#Rdr2 drabble

[big-boah-2]

He'd wear 38"x32" Levi's, the dark blue 514 ones. White tees and flannel and work boots. He'd work in construction or park rangering or something, and when he comes home at the end of the day, and you hug him, your fingertips barely touch behind his back. It's those kind of hugs where you do a squish and you can feel like soft yet firm comfort between your arms. Warmth. He would grumble about how he stinks and needs a shower, but he always smells good for some reason. Like him and the outdoors, balanced perfectly. And once you've held him long enough, he kisses your forehead and tells you how much he appreciates everything you do, even though he's out there doing hard labor. You'd kiss him back, savoring the feeling of his full lips between yours, then you'd shower together. Just like every night, you enjoy a damn good meal and dessert, doing whatever makes you happy and relaxed after, until you both hit the hay that night. Because he's just a good, honest, hard-working guy. And you're an amazing, beautiful, and caring companion.

#rdr2 #rdr2 imagines #is this x reader? #yeah #arthur morgan x reader #minific #red dead redemption 2 #red dead #rdr2 posting #big boah arthur morgan #arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur #gn!reader #writing #idk where this came from #chubby arthur morgan #rdr2 modern au #rdr2 drabble #drabble fic

[gimmethosedaddymilkers]

Arthur Morgan Headcannons

I just wanted to write some headcannons, about Arthur, literally anything, I don't care what it is exactly so that's what you're getting.

Some of the headcannons might be a bit more oriented towards a female reader, but not all, I myself am a woman, so, I'll more than likely put some in.

Arthur Morgan is a man who will gladly enjoy any person, regardless of size, but let's be real, I think he has a bit of a soft spot for bigger women. Chunky or thicc, he likes 'em

He thinks that with more there, there's more for him to grab and less of a chance that he'll break something when he's with you, whether it's in a bit more intimate situation, or even when he's just giving you a small hug or kiss.

Arthur is extremely observant. He pays attention to the things you like, and he is literally always on top of doing the things you like or buying you whatever will make you smile. 

If he finds out how much you like his voice? Uses it against you, because he doesn’t want to torture you, but he does want to see you riled up. 

You like how warm he is? He’ll always be watching to see when you get cold, and the moment you do he’s right behind you with his arms around your waist. 

Arthur has a SEVERE gambling addiction. You thought his smoking was bad? He plays poker almost every single night that he’s in camp, and sometimes it’s a blessing and others it’s a curse. He can go rounds at a time, winning each one, but as soon as he has one bad round, they all go bad, but he’s never willing to give up until you make him, and by the end of the ordeal he’s lost more money than made. 

He also has a huge ego problem, obviously he’s mentally ill and he’s depressed with who he is as a person, and he doesn’t think very highly of himself, but the moment you manage to boost his ego, that little swagger walk of his that you so dearly love grows more confident. 

Hell, sometimes even you just saying good morning can change his whole mood, and he’ll even be nice to other people in camp when he usually only tolerates them.

Arthur has this thing, that when he leaves camp for a certain amount of time, anything that’ll be longer than a day really, but usually when its about a week of being away. He’ll come back to camp, make a beeline for you, and whisper only loud enough for you to hear “Can you be quiet for me while I fuck you or do I have to take you outta camp?” 

And thus, you are prepared, obviously.

He’s like a dog in heat, mainly because he hadn’t been with anyone in so long and after a while he’d stopped going after working girls. No one had really made his body react like you did, so it never became a problem until he got with you. 

He draws you all the time, obviously he draws, he’s got a whole sketchbook dedicated to it, but he draws you almost any chance he can. Not because he’s some corny “I love you more than life itself” kind of person, which, he is, but because he thinks that out of everyone in camp you are the most fun to draw, your features are just more entertaining and enjoyable to make out with a pencil.

Arthur loves to eat good food, and while Pearson does a decent job it’s not exactly what he would consider gourmet food, so whenever he gets the chance to try new food, or get good food at least, he’ll splurge the money. The only reason he hasn’t gotten completely fat, though he is a little on the chubbier side, which you absolutely love, and think is hot as hell, is because of all the work he does for the gang.

He calls you all kinds of nicknames and pays attention to the ones that get the biggest reaction out of you. 

He’s found that Princess does a particularly great job at getting a rouse out of you, but he’s also found that if he says it in his normal tone it doesn’t have the same effect, he has to lower his voice for it to work the way he wants it too. 

Darlin’ and Sweetheart have about the same effect, although Darlin’ seems to make you feel a little more for him in serious situations. 

Sugar makes you go beet red in the face, and he’s figured out that one is another one he can lower his voice for. 

Honey is one that he thinks you like, but he also thinks you’re a little neutral on it. Sometimes it works, other times you just don’t seem to care that much. You’ll answer to it, but that’s about all.

Good Girl, or My Girl, regardless of tone, but especially when lowered, always gets you messed up and he knows it, which is exactly why he waits until you’re at the fire surrounded by the gang to whisper it in your ear. 

On the other hand, you have only a few nicknames for him.

Cowboy, it’s tried and true, describes him, basically to a Tee, although Outlaw works better. 

Honey, again, a neutral one. 

You are the only person, and I mean, only person he allows to call him Pretty Boy, if anyone else tries it they’re liable to find a knife beneath their neck.

Big Boy will send him skyrocketing, his face will flare so hard his ears will turn red and he’ll start stuttering over his words like a newborn calf stumbling on its legs. 

Good Boy will really get him motivated and usually if you say it to him in public, he has to excuse himself until he gets rid of his problem. 

You hate to admit it, because you know it’s bad for him, but you think that when he smokes cigarettes, he’s at one of his hottest points. When he finds this out, he makes it his goal to smoke more around you.

Occasionally he’ll wait until you wake up and walk out of his tent shirtless and lean against the wooden poles to smoke, and he’ll send a smirk your way, that he knows you like. 

When you start to share his tent together, he does the same thing, however, rather than getting up he just simply leans over you and grabs the smokes, he’ll light a match against the wagon and puff away with his hands behind his head. 

His absolute favorite thing to do is smack you on the ass and run away, he thinks it’s the absolute funniest thing ever to watch you chase him, he’s got longer legs, so it’s easier to stay away from you. 

He also loves it when you wear his hat, however, if you do, he’s going to use it as an excuse to take you to the tent. 

If you get him drunk, first off, I’m sorry, second off, you better have a leash. He’s a lot happier drunk, he likes to sing and talk, and he compliments everyone, but he also likes to stumble around and go adventure, and if you don’t keep a good eye on him he’s liable to mount up on his horse, albeit slowly, and then make his way into the nearest town to cause mayhem.

