#red dead redemption 2 oneshots

[ruewrote]

𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦.

PAIRING: arthur morgan x fem!reader WARNINGS: micah & dutch :|, no use of y/n GENRE: angst SONG INSPIRATION: so bad by brandon colbein WORD COUNT: 1.8k NOTE: been thinking about writing this for a long time

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you’d watched arthur morgan slowly unravel, day by day. it started with small things. the way he’d pause just a second longer before mounting his horse, how his coughs began to punctuate conversations, no longer hidden or stifled. 

you noticed the way he’d wince when he thought no one was looking, the way his hand would linger on his chest, a silent acknowledgment of the weight bearing down on him. others noticed too. you could see it in the way they glanced at him, a quick look of worry followed by an easy dismissal, as if it was just another one of life’s inconveniences.

but you couldn’t just brush it off. arthur’s pain lingered with you, a silent ache that settled in your chest every time you saw him push himself too hard, every time you saw him struggling and yet refusing to let anyone lend a hand. he’d never accept pity; you knew that better than anyone. 

so you found your own quiet ways to care for him, slipping in small gestures you knew he wouldn’t push away. freshly baked pastries left near his tent, a flask of warm tea, a blanket folded and placed by his bedroll on colder nights.

little things to make his days just the slightest bit easier. you didn’t ask him how he was, didn’t force him to acknowledge his own suffering, but you made sure he knew someone was there, watching out for him in ways he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, do for himself.

it broke your heart to see him like this, knowing there was nothing you could do to stop the disease eating away at him. you’d seen the light in his eyes dim, felt the inevitable march toward the end. and yet, even as he weakened, he kept doing right by others, pushing himself to help where he could, to be the man he’d always been.

it was as if he wanted to make up for every wrong, every dark corner of his past. his actions were quiet but relentless, like he was holding on to some last thread of purpose.

you’d give anything to change his fate, to make this illness disappear, but all you could do was be there, offering him small moments of comfort, easing his path in whatever way you could, even if he’d never know just how much it mattered to you.

one memory in particular stayed with you, etched deep in your heart. a quiet night around the campfire, the sounds of soft conversation humming through the still air. you’d been watching arthur from across the fire, his frame hunched with exhaustion, shadows heavy under his eyes. it seemed like each breath came a little harder, and there was a weariness in his face that he couldn’t quite hide.

after a moment, you crossed the space between you, reaching out to him without a word. he looked up, surprised, as your hand found his, firm but gentle. his gaze flickered between your face and your hand, unsure. you could feel the hesitation, the instinct to pull back, but you held on, giving his hand a small, encouraging squeeze.

he gave you a weary, questioning smile, but he didn’t resist as you slowly guided him across the campsite, leading him toward your cot.

when you reached it, you gestured for him to sit, but arthur hesitated, looking between you and the cot as if weighing his options. "you don’t have to fuss over me like this," he murmured, his voice barely more than a rasp, still carrying that stubborn pride.

but you could see the exhaustion in his eyes, how close he was to simply letting himself rest.

“arthur, just lay down,” you said, soft but insistent, a playful note in your voice as you looked him in the eye. his lips quirked into a small, reluctant smile, with a resigned sigh, he finally sat. easing himself down until his head rested in your lap.

you leaned back, your fingers instinctively reaching to run through his hair, the movements slow and gentle. you could feel the way his body slowly relaxed beneath your touch, surrendering to this rare moment of peace.

as you brushed your fingers through his hair, he let out a slow, shuddering breath, the last bit of tension leaving him. for once, he seemed to fully let go, his hand still loosely held in yours, the roughness of his palm warm against your skin.

neither of you said a word. the only sounds were the crackling of the fire nearby, the soft murmur of voices, and his breathing – a soft, crackling rasp that tugged at your heart. but he was here, safe, his body unwinding under your care, and that was all that mattered.

in the light of your lamp, his face softened, losing its usual hardness, the creases of worry and pain smoothing away as his eyes fluttered closed. you continued stroking his hair, your hand steady and sure, holding onto him with all the quiet affection he never asked for but deserved so deeply. 

watching him like this, vulnerable and at peace, you felt a deep warmth fill you, a gentle, aching tenderness. this man who carried so much, who never took a moment to rest, was finally allowing himself this one small reprieve, and you were grateful, so very grateful, to be here, to give him this, even if only for tonight.

as the fire crackled and the camp murmured around you, arthur’s hand in yours, his breathing finally easing, you held him close with a quiet love you wished he could feel forever.

you’d been at it for hours, scrubbing shirts and wringing out trousers, hands raw and red from the icy water. the laundry basin was set up near dutch’s tent, and normally, you liked the quiet solitude of the task. it gave you time to think, to unwind from the endless chaos that surrounded life with the gang. but tonight, the low murmurs drifting from dutch’s tent broke through the silence, the voices unmistakably those of dutch and micah.

at first, you tried to tune them out, focusing on scrubbing out a stubborn stain. but then arthur’s name came up, and you stilled, catching micah’s snide tone as he muttered something about “the old dog losing his bite.” you shifted slightly, just close enough to make out dutch’s quiet, frustrated sigh.

“arthur’s just… lost his edge,” dutch said, his voice laced with irritation, as if arthur’s decline was somehow an inconvenience rather than a tragedy. “he’s not the man he used to be. maybe it’s time he steps aside.”

you felt a pang of anger stir in your chest, but you tried to keep your head down, hoping it was just idle talk. arthur had done more for dutch and this gang than most of them put together. he deserved a hell of a lot more respect than this. but micah just laughed, his voice dripping with that familiar arrogance, a sneer you didn’t have to see to picture.

“yeah,” micah snickered, “seems like he’s got one foot in the grave and the other slippin’. might be best if he sat this one out. save him from breakin' what’s left of his pride.”

your hands tightened around the shirt you were wringing out, and you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing over. arthur sat nearby, close enough to hear every word. his face was turned away, but you caught the slight slump of his shoulders, the way his head dipped, a flash of something almost like hurt in his eyes. 

something inside you snapped.

dropping the shirt, you stood up, abandoning the laundry as you marched over, your footsteps firm and steady, every muscle tensed with anger. “that’s enough,” you said, your voice cutting through the night air, louder than you’d intended. 

the entire camp fell silent, eyes turning to you in surprise. dutch froze, his expression one of shock, while micah, of course, just looked amused, an infuriating smirk tugging at his mouth.

“oh, and what, you gonna fight his battles for him now?” micah taunted, his tone mocking as he leaned back, clearly enjoying the attention. “is that what arthur’s been reduced to? needing someone to defend his honour like he’s some poor damsel?”

you took a step closer, meeting micah’s smug gaze with a hard, unflinching stare. “no, micah,” you said, voice steady, laced with all the contempt you felt. “arthur doesn’t need anyone to fight his battles. he’s proven himself over and over, for years. he’s earned more respect than most of us here. especially you.”

micah’s smirk faltered, and for a moment, the only sound was the crackle of the fire. you turned to dutch, your eyes sharp, unyielding. “arthur’s been the backbone of this gang. he’s sacrificed more than you realise, and he’s been loyal to you through everything. so if he’s struggling now, maybe instead of tearing him down, you ought to show a little gratitude!”

micah huffed, rolling his eyes, but he was quieter now, his usual bravado dampened. dutch’s face was unreadable, shadows from the fire flickering across his features. arthur shifted uncomfortably nearby, clearly unsure how to react, but you caught his eye for a brief moment, a glimmer of gratitude in the depths of his tired gaze.

you turned back to micah, your voice low and steady. “and if you’ve got nothin' but cheap shots to throw at a man like him, maybe you should take a long look at the kind of man you are.” 

for the first time in a long time, micah had nothing to say.

a tense silence settled over the camp, all eyes on you as your words hung heavy in the air. micah glared, his mouth twisted in an ugly sneer, clearly about to throw out another insult to reclaim his pride. you took a step back, ready to walk away and let your words sink in, but something inside you stopped. 

a hard, fed up feeling had built up over the days and months, an anger you’d swallowed time and again while micah ran his mouth unchecked.

without another word, you turned back to him, clenched your fist, and swung. your knuckles connected solidly with his jaw, sending him sprawling backward, out of his seat and into the dirt.

the impact echoed through the night, and for a split second, the camp was deathly silent, everyone staring wide eyed as micah lay there, stunned, his hand reaching up to his jaw.

you shook out your hand, feeling the sting in your knuckles but satisfied, looking down at him with a steely gaze. “and that’s from me, you sad sack of shit.” you said, voice low but unyielding. micah struggled to sit up, too dazed to respond, and for once, there was no taunting sneer on his face, no quick comeback.

you turned on your heel, walking away without another glance, feeling the eyes of the entire camp on your back. 

as you left, you caught arthur’s gaze, his eyes shining with something between surprise and quiet admiration.

a faint, grateful smile tugging at his lips.

comments and reblogs are appreciated ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

© ruewrote 2024.

[hyper-fixates]

low honour!arthur morgan x virgin!reader

this is really just one long-winded fic idea that i need to speak into existence.

tags: literally save a horse ride a cowboy, afab!reader (feminine pronouns, descriptions, and names used), religious topics/imagery, obsessive!arthur, virginity kink, age gap relationship, loss of virginity, corruption kink

Reader is in her early 20s, privileged to come from a family with wealth from their heritage and inheritance in the oil industry.

The era of cowboys and outlaws has started to become a thing of the past from the shifts in climate and industry throughout the country. Reader has resided in Saint Denis her whole life, never needing to worry about gangs, outlaws, or even cowboys.

She has never even seen a cowboy before, but she’s heard stories; none of them particularly pretty. The presence of law enforcement throughout the streets and the sheer distance of Saint Denis from other towns is enough to deter most of them from causing trouble.

Functionally, she should never be compatible with a cowboy.

Her father has always preached about her waiting for a “good, proper man” that can marry her into another family with obscene wealth. And so, she protects her chastity and innocence just as she is expected to—just as her father expects her to.

Hell, she doesn’t even know how to ride a horse! Her father believes that riding horses is beneath them, so anywhere she wants to go is accommodated by a stagecoach.

Cut to: reader is accompanying her father on a trip to Annesburg to discuss potential investments in the mining industry. He hates leaving her alone. She knows he worries that she’ll get “up to no good”.

Her father has chosen one of their more comfortable, flashy stagecoaches for the longer ride, giving him more storage for his financial documents and whatnot. A perfect target for gangs.

And, inevitably, they get robbed.

The robbers’ faces are all concealed by hats and bandanas, and one of them ties her arms behind her back with careful hands before guiding her to her knees on the wet grass.

The man who tied her up stays close by her side, and she can see her father pleading for his life to another man who’s not listening.

“Are you a cowboy?” Are the first words she says to him, not a note of fear in her doll-like eyes that make her look so fuckable in this position with her on her knees next to him, dress billowing out around her form.

He looks down at her confused. “Uh, once, I suppose.” His voice is a little muffled by the black bandana hanging over his nose and mouth.

She can see that his hair is so long that it starts to curl up and out at the ends under his hat.

“Well, you got the hat. And the horse,” she reasons, wondering if she’s truly meeting a cowboy under circumstances she thought she’d never be in.

He looks to her again, left hand causally hooked in the leather of his belt as he waits for the rest of his gang to finish up. “I guess you’re right.” He tips his head to her in agreement.

“Leave them! These people are leeches. Let the wolves decide their fate.” A man with a deep, booming voice announces atop his white horse.

Now she starts to panic.

She pulls against the rope around her wrists, looking up to the man who tied her as he begins to walk toward his horse. “Wait! Mister, please! Please don’t. Please,” she yells to him.

He looks back to her, then his horse, then back to her again. “Hold on.” He signals to the man on the white horse before walking back over to her.

“Take me home. Please just take me home, mister. I won’t say nothing, I promise, but just take me home and I’ll give you anything you want,” she begs to him.

He sighs, but not out of annoyance or hesitation for her request. He sighs because he has no idea what she has just done to herself.

He places his bandana over her eyes and leads her to his horse. He unties her hands and lets her blindly climb into the saddle, legs shaking from unfamiliarity.

When she settles, she blindly grips onto the saddle horn for dear life, wishing her father let her ride at least once in her life so she wouldn’t appear so delicate in this situation. The man chuckles off to the side before mounting up behind her. She notices the saddle is not quite meant for two as he pushes in tightly against her ass, seemingly not even concerned about it.

This is probably the closest she’s ever been to a man.

“Where to, miss?” The man leans forward against her back to grab the reigns, caging her in with his arms.

She tells him in a quiet voice, and he kicks against his horse, setting them into motion.

When they arrive at her French two-story home on the outskirts of Saint Denis, the man dismounts swiftly, hand circling her wrist before saying, “Swing your right leg over and I’ll help you down.”

She slowly brings herself around, feeling the man lock his hands around her waist to guide her to the ground.

He tugs at the knot holding the bandana around her eyes, and she doesn’t let herself turn around until she feels he’s had enough time to tie it back around his face.

“Thank you, mister,” she whispers.

He tips his hat and leaves without another word.

In the following week, the man watches her after the sun sets. He watches her pray before bed and change into her silk nightgown, waiting for the night he can maybe finally see the more explicit side of her. But it never comes.

She’s perfect.

Eventually they cross paths again one day. The man purposefully chooses to ditch the bandana, too.

“I don’t think my daddy would appreciate me talking to someone like you,” she admits slyly as she continues her trek into Saint Denis.

The man follows beside her on his horse, left arm lazily hanging down by his side. “Someone like me? And who’s that?” he asks, a slight smile also on his lips.

“A cowboy. An outlaw,” she says, sneaking a glance up to him as his horse steps in time with her down the path.

“Well your daddy ain’t here.”

“No, mister.”

“Come for a ride then.”

And that’s how it’s starts for them. He introduces himself as they ride to his gangs camp, and she complains about how sore her legs are when they arrive.

“You don’t ride?” Arthur asks, intending for it to be a joke.

“That was my second time. Ever,” she laughs.

