#red dead redemption x gender neutral reader

[allzelemonz]

Warm Welcome: Micah Bell X Gender Neutral Reader

Pronouns: None Mentioned Physical Sex: None Mentioned Rating: T/Reference to sex Warnings: Micah Bell is his own warning, reunited, post-Guarma, mentions of cannon character deaths, confessions of love Summary: Micah is the first to find the group after Guarma and he’s been thinking about you for weeks.

When news hit that the robbery went bad you weren’t completely surprised. You and Sadie got everyone out of camp as quickly as possible, finding Charles and a new home. Sadie left a note behind, coded so only one of you would understand it. Between Abigail and Charles’ accounts of the job everyone pieces things together. Whispers circulate as people try to figure out why things really went wrong. Dutch, Javier, Micah, Bill, and Arthur are central parts of the group and are sorely missed. Getting the bodies of your fallen friends would have been much easier with the others here, but you manage.

Just as things really start to look bleak and people are starting to lose hope, you spot something in the distance. You’ve taken the late watch for the past few days, finding peace it it despite the creepy nature surrounding you. Nothing is ever there, nothing of note. But tonight there is a rider on the path. A lone rider coming into camp and you’re the only one awake.

You raise your rifle. “Who’s there?”

The rider stops a few yards from you, dismounting. “Now is that any way to greet your ol’ pal Micah?”

He walks into the light of the lanterns. It is, in fact, Micah. His face is sunburnt, his hair is dried out, and his clothes are ragged, but it’s Micah.

“You’re alive?” You say, lowering your rifle. “What happened?”

He sighs. “I was gone for weeks and all you got is questions?”

“Welcome back, Micah.” You say, mockingly. “Where the hell were you?”

“Ya really know how ta charm a fella.” He says, stepping closer. “We was stuck on an island, nearly died.”

“We found Lenny and Hosea, is everyone else okay?”

“They’re fine.” He clears his throat. “Ya know, cowpoke, all that time got me thinkin’.”

“Don’t you want to go see everyone?” You ask. “Nevermind, I know you don’t care.”

He chuckles. “There’s only one thing I been thinkin’ about since I washed up on that island.”

You shoulder your rifle, giving him a curious look. He steps forward, further into the light, and you can see more of his rough state. His shirt is halfway buttoned and the skin underneath is settling into a tan as the sunburn peels away. He looks worse than you’ve ever seen him.

“Jeez, Micah.” You sigh. “You okay?”

“I will be in a minute, Darlin’.”

He closes the gap between you and presses his lips to yours, his hands cupping your face and holding you in place. His lips are chapped, badly, and his hands are tough with calluses. He leans into the kiss, putting all of that pent up thought from his time on the island into it. He only lets you go once he needs to breathe, holding your forehead against his as you both take much needed breaths.

“That was a much better welcome, cowpoke.” He presses a short kiss to your lips and hums as he lets his hands fall to his sides.

“That’s all you could think about?”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he takes a few steps back. “Oh, I thought about plenty more, but we got time for all that later.”

It takes you a moment to collect your thoughts and refocus. “I’ll, uh, I’ll show you where they put your stuff.”

You turn and walk towards the main house, tip-toeing around the others to grab Micah’s bag and a cup of water. He takes the water from you first, chugging it with a sigh. You hand him the bag and he takes it, opening it right away to get at his hat which he places on his head.

“The washing barrel is around the corner.” You say. “You wanna see the others or do you still not care?”

He chuckles, digging through the bag for his usual clothes. “I’d much rather stay out here with you, Darlin’.”

A shiver goes through you. “Just don’t distract me from watch.”

He steps closer and presses his lips to yours again. “I ain’t promisin’ anything, darlin’.”

You steady your breath as he steps away and disappears around the corner towards the washing barrel. The relief finally comes over you, knowing that your friends are alive and on their way home. Things might finally get back on track.

[2demondogs]

More Touch Starved Arthur Morgan/Reader Headcanons

A/N: Part one here. I wanted to write his reactions to specific actions. Gender neutral reader.

Most things make him feel like a livewire, if not because no one's ever been that tender with him then because it's been years. He definitely has his favorites, though.

Arthur thinks his hands are clunky. The way you once took his hand in yours and traced the lines and scars on it got to him, let alone the brushes of your lips on his split, bruised knuckles. How can you love hands so soaked in decades of others' blood, acting like his drawings and loving are all they've ever done?

Your liveliness is nearly overwhelming. He loves holding people in general: it makes him feel like he's finally being the protector a man ought to be. It's near euphoric to have your head on his chest while you sleep, tucked in that dip where his shoulder meets pec, clearly feeling safe... because of him.

On the other hand, Arthur will warm up fast to being held by you. He's never slept better feeling, for once, protected by someone else. He definitely has to blink off stinging eyes on a couple nights. The vulnerability he feels just makes him borrow deeper. He'd curl up inside your ribcage, if he could.

You seem to think about him in ways others don't. The guilt subsides in the shadow of something indescribable over a kiss to the back of his knee, where only the sun has touched; thumbs digging into sore hips or calves. If you massage the tension out of anywhere, Arthur won't know how to act whatsoever - but target his hips or his legs and he's caught between lust and love.

Anything mindless will get to him, too. Grabbing his hand or elbow while walking, curling your arms around his waist or shoulders when he's in a good position for it, gently scratching his back and shoulders when you sit somewhere. All of it "just because." It takes him a long time to realize that being sweet on him is something that comes naturally to you, and that realization is heavy.

[orchid-and-bone]

"Savior" ||

Arthur Morgan x GN!Reader

Rating: None

Length: 2.1k

Asked by: @photo1030

Ooo! Random thought, maybe can link to my last request. Reader (or character, your choice) gets hurt and Arthur has to take care of them. Maybe shot in the leg and he has to carry them. They get to see a softer side to him, being all caretaker and protective.

Protective Arthur is just... *chef's kiss* I can't explain it but seeing him so good with a gun, being able to down someone within seconds then to turn around and be so gentle with you?? I need it, crave it, even. Thanks for the ask, hon!~

*

It was supposed to be a simple bank coach robbery, just a quick in-and-out sort of situation, and you insisted that you go along to assist Mary-Beth and Sean, but with Arthur being as worried as he always was, he felt it was best to tag along and make sure Sean didn’t pull you into any other mischief. The Irishman, of course, took offense to that, but he didn’t exactly mind that you two wanted to tag along. The more the merrier, even if the cut of the pay was less.

As much as Arthur tried to insist you remain back, you were headstrong and refused to let him tell you what you were capable of. You’d had a successful string of heists you were able to pull off with the other gang members, so why would this one be any different? Without much argument afterward, you rode off on your horse behind Sean and Mary-Beth, and a disgruntled Arthur followed you all from the rear. 

It was difficult to put into words how this made Arthur feel, but he knew that going along to assist would have eased his discomfort, and hearing Sean’s plan to distract the coach was more than entertainment in itself. But with Sean being inept with firearms, Arthur had ridden alongside your horse to listen in on the plan. 

Mary-Beth was more than excited to get out of the camp and put her talent to good use, and even more so when you had offered to tag along if they wouldn’t mind. “Oh, this is excitin’!” She exclaimed with a large smile on her face. “Easy enough to flag ‘em down, I think.”

Sean was proud of his idea and felt that he should have had more credit, but Arthur, being who he was, was unsure and unimpressed with Sean’s usefulness when it came to stressful situations. 

“I’m just keepin’ an eye on you, MacGuire, I know they’re solid,” he stated matter-of-factly as his horse trotted along to the speed of Ennis. 

“Alright, alright, you get knocked out on a mission one time-”

“More than once,” Arthur corrected. 

The Irishman just scoffed and shook his head. “Look, you can write about it in your journals, but let’s get back to my job, the one I brought y’all in on!” He huffed.

You couldn’t help but laugh at how much those two men were always at each other’s throats, no matter what the other was doing. “Let’s focus, gentleman, the lady and I will have this done lickety-split, it’ll be a cakewalk.” You looked over at Arthur with confidence shining in your eyes, and you thought you caught a glimpse of a smile from across his face, but it was gone before you could blink. 

Sean led the way until they came to a crossroads, then he told you all to keep the horses out of sight as he scoped out where they could hide for the time being. “Alright then, here we are, they’ll be comin’ from the North any minute, you both know what you’re doin’, right?”

Arthur just scoffed and shook his head. “Course they know what they’re doin’,” he replied gruffly.

You jumped down from your horse and patted its muzzle gently. “Mary-Beth is gonna run out and flag ‘em down, I’ll be off a ways to scope out the guards, and you two will be behind the log. Sean will ring off some shots, and Arthur will come in and clean up while I pick ‘em off from behind. Easy.”

Sean looked satisfied with that response and nodded. “Alright, perfect! Now, Morgan, let’s go and get behind this log, you-” he pointed in your direction, “-get over to those trees and don’t be spotted. Mary-Beth, get ready.”

The redhead felt proud of this plan, he was sure everything would work out, and he had the details down to a T. Everything went fine until it didn’t.

Instead of spooking the guards to throw them off, Sean took aim after hearing the way one of the men spoke to Mary-Beth and scoped him from his spot behind the log. Arthur immediately began to fire, albeit reluctantly since Sean was deviating from the initial plan. He hadn’t caught sight of you yet, but he figured you were doing alright for yourself. Then suddenly, a man lunged for Mary-Beth and held a gun to her head, his arm clenched around her throat.

“Let GO of me!” She snapped, trying her best to claw at his arm.

“Got your little lady friend here! Drop your guns!”

Arthur removed his rolling block rifle and watched the man hide himself behind the woman through the scope. “Dammit, he keeps movin’, don’t got a clear shot.”

“I got it!” You suddenly yelled out, and before you had a chance to line up the shot, the man had heard you and took aim. The shot rang out and the bullet penetrated your upper thigh. 

Your scream echoed out and Arthur finally had a clear shot to take the man down for good. “Sean, get Mary-Beth! I got them!” He said as he threw the gun over his shoulder and took off running where you’d fallen to the ground. “Shit, shit, shit,” he mumbled to himself as he finally caught up to you. 

