#red dead redemption 2 oneshots

[ialreadymadeyouapromise]

𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐓𝐋𝐄.

PAIRING: arthur morgan x fem!reader WARNINGS: shameless flirting, no use of y/n GENRE: fluff SONG INSPIRATION: into you - ariana grande WORD COUNT: 1.8k

navigation | inbox | arthur morgan masterlist

life in the van der linde gang had a way of skewing your sense of normal. when scheming, looting, and solving arguments with fists or bullets were part of daily life, "morality" became more of a suggestion than a rule.

you weren’t exactly a beacon of righteousness yourself, but you liked to think you were the sanest one in the camp.

not that anyone appreciated it. when you pointed out the ridiculousness of dutch’s insane plans or when you tried to keep fights from erupting during yet another round of whiskey-fueled shouting, you’d get nothing but side eyes or snark for your trouble.

it was a thankless role, but there was one shining consolation was arthur morgan.

at first, you hadn’t thought much of him beyond his reputation. a quiet, rough edged outlaw who could silence a room just by walking into it. but the more time you spent around him, the more you started noticing things. 

the way his voice softened when he spoke to jack. the way he’d carry supplies for the women without them asking. the way he’d sit by the fire after everyone had gone to bed, looking like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders but refusing to let it break him.

oh, and the way he looked.

because damn, arthur morgan was walking, breathing eye candy. the kind of man you’d dreamt about long before you’d ever laid eyes on him. the scruff, the broad shoulders, those hands that made you imagine things no one in camp should ever hear about.

when he worked under the sun, his shirt clinging to every defined line of muscle, it took everything in you not to stand there gawking at him.

and sometimes you did, forgetting to mask the blatant admiration on your face. it wasn’t just his looks. though those certainly didn’t hurt, it was the way he carried himself. every movement, every glance, a natural, effortless charm that hit you square in the chest.

you tried to be subtle about it at first, stealing glances when he wasn’t looking, marvelling at the sharp lines of his jaw or the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. but eventually, all pretense of subtlety flew right out the window.

how could it not, when he looked like that and acted like that?

of course, you told yourself that no one had noticed. surely everyone was too caught up in their own drama to care about your embarrassingly obvious crush. but one day, when you caught yourself staring as arthur tightened the straps on his saddle, completely transfixed by the veins in his forearms, you felt his eyes flick toward you.

the heat shot up your neck as you whipped your head away, but it was too late.

arthur had noticed. and from the way his lips twitched into a knowing smirk, it wasn’t the first time.

one evening, arthur sat by the fire, cleaning his guns. his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing strong forearms dusted with just the right amount of sun kissed grit to make you lose focus. it was practically an invitation – or so you told yourself.

you strolled over, plopping down beside him with a grin.

"y’know, arthur,” you began, your voice low and undeniably flirtatious, “it’s almost unfair how good you look doing anything.” you let your gaze linger on him, smirking when he stiffened slightly. “honestly, it’s damned distracting.”

arthur paused mid clean, raising an eyebrow as he glanced your way. “what the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“oh, don’t play coy,” you shot back, letting your eyes wander, not even pretending to be subtle. your gaze lingered just long enough on his body to make him shift slightly. “i’m just saying, it’s downright criminal. the rest of us don’t even stand a chance.”

his jaw tensed, and for a moment, you thought you might’ve pushed too far. but then his ears turned pink, and he ducked his head back to his gun, muttering, “you’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

“i like to think so,” you said brightly, leaning back on your hands. “i mean, someone’s gotta keep you on your toes.”

arthur huffed, a soft laugh slipping out despite himself. he set his gun down for a moment, leaning back slightly to look at you. “keep this up, and i’m gonna start thinkin’ you like me or somethin’.”

the words hung in the air, his tone teasing, but the way his eyes searched your face said there was more to it.

you didn’t bother denying it. instead, you met his gaze with a slow, deliberate smirk, shrugging one shoulder like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

arthur blinked, his confident facade faltering for just a second as his ears flushed a deeper red. he muttered something low under his breath, shaking his head as he turned back to his gun, but not before you caught the way his lips curved into an almost bashful smile.

the members in camp started to notice it too.

one afternoon, you were helping pearson unload some supplies when karen sidled up to you with a sly grin.

“still gonna tell me you’re not sweet on him?” she whispered, jerking her chin toward arthur, who was saddling his horse across camp.

“i have no idea what you’re talking about,” you replied, deliberately watching arthur as he worked. the way his hands handled the leather straps with practiced ease was — god, was it warm out here, or was it just you?

“uh huh,” karen snorted, a smirk tugging at her lips. “and you’re about as subtle as they come, huh?”

across camp, arthur looked up, catching your stare. you didn’t even bother pretending you weren’t watching. instead, you gave him a slow wave.

he squinted at you, shook his head, and muttered something under his breath before going back to his work.

the real kicker came when you joined arthur on a supply run. the two of you were riding side by side, the silence comfortable until you decided to break it.

“so,” you started, grinning, "how does it feel to be so damn hot?" you asked, your tone playful as you gave him a teasing look. "must be a real struggle."

arthur groaned, tipping his head back toward the sky. “for the love of – will you stop?”

“stop what?” you asked innocently.

“all the... whatever this is,” he muttered, gesturing vaguely between the two of you.

“flirting?” you offered. “admiring? honestly, i think i’m being pretty restrained.”

arthur gave you a flat look, but the twitch of his lips betrayed him. “you’re impossible.”