Do not let him drink with John, because rather than being a fun loving drunk he will start trying to fight John and then the night is ruined for everyone. 

He also gets more handsy when he drinks, he was already handsy before, but now, when he’s drunk and he couldn’t care less about what people thought about him, he was going to touch wherever he wanted on you. 

Your stomach? He’s got his arms around it.

Your ass? Being grabbed any time he’s walking, or stumbling rather, with you. 

Tits? Regardless of gender? They have been honked at least twice. 

He will kiss you, if it’s on the lips or on the neck, that is anyone’s gamble. 

He’ll even talk dirty to you, and not quietly like he would if he was sober, he’ll do it for everyone in camp to hear, and the only way to shut him up is to either kiss him or somehow drag all two hundred and forty pounds of him into his tent. 

All in all Arthur Morgan is Arthur Morgan and if you make the decision to be his you better be ready to deal with it.

#Arthur Morgan x reader #Arthur Morgan #Rdr2 #Red Dead Redemption 2 #Rdr2 drabble #Arthur Morgan headcannons #Rdr2 Headcannons #Arthur Morgan drabble

[margowritesthings]

Hey, Margo! 🩷

I’m sending the request according to your new post 🥺

I would like a friends to lovers trope. But here’s the thing: Could the female character (lil me) and Arthur actually had a relationship in the past (current relationship status is they broke up) and now they are falling for each other again (second chance)?

Of course I would love a Red Dead Redemption (Arthur Morgan) fanfic 🩷

The gender is female, and if you could make her ginger with brown eyes (like me) I would love it 🥺 And if Arthur calls her angel, even better 🩷🩷🩷

Feel free to add smut, fluff and anything you would like!

Thank you for tagging me! You know how much I love your writing 🩷

sweet angel hello! thank you for participating, i got so many ideas for your love story with our pretty cow boah

come celebrate 1k followers with me!

arthur morgan // second chance + friends to lovers

you two have been sweet on each other since the moment you met, the day you joined the gang. arthur was brave enough to ask you on a date after only a short three months of pining after you

he took you to the saloon, you beat him at poker, and in that moment he knew you were his soulmate. a forever love.

you were together for a few months, and it was that kind of love you only thought existed in the stories you read. it was celestial, ethereal. a wild burning flame extinguished far too quickly.

when he found out about isaac and eliza's deaths, arthur really struggled. he drank a lot and lost himself for a while.

you knew the best thing to do was to just be there for him, so you both decided he needed friendship right now.

"you're my best friend, arthur. that ain't ever gonna change."

but the feelings didn't just go away as easily as your plan relied on, that flame too furious to be extinguished by simple "logic"

you wanted to respect the space arthur asked for, and he never thought he was good enough to have you after letting you go the first time

unworthy of your love

if he couldn't protect isaac and eliza, how could he ever deserve you?

and thus ensued years of pining

the very best of friends, unable to stay away from each other while this silent love roared

you'd work jobs together, go hunting together, have midnight chats by the fire, save each other's asses from time to time

years went on like this, where everybody in the gang and their mamma would share glances and roll their eyes at the two fools who couldn't just admit they were made for each other

you were the first person arthur wanted to see whenever he got back from a job, the one he rode home to even if he never said it aloud

and as much as your heart ached a little every time you looked at him, you would have stayed like that forever if it meant getting to keep arthur in your life

until the day he left it

when he didn't come back from the 'chat' with the o'driscolls, you were out of your mind with worry

the thought of never seeing arthur again flipped a switch in your mind and you finally realised that this life stuck in limbo wasn't enough

you were sneaking out in the dead of night against dutch's orders when you saw him, beaten and bloody, riding home to you

it broke you, the relief washing over you like a wave that breaks the walls you've built as though they're nothing but paper

he practically falls off his horse, but you catch his weight and support him

you take him to your tent and patch him up, holding him and crying with him when you see what they did to arthur. your arthur.

he winces when he reaches up to push that stray rebellious hair out of your face, but the way the candlelight glows in his eyes has your own breath hitching in your throat

"i was so worried, arthur... i-i thought-"

"i know, angel, i know... i'm sorry...

but i'm here now

and i ain't ever leaving you again."

that nickname... from all those years ago when you first found eachother

whispered for the first time in a moan, you and him tangled together in sheets for the very first time

"goddamn... you're an angel, how'd a dirty sinner like me ever get so lucky?"

when you broke up, you never thought you'd hear it again

and yet here you are

the sweet name echoing in your ears as he kisses you, reuniting your lips after far too long apart

it's a desperate kiss, the kind that holds two lifetimes of context

like you're scared if either one lets go the moment will disappear

so you don't

you tangle your fingers in his hair, he cups your cheek, your bodies moulding together

being any closer would be impossible

"this is it, angel, you hear? no more messing around, this is it. this is us, cause i ain't letting you go."

"you better not, mister."

you’re both crying, breathing each other in, never wanting to let one another go

and you never do again

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan drabble #margos 1k celebration #rdr2 drabble #arthur morgan headcanon #arthur morgan headcanons

[annasinterests]

southern nights

|| main masterlist ||

okay y'all. . . hear me out on this. . . i know southern nights by allen toussaint/glen campbell came out in the 1970s but it's sooo rdr2,, moreover i cannot HELP but think ab it in conjunction with my lovely rugged cowboy(friend) arthur morgan <3 also this is lowkey kinda long but i love it with all my heart so pls b gentle w meee

i will say that this is pretty self-indulgent and wrote it with the idea of a female reader (specifically for like one detail) so if this isn't what you're looking for i apologize :(

so like.. imagine this song playing at either camp from dutch's gramophone or at a bustling saloon in like saint denis (honestly what i imagine more in this scenario so that's what we're rolling w here) and the whole gang is there either drunk or tipsy or whatever

you've always had a thing for arthur as long as you can remember but always kept it to yourself because you'd actually die if it got out- you'd absolutely never hear the end of it from all the women and you'd hate if arthur got teased for it by the men

so you get a couple drinks in you and for most of the night you've been sitting by mary-beth and sadie while the other girls have been up on their feet all night dancing to all the other songs

every now and then your eyes wander to arthur and you smile at how cute he looks when he smiles and laughs with the other guys like john and charles and javier

and how handsome he is with his new short haircut and how he's dressed in all black with his sleeves rolled up and a few buttons left undone that exposed his chest in a way that made your cheeks warm up

and how the lighting also makes him look ten times hotter as if you didn't believe he could get more attractive???? but clearly it was possible

so when the song comes on everyone just lights up and gathers 'round and you see that molly and dutch are clasped together and so are john and abigail and the rest of them find their rhythm in the music

normally you'd frown at when even sadie and mary-beth left you to go join but you had enough alcohol in your system that it didn't even phase you

in fact, you were smiling and giggling at all of them, seeing that this was your family- as fucked up it got sometimes- and for once, everyone was able to let loose

and just when you thought that you were safe on the sidelines tonight, arthur swoops in and holds his hand out to you with the sweetest look

