#red dead redemption 2 drabbles

[ruewrote]

𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒'𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑎𝑑𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒.

PAIRING: arthur morgan x gn!reader WARNINGS: ill parenting, age gap GENRE: angst? / fluff SONG INSPIRATION: my parents lied by the static jacks WORD COUNT: 445

navigation | ask | red dead redemption masterlist

you were brought up rich, you knew it. everybody else did too.

from a young age your mother spoke a lot about teaching you how to act like a proper lady, starting by dressing you in the most extravagant dresses paired with the fluffiest petticoats, corsets that sucked in your waist a little too tight for your liking.

soon after you were sent off to an all girls boarding school outside of saint denis, to learn how to curtsey, how to cook and clean properly for your future husband and a bunch of other stuff that felt unnecessary. if you had it your way you’d spend your days by living in trousers and would be doing a ‘mans’ job.

you were now twenty-two and still single, but if your mother had any matter in the say, you’d already be married with at least three children by now. you never did understand the need to be wed, the stories you’d heard from others and even with your own parent’s relationship. why would you want that?

so when you met arthur at your fathers garden party, it felt like everything changed, changed for the better. the next day you’d make up some excuse about studying with a close friend who lived nearby and your parents thought nothing of it, but they didn't know that you were actually sitting on arthur’s horse with his arm wrapped securely around your waist, holding you close to him.

that every little white lie that you’d told them had only gotten bigger, everyday doing something exciting with him. whether that’d be cuddling in a tall field of flowers in lemoyne or him sneaking a bottle of whiskey or two from the store as you used the best acting that you had learned in drama class to distract the shopkeeper.

when he’d protectively push you behind him the first time you went to camp when dutch saw you as a threat, when he’d decked micah when he tried to grab you inappropriately. arthur’s bruised hands took a hold of your face, as he made sure that you were okay, eyes full of concern.

it felt freeing to finally be free. not having to worry about the nagging of everyone. that never lasted long as you always had to return home, begging arthur if you could stay with him. 

some nights he obliged secretly, loving the feeling of you pressed against his front, knowing that in his arms right now that you were safe with him and you knew the risk of this, of being with him and you still trusted his word, that was enough for him to fall asleep peacefully at night.

comments and reblogs are appreciated ♡

© ruewrote 2024.

[roamingtigress]

"I shocked my Friday date when I arrived at his camp; he brandished a knife, but when he learned who I was, he served me some fresh stew and told me all there was to know about Evelyn Miller.

I admittedly dozed off, but he was cuddling with me by the bonfire when I woke up. He made up nonsense about hearing some wolves; he wanted to protect me, but I knew better. This Dutch fellow has spent too much time on his own. But he's' charming, even if he doesn't shut up. I think we'll go on another date."

[thesweetestapplepie]

a quick NSFW thought abt Arthur Morgan…

I have this idea that Arthur Morgan eats pussy like a starved man. We all know that man is devoted to the act of giving. Specifically to those he adores, loves. And god knows he loves you, loves you more than the clouds meets the skies. I can imagine him coming back to camp with fresh prey bleeding on his back, warm and heavy. His back is sore, knees aching and grime caked on his skin thick and dark. And yet, the way Arthur Morgan chooses to unwind and set himself at ease is between the sweet slice of heaven between your thighs. His favorite girl, he had been thinking all day about the sweet, heady taste of your cunt. He indulges in the ache of his cock rubbing against his pants, strained at the button to be touched and nursed of its cum. He indulges in how painfully hard his dick gets when you lower yourself on his face, and he reaps the sweet fruits of his labors and long days of work by dining on the sweet music of your pussy. He would rut his hips in the air, searching for friction almost instinctively to the sounds of your moans. He groans with every lick and suck of his lips, ever so indulging in the image of you riding his mouth with your eyes closed shut and body writhing with pleasure. The rough skin of his palms grinds you down into his mouth, his nose coming to budge against your clit almost sinfully to the way you began to arch your back and sing his name at the top of your lungs. He takes it as initiative to continue, tongue delving into your velvet slit to get that thick taste of you to fill his mouth. When his tongue comes back to pulse under your neglected clit, he relishes in the way you lewdly mewled. He carefully studies the way he flicks his tongue, the way you get louder and looser. He feels warmth pool in his belly when strings of praise fall from your lips and he remembers exactly why he basks in the taste in the first place. In his head, he knows how much you’ll complain about his ego and pride. But he can’t help the fact that only he can get you so close to that edge and ride it so hard down its finish line. That was Arthur’s favorite way to ease himself down after a long days work. Arthur wanted to leave you craving more. He enters every intimate moment of sweet sticky nectar and heated kisses with the intention to leave you wanting his tongue over and over again until you could only repeat his name. He pleasures himself to the thought of you missing his friction, his heat when he’s away for so long, leaving you needy. He doesn’t need to cum either, the taste enough to get him off on an entirely different level. Yes, Arthur Morgan is definitely a giver. No doubt in anyone’s mind about that.

[gam3r-girli3]

Quitting the gang ain't something Arthur Morgan ever considered in his life.

Not when he asked Mary Gillis to marry him and then she called off their engagement because of her family's blatant disapproval of his lifestyle.

Not when a one night stand with a waitress called Eliza led to the birth of his son Isaac, and not even when they met a tragic end after being robbed and shot.

Nothin' means more to Arthur than loyalty, and loyalty to the gang is all he's ever known.

And then he meets you.

Something about you starts to open his eyes; he begins noticing things he didn't before, like the way Dutch demands everyone chip in and do what it takes to provide for the camp whilst loitering around and doing nothing himself. The way Dutch insists he has a 'grand plan' and they'll all be alright but he never seems to deliver on his ideas.