And that’s when he understands what type of lady he’s dealing with, so he goes for it.

“Maybe you should practice on me sometime,” he remarks, untacking his horse.

She wonders if she heard him right. “Uh, mister—”

“Arthur,” he corrects.

In that moment, she realizes he can teach her everything her father has kept from her, show her everything he had protected her from. Throw away the innocence and chastity and truly experience what life should be. But Arthur doesn’t know the entirety of her sheltered life. She needs someone like him.

“Arthur…I don’t think I’m what you’re looking for,” she admits. “I…I’ve never been with no one. Ever.”

“You’re untouched, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir. Just as my daddy said I should be. Until marriage.”

And Arthur makes it his mission to make her experience her own sexuality in its completeness, so he starts off slow.

He would always touch, never breaching her or letting her do anything to him. The focus was always on her.

Her virginity and pureness made him conflicted: he wanted to ruin her in all the ways she has never been, but he wants to tease and rile her up and watch her experience all the sexual frustrations for the first time.

It was cute. The more bold he got with his touches, the more bold she got in trying to take what she wanted. He would take her behind a tree and slowly lift up the dainty material of her summer dress, gathering it in his left hand as he used his right to rub her clit through her underwear while he licked and sucked along her neck, careful not to leave marks.

She would get weak so fast, Arthur could barely handle how virgin her body truly was. She would grip onto the leather straps of the rifles hanging down his back, trying to force his hand harder and faster.

However, the first time he made her cum was an accident.

He confidently placed a gentle kiss on her lips while they were alone in his tent—he just wanted to see how she would react.

She leaned in and returned it, snaking her hands around his neck and pulling him down to her. He pulled her into his lap, laying them down on his cot as they started making out like a long-distance high-school couple.

Arthur mindlessly starts grinding against her, ignoring the clothing separating them. She doesn’t realize what she’s feeling as Arthur’s hard cock slides against her clothed pussy.

Her orgasm just kind of happens.

Arthur watches her shake and twitch under him as he pulls away to see what happened. The wet spot on her underwear is all the evidence he needs.

Ever since, she’s been insatiable. She wants Arthur to show her everything. Teach her everything. She wants to feel everything if that means she can cum like that again.

Around the campfire she’d sit on his lap, tightly circling her hips against him until he’d grow hard before stopping. Then she’d do it again.

Arthur would mostly ignore her teasing. He didn’t want her to know how much she was driving him up the wall, so he’d retaliate in a way that was ten times worse then whatever she did just to prove a point about her innocence, how she knows so little compared to him.

The first time they fuck, he makes the horse riding joke again: “I’m sure this’ll be good practice for you, sweetheart.”

She huffs a laugh, rubbing his cock through her folds as she straddles him. He’s built up her confidence so much, it’s all been leading to this.

He’d guide her up and down, back and forth, testing her body to see what she likes. Seeing what spot makes her tremble.

He finds it. “Fuck, there it is,” Arthur groans.

She can’t even think. She doesn’t know what to think. She’s doing everything her father told her not to.

Premarital sex.

Premarital sex with a cowboy.

“Oh, Lord, forgive me,” she prays, her pussy sliding so perfectly along him as he grips her hips harder.

Eventually, he’d eat her out in her childhood bedroom. Her father sleeping in the room above her own, separated by the thin wood of the floor. She arches against the bed, and her eyes meet the iron cross hung above her bed frame.

She’d often ask him to leave the hat on, and he’d laugh, pleased that she is slowly adopting sexual preferences and interests.

She was his perfect, sophisticated woman that he was free to defile and poison with his desires.

[thatwriterchick222]

snakebite (arthur morgan x f/reader) oneshot

summary: you get bitten by a snake and arthur has to suck the venom out... what could go wrong?

----------------

“Shit…” You cursed under your breath, clutching at your thigh as you fought to push down the pain of the snake’s venom coursing through your veins. It was a deep bite, and you barely caught a glimpse of the thing before it slithered away. But the throbbing in your flesh was enough to know it was venomous.

Your horse had gotten spooked by the snake and bucked you off, fleeing for the treeline. The wind was knocked out of you as you hit the ground and unfortunately landed right on top of the reptile. Deciding it had had enough, it lunged and bit your thigh, rightfully so. Its fangs shot through the material of your skirt and bloomers, down into your muscle. 

Thankfully, Arthur wasn’t too far behind.

“What the hell?” He asked as he pulled his horse to a stop, seemingly confused by your horse running off and finding you lying on your back in the grass.

You were lightheaded. Nauseous. “A damn snake bit me.” In an effort to sit up, you pressed down harder on your bite, hoping to at least slow the venom as it seeped further into you.

What an embarrassing way to go. Especially in front of Arthur, of all people. 

“Christ.” He said, quickly stepping down from his horse. He made his way over to you as you managed to sit up against a tree, breaking out into a sweat. 

“I don’t feel too good.”

Arthur knelt down to your level, his eyes scanning yours with a sudden urgency that made your throat close up. “Don’t look too good ‘neither.” 

“Thanks.” You chuckled.

He reached forward and felt your forehead with the back of his hand, and your heart fluttered in your chest.

Even on your deathbed, you could not suppress your lasting crush on Arthur Morgan. Pathetic.

“Where’d it getcha?” He asked, looking down to where your hand clutched your leg. 

You lifted your hand, “My thigh.”

“Okay…” He thought for a quick moment, scooting closer to you. “Lift your skirt up.”

You froze, swallowing thickly with your dry mouth. “I- Alright.”

Trying to ignore his wording and the pit in your stomach, you did as he said, pulling your linen skirt up to expose the small patch of blood on your white bloomers. 

Without a word, Arthur grabbed the fabric, pulling at the holes where the small fangs had broken through, and ripped them wide, exposing the wound. 

“What are you doing?”

“Gettin’ the venom out.”

You blinked, feeling the warm pads of his fingers brush your skin. “How?”

His hand reached under your knee, pulling your leg up, and you nearly flinched. Not because you were scared, but because you didn’t want him to know how much you liked it. 

His eyes darted up to yours. “I gotta suck it out.”

You took a sharp breath in, adjusting your body awkwardly. “Oh.”

Then, as quickly as he had ripped your bloomers apart, he bent down, gripping your thigh tightly as he brought his mouth to your bite. 

And it stung like all hell. He created a suction and you felt as if you were being bitten all over again, a searing pain overcoming the area as you gasped. 

But there was still something very erotic about all of this. And you scolded yourself for thinking it. If someone were to pass by, they would see a cowboy with his head buried in your lap, and that brought a blush to your cheeks as he pulled away, turning to the side and spitting the venom out into the grass.

When he went back in, it hurt even worse, the numbness from your adrenaline wearing off. He sucked especially hard, and you grit your teeth, instinctively reaching forward and grabbing his arm. “Arthur–”

He pulled away again, spitting into the grass. When he turned back, he looked at you, his eyes strangely dark and his brow furrowed in concentration. Why was his face so close to yours? Maybe it was the venom. It had gotten to your head. Your skin was heating up, and your heart pounded hard in your ribcage. His hands were on your thigh, your fingers digging into the arm of his shirt, and you only stared back at him.

He broke the eye contact and went back down, this time only sucking lightly. You assumed he had gotten what he could out of your body. But your belly was warm and you felt the overwhelming urge to get closer to him, your body pulsing with pain and… arousal.

You pressed your lips together in pain, and when he sucked one last time, a whimper fell from your lips. But he didn’t suck anything out of you like he did before. His lips were on your skin and then they weren’t, and then they were back, landing higher up your thigh. Your hand loosened on his bicep and you didn’t know why, but you started rubbing him with your thumb. 

You couldn’t see his face under the brim of his hat, but you felt him move his mouth higher, his teeth grazing you and his beard scratching against your skin. It tickled. His fingers dug into your thigh, and you drew in a breath, a suspenseful silence overtaking you.

A sudden bravery took over your body. You scooted closer to him, and he moved even further up, his lips pressing lightly against your skin. Was he… kissing you?

You swallowed when his nose brushed your inner thigh. And then you spread your knees further apart.

Any pain you had was replaced with the burning ache for him to touch you. 

“Arthur.” You finally got the willpower to croak out his name, but you didn’t know what else to say. You said his name like a question, but also like a request. A demand. Like you wanted him to stop, but you also never wanted him to stop.

He halted anyway, lifting his lips from your skin, the coolness of the breeze on it telling you that you were wet with his saliva. He didn’t look up. He kept his face hidden by the brim of his hat. 

You could slice the tension in the air with your knife. But why would you want to? You had been waiting for a moment like this for the entire time you had known him.

He was always shy, and barely ever spoke about how he felt. You figured you would have to make some move or give him some hint… but now, at such an inopportune time… he seemed to want something from you too.

Were you drunk on adrenaline and snake venom? Probably. Was he taking advantage of you in a vulnerable state? Maybe. 

You lifted your leg, shuffling even closer. You couldn’t speak. And neither could he. But somehow there was this silent agreement that you both wanted something. You lifted your skirt higher, and he finally looked up at you.

He almost looked like a different man. His jaw was clenched, his pupils large and his eyes burning into yours like a wolf hunting its prey. There was a smudge of your blood on his bottom lip.

You nodded. Please don’t stop.

With just as much urgency as he had when trying to potentially save your life, he quickly reached for the waist of your bloomers and pulled them down. If it had been any other man in any other scenario, you would have hidden yourself in embarrassment and covered your eyes so you didn’t have to see him see you.

But it was Arthur. And he was quickly lifting your legs, pulling your hips up and closer to him, and burying his face in between them. He didn’t have time to take it slow, and you didn’t care, your insides pulsing and your face going hot. Your bloomers were still around your ankles, and his hat was still hiding his face as his breath was on your cunt. 

You lay back against the tree and he dove into you, his tongue exploring you aggressively, drinking you in with such passion you thought you might pass out. It suddenly occurred to you as you cried out that you were only meters away from the dirt road, barely hidden by the grass. Now, if someone passed by, it would look like you had a cowboy’s face in your lap because… you did.

Your hand flew to your mouth when he began to suck on you, those same lips that had just been sucking snake venom out of your leg moments prior. Your thighs clenched around his head, threatening to knock his hat off, but you kind of liked it on. He couldn’t see you, and you couldn’t see him. There was some level of anonymity to this act, like maybe for just a moment you could be different people and not have to deal with the aftermath of your actions.

But fuck, he was good. It made you question if he had been practicing on someone. Who had he been practicing on? He could practice on you for the rest of your life if he wanted.

You bucked your hips into his mouth when he groaned into you, already finding yourself nearing your breaking point. His tongue was rough but rhythmic, and it was so quiet outside you could hear the squelching of your wetness against his mouth. 

The feeling was building up inside you. You were floating, you were grinding yourself on his nose. Your eyes darted to your snake bite, red and swollen, and to your torn bloomers around your ankles, and to Arthur’s arms holding your legs as he bent over, doing something fucking incredible with his tongue.

You cried out as you came in his mouth, your hand finding his forearm, digging your nails into it. Your back arched and your hips bucked, shuddering with the feeling of it. He groaned into your core, seemingly just as pleased to feel you come as you were to come, and he slowly let you ride it out.

Catching your breath, you looked around, slowly coming back into yourself and realizing where you were. What you both had done.

Arthur’s grip on your legs slowly loosened, and when he pulled away from you, his eyes avoided yours. He lifted your leg and untangled himself from you and your bloomers. You wanted to rip his hat off and look at him. You wanted to kiss him. To taste yourself on his lips.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, clearing his throat. “Sorry.”

You sat up, your bare ass scraping against the dirt. And you couldn’t help but laugh. 

Sorry? He was apologizing? Like he didn’t know what came over him. Like he couldn’t help but make me come on his tongue. A simple mistake. Oops. You laughed harder, pulling your bloomers up. The pain of your bite suddenly came back to you, and you winced as the fabric rubbed against it. 

He finally looked up at you from under the brim of his hat as you managed to get your bloomers back up. Then he let out a chuckle.

You wanted to return the favour. You sat up and were about to reach for him, grab him and touch him and maybe provide him with an ounce of the pleasure he just gave you, but suddenly a voice came from the road.

“What the–”

You and Arthur both quickly looked up, seeing a man on his horse staring at the two of you with confusion. 

You were still flushed, and coated in a sheen of sweat, and your skirt was pulled up as Arthur knelt beside you. Oddly enough, it actually was exactly what it looked like.

“Snakebite.” You fought your smile, looking down at your leg as you spoke to the man.

Arthur nodded, “Had to… suck the venom out–” He stood up, and you noticed the bulge in his pants. Thankfully, he turned away from the man before he noticed. 

“We should get you to a doctor,” Arthur said, reaching his hand out to you as if nothing had happened. You were still burning from your orgasm, but you pushed your skirt down and grabbed his hand, allowing him to pull you up.

“Well,” The man cleared his throat. “Good luck, then.”

###

You both rode back to camp in silence. 

You wanted to pretend nothing happened, but you couldn’t help but watch Arthur keep adjusting himself in the saddle, clearly uncomfortable with how hard he was. To be honest, you had never experienced a man do something like that and not expect you to return the favour. But, you liked the idea of it, the taste of you in his mouth making him harder than ever. It clearly wasn’t going away, either, because he probably couldn’t stop thinking about it.

You smiled, kicking your horse to ride up next to him. “Need a little help there?” Your eyes flicked down his body, and he looked at you out of the corner of his eye. His cheeks were adorably red, and he looked away again. 

“Let’s just get back to camp, first.” He reached down and moved his belt slightly, trying to ease the pressure. “Make sure you ain’t dyin’ on us.”

You smirked. “And what if I am?”

“Then we’ll need to work fast.” He shot you a look.

You felt your cheeks go just as red as his. “I can do fast.”

[blackenedsnow]

The saddlebag prompt is so silly! I love it! I have a fluffy child reader idea too!

The child convinces Arthur, John, and some of the others to play pretend a passenger train robbery. While they play, John surprises the child by picking them up and taking them over to the "loot bag" Arthur is holding for the game.