"c'mon, s'no fun without you!"

he makes you laugh when you hesitate by saying you get a free pass to step on his feet if it's the dancing part you're worried about

which it's not but you'll use the excuse and take his hand that perfectly encases yours

he throws you both right in the middle of it all and takes the lead into a foxy routine* which you fall into very easy, because again, it wasn't dancing that was the issue

and he seems to pick up on that very quickly but doesn't say anything because he's so focused on making sure he doesn't step on your feet and holding you and twirling you around and being enamored by how your skirt flares out every time like a princess

at one point when he pulls you back in after twirling your body is pressed right against his briefly and you don't notice the way he gets a little flustered because of.. well.. everything else going on

but his grin remains wide and he feels a flutter and ache in his chest and its not because of the alcohol

more than halfway through the song you get a little boost of confidence and slide your hand over his shoulder to wrap your arm behind his neck and you know it affects him by the way his arm snakes around your waist more

and you're both oblivious to how the whole gang immediately notices your proximity and how all the girls are giggling together while the guys are looking on with wicked smiles cause they know their boy's been sweet on you for a hot minute yets been too scared to be bold ab it incase you didn't feel the same (which couldn't be farther from the truth)

and once the song ends neither one of you really want to pull away but you do and he absolutely refuses to leave you alone for the rest of the night because he knows that something's started and he's determined to finish it at the end of the night before tomorrow comes and washes it away

so if you want another drink? it just so happens that so does he. he actually goes and either gets one with you or for you at the bar

you wanna talk to the girls? oh, he'll be around them too, taking all their (light-hearted) jabs at him just so he can be near you

when the gang rounds up again in a circle just to simply drink and converse, he's right there at your side again, standing so close his shoulder is constantly brushing against yours

and because you've all perhaps over-indulged in some adult beverages, of course you find yourselves huddled together and up in each other's personal bubbles, leaning in real close when someone talks because that's what everyone does when they've drank too much

so arthur places a gentle hand on your back to make sure that you're just in the circle as much as everyone else is, but also because he just really wants to keep you connected somehow

before you know it, you're relaxing into his shoulder as his hand rests on your waist again and it just feels so damn normal. like this is how it's always been

you feel yourself slipping and giving in, but you know he is too because of how you can feel his heart thumping against you and damn near out of his chest

while he enjoys the company and the time being had together, he feels the night dragging on and he's so desperate to get you alone

and he finally thinks he gets the chance when dutch hints at the idea that they should start rolling out to get back to camp and feels a nervousness building up

but you catch him off-guard when you take his hand and sneak away through a sidedoor to an alley while no one is looking and he laughs out of pure surprise

"what're you doin?"

"well one, i don't wanna leave yet. two, i know that wagon ride home is gonna be downright loud and obnoxious. and three, i'd rather be with you, so... walk with me?"

you're all smiles and so is he, and you stroll aimlessly around the town that seems to be busy at all hours of the day, hand in hand

you find yourselves near the outskirts of the town near the river when he starts to speak up and tell you how much fun he had and how good it was to see everyone getting along, as well as poking at you for being so hesitant to get up and dance since you did so well with him

you agree with him on the first two things and simply brush off the last bit, insisting that you had no idea what he was talking about, but you both knew it was just an act

he starts to say something else and then goes quiet and slows down, slightly tugging your hand to bring you back to him, which causes you to look at him with concern

he's trying to find the right words to say that every time he sees a pretty flower he wants to pick it and give it to you

that every time he leaves camp he makes it a point to see you last just so he can see your face and hear your voice because he doesn't know how long it'll be until he can do it again

that he notices every little thing you do and has written so many things for you and about you in his journal

that when you look at him, he doesn't ever want you to look away

and you're not making it any easier on him by looking ridiculously adorable while being incredibly confused and concerned, your eyebrows knitted upwards with expressive eyes that are twinkling under the dim street lights

he's fumbling over his words but you're able to piece them together little by little, a sweet smile growing on your lips as his hands are fidgeting with yours

"arthur-"

he snaps his head up at you thinking he's crossed the line, but the fear eases when he sees that you're grinning at him and slowly closing the space between you two, placing your hands on his chest

the corner of his lip curls up and his eyes are flickering between yours as his hands find their way around you like they have been all night

"i like y-"

you didn't even have to finish the statement before his mouth was on yours in something sweet and passionate yet eager and needy

the breaks between kisses were few and short, completely engrossed in one another and trying to make the moment last forever

when you finally did separate, you were both smiling and letting out breathy chuckles, acting all giddy like the couple of kids that you were

he leans in to your touch when you put your palm on his cheek and kiss the other side, being able to feel the warmth that'd been there all night

"take us home, arthur."

he reaches for the hand on his cheek and turns his head to kiss it, then dropping them both down and intertwining your fingers as you begin to walk back to his horse, his voice filled with such love in a simple response

"yes ma'am."

goddamn do i love that cowboy. i literally told myself that i wasn't even going to write anything else besides my ongoing fic rn but i just have such a soft spot for arthur it's unreal. also if anyone wants to like, properly write this and make it a thing please feel free cuz i was just spit ballin' with this lmao- the only thing i ask is to be tagged because i wanna love and support u <3

*if you don't know what a foxy routine is, just look up that phrase on google or youtube and there are a ton of videos w so many variations of this dance! however i don't imagine is as a foxtrot (where there's more distance between u and ur partner) so there's that to clear up any confusion if there is any! <3

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x f!reader #arthur morgan drabble #???? #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption two #rdr2 #rdr2 drabble #fluff #i love my cowboy bf #annawrites #annasmasterlist

[12timetraveler]

Stars In Your Multitudes

Summary:

Hosea sits down with Sadie to offer her comfort and support after losing Jake.

Notes:

I was talking with a couple of my buddies and I brought up how it's such a missed opportunity to have Hosea the widower sit down with Sadie the widow to help her deal and give her advice. Per their request, I wrote a little something.

I know I should be working on the next chapter of Something In The Orange but this idea just wouldn't leave my head.

You can read the full story below or on AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There she sat, on the edge of camp, tears streaming down her face. Not the loud, heartbroken sobs she'd let out in Colter. The sobs that Hosea felt to his very soul. There was no sound this time. Just tears streaming down her face as she clutched her arms to her abdomen, like she was trying to physically hold herself together.

