#arthur morgan x m!reader

[giddyabsurdismsilliness]

♢ Troubles Washed in the River ♢

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Male Reader

Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

1,053 words

AO3 Post

Masterlist

ALSO DON'T KILL ME FOR THE WRITING THIS IS THE FIRST FULL FANFICTION THAT ISN'T A JOKE IN YEARS.

»--•--«

You rub your eyes, taking in the bright sun that shone through them. Sat in your bedroll, you feel the same dreadful feeling you have for days now. You’ve had no motivation to even get yourself out of bed, let alone do anything productive. You stare down at your crossed legs, struggling to muster up the drive to pull yourself up and get some coffee. You hoped it might help you through this, as stupid as it felt.

You had to fight yourself just to wake up and start your morning. It took everything in you to not just sleep through the day. It took everything in you not to cry. You had no idea why you felt this sad. You’d been doing so much better these days, why you went back to this was beyond you. 

The sound of a familiar voice caught your attention. “Hey, you alright there?” 

Arthur leaned against one of the wooden poles that held up your tent, his hand rested on his belt.

Leaning back with your hands resting on your thighs, you give him a shrug. “I guess.” 

“That don’t sound like a guy who’s alright. Not to mention you’ve been glued to that bedroll for ‘bout three days now. What’s on yer mind?”

You looked off into the distance, contemplating his words. The last thing you wanted was for him to worry about you, but it seems like it’s too late now. You wished that if you didn’t answer he’d leave you alone and go on with his day, despite how unrealistic it was. The camp was anything but private, which had you even more bothered about telling him anything.

After a few moments of silence, Arthur spoke up. “How’s about we take a ride down to the river? It’ll get ya outta this tent.”

“Sure.” You used your hands to help you up on your feet. You felt heavier than you thought. Once up, you felt a throbbing pain in your head. Trying your hardest to ignore it, you trudged over to the hitching posts with Arthur.

Everything that you never paid any mind to now feels so tasking. Just getting on your horse feels impossible. You grip onto the saddle horn, foot lodged into the stirrup to help yourself up. You almost stumble and fall in the process. 

You notice Arthur gripping his reins, waiting for you.

“Sorry for makin’ ya wait, Arthur.” 

“Don’t pay it any mind. Let’s just get on.” Arthur’s horse trots through the wooded trail. You squeeze your horse’s ribs to cue it forward, following behind Arthur’s.

It wouldn’t be long before the two of you reached the Dakota River, riding down the hill that connected Horseshoe Overlook to the land near the water. 

Arthur pulled his horse to a stop at an open spot of grass near the river, a bit north from the town of Limpany. He unmounted and went to rest on the dirt, sat with his arm slung over his knee. He looked as if he were waiting for you to join him. 

You hop off of your horse and tie the reins to a nearby tree before going to sit by Arthur. A herd of deer gathered by the other side of the river, lapping up the flowing water. The tranquility of the scenery distracts you from your current situation. All you could focus on were the sounds of the chirping birds and leaves rustled from the faint wind.

“So, what’s been yer problem? I’d say you ain’t pullin’ yer weight around camp anymore, but you ain’t even eatin’. All anyone’s seen ya do these past few days is sleep or lie in your bedroll.” His gaze fixed on you. You couldn’t even look in his direction. 

You didn’t know how to put what you felt into words. You didn’t know how to explain to him why getting up in the morning felt like a constant fight, how you felt weighed down to the bedroll. That feeling of being so tired yet unable to sleep. You feared Arthur might not understand, or say that you were overreacting. 

“I don’t know, Arthur. I haven’t found the energy to get up. I feel exhausted but I can only get a couple hours of sleep, and I constantly feel on the verge of tears. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I haven’t felt like this in such a long time and it makes it extra upsetting that I’m back to this.” You choke back stray tears. The more you speak, the more you feel the waterworks come on.

“Back to this? It’s happened before?” 

“Yeah.” You wiped your eyes, vision turning cloudy from the tears. “Was on and off a lot. Used to have to get forced to eat or drink so I wouldn’t starve. I’ve done better for myself and it hasn’t happened in a few years. I have no idea what brought it on again, but now it feels worse than any other time.” 

You feel a hand rest on your shoulder. The touch was hesitant and awkward, yet the warmth still soothed you. “Well I’m.. not very sure how I can help ya. Whatever ya need, just holler for me, okay?” 

“Okay.” You nod and lean into his touch, head resting on his shoulder. Arthur tensed up from the sudden movement. His shoulders unbunched as he relaxed, his hand trickling down from your shoulder to your upper arm to pull you closer. Taking a quick glance at his face, you notice the faint red on his cheeks.

The two of you sat in silence, enjoying the soft embrace of one another. Above everything, you were glad to know Arthur would be there to support you. You knew this episode wouldn’t go away just like that, but having Arthur might lighten the load.

“Don’t tell a soul about any of this, y’hear?” 

“Don’t plan on it. Thank you, by the way. For gettin’ me up and out. Felt useless and guilty for rotting away like that.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself for it, now.” Arthur’s thumb rubbed against your upper arm in slow strokes. “We should be headin’ back to camp, don’t want people suspectin’ anything.” 

“Can’t we stay a bit longer? I only just got comfortable.”

Arthur sighs. “Only for a bit.”

»--•--«

#rdr2 arthur morgan #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #red dead 2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan x m!reader #arthur morgan x male reader #arthur morgan x reader #red dead fanfic #red dead redemption fanfiction #rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur rdr2

[amorgansgal]

Just stumbled upon your stuff and your stuff are very cool!! Can I request Arthur with a POC M!Reader? I don't see them often :(

Can be NSFW or SFW your pick :)

Aww, thank you! I went with a Chinese Male Reader, because I always wanted to have the ability to use the Chinese restaurants in Saint Denis! I've also been doing a lot of reading on Chinese migration to the US and of course, went down a rabbit hole of research, so figured I might as well use it! Hope you enjoy. I've kept it SFW, but it's quite long so there is a cut.

Warnings: Physical and verbal aggression, depiction of injury

You’d gone to America when your parents had died and you had been left in the care of an uncle and aunt. Your aunt could not stand you and seemed intent on making your life difficult each and every day.

Your father had hoped to see you become a doctor, given your intelligence and natural inclination towards the sciences. But you had been forced to work as a labourer, as a merchant’s assistant, anything that brought in some money otherwise you would not hear the end of it from your aunt.

You had no time for your studies, no time for anything, but by the end of six months, you had decided to save up a little of your money each time you were paid and to put that aside for a boat ticket to America. Anything had to be better than this and if you had to work as a labourer in the US, at least you would get to keep all your wages.

You did not tell your aunt and uncle until the morning that you left, knowing if you told them beforehand, they would insist you should not go. Your aunt yelled at you for abandoning the family and abandoning your parents, but your uncle said nothing and simply looked deeply regretful. He had wished you well.

You didn’t like the journey over, spending most of the time confined to your bunk with seasickness, but when you arrived at the dock and staggered down the plank, you smiled excitedly.

You hoped to continue your studies, maybe get a small shared room and a part time job to keep you going. For the first few months, you worked hard on improving your English and studied medical books late into the night.

But even after you could speak, read and write enough English, it’s not good enough for anyone. You try to apply for any and all positions, even as a cleaner in a hospital. But when they see you’re Chinese, you are guided out from the building.

You are forced to find what work you can, carrying heavy baskets of dirty clothes at a laundry, sweeping the street, until one day you see a sign advertising construction work on a rail line. It pays better than what you earn currently and you think it would be nice to escape the humid air and filthy streets of Saint Denis.

Perhaps you were still too naïve and optimistic for your own good! The work is back breaking, you can barely get enough time to gasp for air or take a sip of water, when the foreman is yelling at you, calling you every name under the sun and telling you you’re doing a shit job.

The pay is crap, certainly not the amount they said on the poster that it would be. When you question this, you get told that pay level was for white men. Apart from the foreman and his boss, there are no other white men, and you’re certain they’re getting paid a lot more.

The food is awful, tinned muck that rots before you can even eat it and you get told that you can’t set up traps for rabbits or anything that might make things more bearable. The tents you have to huddle in let in the rain and provide very little protection from the elements.

And then your pay starts being delayed. At first, it’s just a week, then two, then a month. Some of the men are fuming, they send home what they can to their families, they beg you to speak to the foreman as you can speak and understand English.

You’re nervous, but it’s getting too much to do all this work and get nothing for it. You approach the foreman, while he’s standing away from the camp. You hope that he’ll be more amiable to have a discussion when he’s not working and having a smoke.

You were wrong. The man explodes in anger. His fist collides with your jaw and you are sent reeling. You slip down the hill and tumble down. You try to get up, but he grabs you by your hair and pulls his fist back.

‘You’ll get paid when you’ll get paid, you damn dog! You ask again for wages and I’ll shoot the fucking lot of ya! You think it’s hard finding men like you? It’s goddamn easy!’

‘Sir, the men have families who-!’ you cry out, but the man punches you again and your lip splits. You taste blood on your tongue. He kicks and punches you in the ribs and you struggle to gasp for breath. You do your best to defend yourself, raising your arms over your face and trying to push him off, but a lack of good food, exhausting work and poor sleep has left you weak and tired.

‘HEY! LEAVE THE BOY BE, YER GODDAMN COWARD!’

You only catch a brief glance of the foreman being lifted off his feet and then hurled like he’s a sack of potatoes, against a nearby tree. The heavy thunk of his head hitting the sturdy oak echoes through the woods.

You slowly get up, though not before a large hand is under your arm and helping you to your feet. You look up at the man who apparently saved your life! He seems impossibly tall and broad wearing a brown leather jacket that barely seems to contain him. He lifts his hat momentarily and wipes away the sweat from his brow. His brow is furrowed, and for a moment you wonder if he is angry at you, but when your eyes reach his, you can see the clear concern in the sharp, blue green depths. You lower your gaze quickly.

‘You alrigh’, boy?’ he asks, and even with his rough drawl, he sounds like he cares about you.

‘I’m fine, thank you, sir.’ You look at the foreman, his eyes are unseeing, a dribble of blood runs down from the back of his head along his neck. Your heart races rapidly on seeing the dead man.

‘You… uh… you migh’ want to get out of here. ‘m sorry about… all of tha’, there’s some real bastards in the world. But gettin’ treated like tha’ just cos you asked for yer wages… didn’ seem righ’.’

It feels like the ground has fallen away from your feet. You can feel your brain swirling as though covered in a layer of fog. Where the hell can you go? What can you do?

‘You… uh… you got somewhere you can go?’ the man asks, as though reading your mind!

‘No,’ you whisper faintly, still staring at the foreman. You hear the man next to you sigh, then rub the back of his neck.

‘Welp, seein’ as I got ya into this shit, guess I might owe ya! C’mon,’ he says, gesturing for you to follow him.

‘Where are we going?’ you ask, though you find your feet obeying the man and following him through the woods.

‘There’s a gang I’m with, run with ‘em. Can give ya a place to rest up. Can you shoot?’

‘A gun?’

‘Yeah.’

‘No, but I have other skills. I wanted to be a doctor.’

‘Ahh, good,’ the man smiles and despite everything that has happened, you find yourself smiling back. ‘What’s yer name?’

You give it and he says it a couple of times, he smiles happily when you give a quick nod at his closest pronunciation.

‘’m Arthur. Arthur Morgan.’

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x m!reader #arthur morgan x m reader #arthur morgan x male reader #arthur morgan x m/reader #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #rdr

[sammaltakki]

I am begging someone PLEASE write Arthur x transmasc reader shit...... Especially nsfw.... Please I am: desperate

#red dead redemption #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x m!reader #arthur Morgan x trans reader #Arthur morgan x ftm!reader #arthur morgan x trans!reader #arthur Morgan x transmasc reader

[livingdeadmlm]

Back from the dead

OKAY SO…Werewolf Arthur Morgan x reader ??

Probably just fluff and maybe an overprotective Arthur?

TEEEHEEE

-🌶️

Welcome back!!

He keeps his ears tucked away in his hat, he dosen’t want it too clear when he’s trying to hear what people are talking about around him

He comes back to the camp and tries his hardest to keep his tail from wagging like crazy when he finally catches a small smell of you throughout the camp leading back to your tent.

However he is always exposed when you peek around a corner and hear his name sung out to him, it does get some giggles from the women in the camp and the kids when big ol Arthur's stoic face and tail are going 100 miles a minute

Heading into town he makes sure to be half a step behind so he can make sure no one sneaks up on either of you and maybe take your or his wallets and run off.

He makes plenty sure that when talking to folk they don’t attempt to scam you out of any of your money

When taking jobs he tends to consider his safety more now yet still finds himself in the middle of the woods talking to strangers he’s never seen before.

He wont get jealous if people come up to talk to you but when its at the bar, and the other person is getting much to close his ears are pinned back under his hat

You don’t entertain the attention much but the other person tends to pick up on Arthur’s no longer wagging tail and the tension that could be cut with a knife

He’s never had to get loud unless someone grabs at you then he dives in and holds back no bite or punch

You’ve specially sown his pants in order to fit his tail through them, before he would just rip a line in the hem and fit is tail in it.

If you find a hat that accompanies his big wolf ears it exposes just how often he gets confused but plays it off like nothing

As a wolf I think he’d have a much bigger appetite and gets a little embarrassed when he’s downed his whole meal when you’ve just started eating

#Arthur Morgan x male reader #male reader #red dead redemption x male reader #m!reader #x male reader #Arthur x male reader #Arthur x GN reader

[bomertheshark]

#top male reader #dom male reader #x male reader #seme male reader #male reader #bottom character #bomertheshark #clark kent x male reader #predator x male reader #miguel o'hara x m!reader #miguel o'hara x male reader #arthur morgan x male reader #jake sully x male reader #nanami x male reader

[arthurthethird]

Hello, hope your having a good day/night?

I dont know if your still taking requests but if you are could I request HH Arthur Morgan x LH Male S/O

A/N: I'm sick, so I might write more fanfics now. Hopefully you'll enjoy <3 I'm sorry if it's not what you had in mind!

HH Arthur Morgan x LH Male Reader

"Crazy bastard"

You were sitting by the fire late at night, drowning your sorrows in some whiskey. It was the usual time where dark thoughts came over you. You were a bad man. A horrible one. You lived a bad life. Not by choice... You had to adapt to the life you were thrown into.

Taken in by a strange couple and their unruly son when you were just a kid. Saved from getting shop by an angry shop lifter. What an interesting day.

"Hand them over boy..." The man growled at you. You hugged the two cans of beans closer to you, glaring at him. You were desperate, starving. You didn't know how to use a gun, how to hunt, so you had to steal. This time however, you got unlucky.

"Piss off" you hissed at him. The man looked furious, pulling a gun out, pointing at you. You froze, feeling like a caged animal. Nowhere to go, getting killed over some food... Not exactly how you wanted to die. Your pa would be disappointed.

No, he'd be disappointed if you gave up. You won't. You held the cans tighter, only raising one hand slowly. The man watched you, hoping you'll pass the cans over to him, and instead was greeted with a middle finger. You gave him a grin.

"I am not dying yet partner" you pushed down the fear, getting ready for a bullet. If you're going to die, then at least with some honor.

There was a gunshot.

But the bullet never came. Instead, the man fell on his knees, wide eye, blood slowly leaving his mouth. He fell on the ground, face first. You looked at him confused before noticing a hole in the back of his head. There was a quiet chuckle behind him.

"Nice work Arthur" said a black haired man, you soon-to-be leader, walking over the man, approaching you. "Now who do we have here?"

From that day on you joined Dutch's boys, becoming their second son. You grew close with Arthur, akward conversation turning into late night talks. But, it wasn't a family you hoped for.

You killed many people. Men, women, children sometimes too. Robbed people, both wealthy and poor. Became an errand boy, especially when Herr Strauss joined, having to go around collecting debts. Beating the crying people who begged for mercy.

You were there when the Backwater mess happened. When John got brought back from being torn apart by wolves. When they brought the woman, Mrs. Adler and the "not O'Driscoll" in. When they brought Sean back home.

And now you were stuck near Rhodes, staring at the fire, thinking how your life would look if you'd try to be a good man. If you tried to behave. If you didn't stole those damn beans.

You got up, sighing heavily, feeling the alcohol go into your blood. You headed over to your tent, passing Dutch. You could've stayed quiet, but something pushed you to open your mouth.

"There he is... When are we going to Tahiti, boss?" You scoffed at him, only to get a confused look. You narrowed your eyes "we both know you plan is bullshit, so how about you tell everyone the truth that we're fucked?" You growled. Dutch, now turning irritated turned to you.

"Cut it out, son. I get you're stressed, but we don't need that right now."

"oh I ain't stressed... I'm just seeing clearly" you grinned, but got yanked away to the side. You blinked confused and turned to yell at whoever grabbed you, until you realized it was your beloved Arthur Morgan.