The child is all giggly when John puts them in it, and Arthur hops on his horse to escape with the "loot".

the loot's alive

WARNING: None

PAIRING: Arthur Morgan & Child! Reader, John Marston & Child! Reader, Sean MacGuire & Child! Reader, Javier Escuella & Child! Reader, Hosea Matthews & Child! Reader, Charles Smith & Child! Reader

NOTE: I'm so glad you liked the saddlebag idea! Thanks for requesting this fluffy, fun story. I hope this one brought a smile to your face!

SUMMARY: The camp is quiet until you convince Arthur and John to play a pretend train robbery.

It was a lazy afternoon at camp, the kind where even the wind seemed to have decided to take a break. You, however, had far too much energy to sit still. After spending half the morning running around, you had an idea that just couldn’t wait. You found Arthur sitting by the campfire, sharpening his knife while John cleaned his guns nearby.

“Uncle Arthur! John!” you called, running up with wide eyes and a mischievous grin.

Arthur raised his head, his brow furrowing in curiosity. “What’s goin’ on, kid?” he asked, putting the knife down.

“I wanna play! Let’s rob a train!” you announced with dramatic flair, throwing your arms up.

John grinned and glanced over at Arthur. “Well, sounds like we’ve got ourselves a criminal mastermind.”

Arthur chuckled softly, shaking his head. “A train robbery, huh? Alright, kid. Guess we’ll need a loot bag then.” He got up, grabbing an old saddlebag from his horse. “What’s the plan?”

Your eyes gleamed with excitement. “We stop the train and take all the treasure! You, Uncle Arthur, carry the loot bag, and John, you handle the passengers!”

John played along, giving a mock serious nod. “Passengers, huh? Alright, kid, you’re the boss.”

As the two of them got into position, you ran around as the "passengers," pretending to be someone very rich. “Please, sir! Don’t take my treasure!” you cried, clutching an invisible pile of jewels.

John crept toward you, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’m afraid we gotta take everything you got.”

Just as you were about to run, John grabbed you gently, scooping you up into the air. “Look what we’ve got here! The real prize!”

You squealed with laughter as John swung you around, making you feel like you were flying. He carried you over to Arthur, who stood there holding the loot bag.

Arthur looked down at you with a smirk. “Well, well. Looks like we found ourselves some valuable loot.” He held the bag open, and John carefully placed you inside, your giggles echoing as your legs dangled out of the bag.

Arthur grinned, lifting the bag with you still inside. “Better hold on tight. I’m takin’ off with the goods.”

Before he could start his "getaway," though, Sean came strutting into camp, his wild red hair bouncing as he caught sight of the scene. “Now what in the name of all things holy is goin' on here?”

You peeked out of the bag, giggling uncontrollably. “We’re playing train robbery!”

Sean’s face split into a wide grin. “Aw, shite! I love me a good robbery! Count me in!” He ran up beside John, rubbing his hands together. “So, who’s the unlucky bastard we’re robbin’?”

John shook his head, still smiling. “Already got the best loot right here.” He pointed at you, still giggling in Arthur’s loot bag.

Sean threw his head back and laughed. “Ah, but ya gotta watch out for them sneaky lawmen, Arthur!” He made finger guns and started shooting at imaginary enemies. “Bang! Bang! The law’s comin’ for ya!”

Arthur played along, hopping onto his horse. “Better outrun ‘em then!” He spurred his horse into a slow trot around the camp, with you laughing from inside the saddlebag.

By now, Javier had wandered over, his guitar slung over his shoulder. “What’s all the noise about?” he asked, amusement in his voice as he watched the scene unfold.

“Train robbery!” you yelled from the bag, waving your arms.

Javier chuckled and shook his head. “Ah, so that’s what I’m missing.” He strummed a few chords on his guitar, playing a lively tune. “Well, no robbery’s complete without a good getaway song, right?”

As Javier’s playful melody filled the air, Charles, who had been quietly sharpening his tomahawk nearby, couldn’t help but join in on the fun. He walked over, arms crossed, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You need any help making your escape, Arthur?”

Arthur snorted. “Could use some muscle to back me up.”

Charles nodded and jogged beside Arthur’s horse as he continued his slow “escape” around camp, giving you a reassuring grin as you peeked out of the bag.

But then came Hosea, who had been watching from the sidelines with a bemused expression. He sauntered over, shaking his head. “I see you’ve all lost your minds.”

John grinned. “Come on, Hosea. You know you want in.”

Hosea chuckled softly, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose someone has to play the lawman. You folks are in big trouble now,” he said, raising his hands like he was ready to arrest you all.

Everyone burst out laughing, even Arthur cracking a grin as he slowed his horse and “surrendered” the loot bag. “Alright, Hosea, you caught me,” he said, carefully lifting you out of the saddlebag and setting you back on the ground.

You wobbled slightly, still giggling as you dusted yourself off. “You got us all, Hosea!”

Hosea winked at you, his eyes full of warmth. “You’re lucky I’m feeling merciful today.”

Sean came over, lifting you onto his shoulders with a playful grin. “Well, we may have lost the loot, but that was one hell of a robbery!”

They all laughed, Javier strumming his guitar as Charles, John, and Arthur looked on with soft smiles. Even Hosea shook his head with a chuckle.

“All thanks to our little mastermind,” Arthur added, tipping his hat toward you.

You grinned from your perch on Sean’s shoulders, beaming at all of them. “We should rob another train tomorrow!”

[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.

[anna-proxx]

♡ 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐬

pairing: arthur morgan x fem!reader

summary: you and arthur are occasional lovers with no strings attached, except you caught feelings.

word count: 2613

tags: fluff, suggestive, love confession, high honor arthur, friends with benefits, fem!reader

warnings: nsfw/explicit content

a/n: I’ve been battling writer’s block due to perfectionism and decided to write a spontaneous oneshot as an attempt to pretty much break through it. It's not really a smut, just a fluff with suggestive aspects and nsfw setting. Found this idea sweet, hope you enjoy!

✮ masterlist

You and Arthur first met when he was drunk and while you usually steered away from drunk men, this one in particular caught your eye. For some goddamn reason you decided to take care of him as he sang to himself in the saloon, alone, almost picking a fight with one of the regular customers, if it weren’t for you getting involved.

He hadn’t even tried to touch you and overall he seemed to be safe to be around. You made him eat some food (though he protested, saying he’d rather dance with you) and drink some water, to make his hangover at least a bit better the next morning. Then you made sure he was sound asleep before leaving him in the hotel room, putting a little note on the nightstand saying his adaptation of the song about Otis Miller was by far your favorite.

The second time you met in the same saloon. Though this time he was still sober, with a beer in his hand, looking quite worn out after the day. He didn’t remember you that much but you explained and after realizing you were the stranger who took care of him and left his sick, disoriented self the note, he opened up to you more.

And after sharing a few drinks, that he insisted to pay for you, and some loose conversation, you ended up in that same room, this time with you both being tipsy and making out, after you made the first move and kissed him.

It was like you were obsessed. With the way his rough hands treated you so gently, how he towered over you with your back against the wall, how you found yourself enveloped in his strong arms or the deep low groans in your ear that sent tingles into your belly.

It progressed into something more regular. Both of you helped each other release all the pent up tension and forget about everything that was going on outside the bedroom. What happened in that hotel room stayed between the walls. The desperate kisses, muffled whines and hot touches, your bodies intertwined like stems of ivy. The hungry look in his eyes stayed ingrained in your mind, keeping you company during the nights you spent alone.

Arthur felt safe with you. After Eliza he was reluctant to do this type of thing again, but there was just something about you that set his whole self on fire and made it impossible to resist you.

There was a good hunting spot nearby and he liked to return there for that reason, or maybe, just maybe, it was also the way he stopped by at the saloon every time, searching the room for a familiar face as soon as he stepped inside.

This sort of relationship was unusual for you as well, but his touch drove you crazy. He was so gentle and rugged at the same time, so big and mysterious while having a soft side you got to see anytime he let his guard down.

You knew he was no saint. Though he never told you details, you assumed the law was after him, but your intuition let you relax in his presence and you leaned into the comfort, trusting that if anything, he would protect you rather than hurt you.

The connection was mostly physical but slowly, one night after another, he was taking a hold over your heart, as much as you denied it to yourself.

Until you were finally ready to accept it.

— ∽ ♡ ∼ —

“You… seemed… angry today,” you said between your breaths, lying with your back against the soft mattress and covered only by the thin layer of a blanket.

His eagerness today was really something, clutching the headboard as he pushed his hips against yours, making you lose your breath with every thrust. It seemed personal, like there was more tension to release than usually – and you were more than happy to give him the freedom.

A soft groan left his lips in an agreement, his lungs still trying to fill with air as he lay beside you, exhausted but satisfied.

You yourself were still in that sweet daze, your heart pumping warmth into your whole body and tingles dancing all over your stomach, a smile on your face you couldn’t hold back.

The soreness between your legs somehow felt so good, a reminder of this night that would stay even after he’s gone.

After a moment you rolled to your side, watching Arthur’s glistening face as he was covered in sweat, as much as you were. The loose strands of his hair were sticking to his forehead and a familiar warmth spread in your stomach as you imagined reaching out and brushing those strands back, gently caressing his cheek and planting a kiss on the little scar on his chin.

Yes. You were pretty much screwed.

He turned his head to look at you and caught your gaze, silently reciprocating it and giving you a perfect view at his greenish blue eyes. He looked so vulnerable in that moment it tugged at your heart, wanting nothing but to embrace him in your arms.

But you had no idea how he felt and you didn’t want to make a fool out of yourself.

“I uh…” Arthur cleared his throat, turning away to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks. “Lemme clean this up.”

Your soft gaze followed him as he held onto the cloth and as his eyes asked for consent before he lifted the blanket and gently wiped the stickiness from between your thighs.

You didn’t even try to hide your red cheeks, the situation making it seem more than understandable. You wondered whether he realized how sweet this was of him, how much it made you fall in love even more.

You were both silent and the air felt thick between you two, as if there were many things left unsaid and it made the silence louder.

You never knew but always wondered what ran through his mind after your shared intimacy, how he felt, what was the mysterious gleam in his eyes as he watched you hot and sweating beside him.

When he was done, you sat up with the blanket over you again, watching his flexing muscles as he turned away from you, giving you a perfect view at his back.

Arthur lit himself a cigarette, breathing out soft clouds of smoke that floated up towards the ceiling. He sat back, feeling nothing but lightness and comfort inside.

He turned his head to look at you and found you already watching.

“Ya want a drag?”

“Sure,” you accepted, holding the blanket over your chest as you leaned forward. Instead of taking the cigarette from him as he expected you to, you left it between his fingers and simply wrapped your lips around its end while he held it out for you.

You gently put your fingers around his wrist instead, letting him watch you a little surprised.

Leaning away, you fought back the irritation in your throat and turned away from him, tears forming in your eyes. With your mouth at the crook of your arm, you broke into a violent cough.

“Not used to it, huh?” Arthur lightly mocked you, bringing the cigarette back to his own lips as he watched you struggle to gain composure.

You turned to him with teary eyes, laughing at his snicker. “I can’t be good at everything, cowboy.”

After a few moments your breath finally steadied and you found Arthur lost in thought when you looked back at him. Studying his side profile without him taking notice as he continued to smoke, something occupying his mind.

You caught yourself wishing for those hands to hold your hips instead like they did just half an hour ago. For his bare chest to be pressed against yours again, to have his lips on your own. It was like an addiction.

Having him sit beside you like that, naked, turned you on all over again.

He had no idea how much he had you wrapped around his finger.

You cleared your throat, moving your gaze before he could catch you drooling over him.

“So uh… I’d like to ask something of you.”

He looked at you with surprise in his face, curiously turning his whole body towards you.

“Huh, what is it?” he asked in a relaxed tone, shifting closer to you.

You chuckled under your breath as you turned to reach for your satchel lying beside the bed and pulled out a folded paper.

You slightly shook your head at how silly this was, but handed Arthur the paper along with a pencil nonetheless, a grin on your face.

“I’d like an autograph please,” you said playfully, making sure he knew this was a harmless request from you. Lying back, your eyes followed him as he unfolded the paper with one hand, a wave of shock stunning him as he stared at his own wanted poster.

He immediately searched for your eyes, puzzled by the gesture, frowning in confusion. But the soft features of your face and relaxed body language calmed him. You were just playing around.

Now amused, he chuckled, looking back at the paper in his hand. “Where did ya get that?”

There was a hint of insecurity in his voice. Now there was no doubt you knew about him being a criminal. You had an evidence in your possession and yet you were still here, in the same bed, naked, your skin still hot from his touch.

“On a business trip. Seems you’re quite a celebrity.” You grinned, moving closer as you looked over his shoulder at the drawn outlines of his face.

“You’re prettier in real life, trust me.”

He softly huffed at the compliment, hoping you wouldn’t notice his flushed cheeks. But you did and found it endearing.

“So… you gon’ collect that reward?” he asked, a joking tone in his voice though he kept his gaze fixated on the poster.

You chuckled. “No, no, I don’t think I’d stand a chance against someone built like you, besides, I don’t usually sleep with people I plan to turn in to the law.” You kept the playful attitude, pointing to the pencil in his hand. “Come on, sign it. I’ll keep it as a memento.”

“This?” He seemed amused by the idea, not grasping why you’d possibly do such thing.

He turned around to stub out his cigarette, his thoughts an entangled mess. Did you really not mind? He almost spiraled into overthinking as he stared back at his effigy, paired with a ‘wanted’ and a fair sum of dollars in bold. He wished he could make this part of him disappear, especially around you.

“Sure. I don’t have your photo, so…” You were clearly still joking with your lighthearted tone, little did he know there was truth in it. You planned to keep that poster, safely hidden away, as a way to keep something as a reminder of him. Was that silly?

He chuckled again as he put the pencil against a corner of the poster, scribbling down his name in neat, pretty letters.