Hosea knew that feeling. He'd spent plenty of time trying to hold himself together, afraid of what may happen if he let go and fell apart. Nights lost to the drink, days spent huddled under blankets trying to shield himself from the world. He understood all of this all too well.

He glanced down at the two bottles in his hand, both unopened. He'd need to be careful. It would be easy for Mrs. Adler to slip like he did. But one drink wouldn't hurt, and maybe it would help his words sink in.

Ever since Arthur explained to him the state they'd found Mrs. Adler in, he'd known he needed to speak with the fresh widow. He could relate to her in ways that no one else could. Maybe his wisdom and experience could help her.

Others had been there for her. Mary Beth and Abigail had both spent time sitting with her and comforting her. But neither of them had experienced a loss like this, and there was only so much comfort they could give from imagining how it felt. But he knew. He knew.

Taking a deep breath, he strode across camp to where she sat. She didn't even hear him approaching, or if she did, she didn't respond until he cleared his throat. Then she peered up at him like a lost lamb, though the wild look in her eyes warned him not to judge her as such.

“Mrs. Adler,” he greeted her, voice low and respectful. She seemed to flinch at the name. Her husband's name. “Mind if I sit with you?” He asked. She only shrugged in response, so he came and sat beside her, unable to suppress the groan as his joints protested to sitting on the ground.

He popped the tops off of the two bottles and placed one in her hand. “That is the only one of those you'll get from me. It's far too easy to fall into the bottle when you're feeling emotions like this.”

“Seen enough people do that,” she mumbled, taking a sip of the whiskey.

“I've been there myself,” he hummed, sipping from his own bottle. “When my wife died.”

Sadie looked over at him in surprise. “You were married?” Hosea nodded in response. “For how long?”

“Not nearly long enough,” he sighed. Sadie understood what he meant. Though she thought even 50 years of marriage to her Jakey would have been too short.

“After she died... The pain I felt was...” Hosea shook his head and took another sip. “I've been shot, stabbed, hung, beaten to an inch of my life. None of that was as painful as losing my dear Bessie.”

“That's a sweet name.” Sadie murmured.

“I always thought so too.” Hosea chuckled. “In the days that followed, I could hardly move from my bedroll. I just lay there, weeping and praying to a god I don't know that I believe in. Just to have her back in my arms. Finally after about a week I pulled myself out of bed, only to stumble into the bottle. I was drunk for a year after that. Honestly. I don't think a day went by where I could have been called sober. Eventually I pulled myself out, else I'd be stumbling around like the Reverend. But that doesn't mean it's been easy.”

Sadie hummed in response.

“Mrs. Adler... Sadie... Can I call you Sadie?” He asked. She nodded. “I'm not going to sit here and tell you that everything is going to be okay or that things will work out. Because that's not going to help you feel better, and those words are hollow,” he said. “But I am here to listen, if you want to talk. And if not, I'm happy to sit here with you as long as you'd like, in solidarity. A sort of vigil for those we both lost.”

Sadie only nodded, taking another sip from the bottle. The two sat in silence for a while, sipping from their bottles on occasion, but otherwise functionally ignoring the rest of camp, just looking out over the horizon as the sun began to creep down in the sky.

“Does the pain ever stop?” Sadie finally asked. “Or... Lessen?”

“Not really,” Hosea sighed. “But you grow, and you learn how to live with the pain. You... You find ways to honor them, and keep them close. Find time to remember the good times. The wound their passing left behind heals, but the mark on your heart never goes away. But would you really want it to?”

“Suppose not,” Sadie mumbled. “Sometimes it feel like it would have been easier to never know him but... God my life would never have been right without him. Jake and I was always sweet on each other.”

“That's beautiful,” Hosea hummed.

“My daddy died when I was a kid. 12, 13 something like that. That hurt but... I don't remember it being like this.”

“It's one thing to lose a blood relative. But it's an entirely different pain to lose someone you chose to love. One is not more painful than the other, but it’s different.” Hosea mused, tapping the neck of his bottle with his finger. “I think that's why the others don't really get it. We've all lost someone. But losing parents, siblings, it's different.”

“Mr. Matthews...” Sadie's voice cracked, and the tears started anew.

“Call me Hosea,” he soothed. He reached an arm out, resting it on her back. Only when Sadie leaned into his touch did he pull her against him, offering her his shoulder.

“It hurts so damn much, Hosea,” she gasped, allowing the older man to hold her close and comfort her.

“I know it does. I know,” he soothed.

“Jake was a good man. He died so terrible. He didn't deserve it.” She sobbed.

“No, he didn't. They rarely do.”

He held her as she cried. Not the hysterical weeping she'd done in Colter, but a heart wrenching round of sobs. For her love, the life they'd built, now lost, the things that had been, the things that should have been, all of it. He held her as the sun dipped down below the horizon. No one bothered them. If anyone could help Sadie, it would be Hosea.

Slowly her sobs died down to sniffles, all cried out. But she seemed a little more... Alive. Like she'd finally started to process it all.

“How did you meet?” He asked quietly.

“I knew Jakey my whole life. Ever since we were kids. Like I said, we was always sweet on each other. Even as kids. We'd play in the crick nearby, catch frogs and scare turkeys. He never treated me differently just because I'm a girl. Never told me I couldn't do something or should act more ladylike. He saw me as human. As equal.

“We didn't get married right away though. He wanted to serve in the army, like his pa had. He didn't serve long though. It sort of hit him part-way through his service that he weren't killing some big bad enemy. Just boys like him. When he came back, I think he expected I'd’ve moved on, met someone else. But I waited. He was broken after all that. But we got our little cabin in the mountains, got married. It was peaceful. Things were hard, sure. But we had each other and that was enough.”

Sadie wiped the moisture from her eyes, sitting up-right. “He was too good for this world.”

“So was my Bessie,” Hosea sighed. “Always saw the good in everyone. Even some skinny, feral conman with hopes of changing the world and righting wrongs far beyond anything one single man could hope to achieve. She took one look at me and it was like she saw to my soul. Past all the bounties and crimes she saw... Me.”

Both took a sip of their drink.

“I took one look at her and I was smitten.” Hosea sighed. “Bessie wasn't naive mind you,” Hosea continued. “She was a strong woman. She did just fine running with us.”

“Jake was the same. He was strong, and he'd seen how the world was. But still he tried to see the best in everything. He had to believe there was good in the world. I think he'd have lost his mind if he didn't.”

“He sounds like a good man.”

“I think I would have liked your Bessie. Not enough ladies like her in the world.”

The two fell silent for a time, finishing up their drinks as the stars began to speckle the sky. For the first time in weeks Sadie began to feel something akin to peace. It was nice to be able to mourn Jake like this, and remember the good things with Hosea.