"What are you doing Y/N?" He frowned and looked at Dutch with a sigh "he's been drinking again.... Don't mind him. You'll work it out, you always do" he nodded to him, pulling you away. You rolled your eyes, pushing him away, yet going in the same direction he was pulling you to - his tent.

"Why do you have to lick everyone's ass?" You muttered, walking in. Arthur frowned, following you.

"We're in a tough situation, no need to steer up more commotion" he walked closer to you. You turned to him, glaring at him.

"Of course, because you're the high and mighty Arthur 'Perfect Son' Morgan, aren't you?!"

He looked at you surprised. To be honest, you yourself wasn't quite sure where that came from.

You loved him. He was the love of your life, you'd never hurt him. But you were jealous. Jealous about how he was better than you. How he was nice to everyone, how they all adored him. How he got smiles and pats on the back while you got scowls and scoffs. You were a bad man, you knew that. But you wanted to be adored. To be known.

Yet being nice seemed to be pathetic.

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows, placing his hand on your cheek. You let out a quier sigh, turning your head away. He was looking at you a bit, then cupped your face, turning to him.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing" you pushed his hands away "go be adored. Go find someone who won't ruin your reputation. Go suck everyone's dick so they love you"

"The hell are you talking about?" He laughed, but stopped, noticing you were serious. He frowned, taking your jaw, turning your head to face him.

"I am not leaving you."

"I'm not good for you, Arthur!" You glare at him. "I'm a monster! A good for nothing killer, I don't deserve you, I'm not good for you!"

"Horseshit" the man rolled his eyes. "You're perfect for me"

"I'm not! Maybe you're perfect, but I-" you couldn't even finish because Arthur captured your lips in a soft kiss. You wanted to push him off, but sighed, melting into it. He snickered quietly to which he earned a hit (more of a tap) on the chest. He slowly broke the kiss, looking you in the eyes.

"That's not true" he smiled. "You're everything I could ask for"

You were staring at him quietly, before burying your face in his chest.

"... You smell like cigarettes" you changed the subject. You always did when you got embarrassed or didn't want to face the truth. He sighed softly, petting your head.

You stayed like this for a bit, before you could hear his voice again, jumping a bit as you didn't expect it.

"Hey Y/N?"

"Yes?"

"Have you had the dark thoughts again?" He placed his head on top of yours, petting you softly. You blinked.

".... Maybe a bit"

"You know what it means~" he hummed, one of his hands sliding down, grabbing your ass. You tensed up surprised before chuckling quietly.

"Crazy bastard...."

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr #red dead redemption #arthur morgan #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 x male reader #male reader #m reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x male reader #x male reader #x m reader

[revolversandlace]

The Dangers of Summer

Dutch/Arthur/John x f!Reader

Warnings & Tags: Explicit, Smut, Swearing, M/M/M/F, f!Reader, Plot? What Plot? DubCon, No Y/N, Minors DNI

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: Dutch asks you to rob a homestead, unfortunately the loot isn’t what you expect. 

A/N: I’m sorry I got horny and this happened. It is what it is.

AO3 Link

You’d been with the gang some weeks now, and not a day had gone past without the men trying to break you.

You weren’t even sure why they brought you into the fold, except for them to tease you with dead end goose chases or some impossible challenge even they couldn’t complete.

One day after the other, you were just as keen as the last to prove yourself fit for the gang. And just when you thought you were on a job to prove yourself, it turned out to be another waste of time.

‘Miss,’ Dutch called, beckoning you to his tent, the dramatic classical music playing softly in the background and he puffed on his fat cigar.

You marched over, as your boots crunched over the leaves.

He leaned back in his chair, hands folded behind him, watching your every move. You could feel his eyes boring into you. His face was impassive but his gaze held you in place. You stared back at him, throwing your hands in the air.

'What is it now, Dutch?'

'It'd pay you to show some more respect around here, Miss.'

You pursed your lips taking in a deep breath. 'I'll try my best,' you said coolly.

He nodded slowly. 'Good girl. Now I have a job for you.'

You arched an eyebrow. 'Another one? I'm getting tired of these endless jobs that don't go anywhere.'

'This one will be different.' He took off his hat and placed it on the table. His hair was disheveled, falling over his forehead and he looked like he hadn't slept in days. 'It's a homestead in south Leymone, not far from Braithwaite Manor.'

'Am I supposed to find anything there or will it be like the last one?'

Dutch laughed, a low and filled with danger. You really were beginning to think that perhaps this gang wasn't the right fit for you. But then again if you didn't want to join them maybe you shouldn't have come along with them in the first place.

'I expect there to be the usual wares. Jewellery... Cash,' Dutch waved his hand dismissively. He reached to the inside of his waistcoat, pulling out a silver pocket watch. 'If you leave now, you might make it for sundown.'

'Is that all?' You asked surprised. You felt like you should have been doing something more than stealing jewellery and money.

'That's enough for now,' Dutch said looking at you intently. 'Now gear up and let me see what you can do.'

You did as he instructed, quickly putting on your hat and grabbing your gun belt from where it hung in your tent. As you walked towards your horse, Arthur stepped in front of you, blocking the path between you and your mount.

'Finally got a job, I hear.' Arthur said, his smug smile plastered all across his face. Since being within the gang, Arthur had barely said more than four words to you, usually opting for silence and grumbles.

'Get out of my way,' you sighed, already exhausted with the men of the gang.

'Not until we talk about how you're going to repay us for saving you from those bandits.'

'You saved me? That's news to me.'

'You know we did,' Arthur snorted, placing his large hand on your shoulder and leading you towards your horse.

'Arthur, if you've got any issues, take it up with Dutch, okay?' You said, your voice tight as you shook his hand from you.

'Oh I will,' he said with a smirk, tugging at the brim of his hat as you hoisted yourself onto your horse.

You rode away without another word, wanting nothing more than to get out of there. You were sick of their constant teasing and taunting and wanted to be left alone. You didn't care much for Arthur but at least he was easy to deal with compared to the others.

You rode hard, reaching the homestead just before sundown. The sky turned to a bright orange hue, bathing the trees in a golden light as the birds began to sing their evening song.

Hitching your horse and throwing a sack over your shoulder, you checked your revolver and opened the barrel to see six rounds nestled in the metal. You flicked the gun with your wrist, closing it back up and you made your way to the house.

One by one, you checked the windows to make sure the house was empty. You heard nothing and saw even less, as you rattled the back doorknob and pushed it open.

You raised your gun and you pulled up your bandana over your nose and mouth, your skin prickling with excitement. Finally, a job where you could show your worth to the gang.

You checked the drawers, every cupboard you could see and a pair of pearl earrings and a wad of cash later, you made your way from the back room into the hallway.

Just as you were about to open the door to the next room, you heard an unmistakable clatter.

Shit.

Walking slowly towards the room that the sound came from, you lightly put one foot in front of the other, as your hand gripped tighter around the gun.

You tried to listen through the wall but couldn't tell what was happening. Was someone still there? Or was it just some noise from outside?

You took a deep breath and held it in your chest as you slowly opened the door.

What you saw however, was the last thing you expected.

'Told ya she didn't know the shortcut,' Arthur said, sitting in a chair with his foot on his knee, rolling a cigarette between his fingers.

John was sitting beside him, with a wide smile.

'I'm surprised she made it at all,' he said

'What the fuck is going on?' You said, searching both of their faces as you pulled down your bandana. 'What's this all about?' Your voice rose as your heart began to speed up in your chest.

They said nothing, as they stared at you with boyish grins on their face.

'I don't have time for this,' you said, turning away from them.

'Don't worry about her,' Arthur called after you. 'She'll come round.'

'You can say that again,' John laughed.

You stopped in your tracks, your temper rising.

'I can't believe you've done this again! Why can't you just give me a job and leave me be?' You waved your gun at them, in half your mind to shoot them where they sat. They both laughed, clearly not as threatened as you'd thought they'd be. Although if you were expecting anything from either of them by now you were mistaken.

'We're sorry darlin' we didn't mean to scare ya,' Arthur said, standing up and putting his hat back on. 'But you know how it is with us.' He smiled down at you.

'Yeah, I do. You're real shits you know that.' You said, folding your arms across your chest. 'Wait until Dutch here's of this.'

The men looked at each other smiling as you heard a laugh from behind you. Spinning round you nearly collided with Dutch as he towered over you, his black mustache twitching.

'Who's ideal do you think it was?' He said and you slowly took a step back. 'Now, missy. I've had a word with these two and they both agree. You're attitude is...'

Dutch licked his lips hungrily, staring down at you as your chest became tighter.

'Unwelcomed.' He said, his face turning to a near snarl.

You didn't know what was happening, but you didn't like it. You felt uneasy and you wanted to get out of there but you knew that would only make things worse for yourself. So instead you remained quiet, staring at Dutch.

'You need to learn your place,' Dutch growled, stepping closer to you.

You could feel his hot breath against your neck as he whispered, 'You belong to us now.'

You swallowed hard as he grabbed hold of your hair, pulling you off balance. He turned you around to face both John and Arthur, who looked at each other with excitement.

You tried to struggle from Dutch's grasp but his fingers just dug further into your scalp.

'Now we won't hurt,' Dutch said into your ear as he marched you towards the table, 'as long as you behave.'

You were scared, but not as scared as you should have been. You would have been lying if you said you weren't excited at the thought. You'd thought about the men before, although not at the same time, in the late hours when your hand would drift lower to pleasure yourself.

You didn't want to admit it but even then you were curious about the way they treated you. The way they talked to you and the way they acted around you.

Dutch let go of your hair as the back of your thighs met the edge of the table as all three men stood around you. You could feel your cheeks burning red as their eyes roamed over your body like a pack of wolves.

Arthur stepped forward and lifted you up onto the table, placing himself between your legs. He pressed his hands against your breasts, kneading them roughly.

'Now boys, take good care of her,' Dutch ordered as he pulled out a half-smoked cigar, lighting the thick end.

'Get her ready for me,' he nodded, pulling a chair away from the table and sitting down to watch the show.

You swallowed hard, as Arthur's large, rough hands worked over your body as he made his way to your shirt buttons.

'Make sure you share, Arthur,' Dutch said, leaning back as Arthur started to unbutton you.

John joined him, kissing your neck and running his tongue along your skin. You moaned at the sensation as the two pairs of hands continued to roam over you. Your cunt was throbbing, as you ran your leg up Arthur's side, whilst John continued to kiss you.

Helping Arthur shrug off your shirt, the cool breeze hit your nipples as he took one of them between his thumb and index finger, giving it a pinch.

'You like it rough girl?' He growled as you whimpered, all words caught in your throat. All you could give him was a weak nod as he applied more pressure on your nipple as your wetness grew.

'Good,' he grunted, squeezing harder on your breast. 'This is going to be fun.'

He released your breast as both he and John began to work at your trousers, unbuckling you and pulling the jeans and your boots from you as you sat on the edge of the table completely naked.

Arthur pushed you back onto the table and kissed you roughly, pushing his tongue inside your mouth as you kissed him back, feeling John's hands run over your thighs and towards your sopping wet heat.

You gasped as you felt a finger slip inside you, making you buck your hips as Arthur continued to work his tongue in your mouth.

'She's already wet, Dutch' John said, pumping his fingers into you, stretching you out as you moaned into Arthur's mouth.

Arthur pulled away from you, his lips glistening with your saliva as John continued to bury his fingers in you, curling them around deep inside of you. You continued to moan, and rock your hips.

'Think I'm gonna use that mouth some more,' Arthur growled, as he began to undo his belt.

You looked up at him with mewls falling from your lips as he pulled out his thick cock. Giving it a few pumps, he grabbed the top of your hair, and pulled your head onto his cock, and shoved it into your mouth.

You sucked hard, taking it deep as you tried to swallow it. You gagged and choked as you tried to keep up, as the other two began to laugh.

'You're going to have to learn to take it all,' Arthur grunted, as he pulled your head away giving you a second to breathe.

'I'm sure she will,' Dutch said from the chair, watching you intently.

'Open up, darlin', and try and take the whole thing,' Arthur said as you forced yourself harder onto John's fingers, the coil already beginning to tighten in your lower stomach.

You nodded, opening your mouth as Arthur shoved his cock back into your mouth with no mercy. Using his grip on you, he moved your head roughly onto him and you tried your best to breathe as your throat became fuller and fuller.

'Come on, girl,' Arthur grunted, 'take it all.'

You tried your hardest, but you couldn't. You could feel his balls tighten and his cock swell as he continued to thrust into your mouth.

You gagged and spluttered, but he didn't stop. You kept your mouth open as he used you, whilst John pushed another finger into you. Moaning onto Arthur's cock, you felt your own orgasm building.

You were desperate for release; you needed it badly. His cock was too big for your mouth, and it wouldn't stay still. It seemed determined to stretch you to breaking point. As he pounded your mouth mercilessly, his breathing picked up as his grip got tighter on your head.

You felt John remove his fingers from you, as you looked down, he pulled his cock from his trousers and shoved the thick head into your dripping cunt.

You moaned again, both your holes filled as the men ravaged you. You felt your toes curl as you arched your back, your cunt growing tighter around John's cock as he thumbed at your clit.

It was almost too much as a wave of pleasure crashed over you as you screamed onto Arthur's cock whilst John fucked you harder. You came quickly as your orgasm ripped through your body leaving you weak.

Arthur withdrew his cock from your mouth and grabbed hold of your hair, forcing you up onto your feet as you felt your legs struggling to hold you up.

'Think she's having a good time, Dutch' Arthur mused as you panted, desperate for air as the bliss tingled over your skin.

'It does appear that way,' Dutch said, nodding as he stood. You could see John stoking himself as Arthur grabbed you by the wrist, pulling you on top of him onto the table.

'I wanna see you how tight you are,' he said, his hands digging so hard into your hips you know they'd leave bruises for days.

He speared his cock into you as you mewled again, your eyes scrunched tight as Arthur fucked himself into you. You felt John's thumb circling your asshole, as he spat onto you letting the liquid drip down.

'Please,' you whined, as you felt the head of John's cock push into your other hole, the pain and pleasure melding into one.

You were full, stuffed and revelling in ecstasy as the two men fucked you.

'I can't last much longer,' John groaned, pressing his hands against your hips and rocking his hips forward as you cried out loudly.

'Don't let me interrupt you gentleman,' Dutch said, making his way over to the table removing his hat as he removed his belt.

'Why don't you come see how a real man tastes,' Dutch chuckled, stepping out of his trousers and wrapping his hand around his hard cock.

You wasted no time in obliging, wrapping your lips around him and now every single one of your holes were filled. Dutch pumped himself faster into your mouth while his hands played with your breast.

He leaned in close and whispered, 'good girl,' as he slapped your cheek.

You felt his hot cum splash across your tongue and into your mouth as you gulped it down greedily. You could hear him panting above you, as he pulled you from his cock. You felt John thrust faster into your ass, bruising you further as he grunted, his cum filling you and spilling out, dripping down onto your cunt.

Arthur wasn't far behind, as you continued to bob on his cock, the last drops of cum dripping down your chin as Dutch wiped his brow.

John pulled himself from you as you now felt empty, except for Arthur who continued to pummel you hard. The familiar feeling rose again, as you ground your hips into Arthur, as the slaps continued to fill the room.

Another orgasm erupted, as you screamed into the air, the pleasure almost unbearable as Arthur, unrelentingly chased his own as you were filled up one last time.

Arthur stopped, holding himself deep within you as you collapsed onto the table next to him panting. You rolled onto your side, looking at the mess you made and seeing the satisfied smile on each of their faces.

Covered in cum and sweat, the men dressed as you lay there on the table, legs shaking and the pain of having three men inside of you started to settle in.

'That was certainly an experience,' John smiled, picking up his clothes from the floor.

'I certainly think Miss here will behave herself from now on.' Dutch said, as the three men left the homestead leaving you there naked and beyond content. 

#reader x arthur morgan #reader x dutch #reader x john marston #reader x arthur morgan/dutch van der linde/john marston #rdr2 smut #fanfic #f/m/m/m #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x you #dutch van der linde x you #john marston x you #reader #f!reader #arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #john martston #arthur morgan x reader #john marston x reader #dutch van der linde x reader #smut

[arthuristhetargetdog]

It's My Turn to Take Care of You

MINORS PLEASE DNI!!!! Pairing: Arthur Morgan x m!reader | NSFW

CW: Swearing, sexual intercourse

Contains: smut, handjob/blowjob (Arthur receiving) , anal sex (Arthur receiving), anal fingering (Arthur receiving), dirty talk, fucked to sleep

Word Count: ~ 3,204

Summary: After a long day, Arthur comes home exhausted and horny. Y/n wants to take the initiative and finally be the one to fuck him.

Alrighty, gang, it's sexy time! I have been working on this for a while because I wanna get it just right. I'm not an expert on writing sex, but I really wanted to try. Anyway, enjoy the story!

The day was going by as any other, which meant it was dragging on for what seemed like forever. You sigh to yourself as you bend down to lift up another bucket, once again filling it with water and sending it off to Pearson for the sixth time today. It was starting to become repetitive, and all you really wanted to do was relax in your tent; but doesn't everyone else.