Arthur trusted you, knew you wouldn’t misuse it. Your eyes were too honest and your physical intimacy too passionate for that.

You thanked him as he handed it back to you, giddily putting it aside and giving him a big smile.

“I must assure you,” you started teasing him, “that this is my first time being involved with an outlaw. You’re not a threat to me, are you, Mr Morgan?”

“Well that depends,” Arthur answered with the same kind of mischief, a playful gleam in his eyes as he turned to his stomach and lay close to you, his breath warm on your face.

“Depends on what?” You held back a laugh, enjoying the mood of the conversation.

“I’ve made ya scream before.”

“Oh, shut up.” You gently hit his arm with your palm, a laugh escaping your lips this time, making the outlaw laugh with you.

“You know, you’re not quite that threatening,” you said, still smiling, purposefully teasing Arthur who furrowed his brow in confusion.

“Am not?”

“No. Unless you attack me with your kisses, that is.”

“You haven’t seen the things I’ve done, woman.”

“No, but I’ve certainly felt some other things.” Without thinking you hurriedly planted a kiss on his scrunched nose and turned your bare back to him, sitting on the edge of bed as you reached for your clothes scattered around the floor.

Arthur lay back with his arms behind his head as he continued to rest in bed, watching you put on your clothes, though quite messily, and your hair that stayed tangled despite you running your fingers through it.

You let out a soft sigh as the room got filled with comfortable silence, yet it made you nervous to the core.

You were in love and you usually weren’t afraid of expressing your feelings. But now it felt so intimidating, so risky.

“Arthur…” you said with seriousness in your tone this time, quiet and hesitant enough to pique Arthur’s interest. He sat up straight in bed and you looked back over your shoulder, catching him as beautiful as ever.

Lit by warm candlelight, you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander over his bare skin. The broad shoulders, though slouched in relaxation, his chest and flat stomach, small scars all over his exposed arms. The way the blanket lay casually over his lap brought warmth into your cheeks and you bit your lip as you remembered the events of just a little while ago.

You looked at his hands, his knuckles bruised and his fingers holding the sheets. And finally his face, curiously watching you with something in his eyes that you couldn’t quite identify. His light brown hair that you loved seeing this ruffled and messy. He really was so beautiful.

“I think…” You tried to swallow the dryness in your mouth, your palms sweating as you struggled to hold eye contact. “I caught feelings for you, Arthur.”

There. You said it. And you felt like a fool.

Your cheeks were now red and you felt a pit in your stomach, not quite believing you just said it out loud. You knew you wouldn’t have it in you to say it again.

You avoided his gaze, having no idea what his reaction was, the little moment of silence felt like an eternity to you.

“You… did?” There was disbelief in his voice and it made you shift nervously, taking a deep breath as you seemingly forgot to breathe.

“Yes.”

The silence became unbearable. You didn’t know how he looked at you, too scared to see the expression of his face and too embarrassed to meet his eyes.

“I have feeling for you as well, (y/n).”

Your eyes widened in surprise and your heart jumped in your chest as you turned around, joy spreading through your veins.

You searched for any sign of deceit in his face, but there was none. He sat there looking completely vulnerable, honest, defenseless, his cheeks pink as he watched you back.

You rushed towards him, cupping his cheeks before connecting your lips in a long sweet kiss. Arthur wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his body as he lovingly pulled at your lips, softly breathing into the kiss with a sense of relief.

Slowly you put his weight on him, making him fall backwards little by little until his head lay on a pillow underneath you.

He broke the kiss, looking up at you with dilated pupils and flushed cheeks. “‘M the only one undressed here.”

You grinned at him, not moving a single inch as you kept him locked under you. “I don’t mind.”

With a kiss you muffled his laugh, a wide smile on your own face.

“So… how ‘bout I join you on your hunting trip tomorrow?” you proposed, hope in your eyes.

“Sure.” Arthur chuckled at your excitement, finding the spark in your eyes adorable as he caressed your cheek. “But I ain’t much of a good hunter.”

“That’s okay.” You kissed the corner of his mouth. “Me neither.”

[ahqkas]

Can I request headcanons for Charles Smith and Arthur Morgan with oblivious gn!crush please?

YOUNG & DUMB ; arthur morgan & charles smith

RED DEAD REDEMPTION 2 MASTERLIST!

ARTHUR ISN’T THE TYPE TO OPENLY DECLARE HIS FEELINGS. Instead, he shows how he feels through small, thoughtful acts like ensuring that your saddle is always perfectly adjusted or bringing you a cup of warm coffee in the morning.

Despite his best efforts, you still remain blissfully unaware of his feelings. You probably interpret his kindness as just his way of being helpful and considerate, not realizing it goes deeper than that.

You often sit together, in comfortable silence as you listen to the songs of local birds, whether it’s cleaning your guns by the fire or sitting on a log, watching the sunset (these moments mean a lot to Arthur).

The outlaw often takes the tome to teach you some new skills, like tracking or shooting. He enjoys these one-on-one moments (though he would never admit how much he’s looking forward to them!!). You remain unsuspecting of his actions, thinking his touches are nothing but platonic.

Arthur writes about his feelings for you in his diary. That’s his way of dealing with the emotions he can’t express out loud. His entries are filled with frustration and longing for you, along with sketches of your figure.

The rest of the gang is well aware of that man’s feelings for you. They occasionally tease him about it with grins on their faces, but they all silently root for him. They want to see him happy for once.

Eventually, someone from the gang would slip up and reveal Arthur’s feelings for you. When the realization hits, you’re stunned by the fact. Arthur’s behavior was only friendly, right? Wrong !! From that day, you start seeing Arthur’s actions in a new light, a romantic light.

CHARLES IS THE STRONG AND QUIET TYPE, often keeping to himself and observing rather than do the speaking. His feelings for you are no different; he admires you from afar, preferring actions over words to show his care, just like Arthur.

That man loves nature more than anything, so expect to spend your free time with him in the woods, or riding through the fields on the back of your horse with him riding alongside you. He’d take care of your horse any time you needed, brushing its mane and keeping it well fed and clean.

When Charles finds something he knows you would like, such as a rare plant or a unique trinket, he gives it to you without making a big deal out of it. He gives it to you like it was nothing, except he spent the sweet time thinking about how he’s going to get it for you.

Charles is a great listener, always ready to offer you his shoulder to talk. He listens patiently, attentively, his mind whirlwind with the thoughts of what he’s going to reply with.

The rest of the camp picks up at Charles’ hidden feelings, though it takes them some time (still, they got it sooner than you!). They respect his privacy, only occasionally giving him knowing looks as they him with you.

Eventually, you pick up the pattern of Charles’ behavior as well and talk the romantic feelings with him out.

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

[the-karma-cafe]

Handsy | Javier Escuella

Javier's hand smoothed up your thigh, prompting the smallest noise of surprise from your throat. You glanced back at him conspiratorially, whispering, "And where is that hand goin', mister?" He smirked, leaning in closer to you, his gaze drifting up to meet yours. His voice came out low, hushed. “Wherever you want it to go, cariño.”

[2demondogs]

With Chrismas around the corner (not really but basically), i would love an Arthur x GN!reader where Arthur proposes to reader for Chrismas and they obviously say yes because, well, it's Arthur, who wouldn't?

Anon did you read my mind. I was just thinking about proposal fics when you sent this ask because I have yet to stumble on one somehow... I'm sorry this took forever btw T-T

Shoutout to my platonic boyfriend for helping me with ideas because I got writer's block <3

Words: 3k oh my good lord Tags: canon divergence (it's just people leaving the gang a chapter early), Arthur does not have tuberculosis, INSTANT spoilers for character death, cheesy shit

It's been too long, you're realizing, since holidays like Christmas felt like special things. There is a double-edged feel to this one — it is the first since Hosea's death, since leaving the gang — but it is the first, in a very long time, that you've spent in the so-called right way: in a warm house with four solid walls and someone you love, how those fanciful books Mary-Beth used to talk your ear off about always wrote.

The house is warm enough, anyways.

There's work that needs done on the cabin. Some of the wood is rotting out and chipped at the corners, forming into sharp splinters that you've brushed against one too many times, but it is a house. You haven't had this pleasure since before joining the gang.

Sometimes, with how content Arthur seems at baseline, you wonder if he's had this pleasure since early childhood. On quieter evenings, ones less reserved for happiness than this one, there has been clipped discussion about how Arthur has never had domesticity like this. Silently, it was an admission of how good it is to share this freshness with you.

During a ride into town, he'd admitted that he had never picked up painting because it was the sort of thing only steady folks got to enjoy. You'd gotten him a set of oil paints when no one was looking — he's worth much more than a few measly dollars, but that means little if you haven't got them to begin with. Some habits die hard; he was happy you remembered what he'd said only a few hours before.

Come the new year, Arthur plans to find work that will pay. New things are a luxury neither of you care much to indulge in, but the repairs will take lumber and maybe a few extra hands. Ones with more expertise, at least, because Arthur's houses usually have not had foundations.

You could simply move now that time has passed, yes. You could find somewhere much farther away, maybe even New York, and pack yourselves in alongside the other sardines bustling about a city, undetectable in uniformity. Shave beards, got jobs, change clothes, cut hair and color it, too, if paranoia strikes— but keeping low to the ground has worked itself out so far, and there is no more of that deathlike stagnation in the air of this place.

Sentimentally, you think this Christmas will seal off whatever makes this cabin yours. Shadows linger, there's been a few odd creaks that've spooked the horses, and maybe it's going to shit a lot quicker than either of you want to admit, but it's your shit-house and the shared stubbornness between you has always brought you nothing but closer to one another.

Arthur is tired of running, and so are you. Last week, he talked about writing to Mary-Beth and Simon, maybe checking if Kieran — the utterance of the man's proper name was a confirmation of the last of that stockholmlike regret having worked out of his system — had broken and followed his little girlfriend. It wasn't said with malice, just some amusement.

"Why do you think he would?" You'd asked.

"Dutch only saves people who don't ask for it," he'd said, and that wistful look in his eyes vanished before you could ask what it meant.

Maybe it's the hard work that makes it feel like a real, true holiday. Pearson and Grimshaw stopped working everyone harder in the winter over the years, once the familial glamour faded with each new addition to the gang. It was no longer a tight-knit group, but a posse, more or less, of runaways and strays all against a big, evil thing like the rest of the world, or whatever it was that Dutch grew to fear.

Since November, Arthur has been saving the best catches to be salted and stored for Christmas dinner. Each addition is cleaner skinned and cut than the last, and the newfound worst of them ended up being ate upon his return from hunting. You've both been saving back herbs since summer, dried and ready to be crumbled into the heated up pot come time for a real feast. Cornbread was made by hand for the first time since you settled down here, drizzled with honey from the general store a ways out.

The latter was Arthur's only specific request for a fancy dinner. If you hadn't gotten him a single gift save for making it, he'd still be happy as a clam.

He's been putting that goddamned honey on everything. You're glad he seems to be enjoying things again, not as tightstrung as he was before you'd made off with him. That's how it feels, anyways, after the long and struggling conversations that were had before the decision was made. Family or life? It's a hard question for someone who has such little concept of either.

Now, the grey hair in his beard is catching the light from the fireplace where he's sat himself on a chair before it. They'd sprouted through the sun-bleached blond atop his head has been looking lighter and lighter in recent months, grey finally catching up to the discoloration and giving him some malcolored sort of tabby look. It's a good one on him, as much as he complains about looking old as dirt and that it's all formed by stress.

For all the lacking color, it adds a ruddy warmth to his face. Daydreams of growing old together find you when you focus on it, or on his wheezing laugh that's gotten worse with the cold weather. Despite the woolen vest he's been sporting, his fingers are as chilled as yours whenever they've brushed. Idly, you wonder if he's gotten whatever Hosea grew into, then remember they were never by blood.

Arthur hadn't wanted you to get him any gifts. When you asked if he would get you something, he'd flushed and changed his mind, apparently already having done it.

Whatever it is, it's good-sized, wrapped in one of the dustcloths you'd gotten him alongside the paints. He's been spending more time painting, lately, tucked in the treeline and looking over the cabin or deeper into the woods, studying something plein air the way those professionals do. He'd propped it against the wall this morning, and once you've settled on the floor before the fireplace — too cold outside not to crowd close to it — after dinner, he looks between you and the cloth like he isn't sure what to do.

"D'you wanna do the honors?" He asks, and grins although the twitch of his eye tells you he's covering timidity with faux cockiness.

"You go ahead," you say, half because he's closer. Tormenting him in small ways must be part of any good gift.

The painting is an image you recognize. A photo that one of the girls took for you months before things went down the hole, using the camera Arthur was loaned by some feller in town who wanted photos taken for a book. He never returned it, and it more or less became something he tucked beneath his cot and let the elements beat around. You can't remember, now, who it was or where he went to get it developed.

The little inkling of pride you felt knowing he kept putting off getting the negatives developed — not enough money, not enough time — yet was gone the next morning to have yours developed returns, now.

It's a much nicer rendition of it, your clothes not dirty and his arm around your waist, the other holding his hat to his chest. It's clear he preferred to give your portrait more detail, his own lagging somewhere behind in clarity and looking closer to the photo. You suppose it's easier to look at someone besides himself, but there's a clearer enjoyment in the lines of you, more care taken in the color mixes.

Ignoring the dense joy of the implications of that, of how obvious it is, proves difficult. Your cheeks twinge some from the wide smile before you realize you're even reacting.

"You'll be a big name someday," you say, and he may as well shrink in on himself beneath the praise, although he's heard it plenty of times before.

"Naw," he waves a hand. "Quit that."

"Really, Arthur." Scooting closer, laying your hands over his knee. He's moving his jaw when your eyes meet his, lays a hand over one of yours, heavy and warm. "It's beautiful. I love it."

"Good," he says. His jaw clicks. "I— uh, I love you."

The hunting knife you got for him seems small, though relatively equal. Arthur looks as pleased as ever studying it, half-mumbling appraisals of yeah, nice and sharp, sturdy to himself that likely would've stayed inside his head, if it weren't for wanting to show you he liked it.

