#rdr2 x oc

[christmascheeseballs]

Till Death Do Us Part  – An Arthur Morgan x OC Story *PART TWO*

Content Warnings – Kidnapping, Death Threats, Micah Bell, Trauma, Angst, Character Deaths, Eventual Happy Ending (not in this part), Reference to torture, reference to sexual assault, not described, one brief mention of both

Word Count – 1.7k

Part One - 1.3k words (17th July 2024)

Part Two - 1.7k words (17th July 2024)

Part Three - 1.2k words (19th July 2024)

Authors Note – I’m so sorry for the confusion of Bonnie the horse and Bonnie MacFarlane in this – my horse irl is a Belgian draft, and I thought it would be cute to put her in this but it just ended up confusing lmao

-x-

7 years later

February 16th, 1907

I found this old journal today while looking through my Arthur’s things. Me and Bea moved into our new home about 6 months ago now, and I finally had the chance to sit and go through all of our old belongings. I found Arthur’s journal, and after spending a few days crying over his sweet notes, all his loving words about me etched delicately with his careful script, I decided to start sharing my own thoughts. Share my problems to someone other than Bea or Bonnie. 

We now live on a ranch, west of Blackwater. God it feels strange to be back in this area again. After leaving Abigail and the others in Oregon all those years ago (I miss them all so much), myself and Darcy, my sweet girl, headed across the country to find somewhere safe to have my baby. We settled in North California, just on the border. While the busier state was helpful for delivering my baby, my country soul could not cope and we soon continued south. Hopping from place to place, we have finally found a home. Its been a lonely few years, and I haven’t seen Abigail or any of the others since those fateful days. As far as John and the others know, I either ran away or died out on the trails. It breaks my heart to break theirs, but needs must.

As I said, we now live on a ranch west of Blackwater - MacFarlane’s Ranch. While Bea is cared for my some of the local ladies, who enjoy teaching her to read and write, I spend my days in the corral, training the horses that the owners of the ranch bring in. I can still remember the days when my Arthur first taught me to ride, all those years ago. And now here I am, teaching horses how to take care of their riders, teaching young fillies and colts all the groundwork to set them up for life. I’m quite a horsewoman nowadays!

Speaking of horses; my sweet Darcy was retired 2 years ago now, and I have managed to organise for her to have her own paddock on the ranch to live out her days. I know that retiring a horse ain’t all that common round here, but Miss MacFarlane seemed to have a soft spot for my sweet mare. My heart genuinely aches when I bring her in from her paddock to check her over, and my sweet Bea runs over to see her, clamouring to ride. I allow her to sit on her while I walk back to the field, but that is all. She has the passion for horses that her daddy had, and that I’ve tried to continue for him.

My new horse is a stunning and versatile red roan Belgian Draft mare named Bonnie - I purchased her from a fellow in Montana at the same time as retiring Darcy, so I can promise that her having the same name as Miss MacFarlane is pure coincidence! Bonnie (the horse, that is) is such a perfect mare for my little family - she can drive us to the local town with the wagon, and also allow me to use her to ride, and even teach Bea to ride! I thought I’d struggle finding a horse as perfect as Darcy, but Bonnie sure ain’t that far off. Although, have a horse as stocky as a draft horse after years of riding a fine thoroughbred is definitely a difference!

I truly hope we can find happiness here. 

Florence Morgan

-x-

On the 25th May, 1900, Beatrice Abigail Morgan was born in the state of California, to Mrs Florence Morgan. And now, at nearly 7 years old, the two of you had settled down into the ranching lifestyle, with Bea finally given the chance to go to a proper school and learn to read and write.

Whilst life hadn’t been kind to the either of you over the past few years, you truly felt you’d found a place you could finally settle in. MacFarlane’s Ranch was a simple but efficient farm, with a well established cattle and equine business. While the men handled the cattle, a position had opened up in the training and husbandry of the horses; when you saw the role in the papers, you had nearly screamed. Especially when you saw the gleaming words “house available for successful applicant”. It was practically made for you. 

Now, your days consisted of waking up early; avoiding waking up Bea; feeding all the horses in the stables; sneaking back home; giving Bea her breakfast and sending her off to school with Mrs Nelson across the road; backing, exercising, and being thrown off countless different horses; ideally selling a couple to clients; before collecting Bea and preparing dinner before bed. 

A simple enough life, but busy enough to keep your mind free from the ghosts of your past. 

Free until nightfall, that is. That is when your mind filled with panic, dread, and guilt. Guilt for your husband, being left alone all those years ago to die to the hands of Micah Bell. You never got to visit his grave - as far as you know, he never got one. Dread and panic at the sickening gut feeling you had in the base of your stomach that something would happen; and soon. Years of running and fighting finally catching up with you.

-x-

You were used to waking up in a cold sweat, but tonight was different, your fears felt more daunting, more real – you awoke, gasping from the night terrors that plagued you, trying to steady your breathes and keep Bea asleep, her small body in the room next to yours. As your panicked gasps subsided, you swung your legs out of your cot, a daunting weight sitting heavily on your shoulders. As your eyes adjust to the darkness in your room, you glance at the clock. Despite feeling like you had been trying to fall into a sleep for hours, it was barely 1am.

A deep sigh left you as you stood, taking yourself into your small kitchen to pour yourself a mug of water. Standing at the window, you glance outside towards the corral, a small smile etching itself onto your face when you spot Bonnie led down, fast asleep. You envied her.

Looking past the corral, you spotted a group of pale, flickering lights – lanterns, you thought – moving swiftly towards the ranch. This wouldn’t be the first time bandits attacked the ranch, and would likely not be the last. You sigh, this must've been the gut feeling you had minutes before. Before the lights could get any closer, you grabbed your coat, covering your chemise, and shoved your feet into your boots. You picked up your Lancaster Repeater, the one Arthur used and lovingly cared for until passing it onto you, and dashed towards the MacFarlane’s farm house.

Hammering on the door, adrenaline rushed through your veins as you waited for the family to wake up. A shadowed figure appeared in the doorway of the farm house. “Florence? What’s goi-”, she stopped, realisation spreading across her face as she spotted the threat approaching the ranch. She grasped her rifle by the door, a serious expression setting in her face.

A fight was on your hands

-x-

The attackers had shocked you, at first. Whilst there were various casualties, they had not come in guns blazing, seemingly searching for something rather than being out for the kill. Their masked faces surveyed the area, before one man – which hauntingly familiar eyes - stopped on your figure, hidden slightly behind a cart in front of the corral. He stopped, and stared, before nodding at something behind you.

Next thing you knew, a pair of greasy hands wrapped themselves around you, one of them covering your mouth, the stench filling your nostrils, the other bringing a knife to your throat. Bonnie gave you a panic stricken look, her eyes darting over to your homestead. Big mistake. The man holding you spotted this look, and chucked – a sneer that you’d never thought you’d have the displeasure of hearing again.

“Go get her brat, Dutch.”

2 months later

As if life hadn’t been hard on you already for as long as you could remember, the past few weeks were just the cherry on top. After being kidnapped by Micah Bell, you were beaten, tortured, and taken advantage of on an almost daily basis. Fed the bare minimum to survive. As much as your blood boiled with anger when you saw the face of Dutch Van Der Linde, you had to thank him. He was able to keep Micah and his men away from Bea, a soft look appearing in his eyes whenever he laid eyes on her.

Although you hoped that you could sense the guilt when he glanced at you, he couldn’t bring himself to keep them away from you as well.

When you first realised it was Dutch seemingly orchestrating the attack on MacFarlane’s Ranch, you saw red – but could do nothing about it. Micah pressed the blade closer to the skin of your neck, breaking through the first few layers as you hissed in pain under his hand. Dutch turned towards your house, coming back out minutes later with a trembling Beatrice Morgan. But he looked pained.

Now, after being captured and tortured for the past few months, you knew that Dutch was as trapped as you were. Whilst you held no true sympathy for him, you knew that he did not take a part of your capture willingly.

As the days went on, you slowly begun shutting down, loosing any hope of rescue. You knew that Bonnie and her father, the sweet family that they were, would’ve tried to find you at first, but you also knew it was a helpless task. After taking you from the ranch, the group had travelled west, settling in western Texas for a few weeks. They had then moved east again, back towards New Hanover – but for some unknown reason decided to settle in the mountains of Ambarino.

Heavy snow and biting cold plagued you every day, as you clutched onto Bea, giving her the scraps of any food you were scarcely given, trying to have her eat as much as she could. Even Dutch sneaked her a few thinning blankets on one particularly frigid night. You were at a true loss of what could be done. Until one fateful morning, a gravely, and scarily familiar voice rang out from the mountains outside.