You fill the bucket with water by the pump, your arms sore from continuously doing this. You puff and wipe your brow before picking up the bucket and carrying it back to the butcher's table, setting it down there.

Pearson turned around to you at the sound of the bucket being placed. He gave you a short smile before he spoke,

"Alright, you've helped enough. Go relax."

A wave of relief goes over you, and you flash him a quick smile before going on with your day. With Arthur gone, doing whatever task someone else asked him to do, there's only a little for you to do around camp besides just sit around. By this time of day, most everyone is doing their own tasks, so you decided to help one of them.

Running your gaze through the camp, you see John over by the wagon, struggling to get the wheel back on. Knowing how much of a pain it is to put a wheel back on by yourself, you head over, ready to offer your help.

"Let me help you there, Marston."

John struggles to keep the wheel up in the right place while he hammers it back in. He grunts and lets the wheel fall on the ground before he turns to you.

"Yeah, just...hold this wheel up and I'll hammer it."

A slight nod is all you give before bending down and lifting the wheel up. You make a small grunt as you push it up and against the wagon and line it up with the base. You move your body out of the way so John can access the desired hammering location, and he starts away.

It takes a few hits before he stops and wipes the sweat off his brow. You remove your body from the wagon, and it shifts a little at the loss of your support. Against your and John's best efforts, the wheel doesn't look right, looking loose and bound to fall off if ever used again.

"It's gonna fall off again, but as long as I ain't the one who broke it, it ain't my problem...Thanks for your help, Y/n."

"Really no problem. I'm all for a half-assed repair job."

John scoffs at you with a small smile stretching his lips, before he walks away, probably back to his wife, or to drink by the campfire.

By sunset, you were beginning to wonder just what was taking Arthur so long? What kind of job was he off doing that he had to be gone all day and night? It's not something that bothered you because you wanted him all to yourself, even though you most certainly do. It was bothering you because you wanted him to be back and safe. It's unusual for him to be gone from camp for so long, and the day has never gone by slower.

You sit by the campfire, whiskey in hand, listening to Javier play his guitar when the sound of fast hooves is heard clamping with the ground. Arthur is back. You put your bottle down and excused yourself from the fire, trying to make it look like you weren't rushing over to Arthur.

Arthur gets off Meadow, and when he turns around, you're right there. And god, does he look exhausted. Even in the dark, you can see the paleness covering his skin like a white sheet, he has bags under his eyes, dark and enormous, looking as though he hasn't slept for days, and if you didn't know better, you would have believed he hadn't. He doesn't even flash you a smile when he sees you, probably too tired to do so.

You knit your brows in concern and put your wrist to his forehead, checking to see if he had a fever. When he didn't, you pulled your arm away.

"How are you doing?"

You quietly ask him. His face doesn't change. You know the question was a pretty stupid one. You just had to hear him respond with words.

"I'm fine, jus' a lil tired s'all."

Your concerned face goes flat, not believing a single word he just said. Crossing your arms, you look at him unamused, hoping it will guilt him into telling the truth.

"C'mon Y/n, really, m'fine. Can we jus'...go in the tent?"

With a heavy sigh, you comply and make your way over to your tent, Arthur following in suit. You step into the tent and turn around, ready to talk to Arthur about how he truly is, but before you can get a word out, Arthur holds you close to himself and kisses you.

He's sloppy with it, unlike he usually is, most likely because he's exhausted. Quite wet noises arise from the kiss, his tongue licking around your mouth. He sloppily bites your lip, stretching it out before letting it go. You can feel the teeth marks forming on your lips. You both groan, and you put your hands on his shoulders, pushing him back to get some air.

The both of you are gasping, and you wipe some spit trickling down your chin. Arthur takes a deep breath and brings you close again, his mouth right next to your ear before speaking.

"I've been thinkin' 'bout you al' day, boy. Even when I was s'pposed to be workin' hard, helpin' folk...Al' I could think 'bout was puttin' you on that bed and takin' you."

Though his confession made your pants tighten, that's not really what you wanted for tonight. Arthur is exhausted and needs to be taken care of, which you will do without hesitation. You bring your lips to his ear, nibbling on it a little.

"Why don't I do that to you?"

Arthur lets out a short grunt at your offer, his pants were already tight, but now you can feel his cock touch your leg. You smirk to yourself as you slide your right hand off of his shoulder, down his chest, and stop at the bulge. You massage it a bit, teasing him. Arthur sucks in his breath, his eyes halved-lidded.

You remove your hand, Arthur's dismay, and pull your head back, smirking at him.

"Go sit on the bed."

Arthur takes no time to question and immediately plops himself onto the cot. You put yourself on your knees and take off his shoes. You then stand up and push Arthur's chest, making him fall on his back. Arthur takes a hitched deep breath as he shuffles around, trying to get comfortable.

You get on top of him and kiss him again. Arthur has never been on the bottom before in your relationship, and by the way he tensed when you rub your hand on his arm, you can tell that he's never ever been on the bottom.

Arthur reaches his hand up to the back of your head, gripping your hair as you let your tongue run around his own. You pull away from your little make-out sesh, making Arthur whimper, his torso lifting up so he can kiss you again. You crane your neck back more and push him down back on the cot by his chest. Arthur falls back with a, pathetic whine. You look him in the eyes, brushing some hair out of his face.

"Are you okay with this? With...me being on top?"

"Well. I didn't say no, did I?"

"You also didn't say yes. If you want me, then tell me. If you don't, that's okay too."

Arthur takes a minute to think, looking away from you, his cheeks nice and flushed. His eyes make their way right back into yours. He takes a deep breath, then he talks.

"Y/n...I wan' ya. I wan' ya to fuck me so hard that I won' be able to walk t'morrow. Please, I need ya."

Your brows raise at Arthur's begging. All you really wanted was a simple yes or no, but that...that was way better. You almost came in your pants right then and there. You smile at this, and rub a thumb on his stubbled jaw, you hand on his cheek.

"Ohh, Arthur...what a good boy you are. I didn't even have to ask you to beg...You deserve a reward."

Arthur shivered at the dominance in your voice, not used to having such power on top of him. You lower your face back down to his and start making out again. Arthur let out a small groan into your mouth from the roughness of it.

You rub your hands against Arthur's clothed chest before reaching down to the buttons, doing them one by one, playing with the hair that gets exposed after each one. Once the buttons were all unbuttoned, you put your hands back on his chest, rubbing it around letting his chest hair run though your fingers.

You bring your fingers up to his left peck and brush them over his nipple, one by one. Arthur moaned in your mouth, his back arching slightly at the sensitivity. While one of your hands is teasing his nipples, you bring your other one down his stomach, right to his pants, where you palm him.

Arthur jolts a little and moans at the touch, grinding in your hand the best he can. You move your mouth away from his and down to his neck, suckling and biting on his skin.

"Y'know for-ahh-being on the bottom...you sure know what your doing."

You smirk at him against his skin before removing your hands and lips from his body. Arthur whines and bucks his hips, hoping to hit some friction, but it's no use.

"I've learned from the best."

You crawl down to his knees, resting your own between his legs, and reach over to unbutton his pants. Arthur looks at you eagerly as you slowly unzip his jeans. You hook your fingers around the waist of his pants and underwear and slowly drag them down. Arthur moans as the fabric brushes against his aching cock.

As you pull them down, Arthur lifts his hips, so you have no struggle taking them off, throwing them on the ground when they finally slide off his feet. You take a moment to admire Arthur before anything else.

Bright red in the face, panting, unbuttoned shirt barely hanging of his shoulders, no pants, and a nice thick, red, cock standing proud in front of you face, precum just beading at the tip. You smile at the mess you made of him before you continue to please him.

You take your hand and bring it right up to Arthur's cock, teasing the motion of grasping it. You flick your eyes back to Arthur and see him looking right at your hand, breathing heavily, eyes wide with anticipation. Although you would love to tease him like this for hours, you told him you would give him a reward.

You grab the base of his cock, squeezing it a little. Arthur rested his head back down and the bed and moaned a bit louder than you had expected. You let out a small chuckle at his reaction before you slowly start to move your hand up and down his entire length.

Arthur's moans seem to never cease, and you continue to pleaser his most sensitive spot. You bring your thumb up to his tip, which is now pooling with precum, and rub it around. Arthur whines at this, but you continue, using it as lubricant to slick up his cock.

You continue rubbing him up and down until Arthur starts to buck his hips into your hand, setting his own pace. You know he's close to cuming so you take your hand away. Before Arthur can even make a noise of protest, you lower your head and lick his tip with your tongue. Arthur's moans become louder as you work your tongue around his cock, putting it entirely in your mouth.

You have sucked Arthur's cock a multitude of times, and you know exactly what gets him off the fastest, yet you've never seen him react like this. His back arches with pleasure making his tip tickle the back of your throat, you gag at this but keep your composure. Arthur's hands find their way into your hair, tugging at it something fierce.

"Uhg-Boy...I-I gonna-ooh yeah-cum soon..."

You don't cease even at Arthur's warnings and, if anything, you go even faster, bobbing your head up and down as fast as you can.

"Goddamn, boy...ahh-don't stop!"

You hear Arthur hiss and moan out, his cock twitches and his hips rise off the bed, hot liquid shoots through your mouth. Arthur rolls his hips into your face as you swallow all of his cum. You continue to lick his cock through his orgasm until he whimpers over the sensitivity.

You pull your head away and sit upright again, licking your lips as you look at Arthur, who still seems to be enjoying himself and looks even more tired than before. You must admit the wet spot on the front of your pants, enjoying pleasuring Arthur a little too much. You bend over and reach for his face, rubbing his cheek while smiling.

"Are you ready for me, darling?"

Arthur looks alive again and nods quickly. You giggle at his excitement and start unbuttoning and unzipping your pants. You shuffle them off your thighs and struggle a bit when taking them entirely off, letting out a sigh of relief as your hard cock springs free.

"Alright, now take your thighs and spread your legs for me, while I go grab something."

You remove yourself from the bed and walk over to the wooden chair in the corner of your tent. There, your bag rests, and inside it is a bottle of oil, a perfect lube to use. You turn around and see that Arthur has done precisely what you've said.

Arthur rests, knees bent in the air, with his hands clutching the back of his thighs and his legs spread apart, his cock standing tall once again between his legs.

You go back over to the bed, sitting in your previous position, and open the oil bottle, putting some on your index finger. You take your finger and rub the oil around the rim of his hole. You look up at him to make sure he's alright so far. He looks straight at you, lust in his eyes, as he lets his mouth hang open, a small, quiet moan coming from it.

You slowly push your finger in, rubbing it around the inside, feeling the wrinkles of his hole. Arthur grunts and you see him grip his thighs a little tighter, his skin bending in on itself at the pressure.

After letting him get used to just one finger, you push your middle finger in. At this, Arthur moans and pushes his hips into your fingers, wanting more. You move your fingers around in a circle, moving them in a scissoring motion, feeling every part of him, until Arthur is begging for more, his cock twitching now and again.

"Ahh yes! Please, boy...I-I need you inside 'f me."

Your own cock twitches at his begging, and you decide to just give him what he wants right away. You slowly pull your fingers out, leaving Arthur to whine, and you line your hips up with his own, resting your hands on his hip bones.

"This will only hurt for a moment."

You look right into his eyes as you slowly push yourself into him, moaning at the heat and tightness that wraps around your cock. You stop once you are a little more than your head in and just sit there, letting Arthur groan in pain and pleasure for a moment.

Arthur bucks his hips into yours, pushing you deeper into him. You both moan at the feeling. He starts to rock back and forth fucking himself, and you take that as a sign that he is ready. You start moving your hips, taking your cock in and out of him, always going a bit deeper with each thrust. Arthur reaches up and grabs his hair, tugging it with a moan, eyes closed and mouth hung open. You go at a slow pace, but still enough to give him pleaser until he's begging for more.

"Could you please-mmm. Go a little faster, darlin'?"

Your fingers press harder into his hips as you pick up the speed, your hips crashing into his. Your own speed takes your breath away, barely being able to let out a moan. On the other hand, Arthur is moaning like there's no tomorrow, brows furrowed in focus.

You remove one of your hands from Arthur's hip and bring it back to his cock, aggressively stroking it up and down. Arthur arches his back a little at this and bites his lip, trying to keep his louder moans at bay.

"Yeah-hng-you like that?"

You huff at your speed and squeeze Arthur's cock in your hand, some precum beading at the slit. Arthur is completely lost in himself, eyes closed with his mouth hung open, winded, soft, moans, the only thing pushing themselves out of his throat.

Your head feels as though it's floating. As that oh-so-familiar burning feeling pools inside of your pelvis, pushing you to thrust harder. You pump Arthur's dick aggressively, trying to get him close along with you.

You're breath hitches in your throat as your cock spills out cum from the slit into Arthur's ass. You slow down your hips, but don't stop to ride out your high.

"Goddamn, kid!"

Arthur breathily moans out as cum spills on your hand and down his shaft. His arms fall you his side along with his legs, and his body comes to a full stop, slow breathing is all you hear from him.

You pant as you slide yourself out from inside Arthur and chuckle at him.

"Damn...Are you asleep?"

No response. You shake your head and groan as you move your stiff legs around Arthur and plop yourself down next to him. The work of the day and the sex seem to catch up to you as your body starts to hurt.

You put an arm around Arthur's chest and bring yourself close, kissing him on the nose before resting your head on the pillow and closing your eyes.

"Good night Arthur."

You quietly mumble before letting yourself fall asleep.

Arthur grumbled as yet another person from camp teased him as he limped his way to Pearson's stew. This time it was Sean, of course, which only pissed off Arthur even more.

After getting his stew, he sits right next to you, jolting with a hiss before being able to sit down. You look at him with a shit-eating grin, and he responds with an unimpressed grin.

"Just wait till tonight, boy."

#smut #rdr2 x male reader #rdr2 x m!reader #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan x male reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #rdr2 character

[javier-pena]

embers

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Word Count: 9.5k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You're engaged to be married to a man you've never met. Arthur Morgan is supposed to escort you across the country to meet him. You should keep your distance, but the dangers of the road bring you closer and closer together with each passing mile.

Warnings: smoking | drinking | canon-typical violence | allusions to rape | reader is a virgin | loss of virginity | descriptions of injury and medical procedures (Arthur gets stitches) | reader has hair that can be pulled | hand job | oral (m receiving) | masturbation (f and m) | mutual masturbation | dirty talk | voyeurism | exhibitionism | praise kink | fingering | (unprotected) p in v sex

Notes: So there's this post ... and It has been on my mind for months so I had to write this exact scenario with Arthur, naturally. Again, this is way longer than it was supposed to be, but working on this fic allowed me to daydream a lot, so I can't complain. As always, I wouldn't have been able to do it without Dani @alexturner, who pushed me in the right direction and came up with the ending (because I'm not good at writing those)!!

***

You’re not pretty. At least that’s what everyone told you from the moment you could understand those words. Your mother, the maid she hired to look after you, the boys working for your father, the marm, the people in town. Since you were little, you’ve been hearing it over and over again. “It’s such a shame she ain’t pretty, what’s she gonna do with brains?”

The thing is, you also don’t feel very smart. If you were, you’d have found a way to leave your godforsaken town for one of the big cities in the east as soon as you could read the timetable down by the train station. You would’ve found a way to get out of this marriage your father arranged for you. Ambrose Longabaugh was his name. Ambrose Longabaugh. From what you have heard, he shares your lot: anything but handsome, but at least he has money.

No one was sad to see you go, save for your little brother, who held you tight and made you promise to come back if you didn’t like your betrothed. You had promised, knowing you were lying. It didn’t matter if you liked him or not, he was the man you were going to marry. You weren’t getting out of this. Your father had made sure of that.

Mr. Morgan is riding ahead of you, sitting in the saddle with his shoulders slumped, a cigarette dangling between his lips. You can smell the smoke on the crisp fall air, even though you’re trying to keep your distance. It’s not that he scares you – not as much as other men do, not as much as your future husband does – but you don’t like him very much. Your father is paying him to take you out west where Ambrose Longabaugh will one day take over his father’s cattle business. And Mr. Morgan is doing it without complaint, hardly acknowledging your presence. He talks more to his horse than he talks to you.

You let your eyes wander across the mountains around you and sigh. The first time you had seen them, your mouth had hung open in awe. Now you feel trapped by them. You can’t go back, and there’s only one way forward. You sigh again. No, you’re neither pretty nor smart.

“Break?” Mr. Morgan asks from up front. It’s only the fifth word he has said to you today; the others were good morning and let’s go.

“Yes,” you agree, not because you need it but because it gives you something else to do.

You stop near a small river with a shallow bank where Mr. Morgan can refill your waterskins. While he’s busy, you stretch your legs and pick up a few rocks from the riverbed to toss them into the water. The rushing of the water fills your ears, drowning out both thoughts and sounds. You take a deep, calming breath and close your eyes.

