maybe even threw him on the ground. A few beats later, Sean calls out to Charles with a drunken shake to his voice. Bill pulls you with him, keeping his lips busy on your neck until he turns you around to bend you over Staruss’s little table. Bill fumbles, finding a tonic on the ground and pouring it over his hand before he pushes his fingers inside. You spread your legs for him, raising your ass a bit now that you’ve lost whatever care for shame you had at the start of all of this.

“Gentlemen.” Dutch greets, settling himself against the tree behind the two of you. “Don’t mind me.”

Bill’s finger’s stall for a moment, likely nervous about fucking someone in front of his boss, but he continues after a few seconds. You try not to think about Dutch watching you, feeling that same set of performance nerves. Bill fumbles more as he moves, spreading your ass cheeks apart with one hand as he guides himself inside. Both of you groan as he enters and pushes himself in fully. Bill leans forward, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before he starts thrusting. You fix your feet steady on the ground when the table under you shakes from the combined weight. Bill’s thrusts are moderate and steady, hitting deep and brushing heavenly every time.

There’s a small groan, sounding like Kieran, that makes you shiver when you think about what Arthur is doing to him. A few more thrusts from Bill makes you grip the table tighter as your legs feel shaky. Then there’s a shout of Spanish with Charles’s name mixed in. Bill’s hands wander up your body a bit, caressing your sides as he keeps up his steady fucking. A low groan reminds you that Dutch is watching and you have half a mind to look back at him, but Bill picks up his speed and you bury your face into your arm instead. Bill’s climax pumps you full, the trickling feeling distinct as his dick already starts to push the excess out with a few final thrusts.

Only a moment after Bill has stepped back there are hands on your hips. Sean pulls you to him, falling to his knees in front of you and taking you in his mouth too fast for you to think. Your hands go to his soft hair and he relents immediately, letting you fuck his mouth without question.

“Arthur!” Kieran cries somewhere in the background.

Behind you, hands grip your hips as kisses are pressed to your neck. The tickle of a mustache tells you it’s likely Javier, but you’re too occupied with fucking Sean’s willing mouth to think further. You release for the second time, letting Sean take everything you have. In the midst of your high, Javier presses inside of you and starts fucking without inhabition. His hands on your waist hold you still, his lips beginning to suck in a mark to your neck. Sean stands, grinning at you before he runs over to Arthur and all but jumps on the older man’s dick. Javier wraps his arms around you, filling your ears with mumbled Spanish that is slurred by ecstasy.

Your eyes move around camp, finding several things to admire. Bill has Micah in his lap, stroking him with one hand and fingering him with another. John and Lenny each have each other in hand as they kiss, Charles watching them from the campfire. Dutch has Kieran on the ground, fucking him roughly as he mutters about O’Driscolls but Kieran moans all the same. Arthur stares from afar, Sean bouncing on his dick as he watches the sight of Javier finally burying himself deep and mixing his cum deep inside of you with Bill’s.

“You’re so warm, cariño.” Javier mutters in your ear before he chuckles. “Who’re you seeing next?”

“Not sure.” You take a few breaths. “Haven’t seen half of them yet.”

Javier pulls himself out, causing the mixed cum to leak out. “John’s a good hole, dirty mouth too.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

You turn in time for Javier to kiss you before he heads over to Arthur, teasing words spilling out as he climbs onto the older man’s lap to replace a spent Sean. When you turn back, Dutch is a few feet away. He beckons, gesturing to the ground and some part of wanting to please your boss makes you sink to your knees without question. Dutch guides his dick to your lips and, once again, you don’t hesitate. You only get a few bobs in before Dutch clutches at your head, beginning to use you without care.

“Shit!” Bill yells, not sounding pleased. “Wagons!”

Dutch pulls you off and you turn your head to peer through the trees. Glimpses of horses, a few colorful dresses… shit indeed. Everyone scrambles, hiding in tents, pulling clothes back on, trying to clean up cum from various surfaces. You all but fall into your tent, rummaging for at least a union suit or some kind of underwear. Pants, you find pants and pull them on.

“Dutch…” Hosea calls. “What’s gone on here?”

From your tent you can see Bill hiding behind a tree, not a thing covering him. Dutch comes out of his tent, somehow fully dressed, and greets Hosea as if he hasn’t fucked half of his men in the last hour. Miss Grimshaw looks around, sniffing with a crease in her brow for a moment. She’s distracted by Tilly asking a question and you take the opportunity to grab the union suit you know to be Bill’s on the ground in front of you before running over to him in the trees.

“Owe ya.” He mutters, pulling on the covering.

You nod, turning to leave, but Bill catches your arm and pulls you closer to kiss your cheek. You give him a smile before circling around the trees, acting like you’d gone out to piss. Passing Lenny and Sean hiding out by the lake with a single fishing pole as an excuse, you sneak as best you can to Arthur’s tent. As if expecting you, a half dressed Arthur with a bulge in his pants, hands you the clothes you’d shed earlier. You dress the rest of the way next to the munitions, eyes checking for onlookers on occasion.

The camp settles, the secret kept. Everything is well and most of the boys have elected not to bring it up, others whisper and snicker about it. It’s dark when Micah sits next to you and you look at him, finding flushed cheeks for only a moment before he kisses you. It’s surprisingly soft despite the chapped and bruised lips. He pulls back, glancing to see if anyone saw before looking back at you with a sparkle in his blue eyes.

“Didn’t get the chance, cowpoke.”

[wobblesthecowgirl]

I'm No O’Driscoll!

Chapter Four: Lenny!

Tags: Arthur Morgan x Femreader, enemies to lovers, O'Driscoll reader, game plot, Arthur doesn't have tuberculosis, eventual smut, age difference, 18+, mild gore

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this longer chapter! Sorry it took a little longer to get out! They say drunk words are sober thoughts! But don't get it twisted, they still hate each other...

Chapter One Chapter Five

Y/n had gotten closer with Mary-Beth, seeing that she was the only kind member of the gang. Plus, they both had a thing for reading, so the conversation possibilities were endless.

Today was no different, the two women were sitting on a blanket under the canopy, discussing Mary-Beth's novel ideas, the dark night bringing an odd sort of comfort. An owl was hooting in the back, and small mummers of those around, when Lenny came bounding in on his horse. This was the first time Y/n had seen the boy, but luckily her new friend had gone through everybody here. He went running to Arthur and Dutch who had been previously discussing something important.