“I think I need to head to bed,” Sadie eventually said. “But... Thank you, for this. It... It helped.”

“Any time, Sadie,” Hosea said, smiling warmly at her as she stood up. “I'm glad I could help. Please come find me if you ever need anything.”

A lot of the gang had said something similar to her, but with Hosea she knew she might actually take him up on that offer. She nodded a final goodnight before walking away, skirt swishing in the grass as she went.

Hosea sighed deeply as he looked back out over the canyon below. As he'd done many times, his eyes cast upward, to the sky. He wasn't sure what sort of afterlife he believed in. But it was easier to think there was something beyond. And he found himself talking to his beloved often.

“Look out for Jake Adler, my love,” he murmured. “And let him know I'll do everything I can for his Sadie.”

#hosea matthews #sadie adler #fanfic #grief #loss #drabble #rdr2 drabble

[immajustvibehere]

Whorin', shootin', faintin'

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female Reader

Summary: You stay in your cabin while your husband spends some time in Saint Denis, sleeping around with other women. Suddenly a wounded man enters your house to seek refuge.

Warning: mid to low honor Arthur, swearing, blood, drabble

find my masterlist here

1600 words, less than 10 minutes reading time

Compared to other days, this day was enjoyable. You sat in your little one room cabin, mindlessly looking at a book. Your thoughts were somewhere completely else; your husband. He had left two days ago for some business in Saint Denis, and with business - you had no doubt about that - he meant sleeping around. There was no way you could prove it; however you were certain he had been cheating on you from the very start. Well, it's not like you had wanted to marry him in the first place, your parents urged you after he had made an offer. He claimed on finding you beautiful and your parents only saw his wealth. Thanks to this very wealth, you now sat in your cabin in the woods and he was fucking other women. Your parents had died two years after your marriage so it's not like they benefitted from anything at all. 

It was raining outside and the constant sound of raindrops against the window made you drowsy. You better stand up and make yourself some dinner and then head to bed, there's nothing else to do really...You had just left your chair when the door burst open. You let out a little scream as you suddenly stood opposite of a man, drenched in water and blood. His face was covered by a wet mask that stuck to his face. The man's eyes roamed the room quickly before he aimed his gun at you. "One word-", the man started, ripping his face mask off as it muffled the threat he wanted to bring across "and you're dead, woman!" With two big steps he was at your side. His big hand covered your mouth as he quickly steered you away from any windows, pressing you against the wall.

He was right next you, the gun still pointed at you and your mouth covered. This gave you a moment to inspect the man and listen to the noises outside. The man was tall and brawny, his face frowning in concentration. He was panting, though trying his best to calm his breath. His shirt which must have been a faded blue when dry, was dark and wet, crimson red stains painting it a deep purple in many spots. Outside you heard horses and shouts. It was impossible to discern what exactly they were screaming about but the man didn't lose his grip on you until the rain was all one could hear.

"Anybody else home", the man growled. His features twisted in pain as he slowly lifted his hand off your mouth, pressing the gun against your abdomen as a reminder to not make a loud noise. Oddly calm, you shook your head. The man seemed to relax a bit, cleared his throat he asked: "You got some bandages, Miss?" You lifted your hand to point to a shelf across the room. The man nodded, reinforcing his grip around his gun and threatened: "You stay there."

With sloppy steps he made his way to the shelves you had pointed at, trying a wrong one first before he found the medicine box. He took it, slammed it on the table and fell into the chair. Carefully, he looked at you in the corner of his eye while he opened the box and got some bandages out. "You need help with that, sir?", you asked as you saw the man, no doubt a criminal, struggle with the wetness of his shirt and his big shaking hand. "No I'm fine, don't ya move", he slurred. It was only a matter of time until he- and his head had crashed on the table. Unconsciously he was lying still, which you saw as your sign to leave your assigned spot and help him.

You figured he wouldn't mind - not that he was in any state to complain - but you had to strip him down to access his wounds. It turned out that a lot of blood wasn't actually his own, but there were a couple of grazing wounds. You were surprised how lucky he got that none of his injuries were more serious, anyways he must have lost a lot of blood or otherwise he'd still be threatening you with his gun. You cleaned his wounds and bandaged those that need bandaging. When you ran out of bandages, you willingly destroyed one of your husband's better shirts. Not necessarily as revenge because it was his favorite, but because it was clean and was made from soft material.

It took you a lot of strength to maneuver the heavy man into your bed, but you managed somehow. His union suit was dangling from his hip. He had a wound on his leg, though it was low enough for you not to have a justification to just roll up his pant leg rather than strip him completely. You figured you'd leave him some dignity, though you were curious - however, your moral standards were way above your husband's and though this man's life depended on it, you will not go snooping around in other people's pants.

His wet clothes were hung up in front of the fireplace and you started to cook something, always eying the man in your bed. Two hours had passed and you had eaten your portion of the soup you had cooked. Of course it was wrong, but you couldn't resist looking at the half naked man. He was fine looking. You had admired his muscular build while tending his wounds and rubbing him dry. This got you thinking about your life again and how unhappy you are with your husband. Maybe you should reconsider it and find a new purpose rather than staying at home until he comes back from his business trips and decides to give you attention.

Abruptly you were thrown out of your thoughts when the wounded man stirred. It took a couple of seconds of grunts before he sat up rapidly, his eyes searching for an answer to where he is. His revolvers were placed on the table out of reach, so were the rest of his clothes in front of the fireplace. For a few moments, he really looked helpless, like a wounded and half naked man. It made you smile about how the tables had turned, but the man's curious gaze soon found you. You filled a bowl with soup and handed it to him. "You passed out. Sorry for...ehhh", you were looking for the right words, "taking off your clothes, but they were soaked, and I couldn't reach the wounds with them in the way."

The man took the bowl quietly. He sat against the bed frame and took a gulp, ignoring the spoon you held out to him. "Yer husband knows you've some naked men lying in yer bed?", the man asked. So he had noticed the wedding ring. Suddenly you were furious you still wore it, there was no reason for it, really.

"My husband is in Saint Denis, fucking every whore he can lay his hands on", you explained and took a seat at the table. You attentively watched the man as he drank the soup. He only made a low sound of affirmation before his lips parted from the bowl. He looked at you. There was no way of telling what went through his head. There was this question of what he should do with you. Honestly, in those few moments he considered everything in the span of killing to fucking. But he acknowledged he was in no state for either.