When you open them again, Mr. Morgan has taken off his lambskin coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He’s washing his face and neck in the cold water of the river, a wet stain forming on his collar, drops running down his lean, muscular forearms that are still tan from working outdoors all summer. Your face heats up with an emotion you don’t quite understand, and you turn away from him, pretending to be interested in some moss-covered rocks. You’re not supposed to look.

He startles you when he touches your arm lightly, making you turn around. You hadn’t heard him coming over the sounds of the river. His coat is back on, but you can see his neck glistening in a few places still.

“You shouldn’t wander, ma’am,” he says. That’s four more words for today.

You look around. “Indians, right?” you ask with a small laugh.

His face remains serious. “No. White men. Gangs. They like to hide out here.”

You watch his Adam’s apple move as he swallows and your throat immediately mimics his. “Then why are we taking this road if it’s so dangerous?”

He shrugs. You realize he hasn’t let go of your arm yet. “It’s fast.”

“My father –”

“Your father planned this route.”

You swallow again. “I’ll be careful, sir. Thank you.” He lets go of your arm then, and you walk back to your horse, your face now heating up with an emotion you definitely recognize: embarrassment.

You make camp later that day where the trees are standing close together. While he builds a fire, you pick at a pine cone you found on the ground. Somewhere in the distance you hear a howl, but you’ve learned that if it’s not loud enough to make Mr. Morgan look up from his task, then it’s nothing to be worried about. And he stokes the fire, eyes fixed to the flames.

After dinner, he hands you a small bottle and when the sharp taste of whiskey makes you cough, he smirks. So you take another sip, holding his gaze. He looks away first, pulls a torn-up pack of cigarettes from his coat, and offers you one. You accept, surprised.

“Don’t let my father find out you’re corrupting me,” you tease.

He only makes, “Hm,” in response.

The smoke from the cigarette burns your throat, just like the whiskey, but this time you manage to suppress the cough. “Do you have family, Mr. Morgan?” you ask, watching how he uses a branch to stoke the fire.

“No,” is his simple reply.

Now it’s your turn to make, “Hm,” before you add, “No one you’re sweet on?”

You don’t really care about the answer, why would you? But when he gives you another, “No,” a careful one, it makes your heart pound faster. Until he turns the tables.

“What about you?”

“Oh,” you say, “I don’t know, I haven’t met my fiancé yet.” And you don’t want to be thinking about him right now.

Mr. Morgan looks at you, his head cocked to one side. “Come now,” he pushes, as if you’re being evasive on purpose. “That ain’t what I’m askin’.”

You sigh. “It’s not? I’m spoken for. I have no business thinking about other men.” You don’t mean to be so frank, but the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. And you can tell from the look on Mr. Morgan’s face that he still thinks you’re not honest with him.

“Hm,” he makes, and you dread what might be coming next.

“I’m going to bed,” you tell him, putting an end to your conversation. He opens his mouth to add something, but you don’t give him a change. You lie down and pull your thin blanket over your body, face hot with embarrassment. The last thing you see before falling asleep is Mr. Morgan staring at the flames, a quiet smile on his lips.

Later that night, you wake up to shouts. What pulls you from your sleep entirely is a gunshot that reverberates through the forest. “Mr. Morgan?” you shout, because he isn’t sitting next to the fire anymore and you can’t see him anywhere. Then you hear a sound that makes your blood run cold, a snarl, a growl, but animalistic, wild, unlike anything you’ve ever heard. You jump up from your bedroll, ready to run, but then you remember Mr. Morgan’s warning. It’s better to stay here, in the light of the dwindling fire, than to take your chances out there. “Mr. Morgan?” you try again, this time a hiss, as you frantically search the darkness beyond your camp. It gets so dark out here at night.

A shout is your answer, a deep, “Hey!” Short and fast. The horses whinny, and you’re only now realizing they’re stomping the ground, tearing up the soil with their hooves, the whites in their eyes visible, ears pressed tightly back. You try to swallow your panic, but it gets harder with every passing second.

Then something moves between the trees and Mr. Morgan stumbles back into the camp, a gun in one hand, a torch in the other. He has a wild look in his eyes too, just like the horses, but when they land on you, he relaxes, his face assuming its usual, stoic mask. “Mountain lion,” he says. “It’s gone.”

“What does that mean?” you ask, your voice trembling.

“Chased it off,” he explains. “It ain’t coming back here.”

“The horses …,” you start.

But he walks toward the fire, toward you. “You did good,” he says, dropping to his knees next to you, so close, too close. You can smell the gunpower on him, and the sweat; you’ve never been so close to a man before, not even your own father. “Here.” He hands you the whiskey again. “It’s gone, I promise.”

You wish your hands wouldn’t shake so much. He grabs yours with one to steady, his warm skin like fire against yours, unscrews the stopper with the other, not with impatience but oh so gently. You manage to take a sip on your own, but he watches you intently for any signs of distress.

“You’ll have to get used to it,” he says, stowing away the bottle. “This land out here … it’s wild.”

You nod. Now that the initial burst of panic is dulled, you feel tears sting your eyes.

“But you’ll manage.” His voice is so calming. “You’re a brave girl.”

*******

The hooves of your horse pound out a slow, steady beat against the hard ground. You’re tired, every muscle in your body is sore, but you push on without complaint, following Mr. Morgan up a winding mountain and back down on the other side. The days are so similar they’re bleeding into one – the mountain lion … did it attack three nights ago? Five? You don’t remember. All you know is that your heart picks up speed when he looks at you, that every evening your conversation around the fire becomes a little bit longer, that you wish you could go on like this forever, never to arrive at your destination.

Sometimes at night, when you can’t sleep but you pretend to, you can hear him sing, sometimes to himself, sometimes to the horses. Your heart almost flies out of your chest when he does it. He hasn’t touched you anymore since the night of the mountain lion attack, but you wish he would. Even though everything else about him confuses you, you wish you could feel his skin against yours again; such longing, it almost consumes you.

Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? Did your cousin feel like this when she ran off with that cowboy? Did your mother and father feel like this; is that why they got married? Are you supposed to feel like this when you meet your fiancé? Or is this something else entirely? Is there something wrong with you?

“Break?” he asks once the ground is beginning to even out.

“You know, you keep asking for breaks so much I’m starting to think you don’t want us to reach our destination,” you tease.

He just shrugs and stops his horse. You halt too and climb off, your legs steady when they hit the ground. It wasn’t like that in the beginning; the first few days he had to help you off your horse and you could barely stand. It’s astonishing what a difference a few weeks can make.

You stretch, then begin to walk up and down the path. It’s cold, sitting so still up on that horse, and you flex your fingers, trying to get some feeling back into them. Mr. Morgan, meanwhile, sits down on a tree stump to write in a leather-bound notebook. You’ve seen him use it before but you don’t quite know what it’s for. He’s probably tracking your progress or taking notes on the weather.

Careful to keep him in sight, you veer off into the underbrush, looking at the trees and the different kinds of plants growing on the ground. You pretend you can read the language of the forest, looking for tracks of animals or some mushrooms you might be able to eat. Just like you’ve seen Mr. Morgan do countless of times. When you do find something, you’re not sure what to make of it.

“Mr. Morgan?” Your voice is raised as you try to keep it steady.

You hear his footsteps immediately but you don’t dare to turn around, your eyes fixed on the sight before you. He stops next to you, and you can hear his steady breathing. The knot in your chest immediately dissolves.

“Hm,” he makes.

“What happened here?” you ask. Now the tremor in your voice is all too audible.

He hesitates just for a second, weighing his options, but then he says, “Some people were camping here, a family by the looks of it.”

“Where are they?” you ask, finally turning toward him. The cold, calculating look on his face sends a shiver down your spine.

“Ma’am …,” he says slowly.

“You can tell me. I can handle the truth.”

You look back at the burned-out wagon, the torn clothes hanging from tree branches, all that blood on a log next to a cold fire pit. You don’t need him to tell you. You just want him not to confirm your suspicions.

“They’re dead,” he answers. “Killed. For money.”

“All of them?” you ask.

He winces. “If there were women …”

“Can’t we help them?” You know you can’t, but you wish there was something you could do.

“Stay on the path next time,” he growls. “No more wanderin’ ‘round … ma’am.”

“Mr. Morgan …,” you try, but he’s already trudging back toward the horses.

You spend the rest of the day in silence, riding next to each other but avoiding each other’s gazes. You shouldn’t have called out to him; it was obvious what had happened in that camp. They were a group, and you’re just two people … your father couldn’t have known about the dangers of this journey, or he wouldn’t have made you go. He would’ve found another way. At least that’s what you’re telling yourself. Because you don’t want to even consider the other option and what it would mean. When the sun slowly disappears behind the mountains around you, dread settles onto your heart, the heavy kind you haven’t felt since you were a little girl, afraid of the dark.

Finally, Mr. Morgan stops his horse. “We camp here tonight. No fire.”

“It’s so dark,” you whisper.

“The darkness ain’t what’ll kill you,” he growls.

You can’t sleep; of course not. So you watch him all night, sitting up straight next to you, not so close that you could touch him, but close enough so you’ll always see he’s there. He doesn’t sleep either but he sits very still, keeping his eyes on the path, making sure nothing evil comes out of the dark. And you wish all you had to worry about were mountain lions.

*******

Two days later, Mr. Morgan’s face is pale and you’re frozen through. You haven’t had a warm meal since you found that destroyed camp, and Mr. Morgan has barely slept. You haven’t talked at all, apart from the necessities. And still you haven’t left those mountains and woods behind you. At least the daylight makes you feel less afraid.

“Is it far still?” you ask when the silence becomes unbearable.

“A week,” he answers, looking up at the sky, “if it doesn’t snow.”

The weather is the least of your worries. “And how long before we’re past the mountains?” You hate them now as much as they awed you at first.

“Three days maybe.”

Three more days without warm food. You straighten your back. “Have you come this way before?”

“Yes.”

“Has anything ever happened to you?” You don’t know if you’d prefer confirmation or denial.

“You’re safe with me, so don’t you worry about that.” There’s something in the way he says it that makes your grip tighten on the reins.

“I’m not worried,” you lie. “Just curious.”

“Hm,” he makes before going back to observing the surroundings with caution. “Bad people are everywhere. Not just here.”

“That’s a grim way to look at the world.” You try for a teasing tone, but it sounds like you’re reprimanding him instead.

“You ain’t seen much of it then,” he replies.

“More than you know.”

He looks at you curiously, just for a moment. “You –” he starts, but a shout ahead on the path interrupts him.

“Hey!”

You almost jump out of your skin and stop your horse reflexively. That’s your first mistake. The second one is to shout, “Arthur!” Because it costs him valuable seconds, that distraction. He turns around to look at you, and then suddenly two men are on him, pulling him out of the saddle. Two more appear next to you, a young, handsome one with a dark mustache and darker eyes, and a man your father’s age, but scrawny, with a mouth full of yellow teeth that he exposes to you in an ugly grin. You pull on the reins and your horse dances nervously, ears pressed tightly against its head. And then you hear a shot.

A fifth man stands in the middle of the path, a smoking gun held high over his head. His thick, gray beard quivers as he shouts, “Everybody stay calm and no one is gonna get hurt!”

You look at Mr. Morgan for guidance and see him struggle against the two men who are restraining him by holding his arms tightly pressed against his back. His pants are dirty from where he hit the ground when they pulled him off his horse.

“Get her down from there,” the man with the gray beard barks, and before you can do anything, thin but strong fingers have closed around your arm and you tumble out of the saddle with a shout.

The man who is holding you stinks of rotting things and nicotine. He twists one of your arms until it is pressed flush against your back and uses his other hand to hold your chin, so you’re forced to look straight ahead at the man with the mustache.

“Pretty little thing, ain’t she?” he snarls, and the other man licks his lips.

“We just want your valuables,” Graybeard says to Mr. Morgan.

“We ain’t got any,” he growls.

“I’m sure you don’t,” is the calm answer as Graybeard starts going through the saddlebags of Mr. Morgan’s horse.

You roll your shoulders but the man with the rotting teeth only tightens his hold on you. His companion takes a few careful steps toward you. A lump is forming in your throat as you begin to realize just how dangerous this situation is. You try to kick back, like a horse, but you miss your captor. It only earns you a cruel laugh and a pinch to your cheek.

Somewhere to your right, you hear a dull thud and a pained groan coming from Mr. Morgan. You try to look at him, but you can’t move, not because you’re being restrained but because fear has taken over your body and you can’t do anything but relinquish control.

“Check her horse,” Graybeard orders, but the man with the mustache doesn’t move. He’s only a few steps away from you now, his eyes hungrily roaming over your body. “Now!” Graybeard barks.

“There isn’t -,” you start, but the man who is restraining you clamps a hand over your mouth. You could vomit when you taste his skin.

“There’s this,” the man with the mustache says, holding up a cheap necklace your mother gave you as a parting gift.

“Take it,” Graybeard orders.

“What about her?” the rotting man asks and shakes you.

“Her too,” Graybeard answers with a nod. “Shoot the man.”

“No!” you shout, even though it makes the disgusting man get more of his fingers in between your lips.

The man with the mustache stuffs your mother’s necklace into the pocket of his jacket, then walks over to you. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears as he grips your skirt and begins to pull it upward so your boots and then your drawers are slowly exposed. A hot tear rolls down your cheek but it only makes him smile.

“I bet you’re lovely.” His voice is deep, almost as deep as Mr. Morgan’s, but hearing him speak only fills you with revulsion. “I bet you’re all tight …” He lightly strokes your cheek, then uses his free hand to unbutton his trousers.

“No!” you shout again, but it’s muffled, and your feeble attempts to free yourself are met with an evil snicker.

Then you hear a shot and all the life goes out of your body. It’s done. You’re alone now. And if you’re lucky, you’ll soon be dead too. Two more shots ring through the forest, each one as painful as if you’ve been hit by the bullets yourself. The man with the mustache doesn’t even flinch. His trousers hang open now, and you can see dark hairs peek out from between the fabric, before he cups one of your breasts hard and licks a broad stripe up your neck.

The other man moans, low, wetly, and it’s the most disgusting sound you’ve ever heard. He lets go of you, but it’s too late; you can’t run anymore. A wet, dull sound is followed by another moan, and you know exactly what he’s doing. You’ve heard people talk about it, even though you don’t quite know what it means when a man touches himself. All you know is that you feel bile rise at the thought of it.

The man with the mustache freezes and looks behind you, his eyes wide with shock. Maybe they have a different bargain, maybe he wants to keep you for himself and feels threatened. But then, so fast he’s only a blur, Mr. Morgan rushes past you, grabs the man by his collar, and pulls him off you, landing a punch against his jaw. You blink a few times as both men go down, not sure if what you’re seeing is real or if it’s a vision your panicked brain conjured up to calm you. The man with the mustache lands a kick between Mr. Morgan’s legs, gaining the upper hand. He pulls a knife from his boot while he straddles your companion to pin him down, but Mr. Morgan doesn’t hesitate. He grabs the man’s arm and bites down until he lets go of the knife. You catch a glimpse of Mr. Morgan’s eyes and where you expected him to be all feral rage, he’s cold and calculating. It sends a shiver down your spine and you stumble back a few paces until you step into something soft that squelches on impact. You don’t have to look down to know what it is.

Despite the loss of his knife, the man with the mustache is putting up a good fight. He lands a blow in Mr. Morgan’s face, then scrambles off him, grabs the knife, and pushes himself upward. Mr. Morgan moves faster than you’ve ever seen him move, jumping up while dodging the glinting blade of the knife.

“Stay down, big boy,” the man sneers.

Mr. Morgan shoves into him with such force the knife ends up in the dirt again, right next to the two men. But this time, Mr. Morgan has the upper hand, landing blow after blow in the face of the other, grunting with grim satisfaction when he draws blood, continuing even when the man retches up blood and spits it in Mr. Morgan’s face. He doesn’t stop until the man doesn’t move anymore and his face is nothing more than a bloody pulp, entirely unrecognizable. Only then does he grunt in pain and rolls off his opponent, lying on the forest floor, breathing labored and hard.

*******

You make camp that night as far away from that spot as you could travel before the light faded. Mr. Morgan gets a fire going while you sit on a log, trying to hide your trembling hands in your lap. You haven’t cried yet but you know it’s coming. He hasn’t said anything yet, and you’re not sure he will.

In the flickering light of the fire, you can see the cuts and bruises in his face, the sleeve of his shirt drenched in blood. And when you close your eyes, you can see the five dead men, their broken bodies left in the dirt for scavengers to feed on. He did that, all on his own.

You force yourself to stand up and walk over to him. He’s not the man who calmed you down after a mountain lion attack anymore; you’ve seen him beat a man to death today with his bare hands. No, he’s someone new now, someone you have to get to know first. And when you crouch down next to him, he looks at you with dark eyes like he’s never looked at you before and you feel all the air being pressed out of you.