Suddenly the promises Dutch swears to Arthur and the praises he sings for him ain't nothing more than a way to manipulate him, to use him. He was nothin' more than a pawn to Dutch, a way to keep his own hands clean while he sent his executioner to go do his dirty work.

The more he fell for you, the more he realised it, and he knew in his heart that he had to get out.

What was it that old blind beggar had said to him on the side of the road when Arthur had stopped and given him money?

"Your whole life you've been following the wrong star."

Well, maybe it was about time to follow a new star: you.

i love the blind man interactions but it's so sad to think about how arthur had his future predicted for him but he never believed the blind man or really understood what he was talking about whilst we as players did (especially on the second+ playthrough 😭)

[ pics in collage do not belong to me - all were found on pinterest ]

[heartsickspider]

forget-me-not: knight!arthur morgan x princess!reader

a/n: this is so self-indulgent lol, but i'm a sucker for the knight x princess forbidden love trope. inspired by this absolutely breathtaking art by @phantomnotghost. tags: angst, forbidden love, tragic romance, medieval au

in medieval times, forget-me-not flowers symbolized remembrance, loyalty, and faithful love despite separation. ✿

he knelt before your lifeless form, hands trembling beneath his metal gauntlets despite his stoic expression. arthur had vowed to protect you; that was his duty, his life’s purpose. and he failed.

for the first time, the weight of his armor felt crushing as he regarded your now pierced flesh with a reverent gaze, rivers of blood pooling from your lacerated figure into the soft earth below. the jewels from your crown lay strewn and shattered, a sickening reminder of the end of all that arthur once knew.

he reached out a tentative hand before pulling back. it felt cruel to touch you with such harsh metal, as if the mere act would somehow wound you more. but he was forbidden from ever feeling you with his bare hands. a knight was never to share something so intimate with the princess; he was to be just a distant shield.

except, he wasn’t just that. foolishly, arthur was helplessly yours. utterly and completely. 

soft droplets of rain began to fall as the sky seemed to share in his grief. he was watching them pepper your paling skin when a delicate, sky-blue petal tucked in the pocket of your gown caught his eye: a forget-me-not.

his throat tightened. of course you’d carried one with you. you always did.

they were a secret language of longing and devotion between the two of you. arthur would pick the dainty buds from sunlit fields and leave them hidden between the pages of your books. in turn, you would have them be planted all over the kingdom. once, in a bold act of defiance, you ordered for an entire garden to be planted right outside of his living quarters. there had been whisperings about it in court, and he thought you had gone completely mad, but you didn’t care. you needed him to know that your heart was his and his alone.

he took a shaky breath and, following in your bravery, removed a single gauntlet. with bare, calloused fingers, he gently placed the forget-me-not behind your ear. his love for you was deep-rooted, just like the flowers you had sewn for him. he would never forget, he could never forget, the tender bloom of romance with each lingering look and exchange of soft petals.

[hihomeghere]

My eyes only | Arthur Morgan / Reader

Word count : 500+ (just a little guy) Summary : Arthur thinks you look like a work of art Warnings/tags : Fluff, allusions to smut, nakedness, Arthur being in love, set in Shady Bell.

“You look like one of them paintings.” Arthur said lying next to you. Supporting himself on his arm as he sat up, his blanket hanging low on his hips. The sight offers you the slightest peek at the low v of his pelvis. His arm unconsciously flexed, the muscles of his bicep pulled tight.

“What do you mean?” You chuckled, rolling over to face him. Heat poured off your skin, your hair sticking to the back of your neck as you come down from your high. The only thing covering your nakedness was a flimsy sheet, pulled lazily over your body by Arthur.

“You know, those portraits.” He said, a wicked grin on his face, “The ones that French feller made in Saint Denis.”

“Arthur!” You laughed, hitting him on the chest, a satisfying slap echoing through the room.

“What?” He laughed, deep and heartily. His shoulder shook as he grinned.

“You’re awful.” You said, shaking your head, trying to hide your smile.

“You’re laughin’.”

“Am not!” You chuckled looking up at the rotted ceiling. He rolled over, wrapping his hand around your bare waist. Digging his fingers into the soft skin of your side, you squirmed laughing under him. “Stop! Stop!” You cried, your cheeks hurting from how hard you were smiling. The setting sun peeking through the window, illuminating Arthur’s backside like a halo. Although he was anything but an angel at the moment. “I’m gonna pee!” You laughed, your hands planted on his chest as you tried to shove the ox of a man off of you.

“Alright, alright.” He relented, collapsing on top of you. You let out a loud ‘omph’ as he pushed all the air out of your lungs. You rolled your eyes, your fingers drawing mindless patterns along his freckled back.

He picked up his head, smirking up at you. “I’m serious, ya know?” He said softly, his finger trailing down your cheek. The hands of a killer, hands that have beaten and broken the strongest of men. Now lay featherlight touches along your face. “You’re beautiful.” He said, a soft blush covering his cheeks, the scars on his nose and chin a stark white against his skin.

If anyone looked like a work of art it would be Arthur. His body seemed to be carved out of marble, strong and hard. His muscles rippled under his flesh. And those eyes, bright blue pools you often found yourself drowning in.

“I think I should be saying that to you.” You whisper, smiling up at him. He shakes his head, a grin pulling at his lips.

“Nah, ain’t much to look at here ‘cept for you.” He mumbled, laying a kiss on your shoulder. You’d have to disagree, but your words die on your tongue as his lips lay a trail over your collarbone and up your neck.

“Maybe I should ask Mr. Châtenay to paint my likeness, hm?” You tease. His hand, no longer laying dormant next to your body, squeezes your hip.

“Not a chance in hell darlin’.” He said grinning wickedly at you. His other hand that had been moving along your cheek gripped the back of your neck. “You’re for my eyes only.”