You were trying your best to hold onto your leg the best you could to apply pressure, but it didn’t help much, you couldn’t stifle the scream you released when it hurt a little too much. “Shit, guess I messed that up badly…”

“Nah, you didn’t, lemme see,” Arthur said as he moved your hands, checking out where the wound was. “Ah, right through the meat of the leg but just missed your femoral artery. You’ll be alright, just gotta treat it when we get to camp. C’mon, it ain’t gonna feel pretty.” 

Arthur grabbed his bandana and tied it around your leg the best he could to keep pressure, then he scooped you into his arms and carried you back to his horse. 

Sean and Mary-Beth had cleaned out the coach and the dead men’s pockets as he took care of you, but Mary-Beth felt awful. “Are they gonna be alright?” She asked, her tone laced with worry. 

He just nodded and helped you as carefully as he could onto his horse, but the discomfort was a lot, yet you remained as strong as you could and held onto the horn of the saddle. “Call my horse, please…” You whimpered. “Can’t leave ‘em here…”

“You worry ‘bout yourself, your horse’ll be fine,” the gunslinger assured you as he hopped on behind you. “It’s gonna hurt with the ride but the faster we get back the better. Y’all go on, we’ll split the money when we meet back, don’t let anyone follow you.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Sean said with a meek smile, feeling awful you’d been hurt. “Take care of ‘em, will ya?” 

Arthur nodded in response, whistled for your horse to follow, and rode off as quickly as he could. The ride was definitely painful, but you managed to hold out long enough until you got back to camp, where Arthur had taken you to your tent, which thankfully had some privacy. He left you alone for all of two minutes when he came back with all the necessities he needed to fix you up proper. 

You lay there on your cot, and as you tried to look up at him to speak, all you could do was groan in pain until he placed his hand gently on the back of your neck, having you sit up slightly. “Here, take a shot of whiskey, it’ll help a bit. I gotta dig the bullet out and cauterize the wound.”

After hearing all that and swallowing the burning liquid, your consciousness was in and out, very hazy, until you saw black and just heard the sound of Arthur’s voice. 

Hours later, you awoke with a dry hoarseness in your throat, your eyes blinked rapidly to adjust to the low lamplight that had been inside your tent, and you looked up to see Arthur beside your cot. He already reached for the deerskin and placed it to your lips. You drank greedily at the water until you felt satisfied enough to pull away, coughing from the coldness. 

“There you are,” Arthur greeted softly, removing the deerskin from your grasp. “You’re gonna be fine, just gotta stay off the leg for a while,” he commented. “You feelin’ alright?” He leaned over and dunked a cloth into a bucket of water, then wring it out, and placed it gently over your forehead. 

You looked over at him and smiled softly. “Didn’t know you were so caring,” you joked softly, chuckling to yourself. 

Arthur waved his hand dismissively and scoffed. “Had my fair share of bullets is all, makin’ sure you don’t pull a stunt like that again, you hear?” 

You nodded and a small smile crept across your face, you couldn’t help but stare up at him and admire the man. He acted as if he didn’t care much about others, that he wasn’t any better than a stone-cold killer, but here he was worrying about you and taking care of you. Usually, it was left up to one of the women who were more well-versed in bedside manner, like Miss Grimshaw, but Arthur had insisted on your behalf. Naturally, he didn’t tell you this, it was Mary-Beth who informed you when she came in to visit while Arthur had gone to refill the bucket and grab some more medical supplies from Strauss’s wagon.

“Oh it’s been real sweet, he ain’t left unless he needed to get somethin’ for you,” Mary-Beth beamed. “Almost like somethin’ straight out of one of my books, he’s been real particular, too.”

“Of what?” You questioned.

“He hasn’t let anyone other than me and Tilly into your tent, even was on edge when Charles offered to help.” 

This information made your cheeks feel warm, he was practically babying you back to health, you’d never seen this side of him before. “Wow, I would have never expected Arthur Morgan to be at my bed-side,” you teased as you looked up at the young woman. 

She nodded, still all smiles. “Well, I hear him comin’ so that’s my cue, better leave you to it or else he’ll kick me out,” she joked and stood up from the chair. “You feel better, and holler if you need anythin’ from us.”

“Thanks, Mary-Beth.”

She nodded her head and left the tent, then was quickly replaced by Arthur, who set the bucket down beside his chair and had a bowl of stew in the other hand. “You think you can eat yet?”

You hummed in response and wet your dry lips with your tongue. “I can try if it’ll make you feel better.”

“It would, now here,” he offered as he slowly placed his hand beneath your shoulders, giving you a little push to help you sit up.

“Heard you’ve been fussin’ over me since we got back, that true?”

Arthur sighed, knowing damn well Mary-Beth was going to say something to you at some point. “It ain’t a big deal, no big drama,” he waved it off. “Just makin’ sure you’re gonna be okay, which you are, by the way.” He held the bowl until you were ready to take it and try to feed yourself, but still leaned forward in case he needed to grab it from you. “Just rest up and you’ll be right as rain soon enough.” You grabbed the bowl and smiled over at Arthur, the adoration in your eyes quite apparent. “Arthur… thank you, I know you’re gonna think it’s no big deal, but it is to me. Couldn’t have made it without you,” you remarked. “I owe you-”

“You don’t owe me nothin’, well, except maybe one thing.”

Your head perked up and you offered him a smile. “Anything.”

With that, his mouth curled into a wide smile, thoughts running through his head as if he could have said so many things, but those thoughts would be shared later. For now, he figured he should settle on the obvious. “Promise me next time you ain’t gonna go runnin’ with MacGuire, you need a job done, you ask me.” He sat back in the chair and offered a lopsided grin. 

Thankfully you didn’t bring the spoon up to your mouth; you’d laughed and almost dropped the bowl. “Sure thing, Arthur, anything for you.” Your eyes locked with his and you couldn’t help but feel like you owed him more than that, but for now, you owed him to get better and listen for once. You’d show him how grateful you were when you could use your leg again. 

“Hey, Arthur?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks again,” you said softly. 

The man just chuckled and lit up a cigarette after getting your permission. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

[spongeyspot]

can I please have some Arthur Morgan headcanons? here’s some ideas for it

His experience at a target

getting a little treat after a hard day of work

being a passenger princess

basically following his new “caretaker” around while he figures out the modern world.

1890s!Arthur being thrown into the modern world HC

A/N: I'm gonna go with the last two bc I find it so funny. ALSO: I should clarify, that this isn't a relationship hc. The reader (You/yours pronouns) is g/n, and Arthur becomes their roommate

(And they were roommates...)

Arthur Morgan was in the blast zone of Francis Sinclair's time machine and accidentally hitched a ride to the year 2023.

- Gets hit by (your) a car when he wandered into the street

- It took him quite a bit to come to terms that this place was not the one he once knew

- Wants to get home so badly, but it seems he's stuck. He can't find Vincent Sinclair anywhere.

- He seeks out your help and at first, when he explains his predicament, you think he's a crazy homeless guy

- He tries to go off on his own to figure things out but comes back immediately because things have changed so much from the place he once knew.

- He also almost got hit by another car

- You decide you want to show Arthur the finer things in life, first starting with getting vaccinated... God knows how many diseases Arthur would be exposed to, let alone the ones he already has.

- Also a toothbrush because his breath is probably rancid

- He sleeps on your couch for a while

- eventually moves into your spare bedroom and starts having to pay some of the rent

- He'd have to work under the table because his birth certificate says he was born in 1864...

- Probably gets a job with Construction or Bartending

- Also, clean slate? No Bounty! Hell yeah!

- tends to follow you everywhere because he likes how you explain modern life to him

- You got him a cell phone.

- He's never trying to be funny when he asks questions

- "What the hell is a "tik-tok"?"

- "Blue-tooth? Never heard of that, only gold ones... I used to sell em'."

- "And you can just.. talk to this? And it'll bring ya food?? Whenever ya want???"

- holds the phone pinched between two fingers on either side like he's holding a pair of dirty underwear and starts to yell at it that he wants some steak

- Absolutely blown away by pizza

- Astonished when he sees no horses, just giant metal boxes with wheels that seem to move on their own.

- When you explain how it worked and what it was, he called it a "magic stagecoach" for a while

- Passenger princess

- fascinated by modern music. It just comes out of your magic stagecoach with the press of a button?

- Huge Bon Jovi fan. his favorite song is "Wanted Dead or Alive".

- asks "What does this button do?" seconds before he presses it

- holds the "oh shit" handle in your car at all times.

-The first time he was in your car he probably actually screamed

- you got him an electric beard trimmer for Christmas and he acted like you handed him a gold ingot

- quite honestly starts to warm up to the domestic life. having to rob and steal to keep himself alive weighed on him way more than he liked to admit.

- adores movie nights. Movies in the 1900s-2023 are incredibly different than the motion pictures he was used to.

- after he gets used to this new world, he WANTS A MOTORCYCLE SO BAD but opts for a pickup truck instead because it's more convenient

- Insists on cooking dinner on the weekends

- didn't understand your gas stove the first time and he almost blew up your apartment

[immajustvibehere]

Quiet, Solitude Hour

Arthur Morgan x gn!Reader

summary: On a hot afternoon, you find camp deserted with only one lazy cowboy to keep you company.

warning: slightly suggestive, Arthur is some years younger than he was in the game (it's up to you how much tho)

960 words, 5 minutes reading time

Credit to oolonglatte on Twitter! The drawing inspired this fanfiction :)

Camp was uncommonly deserted today. The majority was out on jobs, including Dutch and Miss Grimshaw, whose absence left a void in the usual hierarchy of overseeing and assigning chores. The sun blazed overhead, and whoever wasn't working was seeking shelter in the next saloon or going for a dip in a nearby lake. Even Mr Pearson, who normally remained within the bounds camp, had wandered off with Tilly to fish at a creek.

Having just completed the task of unloading hay from the wagon and neatly arranging it beneath a modest, hastily assembled shelter, you were convinced that you were the only one at camp. But then you saw a wispy thread of smoke rising from Arthur's tent. Not the black sort of smoke you get when you light a campfire, no, someone was smoking a cigarette. It must be Arthur, though his body was well hidden behind the crates that surround his tent.