“Let me take a look at your arm,” you say, pulling it toward you by his hand. The dried blood on his knuckles is rough against your skin.

He doesn’t protest, just watches as you carefully roll up his sleeve to expose a deep cut, undoubtedly left by the knife. It must have happened so fast you missed it. Even though it’s not bleeding as much as it used to, each pump of Mr. Morgan’ heart pushes some more blood out through the cut.

“You need stitches,” you tell him.

Before you can second-guess what you’re doing or change your mind, you’re next to your saddlebag, looking for the sewing kit your bother gave you. Only you’ve never used it for something like this before. You don’t even know if it’ll work, only ever having read about it in books, but it’s better than doing nothing. You also grab the bottle of whiskey from Mr. Morgan’s bag.

“Drink this,” you order, handing it to him once you’re next to him again.

He takes one big swallow, then another one, his throat working to get the liquid down. You pretend not to notice. Then he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand while you stare at the cut with much more focus than necessary. Taking back the bottle, you pour some of its content on the cut, drawing a low groan from Mr. Morgan that heats up your cheeks.

Your hands are shaking as you try to thread the needle. “Have you ever done this before?” Mr. Morgan asks, his face stoic as if he’s ready to accept his fate no matter the answer you give him.

“Technically, no,” you answer, finally pushing the thread through the eye.

“Huh,” he grunts.

“But I’m very good at mending stockings.” You offer him a feeble smile and he nods. “This might hurt a little bit,” you warn before pushing the needle through his skin. Holding his arm in place with your other hand, you can feel his muscles flex at the intrusion, and a short burst of breath tickles the top of your head. He doesn’t complain.

“Have you ever been stitched up before?” you ask him to distract him.

“No,” he replies through gritted teeth.

“Oh, good. Then you have to believe me when I tell you I’m doing a very good job.” What’s wrong with you?

He grunts again, but maybe, possibly that sound could be hiding a laugh.

“Still, when we arrive at our destination, you should have a doctor look at this,” you instruct.

“Eager to hear from a professional how good of a job you did?”

Your cheeks ignite and you drop the needle. “Shit.” He is laughing now, a low chuckle, as you try to locate a glint in the flickering light from the campfire. Luckily, you don’t have to look far – the needle fell straight down and is lying between Mr. Morgan’s boots. You wipe strands of hair from your face, then wipe the needle clean on your dress before getting back to work.

“No,” you answer his question, forcing your voice to sound steady. “Because I have no idea how to prevent an infection. Or if I’m even doing this correctly.”

Mr. Morgan leans down, his big hand closing around the bottle you discarded earlier, and he unscrews the cap with his thumb and forefinger. “Looks to me like you’re doin’ fine.” A big swig, then another one.

You glance up at him just to see his face looking unusually pale. “Does it hurt a lot?” you ask carefully.

“I’ve had worse,” he answers, but flinches when one of your stitches comes too close to the wound.

You blink fast a couple of times, trying to shake the image of him on top of that man, punching and punching until no trace of life was left. The memory of the sheer brutality makes your hands feel clammy. No, this wasn’t his first time getting hurt, just like it wasn’t his first time killing someone. And now the same hands rest peacefully in his lap, cut and bruised, yes, but a far cry from the deadly weapons you saw today.

“Thank you for what you did today,” finishing up with two final stitches, then quickly add, “There,” and pet his arm before he can acknowledge your words of gratitude.

He lifts his hand from his leg and flexes his fingers. “Thanks for this,” he replies, examining the stitches.

Your gaze lands on his knuckles that are covered in blood, his own and that of the men he killed. “Do you want me to take a look at your hands?” you ask, your throat tight all of a sudden.

“I’m used to that.” He stretches out one of his legs so it rests next to you, close enough that you feel the ghost of a presence next to your hip.

“I’ve never met a man who was used to so much violence.” Your eyes are still on his hands, bruised darkly.

“It was either them or us.” He shrugs.

Us. “I was sure they had killed you when I heard that first gunshot,” you tell him, lowering your gaze to your own hands that have some dirt on them, some streaks of Mr. Morgan’s blood, but that look so clean compared to his.

“And break the contract with your father?”

You laugh. “A father who selected this route knowing full well about the dangers we would face?” The silence that follows your question is filled only by the crackle of the campfire and by the sounds of creatures moving through the woods. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you,” you finally say.

“This ain’t the first time I had to save someone,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“And how did those other people repay you?” you ask, eager for his answer. Being indebted to him puts you on edge.

“Money,” is his short reply.

“I don’t have any,” you say, feeling a tug at your heartstrings. But maybe that doesn’t matter; maybe when you arrive, you could talk to your fiancé. He’ll want to reward the man who defended your honor and saved you from a horrible fate. Still, you wish there was something you could be doing for him right now. “There’s also other ways,” you say, very slowly.

“Hm,” he makes, a sound that has started to fill you with a certain warmth for reasons you can’t quite explain. Then he shifts, moves his legs a little further apart. And you’re there right between them, looking up into his face that betrays nothing except for the smallest glint in his eyes.

You’ve never even kissed a man, but you’re not stupid. You know what certain gestures and movements mean. You’ve watched your father’s hands when a woman walked past them, you’ve attended dances where everyone around you was getting drunk … growing up on a farm, you’ve seen things. But you also know that those things are wrong and they should only be happening between husband and wife behind closed doors, no matter what everyone else is doing.

It's getting harder to breathe, and you feel a tug low in your stomach, almost like an ache. You’ve never felt anything like this before and you can’t quite place it, but the way he looks at you, mouth slightly opened, his eyes deep and dark, only fuels that sensation. And when you think back to this afternoon, it becomes so strong it makes you shift on your knees.

“You’re a pretty little thing.”

It’s the second time today someone has said that about you. Whereas the first time made your skin crawl, the second time makes your cheeks heat up and your breath get stuck in your throat. You notice that Mr. Morgan unbuckles his belt, eyes locked to yours, and you make sure your gaze stays on his face. It’s only when he groans and his eyelids flutter shut that you look down and see he has his hand wrapped around himself, moving it up and down his length with sure strokes. Something in you is released at that sight.

“Here, let me,” you offer, shuffling closer on your knees until you’re trapped between his legs.

Before you can think better of it, you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock. It’s warmer than you expected, feels heavier than you thought when you move your hand up in the same move you saw him use. He groans again, louder this time, and removes his hand, resting it on your arm. You tremble.

Back home, you were taught that what a wife does in the bedroom is fulfilling the duty to her husband. It sounded neither pleasant nor enjoyable, and so far, you’ve managed to push the thoughts of what is awaiting you at your destination from your mind. But your mother couldn’t have meant this, because this doesn’t feel like duty at all. You stroke the tip of his cock with your thumb, he tightens the grip on your arm in return, and you feel a surge of pride well up. No, your mother couldn’t have been talking about this.

Eager to try more, you twist your wrist on the downstroke, then lower your head and kiss the tip of his cock. He growls this time, and his hand lands on the back of your head, pushing you down. You have no choice but to open your mouth further and take him in. The weight of him presses down against your tongue, the tip of him brushing the back of your throat makes you gag as tears shoot to your eyes. He grips your hair, pulls you off, then pushes you back down again, and you got it. It’s not so different from the hand.

Steadying him at the base with a tight grip, you pull off him again, but let your tongue run along the underside, the sharp taste of him filling every corner of your mouth. It will take some getting used to, but you’re determined to get this right, and from the way his hand trembles at the back of your head, you have a feeling you might be.

You close your eyes, focusing on taking him as deeply inside as possible because he seems to enjoy that. Sometimes, when you think there isn’t any room left, he pushes you onto his cock that little bit further and then groans contently, a sound that tightens parts of your body you didn’t know could tighten. You run your tongue over the tip of him, hum around him when your mouth is full of him, just to find out what kind of sounds you can draw from him. If this is what it’s like, you can’t imagine why anyone would call this a duty.

Mr. Morgan stiffens and pushes his hips upward so you take even more of him into your mouth. This time you can’t help the gagging sound pushing past him. But instead of forcing you to take more, he grips a handful of your hair and pulls you off. Your mouth feels strangely empty for a moment, even though his taste lingers, and you blink in confusion. Was that it?

You lick your lips and look up at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something. But he’s quiet, only placing his forefinger under your chin to tilt your head back a little more. For some reason, that gesture leaves you breathless. And you know why a second later when his lips lock onto yours and your breaths mingle, and you suddenly understand why people would kill for this. Why he killed for you.

You can’t help the moan that comes out of your mouth, don’t even realize at first that the sound is coming from you. His hand glides to the back of your head to grip you and hold you in place, and you push yourself toward him, one hand on his arm, the other on his thigh. He licks into your mouth and you try to mirror him, feeling a strange sense of pride when he opens up for you.

He pulls away, holding you in place by the hair at the nape of your neck. “Did you like havin’ me in your mouth?” he asks and his voice is so low you barely recognize it.

“Yes, Mr. Morgan,” you answer, and you also almost don’t recognize your own.

“Oh, you’re somethin’,” he says with a wicked smile, then stands and pulls you with him.

Your legs are trembling and your knees threaten to give way when he kisses you again, pressing his entire body to yours. Just when you think you could spend eternity like this, he closes his arms around your backside and lifts you up, so you don’t have any chance but to sling your legs around his middle. You squeal against his lips, but he just carries you past the campfire toward your bedroll. Beneath your palms, you can feel the muscles in his shoulders and arms flex and tighten with each step. Something in your stomach flutters as you remember he's strong enough to beat a man to death.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re kissing his jaw and neck, biting down on a tendon that’s jutting out with the effort of keeping you in his arms. When he rumbles deep in his chest, you flick out your tongue to lick across the spot in apology, but he drops you to your feet. You both stand there for a second, looking at each other with heaving chests. His hands come up to grip the neckline of your dress, and he pulls, a tearing sound echoing through the trees. Your torn dress crumbles to the ground around you, exposing your undergarments, and even though your first instinct is to cover up you don’t because he pulls his shirt over his head to expose his naked chest beneath, and that sight is enough to distract you from any embarrassment you might be feeling.

His pants are next, and then he stands before you stark naked. You try to touch his stomach with a trembling hand, but he grabs your wrist and pushes you down to the ground. With precise movements, he pulls off your drawers, taking your shoes with them, then tears open your corset to expose your breasts. Your breath hitches when he cups one in his calloused hand and squeezes, making pleasure spike through your body.

You kiss him again, lean into his touch, and then you discover you can make him tighten his hold on you by licking over his bottom lip. You can make him press his hard length against you by moaning in pleasure. It feels so, so good to have this effect on him, to be able to do that to him without words. Never, in a million years, would you have expected that giving yourself to a man would feel like this, would make heat blossom at the base of your spine, would make you ache between your legs. You shove your fingers into his hair, deepening the kiss, and he sighs against your lips, a sound that makes your knees weak. How can all of this make you feel so good yet fill you with a hunger you don’t know how to satiate?

You run your nails over his scalp, testing to see what other sounds you can elicit from him, when he suddenly shifts both your bodies, pushing you to the ground while caging you in with his body. Your heart hammers in your chest so hard it’s almost painful, but even when your back is uncomfortably pressed against your thin bedroll, you still crane your neck to keep kissing him. God, why can’t you get enough of him?

With a sharp slap against your knee that sends another spike of pleasure through your body, he pushes your legs apart, then draws back to look at you. His lips are red and swollen, and both shadow and light are dancing across his face in quick succession. You reach up to touch his cheek, but he catches your wrist and pins it down next to your head with so much strength it steals the breath from your lungs.

“You’re the prettiest little lady I’ve ever seen,” he mumbles.

You feel your face heat up, but he doesn’t notice how flustered you are. With his free hand, he grabs himself, then lines himself up between your legs. You watch, eyes wide, breathing so fast your head is starting to swim. What comes next is a pressure that is not painful but not quite pleasurable either. And the more it pushes, the more it hurts.

“Stop,” you say, your voice not more than a whisper.

Either he doesn’t hear you or he’s ignoring you, but he continues to push up into you, and now it’s so painful you’ve lost all sense of pleasure entirely.

“Stop,” you try again, bracing your hands against his shoulders, trying to push him off you. He’s too strong for you. “Arthur, stop!” you bellow.

And he hears you. He immediately withdraws, and you scramble to sit up, pulling away from him as best as possible on the small bedroll.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, and the concern in his voice makes you look at him.

“Yes,” you answer, hugging your knees to your chest. You wish you weren’t so naked.

“Have you ever …?” He doesn’t need to finish the question for you to know what he means.

You shake your head.

A deep, red flush creeps up his chest and neck. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t –”

“It’s alright,” you interrupt him, his apology embarrassing rather than harming you. “You didn’t know.”

“The way you were kissin’ me …” He trails off again.

Your ears prick up at the compliment. “It all felt … good,” you stutter. “More than good. It’s just …”

“I can … we can slow down,” he offers. “If you still want …”

You look at him, kneeling before you, his skin glowing orange in the light from the fire. His dick is slowly softening between his legs, goosebumps are covering his arms, but he is showing you all of himself without shame. That bold display of his body makes your blood heat up again, but you hesitate. Touching his naked skin is one thing, giving yourself to him entirely is something you’ve been warned of your entire life. And yet … now that you’ve pushed through the initial shock, you slowly realize your body is demanding to feel him again.

You nod. “Yes. I still … I want you.”

Your cheeks are fever-hot, but the way his eyes light up is worth the embarrassment you feel. Arthur moves toward you, loosening the hold you have on yourself, and you relax, dropping your knees, letting him come even closer. He smirks, his eyes darting to your lips and then back up again before he leans in for a searing kiss, and it feels like the last few minutes didn’t happen at all. Without breaking the kiss, he reaches for your wrist, then slowly guides your hand between your own legs, while you tremble in anticipation. He doesn’t touch you, but when he presses your own fingers against all that heat and wetness, you moan deeply.

Arthur breaks the kiss first. “I want you to play with yourself,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

“I don’t …,” you start, suddenly unsure.

“Yeah, I know.” He kisses your neck. “You’re gonna figure it out though.”

You take a deep breath and nod, and when he captures your lips for another kiss, you move your fingers over yourself in a motion that makes pleasure shoot through your entire body. A shaky pant escapes you and lands on his mouth, turning his lips into a smirk even while he’s kissing you.

“There you go,” he whispers.

You find a rhythm and pace that makes you feel like you’re about to explode but that doesn’t light the final fuse, and he continues to kiss you for a while before drawing back to watch the hand between your thighs. Any shame you could have felt is replaced by pure lust when you see the arousal in his eyes; you shift to open your legs further, and he raises his eyes in surprise. You shift under his searing gaze and moan when you notice his hand closing around the base of his cock.

You’ve never felt like you’re feeling right now, completely in control but also like you’re surrendering yourself to him. It’s so addictive it makes you wonder how people don’t want to feel like this all the time. “It feels so good,” you groan, struggling to get the words out because your teeth are clenched.

“You’re so pretty,” is Arthur’s answer as he moves his hand up and down his length.

You can’t help but believe him. “I love you strong you are,” you return the compliment, and before you can think better of it, you raise your free hand and cup your breast, squeezing your nipple.

His eyes lock onto your chest. “Fuck.” Pleasure shoots through you from the tip of your toes to the top of your head. “You’re such a good girl,” he adds, and it makes your heart flutter so painfully you feel like it’s about to fly out of your chest.

“Say that again,” you demand, not recognizing yourself at all.

Arthur shifts closer until he’s right between your legs, fisting himself eagerly. You can smell the sweat and arousal on him, a scent so overpowering you wish you could bury your nose in his skin and inhale it forever. “My pretty, brave girl,” he says, and when you lower your gaze, too overwhelmed by what his words make you feel, he grips your chin and lifts your head. “Oh no, you’re gonna look at me.” You blink once but don’t lower your head again. “Yeah, that’s it.” He smirks. “Look at you … so eager to please me. You should see yourself right now … goddamn prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

You do lower your gaze then because it feels like too much. Your eyes land on his cock, on the tip that’s glistening wetly, and you lick your lips, remembering the feeling of him in your mouth.

“You want me inside of you, don’t you?” Arthur asks, and you nod. His rough, calloused hand closes around your throat and you can’t help it – you move your own hand faster, a crescendo building in the pit of your stomach. “Use your words, pretty girl. I know you can.”

You swallow hard, knowing he can feel your throat move against his grip. “Yes, I want you inside of me.” Your face doesn’t heat up this time as you realize you’re not only saying that to please him. It’s exactly what you want.

He rewards you with a deep kiss, then mumbles against your lips. “Are you ready?”

You hesitate. “I’m not …”

But Arthur doesn’t let you finish. “Let’s find out together.” He leans back. “Finger yourself.” The way his eyes darken when he says it isn’t lost on you.

You shift and move your hand lower, his eyes fixed to your movements. He has stopped moving, his hand grabbing his cock, holding it between his legs. You feel yourself flutter against your fingers in anticipation at the same time as he licks his lips. And then you push the tip of your finger inside of you, past the initial resistance, deeper and deeper until you can’t go any further.