“Micah, if you’re in here, come out”

-x-

Thanks for reading, please like, comment and reblog <3

[flw3rrr]

A broken Promise

Characters: Dutch x OC

summary: Dutch meets a girl in Saint Denis. His attempts to swoon her over in order to get any kinds of amount of money he needs for his High mighty plan to leave for Tahiti.

OC name: Audrey evermore

Warnings: manipulation, angst, Taking advantage of use of money, Age gap, (Please let me know if anything else i missed!)

A/n: second time writing a long one. This man is like tough to write for.

Words: 4,732

It was just a normal day in Saint Denis. The workers were heading to their jobs to earn money for their homes, to keep food on the table, or to pay for their families. For the rich, perhaps. They mostly went to gamble, head to the offices, or even go on the boat and play more poker. That’s what Audrey’s Father did. he would spend but somehow win enough money to still gamble it away and keep his family together and rich. For her mother…. She spent her time gossiping with her lady friends, mostly discussing clothing or the events happening in town.

Audrey kept to herself and stayed quiet, as she didn't really have any friends. She would talk to the maids or any worker she saw or spend time alone when she wasn't forced to hang out with her mother and listen to gossip. Audrey would take walks around Saint Denis, taking in the atmosphere and admiring the flowers as she walked by. All the walks were normal. She gave a kind nod to those who greeted her with a good morning or afternoon. Nobody reading made Audrey interested in them.

That was until she met him. Dutch van der Linde... A famous outlaw across the states. He was charming and seemed smart just from his looks, especially with that grin he had. Audrey was memorized by him, but they only offered small waves and glances when given such an opportunity, but he was rarely seen in Saint Denis.

That was until she was walking her newly dog down the streets her father gifted to her, she noticed Him. but he was with two other men walking to Angelo Bronte’s house. She didn’t think much as she still continued to walk down as the new dog sniffed everything in her path. Audrey thought things on why on earth he was going to Brontes house, nobody really messed with him.

As she strolled back home, she suddenly heard a voice speak to her. It was hard to describe, but it sounded charming and strong. Audrey turned around to face the man, her eyes widening as she saw it was him. He stood right in front of her, a smile upon his face.

“I can see you have a new friend to join your walks miss.” He spoke with such confidence in his words. Almost as he seemed he was always right. Audrey was temporarily speechless, unable to process the fact that he was actually speaking to her. As she noticed he was awaiting a response from her, she eventually began to speak.

“Oh, yes… My father gave him to me as a gift. I named him Argus” Dutch loved the sound of her voice - it was soft and calming, almost as if it could soothe a crying baby immediately. He knew he wanted to get to know her better, so he made a mental note to take advantage of any future opportunities to do so.

“Well, isn't that kind gesture of your father. Rich I presume?” He only asked this, of course, to see if she would be any help for him and his gang with money. possibly scam them out of anything. “Well, you could say that I just don't usually like using the word rich. wealthy mostly.” Audrey said with a small smile.

Bingo, he thought. He knew that all he had to do was get closer to her, meet her parents, and get on good terms with them, especially her father. His goal was to ultimately swindle them out of as much money as he could. “Well, I'll let you head home miss… Perhaps I can walk you?” he said kindly.

Audrey was still staring at him in awe, almost hypnotized by his spoken words. After a moment's silence, she finally replied, "That's very kind of you," and began walking back home with him by her side. They both continued to speak as they walked back to her place. Dutch was sure to be careful of his questions, or answers. He didn’t want to scare her off quickly. The sun was slowly setting making the streetlights slowly turn on to light the roads and areas for the dark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Over the past few days, Audrey and Dutch had started to stop on the street and having their own little talks with each other. She noticed that it was he who was mostly finding her, rather than the other way around. The chats would begin with him bringing her gifts - a small ring or a flower - which were all part of his plan to win her over and get the money he wanted from her father. Despite his motives, Audrey would always blush over his gestures, almost feeling hypnotized by him.

Though when he attended the party with Arthur and some of the other members, he found himself in a conversation with Bronte when suddenly a man in a well-fitting suit walked onto the balcony. "Ah, Mr. Evermore," Bronte spoke. Dutch was surprised, but at the same time, he was excited to be introduced to Audrey's father for the first time. He now had the opportunity to talk to him alone or convince Bronte to help him in his scheme to get money from her father. They were already discussing the subject of money, so it could be an easy sell.

"I apologize for being late, Bronte," Mr. Evermore said as he approached the balcony. "My wife was having difficulty deciding which necklace to wear, and she didn't want to leave our daughter at home alone." He nodded to Dutch, who was already standing there. "Women," Bronte said in response. Dutch was finally introduced to Audrey's father - learning that his name was William. The three continued to speak for a while, until Dutch joined Arthur to send him on a little mission.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week had passed since the party, and Audrey hadn't heard anything from Dutch since their last spoken moment. She wondered if he had gotten tired of her already. She took a moment to brush her hair with a hairbrush she had gotten during a trip to France. After getting dressed for the day, she decided to take her dog on a walk to enjoy the nice weather outside.

As she walked around the small park near her home, she once again heard that familiar voice say, "Well, it certainly has been a while since we last spoke." She smiled to herself and turned around to face him, and Dutch could see the happiness on her face. He loved it, knowing that his tactics were working on her.

“It has," Audrey replied eagerly with a hint of happiness in her tone. "It's been a while since we've seen each other. I hope everything is alright?" Her voice started slow and monotonous, but it picked up its pace, and now she felt as if it had never sounded better.

Dutch couldn't help but let out a small chuckle at her concern for him. He admitted to himself that he had developed some feelings for her. His plan had originally been to befriend her so that she would introduce him to her father, but he had already met him at that party.

However, no matter how much he liked her, he had to keep his focus on earning enough money to move to Tahiti. “I’m fine, Though I had a quite a head injury, Ive healed fast.” he nodded. Audrey's expression filled with shock and concern as she heard the news. She took a step closer to him, wanting to touch his face gently, but she didn't, knowing that it might be inappropriate.

"Oh, well I'm glad you've gotten better," she said with concern in her voice. “But enough talking about me.. How have you been..?” he asked plainly.

They had their regular conversation, which, to an eavesdropper, would likely have been dull and uninteresting. Dutch talked about Evelyn Miller and his books, but Audrey didn't find the subject material particularly captivating. He also mentioned meeting her father at the ball, describing how well her father had a way with words when speaking his mind or giving opinions.

Audrey, in turn, talked about how her father enjoyed gambling. Despite their lengthy conversation in the park, they failed to notice that very few people were present. The ones who were still quite far away, but enough that they couldn't be seen.

As they both sat on the bench, with Audrey's dog resting near her feet, they shared a sweet, slow moment that felt like a fairytale for Audrey. She felt as if she had just met her soulmate, and for Dutch, he didn't feel anything in particular, but he did notice how she looked at him with so much admiration in her eyes.

"So, you mentioned that your father likes to gamble so much? How does he manage to keep such money to keep his family stable?" questioned Dutch, his tone laced with curiosity. He didn't mention at all how her father along with Bronte had told him about the money stashed at the trolley station, and he didn't like that one bit.

Being played like a fool and angered him, but he shouldn't blame Audrey for she wasn't aware of what had been happening in his life lately. "Yes, he still manages to find a way to keep some money to provide for us," Audrey answered, her tone suggesting that she didn't care to discuss her father at length.

Dutch couldn't help but notice that she seemed reluctant to talk about him, even though he had given her many gifts over the years. He made a mental note to tread carefully with the subject of her father in the future.

With the conversation hitting a standoff, Dutch decided he needed to make a move to get things going again. He thought for a moment and then acted, pushing a piece of hair back into place and carefully caressing her cheek with his hand, allowing it to linger there for a beat.

Audrey was shocked by his touch, but she pushed the thought aside. His hand felt rough to the touch, but she tried not to let it bother her. Dutch looked Audrey in the eyes, taking a deep breath before asking a daring question. "Have I ever told you that you are beautiful?" he inquired, his tone a mixture of flattery and determination.

It wasn't just about winning her over anymore; now he had to convince her to give him the money that he now knew her father wouldn’t give, He needed to persuade her without coming across as if he was using her. Audrey's face instantly flushed with a bright shade of crimson, her cheeks glowing with a warm blush.

Normally, when men paid her compliments, she would shrug it off and go about her day, feeling flustered and uncomfortable. However, with Dutch giving her this compliment, she felt like she had won the world. She suddenly felt important and special, her heart skipping a beat at the thought that someone valued her beauty so highly.

Audrey's eyes darted to the side, trying to avoid direct eye contact with Dutch. She felt suddenly shy and flushed, not knowing how to respond to this sweet compliment. But then Dutch took hold of her chin, gently forcing her to face him once more. Her heart skipped a beat as she was caught off guard by this sudden and tender gesture, and she felt a surge of flutters and nerves inside her chest. The excitement and anticipation she felt was overwhelming.