"You were out for nearly two hours. Lost a lot of blood it seems, but the wounds aren't too bad from what I can tell", you went on, finding the silence somewhat uncomfortable. "Alright", was all he gave you as an answer before he placed the empty bowl on the nightstand and stood up. He knew better than to stand up in haste, so he slowly placed his naked feet on the ground and evaluated how much strength was left in him. But by now, he felt almost fit again, though feeling his wounds burn and scream, his pace and step was steadfast as he walked to the fireplace to get his clothes.

Again, you couldn't help watching him as he buttoned up his union suit and slipped into his pants and shirt. You almost watched it with a bit of disappointment. A sigh escaped you when you finally got the courage to ask: "Who are you?" The man fastened his gun belt around his hip and mumbled a: "Trust me, it's better you don't know." He checked the window. It was dark outside; the rain had stopped. The man approached you and dipped his hand into a satchel, pulling out 20 dollars which he lay out in front of you: "Here. Thanks for the help." "T-that's really not necessary!", you stammered but he made a dismissing hand movement and walked towards the door.

It was pathetic of you, but you didn't want him to leave. Despite him being a stranger and outlaw that had dripped water and blood all over your floor and had threatened to shoot you - this was the most alive you had felt in a long time. "Are you sure you are fit to leave?", you asked quickly, though deep down you knew he wouldn't stay.

"Yes", with the door open he whistled for his horse, "...call on me whenever yer husband needs shootin'." You had no means of calling on him, not knowing his name, occupation or where he was staying. You knew that this would be the last time you ever saw him, but you still had to smile and watched as he closed the door behind him.

#arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead redemption community #rdr2 #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr fanfiction #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr #low honor Arthur Morgan #rdr2 drabble

[thegoblinwitchqueen]

I would be very appreciative of a number 15 drabble with Dutch pls and thank you <3

Ooooooooh, my love! You best believe I did my very best to give you the greatest damn smut Drabble I have ever written to date!

Dutch Van der Linde x F! Reader (Drabble/Oneshot)

NSFW

Word count: 4260

Smut Prompt #15: “That's not how we ask for things, is it?"

AO3

The horseshoe shaped overlook hidden away by trees and brush just outside of the small town of Valentine was one you had only recently called home. Though you were not at all unfamiliar with the life of a wanted outlaw, for you had been “on the lamb” for most of your life up until this point, you hadn’t been riding with Dutch’s boys for more than five—-Maybe six—months at this present moment. Life with The notorious Van der Linde gang was…different than you were used to.

They were closer knit, and the members often cared for each other as though they were of flesh and blood rather than strangers regardless of their differences in upbringing or varying appearances.

To date, this was the most pleasant of an experience with a gang that you had ever thought to receive, and it was all thanks to the silver tongued devil and his family of wayward souls who had welcomed you into their way of life with open arms of understanding and acceptance. It was that foreign, and unconditional, positive regard that caused your conscience to hang heavy on your shoulders like leaden weights while your heart ached with unfathomable guilt that clenched tightly around it with each heavy beat the organ ade against your tightly clenched chest.

Unfortunately for you, the demons of your long and forgotten past had decided that now was the perfect opportunity for them to rise up from their overgrown graves, and present themselves in such a distasteful manner that you found yourself pacing frantically around the circumference of your new family’s camp like a restless spirit of the night. Back and forth you skulked, paving a path from your meager bedroll to where the horses grazed and back. Each time you made your way back to where you were supposed to be sleeping soundly, you would ultimately stop yourself short as you passed your leaders home, and turn around once more to stare in deafening silence at the direction of the forbidden lockbox that called to you like a siren at sea from where it sat behind Dutch’s tent. Taunting you with uncontrollable images of all its shiny and valuable contents that you knew would be the simple solution to all your ugly and pitiful problems. Gold engraved watches, rings of silver set with precious gems, and of course the blood stained dollar bills which Arthur had donated no less than a day prior from his recent excursion amongst the plains. All lay safe, and waiting, behind a simple lock and key.

But…would you actually be able to do it?

Could you risk your already fragile good standing in Dutch’s eyes just so that you could save what little sliver of pride you had left to steal from the man who had taken you in off the streets like a mangy mutt? At that moment, any rational thought or foresight needed to keep you from taking from one of the most notorious criminals in America was…nonexistent. As you stood there, licking your lips like a desperate and hungry coyote, all you could allow your racing mind to think of was that you wanted that money.

God, you needed it.

And fast.

Just a few measly dollars…nothing extravagant that anyone would notice to be missing from the gang's personal stash. At least…not right away. And, you emboldened yourself with the thought that you’d be able to replace the amount of what you borrowed faster than it could be spent by the leader of your old gang on cheap whiskey or whores.

Yes.

You could do this.

You had to do this.

In order to keep this new life separate and safe from the ghosts of your old ways of yore that dared to ruin all you had worked so hard for…you needed to take from this one and give to the other. After that, you could move on. Pay off your lingering debt and start anew.

The light of the crescent moon was obscured by a thick layer of heavy clouds which gave you just enough of a visual veil that you felt rather comfortable as you made your way across the silent camp without the fear of being detected. Slowly, and sure footed, you passed each of your sleeping companions and their tents until you reached the aforementioned lockbox. You ran your fingertips gently along the container's cool exterior and took one last moment to allow your conscience a final chance to do its job. You waited, but no thoughts or tiny voice of reason was present to try and convince you to turn back, wait for daylight with no harm or foul where you could do this the right way and ask Dutch for help. Nothing but the desire to rid yourself of the unbearable heaviness the weight of your past’s shackles caused you crossed the forefront of your mind.

This was it. There was no turning back.

Without a moment longer left to pass, your deft fingers, and a trusty bobby pin, worked together in harmony to release the goods that sat waiting to be plundered by your dishonesty and greed. Guilt sat heavy on your shoulders with each second you worked, and you couldn’t help but release a silent curse under your breath at how difficult the tiny vault was being. No matter which way you turned your pick, the tiny thing wouldn’t budge. Sure, it had been a few years since you had to pick such a small lock, but you were better than this! Hell, you were one of the best lock picks in all of West Elizabeth! After all, that was why Dutch was so willing to indoctrinate you into his family.

…Dutch.

You lifted your eyes, and glanced at the canvas tent where you knew your charismatic leader slept soundly next to his latest flower, Molly O’Shea. The light which he normally left illuminated long into the early hours of the morning as he read his books was snuffed out. For a moment, you narrowed your eyes to see if you could make out the rise and fall of the man’s strong chest as he slept. However, the night sky did not let you see anything but the task you had before you. So, you sighed and shook your head to focus before you tried to pick the lock yet again. As you twisted and turned your makeshift tool around, listening to the subtle clicks of the internal gears which slowly came undone for you like a cheap prostitute, your mind wandered to thoughts of Dutch.