[stottlemorgan]

if u feel sad abt arthur think abt him drinking a hot chocolate and the foam clinging to his mustache and making him look silly 💔💔

Oh my Lord oh my Lord thank you for this beautiful little image I'm crYING I had to write a blurb

"Arthur, you-"

Your words are swallowed up by a bubbling giggle, a hand coming to your mouth. Arthur's eyes narrow, and as if to torture your tickled heart, his lips purse. The thick glittering cream coating his moustache slowly starts to soak into the hair, giving it a milky hue. He was thoroughly enjoying the hot chocolate you'd made for the camp but now his nerves, his dislike of being seen, have his demeanour cooling much like the drink in his hands.

"What? What're y'gigglin' at?"

"It's just-" Your hand comes to wave near your face, a trying gesture, but he remains befuddled, "You got-" A playful squeak tightens in your throat and you carefully cradle your own mug, making sure not to spill anything. Arthur glances down to your mug, and then to his,

"What- d'you put somethin' in this?"

"No-! No, no, you- you just got- You got some-" A little humming chuckle forms in your chest.

Arthur rolls his eyes and takes another hearty slurp of the warm, sweet drink, smacking his lips a little yet still failing to notice the thick cream gracing his top lip.

"If you ain't gonna answer me, at least quit lookin' at me like that."

This causes your giggling to soften into gentle breaths, your playful expression faltering slightly with confusion.

"Like what?"

He doesn't answer for a moment, opting instead to shift in his cross-legged position in the dirt next to you. He gives you a quick once over, taking in the way you clumsily cradle your mug, the flush of your neck and face from laughing, your eyes dancing with mirth. A gentle sweetness blooms in his lungs, soft vines snaking up through his throat causing blood to rush to his face. He ducks his head, his hat leaving you with just the view of his mouth. His voice quietens, yet holds a slight frustration,

"Like there's somethin' you ain't tellin' me, somethin' stupid-"

"Hey-!" You snap, light and grinning, "I been tryna tell you. You got cream on your damn face."

Arthur's eyes cross as he dumbly tries to look at his own mouth. You bark out a laugh so suddenly that he jerks and almost spills his drink.

"It ain't that funny-" He murmurs distractedly, frowning. Before he can recover or tend to it himself, you've put your mug down and crawled close to him, reaching towards his face. Before he can pull away, your hand graces his jaw, and your thumb smushes into the cream at his top lip.

Arthur's grip on his mug approaches vice-like, his shoulders solid with a surprised tension. You smile at him, your gaze dropping to his mouth, before drawing your hand back and wiping it on your clothes. You sit back on your feet with a little huff. Arthur's brow is raised, his eyes staring at nothing in particular. He blinks, his face burning, and he finds himself wanting to ask you if you're sure you've gotten it all. Yet, all he can muster is an awkward grunt, too wrapped up in the way some of his moustache has stuck a little to his skin, the way he can smell your soap.

"Thank you."

Thank you for the inspiration, I've been feeling so crappy about my writing lately and this was so much fun <3

[ak319]

★ Oh Scandalous, Scandalous Men

I Reader is Arthur's sis, just playful bantering I

You and Sadie are perched on a log by the campfire, legs crossed, the sun is setting, casting a golden glow over the camp, and most of the men are milling about doing their own things.

Perfect timing.

Y/N: (gasping theatrically, nudging Sadie’s arm as you point across the camp) "Oh no, Ms. Adler! Would you just look at Marston over there?"

Sadie: "Haw, tsk, tsk, tsk. Showin’ his ankles like some common hussy. Where’s his decency?"

John: (looking up from fixing a wheel, hearing his name) "What?"

Y/N: (shaking your head, sighing in utter disappointment) "Ankles, John. Both of ‘em. Just out in the open like that. Ain’t proper."

John: "My ankles?! What are you--dammit, I ain’t got time for this nonsense! You both jus' always yappin' shit-" (returns to work, ignoring)

Sadie: (clicking her tongue, turning to you) "Guess Abigail lets him run around like that. Poor woman. She must be so embarrassed. Imagine (Y/N), father of her child, acting out like that in the open. No manners or soft spokenness in that one , I tell ya'. Don't know how she tolerates all that."

(Y/N): "Yeah, she really needs to keep him in line. Tells ya why he still is a spinster, though."

Sadie: "Men these days... no modesty or delicacy left in ‘em."

Arthur: (walking by with a cup of coffee, pausing as he catches the tail end of your conversation) "What the hell are you two squawkin’ about now?"

Y/N: "Speak of the devil. You’d better watch yourself too, brother. That shirt of yours is showing a lot of skin. You seriously can't be ruining my name now."

Sadie: (snickering) "Yeah, Morgan. Cover up, will ya? Gotta keep it respectable ‘round here."

Arthur: (deadpan, raising an eyebrow as he sips his coffee) "Y’all lost your damn minds, haven’t ya?"

Y/N: "Excuse us, but we’re simply concerned citizens. The least you could do is take our advice if you want to survive in this society as a man. Stop shaming our family's name, please."

Sadie: "Mhm. Wouldn’t want ya temptin’ anyone. Y’know, like poor Karen over there. She’s got delicate...sensibilities."

Karen: (from a distance) "I’m drunk, not delicate, Sadie!"

Arthur: (chuckles as he turns to leave, muttering under his breath) "I reckon I’ll take my chances with the wolves. They’re quieter than the pair of you."

Y/N: (calling after him) "Arthur! Don’t walk away when we’re talkin’ modesty! That’s how rumours get started."

Sadie: (choking on laughter, wiping her eyes as she leans back) "Lord, we should do this daily!."

Y/N: (doubling over) "Yeah, and they deserve it. Someone’s gotta keep ‘em in check."