You grinned as a prospect for diversion and amusement presented itself. You walked up to him, the grass and soil beneath your feet masked any audible approach. Slowly, Arthur’s body appeared. Recumbent upon his cot, Arthur wore nothing but jeans and boots. It looked as if he had hastily unclothed after a ride and now was trying to cool down. It was clear that he hadn’t expected anybody to be here, because even his belt was discarded in the grass, the jeans’ button and zipper had been undone nonchalantly, the latter halfway at best.

You observed the dark hair on his body that thickened beneath the curvature of his navel, only to lead down where it was swallowed by the shadow cast by his jeans. Arthur wasn't one to run around topless very often. You tried to remember when you ever saw him like this, only to realize it must have been years ago if ever.

You smiled contently. Arthur's eyes were closed and when he led the cigarette to his mouth, this happened on instinct and with a perfectly studied movement.

It felt forbidden, watching him like that. So you snuck away, heading for the create in the shadow where the gang kept some bottles of beer. The crate was buried in the ground to exploit every damp coolness that the earth had to offer. When you returned, two moderately cool bottles in hand, Arthur remained blissfully oblivious to your presence. The hand unoccupied by the cigarette, it had since shrunken significantly and would only be good for two more drags, was tracing circles on his lower abdomen. You watched as his fingers sifted through the strands of hair, a gentle caress which underlined that his thoughts were miles away.

Gently, you allowed the bottles to emit a soft chime as they touched and spoke softly: "Hope I'm not interrupting something?" More calmy than you had expected he'd react on the disturbance, Arthur's eyelids parted at a leisurely pace to meet your presence.

"'Course not", Arthur sat up slowly, smiling when you came closer, offering him a bottle. The remnants of his cigarette were extinguished before his fingers grasped the offered refreshment. Then he shifted along the cot, patting the fabric next to him. You sat down and only when your arm lightly brushed against his, Arthur seemed to wake up from his daydream.

He jumped up and put the bottle down on a table.

"Sorry I wasn't expecting someone to be here. Ain't proper to run around like that", Arthur grinned cheekily for a fleeting moment, before he stretched his limbs, righting his jeans and grabbing a shirt.   "Oh, come on!", you giggled, "It's damn hot today, I don't blame you."

Arthur's eyes rested on you for moment. He must have noticed that you also had more buttons unbuttoned than usual, because, though he put his shirt on, sleeved rolled up to expose his forearms, he didn't bother buttoning it, but only cramped the edges into his jeans.

"What've you been up to?", you asked as Arthur sat down next to you again. You still saw some of the drowsiness in him. The hot air had made him tired and if you hadn't disturbed him, he might have dozed off soon.

"Jus' been out riding. I was looking into a lead Hosea told me."

"Is it a good one?", you asked, smilingly. You didn't know where you took the courage from all of a sudden, but you put your hand on top of Arthur's that was resting between your bodies.

"Y-yeah, think so...", Arthur almost choked on the answer, surprised about the hand holding. Well, it wasn’t entirely unexpected, because the two of you had been sweet on one another for some time now. But Arthur's method of dealing with his feelings was to stay away from camp as much as possible, because there was no way you felt the same and he wanted to get over this silly crush. He hadn't expected you to...like him back. Not even talking about daring to do the first move.

"Nobody's going to be back for another hour…", you said, standing up to look around camp. Your hand was still loosely holding Arthur's who was watching you in awe.

"We should make use of this", you grinned suggestively.

Arthur's Adam’s apple visibly bobbed as he swallowed.

"Ya sure? Y/N I didn't know you felt like this...", Arthur said, visibly flustered.

"Now you know", your cheeks were flushed from the confession.

You sat down on Arthur's lap, facing him. Arthur's hands immediately wandered to your hip, holding it in place while looking up to you. Slowly, you pulled out the edge of the shirt that Arthur had crammed into his jeans, undoing the work he had done only a minute ago. But Arthur didn’t mind that at all.

[obsessivelullabies]

arthur giving you flowers.

arthur had never been much of a romantic. his gifts for you, his lovely spouse, were usually small trinkets he’d found when he went out.

when he saw the gorgeous flowers, your favorite color, he immediately thought about you and your pretty face. he carefully cut them from the ground, trying his best to not ruin their stems or petals.

arthur brought them back from his trip, immediately noticing you as he got back. he admired you for a moment. he knew he was whipped as his heart swelled.

arthur approached you, getting your attention and bringing out the flowers. “for you,” he announced.

your sweet reaction made it all worth it for him. he expects to be rewarded with some kisses. “anything for you.” he mumbled against your lips.

i’ve never written for rdr2, i just started playing the game so sorry if i’m writing him wrong

masterlist. | reblogs and comments appreciated.

[missnosferatu]

arthur and reader go fishing (i have ideas)

you’d think after being stuck in a snowstorm for longer than anyone should, you would be happy to get into the warm sun and soft grass away from the mountains. except sometimes the sun has a way of making you feel like it’s completely melting your skin right off of you.

which is why you felt like it was only appropriate to be lying on the ground with your head propped against a hay bale.

despite the glares of one older woman who had a distaste for lazing around.

“she’ll come over an’ drag you up by your big toe” it was a rough grumble- something easily recognizable and had you lifting the hat off your face.

“m’not afraid of her” you huffed, even if it was a complete lie.

your eyes automatically found his, arthur’s flickering away after a moment before he let a small chuckle leave him. it was the best music you could have ever been blessed to hear. if only you could have it on repeat from dutch’s gramophone.

“i do my fair share around here, cowboy” it came out mumbled from you, face turning away from him so he wouldn't see the flush on your face, and you’d miss the one on his.

“i’m not sayin’ that” arthur shook his head, a hand coming up to rub over his stubble. “pearson is over there complainin’ about food”

you scoffed, the idea of the camp cook fussing about food was not lost on you.

“was thinkin’ we could go” he cleared his throat after, and the warmth in your cheeks just seemed content to stay. “why not take javier?” you muttered, hoping it didn't come across horribly. it’s not like you didn't want to go- you just needed to hear him say he wanted you to go.

“ah he’s…” arthur trailed off, a small wave of his hand as he tried to come up with an excuse.

he sighed, hands on his hips as he looked down at you.

“i thought you’d wanna go. never see you out fishin’ much” it came out in an almost mumble, like he was unsure of his answer.

you didn't ask any other questions, just standing with a small huff of air and eyes finding his once again.

“i don't go for a reason” you replied, and that set the two of you towards your horses. it was hardly a ride to the small lake near camp, but it was enough to establish that you couldn't fish to save your life.

a small grunt left you when you dismounted, pulling your fishing pole out when your feet were on the ground. “fish jus’ dont like me” you scoffed, a weak attempt to make up for your lack of skill. it had a hearty laugh leaving arthur, which in turn made the corners of your mouth drift upwards. “fish are pretty smart, i reckon” he teased, causing you to throw a glare his way.

if you weren't already embarrassed to admit you couldn't fish, trying to cast out was going to kill you. your line kept getting tangled without fail, and you were more than ready to give up. especially when you had to fix the line for what felt like the hundredth time. ‘you just gotta…” arthur trailed off from beside you- trying to mimic how to fix it, but to no avail. a frustrated hand pushed hair away from your face, your patience and arthurs wearing a bit thin. “you're not helping” you huffed, voice coming out a bit harsher than intended.

arthur broke, setting his pole down before taking a couple steps towards you. he untangled the line with rage inducing ease- and then his body was close to yours.

“here” he grumbled, his hands on yours to reposition them. his chest brushed against your back faintly, and you couldn't focus on anything but the heat coming off of him. turning your head and finding his face not far from yours brought you and arthur back to reality.

it was an awkward silence, and arthur felt too exposed wirth the way your eyes looked to his. the small shuffle of a fish tugging on his hook had the two of you moving apart, despite yearning for the closeness almost immediately.

“sorry” he mumbled, clearing his throat and avoiding your gaze. “just, uh..wanted to help”

the most you could do was nod your head, hoping you’d sound normal as you spoke.

“yeah, yeah it helped” there was a small curl of your lip, the smallest hint of delight in your voice. you both continued on like normal, maybe getting a bit distracted with fleeting glances.

luckily, you could blame the redness of your cheeks on the heavy heat

[scarfacemarston]

Please if you could, please let me get some comfort from John, just him comforting his crying s/o god I need him so bad rn

I'm so sorry this took so long. I hope you're feeling better. Hopefully, you'll still enjoy this!

Note: Gender Neutral Friendly. This is set in the RDR 1 era, John, because people canonically go to him for comfort, and he’s much more mature here. In this verse, I hc that Abigail and John are amicable and live close to one another. Jack lives with John part-time. Is that too modern? Probably. Lol

John was working in the barn, sawing wood to fix up the gazebo the pair of you enjoyed on cool evenings, when you slowly approached him, trying not to draw his attention immediately.

However, you and John had a very tight relationship to the point that the two of you could almost sense the mood or feelings the other had. It was part of your bond. This caused John to whip his head around immediately to face you, his confused gaze turning soft. He placed the saw down carefully and removed his gloves.

“Darlin’,” he rumbled lowly as he made his way towards you, cupping your face as he closed the gap between the two of you. He immediately enveloped you in his arms, and the solid weight comforted you.

At this point, you had been sniffling softly to try not to worry John more than you had to, but once you felt his arms around you, you couldn’t help but let the dam break.

He sushed you gently as you buried your head into his chest, sobbing. John frowned, worry creeping into his features.

“Do you want to talk about it?” John muttered.

Truth be told, he never felt like he was the most comforting of people, nor was he the best at giving advice, but for you? He’d try. Always. (Of course, you disagreed. You saw how John treated others - gruff but polite and fair. He was far more generous and wise than he gave himself credit for.) It gave the quiet and serious man a complexity that few would know. You paused, shaking your head no. John nodded, not pushing the subject further - another thing you appreciated about him. John drew away from you, wiping the tears from your cheeks before giving your hand a kiss.

“Come on, let’s dry those eyes in our room with some privacy,” He said, guiding you into the home he built for you.

Blessedly, Jack and Uncle were away for the moment. John led you to the bedroom and shut the door, kicking his boots off. You gave a watery smile as you did the same. John plopped down on the bed, holding his arms out. You filled the space embarrassingly quickly. John gave the smallest of smiles before wrapping his arms around you once more.

“I’m sorry you’re havin’ it rough right now. I’m here for you. No matter what. You just say it and it’s yours, darlin’.” he muttered into your hair, kissing your forehead.

You smiled at him, muttering a quiet thank you. “ You don’t got to thank me, you know. Just takin’ care of the person I love.” he countered.

You sighed, melting further into his embrace, your eyes growing heavy.

“Go to sleep, you’ll feel better. I’ll be here when you wake up.” John said, running his fingers through your hair. With that, you slipped into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

[punctatum]

Crying

Arthur Morgan x gn!reader

Synopsis: You walk in on him crying.

Before reading: I feel like Arthur would bottle things up until he pops. He would also feel as though crying is a sign of weakness, and he hates the thought of crying in front of you. Reader is referred to as y/n.

Word count: 294

Arthur’s lack of vulnerability was never something that bothered you, that was until he had outbursts from it. You understood him, you knew about his lack of self confidence. Despite being there for him, Arthur wasn’t always aware that you were.

That’s why when you stepped into his tent, you were almost convinced that the trembling body in his bed was a stranger. “Arthur?” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you spoke, and you didn’t dare to get any closer.

Arthur shifted in his bed before turning to look at you. “Y/n…” He muttered, desperately trying to pull himself together. “No, no.” You urged him to show his vulnerable side in front of you, and sat down beside him. “It’s okay, you can cry.” Your voice was soothing, and his muscles relaxed slightly as your hand rested on his arm.

“I’m sorry.” Arthur managed to croak out, whimpering as he spoke. This side of him was completely new to you, and the only thing you wanted to do was comfort him. “There’s nothing to apologise for.” You assured him, sliding underneath the covers to lie with him.

“I- I don’t cry.” Your lover stammered, staring up at you with big eyes. “I know you don’t.” You cooed, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. “But it’s alright to.”

The two of you laid together in silence, only interrupted by a quiet sob from Arthur every once in a while. You wrapped your arms around him, and he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

“So, what’s wrong?” You asked once he calmed down, your hand gently stroking his hair. Finally, you got him to tell you his troubles, and you listened intently as you held him tightly.

[nexionswild]

IN WHICH MANEATER!reader admits their feelings for the van der linde boys. [p.1] [p.2]

includes: arthur ∿ john ∿ dutch ∿ hosea ∿ javier ∿ micah.

content warning: none, pure fluff, no pronouns [GN], some fem!words [“minx” “temptress”]

a/n: first headcanons in a while! personality may not be as accurate but eh, do what you will !!

✦ ﹒ arthur morgan

you.. what?

arthur doesn’t believe in being remotely worthy of any romantic interests, he always thought you were out of his league. needless to say, it’s a pretty loving yet interesting surprise. he even comes as far as questioning your tastes in men.

but of course, he doesn’t say no, and god knows what would happen to his mental state if he ever dismissed your feelings.

by the time your confession came out, he’d admit that he loved admiring you from a distance, seeing how you swayed men with your charms and wits. it was always fascinating for him in a weird way. he can’t quite put it in words, but by simply observing you, he could feel things.

“alright, alright … i’ll take the goddamn minx’s hand, but don’tcha go cryin’ on Grimshaw’s dress if ya’ startin’ to regret yer decision, understand?”

obviously, he’s so grateful to have you under his wing now. it’s almost like a dream he’ll never want to wake up from, it’s a blessing, even.

although arthur still doubt how long you’ll stay with him, due to his bad experience during his first relationships with some women, he’s trying to be optimistic about the way it will turn out.

he doesn’t have much to say or do, except awkwardly appreciating your presence and the way all of your attention shifted onto him, but he’s not a slacker in this relationship, hell no.

you’re constantly victim of his tease, and often gets to be his main focus every now and then. being a natural gentleman, he doesn’t mind offering you help during your missions. and his treatment gets especially more overwhelming after a task that includes seducing a feller for information. he’d like to say that he’s not the jealous type, he understands you’re just doing your job, but god. he should be the only man that gets to hear all of these sweet words.

✦ ﹒ john marston

completely and utterly baffled. him? you and him? together?

“why?” was the first thing that came out of his mouth. he regrets it.

when you explained it’s really by the way he behaves with you, the way he’s gentle and soft for you, always slacking around until he gets to work when you ask him to from dutch’s part, that’s where he realizes, he really didn’t made any efforts to try and keep his feelings away from you. he is embarrassed.

lord knows how red his face was when you admitted that he may be one of the most tender man you’ve ever came across from the millions of other ones you had to seduce for survival, to think he was one in a million, in a way, you made him feel special.

he could only hide his lips with the back of his hand as he reluctantly tried to look at you, in which he desperately can’t. and while you await his answer, his heart keeps beating faster and faster, he worries you may even hear the sound of his heartbeat from where you are.

eventually, after a long moment of awkward, peaceful silence, with the sounds of birds and winds clearing the void of noises your head, john eventually grumbled a little “yeah, i guess i like you too.”

he can’t believe that he managed to get into a relationship with someone as charismatic as you, knowing he absolutely has zero charms. but this reality doesn’t apply to you, it seems. with the way you shower him in compliments and constantly pampering him with kisses ever since your confession, it makes it hard to believe that he wouldn’t be a man of interest.

in return, he’d quietly shove all of his love and affection by pulling you into a simple hug or enticing you to join their partying when the gang suddenly pops out the alcohol and plays music for some event. he’s a fun man when he tries to be, otherwise, it’s really just long, and silent moments of adoration as he hugs and cuddles you from behind.

before he even got together with you, he was already a little frustrated with the men you had to engage with for the sake of the mission, but now that you’re his, his frustration is even worse.

“you better try and come up with som’ other plans, regarding [y/n] dutch.”

✦ ﹒ dutch van der linde

“of course, i’ll love you forever.”

he’ll tease you about your feelings, dutch already grew a reputation amongst women for his ability to entertain with just talks and conversations. he even swayed men to like him for being friendly. after all, why do you think he knows and have contacts with so many people?

admittedly, dutch secretly loved it when you confessed to him. there’s something about you initiating it that sparks a bigger interest in you. you were a pretty thing to look at, a painting in exposition for a museum. of course he had his eyes on you for a long while ever since you joined.

he only puts you in those (insufferable) tasks to see you in action, and boy, was he impressed with the way you’d easily wrap those creeps, men and women alike, around your finger so quickly. not only were you useful for the gang, but you proved you’re more worthy than those petty missions.

he’ll never admit how he would also punish himself watching you whisper those sweet-nothings into their ear, only hosea knew the kind of face he would make when you did your job.

surprisingly committed and devoted into this relationship, you honestly expected something lacking. i mean, the way he treated molly should’ve trigger those red flags, but there’s something about him that you couldn’t quite touch on, that was so annoyingly attractive. and that devotion never faded away, you always kept him entertain in some wicked way, god knows what kind of poison you have for him to be so hooked on you.

he’d always slide his hand around your waist, tracing the edge of your body with his fingers as he looked down on you. and the way you gracefully accepted his touch only made him want to crave for more, he wants more of your subtle validation every time he shares an intimate moment with you. you’re his elixir, and he will never stop getting sick if it means consuming you more and more.

don’t expect this relationship to end. he will never let go of you. ever.

good luck trying to contribute to the gang and do your job, because dutch will never stop fucking up your work for the simple fact that he should be the only one who gets to experience your seduction.

“i should seriously come up with different plans now that you’re mine.”

✦ ﹒ hosea matthews

it took hosea some convincing to let him know that you were serious about your feelings, he always took everything under a sarcastic joke, until he realizes you actually mean it, his smile drops as he’s processing the information.

hosea is aware he’s not as devilishly handsome as dutch, he thinks of himself as a boring old man who likes novels and wisdom. to think you, a young and seductive temptress, in love with him? he doesn’t know how to eat that in a whole.

that is probably the first time you ever seen him that nervous, but the way he plays it out as a joke was still endearing, but annoying, at the same time.

“who forced you? i swear, i won’t be mad if ya’ just told me, y’know?”

when he finally accepts the fact that you’re really interested, hosea couldn’t help but smile again. he’s a jokester, seriously, what do you see in that guy? he makes you laugh. (nudge nudge, wink wink) and the sheer fact that he made you bend over (not in that way)mon your tummy as you try to suppress your laughter into quiet snorts so many times was just charming, in your opinion. and impressive as well. no men made you laugh like that before.

you couldn’t care less if he was too old or too modest, he was the perfect amount of gentleman. he’s been loyal to you like some kind of butler, and it was just so lovely to see him act like such a domestic husband when you ask nothing from him, and it was even more funny to see him quietly appreciating your flirtatious remarks before you got together.

now that you are in a relationship, your teasing has gotten even worse, and hosea desperately tries to keep up with you but you always left him in long flustered silences before he cracks another joke to try and change the topic. but he doesn’t leave you do all the talk, when you need comforting words after a mission, he’s here. and he’s the perfect man for encouragement and motivation.

he understands that it must be hard to always be a man’s attention, and he couldn’t be any more proud of you for trying to play your part for the sake of the gang. he doesn’t care about the comments you have to use towards these men for information, he knows whatever you do or say, he’s the only one you love, and you’re the only one he loves.

“you’re just.. perfect.”

✦ ﹒ javier escuella

you’ve never seen him so. happily. flustered.

he doesn’t want to show this side to you, he’s a scary outlaw who knows how to handle a knife, guns and such. but you made his heart flutter, how is he supposed to react to your feelings in a way that wouldn’t miserably damage his image as a brave yet intimidating gunman?

being generally polite and soft-spoken, you couldn’t hear him literally grumbling in spanish under his breath, not like you could understand him anyways, he was talking too fast in your opinion.

“ay.. dios mío. i don’t know how to say it. but, i really..”

he can’t afford to look you in the eyes, you’re so beautiful and precious. you’re no saint and that, he shamefully loves it, so much. no amount of words can describe how he loves seeing you talking your way out of conflict with those honey words. and because of that, you’ll only ever hear his confession in spanish before he pulls you in an embrace, which told you that he’ll happily stay by your side if that’s what you want.

it frustrates you that he’ll only talk about his feelings in his native language, that’s his mother tongue, and as much as you love to hear his love words in spanish, you also want to know what that means. you want to hear those words clear and loud, and javier can’t help but chuckle at your desperation. it was adorable. he didn’t know you had that side for him; being cute. usually, he would only see you tempting men and women, or constantly hearing your teases.

seeing you pout just made him want to speak spanish more often, he savors everything you offer him. and there couldn’t be anything more delicious than your new expressions, he especially loves it when you blush for him, because it came to a point where hearing his mexican rants was.. weirdly attractive.

“te quiero mucho, querida.”

✦ ﹒ micah bell

WHAT? you had all the men in the world and out of everything, you chose him? him???

he doesn’t understand you, he really doesn’t. he’s been here, shaming all of your good graces and degrading you into oblivion since your sole purpose here is “to pretend to be a sexworker” and you like him?

fine. he may have been under your spell as well, i mean, you’re attractive. he knows that you are, why else would dutch set you up in dirty work like that? — but he have way too much pride, and if you think he’ll apologize for his behavior or told you about how he felt about you, safe to say: don’t get your hopes up.

not only is he straight up puzzled, but the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes he’s been craving for you this whole time, he was just in denial. he had too much confidence and pride to admit that he’d ever fall in love with someone like you, i mean, he’s been acting like this for so many years, what makes you different from the others? why was your attention so important to him? you’re nothing but some whore, right? or so he thought.

“fine.. but don’t get yer’ hopes up, pretty girl. just cuz’ i’m blessin’ you with my last name don’t mean anythin’. got that, sweetheart?’

he’s lying. you know he is. blessing you with his last name? is he expecting you to stay until marriage?

not that you mind, since you’re crazy enough to develop feelings for him. and he’s crazy enough to make you want this marriage.

ever since that day, micah has been noticeably more attentive towards you, both by hearing out your adventures and by touch. you wouldn’t notice him scooting closer and closer whenever you talked, you wouldn’t notice the way his head cocked to the side as his hand slid up your waist, tracing the frame of your body before reaching your shoulder and firmly grabbing it, pulling you closer to him. you only noticed when you felt his breath tickling your chin.

oh, he enjoys having an effect on you. all those months, he’d seen you play your way with people in sexual nonsense. he never liked how you got all the attention, or that you were focus on anyone else but him for that matter, but now he’s got you just where he wants you to be, right beneath him.

he loves to see you get quiet when he’s close.

“well? don’tcha keep me waitin’ pretty girl, better talk or waste my time.”

[livingdeadmlm]

Kinktober Day 2: Voyeurism with Javier Escuella

Pronouns: The reader isn't referred to as a man, but it is said that if they were to sleep with men, they could be in danger.

Physical Sex: can be any gender

How far are things going?: Not full-blow sex; however, both Reader and Javier are jerking off at the same time.

Warnings: jerking off, Javier being a pervert, the reader being into it. MDNI

Outline: Reader has been cought bu Javier before, but that dosent stop reader from having some me time again. Especially when they spot a fimilair shape around their tent late at night

What inspired me to write how I did: Nothing!

Other: If you have any characters you want featured this month send an ask! and i will try to fit them in as i am trying to write for more people this month!!

Long days can lead to even longer nights if you have the energy. But you didn’t have the privilege of bedding up with someone as you didn’t quite fancy women, and well if you attempted to ask another man, you were sure to be run out of town on a good day and worse on any other. So here you sat, aching in your tent alone. While some men were still dragging themselves around, most weren’t of a clear mind or even thinking of stopping by your tent. 

Your belt clinked lightly as you pulled off your heavy jeans. You kept your underwear on for plausible deniability in Case another incident occurred, like a few weeks ago. 

The campfire had almost been ash as you began to palm yourself through your jeans. It was hard to ignore your desire for virtually any of the men in camp. However, one man seems explicitly to always make comments about you. Javier. 

“Hey, Jefe! Are those new pants? Went out to spoil yourself, huh?” “Hey, why don’t you join me for a little knife play? It's getting boring just playing with myself.” When he played his music other times after the incident, he would always stare if you went to your tent, even for just a moment.

A night just like this one, except you two were the only ones in camp; you took the opportunity with great stride to get yourself off. You’d grown used to touching yourself in silence, but it never hurt to have the time to be able to moan and move around on your cot. The gentle guitar playing lets you know that 1. Javier was busy, and 2. There was some noise close enough to him to drown you out. So you started.

You yanked down your pants, pulling down your underwear to go to town on yourself. Oddly enough, the music Javier played helped you keep the rhythm. You were so in your mind imagining a man taking over and touching you himself and marking up your neck and taking a firm hold on your hair. A man kissing you with so much desperation that it felt like he wanted to be one with you. 

Soft moans escaped your mouth as you lost focus on everything else. Losing so much focus, you didn’t hear the music stop; you didn't see the shadow of Javier's body grow large against your tent before he made his entrance. “Amigo! Why don’t you join me by the fire-? OH SHIT.” He had fallen backward on his ass, yelling he was sorry in both languages he knew in a panic. You heard his footsteps retreat to the campfire and a bit farther. 

You sat up in your bed, pulling the wool blanket over yourself. You felt like you were on fire. You did not want him to see you like that when you two didn’t even spend much time together in the first place. Who goes from glances and longing stares when one didn’t have a shirt on to see the other jerk off? Javier. 

While you couldn’t fully indulge, being able to get any friction seemed to melt away the day's stress. The feeling of your hands being muffled by your underwear was a different type of pleaser that made you feel more desperate. The pit in your stomach got warmer as you imagined being walked in again; maybe this time, he’d step in and join you instead of walking out. Despite the work you all did, his lips looked soft, contrasting his strong nose and stern features. His hair is well taken care of and brushed daily to frame his face perfectly. A low groan escaped your throat. Since he has walked in on you, he gave you a new nickname, Jefe. You weren’t sure what it meant because when you had asked random city Spanish speakers you ran into, they looked at you confused. It means “Boss.” He had been teasingly calling you “boss,” which confused you for such a strong character he had. While you didn't take things lying down, you also weren't as overpowering as he was.

He also began giving you items of clothing he had for you to wear, such as his shawl, his red tie, and even his hat, which he got a kick out of. He’d almost get offended if you took it off. 

The soft glow of the lantern you kept outside your tent caught a shadow. Before panicking, you realized the figure was slowly moving outside your tent, a very familiar bowler hat being unmistakable. You couldn’t help but continue the touches as the figure settled beside your cot and sat on the outside floor. You let out a small moan, watching for movement and movement you saw.

Javier leaned back, making a small dent in your tent's wall, and from the sound of the fabric moving, you could tell he was also taking his pants off. The slight rattle of the chain that adorned his vest gave away the rhythm of his hand movement. You matched his movement, letting a low string of moans leave your mouth just for him to hear. Over the next few seconds, his boots scraped against the dirt, and an idea hit you. 

“Oh, Javier..!”

You saw his body tense, but his hand never stopped moving. You felt flushed. If he had been caught, would he want you to see? You didn’t want to ruin the illusion, so you kept at the small gasps and sounds. His choked breathing could be heard, with a slight wet sound that felt so dirty. His shadow showed that he had moved to his knees, one hand bracing himself against the ground. You couldn’t help but imagine being under him or on top of him. Were his eyes open? Half lidded? Or were they closed to focus on the noises you were making? Would he whine more if you were masturbating together?

You finally reached into your underwear to keep up with the speed he was going. You continued to moan his name before it became cries, and you finally came undone. Your legs felt weak as Javier let out a hushed moan. His pants slowed down, as did your own. His body slumped back down once again, leaning on your tent wall. You didn't want to speak to him directly and hoped his horned-up mind would ignore it. In your best sultry voice, you whispered, "Hmm, I should ask him to join someday.” You saw him perk up, slowly get up from his sitting spot, and stumble back to his tent for the night. You couldn’t help the butterflies in your stomach at the idea of him joining you next time you wanted to have some alone time.

[allzelemonz]

Ain’t Scared of Nothing: Micah Bell X Gender Neutral Reader

Pronouns: None Mentioned, he/him in mind while writing; dog has they/them pronouns Physical Sex: None Mentioned Rating: T/Violence Warnings: Micah Bell is his own warning, Micah is an asshole, Mentions of harm to animals, Micah gets shot (he's fine), Death of innocents, Robbery Summary: Micah is scared of your dog and it makes things at camp more difficult than they need to be, so you attempt to remedy that.

It’s an endless battle, being on the run. Having survived the Grizzlies with a few casualties and a few additions, the gang has found a new home. Horseshoe overlook makes a good home, surrounded by trees for cover, near water, and up high. The law would have to search hard to find you, O'Driscolls too. Getting through things has been tough. Your dog has done well with the gang so far, and now they have a chance to help hunt all those rabbits and turkeys that are around. Life is decent here.

There is only one consistent problem. Micah Bell.

In the past few months that he’s run with the gang he’s been nothing but an antagonistic asshole. Before Blackwater it was no different. Being on the run had given everyone a little break from his usual attitude, but now that you’re settled and have some freedom Micah is back to his usual self. A few times since you’ve set camp, you caught him linking near your dog with a feeling in the air that you don’t like. He hasn’t done anything yet, but it’s only a matter of time. So, you took the time to train your dog to stay in or near your tent unless you say they can leave. Which seems to have solved the problem. Micah is no longer near your dog and everyone knows where to find the dog if they want to pet them. Micah’s tent is far away from yours, so they hardly see each other.

This morning is a slow one. There are no jobs to do for money, laundry was done yesterday, and Dutch seems to be in a decent mood. Your dog has done a few laps around the tent, but is now settled at the foot of your bedroll while you read a book you found up in the Grizzlies.

“Hey, cowpoke…”

You look up from the pages to find Mich leaning on the middle post of your tent, his arm supporting him and the other resting on his hip. Your dog’s body language changes, they get tense and a light growl fills your ears. You softly put a hand on their back and pat to calm them down.

“What do you want, Micah?”

He looks between you and the dog. “I want ya ta control the mut.”

“The dog’s fine, you’re the problem.”

He chuckles. “Me?”

Your dogs growls, louder this time when Micah takes a step forward. He stumbles back in response. “Control the mut, cowpoke, or I will.” He says.