“Dutch, Arthur. They got Micah.” He panted, hopping off his horse with a small, panicked stumble. The rest of the camp were watching curiously, as Dutch, Arthur, and Molly walked over to the younger boy.

“What’s going on?” Dutch asked, trying to calm him down. Lenny continued, still not calming down, “They got MIcah. He- He’s been arrested for murder. He was in Strawberry and…”

“It’s ok, son. Breathe.” The gang’s leader soothed him, Lenny took a deep breath, leaning forward with his hands on his knees before explaining what was going on.

Mary-Beth leaned over to Y/n and murmured. “I hope he does get hanged.”

“Woah, Mary!” Y/n exclaimed, surprised at the sudden hostile sentence hushed at her new friend's mouth; she definitely wasn’t the type to throw that around with no reason. If you can piss off her, you gotta be a bad person.

“…and there’s talk of hanging him.”

Y/n turned her attention back to the scene unfolding before them. She watched Arthur’s lips turn into a playful smile, “Here’s hoping.”

“Arthur!” Dutch warned him.

“What?” He asked innocently, as if he didn’t just wish a man to be hung. She found herself giggling. Ok, that was actually a bit funny. The two continued to go back and forth as Lenny sat on a nearby table, looking distressed.

“You take that kid into town, Valentine, not Strawberry. Get him drunk.” Dutch paused and looked around until he caught eyes with Y/n. He pointed at her, “And take her with you. This is a great opportunity for what we discussed earlier.”

She quickly stood up, the pain in her leg had gotten better but still not perfect, and turned to Mary-Beth, “I’m sorry, I’m going to have to leave you quickly.” She sped-walked towards the men.

“Mr Van Der Linde,” She began, “I appreciate you being kind enough to let me stay here despite my past. However, please don’t make me hang out with Mr Morgan.”

“Yeah, why have I gotta drag her along? I’m fine with just taking the boy.” Arthur protested; a pleading look in his eye. Yet Dutch wouldn’t hear them out, and instead waved them off.

With a sigh, Arthur turned to Lenny, “Come on, son.” Before calling out to Dutch and made his way to his horse. Y/n awkwardly tailed behind him, unsure how this was going to go down. She was going to get a drink with a man who hates her, and a boy she’s never met. The men got on their horses and he turned to look at her.

“You gonna refuse my help again, princess?” Arthur looked at her, as she huffed in annoyance, grabbing the saddle and pulling herself up with a small grunt.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He said as she finally got on, before they made their way out of camp.

“So, who are you?” Lenny shouted from behind as he followed Arthur. Y/n looked over her shoulder and smiled politely.

“I’m Y/n L/n!”

“She’s an O’Driscoll!” Arthur interrupted her which caused Lenny to grimace.

Still looking at Lenny she corrected, “Don’t listen to him. If I was, do you think Dutch would let me stay?” Lenny nodded but his face told a different story. Great, there goes my chance to fit in.

The two of them continued to talk about what went down in Strawberry as the woman kept to herself, she didn’t really feel welcomed, why Dutch made her go is beyond her. They finally made it to Valentine and Y/n realised this was the first time in weeks where she had seen a proper town. It was dark, but plenty of streetlights to keep it well lit. Some drunk men stumbled around, and shops were closing for the night. The men hitched their horses outside the saloon, Y/n taking extra care when jumping off. She could feel Lenny’s stare at the back of her head while Arthur went inside.

She followed him to the bar and found herself in between them both, most likely in case she tried to do anything funny. The men put some money down and that’s when she realised. She looked down to see her tatty clothes (which thankfully she washed recently, but still had a hole on her thigh), and no satchel.

“What’s wrong?” Lenny inquired as she sighed.

“My bag was taken when I was hostage, and I haven’t asked for it back yet.” She looked at Arthur who could only shake his head and put another coin down for her. She knew she should say thank you, but she was too suborn to say thank you to him.

“Just one or two…right, Arthur?” The younger boy sounded stressed, leaning over the counter a little.

“Course, just a drink, no big drama.” He turned to the bartender, “Can we get three beers please?”

The bartender looked petrified to see him, which only made her curious as to the kind of trouble he has gotten himself into around here.

“I don’t want no trouble.” The bartender put his hands up in defensive as Arthur groaned, “And you’ll get none from me. I was defending myself.���

Y/n chuckled; she highly doubted that was the case. He gave another coin to the bartender for himself to get a drink- which was actually more likely to just shut him up- and Lenny and Arthur continued to talk about Strawberry. Y/n was beginning to feel a little left out, chugging her entire beer to pass the time.

A stranger stumbled over to them, a little too close for comfort and smelling of booze.

“I seen a lot of crazy, crazy stuffy” He mimicked Lenny. Arthur grunted, “Will you shut up?”

They went back and forth for a bit, Arthur increasingly getting angier.

The man faced Y/n, leaning in too close which made her lean away. She felt Lenny put a hand on her shoulder and snapped at the man, “Leave the lady alone.”

“Leave the lady alone.” The man mimicked again, “Ladies have been leaving me alone for the last ten years, I’m bored with being left alone. Come with me, pretty lady.”

“Get any closer to me and I’ll knock your front teeth out.” She hissed, which only made the gross man more determined.

“Don’t be like that missy. I promise I’ll show you a good time.”

Arthur piped up, irritation laced in his voice, and fully turning his body towards him.

“Listen, buddy. You’re a charming fellow. But she’s a taken woman, and me and the kid here, we’re tryin’ to talk business. So, could you possibly leave us alone? No offense intended.” He treaded carefully with his words, as the man took full offence and began to stumble away.

“Ain’t no pleasing some folk. I was just, trying to be friendly.”

The three watched him leave, before sighing.

“I think I need another drink after that.” Y/n mumbled, Arthur nodded before giving her a handful of coins, much to her surprise.

“That’s you allowance. Don’t spend it all in one go.”

She placed a coin down for another beer, “Don’t treat me like a child.” She snapped, before going quieter, “Thanks.” He grumbled in response, getting himself another drink. As the time went on, the two drinks went to three, then four. The men were outdrinking her, and unfortunately, she was doing her best to keep up despite being a lightweight. Lenny had even bought her some, warming up to her. Arthur was becoming louder, cheerier than his usual grumpy exterior.

“You gotta slow down, girlie.” Arthur chuckled as he watched her chug another glass down. Her cheeks had become rosier, and she was definitely becoming more relaxed.

“Ay, you have to stop bossing me around, old man.”