AN: had this in drafts for so long😭

taglist: @shackspossum @nayykura @whalecage

[feinv]

hey cuties!! missed u so so much and i wanna know ur thoughts on low honor and high honor arthur,, like what's the difference??

high honor arthur vs low honor arthur.

cw. nsfw under cut. female reader.

well, it’s not a surprise that high honor arthur dedicates his days trying to do good in his world. he is self-conscious about himself, no matter how many times he gets called a good man, he always brushes those comments off. frankly, he thinks he is damned and will never be forgiven for his sins. he doesn’t believe he deserves anything nice. and he especially doesn’t believe he deserves you.

but you are with him, so he has no other choice but to be a better man for you, one you truly deserve. this man is so whipped, and after his failed love life he is eager to make it work. he is not exactly experienced in relationships, is awkward from times to times, doesn’t know when is the right time to hold your hand, to kiss you, to get intimate with you.

how soon is too soon? he just doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so he would rather constantly ask you and look like a virgin who never felt a touch of a woman than to ruin the special connection you two have :(

he is extremely sweet to you, treats you like a literal princess and makes you feel like you are living in a fairy tale. i wrote here a long time ago how he always takes care of you when you are on your period and here how he treats you in general! ultimately, he is going to settle down with you in a small house you two will call a home. he will do all the hard work but also help you with house chores as well. as much as he doesn’t trust himself after what happened with eliza and isaac, he still wants a family with you.

it’s a whole other story with low honor arthur.

he knows he isn’t a good man, and he isn’t trying to be. he knows he is damned and a sinner, and he also knows that all he wants is to corrupt you in every sense and ruin you for anyone else.

i wrote here and here about how low honor arthur treats you in general. he is still nice to you, his smiled reserved only for you, but with his sweet words, his rough actions always follow behind. you best believe his first answer to anything is violence. he tries not to be an asshole to others in front of you, but to be honest he always fails.

i picture low honor arthur to be more traditional in regards to gender roles. he is more of a feminist than other cowboys in his time can ever be, but in his mind it’s only right if he does the dirty job of haunting, killing, cutting wood and so on, while you take care of the house you two share.

high honor arthur always takes his time with you during sex. he refuses to lay you down on anything other than his mattress, an actual bed, or a soft grass. always relaxes your entire mind and body before he makes sweet love to you. this man is a switch and he prefers to submit to you just as much as he likes taking control.

low honor arthur just takes you on every surface he can get. trust this man to consider slowing down only when you are about to pass out from euphoria. there is no stopping if he starts. he is dominant. always. in every situation.

high honor arthur’s love is sweet, gentle and caring, while low honor’s is just rough, brutal and corruptive.

this is what me thinks.

# arthur morgan masterlist. | main mlist. | join the taglist.

[messrmoonyy]

Keeping warm in colter ( drabble )

Inspired by this post by @noxspluto because I saw it and immediately had to get this little like 500 ish word vomit out

Also. Here’s my masterlist if you’re so inclined

“ the hell you doin out here? Back inside it’s freezin” Arthur used as a greeting, grumbling but with no real malice in his words, as you appeared by his side at the campfire. You were used to his grumpy tone, but he always had a soft spot for you.

“ makin’ sure you ain’t froze to death “ you said softly, rubbing at your arms as you joined him by the fire. It was Arthur’s turn on watch and he’d been out there a good couple of hours now “ and I can’t listen to Abigail and John argue for a second longer “ you sighed. At least in their old camps you could get away from their squabbles. But with everyone all squished into one cabin it was impossible now.

You’d rather take the cold outside with Arthur. You pulled your thick shawl tighter around yourself and held your hands out to the flames, you’d only been out there a few minutes and already you felt like ice. And he’d been out there hours. So you’d suck it up.

“ c’mere “ he grumbled and unbuttoned his coat, a gentle hand on your arm tugging you into the welcoming warmth of the thick material. You wrapped your arms around his middle and rested your head to his chest, a soft sigh leaving your chapped lips. He wrapped the coat tightly around you, his arms following suit and holding you close. He was like a walking oven, his body heat seeping through the thick wool of your shawl and chasing the chill away. “ better?”

“ mhm. Thank you sugar “ you sighed and let yourself relax a little more in his hold, taking in his familiar scent. The comforting feel of his sturdy body in your embrace. Always strong for you. Always a rock when things got rough “ we’re gonna be alright. Ain’t we Arthur?” You asked softly after a few moments. The last few days had been hellish. You’d liked Blackwater. You’d liked the camp. The town. And it wasn’t covered in inches of snow which really made it a favorite at the current moment.

“ course we are. Dutch has a plan “ Dutch always had a plan. But you don’t want to get into that conversation right now. So you simply nodded and let out another shaky exhale, a puff of fog as you did “ and y’know I always keep you safe darlin’ I won’t let nothin’ bad happen to ya. Ever “

He did. Always. You’d been the first person he grabbed at the Blackwater camp after everything went crazy, not letting you out of his sight for a second like he was scared you’d get left behind somehow. He’d never allow that. He’d move heaven and earth to keep you safe. Set the dark world ablaze to keep you warm. Nothing would ever get in the way of Arthur keeping you safe.

“ I know “ you tipped your head to look up at him with a soft smile and he leant down pressing a kiss to your forehead. Your turned away as he did with a small laugh

“ what’s got you giggling’ now?”

“ you got lips like damn ice Arthur!” He chuckled at that and simply did it again, pressing his cold chapped lips against your forehead.

“ oh I do? I do?” He asked as he held you tightly and kept pressing his frozen lips to your forehead, your nose, your cheek. Wherever he could reach as you giggled and squirmed in his embrace

“ Arthur!” Your cheeks ached from smiling for the first time since leaving Blackwater, and Arthur’s chuckles alone were enough to ease your worries. Because as long you had him maybe everything would be okay.