The man in question had always been kind to you. Ever since he found you, drunk out of your mind on the side of the road and covered in snow while you waited for death's sweet embrace, the outlaw had treated you with respect and dignity not many soiled doves had the chance to receive.

Sure, you had heard of the enigmatic and dangerous dark side of Dutch that lay hidden behind his dark and enthralling eyes. You had even seen a minor glimpse of it a few days prior when the last stagecoach robbery had gone a bit out of hand due to Bill’s unpredictable temper. Still, Dutch Van der Linde had never shown it to you himself. The outlaw had always presented himself as a true gentleman, a valuable leader, and a man who cherished loyalty above everything else.

Still, you thought that his success in the outlaw lifestyle was not just because of his amazing ability to think on his feet, his natural skills of performing like a trained actor, or the way in which his voice captured its prey like a snake to a mouse—- personally, you felt it was because it didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes. With dark hair that was neatly swept back and away with the shine of a heavenly smelling pomade, his thick brows which furrowed as he read his novels or smoked his favorite cigars, chiseled cheekbones, and well groomed facial hair—-Dutch Van der Linde kept his appearance pristine and polished which, in turn, reflected the way that the man ran his gang. There was a reason he was able to talk himself out of everything, and anything. Hell, even after the months had passed, you blushed every time you thought back to the day he took you off the streets.

He found you. Alone and desperate.

At the time he discovered you, Dutch’s handsome features and immaculate clothing convinced you, with little hesitation on your part, to come back to camp with him. However, it wasn’t an offer of life with his gang that you had expected to receive when you followed him home. Rather, you had thought he was looking to procure you of your…services. You hated to admit that while you were, and would continue to be eternally grateful that he saw you for more than just a simple harlot, your heart was disappointed that you didn’t get the chance to warm the bed of such an interesting man. Dangerous and all, Dutch piqued your interest in more ways than you cared to admit, but any chance you had to converse or linger in his vicinity was practically nonexistent since Molly spent most of her days watching your interactions with the charming devil like a Hawk. After a few feeble attempts to unsuccessfully pull Dutch’s attention towards you and away from the troubles that plagued him, you eventually gave up and tried to forget or silence your primal instincts that often left your mind picturing things no lady of quality should. But, you were no lady…nor of good quality…and your current actions proved it.

You grimaced at the thought of the red haired beauty, and for a brief moment, felt yourself grow small as you compared yourself to her. You didn’t intend to, but you couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous.

“That's not how we ask for things, is it?"

Suddenly, you froze.

The voice, familiar and coated by a smooth layer of dark and alluring tones akin to the feeling of sweet molasses, caused your heart to stop and your breath to hitch in your chest as each word caressed your left ear. You swallowed, unsure of what to do while your hands trembled. And, As luck would have it, the last click of the lock was heard and the lockbox opened slightly to reveal its contents to you…and to Dutch. The man had caught you, red handed, and with your grimy fingers in the proverbial cookie jar like a spoiled child.

You stood there like a statue as the outlaw pressed the warmth of his broad body against the entirety of your back to slowly reach past you, rummage the contents of the lock box, pull free a few dollars before he gently closed the lid and placed the bills in his back pocket. Your mouth felt dry like you had just eaten a mouthful of cotton, and your eyes hung low to avoid his gaze. You couldn't face him. The guilt that stuck to your insides like thick paste plagued you more than you had ever thought possible, and you fully resigned yourself to die where you stood. However, the man who stood in waiting behind you had other plans.

“This…is not what I had ever thought to expect from you.” he began, gently placing your chin between his strong thumb and forefinger. Fingers he had used throughout the many years he evaded the law to hold, aim, and shoot his trusted pistol with accuracy and care. Roughly, but not so much that his strength would cause you discomfort, he forced your face to look at him as he examined your features for the intentions you held hidden behind your own troubled expression which mirrored his own. Reluctantly, you lifted your gaze from their place at your feet, and saw the disappointment painted along the features of his face. “Sure, I expected this from Bill, Sean…even John would take from me on occasion…but not you.”

“I…” you begin. Your voice squeaked from how tight your throat had clenched while you fought back the tears of your shame and bitterness. “I’m sorry, Dutch.”

Dutch nodded, but held your face within his grasp while his mind churned to think of his response to your feeble attempt at an apology. You stood there, feeling the roughness of his fingers against your skin and the strength he held at bay which threatened to leave bruises along your jawline while he held you in place. His brows were furrowed, and his lips a thin line of disapproval. At that moment, you wished those lips were curved into a familiar smile where he often held a cigar between them. Silence overtook the two of you, but you could not find the words to explain yourself. Instead, you allowed him to ponder your punishment.

Would Dutch forgive you? Would he understand that it was pure desperation that led you to your blatant disregard to his generosity? Or rather, would he cast you out to wander the world like a lost soul damned to purgatory until the end of time or worse—make you an example of what happens to those who go against Dutch Van der Linde. You were unsure of what scared you more.

“You see…if it was just me that you were stealing from, I’d just turn the other cheek on your first offense.” Dutch whispered. His voice was low, deep, and held a bit of the danger that you had been lucky enough to avoid. The outlaw's dark eyes bore through you as if he was looking straight into the depths of your soul while you could do nothing but gape at him with lips parted and eyes that darted along the fine lines of his face. He growled a guttural groan, and your mouth watered. “But, you took from the family. And that…that can’t be overlooked so easily. I’m sure you had your reasons, as we all do in this cruel world, but I can’t just let this go. If you were one of the boys, I’d make you pay back the money—-plus interest. After a quick beating, of course. But…you’re not one of them, darlin’. And Unfortunately, I haven’t had the opportunity to think of a proper punishment for… this… since the girls I tend to keep are smart enough to stop from biting the hands that feed them. I thought you were a very smart girl, but I guess I was wrong. So, bare with me as I come up with something appropriate. You understand, don’t you? I thought you were better than this?”

You figured the expected response to your particular predicament should have been an overwhelming fear that coursed through your veins as he held you, contemplating your future existence amongst his family. Instead, you were rather surprised that it was the familiar warmth of carnal desire that warmed every muscle of your body from head to toe, building into a tight knot between your thighs. The sound of a rather pitiful whisper left your lips, “I don’t have anything.”

Surprised, Dutch’s brows lifted and a chuckle left his own lips. For some reason, your core grew hot and slick. And your legs? They were practically jelly and threatened to give out from underneath your trembling weight if it had not been for his grasp. He watched, and for a brief moment, you thought you saw a glint of desire flash across his finely chiseled features. Still, you doubted the validity of your racing mind and convinced yourself that it was your own unyielding want projecting itself onto the man. After all, why would he want you? Subtly, his eyes darted to his tent before returning back to your flushed cheeks.