“and yet, here you are, riding with me,” you shot back, leaning forward on your saddle with a grin.

arthur sighed, shaking his head. “yeah, well, somebody’s gotta keep you outta trouble.”

it turned into a full time occupation. flirting with arthur morgan like it was your god given purpose. subtlety was a distant memory. why be coy when you could see that little twitch in arthur’s eye, that helpless smirk he tried to fight every time you laid it on thick?

one morning, you caught him sitting by the fire, patching a tear in his shirt. you strutted over, planting yourself in the seat next to his, “arthur, can i ask you a question?” you blinked up at him.

“go ahead…” he turns his full attention to you now. “do you have a map?” 

he goes to answer, about to start searching his pocket until you speak up, “cause i think i just got lost in your eyes.”

arthur froze, his jaw tightening. he glanced up at you, then down at the shirt, his face already turning red. “you ever get tired of talkin’ nonsense?”

“not when it’s about you,” you shot back. “you’re my favorite topic.”

he sighed, shaking his head. “you’re gonna give me a headache.”

“i’ll kiss it better,” you said without missing a beat, leaning into his space.

arthur gave you a look, half-exasperated, half-amused, but the twitch of his lips betrayed him. 

“you’re somethin’ else.”

“and you’re somethin’ fine,” you quipped, giving him a wink.

later that day, you spotted him chopping wood near the edge of camp. the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, muscles flexing with every swing of the axe. it was almost cinematic, the way the sunlight hit his sweat slick skin.

“arthur morgan!” you hollered, startling him mid swing. he set the axe down, turning to face you with a wary look.

“what now?” he grumbled, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

“you’re gonna need to start carrying a warning sign,” you said, sauntering over with a grin. 

“danger to hearts within a hundred mile radius.”

arthur snorted, leaning on the axe handle. “you need help, y’know that?”

“oh, i’ve got a problem, alright,” you agreed, gesturing dramatically at him. “how is anyone supposed to focus when you’re walking around looking like that?”

he pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about needing a drink.

“you can’t run from this,” you teased, following him back toward camp. “your hotness is a public safety hazard, arthur. i’m just trying to raise awareness.”

the next morning, you found him saddling his horse. he’d just come back from a job, dust clinging to his shirt, his hat tipped low. you leaned against a nearby post, arms crossed as you watched him work.

“you look good dirty, morgan,” you drawled, smiling when he stiffened.

arthur turned, leveling you with a flat stare. “ain’t you got somethin’ better to do?”

“absolutely not,” you said, grinning. “admiring you is a full time job.”

he shook his head, muttering under his breath as he tightened the saddle.

“i’m serious,” you continued, stepping closer. “you’re like a fine work of art – rugged, mysterious, impossible to ignore. if i had a lick of talent, i’d paint you.”

arthur paused, one hand on the saddle, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “you’re unbelievable.”

“unbelievably smitten,” you corrected, giving him a cheeky grin. “so, what do you say, cowboy? you gonna let me take you out on a real date, or are you just gonna keep pretending you don’t enjoy all this attention?”

for a moment, arthur just stared at you, his lips twitching like he was fighting a smile. then he leaned on the saddle, tipping his hat back to look at you properly.

“you ain’t gonna quit, are you?” he asked, his voice tinged with amusement.

“not a chance,” you replied, stepping even closer.

arthur sighed, a soft chuckle escaping him. “alright, fine. but if i say yes, you gotta promise to quit with all the hollerin’ about how ‘pretty’ i am in front of the whole damn camp.”

you grinned, holding out your hand. “deal.”

he took your hand, shaking it firmly. “you’re really are somethin’ else, darlin’.”

“and don’t you forget it,” you said, winking at him.

arthur laughed, shaking his head as he mounted his horse. “god help me.”

you watched him get onto his horse and ride off, already plotting your next move.

subtle or not, you were winning this man over one shameless compliment at a time.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ᯓ★

© ialreadymadeyouapromise 2024.

[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

navigation | ask | red dead redemption masterlist

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.

[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!”

[springtyme]

since youre feeling a little burnt out it could be like three sentences and id jump for joy but could you do Arthur Morgan realizing you do not know how to ride a horse and how have you survived this long without riding a horse?

Thank you thank you thank you thank you

𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐬 ♡

Thank you for the request, dear <3 As a certified horsegirl, I really loved your idea, so I might make a part 2 sometime.

Arthur Morgan x f!reader || Masterlist || Arthur playlist

summary: After recently having joined the Van der Linde gang, you still have a lot to learn about your new life. Good thing that Arthur is willing to help you learn.

word count: 2.1k

warning/tags: Fluff. Arthur is a horse stealing sweetheart. Very brief mention of a dead deer. Perhaps a little occ, haven’t played the game in a while.

The camp is alive with the sounds of crackling fire and low conversations as you sit by the flames, warming your hands against the chill of the evening air. You’ve recently joined the Van der Linde gang, finding a strange sense of belonging among these outlaws, but there’s still much to learn. The thrill of the freedom they embody has drawn you in, but the reality of their life is far more complex than you initially imagined. Each member of the gang has their own story, their own scars, and their own reasons for being here.

As you watch the flames dance, you can’t help but reflect on your own past and what led you to this moment and how your life has changed. The things you have to learn are as varied as the faces around the fire. You do feel welcomed by the gang, but you can’t help the nagging in the back of your mind telling you that you don’t really belong. At least not yet.

You are pulled from your thoughts as you hear the familiar sound of hoofbeats approaching the camp. The rhythmic thud of hooves on the ground cuts through the quiet evening, and you turn your gaze toward the sound. The flickering light casts long shadows as you squint into the darkness, anticipation lacing your thoughts. The gang is often on the move, and late-night arrivals usually mean news—good or bad. The hoofbeats grow louder, and soon the silhouettes of a few riders come into view. A few of the members of the gang left earlier in the day to scout the nearby town for supplies and information and have now returned.

And there is one rider in particular who you are the most excited to see coming back. You recognize the figure of Arthur immediately, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the glow of the campfire, and the familiar outline of his hat pulled low over his brow against the dusky sky.

Ever since you became part of the gang, you’ve felt an undeniable attraction to him. It’s as if you’re a ship caught in a powerful current, swept along with a momentum you can’t resist. There’s a strength in him that you find captivating, and an unspoken vulnerability that tugs at something deep within you.

You step away from the fire to get a better look as the men ride into the camp. You notice the glint of something large strapped to the side of Charles’s horse—a hefty buck they must have hunted. But that is not the only thing they have back with them. Led by a rope, a horse you have never seen before trots alongside Arthur’s own chestnut mare. A palomino, its shiny golden coat glimmering in the light from the fire.

Arthur rides forward, dismounting with a practiced ease, and you can’t help but admire the way he moves—confident, yet grounded. You stand frozen for a moment, drinking in the sight of him as he guides the two horses forward, desperately trying to quell the fluttering in your chest.

He catches your eye, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. It’s a fleeting expression, quickly replaced by his usual reserved demeanor, but you saw it. The warmth in his gaze softens the rugged lines of his face, the weariness etched by countless hard days seeming to melt away for a brief instant.

He nods a greeting, a silent acknowledgment of your presence. You give him a slight smile and a nod in return, feeling a little embarrassed to have been caught staring, but you hope it comes off as you being interested in the new horse. You are ready for him to turn his focus back on the animals, but instead he calls your name, gesturing with his head to the palomino beside him. “Got someone here I’d like you to meet.”

Your heart skips at the sound of your name on his lips. You make your way over to him, curiosity piqued as you step closer. You have always admired horses from a distance, captivated by their grace and power, but have never had many interactions with them up close, and you can’t help but feel a tiny hint of trepidation mixing in with your curiosity.

The new horse stands patiently beside Arthur while he ties up his own to remove her saddle. You can’t help but reach out a hand, letting your fingers gently brush against the soft, smooth coat of the palomino’s neck, feeling the warmth radiating from its body. “Where did you get it from?”

Arthur loosens the girth of his mare’s saddle and glances over at you, a hint of pride in his expression as he watches you interact with the palomino. “Don’t you worry ‘bout that, darlin’” he replies with a teasing lilt in his gruff voice as he lifts off the saddle.

You feel how your cheeks warm from the name of endearment, rivaling the warmth you are feeling from the fire at your back. You try to compose yourself, focusing on the horse instead of the way his voice wraps around you like a comforting blanket. “It’s beautiful,” you say, your fingers continuing to explore the palomino’s neck, smoothing over the soft fur. The horse leans slightly into your touch, and you can’t help but smile at the connection you feel, even if it’s fleeting.

“Yeah, he is.” Arthur glances at the gelding with a fondness that brings a smile to your face, and you can’t help but notice how his eyes light up when he speaks about it.

“Have you given him a name?” you ask, your curiosity now peaked further.

“No…” Arthur shakes his head, a thoughtful look crossing his features. “I figured I’d let you do that yourself.”

You feel a rush of surprise and delight at his words, your heart racing at the thought of Arthur letting you name the horse. The palomino stands patiently, as if aware of the importance of this moment, while Arthur watches you with an intensity that sends butterflies swirling in your stomach.

“Me?” You say softly, trying to mask your excitement with a light laugh. “I’ve never named a horse before.”

“Well, he’s yours now, so it’s only right that you name him.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, a mixture of disbelief and exhilaration flooding through you. “You got him for me?”

Arthur’s expression softens further, and he nods, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a small smile. “Yes, I figured… well, you don’t have a horse. Thought you could use one.”

You swallow hard, feeling a swell of gratitude, as well as a wave of deep apprehension. The weight of his gesture sinks in, and the reality of it is almost overwhelming. “Thank you, Arthur. That’s really kind, but…” You trail off, the words catching in your throat. You want to express your gratitude, but the hesitation lingers. “I’ve never had a horse of my own… I don’t even know how to ride one,” you admit, an apologetic tone to your voice.

Arthur’s brows furrow in disbelief. “You don’t know how to ride?” he repeats, shaking his head in bafflement. “How the hell have you survived this long without knowing how to ride a horse?” There is nothing in his tone that indicates judgment; rather, it’s a mix of incredulity and genuine curiosity. Still, you can’t help but feel a rush of embarrassment and a twinge of fear that the gang, who have welcomed you in, will start second-guessing their choice if they realize just how unaccustomed to their lifestyle you really are.

You shrug, glancing away from Arthur’s penetrating gaze. What does his eyes also have to be so piercing blue for? Sometimes it is as if he can see straight through you. “I grew up in a town, I could walk everywhere. And on the occasions I had to travel it was by wagon or train.”

Arthur shakes his head, chuckling softly, but there’s a glimmer of something else in his eyes—concern, perhaps? “Well, darlin’, if you’re gonna be part of this gang, you’re going to need to learn. A horse is your lifeline out here.”

You nod slowly, feeling the weight of his words settle over you like a heavy blanket. The idea of riding a horse, of being free, and of truly belonging to this life, both excites and terrifies you. But you can see the sincerity in Arthur’s eyes, the way he believes in you.

“Okay,” you finally reply, determination creeping into your voice. “I’ll learn.”

Arthur nods, the corners of his mouth lifting in a way that makes your heart flutter. “Good. I’ll help you. We’ll start tomorrow,” he says, his tone gentle but firm. “You’ll have him running like the wind in no time.”

The campfire crackles behind you, casting a warm glow that feels almost like a cocoon, wrapping you in a blend of excitement and nerves. “Tomorrow, huh?” you repeat, trying to envision the scene. The thought of being on horseback, feeling the rush of wind against your face, stirs a thrill deep within you, but at the same time, the uncertainty of it all sends a shiver down your spine.

Arthur seems to catch your momentary uncertainty. “And hey,” he says, his voice low and reassuring, “you don’t have to worry. I’ll be right there with you. And we’ll take it slow, one step at a time.” There’s a tenderness in his gaze that calms you, and you can’t help but feel a sense of safety in his presence.

His words wash over you like a gentle tide, soothing the apprehension that had begun to rise within. You meet his gaze, feeling the intensity of his attention, and for a moment, the world around you fades into the background. It’s just the two of you, standing amidst the chatter from the camp and the hum of the night.

“Thank you, Arthur,” you say, this time with more confidence. “I really appreciate that.”

A flicker of something deeper passes through his eyes, and you wonder if he feels the same current of connection that you do. He looks younger in the soft glow of the campfire, almost boyish, the gentle smile on his face softening his rugged features. “Anytime. You’re one of us now, and we look out for each other.”

For a heartbeat, it’s as if the air thickens with unspoken words, lingering like the smoke from the fire. But then he clears his throat, breaking the spell.

“Now, let’s get this big fella settled, and then we can grab some food. If you’re feeling anyway like my, I reckon you must be starving.” His voice is warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the chill in the air, and you find yourself nodding in agreement, feeling a sense of ease settle over you.

You glance back at the palomino, who stands with an air of quiet patience. “I could use some food, and I better start thinking about a good name for him.”

Arthur steps closer, helping you untie your new horse. “Why don’t you take your time with that? You’ll know his name when you spend some more time with him. It’ll come to you.”

With Arthur’s help, you lead the palomino to the horse line, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness as you navigate the unfamiliar task. You watch as Arthur works with the horses, his movements fluid and confident. It’s easy to see that he’s in his element, and you can’t help but admire the way he connects with the animals. Arthur seems to command respect without even trying. It’s as if the horses know they’re in good hands.

With your new horse now content in his spot, you take a step back, allowing yourself to breathe and absorb the moment. The laughter and chatter of the gang surrounds you, a reminder of the sense of community that you’ve only just begun to understand. You feel a flicker of hope that maybe, you really can carve a place for yourself within this chaotic family of outlaws.

“Hey, you coming?” Arthur’s voice breaks through your reverie, drawing your attention. He’s looking at you with that same warmth, inviting you to join him and the others around the fire. You nod, a smile breaking across your face as you make your way back to him.

As you settle into the circle, the fire crackling cheerfully between you and the gang, you realize that for the first time in a long while, you feel a sense of belonging.

[anna-proxx]

☆ evening in camp ☆

pairing: arthur morgan x fem!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 1882

a/n: my dear readers, this is my first attempt at a rdr2 oneshot here on tumblr, I started with something easy but will definitely add more action in the future. this right here broke my writer's block and for that i am grateful. hope this brings you some comfort whenever you need it.

It was a chilly evening, meek distant noise of nocturnal animals creating a peaceful ambience, along with the crackling fire nearby. The whole camp was already either asleep or holed up in their tents.

It has been a good day. Arthur and Javier successfully robbed a homestead, Micah was still locked up in jail and Bill brought a good catch from his hunting trip.

Javier sang and played the guitar by the campfire earlier and some people sang along. In general, this evening was one of those that made you feel warm inside.

The night sky was clear, stars peeking down at you as you wished your mare a good night, patting her neck and giving her a carrot before you'd leave her to sleep. That girl was dear to you and you showed her gratitude every day.

A small kiss on her nose and you finally turned around, admiring the full moon shining bright on the ink black sky. You walked across the quiet camp, careful not to make too much noise. You made your way straight towards the small light of an oil lamp in Arthur's tent.

He sat on his bed, slouched over his journal set on the table, writing with all focus. You smiled, feeling all the affection you felt for that man.

When you came close, he looked up from his journal, his gaze softening as he patted the place beside him. "C'm sit."

You sat right next to him, putting your hands in your lap as you gave Arthur a bright smile. He chuckled. "Ya done givin' that horse a g'night kiss?" he asked with a small grin on his face, returning his attention to the half-filled pages.

You slightly poked his arm with your elbow, a soft smile lingering on your lips. "She's like my family," you explained.

"I know. 'S cute."

You shuffled a bit closer, watching the pencil in Arthur's hand move swiftly. You enjoyed watching him write and draw, those idle moments always brought you comfort. And you had the honor to be allowed to watch. Arthur believed his drawings were nothing special but you knew better. His ability to draw details of an animal or scenery he saw just once from memory still blew your mind. You could barely recall such details, let alone draw them.

You quietly continued to watch, taking in every pretty letter he drew one after another. When he was done with the entry, he flipped the page and started sketching.

"What are you drawing?" you asked, watching the first lines of the sketch.

"A moose I saw t'day," Arthur answered, his voice calm and focused.

You continued to watch him and set your elbow on the table after a while, leaning your head against your hand. As always the drawing came out beautiful and you admired the authentic features of the animal that was looking up at you from the page. Arthur put the pencil aside and sighed, stretching his arms.

He then looked at you, a warm smile on his lips as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. You leaned back from the table and snuggled into the half-embrace, resting your head on Arthur's shoulder. His body was warm and so were his fingers that drew small circles on your arm.

"Ya tired yet, darlin'?"

You smiled at the pet name and slightly shook your head. "Not really."

"Do y'want me to draw s'mthing for ya?" Arthur offered, watching your face intently as you thought.

"Me," you eventually said with a small grin. He drew you all the time and you loved every each one of those drawings.

"M'kay." He shortly caressed your arm before removing his from around you, shifting in his seat as he took the pencil again. He slightly nodded towards you. "Sit there, wanna hav' a good look at ya."

You slightly moved away to sit at the other edge, still facing Arthur who turned his body towards you, bending his leg on the bed to lean his journal against it. You shortly ran fingers through your hair, setting strands over your shoulders, and straightened your back, ready to be his model.

His face was relaxed as he started sketching, the soft sounds of the pencil gliding over the paper filling the air between you. Arthur kept looking up at you regularly, a gentle smile on his face as he met your soft affectionate gaze.

There was silence between you two but it was comfortable, happy. The light from the oil lamp lazily danced over the left side of his face, highlighting his features.

He was beautiful. As you remained motionless, you thought about how often he put himself down, being completely clueless about how he looked in your eyes.

"You're so pretty," you said quietly, nothing but affection and genuinity in your voice.

Arthur looked up at you surprised, then got visibly flustered as he blushed and looked back down at the sketch, scribbling on. He let out a small low chuckle. "I ain't pretty."

You slightly frowned, displeased with him rejecting the compliment like that. "So I am a liar?"

Arthur looked up, for a short moment he looked like a clueless child trying to find the right words. "I ain't meant it that way..."

You couldn't hold back a smile. "Just take the goddamn compliment, Mr Morgan, it's not so hard."

Arthur softly huffed as he returned his focus to the sketch, seemingly uncomfortable. A sad feeling grew in your chest. He really had no idea, did he?

"Am I a good model?" you asked after a while of silence. You knew very well he could draw you from memory but this was easier and you enjoyed being the center of his attention in any way. Frankly, Arthur enjoyed studying your features as you sat in front of him as well.

Arthur smiled. "M'favorite."

After a few more moments, he took a few glances at you and back at the journal with a satisfied expression, putting the pencil away.

Your face lit up as you shuffled over, curiously peeking at the page. You were met with your own soft gaze staring back at you, every detail of your face in its place. It melted your heart how carefully drawn each line was.

You kissed Arthur's cheek, loosely wrapping your arms around his neck. "Beautiful as always. Thank you."

"Yer beautiful," he said in response, putting the journal flat open on the table.

You slightly blushed and moved to sit behind him, resting your chin on his shoulder as you kept your arms wrapped around him. You weren't great at accepting compliments either. "Thank you, Mr Morgan." You sighed softly, feeling Arthur's hands envelope yours. "My talented outlaw," you mumbled quietly but clearly enough for him to hear.

You heard a chuckle. "What?" you asked, unsure of what that was for. "Yer in an affectionate mood t'day," he stated, amusement in his voice.

"There a problem with that?" you asked but the smile on your face remained.

You slightly leaned back and moved your hands to his shoulders, instinctively massaging them as you thought. Arthur was out hunting, riding and shooting most of the time, so your massages were always appreciated.

You heard a quiet sigh of relief as his body started becoming more relaxed.

"Would u like to go hunt with me tomorrow?" you asked. You were tired of being stuck in the camp and honestly going on a little trip with Arthur wouldn't be bad at all.

"Sure."

You smiled and reached for his suspenders, then slid them off his shoulders. He understood and unbuttoned his shirt so that you could get a better access to his back and shoulders.

"Thank you, darlin'."

You hummed in response and continued, your gaze moving over his exposed skin covered with small scars. You wondered about the story behind each one of them, some seemed to be almost faded while there was one very fresh bruise, a red line of dried blood.

Arthur took out a cigarette and lit it, puffing as he relaxed under your touch. He probably would've offered you one as well if you smoked, but you didn't, only ever tasting tobacco when you kissed him. You never minded.

After a few more moments you put a kiss on the nape of his neck, then kissed the fresher wound as well. You were always so worried whenever he left to do a dangerous job, only praying he'd return in one piece, but you knew it was his life; and you were a part of it.

When you moved to sit next to him again, cheeky smile on your face as your eyes met, Arthur sighed, mumbling with cigarette between his lips. "Yer too good for'm, woman."

You stared into his blue eyes for a long moment, a quiet voiceless conversation happening between you two with eye contact alone. He cared for you as much as you cared for him.

Without a word you snuggled up closer, soon being enclosed by body warmth as he embraced you. You relaxed into the hug and closed your eyes, just listening to Arthur's inhales and exhales of the smoke.

You assumed Arthur must've been thinking as well, as there was yet another comfortable silence between you two and you were slowly but surely slipping into sleep.

Arthur stubbed out his cigarette and wrapped his arm around your waist, making you open your eyes just as he moved back to a half sitting half lying position on his bed, effortlessly taking you with him so that you lay between his legs, head resting on his chest. You quietly giggled at the sudden movement and made yourself comfortable afterwards, positioning your head exactly so that you have Arthur's heartbeat beneath your ear.

You were happy to have him all for yourself, safe, alive. The mess in Blackwater or the emergent stop in Colter could've been much more fatal for you two. Davey and Jenny were gone. John was attacked by wolves. And although you loved Horseshoe Overlook, the homely feeling and the beautiful view, you knew you'd have to move eventually. You needed money and you weren't getting it exactly the legal way, and you could only lie low so long.

And frankly, with Micah in the gang now, your worry rose even more. Dutch trusted him, for some goddamn reason, but he seemed to be reckless and dangerous, bending some of the morals this gang used to have. Not to mention him being a straight up jerk to everyone.

"Arthur?" you spoke, your voice slightly worried as you caressed his arm with your fingers.

"Hm?" His chest vibrated under your head.

"We can't let another Blackwater happen again."

Arthur understood what you meant. Him and Hosea tried convincing Dutch that the ferry job was a bad idea but it happened nonetheless, putting your gang in a situation worse than ever before. You worried about the influence Micah had on Dutch and the potential limits.

