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mileycyprus-hill · 6 months

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Barbells and Barstools

Arthur Morgan x Female Reader

Summary: So, yeah this is totally not a self-indulgent fic at all *cough cough*. Reader is an Olympic-level strongwoman who travels with Miss Marjorie's Medical Miracles troupe. Being overprotective of simple-minded Bertram, you find yourself looking for a fight with the man who beat him up at the Van Horn saloon. Things take a turn as you and Arthur find yourselves quickly turning from enemies to lovers.

Warnings: violence, mature language. Part 2 gets steamy.

…………………………

You burst through the rotting door of the old Van Horn saloon, your cheeks hot and teeth clenched hard.

"Alright, who's the asshole who thinks he can beat up a poor simpleton!" You bellow as you push the saloon doors with such force, one of them cracks as it bangs against the wall.

A silence falls upon the saloon, which is unsurprising given the lack of clientele in this filthy establishment. All at once the eyes of the haggard labor men look to you. Once they glance at the sight of your tall frame blocking the doorway they quickly avert their gazes to their cloudy and nearly empty glasses.

You remain standing with your hands placed at your hips and feet apart on the dusty floor. A gust of wind behind you blows a stray hair from your braid onto your flushed cheek. Dust blows onto the floor, which is indistinguishable beneath the thick layer of dirt.

A deep and hoarse voice answers from your right, towards the bar.

"That would be me," says the voice.

With a scowl painted on your dry lips and sweaty brow, you dart your eyes over to the bar. A man of similar height to yourself leans forward on the bar in worn and dusty clothes. Upon his head he wears a black leather hat, scuffed and dirty. His face is hidden from view until he finally raises his head. Steely eyes glare at you from beneath the wide brim of his hat.

"Shit." You breathe in a frustrated whisper that's as silent as the wind. You notice the black eye already forming on the man's face and the beer bottle held to his reddened cheek.

The man is barrel-chested and his shoulders are broad beneath a light blue, cotton button-down shirt that tapers into a loose tuck in his lean waisted pants. The sleeves are rolled to his elbows to expose his pale, thick forearms. No doubt this man packs a punch hard enough to knock back the mighty Bertram.

However, what this man may not know is that while Bertram lacks speed in favor of brute force, you carry the skills of both agility and strength. Upon further inspection, it also appears that Bertram has worn this bastard out, as you watch the man continue to catch his breath while leaning on the bar counter. This lesson you plan to teach him should be quick, you think to yourself.

Appearing annoyed from under your scrutinizing gaze, the tired man speaks from across the bar, "And before you start throwing fists at me, I'll have you know, he started it."

"He doesn't know any better!" You defend with heated venom on your tongue. Walking closer to him, you scold, "He's got the mind of a child."

You cross the hollow parlor in just a few strides of your long legs. Broken shards of glass crackle against the dirty floor beneath your feet. Your thumbs rub against your index fingers anxiously as your arms swing at your sides.

The man exclaims with a snarl, "That ain't no excuse! He nearly killed the barman, not to mention myself!"

He points to his own beaten face with a hand that's equally bruised and slightly bloodied as you had seen Bertram's.

The barman behind the counter raises his palms, "Now listen! If you two wanna continue this, then do it outside. I don't want any more damage to my place!"

The two of you ignore the barman pointing to the broken glass and splintered wood that litters his floor.

"I'm staying right here." The tired man says, promptly ignoring you to sit himself on a rickety stool beside him. "I ain't done anythin' wrong."

With a barely audible scoff, you cock your head to the side and watch him slowly blink his eyes.

"Guess again, asshole." You lunge forward and grab the front of the man's shirt. Like a heavy sack of potatoes, you yank him off the chair towards you. You need only to drag him a few feet towards the door before you turn on your back leg and toss him through the saloon doors with minimal effort.

~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur felt his feet float beneath him as you grasped his shirt and pulled him away from the bar counter. His breath caught in his throat and before he realized what had happened, he found himself stumbling through the doors of the saloon into the street.

"Shit!" Arthur yells, swinging his arms to balance and prevent himself from falling face forward onto the dirt.

Arthur thought you looked big, but assumed it was just his perspective from the barstool. Jesus, the last time someone threw him like that it was through the bar window in Valentine, and that man was a giant.