[girl-celestial]

Good to Me

ARTHUR MORGAN X FEMALE READER, semi-public. mdni

THE cool metal of his gun pressed against your upper thigh as he nudged your legs apart with one knee. His hands were already working hastily, bunching the fabric of your dress around your waist. Your back hit the rough exterior of the bar—though Arthur had the decency to bring you around to the shadowed side of the building, away from prying eyes. He peppered kisses carelessly along your neck, then lifted one of your legs so it hooked around his hip. The coarse denim of his jeans ground softly against your linen drawers, the friction making you ache.

Desperate for more of you, his calloused fingers fumbled with the lacing of your corset, distracted and clumsy against the delicate silk.

“Goddamn miracle you can do this all by yourself every day,” he muttered with a frustrated chuckle, his warm breath brushing your neck.

You slipped your hands between you, loosening the corset just enough for him to tug it down. Your breasts spilled over the rigid edge, flushed and full. He pressed one palm against the wall behind your head for balance as he leaned in, grinding his aching length against your wet center. He groaned low in his throat, beard rough against your throat, and rocked again—this time slower, deeper, enough to send your breath hitching. You could feel it in the way his brow knit that he needed this just as much as you did.

“Lord, woman, keep on like that and I’ll have spent myself,” he said with a crooked smile, glancing down at your body beneath him.

“Please, Arthur,” you breathed, and something in him snapped at the sound of your soft plea.

The innocence in your voice, the sinful curve of your breasts still exposed—he couldn’t hold back. With a swift motion, he turned you around, pressing your front against the cool wall. Your nipples grazed the brick as you braced your arms in front of you. He hiked your skirts up again and slipped your drawers down in one fluid motion. The moonlight caught the wetness between your thighs, and he gazed for a breath, greedy and reverent.

“Such a good girl,” he drawled.

You heard the buckle of his belt come loose. One rough hand cupped your hip as he guided himself to your entrance. He pushed in slowly at first, letting you feel every inch, then seated himself fully with a single, sure thrust. He stayed there for a moment, savoring the way your body wrapped around him, before finding his rhythm. Each slow, deep thrust rocked you forward against the wall. His hand rose to your chest, fingers catching on the curve of your exposed bosom as his pace grew more fervent.

“Quit runnin’ from me now,” he growled, hips clapping obscenely against your backside as he pulled you back into him.

“Look at you,” he said, voice thick with hunger. “Takin’ me like this where anyone could see.”

It was almost too much until one calloused finger found your swollen bud, rubbing fast, tight circles until your body trembled. Your legs gave a soft shake, and Arthur gripped your hips tighter, holding you steady as he drove into you without mercy.

“So perfect,” he panted. “So good to me.”

You glanced back just as he came, watching his face twist with pleasure. He dropped his head, his hat shadowing his eyes, his grip firm and grounding as he spilled inside you.

You stayed like that a moment, bodies pressed close, breath mingling in the cool night. Then, with surprising gentleness, his hands steadied you, tucking you into his chest. He straightened the dress he’d so thoroughly disheveled and gave you a lazy, satisfied smile.

“So good to me,” he said again, softer this time.

[the-karma-cafe]

Good Girl | Arthur Morgan

“You look sweet all messy like this,” he murmured, his eyes roaming over you. His hand trailed up to bump against your hip, thumb smoothing over the fabric there.

“Thank you.”

The corner of his mouth tugged upwards. “You’re welcome, darlin’,” he purred, his palm gently pushing around you, pressing you closer. His other tucked under your chin, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. His eyes followed the movement. “Got the prettiest little mouth…” he whispered, his voice smooth.

Heat crept up your cheeks. “Thank you.” You repeated, softer this time, your lips parted. His thumb grazed against your top lip, and you watched his face contort the slightest bit, as if in agony just watching. 

He pressed, slipping the digit past your lips, lightly tracing it over your tongue. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

You gently closed your lips around his thumb, softly sucking at it.

He drew in a shaky breath. “Jesus,” he tilted his head, meeting your eyes. You swirled your tongue against the pad experimentally, and he let out a desperate kind of sigh. “Such a good girl for me, ain’t you, baby?”

[roamingtigress]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde Characters: Hosea Matthews Additional Tags: old men roleplaying, First Dates, First Impressions, vandermatthews, Hosea Matthews Lives, BAMF Hosea Matthews, Bonfires, POV Hosea Matthews, POV First Person, Camping, Campfires Summary:

A little drabble: Hosea and Dutch enjoy roleplaying first date scenarios with one another, and this one takes place under the stars and by the campfire.

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

I was wondering if you could do a little drabble where the reader breaks her leg in an accident and Arthur goes to help her by picking her up and taking her home. Please I want Arthur to hold the reader like a princess! 🥺💞

Here you go sweet anon! 🍑

Yes this was supposed to be a drabble but I got a little carried away as always and this ended up being a bit longer than expected. I hope you won't mind!! 🙏

˖✧To pick up a Peach

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Warnings/Tags: Description of a broken leg and physical pain, otherwise this is pure fluff. Arthur being the sweetest gentleman he is in high honor. ✦ Words: 2,4k ✦ a/n: I don't know why but I got carried away with this one and I ended up really loving it. I changed it just a little bit and made Arthur carry you to the doc, cause you know, he wouldn't let you go home without minimum care. He's like that. I made the reader some sort of farmer's daughter AU? Anyway, hope you'll still like it, Anon! Credits. Arthur's pic is mine. Other pics are from Pinterest. Little doodles made by me.

You were screwed.

That’s the thought that was stuck in your mind. Your horse, which the stableman had sworn to you was a gentle and peaceful creature, turned out to be a wild furious animal who was extremely nervous and appeared to have only one idea in mind: go back to where it belonged, the plains of the Heartlands.

You were simply on a ride to Valentine. You would often go there with your sisters on Mondays and Sundays to sell what your family had harvested in your native town, Emerald Ranch, setting up your little stand next to the butcher’s. Usually, these trips were pleasant and you had grown to like them, relieved to see something else than the gloomy and weird atmosphere that had settled in your village.

But your treacherous companion had decided, after an encounter with a snake somewhere near the Twin Stack Pass, that enough was enough. After rearing up as if his life depended on it, he took off at full speed, ejecting you with a crash to the ground, making the wicker basket containing all your precious products fly up in the air like a colorful firework of fruits and vegetables.

An ominous, muffled creak as your body lands.

Stunned, breathless, it took you a few seconds to regain your composure, long gone and galloping off with your horse.

Of course, that had to happen the only time you had decided to ride alone for once.

Your left leg, broken. The fruit of your labors and harvests, your perfect peaches, flawlessly ripe tomatoes and carrots, promising seeds, and beautiful flowers, scattered and smashed on the floor. Your dignity, gone. 

Lying back on the dirt, hair spread like a star around your head, surrounded by an indescribable substance made of crushed fruits and flower petals reduced to a mush, you looked like the religious figure of Bad Luck.

On top of that, being a lonely young woman, unarmed, and hurt in the open clearly wasn’t an ideal situation. Any man with bad intentions could easily do the worst thing to you in your state.

You tried to get back in a sitting position. Every movement was igniting the pain in your broken bone, deep inside your calf, spreading it through your entire body like a burning trail of powder. You let out a short pained grunt, followed by a curse. Slowly tugging your skirt up your knee, you took a worried look at your leg. 

It looked bad.

Painted with deep colored bruises kind of bad. 

The sight of it along with the incessant stabbing pain coming from it made your heart beat faster, and you did your best not to pass out from the nausea that was flying over your head. The panic of not feeling your toes anymore didn't helped at calming your heart rate.

There was no way you could walk back to any town in that state, or contact the rest of your family already waiting for you.

Yes, you were screwed. 

Tilting your head backward, you looked at the sky, in an attempt to prevent your threatening tears from falling, or to throw a desperate call to the Heavens, you didn’t really know it yourself. 

A muffled sound suddenly made its way to your ears. It looked like your involuntary prayer had been answered sooner than you would have expected.

It was the sound of hooves.

You snapped your head in the noise’s direction and noticed an approaching form on the road, raising a cloud of dust in its wake, coming towards you. Your only hope. You were praying, for real this time, that this upcoming stranger was a gentleman and not a bad man.

Praying, praying, praying.

Praying again as the man was at voice’s reach, and as you screamed and begged for help.

“M-Mister!” Your voice sounded even more pitiful than what you had planned, and a bit hoarse from the pain. Your ego protested, but screw it, he probably was your last chance. “Mister, please! I broke my leg! I can’t… I can’t…”

Apparently, shouting didn't seem to help the nausea. The more you were getting air out of your lungs by screaming the more your head was feeling dizzy.

Luckily for you, the lonely rider had heard your desperate breathless words and was heading towards you, stopping his horse in a skillful maneuver before dismounting, his two boots hitting the ground.

“What happen Ma’am, d’ya need some help?” He asked you, voice powerful and worried frown on his face.

“My horse got spooked by a damn snake and he ran away… Making me fall and I… I think my leg broke…” Your tone was pained and way weaker than his as you did your best to explain the situation, a single tear now streaming down your cheek.

The pain, the panic, the frustration from having a month’s worth of work destroyed in just mere seconds… You couldn’t hold it anymore.

Slowly approaching you, the man lowered himself in a crouching position to take a better look at you, and talk to you at the same eye level. His deep blue eyes studied your broken leg, surely not missing the disturbing, alarming color the bruises were taking, your skin an odd mix of purple and green now. It didn’t seem to disgust him though, his face stoic as he scanned your wound.

“Alright Miss jus’... Don’t move too much.” He advised you in a softer tone. You could see he was truly concerned about your state. “What’s with all this mess? You trynna make some soup or what?” He asked in a deep sarcastic tone, as if amused by his own words.

You drily chuckle, which revived the pain you were still feeling in your bone, making you cut your laugh and groan a bit, your own features contracting in a pained expression.

“It is… It was my crop… I was going to sell it in Valentine…” You explained once again, feeling shame and exasperation hitting you. You were feeling so angry from this waste, so angry at yourself to be the only one responsible for it, you couldn’t prevent more tears from falling, trying hard not to let yourself go into sobs.

“Ah, shit… I’m sorry for ya.” He exhaled, contemplating the scattered and mashed jelly-like matter composed of what was once your yield, pieces of peaches and broken carrots lying there, like on a battlefield. His gaze came back to yours, full of compassion and probably pity for your state, before continuing. “Don’t worry Miss. I’mma take you up to the Doc, in Valentine. ‘Was goin’ there anyway.”

You nodded in order to thank him, feeling so relieved life had put him on your way. 

“Okay, I’m gonna help ya get on ma horse. It’s gonna hurt a little but we have to.” He warned you, getting completely down on his knees by your side.

You didn’t dare to move from one inch. He slowly wrapped an arm under your shoulders, his hand grabbing your side. Even more carefully, his other one slipped under your legs, and he gently lifted you up bridal-style, as if you weighed nothing, a fallen leaf in a gentle breeze.

 As if he was carrying injured people all day every day.

Your broken member didn’t like it as much as you did though, and you hissed in pain from feeling your own weight pull on the wound as your leg was hanging in the air. He noticed, and spoke again while getting up, just as easily as if he wasn’t carrying an entire person in his arms right now.

“Gonna be okay Miss, hold on a lil’ longer.”

As if taking his words in a literal way, you encircled his waist with your arms and rested your head on his chest. His work shirt was used and dirty, rough against the skin of your cheek, but right now it just felt heavenly to you compared to the dusty rock of the floor. You sighed, feeling calmer and way better now.

If you had brought up your gaze, you could have seen how a slight blush was spreading on the tan skin of his cheeks the moment he felt you getting comfortable in his arms.

You heard him call for his horse with a short whistle and a sharp noise from his teeth. His mount obeyed right away, getting closer to both of you in a happy trot. You wish your horse could have been as gentle as this one. He looked like a really strong and powerful, but very sweet on the inside animal. A bit like its owner, now that you were thinking about it.

As carefully as if you were made of porcelain, the man in question let go of your legs, and you took support on your valid one. He then picked you up again, by your waist, and lifted you on the saddle, helping you to get settled and as comfortable as possible. His large hands were very soft on you, cautious, caring. You could feel how his touch was light and measured, calculated to make you feel the least pain possible.

“You take the saddle, else your leg would get too bumped during the ride.” He explained before hopping behind you, grabbing the reins by bringing his arms from both sides of you.

He was basically enveloping you, his large frame keeping you warm and steady. Against your shoulders, you could feel his biceps, and thanked the Lord once again this man had good intentions with you because there was no way you could have resisted this mountain of muscles.

The silence fell as your gentle savior spurred his horse into a slow pace, keeping him calm and cold-blooded. You mentally thank him for it, every movement from your leg, even the tiniest one, would ignite the flames of your pain again.

The ride to Valentine was a quiet, peaceful one, just like it was supposed to be from the start. Your eyes kept closing and opening as if you were on the verge of falling asleep, but still needed to be alert until you'd be safe and sound in town. 

You only had exchanged a few words with the man, your names, and where you lived. 

Arthur Morgan didn't look like the kind of man to have the longest conversations but his presence was reassuring nevertheless. His heavy breathing, his body around yours, the calmness of the plains… It was all making your pain less vivid and way more bearable.

Once in Valentine, Arthur rode straight to the Doctor, and got off first, tying his horse's reins around the fence.

“Here we are, Miss. Let's get ya checked up for good, shall we?” He said while standing right next to the saddle, opening his arms to pick you up again, a gentle smile on his face, as if telling you all your worries were behind you now.

If you thought this man was going to let you walk alone to the doc’s office and head off to his own business, you were damn wrong.

Even through your terrible state, a grin curled up your lips and mirrored his own expression. You let your tired and injured body sink into his solid one, and he carried you in his arms once again.

His scent ran through your nose as you breathed, traveling all the way down your veins to your lungs and everywhere in your body, enfolding you and your soul. It was a strong smell, not a delicate one like those gentlemen would carry with their cologne, but you liked it regardless. A mix of leather, sweat, tobacco, and this early dew scent, the one you can smell just before dawn, earthy and herbal, as if he had been sleeping under the stars for months. 

The smell of the outdoors. 

Arthur opened the door with one foot, and entered the Dr Calloway’s office with you in his arms, careful not to let your leg get knocked while walking through the door. The doctor took care of you right away, ordering Arthur to put you on the chair in the little room where patients were treated.

His muscled arms dropped you, his hands gentle and attentive, as slowly as if you were a newborn filly he could hurt or scare away by using too much force. There was such kindness, such gentleness and care in his gesture that it left you feeling all bubbly on the inside.

You kept on looking at him during all the time it took for Dr Calloway to treat you, waiting for him to just go, but he didn’t. He stayed, casually leaning his back against the wall to leave some space for the doctor, his eyes voyaging from your injury to your face, then away from you, as if he was feeling guilty about staring at you like this. It made you giggle.

You paid the doctor, thanked him goodbye, and before you could process it, here you were, freshly gifted with two crutches and a wooden splint around your injury in front of his door. Perfect. For a farmer family, a hurt worker was a curse.

“You gonna be okay now, Miss? D’ya need another ride home?”

Arthur’s deep voice dragged you out of your thoughts. This man was so special. He looked used, strong, and intimidating, but had been nothing but kind and delicate with you. Right now, his deep azure gaze was staring right at yours, making you feel even weaker in the knees than you already were.

“Oh, don’t worry, my family is already here. We have a wagon and all. Besides, you have done plenty for me, Mister Morgan.”

“Ah, don’t ya worry. 'Did what any man would have done seein’ a pretty lil’ lady like ya hurt on the ground.” He answered with a subtle grin.

Before you could realize it, his hand was reaching out for a strand of your hair, and his fingers brushed against it.

You froze, feeling a dark red settling on your cheeks, your eyes looking back at his in surprise and disbelief, searching for an explanation, even if your heart didn't want it. It wanted more of it, no questions asked.

“You hum… You still got some… pieces of peaches or somethin’ in your hair, Miss…” He explained himself, his voice a little less self-assured than before.

You blushed even more. You indeed must looked like a total mess after your accident, and mentally noted to go fix yourself as soon as possible.

“Oh, God I…” You started, feeling embarrassed and flustered, words mixing and blurring in your mind instead of lining up properly. You just sighed, closing your eyes, giggling a little. You then spoke again, keeping your tone as calm as you could. “Thanks again, Mister Morgan.”

“Please, jus’ call me Arthur.”

“Alright, Arthur. Thank you, for everything. I don’t know how I could thank you enough.”

“You know, maybe I could come someday, at your farm I mean, and buy some of your stuff. You could give me a rebate on those, unless everythin’ you sell actually looks like jam…” He added with a mischievous, low chuckle, gaze sparkling.

“Hey! My crops are perfect, Mister. I promise you won’t be disappointed.” You said back in an equally amused tone, a toothy smile completing the picture of your precious blushing face.