“Breathe,” he instructs and you exhale sharply. “Did that hurt?”

You shake your head before remembering he likes to hear your voice. “No.”

“How does it feel?” he wants to know.

Carefully, you pull your finger out until only the tip remains inside of you, then you push it back in. “Good,” you manage. “Really good.”

“You’re sweet when you can barely talk,” he says with a smirk and the muscles inside you clamp down on your finger. You moan and close your eyes, unable to keep them open. “You like that, don’t you?” You hear him shift closer. “You like hearing my voice. Bet you’d like me to talk you through it, too.”

Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you feel something building inside you. It’s like a wave that will drown everything out. You lean back further and further until your back connects to the ground, until you can raise your hips to meet your finger, trying to get it as deep inside you as possible.

Then his hand is covering yours and he pushes you to the ground, stilling you. When you open your eyes, you’re met with his, dark with lust, and you’re rewarded with the sight of his chest, flushed so deeply red it looks almost purple. His cock is leaking onto his fingers. “Not yet, sweet girl,” he says in a voice that sounds familiar to the one he uses to calm down his horse. “You’re doing so well, but wait until …”

Arthur removes his hand from yours, but then you feel the tip of his finger right where yours is disappearing inside yourself. You steel yourself for the pain you’re about to feel, but when his finger joins yours, stretching you open, all you feel is pleasure so intense it makes it hard for you to stay conscious.

“Fuck,” you groan, a short outburst, almost like a bark.

“You can say that again.” Arthur’s voice is so husky it’s almost impossible to understand. He cups your hand with his, and then moves the both of you in tandem, pulling back out and pushing back in. You tentatively meet his thrusts by rolling your hips and he growls. “Look at you, spread open just for me.”

You don’t know why his words make you feel like they do, but the muscles between your legs are working hard to keep both your fingers buried as deeply as possible. That earns you a smirk from him and you smile back in return.

“I think you’re ready.” He grips your hand tightly and pulls the both of you out, making you sob. To calm you, he cups your cheek and presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna fill you right back up again.” All you can do is nod.

He positions himself above you, stroking himself a few times, then lining himself up. It’s easier for you to relax this time because you know what to expect, but when he breaches that resisting wall of muscles, you still feel a burn and hiss.

“Shhhh,” he makes and kisses your forehead. “You’re doing so good.”

And then he’s inside of you, stretching you open as much as you can take. His eyes flutter shut and he groans, shifting to adjust himself. “You feel perfect.”

“You’re … you’re big,” you manage, drawing a chuckle from him.

He shifts again, then pulls back out before slamming back into you, making you see stars. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he apologizes immediately.

“No,” you press out through gritted teeth. “Do that again.”

He does, and you grip his arm, burying your nails in his muscle, slinging your other arm around his back. There’s a strange taste in your mouth and you only slowly realize it’s blood from biting down on your bottom lip. He kisses you, licks over the wound, pulls a sharp moan from you. And then he slams into you so hard you scream, clawing at his skin, leaving bloody streaks down his arm and back. The pain only seems to spur him on and when you pant, “Harder,” he doesn’t hesitate.

You clench around his cock in return and he whispers, “I like you like this.” You feel yourself clench again and he groans. “You’re perfect,” he repeats. You kiss his neck, then bite it, until he pushes you back down. “I bet you’ve never had an orgasm before, have you?” You shake your head and he mimics that motion, tapping your bottom lip with his thumb. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“No,” you manage to say, your voice hoarse.

He rocks into you, not as hard and fast as before, but it makes you pant helplessly nonetheless. “Yeah, I thought so,” he mumbles more to himself than to you.

“Please,” you whisper.

He smirks down at you, then shifts his knees ever so slightly to change the angle. Suddenly, he’s brushing against something deep inside of you that makes a sob erupt from deep in your chest.

“Do you even know what you’re asking for?” he teases, but there is a strain in his voice now, as if he’s struggling to hold onto something.

“Please,” you repeat louder, unable to fully grasp the meaning of his question.

Arthur’s thumb is back on your lip and then he pushes it inside your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the tip eagerly, then suck on it, grazing your teeth over his skin. His breathing turns ragged, and the warmth of pride erupts in your chest. With a wet sound, he pulls his thumb out from between your lips and pushes his hand between your bodies until it comes to rest on that small spot you were toying with earlier. You howl and twitch and your whole body erupts. You spill over, you lose sense of where and who you are, you’re shaken by forces beyond your control. All the while, Arthur pounds into you, strokes you inside and out, and you think you hear him say, “That’s it, just let go. You’re so fucking beautiful – just let go.”

As soon as you feel like you can breathe again, he pulls out of you, leaving you aching and empty and cold. Through hooded eyes, you watch as he moves his hand up and down his cock fast until he spills all over his hand and the edge of your bedroll, gaze not directed downwards, but staring at you with insatiable hunger in his eyes. And you return that gaze just as hungrily, wondering what it would feel like to taste his release on your tongue.

Arthur stands unsteadily and retrieves his coat from the other side of the campfire. You feel the cold of the night now and hug your knees to your chest, still trying to make sense of the world. “Now, no more of that,” he says when he gets back, draping his coat over you, the weight of it making your limbs grow soft. He lies down next to you, pressing his front to your back, one arm possessively slung over your chest, the other shoved under your head for you to use as a pillow.

*******

The morning sun is warm on your face as you ride through a slowly thinning forest. The plains and your destination cannot be far from here. Your thoughts are though; they’re still somewhere behind you, stuck at a campfire, busy chasing the feeling of the man next to you between your legs.

When you reach a fork in the path, you stop your horse and look off to your right, back into the forest and the mountains. “What’s back there?” you ask.

Arthur stops his horse next to yours and looks down the path. “Never been over that way,” he answers.

“Do you want to find out?” Your voice is firm, but you don’t look at Arthur.

He’s quiet at first. “Your father –”

“– already paid you,” you finish the sentence.

Arthur nods. “Alright,” he says, then looks back at the path you just put behind you, then off to your right again. “Let’s find out what’s over there.”

***

arthur morgan taglist: @cjillian97 | @hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmsstuff | @imaginativefanatic | @joelmillers-whore | @misspearly1 | @spacecowboyhotch | @tortor-mcgee | @wickedscribbles

perma taglist: @alexturner | @amneris21 | @din-jarhead | @harriedandharassed | @martellthemandalor | @nyfeeer | @nobodys-baby-now | @od-ends | @pedrorascal | @radiowallet-writes

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #embers

[twola]

Cartography

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

You bite your bottom lip to stop the moan bubbling from your chest out into the room - with the broken windows and rotting walls of the old plantation house, there was little doubt of noise carrying. You shudder at the stimulation occurring in your core, stretched delightfully around several inches of hot, hard flesh.

Arthur grunts in appreciation of your tightening around him, “Look at you-” he half whispers in the bright light pouring in from Lemoyne outside.

The quiet of the morning is serene, interspersed by the lazy chirping of birds outside - but within the room, it’s heralded by deep breaths and choked-off moans, the wet slapping of skin on skin.

You arch your back, pressing down on your forearms on the table, sighing in bliss as it changes the angle of where your lover spears into your body ever so slightly. You’re rewarded by a groan and the tightening of his warm hands around your bare hips, the only part of your skin bared to the world.

It was supposed to be an early morning, and indeed, the two of you had gotten out of bed, dressed, ready to get on with the day. Until you leaned over the table on one elbow, scrutinizing the map of several states spread out on it. Evidently was far too much for Arthur, and before you knew it, he was upon you, nibbling at your earlobe as he worked your pants and bloomers down your thighs, pushing them down just enough to access your dampening cunt.

With one hand pressing against your core, the other worked at his own pants, fishing his cock out of his union suit and pressing the swollen head against you with a speed and necessity akin to breathing.

“Wer- ahh- weren’t we supposed to be goin’ somewhere?” You stutter as his hips bounce against yours, your forearms spread over the Kamassa valley, and your fingers draw into your palms to make fists just south of the Ambarino line.

“Later. ‘M fine right here.” Arthur puffs, continuing to thrust into you, his cock ramrod hard and covered in your wetness. He breathes out loudly from his nose, like a beast, and one of his hands creeps around your hip to pat at the little nub of your pleasure, fingers tangling in your dark pubic hair.

Your mouth hangs open, eyes wide as he continues to rock into you, the head of his cock pressing so deep into your body you swear you feel it in your guts.

Trying not to scream, your eyes flit to that old map spread beneath you, and your hands splayed out on the table again.

Your pinky brushes against the far north reaches of the Lanaheechee.

“A-Annesburg?” You groan out, the text of the town’s name underneath your wrist.

He grunts out in the negative, “Naw, too dirty - mmph, all that coal dust.”

“No Van Horn neither then-” You breathe out before gasping as he thrusts his hips into yours with a little more force.

“No Van Horn.”

You glance down again, knowing how much he hated the large city on the map hidden by your breasts - Saint Denis was out of the question.

“R-Rhodes,” underneath your elbow.

“Not after that shootout - oh darlin’-” Arthur grunts out, panting as he spreads his legs a little further to ground himself as he rocks into you.

The mountains past your pinky finger, “Strawberry? Gonna, mmph, go to that fancy hotel finally?”

“Not this time-”

Closer to your wrist, “Not back to Val-”

He cuts you off with a punishing thrust, and you drop your question and can simply mewl in response.

Arthur grunts, folding himself over you completely, smothering you against the table, framing his forearms on either side of yours, his breath in your ear as his thrusting slows into a full, slow rocking, the table squealing underneath the movement of your bodies.

“H-here,” he taps empty space north of Wallace Station with his forefinger. 

“Wha- oh god - what’s there?” You whine as he presses completely into you, his hips pressing hard into yours, pinning you to the table completely.

“A cabin ‘m gonna lock us in for the next week.” He grunts out beneath gritted teeth, and you moan at the thought, loudly before his other hand moves to your chin and tilts it to the side to give himself access to shove his lips against yours.

His hips stop their languid rolling, and a grunt charges up from his chest into your mouth as his cock spurts his release into you, the warmth blooming in your cunt sending you over the edge, clenching around him, making him gasp as your body milks his for all he’s worth.

You shudder, taken by your orgasm and the feeling of him buried so deep inside you, stretching you to the dual threshold of pain and pleasure.  The room’s spinning slows as you and he both catch your breath.

Arthur hisses as he pulls out, and you wince slightly at the dribble of him that starts to trek down your thighs before he yanks his neckerchief off and presses it against your cunt, stymying the flow of his spend from between your legs.

As you catch your breath and lean back up on your forearms, you glance down at the map where he said the two of you were going. 

“That really what we’re doin’?”

Arthur pats the fabric against the rim of your cunt again, blotting against your wet skin. Tossing the dirtied fabric to the floor, he leans over you again, pressing his lips against your temple as his arms frame yours once again.

“Reckon we can take the scenic route there too.”

#arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #twolafic

[johnpriceslamb]

I will always love the idea of being rescued by a cowboy (Arthur Morgan).

Just the image of running away from someone in Saint Denis. Maybe it’s due to a misunderstanding, robbery or simply a creep. Making the dumb mistake of not hiding in a shop and finding yourself in an alleyway trapped. Except the real person in trouble is the stalker because Arthur Morgan is about to serve a knuckle sandwich. Or gun. Doesn’t matter, dead either way.

𝓜𝓨 𝓗𝓔𝓡𝓞 ,

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ˚₊‧꒰ Things take a really wrong turn once visiting Saint Denis to stock up on food for camp. Luckily, Arthur insisted on accompanying you. ꒱

BEFORE YOU PROCEED ! ┊ Hyper-fem(?) ! reader • female ! reader • reader is mentioned 2 be physically shorter than characters mentioned below • gun-slinging mention • brute cowboy bf x shy princess gf • arthur morgan being a complete nut over u • harassment • attempted assault • not proof-read :P • very rushed ‘m sorriiii!!! • 1.6k wrds

“But Arthur—”

“No.”

The small stuffed toy in your hands looks hurt from his rejection, as do your expression on your face. You hug the little guy to your chest, and you put on your best puppy eyes to try and make him change his mind. This usually works, but unfortunately- it did not, this time.

“We ain’t gettin’ that.” He grumbles, lazy eyes looking around the fancy store. He’s uncomfortable, you could tell. From the way he glances at all the bright coloured items sitting preciously on such elegant shelves, you’d think it would’ve costed at least a finger or too to even manage one, the golden floral designs embarked in the corners of the interior, to the fancy looking tiles beneath your feet.

It’s too.. fancy. He stands out like a larger thorn amongst a stem of a rose.

You puff out your cheeks at his slow-growing irritation. Before reluctantly putting it back on the shelf you found it on.

Then, he continues on with a low sigh. Your hand was in his, and he leads you around very similar to a grumpy dad leading his daughter from all the chaos happening which surrounds them. There was too many people, and he feels like he’s about to become crabbier each second will pass being in this awful store.

“We’re here to buy food, not toys.” He grunts, before gently giving you back your empty woven basket.

You begrudgingly force yourself to not reply, sticking close to him.

Suddenly, your eyes perk up at the small sign embedded with ‘Spices’ in bold which hung up from the ceiling. You tug on his sleeve, “Arthur?”

“Hmm?” He looks back. His heart almost aches from the way your beady eyes stare up at him like a small puppy.

“Can we get some spices? Y’know, for the stews Pearson makes. Only a bottle or two!” You pleaded sweetly, gesturing to the sign afar. “It’ll make his food taste more.. appetising.”

He ponders, before nodding slowly. “Hm.. Alright. Get two though, make sure it ain’t so spicy.” He pats your lower back to encourage you to get it quicker. You beam and nod, but before you go, you hand him the basket so he could continue shopping, scampering away to get the said items.

The array of little wooden jars sealed tightly with spices made you in awe. You can practically smell each and one of them from a literal mile away despite the thin layer of sticky-tape which goes around the rim of the jar multiple times.

You unconsciously place a finger on your cheek, pondering on which one to get. Not long, your hands reach up to a jar embedded with the words ‘pepper’ and another reaching up to ‘nut-meg.’ Each selling for only a dollar. Not too bad.

And you feel a towering presence behind you. Believing it was your beloved, you eagerly turn around with a squeak— “I’ve got the!— uh..”

A few blinks and an abrupt pause. It was not Arthur.

Rather, a man with leering eyes, and a predatory-like gaze.

You shift around uncomfortably, “..Um. Can I help you, mister?” Posing to be polite, perhaps the man just wanted help with something.

He stares at you for a bit too long, and you can see his eyes lowering and lowering, before travelling up your figure once again.

He coughs, “Ain’t you a pretty lil’ thang..” Before scratching at his long unkept beard.

Your steps are quick, almost backing into the shelves of spices.

“..Please leave me alone,” You meekly stutter.

He flashes you a crooked teeth grin. “Now why in the hell would I do that?” He takes another step towards you. All instincts inside you rise up quickly, and not long after you pocket the spices inside your light-pink dress before immediately turning to the side to leave.

You don’t notice the fact that he follows you. Only until you reach the same spot Arthur beckoned you to go and get the items you wanted, he wasn’t there. You feel insanely insecure due to the fact that you could not find Arthur amongst the crowd of people inside the large general store. Only then do you stop, and feel..

hot breath hitting your neck.

You squeal, turning around immediately and backing away.

“Get— get the hell away from me!” Your frilly cries cause a few people to turn their heads towards your direction, only to ignore you as soon as they assessed the situation.

He has the same crooked teeth smile on his face as he slowly creeps up to you again. And with that, you hitch up your long floral skirt and run. Run to the exit of the general store with a squeal- only for some crazy man to quickly follow after you.

You want to hit yourself on the head. You didn’t have any guns, nor did you remember to pack the pocket knife Charles gifted you to protect yourself from anyone. You were never one to raise your hands to anyone, nor try to cause conflict.

You bump into a few people, earning scowls and empty threats. You didn’t care, not with a lunatic right on your feet.

“When I catch you—” You hear him heavily breathing, “‘M gon’ do real bad things t’ you, real bad.”

You want to tear up. Badly. But you don’t. Your mind is in shambles as you turn a corner, only to almost run face-to-face to a brick wall which stands tall and high.

You were cornered.

You sob loudly, scratching at the brick walls- you’re well aware that this alone will do absolutely nothing, and your painted nails will probably have cracks on the tips of them. But with panic crumpling your brain, you tend to do things a bit.. weird.

The walls between the two of you are so close it feels like you’re about to faint. An echo of laughter is what catches your attention as you slowly turn around.

“Please, mister!” You plead with a loud sniffle, “I— I— we don’t even know each other!” You let out a loud enough wail when he approached rapidly.

“Ohoh, dumb and pretty. What a package.” He rubs his hands eagerly, almost drooling at your pathetic sight, “You really thought you could outrun me?”

“Don’t make this harder, sweetheart. Just take them frilly lil’ clothes off.. In-fact, why don’t I help ya..”

You clumsily slap him once he’s just a centimetre away from you. Hardly. A low growl escapes his lips, his head turned sideways from that harsh slap.

“You little bit—”

A bullet whizzes past you. It hits the bricks behind you, just a hair-length away. It causes you to yelp loudly, as does the man who was about to slap you back. You peek your head over his shoulder, only to let out a loud cry of relief.

“You better let her go, friend.” The same cowboy who’s uttered the sweetest praise to you and only you, talks in a tone too cold for your liking. Something you’ve never heard nor experience.

“Who the hell is that?” He snarls to you.

“I said, let her go.” Arthur is not afraid to put a bullet through his head. His shoulder is gripped tightly and yanked away from you, leaving you to allow your knees to buckle from shock as you leaned on the wall to help you balance yourself from the shock.

With a harsh bonk to the head with the butt of his revolver, the man slumps on the dirty ground. An obvious purple dent on his head.

Arthur rushes over to your shaking form, immediately scooping you into his arms and squishing you into a tight bear-hug. You’re probably gonna regret the fact that some of your powder will get onto his chest, but you hiccup and hug him tighter for comfort.

You stammer out, “I— he.. I thought I was gonna die..”

He brushes your hair with his burly fingers, “You’re okay, sweetheart. Don’t think about it no more. No one’s gon’ kill ya if I’m here.”

Suddenly, he looks you up and down quickly to assess you. “You ain’t hurt anywhere are you..?”

“No,” You shake your head meekly, “‘M okay. I.. I think I need a bit of time to myself at camp, though.”

“I understand.” He nods and gently puts an arm around your waist to guide you back to the wagon parked a long way away.

His hands brush past against your pockets and notices two hard cylinder shaped objects in them.

Suddenly, your eyes widen, “Oh darn- I-I forgot to pay for the spices!” He’s amused at your lack of profanity used.

He interrupts you with a soft chuckle, before squishing you a bit tighter, “Guess that makes the two of us. Rushed out with the groceries in the basket to find ya and didn’t pay. Reckon we gotta go another route to get to the wagon, passing by the general store will surely just get us into more trouble.”

You could envision that scene playing out. Arthur realising that you weren’t there, and immediately rushing out of the general store with a bunch of items inside the basket to find you.

“Don’t think we’ll be visiting Saint Denis anytime soon.” You feel a tug on your hand as you see a shopkeeper loudly calling out for the two of you.

You squeak and giggle as he easily grabs onto your waist and ran for dear life to the wagon with your shop-lifted grocery items. If you were to give a quick glance to the insides of the basket again, you can see a faint blur of a stuffed toy.

#fem! reader #rdr2 x you #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #afab! reader #arthur morgan x fem! you #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #arthur morgan x fem! reader #arthur morgan fic #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 fanfic #hyperfem! reader

[amorgansgal]

Maybe some mlm soft moments with Arthur Morgan for some pride month love? Gay cowboys I’m telling ya! (I love a lot of your writing btw!)

Maybe it could go like: Arthur purposely leaving camp for a while to hand pick his own flowers he thinks reader would like while reader is going around asking what they would get for Arthur? Just need some sweet cowboy loving 😭

Happy Pride Month! 🏳️‍🌈 I bashed this out when I was tipsy and a bit tired, so apologies for any typos. But thank you and yes, I've been thinking of doing some more mlm and wlw pairings to celebrate! Planning to do something with Molly, but who to put her with...? Anyway, hope you enjoy and thank you for being sweet and lovely!

Warnings: None, just a little heated kissing!

‘What the hell am I doin’?’ Arthur thinks to himself as he plucks up the long green stem, dotted with bright blueish, purple flowers and gathers it into the small bouquet of daisies, poppies and wisteria. He doesn’t know much about flowers and he’s not sure if you do either. He’s always appreciated them when riding through, enjoyed the way the Texas bluebonnets sway gently in the breeze and he gallops by on Thorn. The way the provide such colour and contrast against the dark green of the nearby woods and the slate grey of the mountains that loom in the distance.

On quiet days, he brings you to Little Creek River and admired you as you lay back on the soft grass, the flowers sending rippling shadows over your cheeks and mouth. You would kick of your boots, close your eyes and he relished seeing that soft, hidden smile on your lips. Arthur’s drawn you like that more times than he can count, but he can never quite capture the calm, peaceful look on your handsome face.

He briefly thinks about tossing the flowers. What the hell were you going to do with a bouquet of flowers? It weren’t like there were any vases or jugs you could put them into and doubtless Grimshaw would make a stink about using good, clean water for flowers. But he wanted to do something nice for you, something special. There wasn’t rhyme or reason, he just wanted to.

‘Because you love him, you fool!’ his brain muttered in response. Arthur scowled, then sighed and looked down at the messy garland. Maybe his mind had a point, maybe that was the truth of the matter. Maybe he was stupidly in love with you, but was too much of a coward to even tell you so.

~~~

‘Hey… uh… Hosea, what… if you were to get Arthur a present, what would you get him?’ You asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

‘A present?’ Hosea folds his newspaper and places it down on the table. He looks at you keenly. ‘Arthur’s birthday isn’t until 30th July, you’ve got plenty of time. In any case, he isn’t much one for presents.’

‘Yeah, I figured.’ You sigh, sometimes it was difficult getting Arthur to even tell you if he was hungry or tired, let alone if he wanted or needed anything! For a dangerous, bad man, he was a surprisingly selfless one! Always putting the camp and everyone in it first, before himself. Maybe that is why you want to give him something, anything to show your appreciation of him.

Hosea glances at Dutch’s tent and gives you a small smile. ‘But I suppose if I was held at gunpoint and forced to get Arthur a present it would probably be… Hmm… Well he writes in his journal a fair bit-’

‘I’d already thought of that. Seems a bit of a cop out.’

‘You want to get him something more… meaningful?’ Hosea raises a brow and a keen stare. You suddenly become very interested in your hands, you feel that Hosea might already know about yours and Arthur’s relationship. You’ve yet to tell the rest of the camp about your relationship, but perhaps you should’ve known that nothing would get past Hosea.

‘Yeah, I guess.’

Hosea taps his fingers on the table and frowns, then smiles at you. ‘He’s a difficult one. But you know, I think if you get him something that you’ve put a lot of thought and heart into, he’ll love it either way. Why don’t you go into town and see if anything stands out to you?’

You nod. Hosea isn’t really helping much and you just feel that you will stand in the Valentine store scanning the shelves for an eternity, before buying something for Arthur’s horse! ‘Sure, thanks for your help, Hosea.’

He picks up his newspaper and gives you a quick wink and a smile, before resuming his reading. You scoop up your hat and pull on your jacket, then mount your horse and head out to Valentine.

~~~

You sigh as you leave the shop. You really aren’t sure on the gift you got, but maybe it’s best to follow Hosea’s advice. As long as your heart has gone into choosing the present, then hopefully Arthur will appreciate it, even if it’s not something he’s thought to buy himself before.

‘Oh!’

You look up and find Arthur standing by the steps leading up to the store. You come to such a sudden stop, that you almost trip down the stairs. Arthur puts out a hand that lands on your chest, to prevent you from tumbling down the steps and landing face first into the dust and dirt of the road. Even with that small touch, you feel a warm rush of affection flood through you. You wish you could jump into his arms and kiss him. Instead, you can only give him a fond smile and a surreptitious pat on his shoulder.

‘Hey there,’ – you glance around and grin, there’s no one around who could hear you – ‘handsome!’

Arthur’s cheeks immediately flame pink, he lowers his head and hides his bashful smile and bright eyes with the rim of his hat. ‘Hey there,’ – he coughs nervously – ‘Hey there, uh… you!’

You roll your eyes, but couldn’t love him more if you tried! ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Thought you were scoping out a coach in Strawberry?’

‘I was. It’s done now.’ He chuckles to himself. ‘Done pretty well, snuck around the back and managed to pick the lock as they were riding along. You’d think they were off on a day out to the beach, than carrying $500!’

‘Well, how about we get something from the saloon to celebrate then? My treat!’ You add quickly, so he won’t be tempted to insist on paying.

Arthur looks a little worried about the idea, he rubs the back of his neck and toes his boot into the dust near the steps. ‘Ah, I was actually wondering if we could go down to the river, go somewhere a bit more private… can still buy some food and drink if yer hungry.’

You happily nod. In fairness, you like the sound of that idea a good deal more than the same beef stew or lamb’s fry and watery beer. ‘Sounds good to me!’

~~~

Arthur takes another swig of the beer he brought and tries not to make it too obvious that he’s admiring your rear as you fish nearby. You’ve been standing there for nearly half an hour now, without much luck of anything nibbling. The only thing you’ve caught is a tiny bluegill, barely a mouthful.

‘C’mon,’ he mutters. ‘Yer may as well eat somethin’ decent. Don’ think yer goin’ to catch anythin’ before we’ll have to head back to camp soon.’

He gets the feeling that you may have used fishing as a way to avoid providing an answer as to what you were doing in town. You sigh and put away the fishing rod. Then stomp back over to Arthur. He chuckles on seeing the small frown on your face.

‘C’mon now handsome, ain’t no need to look so sore!’

‘Jus’ trying to prove myself a man.’

‘By catchin’ fish?’ Arthur asks.

You land on the blanket with a thud and slouch against a tree stump. You toss the fishing rod aside. ‘Yeah, guess we can’t all be gifted as ‘Arthur-Oh-I’m-shit-at-fishing-but-watch-me-land-this-huge-ass-bass-Morgan!’

Arthur laughs and passes a bottle of whiskey to you. ‘Huge ass bass?’

You try to keep your frown in place, but wind-up snorting with laughter as you take a gulp of the whiskey and cough fiercely. Arthur chuckles and pats you on the back. ‘Easy there. Yer don’ need to prove yerself as a man by catching fish!’ He grins mischievously. ‘Think I know of other ways yer can prove tha’.’

He nuzzles your neck and jaw, his large warm hand cupping your chin and his teeth nipping along the line of your neck, following up to your earlobe and making you shiver as he kisses and suckles it. You bite back a moan, but Arthur presses you down onto the blanket and you enjoy the weight and strength of him. He lifts himself up a bit to look at you and then kisses you, nipping at your lips, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you to him. His hand runs through your hair and you try not to whimper.

‘Thought I was meant to be eating something,’ you say, when you manage to get a quick gasp of air into your lungs.

‘We got time, sweetheart, ain’t no need to rush things!’ Arthur’s smug grin makes you slap his arm.

As he unbuttons your shirt and kisses down your chest, you happen to glance towards the river, where both your horses are tethered to a nearby tree. In one of Thorn’s saddle bags you can see a bright spray of flowers, wilting a little in the warm afternoon sun. You shoot upright without much warning and Arthur tumbles off you.

‘Jesus! Could give a man a little warnin’ if yer goin’ to do that!’ he grumbles, then spots where your gaze lies. ‘Ah! Oh! Shit!’ he mutters, then runs over to his horse and pulls the flowers out. He looks a little embarrassed and flustered by their wilted appearance.

‘Dammit,’ he says, then cautiously presents the flowers to you. ‘Sorry, they were much nicer when I first got ‘em… but guess I got distracted when I saw you in town and… shit… I ain’t much good at this and if yer don’ want ‘em, it’s fine, just thought…’

You get to your feet, tenderly cup Arthur’s face and kiss him gently. He still wears his worried expression when you’re done trying to express how much you love this soft, daft man. ‘Arthur, they’re wonderful. I’ve never had anyone get me flowers before.’

‘Well… yeah… sorry, should’ve done better-’

You place your thumb over his lips so he can’t talk. ‘Stop it. They’re lovely and I’m grateful for them.’ You feel like your heart might explode and smile giddily. ‘Thank you.’ You take the bouquet from him.

You figure this might be the best time to give him his own gift and reach into your bag. ‘I… I wasn’t sure what to get you, so I-’

‘Yer got me a gift? Why? I don’ need anythin’!’

You laugh. ‘Yeah, I know. But I wanted to give you something because you’re a good, kind man Arthur Morgan.’

‘Now we both know I ain’t-’

You dig out the small wooden box before he can have a chance to even go down that avenue of thought. ‘It’s not really… well I don’t know if you’ll even like it, but if you don’t, I can take it back.’

He very slowly and tentatively opens the book. He frowns a little on seeing the small palette of paints and thin brush.

‘I know you like pencil and I just thought maybe you’d like to give a go, they’re watercolours. My sister used to paint with ‘em and I just thought you might like them and we always go to that place with all the blue purpley flowers and I think they might look good and you’re a talented artist, so-’ you witter on, until Arthur kisses you and you melt happily into the kiss.

‘Thank you,’ he rumbles and tucks you close against him. You glance up and see his affectionate smile, that secret loving one he keeps just for you and your heart races as he murmurs, ‘I love you.’

#you are both cute and useless #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x m!reader #arthur morgan x m reader #arthur morgan x male reader #arthur morgan x m/reader #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #happy pride month #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x y/n

[mentally-a-slut]

Staring Problem (Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader)

Rating: M (a little spicy, nothing too bad)

Summary: An innocent staring problem evolves into something out of your most romantic fantasies.

Note: Okay, so I just whipped this up to show y'all what my writing would look like, it's really last minute and unedited so don't expect too much, but I hope you like it! It's a little messy because I just kinda started writing with no real idea, but please leave feedback! Also, if enough people want it, I am open to doing a smutty part two :) enjoy!

You hadn't thought you were being obvious with your staring, but were very quickly proved wrong when Mary-Beth slid up next to you, giggling. "Enjoyin' the show?"

You spluttered and blushed at the young woman's implication, lightly shoving her. "I'm not staring!"

She giggled again and gave you a look. "I don't blame you, I do it all the time. Nothing better to do than watch the men chop wood, especially if I'm supposed to be doing chores."

"Mary-Beth! Where is that girl?"

Mary-Beth gasped. "Oops! Gotta go!"

She scuttled off back to her table, frantically fiddling with the needle and thread to make it look like she was sewing. You sighed as you tore your gaze from her, eyes settling back on the man in front of you.

Of course, you were staring. Pretty damn hard, too. But hey, when Arthur Morgan is swinging an axe in the blazing sun, sleeves bunched up around his elbows, you just have to stare.

You knew you should at least be more subtle about it, instead of standing there uselessly leaning on a wagon, but whenever your eyes snagged on him, it was almost impossible to tear them away.

You'd lost all shame anyway, ever since he sort of confronted you about your crush. It had been an awkward conversation, one filled with stuttering and apologies. He hadn't expressed any discomfort, though, and simply acknowledged the fact that you liked to stare. He didn't outright reject you, but you knew better than to read into things. And even if he wasn't interested, who were you to deny yourself a show if he didn't mind giving one?

You only tore your gaze away when you heard Miss Grimshaw turning the corner, and you hurriedly tried to look busy. It usually worked, and you were back to staring as soon as she was out of sight.

You inwardly sighed when he sent the axe splitting through the last log. Show's over.

Even as he leaned the axe against the stump and turned to leave, you couldn't avert your gaze. The light was hitting him just right, golden rays bathing his tanned skin and making him look like an angel. Your face burned when he turned and met your gaze, and he simply tipped his hat with a smile. Sometimes you wished he would straight up say something about it instead of letting you ogle him. The heat that rushed to your face every time you were caught was stifling.

You had to resist the urge to follow him and see what he was getting up to next, instead settling on joining Mary-Beth. She looked up at you with a teasing smirk when you sat down, glancing behind you at the man who held your attention. "Show's over, huh?"

You rolled your eyes, sighing. "...Yeah."

She burst into giggled at your confession, dainty fingers going up to cover her mouth. "What's so funny?"

You started at his voice, the closeness of it surprising you. You turned to look at him, craning your neck to meet his eyes. You could've sworn there was a knowing smirk on his lips, but you chalked it up to the sun in your eyes. Even though you were facing away from the sun.

"Nothing!" you said too quickly.

"We was just talking about how she was staring at you chopping that wood."

You whipped your stare around to Mary-Beth. She just giggled and shrugged, acting innocent. "I- I wasn't-"

"S'alright, I know you were."

His words only made you want to shrink into yourself, never to see the light of day again. Mary-Beth took her leave, teasingly waving goodbye. She had just left you alone, with Arthur, a blushing mess.

"I don't- you-"

You all but yelped when he sat next to you on the log bench, close enough for your legs to brush. "If I didn't like it, I wouldn't let you do it."

"I didn't mean to stare!"

He chuckled, a low noise that traveled through your body and left goosebumps in its wake. "Yeah, you did."

You tried to come up with a valid explanation that wasn't 'I think you're really hot,' but came up short. "I'm sorry, I-"

"No need. I think it's cute, your little staring problem."

You didn't think you could blush anymore, but there he went, making you lightheaded with his words. "You... me, cute?"

His eyes met yours, and you had to stop yourself from swooning. His eyes were so blue, like shining crystals in the sunlight. "Yes, you. I thought it was obvious."

"What was obvious?"

He rolled his eyes affectionately, calloused hand brushing against yours. "That I'm sweet on you."

All coherent thought disappeared from your brain at that moment. "Huh?"

Your skin tingled as his hand grasped yours, rough fingers intertwining with yours. "I like you, sweetheart."

"Is this a joke?"

He chuckled. "No. I know I didn't really go about it right before, but what I meant to say was that I feel the same. It just... didn't come out right."

Your whole body was on fire, overwhelmed at the feeling of him so close to you. "So... you've liked me back, this whole time?"

"Mhm."

"Oh. That's... good."

"Just good?"

Your eyes found his, shining with emotion. "You know what I mean. I just can't believe..."

He stared at you, eyes shining with what must have been admiration. With his hand still holding yours, he stood, tugging you with him. "C'mere."

You stumbled after him, too awestruck to think. He led you to the spot you liked to stare at him from, the wagon obscuring the two of you from the rest of camp. Your back was to the wagon, his frame towering over you and he stood in front of you. He was close, close enough for you to lean forward and be chest to chest.

"When you stand here all clueless, drooling over me like nobody's watching," the hand that wasn't holding yours came up to rest against your cheek, "I have to force myself to keep working and not march over to you and kiss you til you can't breath."

You let out a strangled sound, breath hitching as he leaned closer. You were now trapped against the wagon, his body resting against yours. It was the best trap you'd ever been caught in.

"And when you look at me with those big, lovestruck eyes, I just wanna grab onto you and never let go."

A sigh that sounded more like a whine escaped your lips, knees threatening to give out beneath you. "Keep going."

He chuckled at your words, brushing his lips so, so close to yours.

"When you're concentrating on something, and you make those cute little noises, all I can think about is how I wanna bend you over and see what pretty little sounds I can get out of you."

"Holy shit," you whispered, eyes fluttering as his lips barely brushed against yours.

With a shaky sigh, you grabbed his collar and pulled him toward you, crashing your lips together. He let go of your hand, gripping your waist and holding you close. His lips were warm against yours, gently molding against yours. You brought a hand up to his hair, running your fingers through his short strands. An involuntary whine slipped from your lips, and it was swallowed by his increasingly desperate kiss. His hand slowly moved to your back, pressing you closer.

When his tongue brushed against your lip, you gasped, and he hummed against you as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. You recovered quickly, meeting his tongue with yours with matching desperation. Your fingers closed in his hair, tugging lightly. He groaned softly, and the sound traveled straight to your core.

When he pulled back for air, he kept his face close to yours, blue eyes darkened as he looked down at you. "You're so pretty like this, all whiny and desperate."

His praise elicited another whine from your lips and you pulled him back against your lips. This time he kept pulling away from you in between kisses, chuckling as you chased after him. He mumbled soft words against your lips, each one making you want him more and more.

"Pretty girl."

"So good for me."

"So needy."

You whined in frustration and kissed him roughly, hands running over his body. When his hands ran over your ass and gripped your thighs tightly, you jumped up and he pressed you up against the wagon. The angle was torture, your core level with his, and the heat of your arousal was overwhelming. Your hips struggled to meet his, seeking the friction you craved, but Arthur just chuckled against your lips and held you still. "Not yet, darlin'."

You would have been embarrassed by the whine you let out if you weren't clouded with lust. You continued to wriggle against his grip, whining as he tortured you with slow, passionate kisses.

"Arthur!"

He pulled back with a groan when someone called his name, his forehead resting against yours. "Yeah?"

"Got a job for you!"

He sighed. "Be right there!"

You sighed and let your head fall against his shoulder. "I'm sorry, baby."

You hid your face in his neck, trying to hide the blush his words caused. "S'okay."

He gently set you down, hands settling on your waist. He lifted your face to his, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. When your eyes fluttered open, you were met with his darkened eyes that held a promise for things to come.

"We'll finish this later."

#rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #smut #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption 2 smut #rdr2 smut #one shot #arthur morgan smut #x reader #fem!reader #x reader smut #azi's creations

[glenechoslasher]

"Here With Me" ||

Arthur Morgan x GN!Reader

Rating: None

Asked by @photo1030

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan drabble #arthur morgan writing #writing drabble #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 arthur morgan #red dead writings #tinalbion writings #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan x reader #gender neutral reader

[arthurthethird]

First request for @arthurmorgansleftear

I hope this will be good enough since it's pretty much first request I do on here. Please enjoy.

Camp boahs comforting reader after Micah comments on their weight

Gn!reader

The day started calmly. Birds singing, fish swimming, rats wondering around the kitchen.

Speaking of kitchen, you decided it's a good time to get some food. You haven't eaten in a while and a good outlaw has to eat plenty, so you decided it's your time.

Speaking of rats, it so happened that one of the camp rats was sitting there. Not really doing anything else than sipping whiskey, a sight no one can be surprised about.

You calmly ignored him. You learnt that that's the best way for you to go on with your day without having to break his nose.

Yet he always asks for it.

Even now.

As soon as he saw you approaching, Micah immediately grinned.

"Didn't expect you here"

You stay quiet, only giving him a confused glance.

Now, depending on your silhouette, he'll find a way to get under your skin.

Either "Didn't you come here today already?" "And I've been wondering where all the food goes..." "Look at that, you'll soon have to buy yourself new clothes if you keep eating so much!"

Or "first time in a month, ey?" "You finally decided to eat! Everyone thought you're sick" "If you like starving so much, why are we wasting our food on you?"

He has his ways.

And we all know he doesn't have the perfect body either, so you try to ignore him.

Try to.

Of course, it doesn't end well, since you end up trying to hide your feelings.

It hurt. Of course it did, why wouldn't it?

You quickly walk away, not even bothering to actually eat something. You only hear his sickening laugh as you walk away.

He knows he has won.

~

Arthur's first reaction as soon as he heard that familiar laugh was to check what's going on.

Obviously if Micah's happy, someone's not.

You bumped into him just as he walked towards the place.

His hands landed on your shoulders as he looked down to you.

Now, Arthur might be an idiot, but he can easily read someone's emotions from their face.

You were hurt. Micah was happy.

That bastard.

He looked at you with a concerned look.

"what happened?"

You just mutter that it's nothing. That it's just Micah trying to get under your skin. And that's what takes him over the edge.

Arthur walks up to the blonde rat and punches him right in the face.

While Micah's busy cursing him out, he takes you by the arm, gently, but firmly, and walks to your tent.

You want to ask what is he doing, but before you can, he hugs you.

Telling you that you shouldn't listen to stupid Micah. You're beautiful and everyone in the camp knew that.

Then he brings you a bowl of Pearson's stew.

You try to decline but he basically shoves it down your throat.

"Don't listen to that son of a bitch. You have to eat no matter what."

~

Charles isn't even bothered at first.

He learned to stay away out of camp conflict, so he couldn't be bothered.

But when he sees that it's you who's stomping away from Micah, he quickly jumps into action.

He walks to you, asking what happened.

Even if you don't want to tell, he makes you.

As soon as he hears what happened, he goes for the rat.

You know that moment where Charles throws Micah because he said something assholish?

Yea, that. He does that.

After that he walks to you and sits you down for a proper talk.

And that means him telling you why the food's important and why you're beautiful no matter how much you eat.

Then he gets some food and goes to his own tent, pulling you along of course.

Proceeds to feed you.

"You need energy. Besides, I didn't caught that deer for you to not try it."

~

John immediately tries to locate where what is happening.

As soon as he sees you with Micah, he gets up and makes his way over there.

He heard everything while coming over.

Wraps an arm around you, covering your ears and proceeds to curs the snake out.

You stand there, not knowing if you're supposed to cry or laughed.

You just watch Micah's expression go from annoyed to confused.

You didn't even noticed that John leaded you away.

He went outside the camp with you and looked at you.

Proceeds to hug the shit out of you.

Telling you that you shouldn't listen because what you eat is your deal.

And it definitely shouldn't impact on your self image.

For one's he said something smart.

"I don't care what other people say about you, you're goddamn beautiful. And everyone in the camp knows that. Shut up, you can't disagree"

~

Hosea usually doesn't care about the camp fights.

Prefers to stay out of it unless it includes him directly.

But he heard you mutter something to yourself.

So he raised his head from the newspaper to see what was going on.

Oh boy.

He doesn't do much.

Just gets up, rolls the newspaper, walks to Micah and smacks his head with it.

He ignores the rat cursing him out. Instead walks to you and leads you back to the fire.

Similar to Charles, explains why eating is important, telling you that you're beautiful and who cares about what Micah says.

He gives you a hug, then encourages you to eat something.

If you don't want to, he'll leave you alone.

But definitely will come to check on you every night.

"You gotta eat. So what if someone cares, are you harming them with your food?"

~

Dutch heard everything.

He was smoking a cigar outside of his tent when he noticed the situation.

Immediately walks there.

"What's going on?"

Micah tries to show the situation to Dutch as lighthearted, but when he noticed the leader isn't buying it, he looked away grumbling.

Dutch proceeds to explain to him that they accept everyone and that he didn't care about Micah's looks when he took him in.

He then takes you to his tent, sitting down with you and asking what was that about.

Talks you through why you think what he said might be true.

Basically a therapist.

He then gives you a hug, telling you to eat something.

"we need you big and strong! Another job's comin'!"

~

Javier was playing his guitar nearby.

As soon as he sees Micah's mouth open, he stops, turning his full attention there.

As soon as he starts talking, Javier took his guitar, walks there and smacks his head.

Micah will definitely have a bruise, but who cares.

Curses him out in Spanish.

Then pulls you with him back to his tent.

He let's you vent about everything.

Then plays you a song while you lean to him, bummed out.

After that, definitely makes you eat something.

"I know it's hard mi amigo, but you have to try!"

~

Sean is confused when he sees you walking away without the food.

He didn't hear anything happening, he only knew that you went to eat.

He gets up, going to you.

"where's your food?"

You look at him and mumble you weren't hungry.

He's confused, but then looks over to where you came from.

Ah. Micah.

He narrows his eyes and walk over there. You try to tell him it's okay, but he doesn't stop.

"oi! Don't bother my friend!"

Basically screams at him to the point his accent is too thick to be even able to understand.

It doesn't do much, but you appreciate it.

He then walks over you and cups your cheeks.

"look, I love you Y/N, but I don't want to have to stuff food down your throat"

Tries to make you laugh.

Eventually ends up eating with you so you'll feel better.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #rdr #arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #rdr2 x reader #john marston #reddeadredemption2 #micah bell #sean macguire #javier escuella #charles smith #hosea matthews #gn!reader #m!reader #f!reader #rdr2 x f reader #rdr2 x gn reader #rdr2 x m reader

[batfleshh]

happy hour

Arthur Morgan x m!reader | October 16th

Warnings: usage of alcohol, spit as lube? , boot riding (I’ve never written this before so idk how it works) , praise, cum eating, cumming in pants, Arthur drinks but you’ve had a few more than him, one night stand?, handjob, quick aftercare, he’s so silly i love him , grrhhh gay, this takes place in the middle of the 2/3 chapter ig

Arthur wasn’t the kind of man that let stress get to him. He could find his way around a problem, even if it meant not acknowledging it. He wasn’t the type to be a regular at the saloon, but it didn’t hurt to buy a few every now and then. When he entered the saloon, it seemed to be a particularly busy night. There was a lot of talking, some men arguing over a game of poker and a few women sitting around a table with their men.

The bar seemed to be riddled with the common drunks, loud mouths with scars and scruffy beards. There was a particular man sitting there, though. He seemed to be lost in space, an opened bottle of beer sat next to him, only half of it had been drank. The man was clearly intoxicated, eyes holding a clouded type of emotion one can only describe as bliss.

Being someone who isn’t one to judge, Arthur made his decision to sit right next to the man, not being bothered by his presence. After ordering a whiskey, Arthur let himself deep dive into his own thoughts, not noticing how the other man had now slumped himself down onto the bar, eyes half lidded.

He then felt a small tap on his hand, the feeling slightly surprising him out his trance. He looked down at the hand, then at the face that it belonged to. It was you, the slumped beer drinker, a dopey smile on your face.

“Yer’ real handsome, mister.”, you said to him, the alcohol visibly working in your system. Arthur gave a polite smile, nodding at the fellow before speaking. “Well that’s mighty kind of you, partner.” The two men exchanged a glance, a small smile on both of their faces.

“‘S you married, mister?”, the question made Arthur’s face flush in surprise. He gave a chuckle, sitting up straight in his stool, “not currently, no.”

You slowly sat up, head heavy as you reached for your opened beer, taking a quick sip before continuing to speak. “Thas’ a shame. Yer’ faarr too handsome to be alone.”, a drunken giggle escapes your lips, eyes scanning his face more. You slowly move your hand to place it onto his arm, it surprised him, but he didn’t think much of it, not feeling very threatened by you as he could easily kill you if he wanted to.

He had never really flirted with a man before, meaning this was kind of a new experience for him. But he just thought Fuck it, might as well try this out. So after downing his whiskey, he moves his face closer to yours, a flirtatious tone in his voice as he says, “You tryna’ cure my loneliness, boy?”

He seemed pleased with himself as you gave a quick nod, that smile of yours growing wider as he flagged down the bartender, asking him for a room and a key, placing a small stack of bills onto the counter. He slowly gets up, a look of interest on his face as he silently asks if you’re coming with him. You give a firm nod, immediately standing up to follow after him.

When you reach the room, you pull him inside by his vest, making sure to close and lock the door behind you. You pull him to your lips, legs stumbling to stay up right as you breathe through your nose. He gives a chuckle into the kiss, grabbing onto your waist to hold you up right. You both move closer to the bed, him laying down on his back as you move to sit on his lap, moving down to keep your lips connected to his. He pulls away, huffing to catch his breath as you whine at the loss. He grabs ahold of your chin, placing a soft kiss to your lips.

“Woah there, boy. You sure yer’ okay with everything?”, he asks cautiously, not sure if your mind is fully cleared to make that sort of decision. You let out a little noise, a small pout on your face as you stare at his lips, longing for the taste again. “Wan’ kiss you again,” you say absentmindedly, not focusing on answering the question he had asked. He sits up slowly, a hand on your lower back to steady you as he uses to other to support himself as he does. You lean forward against him, a giggle leaving your lips even though nothing seemed to be happening.

You slowly began to grind yourself onto him, your face moving to hide against his neck. Arthur groaned as his cock slowly jumped to life in his pants, grabbing back onto your waist. He hummed as he thought of an idea, moving his head back to speak to you. “Get on your knees f’me, sweetheart.”, he spoke to you gently, giving a sweet smile as he watches you nod and get off of his lap slowly, stumbling to move slowly onto your knees. As you get down, your hands move to rest between your legs. Arthur lets out a small noise of displeasure, pushing his foot against your hands. “Move ‘em, boy, need access to that area.”

You nod, a little confused but you comply, moving your hands to the side of you. He slowly moves his foot between your legs, front of his boot rubbing against your clothed cock. You whimper at the feeling, your hands moving up to grab at the cowboy’s pants leg. You move a hand up to fiddle with his belt, pulling at the buckle lightly. Arthur grins at your eagerness, helping you unbuckle his belt with one of his free hands.

You lean your head against his leg slowly, freeing his cock from his pants. You spit onto your hand, slowly moving back up to begin stroking at his cock. It was a slow pace, the outlaw leaning his head back to let out a deep groan. You slowly began to grind yourself against his boot, small moans and whines leaving your throat as you press your face into his leg. Arthur slowly raises the tip of his foot, slowly grinding it against you.

Your hand slowly begins to pick up speed, it traveling up to the tip of his cock all the way back down. Your mind felt clouded, the experience being almost a little too much to process considering how fast the night was moving. After a little while, you slowly feel yourself reaching closer to the edge, your hips beginning to move faster. Arthur seems to take notice of this, his hips moving to thrust into your hand ever so slightly.

You let out a long moan, releasing into your clothes as you feel a warm liquid trickle down your hand. You look at your hand, the familiar white fluid covering it. You look up at Arthur, smiling as he reaches down to pat you on the head. “Thas’ a good boy. You did well, sweetheart.”, he praises as you nod at him. You move your hand to your mouth slowly, licking away the mess. He helps you to your feet after putting his cock away, buckling his belt back up as you grumble at the uncomfortable feeling in your pants. He helps you to the bath, not really bothering to pay for it.

He knows he shouldn’t bother waiting for you, but he does. When you’re out, you move back to him, a giddy smile on your face. He takes you back to the room he paid for, laying you down on the bed after you shed most of your clothing off. You move under the blanket, immediately shutting your eyes when your head hits the pillow. He moves towards the door and tips his hat to you, not knowing if you see the gesture or not, and with that, he was gone.

~ ★

a/n: THIS TOTALLY ISNT LONG.

#bat bite #ktober #can you tell I like Arthur? #male reader #x male reader #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption arthur #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x male reader #gay #cowboy yummy #rdr2 #rdr2 arthur #arthur morgan rdr2 #🪽 ! bat fic