You put your book down and stand up, your dog following you and taking their place next to you. Micah puts his hands on his hips, tilting his head forward so his hat hides his eyes.

“Since you’re an idiot, I’ll make this clear.” You put a hand on your belt, near your knife. “If you touch my dog, I will gut you. Do you understand?”

Micah raises his hands, still using his hat to hide his face. “Got it, cowpoke.”

“Then get the hell out of here, dumbass.”

He glances up, eyes barely peeking out from under his hat. “Actually, Dutch wants ya for a job.”

“What job?”

Micah smiles. “We’re robbing some rich folks in a stage.”

“We?”

“You and me. Dutch’s orders.” He takes a step back and looks between you and the dog again. “See ya by the horses, cowpoke.”

When he leaves, your dog lays back down and huffs as if they find him as annoying as everyone else does. You put your book away and gather the ammo and guns you’ll need. As you step out, you give your dog one more look as they wag their tail and watch you leave. They’ll probably go over to the Marston’s tent and play with Jack or something. It’s Abigail they usually end up with when you come back.

Micah is waiting by Baylock, looking over one of his guns. Your horse is next to them, simply waiting for the next trip. You tuck your rifle into your saddle and give your horse a few pats, earning a head nod.

“Why do ya keep that thing?” Micah asks, his eyes fixed towards your tent where your dog stares back at him like a wolf stares at a prey animal—or John.

“Doesn’t concern you, Micah.”

“It don’t do nothing, useless mut.” He mutters.

“We all say the same thing about you.”

“Funny.” Micah holsters his gun and gets up on his horse. “I like that one.”

“You scared of them or something?” You ask as you mount your horse.

“Oh, you’d like that.” He chuckles. “A big, tough dog ta keep me away. I hate ta disappoint, cowpoke, but the mut don’t scare me.”

“Sure, Micah.” You lead your horse around the hitch and to the trail. “Whatever you say.”

The pathway out of camp gives good cover, but you take a moment to check around for lawmen or O’Driscolls. With no one in sight, you head out and start a gallop and Micah rides beside you with the same pace.

“You know, Micah, it’s fine if you’re scared of the dog.” You say, a little loud over the sound of the gallop.

“I ain’t scared of no mut!” He snaps. “Just don’t like a damn parasite in the camp.”

“My dog does more than you on any given day, Micah.” You follow his lead at a turn. “Much better in a hunt, much cuter, much better fisher. Come to think of it, when’s the last time you gave anything to Pearson?”

“Ain’t none of your business how I spend my time, cowpoke.”

“It is if you’re spending it annoying me and my dog.”

Micah turns off the path and slows down to a trot as he leads you through the trees and up a hill. “We got a job ta do. Dutch’s orders, cowpoke, ya better focus more on the stage coming along here.”

You stop the horses at the peak of the hill. The position gives you a view of the road to keep a good eye out. Micah leans forward in his saddle, arms crossing above the horn as he looks out over the road. You pull your rifle from your saddle and settle it in front of you so it’s easy to grab when the time comes.

“I don’t hate you Micah.” You sigh. “You’re a fine man, not a good one, just fine. Stay the hell away from my dog and we’ll get along.”

He scoffs and chuckles a bit. “We ain’t got no good men out here, cowpoke.”

“You should take my calling you a fine man as a compliment then.”

Micah perks up as the stage comes around the bend in the road. It’s fancy, no guards, one driver. You and Micah move together, pulling your masks on and the horses taking you down the hill and into position. Micah goes behind the coach and you take the front. This is not the first time you’ve worked with Micah to take a stage, Dutch thinks you work well together and often put you together before Blackwater. You stop your horse in the path and raise your rifle to the driver who promptly stops the stagecoach. Micah rides up and stops Baylock to the side, walking to the door and knocking on it.

“This is a robbery!” He says, forcing the door open. “Everybody out!”

You keep your rifle raised at the driver as two rich folks stumble out of the stage. Micah waves them away and glances at you, you give him a nod to tell him you can handle the three hostages while he searches. He ducks inside and you hear the standard destruction and mutters that come when Micah does anything. The driver has dropped the reins and put his hands up, but the rich folks are cowering and if Baylock might kick them. He might, he’s Micah’s horse after all.

They seem to be a couple. The woman is hiding her face in the man’s chest and you can hear the occasional sob that isn’t muffled. The man has his arm around the woman and is trying to comfort her, but he seems just as scared. As Micah exits and what looks like a half-full bag you get a bad feeling. He goes around to loot the back and just as he disappears from your view you see the rich man’s other hand. One is around the woman, the other is by his waist.

“Micah!” You yell.

The man draws his gun, but Micah is faster. The shot hits the man in the chest and he drops the gun. The woman clings to the man as he falls, even when the blood from his wound covers her cheek and runs down to stain the light fabric of her clothes. Her quiet sobs become screams as she clings to his dying body on the ground. The driver makes a move and you don’t think about it, you just shoot. The man falls from the stage and the gun that was halfway in his hand falls beside him.

“Well, shit.” Micah says as he comes back around where you can see him and looks over the scene.

You get down from your horse and take what you can from the driver’s body. When you look back up you see Micah has pushed the woman away and is going through the man’s pockets. It’s only a second, a blink, then the woman has a gun and there’s a loud sound before you can draw your sidearm. Both Micah and the woman fall back. The woman is lifeless, a hole in her head, but Micah still breathes as he clutches a wound on his arm.

“Damn it.” You mutter.

Micah grunts as he pulls his mask off and ties in around his arm to stop the bleeding. You run over and give him yours as well, tying it tight. It’s just a graze, but it’s deep.

“Ya coulda drawn quicker!” He yells through gritted teeth.

“You’re the quickdraw, not me.”

He chuckles. “You call yourself a gunslinger?”

“Dutch does.” You whistle for Baylock and he trots over as you help Micah up.

He groans in pain as he pulls himself up into the saddle, but he seems better now that he’s not on the ground.

“What’s the take?” You ask as you walk to your horse.

“Lots of trinkets, a couple bucks.” He winces and grips his arm. “Maybe a hundred.”

You lift yourself up to the saddle. “Better than I expected. Come on, before the law shows.”

You lead the way back as Micah clutches his arm. The pace is slow for his sake, can’t jostle him too much or he could really hurt himself. Charles calls out when you’re near and you answer before Micah can say something stupid.

“Ah, you’re back!” Dutch calls as you’re hitching your horse. Micah nearly falls as he gets down and it takes you and Dutch to catch him. He groans from the pain as Dutch gets him upright. “The hell happened?”

“Just some rich idiots with guns.” You get the bag off of Micah’s shoulder and hand it to Dutch. “We didn’t have a chance to split it up, we should get him patched up first.”

Dutch laughs. “Better him than you. Good work.”

Micah wines and groans as you take him to his tent and set him down. Strauss comes along with a tonic and bandages, he fixes Micah’s arm and you collect the takes from Dutch. When you return with the money for Micah, he swipes it from your hand. His eyes are lingering on something behind you, your dog.

“You’re scared of them.” You chuckle.

“I ain’t-“

You wave your dog closer and they sit by your feet, just inside of Micah’s tent. Micah tenses up and puts his hand near his knife.

“They’re not gonna hurt you.” You chuckle. “Unless I tell them to.”

“Just get the mut outta here.” He mutters, eyes glued on the dog.

“Why don’t you like the dog, Micah?”

He gets himself on his feet, an angry look fixed over his features. “Get the damn dog away from me before I skin it.”

“You’d have to skin me first.” You say, taking a step towards him. “My dog isn’t going anywhere, so you better get used to them.”

Micah huffs and manages to push past you and your dog. He walks away fast, towards the edge of cam. There aren’t too many things that really push Micah’s buttons that he can’t punch or shoot his way out of. Getting on his nerves brings some mild satisfaction, but the looming threat of something happening to your dog because he can’t grow the hell up makes you nervous.

That night there isn’t much going on of note. Uncle is alternating between snoozing and sipping a beer by the fire, the Reverend is wandering around mumbling some nonsense, Bill is on watch, and most everyone else is asleep. Everyone except Micah, who is leaning against a tree near the cliff with his knife and a sharpener in hand. You’ve finished the book you found just as Uncle drinks that last drop from his bottle and dozes for the night, joining the Reverend in a late night drunken sleep. Your dog is fast asleep on the ground, relishing the silence and stillness. You’re careful as you step around the sleeping dog. They need the rest and might follow you if you wake them.

You find Micah still leaning against the tree, cleaning his guns now. For as long as he’s been with the gang, you have never seen him sleep. He’s always out working some job, fixing his weapons, eyeing whoever is taking care of Baylock instead of him, or antagonizing whoever is nearest to him. You swear he wasn’t as annoying in Blackwater. Maybe because he had something to plan for, something to fill his constant waking hours. Lately, he  has become everyone’s problem.

“Do you ever sleep?” You ask, stopping just short of the cliff’s edge near the trees.

“When I feel like it.” Micah says. “Ya worried about me, cowpoke?”

“You’d think you’d have time to pet the occasional dog with all your free time.”

Micah scoffs.

“Or at least brush your own damn horse.” Your eyes rake over him as he steadily gets more annoyed. “Or are you scared of Baylock too?”

“I ain’t scared of nothing!” He stomps over to you, dropping his oil rag but only tightening the grip he has on his gun.

Behind him there is a faint sound of leaves crunching as your dog emerges from the thick trees. Micah takes a small step back, hand gripping his gun so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

“Pet the dog then.” You walk over to the happy looking pup and kneel down beside them, scratching them behind the ears. “Prove you aren’t yellow, Micah.”

He tilts his head so his hat covers his face as he deliberates. Long seconds pass as he holsters his gun and mutters to himself. He walks forward and after a few steps you can see his face. He looks pale as he kneels down near you, a few feet from the dog.

“I ain’t got nothing to prove.” He mutters.

“Just hold your hand out, the dog does the rest.” You say, petting the dog to keep them calm as Micah half-heartedly reaches his hand out.

Your dog leans forward a bit and Micah scowls at them, but they don’t seem deterred. They poke their nose forward and sniff near Micah’s hand, slowly moving closer and sniffing more excitedly. Your dog looks over to you as if uncertain, then they step forward so they’re within arms reach of Micah. They push their head against the man’s hand and Micah pulls away.

“I pet the damn dog, I ain’t yella.”

“They pet you.” You chuckle lightly. “Just put your hand on their head, like this.” You place your hand lightly on the dog’s head and they close their eyes and wag their tail in appreciation.

Micah scoffs and looks off to the side, towards the overlook where the moon is high in the sky. Getting impatient, you grab his hand and place it on the dog’s head. You keep your hand over his so he can’t move it. Micah looks over to you with a glare, then moves it to the dog. When he’s held his hand there for a few seconds you let him go and he pulls away, shaking his hand as if it’s wet. You sit down on the ground, leaning against a tree, and your dog happily comes to lay beside you. Micah has a tight grip on nothing as he holds his hand in front of him, knuckles white.

“I’m not gonna tell anyone, Micah.” You say, you hand naturally straying to play with your dog’s fur. “What’s the deal with dogs?”

“Don’t like ‘em.”

“Why?”

Micah scoffs. “There ain’t no point in ‘em.”

“Maybe for you.” You sigh. “But a dog can hunt, protect, help keep you warm. I guess it’s an acquired taste”

“Oh, sure.” Micah chuckles. “Acquired taste.”

“You seem scared of them.”

“I ain’t-” He starts.

“Okay, okay, I get it.” You hold your hands up in surrender. “Whatever, Micah.”

You stand up and your dog follows your lead, looking at you for a sign of where you’re going. Micah stays crouched, staring anywhere where you aren’t. His hands are in front of him, one clutching the other. He’s scared. Maybe not just of the dog, but of someone seeing a weakness. He’s proud, too proud.

“I like you, Micah.” You say. “We get along fine, Dutch thinks so with all the jobs he sends us on together. But I come with a dog, so you better get used to it.”

You don’t wait for Micah’s reaction, you turn back to camp and join the others in a good night’s sleep. Your dog sleeps, curled up in their usual spot. As you wake, you hear the rough noise of a knife against a sharpening block. You open your eyes and sit up to see Micah sitting on a stool just inside of your tent, your dog looking up at him with a fast moving tail.

“I ain’t scared of no dog.” He says, peeking at you from under his hat.

An involuntary smile spreads over your face that you hide with your hand as you clear your throat. “Good.”

“Aw.” Micah tilts his head back so you can see the mock emotion he puts on his face. “You like having me around then, cowpoke?”

You shrug. “Sure, Micah. Just be nice to the dog.”

Micah chuckles lowly as you walk away towards Pearson’s station. He watches you as you go, admiring the sight even with your dog trotting alongside you.

[2demondogs]

Touch Starved Arthur Morgan/Reader Headcanons

A/N: My brain hurts so here's more HCs. Gender neutral reader!

Outlawin' is a lonely life with an even more complex social codex than civilized society. Men keep their distance and the touchiest thing around camp is Dutch's ego.

You've come to an unspoken relationship, and you've felled the tallest rounds of Arthur's emotional barriers. Despite his persistent clamminess, you're well past the point of him recoiling from your touch - he is, at times, more of a hedonist than his emotional masochism gives away.

It's more animal to enjoy simple touch. It grows complicated when the possibility of being seen arises, becomes less of a pleasure and more of a vulnerability. In your tents or among boarding rooms, it's all bets off.

He won't go out of his way to seek much contact. Call it lack of tact or an impassable barrier for already questionable pride. You needed a light and the wind was so high that you had to cup your hands around the flame and, well, the cigarette just wasn't steady enough unless he held it to your lips. His back itches, can you get it? Unfortunately, looks like it's going to keep itching until he falls asleep.

He won't avoid your contact, though. "Pleasure seeking" isn't entirely right; "pleasure accepting" is spot on. If you really must ask, yes he is enjoying that, and a lot. He'd drop to his knees if you asked him to, but it feels wrong to take from you in that way. He is lucky enough that you still want to dirty your fingernails with his sweaty hair after he hangs up his hat; that you'd choose to make him feel those dull shocks of comfort going down his tired spine.

When his ego is stoked, he's less inhibited. The weight of want eventually builds to be heavier than his woes, always. He still won't do much asking. Arthur would rather tell you what he wants and let you decide what to do with that information. It removes the burden of choosing from him.

[orchid-and-bone]

"Here With Me" ||

Arthur Morgan x GN!Reader

Rating: None

Asked by @photo1030

Ok, I gotcha….what about the first time someone tells Arthur they love him? Could be reader, m or f, or an existing character?

Oh I like this idea a lot and think it’s such a bittersweet feeling for Arthur, I won’t get into the meat of it, but you know how he feels about people calling him ‘a good man’, or just how Mary ended up treating him before she left. This man deserves the world, okay?

*

It had been an age since he heard those words, never had he thought he would actually ever hear them uttered to him, nor did he think he'd ever find the courage to mutter them aloud again to any living soul. He found himself undeserving of any kind words, living the life he had, he knew there'd be a mark upon his soul, and anyone foolish enough to accept him as he was, well they were just that: foolish. 

But there you were, admiring him from afar for so long that it almost felt like a fever dream when you two met. He'd brushed anything off at first, just thinking that whatever the weird spark he felt was just in his head, he always ignored those gut feelings because he felt that they didn't deserve to be had. But slowly, those large thick walls were chiseled away one by one over time. 

When you had decided to tell him how you finally felt, he wasn't sure what to do, he sat there unblinking, staring directly at you. What was he thinking? Why was he just… sitting there? You knew he wasn't one to delve into his feelings so openly, but your admitted confession had meant a lot to you, so your leg bounced up and down due to your nerves. You knew Arthur well enough that if you rushed him or made him feel like he needed to supply an answer right away, it wouldn't work out so well for either of you, but that didn’t stop you from assuming the worst.

As you sat there and allowed Arthur to think your confession through, you sat back and thought of all the ways he'd changed your life and the way you saw things, but most importantly, he always looked out for you, even when he felt that he shouldn't have gotten you involved in his life to begin with. Boldly, you reached across the wooden table that sat in the camp, the smell of fire and booze hung heavily around you, the lingering gang members that were awake were too drunk or tired to pay you two any mind. Your hand was placed on his, you didn't need to exchange words, you felt that he understood how you felt and why, well, you hoped he understood. 

Arthur was good at thinking of others, though he wouldn't care to admit it, always thinking of what was best for you, but never what was best for himself or you both. He was a stubborn man, but it was one of the many reasons you did love him. 

His silence wasn't odd, you preferred that he sat back to think things through rather than immediate dismissal, it meant that he was considering your words more than anyone could realize. But you loved to hear him speak, that gruff voice that you could never get enough of, and he graced you with the sound of it. 

“You uh, you sure you'd wanna love a man like me? You know what that means, don'tcha?” He asked you, his eyes stared at you beneath the brim of his hat. The light from the fire illuminated half of his face and he looked so beautiful, like a painting that was created with love and carefulness with each stroke. 

You just nod in response to his question as you sit across from him, a small smile across your face. “I do, yeah,” you say with a small breath of laughter. “I wouldn't say it carelessly, Arthur. Loving you with all of the ups and downs it comes with is something I'm willing to live with.”

Arthur listened to you once again, his jaw slightly clenched as he held back what he truly wanted to say, which would only be dismissing himself, and you smiled at his ability to bite his tongue. 

You couldn't help but chuckle at how his face contorted with so many emotions at once, and he just looked up at you with a hard stare, but it softened as soon as he locked eyes with you. 

“No matter what I say, you ain't gonna listen to reason, are you?” He asked you, his tone more gentle this time. 

You shook your head. “Nope. I've made up my mind. As grim as it seems, this world doesn't promise us anything, so why not take what time you have and enjoy it? You deserve it, Arthur.” Your grasp on his hand tightened, showing him you weren't going anywhere, he was stuck with you.

The gunslinger swallowed, how mouth suddenly dried as he nodded to your words. “It's… been a while since I heard ‘em, figured I never would again. But… it's nice to hear ‘em, ‘specially comin’ from you.” Arthur offered a smile as he continued to look at you beneath his hat, not wanting to give away just how happy you'd made him. Not yet. 

“I love you, that's all you need to know,” you assured the man, “you don't have to do things alone, you never had to, okay? Let me share your burdens with you, and if you don't wanna say it back yet, that's okay. I ain't going anywhere.” 

Arthur just nodded again, the smile widened, stretching his lips. “‘Course you ain't, wouldn't let you if you tried,” he said with a chuckle that followed. 

For now, those were the only words you needed to hear from him, you knew that with time and patience, that man who was so closed off to the world would allow you a glimpse of his heart.

[zvdvdlvr]

- in which they watch you die

☆ - featuring :: arthur morgan, john marston, dutch van der linde

☆ - warnings :: death, coarse language, death threats, smoking, murder, reader's gender is not specified, pov changes

☆ - k.j.'s diary says... this writing is both short and not my best work. sean maguire, javier escuella, charles smith will be in part two

☆ - ARTHUR MORGAN

my fault, all my goddamn fault was all arthur could think when he watched your body fall in slow motion to the ground.

"arthur!" dutch called over the loud gunfire. arthur was unable to tear his gaze from the warm blood leaving the four bullet holes in your side dripping onto the ground.

he told you to come into the bank, to help him get up to the roof to snipe the guards. he told you to leave the relatively safe position you were in to come help arthur with a job he could do perfectly fine alone. he just wanted you out of there and quite unfortunately, you died because of that.

"get up to the roof, son!" dutch yelled, shoving arthur out to the alley of the saint denis bank.

"'m sorry, y/n. god i am sorry. i ain't- christ. . . i ain't mean to getcha killed. shit, i ain't even know where you were," arthur mumbled. he climbed three ladders before he got to the spot that would do him well.

he killed every guard he saw with a headshot, spilling the oily bastards' brains onto the ground and walls of the glorified 'city of the future'.

not five minutes later the man arthur called his brother was shot in front of him too.

ain't that just the way, arthur thought. the man's jaw was sore from how hard he was clenching it, and his eyes stung like nothing else.

"let's go, damnit!"

the gunslinger was pulled to his feet.

arthur was pushed forward. "we need to get out now so there aren't more dead later," dutch said.

and that was that. . . for now.