“I’m aware of that.” He whispered harshly. His strong hands finally released your face, and your skin burned from where he had gripped you so tightly. But, you craved more. Your lungs inhaled sharply, unsure of when the last time you had taken a breath of air. Dutch’s face softened, and he brought his knuckles to your face where he ran them gently against your tingling skin. “How are we going to fix this?”

“I may not have money,” you began while your fingers struggled to undo the first few buttons of your blouse. “But,I can do other things.”

Dutch watched with furrowed brows, and again, his eyes drifted to his tent. You stopped undressing, and felt your heart sink when you realized that he was thinking of Molly. You should have known. Should have stopped yourself from this…embarrassment. Of course, there was no reason he would want you to pay for your transgressions this way when he already had a woman to fill his needs. Dutch had been a gentleman, and you cursed underneath your breath at your stupidity. You muttered a meek apology, and held your blouse together as you prepared to slink away like a bruised dog with your tail between your legs.

Suddenly, Dutch took hold of your arm with a painful grip, and pulled you close before he crashed his lips against yours in a kiss fueled by carnal desire. Eyes widened with confusion, you couldn’t help but release a low moan when you felt his warm tongue brush against your own lightly. You felt his lips smirk against yours, and he pulled himself free to hungrily look you up and down like a wolf with a fresh kill.

Haggard breaths between you filled the deafening silence while your mind churned desperately in an attempt to remind yourself of what was reality and what must have been your mind playing tricks on you. However, you had no time to react when Dutch took hold of the back of your head, wrapped his fingers tightly in between the locks of your hair, and pulled your head to the side so that he could pull deep red and purple bruises free from where his mouth sucked fervently against the sensitive skin of your neck. He slowly reached into your blouse, and pulled your breasts free where he left your neck to continue to leave red marks of passion along the flesh of your soft mounds. He took hold of one of your hard and sensitive nipples in his mouth and sucked, biting occasionally with just enough pressure to cause you pleasurable pain. You gasped.

“D-Du—“

“Quiet.” He commanded sternly, hiking the fabric of your skirt above your knees to expose your heat, which had soaked completely through the thin fabric of your bloomers, to the cold springtime air. In one motion, he lifted you as though you weighed nothing to sit on a barrel that was just barely outside of the thin canvas walls of his home. The same home where Molly slept, unaware of Dutch’s wandering and unfaithful hands which pulled desperately at your undergarments from underneath you until they slid off of your trembling legs and onto the grass below. Satisfied, he returned to your jawline, peppering hot kisses as one strong hand reached between your legs to run his fingers gently between the velvet softness of your slick folds while the other massaged a breast prickled with goosebumps from the night's chil. You shuddered, and felt your body turn to mush under the overwhelming senses of your body. “We can’t wake the whole town. Be a good girl, and stay quiet.”

Dazed at the pleasurable sensation of his rough hands as he found the part of your slit that sent electricity through your entire body, you could do nothing but nod a weak acknowledgment. He grinned, and kissed you harshly. Dutch pulled your bottom lip between his teeth while he sensually massaged the warm opening to the depths of your body and soul. Eyes half lidded and your breath shaky, you struggled to keep the moans you desperately wanted to release from escaping your swollen lips. Dutch released himself from you to watch your face as he played with you like you were a new and shiny toy.

“That’s it, my dear.” Dutch whispered, pressing a finger inside you while his dark eyes watched your head lull back and your eyes flutter. You gasped, but covered your mouth to keep silent. He let out a low moan from deep within his chest, and your heartbeat quickened while he pumped in and out of you with his finger. “So wet already, darlin? God, you’re so tight. Don’t worry, you’ll pay me back just fine with this.”

You nodded. God, you wanted to please him with your good behavior while he gently pushed another large finger inside of you, stretching you in a way that made you feel the ecstasy of fullness throughout your core that you had yet to experience with any of your previous partners. In and out, he worked his deft fingers inside and around your folds to build you to that absolutely desired climax that you felt growing within you with each passing moment. With each motion of his fingers, you ached to feel him inside of you and the thought alone of his manhood pressed tight against the fabric of his trousers could push you over the edge. Unable to keep yourself wanting for a moment longer, and against your promise to stay quiet, you allowed yourself to whisper in his ear weakly.

“I want you.” You moaned, unsure if the words actually left your mouth or if it was just a jumble of unintelligible noises. It seemed that he had heard you, and Dutch quickly removed his fingers from your aching insides to quickly undo the thick belt that held his pistol, holster, and manhood at bay. You took the moment of peace to catch your breath, and watched with mouth watering desire as he freed himself from the constraints of his neatly pressed trousers. He was large and throbbed when his hand gripped hold of himself. He gave himself a few rough strokes from base to tip and His breath grew ragged. Before you could think, he forcefully pulled your legs to him to wrap around his waist.

“You don’t know how badly I've wanted to hear your pretty lips say those words.” Dutch growled into your ear before he pressed his lips roughly against yours for another deep kiss. He ran his leaking tip along your folds, coating his manhood in your slick that had long since run down your legs. You ached with desire as he teased you, pushing against your opening in shallow motions that made you gasp and pull kisses from Dutch’s mouth like you needed them to live another day. Instinctively, your hips bucked up and against his engorged manhood in a feeble attempt to pull him into you, but despite your best efforts, he held your legs still. Dutch, ever the leader, wanted you to know who was in charge and that this…this was supposed to be a punishment.

Not a reward.

You whined in dismay as the seconds you spent empty and yearning for him to fill you stretched into what felt like painfully long and agonizing hours while he continued to tease you and suck on the flesh of your nipple. Suddenly, your voice caught in your throat as he pushed deep inside you until you were flush against his base. Lost in the sensation of fullness and warm pleasure, Your eyes rolled as far back as they possibly could and you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth to keep yourself from releasing the moan that built inside you like the climax he was pulling out of you with each thrust of his hips. He was forceful, pounding into you without much regard for how loud the sounds of your passion reverberated.

Your slick and hot insides clenched around his cock which worked to reach every bit of you that you had almost forgotten existed. You felt the warmth of your climax tightening within your core with each moment. Dutch’s intense gaze lingered over your face, your body writhing from his touch, and he reached down between your legs to caress your warm bud in circular motions to further bring you on the brink of ecstasy. Suddenly, you felt the intense knot in your insides unravel as Dutch’s fingers and manhood worked through the waves of your high which reverberated throughout every muscle of your body and clenched around him.

Lost to the sensation, you bucked instinctively to grind against him to try and pull free yet another mind breaking orgasm which teased you. