#red dead redemption fanfic

[johnpriceslamb]

𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐈 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐀𝐏?

❛ you ask the Van Der Linde boys if you could sit on their lap. ❜

BEFORE YOU PROCEED! ┊female ! reader . afab ! reader . reader is physically shorter than chars mentioned below . suggestive themes implied . wrds . not edited . not proof-read . Javier ver touchy . google translated Spanish . John is very drunk . 1.4k wrd-count

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍

You want to what?

You tinker your lashes multiple times innocently at his flabbergasted expression, unconsciously tilting your head at his dramatic approach. From your tone alone meant nothing but the most purest intentions, he knew well you mean no harm. But hearing those words made his cheeks burn a tad bit brighter.

“May I please— “No, no, I heard ya the first time- I just..” He abruptly cuts you. He narrows his eyes at you, sizing you up head-to-toe just to see if you were in a playful manner. You weren’t.

He grumbles softly, contemplating. He scratches behind his neck for a bit before a deep sigh escapes his mouth and he leans back on the wooden chair he sat upon.

“C’mere.”

He beckons you to come closer with two fingers lazily waving in the air. Immediately do you obey his simple commands like a lost pup, hands clasped prettily in-front of your chest as you easily plop yourself on his lap. Your back almost hits his chest, akin to a literal brick wall from all of the labour work he’s done. Unconsciously does his large hands come to your hips, positioning them slightly just so you’d be a tad bit more comfortable.

It’s easy to tilt your head upwards to see his face, the prickles of hair sticking out on his chin is the most prominent thing from your view. He feels your stare almost immediately and looks down at your beady eyes. He has to stop himself from grinning at your unawareness.

The cowpoke could only narrow his eyes at the soft giggle you produced from your mouth, a hand resting on your hip, “What?”

You look away with a tiny smile, “Nuthin’.”

He lets out another deep sigh, before pinching your cheek.

𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍

The bottle of beer in his hand almost slips to the ground after hearing your simple question.

He raises a hand to scratch at the stubble on his jaw, mindful to be aware of the deep claw-marks embedded on his skin. The bottle was placed on the table with a clumsy clatter, back supported by the edge of the table.

“..Watchu say?” He squints his dark eyes at you. He must’ve drunk too much, perhaps he heard you wrong. His tone was always raspy yet so demeaning playful even. You took it as if he didn’t want you to, and you shrink meekly.

You stutter shyly, “I’ll just go ask someone else—

He felt his guts squeeze and churn at the sight of you sitting on someone else’s lap. All sense of proper etiquette is thrown away from jealousy and alcoholic behaviour, his hand is very quick to grabbing yours as he roughly pulls you back. A tiny squeal escapes your lap as you clumsily fall on his chest and onto his hard thighs.

Your hands are clinging onto his opened top to balance yourself, the smirk on his face visible as he sees how shy you suddenly became.

The strong scent of alcohol makes your nose scrunch up. He rests his chin on the crook of your neck, stubble lightly tickling your sensitive skin. After a few minutes of making yourself comfy on his lap and finally staying still, his hand comes to grab his bottle to take another chug.

“John,” You almost whine at the way he unconsciously starts to bounce his knee up and down. A habit he’s not prone to ever since he started drinking. It was almost like he forgot you were sitting on his lap after a few minutes. Immediately does he stop his movement, a low slurr of babbles and a soft hiccup escapes his lips, “Whoops— sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart.”

Suddenly, he cheekily stares down at you.

“Y’know,” He hics.

“Yer behind feels kinda good on my-

“John.”

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇

He’s a bit clueless at first, bless his heart.

He’s busy carving a small piece of wood with his knife, hunched over as his long hair falls, covering the sides of his face almost elegantly. He wasn’t bothered to tie his hair back, nor raise a finger to place it behind his ear. He stops re-shaping the small piece of wood as he hears a soft patter of footsteps from in-front.

“Hm?” He hums, his guard lowers significantly once realising it was you. The knife is lowered too, and the items were placed afar so it does not distract you nor come in your way.

“May I please sit on your lap?” You ask with those big beady eyes of yours, hands behind your back as your tone is light and sweet.

Of course, silence is ensured for a few seconds. His brooding figure straightens up from his spot. He quirks a dark, angular brow at your much smaller figure.

“Why?” He asks with a straight face.

Your cheeks burn, and your expression was alike of a kicked pup. He catches on quickly, and he immediately feels bad for seeming so nonchalant and blunt.

“U-Um.. I just, I wanted to.. N-nevermind. Sorry.” You shyly stammer, akin to a doe whom tries to stand up for the first time.

He easily suppresses the smile which almost etched onto his face at your stuttering. Cute.

“I didn’t say no, y’know.” He gestures you to come over with a simple pat on his thigh. You beam, eagerly toddling to him like a tiny tot wanting to get her stuffies. You sit yourself on his thighs, shoes quite literally lifting off of the ground because of how big he was. Even if he sat down, he still always towered over you.

He allows you to wiggle a bit on his lap, but a hand comes down to rest on your knee to squeeze it a bit as a gentle warning to not go any higher. You do obey, of course. Your back is to his chest, your hands positioned on your lap as you almost melt at how warm he was.

“Comfortable?” At each word he uttered to you, it was more toned down in pitch, a low hum always started. You nod lazily, a smile of satisfaction of how comfy he felt underneath. You don’t mind the way he snakes his arms around your waist. “Good.”

𝐉𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐔𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀

You regret asking.

Simply put, he’s handsy.

The smirk on his face is very visible. The log he rests upon feels even more smaller as he slowly starts to manspread right in front of you. The guitar in his hand is placed gently just to the side before he beckons you to come forth. You reluctantly sit on his lap, almost squirming at how close he was.

A hand on your hip, another squish to your thigh, a soft roll from his hip teasingly upwards, a touch here, a touch there..

“Javier!” You whine, swatting his hand off your curves. He could only teasingly grin, before shrugging. “..Tu pediste esto.” His voice serenades.

You try to swat his hands off again, but merely give up, knowing he won’t stop any time soon. You lay your cheek on his chest, lithe arms wrapped around his waist as your back arches a tad bit from not supporting your structure. His hands are on the small of your back, rubbing small circles on the softness of your clothed skin.

The embers from the mini camp-fire is light and descends off in the dark night, crackles of the wood calms your nerves down just a bit. He does tone his touch down just a tad bit for your sake, despite wanting to desperately grab at.. literally anything. He’s had ladies before, but by far was he the neediest when it came to you.

You can’t help but take a small peak from above, wispy lashes coming to tinker a bit when he tilts his gaze to fixate on you. A small smile on his face, as he greedily eats up all of the touch you gave to him.

“..hi.” You quietly mumble, a bit muffled because of the fact that half of your face is mushed against the fabrics of his clothes. A fox-like grin etches on his tan face as he presses a tiny kiss on your forehead, entertaining you by replying with a simple “hola.”

“You’re really clingy- and touchy. I hope you know that.” You grumble when his hand comes to cup your curves again.

He smiles lazily. “I know.”

[allthemeniveloved]

Do I look like him?

Summary: John finds himself torn between the love you’ve built together and the ghost of the man who made it all possible, wondering if he’ll ever be enough.

wc: 2,313

Warnings: a little smut, angst, fluff, missing Arthur, body worship, hurt comfort

ao3 link

Inspired by Tyler, the Creator's song "Like Him (feat. Lola Young)" as well as a phenomenal edit I saw on tiktok the other day from @ arthursnipple with this song.

"That's it, baby," he rasped, pounding into you with little restraint. "Take what ya need."

He could feel you tightening around him, your nails digging into his back as you urged him on. And God help him, he wanted to give you everything - to make you scream his name until your throat was raw.

"You like that, sweetheart?" he grunted, angling his hips to hit that sweet spot deep inside you.

John could feel his own release building, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter at the base of his spine. But he held back, determined to bring you to the brink first. He wanted to watch you come undone on his cock, to see the look on your face as you shattered in his arms. So he repositions your leg over his shoulder before doubling his efforts, his hips snapping into yours with brutal force as he watches your breasts bounce perfectly. Your lover pressed open-mouthed kisses to your ankle as you begged for him to keep going, to keep filling you up, just as you had done so many times before.

“That’s my baby,” he grunted, “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You moved your hand to cover his on your waist, and the soft contact caused him to meet your gaze.

Do I look like him?

The thought flashed across his mind faster than he could realize, and the startling thought caused a stutter in his hips. You pretend not to notice as he softly shakes the thought from his mind, but his eyes left yours as quickly as he found them. 

John's hips snapped forward again, driving into you with renewed intensity. The bed frame creaked and groaned beneath you, threatening to give way under the force of your passion. But John barely noticed, too consumed by the unease he suddenly felt deep in his chest. 

“Cum for me, baby,” he commanded, his voice rough with desire and desperation, “I wanna feel you fall apart on my cock.” And with a final, intense thrust of his hips, you shattered in his arms, body convulsing as waves of pleasure washed over you. John worked you through it all, prolonging your climax until you were boneless and completely spent beneath him. After allowing you a moment to catch your breath, he pulls out of you and quickly finds the bandana on his nightstand to wipe up his mess. He’s slow and deliberate about it, studying every curve of your body while avoiding your gaze. 

“You didn’t finish,” you whisper. 

“That’s okay, sweetheart.” 

-

The night was still, the only sounds coming from the soft rustle of the wind through the trees and the rhythmic creak of the old wood frame beneath the weight of the two of you. The room was dark save for the faint glow of the moonlight filtering through the thin curtains. He couldn’t sleep. He rarely does these days.

His gaze fixed on the ceiling, his thoughts heavy and tangled. Your hand rested lightly on his chest, your fingers curling against the fabric of his shirt. A gesture so small, but one that made his heart ache with the weight of everything he didn’t know how to say.

You were here, with him, at Beecher’s Hope. After everything—after the chaos of the gang, the bloodshed, the loss—you had chosen to stay. Chosen him. And yet, as John lay there, staring into the darkness, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone else’s shadow lingered between you.

Arthur.

He hadn’t spoken the name out loud in years, but it lived in his mind like an uninvited guest. The man who had saved him, the man who had been everything he wasn’t—steady, loyal, selfless. The man you had loved first.

John had never blamed you for it. How could he? Arthur was easy to love in ways John never felt he was. He had been your rock, your safe haven, in the chaos of the life you’d all been trapped in. John wasn’t blind to the fact that if Arthur hadn’t been taken by sickness, hadn’t sacrificed everything for the people he cared about, you wouldn’t be lying here now. Not with him.

His chest tightened at the thought, and his free hand moved to rest over yours, his fingers brushing the back of your hand as if to reassure himself that you were real.

John had always felt like a man playing a role he wasn’t fit for. Husband, father, lover—they were words that didn’t sit right on his tongue, responsibilities that felt like borrowed clothes he couldn’t quite fill. And yet here he was, with you beside him, Jack in the next room, and a life that felt almost too good to be true.

John takes a long drag on his cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke that curls lazily toward the ceiling. “You think about him a lot, don’t you?”

You stiffen at the question, fingers wrapping tightly against the fabric of his union suit, you don’t need to ask who he means. There’s only one man whose shadow stretches this far, even after all these years.

“John…” you start, your voice soft but edged with warning.

“I’m not mad,” he says quickly, cutting you off. His eyes meet yours, and you see something in them that makes your chest tighten—an understanding that feels heavier than anger ever could. “I just… I just want to know.”

You look away, your gaze drifting to the fireplace in the bedroom. The flames flicker and dance, and for a moment, you see Arthur’s face in your mind’s eye—his crooked smile, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you. You swallow hard, the memory sharp and bittersweet.

“Sometimes,” you finally admit. “I think about what he’d say… what he’d think about all this.”

“All this,” John echoes, his voice quieter now. He crushes his cigarette butt in the ashtray on the nightstand, running a hand through his dark hair. “You mean us.”

You nod, your throat too tight to speak. You know this is a conversation you’ve both been avoiding for years, but it was bound to happen eventually. The ghost of Arthur Morgan has always been a part of your relationship, even if neither of you wanted to admit it.

John rolls to face you, propping himself up on his elbow, his lips pursed together. “Do you… do you ever wonder if it woulda been different? If he hadn’t…”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, your voice sharper than you intended. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “Don’t do that, John. It’s not fair. To him. To us.” 

He nods, but the tension in his jaw doesn’t ease. “I know it ain’t fair.” 

The words hang in the air, heavy and unspoken until now. You feel the sting of them, not because they’re cruel, but because they’re true. Arthur had saved you in more ways than one, even in death. He’d given you the strength to carry on, the courage to find something resembling happiness again. And yes, he’d brought you to John, even if not intentionally.

“Sometimes I wonder if he’d hate me for this,” he murmurs. “For bein’ with you. For tryin’ to give you the kind of life he wanted to.”

You squeeze his hand tightly, willing him to feel the truth of your words. “Arthur wouldn’t hate you, John. He’d want me to be happy. He’d want you to be happy too.”

He lets out a heavy sigh. The firelight plays over his features, casting shadows under his eyes and across his jaw. For a moment, you think he’s going to let the conversation drop, but then he leans over and cups your face gently, his calloused thumb brushing away the tears you didn’t even realize were falling.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be enough,” he says, his voice raw and unsteady. “But I’ll spend the rest of my life tryin’ to be.” 

Before you can respond, he leans in and kisses you. It’s not a hesitant kiss, or a questioning one—it’s fierce, full of need and vulnerability and love. His lips press against yours with a desperation that speaks of all the things he can’t say, all the fears he carries but refuses to burden you with. You gasp against him, your hands clutching at his shirt as if to ground yourself, and he deepens the kiss, his fingers tangling in your hair.

The world outside the cabin fades, the weight of the past momentarily lifting as his warmth surrounds you. When he finally pulls back, both of you breathless, his forehead rests against yours. His eyes are glassy, his breathing uneven.

“I love you,” he whispers, the words as much a plea as a promise.

“I love you too, John. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He pulls you into his side as you dry your tears on the fabric of his shirt. It’s not long after that sleep claims you. He turned his head to look at you, his breath catching at the sight. The moonlight painted your face in soft silver, your features relaxed and peaceful. You looked beautiful, even in sleep—especially in sleep, when the weight of the world seemed to lift from your shoulders. 

John’s breath was slow and measured as he lay beside you, the faint glow of moonlight outlining your figure against the bed. You were wrapped in his arms, your bare skin glowing like some ethereal thing, soft and inviting. His gaze roamed over you, unhurried, lingering on every curve and line as if he could imprint the sight of you onto his very soul.

He’d seen you like this countless times before, but tonight felt different— more fragile, as if this moment existed on the edge of something he couldn’t quite name.

His hand moved slowly, almost reverently, tracing the curve of your shoulder, the delicate slope of your collarbone. His calloused fingers felt clumsy against your softness, but he didn’t stop, letting his touch map the places his eyes had already memorized.

Every freckle, every scar, every mark on your body felt like a story he wanted to know by heart. The faint dip of your spine, the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you breathed, the way your hair fanned out across the pillow—all of it was mesmerizing, sacred.

John’s hand drifted to your arm, following the curve down to your wrist, where he paused to marvel at the fragility of it, at how someone as strong as you could feel so breakable in his hands. He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your palm, then to the delicate skin of your wrist where he could feel your pulse thrumming beneath his mouth.

His chest tightened as he shifted closer, his lips trailing along your arm, your shoulder, the hollow of your neck. He wanted to know every inch of you, wanted to memorize you in a way that went deeper than touch or sight. He wanted to carry the memory of you with him always, in a place where no time or distance or loss could ever take it away.

As his hands moved to your waist, his fingers splaying across your skin like he was anchoring himself to you, he closed his eyes and breathed you in. You smelled like home—faint traces of lavender soap and the earthy scent of the outdoors. He thought of how often he took for granted the simple presence of you, the way you fit against him like you belonged there.

You stirred under his touch, your breath hitching slightly as you turned your head toward him, your eyes fluttering open. The sight of you looking at him, sleepy and soft, sent a rush of something overwhelming through him—something that felt like love but was too big and too consuming to be named so simply.

“John,” you whispered, your voice heavy with sleep but laced with something deeper, something knowing.

He didn’t answer, couldn’t find the words. Instead, he leaned down and kissed you again, his lips slow and deliberate, tasting the softness of your mouth, the heat of your skin. It wasn’t a kiss of passion, though that burned beneath the surface—it was a kiss of devotion, of a man trying to capture the essence of the woman he loved in a way that words and memory alone could never hold.

When he pulled back, his hand moved to cradle your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek as his eyes searched yours. “I just… I just want to remember you like this,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion.

You smiled softly, your hand covering his as you leaned into his touch. “I’m not going anywhere, John.”

He nodded, though his chest still ached with the weight of everything he couldn’t say. Maybe you weren’t going anywhere, but life had a way of taking what mattered most. And if it ever did, he’d carry this night, this moment, with him always—every inch of you burned into his memory, like a brand on his soul.

His lips brushed your forehead, a kiss so light it was barely there, but it carried all the things he didn’t know how to say.

He loved you. He didn’t always know if he deserved you, but he loved you more than he’d ever thought himself capable of loving anyone.

John’s eyes grew heavy as he let the warmth of your body and the steady sound of your breathing pull him toward sleep. He didn’t have the answers, didn’t know if he ever would, but as he lay there with you in his arms, he knew one thing for certain.

He’d spend the rest of his life trying to be the man you needed him to be. Even if he’d never quite escape the shadow of the man who came before him.

[slothsluv]

watchful eyes -- arthur morgan

A/N: hellooo, this is a short imagine with mr. morgan and his beautiful eyes!! this has been sitting in my drafts for the longest time and told myself i should either post it or it will stay in my drafts forever... but let me know lovelies if you would want a requested fic with this man. please enjoy <3

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

ARTHUR MORGAN would stare at you with pure adoration blossoming in his eyes. He couldn’t help it at all. He felt dirty letting his eyes lay on the purity of your skin. Man, he had no idea what had got into him lately, but he didn’t hate it, momentarily.

Whether you looked at him the same way or not, he enjoyed the fact that it was his own little secret in his mind to travel to. He became accustomed to thinking about you, to dreaming about you. You swam effortlessly in his mind; taking up every corner of space that occupied his brain. You were like a willow tree flowing with the wind and he caught onto your branches that blew. He was latched to you the moment he laid his sinful eyes on you that had seen more devilish things you could count.

Every morning, he had a routine set to steal glances at you before he was sent off on jobs that Dutch mentioned which seemed perplexed to him but he did so anyway. He’d brew a cup of coffee and lean against the many chestnut trees that surrounded the camp, awaiting for you to slip out of your tent and begin your morning that was oh so familiar to him. He’d pounce at any opportunity to be near you in hopes of you saying how good of a morning it is to wake up ‘fresh as a daisy’ and happy to live another day. No, he craved to hear your voice echo around his ears to the sockets of his brain to keep enclosed only for him.

Arthur Morgan clears his throat and his lips attach to the cold metal of the mug he gripped in his hand, letting the hot liquid of the morning brewed coffee run the course down his throat and settling into his stomach. A burn encased his mouth from the roof of his mouth to the small nerves of his tongues—he let out a sigh.

A tick of his tongue against his teeth was heard from the hot, black coffee he had made; “you burn yourself there?” He heard a small laugh form at the end of the sentence that was spoken. He noticed it was you besides him, getting the same coffee he had made from the camp into your own mug you held.

Arthur felt his face flush with red when he realized he was too occupied with the feeling of his coffee to see you escape from your tent and make your way next to him. He cleared his throat and licked the dryness of his lips, looking down and swishing the coffee back and forth in his mug with movements of his hand. He felt his whole body overtake the hotness emitted from the coffee and his mind numb with your presence overtaking his. He couldn’t believe the power you had over him and he hated the vulnerability he showed to himself.

Arthur could only let out a hum in response before he lifted the mug back to his mouth and let the cycle complete of utter chaos that erupted from the touch. Before he knew it, he felt his legs walk away from you and towards his own room that was enclosed to a smaller camp. His mind was still hazy and his nose was filled with your scent. He couldn’t believe how good you smelled despite the hours of unconsciousness you endured. He felt stupid. Out of control, even. What power did you have over him to make an outlaw, feared by many men, nervous to be near you?

But what Arthur didn’t know, he made you crazy as well. You knew he watched you. Studied every movement you made. You thrived off of it. The attention he showed you and the liberation he created to be seen. Every morning, you made sure to fix yourself up before heading out, knowing the man was waiting to lay his eyes on you.

You frowned, watching his back come into your sight as he walked away from you. Why couldn’t he hold a simple conversation with you? You tried and tried every day to get more than two words out of him, but it seemed to be beyond difficult.

[itsallgoodmann]

I'm going to act like I did not sob throughout the entirety of writing this story holy shit.

"Charles Knew that Love Existed Because Arthur was Love"

Desc: Arthur tells Charles about his condition and they both slowly realize they care a lot more about each other than they originally thought. Apparently loss can really strengthen emotions, especially unresolved ones.

(Heavily implied Charthur, comfort, angst, death, grief, mutual confession of love...You get the idea. Inspired by the fanart above (not mine obvs!))

"Hey Charles," Arthur sat down on the crate next to Charles, overlooking the main campfire. Charles gently rubbed gun oil on his sawed-off shotgun, thinking quietly to himself, like he always did.

"Arthur." Charles nodded at Arthur, glancing at him quickly before looking back at his gun. Arthur put his hands in his lap, clasped together tightly. He closed his eyes briefly, trying his best to gather his thoughts. He had known Charles for less than a year, but somehow Arthur felt more connected to him than Dutch.

Arthur didn't want to tell him. In fact, Arthur couldn't think of a thing he wanted to do less than tell Charles the truth...

Because he was dying. Famous gunslinger Arthur Morgan, taken by a goddamn lung disease. How ironic. Charles deserved to know, he had been so kind to Arthur. Arthur remembered the weeks after the O'Driscolls had kidnapped and shot him, and who stayed by his wagon the longest.

Not Dutch, not John, not even Hosea.

Charles.

"You shouldn't get up," Charles said bluntly, staring into Arthur's blue eyes, glazed over in a Morphine-filled daze. Arthur shook his head like he did every time someone told him not to do something. It didn't stop him from hoisting himself up so his head rested on the back of the wagon. Charles just shook his head, a small smile on his face.

"Swanson's Morphine is certainly doing its job," Charles muttered, mostly to himself, Arthur scoffed in return.

"Why you here anyways?" Arthur took a deep breath and tried not to wince at the stitches from the gunshot wound in his abdomen. Charles chuckled, a lighthearted noise that made Arthur smile...Even if it was mostly because of the Morphine.

"Just, watching... Got nothing better to do." Charles shrugged his shoulders and continued sharpening his knife next to Arthur's wagon.

"I think in the time you've been with us-" Arthur took a moment to think about what he was going to say, his words slightly slurred from the drugs.

"I've never heard you speak more than two sentences to anyone." Arthur shook his head, smiling. Charles rolled his eyes.

"I just don't have much to say, I guess." Charles shook his head, but couldn't help the smile that graced his face.

"Charles...Smith... The lone wolf... A man of few words." Arthur put his hands up and made a gesture like he was reading a newspaper headline.

"If I knew you were going to act like an idiot I wouldn't have given you the Morphine." Charles shot back, but he didn't take any offense. How could someone take offense to the ramblings of a Morphine drunk Arthur? Arthur acted like he had been shot (very fitting), giving Charles an exasperated look.

"The lone wolf does speak!" He said dramatically, drawling out the 'does' to annoy Charles even more.

"You should sleep Arthur," Charles finally said, putting away the knife and other sharpening materials.

"Y'know..." Arthur yawned, the euphoric sensation of the Morphine and the drowsiness that healing cost was really getting to him.

"I'm quite fond of you, Mr.Serious." Arthur slurred, moving his head down to the pillow and looking up. Charles studied Arthur's expression, trying to read his true emotions. Arthur's eyebrows were relaxed, his lips upturned in a lazy smile. He could see the crow's feet that appeared next to his eyes, and the scar that was on the bottom of his chin. Charles meant to ask about it, but never did.

"You've always been the hardest worker in camp," Arthur yawned again, and Charles shushed him.

"Go to sleep Arthur, for god's sake."

"Somethin' on your mind?" Charles' deep voice brought Arthur out of his thoughts, and Arthur nodded. Charles looked at him, narrowing his eyes a little bit. Charles must have had an inkling of what Arthur wanted to speak about. He was quiet, but he wasn't stupid. At this point, no one could deny Arthur looked sick...Real sick. His collarbones were sticking out from his pale splotchy skin, his clothes were now bagged around him. His eyes were bloodshot, and when he ate there was a large coughing fit that followed.

The cough. It made Charles' ears ring, the violent shake of his chest, the crackled wheezes that followed. Charles saw the bloodstains on the inside of Arthur's sleeve.

"You wanna ride with me?" Arthur blurted out, Charles took a second but nodded.

"Always." He said curtly. Charles walked with Arthur over to his horse, before he mounted Taima. Arthur led the way to the outskirts of Annesburg, before riding aimlessly towards the mountains surrounding the Wapiti Indian Reservation.

"Yer a smart man Charles," Arthur started, taking in short breaths, thinking hard about how to word things. This did nothing but make Charles nervous.

"Arthur," Charles said in almost a warning, like he was afraid Arthur was going to beat around the bush and never get to the point. Charles didn't like it when people weren't straightforward. However, Arthur was the only exception to this rule. The only noises that accompanied them through the ride were the clopping of hooves on rock, and the rushing of water from the nearby Dakota River.

"If things go bad, you get yourself out of there, alright?" Arthur coughed but tried to stifle it, which only made it worse.

Charles wanted to get off his horse and punch Arthur in the face. Not because he was angry at Arthur...

But because he was scared. Charles Smith, the fearless lone wolf. It wasn't like Charles hadn't experienced loss before, hell, in the last few months it was constant... Davey, Sean, Kieran, Hosea, Lenny, Molly... Charles was sad, of course, but life went on. The sun still shone the next day, the coffee was still brewed like normal, and the songbirds still chirped their melodies.

"You got... More to lose." Arthur said, his voice softer, more vulnerable. Charles shook his head, immediately shooting back,

"No. Come on. Don't start talking like that." It was obvious though, even when Arthur explained it.

"I didn't tell you before," Arthur took in a wheezing breath.

"I saw a doctor."

Charles wanted to jump into the Dakota River and feel his entire body go numb from the cold. He wanted to push his hands to his ears and hum until he couldn't hear Arthur's words anymore because they cut like a knife. They made him bleed like no one had ever done before. Instead, Charles gripped the reins of Taima tighter, slowing down to a gentle trot.

"It's pretty bad, and it's gonna get worse."

Charles shook his head, but luckily Arthur didn't notice. He bit his lip and tried to make sense of it all.

"Take a left down this trail," Charles said softly, pointing to the slightly worn trail into the thick woods of the Cumberland forest. Charles led Arthur to a clearing, where a thick, lush layer of grass grew, and flowers erupted from the space.

"I don't remember much of my childhood," Charles said, dismounting his horse and motioning for Arthur to do the same. Arthur followed Charles into the clearing and they both sat down on a fallen log, covered in bright green moss.

"My mama though, she taught me all about the herbs..." Charles smiled gently, then motioned to the flowers. Arthur looked at him, confused.

"These are flowers..." Arthur corrected, Charles just shook his head and chuckled.

"She taught me about the flowers too, if you'd let me finish." Charles pointed to the flower with stems that held a few dozen tiny bundles of red flowers, with a bright yellow center.

"Blood flower," Charles said, Arthur nodded, listening intently. Charles then pointed at the other flower that covered the clearing, a stem that held a single, cupped, red flower.

"Field Poppy," Charles informed, Arthur could have probably guessed that, but just hearing Charles talk was enough. There were a few minutes of comfortable silence, the horses quietly grazing near them.

"Did the doctor say how long?" Charles was careful with his words, but he wanted...No, needed to know.

"A couple weeks, a couple months..." Arthur drawled, coughing again. This time the fit was so bad Arthur wheezed for breath afterward. Charles rubbed Arthur's back, hoping the contact would soothe something, even if it was just his soul.

"You're a good man, Arthur Morgan." Charles forced through gritted teeth, afraid if he said more he would have to wipe tears off his face. Arthur chuckled.

"I ain't a good man,"

Charles frowned, if only Arthur could see himself through Charles' gaze. The way he glowed, Arthur's soft smile and kind words. He acted tough, but he loved. Charles closed his eyes and took a deep breath, promising himself he wasn't going to break down.

"I'm only going to say this once, Arthur," Charles warned.

"You're one of the best men I know." Charles smiled bittersweetly like it should be obvious to Arthur.

"You're kind, hard-working, loyal, and smart." Charles removed his hand from Arthur's back, before resting it on his shoulder.

"Hell, you've probably saved my life countless times." Charles sighed, then made eye contact with Arthur. What a horrible choice. Icy blue eyes, bloodshot and tearstained, inflamed with the pain of the human condition. Charles stared back at Arthur with warm brown eyes, trying to keep his equanimity. He was normally very good at it, a skill he prided himself on, but this was different. At that moment, in the clearing, Charles realized something.

He was soft for Arthur Morgan. He wanted to see Arthur happy, he wanted to see him thrive. It took everything in Charles not to scream about how he loved Arthur Morgan... And, more importantly, how much he loved the way Arthur loved. Freely and fully. Arthur rarely shared by the campfire, but when he did it was always a story about saving a man who got bitten by a snake, or a woman who was stranded because her horse died.

"Yer' a good man Charles, one of the best." Arthur choked out, now trying to keep his own composure. Charles just smiled, it was all he could do. But Charles broke when Arthur made eye contact with him again, his face wet with the streams of hot tears that poured down his cheeks. It was instinct as he opened his arms for Arthur, hugging him tightly. In a useless wish, Charles thought about how he regretted not doing this earlier. Arthur clung to Charles and Charles clung just as much back. Arthur wrapped his arms around Charles, burying his head into Charles' chest. In a swift movement, Charles gently brought his hand up to the back of Arthur's head, his other arm wrapped securely around him. They both sat there for a good while, breathing in the scent of each other and trying to memorize the way their bodies fit so perfectly together.

"Shouldn't leave things unsaid, should I?" Arthur finally said, breaking the silence. Charles nodded, still holding Arthur close to his chest.

"Then I think I love you, Charles." Charles wasn't going to debate what exactly Arthur meant by this. Charles didn't care. He loved him back.

"I think I love you too, Arthur," Charles murmured, now gently carding his fingers through Arthur's hair.

"I always imagined you were a Bison," Arthur muttered softly, Charles nodded.

"Dutch told me I was like a buck... Unlikely friends." Arthur chuckled, but it ended in a painful cough that Charles tried his best to soothe.

"You think we'll meet in another life?" Arthur looked up at the sky, it was now dusk, and the stars were beginning to appear. Charles nodded,

"I hope so." Arthur smiled at the response, a real nice smile.

"Then I'll look forward to meeting you all over again." Arthur was always the best at bringing out even the most buried emotions. Charles froze, trying not to lose it. He didn't want Arthur to go. He can't let go. He was never able to let go, everything he ever lost is covered in claw marks from when he tried to make it stay. Charles choked back a sob, gently lifting Arthur's head to place a tender kiss on his forehead. Arthur's blue eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment, every decision Arthur ever made had spun through his mind, all leading up to this one single exchange. Perhaps death wasn't going to be that bad. Charles brought both of his hands and cupped Arthur's jaw, looking at him, trying to memorize the face.

Charles knew that love existed because Arthur was love.

That's why, when Charles carried the limp, cold, body of Arthur Morgan down that mountain, one arm around his torso, the other around his leg, he made sure to stop by that clearing. He uprooted those flowers and planted them on his grave. It was the least he could do.

"Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for Righteousness."

A/N- Woah! First fanfic on this account! Last time I regularly wrote fanfiction was when I was sixteen (I am in my twenties now). Couldn't get Charthur out of my head so I created this (it got very out of hand very fast). Unfortunately, I do not apologize for the amount of heartbreak this may cause you.

If you would like to leave a request, go for it! I am a full time college student, and I do work two jobs, so there's no telling if I'll ever get to it, but if it's a good enough request I'm sure I'll make time. It's weird to be so familiar yet unfamiliar with creating a fanfic post, but alas, I'll stop yapping. Hope you enjoyed the fic!

Fanart used can be found here, credit to conconarts!

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 1: SOMEWHERE (FAR, FAR) EAST OF THE MOJAVE

synopsis: you wake up in some cabin, half-frozen to death. a man named arthur finds you and decides to have mercy on you, as do his associates.

word count: 3k

ships: Arthur Morgan/Modern!Reader, Van der Linde Gang & Reader

notes: if anyone wants me to start a taglist just lmk <3!! also there's a PROLOGUE before this, please read it before reading this :)

THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA MASTERLIST

It’s cold. Above everything else, it’s fucking cold. 

You screw your eyes shut tighter, curling in on yourself. You’re vaguely aware that you’re on your side and in a fetal position. 

There’s a light, faintly, somewhere behind you. You let out a hiss that tapers off into a groan and draw your arms over your head.

“Hey!” A voice shouts. It’s growly and abrasive-sounding. There’s the sound of a revolver’s hammer cocking. “Turn around. Face me.”

You prop your forearm on the floor and push yourself up with more effort than you think would be needed. You pant softly, and your breath mists in front of your mouth. You manage to hold yourself up with both hands on the floor and turn your head to look at the man. 

He’s tall in a way that makes him look down his nose at you. His silhouette is stark against the door – there’s snow outside. You don’t remember it to be… snowing. It’s May in southern California. It doesn’t snow in May in southern California.

The man looks you over, his revolver still pointed at you. His hand is unwavering.

“I’m sorry,” you say. You don’t know why. “Is this your house?”

“No,” the man says simply. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“I’m…” You look down at your hands, the way they’re braced against the floor. “I don’t know. I think…” 

Your arms shake, then collapse. Your jaw hits the floor with a dull thud, and your eyes screw shut on instinct.

“Shit,” the man drawls under his breath. 

“W-wait! Wait,” you say quickly. “I’m not on anything. I – I’m stone-cold sober. Like Steve Austin.”

You force a laugh and manage to open your eyes to look at the man. He looks confused – maybe a little disgusted? It’s hard to tell.

“Like, the wrestler?” You say. “Stone Cold Steve Austin?”

The man lowers his revolver, just a little, so that it’s not pointed at your head, but still in your general direction. It’s obvious he doesn’t know what you’re talking about, in any capacity. Maybe he won’t shoot you if he thinks you’re insane? (Or maybe that would just give him more of an incentive to kill you.)

“Just – just ignore me,” you say. (Again, you don’t know why. You don’t want to be ignored – you’re very obviously in bad shape.) “I don’t know where I am. I remember being in California, just north of Los Angeles.”

The man scoffs and checks over his shoulder, like he’s checking he’s not being duped. He looks back at you. “California? Really?”

“Yes,” you say softly. You wrap your jacket tighter around yourself the best you can with the way that you’re laying. “South. Right near Mexico – Tijuana.”

The man tilts his head and takes a half-step closer. “You’re bleedin’.”

“I am?” You manage to move your arm and see dried brown blood on your jacket laced with redder, fresher blood. “I am.”

“I just…” You shift, curling in on yourself further. Now that he’s pointed it out, you do feel some type of dull pain in your abdomen. “I’ll be okay. Don’t call for a doctor, or an ambulance. Please don’t call an ambulance. I – I’ll get to a hospital on my own.”

The man shifts on his feet. Was it always this cold? It’s… it’s so fucking cold. And no matter how much you curl in on yourself, there’s no warmth. 

The black returns. 

There’s snippets of conversations you can pick up on over the sound of feet shuffling and the sound of wind blowing outside. One woman gives a few demands to others, while another woman announces that “Davey’s dead.”

You can feel yourself being lifted and laid on something that’s hard against your back. You groan and try to open your eyes and sit up, but can’t. 

The voices grow quieter. There’s a man making some sort of speech – you can’t make out the words. 

You know you’re wavering in and out. There’s the warmth of a man’s hand on your shoulder, and a murmuring voice, still fading in and out: “I commend you… your Creator… who formed you from the dust… angels, and all the saints…”

It takes all your strength to lift your hand and grab him – some part of him. You can barely open your eyes and can’t make out a lot. “Not… dead yet. Fucking pr…preacher.”

Black again. There’s a repetitive, stinging pain in your side. 

Awake, again. Somehow. A woman, her face worn but still beautiful, hovers over you. Her wrinkles are stark in the lantern light. 

“Hello?” You say, your voice a bit slurred.

The woman turns and calls another woman over – this one much younger than her. “Miss Jackson, get Dutch. Let him know Arthur’s friend is awake.”

Miss Jackson turns and walks off with a “Yes, Miss Grimshaw.” 

“Arthur?” You interject. “Is that the man who found me?”

Miss Grimshaw turns back to you. “Yes, Arthur’s the one who found you. I don’t know why he didn’t shoot you.”

You wait for her to say something more. She doesn’t.

“Where am I?” You try. “I remember being in California, just outside of the Mojave. But the Mojave doesn’t get snow in May.”

“That’s because you’re not in the Mojave,” Miss Grimshaw says. “We’re in the Grizzlies.”

“Th…the Grizzlies?” You echo. “Like, Appalachia?”

“Somewhere in there, yes,” she says. “You been out a few days now. Reverend read you your last rites a handful of times.”

You try to sit up, but groan and lay back down. She pushes you down as well, a scowl on her face. 

The door opens with a gust of cold wind. A man steps in, then quickly shuts the door behind him. He hurries over, rubbing his gloved hands together. 

He looks you over, then drags a nearby chair over and sits. “What’s your name, friend?”

You give him your name. 

“My name is Dutch,” Dutch says. “Dutch van der Linde. I think you know by now that you’ve caught us at an… inconvenient time. And you’ll forgive us for not trusting you right away.”

“No, I get that,” you say. “I just… I need a map or something. I need to get back home.”

Dutch beckons for Miss Grimshaw to bring over a map. He opens it and holds it out to you. 

You sit up, slowly, making sure not to do anything too sudden. When you’re upright, you take the map from him and look it over. You don’t recognize anything on the map, but one point piques your interest – the date. The year reads 1891.

“Sir, I don’t mean to be rude, but…” You point to the year. “This map seems a little out of date.”

“It’s just eight years,” Miss Grimshaw says. “Most everything is the same.”

You glance up at her, then at Dutch, then at the people around the cabin. Your fingers twitch and crumple the map a bit. 

This is a dream! I’m in a coma! Your mind shouts. I’m in a medically-induced coma because I was shot and holy hell – how the fuck did I go from 2024 to 1899?!

“Right, right,” you say instead. “Sorry. I’m just being nitpicky.”

“Where’re you from?” Dutch asks. 

“California. Near the Mojave,” you say. “Out west.”

“And you would leave all that… virgin paradise…” Dutch laughs and gestures vaguely around him. “For this?”

“I don’t know how I got here,” you say. “I’ve been saying that since I woke up. I don’t…” You shake your head.

“Well, I’m sure we can get you back to your home,” Dutch says. “We’re persevering folk. Do you recognize anything – anything at all – on that map?”

You look down at the map again. It’s all unfamiliar. “No. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, my friend,” Dutch says, reaching a hand out like it’s meant to soothe. “You’re a soul in need. I’m sure we can figure something out somehow. Can you at least tell me what your home is like?”

This is a coma, you remind yourself. I can just make something up. I’m not some person that couch-surfed for half my life. I can be whoever.

“I… it’s odd,” you say to buy yourself some time. You say the first thing that comes to mind. “There’s a few tribes that live in Zion Canyon – the Dead Horses and the Sorrows. I was a courier delivering goods to the Dead Horses. There were two men there that convinced me to stay.”

A Black man – broad, intimidating, with long, dark hair – perks up at the mention of tribes. His dark (almost black, honestly) eyes find yours, then he looks down at the floor again.

“None of it rings a bell,” Dutch says. “But, these men – what’re their names?”

It’s in that exact moment that you realize you just prattled off part of the storyline of Fallout: New Vegas. Then you realize that, if this really is 1899, no one here would know what you’re talking about. 

“Joshua Graham and Daniel,” you say. “They’re white – they work with the natives and help them trade. Joshua’s acting as the Dead Horses’ war chief and Daniel is a healer that works with the Sorrows.”

Yes. You’re totally friends with Joshua Graham and Daniel and the Dead Horses and the Sorrows. And from the way Dutch nods solemnly, you think he believes you. 

You hold out the map and he takes it back, folding it neatly. 

“I don’t have anywhere to go,” you say. “I’ve never even been this far east before.”

“Don’t worry,” Dutch says. “You can stay with us, for the time being. At least until we get to some… some town, or city. Let you rest your feet while you recover. We’re a gang of… violent criminals and degenerates, but we care. I can’t say the same for the rest of America.”

Your hand instinctively goes to your side, where you felt the stinging, repetitive pain earlier. “Right. My side doesn’t feel as bad as before. Thank you for that.”

You look around and slowly swing your feet over the side of the table. A lightning arc of pain shoots down your leg, causing you to gasp and tense. As with everything else, you force through it and stand. 

“I need to get some air,” you say. Dutch just nods. You walk (shamble, really) to the door and open it, slipping outside.

The cold is even worse out here. There’s footpaths in the snow. You stick your hands under your arms and walk one. It leads to a man standing by a fire in front of a cabin, dressed in a winter poncho with a gun in his hands. 

You hold your hands out towards the fire and rub your hands together. It doesn’t replace the warmth you had while you were inside, but it’s still something.

“What’s your name?” The man asks. He shifts the rifle in his hands, but doesn’t move to point it at you. (An improvement, if a small one.)

You give him your name. “What about you?”

“Javier,” Javier says. “Javier Escuella.”

“Where are you from?” You shift your focus to the fire. “Not trying to be rude. It’s just that there’s a few ‘Javier’s where I’m from.”

“Northern Mexico,” Javier says. “You?”

“I’m originally from the South, but I live in the Mojave. I moved to the Frontier to be closer to my sister,” you say. “So I guess we weren’t that far off from each other.”

You look up at the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow. It’s the man from way earlier – Arthur. You look back at the fire instead.

Arthur nods at Javier and spares a glance at you before entering the cabin. People are talking inside, and you catch a snippet of voices before Arthur closes the door again.

“It’s too cold to be May,” Javier says. You can tell he’s trying to be polite by making conversation. “I’m not designed for this snow.”

“I know, right?” You laugh under your breath. “Neither am I. I’d go back inside, but I don’t want to intrude. Any more than I already have, anyway.”

“It’s below freezing,” he says. “Everyone needs shelter. Come on.”

With that, Javier turns and walks into the cabin, holding the door open behind him for you. You thank him and follow him inside. 

Inside is a group of men and the overwhelming smell of cigarette smoke. You tense when they all turn to face you. Most of them are, in fact, smoking. You nod politely and tuck yourself into a corner, next to a man with a blond mustache. 

A hefty man is sitting across from the blond man, and a much younger Black man is sitting on a table next to him. Javier is by the door, and you try your best to ignore Arthur’s huge presence beside you. You can see him throw a small log into the woodstove out of the corner of your eye.

The man sort-of across from you looks at you, then returns his gaze to the man sitting beside you. “I guess folks miss them… that fell.”

“Well, when I fall, I don’t want no fuss,” the man beside you says.

“When you fall…” The young man waves his hand, which is holding a lit cigarette. “There’ll be a party.”

“A party!” The hefty man echoes, laughing. “Hah, probably.”

You feel the beginnings of a smile start to cross your face. You don’t know these people, and while they aren’t exactly doing their best to welcome you, they aren’t exactly making you feel unwelcome, either.

The man beside you holds out a bottle to you. You hesitantly take it, even though you’re confused. “I don’t want this.”

He pays you no mind and stands, looking down at the man. “That funny, huh?”

“Sure,” the man says, the remnants of laughter still in his voice.

One man strikes another, and it’s loud, absolute chaos. On instinct, your eyes snap to the door. Unblocked. An exit if needed.

Arthur and the young man are holding the hit man back, and the blond man speaks. “Maybe  I don’t feel like being laughed at by the likes of you two!”

It’s going to escalate. You can get to the door. Dutch was right – this is a gang of violent criminals and degenerates. One you want nothing to do with.

But Dutch bursts in with a gust of cold wind. As soon as he sees what’s going on, his face twists. The men dissipate from their tight proximity and distance themselves from each other.

“Stop it!” He snaps. “You fools punching each other when Colm O’Driscoll’s needin’ punching – hard! You wanna sit around, waiting for him to come find us?”

Arthur slips out of the door as Dutch continues. “All of you, we got work to do. Come on.”

The men turn and start to file out of the cabin. You can hear Arthur and Dutch talking outside. By the time you’re outside, most of the men are over by the horses or on one of them.

Dutch is talking quietly to Arthur while they’re both mounting up – you couldn’t hear them if you tried. He straightens up on his snow-white horse and shouts. “Mister Matthews, Mister Smith, Mister Pearson, would you please look after the place? There are O’Driscolls about!”

With that, he snaps the reins and his horse darts off. The rest of the men from the cabin, now all on horseback, quickly follow. 

You resign yourself to following another footpath. This one leads to a partly-sheltered, partly-dilapidated garage-type-thing with something like a kitchen inside. There’s a deer hoist against the wall, but it’s empty.

Your eyes dart to some sort of cauldron-looking pot hanging over a fire that’s mostly coals. You walk over and hold your hands out to it, trying to get warm again. 

“You’re new.”

Your head snaps up to see the broad Black man from earlier. He still has that impassive look on his face. 

“Yes, sir, that’s right,” you say. You introduce yourself. “What’s your name?”

“Charles Smith.” Charles walks and stands beside you, mirroring you and putting his hands out towards the fire. “You were talking earlier about tribes.”

“Yeah,” you say. “What about them?”

“I’ve never heard of the ones you were talking about,” he says. His voice is deep and smooth and calm. (You try your best not to latch onto that sense of calmness. You now know how quickly things can turn.)

“The Sorrows and the Dead Horses?” You rub your nose as you try to think of an excuse. “I wouldn’t expect you to. They live in Zion Canyon – in the Mojave. They’re fairly isolated, but they’re good people.”

Charles hums and his eyes return to the fire. You try to think of something to keep the conversation going.

“Who’s Colm O’Driscoll?” You ask. “I’ve heard his name a handful of times.”

“A rival gang leader,” he says. “Runs the O’Driscolls.”

“Oh. Yeah.” You scratch your cheek. “That makes sense.”

A silence settles over the two of you again. Charles must be comfortable with it. Unfortunately, you’re not. 

“Is there anything people need done?” You ask, glancing at him. “I don’t like being idle for too long.”

He looks over at the empty deer hoist. “We need food.”

“I’m no good at hunting.” You look at the fire and rub your hands together again. “Sorry.”

“You apologize a lot,” Charles says. His eyes flick to you. “You know you don’t have to do that, right?”

You bite back another apology and force a laugh. Your breath mists in front of your face. “Force of habit.”

Charles hums and his focus returns to the smoldering coals that make up the fire. A nagging thought in the back of your head tells you that you made him mad (even though he’s given literally no indication you’ve done so). 

You follow his lead and look at the fire. There’s nothing else to do in this kind of cold, anyway. 

[eternalsams]

Let Me Go ➛ Arthur Morgan

pairing: arthur morgan x fem!reader

warning/content: bit of fluff, angst, rdr2 spoilers, high honor arthur, mention of death, tuberculosis, horses death (it's a fair warning), little bit of blood

summary: there is only one thing Arthur wants, get you somewhere safe, no matter what it costs.

word count: 2.1k

a/n: english isn't my first language, please take that into consideration. This is also my first time writing for Arthur, please be indulgent!

red dead redemption masterlist main masterlist

Arthur didn't think he'd let himself fall in love a second time. The first time it happened, his heart had been broken as he was on one knee, proposing to Mary. He swore he'd never let any other woman sneak her way into his heart ever again, he would've done anything not to feel that tightening feeling in his chest if he ever got rejected once again. But Eliza happened, they met in a bar in the West. She was a cute waitress, he was still young and handsome. And he almost felt like he could fall in love with her when she gave him a son, he was ready to. He wanted to forget his own promise and be a real family with her and little Isaac. But it all ended way too soon when he stood in front of those two graves next to the cabin they thought they'd be safe in.

Years passed by and he couldn't look at any woman anymore, his heart broken, stained by grief and sorrow. And after the Blackwater disaster, he didn't even had the thought of seeking comfort in a woman's arms. So when Charles came back to camp with your curled up figure in his arms, he didn't pay much attention. Strauss was harassing him to collect some debts for the gang and meeting a new unfortunate soul brought back by Charles was not in his plans. But one night you came up to him and tried having a conversation with him. You spent hours talking with him, captivated by his low voice telling you all kind of stories about people he met, animals he'd seen.

And from the moment he started falling for you, he just couldn't stop. You were just so easy to be around, to talk to. He loved spending his late nights chatting with you close to the camp fire, telling you his exploits and you telling him the funny stories that happened at camp while he was away. The first night you spent together was the best one of Arthur's life if you'd ask him, simply holding you in his arms for hours, feeling your heart beating close to his.

But right now, the feeling of your heart beating close to him was everything but comforting. One of your arm were tight around his waist, trying not to squeeze the air out of his sick lungs. John was right ahead, his horse galloping through the trees to escape Dutch's madness and the Pinkertons. You tried your best to hold onto Arthur's rifle in your hand, sometimes letting him go to aim the barrel at the agents surprising you on your way as your lover rode his horse like his life depended on it. Except yours did too. His breathing was starting to grow heavy and loud, feeling like he had to spit the blood out of his lungs.

"Pinkertons on the left, they'll keep the others busy!" You heard John shout and looked to your left. You could hear Micah's voice behind you, insulting you and calling you traitors. "This way!" John indicated but before Arthur could do anything, you were both ejected from your horse, tumbling on the ground. Arthur was quick to make sure you were okay before taking his rifle from your hands and shooting the Pinkertons up the hill. You crawled your way to his horse and soothed him, murmuring sweet things to him as you watched him suffer in pain, blood spurting from his wounds. When all the agents were killed, Arthur came running back to you and gently caressed the horse's neck. "Come on, guys. Let's go." John called after you. You looked up at Arthur and could see fresh tears in his eyes as he watched his horse live his last minutes. "Gimme a second." Arthur asked and leaned over his horse, whispering a thank you to him.

You stood onto your feet with John's help and Arthur grabbed his hat before turning to the two of you. "What about the money? Abigail gave me the key." He asked before looking into your eyes. He once told you he'd get you a part of the Blackwater money and you'd get a ranch somewhere in the west, somewhere nice where the two of you would grow old and die happy. But now that he was sick and dying, you didn't really know if you could even get that ranch with him. "The money's not important, Arthur. Let's just get out of here and find some place safe to hide for a while." You tried to convince him, seeing the hesitation in his eyes. He wanted to give you that money, to you and John. He didn't need it but you did. John's family did. "If you want the money, you head down. I gotta go to my family." John said in turn, holding you upright in his arms.

Arthur looked at you and nodded before putting his hat on his head. "I'm coming with you. I'm gonna get you out of this bullshit if it's the last goddamn thing I do." He said to John before taking your hand in his and helping you walking up the hill. The three of you started running up the cliff as you started to hear new gunshots behind you. "Come on, sweetheart, up we go!" Arthur made you run in front of him, making sure you weren't forgotten behind. You quickly ran up John who also helped you not to fall but often looked over you shoulder to check if Arthur was still following. When you realized he was being too slow, you ran down to him and grabbed his arm, pulling him up. "Don't you worry about me, darling. Just keep running, I'm right behind you." He tried to push you off him. "I'm not leaving you alone, Arthur."

When you reached a high point on the cliff, Arthur pushed you down behind a rock before giving you his two pistols. Two customized Cattleman revolvers. On each handle were a buck and a doe carved. Arthur had them engraved after your first night together, saying you'd always be with him, and him with you. "Remember what I taught you?" Arthur asked you as you looked down at the pistols. "Both eyes open and hold your breath when pulling the trigger." You repeated what he always told you when you trained shooting with him. He smiled at you before taking his rifle from around his shoulder and firing at the Pinkertons with John. You sighed and checked if the guns were loaded before aiming at the Pinkertons, the three of you eliminating them one by one.

"We need to get outta here. Let's go!" John called as he started walking back. You shot another agent and joined John as Arthur tumbled on his knees, his breathing heavier by the minute. You took his hand in yours after you put the pistols back into Arthur's holsters. "Come on, Arthur. Stay with us." You hurried him as you pulled him with you. "You two go..." He breathed out, gently pushing your hand away. "No, Arthur. You're coming with us." You immediately said, refusing to even think about leaving without him. "Keep pushing, Arthur." John encouraged him. "No." He said before coughing more blood. You were about to pull a tissu from your satchel but he wiped his mouth with his hand. "I think I've pushed all I can. You two go." He straightened up and looked at you. "Go with John, sweetheart. Don't make this harder than it is."

"No. You're coming with us, Arthur Morgan. Don't even think I won't drag your heavy body with us." You walked up to him, frustration clear in your voice. That made Arthur chuckle then cough. He softly grabbed your face in his hands and looked into your eyes, lit by the moonlight. "I know you would, darling. That's why I need you to go with John and don't look back." He told you before sending a heavy look to his friend behind you. "No..." Your voice broke and you grabbed his wrists to pull his hands away from your face. "We ain't all gonna make it. And you know it." He tried to reason with you but you refused to listen to him. John came up behind you and grabbed your arm to pull you with him. You snatched your arm from his grip and ran up to Arthur, taking him into your arms. "Please come with us. Don't leave me alone." You cried, your tears rolling down your face and soaking his shirt collar. He wrapped his arms around you and kissed the top of your head. He pulled back and took his pistols out of his belt, handing them to you. "Keep them with you." You reached for them and looked at the carved doe on the first one. Arthur's finger brushing over the worn wooden handle. He then gave you the second one, where the beautiful buck was standing proud, forever engraved into the wood.

"It would mean a lot to me." He closed your hands around his guns before kissing your forehead. He then took off his hat and walked up to John, holding himself onto the younger man's shoulder. He placed his hat on John's head and smiled at him. "Keep her safe for me." He said in a low voice, but not low enough for you to miss it. "No!" You screamed and was about to reach for Arthur but John's arms wrapped around you, pulling you with him as you fought to join your lover. Arthur looked away, not able to watch your tears, and grabbed his rifle, loading it with the shells he kept in his bandolier. "I'll hold them off. Run and don't look back until you find somewhere safe to stay." He ordered, ignoring your cries. "Come on, lady." John tried to pull you with him but you fought with everything you got. "Please. There ain't no more time for talk." Arthur said, looking at you one last time, his eyes shining with tears.

Your knees gave away and if John wasn't holding you so tight, you would've fallen on your knees, scraping them on the rocks. Arthur simply looked at you, trying to memorize how your face looks like, even all red and puffy from crying, you were still the most beautiful woman he's ever laid his eyes on. "Arthur, please..." You pleaded, thinking this was just a bad dream, that your Arthur would never give up and leave you alone. "Go with John, darling." He said, not having the strength to hear your cries more longer. "Arthur!" You called after him. "Just go with him!" He shouted back at you before pausing. You tried not to take it personally and looked at him. "Promise me you'll come back to me." You murmured into the quiet night. The gunshots would eventually come back but right now, all you heard was the wild life. "I love you, darling. Now go." He only said. "Promise me, Arthur!" You tried to run to him but John started walking back, pulling you with him. "Go!" Arthur shouted at you as he noticed more Pinkertons running your way. John saw them too and pulled you harder as you cried in his arms to go to Arthur. "Come on, we gotta go."

"No! We can't leave him! John, please!" You cried out as he made you walk away from the love of your life. Eventually, you heard him shout at the Pinkertons and the gunshots started all over again. When John thought you wouldn't try and run to Arthur no more, he let go of you and only took your hand to run away with you. It was like your body was acting on its own, your brain not following the recent events. You lost the only thing close to a family, lost the sweetest creature you've ever met. You still remember when Arthur first helped you ride his stallion by yourself, you were so scared to do it on your own, the horse was enormous next to you. But he turned out to be the sweetest thing in the world, answering to your calls and keeping you safe when Arthur wasn't there for you. And now you just lost Arthur. Arthur.

It wasn't fair.

The moment John saw a man riding towards the two of you on his horse, he pulled his scarf over his face and took out his gun. "Sir, we need your horse. Right now." He pointed his gun at the man and helped you get onto the horse when the man got scared and tumbled down the saddle. John quickly mounted the horse and had you wrap your arms around him to secure you. He kicked the animal's rear and started riding away. "You okay back there?" He eventually asked you but all you could do was stare at the cliff where you left the man you loved. When you turned to John, you could see the sun rising on the horizon and hoped Arthur could watch it one last time.

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[m-oddinsdottir]

LAW OF SURVIVAL

the bison .ˊˎ 🦬

Charles Smith x Fem!Reader

Words: 2,384

Warnings: fluff, angst, mentions of death, references to past sex experiences, oddly soft! charles, no use of y/n, established relationship, cursing

Summary: Charles decides it’s time that you learn how to hunt but you have your reservations.

A/N: so… I’m definitely playing rdr2 again. english isn’t my first language so please feel free to correct me <3

Masterlist

•••

It couldn’t be so hard, right?

That’s what you had thought after being approached by a frustrated Charles, his mind hazed with concern as he had returned to camp after a few days away… And by the look in his eyes, you could tell whatever Dutch had sent him to do didn’t end well.

You knew you couldn’t say no to him at that moment, Charles was usually surrounded by a peace that he willingly shared with you calming your troubled mind immediately, so seeing him so… disturbed and concerned made you agree immediately.

‘Breathe’ His voice was like a caress against the skin of your ear, a balm against the nerves that seemed to emerge from you, resulting in a small tremble of your hands.

His hands moved up your arms, grazing against the fabric of the blouse that covered your skin as he straightened your shoulders and positioned his face close to yours to try and have a similar field of view as the one you owned. ‘Careful with your posture…’ One of his fingers moved to push the bow slightly to the side. ‘And your aim’

The small force he applied to the side of the bow made it aim directly at a deer’s head. Your breath hitched and a small frown appeared on your demeanor as you tried to steady the bow.

His fingers grazed the skin of your shoulders to soothe you as he leaned in closer to you. The warm heat of the man pressing against your side as he fixed your posture again. As you tried to keep your eyes on the prey and not on the fellow hunter close to you, your breath hitched.

‘Breathe in…’ Charles indicated as he pressed one hand against your back to help you control your breathing pattern ‘Breathe out…’

Attempting to do as he said, you copied every breath he took following with one of your own and trying to hold your breath inside the same amount of seconds he could.

But it just wasn’t in you. Even he knew that it wasn’t. Charles adored that of you, in a way, he fell for the gentleness of your soul. The way you treated everyone around you in such a kind manner warmed his heart. Sometimes, he even saw you with Jack, and his thoughts couldn’t help but wonder about how perfect you would be as a mother.

‘I… I can’t do it, Charles” You whispered when the deer moved his head upwards and it tilted to the side.

‘You need to’ His voice perhaps sounded harsher than needed as he stiffened beside you ‘An animal is always… Easier’

While holding your breath, Charles moved two fingers over the ones you had already tensing the thread of the bow. His hand hovered over yours and the contact of his skin against yours made goosebumps blossom where he landed a finger.

‘I can’t’ You repeated and when he pulled your hand backward so that you could reach the point where you couldn’t maintain the tension of the bow and would let the arrow shoot, your breath hitched and your eyes widened with surprise.

His name left your lips as a warning but when he didn’t move you quickly pushed the bow to a side. The arrow shot breaking through the wood of a pine tree. You quickly shoved him away from you, lips parting open in surprise.

‘What are you even doing, Charles?!’

His gaze followed the way the deer ran away after being startled by the loud sound of your voice and the arrow that was shot near its body. His lips pressed together in a line and he remained silent.

Not showing any visible evidence of his anger, the man took a step closer to you. His eyes were dark as Charles towered over you, he didn’t move his gaze for you for even a moment. You had seen that look in his eyes before.

Fuck.

Charles rarely got angry or at least he rarely showed any manifestation of the ire that could be burning his body from the inside out. However, there it was. That look in his eyes gave him away, a look you have seen before. But, in this case, it was directed to you.

‘Don’t look at me like that’ You managed to mutter as you tilted your head backward so that you could gaze into his eyes.

That was dumb. You realized that right after you had mumbled the words. He was never angry and now that he was… It was the moment you had decided to push his buttons?

Therefore, when he moved one hand up to cup your cheek tenderly, your lips parted open with surprise. ‘Did I startle you?’ His whispered question confused you even more.

And then it hit you. It wasn’t anger, it was fear… He was scared, terrified even.

You managed to shake your head gently as a response. ‘Good… I just want you to be able to protect yourself.’ Charles grumbled, his hand caressing your cheek gently. ‘In case…— You have to know how to survive’

Charles can’t afford to lose you. Loss has been a constant variable during his life. He can’t remember one important person for him that he hadn’t lost… Despite you. For now at least. With you, he had managed to live, not just survive… But living with you by his side and finally losing the only thing he wanted to lose: his solitude. Charles usually felt like his only purpose in life was suffering, life is usually complicated but for the man it has been even worse. He lacked life's understanding until now at least.

The lone wolf now had a pack. He had found the gang in Blackwater a few months again and with them, he had found you. Of course, you were the one who approached him first. A gentle smile over your lips to make him feel welcomed and a plate of warm stew on your hands, a small offering for him to eat something.

You had wrapped up his injured hand with some old bandages you managed to pack before running away from Blackwater. And you had constantly checked his burnt skin over that time without being invasive.

So it didn’t take him long before he found himself wrapped around your finger even though you were unaware of his feelings back then.

Until one night.

One night he had drunk more than he usually did. Another celebration of a successful mission in which they all had gathered along the fire, listening to Javier’s guitar and singing in the barely illuminated night. Voices loud and carefree. A rare moment of peace taking into consideration the times they were living.

Charles had approached you to your surprise and probably even his. He never talked to you first, it was always the other way around so when he offered you to go for a walk you couldn't deny the offer. Shy smile over your lips as you walked in silence next to him until you two were far enough.

Next thing you knew, his lips were over yours. Soon, you were whimpering his name while he was buried deep inside you, back against a tree and nails digging deep into his broad back.

‘Can't we practice with inanimate objects?’ You whispered gently leaning into the hand that was cupping your cheek, a small smile over your lips as you looked up into his eyes. ‘I know how much you hate hunting animals when there's no reason...’

The man visibly tensed in front of you. He despised any form of blood spilling, human or animal. That was the reason he had left the other gangs he had been implicated with, most of the members usually being dishonorable and just murdering for the morbid it supposed.

He did have a far more compassionate soft spot for animals, knowing they weren't able to defend themselves in most cases. Especially, for bisons. It wouldn't be the first time he had encountered problems confronting vicious killers who murdered them for sport... And it wouldn't be the last time either.

‘There is a reason... You- You need to practice with something that moves’ He mumbled as his other hand moved to your hip, seeking the warm comfort of your skin against his when he pulled you closer to his body.

‘Charles... You and I both know that an animal ain't the same as a person’ Your soft whispering seemed to soothe his tense muscles as his hand gripped the fabric of your blouse, calloused fingers digging into your skin and creating small indents.

‘It will do’

‘Teaching me how to hunt with a bow isn't teaching me to defend myself, darlin'... An arrow has nothing to do against a bullet’ Perhaps you were being harsh, but you needed him to understand. You knew him which meant you were also aware of how his worry was clouding his judgment.

‘I—’ His brows furrowed together before he leaned in closer to bury his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent as his hands moved from your hips to wrap around your body in a tight embrace, shaky breaths escaping his lips. The situation had your heart aching, Charles never lost his composure... Ever.

‘What's going on, darlin'?’ Your strained voice was perceived by his senses and so were the gentle caresses your hand delivered through his long dark locks of onyx hair, in an attempt to soothe him. At first, the only response that was received was his hold tightening around you.

His breath hitched in your ear, his nose nuzzling against the length of your neck, soon finding your pulse point. ‘I can't lose you’ He whispered shakily, his lips brushing against your skin while he spoke. ‘I can't... Not you too’ He mumbled and his body trembled slightly between your arms.

‘I ain't going anywhere, love’

‘How can you know?’ He asked back to you, lips still hovering over your pulse point. ‘The missions... Each one turns worse than the one before. We're always running away from camp to camp. You know the day in which we can't escape will eventually arrive’

You swallowed hard and he pressed a gentle kiss against your neck to soothe you when he felt the way your throat moved, Charles pulled away to be able to look into your eyes. One of his hands moved up to brush some of the hairs that framed your face behind your ear.

'’And in case I'm not there...’ He began and you immediately looked into his dark eyes. ‘If I'm not alive...’ At the thought, your eyes widened softly, head shaking as you tried to stop the stinging sensation that the tears beginning to form caused. ‘Don't go down that path, Charles’ Your words and the sight of your teary eyes made him sigh.

‘Angel...’ He whispered and you unconsciously held your breath in your lungs.

Charles usually never called you by any pet name... Unless you two were tangled in the darkness underneath the security of his tent, there the man was somehow unrecognizable.

‘I want you to keep living’ He mumbled out gently as he leaned in closer to press his forehead against yours noticing how one tear dropped down your cheek so he quickly wiped it away. You weren't dumb, you knew the dark times the gang was suffering so his words made your heart shutter... It sounded like a goodbye.

‘Don't you dare say goodbye to me, Charles’

‘Let me do it, my angel... Just in case’ He whispered gently and his lips moved to kiss the damp path another tear had left over your right cheekbone. ‘I want you to know how to survive... But not just that, I want you to live your life, get away from this life, have pretty little babies, and grow old on a small porch. I want you to die happy’

You were quick to shake your head. ‘I want that with you... I am going to die happy because you're going to be by my side. Old and wrinkly and by my side’ You repeated gently as you moved your face to gently caress your lips against his.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips making them spread over his face as you leaned in even closer. He used his thumb to wipe away another one of your tears. ‘I don't want anything else more than that' Charles assured you gently. ‘But to know that you'll still live that fantasy even if I'm not there’

‘No’

‘Please, angel...’

‘No, Charles.’ Your voice was firm as you gently held onto his arms trying to stand your ground ‘You're going to be there 'cause you ain't dying, goddamnit...’ With brows furrowed together and tears falling down your cheeks, you stepped on your tip toes to be closer to his lips. ‘I want to grow old with you, I want to have my babies with you... Maybe when this is over we can go somewhere else... I dunno, maybe to Canada’

‘Canada, huh? That sounds nice...’

‘So going to Canada sounds nice but not the idea of having a family and growing old together?’You asked teasingly trying to lighten up the mood.

That made a small and short chuckle escape his lips. Charles usually didn't laugh much so you rejoiced in the small choked sound. ‘That sounds more than nice, baby...’

He mumbled before his lips captured yours in a gentle and short kiss, tasting the saltiness of the tears that had managed to fall down to your lips before he had managed to wipe them away. The kiss wasn't passionate or hungry like the ones you two usually shared after he had spent the entire day out of camp. No, this one was tender and filled with unspoken feelings that didn't need to be put into words,

When Charles pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours still savoring the taste of your lips. ‘Now, angel... I was supposed to be teaching you a hunting lesson here’

Your laugh resonated alongside the small field in between the forest scaring away the few animals that could be left.

Definitely, hunting was that hard.

[todorokies]

THE ONE WHERE YOU REFUSE TO KEEP QUIET. . !

𝝑𝑒 contents: john marston x female reader, nsfw, modern au (sawry im a sucker for 'em), cunnilingus, fingering, pet names (pretty & darling), pussy drunk john. . . 754 words

𝝑𝑒 a/n: dabbling in a diff fandom for my comeback to writing is crazy ik but i hope u all enjoy regardless :3 im rusty i alr know

“did i ever tell you about what happened at my work last week?”

you let out a shaky breath as you cautiously ran your fingers through the hair of the man who is currently situated between your legs, eagerly lapping at your dripping cunt collecting everything you could offer to him.

there’s a momentary lack of a response from your companion, your question hangs in the thin air as the crude sounds of squelching bounces off the walls alongside with your airy moans that seep out more than intended to.

you rack your fingers once more through his long hair and tug at his roots which aids as a warning.

with not enough force to seriously hurt him, but for a low guttural groan to escape from his chest causing small vibrations against your already sensitive pussy.

he apologetically sucks on your puffy clit before he comes up for air then replaces his hot mouth with two fingers to rub tight circles on your nub, “no, pretty, you haven’t. what happened at work?” he inquired with a strained expression on his face.

his pupils are blown out and unstable as he quickly shifts his focus between your glowy face and your pussy that’s aching to be stuffed by him. however, you were pretty adamant on him eating you out instead.

john ducks his head back in between the plush of your thighs continuing his ministrations, noticeably slowing his pace for you to get your words out.

you whine with a small buck of your hips, “apparently we’re having some budget cuts nggh in a f-few weeks. . . which —oh fuckk— also includes employees.”

“uh-huh?” john mumbles against you. your words enter one of his ear and exits the other, more focused on alternating from long vertical strides from your hole to your clit then skillfully circling around it with his tongue.

his calloused hand grips at your ass pulling you even closer to his face in attempt at get every last drop.

“y-yeah, and my manager had the damn nerve to—mghm keep doing that and i’ll cum~”

your chest heaves as john spreads open your folds to dip his tongue into your pussy, visibly enjoying the way you desperately clench around the wet muscle.

he deeply chuckles and you shiver due to his stubble scratching at your skin, “what did your manager do, darling?” he incoherently slurs his words but you were able to pick it up.

“she broke the news during rush hour. i-i mean what a bitch, right!”

“a bitch indeed,” he affirms as he slowly pushes two fingers in your wet hole, ogling at the way you take his digits with ease, fully coating them with your slick.

you throw your head backwards against the leather couch that’s supporting your back. you once again find residence in his black locks, roughly tugging this time around.

a broken whimper lively dances off your lips as your eyes roll back; you could feel the coil forming in the pit of your stomach.

“feels so good… don’t fuckin' stop..” you mindlessly ushered out. the sensation of his fingers pumping in and out, dragging against your tight walls as well as the added pleasure of his tongue swirling and suckling at your sensitive clit almost has you over the edge.

just when john finally thought he’d shut you up for good this time, your lewd moans and pants get broken down till you find the strength to add another comment about your dilemma.

“a-and there’s talk of my f-favourite coworker—”

“—ya know, how about you tell me the rest of ya little story after i make you cum.” john interrupts your soon-to-be babbling session, stopping all of his movements altogether.

he places a chaste kiss onto your clit and looks at you for permission to continue. you nod with a squeaky whine, already dizzy and eager for him to resume.

“oh darling, what am i ever gonna do with you?” he whispered against your cunt as he continued pumping his fingers at a steady albeit fast pace and quickly reattached his mouth back on your clit.

you soon cum hard on his fingers followed by a few more tugs at his hair to signal you were ready to tap out.

he licks his fingers, maintaining eye contact as he groans loudly at the taste of you. so sweet. . .just for him.

his voice is hoarse as he slips your panties back on and then gives you his undivided attention,

“so…what was that about your favourite coworker?”

reblogs & feedback is extremely appreciated !! <3

[moonlightkitties]

You are your father's daughter - Red Dead Redemption reader insert (Part One)

You are Dutch Van der Linde's eighteen year old daughter. Your mother was Annabelle but you don't remember her since she passed away when you were young. Dutch and the others took care of you and taught you to read, ride, fish, write and even hunt. Ever since the Blackwater ferry job you had a feeling like things were only going to get worse.

Part Two

A/N: This is mainly just a platonic story but you will be having a few romantic interactions with Sean and Kieran. But there will be some chapters where you, Arthur and John are bonding because y'all are basically siblings.

Chapter One - Colter

You rode behind one of the wagons on your chestnut blanket appaloosa mare, Whiskey. You longed to be in the wagon in the warmth instead of being out in the cold but your father insisted you ride outside since you were "old enough." You didn't argue, you were about to until Miss Grimshaw gave you one of her famous looks that screamed "Watch your attitude" so you complied.

You could hear Reverend Swanson and some of the others talk about how Davey wasn't doing well and that we should find somewhere to make camp. Your mind went back to the Blackwater job and you shivered when you saw your father and the rest of the men ride back into camp, covered in blood. It was awful, Mac and Sean got taken, Jenny died, and Davey was seriously wounded and about to die any second. The wagons stopped and Reverend Swanson hopped out of the wagon you were riding behind. He gave you a nod of acknowledgement and walked to where Hosea and Dutch were.

You pulled your coat closer to your body as you waited for the wagons to start moving again. You never knew it could get this cold in the middle of May.

You patted Whiskey as she stood, you made a mental note to give her some extra pampering since she carried you all the way since you and the gang left Blackwater. Finally, after a few moments of just standing idle, you heard Dutch yell "Come on!" and the wagons started moving again.

You could hear Arthur's voice as you rode alongside and your eyes caught the sight of a run down town. Once the wagons stopped you sighed in relief, dismounted Whiskey and made your way to the wagon to help everyone out.

The rest of the night went by fast and you were exhausted by the end. You were starting to get one of your "famous" headaches as Dutch called them and you let out a pained groan.

"You okay?" Arthur asked you, a concerned look on his face "Fine" you grumbled, standing in the corner of the cabin "My head's starting to hurt but that's it" you said, rubbing your temples. Arthur gave you a sympathetic look "Is it a migraine?" he asked and you shrugged "Maybe, I guess we'll see in the morning."

You didn't sleep that night, you tossed and turned until your head started pounding and the light from the fireplace was making it worse. You let out a pained groan and covered your head with your blanket. You tried to keep quiet but you couldn't, your head was killing you, like someone was stabbing it with a hunting knife but you couldn't see them to stop them.

You heard shifting and instantly felt bad. You must have woke someone up because you heard them walk over to you. The person gently shook you and you uncovered yourself from the blanket and was staring face to face with Tilly "You alright sweetie?" she asks you.

'Do I look alright?' you threatened to ask.

"No" you groaned instead, covering yourself back with your blanket.

"Is it a migraine?"

"Yeah" you groaned.

Tilly rubbed your back and pulled up a chair beside you "You don't have to sit next to me" you told her, your voice muffled by the blanket still being over your head.

"I know, but you shouldn't be alone when you're in pain" she told you "Just try to get some sleep"

You had no idea how you were going to fall asleep. When your migraines get this bad there's nothing you can do but groan and hope to something that it will go away soon. Nevertheless, you fell asleep, soothed by Tilly rubbing your back and the warmth of the blanket over you.

You awake with the sound of arguing. Either Grimshaw and Karen or Micah and Bill.

You groan and you can't even lift your head up, it felt heavy and every time you would try to get up it was if some other force was pulling you down.

"Well look who's awake" you open your eyes and face, ugh, Micah.

"What do you want?" you grumbled, not in the mood for Micah's teasing.

"You see, while you were sleeping, me and the rest of the gang well, we were working." he tells you "Micah, you know I can't work when I get migraines" you mumble. Sure you felt bad, but the last time you worked with a migraine you passed out in the middle of a shoot out.

Before Micah could reply you heard Charles step in "Leave her alone Micah, you know she doesn't feel good." You felt grateful for Charles, his voice was so quiet and calming, it was the only voice that wasn't making your head throb.

Micah scoffed but left you alone.

"Are you okay?" Charles asked, sitting beside you "Fine" you replied "You don't have to sit with me" you say "You have work to do." Charles gave you a smile "Why? You don't want me to sit next to you?" he asked, a tease in his tone but his face was serious.

"Well kind of, I-I mean, you can if you want" your face turned red, and another wave of pain went over you.

"Ugh, just don't talk" you groaned, clutching your head.

"Alright, I can do that" Charles said, a hint of a smile in his voice.

You fell asleep again and awoke, to the sound of commotion, again. The door swung open and you caught a glimpse of Bill and Lenny helping John inside. You were feeling a little better and you were starting to get thirsty so you sat up and caught yourself when you were about to fall.

"What happened to him?" you asked Arthur, who was standing next to you "Wolves" he simply responded "Wolves?" I ask "Who gets attacked by wolves?" Arthur chuckled "Apparently Marston does." He turned to you "You feeling better?" he asked and you shrugged "A little, can you get me some water?" Arthur nodded and left, leaving you to listen to Abigail fuse over John's state.

You pushed yourself off your cot and made your way to where John was "Wow" you exclaimed "That's one nasty wound" you said in a sarcastic tone "Ha, ha, very funny" John said, rolling his one good eye.

"How's our maiden in distress doin?" Arthur asked, handing me a canteen of water.

"He'll live" you said, not giving John a chance to respond for himself. John scoffed and just ignored you before talking to Abigail. You took small sips of water and groaned when another sharp sting hit your head "Migraine?" John asked and you nodded "I'll be fine, I got work to do anyways."

"Work?" Arthur asked, following you as you left the cabin. Your head was throbbing but you considered that you'll be fine.

"Yes, work" you repeated "What you need to do is rest" Arthur said, grabbing your shoulder and stopping you "I'll be fine" you rolled your eyes "Honestly, I'm not a kid anymore, you don't need to fuss over me." Arthur sighed "I just worry about you, that's all" you felt bad and playfully punched his shoulder "I know, that's why you're going with me" you smiled.

"Great" Arthur sarcastically replied. You walked over to Whiskey and stroked her nose "You love that horse, don't you?" Arthur asked, patting Whiskey's neck "Of course I do, I've had her since she was a foal, remember?"

"Oh yeah, you and Hosea found her" he replied "Yeah, she was all alone, her mother and herd were no where to be seen" you told him "I begged dad to keep her and he gave in of course" you smiled.

"Why'd you name her Whiskey anyways?" Arthur questioned as you grabbed her reins and the three of you walked to the stables. I shrugged "I don't really know, I guess I just liked the name." Arthur opened the stable doors and I led Whiskey inside. The rest of the gangs horses were inside and I gave The Count a pat on his neck.

"Remember when you tried riding him?" I asked, stifling a laugh. Arthur chuckled "Yeah, don't remind me, I was sore for weeks." Before you could say anything else the stable doors opened again and Dutch walked in "Oh, good, you're feeling better" he noticed and I nodded "A little."

"Well, I need you for a job if you're up for it."

A job? He never lets me go on jobs.

"A job?" Arthur asked "Yes, Arthur, a job" Dutch scoffed "She can handle it, she's old enough."

"You up for it kid?" Dutch asked and you nodded "Yeah, of course!"

Wow! My first job, it's either going to go super well or super terrible.

Yay!!! Chapter one is over! Chapter two might come out tomorrow or even tonight lol (I have too much time on my hands). Like I said up top, this is going to be more of a platonic fluffy fic but when a write Chapter Three that's where it will get more...emotional and more angst. Arthur does get TB in this fic (sorry 😔). I LOVEEE comments so please if you want to, comment (I love likes and reblogs too 😼)

[cannibalistickitty]

arthur morgan helping you draw^_^

warnings: fluff, probably ooc, this is my first time writing for him PLEASE don't hate me or kill me I'll cry

you always wanted to draw, you didn't know how but you truly believed you could learn, all you needed was the right teacher

you were out hunting with arthur, you had already killed two deers, enough for now, as you rode your horse back to camp you saw a beautiful tree, something you could try drawing

you suddenly stopped, you pulled your journal and a pencil out, you got down from your horse and arthur followed after you, 'what are you doin'? he chuckled

'shh I'm trying to draw this' you looked back up at the tree and started to trace it's form

'no that's- that's not how you do it' he moved behind you and put his hand around yours, he helped you get the form of the tree right, even the small details

once you were done with your messy sketch you both back on your horses, you rode back to camp, occasionally making some conversation

once you arrived arthur followed you to your tent, 'hey uh, I just wanted to tell you,, if you need any...help with drawing and all that, I'm here'

you smiled and nodded, 'thank you arthur, I appreciate it' as he turned around to go back to his tent you swore you saw a small smile on his face

[johnpriceslamb]

hiii i love ur hcs smmm 🩷🩷😭 can we pls see arthur w a super affectionate clingy adorable cheery girlfriend pls im dying to see that man happy w an optimistic angel 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓺𝓾𝓮

❥ Headcannons w/ Arthur + his affectionate gf

𝓑𝓔𝓕𝓞𝓡𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤 𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓒𝓔𝓔𝓓 ! ꒰ ❥ female ! reader ❥ hyper-feminine ! reader ❥ reader is mentioned 2 be physically shorter than characters mentioned below ❥ 1k wrd count. ꒱

❥ Oh, he loves you.

❥ He was a bit reluctant to be in a relationship because of his past experiences. But he knew you wouldn’t handle his heart with carelessness, and as he gave in to his decision of being with you- he felt as if he entered into a relationship with an angel.

❥ You were so kind to him, so sweet, so utterly gentle it made him almost throw up rainbows and glitter. Sometimes he wondered how you even managed to be in the gang.

❥ He wouldn’t be so used to the clinginess at first. Before you came in his life, he didn’t get hugs nor felt someone cling onto his arm unless they wanted something, so it was a big change for him personally.

❥ But did he hate it? Absolutely not. When you first wrapped your little arms around his arm, his demeanour softened up immediately but his urge to protect you became even greater.

❥ PDA was new to him. Again, he was reluctant at first since he wasn’t so experienced in this field despite having past experiences, but he’s managed to get comfortable over time.

❥ The first time you’ve managed to display affection publicly with him was by interlocking your pinkie with his as you both walked around Valentines. A discreet action that no one could see unless if they were to near the both of you and squint their eyes.

❥ His cheeks became embarrassingly red when you intertwined your little pinkie with his, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the cheeky sight. He coughs awkwardly, tilting his head down which made the hat he wore block out the view of his face as he murmured that it was the sun making his face warm.

❥ It was cloudy that day.

❥ Each act of affection he’s received from you makes him all sappy and mushy inside, even if he was about to die from anger.

❥ Let’s say Micah manages to piss him off again the umpteenth time this whole week and his veins were visible on his forehead, a simple hug from behind by you or a little kiss on the cheek would make him droop and deflate, the anger which was bubbling inside his system was somehow replaced with comfort and relief just by your little action. He wonders how you manage to have that effect on him.

❥ Arthur is a big man, no doubt about it. It was kind of silly to see such a large comparison between the two of you. Even if you were as large as a wolf, or as tall as a palm tree, Arthur still manages to tower over you.

❥ Arthur enjoys your cheeriness. He envisions you as a puppy that yaps all the time, little tail wiggling at the back eagerly as he amusingly gives into your little babbling sessions of how you hoped that you made his day today.

❥ And he figures that you’ve already made his day just by existing.

“Arthur!”

There you were. Zooming to him like an excited puppy, hands giddily behind your back as you stand in front of the looming man. You can feel his eyes sizing you up and down multiple times to see if you’ve managed to get any blemishes from the time you and him didn’t see each other.

“Easy, girl.” He lets out a soft grunt at the feeling of your demure figure clinging to him like a koala. He holds you tightly with one arm below your tush to stabilise yourself, hoisting you up like a toddler. It takes him barely any effort to keep you still.

“Arthur,” You happily nuzzle your cheek into his chest, cooing out his name like a mantra, “I’ve missed you oh-so much!”

“‘S only been a day, darlin’.” He replies with that slow, southern drawl of his, “I missed you too though.”

“You better!” You beam as he strolls to his tent, plopping himself on his bedroll. You sit on his lap prettily, but you still manage to cling onto him like a koala.

He narrows his eyes at you, before sighing softly at the tiny kiss you give him on his cheek, “You’re a handful, y’know that?”

It doesn’t take long for him to reciprocate that little kiss of yours, landing his thin lips on your cherub-like cheek.

[allthemeniveloved]

Too Sweet - Sequel to Cradle

Summary: Arthur wears his daughter’s flower crown into town, showing his love and care without hesitation.

wc: 1,415

ao3 link, part 1

a/n: Inspired by @scarletlove2's comment!

The soft coos of your baby girl filled the cabin as dawn broke over the horizon, golden light filtering through the curtains. Arthur was already awake, sitting by the hearth with her cradled in his arms. His eyes were tired, shadows darkening the space beneath them, but his expression was peaceful. Content.

You watched them from the bed, a quiet smile playing on your lips as Arthur rocked her gently. His large, calloused hand dwarfed her tiny body, but his movements were impossibly delicate. He hummed an old tune, one you recognized from the gang’s nights around the fire, and though his voice was rough, it carried a soothing rhythm that made you want to drift back to sleep.

“You’re up early,” you said softly, sitting up and wrapping a shawl around your shoulders.

Arthur glanced at you, his lips curving into a small smile. “She woke up hungry,” he said, nodding toward the empty bottle on the small table beside him. “Didn’t wanna wake you. Figured you deserved some rest.”

You stood and crossed the room, leaning down to press a kiss to his scruffy cheek. “You deserve some rest, too, Arthur. You’ve been running yourself ragged.”

He shook his head, his gaze dropping back to the baby in his arms. “I’m alright. Can’t seem to sleep much anyhow. Every time I close my eyes, I think about… things.” He hesitated, his voice growing quieter. “What kinda world she’s gonna grow up in. What I’ve gotta do to make sure it’s good enough for her.”

Your heart ached at the weight in his words, the unspoken fears that lingered behind them. You knelt beside him, resting your hand on his arm. “You’re already doing it, Arthur. Just by being here. By loving her.”

He didn’t answer right away, his thumb brushing over your daughter’s tiny hand as she squirmed against his chest. “She deserves better than this life. Better than runnin’ and hidin’. She deserves a home.”

You nodded, your own thoughts echoing his. Life with the gang wasn’t what you wanted for her—or for yourselves. The danger, the uncertainty, the endless cycle of violence and survival—it wasn’t a life you could bear to raise her in.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” you admitted quietly. “About leaving.”

Arthur’s head snapped up, his blue eyes locking onto yours. “Leavin’? You mean… for good?”

“Yes.” You held his gaze, your voice steady. “I know it’s dangerous, and I know Dutch would never let us go easy, but… we can’t keep doing this, Arthur. Not with her. She needs stability. She needs to grow up somewhere she can be safe.”

He was quiet for a long moment, his brows furrowed in thought. You could see the conflict in his eyes—the pull of loyalty to the gang warring with the deep, unshakable love he had for his daughter. For you.

“You’re right,” he said finally, his voice heavy but resolute. “I’ve been thinkin’ the same. Just didn’t know how to say it.”

Relief flooded through you, and you leaned your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Arthur sighed, his free arm wrapping around you to pull you closer. For a moment, the three of you were wrapped in a quiet bubble of warmth, the weight of the world outside held at bay.

“I’ll talk to Charles,” Arthur said after a while, his voice thoughtful. “He’s good at coverin’ tracks, and he’ll keep quiet. We’ll need supplies, horses… somewhere to go.”

You nodded. “We’ll find a place. Somewhere far from here.”

Arthur looked down at the baby, her tiny hand clutching his finger in her sleep. His jaw tightened, and you could see the determination harden in his expression.

“I ain’t lettin’ anything happen to her,” he said firmly. “Or to you. We’re gettin’ outta this, and we’re gonna give her the life she deserves.”

You believed him. Arthur had always been a man of action, and now that he had a purpose that went beyond survival, you knew he wouldn’t stop until he’d seen it through.

The sun climbed higher in the sky, bathing the cabin in warm light. Your daughter stirred, her little eyes fluttering open as she let out a soft cry. Arthur stood, handing her carefully to you.

“Guess she’s hungry again,” he said with a small chuckle.

You smiled, holding her close. “You go rest, Arthur. I’ve got her.”

He hesitated, his protective instincts warring with his exhaustion, but finally he nodded. “Alright. Wake me if you need me.”

As he climbed into the cot and closed his eyes, you sat by the fire with your daughter, the weight of the coming changes heavy but hopeful in the air. The road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but with Arthur by your side, you knew you could face it.

-

The morning sun spilled golden light over the wildflower-dotted meadow just beyond the small homestead you and Arthur had built. Your six-year-old daughter, Sarah, was kneeling in the grass, her little hands busy weaving a crown from the flowers she’d been gathering all morning. Arthur sat nearby, his long legs stretched out and his back propped against a tree, watching her with a smile that softened his rugged features.

“You about done there, little miss?” Arthur teased, tipping his hat back to get a better look at her handiwork.

“Not yet, Papa!” Sarah said, her small tongue peeking out in concentration as she tied a daisy stem into place. “You gotta be patient.”

Arthur chuckled, leaning his head back against the tree. “Patience, huh? You sure you didn’t learn that from your ma?”

You smiled from the porch, where you were sitting with a cup of coffee, watching the scene unfold. Sarah had Arthur wrapped around her little finger, and you both knew it.

Finally, Sarah stood, holding the flower crown aloft like it was a treasure. She marched over to Arthur with a triumphant grin. “Okay, Papa! All done!”

Arthur sat up straight, his grin widening as she climbed into his lap and carefully placed the crown on his head. It sat crooked, teetering on his messy hair, but she clapped her hands in delight.

“There!” she declared. “Now you’re a king!”

Arthur laughed, the sound deep and genuine. “A king, huh? Well, I reckon I couldn’t ask for a better crown.”

“You have to wear it into town!” Sarah said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “So everyone knows you’re a flower king.”

Arthur raised a brow but didn’t hesitate. “Alright, if that’s what my princess wants.”

You nearly choked on your coffee. “Arthur, you’re really gonna wear that into town?”

He shrugged, his expression as relaxed as ever. “Why not? Ain’t nobody’s business what I wear.”

Sarah beamed, throwing her arms around his neck. “You’re the best, Papa!”

Later that afternoon, the three of you made the trip into town, Sarah skipping happily beside Arthur while he strode confidently through the dusty streets, flower crown still perched on his head. People turned to stare, some with bemused smiles, others with outright laughter. Arthur, however, didn’t so much as flinch.

“Mr. Morgan,” an elderly woman called from her rocking chair on a porch. “That’s quite the look you’re sportin’ today.”

Arthur tipped his hat—well, the flower crown—at her with a grin. “Why, thank you kindly, ma’am. My little girl made it for me. Ain’t it somethin’?”

The woman chuckled, waving him off. “You’re a good father, Arthur.”

Sarah giggled, tugging at his hand. “See, Papa? Everyone loves it!”

You walked a step behind them, your heart full as you watched the easy way Arthur carried himself, unbothered by the stares or whispers. For all his gruffness and rough edges, he’d become the kind of father you’d always dreamed he’d be: patient, loving, and willing to wear a flower crown in public if it made his daughter smile.

When the errands were done, and the three of you made your way back home, Sarah sat on the wagon seat between you and Arthur, her little hands busy weaving another crown. She looked up at him, her eyes full of admiration.

“You’re the best king ever, Papa,” she said.

Arthur looked down at her, his blue eyes soft. “And you’re the best little princess a man could ask for, I reckon.”

As the wagon rolled on, laughter and love filled the air, and the flower crown stayed on Arthur’s head until the sun dipped below the horizon.

꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰

a/n: I'm not very good at writing children's dialogue, my apologies! Hope you still enjoyed!

[writealongnowdear]

Love me Like a Sailor

Arthur Morgan x Captain!Reader

Summary: John is a little brother. The Konstantina prepares to set sail. Arthur is nervous with a side of pathetic.

A/N: Classes got me FUCKED UP and I'm sick. I hope you enjoy tho ❤️❤️

Part 1

☆☆☆☆☆

When Arthur rode back into camp, he could feel eyes on him. It made his skin prickle, the way that it always did when someone was watching.

He hitched up his horse, boots hitting the ground as he brushed up her sides and let his head rest against her neck for just a moment. He had to gather himself - wouldn't be able to look anyone in the eye if he didn't.

Morgana whinnied, brushing against him almost compassionately. Arthur snorted, patting her a few times and feeding her a sugar cube.

“Quit your worryin’, girl,” he muttered. “Don't need my damn horse on my case, too.”

Everyone else was gathered around the campfire tonight. It was cool out, fall on the air and rain on the horizon. He'd have to make sure that they were ready for the storm.

A heady laugh reached his ears, unmistakable. Arthur grimaced, looking up from under the brim of his hat.

“How was it?” John asked teasingly, immediately after laying eyes on him. Arthur glared, walking past him.

“I ain't in the mood, Marston,” he gruffed. With a huff, he grabbed a bottle of beer from Pearson's wagon and uncapped it. He raised the bottle to his lips and took a long sip that elicited a whistle from John.

“Cmon now, it can't have been that bad,” he said, shit-eating grin twisting his scarred features. Arthur grimaced.

“It wasn't, asshole,” he said, blush rising to his cheeks. “I got us a deal.”

John wiggled his eyebrows, making him look even more like the child that he was.

“Oh really? What kind of deal are we talkin-”

“Shut up, Marston.”

John laughed again, grabbing a beer for himself and clapping Arthur on the shoulder. He stood next to Arthur, watching the camp go by in silence for a moment.

“What is the deal then?” He asked eventually. Arthur shrugged, rolling his shoulders and taking another swig of his beer.

“They need extra protection. In return they'll pay us or peddle for us.”

John nodded, digging in the dirt with the tip of his boot. He always did that when he was thinking.

“What's the catch?”

Arthur sighed, rubbing his eyes. That's what he'd been trying to figure out.

“Don't know yet. But with how things are going, we ain't got time to wonder about it.”

“Amen, brother,” John snorted.

The two sat in comfortable silence. The sun had just started to set, purple and orange splashing across the lake and its shores. Arthur itched for his pencil.

And he thought of you.

☆☆☆☆☆

The ride went quickly. Charles and Javier were fast riders, always ready to run.

Van Horn was just as it always was - quiet and unassuming but for the drunks retching outside the saloon. It was an early morning; the sun was barely rising on the horizon.

The Konstantina was moored where it was last time he'd visited, almost a week ago. There was a man on watch at what Arthur thought was the bow. As they rode their horses in and tied them up, his eyes flashed over the main deck. He caught a glimpse of your silk shined hair, his heart skipping a beat.

“S'that it?” Javier asked, coming to stand next to Arthur. His bag was slung over one shoulder, his other hand coming to rest on his belt. Arthur nodded.

“The one and only.”

Javier snorted. He clapped Arthur's shoulder and shuffled his boots in the sand. Charles fell onto his other side, sighing out a breath and squinting at the boat.

“Not what I expected,” he murmured. Arthur shrugged.

“Gets the job done, doesn't it?”

Soon enough, all three men were stepping aboard the boat. The watchman on the bow greeted them, asking them to wait while he got the captain.

Javier lit up a cigarette, sitting on top of a crate. He passed it to Charles who took it with a hum of thanks.

“I'm excited to meet this captain of yours,” Javier said, leaning forward with a glint in his dark eyes. “John said she was something else.”

“John says a lot of things,” Arthur said as easily as he could manage. Charles huffed, passing the cigarette back. “Ain't none of them smart.”

“He said she had you whipped six ways to Sunday,” Charles said, crossing his arms but gesturing one of his hands at Arthur with a raised eyebrow. Arthur felt himself blush, and thanked the darkness of the early morning for hiding it.

“I don't even know what that means,” Arthur grumbled, pouting. Charles laughed, Javier slapping the man's broad shoulder with a mischievous grin.

“I bet you wish you did, though.”

Arthur glared at both men as they laughed. He was about to open his mouth and defend himself, but he cut himself off when he saw you approaching.

Your outfit was a far cry from when he last saw you; baggy cotton pants and a button up shirt that somehow hid the swell of your chest. Your hair, which was usually left long, was braided tightly and pinned methodically around your head save for a few strands in the front. When you fastened your captain's hat on your head, he couldn't tell that you were a woman at all.

Despite that, his heart still felt like it was going to beat out of his chest if he looked at you for any longer. He could've chuckled at the humor in it. Even dressed as a man, the sweep of your long eyelashes along your cheeks still made his breath hitch. The curve of your mouth still made him want to tear his hair out.

Catching the stunned glances of Charles and Javier, Arthur shrugged and cleared his throat. Their shock quickly passed, but their obvious amusement did not.

“Arthur,” Javier said in the same tone of voice that Abigail used to scold Jack.

“What?!”

“Gentlemen!” You exclaimed, greeting them with the same upbeat attitude you always seemed to have. “Welcome aboard! We're pleased to have you.”

Charles nodded, a slight smile on his face as he introduced himself and Javier, who moved forward to shake your hand. His eye flicked back to Arthur with a lazy grin that betrayed his mischievous curiosity.

“Pleasure's ours,” Javier said. “Cigarette?”

You hummed in assent, taking the cigarette between two fingers and inhaling a drag of it. Arthur stared as you let the smoke pool out of your mouth in waves.

“So you're the infamous Caspian that Arthur's been talking about?” Javier said, his charm turned up all the way. Arthur sighed heavily.

“That's Captain Caspian, to you,” you said with a wink, dissolving into laughter soon after. “For better or worse that is.”

“S'that why you're dressed like that?” Charles said bluntly, gesturing to your outfit. Javier slapped his shoulder with a venomous “Cabrón!” hissed under his breath. You smooth out the wrinkles of your shirt with a raised eyebrow.

“Sailing ain't a woman's work,” you say.

“Neither is smuggling.”

“Can't have one without the other, Mr. Smith.”

“...I suppose that's true.”

“It's better like this anyway,” you say. “Navy would be onto us in seconds if I dressed normally.”

The small talk continued as your cigarette burned down between your fingers. Arthur couldn't comprehend your words, but he figured that was okay - if it was important he'd ask you to repeat yourself and that wouldn't be so bad. He could listen to your voice like one of Dutch's terrible records.

“So, what's the route?” Charles asked, kicking Arthur's boot and forcing his attention back on the conversation.

“It'll be short - we should be in port by supper tomorrow night,” you said. “We sail from here to Saint Denis, which is where we'll drop you boys off.”

“Thought it would be longer,” Javier muttered, itching around his mustache in thought.

“Think of this as a trial run,” you said. With a shrug and a sigh you stamp out your cigarette and lay your hands on your belt. “If it goes well, we can go longer.”

Arthur nodded along, trying not to let his eyes catch on the way your hands looked clutched on your belt and failing miserably. The way he always stood, the way every man stood… it looked damn near erotic on you.

“Mr. Morgan?” You asked, jolting him once again from his pathetic thoughts. His eyes snapped to yours, meeting your amused face. “You've been awfully quiet.”

“Was just thinking,” he said, scowling. Charles snorted.

“That's new.”

“Don't hurt yourself.”

You laughed at Charles and Javier's responses, only laughing harder when you caught a look at Arthur's glare. He crossed his arms and sat back against the railing of the deck, hat falling over his brow.

“Har har,” he said. “My brand of thinking is always the least likely to get us killed.”

“Oh, really? Care to enlighten us?” You ask, clearly teasing him now because what else could he possibly be thinking about.

There wasn't any time to think about robbing and stealing and killing when he could be thinking about your hips, the swell of them and how they would give under his hands. Your eyes, how pretty they would look filled with tears of pleasure. He could be thinking about the way that your lips would form his name, and if your voice would crack with love around the vowels. Or how soft your hands would be if he got to hold them, and how the skin of your back would feel pressed against his chest after-

“Tomorrow,” Arthur said, hands fisted tight in his lap. “I was just thinking about tomorrow.”

He looked up to see your eyes soften, fondness clouding the color of your eyes. He's sure that the smile spilling across his lips is one that John would describe as dopey, but he finds that he doesn't give a damn.

Because now? All he's thinking about is how he can make you his the way that he's already yours.

☆☆☆☆☆

Bbg, this is for you @johnnysilverhandeeznuts

[zombieewrites]

love & lust

sadie adler x reader

summary: you've hated sadie's guts ever since she joined the gang and started acting like she owns the place. will you still hate her after her fingers have been in you, though?

(enemies to lovers except they're enemies to eaters)

warnings: afab! reader, smut, vaginal fingering, semi public sex, cunnilingus

word count: 1, 494

author's notes: first fic kinda nervous, i hope yall enjoy!

“Can I ask you why you hate me so much darlin’?” She says to you in a low tone.

Her finger trails up under your shirt and swiftly rubs at your lower stomach as you try to keep your composure. Her breath whispers over your neck as she corners you against a tree with her other arm.

“Sadie... what are you doing?” You whisper as you look up at her. Trying to ignore that feeling in your stomach that's been triggered by her.

Every little thing about her fills your whole entire body with a firing rage. Your body is just waiting to be engulfed in the flames that are fueled by hatred.

The way she thinks before she acts. How her loud voice booms throughout the entire camp. The way that she’s too lazy to move her blonde strands out the way every time her hair falls onto her face. The unladylike way that she sits with her head tilted back and her legs wide open. How she draws her gun and holds onto it like it's her most prized possession. How her dark eyes scan around any area looking for a reason to scrap and fight. I even hate the way her manly clothes tightly hug her frame.

You’re taken away from your thoughts as her smooth lips start slowly nipping at your neck. Kiss by kiss. The corner of her hat rubs against your face whenever she dips her head in a certain direction. You move your head, giving her more access to your neck and inviting in her warmth. The kisses are wet and filled with passion. You hold the back of her head close and balance your other hand on her shoulder as she moves down and pecks on your shoulders. Your body betrays your mind.

“You gonna answer that question for me?” Sadie asks.

You stay silent as she continues to kiss you. Even as she continues to show you affection you’re too wrapped up in your own pride to admit that she might be right. You can feel yourself getting wetter and wetter with each kiss and you hate yourself for it.

She slots her leg in between your legs and covers you in more kisses. You slowly grind on her jeans, itching to satisfy yourself. Her hands trail farther under your shirt, ghosting right below your chest. She’s teasing you and you’re enjoying every last second of it. Sadie surprises you when she suddenly bites into your neck, causing you to let out a soft whimper. The more she continues, the harder it is to act like what she’s doing isn’t affecting you.

“Answer me, sweetheart.” She tells you. “Do you really hate lil ol me?”

You stay silent for a moment. Trying to muster up the courage to speak. You’re supposed to hate the way she thinks before she acts. You’re supposed to hate how her loud voice fills up the camp. You’re supposed to hate her silky blonde hair. You’re supposed to hate how good she looks when she manspreads. You’re not supposed to wish that her veiny fingers would grip you that tightly instead of her gun. You’re not supposed to wish that she would glance in your direction instead of anywhere else. You’re not supposed to adore how good she looks in jeans. And you most certainly shouldn’t be wondering how good she would look with her jeans off.

“Y-yes” you admit as you continue to grind down on her rough clothed thigh.

She stops kissing you for a moment. You groan at the loss of her warmth and hope that it’ll come back. You feel like you’re being interrogated under a big beaming spotlight as she pulls back and stares at you. Her eye contact fills you with excitement and anxiety at the same time. She knows you’re lying, and you know you are too.

“Is that so?” She replies as she removes her jean covered thigh from where you needed her the most, causing you to instantly regret your words. “Alright then. I’m fine with that. Guess I’ll just have to fuck the hate out of you, huh?”

She takes off her hat and lets it fall on the forest floor. The only thing you can respond with is a moan as she cuts you off with a swift kiss before you can say anything. You easily give in and wrap your arms around her neck, pulling her closer. Her kisses are needy and passionate, replacing your hate with lust. She doesn’t need to affirm how much she desires you because her open-mouth kisses say more than enough. The hand that was once wavering just below your boobs is now rubbing at your nipples in slow and delicate circles. You lean into her touch as she takes her other hand to tease you through your pants.

“F-fuck Sadie, I can’t… stop teasing.” You whisper.

“Yes ma’am.”

And just like that, as fast as lightning, she’s lifting up your shirt and latching her mouth onto your hard nipple. The moan you left out is vulgar and loud as you allow the pleasure to take over. She switches to your other nipple making sure that she gives you all the attention you need. Her tongue swirls over your nipple as she grabs your hips tightly.

“Need to taste you real bad.”

Then she gets on her knees in front of you and looks up at you like you’re the only person in the world. Her face is close to your soaking core as she uses her thigh to steady herself.

“That alright with you, darlin’?” She asks with a sly smirk, painting her lips. “Or do you just hate me too much?”

“Just shut up and put your mouth on me, Sadie”

“Whatever you say, honey.” She lets out a small laugh as she starts to slide your pants down to the ground.

The chill of the forest nights hits your legs, but that feeling is quickly replaced as Sadie’s hot hands delicately grip your hips. She touches like you’re expensive fine china that she’s terrified of breaking. Her kind kisses continue on your thighs as she slowly makes her way up to your center. She kisses at your core through your underwear, enticing you. She gives you small licks as temporary satisfaction to hold you over for what’s coming to you.

“You don’t know how long I been wanting to devour you. I can’t lie to you. Your angry glances really turn me on.” She mumbles in between kisses.

The moment you’ve been waiting for finally approaches as she slips your underwear down to your ankles. You step out of your pants and undergarments as she lifts your leg up to rest on her shoulder. The breeze of the night hits your soaked center. You latch onto Sadie’s shoulders to find balance. She finally gives you what you’ve been needing with one swift lick up your folds. Lick after lick, your whimpers are getting louder. She lets out a satisfying groan into you as she continues to suck and lick where you need her. Her lips attach to your clit causing you to roll your hips on her face. Her tongue passionately abuses your clit as she slips a finger into you. You haven’t felt this good in months. She knows how to hit every little crevice and angle without even trying. Not able to control yourself any longer you buck into her more and more, exclaiming her name in a deafening moan.

She holds steady on your hips with a hard grasp. “You gotta stay still for me if you wanna feel good, baby. Alright?”

You nod quickly as you try to contain your content. She adds another finger as her mouth secures back onto your clit. Her fingers fasten as she finds that spongy spot in you. No one has ever eaten you as lovingly as she does. All of her touches are filled with care allowing no room for laziness. Her head bobs on your clit as you feel yourself getting closer and closer.

“Fuck you taste so sweet. Even better than I’ve imagined.”

“Sadie I’m gonna-” You moan out. “C-can’t hold still anymore”

Your words excite her and fill her with pride, causing her to fasten her movements. All self control you had is completely lost as the speed of her fingers. You buck onto her face causing her to hum in enjoyment. With a few more movements you’re coming undone on her fingers. The thrill of what just happened fills you with pleasure. You let out a loud moan, letting her know that you’re satisfied with her work. She licks up your cum like she’s just been told she’s about to go on death row and you’re her very last meal. The overstimulation of her tongue is the best feeling that you’ve had in a minute.

It’s safe to say that you no longer hate Miss Sadie Adler.

[nevadancitizen]

THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA MASTERLIST

synopsis: After a deal goes wrong, you wake up in an abandoned building with an outlaw-looking man pointing a gun at you. To your surprise (and disbelief), you're in 1899. Much like the rest of your life, you didn't sign up for this. But, like the rest of your life, you'll learn how to deal with it. Maybe you'll even learn how to survive -- maybe even thrive -- in this new... predicament you've found yourself in. (inspired by @heart-of-gold-outlaw )

ships: Arthur Morgan/Modern!Reader, Van der Linde Gang & Reader

tags: Time Travel, Slow Burn, Found Family, Van der Linde Gang as Family (Red Dead Redemption), POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Modern!Reader, reader is from the year of yahweh 2024

AO3 link, if you prefer to read there

note: reader is a former addict and comes from a family of addicts and deadbeats. it is mentioned sparsely, but is still mentioned. if you're gonna comment on it, please be respectful.

note, continued: also, the reader in this fic is gender neutral. please do not refer to them with feminine or masculine pronouns. instead, please address them by they/them pronouns. this fic is all-inclusive and not meant to alienate anyone -- it's meant to be written so that everyone can read, no matter their personal pronouns!

PROLOGUE

COLTER

CH. 1: Somewhere (Far, Far) East of the Mojave

CH. 2: Charles Smith, the Man That You Are

CH. 3: <currently being written...>

[amrass]

These Days finished!

My Morbell threeshot set in the 2010s - and epilogue to my Van der Linde Biker Gang AU - These Days is now complete on Ao3. I'd describe it as abnormally spicy domestic fluff with a main course of rough old man yaoi and a side dish of a crippling fear of death.

Below is a cool doodle my friend @og-doeiika made of this AU, featuring old man Micah and pit bull Baylock. I liked the doodle so much I ended up writing it into part 3 😎🖤