“I'm sure I won’t be, lil’ peach.” 

His voice had turned just as soft as his touch had been when carrying you; for Arthur, you really were starting to become his sugary, soft, and delicious favorite fruit.

[grey-coyote]

Alone - Charles Smith x f!Reader drabble

Summary: Finding alone time with Charles was hard, but the two of you made it work.

Warnings: Fluff, established relationship, reader is a member of the gang, reader is shorter than Charles, reader is a 'thats us' type of person, reader and Charles both strongly appreciate nature, hunting trip but the actual hunting part is not detailed, lots of wildlife, Micah Bell mentioned briefly, author just had to include Charles throwing Micah to the ground

Word Count: 715

A/N: I'm not sure if this counts as a drabble or if it's just a short oneshot but either way, here you go! I don't see many x reader fics for Charles but I love him too much to not write anything for him. Hope you enjoyyyy :))))

—————

It was a beautiful but humid day in Lemoyne. Birds were chirping, insects were buzzing, and alligators were basking along the riverbanks. You were more than delighted when Charles invited you out for a hunting trip.

The two of you hadn't been finding much time for yourselves lately. The gang started getting extremely busy, Dutch always finding something for Charles or you to do, allowing for little to none of your time to be spent together.

You tacked up your horse, patting her neck softly while Charles mounted Taima. You quickly threw a leg over your own mare and you both began your trip. You were heading to the plains of New Hanover to bring a bison back for camp.

As you rode side by side, you each told each other about your morning. Charles told you an amazing story about an awful conversation he had with Micah, which pleasantly resulted in Charles throwing Micah to the ground.

Soon, you arrived at the plains where the bison roamed. You and Charles brought your horses to a halt, watching the bison for a moment before continuing with the hunt.

The hunt was successful, the two of you would be returning with many resources for camp, but you were sure you'd still hear some type of complaint from someone.

It was mid-afternoon when you decided to stop, neither of you ready to go back to camp just yet. You trotted ahead and lead Charles over to a grove of trees. Dismounting your horses, you allowed them to graze together as you sat under the shade of a large oak tree. Charles sat on a log by the base of the tree and you sat on the ground in front of him, sighing as you leaned your head back against his thick leg. His large hand moved to gently run through your hair, fingers playing with it absentmindedly. You sat there in silence for a bit, just enjoying the company of one another, as you listened to the sounds of the horses pulling up small patches of grass and the birds chirping in the trees around you.

Your eyes were shut as you relaxed. You sighed, hands resting on the grass beneath you, your eyes only coming open when you felt Charles move behind you. He leaned down closer to your level as he raised his free arm to point at a rabbit that hopped out of the brush. "There. Do you see her?" His deep voice whispered next to your ear. The hand in your hair came to a halt but still delicately rested against your head. You nodded, smiling as you watched the rabbit sit and look around. "She's too cute." You whispered back to him and his eyes moved from the rabbit to you, watching the way you admired the animal. After a moment, the rabbit hopped back into the foliage. Charles leaned back and his hand resumed its movements, brushing through your locks once again.

You hummed as you closed your eyes, slowly opening them again just to see two small birds hopping on the ground in front of you. "Look, it's us." You giggled, head turning to look up at Charles. He looked over at the birds and chuckled, "Yeah, that is us." Charles could barely get his sentence out before one of the horses stomped her hoof against the ground, presumably to scare insects off of her leg, and scared the birds away.

"Oh." You stated plainly. Charles laughed, "Sorry, birds." You watched together as they flew away, taking it as a sign that you should head back to camp. The two of you sighed as you stood from your places, walking over to the horses and mounting them once more before you headed back to camp.

Riding alongside each other, you soon returned to camp and to your own separate duties. Before parting ways, Charles leaned down slightly and you planted a soft kiss to his cheek. You both pulled back and smiled, his eyes never leaving you as you turned and left to do whatever task you had been given.

You enjoyed the time that you spent with Charles, even if it was short, but he believed that he enjoyed the time that he spent with you even more.

—————

[gam3r-girli3]

Arthur worked so hard at looking after his ranch, tending to the horses and cleaning out the stalls, so you decided that this evening you'd pamper him.

It was a struggle to get him to agree to it, the man never liked to allow himself to rest, always feeling the need to be up and doing something, but once you'd wrestled him down, straddling him and forcing him to stay still, he caved.

He'd often watched you do your own skincare in the morning and at night before bed, finding the process almost hypnotic and satisfying, but he'd never spent that much time and effort on himself. Usually he would just splash some cold water on his face and call it a day. But as you worked, he began to feel himself slowly relaxing into it, melting under your attentive and loving hands.

He huffed when you slid a hairband on his head, pushing his hair back to make sure no stray strands got in the way before you got to work cleansing his face with some miscellar water, making sure to get into every crease and corner.

Then you apply a nose strip, waiting fifteen minutes before ripping it off, holding back a laugh as Arthur hisses and let's out a string of curses, glaring at you accusingly.

"Don't you want your pores to be clear?"

"I'd also like my skin to stay on my face."

You roll your eyes at his dramatics before applying a nice, cooling face mask that would hydrate his skin and help soothe the sting left behind from the nose strip.

After a few minutes, once the face mask had been taken off and you'd added a few finishing touches like toner and moisturiser, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his nose. "All done."

Arthur's eyes - which had drifted closed at some point - open, blinking as they adjusted to the lit room once more. He looked so at ease that it warmed your heart. He was always so busy, always doing something, and to observe him in such a relaxed state was a rare privilege you didn't often get to see.

His lips curled up as he gave you a sleepy smile. "Thanks, darlin'."

"Anytime, cowboy."

hope you enjoyed, anon! ty for requesting ♡

[ pics in collage do not belong to me - all were found on pinterest ]