How far was he from the door when he sat on the stool? You threw him further than he could spit, which is a considerable distance.

He hears the doors swing open again and turns to watch you stomp outside to the street. In the bright afternoon light, he's finally able to get a better look at your frame.

By god, you're the brawniest woman he's ever laid eyes on.

The tight, pine colored trousers tucked into your leather boots do you no favors in hiding your thick, hard thighs and brawny backside. A dark brown belt cinches your stocky waist and tucks your tailored, ruffled white blouse into your trousers. You push the long linen sleeves of your shirt up past your elbows to expose your chiseled forearms. Your rounded biceps and wide shoulders flex underneath the light fabric. All of the buttons of your blouse are done except for the first three of the top, showcasing your jutting collarbones in contrast to your buxom chest.

In Arthur's moment of awe-struck weakness, that chest of yours is suddenly directly in front of his face. You grab him again by the front of his shirt, lift him up onto his toes, and forcefully push him to the ground. He lands flat on his back with your hands still entangled in his shirt while you kneel over him. The air escapes his lungs from the impact and he gasps like a fish out of water. A tightened fist hangs above his face and threatens to come crashing down on his chin.

Instinctively, Arthur stops you by grabbing your fist with one hand and wrapping around your wrist with the other.

"Goddammit, she told me to do it!" Arthur shouts. He kicks his heels against the dirt beneath you. Your knee is pressed against his lower stomach, just above his groin, pushing your weight upon him. Your other leg is outstretched to your side, steadying you while he attempts to push you off of him.

Visions of the muddy street in Valentine flash through Arthur's mind as he holds back your fist with both hands. Memories of a brute named Tommy shoving his face in the mud cause his heart to beat at a panicked rate.

With your fist immobilized, you reach with your other hand to wrap his throat. Arthur feels your powerful fingers grip tightly around his own thick neck. The base of your thumb presses against his bulging Adam's apple.

He kicks his feet and thrusts his hips in a manic attempt to buck you off, but no matter how much he pushes, his strength is evenly matched. In a panic, he sacrifices the holding strength of one hand from your wrist to reach for your hair. Calloused fingers interlaced with silky fibers of hair, he curls his fingers closed and pulls downward.

Goddammit, it only makes your grip tighter on him. You shake your fist free from the hold of his hand and wrap it around his throat. He pulls your head closer to his. You don't make a yelp or a cry at his pull on your scalp, only an angry growl through your tight lips as you stare into his eyes.

His eyes begin to water until your hand quickly loosens its grip at the sound of a pleading voice.

The voice is deep yet has the meekness of a small child.

"Don't, (Y/N)! He'll hurt you!" The voice begs you.

You both turn, locked in your position with Arthur's hand in your hair and your hands around his neck. You both look to see Bertram standing there, hands raised and shaking. His face is cringed with worry and sadness.

Noting your distraction, Arthur takes his opportunity to strike a swift punch to your ribs. You exclaim in shock instead of pain, despite how hard he struck against your side. Nevertheless, he rolls you over to the ground and straddles your waist, grabbing both of your hands and holding them by your head to pin you beneath him.

Arthur stares into your angry eyes and warns, "Listen! Now, I don't want more trouble for beating a nitwit and a woman, but if you don't--"

Bertram cries again, "No! Don't hurt her!"

Bertram takes two steps towards the both of you as you wiggle against each other for dominance before a shrill whistle cuts through the air like a steam train through the open plains.

The three of you cinch your eyes shut and cringe at the intrusive sound. Poor Bertram stands with his hands covering his ears, nearly buckling over in pain.

A familiar, scrawny woman rushes to you and Arthur in quick steps with a small silver whistle in her mouth. Arthur keeps his full weight on top of you with your hands still pinned to the ground.

Spitting the whistle from her lips, Miss Marjorie shouts, "Enough! Can't I turn around for one minute without you getting us into trouble again?"

Arthur turns his attention from Miss Marjorie down to you, then back to her. He realizes her anger is solely directed towards you, as he feels you release the tension in your arms and sigh. Turning his gaze to you once more, he watches your eyes clench shut and lips tighten in frustration. You refuse to look back up at Marjorie who glares down at you with her hands on her hips like an angry mother to her troublesome child.