You knew that Arthur trusted Dutch, him and Hosea raised him, after all; but he wasn't stupid either. And the plans Dutch claimed to have planted seeds of doubt in almost everyone.

Arthur's response was a sigh and a kiss on top of your head, his arms hugging you just a bit tighter. There wasn't really much he could say to comfort you, he always tried to be honest and he couldn't know how the future would unfold, after all.

But you trusted him. That he would do the right thing.

With Arthur's heartbeat echoing under your ear and embraced by his warmth, you were slowly being lulled to sleep by his regular breaths.

Whether you'd stay outlaws forever or not, this really was all you had wished for.

[buneio]

Love letters

Low! Honor Arthur Morgan

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

Arthur wrote love letters for the gang's herbalist, but she has never been taught to read before. Arthur learns the truth and offers to teach her!

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 Word count: 1051

Content warning(s): Low! Honor Arthur is slightly mean when approaching the situation at first. Reader described as delicate and tiny (if that makes you uncomfortable!!)

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

Love letters — love letters were the only way Arthur could think of to confess his feelings to the little florist. But when she didn’t come find him after reading his note, his hope crumbled into something cold and bitter.

“You damn fool,” he muttered under his breath, pushing himself off his cot with a frustrated huff. He couldn’t let it fester any longer. Storming through camp, his boots kicking up dust, Arthur resolved to find her.

There she was, her tiny figure sitting beneath one of the old oaks that shaded the camp, her delicate fingers wrapping thin ribbons around bundles of herbs. The sunlight filtered through the leaves, dancing across her soft features as she worked. Her attention was fixed on her task, tying neat little knots to keep the herbs together for Pearson and Susan.

The soft jingle of Arthur’s spurs announced his approach, and her doe-like eyes flickered up to meet his. Her lips parted as if to greet him, but she froze the moment his sharp voice cut through the air.

“You stood me up, girl,” he snapped, his tone gruff and raw with frustration.

She flinched, her hands pausing mid-tie as she gave him a confused, wide-eyed look. She could see the tension in his posture, the storm brewing in his expression, and it unsettled her.

Arthur let out a low growl and leaned heavily against the tree, running a hand across his beard to rein himself in. He hated the way she trembled under his gaze, her usual warmth replaced by hesitance. His voice softened, but the ache in his chest remained.

“You saw my letter,” he rephrased, his tone quieter now, though no less weighted.

Her fingers released the herbs in her lap, letting them rest in her basket. She stood slowly, brushing bits of dirt from her skirt. Her hesitation spoke volumes, but so did her courage as she finally met his gaze.

“I did,” she admitted softly. “I… I’m sure it was lovely, but…” She trailed off, her words faltering as she wrung her hands nervously.

“But?” Arthur pressed, his brows furrowing deeper. He tried to keep his voice steady, coaxing rather than commanding. “C’mon, doll. Spit it out.”

Her shoulders slumped, and she gave a weary sigh, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I can’t read it,” she finally confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how.”

Arthur froze. The words sank in, disarming him completely. She couldn’t read?

A pang of guilt hit him square in the chest as he replayed his own harshness in his mind. He sighed deeply, letting the tension in his shoulders melt away as he sank down to sit beside her. His eyes drifted to the basket, where his letter still sat, its envelope slightly crumpled at the edges.

He shook his head at himself. How could he have been so blind? So quick to anger? With a careful hand, he reached for the letter, pulling it from its envelope.

“I’ll read it to you,” he said softly, his voice full of regret and something else — something tender. He reached out, his rough palm brushing her shoulder gently. “I’m sorry, Doll. It’s alright.”

Her wide eyes lit up with a spark of relief, and she scooted closer to him, her knee brushing his as she stared at the paper he held. To her, the letters were meaningless scribbles, but when Arthur looked at them, they were a piece of his heart laid bare.

“What’s it say, Mister Morgan?” she asked, her voice quiet but hopeful.

Arthur swallowed hard, his palms sweating as he unfolded the paper. He hadn’t expected to read it out loud, and the words felt heavier somehow, knowing she’d hear them from his lips.

“Well…” He cleared his throat and began, his voice low and steady. Each word carried the weight of his feelings — his admiration, his longing, his love.

By the time he finished, silence hung between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. She sat still, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as she processed what she’d just heard. Who would’ve thought that Arthur Morgan, the rugged, stoic outlaw, could be so… gentle?

“You love me?” she finally whispered, her voice tinged with disbelief.

Arthur nodded slowly, his gaze steady on hers. “I do,” he admitted, his voice unwavering despite the flutter in his chest.

Her cheeks turned pink, and she bit her lip as a shy smile crept across her face. “I… I didn’t think…” She trailed off, her eyes darting to her lap. “I didn’t think someone like you would ever feel that way about someone like me.”

Arthur frowned, leaning in slightly. “Someone like me?” he echoed. “What’s that s’posed to mean?”

“You’re strong,” she said quietly. “Brave… you’ve seen so much of the world. Me? I can’t even read a letter proper. I’m just a silly girl who spends her time pickin’ flowers and takin’ care of the horses. Why would you—”

Arthur didn’t let her finish. He reached out, his calloused fingers tilting her chin so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. His blue eyes burned with sincerity as he spoke.

“Don’t you dare talk about yourself like that,” he said, his voice low but firm. “There ain’t nothin’ silly about you. You’re the best thing in this camp. Hell, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You make this life… worth livin’.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she could only stare at him. The weight of his words, the raw honesty in his voice, left her speechless.

“I’ll teach you,” he said after a beat, his lips curving into a soft smile.

“Teach me?” she echoed, blinking.

“To read,” he clarified. “Can’t have my Doll missin’ out on all the sweet nothin’s I plan to write her.”

Her cheeks turned crimson, and a giggle escaped her lips despite herself. “You’re somethin’ else, Arthur Morgan.”

“Aww, don’t be too sappy now,” he replied, his voice warm and teasing.

For the first time in a long while, She felt like she truly belonged — like she was more than just a girl picking flowers in the background of someone else’s story. She was his, and he was hers. And for now, that was enough.

[thatwriterchick222]

snakebite (arthur morgan/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.”

[the-karma-cafe]

My Kingdom for a Dance | Arthur Morgan

a/n: excerpt from a way longer work in progress i was working on many months ago, and haven't had the time to work on more. better to get something out now than nothing out ever, right ? - also will probmaybe post this on ao3 under same user

Arthur hummed, either not believing me or just not caring, and his eyes skipped down my form to the bottle clutched in my hand. His eyes widened a fraction, and he laughed, “You’re not messin’ around, little lady!”

I took another sip, trying to act nonchalant (never before had I fought a cringe so hard). “This is nothin’.” I shrugged.

Something sparkled in his eyes at that. “Oh yeah?” he laughed, and cocked his head over towards the other table. “You wanna put yer money where yer mouth is, sweetheart?” His hands rested heavy on his belt as he looked down at me.

I balked (and attempted to ignore the small flutter my heart made) at that. My eyes dragged over to the other table where Micah was pouring shots with Bill and John. I hadn’t meant for it to sound like a challenge.

Well. I couldn’t very well back down now, could I? Not when he was looking at me like that, calling me that.

I swallowed back my nerves and strolled over to the table like it didn’t matter. He snickered behind me, following.

“Thirsty, sugar pie?” Micah sneered up at me as I plopped down next to John.

“Parched,” I retorted, grabbing one of the shots from his spot across the table. Arthur settled down next to him, across from John, Bill, and I, and grabbed one of his own.

“One… two…” Bill began to count, but Micah threw his back before the other man finished. Irritated at not being followed, Bill scoffed and awkwardly cut himself off, throwing his back as well. John, Arthur, and I followed suit.

Or, well, John and Arthur did. Half the moonshine made it down my throat before I gagged and spit the rest back in the cup. Micah barked a laugh at me. “Bet you’d do better with somethin’ else in yer mouth, huh, girlie?” John laughed along with him.

My cheeks burned, if not for the drink, then especially for that. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” I bit back, stuffing down my embarrassment.

“Well,” he curled up his lip, “if the lady is offering…” He leaned back to gesture towards his lap.

I opened my mouth before I knew what I wanted to say, but thankfully was cut off. “You’re a real charmer, ain’tcha?” Arthur drawled. I glanced over at him, seeing that his cheerful expression from earlier had soured.

Micah shrugged and pushed up and away from the table. “Just the merry dance of the sexes,” he raised his hands in mock-defense. Bill pushed up to follow after him. Micah waved at me, his eyes narrowed and his grin wide. I looked back to Arthur.

“Creep.” Arthur muttered, his eyes not leaving the table.

My heart warmed a little. Arthur often defended the other women of camp from Micah’s comments, but I’d never had that kindness extended to me before now. It was sweet, his protectiveness. His gaze shifted across the table to my drink. He cracked a smile, “You gonna finish that?”

I snorted, pulling the cup towards me. “This is probably half-spit, you don’t want it.” I brought it back up to my nose, trying not to cringe at the smell. I held it away from me again. “How the hell d’you guys do this?”

John chuckled beside me. “Just don’t think about it, I guess.”

I nodded and took his advice, trying to throw the alcohol over my tongue to choke it back. I wasn’t sure what the percentage was on moonshine, but I was sure it didn’t matter at this point, my head now well-fuzzed. Arthur’s eyes were trained on me, a small smile on his lips. “You really are all talk.”

I rolled my eyes, biting back a smile of my own. “Whatever.”

Arthur and John took a couple more shots, getting sloppier by the minute. John was friendly next to me, slinging his arm around my shoulder and talking too loudly in my ear. It was nice, though, hanging out with the two of them. Strange, but nice.

ARTHUR POV

He watched John say something else to her, but he wasn’t sure what, nor did he really care. His gaze was shadowed under his hat, staring across the table at them. John laughed, pulling (Y/N) closer as he rocked to the side. She smiled back at him, her cheeks ruddy. Arthur forced a laugh of his own, though he wasn’t sure why he bothered.

She looked nice.

He didn’t want to think about it, but with her right in front of him like this, it made things hard. He had tried all day not to think about that morning: waking up to the rest of the camp asleep, going to get coffee, getting distracted by the way the pale sun shone down on her hair, the sweet way she had her blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

He had found himself sketching it later, while waiting for Trelawney with Javier and Charles. He remembered closing his journal a little too quickly when he realized Trelawney had walked up and stood behind him to announce himself.

And she had washed his jacket. It was the slightest bit damp, but he kept it on anyway, even after he rode off. She pulled it out from under that blanket, bunched up by her side, and handed it to him. He wondered briefly how it would look on her一if she’d look as sweet in his jacket as she had with her blanket; if she’d grow to prefer it more.

He threw back another drink, seeking to quiet his thoughts. It didn’t matter, anyway.

John scowled at something (Y/N) said, and got up, stumbling off somewhere else. She turned those eyes of hers on Arthur. He fought the urge to look away, holding her gaze. “What’s his problem?” he asked.

“Told him to go see the missus,” she smiled, taking a sip of her beer. He forced himself to look away from the unfair way her lips looked pressed against it.

“Ah,” he hummed in understanding, raising his cup in acknowledgement. “Smart idea, gettin’ him to do it while he’s drunk.”

She laughed and shook her head. “I’m not so sure about that.”

Dutch’s gramophone clicked to life, playing some fun, but calm, instrumental. Arthur glanced over, watching Dutch turn away from the machine and hold his hands out to Miss O’Shea, who happily stepped into his embrace. They swayed together to the music, her high laughter floating over the noise.

“That’s sweet,” (Y/N) whispered from across the table, just loud enough for him to hear. He looked back to her, watching her watch them, a soft expression on her face.

The sun was almost completely hidden behind the mountains now, the last valiant orange fading from the sky. Light from the nearby oil lamps and campfire took its place, most of her face shadowed despite their efforts. It played on the apple of her cheek, the bridge of her nose, the reflection in her eyes. His fingers itched for his journal again.

“D’you wanna dance?”

She blinked in surprise, and looked over at him. That was strange, though, because he hadn’t said anything. He wondered who asked her, although he hoped she would say no to them, and stay with him instead. Her cheeks appeared to flush the slightest bit一or maybe he was just seeing things一and she shyly smiled.

“Sure, Arthur, I’d love to.”

Oh. He asked.

He felt a heat of his own creep up the back of his neck and ears, and hoped it didn’t show. He stood up abruptly from the table, and swayed a bit on his feet. She mirrored his movement, getting up and steadying herself.

He held out his hand, forcing the other behind his back awkwardly. “M’lady,” he joked.

She giggled and placed her hand in his. It was a bit roughened compared to the night before, but still soft. It likely wouldn’t stay this way for long, running with them.

He tugged gently (or he tried to, at least), pulling her closer. She made a small noise of surprise and stumbled over to him, placing her other hand between them before they collided. It rested heavy on his chest, more an indicator of her drunken state than anything else. Warmth spread from her to him, and he wondered if he was giving any back.

Arthur brought up his hand to rest clumsily at her hip, unsure where exactly to place it. Why had he asked her to do this, again? He was clearly just going to embarrass himself.

Wherever he had settled it, though, she seemed content with, and she smoothed her hand up from his chest to rest on his shoulder. The line of contact seared like fire over him, and he made some noise in his throat. He hoped she hadn’t heard.

With their other hands clasped together, they swayed gracelessly, but he didn’t mind, and she didn’t seem to neither, a broad smile stretching her face. Her rings felt cool pressed against the heat of his palm. She kept laughing every now and then, stepping on his toes or knocking their knees together. He couldn’t find it in him to care.

He attempted a twirl at some point, but halfway through she fell backwards, losing her balance. He reached out and caught her, selfishly letting her head and back fall against his chest. “Y’alrigh’?” he slurred.

She tilted her head back, her face upside down, looking up at him with a sly grin. The campfire light caught her chest and jaw. “Better now in these big arms o’ yours, cowboy.” She winked, a stupid grin on her face.

He almost dropped her out of surprise. He stiffened, forcing out an awkward laugh that he hoped sounded casual.

This was ridiculous, he wasn’t some blushing schoolgirl. She was just teasing. He willed his taut muscles to relax.

“‘S that right?” he brought his arms around her to cage her in, linking his hands together by the front of her hips一two can play at this game, Miss (L/N). He leaned his head down by her face. “How ‘bout now?” he cooed.

The grin dropped from her face, her eyes wide as she looked up at him, an embarrassed flush painting her cheeks. Damn, he hadn’t meant to come off like Micah.

His grip loosened, nervous now. (Y/N) wasn’t nearly as close with him as the other girls were, and he inwardly cursed himself for getting familiar with her like this. If only Mary-Beth or someone else had been nearby when he’d asked to dance一he could’ve pretended like he’d been asking them. Shit, he would’ve danced with John if he had to.

“I’m probably about perfect, now,” she recovered, her laugh ringing up towards him like a bell. She moved her head back to face forward, snuggling back against his chest.

He exhaled, a stupid grin overtaking his face. He began to rock them side-to-side, listening to the campfire song that had sprung up between Bill and Karen, the latter perched on a certain Irishman’s lap. Arthur hummed along under his breath, resting his chin on her head. Her hair was soft, still, just like the first time. This was nice. She was nice.

He wasn’t sure when his eyes had drifted closed, but (Y/N) made no attempt to leave his bear hug, and he found himself thankful for it. He felt his throat still rumbling with song, but wasn’t sure if he was humming anymore or actually singing.

“You don’t mind if I take over from here, do you, Arthur?” an amused voice whispered beside him. He cracked his eyes open, dragging his chin across her head to look at Hosea. The man was staring at him with a sort of fond pity, and he didn’t like it. He wasn’t a child. (Y/N) moved out from his embrace and he stepped back, keeping his hands up to steady her if he needed to.

She swayed, but Hosea caught her arm, throwing it over his shoulder and stepping in front of her. “Oh, hello, Hosea,” she greeted politely, but glanced around in confusion. Hosea jutted his chin over to where Arthur stood behind her, and she craned her neck to look at him.

He felt awkward and big and out-of-place, now, all by himself. He flexed his hands by his side and gave her a tight smile.

“Thank you for dancing with me, Arthur,” she said sweetly, her gaze fixed on him. The red bloom of drink had held steadfastly to her cheeks, her eyes glinting in the light of the oil lamps.

He felt himself nod and grunt some sort of response before he turned on his heel and trudged off towards his tent. That was enough drinking for him.

~Journal updated.

On one side, a detailed sketch of a plant, the words “Indian Tobacco” scrawled next to it. On the other side, a sketch of (Y/N) in the morning, her blanket tightly wrapped around her shoulders. There are the beginnings of a focus on her hair, with a random sharp line dragged to the side, as if the artist was startled.

[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

[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.

[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.

[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.

[springtyme]

𝐀𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐫 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♡

Arthur Morgan x reader || Masterlist || Arthur playlist

Cold Nights, Warm Hearts [5.3k]

Learning The Ropes [2.1k]