“And you hafta stop calling me old man.” He grumbled, sipping his beer.

She watched him stumble towards the piano man and laugh at his playing, complimenting him. She found the way he was acting funny, giggling as she made her way over to him. She watched as he looked towards her, a drunken smile on his face before it contorts to that of confusion.

“Lenny, where are you?” He suddenly shouts, causing the woman to cover her ears. She looked around for the younger boy, feeling guilty for not realising he had wondered off somewhere. The lights of the saloon seemed a lot brighter than before, and the music a little louder.

“Lets go find him, Mr Morgan.” She said, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him gently. They looked around, and she occasionally asked some women who shook their heads apologetically.

“Hey, you seen my friend anywhere?” Arthur asked as a man on the stairs hinted at Lenny being upstairs.

“Hey! I see him!” Y/n shook Arthur’s shoulder and pointed at Lenny who was leaning against the banister. Arthur leaned down to her eye level so that his head was near her shoulder and ear, and peered so he could see what she was seeing. She could smell him: a cheap cologne, tobacco, and a lot of beer. She gently nudged him, “Do you mind? Personal space.” He slurred out a sorry before walking over to Lenny.

“What are you doing, kid?”

Lenny was trying to balance a beer bottle on his head. Y/n stifled out a laugh before complimenting him, “That’s very impressive!”

“Hello Arthur, Y/n. You know what, I don’t know.” His concentration was broken when the bottle fell. All three of them tried to catch it but failed as it smashed on the bottom floor. The older man laughed and patted him on the back. He turned to the woman and snatched the beer bottle out her hand.

“Now you try, Princess!” He was already trying to put it on her head while she attempted to swat his muscular arm away.

“Get your manly arms away from my head, idiot!”

Arthur continued to fight her, Lenny was holding onto his stomach and laughed, “Come on, Y/n! Balance it!”

She held still as Arthur placed it on her head… and it instantly fell off and smashed. The men laughed as she kicked the shards away from her feet. The three of them were way more relaxed now, chatting away and howling with joy. Both men were even making sure she was involved.

“Well, why ain’t the two of you ever married?” Lenny asked them both; she looked to Arthur who pouted like a lost child and moped.

“No one would have me.”

She patted his back, “It’s ok tough guy.” The men looked at her, waiting for a response, which she simply shrugged, “I’m not sure. Too grumpy I guess.”

“That’s very likely!” Arthur cackled which earned a slap on the back from her as he continued, “That pretty face is wasted ‘cos you’re so sour, like a lemon!”

She grumbled some more insults as Lenny began to dance, and held a hand out to her. She took is and boogied with him while in the background, Arthur was jumping up and down. She blacked out for a second and woke up to Arthur shouting.

“Lenny? Lenny! Come on you unhelpful woman.” He rolled his eyes and dragged her back to her feet, causing her to use him as support for a minute. She then realised the position they were in and pushed him away, as he continued to call for their friend; where they found him was on top of the bar. He was swinging at a few men who were trying to grab him while the bartender cowered away.

“Hey” Y/n barked, storming (or stumbling) down the steps with a pointed finger, “You get the hell away from that boy!” They all turned towards her, some smirking and the rest confused.

“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to, bitch?”

She felt a large hand hold her shoulder and pull her back as she saw Arthur come into view, “Nobody. She’s talkin’ to nobody,” One of the other men piped up.

“What did you say?”

“Get lost, buddy!” It was clear that Arthur was incredibly drunk given how badly he was slurring his words. She couldn’t help but laugh at his sorry state, like she was any better.

“What you think you laughing at?” Another man sneered at her.

“Your ugly fucking face!” She laughed harder, before blacking out again.

When she came back to her senses, both men were gone. She called out for Arthur, even getting a few random strangers confused for him. She finally got a lead by one of the women, “Was that the big guy you was with? I think he’s outside, ‘round the back.” She thanked her and wobble walked to the back door and opened it.

“Goddammit woman!” He freaked out and quickly turned his body around. She was confused at first until she saw the stream of piss coming out of him. He had turned around in time so she could only see how his belt was undone and the way he leaned back slightly with his hands holding…it.

“What are you doing! Use a god damn toilet, you animal!”

“There aint none!” He snapped back before finishing, and she realised she was still looking at him, so she too faced away until she heard his jeans being zipped up.

“Come on, lets find that boy.” He muttered as he walked past her and opened the door, herself right behind him. He stumbled around, thinking everyone was Lenny and laughing until the patron’s got annoyed with him. He looked around and saw her before laughing and coming over, grabbing both her shoulders.

“Got cha Lennnnny!”

“Arthur you dumbass. It’s me!”

He stared at her intently before making an o shape with his mouth and letting go off her. She looked over his shoulder and pointed, “There he is!”

Lenny heard her and smiled, shuffling his way to them. He grabbed the older man and asked, “Arthur, Arthur! What are you doing?”

Instead of replying, they had a slap contests, the whole bar cheering. The woman decided to get another drink while they did so, just in case they got her involved, and chugged the whiskey down. Her body heat was causing her to sweat slightly, her hair sticking to her forehead, and her eyes to go droopy and hazy.

She heard Arthur order a drink next to her.

“You gotta be by my side all the time?” She joked as he grinned at her.

“I hafta make sure the lady is behaving now, don’t I?”

“No you don’t. You’re not my boss.

He took a sip of whiskey, “I aint? Pretty sure I am, Lemon.”

“Lemon?”

“Yeah, ‘cos you’re sour.”

“Shut up.” She huffed as the man who gave them trouble when they first walked in stumbled over.

“Not you again.” Arthur shook his head but the drunk ignored him and turned his attention to Y/n, standing close to her side. He grabbed her waist and smirked, and she put her hands on his chest and shoved him. He stumbled but regained his composure and went for her thigh.

“Get off me!” She shouted, backing up into Arthur.

“You hear the lady! She don’t want you!”

The drunk groaned, “Oh come on lady. I don’t see your man anywhere. Just come home with me.” He tried to grab her again but her older companion stood in front of her so she could hide behind him.

“Listen here. If you don’t get the hint and leave my woman alone, I’m gonna drown you.” He threatened. Y/n couldn’t deny she was thankful, but a little annoyed that she was depending on him.

“She’s yours? Rent her for the night?” The drunk chortled as Arthur suddenly grabbed his ear and aggressively dragged him outside. Y/n quickly drank the rest of Arthur’s drink for him and stumbled outside. In horror, she found him trying to drown the man like he promised. She grabbed his bicep and tried to pry him off the man, which he did with reluctance. The stranger gasped for air, looking petrified and scampering away.

“Why would you do that, you fool? You trying to get arrested?” She told him off, but he didn’t look remorseful.

“Hada teach him a lesson. Not to mess with my woman!” He joked as she laughed.

“Never in a million years.”

They heard Lenny come outside shouting their names. The alcohol was really getting to them now. The men were rolling around in the mud, and this time she joined in with the rough housing, getting covered in the dirt as well. As they danced in the middle of the street with the younger boy throwing up a lot, they heard shouting. Lenny got tackled by a deputy as another two went for them, “Come here! You drunk fools!”

“Come on, Lemon!” Arthur snatched her wrist and began running behind the saloon. Everything seemed to be going in slow motion and she watched the way his back moved and the tightness of his grip.

“You’ll never take me alive!” He boasted, a unusual cheeriness in his voice which caused her to giggle.

“Turn right, Mister!” She laughed as another man cut them off. Arthur was laughing just as much as she was as he screamed, “Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness!” They came across a fence so he let go of her wrist and jumped over before turning around and putting his hands under her armpits and picking her up with ease. Like I'm a ragdoll!

He moved her into a bridal hold as he ran; she wrapped her arms around his neck and screamed, though she wasn’t sure what for. The adrenaline, the drunk butterflies, the running, or the fact this man was carrying her like she weighed a couple of feathers. It was sort of comforting, so much so that she blacked out again.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆��♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

When she woke up in the morning, her throat was dry, and her eyes couldn’t fully open because of the light. She groaned before realising she was laying on something. She looked to her right and saw she had been sleeping on Arthur’s arm. The man was completely sprawled out on the grass and looked like he was dead.

“Oy. Wake up, you fool!” She slapped his face hard as he jolted awake and groaned in pain. His eyes met hers, and a confused look spread across his face.

“You? Where are we? What happened? Were we sleeping together?”

She tried to stand up but had to hold onto a near tree, scared she was about to vomit but swallowed hard.

“Don’t say it like that. We ran away from the law and passed out.” She looked around and saw they were on the outskirts of Valentine near the barn.

“Looks like we didn’t get that far. Come on, lets go bail Lenny.” She watched as the man threw up and rubbed his eyes.

“Whatever happened yesterday, that doesn’t make us friends.” He pointed a finger at her as she made a slow walk back to the town.

“We never were.” Y/n paused, “But I did have fun last night.”

She saw the corner of his mouth turn up slightly.

“Me too.”

[blackenedsnow]

Heya! Same person who requested the Ace!Reader x Arthur Morgan thing! Thank you so so much! Made me super super happy and I may or may not have cried a little bit lmao

Feel free to ignore this other bit of the ask. I don’t know if one can send a request more than once, but obviously I’m not expecting this to be written with all the other people sending in asks. They take priority. I was just wondering if you could write something about the same kind of reader, but with Kieran? Where she’s always defended and protected him, fed him well when he was tied to the tree, got him a tent and a cot and everything, and fussed over him in general, at first just because she’s not okay with that sort of treatment but develops actual feelings for him, and she rescues him from the O’Driscoll boys when he disappeared?

Again, feel free to ignore this. The important bit is that I felt more reassurance than I have in a while with the Arthur request. Thank you again! Have a lovely day/night!

soft hands

WARNING: Kidnapping, mentions of mistreatment

PAIRING: Kieran Duffy x Reader

NOTE: I’m so happy the Arthur fic meant so much to you! Seriously, feel free to send in as many requests as you want. (As long as you don't spam my inbox all at once lol) It’s never a problem, and I love creating these for you! You’re always welcome here.💙

SUMMARY: After weeks of caring for Kieran, you realize your feelings for him go deeper than simple kindness. When he goes missing, you risk everything to bring him back.

Kieran whimpered as the ropes bit into his wrists. The thick cord twisted around the bark of the tree where Dutch had ordered him tied up like some animal. He’d been with the gang for what felt like a while now, but they still looked at him like he was some kind of vermin. Except you. You always did what you could to help him, offering him scraps of food when no one was looking, defending him when Bill or Micah got too rough.

You couldn’t stand the way they treated him.

It wasn’t as though Kieran had exactly "chosen" to be with the O’Driscolls. It was a "ride with us" or die situation, and you believed him with all your heart. You didn’t believe in this kind of cruelty, and seeing him tied to that tree, looking half-starved and terrified, set your teeth on edge. So, from the moment he’d been captured, you had taken it upon yourself to keep an eye on him.

It started small—handing him extra food when you were sure no one would notice. Then, you’d convinced Dutch and Hosea to get him a tent and a cot so he wasn’t left exposed to the elements like some animal. When you finally got them to untie him, you’d gone out of your way to make sure he wasn’t harassed by the others. You didn’t know why it bothered you so much at first. Maybe it was just your natural instinct to look after people, to keep them safe.

But over time, something changed.

You started to notice the way Kieran would blush when you brought him food, or the way he’d glance up at you with those soft, grateful eyes. And it wasn’t long before you realized that your need to protect him went beyond just being kind-hearted. You had feelings for him, feelings that snuck up on you when you weren’t looking.

It was a cold morning when you realized something was wrong. Kieran hadn’t been seen since the night before, and no one seemed to care.

“Have you seen Kieran?” you asked Arthur, who was busy cleaning his rifle. He barely spared you a glance.

“Haven’t seen him since yesterday,” he said. “Why? You worried about him?”

You frowned, a knot of anxiety twisting in your chest. “You sure he’s alright?”

Arthur sighed, wiping down the barrel of his gun. “I don’t know. If he’s smart, he ain’t runnin’.”

You didn’t like that answer. Something in your gut told you that Kieran hadn’t run off. He wasn’t the type to just leave—especially not after everything. You trusted him more than anyone in the gang did, and the idea of him disappearing without a word didn’t sit right with you.

“I’m going to go look for him,” you said, already heading for your horse. Arthur called after you, but you didn’t stop.

The ride was long and cold, your mind racing with worst-case scenarios. You knew that if Kieran had been taken by the O’Driscolls, it wouldn’t be good. They had no love for traitors. Every second that passed without finding him made your heart pound harder. You pushed your horse faster, determined to bring him back safely.

After hours of searching, you finally stumbled upon an old O’Driscoll camp hidden deep in the woods. You dismounted, creeping quietly through the trees. There were three men sitting around a fire, and off to the side, tied to a post, was Kieran.

Your heart dropped at the sight of him. He was slumped over, his face bloodied, his wrists bound tight behind his back. They’d beaten him.

You had to get him out of there.

Drawing your gun, you crept closer, your boots making barely a sound on the damp earth. You watched the O’Driscolls carefully, waiting for the right moment to strike. When one of them stood and moved away from the fire, you seized the opportunity. Taking out the closest man with a quick knife to the neck, you rushed forward, catching the other off-guard before he could react.

The third man tried to pull his gun, but you were faster, a clean shot to his chest sending him crumpling to the ground.

With the camp quiet, you hurried over to Kieran, dropping to your knees beside him. “Kieran? It’s me. You’re safe now.”

He flinched at your touch, still out of it from the beating. When he finally recognized you, a sob caught in his throat. “Y-You came for me…”

“Of course I did,” you whispered, cutting through the ropes binding his wrists. “I’m not leaving you here.”

Once free, Kieran slumped against you, too weak to stand. His body trembled, and you couldn’t tell if it was from fear or exhaustion. Probably both. You wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close as you helped him to his feet. He leaned heavily on you as you led him to your horse.

“Come on, let’s get you back to the camp,” you said softly, hoisting him onto the saddle before climbing up behind him.

The ride back to camp was slow and quiet, with Kieran resting against you, his head lolling against your shoulder.

Back at camp, you made sure Kieran was properly cared for. You fussed over him like you always did, making sure he had a warm meal and all that stuff.

“I don’t deserve this,” Kieran mumbled one night as you were tending to the bruises on his face. “I don’t deserve you.”

You stopped, looking at him with soft eyes. “That’s not true, Kieran. You deserve someone who cares about you.”

He blinked up at you, his expression raw and vulnerable. “But why? After everything… why do you care so much?”

You hesitated, your heart thudding in your chest. You’d been wrestling with your feelings for weeks now, and hearing him ask that question made it all come crashing down.

“Because…” You set the cloth aside, your hand resting gently on his cheek. “Because.. I don't know. I just care about you. More than I probably should.”

His eyes widened, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Y-You mean that?”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your ears. “I do.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then, slowly, Kieran’s hand reached up to cover yours, his fingers trembling slightly.

“Thank you, I… I care about you too.” he replied.

It wasn’t a grand confession, but it didn’t need to be. You already knew. You’d known for a while now.

[lazypapers]

Hey! You said you wanted someone to write O’Driscoll Arthur right? I’ll do it for ya, but I need for info.

🤔 Well, I guess I can give you the base of what the AU is about. But I would like people's interpretation of it. Cause first I don't want to restrict anyone and people can write whatever they like. Second, I already have my own thing I'm thinking of doing.

Calling this ShowPony AU

Basically Arthur was on a job with Dutch. Things don't go as plan and it gets really bad (similar to that one mission at the oil place) Dutch witnessing Arthur's "death" (the scar on his neck) he felt he had no choice but to leave him. Arthur is still conscious and witnesses his mentor leaving him. He feels absolutely betrayed.

Later Colm and the gang will find injured Arthur and nurse him back to health. Like a snake, he will plant ideas and really push that Dutch never appreciated him (which he did). He was once a Showpony and now he was nothing but workhorse. A workhorse that ran it's course. Colm will definitely utilize Arthur's low self-esteem and feed into the negative aspect thus creating a low-honor Arthur.

With John, Arthur felt jealous of him. He felt that Dutch was a bit easier with him. He was the new model, the younger Golden Boy. He left and abandoned his family and Arthur was the one that stepped up. And when John comes back, Dutch forgives him and welcomes him back with open arms for his prodigal son. Arthur will be conflicted because he knows it's not John's fault for Dutch's shitty personality. But he gets so resentful.

[bununiii]

this dialogue wtf yeah bro ur right u are just a baby wtf who told u man hes self aware

[babyaiker]

Assortment of Kieran doodles I did over the past few months,,, (that’s why each doodle is slightly different in how I draw him)

Don’t get me wrong I love all the characters in rdr2, but I’ve gotten way to personally attached to that god damn o’driscoll boy

[honeyzephyr]

finally got around to making my girl a better ref sheet! this is my rdr2 oc mallory! she’s a 24 year old aspiring doctor that resides in valentine with her aunt and uncle, assisting her uncle in his work as the local doctor. her horse, poppy, is an overo american paint that was gifted to her by her uncle. (more about her under the cut! be warned i am no writer so it might suck 😭)

mallory spent most of her early life growing up in the state capital of lemoyne, saint denis, with her mother, father and two older brothers. being born into high-society came with expectations, these expectations being, more often than not, challenged by mallory much to her mother’s dismay. after refusing an arranged marriage, which left her relationship with her parents strained, mallory set off at the age of 18; moving to the muddy, livestock town of valentine in new hanover to live with her aunt and uncle, chasing her dream of becoming a doctor.

this is where she meets kieran duffy, an odd fellow that caught her eye from the moment he stumbled into the doctors office, bloody and bruised. upon noticing his green scarf, it didn’t take long for her to realize he was running with the o’driscoll boys to which she upturned her nose.

“that’s a nice horse.. she yours?” he gestured to the american paint tethered to the post out front of the doctors office as she tended to a particularly nasty laceration on his cheek. “mhmm,” she hummed in response, not all too interested in engaging in small talk. he, however, did not seem to take the hint, “she looks just like you.”

as the weeks rolled by, kieran became a frequent sight, either passing through the office due to o’driscoll business or looking to have another wound tended to. mallory couldn’t help but find herself warming to the man, charmed by his gentle nature and intrigued by his involvement with such a ruthless gang that he so clearly didn’t belong in.

much of her relationship with kieran is pre-canon, taking place before chapter 1. she has no canon ties otherwise, though she does reunite with kieran a few days prior to his death in chapter 4. she bumps into him on a busy street in saint denis while visiting her family. she has to do a double take, making sure she hadn’t been imagining things, but quickly pulls him into a hug upon realization.

she all but begs him to meet her by the docks a couple evenings later, to which he agrees to, though he never shows.

she later moves to new york, attending college in medical studies.

[livingdeadmlm]

Could you do a drabble in which m!reader secretly sneaking some food and water to Kieran when he is tied up in the stable back in Colter? Love your writing and how you don't reduce Kieran as just pathetic

Yesss wrote this at work lol

Your entire life is flipped upside down and being stuck in some eternal winter was something you never asked for but got it anyway.

When you raided their hideout, you thought your fingers would snap off, shooting the O’Driscolls.

They took whatever items they wouldn’t need anymore because they were dead, but that was neither here nor there. But the real take-home prize was the camp’s O’Driscoll—some squirming, crying thing. Arthur said he didn’t put up much of a fight when he got caught.

But the more you looked at him, it hurt something inside you. You didn’t want to kick a man while he was down like the others at camp did.

Tied by the horses, it wasn’t like he’d make it five feet without being pummeled by snow, even if he got loose. So there was no one else in the barn but the two of you.

“Look, boy, if you tell anyone about this, I’ll rip your damn head off. You got it?” Kieran nodded quickly, shivering from the cold and constant threats he’s been hearing.

But as you watched, his lips carefully wrapped around the medium-sized water jug you wore across your hips. He felt that you just had to care a little bit.

Drops of water fell down his chin; he couldn’t get the water into his mouth and body fast enough.

“You know they all made fun of me for this.” He whined when you pulled the bottle away from his lips—hearing the water slosh around as you shook it.

“They said it was dumb, but hey.” You used the sleeve of your shirt to wipe his chin. “Guess who has water.”

“You- you do, sir.” You nodded and held a strip of jerky to his lips. You kept an ear out, listening to the sounds of the wind besting against the old worn wood.

“You’re goddamn right I do.” The O’Driscoll took a bite of the strip, hardly chewing before swallowing. But the second bite was slower when you didn’t move the meat stick away.

“What’s your name, boy?” He swallowed before speaking. “Kieran Duffy, sir.”

You hummed and lifted the water jug back to his lips. The water wasn’t ice cold; the insolation of the jug you used had made it taste room temperature, which was enough to warm Kieran for a moment.

“Cut you a deal, Kieran; I’ll come back around soon. All you gotta do is live. Can you do that, Kieran?” He nodded slowly, taking the last of the jerky strip into his mouth.

“Good, I don't want anyone thinkin’ I'm sweet on some O’driscoll. So a peep of this gets out, and I'll ensure you're in the same hole as Colm.” Kieran bit his tounge, watching as you readjusted his hat on his head to cover his ears better.

He watched as you left the barn. You had left your lantern. Some small heat source Kieran appreciated.

[agyraty]

yandere kieran duffy maybe??

Of course!! Now I’m just going to warn you, I’ve never written Yandere once in my life, so I’m hoping this is good. I tried not to change him too much, keeping him as closely to his original character as possible despite the Yandere aspect.

———————————————————

That’s not Love

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Kieran Duffy x Reader

Summary: Kieran calls it love, but you call it an unhealthy obsession.

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From the moment the O'Driscoll boy caught sight of you while bound to a tree, he was captivated. Your sense of style, the assertive stance you took with folks like Micah, and the kindness you showed everyone, him included, all drew him in. The sway of your hips as you walked, and your gentle beauty, fascinated him; he found you intriguing and admirable.

He’s finally been allowed to walk freely around camp, doing as he pleased. And he always found himself staring at you, watching your every move. Soon, he found himself volunteering to help you during missions, or brush your horse, even help you with chores, just so he could get to closer to You.

After awhile, you and him became friends. You’d always find yourself sitting with him near the fire or during meals, and on almost all of the missions Dutch sends you on, he’s almost there with you, which you found a bit weird, but you pushed it off as Dutch wanting to get Kieran working.

It’s just became a normal thing, you’re always with the man. You even stand up for him when Bill, Javier, or Micah tease him about being an O’Driscol. Which was another reason he found himself so attracted to you.

Weeks turned into months, and Kieran’s obsession just grew even more. He began leaving anonymous Gifts in your tent every night. Things ranging from flowers, love letters, to jewelry and small trinkets.

You found it odd, having a secret admirer leave you stuff. You so desperately wanted to know who it was leaving you such gifts, and you looked at all the possibilities at camp. Never once did you suspect it to be Kieran.

At first, you tried to figure out who it was, asking the girls if they heard about anyone talking about it, or maybe even seen who it was.

But no body knew who your admirer was, so after awhile you just gave up, excepting all the kind gifts you got without thought. Obviously who ever was doing it didn’t have any bad intentions, right?

You’ve also noticed that a lot of the guys in the gang suddenly started to avoid you, Only speaking to you when they needed to.. it was strange.

—

Well today wasn’t to different from any other day, you walked around camp, did your chores, conversed with friends, and of course, spent time with Kieran.

Currently, Kieran was busy tending to his horse, so you sat by the fire by yourself, relaxing your aching muscles.

Kieran brushed his horse, tending to its muddy coat, gently scraping out the dirt. He watched you closely as he did so, his eyes never leaving your resting body. His eyes scanned your face, watching as the fire shined against you, its Orange and yellow light dancing along your fine features, illuminating your beauty.

Kieran snapped out of his thoughts once he saw Javier striding over to the camp fire, a charming smile on his face as he stopped just beside you.

You brought a hand up to rub your eyes gently, looking to the side. Suddenly, you heard the familiar voice of Javier call out your name.

“Hey.” He spoke softly, taking a seat on the dirt next to you. “Hi, Javier.” You turned your head to face him, a soft smile playing in your lips as you watched him get onto the ground.

He starts a conversation, his words flowing effortlessly, filled with anecdotes and questions that draw you in. His hand gestures add animation to his tales, and he listens to your responses with genuine interest, his eyes alight with amusement.

On the sidelines, Kieran's presence is like a silent shadow, his eyes never straying away from the duo. The sight of Javier's easy manner with You stirs a storm within Kieran, his emotions swirling like leaves in the wind. There's a sharp tug in his chest, a possessive instinct that he can't shake off.

He knew he shouldn’t be thinking this, considering you were his, and he wasn’t yours, but Every laugh shared between you two feels like a personal affront, as if Javier’s challenging him, like Javier’s trying to take away what belongs to him. His fingers clench into fists at his sides, the brush that was in his hand now dropped to the floor, the mirthful scene before him fueling a strange feeling of anger, of resentment. A bitter taste of jealousy resided on his tongue as he stands back, trapped in his own troubled thoughts.

He couldn’t help but think that it should be him over there, laughing with you, tlaking with you just like always, not Javier. Javier was getting to close to what was his. And Kieran didn’t take to kindly to that.

Kieran decides that he’s had enough, that he couldn’t stand by and watch anymore.

Kieran's beginge to walk over, every move he made was carefully calculated. His smile is a well-rehearsed curve of lips, not quite matching the mixture of angry feelings he felt deep down. "Javier, always the early bird, I see," Kieran offers with an airy chuckle that sounds more like a challenge than genuine humor.

Javier, unbothered by Kieran's presence, smirks and replies, "Just taking in the good company before the vultures swoop in." He spoke casually, but his words carry an edge to them, a subtle acknowledgment of the tension between them.

Kieran leans in closer, his voice a low purr meant only for Javier's ears. "You know, it's fascinating how you always seem to linger. But then again, some people are naturally drawn to the light, even if it burns." The insult is wrapped in velvet, but the threat is unmistakable. You stand there, eyes darting between the two men. You had no idea what was happening, nor what they were talking about.

Javier's response is quick, his ‘Friendly’ smile never faltering. "And some are too busy casting shadows to recognize when they're standing in someone else's sun." The air between them is tense as they try to play off their obvious disdain for each other, each man marking his territory with words as sharp as knives.

The back-and-forth continues, Kieran's jokes becoming more pointed, his patience wearing as thin as the veneer of civility that coats them. Then, a particularly barbed comment from Javier pierces through Kieran's armor, hitting a raw nerve.

Kieran's laughter dies down and his expression darkens, the atmosphere quickly changed. "You think you're clever, don't you? Let's see how witty you are when you're the one being laughed at.” Kieran hisses, the mask of friendliness slipping to reveal a bit of what he was truly feeling.

You quickly looked over at Kieran, his sudden outburst shocking you. He’d never spoken to anyone like that before, he normally acted all timid and scared, but now.. he seemed completely unfazed, the expression on his face dark and intimidating.

The change in Kieran was startling, like witnessing a shadow come to life. His usual shyness was long gone, replaced by a steely resolve that seems alien on his normally gentle features. The atmosphere tensed even further, as if the air itself is holding its breath, waiting for what Kieran will do next.

You can't help but feel slightly uneasy, watching this new side of him emerge. It's as if he's shed his meek exterior to reveal something much more dark beneath. His eyes, once filled with hesitation, now burn with a cold fire, and his posture is straight and rigid, every muscle tense and coiled like a spring.

"Is everything okay, Kieran?" you ask, voice slightly caseous, the concern evident in your voice. You're trying to reach the friend you know, the one who's always been more keen on retreating from conflict rather than causing it.

Kieran's gaze quickly lands on you, and for a seocnd, you see the flicker of the normal Kieran that you know, the vulnerability returning in the depths of his eyes. But it's gone as quickly as it appeared, his expression hardening once more. "I'm fine," he says, though his tone suggests anything but that. “Just tired of playing the part of the harmless one, that's all."

Your eyes widen slightly. Playing the part? What does he mean playing the part? Has he.. has he been faking his personality this whole time? Your gaze remains on his body as you watch him closely, And you notice how everything about him has changed. He’s standing meow straight up and assertive, rather than his slightly hunched and shy posture. His face is more hard unlike his normal gentle expression. And the way he speaks, is so much more different.

The mere thought of it sends your mind spinning. The Kieran before you is like a puzzle with pieces that don't fit the image you've always known. It's slightly unsettling, the idea that he might have been wearing a mask all this time. His new demeanor is like a rude awakening – assertive, confident, almost a stranger compared to his old personality.

"Kieran, what do you mean?” Your question is gentle but probing, an attempt to peel back the layers of this sudden change. You're reaching out for answers, you need to get to the bottom of this.

Kieran's gaze flickers past and lands on Javier with a dismissive sneer. "Why don't you go bother someone else, Javier?" he snaps abruptly, his voice carrying a sharp and cold tone. The unexpected harshness in his tone seems to cut through the air, and with an annoyed look, Javier turns on his heel, walking away without another word.

With Javier gone, Kieran's attention shifts back to you, his posture relaxing slightly, but his expression remains intense. He takes a step closer, his eyes searching yours for any type of reaction. "I'm sorry about that, but I couldn't stand it anymore," he begins, his voice softer now, but laced with a slight desperate tone, maybe even crazed. "I've been trying to keep this to myself, but it's driving me crazy. I'm in love with you. I'm the one who's been leaving you those little gifts you find, hoping they'd bring a smile to your face."

He takes a deep breath, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as if grappling with the weight of his confession. "And it's been me, joining you on those missions without even asking Dutch. I wanted to be there to protect you, to be close to you. I've been... I've been scaring off any guy that gets too close because the thought of someone else being with you—it's unbearable. That’s why people haven’t been speaking to you so much lately, but that’s a good thing. That’s how it should be.”

The expression kn his face was unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. It was almost crazed, desperate. If you were being honest, it scared you.

“.. And that’s the way it should be.”

You looked back at him as he said that. “What..?” You whispered, shock present in both your tone and present on your face.

“I’m the only one that you need, I’m the only one that deserves to talk to you.” He stepped closer, looming over you with an unreadable facial expression. You stumble back, trying to keep some space between the two of you.

Your brows were knitted together tightly as you tried to wrap your mind around what he was saying.

“Why can’t you see that this isn’t bad? That I’m what you need, and no one else?” He reached out to grab your hands in his, but you quickly swatted them away. “Don’t touch me.”

Your heart hammered against your chest, a mixture of fear and disbelief coursing through your veins. "You can't just decide what I need, Kieran," you said, your voice firm despite the slight tremble running through your body. "You can't force someone to want you or to be with you."

He looked taken aback, as if your resistance was something he hadn't anticipated, as if he excepted you to just be okay with this whole thing. “But I love you," he insisted, his voice softening. "I've done everything for you. Can't you see that?"

"You're talking about love, but what you're doing isn't love at all," you countered, finding the strength to finally counter his response.. "Love is about respect and choice, Kieran. You can't protect me from the world, just like can't lock me away from it either."

"I need some time to think about all of this..”

As you turned to walk away, You hoped that when you faced each other again, it would be with a new understanding and a healthier perspective on what it really means to care for someone.

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[twola]

I’m a slut for semi-public sex and I know you’ve written multiple fics for this but what if Arthur X reader actually get caught instead of almost 👀

Caught

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

"Far enough" from camp is not far enough.

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

Your giggles are drowned out by the kisses that Arthur showers upon your lips as the two of you stumble further into the wooded area outside the camp, along the shores of Flat Iron Lake.

“Think this-,” You pant, “Is far enough?”

Arthur presses his lips to your jaw, “Depends how loud you’re gonna be.” He drawls playfully as he starts to pull up your skirts. 

His groan, however, is what you shush when he moves one hand between your legs.

“No drawers? You naughty little thing you.” He hoarsely grits out as he cups your whole cunt in his palm, warm to the touch and making you gasp.

All you can do is smile coquettishly as you step back from him and lay yourself down in the grass, pulling your skirts up past your hips and swinging your legs open, “C’mere, cowboy.”

Arthur is down on his knees in an instant, undoing his pants and drawing out his already hard length. At least he had the wherewithal before to strip himself of his gunbelt in his tent before finding you and dragging you into the woods as nighttime fell across the camp.

In a tangle of limbs and clothing, you moan as he sinks his cock into your heat, with the practiced familiarity of a lover, one so knowledgeable about your body that he know’s he’s wound you up enough for him.

Arthur balances on his forearms above you as he starts to roll his hips, and you throw your arms around his shoulders as you whine with each cant into your body, completely losing yourselves in each other’s passion.

Until you are interrupted, that is.

A gun clicks in between your gasping breaths. Arthur stops mid-thrust and you both slowly turn your head in the direction of the sound.

A revolver is pointed at Arthur’s frame, its barrel shaking in the moonlight. Now that you look at it, the whole gun is shaking. Actually, the person holding the gun is shaking.

You scream for a moment before Arthur places his hand over your mouth and snarls at the intruder.

“You’ve got three seconds to put that gun down and get the hell out of here, boy.”

Poor Kieran Duffy immediately points the gun at the ground and steps backward, his skin pale and his figure trembling even more than usual.

“One,” Arthur growls, pushing up on his arm to loom over you. He releases his hand from your mouth and you look fearfully at Kieran with wide, frightful eyes.  Arthur places his hands on either side of your neck in the grass. His cock twitches slightly, still halfway buried in your cunt.

“Two.”

As he grits out the word, his hips press forward, and your head turns up to face him, incredulous at his audacity, but you cannot stop the moan from escaping your throat as his cock carves deep inside you, your hips being pushed forward by his own. He no longer glares at the intruder, staring down at you with a feral, dark hunger set into his features.

He takes a breath, looking back up at Kieran, who has finally found his feet and starts backpedaling. Without looking away, he draws his hips back and forcefully, quickly thrusts down into you, making your neck arch as you throw back your head and scream.

Kieran stumbles back through the bushes and is finally out of sight.

Arthur snarls again, his fingers digging into the grass by your head.

“ ‘M gonna,” he thrusts hard into you again, making you cry out, “kill that damn-” thrust, “O’Driscoll-”

Each and every roll of his hips slams you into the ground, and you shamelessly cry out each time the tip of his cock hits that spot within you, so deep you could swear you could feel him in your guts.

“Arthur-!”

He groans aloud as he grinds his hips into yours as you clutch around him, keening his name as you come. Arthur follows you over the edge, releasing deep in your cunt.

As you regain your senses, you clutch at him, rubbing reassuringly at his forearms as he pants atop you. The deep set lines of aggravation along his forehead haven’t dissipated. 

“Arthur-…” you whisper softly, gently, trying to calm him down. You know that look in his eye, the look he gets when he has a job, when the ruthless outlaw surfaces.

He extricates himself from your hips and leans back on his knees, tucking himself away as he rebuttons his pants.

Arthur does not look at you as you press yourself up to sit, your free hand pulling your skirts down to your knees, at the very least.

“Arthur.” A little more force behind your voice this time.

His gaze meets yours, and you can see his jaw working as he mumbles, “Mhm.”

“Don’t do anythin’ to him.”

Arthur grunts noncommittally in response.

“Arthur.” You reach forward and place your hand on his chest, “I’m serious.”

Pushing himself up from his knees, he brushes the grass off his pants before holding his hand out to pull you up.

“Fine.” 

He pulls you up and you immediately wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face into his chest in some kind of hope to break the aggravation he’s fallen into. You tip your head back and lay your chin on his sternum, trying to appear cute as you blink up at him.

He leans down and places his lips on yours as he wraps his arms around you in a conciliatory manner. You smile into the kiss.

You pull back a step and wring your hands slightly, “Promise you won’t do anythin’ to him?”

He grabs your hand and places his lips against the back of it, “Promise.”

You smile again at him, and as he lets go of your hand, you lean up and kiss him on the cheek, your lips scratched gently by his short beard.

“I’m gonna head to sleep then, g’d night, Arthur.” You say with a yawn, stepping backward away from him.

“G’d night, Darlin’.”

Arthur watches you walk back to the camp, and immediately the scowl returns to his face. He leans over to pick up his hat from the ground, places it on his head, and stalks in the other direction.

-

Kieran Duffy knows he’s in for it. He knows he’s on thin ice with Arthur, even if he had saved his hide at Six Points. Of all people to stumble upon… why did it have to be the damn enforcer of the gang?

He makes himself scarce around the camp that night, staying even closer to the horses’ hitching posts than he usually does, dragging his bedroll to the other side of where the horses are circled up from the camp.

Maybe Arthur wouldn’t find him if he stayed real quiet in the night.

“O’Driscoll!” 

Maybe he was the unluckiest goddamn fool in the world.

The aforementioned enforcer of the Van der Linde gang stalks toward him, anger radiating off of his frame. Kieran is able to make it all of two steps backward before the wind gets knocked out of him. Arthur slams Kieran back into the tree behind him, his hands clamped on Kieran’s shoulders, easily holding the smaller man inches above the ground.

“If I even see you lookin’ in her direction, O’Driscoll - you’re gonna wish I let Bill geld you.” Arthur snarls at Kieran, who nods, terrified, his hat falling to the ground and rolling several feet away on its rim.

“Got it?” Arthur pushes Kieran’s shoulders back into the tree again, unimpressed by his lack of answer.

“G-got it, M-mister Morgan.” Kieran stutters, and crumbles to the ground as Arthur lets go of his shoulders.

“You should be thankful I promised her I wouldn’t hurt you, O’Driscoll. She’s a far better person than I am.” Arthur turns dismissively back to camp, leaving Kieran a stuttering heap of unlucky limbs against the trunk of the tree.

Kieran lets out a long breath, watching Arthur return toward the lantern lights of the camp.

Unlucky fool indeed.