A bone handle, which he feels over with his fingers before noticing it's engraved, fits easy in his palm. You were afraid you push your luck with maintaining its quality too far adding the tiny, vague bear shape next to the deeper cut of his name. Already impressive was the fact that you hadn't ruined it with the letters, being one of your first expeditions into anything of the sort.

"I would've gotten you one of those folding knives," you explain. "But they don't hold up as well, and I know you have one."

The army knife was Hosea's.

"Needed me a new huntin' knife," Arthur says. You know, because he's complained about his current one being close to snapping with all the skinning he does anymore. He squints at the handle, turns it over in the light from the fire. "Did you engrave the handle?"

"Yessir."

He smiles. "It's real nice," he says, pats his palm with the blade softly. It makes a dull noise, sturdy metal on skin. "Why a bear?"

"They remind me of you," you admit. Really, you'd spent a long time considering what else to add, because only his name seemed so plain; although he wouldn't be opposed to flowers or vines, they are a little more intricate than a simplified bear head. "Big and strong. Hairy, too. I'd like to hug one."

He snorts a laugh, but it seems thin. His eyes are fond enough on you that it couldn't be any rejection of your words, and so you brush it off. "You wanna hug a bear?" He asks.

"In a perfect world," you amend. "Don't they look warm?"

"You'd better stick to me," he says, smooths a palm over the thigh of his jeans. The nicest pair he owns, he promised you, because he feels ridiculous in slacks and seems to think you care what he wears.

Beyond thinking everything looks well on him, at least. You often find yourself concerned with that thought.

"I got you somethin' else," Arthur starts, running a finger over the bunched inseam at his own knee. "Well, uh— it's f'both of us, really."

Isn't that intriguing, you think, but your silent, undivided attention seems to make him outright nervous, so you say: "Oh?"

Some conflict happens over his face as he pulls his vest collar away and reaches into the inner pocket, takes out a stack of thin papers that he glances over before apparently relenting to something. Confusion finds you, until he takes a deep breath and holds them towards you.

"Read these," is all he says, and he sounds like it's almost painful.

He's written much, much more than that. Your stomach turns, once or twice, realizing they are pages from his journal. Uncertain why, until the first entries which are skittering on affectionate fade into ones much more flowery. They are all about you, days you'd spent together or times you hadn't, the things you've given him over the years and the things he wished he could've given you.

Each page makes your chest feel tight with a panicked joy, as if his hands were not fiddling with the new knife to occupy — distract? — himself but clenching hard at your heart.

One, near the beginning, says he thought of pickin' a pretty lil' flower, God bless it, I feel ridiculous; on the back of the next is pressed a variegated tulip, crumbling with age but holding firm to whatever adhesive glues it to the paper. Again, that creeping smile, like thyme. Another entry is entirely about your hair, because it had brushed his arm. Only a few sentences made up that page, below the cursive a choppy sketch of your horse.

Certainly, Arthur stays busy in his head. You've always known as much, but never figured any of it was about you. Not like this, anyways, though the dates spread from the week before Blackwater and you can only wonder what laid in that journal he lost before.

"Oh, Arthur," you start, looking up from a third-way through, feeling giddy but not wanting him to watch you so intently while you finish them. No wonder he was shy. It's his heart. "You're so sweet."

"Finish readin' 'em," Arthur says, doesn't meet your eyes at first. When he does, they're gentle. "They get sweeter, y'know, better finish 'em. 'Cause of that."

He is nervous. Hardly moving, besides the tongue running over his teeth beneath his lips, and the rambling every time he opens his mouth. You don't mind, never have. He's endearing like this.

Outings you'd went on infrequently, the dates of his favorites underlined, you're noticing, based on the tone of his words in them; his worries and fears about courting you, and some of what you mean to him though, with its succinctness, you have a feeling he wouldn't dare put all of his genuine love to findable paper; things he likes about you, and one page where he admits that he cannot keep himself from documenting you in every other entry, which tells you this small collection is hardly everything. The previous entries turn over in your mind again, and you are struck on a random page for a moment as their meanings take hold, realizing they were especially sliced from his journal to show you.

The entries leading to the last are what set your mind and pulse ablaze. From the first appearance of the word marriage, you swallowed your idea of what may be coming — Arthur's breathing changing beside you doesn't help any, and it certainly does not help that he leans down once you've reached the last page, plucking it from your hands. Before he does, you notice quite a few crossed out lines, scribbles as if he were frustrated with not being able to find the right words.

"Think I've got the balls on me to read this one aloud, at the very least," he says, voice laced with a chuckle. Breath comes uneasy, but you collect yourself enough to gather the pages back into a neat, ordered stack in your lap. "Unless you'd rather spare me," he adds, nudges your knee with the toe of his shoe.

"No." Your voice sounds strange, even to you. "Do me the honors."

Arthur bites his cheek, nods and lets it fall as he smiles. Still, his hand finds the back of his neck, the page held between two fingers that remain surprisingly steady. The knife lingers in his hand beneath it, and isn't it just like him to propose holding a weapon.

Propose. It takes its first toll on you, rolls over your back in shards of tingling.

"December twenty-fifth, eighteen ninety-nine," he starts, eyes flicking to your face every other word until the intensity of your gaze must make him too anxious. "It's a nice little life, livin' with the one I love," — rubbing his mouth, sighing some — "Jesus, I always gotta be sappy." You laugh, though it comes out more forceful than you intended, and relax some until he continues. "The thought of another day where anythin' could happen 'n' we ain't bound is somethin' I hate."

Arthur pauses, stands up and places the journal entry on his chair. You take his hands when he holds them out to where you sit, grunting when he hauls you off the ground with more force than you expected, feet shuffling into place to stick all-too-close to his. His hands are burning, skin feverish when you grab his wrists, as if you'd ever want to stop him as he eases onto a knee before you.

And his eyes throw you off balance, too, catching the light just enough that you can tell they are stinging. So are your own, now that you think about it, but intelligent thoughts go out the window once you sense him about to speak.

"I wanna be 'til death do us part," Arthur confesses, fumbles to catch both of your hands in his in an awkward, squeezing hug of a hold.

The way your bones catch on one another, well— it's not a sensation you'll forget, like the first time he kissed you and you felt it still a week later, warm pressure on your mouth if you got too lost in the memory. He looks as good, looks so nice, and you know your fingers would be shaking if he weren't crowding them together, steady.

When he says your name, the blood is rushing through your ears too loud to hear it clearly; you almost want to ask him to do it again. "Will you marry me?"

Nodding, face slack before it spreads in a grin. "Yes," you say. "Of course I will."

His is hidden by how he lets go of your hands, catching them before they fall in stupid, limp joy back to your sides. He lays kisses along the knuckles, all three rows of them. It's so awfully saccharine and yet you could never tell him to quit being sweet— not now, not as he stumbles to his feet after you pull him up and shake off his hold to grab his face, tugging him into a kiss.

Arms come around your waist, squeeze tight enough to hurt, or to hold in place. Arthur runs a hand over your back, breaks the kiss to slide a hand into your hair and press your face to his chest, caging you in his arms. He smells warm, like good cologne, and you know he's been planning this.

[mlmxreader]

Sweet On You | Arthur Morgan x m!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ "Maybe I'm just an idiot and thought you cared'' with Arthur Morgan please? ( good ending if possible) ❞

: ̗̀➛ You and Arthur have to spend a lot of time together, but he isn't sure how you feel about it.

: ̗̀➛ swearing, smoking, guns

↳ if you can, please consider giving to Fadi's family; they're currently in Gaza, and need to raise funds in order to escape the genocide. So far, they've raised $39,380 of their $62,500 goal!

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Arthur sat by the campfire, twiddling his thumbs as he looked around nervously; it wasn't like he was jumpy on hunting trips, but when he was near you it was a different story. You made his heart pound and his hands go all sweaty and sticky, his throat would get dry and he would struggle to speak a single word, let alone a whole sentence.

Yet he loved being near you; hearing you speak about all the different animals and plants and what they did in the world. Listening to you hum softly as you brushed your horse; that animal didn't like Arthur a single bit.

A loyal and faithful companion, it seemed strong enough to carry at least thirty men without breaking a single sweat; it looked dignified and noble, but was certainly also a strong and powerful animal.

Whether it was cougars, wolves or bears, the horse did not ever shy away or spook when it came to battle.

In the right lighting, the horse looked red in colour, with a dark, almost black, mane and tail; its dark eyes were keen and focused. With its bright green and white saddle, it looked every bit the noble steed it truly was.

"Manawydan," the horse's name was. Arthur liked to draw him, though; he had an almost medieval artistry about him when he grazed and he interacted with Arthur's horse - like he belonged in some mythic tale about kings and wizards, not in the outskirts of Lemoyne hunting cougar and boar.

Slowly, Arthur looked up from the campfire when you moved, curiosity etched into his features as the dull light flickered in his eyes; he looked away the second you turned slightly towards him, awkwardly returning back to the orange and yellow before him and the soft warmth.

He swallowed thickly.

"Y'know," you started, "wouldn't kill you to look at me."

Arthur spared you an all too quick glance. "Hmm?"

"Said," you pulled your rifle from Manawydan's saddle, and sat opposite Arthur. "It wouldn't kill you to look at me. You do this every time we go out together - do you hate me that much? I'm not worse than Micah, am I?"

He smiled for a split second as he shook his head. "Nah, nah, you're much better than him."

You shrugged, examining your rifle; the way that you yielded it and how you always used it for everything and anything, it was akin to how knights used to wield swords in the stories that Arthur had heard and read growing up.

A fantastical weapon used loyally; the wood finish was a beautiful dull red and dark brown colour, and looked like it was wrapped leather thanks to the brilliant craftsmanship. The metal was a fine, almost sparkling, silver colour, with a distinct rune on either side of the barrel in black.

"Gorau tarian, cyfiawnder" on one side, and "Golud gwlad rhyddid" on the other - at least, that was what you had told Arthur they had meant.

Yet your skilled hands worked the metal and the wood so acutely and carefully that it wasn't difficult for him to see that you had skill; you were precise and methodical, getting rid of every scrap of dirt and every bite of dust.

Arthur could only watch, his head tilted slightly to the side as he focused as best as he could. But then he heard you hum, and he perked up slightly.

He knew that song.

You sang it a lot when you were fishing, and whistled it even moreso when you were meandering through towns with him; he knew that it meant you were in a good mood. Hopeful, Arthur cleared his throat, and slowly removed his hat so he could place it on his knee.

"It ain't you," he started quietly, "it really ain't you... I just... I feel things when I'm around you, and it ain't like I deserve you..."

You stopped, quirking a brow as you looked over at him through the fire. You shook your head. "Arthur. C'mon. When you met me, I was a fuckin' assistant to Trelawny - it ain't like I've been holed up in a fuckin' mansion, eating fucking geese and shit all my life."

"I know, I just..." he shrugged, struggling to talk so much and struggling to find the right words even more. He sucked in a harsh breath. "I ain't a good man. And you deserve a good man, to get outta this life and-"

"Fuck's sake, Morgan," you growled, shaking your head. "I'm not being funny here, but you need to quit that shit. You are a good man, you've just done shitty things - I ain't getting out of this life any time soon, so it's entirely down to you - I mean, shit, I used to think that maybe I'm just an idiot and thought you cared... and now you're saying you do, but you're shitting all over it. I wanna love you, Arthur, I do. I enjoy being around you."

He frowned, clearing his throat awkwardly. "You do?"

"Of course I do, you silly bugger!" You all but howled, a whisper of jovial playfulness to your voice. "I like being near you, and spending time with you... my horse might not, but I do."

He laughed softly at that, moving a little closer so he could sit next to you. "You sure you wanna do this?"

You sighed heavily, putting your hand on his knee. "Yes. I very much fucking am... now, let me finish polishing me rifle, and afterwards, I'm gonna get you to lie down, and I'm gonna cuddle into you to see if you're as warm as you seem. Alright?"

Arthur nodded. "Alright... that, erm, that does sound good."

"Light up a cigarette a second," you hummed, fumbling in your pockets and tossing him the packet. "Help yourself if you want one."

He didn't hesitate, lighting two of them and gently passing one over. "Thanks."

"Hey," you whistled softly to grab his attention. "I'm sweet on you, Arthur. You remember that, yeah?"

[tnt-kokoo]

Savior

Arthur Morgan × fem!reader

summary: You're a biologist explorering the nature. But sadly the nature was mean and had you in an wolf's attack involved. Luckily your savior Arthur Morgan was there to help.

warnings: wolf attack, guns mentioned, knife mentioned, I can't write accents, dead aninal mentioned; English isn't my first language; rushed kinda

Crouching down, you cut a piece of the plants growing on the ground. After so much time spend on your discoveries, you were sure you were able to go back home soon. Sure, you were happy to live your dream but this area sure was dangerous.

____________________________________________

Walking back to your makeshift camp, you were ready to to write your report of the day. But the second you stepped close to your camp, you noticed it was ruined.

Tend ripped apart, conserves broken, your journal... gone??

Confusion turned into worry and that worry turned into fear when the hungry growling of a group of wolf's was heard behind you.

'Oh no..'

You quickly grabbed the revolver stuffed into your holster. You didn't have to think twice to shoot and scare two wolf's slightly to make them step back. Suddenly though, another wolf came from your ride side and jumped on you. Your revolver slid away from you and your only hope was your strength pushing the hungry wolf away.

Looking around, you searched for a weapon and there it was. A knife.

But if you were to remove your arm of the wolf above you, you were to lose this fight. And that's what the other two wolf's realized as well because the second you saw the knife, another wolf was about to jump on you as well. Lucky for you, it dropped dead on the ground right next to you with a single shot echoing in the forest.

That sound made the animal above you confused and that's when you made the decision to grab the knife and hit the wild beast over your body. With a whine it ran away and you were now breathing out your anxiety.

Silently thanking your savior.

"..You alright, miss?" A gruffy voice asked.

