#susan grimshaw x reader

[cowboyfromh3ll]

Ik you said resquests are close but my oh my, I'd love to see your relationship/sex hcs for the GIRLS

Mary-Beth, Karen, Tilly, Abigail, Molly, MAYBE EVEN MRS.GRIMSHAW IF UR FEELING QUIRKY

Relationship/Sex HC For VDL Gang Girls

Thank you anon for requesting something with the girls. Also I didn't include Sadie bc I wrote for her already previously in another post

Warnings: smut

Mary-Beth Gaskill

Very affectionate and loves showing you off

Lowkey writes short romance stories about the two of you but uses different names

Loves asking for your opinion on her outfits

Very shy with her writing but allows you to read em

Tries to recreate scenes the romance novels she reads with you

Plays with your hair and tries to style it for you

I can imagine her making flower crowns

Is so lovestruck, she definitely believes y'all are together FOR LIFE

NSFW

I just know she reads smut in her books

She'd probably ask to try out a few of the things she reads about

Comes off as docile or vanilla but would be surprisingly kinky, huge expiramentalist

Bottoms for sure

Would unintentionally grind into your face or shove you in while eating her out

High pitched moans or gentle mewls

Squirms and moves around a lot, just cannot sit still for the life of her

Karen Jones

She'll put on a tougher front but she needs a lot of reassurance

Very sweet in private

Gets flustered with PDA but still does it with you

Loves it when you hold one another closely especially around the camp fire

She'd become very vulnerable with you

Especially when she's drunk

She'd feel as though you're the only person who can see the real her, and that just makes her feel even more in love

When she's unable to take care of herself you do her hair for her

Asks to dance with you randomly

NSFW

As we saw in-game, cries during sex

Feels extremely vulnerable during the act, but instead of sadness it's more of an overwhelming feeling of love that brings her to tears

Super clingy, holds you close during

Wants to stimulate every sense, bascially smothering you

Loves kissing all up and down eachother's bodies while fondling and just holding

Also enjoys hand holding during sex

Likes to start off gentle but things get progressively wilder

Tilly Jackson

She's a playful, yet altruistic lover

Puts you before herself all the time

She could be bleeding out while you have a papercut and she'll insist they tend to you first

Constantly fixes things for you or just generally takes care of things just so you don't have to do them yourself

I hc that whenever she falls asleep on you she drools A LOT

Because she gets really relaxed

Likes sitting along rivers and lakes with you and feeding ducks or skipping rocks

Super short so she's gotta go on her tiptoes to kiss you; constantly cranes her neck to look at you, even gets taller boots

NSFW

Like in other aspects of your relationship, a giver

She knows just what you want, and is more than happy to provide

I feel like she'd be real skilled with her tongue and hands as a result, skill born out of practice

Kinda likes riskier sex so she'll opt for more scandalous locations or situations

Y'all could be doing chores together and the next thing y'know y'all are sneaking off behind a nearby tree

I feel like she'd top, but she's down to switch

Abigail Roberts

She's a good, honest woman

And she's got standards for her lover

Constantly has your back, and is very patient with you as you two grow with eachother

Constantly encourages said growth and improvement in oneself

Loves seeing you put effort into improvement or work!

She just wants a calm, stable life, so if you're able to provide that for her, even if little by little, she'll be happy

Very affectionate with you, one of her favorite things to do is to sit down and have deep, intimate conversations with one another while chilling

Doesn't care how many or mundane dates are, as long as the effort is there

NSFW

She's got demands, and they will be heard

Loves recieving head, or being the main focus of sex as you provide for her. Will hold your head in place

Likes telling you what to do, definitely a dom hehe

Into kinkier stuff so maybe tying you up or even spanking

LIVES to see you cry or to embarass you

She'd probably make you bark for her

Will top or bottom, doesn't matter to her as long as she's taking the lead

Likes passionate sex so she takes her time with every detail, especially foreplay, rather than speeding things up

Molly O'Shea

She falls HARD

The most lovestruck, romantic girlfriend ever

Writes love poems for you

Likes it when you show eachother off

Her favorite types of dates are when the two of you go out together and try new things

Like a new restaurant, a new spot, a new show, etc

Cue that meme of one girl sitting on another's lap while she does her makeup

Yeah that's her

Loves asking for your opinion on her makeup, greatly values your opinion in general

Constantly tells you she loves you, gets sad if you dont say it back

NSFW

Will ask you to be gentle but like rough passionate sex

Moans loudly and shamelessly

Definitely a pillow princess, this is cannon

She'd communicate lots with you about what she likes and what she wants you to do

In a modern setting I feel like she'd wear lingerie or sexy outfits for you

Probably likes roleplaying

Also a huge expiramentalist! Likes trying next and exciting things, including in the bedroom

Susan Grimshaw

This woman keeps you on your toes constantly

Probably a little high strung but it's easy to tear her walls down!

Good at setting and respecting boundaries, while also reminding you of her own

Knows the time and place for affection, so when y'all are working, wants to keep it to a minimum.

But during down time, loves to dance, talk, kiss, and play games together

She's super hardworking and she loves real hard

Good at grounding you and keeping you in check

Like many things in her life, puts so much effort into the relationship and will never let you down or make you feel neglected.

NSFW

Like Abigail, has demands that will be known

Though she'll make sure to pay special attention to you as well and not just focus on herself

I feel like she'd like to be called mommy LMAO

Loves taking care of you and the name during sex would definitely do things for her

She has lots of experience so you'll always recieve the most mindblowing orgasms

SHE KNOWS WHAT SHE'S DOING AND SHE KNOWS WHAT WOMEN WANT

Has like a mental map of your entire body imprinted into her mind at this point

Also hands, I feel like she'd be into anything hands

[spongeyspot]

Red Dead Redemption Masterlist

Tags: [Smut 🔥] ; [Angst 🩹] ; [Fluff 🧸] ; [Dark Themes 🖤]

Arthur Morgan

Toxic Traits/ Red Flags HCs (Headcanons) (Fem! Reader)

1890s!Arthur in the Modern World HCs (Headcanons) (GN! Reader)

John Marston

Toxic Traits/ Red Flags HCs (Headcanons) (Fem! Reader)

General Modern Hcs (Headcanons)

Javier Escuella

Toxic Traits/ Red Flags HCs (Headcanons) (Fem! Reader)

General Modern HCs (Headcanons)

Charles Smith

Toxic Traits/ Red Flags HCs (Headcanons) (Fem! Reader)

Lenny Summers

Toxic Traits/ Red Flags HCs (Headcanons) (Fem! Reader)

Dutch Van Der Linde

Toxic Traits/ Red Flags HCs (Headcanons) (Fem! Reader)

Micah Bell

Toxic Traits/ Red Flags HCs (Headcanons) (Fem! Reader)

Sean Macguire

Toxic Traits/ Red Flags HCs (Headcanons) (Fem! Reader)

General Modern HCs (Headcanons)

Hosea Matthews

Toxic Traits/ Red Flags HCs (Headcanons) (Fem! Reader)

Bill Williamson

Nothing yet!

Kieran Duffy

Nothing yet!

Eagle Flies

Nothing yet!

Mary Beth Gaskill

Toxic Traits/ Red Flags HCs (Headcanons) (Fem! Reader)

Abigail Roberts

Toxic Traits/ Red Flags HCs (Headcanons) (Fem! Reader)

Sadie Adler

Toxic Traits/ Red Flags HCs (Headcanons) (Fem! Reader)

Tilly Jackson

Toxic Traits/ Red Flags HCs (Headcanons) (Fem! Reader)

Karen Jones

Toxic Traits/ Red Flags HCs (Headcanons) (Fem! Reader)

Molly O'Shea

Toxic Traits/ Red Flags HCs (Headcanons) (Fem! Reader)

Run Away With Me (Fem! Reader) 🧸

Poly Pairings

SWF/NSFW Poly Relationship HCs 🔥🧸

(John Marston/Fem!Reader/Abigail Marston)

[werewolfarthurmorganenjoyer]

If I was y/n I would be going for Miss Grimshaw because I bet nobody would be seeing it coming. Not even Susan herself. Like she'd be annoying me about not working and slugging around and I'd hit her with a heartfelt confession.

But honestly she probably wouldn't be into that. Would kick me out of camp even.

[hihomeghere]

Fishing in the dark | Arthur Morgan / Reader

Word Count : 1.3k (a little guy) Summary : You and Arthur have a private evening away from camp on the Dakota River. Warnings/tags : Cursing, unprotected piv, talk of nudity (both male and female), cursing, reader can swim, s3x in the river, established relationship, set in chapter 3

The Dakota River was now your favorite place to be at sunset. The cool breeze coming off the sparkling water, your body cushioned by the bed of grass. The way the setting sun cast a golden light over everything it touched.

Getting away from the gang for a while had been Arthur’s greatest idea yet. After all that mess in Valentine had led you to Clemens point. Sat on the east coast of Flat Iron lake, near the town of Rhodes. Getting eaten alive by mosquitos while the heat of the Scarlett Meadows sun beat down on you.

And although you thought maybe a room in Rhodes would have been a better way to keep each other company, you couldn’t beat this view.

Arthur stood on the shore, fishing pole in hand. His tall silhouette dark against the golden light, his shadow growing longer on the rocks. What a sight, every subtle flick of his wrist, his bicep tensing and he pulled on the pole. You didn’t even know why he was still fishing so late. He had already caught dinner, which you had prepared over a small fire. While along the shore you had picked some burdock root and common bulrush for camp, knowing that Miss Grimshaw could find some use for the plants. At long last the sun fell below the horizon, a sliver of burnt amber spreading across the sky before being enveloped by a dark blue. The moon slowly rose above you. A beautiful yellow spotlight peeking through the trees.

Arthur stood, still as a statue, as though he was carved of marble. A wicked thought entered your head, slowly you moved to unlace your boots. Pulling them off until you could dig your toes into the grassy floor beneath you. Then you untied the strings to your skirt. Letting the fabric fall, along with your shirt. Leaving you standing in only your chemise, and it wasn’t long before that was discarded as well.

Arthur had heard the slight rustling of fabric behind him, but he was honestly too preoccupied with the pole in his hands. Enjoying the quiet serenity of the river. That was until you ran butt ass naked into it.

“Darlin!” He yelled his eyes widening in shock as your laughter joined the sound of water splashing.

“Come on cowboy!” You called submerged to your waist, your breasts above the water for any passersby to see. Maybe it wasn’t your best idea yet, the freezing water chilling your bones.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He chuckled, unfortunately amused by your actions even though he knew he shouldn’t be.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” You called back, teeth chattering by the sudden drop in temperature.

“It looks like you’re giving anyone that passes through a free peep show.” He called his hand resting on his gun belt as he not so casually adjusted himself. You stepped back further into the dark water until only your shoulders and up were visible.

“When did you become such a prude?” You chided a teasing smile on your lips.

“When someone could lay eyes on my woman.” He said laying down his pole, crossing his arms over his chest. You felt a shiver run down your spine, whether it was from his words or the cold water you couldn’t tell.

“Well get in here and claim your woman before someone else does!” You called, a shit eating grin spreading across your face.

Arthur sighed, looking down as the brim of his hat shielded most of his face from you. Your grin only grew as he unbuckled his gun belt, letting it fall to the ground. He pulled his suspenders off his broad shoulders. He shook his head, his own grin growing on his face as he began to pull off his clothes.

“You’re gonna get it girl.” He warned, his eyes taking on a dark haze. His lips pulling back into a smirk, looking down at you like prey. An electric shock of anticipation ran up your body as he finally pulled off the last layer, his cock springing up against his stomach. He stepped forward, wading into the water. “Jesus!” He yelped, a shiver running through him.

“It’s not that bad!” You called with a laugh.

“Not that-“ He shook his head, “Christ I can’t feel my toes.” He muttered swimming over to you, his arm wrapping around you pulling you close. You wrapped your legs around his waist as you held onto his shoulders

“Hey there.” You grin, watching the water droplets run down his face.

“Howdy.” He muses, you place your hands on his chest, feeling his heart beat against your palm.

“Still cold?” You ask sweetly.

“Very.” He chuckles.

“I think I could warm you up.” You say biting your lip.

“Please do.” He says softly as you lean forward. Your nose bumping against his as you stare him down. He leans forward pressing his lips against yours. His tongue swiping along your lower lip as he pressed you down onto his pelvis. Clenching around nothing as his cock bumped against the nub of your clit, a soft moan leaving your throat.

“I can feel that.” You said softly, biting your lip as you looked into his eyes.

“I’m sure you can.” His chest rumbling as he chuckled. He moved his hand from your waist and reached down between your legs. The tip of his length catching against your entrance. “Think you’re wet enough?” He teases, his teeth glinting in the moonlight as he smirks.

You bite back a rebuttal as he slips inside you with ease, he swallows your gasp as his mouth covers yours. Groaning into your mouth, a deep almost primal noise. One that sends pleasure shooting through your body. You whine as he pulls out slightly, only to press your body down onto his pelvis. His cock rubbing against that spot inside you.

He knows this dance like the back of his hand, how to make you tick, more specifically how to make you scream. The hand that’s not holding your hip with a vice like grip moves up your body, his hands splayed against your stomach. Before reaching up to cup your breast, pinching your nipple.

“Arthur.” You gasp, feeling him rut against you, growling against your neck like a wild animal.

“Feel so good darlin’.” He huffs against your neck, nipping and kissing as he continues his attack on your pussy. His cock thrusting deep strokes against your walls. Your body is buzzing, your toes curling as he brings you closer and closer to your peak. He can feel you flutter around him, his lips quirk up. He moves his hand down to between your legs, rubbing your clit.

You cry out, a pitiful noise as you cum around him. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your brows knit together as your jaw hangs open. He smirks, tilting his head back as a low, shit, leaves his mouth.

His hips start to stutter as he pounds into you, trying to reach his orgasm while you’re still working through yours. He’s quick behind you, his hands holding you so close against him you’re sure you’ll have bruises. He thrusts into you one last time, a choked groan rumbling in his chest. You hold onto him as his dick twitches inside of you. Painting your insides with his seed. You smile up at him lazily, watching his face contort in pleasure.

“Shit darlin’.” He huffs, his chest rising and falling rapidly against your own. The bite of the water is no longer a thought as his warm body presses against yours.

“You warm now, cowboy?” You tease brushing your nose against this neck, pressing a kiss over his pulse point.

“Very.” He chuckles, “But I’d like to get my beautiful girl out of these waters now.” He says grabbing a handful of your ass before throwing you over his shoulder. “I ain’t done with you yet.”

[phant0mmm-jaiden]

‼️ I FINISHED MAKING BIRTHDAYS FOR THE RDR2 GANG‼️ (under the cut)

these are my own personal headcanon (with some help from the comments) so take with a grain of salt, we may have different interpretations

(source for all traits is zodiacsign.com)

DUTCH VAN DER LINDE

- Founding member, for 23 years (1876, when he was 21)

- 44 in May 1899

- Born April 11th 1855 (Aries)

Positive Apr 11th traits: “Assertive, strong and remarkably passionate, they will burn every obstacle in their way if they have something to strive for. They are excellent workers and managers, showing initiative with just enough tact to be loved by a team they work in.”

Negative Apr 11th traits“Preoccupied with their own problems, they could fail to see what their friends and close people are going through. Self-centered, too feisty, ready for battle when it isn't necessary, reactive, and sometimes aggressive when they should remain calm.”

HOSEA MATTHEWS

- Founding member, for 23 years (since 1876, when he was 32)

- 55 in May 1899

- Born October 22nd 1843 (Libra)

Positive Oct 22nd traits: “Warm, open for emotional contact, and nurturing, they are tender and kind to those they love and treat everyone with enough empathy to resolve issues at hand. Their emotional sensitivity is their greatest strength.”

Negative Oct 22nd traits: “Covered in sadness, broken and depressed, they might lose faith if they don’t give themselves time to rest and regenerate from past experiences. Tied by stories of their ancestors, they could simply play parts of others without getting truly invested in their own life and their happiness.”

ARTHUR MORGAN

- In gang for 23 years (since 1876,when he was 13)

- 36 in May 1899

- Born September 30th 1862 (Libra)

Positive Sep 30th traits: “Truthful, powerful, deep and ready to commit to issues that are too painful for other people, they have the power to change the unchangeable and build a sense of magic in their life that allows them to attract and control their own destiny and heal others of prejudice.”

Negative Sep 30th traits: “Depressed or lost in what they’ve been taught, they could be too scared to get out of their usual directions and choices in life, getting stuck in mental activities that keep them unsatisfied, egocentric or grumpy.”

SUSAN GRIMSHAW

- In the gang for 14 years (since 1885, since she was 29)

- 45 in 1899

- Born March 27th 1854 (Aries)

Positive Mar 27th traits: “Standing out, innovative and wide in perception of the world, they are good friends and tend to build a social circle that can support them in their path. Free to shine and give freedom to other people.”

Negative Mar 27th traits: “Stressed, torn between extremes, their mood changes without warning. They can get aggressive if too much anger builds up, unsure how they will react or what their next move will be.”

JOHN MARSTON

- In gang for 14 years (since 1885, when he was 12)

- 26 in May 1899

- Born August 3rd 1872 (Leo)

Positive Aug 3rd traits: “Straightforward, on the move, and wide in their opinions, they are the travelers with a cause, those who share their views and their knowledge selflessly, and wish to give their energy to those willing to follow.”

Negative Aug 3rd traits: “Stubbornly chasing after things that aren’t real, they could get stuck in a loop of disappointment and mental efforts that won’t lead them where they wish to go.”

SIMON PEARSON

- In the gang for 13 years (since 1886, since he was 35)

- 48 in 1899

- Born December 16th 1850 (Sagittarius)

Positive Dec 16th traits: “Laughter, positivity, and a fun personality ordain those born on December 16th for as long as they are in tune with their talents. Emotionally charged, they stay on the move, give love to be loved, and understand how to create balance when they find themselves falling into an extreme.”

Negative Dec 16th traits: “Lost in confusion of relating with others, they absorb atmospheres, feelings and ultimately opinions of others, thinking that their personality is defined by what others see instead of feeling their own core of Self.”

LEOPOLD STRAUSS

- In the gang for 12 years (since 1887, since he was 41)

- 53 in 1899

- Born in September 10th 1845 (Virgo)

Positive Sep 10th trait: “Deep, intelligent and extremely powerful, they are focused and dedicated to the higher truth and find change satisfying, without fear of what tomorrow might bring. They bring order to large things in the lives of people around them and announce change everywhere they go.”

Negative Sep 10th traits: “Obsessive, possessive and jealous, they can get dismissive of other people's ways and unwilling to recognize their own shadows while judging others. When bruised, they may become vindictive or manipulative.”

UNCLE

- In the gang for 11 years (since 1888, since he was 43)

- 57 in 1899

- Born May 6th 1842 (Taurus)

Positive May 6th traits: “Loving, creative, good with children, they are positive individuals with a lot of energy to live life to the fullest. Humorous, smiling, and grounded, they search for a place to belong to and connect easily to other people.”

Negative May 6th traits: “Unaware of the bigger picture, too focused on problems when they become aware of them, they can get obsessive and go into negative details for days. At times superficial in search for pleasure, but only if their heart isn’t open for relating.”

JOSIAH TRELAWNY

- In the gang for 9 years (since 1890, since he was 31)

- 40 in 1899

- Born May 26 1859 (Gemini)

Positive May 26th traits: “Loving, emotional, kind and caring, they are the messengers of beauty and laughter, humorous enough to make a grown person turn into a little child if this is their intent.”

Negative May 26th traits: “Using the power of words for strange things, unsatisfied and unable to find balance between emotion and reason, they get lost waiting and thinking about times when they were actually free while missing opportunities to set free in the now.”

ORVILLE SWANSON

- In the gang for 8 years (since 1891, since he was 38)

- 46 in 1899

- Born November 29th 1852 (Sagittarius)

Positive Nov 29th traits: “Idealists with a cause, they dream big and aren’t afraid to try themselves out in talents that make them who they are. On the quest for inner truth, they are sensitive, empathic and honest about the way they feel with people they love.”

Negative Nov 29th traits: “Seeking attention and unable to untangle issues that keep them intoxicated or tied to the past, they could get lost, searching for ways to anesthetize that pain and forget what bruised them in the first place.��

BILL WILLIAMSON

- In the gang for 5 years (since 1894, since he was 28)

- 33 in May 1899

- Born in April 27th 1866 (Taurus)

Positive Apr 27th traits: “Strong-hearted individuals, filled with vigor and energy for things that make them feel passionate. They are different but social, well-incorporated into society, and make excellent friends who find humanitarianism and compassion to be everything that is right in the world.”

Negative Apr 27th traits: “Sloppy, unsure what they wish to do with their energy and frustrated with their own nature. In opposition to themselves, they are unable to heal their own inner differences, becoming frustrated and passively angry at other people.”

ABIGAIL ROBERTS

- In the gang for 5 years (since 1894, since she was 17)

- 22 in 1899

- Born October 20th 1876 (Libra)

Positive Oct 20th traits: “Deeply emotional and empathic, if they keep their heart open throughout changes in their life, they become healers and incredible support in times of crisis and all possibly dangerous situations in the lives of others.”

Negative Oct 20th traits: “Casting their feelings away, they could become cold, distant, too difficult to relate to, and vindictive. They need a strong foundation to grow from and won’t be at all pleasant if they don’t learn to regenerate and flow with the beat of their heart.”

KAREN JONES

- In the gang for 4 years (since 1895, since she was 21)

- 25 in 1899

- Born June 12th 1873 (Gemini)

Positive June 12th traits: “Emotional, sensitive, compassionate and willing to listen, they are less rational than other Gemini representatives and this gives them more space for relating and reaching for the Divine Love.”

Negative June 12th traits: “Moody, torn between different roles and too adaptable to people and situations that don’t make them feel good. They get self-destructive when unable to deal with their own emotional baggage.”

JAVIER ESCUELLA

- In the gang for 4 years (since 1895, since he was 22)

- 26 in May 1899

- Born August 13th 1872 (Leo)

Positive Aug 13th traits: “Energetic, focused visionaries, ready to act with initiative and clarity of ideals, they are the ones to fight for the cause and move forwards when others would stay behind. They are warm, passionate people, ready to learn new things and move one step ahead of the rest of the world.”

Negative Aug 3rd traits: “Feeling as if they were all mighty, they often get caught up in their own ambitions and strivings, expecting nothing less than perfect from their ways of expression and battles that might be impossible to win.”

JACK MARSTON

- In the gang for 4 years (since 1895, since he was born)

- 4 in May 1899

- Born November 7th 1894 (Scorpio) (tried to be based on RDR1 but i’ve never played it 😬)

Positive Nov 7th traits: “Innovative, groundbreaking, different and individualistic, they understand that their greatest quality hides in their special way of standing out. Reliable friends with a need to fight for the greater good, they are those who bring necessary changes into a dysfunctional system.”

Negative Nov 7th traits: “In their battles they might get lost, become aggressive and pushy, losing contact only to pursue information held in their mind. Their mental processes get detached from their heart, leading them into abusive states towards self and others when they should be simply flowing with the times.”

MARY-BETH GASKILL

- In the gang for 3 years (since 1896, since she was 20)

- 23 in May 1899

- Born March 3rd 1876 (Pisces)

Positive Mar 3rd traits: “Great learners, teachers, and healers, they find love and beauty in everything they see and touch. It is their talent to use their optimism and beliefs, and turn every negative thing and experience to art, acceptable fate, and a step to a brighter future.”

Negative Mar 3rd traits: “In denial, distant, lost, they can be wanderers that cannot find the right direction to move in. Their defense mechanism protecting them from hardship is delusion.”

TILLY JACKSON

- In the gang for 3 years (since 1896, since she was 17)

- 20 in May 1899

- Born February 18th 1879 (Aquarius)

Positive Feb 18th traits: “Passionate, creative, focused, and understanding, this is someone able to sense the moment when the leader is needed, bravely becoming one. Fast and fiery, on their search for emotion, they wish to stay open-hearted throughout their lifetime.”

Negative Feb 18th traits: “With boundaries shaken, they can dismiss emotions, becoming overly rational and turned to the practical future in front of them. Unaware of their own sensitivity and hurt they might have caused to other people.”

MOLLY O’SHEA

- In the gang for 2 years (since 1897, since she was 22)

- 24 in May 1899

- Born May 4th 1875 (Taurus)

Positive May 4th traits: “Dependable, organized, ambitious, and responsible, they are easy to work and plan a future with. Just and turned to values of interpersonal bonding that lead them towards ideals.” 

Negative May 4th traits: “A bit dark, difficult, and stiff, they can be set in their mind and unable to change. Stuck in a moment, a relationship or a job that makes them unhappy, it is their imperative in life to find faith and let go to the pull of the Universe.”

SEAN MACQUIRE

- In the gang for 1 years (since 1898, since he was 25)

- 26 in May 1899

- Born July 23rd 1872 (Leo) (sign rec from anon)

Positive July 23rd traits: “Optimistic, with a fine sense of humor and ready to chase off any negative emotions with their smile, they are positive, loving and supportive of those they care for. Travelers and teachers, they have something important to give to the world.”

Negative 23rd traits: “Scattered and pushed by too many beliefs they never questioned, they tend to spin in circles of negative choices, lost in their inability to receive as much as they give away or vice versa.”

CHARLES SMITH

- In the gang for 9 months (Since August 1898, since he was 26)

- 27 in May 1899

- Born November 1st 1871 (Scorpio)

Positive Nov 1st traits: “Centered, standing firm on their identity and seeing the light in others, they make wonders in therapeutic and supportive relationships with those who are insecure and find it hard to stand confident on their own two feet. Strong-willed and ready to learn, they are the ones to lead the way when their beliefs are set in place.”

Negative Nov 1st traits: “Getting lost among strong individuals meant to inspire them, they give up on their true role due to lack of belief in their own emotional world and their personal convictions. This could get them lost and put their talents to waste out of the need to prove themselves worthy.”

LENNY SUMMERS

- In the gang for 9 months (since 1898, since he was 19)

- 19 in May 1899

- Born June 5th 1880 (Gemini)

Positive June 5th traits: “Childlike, curious, excited about life and focused on their daily sources of happiness, they are humorous and always with a nice thing to say in just the right moment.”

Negative June 5th traits: “In need of a different view, they could get stuck in patterns that don’t give much room for personal growth. If their hearts close, they become superficial and uncaring for the wellbeing of those who aren’t in their closest social circle.”

MICAH BELL

- In the gang for 4 months (Since december 1898)

- 39 in May 1899

- Born January 1 1860 (Capricorn)

Positive Jan 1st traits: “Powerful and resourceful individuals with an incredible potential for a successful life, influential and knowing exactly where they belong. They are assertive, strong-willed, with a deep understanding for natural development of any issue at hand.”

Negative Jan 1st traits: “Inventors and great minds that turn to solitude and separate from the ideal of emotional fulfillment. Manipulative, they may be using questionable methods to reach their goals.”

SADIE ADLER

- In the gang for a few months (since May 1899, since she was 25)

- 25 in May 1899

- Born July 4th 1873 (Cancer)

Positive July 4th traits: “Focused on their goal point, ambitions and understanding the consequences of their deeds, they are strong, endurable and extremely reliable as friends and confidants.”

Negative July 4th traits: “Dark and filled with depressing thoughts, they can get pulled by negative emotions, memories they don’t know how to metabolize, and nostalgic turns that pull them into harmful circumstances that weaken their boundaries.”

KIERAN DUFFY

- In the gang for a few months (since May 1899, since he was 28)

- 28 in May 1899

- Born January 20th 1871

Positive Jan 20th traits: “Compassionate, caring, sensitive and talented, this is someone who can create incredible things if emotionally supported by all the right people. Nurtures their inner child and cares for others greatly even when holding back instead of showing their affection.”

Negative Jan 20th traits: “Closed from the rest of the world, unable to find meaning in hurtful experiences from the past and questioning their vision daily, these individuals easily turn to destructive tendencies.”

THANK YOU FOR YOUR HELP ‼️

[agyraty]

Heartshot

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Arthur Morgan x Reader

Summary: Taking a ride with Arthur, you found yourself ambushed by O’Driscols, you were shot straight through the stomach..

Angst, fluff, some gore (I’m not good at writing it so)

Not my best work, hopefully you guys like it!

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Arthur rode back to camp as quickly as he could, your weak body sitting in the saddle in front of him. His eyebrows knitted together tightly, a clear testament to the turmoil churning within. He held your limp body against him tightly, staring out at the road ahead. His free arm snapped the reigns of his horse, driving it faster.

"Stay with me, keep those eyes open!" he urged, cradling your weakened form. You had been Ambushed by O'Driscolls during while on your way to town to pick up things for Dutch, a bullet had found you, tearing through your midsection.

Arthur's embrace acted as both a shield and a sanctuary, his palm pressing firmly against your belly to slow the blood that quickly pored out. "We’re Almost to camp, I promise I’ll get you help there." he spoke with hushed urgency.

“Arthur..” you whispered breathlessly. Your hands rested atop of his, pressing it farther into the puncture wound on your stomach. This was the most intense pain you have ever felt, every little movement you made had sent searing pain throughout your body. Your knuckles began to turn white due to how tightly you held his hand, You weren’t meaning to squeeze him so hard.

His horse sprinted through the dense forest, staying on the path that would soon take you to horseshoe overlook. Each hard step the horse took, rocked your body, sending waves of pain through your wound.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you darling.” He whispered gently in your ear, trying to comfort you, all the while trying to keep himself calm as well. He was freaking out, his mind running with possibilities. He was so worried that he wouldn’t make it in time.. that you’d die in his arms.

You fought with all your might to stay strong, but eventually, the weight became too much. Tiny sobs shook your body, betraying the emotions you usually kept hidden.

Arthur could see the camp come into view, a small hopeful sigh escaped his lips. He urged his horse to go faster, matching the pounding rhythm of his heart.

The blood quickly pouring from your wound stained the fabric of your long sleeve shirt. You quickly began to feel light headed by how much blood you were loosing.. not to mention the awful pain.

"Darling, stay with me. Don't close your eyes," Arthur pleaded, tightening his grasp, and pulling you farther into his chest.

He pulled his horse up the road, and into the camp. He skidded to a stop just at the hitching poles, and jumped off, pulling you off his steed, and holding you carefully in his arms.

“Somebody, help!” Arthur called, quickly caring your frail body into camp. You curled farther into him, holding the puncture wound on your stomach tightly, letting out small whimpers and grunts.

You’ve never felt pain like this before. Sure you’ve been shot plenty of times, but in places like your leg and your arm. Never once have you been shot somewhere like this, somewhere so painful, so fatal..

He quickly carried you over to his cot, several other camp members following in tail, either curious if you were okay, or there to help.

Arthur laid you down with utmost care, his arms retreating as he cleared some space around you. "Back up, give her some air!" he yelled out firmly, ensuring no one crowded too close. “Arthur, what happened?” Susan asked him as she rushed over to his tent.

"Susan, she— shes been shot," he said, panic edging his voice as he moved to fetch supplies. "Reverend, we need you. I'll explain later—just help her now!"

Susan pulled up a chair besides the cot, swiping the medical supplies out of Arthur’s hand and placing them onto the night stand besides her.

She wastes no time, her hands find the hem of your shirt, and pull it up, just below your chest so that your whole stomach was exposed.

Your breathing grows heavier, panic coursing through your veins. You knew what was about to happen, and even though you needed it to be done to survive, you were scared. Your chest heaved up and down, eyes fixated on her hands as they grew closer to the bloody hole in your abdomen.

Susan reached her tweezers inside the wound, digging around for the bullet that hadn’t yet left. Your eyes shoot wide, a pained gasp leaving your lips as you began to squirm, instinctively reaching out for Arthur seeking solace and comfort.

"Just hang in there, darling. I ain't goin' anywhere," Arthur comforted, reaching down and placing his hands on your shoulders in a steady grip, offering a sense of comfort amidst the pain and fear, but also keeping you still.

"Just stay still, don’t move.” As the others worked to remove the bullet, Arthur's gaze never left your body, his concern evident in his eyes. He stayed in his spot, trying to keep you as still as possible so they could help you.

The pain shot through you as Susan carefully pried open your wound even farther. The edges of the torn skin exposed muscle underneath, a distressing sight.

In the midst of your groans from the intense pain, Arthur's hands laid on your shoulders, squeezing you slightly, providing comfort and support.

Susan quickly found the piece of lead that was lodged into you, pulling it out and dropping it beside you. Reverend to over, gently rubbing your stomach with a wet towel, cleaning it as best as he could.

"We've got it," Arthur whispered gently, his voice filled with reassurance. You faintly heard what he said as your head began to spin, eyes growing heavy. You knew you were about to loose consciousness..

“Hey— Hey! stay awake!” He spoke quickly, one of his hands going up to your cheek in a way to keep you awake. He could see your fatigue, he knew you were falling asleep.

You felt yourself going limp, your breathing growing slower as you began to succumb to your exhaustion. “I’m so tired..” Arthur’s Heart sank as he heard the last words you managed to say before passing out.

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You awoke with a small gasp, your eyes squinting from the bright morning light. You quickly looked around, trying to piece together what had happened, you noticed the bandages on your body, and the slight ache coursing through your stomach. Confusion filled your mind, and then it all came rushing back—the events of the previous night.

You looked to the side, and there sat Arthur, his hand in yours. He was hunched over your bed, head resting in his palm.

“Arthur..” you whispered, although your voice was rather raspy. You watched as he quickly sat up straight, his eyes wide and his lips agape slightly. “Y/n..” he whispered, hand squeezing yours tightly.

You quickly looked away, not quite to sure what to say. You felt the need to apologize, for everything. For being reckless enough to get shot, and for making him deal with you. You felt like you burdened him.

“Arthur I— I’m sorry.” You shook your head, a frown finding its way to your lips. “I didn’t mean for you to have to deal with my mistakes.. I should have been foolish enough to allow myself to be shot—“

“No, no. Don’t apologize.” He hushed you quickly, shaking his head, bring his other hand up and squeezing your hand even tighter. “It wasn’t your fault, you didn’t ask for any of this to happen.”

His voice was filled with sincerity as he continued. “And I couldn’t bear to see you loose your life. I care about you to much for that.. so taking care of you was really no trouble at all.”

The warmth in your smile didn't wane, even as you attempted to push yourself up to sit. But as you moved, a sharp pain shot through your midsection. You froze, a pained grunt escaping your lips. The discomfort a rude reminder of your injuries. Through the haze of pain, you felt a surge of affection for Arthur, your heart swelling for the man who had stayed by your side through it all.

He quickly realized your hand, scooting one of his arms under your back to help you up. “Careful there.” He warned.

You smiled gratefully at him as he helped prop you up. “I would hug you, but unfortunately I can’t lean forward.” Arthur chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Then let me make it easier for you.”

He moved forwards, and gently pulled your body into a tight embrace, carefully though so he wouldn’t hurt you. He buries his head into the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath, breathing in your scent. He never wanted this to end. He was so worried that he was going to loose you, that he was up all night sitting here by your side.

And now that your awake, and okay, sitting in his arms, he couldn’t help but feel over joyed and happy. His grip around you tightened. “Oh Y/n.. I thought I lost you..” he whispered against your neck.

Your face flushed red, as you felt his breath against the sensitive skin of your neck. “Oh Arthur, I ain’t going down that easy.” You joked, a small airy chuckle escaping your lips, but you immediately regretted it as soon as you felt a sharp pain move throughout your belly.

“Careful now.” Arthur pulled back slightly, removing one of his arms from you and bringing it to rest on your stomach lightly as he looked down at it, not realizing just how close your faces were.

Your eyes widened a bit, his face was just inches away from yours. You could feel your heart beating faster in your chest, and by now you forgot all about your pain.

Arthur slowly brought his gaze up to meet yours, his cheeks were tinted a light pink as he realized how close he was. Not that he was complaining.

His hand slowly slipped up, and cupped your cheek, his eyes never leaving you as he did. By now your heart was beating a million miles an hour, and you could feel butterflies settle in the pit of your stomach. Oh god, how badly you just wanted to love forwards and kiss him.

It seemed your prayer had been answered. Your heart skipped a beat as Arthurs hand moved from your cheek to the back of your head, gently moving you forward, and placing his lips atop yours. You closed your eyes and wasted no time in kissing him back. It was a quick, yet passionate kiss, And you could tell he was trying to be gentle with you, considering all that had happened.

A soft whisper escaped your lips as he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that..” you confessed, feeling a mixture of emotions swirling inside you…

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[ashs-cardboard-box]

Reluctant to learn

~ Van Der Linde gang/Child!Male!Reader

~ Platonic (could be read as familial)

~ 2.5k words

Request :3

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Headstrong was often a word used to describe you. Realistically, it was an understatement. You were too stubborn for your own good. Often wanting to do what you want to do, if you want to do it, without anyone to tell you otherwise. It was annoying, to say the least. Passed from person to person among camp, trying to better you for you.

It started with Hosea. He was the one to pluck you off the streets so, naturally, he figured he would be the one to be more hands on with you. You found the letters to be damn confusing, and you voiced that frustration many a time. Groaning as you slouch forward dramatically. Your head held in your hands, elbows propped up on the table in the center of camp.

“Why do I have to do thiiss..?” you drawl out with a whine, earning an exasperated sigh from Hosea sitting next to you. His bony fingers resting on the page of the book in front of you. He read the title to you, but you didn’t care enough to listen. Staring off into space time and time again.

“We’ve been over this, son. You’re gonna have’ta learn eventually. You don’t wanna be like Sean, do ya?” He chides, lifting a hand and gently coaxing your hands away from your face. Huffing as you set your hands down in your lap, pouting as you finally turn towards Hosea. Your bottom lip jutting out pitifully.

Hosea gives a breathless chuckle at your face, though burrowing the growing annoyance towards your stubborn attitude. It seemed to be a trait among most of the gang members. His fingertips rapped against the old wooden table, creating an audible, repetitive tap. His brown eyes darted over the first page of the leatherbound book in thought. The page you seemed to struggle to read.

“Here,” he says curtly. Gently closing the book and lifting it from the table, setting it down in your lap. Not taking ‘no’ as an answer, evident by him keeping his hand on the cover until you accept. “Take it to Dutch and Molly. Maybe they’ll have better luck.”

You roll your eyes before wrapping your fingers around the book. Looking down at it in your lap and suddenly getting an idea. Grinning sweetly as you look back up at Hosea with a nod, causing him to quirk an eyebrow in suspicion. You get up from your seat next to Hosea, book in hand, and head over to Dutch’s tent.

As soon as you were out of Hosea’s line of sight, you drop the book in the dirt and run off in the opposite direction of Dutch’s tent. Heading down to your favorite tree along the outskirts of camp, clambering up it. Unfortunately, what you failed to account for, was everyone else who might’ve seen you.

So, when you saw Arthur sauntering up to you, book in hand, you were surprised. It wasn’t a secret you were struggling with reading. Arthur didn’t even have to say anything. Lifting his free hand up towards you and quirking his finger in a “come hither” motion, beckoning you down from your branch.

“Nuh uh,” you defy with a shake of your head. Your feet swinging back and forth idly, your hands gripped firmly along the bark to prevent from falling off. “Don’t wanna read..” you grumble. Arthur sighs with a shake of his head, taking a step closer to the trunk of the tree.

“C’mon, kiddo. You can’t stay up there forever y’know.” He looks up at you calmly, having much more patience towards you than anyone else amongst camp..save for Lenny. You know he’s right, but you wouldn’t actually admit that. Instead, you reluctantly slide down the branch. Hanging from it by your hands until dropping down with a small thud. Standing back up and turning around to look at Arthur with another pout, earning a light chuckle from him, rumbling deep in his chest.

“Believe it or not,” he starts, tugging the denim of his jeans up his thighs as he takes a seat at the base of the tree. Sighing as he rests his back against it, patting the grass next to him with his free hand. You accept the invitation and slowly sit down next to him, your hands resting on your bruised knees.

“I taught Marston to read when he was ‘bout your age. Just joined the gang, thirteen.. fourteen.. rowdy, loud-mouthed..” Arthur trails off with a fond chuckle, followed by a small shake of his head. Wrapping an arm around your waist and gently tugging you into his lap, setting the book down into your own. You had known Arthur and John grew up together in the camp due to Dutch and Hosea, but you hadn’t known that. Arthur taps his finger atop the cover of the book, drawing your attention down to the title.

“Y’know what sounds the letters make, right?” He asks gently, looking over your shoulder towards you in his lap. His broad chest pressed against your back. It felt like he was treating you like little Jack, to which you giggle with a nod.

“Good boy. Now, can you put the sounds together for this first word?” He taps the book cover once again, tracing over the title, carved into the leather. Your eyes followed the tip of his finger before down to the unknown shapes below. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, already beginning to feel frustrated.

“Sound it out, kid. What sound does ‘T’ make?” Arthur encourages warmly. To which you sound a small ‘tuh’. Then he moves onto an ‘H’ with his finger along the title, exhaling sharply in an ‘H’ sound. Pointing towards an ‘E’ and grinning towards you, seeming to have a lot of faith in your advancements.

“E?” you relay with uncertainty, glancing over your shoulder towards him. Arthur hums a small “mhm” in confirmation, rubbing a hand over your arm in an attempt to soothe your stresses. You nod slowly in understanding as you look back down towards the book in your lap. Mentally pairing the letters’ sounds several times over again with a heavy sigh.

“Th- The..?” you repeat and look back over your shoulder towards Arthur in hopes of reassurance. Only for a small smile to spread across your bitten lips upon seeing his broad grin.

“Atta boy!” he praises excitedly, giving your back a pat. Seeing his excitement only makes you feel good. Reading sucks, and if you could, you’d rather avoid it all together, but having someone with the patience to help you through it only makes your confidence grow. “Now, don’t get all weird ‘n squirmy, but this one’s a bit longer.”

His words prompt you to look down at the book again and your eyes widen. You trace your fingers over the indents as you count in your head, your lips moving subtly with each number. Eight whole letters?! That was far too long!

“Go on, sound it out” Arthur encourages, to which you nod tentatively. Parting your lips to begin, only to hear someone calling Arthur’s name. You look up from the book in your lap, watching as Miss Grimshaw approaches.

Susan looks down at the two of you, sitting at the base of the tree as you sit in Arthur’s lap. Taking note of the book in your own lap and putting two and two together. Wasting no time as she clarifies her disruption.

“Might I just borrow you, real quick? We got folks slackin’ off again ‘n they’re too damn drunk to listen to me!” Susan huffs as she folds her arms underneath her bust, an irritated scowl adorning her face. Arthur groans and runs a hand down his face. Nudging you off of his lap and setting you back onto your own two feet, the book clasped in your hands. He pushes himself up off the grass, shaking his legs out after having gone numb due to the extra weight.

“Boy,” he starts, looking down towards you again. “You keep workin’ on that, ya hear? Run along and go find Dutch or Lenny or… Hell- even Jack’ll do.” You nod slowly in understanding. Deciding on finding Dutch, as he was whom you were originally supposed to go find. Arthur ruffles your hair before he walks off behind Susan.

You look down at the book in your hands once again. You could just as easily run off and hide better, or you could do as you’re told and find Dutch. With Arthur’s encouragement fresh in your mind, you shuffle across camp to Dutch’s tent.

Unsurprisingly, he’s preaching again. Something about brotherhood? Though you don’t understand much of it. As you approach, he shuts up. His expression is as stoic as ever as he looks down at you expectantly.

“Uh-” you start, shifting your weight between your feet awkwardly. Your words just died out on your tongue. So you opt to offer the book up towards Dutch, of which he takes. A subtle grin spreads across his lips underneath his mustache.

“Evelyn Miller..” he reads fondly. Miller was his favorite author by far. Often finding his values agreeable and putting them into his own practices amongst the gang. He looks back down toward you in a bit of confusion. “What’s a boy like you doin’ with such a book?”

“Arthur ‘n Hosea want you to help me read.” you shrug, stuffing your hands into the front pockets of your dirt coated jeans. Dutch cocks his head to the side as his piercing eyes dart from you, to the book you had offered up, then back down to you. As usual, an uncomfortably long silence ensues as he debates his response. Then he nods in invitation towards the interior of his tent.

Following Dutch inside, the two of you sit down on the edge of his cot, shoulder to shoulder. Your feet unable to touch the floor fully just yet. Dutch hands you back the book and gives a vague gesture to the cover.

“How far’ve you gotten?” He inquires, setting his palms down onto his knees as he looks over at you. “One of my favorites, y’know. Evelyn Miller is the true talent of this nation.” Dutch adds assertively. No doubt the man admires the ex-professor.

“The” you say bluntly, pointing down at the engraved word on the leather cover, looking back up towards Dutch. “The?” he echoes before sighing heavily, to which you nod.

“That’s..quite alright, son. Just…” Dutch pauses, making another vague gesture down towards the book in your lap. “Pick up where you left off” He was unsure on how exactly he was supposed to teach a pre-teen these things. He wasn’t even the one who taught Arthur nor John. He stuck to himself and that was that. If they learned to read, so be it.

You nod slowly and begin to sound out your letters, just as Arthur had shown you. First an ‘A’, then an ‘M’, then an ‘E’, to an– Dutch groans outwardly, seeming impatient but trying to push through for your sake. You look back up towards him in confusion and he shakes his head. Silently telling you to continue.

‘E’, you pronounce, then moving to an ‘R’, ‘I’, ‘C’, ‘A’, ‘N’. Despite your pronunciation, the word didn’t make sense to you whatsoever. Coming out as an awkward combination of jumbled sounds, like your tongue didn’t want to co-operate with your developing brain.

Dutch sighs as he looks around his tent again. Staring blankly at the floor before suddenly getting an idea. “Kid.” you look back over towards him, prompting him to look back at you.

“What.. nation are we in?” Dutch prompts abruptly, earning a shrug from you. He moves his hand from his leg and down onto the leather cover of the book, covering up the ‘N’. Repeating his question more calmly this time.

“‘Merica..?” you repeat in just as much uncertainty as before. Your eyes dart down to Dutch’s hand, then following his arm back up to his face. Dutch gives a curt nod in confirmation, not nearly as excited as Arthur was about your progress.

“America, right. Now add the ‘N’.” Dutch removes his hand from the book as you look back down towards it once again. “Ameri..can-?” you sigh, only growing more confused by Dutch’s teaching process. 

Dutch gives another subtle nod in approval, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn’t have the patience to sit here as you learn an entire new word, but he wasn’t enough of a dick to shove you off.

“The American..” you read quietly, staring down at the cover. Quickly, you get up from Dutch’s cot and shuffle out of his tent. Already excited to show off your new reading skills to someone- anyone really. The first person you spot is John, sitting by the campfire as usual as he whittles a large stick into some unknown shape.

Waltzing right up to John and thrusting the book in his face excitedly, causing him to recoil in surprise. “Whoa, kid- slow your roll.. Damn near hit me in the face.” He chuckles, nudging the book away from him with the back of his hand, curled around the wood scrap. “What’s up?”

“Sorry,” you mumble sheepishly with a small giggle, a broad grin spread across your face as you show John the cover. “I figured out what it says!” you beam, causing John to crack a grin as well. Your positivity was one of the more wholesome things around camp. A welcome change of pace.

“Oh yeah? What’s it say?” John muses as he looks back down to the wood in hand. Digging his knife into the surface and cutting off chunk by chunk, letting them fall to the ground at his feet.

“‘The A-merican!’” you read, pointing at each word on the cover as if teaching John what it says. Looking back at him with stars in your eyes, hoping he shares your excitement. He doesn’t mirror it like Arthur, but he’s more proud than Dutch.

“You forgot a word,” John says bluntly with a laugh, tapping the tip of his knife against the leather book, drawing your attention back down to it. You feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment. You had gotten so excited that you were finally improving, that you completely forgot the last word.

Turning the book back around towards yourself, sitting down on the ground next to John. He turns in his seat, away from you. Not exactly fond of the idea of accidentally stabbing you as he whittles away. “Keep doin’ what you been doin’.” he encourages under his breath. His eyes back down to his knife.

You don’t respond to him. Instead, trying to focus on piecing together your letters. Some of them don’t make any sense at all. There’s familiar letters like ‘E’, ‘I’, or ‘N’, but they don’t make the same sounds like last time. Grumbling in frustration, you mumble something akin to ‘in-fear-no’.

“Inferno,” John corrects pointedly. “The American Inferno. Dutch’s favorite.” You look up towards him excitedly, a toothy grin splitting across your face. You just sounded out the cover of your new book! With help and immense frustration, of course.

You carefully pull open the cover and look down at the first page, only to find page after page of even more confusing words– closing it once again. Maybe you’ll try some more another time.

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Surprisingly fun to write ! I enjoyed this- thank you sm :D

[aoioozora]

Alive

Character: Kieran Duffy (Red Dead Redemption 2) Content: K.D x Fem reader, fluff, mild depictions of violence, very minimal cursing, mild angst Word count: 4.1k Photo credit: @risenfromagrave Note: Saving Kieran here because his death UPSET me and he didn't deserve to die the way he did.

You grumbled, looking over your shoulder to see if deputies were still at your heels.

Being paired with Micah for a mission wasn't fun, and though for once the mission went smoothly without any hiccups, it all went to shit when the two of you stepped into a saloon for a drink to unwind after the work. An especially angry drunk challenged Micah to a fight, and all hell broke loose. First, an exchange of angry words, then an exchange of punches, and then an exchange of bullets, all loud and noisy enough to wake the dead, and the law enforcement which came running. Not wanting to be caught up in more trouble than you ought, you had to grab Micah by the back of his collar and get running and galloping.

"Dutch tells us to lay low and you do the exact opposite! Can't have any damn peace with you around," you scolded as both of your horses relaxed and began to trot down the dirt roads back to Shady Belle.

"Can't blame me, Miss. That feller started it. I was in for a nice, peaceful time until he came along to ruin it," he complained, clearing his throat loudly and spitting on the ground.

You didn't hear a word he said. A quiet rustle in the woodland caught your attention, and you caught a glimpse of a rider on a horse. He was dressed in black and gray, having his hat down low over his eyes. He rode away from both of you down another dirt trail, not seeming to have noticed your presence. Micah was still talking your ears off and you hushed him.

"Shut it, Micah. I see an O'Driscoll."

He immediately stopped. "Where?" he whispered eagerly, craning his neck and peering forward to look in the same direction as you. When he spotted the fellow, he smirked.

Your eyes remained trained on the O'Driscoll, and you flicked your chin towards him. "Let's follow him."

And so the two of you did, keeping a safe distance and acting inconspicuously. Micah took the rear, not wanting to be recognized as he was seen before with Dutch by the wretches. You urged your horse forward to cover him and rode ahead.

The O'Driscoll took a winding route into the woods --a lesser known dirt trail-- and the two of you followed on behind him slowly, using the bushes, foliage, and dappled shadows for cover. The Sun, situated at the apex of the sky, shone down bright, making beads of sweat drip down your face even under the shade.

The O'Driscoll neared a run-down log cabin and hitched his horse right outside. The moss-covered cabin was shaded by the tall trees and the outsides of it were littered with broken bottles. It looked nothing like a proper O'Driscoll settlement, but rather a temporary dwelling. Only five horses were hitched outside the cabin, indicating only a few.

"He's dismounting," you whispered to Micah as the two of you stopped your horses at a safe distance.

Just as both of you dismounted, a blood-curdling scream erupted from within the cabin. You stopped in your tracks and looked at Micah with wide eyes. He looked back at you, not particularly perturbed. The scream seemed to make even the leaves of the trees tremble in fear.

"Stop! Please!" came the cry of a very familiar voice.

"Kieran!" you exclaimed under your breath. "Come on, we have to save him!"

Before Micah even said anything, you took the rifle off your back and began to stalk towards the cabin as fast and as unnoticed as you could. Micah followed behind you.

Crawling behind a crate, you asked Micah as you peeked out, "What do you think about shootin' up some O'Driscolls today?"

"Nothing makes me happier."

You grunted in response. "For once we agree."

It took you everything to not lose your cool at the shrieks echoing in the woods. You longed to burst into the cabin and shoot them all until they turned into a well-loved rag filled with holes, but you knew better than to be a fool.

Slinking away from the crate, the two of you continued to stalk towards the rundown cabin, careful not to jostle the broken bottles. You could hear the sounds of Kieran being punched, talked down to, and kicked around. Your stomach churned in anger as you ducked under the window and pressed your back against the wall next to the door. Micah positioned himself on the other side of the door, holding his guns up.

"You really thought you could escape us, huh?!" you heard one of the O'Driscolls yell from inside.

A loud thud and a groan of pain followed. "Please stop..." came Kieran's pathetic sounding wail.

You bit your lip and put your hand on the knob, trying to twist it open. It resisted.

"If you thought your Van Der Lindes would come and save you, you're dead wrong. It don't look like they care too much about scum like you," another O'Driscoll spoke. Another thud, followed by coughing and hacking.

"But don't you worry. We'll treat you real fine and head you back to them as a gift of the long standing friendship between us all," assured another O'Driscoll, laughing aloud.

You heard the rustle and scrub of cloth and wood creaking. Kieran begged, "No, no, no! Please don't!"

From within, the distinct scrape and clinking of knives was audible. Your heart was in your throat.

"I'll break this door open and you open fire," you hastily whispered to Micah, and he nodded, pushing himself off the wall and clenching his guns.

Kieran was starting to shriek. Lifting the butt of your rifle, you rammed it straight down on the doorknob, knocking it off. The door broke open from the impact and Micah sprung into action.

You followed immediately. Pulling the trigger, your first target was the head of the wretch who held his knife against Kieran's neck. He fell down, limp.

"Van Der Lindes at your fucking service, boys!" you roared.

Micah laughed aloud at your roar, pleased by your enthusiasm as he fired his bullets. "That's my girl!" he exclaimed snidely, "Finally you ain't so polite about your killin'."

"Shut your damned mouth and keep shootin'!"

There were more O'Driscolls in the cabin than you anticipated; about ten. But it was no hard task for two of the gang's most formidable gunslingers. Micah gleefully shot away, throwing down tables and using them for cover while Kieran was cowering in the corner of the room, hands and feet bound tightly in ropes. Finding an empty wardrobe next to him, you pushed it down on its side and rushed behind it.

"You okay, Kieran?!" you exclaimed as you exchanged fire.

"I-I-I'm okay!" he squeaked, hunching over his knees and trying to lay as flat as he could behind the defense of the wardrobe.

Your momentary distraction afforded a shot to the arm, but with adrenaline rushing in your blood, you felt no pain. You'd slaughter every last one of them for even daring to touch Kieran.

Finally, the last one fell, shot by Micah. The two of you breathed heavily from the exertion and Micah rose to his feet from behind the makeshift rampart, scanning the cabin once more. With a sigh, he returned his guns to their holsters. "Not enough of these fellers for me to kill," he quipped, disappointed.

You turned to Kieran, finally having the time to properly look at him. His pathetic face was red and bloodied from all the punches he took. His clothes were torn and soiled, bearing boot prints from being stepped on. Cuts were all over his arms and his neck, some shallow, some deep. Pulling out your knife, you cut off the ropes that bound him.

"You look like a mess..." you sighed, trying to keep calm for his sake, "What on earth did they do to you?"

Kieran grimaced as he explained the abuse he underwent the past two days. Sleep deprivation, starvation, beating, kicking, threatening, lashing, and so much worse else that he struggled to express. As you pulled out some clean cloth to wrap around the wounds on his neck, you felt your chest tighten with guilt that you couldn't come for him sooner.

You rose to your feet and held out your hand to him. He shakily raised his arm, taking it and rising to his feet with a pained groan. He held his back and his hip, still groaning.

"Y-You came at the right time," he said, quivering, "They was ready to cut my head off just when you entered."

Your eyes widened and you clenched your teeth. "God damn them bastards," you growled under your breath, not even meaning it vainly.

The three of you only had these few moments to breathe when more gunshots from behind the cabin-- all distant-- vibrated the quiet air. You started, looking at the rear windows of the dilapidated building.

"They must've heard our gunshots!" you exclaimed.

Micah grinned, instantly slinging his guns out of the holsters. "Leave them to me," he said, sauntering towards the windows and ramming the butt of his gun against the glass, shattering it.

"They look like too many to take alone" you said, joining him and standing by the other window. Turning to Kieran, you pulled out your Cattleman and handed it to him. "Here, use this. We're a bit outnumbered."

The roar of O'Driscolls over their gunfire was loud, but you and Micah held them back. Kieran struggled with all his aches and pains, but managed to shoot a few himself. It was a tense few minutes of heated exchange, but with the last one falling, silence immediately settled in.

Rising immediately, you said, "Let's get out of here before more O'Driscolls come."

After quickly looting the sparse cabin and the bodies, the three of you mounted your horses and rode out. Kieran sat behind you, quietly whimpering in pain as the horse rode along the rugged paths. Micah seemed to be addressing Kieran about something, but it was all muffled by your thoughts.

The thought of Kieran suffering worse than how you found him sickened you. Your stomach churned at the image of his neck sliced and his life blood spurting out. And knowing how ruthless the O'Driscolls could be, they definitely would've done significantly worse things to his dead body. You may have had a questionable relationship with the Lord Almighty, but you sure thanked Him that Kieran's warm hands still held fast to you.

It was a relief to see the familiar surroundings of Shady Belle bathed in the descending sunlight, and as soon as the three of you arrived, the sight of Kieran after his disappearance stirred excitement in the camp.

"You found him!" Mary-Beth, running up to you, exclaimed first as you dismounted and helped Kieran down.

"Those damn O'Driscolls caught him!" you roared for everyone in the gang to hear, and then told them all how you and Micah slaughtered every last one of them.

The other gang members praised you, and reluctantly praised Micah for the rare occasion of him taking part in saving a fellow gang member. As always, he was full of pompous words about how he "killed more than the little Miss".

You had no time to be offended. You and Mary-Beth helped Kieran into a room in the mansion where Ms. Grimshaw would treat his wounds.

"I do hope he'll be okay," Mary-Beth said worriedly, holding your arm.

"He'll live. That much I know."

Feeling weary, you pulled out of her grasp and headed downstairs. She followed you into the parlour of the mansion and watched as you sat down with a sigh. You begged her for a cup of water, which she promptly brought to you. As she took another chair and sat down next to you, she watched you relish the cool drink.

"I'm sure glad Kieran is back," she said softly, lacing her fingers over her lap.

You nodded vigorously, placing the empty cup on your thigh. "So am I. You wouldn't believe our luck. He would've... He would've gotten his head lopped off if we were a moment too late." You wiped your hand down your face, sighing shakily. "Thank the Lord we found him before they did."

Mary-Beth wrapped her arms around you, letting you rest your head in the crook of her neck as she rubbed your back. Your body eased against your friend's and you sighed again.

"You did a real good job, my dear," she whispered, lovingly stroking your hair.

The security tightened around the camp after this incident. More gang members stood on the perimeters of Shady Belle, vigilant. Not only was the gang up on their guard, but the general attitude towards Kieran changed too. Some of the more rougher gang members who bullied him previously seemed to express some concern for his wellbeing and recovery.

The camp was in no celebratory mood after learning that Kieran was whisked away during the party for Jack. It remained lively as it always was, but the perpetual shadow was cast by the O'Driscolls caused the heavy drinkers to sober up and keep their vigil, and Dutch to withdraw to himself to consider where to go next before they risked another kidnapping or attack.

In the meantime, you made sure to tend to Kieran in any way you could, visiting him and talking to him to distract him from the pain. Sometimes Mary-Beth and Arthur would take your place when you weren't around.

Speaking of Arthur, he was especially upset about the whole thing.

"Damn O'Driscolls," he shook his head as he lit the cigarette between his lips, "I'm tired of this feud Colm and Dutch are having. When will it end?"

"I reckon it will go on till kingdom come," you answered resignedly. This was the first time since joining the gang that you witnessed O'Driscoll brutality firsthand after only knowing it in theory.

Arthur grumbled, taking a drag of the cigarette. "That aside, I'm surprised Micah cooperated. You know how he is. Kills more people than he saves."

You shrugged. "True. I guess he happily jumped right in because it was O'Driscolls we was dealing with. He gets to satisfy that damn itch in his hands and we get to cut down their forces."

"Hm." He nodded silently, staring at the ground of the porch he was standing on. "I'm glad Kieran is okay, though. You did well." He gave you a gentle pat on your shoulder in gratitude.

Though Arthur didn't show it, you could see the relief written all over his face. How distraught he would've been if the man that saved his life was killed like a dog with nobody to save him.

It was an especially quiet night and like usual, you sat in Kieran's room by the window, polishing your Cattleman to pass your time as you kept him company. His room was small, but sufficiently spaced for him to move about. After all the nights he spent sleeping outside, you were glad that he was given a roof over his head.

The camp was mostly quiet and relaxed, and conversations around the fire rose in the air in soft murmurs. You watched the night with alertness, and your rifle remained on your back. Kieran, seated on his humble bed, preferred to watch you.

"I-I cannot thank you enough for saving my life, Miss," he blurted. He'd been saying that everyday since.

You looked at him and smiled, shaking your head. "Are you going to thank me for the rest of your life?" you asked lightheartedly.

"I sure will. It's my life you saved, after all." He twiddled with his thumbs nervously.

You paused, looking at his slouched posture, his scruffy appearance, messy black hair and all the bandages wrapped around his arms and his neck. Your eyes softened at his plight, and you felt a surge of affection for him. "I'm glad you're back, Kieran. I missed you," you admitted softly.

An embarrassed flush bloomed on his cheeks at your loving address. "You did?" he asked, surprised. "I didn't think I was... visible enough in camp to be noticed, let alone missed."

"Well, Mary-Beth was the first to notice you was gone," you told him, "and you know the rest." But sensing the insecurity and vulnerability in his voice, you said, "Kieran, I don't know to what extent the camp as a whole trusts and likes you, but just know that I'll always trust you, like you, and miss you when you're gone."

You felt your cheeks flush a little, wondering if your speech betrayed your true feelings. But he smiled, feeling reassured.

"Thank you, Miss. I'm glad, really," he looked down at his feet on the floor, "I-I try so hard to be of use in the gang. I like it here better than with them O'Driscolls," his voice quieted as if in fear of even uttering the accursed name. "They're terrifying, but you all are nicer. And- And I want to prove myself that I-I ain't an O'Driscoll no more."

"Oh, Kieran," you shook your head, "You ain't an O'Driscoll no more, no matter what any of us say. You're one of us, a Van Der Linde." You rose to your feet and moved towards his bed. Situating yourself right next to him, you took his hand in yours and squeezed it, now saying in a soft whisper, "You'll never be an O'Driscoll again."

He nodded slowly, taking in the words. You looked at him. His eyes were fixed to the starry night outside the window, distant and thoughtful. You wondered if he thought of his time with the former gang. Your heart ached for what he had to go through with them, both now and in the past and to always be in fear of them, near or away.

"If they dare touch a single strand of your hair ever again, I promise I'll do worse things to them than what they planned to do to you," you declared, squeezing his hand again.

Kieran's eyes widened, alarmed by the extent of your harshness. He put his other hand on yours, clasping it. "Please, dear Miss, you don't have to go so far just for me," he begged.

"Why not?" you demanded, "They hurt you! I won't stand for that!"

"But-But the O'Driscolls ain't the sweetest people, you know... what if you get hurt because of me? I wouldn't want that."

Your brows furrowed, and Kieran feared he angered you. He shrunk a little, pulling his hand away from yours reluctantly. Noticing this, the anger on your face melted away.

"I... well," you stammered, "It ain't fair, Kieran. You're a nice guy. You've had a rough life even before them O'Driscolls. You take care of our horses and do your best around camp. You're an honest and innocent feller unlike the rest of us and I like that about you. It ain't fair or right that they can just whisk you away and not get the consequences of their actions for it!"

Your praise made his heart soar. He didn't think you thought so highly of him.

"And I know you ain't much a fighter," you continued, "And I ain't the best and showing people I care. Protecting you is the least I can do."

Kieran was both flattered and ashamed. Protecting was his job as a man. It didn't sit right with him that you took the dominant role when it was simply your right and privilege as a woman to be cared for and protected. But he didn't say it. He knew his limitations for the moment, but vowed to himself that he'd try and get stronger and braver so that he could one day protect you.

Afraid as he was to admit it, he admired you greatly. You were strong, hardy, beautiful, and brave. You knew your way around weapons and you were smart. He'd always looked on you with a certain awe and even jealousy that he wasn't anywhere near as impressive as you were. And to think that someone so amazing would condescend to be so attentive to him at this moment was both humbling and heart-fluttering.

"I could not have asked for a better friend than you, Miss," he smiled shyly. No sooner had the words come of his mouth, he worried if he took it too far by calling you a friend.

But the grin on your lovely, weathered face eased him. "I'm happy you think so, Kieran," you said gently, looking down at your lap.

He caught a hint of shyness in your face as you looked away, and his heart jumped. You, shy? He never saw this before.

Silence filled the room. He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, and from your straight posture and how you clenched the sides of the bed, you looked like you had something more to say. Kieran shifted in his seat.

"Are you okay? You look a little... tense," he finally asked.

"Yeah, I'm okay. I just... I just wanted to tell you something important."

"Of course," he encouraged, turning himself to face you.

"I- I love you, Kieran," you blurted with many blushes.

He stared at you with wide eyes, stunned and speechless. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

"I've fancied you ever since we was in Horseshoe Outlook," you admitted, "and I thought you was real sweet... even though we didn't really trust you. But I liked you."

He still stared, completely bewildered by this point. He never imagined anyone would ever like him, pathetic as he was.

"Me? A-Are you sure you do?" he sputtered.

"Of course I do. No doubt about it."

"But why me? I ain't impressive like Arthur or like Charles or-- I don't know-- John... Why me?"

"It's because you're kind," you explained in earnest, "and you're genuine. You're impressive in your own way. You work so hard to earn our trust. If nobody appreciates you for it, I do. And I even love you for it."

Nothing more could be said. He sat silent for a while, taking in your words. You watched him, worrying he'd not feel the same. You longed to ask him what he thought, but you waited for him to speak first.

"It's amazing that you'd choose me, my dear Miss, a pathetic O'Driscoll boy..."

You frowned. "You ain't an O'Driscoll boy. You're Kieran Duffy," you said firmly, "I could never love no O'Driscoll boy. But Kieran Duffy? I would."

He smiled abashedly. Though you scolded him, he couldn't help but feel so utterly over the moon. He just couldn't get enough of your repeated declarations of love. His smile dispelled your momentary annoyance, and your eyes softened, feeling the weight of your affection for him rest heavy on your heart.

His trembling hand ventured bravely to touch yours and your hand instinctively leaned into his light touch. Feeling encouraged, he wrapped his hand around yours, holding it gently. Both the touch and the confirmation of his feelings sent strong flutters and sparks flying all over inside you.

"I've always admired you," he admitted, "You're really purty, and strong. Always thought you was an amazing woman." His hand squeezed yours, and you squeezed back, "I-I really do love you too, my dear Miss."

Your lip trembled as you felt an overflow of emotions. "I'm sure glad you're alive, Kieran," you said breathlessly, "I don't know what I would've done if you was gone and I didn't never get to tell you how much I love you."

He moved closer, pressing his shoulder against yours. Without thinking, you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. His heart jumped again, but he sat still.

"It's because of you I'm alive," he whispered, affectionately rubbing his thumb over your knuckles as he pressed his cheek against your head, "And I'm glad too." His voice cracked, "I'm glad to be alive to hear you say you love me."

You couldn't take it anymore. You wrapped your arms around his waist and hugged him, something you've been desperate to do since you brought him back alive. His surprise only lasted for a moment before he responded by wrapping one arm around your waist and the other around your shoulders.

"I'm sorry to be so bold, Kieran, but I ain't never lettin' you go."

He smiled, burying his face in your neck. He could never be offended by your boldness; it was one of the many things he loved about you.

"And I ain't goin' nowhere."

[paradox-valleyy]

Lost and Found

Pre-Canon rdr 2 x Teen!fem!oc

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Taglist: @photo1030

Word count: 3,8k

Notes: “It’s scary trusting people”

A week had slipped by since Jolene walked out to the ranch with Sister Amelia. The Sister’s words had drifted in and out of her mind, but Jolene didn’t think much of them—this wasn’t her first visit to the church, after all. Reverend Thomas was a kind man, if a little odd in her eyes. He was generous to a fault, which she supposed was expected of a pastor, but there was something about him she couldn’t quite place. It left her uncertain, like the man didn’t fit neatly into her idea of people.

Jolene had been in this town for about seven months now, ever since she left her old town and a friendly couple had offered her a ride. She’d traveled with them for a few days, but when the outlines of a new town appeared on the horizon, she’d thanked them, jumped down, and set off alone. This town had a quiet charm—some people were pleasant enough, and most didn’t pay her any mind. But not everyone was easy to overlook. The Sheriff, for one, was a thorn in her side, always patrolling with a watchful eye that made Jolene feel like she stood out more than she wanted to. And then there was Mr. Finch, a man whose mere presence could steal the warmth from the sun. She’d only seen him up close twice: once with his wife, heavily pregnant as they entered the doctor’s office half a year back, and another time leaving the church just a few weeks ago. Jolene wouldn’t dream of lifting anything off a man like that; the consequences alone were enough to keep her at bay.

Now she sat in the cool shade of a narrow alley, nestled between Johnson’s shop and the saloon, working on her latest attempt at whittling. She’d borrowed a small knife and was trying to carve a wooden bear, though it looked more like a lumpy oval topped with a circle than anything resembling an animal. Still, she was focused, letting the shadowed alley shield her from the blistering Western sun as she chipped away, one small flake of wood at a time.

Jolene had worked at her little wooden bear for a while but eventually grew bored. After two hours, it looked a bit more bear-like, though hardly a masterpiece. Still, she nodded at her rough carving, then winced as she stood, her backside sore from sitting on the hard ground for so long. As she stepped out of the alley, she wandered up the porch of Johnson’s shop, leaving the wooden bear and the borrowed knife on the outer windowsill with a faint hint of satisfaction.

With the afternoon stretching lazily before her, Jolene headed toward the town’s outskirts, wondering how best to spend the hours until sunset, when she’d go to the saloon to gather her coins. It wasn’t much, but she’d learned how to sneak a few from the pockets of the saloon girls and sometimes had enough for a warm meal from the bar. Her stomach growled as she thought about it. Pickings had been slim lately—people had gotten to know her, and now, at the sight of her, their hands instinctively guarded their pockets.

Leaving the dusty roads behind, she followed the familiar path that led out of town, weaving along the riverbank and into the cool shelter of the woods. She considered visiting the ranch but knew it was too far to make it there and back in time to reach the saloon before dark. So instead, she trotted along the pathway , grateful for the damp, shaded air as it warded off the day’s relentless heat. Her mind wandered as she walked, lost in idle thoughts. Her hair had grown long enough to curl at the nape of her neck, and she’d grown a bit taller, though she still hadn’t filled out much. For now, her slim build kept her boyish-looking, but she knew that wouldn’t last forever.

Wandering off the trail, she spotted a large fallen tree. The trunk was thick, almost chest-high, and curiosity got the better of her. She scrambled up, struggling for a moment but managing to hoist herself on top. She tried to sit astride it as if riding a horse, but the trunk was too wide, so she simply stood, looking around with a newfound sense of height.

That’s when she noticed smoke rising in the distance. Jolene’s curiosity sparked to life, and she jumped down, moving toward the source of the fire with caution. As she drew closer, she slowed, pressing herself against a tree, listening intently. Voices drifted faintly from between the trees—several people by the sound of it. Her heartbeat quickened as she hesitated, wondering if she should risk it. A gathering like this could mean trouble, and she didn’t fancy getting caught up in it. After a few tense moments, she decided it was best to turn back. Life had finally settled into some kind of balance, and she didn’t want to tempt fate now.

By the time Jolene reached town, the sky had deepened into shades of light purple and orange, casting long shadows across the dusty streets. She strolled into the saloon, which was still quiet in the early evening, only a few regulars and a couple of travelers scattered across the tables. Jolene made her way toward a group of saloon girls lounging near the back, exchanging glances and laughter as they prepared for a long night ahead.

One of the women spotted her immediately. “Hey, Joel,” she called out, her voice smooth and teasing. “What brings you in here so early?”

Jolene grinned, letting a hint of her boyish charm play across her face. “Aw, nothin’ much,” she drawled, with a slight shrug. “Starvin’ out there on the streets, y’know how it is. But one look at you fine ladies, and I reckon I’m better fed than if I had a whole bowl of stew.” She winked, earning herself a few chuckles from the women. She’d picked up the knack for charm, a little trick she’d learned to keep folks from looking too close.

One of them sighed with a smile, reaching into her pocket. “You’re a good kid, Joel. Here, don’t go hungry,” she said, pressing a few coins into her hand. Another one tossed in a couple more, shaking her head in amusement.

“Well, ain’t you all too kind?” Jolene replied, her grin widening. “Much obliged, and good luck tonight, ladies.”

She sauntered over to the bar, where the barkeep was watching her with a smirk, having overheard the exchange. “You sure got a way with those ladies, Joel,” he joked, wiping down a glass.

Jolene shrugged, feigning confidence. “Only natural,” she said, tipping her nonexistent hat in mock swagger. “I’ll grow up a real lady’s man, mark my words.”

The barkeep chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, the stew ain’t quite ready yet,” he said. “If you’re lookin’ for somethin’ hot, you’ll have to sit tight for a spell.”

Jolene sighed, glancing around the room. “Fine, I’ll come by later” she muttered, preparing to wander back toward the door.

But as she turned, the barkeep called out to her, his voice shifting from friendly to firm. “And, Joel—listen here. I don’t want no more of your funny business in my saloon. You’re scarin’ off good customers with all that foolin’ around.”

Jolene rolled her eyes, then turned to face him with a half-smile, raising her hand in a playful salute. “Got it, sir. No trouble from me,” she replied, starting to back away.

Just as she turned toward the exit, she collided with something solid—a wall of muscle, by the feel of it. She stumbled back, glancing up at the man she’d just bumped into. He was tall, with light brown hair and a rough stubble lining his jaw, and the faintest scowl etched on his face. She recognized him instantly—the same man she’d seen with his buddy at Johnson’s shop last week.

“Sorry, mister,” she said quickly, forcing a respectful tone.

The man gave her a once-over, then tipped his hat just slightly, though his gaze was sharp. “Just watch where you’re goin’, kid,” he said, his voice a low rumble, before stepping past her toward the bar.

Jolene nodded, letting him move on before she quietly slipped out the saloon door, a bit relieved to be in the evening air again. She made a mental note to keep her head low around him from now on—she’d seen that look in a man’s eyes before, and it didn’t belong to the friendly type.

Jolene was on her way to Johnson’s, half-hoping he might be in one of his rare generous moods and toss her a peppermint or a caramel. She knew it was unlikely, but she’d grown used to small hopes, and Johnson’s treats had a way of making the day feel a bit sweeter, however briefly.

But her thoughts were broken by a scream that sliced through the air. She jerked her head toward the doctor’s office just in time to see Dr. Abery stumbling out, his face ashen, his eyes wild.

“A damn shame!” he cried, voice nearly cracking. “Who in their right mind’d do such a thing?”

Jolene frowned, her mind already turning. What in the hell…?

A crowd began to gather, drawn by the doctor’s outburst. The Sheriff appeared, storming down the street with a dark look, his boots pounding out a fierce rhythm as he pushed folks aside, his eyes set dead ahead on the doctor’s office. He brushed right past Jolene without a second glance, leaving her more intrigued. She noticed Johnson step out of his shop, narrowing his eyes toward the commotion.

“Somethin’ happen?” Johnson asked, glancing at her.

Jolene shrugged, playing it cool. “No idea,” she replied, though she felt a pull of curiosity tightening inside her as she joined Johnson on the porch, both of them straining to catch bits of the murmured conversation around them.

And then came a voice that made her heart skip a beat. The Sheriff’s voice, loud and angry, calling her alias: “JOEL!”

She froze. Shit. Her pulse quickened as she tried to keep her expression calm, though her mind raced.

Johnson glanced sideways at her, his brow lifted. “What’s this all about? You up to somethin’?”

Jolene forced a laugh, shaking her head. “Ain’t got a clue, Mr. Johnson.”

She was still trying to act nonchalant when she heard the Sheriff’s boots pounding toward her. She debated running, just tearing down the street and out of there—but that’d only make her look worse. Better to stay, look innocent.

She stepped down from the porch, trying to keep her shoulders loose. But before she could say a word, the Sheriff was on her, his palm coming down in a sharp, stinging slap that knocked her off balance. Before she could even react, his hand was at her collar, jerking her forward as his voice dripped with anger.

“Where is it, you little thief?” he snarled, his voice thick with accusation.

“Where’s what?” she managed, choking on her surprise, one hand grabbing at his wrist as he held her close enough that she could see the fury burning in his eyes.

“Don’t play games, Joel!” he spat, giving her another rough shake. “The nerve of you, takin’ what ain’t yours!”

She felt her pulse hammering in her ears, the humiliation sinking in as she realized everyone was watching. “I didn’t take nothin’! Wasn’t even in town till just now!” she protested, her voice hoarse, desperation slipping into her tone.

“Oh yeah?” he sneered, his grip tightening painfully. “And who’s gonna vouch for you, huh?”

She clamped her mouth shut, realizing she had no alibi. No one would be able to confirm where she’d been. The Sheriff’s eyes gleamed with grim satisfaction at her silence, and he slapped her again, this time hard enough that her cheek flared with pain.

“Now,” he said, his voice a low, menacing growl, “hand it over. Everything ya took.”

The crowd watched, their faces hard and judgmental, their stares boring into her. She’d felt like an outsider in this town before, but now their silent verdict left her feeling exposed, small, and utterly alone. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to keep her head up even as her heart twisted with a mix of shame and frustration. Nobody believed her—hell, nobody even questioned if she might be innocent.

The Sheriff tightened his grip on her arm, and his rough hands started patting her down. He found the few coins she’d managed to collect earlier and tossed them to the dirt, sneering.

“That all you got, boy?” he mocked, giving her a dark look as he continued his search, hands roaming her pockets and every corner of her clothes.

Then his fingers brushed against the chain around her neck. Her heart seized.

No, please no. But he’d already noticed, his face twisting with a smug sort of triumph as he reached into her shirt collar, his hand finding the small necklace and yanking it free, the chain digging painfully into the back of her neck before snapping.

“No!” she gasped, her voice breaking, her hands reaching instinctively to try to grab it back.

He held it up, dangling the necklace in front of her face. “Oh, ‘no,’ is it? Figured you stole this too, didn’t ya?”

Her breath hitched, panic flaring up as she saw the small ring hanging from the broken chain. She watched helplessly as he tossed it to the side, the ring slipping free and falling to the dirt at her feet. It was her last bit of comfort, a scrap of memory, something she hadn’t let go of since she’d started wandering these dusty trails. She lunged downward, desperate to snatch it up, but the Sheriff shoved her back, hard, sending her sprawling to the ground.

He glared down at her, his face twisted in disgust. “Where’s the rest of it, huh?” he demanded, voice harsh.

“I didn’t take nothin’,” she murmured, her voice hoarse, trembling with the weight of the tears threatening to fall. She felt hollow, worn out by the humiliation.

The Sheriff scoffed, clearly unimpressed, and gave her one last contemptuous look. “We’ll see about that,” he muttered before turning on his heel and heading back toward the doctor’s office.

Jolene sat there in the dirt, her cheek stinging from the slaps, the ache in her heart cutting deeper than any of the bruises. All around, people were watching, their faces twisted with judgment and disappointment. Not one of them spoke up in her defense. Not one of them had a shred of faith in her.

She swallowed hard, her throat tight, her heart feeling heavier than ever. Even Dr. Abery, whose eyes held a faint sadness, had looked away with disappointment.

They all think I’m the thief, she realized, a bitter ache sinking into her bones.

Slowly, she scrambled to her knees, her hands trembling as she reached for the broken necklace and the ring lying in the dirt. She held them close, clutching the torn pieces to her chest, something inside her breaking with each tear that slipped down her cheeks. She finally rose, glancing back one last time to see Johnson shaking his head, his lips pressed tight.

Unable to bear it any longer, she turned and ran, her legs carrying her out of town and away from their accusing stares. She didn’t stop, her heart pounding as she ran past the last buildings, her breathing ragged and shallow, her thoughts churning in a blur of anger, hurt, and betrayal.

By the time she reached a large rock by the path, she couldn’t run any further. She collapsed against it, sliding down until she was sitting with her back pressed against the cool stone. She stared down at the torn necklace in her hands, her breath hitching as the storm of emotions finally overtook her.

And then the tears really came, fierce and unrelenting, pouring down her cheeks as she sobbed, the anguish spilling out in waves. Her cheek throbbed, her hands were scraped from the fall, but none of it mattered next to the hollow ache gnawing at her heart.

She curled her fingers tightly around the broken chain, her chest heaving with grief and frustration. She hadn’t thought it would hurt this bad, hadn’t thought that one slap, one broken chain, could make her feel so utterly defeated. But as she sat there, clutching the last piece of her past, she realized the weight of her loneliness—the kind that no clever disguise, no snappy comeback, could ever hide.

Back in town, as the crowd thinned and the gossiping settled, people still shot glances toward Dr. Abery’s office, where the Sheriff’s raised voice could be faintly heard. Standing alone on the saloon porch, a tall cowboy with dust-streaked boots and a gunbelt slung low across his hips took it all in, a deep frown creasing his brow. With a muttered, “Well… hell,” he felt the weight of Dr. Abery’s money hanging heavy in his satchel. He let out a slow sigh, rubbing the back of his neck before heading toward his horse, already feeling the sting of regret settling like a bad taste in his mouth.

He mounted, urging his horse into an easy gait down the dirt road leading out of town, his sharp eyes scanning the landscape for any sign of the kid. Not far out, he finally spotted a slumped figure beside a big rock near the edge of the path. Another sigh escaped him as he pulled the horse to a stop, letting her trot onto the grass. He reached into his saddlebag, pulling out a peppermint stick before heading over slowly.

The kid, hearing his boots on the ground, looked up, his tear-streaked face quickly buried against his sleeve, wiping his cheeks. Seeing the cowboy, he put on a tough front, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Don’t be cryin’ none, boy,” the cowboy said, his voice low as he leaned against the big stone. “Folks like them back there… they ain’t worth it.”

Jolene pushed herself to her feet, eyeing him with a mix of curiosity and caution. “You’re the man from the saloon,” she said, sizing him up.

He gave her a nod, then held out the peppermint stick. “Here,” he said, offering it like a peace offering, his mouth twitching with a faint smile.

She took it hesitantly but didn’t unwrap it just yet, her gaze still wary as she studied him. “Why’d you come after me?” she asked, suspicion flickering in her voice.

The cowboy scratched at his beard, glancing out toward the open plains before answering. “What the Sheriff did… didn’t sit right with me.” His tone was calm but firm, like he’d come to a decision about her that he couldn’t quite explain.

She gave him a long, searching look before leaning back against the rock, finally unwrapping the peppermint stick and sticking it in her mouth. Her other hand still clutched the broken chain and ring, and she looked down at them, the sadness in her eyes clear.

“You live back in that town?” he asked after a long, uncomfortable silence.

“No. Not anymore. Not like I ever really did,” she muttered, the words coming out quieter than she meant.

The cowboy nodded, his eyes softening a bit, and for a moment, they both stood in silence, just watching the sky darken a shade as the sun slipped lower.

After a beat, she broke the quiet, her voice small and cautious. “You don’t think I took it, do you?” Her eyes flicked up to meet his, a spark of vulnerability there.

He scratched his beard again, considering his words before he shrugged. “Didn’t seem like it to me.”

She nodded, relief visible in her small smile. “I didn’t take it. Dr. Avery… well, he’s been real deep in debt, I heard. His wife was real sick before she died, and he paid a fortune for her medicine. Spent everythin’ he had.” She didn’t notice the way her words deepened the guilt in his expression. He’d thought the doctor was doing well enough, seeing the fine trimmings in his home when he’d snuck in through the back.

He sighed. “Arthur Morgan,” he introduced himself, a touch of his former confidence creeping back.

“Joel,” Jolene mumbled, and she unclutched the broken chain, looking down at it with sorrow. Arthur glanced at the ring in her hand and gave a slight nod.

“That there can be fixed,” he said without thinking.

Her face lit up, hope flickering in her eyes. “Really?”

Arthur nodded. “Maybe someone back at camp’s handy enough to do it. And if not, I’ll pay to have it done proper.”

She looked at him, suspicion creeping back in. “Why would you do that? You don’t even know me.”

He shrugged, searching for the words. “Just feel bad for ya, son,” he replied, his voice gruff. Jolene looked at him, considering, then nodded, maybe starting to believe this cowboy was more generous than he seemed.

“I was thinkin’ of leavin’ this place anyway,” she said softly. “After today… they’ll treat me like shit.”

Arthur gave her a slow nod of understanding. “Well, come on back to camp with me first. We’ll see if anyone can fix that chain.”

He whistled sharply, and his horse trotted up to them, her coat shining in the late sunlight. “This here’s Boadicea,” he said, patting the horse’s neck fondly. Jolene’s eyes widened, a spark of fascination flickering across her face.

She approached carefully, letting the horse sniff her hand before giving her a gentle pat. Arthur reached out his hand. “Gimme the chain for now. I’ll keep it safe.”

After a beat of hesitation, she handed it over, watching as he carefully pocketed it. Arthur swung himself onto Boadicea’s back, then looked down at her expectantly.

“Go on, get up behind me,” he said.

She tossed the remains of her peppermint stick aside and tried clambering up but managed only to kick dust. Arthur sighed, sliding back in the saddle a little. “You ever ridden before, boy?”

Jolene shook her head, cheeks flushing.

“All right, c’mere,” he muttered, reaching down to grab her under the arms. In one smooth motion, he hoisted her up onto the saddle in front of him. She swung her leg over carefully, making sure not to kick Boadicea’s neck. Arthur nodded approvingly, his arms settling on either side of her as he took hold of the reins.

With a soft nudge, he spurred Boadicea into an easy, steady gallop. The world stretched out before them, open and wild, as the last light of day slipped away behind them. And for the first time in a long time, Jolene felt a sliver of hope glimmering, steady as the warmth of the cowboy’s arms guiding her forward.

[scarfacemarston]

Ok, hiiiii!!!

Right, so I’ve noticed Sadie doesn’t get enough fanfics and I have a little idea if that’s all right 🤭🤭

Ok so hear me out, after Sadie gets with the reader once she’s been able to find herself love and not been so traumatised anymore, she asked the reader to marry her because she doesn’t want to loose them like she lost Jake (specifically fem!reader, if it’s all right?)

Yep! Here ya go. :D Content warning: Gun violence and gunshot injury. Non-graphic. Bullets whirled past you at lightning speed. It was supposed to be an easy smash and grab, in and out, super easy. Wrong. You, Sadie, and Arthur had staked the scene out the night before, noting every possible point of entry and exit. You were thorough - but not exhaustive enough.

It started easy enough creeping up to the impressive homestead, but despite all the time spent scouting, there was a hidden covered window on an unseen third floor - a lookout room. It wasn’t long til you heard a voice announcing your presence - and then the rain of bullets began, causing you to duck for cover.

Sadie had taken the lead as usual, causing you and Arthur to share a look and sigh. She always was a firecracker. Things were going ...okay. The three of you had finally carved out an escape route when you heard the frantic shout of your name and copious amounts of cursing. Then, you felt it. The dull throb and the burning, the red seeping through, wetting and sticking your skin. Time seemed to slow down; why had Sadie and Arthur’s voices seemed so far away?

You heard Sadie let out a furious roar before your eyes rolled back, and darkness took you. 

From there, time was a blur. You felt pressure on your hands, and Sadie’s voice called for you to hold on, her voice sounding increasingly desperate.

“I’m fine,” you slurred.

“You certainly ain’t fine, young lady! Gettin’ shot ain’t fine!” Arthur chided.

You felt a calloused small hand cupping your chin.

“Come on. Hold on, baby. I’ve got you. Don’t you dare die on me, or I swear I’ll kick your ass in the next life.” Sadie threatened, but the panic was evident.

Everything was a blur, from hearing murmurs from Hosea and Grimshaw discussing how to best remove the cloth from your shoulder to hearing arguments between Grimshaw and Sadie.

“I ain’t leavin’ her! I shouldn’t have…..” to hearing the frightening words, “Hold her down.” 

A damn shame the pain wasn’t a blur. You remembered crying out and later a cool cloth on your head … Someone….it had to be Sadie, whispered words of encouragement.

“Come on, they’re almost finished. You’re being so brave. So damn brave. Just a little longer.” You gave Sadie’s hand a weak but present squeeze before passing out again.

Next thing you knew, you were awake, resting on a cot in Sadie’s tent with a bandaged shoulder and clean clothing. You glanced around, ready to prop yourself up - 

“No, don’t you dare try an’ sit up.”

You tried again.

“Come on, stop it. Damn you’re stubborn as a mule.” You heard Sadie’s voice ring out and a light shove on your good shoulder.

You grinned toothily.

“Think you like it that way. Stubborn. Keeps you on your toes.” You slurred, your voice hoarse.

Sadie sighed before giving you her canteen.

“That what you think? Drink up.” Sadie ordered. She sat at the edge of your cot, staring at the ground. Sadie wasn’t the most talkative of women, but this was something different. Her shoulders were tense. Sadie had something to say. You wondered if she was going to admonish you for not being careful enough.

“Look, I ain’t good at this. All of this.” Sadie said, gesturing between the two of you.

“It’s a wonder Jakey and I…..that we became a thing. When he died, I felt like my world had gone dark. Like the sun would never rise again. Then I met you and my world seemed a little lighter. We took our sweet time gettin’ to where we are now, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now the sun is back and it’s all because of you. But today? Shit, I thought I lost you. There was so much blood. I felt I couldn’t do nothin’ but shoot. Sometimes, I feel like that’s all I’m good for.” Sadie said with a humorless laugh.

“I ain’t the prayin’ sort. Not at all, but I prayed today. I already lost one love, I can’t lose another. I can’t. I’ve never done this before, and can’t say I ever saw myself doin’ this, but you somehow make me do a lot of things I’ve never done before.” Sadie smiled slightly.

She reached into her pocket, fidgeting with something before revealing a gold band with a light blue stone. 

“It won’t be the same as a man and his woman, but I think we have our own special thing that no one can take from us. Will you do me the honor of bein’ my woman? My gal for the rest of our lives? You make my day a lot brighter, and I’d do anythin’ to make you happy for the rest of your days.” Sadie held up the ring, hopefully willing herself to keep eye contact.

You clapped your hand over your mouth and gasped.

You thought about marriage as a girl. Most girls did, but you always expected it to be what girls were “supposed” to be thinking about. Then you met Sadie, and your world turned upside down. You always had feelings for women, but Sadie was something else. You didn’t know women could even have something like marriage until Sadie came back with a book about Boston Marriages.

Sadie shuffled her feet, bringing you back to reality. Shit, you had been thinking too long.

“Of course! Yes, of course I’ll be your woman. I never thought it was ….I never thought this day would come!” you said with a splitting grin and a heart full of love. You laughed joyfully, causing Sadie’s shoulders to soften, a wide grin of her own stretching her features as she relaxed.

"Oh, Thank God. I don’t know what I would have done if you said no. I woulda managed, but I woulda felt mighty awkward.” She chuckled.

You reached out for her, hoping for an embrace before hissing in pain. Sadie rolled her eyes. 

“What am I going to do with you? Let me.” she huffed before wrapping you in her arms before planting her lips to yours.

END

[photo1030]

Ooo, I can totally see this happening

Recalcitrance

Summary: You and Ms. Grimshaw just can't get along. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader Word Count: 1,763 Tags: fluff, kissing, high honor Arthur Warnings: camp violence, angry Arthur, suggestive themes

a/n: I have mixed feelings about Grimshaw. I think she's a very enigmatic character. Still, based on interactions I've seen with her, I feel this isn't too far off. These always end up super long for some reason. Idk how that keeps happening. Anyway, I hope you enjoy; thanks for reading!

recalcitrance: resistance to authority or guidance, often characterized by defiance or disobedience. It implies a refusal to comply with rules or expectations, despite attempts to persuade or control.

You and Abigail Roberts went way, way back. Working girls stuck to a code; part of that code was looking out for each other and ensuring you returned after one of your "shifts." Abigail ran away for a while, leaving you to assume she'd met a rich man and settled down.

When you met her again, she introduced you to Dutch Van Der Linde and company; you fell in with them shortly after. Since then, you constantly scrubbed blood from clothes, slept on the ground, and ate whatever game Pearson could find for the stew. Many girls you knew would never trade that life for this one, but you had a family to return to, even if they weren't the most conventional. And amidst it all, you'd found something you didn't think possible for you. 

You were drawn to Arthur Morgan instantly. The little things spoke volumes for you—how he checked on you in passing, the moments spent playing dominos together, and his overall politeness towards you. The bar was in hell, but he treated you so differently than any man ever had. Arthur's dumb cowboy act didn't fool you for a second, and you were captivated by him.

After one too many inadvertent shoulder grazes and incidental hand touches, the chemistry between you had become undeniable. Following a game of dominos he let you win, the stocky man asked you to take a walk with him. You weren't too far away from camp before you found yourself pressed against a tree by him in a heated kiss. So many thoughts swirled around your head. You were in the middle of nowhere; it was pitch black, and you were being hunted by the law, yet there against that tree was the safest you'd felt in a long time. 

Then, on another fateful night, you were alone with him at the campfire while everybody else had settled down. A sly smirk crossed his face, and he scooted closer to you, grabbing and kissing your hand. You giggled, maintaining eye contact as he kissed up your arm, gradually, a low groan escaping him. One thing led to another, and he guided you into his tent. You let him have you, and you, him. 

It was then, when you were on the brink of your climax, half-lidded eyes staring upward into his, that you finally understood what people meant by lovemaking. When it was all over, you got up to leave out of habit, but he drew you back into his arms and asked you to stay.

Since then, you've been his girl, and he made sure everybody knew, always kissing you before he left for a job, settling you into his lap at the poker table, or sneaking you away from your chores to spend time with him. You saw each other for what you were, not the labels that had been applied to you. And you loved him so much.

For the first time in a long time, your life was good. Well, mostly, except you hadn't quite mastered the life of navigating Ms. Grimshaw. Over the almost year you'd known her, she was rarely nice to you. She seemed more tame when Arthur was around, but he wasn't today.

By noon, you had gotten sick of hearing her voice, and she seemed more ornery than usual. The nagging was constant: do this, don't do that, do this faster, do this slower. You wished she'd shut the hell up and leave you alone. Just when you thought it couldn't get any worse, you saw her speed-walking towards you.

You were sitting, about to light a cigarette, when she approached, red-faced, huffing, and talking fast, "There you are," she started, putting a finger in your face. "Sitting around like always. I have had it with you!" You stood quickly out of instinct and opened your mouth to speak, but she cut you off. "You're useless around here, so why don't you go into town and start selling yourself again. At least then you'd finally be carrying your weight!" 

Her words stung like branding, making your heart race and your eyes sting. The few people left at camp had gone quiet. Mary-Beth looked on nervously while Karen was glaring at the older woman. Your heart pounded in your ears, and you spoke faster than your brain could process.

"All you're good for is being an ugly, hateful bitch." As soon as the words left your mouth, she swung on you. It was a backhanded slap that stung and broke the barrier, holding back your tears. You recoiled, holding your stringing face.

"Know your place, girl, before you end up somewhere worse than on your back. Now get!" She pointed towards the edge of camp.

"Screw you," you said, quickly wiping away a falling tear, "I'd rather fuck every man in town before I keep letting myself be treated like this." You stepped up to her, " Want me to leave? Well, I'm goin."

And you did. You collected what little belongings you had into a bag and charged out of camp, eyes forward and your head held high. Tilly and Mary-Beth tried to stop you, but you marched down the dirt path until they couldn't see you anymore.

"Look what you gone and did you old hag," Karen spat, "Oh, just wait til Mr. Morgan gets back. Bet you won't be so high and mighty then." 

Arthur didn't ride in until sunset; he searched for you before even getting off his horse. His face fell confused by your absence, and just as he was about to inquire, Mary-Beth and Tilly approached. He knew instantly that something was wrong.

"What, what is it?" His eyes searched theirs. They looked at each other, silently debating who'd break the news to him. It was Tilly who stepped forward, putting a calming hand on Arthur's arm. She talked low and cautious, "Arthur, she—her and Ms. Grimshaw—they—" She was cut off by Karen and Ms. Grimshaw beelining towards them.

Karen's voice boomed, speech slurred. "Go ahead, tell 'em." She waved her beer-clutching hand between Arthur and Ms. Grimshaw, defiantly meeting Susan's gaze before tearing her eyes away to meet Arthur's. "That wench Grimshaw smacked her across the face and ran her out!"

Clenching his fist involuntarily, he leaned into Karen, talking low and steady. "The hell are you talking 'bout?" His chest was rising and falling quickly now.

Ms. Grimshaw stood resolute and waved him off. "This doesn't concern you, Mr. Morgan. This is my camp, and these are my girls and my rules," she finished, arms crossed, staring at Arthur.

Stepping close, he imposed his broad figure on Ms. Grimshaw, flashing a smile that was anything but inviting. He took on a tone he rarely used with the women.

"Oh, Susan, that's where me and you disagree. This may very well be your camp, and you can make up all the rules you want, but she's my girl." His face had straightened into a scowl by the time he finished.

"Well, I'll—" she began incredulously, hands still on her hips, but Arthur threw up a halting finger.

"Look, Ms. Grimshaw, I respect how you run this camp, but that girl, she's off limits. Now, I'm gonna find her and bring her back, and you can raise all the hell you want, but if you lay a finger on her again—" 

"Arthur..." Tilly cut in warningly. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned away, ending his conversation with Susan. "Where'd she go?" he asked no one and everyone at the same time, speed walking to his horse.

"She took off down the road," Mary-Beth called out, but his horse was already kicking up dirt. Riding as fast as he could, he reached the nearest town at record speed. He hitched the horse outside the train station, forcing the doors open with his shoulder. The place went quiet, everybody focusing on the sudden disturbance. Arthur ignored the looks he was getting, scanning faces for yours. Spotting you took no time, and you stood as soon as you recognized him. He rushed to you, taking your hands in his; concern riddled his face— a rare sight. Guilt washed over you as you looked up into his eyes; you opened your mouth to speak, but he started before you.

"You alright?" he asked, looking you up and down. Dirt had stained the hem of your skirt, and your eyes were tired; his frown grew as he looked you over. You wrapped your arms around him, pressing your head to his chest and nodding.

"Wasn't gonna go, just needed to get away for a while," you murmured into his chest. Rubbing your back soothingly, he exhaled with soft, relieved laughter. One arm still around you, he gently tilted your head to meet his gaze with his free one.

"Don't you go walking out on us. Least without tellin' me first."

You agreed with a quick bob of your head, and he pulled your chin in towards his, kissing you on the mouth. He withdrew and gestured to the bench you'd risen from earlier; you both sat. Arthur wrapped a big arm around you, and you buried your face into his shoulder.

"That woman hates me," you grumbled with a pout. Arthur squeezed you closer, and a faint grin formed on his lips.

"Nah, she never liked any girl I brought around. Give her more time." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "It's all outta love, I think," he concluded. You huffed at that, disbelieving.

"She got a funny way of showing it."

"Sure," he chuckled again. He sat for another minute before gently nudging you off his shoulder. Grabbing your bag and standing, he asked, "So you gonna come back with me?"

You tried to sulk but couldn't when he was standing there waiting patiently with his hand out. You finally relented. 

"Fine, but I ain't just gonna take it next time," you declared, taking his hand. A big smile stretched across his face. 

"You ain't gotta do nothing you don't wanna. If any of those fools have a problem with it, send 'em to me." You made your way out of the train station, hand in hand. You paused, gazing at him with a quirked eyebrow.

"I can handle myself just fine, Arthur Morgan." Another chuckle built up in him as he threw your bag on the horse. He turned to kiss the top of your head before grabbing you by the waist and lifting you up on the horse.

"I know, darlin'."

[spongeyspot]

Rules

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Requests are [Closed]!

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PLEASE READ THESE RULES VERY CAREFULLY BEFORE REQUESTING ANYTHING!

I WRITE 18+ CONTENT! THIS BLOG IS 18+ ONLY! MINORS DNI!

🧽Characters I write for🧽

Red Dead Redemption

Arthur Morgan

John Marston

Lenny Summers

Dutch Van Der Linde

Charles Smith

Hosea Matthews

Javier Escuella

Kieran Duffy

Abigail Roberts

Sadie Adler

(I will write for almost anyone; just ask! These are just the characters I’m most comfortable with.)

🧽Characters I DON’T ALWAYS write for🧽

Micah Bell

Note: Certain ooc scenarios with certain characters I probably won’t write, and its really up to my discretion of what I’m comfortable writing. You can ask for whatever you want, but if I don’t feel comfortable, I probably won’t do it.

🧽Forbidden themes🧽

As a writer on tumblr, there are certain things that I just can’t tolerate, and they read as such.

ABSOLUTELY NOT:

Pedophilia

Age-play

Scat or Watersports

Vomit play.. whatever that is called.

basically any bodily fluids besides male or female ejaculation

Incest (Excludes Step-cest)

Race Play

Necrophilia

Ass Play (Fisting, Eating, etc.) (excluding Anal)

Anything in this list that is asked for will not be written. Your request will be ignored and deleted.

Note: If something that isn't listed is asked for, and I'm uncomfortable with the theme, I will reserve my right to refuse that prompt and add that theme to the list.

🧽Welcome Themes🧽

Character x Character (but only if the reader is also involved)

BDSM

A/B/O

Dark themes

Angst

Character Death

Daddy/Sir

Mommy/Ma'am

Blood Play

Step-cest

Corruption

Lactation

Age Difference (Characters will always be of legal age [18+])

Con Noncon

Noncon

Dubcon

Praise

Pet Names

Impact Play (Ex: Spanking, Slapping, etc. [Consensual])

Breath Play

Knife Play

Squirting

Anal

Threesomes + Moresomes

(mostly anything else that isn’t listed is welcome, but please check the restricted criteria before asking!)

Note: I tend to write more toward afab/fem presenting. But i also write gn or amab/masc. If you don’t specify which you prefer, I’ll probably just write afab because thats what I’m most comfortable with.

If you want your prompt to be a different gender/orientation please specify so I know!

🧽Other themes (SFW)🧽

Pregnancy (Can be NSFW)

Comfort

Platonic Fluff

General Fluff

Sibling/parent themes (angst or fluff, NEVER nsfw. [See restrictions])

🧽DNI🧽

Do not interact with this blog if you qualify as any of the following:

Minor

Pedophile

Racist

Homophobic

Transphobic

Ageless or Blank blog

This is a drama-free, safe environment, and I intend to keep it that way.

Thank you!

[twola]

Sorta got carried away with the prompt list…(I must be ovulating because DAMN the pregnancy prompts got me going)

But #161, 154,151,140,125- where the reader is preggo and miserable walking around camp so the gangs giving out ideas (sexy time) and Arthur’s like ;) then later on the reader is like ya know what get over here.

Do with it what you will.

You do the best with anything you type!

Xoxo

Oh - trust me, I am into this.

I'm also eight months pregnant myself so I am SUPER into this. Am I projecting something here? Perhaps…

Pain Relief

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI, Pregnancy Sex, Breeding Kink

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

You are very over it at this point. Really. Very over it. It’s a struggle to get yourself out of the cot that you and Arthur share. 

The morning sun beats down on the worn canvas of your shared tent, and you know it's by some divine providence that Miss Grimshaw hasn’t summoned you to work yet. Or maybe it was Arthur snapping at her when he saw you struggling to carry a basket of laundry.

That must be it.

But a laze you are not - even now, when your swollen stomach makes any kind of movement difficult - when your sleep is nearly non-existent and the pains and swelling and overall discomfort are driving you crazy.

Pushing yourself up, you huff, annoyed that seven months ago you were chasing down bounty hunters on horseback and now getting up out of a cot makes you lose your breath. 

God, this was terrible. Finally getting around to standing up, you glance at yourself in the small mirror Arthur uses for shaving. Your chemise stretched taught over the swell of your belly. The dark circles under your eyes from lack of quality sleep. Sighing, you run your fingers through your long hair to tame it, or at least attempt to. After fighting with the fabric of your dress to cover your frame, you shove your feet into your boots and breathe out heavily as you sit back on the cot to tie the laces. God damn everything is a struggle with how swollen your belly is.

By the time you make it out of the tent, the midmorning sun beats down, and you shield your eyes for a moment before you feel a small tug on your skirts. You look down to see Jack give you a toothy grin, one small hand fisting the cotton of your skirt and the other clutching the most recent toy Charles had carved for him.

“Auntie, you’re so big! You look ready to pop." Jack pipes up excitedly.

You laugh as you hear a cluck of disapproval as Abigail follows in her son’s footsteps, “Jack - that’s very rude of ya - shouldn’t make comments about ladies like that.”

“It’s alright, Abigail,” You smile at her as she frowns down at the boy, “I do feel ready to pop.”

“Y’look like the baby’s dropped… ain’t long now.” Abigail’s eyes trail down to your belly as she shoos Jack off to play elsewhere.

“Too long in my opinion.” You roll your eyes and Abigail chuckles in return.

“Ladies!”

Susan Grimshaw’s voice cuts through the peace of the morning. Abigail’s gaze looks past you to where the sharp disappointment came from, and you frown as you hear footsteps stomp ever closer before the camp matriarch pushes into your view.

“There’s laundry to be done,” Susan eyes you up and down, “You can certainly sit and still do the washing. C’mon, get to it.”

She waves her hands at you dismissively, Abigail rolls her eyes and starts to head over toward where the other women have started doing the day’s wash.

You scowl at Grimshaw’s retreating figure, rubbing your aching lower back as you too make your way over to the edge of the camp, where the large tub is filled with soapy water and the pile of men’s shirts seems to be overflowing. You sigh tiredly, finding the stool 

Mary-Beth places her hand on your back slightly over your own, massaging gently as you sigh in a moment of temporary relief. 

"Try walking, I hear it helps. Tilly and I will cover for you for a few minutes.”

You thank her quietly and slowly make your way to the woodline of camp, taking a few minutes to walk back and forth before giving up and sitting down on the stool, letting out a long, labored breath as you wince in pain.

“Y’know….”

You open one of your eyes to see Karen across the tub, a mischievous look on her face. Cocking your eyebrow, you wait for her to continue.

Karen smirks, "You should try having sex."

Well - volume was never her strong suit. Across the camp, the men’s conversation falls silent as several pairs of eyes glance at you.

You flush from your hairline to your chest as you dunk a shirt into the tub, trying to ignore the stares you know you're getting as Karen merely chuckles.

“Aye, Arthur- sounds like you're needed elsewhere.” Javier chuckles and you're mortified.

You spare the quickest glance up in his direction, the man who got you into this mess in the first place. You can see Arthur’s smug grin from under the rim of his hat.

-

You silently scrub at the rest of the laundry load, handing shirts to Tilly for her to wring out and hang on the line.

“Don’t let her get to you, you know how Karen is. Tilly places a hand on your shoulder and squeezes gently to assure you before returning to the laundry. You sigh, taking another shirt and dunking it into the water.

A pair of boots land in your vision before a hand reaches down toward you. You look up to see Arthur ready to pull you up to stand, a gentle smile on his face.

“C’mon now sweetheart.” 

You sigh and take his hand, secretly grateful for the assistance to stand up. He steadies you before pulling your hand to his lips and pressing them to your knuckles.

“How’s about you lay down for a little.” He offers, holding his arm out to you as you wind your own around it, letting him walk you slowly to the tent, holding back the canvas for you to step inside. 

You let out a long breath, bracing your lower back with both hands for a moment before sighing. There was just no getting comfortable at this point.

“C’mere, let me help you.”

Arthur stoops down on one knee and loosens your bootlaces enough that he can pull them from your feet one by one. You let a breath out once both boots are off, unable to deny it felt good to get your swollen feet out of them.

“Better?” He looks up at you for a moment and you nod, your hand moving from his shoulder that you were balancing on to your lower back again, idly rubbing at near-constant ache that has settled there. 

Arthur stands up and places a kiss to your forehead before turning around and taking his hat off, placing it on the small table where he kept his shaving kit.

Karen’s suggestion echoes in your mind as you watch him run his fingers through his short hair absentmindedly.

You roll your palm over your distended abdomen, frowning.

“You don’t have to lie and tell me you want me.” Your voice cuts through the silence and Arthur swings around to look at you, puzzled.

“Darlin’, it ain’t a lie. It’s never a lie.” He responds softly, taking a step closer to you.

“Really? Lookin’ like this… it does something for you?”

Arthur blushes before looking down at his boots. “Well, I… uh... Yes?”

You quirk your eyebrow, placing your hands on your hips, “I’m a goddamn watermelon-”

“You’re pregnant-”

“Literally swollen up like a damn cow-”

“C’mon now darlin’-”

And damn, if you can’t hold back the tears from collecting on your eyelashes as you spin away from him.

His broad arms wrap around your swollen waist, pulling you back half a step and against his large frame. One hand spreads wide over your belly as you feel him press his lips to the top of your head.

“I… ain’t the woman you was chasin’ after anymore.” You admit with a cracking voice, the tears spilling down your cheeks as your hand falls upon his over your belly, “Who knows when I’ll be able to ride or shoot or do anythin’ like that again.”

His lips move from the top of your head down to your earlobe, where he nips gently. Arthur’s low voice rumbles in your ear, causing a delightful shiver down your spine.

“Whole world knows you’re mine -” He pulls you another half backward and you gasp as you feel the long, hard line of him against your rear, “Christ, you’re the most beautiful thing alive, all big with my child.”

“A-Arthur - ” You whine as one of his hands cups a swollen breast through your blouse.

“Have half a mind to keep you like this.” Arthur continues, his other hand moving downward to slide between your legs and the needy sound that escapes your throat is loud enough to make him shush you as he presses at your core through layers of cotton.

Your hands fly to grasp his forearm as he gently gropes at your breast, and you turn your head up toward his and he greedily pushes his lips upon your own, tongue pressing inside your mouth as you moan into his.

You have no idea how long it is you spend wrapped up in his arms - your hips pressing back into his, his hands groping at your breasts and cunt, your knees shaking as you pant into his mouth. 

Those damned hands of this, they keep you under his spell as somehow, he unlaces your skirts and they fall to the ground in a heap around your ankles. He spins you around in his embrace, and his lips fly to your neck as he opens the buttons of your blouse. You let him pull the sleeves down your arm, leaving you in just an old cotton chemise stretched tight over your belly. The seam of your bloomers, soaked, chafes delightfully against your cunt.

It’s only another moment before he’s shrugging your chemise down over your shoulders to free your breasts.

“What’s gonna be the best for you?” Arthur whispers into your ear, his warm, somewhat rough palm engulfing your breast, squeezing it gently.

Your head tips backward as you lean against him, a high and flighty moan bubbling up from your chest. “On- on my side-”

Your chemise flutters to the floor, along with your bloomers, his hands pushing the cotton down of your body.

“Go on, get in the cot and get comfortable.” Arthur nips at your ear again and gives a playful swat to your rear.

You nod, eyes falling from his face to his hands as he pulls his suspenders down his arms and begins unbuttoning his work shirt. You back up two steps to the cot, slowly sitting down upon it, your gaze refusing to leave him as he strips himself down.

With the speed of a man on a mission, he rids himself of his boots and the rest of his clothing and stalks the few steps to the cot.  You turn yourself over to lay in it, burdened by your stomach as you let out a long breath as you finally settle down on your side, facing the wagon that makes up the side of the tent.

Arthur slides into the small cot next to you, that warm, big hand finding its way to your belly as he situates himself behind you, pressing all six feet of his frame against you, his body hard, hot, and wanting.

“You tell me what feels good, darlin’.” He mouths against your neck as his hand retracts behind your hip to stroke his cock.

You moan lowly and press your hips back against him, you can feel his smile on your skin as he guides himself to your entrance. The blunt head of his cock presses into the rim of your cunt, and his hand moves to sling your thigh back over his, opening you to him more.

“Mm, that feels good.” Your voice strains as he slides himself deeper into you, a deep, satisfied rumble coming from his chest when his hips press fully against your rear, fully sheathed in your cunt.

His arm swings across your hips, pulling your thigh backward even more as he languidly rolls himself into you. His fingers find that small bundle of nerves as he nibbles on your earlobe.

You mewl aloud at the stimulation, panting as he continues to press himself into you. His low, rough voice whispers in your ear, vacillating from sweet nothings to filthy utterances. The slide of his cock into your cunt is the constant, grounding thing as his fingers that rub at your clit speed up and slow down.

“A-Arthur-” you pitifully whine, gasping as you huddle toward that precipice. He grunts into your ear as he slightly picks up the speed of his hips rolling into yours, still gentle. He pinches at that nub and you’re gone, your legs shaking and hips seizing as you meek through your release, your slick glossing his cock and dripping from your body, even with him filling you.

“Tha’s my girl…” Arthur slurs as his hand moves up to cup at your lower belly, “Christ, I ain't ever gonna be able to stop fillin’ you-”

His murmurs fade into a groan as he presses forward one final time, burying himself deeply in your warmth as he shudders his release into you.

You sigh in contentment at the feeling, warmth blooming from your joined hips. His lips touch the back of your neck as his large hand rubs gently at your hip as he catches his breath.

Arthur gently pulls out, you gasp slightly at the feelings of the loss of his flesh and the dripping of his warm spend from your body. He shushes you with a kiss over your jaw, rubbing circles over your swollen belly.

“Feelin’ any better?”

Your hand covers his over your belly as you lean back fully into his embrace.

“Much better.”

[hihomeghere]

Burning Love | John Marston/Reader

Word Count : 3k Summary : Set in the epilogue of RDR2. You stumble upon John in Blackwater after being alone for years. When he invites you to visit Beecher's Hope, will you be able to fight feelings that have been building ever since you were kids? (No Abigail and Jack, love them but you aren't in this episode) Warnings : Smut, cursing, unprotected piv, hickeys, oral reader receiving, just dirty idiots in love, reader has bio female parts

“John?” The word fell out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. Here you were in Blackwater, a good six or seven years since that no good river boat business, and there in front of you was John Marston.

At least, he looked like him. His head snapped towards you, his dark eyes meeting yours. You swore your heart stopped, you raised your hand to cover it before sliding off of your horse.

“Y/n?” He sounded breathless, a small smile growing on his face as you started running towards him. You threw yourself into his arms, he laughed, spinning you around. “Holy shit it is you.” He said as your feet touched the ground. You looked up at his scarred face, cupping his cheek with your hand.

“John Marston.” You chuckled, unable to stop the grin spreading on your face. Tears welled up in your eyes which you quickly wiped away. God it had been years, ever since… well it had been years.

“It’s good to see you.” You chuckled lightly, punching his shoulder.

“It sure is good to see you, too. What the hell are you doing in Blackwater?”

“Well I don’t rightly know.” You shrugged, shaking your head. “I go wherever the wind takes me and it took me to Blackwater.” You said looking around the dusty street. He grinned, shaking his head slightly. His hair was shorter than before, light stubble covering his face. 

“Well if you don’t have anywhere else to go, would you like to come see Beecher's Hope?” He said with a nervous smile on his face.

“What’s Beecher's Hope?” You asked, crossing your arms.

“It's my place, somehow.” He laughed looking down at his boots.

“John Marston, homeowner?” You laughed, “Course I do!” He looked up at you, your stomach filling with butterflies as that boyish grin crossed his features.

“Well come on then!” He said, walking over to his horse. You followed him out of town, riding close behind him. It didn’t take you very long to make it to Beecher’s Hope. Well he was certainly hopeful to call it his home. It was barely a shack on a good piece of land, that was the best way you could describe it.

“Now I know it don’t look like much now.” He said, hitching up his horse.

“You’d be right.” You teased doing the same. 

“Now who’s there?” A voice called from inside the shack. Was that?

“It’s just me, Uncle.” John called, rolling his eyes. Uncle?

“Uncle! You get your lazy ass out of that shack right now!” You called jogging over to the ‘front door’

“Y/n? Well I’ll be!” Uncle said getting up from inside. You pulled him into a hug, glad to see the old man still kicking.

“Now this is how I should be treated, John, with respect.” Uncle said as he patted your back.

“She just called you a lazy ass!” John groaned.

“What are you doing hanging around this ruffian?” You teased, pulling away from Uncle’s embrace.

“Begged for my help, how could I say no?” Uncle explained, placing a hand over his heart.

“Bullshit! I never asked you for nothing old man.” John scoffed, shaking his head.

“Alright alright, I’m starving from my ride. You got anything I could cook up for us, John?” You asked, setting your hands on your hips. 

“Barely, we could probably hunt down a rabbit or two for dinner.” He sighed.

“Lead the way, cowboy.” You said walking back over to your horse. 

A rabbit or two turned into four between the two of you. Everything turned into a competition, it had been like that since you were kids. Let’s say Uncle wasn’t upset by your catch. You cooked up a nice stew for the boys before settling down for the night by the campfire. It all seemed too good to be true, being back with Uncle and John. You couldn’t lie that your heart skipped a beat every time you caught his eye. The alcohol definitely wasn’t helping with that. 

“It seems like yesterday we were sitting around a campfire just like this, listening to Javier play the guitar. Or having Hosea give us reading lessons.” You sighed bringing your bottle to your lips.

“Yeah, you were such a tattle tale.” John teased, the glow of the fire illuminating his face, casting dark shadows along his scars.

“Was not!” You scoffed, knocking back your drink. He laughed, loud and hearty. Your heart beat wildly in your chest, a blush settling on your cheeks. 

“Yes you were! Would always get me in trouble when I’d sneak off to the horses.” He shook his head a smile tugging on his lips

“That’s because Boadicea was gonna kick your head in one day, I was only looking out for you.” You snorted, nodding to yourself.

“She loved me.”

“You kidding?” You barked out a laugh, “She used to nip at you so hard you’d have teeth marks for weeks!”

“Well not everyone can be princess Van Der Linde.” He said, rolling his eyes.

“You were Dutch’s favorite long before I came around Martson.” You quipped, the alcohol easing the pain of past gang members. You both sat in silence, the crackle from the fire and far off yips from the coyotes the only sound, along with Uncle’s snoring.  

“Shit,” John sighed, “we got into a heap of trouble back then.” He grinned, bringing his bottle to his lips.

“Still do.” You added, leaning over to bump his elbow with your own.

“Still do.” He repeated, a small smile on his face. He looked at you from under the brim of his hat. You felt your face heat up under his gaze, instead of the growing fire.

“Why’d you even buy this land in the first place?” You asked, breaking eye contact as you looked around your makeshift campsite. The shack behind John, if you could even call it that, almost falling apart as Uncle slept. He sighed, staring into the cracking embers.

“Felt like I had something to prove, I guess.” He shrugged, “I never was very smart. Never had anything to my name. I had you at one point and screwed that up too.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“John,” You started, your eyes flickering up from the fire. A blush settling on your cheeks. You two had been sweet on each other before, honestly you had never stopped being sweet on him. But he wasn’t ready for a real relationship, and you deserved better than being drug along for nothing. 

“No,” He stopped you, his hand held up between you two. “You were the only thing that was good in my life and I pissed it away.”

“We were young, and for some reason I’m still following your sorry ass around.” You said, shaking your head. Refusing to meet his eye, you leaned forward with your hands resting on your knees. “You ain’t got nothing to prove, you’re a good man John Marston.” You said sparing him a glance. A soft smile graced his lips before he shook his head.

“Guess you ain’t too bad either, y/n.”

“Well that was never in question.” You said bringing the bottle back up to your lips, John let out a low chuckle. You both stared at the fire, it was easier than looking at each other.

“Will you-“ John started, his lip in between his teeth, “Will you stay with us here?” You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. You looked up, pretending to mull it over.

“Until a better offer comes along.” You shrugged, laughing as John shoved your shoulder.

“Don’t have to be such a smartass.”

“Oh I think I do.” You grinned, raising your bottle. He rolled his eyes, a playful grin on his face. “You’re smiling.”

“Am not.” He said turning away. You shook your head, staring down at the crackling fire. 

“What did you do for all those years, were you alone?” You asked, afraid of his answer. Although you couldn’t blame him if he hadn’t been, many nights you wished you had someone warming your bed, although it was always John you were dreaming of.

“Bounced around, ranch to ranch, just-“ he let out a long sigh, “Just trying to stay out of trouble.” You nodded looking up at him.“What about you?” He said, crossing his arms.

“Nothing really, hung low for a while, a year or two.” You shook your head, you honestly couldn’t remember what it was like in the early days. You had never been on your own before then, not that you could remember at least. “It was hard for a long time, but I had good teachers.” You smiled softly, feeling more melancholy the more you spoke. “Spent some of my time trying to make an honest living but you know how that goes.” You chuckled while taking a long drink from your bottle. 

“You can say that again.” John chuckled, “Did you have any fellas in that time?” He asked, shifting his eyes from the fire to yours. You tried hiding your smirk.

“Nah, none that piqued my interest.” You smirked, unable to keep it at bay.

“Well that’s good to hear.” He chuckled to himself, taking a drink.

“And why is that?” You questioned, cocking your head to the side. Could he feel the same about you? He went silent, lowering his head so his face was covered by the brim of his hat. He let out a dry cough, clearing his throat.

“Oh, well- I just mean-“ He sighed, you giggled softly looking up at him.

“John-“

“I’m a damn fool,” He chuckled, shaking his head, “I finally got you back and I’m too chicken shit to do anything about it.” He said, running a hand down his face. Your heart started to beat faster at his small confession. You set your bottle down, walking over to him. His wide eyes met yours as you sat yourself down on his lap.

“Good thing I ain’t.” You said taking his hat off and setting it to the side. You leaned forward, rubbing your nose against his. Your breaths intermingled as you looked into his eyes. He took the initiative, leaning forward and capturing your lips with his own. His arms snaked around your waist as he pulled you closer, your clothed core rubbing against his crotch. You felt a moan rumble in his chest before it slipped out his lips. You smirked, your tongue swiping across his lower lip. He eagerly opened his mouth, his own tongue entering your mouth. He tasted like smoke and whisky, an intoxicating combination.

“Darlin, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.” He mumbled against your lips, before moving to kiss along your jaw. 

“I know John, god I’ve wanted you for so long.” You breathed, running your fingers through his dark hair. He latched onto your throat, sucking a spot that would definitely bruise. You let out a soft moan, gripping his hair tightly. He thrust his hips upwards against your clothed cunt, causing a higher pitched moan to leave your mouth.

“Shh, don’t want Uncle to hear us.” John said softly, his hands slipping under the hem of your shirt, he rubbed his thumb against your stomach. His movements shot straight to your core. You bit your lip to stop a whine, as you rubbed yourself against his growing bulge.

“Fucking take me and stop teasing.” You growled pulling him up to kiss him. He smirked against your lips, slipping his hands under your ass as he lifted you up in his arms. He walked you over to his tent, setting you down on his bedroll. You made quick work with the buttons on your shirt, working them through the eyelets. You pulled your arms out of your shirt, removing your cotton undershirt. You sneaked a peek at John, who was pushing his pants down. Your eyes raked over his body, his union suit leaving little to the imagination. You pulled off your pants, left only in your bloomers. 

“Fuck darlin.” John whispered his hands gripping your thighs as he pulled you closer to him. He dipped his head to your breast, taking your nipple in his mouth. His other hand kneaded your breast. 

You laid your head back on the bedroll, a soft gasp exiting your mouth. He sat up, sinking his fingers into your bloomers before pulling them down. His finger dipped into your wet folds.

“Mmm,” You moaned, biting down on your lip. He smirked again, pushing his index finger into your warm heat. He pumped it in and out, his eyes never leaving your face as you fought the urge to moan. His thumb rubbed against your clit, making small circles on your nub. He added his middle finger, curling it inside of you. Your eyes rolled back into your head and the coil inside you tightened. Your nails dug into his arm, as your pussy clenched around his fingers. That familiar wave of bliss washing over you.

“Yeah that's right sweetheart.” John cooed, still pumping his fingers in and out of you. 

“John-“ You breathed pulling him closer, he removed his fingers sucking them clean.

“Yeah sweetheart?” He said as he unbuttoned his union suit. Pulling his arms out, as he pushed it down his thighs. Your eyes raked over his body, scars from bullet wounds and cuts littered his body. Your mouth watered at the sight as your gaze followed the patch of hair from his chest down to his pelvis. 

“Fuck me.” You huffed, propping yourself up on your elbow as your legs fell open.

“Yes ma’am.” He smirked, taking his thick cock in his hand. Pumping it twice before nosing his dick to your opening. He pushed himself into you slowly, a groan working its way out of his chest as he hung his head. “God damn you’re tight.” He hissed, his hands gripping your hips with a vice like grip as he slowly pushed his hips forward. 

“John.” You whined, gripping his forearms as he seated himself in you fully. You had never been so full in your life, he was so deep you swore his tip was kissing your cervix.

“I know darlin-“ He rasped, slowly pulling his hips back before slamming back into you. Your breath knocked out of your chest as he picked up the pace.

“Ah- oh John!” You yelped before his hand covered your mouth. He moved your leg to sit on top of his hips and he leaned forward, resting his forearms next to your head.

“Feel good?” He grunted, squeezing his eyes close as he let out a hissed breath. 

“Fuck- feels so good.” You whispered, tears starting to well up in your eyes. His hips met yours with every thrust, the sound of slapping skin filling the small tent. He grabbed one of your thighs, lifting it up onto his shoulder. You swore you saw stars at the new position. It had been so long since anyone had had you like this, and John was playing your body like a fucking fiddle. Every thrust punched the air out of your lungs as somehow he went deeper. 

“Shit darlin-“ He huffed, his hot breath on your ear as he bent over you, “Squeezing me so good.” He groaned, nipping at your ear.

“Oh- John I-“ You cried, tears slipping down your cheeks. Your toes were curling as the pressure built inside your stomach. 

“You close honey? You gonna come?” He cooed, kissing your neck, one of his hands moved down your body to your already sensitive bud. He flicked it once, maybe twice before your orgasm came crashing down. You mewled, trying to stay quiet as John wiped away your tears.

“That’s it, that’s it.” He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as he strained his neck up. “Where do you want it?” He said as he sat up, still rutting his cock in and out of you.

“Inside.” You breathed, wrapping your legs around his hips as you pulled him closer.

“Oh- darlin I-“ He let out a low moan as he spilled inside of you, his hips twitching as he pumped his cum inside your heat . You let out a small sigh, letting your body go limp under him. He cradled your head in his hand, kissing you softly as he pulled his cock out of you. He sighed against your lips before laying down beside you. Pulling a blanket over both of your bodies. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you against him.

“I’m not letting you go this time.” He whispered against the shell of your ear. 

“Good.” You said holding his arm against you, as you drifted off feeling his cum trickle down your thighs.

-

“Jesus what is that mark on your neck?” Uncle said his hand resting on his hip as you blushed from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

“Nothing.” you said quickly, covering your neck with your hand.

“Good lord is that a hickey!” Uncle said recoiling at the sight, “Now who the hell would give you…” He trailed off his gaze shifting to John who was drinking his coffee. 

“What?” John said, lowering the mug, a smug smile plastered on his face.

“Disgusting.” Uncle cringed walking away from the both of you back to the shack. 

“Just had to mark me up, now didn’t you?” You asked, crossing your arms as you looked at John. He smirked shaking his head as he walked over to you 

“You’re mine, everyone should know it.” He shrugged, pulling you into a searing kiss. 

Maybe you could deal with a mark or two. 

[outlawruben]

How I think rdr2 characters respond to praise/compliments!

(They are going to sound kinda dumb but I promise I actually put effort into these.)

This may be interpreted as Cannon x Reader or Cannon x your ship!

These are totally fluffy and definitely SFW Jsyk

Abigail Marston - she probably would scoff and wave her hands/playfully slap them, or simply say thank you

Arthur Morgan - turn bright red and hot under the brim of his hat, and responds to them with a half mumbled: “it’s really nothing..” and then walk away awkwardly. (He’s seen with a smile on his face for the rest of the day) (he’s gonna write a new journal entry abt this)

Bill Williamson - scoffs and tells them to “shut up” but loves the compliment. (He always seems to think he’s being picked on)

Charles Smith - goes all quiet for a beat after the compliment and then gives them a sincere “thank you” he smiles at them for the rest of the day.

Dutch Van Der Linde- A simple: “Thank you M’dear.” However, they’ve inflated his ego even more which Dutch appreciates, and goes to seek their company more.

Hosea Matthews - surprised he was sought after to receive a compliment, depending on what it is, he will openly appreciate it, and mean it.

Jack Marston - “Thank you! :D” his momma taught him manners.

Javier Escuella- He responds with a small chuckle and a “thank you” they are chill now/ they’ve leveled up in Javier liking them.

John Marston- Not expecting it at first but then he melts into a dumb grin and starts avoiding eye contact as he says “thank you.”

Josiah Trelawny- “why thank you!” With a smile. He really appreciates compliments.

Karen Jones- “Ain’t you sweet?” She smirks at them. And that’s basically it.

Kieran Duffy- definitely not expecting a compliment of any kind. “O-oh- thank you..” he smiles kindly and fidgets.

Lenny Summers- grins widely and gives a “thank you!” His mind seems to wander back to the interaction for the rest of the day

Leopold Strauss- Kind of confused but shares his small gratitudes anyway

Mary-Beth Gaskill - “Oh, thank you..” she idly plays with her hair as she talks with them.

Micah Bell - At the very least he’ll scoff, and if he does say anything it’s along the lines of: “Christ, why you so soft?” But he’s blushing nonetheless.

Molly O’Shea- She giggles sweetly and blushes, sharing her gratitudes, and when she sees them for the rest of the day she smiles at them kindly. (She’s happy someone is paying attention to her, giving her a compliment even)

Reverend, Orville Swanson- if not in a drunken stupor, he says his thanks with a grateful smile.

Sadie Adler- grins at them ear to ear with a “thanks..” and soft blush forming on her cheeks

Sean MacGuire- “I din’ know ye’ loved me or something.” He teases them, grinning dumbly.

Simon Pearson- genuinely appreciates it, his big smile misshaping his mustache

Susan Grimshaw- “why thank you darlin’ “ she smiles at them. Not really expecting a compliment but she’s always appreciative of all affection.

Tilly Jackson- “Thank you!” She says kindly full of gratitude and love. (It means the world to her)

Uncle - he didn’t hear it

[xyziiix]

•𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝙰 𝚆𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙽• VIII

•Pairing: Mid-honour!Arthur Morgan X Fem!Reader•

•Shit Summary: The gang hadn't been in Horseshoe all of one week, and already the boys were causing trouble in town•

•warnings: swearing, mentions of violence, SMUT: unprotected p in v, short but sweet fingering, not that graphic (probs is) reader is described as female with female biology and wearing feminine attire, no use of Y/N — and I plan to keep it that way for future chapters — reader can be lifted up? Other than that no detailed descriptions of reader•

•Long but important A/N at the bottom!•

•This is not proof-read as I was too impatient to post•

•series masterlist•

-ˋˏ━━━━∙⋆✫ ✪ ✫⋆∙━━━━ˎˊ-

-ˋˏ━━━━∙⋆✫ ✪ ✫⋆∙━━━━ˎˊ-

-ˋˏ━━━━∙⋆✫ ✪ ✫⋆∙━━━━ˎˊ-

←LatestChapter

This breeze was much more welcome than Colters gale, this one refreshing, more gentle — unlike the sharp, unforgiving winds that’d mercilessly flown through the glacial terrain, it was something you’d be happy to forget.

The day is dunked in warm pinks and orange hues from the setting sun, dusky fading light, the fingers of the trees sharp and black against the horizon. Horseshoe Overlook did have a stunning view, you’d give it that.

Pots and pans clatter near Pearson’s wagon, followed by a rusty voice damning the cookware to hell and back. The nearby fire pits crackle and glisten with heat. The faint scent of pine and smoke tickling your nose, and the quiet chatter of fellow gang members serenades the peaceful atmosphere of camp.

Well, mostly quiet.

Said peacefulness is cruelly interrupted when you hear a bark of your name, the familiarly rigid tone making your shoulders stiffen. And with a schooled, but validly wary, expression, you slowly swivel on your stool to see Miss Grimshaw stomping over to you.

“What do you think you’re doin’?” Susan asks you, in a voice that’s hard, yet somehow shrill enough you worry that nearby glass would shatter.

Your brow lifts, and you stare at her, deadpan, as if it was a trick question. “What’s it look like I’m doin’?” You wave a hand over the heap of clothes on the table in front of you, a needle and thread held in said hand.

“It looks like you’re just starin’ off into space, girl.” She manages to speak so quickly that one might worry her tongue would tie itself into a knot. Should you be so lucky.

You give her a look, one she’s had to see on your face and deal with since you were a delinquent— a cross between a smile and a pout, as if you were just as clueless as her. With an exasperated sigh and a pinch on the bridge of her nose, she regards you with a weary shake of her head. “Those clothes ain’t gonna patch themselves.” The bite in her tone reappears, though you know it’s just for show, as she gestures to the clothes sprawled out in front of you.

“Guess I better get a move on then.” You make a show of gathering a worn shirt, fingers skimming over the fabric until you find the gaping wound in the fabric. The woman huffs, somewhat satisfied, chin jutted up as she strides away from you, probably to scream at someone else who wasn’t breaking their back or chaffing their fingers to her liking.

That same gentle breeze flows through camp, barely moving a few strands of hair away from your face. Bored, you place the shirt back on the scratched table, indents from five finger fillet scarred into the surface. You glance over your shoulder, eyeing the hitching posts where Artax was loosely tethered. Poor horse hadn’t left camp either, he was probably just as restless as you.

Arthur hadn’t been around since early afternoon, something about meeting the boys in Valentine. Meanwhile you were stuck at camp, had been since the gang settled into the charming Overlook.

It wasn’t that you were against doing your share of the work that needed doing, it weren’t like that at all… you’re just more… in your own element when you’re slinging a revolver at your hip, not fumbling with needles and thread or bent over a wash basin to scrub at stubborn stains.

Miss Grimshaw was also aware of that, which is probably why the woman was — not so discreetly — circling the perimeter of camp like a baited shark. You briefly calculate the amount of time it’d take you to reach your mount and surge out of the tree line, but an anticipating Susan would probably tackle you to the ground before that could happen.

The cadence of jingling spurs catches your attention, eyes flickering towards the source. And you’re shocked at what you find.

Arthur was a few feet away from you, deftly angled in a way that made it clear he was trying to sneak past you. He was marred by a thick coating of drying mud, he wouldn’t have been easily recognisable if it weren’t for the subtle, familiar swagger in his posture. He looks tense, frustrated. But you’re more concerned as to why your outlaw looks as though he’s been rolling around with the hogs.

“Arthur,” your voice is unintentionally shrill as you stand up, his lips twist into a tight line, face etched with lines of frustration and streaked with mud. “What the hell happened to you?”

He dismissively waves you off as he beelines towards the wagon, you’re hot on his tail and your needlework is forgotten on the table — Grimshaw be damned. He bats the canopy flaps out of his path upon entering the private space, and you quickly slip in behind him, the warm glow from the oil lamp a contrast from the evening sky outside.

“Bill and his incapability t’keep the bluster outta his mouth, that’s what.” Arthur practically growls, and you watch, dumbstruck, as he yanks his satchel off of his shoulder and drop it onto the side table — flakes of drying mud breaking off of him at every movement.

“That don’t explain why—“ you pause at the crimson that coats his knuckles, barely noticeable under the grime. “You got into a fight?”

“Weren’t me that started it.” He grumbles defensively, his back to you as he removes his hat, giving a half-assed attempt at shaking the dirt off of it before slapping it onto the table next to his satchel, and you cringe at his mud-caked hair.

“Arthur, we ain’t even been in the Heartlands one week,” your rant starts strong and exasperated, your hands perched on your hips and your brows furrowing so tightly together that Arthur resists the urge to smooth it out with his thumb as he turns to face you.

His expression remained unreadable as you continued to chide him, only a handful of your words registering to him as he instead took in your own appearance — his eyes drawn towards your bosom, and the way your hand placement accentuated the swell of your hips. Even when you’re looking at him like you could smack him upside the head, which he wouldn’t put past you, he can’t help but admire your… you.

“Are you even listenin’ to me?”

The snap of your fingers makes him blink back to reality, his brows slowly knitting as exasperation spreads over his chest at your lecturing, causing a lengthy sigh to be pulled from his nose. “I don’t wanna hear it, woman.” He tells you gruffly as he peels his jacket off with a grimace. “Gotta get this shit off’a me.”

“Why didn’t you get a bath at the hotel?”

“Didn’t wanna stick around after that shit-show.”

Your lips pursed as you watched him move around the small space, unsure what to make of the state of him. You’ve seen him in worse conditions, streaked with crimson rather than dirt, reeking of copper and gunpowder rather than the heady scent of earth, but it was still aggravating considering you’d cleaned up earlier just for it to get messed up again…

“You joinin’ me?” Arthur’s voice broke you out of your brief reverie, your brows inching up, searching for clarification, “gonna have t’go wash up by the river, ain’t I?” There’s an edge in his voice, one you can’t quite put your finger on, but the subtle glance he gives you is a hint.

The rest of the scolding you had for him dies on your tongue. Though, you try and feign an air of resignation — like you were doing him a favour, despite the way your heart skips a beat at the prospect of joining him to bathe.

“Fine.”

-ˋˏ━━━━∙⋆✫ ✪ ✫⋆∙━━━━ˎˊ-

The sun had since laid its head, the sky now spilled with ink and navy, dotted with countless stars that flicker over the dark canvas of the night. Tall, douglas fir, serve as an outcrop for the crescent moon in the far distance.

Arthur had opted to wait for the sun to finish setting, because while he’d rather not sit in his own filth and reminder of the fight he’d had, the Dakota river — though being closest water source to camp — wasn’t very secluded. And he wasn’t gonna take any risks.

Though the night served as privacy, and there’d be very little chance of any passers-by at this hour. Plus, if something were to happen, Arthur’s gun laid only a few feet away on the shore, along with the rest of his dirtied clothes, your own a growing pile as you had yet to enter the water.

Arthur was already in hip-deep, eager to scrub away his sins, his back to you as he cupped water, dragging it over his skin to wash away the grime and hints of dried blood — not all of it his own.

The smooth pebbles and stones were cool under your bare feet, though probably not as icy as the waiting water in front of you.

The air is crisp, carrying an earthy odour, perhaps from the river foam, or from plant material decay. There’s also tinge of something salty… but fresh is the most accurate description of your surroundings.

The tender breeze strokes your skin, while is being gradually exposed, your blouse falling into the pile of clothes by your feet. While you undress, your eyes are stuck to your lover like a magnet, taking in the way the pale skin of his broad back — a contrast to the sunburnt, more tanned, skin of his strong arms — seemed to look so smooth in the moonlight… there were a couple thin scabs littered over his shoulder blades, the curve his spine trailing down his vast back, dotted with two dimples at his lower back before the rest of him disappears under the waters surface.

Your chemise joins the heap, followed by your bloomers, the last barriers of clothing removed, bared to the world, to him.

Without further ado, you gingerly step into the lapping water by your feet. You swallow a gasp, your body taken aback by the temperature difference, though you acclimate to it quickly, your arms wrapping around your chest as you wade over to where Arthur was. The water grows deeper the further you go, the current pushing against your legs and thighs, though not strong enough to wash you away.

The closer you near, the more you can take Arthur in. Most of the dried dirt was off of him — save for a streak on his shoulder and neck — droplets of water racing down his forearm as he splashed water onto his chest.

The dark water lapped at your waist now, and you move around him so that you were facing him.

You frown.

Underneath the grime, you can see the aftermath of his fight. There’s an ugly, yellow and violet bruise blossomed over his ribs, another one splotched on his strong jaw, darkening the stubble that grows there.

Arthur seems to notice the worry spurting inside of you, of course he does, and his gaze lifts to meet yours as he scours the muck off of his forearm.

“M’okay, darlin’.” He reassures you, cupping the cold water to start washing the streak off of his neck, head tilted back slightly, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, “should see the other feller.” He adds, his cerulean eyes glued to you. His tone isn’t as curt anymore, his frustration having died down, plus, his appreciation for your concern softens him inside.

You still huff, not entirely convinced when evidence of his injuries was staring right back at you. Arthur’s lip twitches.

“C’mere.” He tells you, voice resonant as he drops his hand from his neck to instead hold both of them out to you, beckoning you with a twitch of his finger.

The water that’d been clinging to Arthur’s hands, callous and firm, rivulet onto your own skin when his palms curl over your sides, trailing down your waist, the curve of your hips… Arthur’s gaze chasing the droplets. So pretty…

Your own hands lay on his broad shoulders, fingers accidentally pressing into one of the thin, shallow, but still tender slices on his skin. He sucks a small breath through his teeth. You notice.

“What’re these from?” You ask, voice quiet, flowing with the gentle sounds of the running river.

“Got tossed through a window at the saloon.”

You lean back, brows jumping up, “what?”

“M’alright,” he repeats with a puff, hands tightening on your waist before sliding down to your hips.

“It ain’t alright,” you argue, your hands pressing against his chest, the wry hair on his sternum tickling your palms. “Dutch said we ain’t supposed to cause trouble—“

“I know what Dutch said, sweetheart.” he sighs, exasperated with you, though he only pulls you closer. He then adds, a vexed plea, “let’s just forget ‘bout it for now, hm?”

He doesn’t let you argue further, tilting his head to nudge your nose with his own, his breath — carrying the scent of cigarettes and the acidic tinge of whiskey — hot against your parted lips. His hands shift on your hips, splayed, coarse fingertips pressing into the meat of your ass as he kisses you.

He tastes of tobacco, as well as the liquor that you could already smell on his breath, his stubble scratching your face as he groans into your mouth, the noise snatched up by your tongue.

It was as though he was trying to devour you, swallow you whole, or perhaps he was just trying to distract you from giving him an earful.

A thread of saliva stretches between you as he pulls away for breath, catching the moonlight before snapping. You wet your lips, the taste of him lingering on your tongue.

Arthur glances around momentarily, before spotting a boulder that had risen from the rivers surface. Perfect.

“Arthur?” You rasp as he starts steering you backwards, the water sloshing around both of your legs. Though after a couple steps, his rough hands drop down to the back of your thighs, hoisting you up with a grunt and carrying you the rest of the way.

You hiss as the cold face of the rock meets your back, a few jagged pieces digging into your skin. Arthur’s lips are back on yours, tongue pressing into your mouth with another rumbling noise of need.

You throw your arms around the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the sunny strands of hair at the nape. It’s grown out over the weeks, you think you prefer it longer.

You both reluctantly part to catch your breaths, lips swollen from his kisses and cheeks hot from the lack of oxygen. With one hand on your thigh, holding you up — the rock behind you holding most of your weight — Arthur presses a calloused thumb under your lips, gently prying them wider so he could roll his tongue over yours in one more brief, but deep kiss.

You can feel him, stiff and heavy against your navel, a hot and sticky bead of milky white smeared from the angry red tip.

“Arthur,” you whine, readjusting your grip on the back of his neck, both his hands back on your rear to keep you up at his level. Need burns between your legs, a blazing fire of want only he could tend to. “Please-“

“Please what, sweet girl?”

He damn well knows what. His eyes — darkened with lust — hold something knowing, something amused. He enjoys seeing you like this, it makes him rather smug, evident by the smirk he poorly suppresses.

Another whine, your cheeks and neck burning hotter than fire as you shift restlessly against him, ankles crossed behind his back. Was he really gonna make you say it?

“You know what I want.” You counter, though your breathless, needy tone bellies the demanding facade you tried to display.

Arthur wets his lips, and you unconsciously do the same, gaze drawn to the movement of his tongue. He makes sure you’re steady against the rock as he removes one hand from you, grasping his cock and dipping his chin so that he could let spit drop onto his length, slavering it over himself before nestling his hips more snugly against the warm apex of your legs.

But, instead of immediately giving in, he slips a hand between you, the rough pads of his fingertips inching down the thatch of hair between your legs, spreading your dewy folds and running a finger up the seam of your body.

He muffles your unsteady sigh with a lingering press of his lips to the corner of your mouth. “Gonna get you ready f’me,” he explains, the rumble of his voice vibrating against your skin, two thick digits nudging inside your cunt. “Don’t wanna hurt you, peach.”

It’s a sensible idea, but you’re already impatient. “Now, Arthur,” you plead, arms tightening around him, holding him to you, wanting more and more and all of him. “I can take it.”

He crooks the two digits inside of you, causing your breath to hitch, raising a brow at you in hesitation.

“I can handle it,” you insist, desperate. How could he ever deny you?

Slipping them free, he takes a moment to line himself up with you before adjusts his hold on you again, fitting underneath the curve of your ass and tugging you more securely against him as he pushes forward.

He slowly splits you open, his cock sliding into you and carving out a place for itself. Your head tips back against the boulder behind you, and he sinks deeper with a grunt. He bottoms out, balls flush against your ass as he tilts his hips upwards to reach an angle inside of you that has you seeing stars.

It punches the air from your lungs, being so full of him — a feeling you’ll never completely get used to. His grip on you tightens, blunt nails digging into the fat of your thighs as his head drops to the juncture of your shoulder, a throaty groan reverberating against your heated skin. He lets you take several moments to adjust to him, while he’s currently trying not to finish just from the feeling of being inside of you.

He brushes soft, wet kisses along the curve of your shoulder and neck, lowering his head to flutter his tongue over a pebbled nipple, pulling it between his lips, his mouth like liquid molten around the bud as he finally starts to move.

He draws back an inch or so before shoving his hips flush against yours again, the coarse hairs at the base of his cock pressed against the softer thatch covering your mound. The drag of his length, the friction, has your temples growing hot and thoughts even less coherent.

He does it again and again and again, his body fitting into yours like the last piece to a puzzle, the two of you moving in synch like a familiar song and dance.

The moan you’ve been holding back spills out of you, mingling with his own guttural exhale.

“God -“ Arthur grits his teeth, fucking you with deep, steady plunges of his hips, the rock face pressing harder against your back to the point you’re sure there’ll be bruises that you’ll proudly wear, you’ll wear it along with the marks his fingers are no doubt brushing into your thighs and hips. “Look at you, s’pretty like this, darlin’, my pretty girl.”

He really is enraptured by you right now… his breath ragged as he watches you with a slack jaw, taking this moment in, not daring to look away so it’s burned into his memory. Maybe he’ll sketch the view of you like this into his journal later…

The way your back arched against the slick rock he has you pressed onto, the way the droplets of river water — that had transferred onto your skin from his beard — rivulets down the curve of your neck, the valley between your breasts… slowing down at your abdomen before disappearing into the soft curls covering your mound.

…

Yeah, he was definitely drawing this later.

Arthur swallows your next whine, his tongue tangling with yours in a sloppy, uncoordinated and desperate kiss. Your hand buries into his hair again, eliciting another groan from him, your other hand pressing against the uninjured side of his jaw — the coarse stubble scratching your palm. He uses his grip on your ass to bounce you, grinding you against him, sending heatwaves rolling down your navel.

You can feel it, rapidly building inside of you. Like a Jack-in-the box, winding up taut until it unexpectedly bursts.

He breaks from the kiss, his pants mingling with yours as your foreheads press tightly together, your eyes fluttering shut as his eyebrows pull in concentration.

“Arthur, I’m —“

“I know,” a kiss is brushed onto your burning cheek, then he’s nosing against your jaw, breath ragged and a shudder running through his body — signalling he’s also near his peak, “I know, sweetheart… give it t’me, c’mon.”

There’s a certain demand in his words that has the coil pulling rigid, then it snaps.

You can only hear the blood rushing in your ears, not the sounds of the water rushing, not the wet smacking of his hips into yours, not even the delectable grunts being pulled from Arthur’s throat. Your body locks up, inner muscles constricting around his cock, coating the length, base and balls slick with your release. White-hot pleasure burns through your body, desire pulses in your veins and you feel like you’re melting. Turning into liquid ecstasy to be carried away in the current that laps at the both of you as well as the rock behind you.

Arthur isn’t far behind.

“Shit… atta girl,” he grunts in approval, the rut of his hips stuttering at the sensation of you coming undone around him, clenching down on him so hard it yanks a strangled gasp low from his chest. He tugs you flush against him, breasts pressed up against his chest, and he hitches your thighs higher up his hips, hoisting you back up before you can slip down the face of the boulder.

His thrusts shift into a vigorous grind, a whimper exhaled from your lips as the coarse hair covering his pelvis tickles your overly-sensitive clit. And at last second, he forces himself to pull out of your cunt.

Hot strings of spend shoot out of the weeping tip, splatting onto your abdomen, leaking down your skin and drying into a sticky mess. Arthur’s head falls back onto your shoulder, groaning and panting as his arms completely envelope you — one wrapped around your waist and the other following the curve of your spine, large hand cradling the back of your head, keeping you tucked against him as he empties himself.

Arthur isn’t a holy man, but by the way he’s chanting your name like a prayer as he releases, one would think he’s a devout believer.

Several moments go by, heart rates finally starting to steady, no longer beating against your rib cage like a wild animal trying to escape., Arthur gives you one last kiss, this one tender and affectionate, before he carefully sets you down.

You’re a little reluctant to untangle yourself from him, using him as an anchor to ground yourself, though you’re forced fully back to the present as your feet dip back into the chilly water, soles meeting the slick rocks under the surface, fresh water lapping at your hips again.

“Y’alright?” Arthur breathes, holding you steady until you use the rock behind you for support, legs feeling light and akin to jelly. Arthur releases a quiet groan as he rolls his shoulders, swallowing as he cups water to gingerly wash his softening cock, all the while keeping his gaze on you, ensuring you were fine.

“M’okay,” you reassure him, sighing as you shift your weight, getting the feeling back into your legs. You take a moment to also wash yourself, cleaning his release off of you, the evidence of your encounter carried down the gentle current.

He looks at you, his eyes softening, something that bellies the gruff outlaw he presents himself to be. He wades a step closer to you, calloused palm gently curling around your upper arm, guiding you towards him, hand sliding down to take yours.

“C’mon, let’s get you back to camp,” he murmurs, planting an affectionate kiss to the side of your head before starting to lead you back to the shore where your clothes laid waiting.

“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ freezing.”

Arthur chuckles in agreement.

-ˋˏ━━━━∙⋆✫ ✪ ✫⋆∙━━━━ˎˊ-

*awkwardly* heyyyy guys… long time no see, huh?

-‘long time’? It’s been a fucking year bro

Yes! Yes I know! And I come bearing gifts and many apologies.

I will start by saying that writers block is a real mf thing. This has been in my drafts for ten months, and please believe me when I say I was looking at this every few days with the intention to finish it and post it… but as soon as I get it up my mind goes blank.

It’s also been more than that, I know a year is a really long time to go without posting, but, I’d like to think that over this year my writing has matured and evolved a little… had a bit of spice added to it 🤌— not that I think I’m the next goddamn Shakespeare, but I know it’s improved when I’m looking back at previous chapters and cringing while reading the shit I wrote.

I know it sounds like a piss take when I say this, but I have the full intention of finishing this story — I wish I could tell you guys the shit I have planned, shit that’ll make you happy, sad, horny, the whole works. But I ain’t gonna tell you cause I ain’t spoiling nothin’. It’s just hard for me to connect the dots and fill out the gaps between all the important plot points I have planned out, my head works in weird ways. All I’m gonna say is I promise I’m gonna try and get back into a regular schedule of posting this story.

Side note: sorry to others who come across this who have been waiting and sending asks about the other wip stories I have on my masterlist— I was really overestimating myself thinking I could be righting multiple series at the same time 😭🤦‍♀️ while I do have drafts (that need to be heavily edited) of these fics, I wouldn’t be expecting to see them anytime soon — because I’m prioritising this story for now. At least until I find the motivation to regularly post and not just once every six — or in this case, 12 months.

Also, I know this is gonna sound strange, because while I do know where this story is going and ending — as in the general direction — I’m still figuring out some things, like certain cannon points that I’m gonna incorporate reader into, reader and Arthur’s dynamic, who reader is personality-wise… there’s a lot going on up here rn *taps temple*

Oh, and one of the biggest things I’m trying to decide about Arthur is how I should go about his honour… for the first eight chapters he’s been leaning towards higher honour — at least that’s how it’s been in my head, though it might be hard to tell by my wack-ass writing for the last seven chapters — so I’m torn between making him dip down into low honour for a while… and splice things up a bit, maybe shake the dynamic of him and reader… or if I should just stick to high honour. Because I know that some people (I am some people) who prefer HH Arthur. Please share your thoughts via anon asks or commenting… I would love the advice!

One last thing! If I go about two weeks or more without posting WITHOUT a valid excuse, everyone has permission to bully and peer pressure me back into being active!

I’m very sorry my luvs here’s an Arthur edit🫶

-ˋˏ━━━━∙⋆✫ ✪ ✫⋆∙━━━━ˎˊ-

Tag list! (PLEASE LMK IF YOU WANNA BE TAGGED IN FUTURE CHAPTERS):

@flw3rrr @vena91 @sickvictorianangel @sykeswrites @babyttsumu @rexibn

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