☆ - JOHN MARSTON

it was completely preventable, what happened to you. at least from what john heard.

of fucking course he had to be locked up the day you died.

he had looked around when he got back, a wry smile pulling his lips thin. past arthur's shoulders, past sadie's unsmiling face. "where's y/n?" he asked, smile faltering.

sadie swallowed, eying arthur. "uh. . . y/n-"

"is dead," arthur finished. "agent numbnuts, uh, ambushed us. we were all good up until the end, adrenaline. . . adrenaline wore off. y/n fell behind me," arthur explained, avoiding eye contact with john. "they showed me two bullet holes they'd been hidin'. . . y/n died in my arms. talkin' 'bout you." arthur clenched his jaw and sniffed.

sadie looked uncomfortable. she'd gotten close with y/n and she had been crying alongside arthur while y/n spent their last minutes just talking with the pair. it's been so long since i've just talked with someone. ain't know how much i missed it, they had said. miss you asshats already, was one of the last things that had bubbled up from y/n's bloody lips.

"we're sorry, john."

"did- did you bury them?" john's voice wavered dangerously.

sadie nodded. "we can, uh. . . show you."

the rest of the day was a blur. a mix of voices, the slur of a familiar voice. john didn't know what to do.

☆ - DUTCH VAN DER LINDE

"goddamn it, y/n!" dutch yelled. the man's voice was hoarse from lack of sleep and water. his irritation stemmed from plans going wrong, scores being set-ups, and his own gang showing slowly showing their distrust.

"what, dutch?" y/n asked tiredly. they massaged their temple.

their most recent argument was because of y/n tackling dutch to prevent him from being shot in the shoulder. because of this, dutch missfired his bullet and eventually their getaway stagecoach was blown up.

"you have nothing to say?! no apologies!? we could be halfway to tahiti right now, y/n! if it weren't for you-"

y/n scoffed in disbelief and ran a hand down their face. "if it weren't for me saving your life? how much do you even know about tahiti, dutch? i trust you, i have faith in you, i believe in the power of this gang but please. we need to take our time with these pla-"

"don't you tell me what to do!" dutch strode over to y/n who was shaking their head.

y/n- clearly done with the conversation- made their way to their horse. from the faint lamplight, y/n could make out javier and charles both watching the interaction. micah tipped his hat to y/n; micah didn't talk to y/n enough to hate them. john watched dutch and y/n from the fire, already sensing something in his gut.

the anger radiating off of dutch was downright murderous. y/n hadn't even done anything wrong! john gnawed on his lip, one hand unconsciously drifting to his holstered gun.

"we are not done talking about this!" dutch grabbed y/n's arm and yanked hard.

"fuck!" y/n cried, instinctively jerking away from dutch's touch. y/n tore their arm from dutch's hold and, because of all the power that y/n used to get away from dutch, fell forward. a loud snap followed right after y/n collided with the ground.

a morbid choking sound fell from y/n's lips as their head made sharp contact with a rock. y/n felt blood rush to their head because of the odd angle y/n landed in: their head was below their broken legs.

dutch stood, parayzed in his spot. blood flowed out of the side of y/n's head, sliding down the dirt in rivulets. "i'm sorry," he whispered.

"y/n!" javier called, running to where y/n lie. charles followed closely behind, along with john and arthur.

charles set both of their lookout lamps by y/n's head. "be calm, y/n, you're okay," charles soothed, clutching their hand.

javier grasped y/n's other flailing arm, tears springing into his eyes. "you're okay. por favor- please- keep your eyes open," he begged. "mrs. grimshaw will be here soon, yeah? she will get you all fixed up."

arthur shouted for the women to hurry up because he knew y/n probably wouldn't survive this.

charles kept mostly quiet, checking y/n's pulse at random. javier was telling a story, talking about all the beautiful sunsets and sunrises in mexico. john waited off to the side, watching tilly and mrs. grimshaw and abigail share a look before giving arthur a terrible look.

dutch fled. he got on his bright white horse and left. he didn't know how to deal with thaf. he just killed you. you are dead because of him. dutch felt tears roll down his face. he felt the softness of his horse's hair. and he also felt the burning two foot hole in his chest because of the hollow, fearful look in your eyes after hitting your head.

on and on he rode, never stopping and never stalling. with no destination in mind, dutch figured he'd ride till morning then go back to help bury you.

you. you are his new ghost.

[immajustvibehere]

Hi there! You’re stuff is always sooo good! I saw your post asking for some inspo.

What if Arthur has a special night planned with the reader, but he has a bunch of tasks to do before he is free to meet her? The whole day goes from one bad job to then next, and all he wants to do is meet her later for this perfect night. And when he finally gets to the hotel where he’s supposed to meet her, he’s filthy, banged up, and exhausted. He has lost almost all his money that he needed to treat her to a perfect night by the time he gets there.

How would it go from there?

Simple Nights Spent Together

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x gn!Reader

Summary: Reader wants Arthur to understand that every time they get to spend with him is precious :)

fluffy little good night story, thanks for the request!

1100 words, less than 10 minutes reading time

Arthur slowly opened the door to the hotel room he knew you’d to be in. This was the same room the two of you always occupied whenever you managed to snatch a few precious moments away from camp, often for some undisturbed intimacy. But today turned out slightly different than normally. The day didn't really go according to plan and now Arthur felt like he had failed you. Before he gave the door a final push, he looked at himself. Dirty, knuckles stained with dried blood and a bad conscience that the guy who shot and hit his satchel got away with it. It had been a grim realisation that hit him a tad too late, when he discovered the gaping hole in his satchel. His money and a collection of other possessions that had accumulated were now lost somewhere on the sprawling prairie.

The door wasn’t fully open yet, but Arthur hesitated.

"Y/N?", he whispered. The tone of his voice was enough to suggest that something wasn’t right. You had grown restless over the past hour, because the time you had agreed upon was long past and you had feared the worst. So as soon as you saw the door open and heard his voice, you discarded the book you had been reading and sat up.

"Finally! You okay?", you walked to the door, doing Arthur the service of opening it fully and letting him in. His shame would've probably prevented him to do so.

"'m really sorry...", he mumbled, not even looking you in the eyes. You didn't answer, still busy with scanning him for serious injuries, though glad you found none. Arthur took off his head to fiddle it awkwardly between his fingers, revealing his unkempt hair.

"Nothing to be sorry for, I can see that you've been held up", you offered a little smile before standing on your tiptoes and planting a peck on the cheek.

"I wanted to go clean myself up first, but I didn't wanna be any later than I already was...", for some moments, Arthur had even considered not turning up at all, but he knew the consequences of this would have been you worried sick for the entire night.

You helped Arthur out of his coat: "That's okay. Go get a bath now, I'll stay awake and wait."

"Yes, Ma'am", Arthur said unironically. He was about to walk out when he stopped. Holding up his butchered satchel. He would have to ask you for money. He turned around, his cheeks blushing in shame.

"Oh no! What happened!", you immediately took the satchel and looked at the damage. It felt light, the hole was big enough to drain it of most its contents.

"Bullet hit it..."

"Is your journal-"

"Had it in my saddle bag", Arthur explained briefly, "I-uhm...do ya have some change on ya?"

You gave him a couple of dollars without hesitation: "I'll get it fixed first thing tomorrow, I promise. Oh and-", Arthur had started to walk off, "Have you eaten?"

"I’m not hungry", Arthur replied, accompanied by a dismissive wave of his hand. 'Not hungry' was a subtle code for 'I haven't eaten all day, but please don't bother for me'. But of course, you did. The lamb chops you got from the saloon were done and you had carried them to the room only a minute before Arthur returned, his damp hair slicked back.

"Yer really shouldn't have...", Arthur commented when he saw the loaded plate and two bottles of beer.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I planned on eating that alone...", you grinned as Arthur approached you and gave you a quick kiss. He smelt pleasantly like soup, though the clothes he wore still gave the familiar odour of soil and pines. Arthur had tasted the meat that on your lips – apparently you had tried some – and sat down willingly. Eagerly, he finished the plate.

His shoulders were slouched, and you could tell by how slowly he blinked that he was exhausted and ready for some sleep.

"'m real sorry, darlin'...", Arthur sighed, "I really had something different planned for tonight than just sleeping..."

Arthur was hinting at some fun and intimacy, but you weren't even a little bit disappointed that none of this would be happening.

"Arthur", you leaned forward as your lips curled into a soft smile, "This is the perfect night."

The man looked at you like you were telling a stupid joke.

"Firstly...", you started and handed him a wet rag to clean his hands which glistened in fat, "you're alive. Can't take that for granted in this line of work, so this alone makes it a good night."

Then you helped him out of his clothes which he wouldn't need for sleeping: "Secondly, you're here. You came. You had a horrible day, I can tell. But you still showed up and I really appreciate that. Makes it an even better night, because we get to share a bed."

Arthur would often get this warm tingly feeling when you cared for him in this way. Not that he frequently found himself in situations where he messed up or ruined a date night, but sometimes things were out of control, and you never made him feel like you didn't understand that. Without resistance, he allowed you to guide him onto the pillow, his whole body sinking into the bed in the process. With pleasure, he watched as you crawled on top of him. He just barely managed to lift his hands to place them on your hip.

"And lastly", you pressed a light kiss onto his cheek, "Do you have one healthy arm to spare?"

Arthur didn't understand this question, shooting you a quizzical look before checking out his arms: "Both of them lookin' fine to me."

"And now if you, Mr. Morgan, have at least one of those arms to spare for me tonight, so I might rest my head on them instead of the pillow, since I much prefer your arm, I'd call this a perfect night", you called out in a theatrical matter, before falling onto the mattress next to him and resting your head on his arm.

Arthur chuckled warmly, pulling you into an embrace. "You sure are something...", he mumbled.

"Most of all I'm just happy to have you", you replied, snuggling up to him.

A contented sigh escaped Arthur’s lips. If he weren’t so tired, he might have found the words to express what he felt. It was the sentiment that it was his turn to express how privileged he’s to have you.  

"You know", Arthur whispered, his words slurred by the tiredness that washed over him, "I'm gonna make up for all of it tomorrow." He placed a suggestive kiss on your neck.

"Looking forward to it", you answered softly, well aware that sleep will claim you both in a few moments.