Looking up, you saw a hand teaching down to help you up and you took that hand.

"Yea, I was just not expecting that attack I guess." You smiled thankful, that this wasn't your last day.

"Well your camp looks ravished, you need help, miss....?"

"Y/n L/n, biologist. And you are?" You questioned teasingly despite your situation.

"Arthur Morgan, a normal guy."

____________________________________________

After Arthur helped you look for still intact things in your camp, you slowly lost hope for your journal to be still in one piece.

The man noticed your melancholic thought and wondered out loud, "What's making you so sad, Miss L/n?"

"You can call me Y/n and I think the wolf's have my journal, that I've worked on for forever." Frustrated with the situation you didn't even care that much about your tent having holes or your food being gone.

"What if we go search for it, Y/n?" He asked and you nodded thankfully. With whatever left of hope, you agreed to go with Arthur.

He held out his hand from above you in the saddle, as you took his hand, it felt like before when he pulled you if the ground.

"So? How do your journal look like?"

"Its a brown-reddish book with a small deer on the front cover and a charm hanging down on a cord as a bookmark."

____________________________________________

Time passed and the sun began to set. Your hope now completely gone as you now only wished to rest.

"I think we should stop searching. We ain't gonna find the journal in the dark."

You agreed and searched for a good place to set up Arthurs tent. Unsure if you were welcomed to sleep in the temporary camp, you awkwardly stood by the side.

"You gonna get in the tent or do you wanna sleep outside, Missy?"

"Uhm.. sleep outside?"

"Well too bad you don't have a choice. Go sleep in my tent." He joked. As serious as Arthur looked like, he sure knew how to be sarcastic.

"Well damn, why you gotta be so nice to me? You don't know me?"

"I know enough to know that your own tent is gone!" He argued. Still managing to sound sarcastic though.

"Why don't you just lay with me in the tent? I'd feel bad if you weren't." "...Fine" Arthur looked down and sighs but nonetheless agrees.

____________________________________________

As you both lie down inside the tent the awkward phase began to hit. You turned around not wanting to deal with that.

As you closed your eyes, you heared a husky voice quietly ask you, "What is this journal to you?"

The question wandered around in your brain before you gave your answer, "In that journal I've written down everything I've discovered. I've worked so hard to prove to those privileged men that I can be a biologist as well. But now, I bet these damn men will laugh when I come back home empty handed..." Your frustration was visible in your voice. You didn't needed to look at Arthur, for him to realize that you really needed your book back.

Arthur didn't say anything anymore and took a look at you. Slowly letting sleep consume you.

____________________________________________

Waking up with much more place to move around, you already knew that your temporar companion was not inside the tent anymore.

Once you made your way out of the tent, you saw the man sitting infront of the fire, cooking some meat that you guessed belonged to the cut-up animal next to him. He most likely went out early to hunt.

"Thank you for letting me stay the night, Arthur."

Your voice made Arthur aware that you woke up and offered you the meat that is already done cooked. "Have some,"

You took it and and started eating away as the man continued, "I've found your journal I think."

He then pulls out the book you've worked on for the past months and you gasp in surprise.

"These beasts were not willing to let go of it" He then jokes, showing a few cuts and bites on his arms.

Instead of taking the journal out of his hands, you search for some alcohol.

"I knew you'd be happy but 'ya already going to celebrate with alcohol?" He teased.

"Yes- wait what no??" You sit down next to him, "I want to clean your wounds but you don't seem to have any bandages or so around here" worry audible in your voice.

"It's gonna sting a bit."

____________________________________________

"Stay safe now, miss L/n" Artbur said as the train behind you was waiting for you.

Now that you had your journal back, you finally could go back home. Just sadly, it so meant to say goodbye.

Without thinking, you suddenly ran down the stairs of the train to Arthur and reached up to give him a small kiss on his cheek. A surprised look on his face as you could only ran back to the train to catch it in time.

"Goodbye Arthur, I hope we will see eachother again soon!"

____________________________________________

'I met somebody. An interesting girl, might I add.

She was a biologist working to show men how smart she is. Now she's gone to prove them she can do as good as them- or even better.

I've read through her notes and was impressed at how good and precise they were, some things even surprised me!

I can't lie, she was a beautiful women that I hope to see again. I mean, I do have to repay her with that sneaky kiss she gave me right before departing.'

Arthur wrote down on a page in his own journal, next to a whole page of a portrait of you smiling. He liked looking at it, it made him smile as well.

[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.

[isaadleer]

misunderstanding

Sumary: Young Arthur and you are good friends until you catch feelings for him, maybe was a good idea to forget him with another man, or not. Warning!¡:, fluff¿. nothing’ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader, Jealous Arthur.

It's been some time since you've been going to the town, but this time not for camp supplies, but to meet your new interest, Jerry Clinton, who works at the town’s post office. His skin is tanned with some freckles on his face, his eyes as green as grass, and his hair is brown like yours. To your surprise, Clinton doesn’t mind your social status or your company, meaning the grim outlaws you hang out with. However, his colleagues are quite the opposite; their looks say more than repulsive words.

The only people you've ever loved were Michael, a cute boy you had a crush on as a child and your first kiss. And certainly, Arthur. How much you love him, or loved him, how much you wished for something you couldn’t have or perhaps gave up on something that made you happy.

Your friendship with Arthur has always been very important to you, and to him too; it varied from deep conversations around the campfire to silly jokes and teasing between you two. Maybe it was the age, 18 and 20, or because you made each other happy. And so it continues, the only difference being that he doesn’t know you love him. Loved.

On a sunny morning, with birds singing in tune with your thoughts, you decide to go to town to see Jerry, but you are unfortunately or fortunately interrupted by Arthur on your way.

"Hey! Where are you going?" he questioned, blocking your way to your horse.

"To town, why?" you questioned him back, looking deeply into his eyes, impatient

Arthur was wearing a blue shirt, his typical black bandana, and the hat he’s worn since you met him, the one you like a lot.

“I bet you’re hiding something from me, always having a reason to go to town,” he said, suspicious of your trips.

“Maybe because it’s none of your business!” you exclaimed, continuing to walk and ignoring his presence.

You’ve fantasized so much about what your life would be like with Arthur, loved so much, talked so much, that sometimes you easily get annoyed by his complaints.

All that dirt dirtying your boots, your hair blowing in the wind, your skirt too tight, but of course, what’s really bothering you isn’t that, it’s Arthur trying to meddle in your life. You wanted him to meddle in your life, oh how you wanted it, but not this way.

"Why did you stay out so late yesterday?" he persisted, now walking alongside you.

“I was- was at the general store, buying some stuff…” you quickly replied, trying to explain.

“I know when you’re lying, stop it, tell the truth!” he said harshly, blocking your way, preventing you from getting on the horse.

“Let me get on the horse, Arthur,” you said in a low tone, already losing patience with his questions.

“No, until you tell me why you’re going to town, I won’t let you go anywhere,” he said, looking straight into your eyes.

Arthur was sometimes hard to understand, why does he care so much about this now? Only now?

Ignoring the fact that he’s an outlaw, a murderer, and much taller than you, “You don’t have to let anything; I’ll do what I please.”

Arthur continued to look at you in silence, and after a few seconds, you realized you wouldn’t go anywhere unless you said something.

"I'm just going to talk to a friend, that’s all." You said, lowering the tone that was high before, with a bit of shame.

He noticed your cheeks, which were pale before, turning pink in the blink of an eye.

“What do you need to talk to him?” He frowned and crossed his arms defensively.

“Really, Arthur? You need to know what I’m going to talk to him about?” you teased him, mocking his questions.

“I don’t care…” he suddenly changed his mind, which was unexpected. “Person… Person needs supplies for the camp.” He changed the subject.

“And?” You asked, in a hurry to get to town, not understanding what this had to do with you.

“We should go now; you need to help the camp, you know that, right sweetheart?” he said sarcastically.

“Don’t call me that, and, I do help with the camp, Arthur.” Chills ran through your whole body when he called you that, wanting to deny it, but deep down, you wanted it to be true.

“Let’s go then,” he said, guiding you to the wagon. “Or maybe you enjoy his company more than mine,” He offered a hand to help you onto the wagon.

“Don’t make me say it,” you replied, laughing, accepting his help.

The journey was calm despite all the recent confusion; you talked normally as good friends do.

But your mind is on only one thing, how would you talk to Jerry in the presence of dear Arthur? Maybe you should lose Arthur, or maybe lose Jerry and enjoy Arthur’s company. Lost in your thoughts, you are awakened by the noise of the town, people talking, working, horses walking, wagons moving, construction, all that, even though you often come to town, you don’t really like.

“Why do you need to dress up? Are you trying to impress someone else?” Arthur suddenly said after a short silence. With eyes narrowing with a sharp, intense stare.

“What-” your cheeks reddened with embarrassment. “I’m not…” you touched your warm cheeks.

“You’re looking like tomato sauce now,” He said, giving a fake laugh, looking at you, trying to lighten the mood.

“Stop it, Arthur!” you shouted at him.

“Alright, I’m sorry,” He parked the wagon. “We’ve arrived.”

“Thank god!” you said, getting out of the wooden wagon, feeling your butt almost turn square from sitting for so long.

“Let’s go to the general store, after that, you’re free,” he said.

So you both entered the store, immediately smelling the scent of fresh fruits like apples and pears, which are your favorites.

“Smells so good…” you said softly to yourself. But Arthur looked at you smiling; he probably heard you.

Person’s list was huge, taking quite a while to box all the supplies. To carry to the wagon, you picked up one of the boxes, lifting it to shoulder height. The box was heavier than you thought, causing you to let out a small sound of surprise.

“Let me carry that for you,” Arthur said after watching your struggle, placing his hands around the box.

Your faces were so close to each other that you could feel Arthur’s breath, his eyes penetrating yours. Your heart started to beat faster than usual, and that feeling you tried so hard to hide came back for a few moments. Arthur’s beautiful blue eyes so close to you, you could clearly see his eyeball. The scar on his chin, you still remember when he returned to camp with his chin bleeding, and you remember even more when you helped clean it and bandage it. For a moment you thought he was going to kiss you, for some reason you thought. But you thought many things over the years, and none were true but daydreams.

“I can carry it alone,” You said in a tense, clipped tone.

Even trying to remove Arthur’s hands from the box, he was stronger, and continued holding the box. His mouth opened for a second, trying to say something, but he didn’t… why didn’t he?

Instead, he sighed deeply and took the box from your hands, “Don’t be stupid,”

So Arthur and the shopkeeper loaded all the boxes onto the wagon, not letting you help in any way. You weren’t weak, it was just unexpected, a box that was heavier than you expected. But with that act, Arthur didn’t let you even touch them anymore.

He closed the back of the wagon once he finished organizing everything,

“I need to go to the post office to deliver a letter Person asked for,” Arthur informed.

Your heart stopped, Arthur and Jerry together in the same place? Not even your worst nightmare was that bad.

“Oh,” You exclaimed, with a face like you had seen a ghost in front of you.

“What?” He found your sudden reaction strange.

“Nothing. Let’s go.” You said, trying to hide your nervousness, guiding him to start walking.

Entering the post office, the familiar yellow walls came into view, and the first thing you looked for was Jerry.

Without waiting for you, Arthur went to the clerk to deliver Person’s letter. But to your unfortunate luck, something, or rather someone, touched your shoulder.

“Hey! Didn’t expect to see you here,” A sarcastic voice echoed through the post office. You turned to see who it was, and yes, you know who it was.

“Hey!” You turned around, changing your worried expression to a light and happy one, hugging Jerry, greeting him.

“How are you? Need to post a letter?” He said jokingly.

“Yeah -“ You were interrupted.

“Yes, we already did actually,” Arthur said seriously, placing a hand on your shoulder, with a slightly heavier touch than usual.

You found the boy’s physical contact strange, which wasn’t common, but then you understood what he was trying to do.

Ruin things between you and Jerry.

Even though he’s very young, this act was the height of selfishness and idiocy. When you realized what was happening, you felt like a knife was in your heart, breaking it into pieces. So disappointing, so disappointed you were.

Jerry looked at Arthur’s hand, at your face, and then at Arthur’s face. And his expression that was happy before, was now of complete unhappiness.

"I didn’t know you had company," Jerry said, looking deep into your eyes, ignoring Arthur’s presence, feeling betrayed.

"I don’t—" you tried to say but were interrupted by Arthur once again.

"Yes, I proposed to her a week ago, isn’t it incredible?" Arthur lied, drumming his fingers impatiently on your shoulder—a lie only you knew was false.

"Congrats. If you’ll excuse me, sir, miss," Jerry said briefly, and he left without even trying to understand or talk to you, visibly upset by Arthur’s words. Upset because he thought you had lied, but it wasn’t you—it was Arthur.

Watching Jerry walk away, you tore Arthur’s hand off your shoulder and rushed out of the post office. Your heart pounded in your throat, as if you were going to vomit at any moment—vomit all those feelings. The shame and anger you felt were indescribable, and the urge to kill Arthur at that exact moment was inevitable.

Arthur followed you out of the building after just a few seconds.

Standing with your back to the post office entrance, you turned and started yelling at him, "What is wrong with you? Why did you do that to me? Why did you lie?" Arthur seemed irritated with you somehow, and upset for some reason. "You ruined everything, Arthur! Why did you do that? He really liked me!" you said, almost crying in front of him.

You weren’t just talking—you were shouting, ignoring the fact that you were in the busiest street in town.

"And you liked him? I saw how you looked at him. You don’t like him!" he shouted back, causing everyone around to stare.

"Then why did you do that?" A tear escaped down your cheek.

"Because i love you! Not him!" Arthur said quickly, as if he had lifted a weight off his shoulders that he had been carrying for a long time.

All this time that you hid your feelings, all this time that you tried to replace him with someone else—he had liked you too. You felt like an idiot, stupid for not having said anything before. But even with Arthur’s confession, you were feeling anger towards him, because Jerry was a boy you cared for, even if you didn’t love him.