Miss Marjorie continues, "Your job is to find that little bastard Magnifico, but here I find you fighting this poor gentleman who was only helping me just moments ago!"

"You call that helping?" You retort, lifting your head and pointing with your eyes over to Bertram's bruised face, who maintains his distance from the three of you and attempts to cover his face with his hands in shame.

Arthur's gravelly voice rises in pitch in response, "What else was I supposed to do? Fight him with my words?"

He feels your body tense again as his words incensed you. Your nostrils flare and your bright eyes cut him down as if he were nothing but a rabid mongrel deserved to be put down.

Through his arms and legs, Arthur feels the seething rage return to your muscled body and he tightens his grip on your wrists in response. His thighs pinch your ribs, as if steadying himself on top a wild mustang who refuses to be broke. The two of you stare into each other's eyes, waiting for the other to relent and turn away or even blink.

Suddenly, Arthur can't help but let a smirk pull at the corner of his lips. The sight of you laying pinned beneath him in the dirt, cheeks red hot in fury and eyes of steel piercing through him, it makes his own cheeks flush with a warm desire from the depths of his hardened heart.

He's won this wrestling match, he thinks, but you refuse to admit to defeat despite him holding you down with all his weight and Miss Marjorie watching you from above.

You could easily push him off of you, he thinks. As effortless as it was for you to toss him like a bale of hay, it should be no different now to simply buck him off like a wild mare.

So why haven't you?

He finds it amusing, seeing you so angry like this and holding yourself back to avoid further rebuke from your matriarch. He relaxes his furrowed eyebrows and crinkled nose. His smirk pulls higher at his lips now as he watches your hot-tempered stare cool down to confusion. Your well-manicured eyebrow quirks up and your eyes slightly widen in distrust to his smile. Your bosom that was once rising and falling in deep, angry breaths has now paused. Slowly, you let out a shallow and reluctant exhale from your nose. Your lips remain tightly pursed. Arthur notices the subtle cock of your head against the ground, like that of a perplexed puppy.

Your gazes both remain locked as Miss Marjorie speaks, "I am sorry for her behavior Mister, uh...what did you say your name was?"

Arthur unfurls his fingers from your wrists and straightens himself up, sitting back on your hips.

"I didn't," he replies, turning his head to Marjorie before turning back to you. "Arthur Callahan."

Still straddling you, Arthur looks into your eyes and extends a calloused hand to you as an offering.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you raise one arm to receive his hand.

"(Y/N) (L/N). But, most people call me Miss Atlas."

You both grasp the other's hand firmly in a show of strength. You squeeze his hand tightly, and he squeezes back in response. His eyes scan your face for any discomfort from his grip, but he sees only a roguish purse of your lips that barely mimics a smile.

Arthur repeats with a soft, rumbling chuckle, "Atlas...Was 'Lady Hercules' taken?" He gingerly rubs his throat.

He takes a moment to watch your eyes roll in response. Finally, he rises up from you and onto his feet to offer you a helping hand, to which you ignore and stand yourself up with a small grunt and brush away the dust from your clothes. What you don't ignore though, is Arthur's attempt to sneak a quick glance at your plump backside. He feels you stare at him, angry and confused at his lewd gaze, as if he's a randy teenage boy who's been caught peeping.

Miss Marjorie speaks up between you two with urgency, "Well! Now we're all properly introduced and can be friendly again, perhaps you won't mind Mr. Callahan helping you find Magnifico?"

Snapping your head towards her with a glare, you state firmly, "I can handle it. I don't need--"

"I'd be happy to help, ma'am." Arthur replies, ignoring your attempt to dissuade her.

He doesn't face you, but he peers at you through the corners of his eyes. You stare at him with such heat in your glare that he'd be surprised he doesn't burst into flames at this very moment.

Another crooked smirk falls upon his lips and he quirks a brow as if to mock your boiling frustration. His eyes slowly move in attention to Miss Marjorie.

"Great!" She exclaims happily.

This should be interesting, Arthur thinks to himself.

#i'm back bitches #meant to be just once chapter #as usual #it didn't #two parter #part 2 gets steamy #arthur likes to be dominated #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #strong woman #strong female character #rdr2 #fan fiction #red dead redemption 2

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