“Now there’s no reason to get so nervous now?” Dutch's smirk broadened as he took in the effect his words were having on Audrey. He was proud of himself for being able to manipulate her so well and put her into the position he wanted. He was so close to achieving his goal, and the thought of it was almost enough to make him burst with pride.

He just had to keep playing his cards right and the money would be his. Audrey hesitated for a moment before responding, feeling utterly flummoxed by her own reaction to his charm. She couldn't find the right words to say, so she resorted to the quickest one that came to mind: "I realized it's getting late. My parents must be wondering where I am." She rose from the bench, holding the leash for her dog, and offered Dutch a quick goodnight before leaving. As she walked home, mind occupied by the thoughts of their encounter, she found herself daydreaming about him.

Dutch's smirk stayed firmly in place as he watched Audrey leave, feeling like he was on top of the world. He had everything he wanted and felt like he was the best in the universe. His ego was on a high, and he couldn't wait to get his hands on that money. He knew he would only need to bide his time, and soon it would be his. The power he had over her was overwhelming, and he savored it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

Audrey's mind raced with thoughts of yesterday's events, and she couldn't help but giggle with excitement. She kicked her feet with joy, imagining what it would be like to kiss Dutch's lips. She found herself deep in thought, unable to focus as she relived every moment of their encounter over and over. The thought of ever being with him filled her with such excitement that she couldn't contain it, especially knowing how close he had gotten to her yesterday. She was sure that this was the start of something great, and she couldn't wait to see where it would lead

Audrey was jarred from her thoughts by a knock at her door. She leaned up to see her mother walk in, her eyes filled with concern as she took in the giddy expression on Audrey's face. "Daughter," she said, sitting on the couch beside her bed, "if I may ask, why are you so…giddy?" Audrey's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and she shifted her gaze away from her mother's piercing eyes, unsure of how to respond. She didn't want to give away her secret, but at the same time, she couldn't bear to disappoint her mother.

Audrey's gaze shifted away from her mother's intense stare, feeling embarrassed to have been caught in the middle of her giddy mood. "Oh, it's nothing, mother. I promise," she said with a smile, attempting to conceal the truth about her secret friend. She didn't want to disappoint her, so she tried her best to feign ignorance. However, her mother was far from convinced and simply looked at her with disbelief before shaking her head and leaving the room, wondering what her daughter was so giddy about.

Audrey stayed inside the house all day, left alone with only the butler who was in his office presumably working on other things. Suddenly, a loud knock on the door echoed through the house, catching Audrey by surprise. She approached the door to investigate, her curiosity piqued by the unexpected interruption. She reached for the doorknob and opened the door, unsure of what to expect on the other side. With such surprise it was him, Dutch. she blinked a couple of times before she spoke.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, confused. It's easy enough to find her house if you just ask a couple of people, but why is he here? She wondered.

“I noticed you hadn’t taken your daily walk, so I worried a little. Is it a bad time to be here?” he asked, a soft grin crossing his face.

Audrey looked at him with confusion and adoration, touched by how he had worried for her. His concern for her was reinforcing the beliefs she had developed for him over time. "No," she began, "it's not, but if my parents were home, they'd certainly be confused as to why you're here." She giggled slightly before opening the door wider to let him in.

As Dutch entered the home, his eyes took in the elaborate decorations. The house wasn't massive, but it was clearly the residence of someone with money, such as Audrey's family. Couches were placed against the walls, with paintings of ballet dancers or other random subjects hanging nearby. Some rooms even had grandfather clocks in the corner. It was clear that the family had a particular taste in interior design.

Audrey pointed out, "You came at a good time, actually. My parents are at a party, and our butler is busy in his office. He can't hear very well, so you don't need to worry about being caught being here." She was feeling nervous, given the fact that he was standing right in her home. She couldn't help but wonder what might happen and prayed for the best.

Dutch chuckled lightly and responded, "Oh, I'm not worried, sweetheart. I've handled worse…." He strolled around, taking in the room, then stopped and gazed at her. His eyes seemed to brim with admiration, or perhaps even desire or need. She couldn't quite decipher his intent.

"Can I get you anything?" Audrey inquired with a warm smile and kind tone as she approached Dutch, offering her assistance. Dutch politely declined, and they made their way to the sitting room, sitting on the soft couch next to each other in comfortable silence. The ticking of the clock reverberated in the background, adding to the peaceful atmosphere.

Dutch noticed a piece of paper on the table, addressed to Audrey. His curiosity piqued, he asked, "What's that letter for? Some secret lover?" He offered the comment with a dark chuckle, turning back to her for her response. Audrey's eyes widened, and she hurriedly dismissed his suggestion by replying that she had no lover and the letter didn't concern him.

Dutch continued his line of questioning about the letter, disguising his true intent as a lighthearted banter. He acted as if he were merely joking, but deep down, he truly desired to know the contents of the letter. Audrey, giving in to the temptation, finally spoke about the letter's significance, revealing its importance to Dutch.

"There was an ad I found where the church asked for donations to feed those who couldn't afford to do so themselves," Audrey explained, detailing her generous gesture. "I sent a letter with a check for a thousand dollars - it's the best I could do. My parents were part of the effort to donate such a sum, meaning this letter is them thanking me." She wondered why he was so interested in knowing the contents of the letter, but she pushed the curiosity aside for now, determined not to make a fuss about it.

As she spoke, Dutch's eyes lit up with delight, amazed that Audrey could be so generous. He realized that he could explain his situation to her, hoping that she would understand and be willing to help. He then moved his body closer to her, carefully drawing her into his arms and cradling her close. He made certain that she was comfortable with his embrace before proceeding, ensuring that any physical contact was consensual and mutually desired.

Audrey inhaled sharply at the sudden turn of events, her heart pounding harder than ever before. She looked at Dutch directly in the eyes, and for a moment, she was rendered speechless. Dutch's charm had once again gotten the better of her, leaving her feeling vulnerable yet intrigued at the same time. She let her hands rest on his chest, taking comfort in his embrace.

Dutch spoke softly to her, "Not only are you beautiful, but you also have a kind heart. You are truly a gem among women." He then took one of his hands and gently caressed her cheek with care, making sure not to frighten or overwhelm her. He desired to keep her calm and at ease in his embrace, which he hoped she felt comfortable and safe in.

she noticed her head and his were slowly leaning into each other slowly, then in a blink of eye both of their lips touched. the taste of whiskey and cigars came off of him but she didn't mind it. her mind was going crazy on how carefully he was kissing her. with such passion. he now had both of his hands on her face holding her into the kiss more as her hands wrapped around his neck.

Audrey withdrew abruptly from him after several moments of sharing an intimate embrace, breathing heavily as she looked back to the clock on the wall behind them. Her face took on a blushing hue as she became flustered and shy, recognizing that this was her first-ever kiss. "My parents are probably on their way home; it's best you go now before they arrive," she spoke softly, trying to gather her thoughts and recover from the encounter.

Dutch left the house after taking one last look at Audrey, his expression soft as he contemplated what had just transpired. That very evening, he disclosed his plans to the gang, detailing his encounter with Audrey. Meanwhile, Audrey remained in her room, grinning with joy, as if she held a well-kept secret from everyone else. Her parents entered the home mere moments after Dutch had departed, inquiring as to why their daughter looked as if she were harboring something.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week had elapsed since then, and Dutch had secretly made his way into Audrey's room on two separate occasions. During those visits, they spent time simply conversing, and there was even some kissing involved. However, he was confident that he had caught Audrey's interest, as she consistently displayed affection towards him, including during their current rendezvous. She sat beside him on the bed, leaning into Dutch with a playful smile on her face, awaiting his next move. Dutch was aware that the moment was ideal, and he thus prepared to ask her the question that weighed heavily on his mind.

"May I ask you something?" Dutch inquired, eyeing the wall decor that sported a floral motif. Audrey lifted her gaze from him to follow his line of vision to the flowers on the wallpaper. She nodded, inviting him to proceed with his inquiry.

"You likely have a fair idea of my identity and the actions I must take in order to sustain the safety of my gang-family," Dutch remarked, clenching his fist while resting it near his chest. "We have been running and hiding for years, and we are simply growing weary," he lamented, then shifting his gaze away from the wallpaper to face her. Dutch was finally prepared to broach the subject on his mind, looking towards Audrey expectantly.

Audrey lifted her head upwards as he continued to speak, her interest piqued by his revelations. Although she was well aware of his identity and the deeds he was known for, she couldn't bring herself to push him away. Audrey was too infatuated with Dutch, even despite her opposition to the violent nature of his gang's activities. She remained intent on listening to the rest of what he had to say, still seeking an understanding of the nuances of his situation.

Dutch expressed a sense of desperation as he implored her, "We are making efforts to save money in the hopes of permanently relocating to Tahiti. I was curious if you might be able to lend me financial assistance in this pursuit, my darling..." He held her hands between his own, kissing them softly and gently, demonstrating a clear plea in his eyes.

Audrey gasped upon hearing Dutch's plea for financial aid in leaving the country. She was concerned at the prospect of him leaving her behind, but before she could voice her opinions, Dutch began to speak again. "And I cannot bear the thought of leaving you here by yourself," he elaborated, planting a kiss on the back of her hand in an attempt to persuade her. "We can become an item, my cherished," he declared, continuing to try and convince her of the merits of his proposal.

Audrey's eyes lit up as she listened to Dutch's assurance that he would take her with him to Tahiti. She yearned for a simple life, and the thought of being loved by a man who adored her greatly was exactly what she desired. She expressed her gratitude and acceptance of his offer, expressing her worries of what her life would have been like without him. Audrey hugged him tightly, grateful to have found a companion who cherished her and intended to share a life with her.

Dutch exuded a sinister expression as Aubrey embraced him, aware that he had achieved ultimate success. He realized that all he needed was the money she possessed, and he could leave the country with confidence, finding safety for himse- his gang and him with ease. Once he acquired the means, he could flee without any impediment, and his path to Tahiti would be paved without resistance.

"You have my utmost gratitude, my dear," Dutch declared, placing a kiss on her forehead, and then swiftly making his way out of her bedroom, making certain not to draw undue attention to himself. Audrey promptly returned to her bed, eager to ensure that the funds were at his disposal by the start of the following day. She allowed herself to drift off to sleep with anticipation, wondering if they would make new friends once they touched down in Tahiti.

~~~~~~~~~~

On the following morning, Audrey awoke early, and hastily proceeded to the bank, having made a firm decision to gather the necessary funds to support Dutch's plans of leaving the country. Walking down the city streets, she then reached the Cathedral and noticed him approaching her with a sense of satisfaction and pridefulness. His weapons seemed to glitter in the morning sunlight, and he exuded an air of confidence as he confidently moved towards her.

Audrey's hand swiftly moved upwards, and she placed bills of money in Dutch's hand, who eagerly took hold of them without even hesitating. A feeling of joy washed over Dutch's features, and he flashed a satisfied grin in her direction. "You have done splendidly, my dear," he complimented before adding, "I possess pressing duties to carry out, but I will return to you as soon as possible to finalize our escape." He then nodded to her and proceeded to disappear into the alleys, eager to get started with his preparations.

A day later…….

two days….

three going onto weeks.

As the days passed, Audrey had not heard from Dutch. Her worries began to consume her, and she soon harbored a strong sense of uncertainty, considering that he had perhaps simply abandoned her, leaving without a trace. She was heartbroken at the idea of being cheated and made a mockery of, having granted him a hefty amount of money only to have her hopes shattered. Audrey cried into her pillow, her sorrow compounded by her parents' scolding once they learned about the financial situation she was in.

In time, she was left alone to stew in her emotions of anger and disappointment, incapable of finding any means to vent or relieve her anguish. She felt like she was left in the dark, and the realization of the broken promise and broken heart became too much for her, leaving her with a myriad of feelings that she struggled to express.

he had broken his promise….

[drinkinggblood]

You're a ghost You pass through me You're here, then you're gone I can see you from the corner of my eye.

based on this post

[evgar]

w- women 😳

[nataliabdraws]

Since you all seemed to like my last Ramona and Arthur art here are more!! They are so fun to draw

[marttapav]

oc posting again. 🥹🥹

[eccentricallygothic]

|| The Farmer's Way ||

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a fairly easy piece of work.

Give the lemonade to your husband and leave. 

Simple, right? 

No. 

Not when said husband is Arthur Morgan. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

No one could come in and you could never leave. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The thrumming in your nether regions was proof. 

Frightening, shameful, repulsive proof.

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

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

Everything was rough and dirty about him. 

You hated it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Memories of how it felt inside you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not before the ache between your legs was relieved. 

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

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

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

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

"I- I said…"

"You said?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you could never win with Arthur. 

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

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

[souiiore]

UNDISCLOSED

arthur morgan oneshot!

pairing: arthur morgan x oc (name not specified)

cw: fluff if you squint your eyes, fingering, unprotected piv, corruption, praise & size kink, farmer's daughter trope, mentions of religion, NSFW, MDNI

wc: 4.6k

summary: Longing for something forbidden has never gotten anyone anywhere.

an: this was a request by my lovely mutual @pinescent-and-gingerbread , im not really happy with how it turned out, but i hope u enjoy<33

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The brisk evening air sent shivers down her spine as she stood up from her bed, dressed in nothing but a thin nightgown. She yawned, stretching her arms above her head, and let her steps lead her to the window in her room. The soft thudding of the rain outside lulled her senses, making her mind wander to the depths of two blue pools. Her locks hung loosely around her shoulders, long curls of thick brown hair framing her soft features.

She had spent the whole day in bed reading a silly romance novel about a man and a woman hopelessly in love. It made her think about her lover. Perhaps "lover" was a strong word for him. He did make her cheeks burn, spread butterflies in her stomach, and cause her to stutter, yes, but he was a bad man. A very bad man, and she was well aware of that. Yet the thrill and excitement, the knowledge of his lifestyle, only drew her closer to him. The fact that she, such a sweet little thing, was romantically involved with someone of his status made it all the more exciting.

Her finger came to touch her lower lip, the ghost of his mouth on hers now only a memory. The rough pads of his fingers brushing a strand of hair away from her face and behind her ear—so tender, so gentle. The twinkle in his eyes whenever she looked at him with such lust for something unknown, something so severe. And he always acted oblivious to her seduction. Clueless, even. But deep down, it made his core burn.

She had met him a long time ago in Valentine. Her father was a simple man, dedicated to his religion, and attending church every Sunday was a requirement for both her and him. Dressed in her best dress, with her hair tied into a neat braid with a bow at the end, a soft blush dusting her cheeks, the men—whether old, married, single, or young—couldn't help but flash her toothy smiles and offer her their elbows. And she was always quick to politely decline with a curt shake of her head and a well-practiced smile. It made her father shake his head in disapproval, a scoff escaping his mouth followed by a scolding.

Soon after the church service ended, she and her father entered the grocery shop to buy some necessities. Reaching up on her tiptoes for the bright green apple on the top shelf, she cursed under her breath when she nearly toppled over. Thankfully, a strong hand wrapped around her waist, steadying her against a hard chest.

“Careful there, miss,” said a hoarse voice from behind, and as quickly as the hand had wrapped around her, it was retrieved from her body with the same speed.

Her nostrils filled with the strong scent of tobacco, sweat, and gunpowder, and she tried her utmost not to pass out. Her head spun. She turned around cautiously, and her gaze was met by a pair of icy blue eyes. Eyes that looked down at her with such severity it sent a cold shiver down her spine.

“Sorry, mister,” she blurted out.

The warmth blooming in her cheeks was undeniable, and she was more than sure it hadn’t gone unnoticed by him, either. He tipped his hat with a swift motion of his hand and strolled out the door, leaving no room for small talk.

Her hand came to rest on her chest, against her heart, and she swore she could feel it skip a beat. Her mind swarmed with the memory of his scent, the way his arm felt around her waist, and the way his eyes looked at her. She could see herself in them—her reflection, so small and trembling. The unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach almost angered her, and what made it worse was knowing she was bound to dream about this nameless man.

The loud voice of her father brought her out of her haze, and she released a breath she didn’t know she was holding. The slap of her father’s hand on the counter with a billfold made her jolt in surprise, and the next thing she knew, she was being dragged away from the building by her wrist.

After that incident, she’d seen him around town, mostly alone but sometimes accompanied by a group of men. Her eyes always lingered on him longer than they should have, and his attention was quickly drawn to her after a few curious looks thrown his way. No words were exchanged in the following weeks, but she could feel the unspoken questions and sentences hanging in the air.

The gentle brush of his body against hers whenever he walked by, his eyes gliding over her body, made her desperate to see him again. And she didn’t even try to conceal it. She wanted him to know how badly she was drawn to him, attracted to him, almost as if by some unnatural force. Magnetic.

She found herself visiting the town more often than she used to, despite her dislike of the people and the stench it carried. At first, she stuck to Sundays, but then it escalated to Mondays as well. Tuesdays, occasionally. Then it was Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. She always found an excuse to visit the town, whether it was to run errands or to pray in the church, and she was disappointed when her eyes didn’t catch his gaze. Her father thought highly of her. If only he knew that his precious sweet daughter was secretly in love with the very man he had warned her about.

Eventually, one of their encounters led to them exchanging names. She learned his name was Arthur. From then on, their coincidental meetings consisted of greetings and a few exchanged words in between. And only the two of them knew the hidden lust behind those words. Their own secret.

Several weeks later, she met him again. This time, under slightly different circumstances.

She was in the same grocery store again when a shootout broke out. Screams, blood, gunshots. The glass windows shattered quickly under the sharp bullets, and she ducked beneath the ledge, grabbing the cross around her neck with a tight grip. Even amidst the loud chaos outside, she could still hear that familiar voice—the nameless man. He was yelling something inaudible. She peeked through the damaged window and saw him with a revolver in his hand, running down the street hastily, the law tailing him.

“Hey, over here!” She waved her hand out the window to grab his attention.

He pointed his gun at her at first, but quickly realized who she was and made his way over to the shop. She grabbed him by the wrist and, in a split second, dragged him to the back of the store. She slammed the door behind them and pressed her ear against the hard wood, the sound of her heartbeat impossible to ignore in his presence. The room was dark and narrow for the two of them, which made his body press involuntarily against her back.

The voices outside were muffled but distant, and she released a breath. Straightening up, she spun around and was met with his hard stare. His gun was holstered, but his fingers hovered inches above the weapon in case of an emergency. His chest moved slowly, and she gulped.

“The owner of the shop fled as soon as the gunfire began,” she explained, her voice barely above a whisper.

A beat of silence passed before he cleared his throat and relaxed slightly.

“Could’ve got yourself killed,” he growled, and she froze.

“I’m sorry, I thought—”

“Ya don’t got a clue, woman.”

His stare was hard, and she averted her eyes, hoping the room was dark enough to hide her embarrassment. She could feel his body shift against hers, and what she assumed was his hand brushed across her hip as he reached for the doorknob. With a twist of his wrist, the door opened, and he peeked outside, his chest pressed against her shoulder. She breathed in slowly, her eyes closing on their own.

After making sure the coast was clear, he cracked the door wide open and stepped outside, with her following. The aftermath of the shootout was indescribable. Shards of glass everywhere, splatters of blood, bullets scattered around the room, footprints. The cans, the apples and carrots, the bread rolls. Her eyes glided around the room in shock, the glass cracking under her feet. She felt something damp on her clothes and gasped when she saw the dark red liquid on her fingers. Her eyes scanned herself, and she quickly realized the blood wasn’t hers.

“You’re bleeding,” she gasped and hurried over to him by the counter.

"Am not," came his short response.

She yanked at his wrist and spun him around so he was now facing her. Her eyes gave him a quick scan and landed on the dark stain forming on his blue shirt. The fabric clung to his body, dripping with blood.

"Don't move," she ordered.

She paced around the counter and ducked down to rummage through the cupboards. It didn’t take her long to find a bottle of whiskey, a needle, and thread.

"Take off your shirt."

"Seriously?" He looked at her in disbelief, and she cocked an eyebrow in return.

With a scoff under his breath, he began untucking and unbuttoning his shirt. She whipped her head to the side to avoid the sight, but her cheeks bloomed with blush at the flash of his skin she managed to catch a glimpse of.

"Ya know, for a woman this small, ya sure got a sharp tongue," he mused as he finished, the blue fabric now resting on his shoulders.

She ignored his comment, ripping a piece of fabric from her skirt and dampening it with the beverage in her hand. Brushing the dried blood around the wound, she pressed a palm to his stomach to keep him still. His muscles tensed under her touch.

"Not from a bullet," she whispered to herself.

She then poured the alcohol on the needle and began sewing the wound on the side of his stomach. Regardless of how painful it must have been for him, he didn’t let out a sound. That made her wonder whether he was real or made of solid rock.

As soon as she was done with her work, she poured the whiskey on the wound and pressed the piece of cloth against his skin. Her gaze gingerly wandered across his toned stomach, and before she could even realize, he began buttoning up his shirt again. She stepped back, watching him dress. The dried blood on her hands made her shiver in disgust, and she mentally cringed at the feeling.

A beat of silence passed, and she could feel the tension lingering in the thick air between them. She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by the sound of horses and male shouting. In a split second, she was pushed back against a wall, and a hand came to cover her mouth. His body was pressed against hers, and she watched him with fear in her eyes as the voices inched closer to them. The adrenaline coursed through her system, and she opened her mouth to bite the rough skin of his palm. He retrieved his hand with a wince, and she snuck a hand around his neck and brought him down for a kiss.

He didn’t resist, but neither did he surrender until a short while later. His mouth melted against her lips, and his body pressed into hers with more vigor. His hands rubbed the clothed skin above her hips, and her knees nearly buckled, her mind blank. Soon, the voices became more distant, and he pulled away from her, licking his lips. He watched her with lust-blown pupils, and she swore she could see herself in his eyes again.

A hand came to brush a strand of hair away from her face, and there was something unspoken lingering in the air between them that made her feel uneasy but excited at the same time. He observed her face for a moment longer before stepping back and pulling himself away from her completely. Without a word, he gave her a long, almost apologetic look, and with that, he walked away.

And there she was, months later in her room, looking out the window in the hope she’d spot him outside, leading his horse, holstering his gun, or speaking to someone. Months later, after their last encounter, she hadn’t had a clue whether it was all a dream or whether he was real. No knowledge of whether he was alive or dead. And that gnawed at her like a sickness, twisting her guts, her heart heavy. He was all she could think about. His lips, his eyes, his scent, his hair, his touch, his blood, his chest, his shirt, his face. The stain on her shirt, the sound of his heartbeat against her own ribcage, almost as if his heart was in her chest instead. His voice remained engraved in her brain, repeating the few words he had spoken to her. She heard those words nearly as many times as a prayer, if not more. And there was something about that that made her feel ashamed.

A girl of her likes, hopelessly daydreaming about a man when he should be far from her concerns, and all she should concern herself with was God and God only. And she tried. She truly did, but her heart swelled with the heavy weight of love, and there was nothing in this world that would make it vanish.

With a sigh, she shuffled back to bed, letting the covers drape over her waist, and she soon drifted to sleep. What jolted her awake hours later was the faint sound of spurs jingling up the stairs. She was more than sure that her father didn’t own a pair of those and quickly came to the realization that an intruder had invaded their house.

She ruffled the sheets around herself and lay as still as possible to appear as though she was sleeping, hoping the intruder was only there to rob their property. She listened carefully and heard footsteps down the hallway. The slow creaking of the door on the other side of the hall gave her a good idea of where the person was, but then she heard the door shut quietly, and the footsteps now inched closer to her bedroom door. Suddenly, the sound stilled, and there was a pause before the door to her room made a creaking sound and the person on the other side entered. She held her breath to not draw any unwanted attention and squeezed her eyes shut.

The silence that spread across the space made her wonder if the person had actually entered her room, and she dared to turn around in her bed with one eye cracked open. She was met with a dark silhouette, and within a split second, a hand came to rest over her mouth, the other one gripping her hands. She squirmed desperately against the firm grip but soon gave in and surrendered.

"Shhh," cooed a male voice. "Promise ya won’t scream."

He retrieved his hands, and she let out a breath, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness of the room. It didn’t take her long to realize who was sitting on her bed, and she gasped in surprise, covering her mouth to muffle the sound.

"Arthur?"

His heart skipped a beat at the sound of her voice, so meek whispering his name, her tone laced with relief. The tips of his fingers prickled, needles as if pushed into his skin, and the feeling of warmth spread inside his ribcage, swallowing his heart and encasing it in a strong grip.

"Couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout ya."

Her eyebrows knit together, confusion plastered on her face. "How did you find me?"

"Been watchin’ ya for a while now," he whispered, his eyes searching for hers in the dark.

"How come you never said anything?"

He remained silent, the sound of his own pulse and breathing echoing in his ears, and he internally cursed himself.

"It’s been months, Arthur," she cooed and scooted closer to him.

Her hand came to touch his arm, and when he didn’t flinch away, she put her hand on his shoulder, the bare skin of her thighs brushing against his hand propped up on the soft sheets of her bed.

"I know, and I’m sorry," he sighed, disappointment lacing his tone.

The soft thudding of the rain enveloped the two bodies in a soft embrace. Her hands reached up to his head and cupped his face, lips finding his in the safety of her dark room. His body tensed against hers momentarily but soon relaxed, and he let himself melt against her, all of his worries washing away with waves of never-ending foam. For the first time in years, he was able to admit he felt safe. Her embrace was all that mattered. Her voice, her sweet vanilla and lavender scent, her hair, the warmth of her gentle touch that spread across his skin, the rosy cheeks on her face, and her eyes that always looked at him, the two orbs pleading for something unmistakable, were what made him weak. And she was there to wrap her limbs around him, whisper sweet praises into his ear, and tell him everything would be fine.

His strong arms circled her waist, pulling her up against his body. She yelped in surprise but smiled against his lips, her fingers now threading through his hair at the back of his head. The hat on his head toppled over, and she brushed it off of his head with a simple motion, the piece of clothing falling to the hardwood beneath her bed.

"I missed you, Arthur," she mumbled against his lips, a soft whimper escaping her.

"I’m sorry," he breathed again.

His hands settled on the back of her thighs, pulling her on top of his lap, wrapping her limbs around his torso, and then gently setting her down on the bed. Her ankles locked behind his lower back, heels digging into his skin as the bottom of her nightgown rode up her thighs, exposing her already soaked bloomers to his clothed crotch. She mewled against his mouth when his calloused hands kneaded the flesh of her ass, and he didn’t waste a second before slipping his tongue past her lips into her mouth. His teeth then bit her bottom lip, the action making a moan escape her.

His mouth left her lips and kissed along her jawline, his kisses traveling down her neck to her collarbone, leaving a wet trail in their wake. She arched her back off the bed, his palms now gliding to the front of her stomach, raising the thin white fabric of her nightgown up her body. His fingers hooked over the waistband of her bloomers, and he stilled, detaching his lips from her skin and lifting his head to observe her face.

“It’s okay,” she nodded and flashed him a gentle smile, eyes meeting his.

Pressing a tender kiss to the middle of her chest, Arthur dragged her bloomers down with her help, as she raised her hips. The fabric was tossed to the ground, his hand slowly skimming over her thigh up to her core. She squirmed beneath his frame, hands clawing at his chest, nearly ripping his shirt off. With a quick motion, reaching behind his neck, he dragged the shirt over his head and tossed it to the ground, his chest now bare and exposed to her curious sight.

The view made a blush creep up her cheeks, thousands of needles piercing through her skin and burning her flesh. Moments later, he returned to her figure, fingers ghosting over her sensitive skin. She sighed, her vision blank and her rational thinking clouded by nothing but pure wantonness. The hand that was inching closer to her core made her clench around nothing, and she panicked, blinking rapidly and steadying herself against Arthur’s chest. That made him pause.

“Arthur, wait,” she whispered, unable to look him in the eye as he observed her with worry lacing his features. “I’ve never done this before.”

She could hear his breathing pause. Then he cleared his throat, seemingly taken aback by her sudden confession. He’d lie if he said it didn’t turn him on. The idea of someone like him — an outlaw, a criminal, a bad man — ruining someone like her — so sweet, pure, and innocent — sparked a flame in the pit of his stomach and made his cock harden.

Her chest rumbled with a silent sob, and Arthur’s hand immediately came up to cup her face, soothing her.

“It’s alright,” he cooed into her ear, thumbs rubbing her cheeks. “Ya still wanna do this?”

She nodded in his grasp, and he let out a puff of hot air. He pulled her into a gentle kiss, their lips locking as his hands traced down her curves until they reached her hips. “I wanna do this right.”

Arthur looked down at her, their lips now separated, and she nodded hastily. Her legs spread around his torso, baring her cunt to him, and he sighed. His practiced hands glided down her stomach, caressing her tender flesh until she felt his finger swipe across her folds, her breath catching in her throat. Oh.

To say she had never felt anything like this before would be an understatement. His fingers felt so different—thicker than hers and working with more precision. He eyed her reaction, a small smile tugging at his lips, and he silently thanked the Lord above that the room was dark enough to hide his smirk.

She released a shaky breath when his thumb pressed on her clit, circling that bundle of nerves slowly. Her hands came to rest atop his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as if to prolong the little stimulation he was providing. Another swipe of his digit, and he slid his finger between her folds.

Time became irrelevant. Nothing could compare to the feeling of him shielding her body from the keen eye of the Lord above in the sky, watchful. The feeling of his hand, gently rocking into her with every thrust of his finger, working her open for him. She mewled and pawed at his chest, the only thing resonating in her ears being the timbre of his voice.

“Good girl,” he drawled into her ear.

Her lips sought out his, their mouths locking in a hungry kiss as he swallowed the moans escaping her throat. Praises, whispers, sighs, and groans — it all bled into her skin like ink, ruining her. Yet it all felt so incredibly good. But then the guilt, punched deep in her gut, enveloped her chest — doing something sinful, filthy, forbidden. She couldn’t blame Eve for eating that apple.

Her brain could barely form coherent sentences, let alone think, when his hand pulled away from her core and grasped her hip to pull her up against him. Her bare cunt brushed against his clothed erection, and she hissed in surprise at the impact. His nimble fingers busied themselves with unbuttoning his pants, freeing his length from the tightness of his work pants. Arthur then pressed their hips together, the underside of his cock rubbing against the hooded bundle of nerves slotted between her legs, and she gasped.

Coating himself in her moisture, Arthur spat into his palm, gripping himself at hand and giving his cock a few firm strokes. His length, blood-darkened and with precum weeping from the tip, slid down her slit, her inner thighs slick with her wetness too. His eyes searched for hers, seeking any type of discomfort scattered across her features but finding none. He leaned down, looming over her, and pressed a gentle peck to her temple.

“Relax, I’m gonna enter you now, okay?” he spoke, leaning his forehead against hers and craning his head down to watch the head of his cock catch at the rim of her cunt. “Ya tell me if it hurts.”

“Ar-Arthur,” she stuttered at the sudden stretch.

With a gentle rock of his hips, he slowly worked himself inside of her. Slowly, inch by inch. And with every barely audible sound she made, he dotted her forehead with soft pecks. The pressure in her stomach suddenly snapped, and she moaned in pain, her walls constricting around him and her nails digging into his skin.

“It’s alright, I’m here,” he soothed, his thumb rubbing gentle patterns above her hip.

The world, as if, stopped for a second. She craned her neck and watched him slowly disappear inside her. The sight of him slotted between her legs was beyond sinful; she’d have to make sure to pray extra hard for God to forgive her. The line of his muscles on his stomach tensed, his biceps flexing underneath her touch, the strands of hair glued to his forehead and framing his beautiful face. She gawked at him with lust-blown pupils and had to try her utmost best not to melt under his gaze.

Moments passed, and he began to gently rock his hips back and forth, all the while whispering sweet praises of how good she was taking him. Arthur lowered himself closer to her, his face now pressed to the crook of her neck, his warm breath fanning over the pale, thin skin. She felt safe beneath him, his tall figure covering her whole, and her walls swallowed him to the hilt at the thought of being significantly smaller than him.

He rolled his hips into her firmly, delivering a gentle thrust into her core, and her breath got stuck in her throat, eyes slowly tearing up at the apprehensive feeling. Arthur’s hard chest brushed against her sensitive nipples, and she lulled her head back, letting it rest against the pillow beneath her head. He groaned into her neck, puckering the skin above her collarbone with his lips as if to enhance his thrusting.

Her vision suddenly blurred, and she arched her back off the mattress, her pussy clenching down on him with a wail escaping her mouth. The coil in the pit of her stomach turned upside down and then, without warning, snapped. Her hands clawed at his shoulders, the feeling of his cock sheathed inside her fully bringing her a sense of something she couldn’t possibly describe.

“Good girl, there ya go,” he crooned.

He raised his head from her neck, lips catching hers to swallow her moans, and with his thrusts quickly faltering, he pulled out of her completely, stroking his cock with his hand before he released his spend over her bare stomach, a groan filling her mouth.

The room suddenly fell calm, not silent, as the sound of their rapid breathing coming down resonated across the space. He collapsed on top of her, the spend on her stomach smearing across his own, but that was the last thing on his mind at that moment. Arthur’s hand lifted to her face, cupping her cheek and bringing her in for a gentle kiss before he rolled to the side and exhaled deeply.

[readingcoco]

Painted Red 🖤

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader (f)

Words: 3444 words

Ao3 Link

Summary: When a new sandy-haired Deputy Sheriff arrives in town, you can't figure out why he gives you and the other Working Girls so little attention. It becomes your mission to figure him out and hopefully make some money along the way.

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, eventual smut, sex work, period typical attitudes, strangers to lovers, medium honor Arthur Morgan, angst, mutual pining, Deputy Callahan.

Thanks to @rivetingrosie4, @redwritr & @shootybangbang for all your help on this story and for being dreamy angels.

Chapter One - The Deputy

[chapter 2]

“Guess who’s downstairs!” a voice interrupts from behind your door. 

The autumn sun sits heavy in the sky, casting a warm pink haze that spills in through your bedroom window. You were supposed to start your shift an hour ago, but instead, you are here, sprawled out on your bed, hair undone, counting the money from the evening before. Muffled notes from the piano downstairs drift softly into your room. You inhale deeply on your cigarette, resenting all things that pull you away from these precious sleepy moments before you have to head downstairs. Make conversation. Smile. Perform.

Timekeeping has never been your strong suit, and you have lost count of the times Lulu had threatened to dock your tips for tardiness. These were empty threats, of course. You knew your position was secure - Even if Lulu liked to kick up a fuss in front of the other girls. 

Brow furrowed, you take another drag from your cigarette. $15. $75 total from the week so far. Money hadn’t been flowing as freely as it had done seasons past. The drought had hit everyone hard, and you knew, sure enough, if the boys were feeling it in the tobacco fields, it wouldn’t be long till you were feeling it in the cat house, too. Seemed everyone was praying for rain. Still, Saturday meant full pay packets and men eager to let loose after the working week - something you were more than happy to help them with.

“Who!?” you call out, just as Minnie peeps her head around your door.

“Christ! You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge ass backwards! Lulu’s been askin' after you?” 

You hum in response, dragging a comb through the bird's nest atop your head sweeping it up into a loose bun. “Who's got you all giddy? Surely not some John?”

“That new Deputy’s back!”

You roll your eyes. “How big’s the pot now?”

“$5. $5.25, if you still fancy your chances”, Minnie smirks, perching herself at the foot of your bed, watching as you put the last of your face on. “but Ida says she’s out. She don’t wanna waste more time on a Trick who don’t want tricking.” 

“Tricks always want to be tricked,” you say, rooting through the collection of bills and coins laid out haphazardly across your bed, handing Minnie 25¢, which she slips into her coin purse.

Men were mostly the same. Sure, some might pretend to be respectable in the streets with their wives or taking their mothers to church on a Sunday, but you’d had every colour and creed between your legs. This deputy would be no different, and you were going to relish claiming the prize pot for yourself. 

With a final drag of your cigarette, you smooth out your skirts and collect the pile of money on your bed, stashing it in your linen drawer - making a mental note to deposit it in the parlour safe before the night was out. Keeping that much money in your room is foolish, and if you were more sensible, you would deposit your tips between each John. But then you’d miss out on watching the pile grow. Evidence of your labour, your time, your craft. It wasn't like you worried you wouldn’t get it back as soon as requested - Lulu’d always been good about things like that, but to hand it over before you’d even had the chance to feel the paper fully in your palm seemed like it would make it less real somehow. 

You turn to Minnie-

“You ready?”

“Girl, I’ve been waiting on you!”

“Let’s give that deputy the night of his life.”

-

Although the sun is yet to set in the sky, the house is already live with music and laughter, the mezzanine balcony providing the perfect vantage point to assess what the evening might have in store. There are men fresh from the fields playing Faro, Lemoyne Raiders several whiskeys deep, a few of the younger, more boisterous Grays and the creepy gunsmith, Mister Feeney. Not amazing pickings, but not dire either. Then you spot him, sitting quietly on the table closest to the door, hat pulled low, scribbling something furiously into some book. An odd sight, all considered. You weren’t sure most of the men in this town could read, let alone write. 

Minnie squeezes your arm before descending the spiralled staircase, the Deputy firmly in her sights. You lean back to watch as she glides effortlessly across the room—a vision in teal silk taffeta. 

As you settle onto your hip, the fine hairs on your neck abruptly stand to attention as the air pressure changes behind you. 

“So kind of you to grace us with your presence.” Lulu’s voice drips thick with syrupy disdain. Smile remaining tight. Never in front of the guests.

“Punctuality is a virtue of the bored, Miss Lulu.” You smile sweetly. 

She’s not impressed.

“Just get to work. Make Some Money.” 

As you look back down to the floor below, a dispirited Minnie is walking away from the Deputy, his nose still firmly in his book. You bristle slightly. Did this man think himself better than the women who worked here? Sure, he was paying for drinks, but a man could drink at home if he was looking for solitude. In a parlour house, it was polite, proper even, to tip the girls, whether you require our services or not. And if the deputy didn’t know this etiquette, you were more than happy to educate him. Prize pot be damned.

It was your turn to make the night’s debut down the curve of the parlour’s stairs, something that on an ordinary night, you liked to draw out for as long as possible. Feel the eyes of each man gaze up at your form like they were watching a goddess descending from heaven, blessing them with your time. True power. But tonight, it takes everything in you not to stomp down the last few steps onto the floor. 

That cad still isn’t paying you a lick of attention. 

“Deputy.” Your voice comes out curter than you intend as you reach him. You hope Lulu isn’t close enough to overhear. 

“Maybe another time, Darlin” " the man responds without looking up. 

Make conversation.

“Deputy” You try again. “Are you aware of the price on your head?” 

The sound of pencil scratching comes to a halt as he turns to face you. To your surprise, you notice that he was drawing rather than writing as he snaps the leather-bound book shut—the sound startling your gaze upwards to meet his own. And for the first time, you take in the scale of the man. Built like an Ox with broad shoulders and a barrel chest, upon which the words ‘Deputy Sheriff’ shine out from his silver badge. From this proximity, he looks unlike any lawman you’ve seen. 

He watches you intently as though trying to predict your next move - eyes a piercing shade of azure blue, locked dangerously onto your own. You have his full attention, but now you’re unsure if you want it. 

“Excuse me?”

You swallow and try to make your next words lighter in tone.

Smile.

“Nearly five and a half dollars, in fact.” 

His shoulders loosen ever so slightly. Eyes still on you but less predacious, perhaps even the suggestion of a smirk beginning to form at the corner of his mouth. 

“Five and a half dollars? That’s some bounty. What I do, rob a bank?”

“Worse,” 

He rubs his jaw.

“Oh?” 

“You got five whores questioning our faculties. There’s a sweep on which lucky lady’s gonna be the first to get you upstairs, but so far, no one’s got as far as your name.”  

A low rasp of a laugh passes the Deputy’s lips, and you feel a sense of relief as the danger in the air dissipates. Bluntness- this man responds to bluntness. And you wonder if you can hold his attention long enough to work your magic.

Perform.

“There are normally two reasons a man mightn’t want to lay with a girl like me…” 

You pause for effect, starting to have fun now.

“He’s broke. Though that don’t stop most from pushin’ their luck. Or they’re queer.” 

The Deputy straightens and clears his throat. There is something delightful about making a man like this squirm, and you can’t help but sense that he may be enjoying it too. 

“So which is it, Deputy?” 

You give him your most innocent of smiles. Hand finding purchase upon the swell of his shoulder, knowing full well that its removal could signal the latter of your accusations. You are being cruel now.

There is a moment of hesitation before the man can find the words to respond. Your unassuming smile not giving him an inch of wiggle room. Thumb beginning to make slow circles atop his shirt.

“I-It’s just not really my thing. Payin' for it, I mean. Not that I can’t, or - or-”  

“Oh? There’s some third thing I ain’t privy to? A sweetheart somewhere you’re keeping true for?”

“Not really, no.” 

A hint of regret in his voice.

“Then why deny yourself a bit of company?”

You notice the tips of his ears turn pink and leave his lack of an answer to hang in the air for a moment before taking pity-

“Don’t worry, I’m just teasin’, but you ought to know it’s customary to buy a girl a drink, even if you ain’t planning on laying with her. We all have to make a living, Deputy, and this is my house.” 

And you're not sure if it’s out of a sense of gratitude at you relenting your line of questioning or because he has started to enjoy the warmth from your hand on his shoulder, but that’s when he motions for the barkeeper to bring two drinks over to the table. 

Your eyes dart over to Minnie, who is sat between two Grays. She throws you an encouraging wink, and you become keenly aware of the four other sets of eyes watching too. This is the furthest any of you has got with this man, and a wave of responsibility washes over you. You are going to earn that $5.25 plus the additional $5 when he fucks you. You feel foolish for ever doubting your ability in the first place. A man is a man, is a man.

“Ethel White”, you hold out your hand “but call me Ettie.” 

“Arthur Callahan.” 

Arthur.

He nods to the chair across from him as he removes the leather book from the table and puts it away in his satchel. You pull out the chair next to him instead, purposefully pinning him between you and the wall. 

“Christ woman, you ain’t coy, are you?” he laughs, removing his hat, revealing a sandy crop of hair. 

Without his hat, you are better able to take in the details of his face: the strong brow, the crook of a nose broken one too many times, a smattering of sunspots across his crown. Quite handsome, you think to yourself, a welcome change from the interchangeable looks of the Grays or Braithwaites who make up the bulk of your clientele. 

“Not at all,” you smirk. “Besides, I want to take a look at what you were scribbling away at in that book. Must be awfully interesting to hold your attention so well.” You glance down at the journal now peeking out the top of his satchel. “Is that watercolour paper?”

“Huh?” 

“Watercolour paper, you know, to stop the paint seeping through and spoiling the rest of the pages? I saw you were drawing and-” 

He looks at you then, and you can see a slight flicker of shame cross his face momentarily. The feeling of someone pointing out the unfamiliar to a previously known thing, changing it somehow, making it less your own. You feel guilty. Watching him squirm was fun, but you never intended to make him feel foolish. 

“I don’t paint. It’s for sketching mostly, keepin' track of the people and places I’ve been.” 

“You do a lot of travelling, Deputy?” 

“A bit.” 

That instinct again, that there is more to this man than meets the eye. The lawman artist a walking contradiction.

“What do you paint then?” 

His question catches you off guard. Men like to be asked about themselves. They rarely ever show interest in you. A prick of heat flushes across your cheeks, and you hope the rouge of false abashment covers its authentic companion. It’s you who is in control here - not him, goddammit. But his face is filled with genuine curiosity, like he wouldn’t have asked if he wasn’t interested, and that’s what puzzles you further. 

“Um, landscapes mostly, but I prefer painting people.” The words spill out before a filter of allurement or double entendre can be applied. “It’s just difficult to get people to sit for any length of time. Though I’ve painted all the girls here at some point or another.”

“Where’d ya learn?”

And that is a question too far. 

You’d been gifted a great many things over the years, some thoughtful, most not, and learned the hard way how easily something given could be taken away. You’re art though, no one could take that. You wondered sometimes if that had been an oversight when you’d been promised lessons. The techniques acquired the only remaining thing worth a damn apart from your horse. Leftovers from another life.

“Don’t change the subject, Deputy. Are you going to show me your sketches or not?” Before you can stop yourself, you are leaning over him to grab at his satchel, totally aware that the danger this man displayed to you only moments earlier still lies just below the surface. With lightning-quick reflexes, he grabs the wrist of your right hand, firm in his warning. Do not push me, girl. But you have never been one to know when to stop. Your eyes are locked onto him as your breath comes in quick and heavy to your chest; You notice his start to slow. He’s read you like a book. Left hand spearing from under the table to meet your secondary attack, pinning it against his thigh. 

You look down at your fingers splayed out under the weight of his own. Knuckles scarred and calloused from a lifetime of work not typically required by law enforcement. The warmth from his thigh radiates beneath your palm, and it takes everything in you not to edge your fingers closer to the source of his heat. 

He meets you with an expression you struggle to place. Not anger - though you couldn’t blame him if it was. Amusement maybe?

“Think careful about your next move now, Miss. I wouldn't want to have to arrest you for larceny.”

You give him your widest of smiles and look carefully over your shoulder behind you. And as though suddenly clocking the inference of your shared position, Arthur lowers your right hand so it rests on the table rather than in the air. The grip still firm.

“If I let you go, will you behave?” 

“Will you show me your drawings?” 

“Woman-” But he doesn’t say no. 

“I’ll behave.” 

He looks at you, trying to figure out whether he trusts you.

“I promise.”

Gaze still set, he experiments loosening the grip on your wrist and then shadows the hand on his thigh - awaiting any sudden movements. You hold still. And for a moment, you see him grapple with himself as though he can’t quite believe what he is about to do. He releases you fully, and you take back your right hand, leaving your left firmly in place.  

“Now, if I show you, you gotta promise not to go grabbin'? There’s stuff a man should be able to keep private.” 

You nod.

He grins as he bucks his thigh, dislodging your rooted palm. 

“Hands behind your back.” 

With a playful huff you acquiesce, putting both arms behind you as though bound and look back at him coquettishly. And although he feigns disinterest at the way this new position pushes forward the peak of your chest, you catch his eyes dart across them, guilty in their haste. 

He removes the leather-bound journal from his satchel, smoothing open two pages carefully on the table. 

“Here. But that’s your lot.”

Spread across both pages is a beautifully rendered sketch of the parlour’s exterior, and you don’t know how to react. He stiffens slightly beside you. 

“Just a silly doodle,” he says, moving to close the book. Clearly reading your quietness for disappointment, disgust, something else?

“Wait-” 

To see the parlour captured in such effortless detail; The ornate carvings of the porch where you take your morning coffee, the Virginia Creeper that had to be cut back for fear it’d engulf the entire house, the hanging baskets of petunias that Lulu so lovingly tended to - feels exposing in a way you’d not expected. What other unnoticed minutiae had his perceptive eyes picked up on?

“It’s beautiful. You’ve captured it just right.” You half-whisper.

“Ain’t as good as a paintin’.”

“Different thing entirely, but if you can draw like this, I’m sure you’d make a fine painter.”

He gives you the smallest of smiles as you catch sight of Lulu’s permeating glare as she sweeps down the central staircase. You are on the clock. If he’s not biting, move on. And you remember you are not here to discuss painting or art unless it serves your more explicit purpose.

“See that top window at the back?” You make sure to graze his arm as you remove one hand from behind your back, bringing it slowly to the open page.

“That’s my bedroom.” 

“Oh?”

“Might you like to come up and see some of my work?”

You can see him contemplating the thought over in his mind, and you start to wonder if there really is some poor woman he is betrothed to… or perhaps your prior insinuation was correct, for you have never met a man so ill at ease at being in close proximity to a woman-

“Mister Callahan!” 

You are both pulled away from each other's gaze as you turn to face your intruder. Sheriff Gray. And you are up and on your feet in an instant. Eyes twinkling with faux excitement to welcome this invader of fun, spoiler of all things delightful and new. Arthur straightens to attention. 

“I see you’ve met Ettie. Ain’t she a peach? I hope she’s been treatin’ you with all the hospitality we here at Rhodes can offer.” As he slurs his words, it is clear he’s already halfway soaked and once again, you feel Lulu’s watchful eyes on the back of your neck. You have a responsibility to your house, and Sheriff Gray isn’t any regular John. To keep him placated is to keep the house protected, and it is your duty to ensure the Sheriff remains happy and drunk, coddled and empty. 

“Oh, stop it!” You coo in his ear, wrapping your arm up tightly in his. Voice layered thick with honey.

The shine on his breath hits like a train, bringing tears to your eyes that you mask by nuzzling your head to his shoulder. He sags heavy on your hip, oblivious. 

“You didn’t tell me you’d hired such a handsome new Deputy-'' 

Arthur shifts in his seat, and you wonder what detail of your performance his observant eyes have picked up on. 

“You keepin’ secrets from me, Sheriff? Or do you just want me all to yourself?” 

“I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t.” Sheriff Gray hiccups and turns to face Arthur. “Do you mind if I accompany the lady upstairs?” 

Arthur stands, towering over the Sheriff by quite some measure and places his hat back atop his head. 

“Course not. You both enjoy your evening. I’ve to be headin' back anyway.”

For a second, your eyes meet Arthur’s, but his expression is impenetrable. The Sheriff speaks again.

“Safe travels, Deputy. Rhodes is honoured to have such honest men like you and Mr Mackintosh about. Your work rootin’ out that shine is already being felt around the county.”

Arthur nods. The effects of the shine are certainly being felt.

He hiccups again. “Don’t be a stranger, now.” 

“Don’t be a stranger.” You repeat, all traces of the sickly sweet affect gone from your voice. You yip as the Sheriff swats your backside, but you keep your head high, eyes still held on this curious lawman artist. 

Don’t be a stranger.

“Miss.” Deputy Callahan touches the brim of his hat as you lead Sheriff Gray upstairs to your room.

[reyesfics]

I posted this yesterday but didn’t realised I fucked up Javier’s skin tone until someone pointed out to me that he is white. I feel so embarrassed because its not my first time drawing him. But I was so frustrated with his body posture and I wanted to post faster so I didn’t checked if i got the shades right or not(no reference photo). I even posted on tiktok and I deleted that thing. 😐

Anyway, in truth, this looks better than what I did yesterday 🙂‍↔️

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

// Intertwined, sewn together - Not a lot, just forever //

(some random drawings put together of my OC Polly and Arthur. I'm just going to draw them until I finally have the time to properly write Red Adagio -the long fic about their story!)

(also it still feels a bit weird posting OC stuff. I always feel like nobody is going to give sh*t lmao, but I have fun drawing them. Will definitely post more content when I'll have some time off again!)

[honeyzephyr]

i bring the type of oc x canon vibe to the function that the gang really doesn’t like

(vers. w/o bg below the cut)

[sapphic-outlaw]

Asshole. lmao

[radawayghoul]

I will likely no longer be tagging this as x reader as I’ve gotten a few people inboxing me asking me not to. So if you’d like to be tagged let me know :)

Taming The Wolf | A.M.

Introduction

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x OC (Adeline Curtis)

Warnings: explicit content, 18+, MINORS DNI, canon typical violence, smoking, drinking, age gap relationship

Adeline Nora Curtis was 18 years old when she crossed paths with Arthur for the first time. Back then, she was just a girl with a dream of being a dancer.

Now, she's a hardened 23 year old outlaw, running with the Van Der Linde gang. Arthur had saved her the night of her families death, can she keep him from facing the same fate?

Hello dear readers! This is a new story I'm working on! I tagged the x reader tag because Adeline won't be described outside of age and height! It's just easier for me to write with a name in mind. Anywho, this story will loosely follow the events of the game off and on! The first chapter will likely take place in Horseshoe Overlook :)

[jennyartkim]

[nataliabdraws]

Summer love ☀️