"You had no right to do that to me, you idiot!" you shouted, frustrated with everything that was happening.

The fact that Arthur upset Jerry, that you upset Jerry, the fact that Arthur loves you, the fact that you loved him—or still love him. You no longer knew if this was just a nightmare or a dream, or the cruel reality.

Arthur went quiet—quieter than he had ever been in his entire life.

"I loved you, goddamn bastard! But that doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want or hurt others." Your tears had already spread across your face, making you wipe them away with your trembling hands. "When you went out with that waitress, I didn’t stop you, even though it hurt me so much! I didn’t go there and pretend to be your fiancé!"

Arthur's eyes were studying your movements, trying to understand everything you were saying—so confusing for both him and you.

"I’m sorry, okay?" he said, feeling a burning sensation in his chest.

"No! You’re not sorry! I’m done with you, Arthur—done with your selfish behavior, done with you."

Without looking back, you walked over to the wagon, untied one of the horses, and mounted it.

Leaving Arthur there, perplexed, lost, completely directionless.

You could no longer bear the weight you felt in your heart. Your tears fell non-stop, your hair flying in the wind as you rode away.

You didn’t know where you were going, but you didn’t want to see Arthur’s face again.

————————————————————————

[junosmindpalace]

FOR YOU, FOREVER AGO

🎧 take a piece of my heart and make it all your own.

pairing: arthur morgan x gn!reader

wc: 1.7k

synopsis: arthur, and the notes he leaves in the books he gifts you. who could have figured love can transcend time?

content: established relationship, reading, reading and some more reading (together), soft and playful love, fluff with some angst at the end (arthur's death mentioned). reader is briefly said to be wearing a chemise.

a/n: i said i wouldn't write him again and here i am. writing him again. because this game has taken up so much of my writing headspace...

There’s an old saying that Arthur has heard retold in various different ways, and it went along the lines of “an idle mind is the devil’s playground.”

It derived from Proverbs 16:27: “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop,” something he later found out upon overhearing the phrase from the Reverend’s mouth during one of his rare sermons. Arthur doesn’t believe much in any sort of sacred text, but he could, to an extent, believe in that phrase. 

It’s a belief Dutch and Miss Grimshaw hold in especially high regard, and their incessant nagging to do away with him loitering about in the camp proved that. And while he agrees that it is necessary for everybody to do their part, Arthur spends much of his time out involving himself in all kinds of tough and weary business, and like anyone else, sometimes the enforcer needed a break. 

Though it seemed so to quite many people, Arthur’s mind was not solely fixated on his life of crime. Like many other people he was a man of love, who enjoyed reveling in Mother Nature’s beauty, and memorializing its likeness in his journal in gorgeous detail, too. He enjoyed lingering in on conversations that took place around him; mundane things like about rumors and town happenings, though they weren’t always pleasant. And above all else, he enjoyed being around you. 

Scare was the time to enjoy such leisure with your responsibilities, however. Often, he would return to camp well into the dead of night or during wind down time you had permitted for yourself (because Lord knows Grimshaw wouldn’t) to entertain your mind. Borrowing from the collections of books around camp was one of few forms of amusement you relied upon for some sort of satisfying stimulation.

Arthur couldn’t help but sometimes be jealous of this. To enjoy the leather cover of a book against his fingertips and the patches of sweetgrass and lavender enclosed around him like a makeshift bed was a luxury he could rarely afford. Yet still, he found ways to incorporate his own amusement to look forward to when he did have the off time to enjoy it.

The habit, at first, was a means of compensating for his long absences. It was almost his way of giving you a piece of his heart to hold to your chest, fill your mind, make your own with your wild imagination while he was away for sometimes frightening days at a time. 

Arthur provided you with literature of all sorts, from dime novels to hardcover books, when he encountered them on his travels. Mythology retellings, exaggerated tales of the fictionalized Wild West, dramatic historical fiction with royalty, castles, and dragons, and the sort of philosophy books Dutch enjoys reading passages aloud from that critique civilization. Each one, though unique in content, held a message with consistent love that made your heart swell and your lips stretch into a pleasant smile at the intent behind them. 

Couldn’t resist. 

Thought you’d like this one. 

All my love. 

Thought of you. 

For you to enjoy when I’m away.

To keep you preoccupied while I’m gone.

To make up for lost time. 

It's late when Arthur finds time to enjoy the stories with you, propped up on his side in the while his other arm is draped loosely around your waist as you lay in the same position, holding the book the two of you were enamored with in one hand. The firelight illuminates the pages for him to read from over your shoulder, his fingers brushing over your stomach and arms absentmindedly as he immerses himself in the world along with you. 

“This gentleman sure is a character.” 

“Ain’t he?” you snicker, taking the comment as an indicator to turn to the next page. “Almost reminds me of someone.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” he raises a brow at you, observing your expression with a tilt of his head.

“Nothin’ at all.” you hum innocently, pretending to fix your attention back onto the pages. He catches your bluff when he teasingly curls his arm around your waist and presses you closer against his chest, invoking a squeal of laughter from you as he ruffles your chemise. 

“Just turn the page.” he chuckles with a slight shake of his head and a roll of his eyes, but when you meet his playful gaze with one of your own, any further teasing dies on his tongue as his breath becomes lodged at the sight of your glow in the firelight. 

“Okay.” you tut with a raise of your brows, resituating yourself and leaning further into his grasp, to which he responds by hugging you closer. 

When your time wasn't spent under the stars, it was in your tent. Accompanied in your shared bedroll was a book from a marketplace stand you had picked out together when scouting around town. One of Arthur’s hands holds it on his stomach with his fingers at the bottom, while his other holds your shoulder soothingly. You lay your head over his heart, listening to its steady pulsing, and following the small text with tired eyes to lull you to sleep. 

Sometimes he read to you, when your eyes grew too heavy to look up at him, and your brain was too exhausted to form coherent enough thoughts, let alone conversation. He'd read with his free hand, voice gradually becoming husky with thick exhaustion of his own the more he read on. 

“Why’d you stop?” you murmured to him as you lulled you head up to look at him, briefly slipping into fuller consciousness when taking note of the absence of his voice amidst the evening chill.

“Thought you’d fallen asleep,” he replied, rubbing a hand up and down the side of your arm before planting a kiss on your forehead. You only shook your head.

“A little more?”

Arthur peered outside through a crevice in his tent to the pitch black, redirecting his attention back to you with a sigh. “Alright. But only a little.”

Sometimes you read to him, when he returns to the campsite with his brain scrambled from the hat and madness of his travels, and longs, almost on autopilot, for your presence and an extended period of rest. With his arms wrapped firmly around your waist, legs tangled on your sides and head snug against your stomach, you propped up one of the books you had borrowed from Mary-Beth, a romance that you could always rely on to knock Arthur out, with one hand, while the other carefully threads through his locks of brown hair.

“That sounds like a nice place to live, don’t it? In a house with a white picket fence and a beautiful garden.” You had asked him quietly one of those nights, looking down at his still figure, who merely hummed in response against your stomach. “Maybe outta the country.”

“And go where?” he replied drowsily, peering up at you through small eyes.

“I don’t know…surprise me.” you teased, and Arthur chuckled.

“Maybe someday, sweetheart.” he placed a kiss on the fabric of your night wear, letting out a sigh as he adjusted himself against you again. “Maybe someday we’ll go somewhere real nice.”

Amidst ever changing lives—periods of transition and transformation and hard feelings and new hopes and dreams—you made sure to often revisit his little notes kept in between the first few pages of a book picked out with you in mind and written with all the care you had to offer to one another. Nights apart we’re spent tracing the loving words with your eyes, running a nail through the loopy font. It reminds you that you lay under the same stars, the both of you wishing to reunite sooner than later upon one of the billions that twinkled in the sky. 

When Arthur had passed under the dying night sky, the menial, but important, declarations of love became lost to you. 

Focusing on anything outside of survival seemed impossible afterward, and the grief was all too fresh and thought consuming. Most of the time was spent rebuilding your life to the best of your ability, something not quite what you had envisioned in hopeful late night conversations with Arthur, but more bare minimum. No beautiful porch with a nice garden, no homey furnishings. Only a simple bungalow with a creaky bed and a bag of few possessions you managed to snag in your abrupt departure.

At the bottom of the bag one day, you find something, no, many things, you had not laid your eyes upon since before the hope of a new dawn was extinguished within you. 

It had been the first time you had felt an urge to be productive. For most of your days were spent in melancholy and anxious paralyzing thought that kept asking, what’s next?

You held them in your hands carefully, turning them over before opening them curiously, only to have your breath hitched when your eyes landed on the front.

Couldn’t resist.

You scrambled for another.

Thought you’d like this one.

Another, and then another. All of them until the reminders brought you to tears.

All my love.

Thought of you.

For you to enjoy while I’m away.

To keep you preoccupied while I’m gone.

To make up for lost time.

The rest of the night became dedicated to remembering all that you once had, and that you were once determined to have. Reading stories that always seemed as fantastical as your dreams of a sweeter life, perhaps where they even derived from. The inspiration and hope they fuelled gradually returned with each memory you recounted of your shared dream with Arthur.

He had given it to you in the end. Taken you some place nice, even if he wasn’t there himself to enjoy it with you. He’d given you a piece of his heart all those years ago, and you made it your own. Given you the resources—just enough money and a whole lot of love—to help you realize a life you always wanted. He was there; in the blooming flowers, in the magnificent dawn and dusk, in the pages of books you held carefully between your fingers. And you’d remind yourself of it every night with a trace of your fingers over his scrawled messages of adoration.

return to masterlist.

[blackenedsnow]

Hello! Feel free to ignore this if you can't or wouldn't like to write it!

If it's not any trouble, could I request an Arthur Morgan x Asexual!Reader thing (one shot or headcanons, whatever fits better and/or is easier!), where there's like, mutual pining, but the reader speaks about their aversion to sex and lack of that sort of attraction, and how they think they're just never gonna have a meaningful romantic relationship because of this? Been feeling discouraged and sad about this, so yeah lmao.

And if the reader could be buff, it'd be awesome (no, I am not buff yet, but I will use this as inspiration to get there lol.

Anyways, tysm for taking the time to read this! Have a lovely day/night/afternoon!

heart stronger than flesh

WARNING: None

PAIRING: Arthur Morgan x Asexual! Reader

NOTE: I hope this gave you the encouragement you were looking for! Arthur's got your back, and so do I. You're going to reach those buff goals, one step at a time. Stay strong and know you're worthy of all the love and care in the world! Thank you so much for requesting this. Remember that love comes in many forms, and you deserve it as you are.

SUMMARY: Arthur has always admired you—your strength, your sharp wit, the way you stand tall in the middle of this messy world. He knows there’s something unspoken between you two, but neither of you has dared to name it. That is, until one evening when you finally confront your fears about the future.

The camp was quiet tonight, only the crackling of the fire filling the air as the rest of the gang slowly drifted off to sleep. You sat a little ways from the fire, resting on a fallen log, your muscles tense from the long day. Arthur sat nearby, the warmth of the firelight casting flickering shadows over his face as he quietly cleaned his gun. His usual frown softened whenever his eyes flickered your way, though he was trying to act like he wasn’t paying too much attention to you.

It had been this way for a while now. The unspoken tension between you two simmered just beneath the surface—an unacknowledged pining that neither of you knew how to handle. You weren’t blind to how he looked at you, especially after all the times you’d ridden into town together, his eyes lingering on the way your biceps flexed when you pulled the reins. He was always good at keeping it hidden, though, his cowboy façade of stoicism remaining intact. But tonight felt different. He kept glancing over at you more often than usual, his jaw clenched a little tighter.

You sighed and stretched your arms above your head, feeling your muscles strain under your skin. Even in the dim light, your physique was obvious—strong arms and broad shoulders earned through days of hard work and rough living. You were proud of the strength you'd built, but something else gnawed at you. The weight in your chest wasn’t from exhaustion.

You tried to brush the thought aside, but it came creeping back, like it always did.

Arthur noticed the shift in your expression. He finally broke the silence, his voice low and gravelly. “You alright?”

You hesitated, your fingers idly picking at the worn fabric of your pants. “Yeah. Just… got a lot on my mind, I guess.”

He nodded, putting down his gun and giving you his full attention now. He was quiet for a moment, waiting for you to speak. His eyes were soft, his usual guarded expression slipping as he looked at you with concern.

You shifted on the log, feeling the words at the back of your throat, but they were hard to spit out. How could you explain it? You weren’t shy about being tough, about fighting back against the world, but this? This was something different. Something more vulnerable.

“Arthur…” you started, not looking at him directly. “You ever… feel like you're not ever gonna have what other folks have? Like, love… romance?” You paused, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten. “I mean, I see people, how they are with each other. But for me… I don’t feel the same way they do.”

Arthur frowned slightly, not sure where you were going with this yet. “What do you mean?”

You swallowed hard, your hands tightening into fists in your lap. “I don’t… I don’t want the same things as most people. I don’t want—” You stopped, heart pounding, before forcing yourself to continue. “I don’t want sex, Arthur. I never have. Never felt that way. And it makes me feel like… like I'm gonna be enough. Not for anyone.”

Arthur was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on you, but there was no judgment in his eyes. Just understanding, like he was listening to every word you said with more focus than he gave most things in this world.

You let out a shaky breath. “I’ve been thinkin’ about it for a while now. About... us. I know there’s… something between us, but I’m scared it’ll never work because I can’t give you what most people expect in a relationship. Hell, I don’t even know if it’s fair to you.”

Arthur finally spoke, his voice low and calm. “You really think that’s all there is to love? To wantin’ someone?”

You blinked at him, surprised by his question.

“I’m serious,” he said, shifting forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees as he leaned toward you. “You think I’m with you—care about you—just ‘cause of what I could get outta you physically?” He shook his head. “It ain’t like that. Not for me.”

You stared at him, unsure of what to say.

“I don’t care about that,” he continued. “Hell, I’ve been around enough folks to know what really matters. I care about *you*. I care about the way you carry yourself, the way you look after the people you care about, the way you get stronger every damn day.” His eyes softened even more. “You think I ain’t noticed how damn strong you’ve gotten, how you keep pushin’ yourself?”

Your heart skipped a beat as he spoke, and a warmth spread through your chest at his words. You had always prided yourself on your strength, but hearing it from him—hearing how he noticed and appreciated it—meant more than you could have expected.

“I’ve felt it too,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “Somethin’ between us. I ain’t gonna pretend I know all the answers, but I know I care about you. And I don’t need anything else but you by my side.”

It was hard with the weight of your fears crashing into the relief his words brought.

Arthur, ever perceptive, reached out slowly, placing a calloused hand on your knee. It was a gentle touch—so different from the hardened man you were used to seeing in him.

“I ain’t here to push you,” he said softly. “You don’t ever have to be anything you’re not. I don’t expect you to change, and I sure as hell don’t think you’re any less for feelin’ the way you do.” He hesitated, squeezing your knee gently. “You’re more than enough. I promise you that.”

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping your eyes quickly. “Arthur, I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t gotta say anything,” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “Just know that you mean somethin’ to me. And I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

For the first time in a long while, the tight knot in your chest started to loosen. You weren’t used to feeling this kind of reassurance, and yet, here was Arthur Morgan—someone as rough as the life you both led—telling you that you were enough just as you were.

You looked down at his hand on your knee, then back up into his eyes. “Thank you,” you whispered.

He smiled—just a small, fleeting thing, but it was real. “Anytime.”

The two of you sat there for a while longer, the fire crackling softly beside you, the night quiet and peaceful for once. And in that stillness, you felt a sense of calm settle in your bones.

You were strong—physically and emotionally. And with Arthur by your side, maybe you didn’t have to carry that weight alone.

[souiiore]

TRANQUILITY

arthur morgan oneshot!

pairing: arthur morgan x oc (name not mentioned)

cw: fluff if u squint ur eyes, cuddling, smut, spit, unprotected piv, slapping, fingering, MDNI, NSFW

wc: 2.5k

summary: Longing for her lover, she decided to take a peek inside of his tent, and perhaps sleep in his cot to escape the loud chatting and Dutch's annoying phonograph.

an: i js needed to write something where arthur finds oc sleeping in his tent after a long journey. it was supposed to be fluff, but things got wild :p

info: Arthur's tent is set on the outskirts of the camp, oneshot is set in chapter 3 ;)

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

The sun began to set, hiding behind the horizon and casting warm tones of yellow, pink, and orange across the pale blue sky. The colors enveloped the clouds like a thick duvet, lulling them to sleep. She pulled the ends of her shawl closer together, her eyes darting around the peaceful lake. Her ears were assaulted by the sounds of camp members chatting and drinking together, and the frustrating noise of Dutch's phonograph echoed throughout the camp, preventing her from having a moment to herself.

Working alongside the girls and picking up on their continuous gossip during hot, steamy, and seemingly endless days without a momentary break made her head buzz with a prolonged headache. Perhaps a little getaway from the gang wouldn't be too bad, but she knew better, considering she was a woman in her mid-twenties. Wandering alone at night, outside of the gang, along the shore of the lake, or in the middle of a forest promised an easy kidnapping, or worse.

So, she had to settle for a not-so-calm yet much safer alternative: the tiny dock made of wooden planks leading into the stone-cold water. She stood there, her eyes darting around, observing the birds, and occasionally a splash of water drew her attention to the surface. What made it so incredibly boring and uneventful was the fact that her lover was away. Again.

With him constantly occupying her mind, it was hard to focus on anything else. She hated being dependent on him; however, she missed him dearly, and it made her heart ache with deep remorse. His tent had remained untouched since his abrupt departure, and she wondered if it still held his strong scent. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt if she took a peek inside. Besides, his tent was perfectly distanced from Dutch's infuriating phonograph.

So, with determination in her steps, she strutted towards his tent, untying the flaps and swiftly disappearing inside. The interior was a mess: his belongings were scattered everywhere, his cot unmade, and the thin blanket draped over the edge. She sighed to herself, picked up a pair of boots, and set them down on the ground next to a wooden crate. She picked up a shirt tossed on the ground, noticing a tiny hole in one of the seams, and made a mental note to patch it up later. The few photos on his desk she decided to stay away from, being careful not to invade his privacy more than she already had.

With a slight bend of her knees, she took a seat on his cot, her fingers ghosting over the pillow. Her nostrils filled with the familiar scent of musk and tobacco, and she found herself longing for the warmth his touch carried. She unlaced her boots and pulled them off, placing them carefully at the end of the cot. Exhaustion weighed down on her, and she leaned onto the pillow, wrapping her arms around herself in an attempt to keep warm. A slow breath escaped her mouth, and her eyes sealed shut, eyelids drooping with the weight of heavy slumber.

The sound of hooves bouncing against the soil resonated through the already loud camp; people were too busy getting themselves drunk to notice Arthur had returned from his adventures. He pulled his horse to the hitching post, tied the reins securely around the wooden stick, gave his mare a few pats on the neck, whispered praises in her ear, and pulled an apple from his satchel. The mare snorted in approval, and he watched her munch on it, his fingers threading through her mane. He then stepped closer to his saddle, untying his belongings and carrying himself, slouched forward with fatigue, to his tent.

The flaps of his tent were untied, and he was certain he had tied them when leaving so hastily. His fingers flew to his gunbelt, wrapping around his gun, and he slowly approached the tent, pulling one flap aside to make space for his entrance. The tent was dark and quiet inside, his eyes having a hard time adjusting. Then he heard a rustling sound to his right and relaxed, his features softening when he noticed it was her, sleeping peacefully in his cot. He remained careful and aware of his movements, not because he was cautious of his intruder but because waking her was the last thing he wanted.

He kneeled on the floor, untying the knot on his bedroll and rolling it out on the ground. He then took off his hat, tossing it on his wooden crate, unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt, and shook off his boots, settling down on the ground.

"What're you doin'?" A mumble came from above him, and he stilled.

"Didn't mean to rouse ya," he whispered, eyes searching for hers in the darkness.

"C'mere." She scooted over on the cot, turning to her side, making tight space for him.

He hesitated at first but then rose to his knees, squeezing his body behind hers on the narrow cot. His arm awkwardly lingered between their bodies, and she reached behind herself to grab his wrist, pulling it over her side, interlocking fingers and tucking it to her chest. She sighed in contentment, closing her eyes and lazily smiling to herself.

"I missed you," she sighed.

"I know," he mumbled, giving her a quick kiss on the neck, his warm breath fanning over the thin skin.

His fingers traced her collarbones, dancing curiously across her skin and sending shivers down her spine. Goosebumps covered her skin, and she leaned her head into him, caressing the back of his hand with her palm. He then released his hand from her grasp, his fingers drawing up her neck towards her jaw, then continuing upwards to her eyebrow, brushing messy strands of hair away from her face. His lips tenderly kissed her temple, and he released a shaky breath, tension slowly building between their bodies.

She pushed her hips back, arching slightly and brushing her ass against his crotch. An audible groan escaped his mouth, such a blissful sound to her ears. In one quick motion, she turned around to lie on her back, her eyes meeting his as they both stilled, perceiving each other's features with lust. She blinked up at him, her hand now grasping his bicep for stability, and she pulled him downwards, their lips locking in a passionate kiss.

His hand was quick to caress her neck, slowly yet firmly traveling down to her chest, where his fingers deftly unbuttoned her blouse and pulled the fabric apart, exposing her naked breasts to the chilly air. He then cupped her breast with his palm, and she silently moaned into the kiss in bliss, his warm palm in perfect contrast to the cold breeze. Her nails scratched at the clothed skin on his bicep, and her breath hitched when she felt his fingers gently pinch her nipple. The fire in the pit of her stomach was undeniable; her legs bent at the knees, her thighs squeezing together in a desperate attempt to create some friction.

The hand on her breast slowly caressed her stomach, proceeding lower to where the waistband of her bloomers hugged her hips. He pulled away from the kiss, resting his forehead against hers, his breath coming out in rapid inhales and exhales. He then pecked her cheek, his fingers diving beneath the waistband, her fingers twitching in anticipation.

She moaned when the pad of his finger slipped between her folds, but he quickly swallowed the sound with a rough kiss. Her thighs pressed together with more strength now, locking his wrist in place and preventing him from retrieving his hand from between her legs. His thumb then experimentally flicked her clit, another soft moan escaping her mouth.

"That feel good?" he questioned into her mouth, and she only hummed in response, unable to form a coherent sentence.

He repeated the motion a few more times before finally parting her folds and sinking a finger into her entrance, his thumb now applying pressure onto the bundle of nerves. Her fingers pulled at his sleeve, and she pulled away from the kiss to gasp for breath, feeling dizzy. His lips moved from her cheek to right below her jaw, puckering and nibbling at the skin.

"Arthur, take— take that off," she said between breaths, indicating his shirt that still covered his upper half, and she could feel him smile against her neck.

He quickly removed his hand from between her thighs, the action making her whine at the loss of contact.

"Calm down, girl. I'll be quick," he cooed.

Reaching with both of his hands for the collar behind his neck, he pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it to the ground, his hand slipping past her thighs immediately after. She reached to grab at the back of his neck, his locks wrapping around her fingers as she threaded through his hair and pulled at his roots.

He added another finger and curled them inwards to brush against her sensitive spot. She mewled into his mouth, squirming beneath him. Her hips bucked into his hand involuntarily, his tongue darting out of his mouth to lick her lower lip and sneaking past her teeth. She sharply exhaled through her nose, and he couldn't help but groan when she clenched around his fingers, his dick now painfully hard. With a harsh grind of her hips, he pulled out his fingers, her soft whimper filling his mouth. His fingers hooked around the waistband of her bloomers, and she raised her hips to give him easier access to take them off. He tugged them off, tossing them on the ground, then without a second thought unzipped his pants and pulled them down to his ankles, kicking them off with urgency.

"Fuck, c'mere," he growled as he grabbed the underside of her knee and pulled her leg over his waist, so now both of them lay on their sides with their chests and stomachs tightly pressed together.

He stilled, his hand coming to rub the skin on her thigh. "Ya ready?" he inquired, almost whimpered, with lust and need evident in his voice, and she nodded. "Yeah? Okay," he breathed.

He spat into his palm, grabbed himself at hand, and gave his cock a few firm strokes before aligning himself with her entrance. His other hand grabbed the back of her neck, tilting her head down along with his to watch him enter her, his forehead leaned against hers, and she let out a mewl at that. The sight of his cock disappearing inside of her made her head loll back, her eyebrows cinching together, eyes squeezed shut.

"It's okay, girl. Relax," he coaxed, pushing himself inch by inch in until he was fully sheathed, his pelvis flush against hers.

He stilled, the hand on her neck now cupping her jaw, his thumb brushing her cheek in a soothing manner. "Fuck, you're too—" she tried to speak, but he was quick to silence her with a kiss while murmuring a barely audible "I know, let me help ya."

His hand left her cheek and dipped between their bodies, his thumb finding her clit effortlessly and applying slight pressure to that spot. Her pussy clenched around him and it took everything in him not to cum on the spot. Besides being awkward with touch such as cuddling, holding hands, or kissing in public, he was exceptionally skilled when it came to intimacy, and it only baffled her how well he read her body as if it was a treasure map.

The stretch she felt from his cock entering her set her stomach on fire and sparked a slight pressure in her core, but when all this tension slowly began subsiding, she whispered a quiet, "You can move," delivered with a curt nod of her head.

And he did as he was told, pulling almost all the way out, only his head remaining swallowed by her entrance, then gently pushing all the way back, all the while his fingers worked on her clit and his lips claimed their spot behind her ear. He whispered praises into her ear, the mixture of his hips rocking into her and his voice in her ear making her release a moan into his ear which made goosebumps spread across his skin.

With every stroke of his hips, she let out a shudder of air through her nose, and her hands clawed at his shoulders. He suckled on the pale skin of her neck, very cautious not to suck too hard, but enough to make her whine in ecstasy. Her mind was elsewhere, her vision blurry, and all she could focus on was his dick pistoning into her, his lips and his voice in her ear sounding so desperate and needy, it made the coil in her stomach swirl dangerously, and she could feel herself clenching around him more feverishly.

Exhausted yet somehow full of determination, she began bucking her hips, meeting him halfway, and his hand gripped her by her ass cheek, pulling her even closer to close the already narrow gap, then delivered a slap to her skin, and she yelped in surprise, his palm immediately coming to soothe that sore, raging place.

"I couldn't help myself," he mumbled against her throat and moaned when her nails dug into his shoulders.

Their bodies now more or less glued together, their chests tightly pressed against each other, they could feel each other's hearts hammering in their chests and their rapid intakes of breath allowed him to reach even deeper inside of her, and under a slightly different angle, which fortunately for her was her sweet and so sensitive spot that made her see stars with each of his thrusts.

Her leg locked around his waist, and her heel dug into his skin, as if to push him and feel him even deeper inside of her to prolong and enhance the impact of his pistoning hips. The knot set deep in the pit of her abdomen was threatening to snap within the tension, and she gasped when his thumb flicked her clit, panting his name incoherently.

"Ar—Arthur, cum inside me—," she blurted out, and that was the last straw he needed.

She arched her back, arms wrapping around his shoulders to hold him as close as possible, moaning his name in sync with his last few thrusts as he guided them both through their orgasms. Her muscles spasmed and she could feel his cock twitch inside of her, now feeling full of him.

He exhaled sharply, kissed her forehead, and tried to catch his breath. His dick softened inside of her and he pulled out, both of them hissing at the loss of contact. Beads of sweat rolled down her temples and she breathed in, closed her eyes, and buried her face into the crook of his neck. His arm circled her chest and caressed her back, fingers splaying over her neck, drawing lazy patterns.

"What took you so long?" she groaned teasingly into his skin, and his chest rumbled with a heartfelt chuckle.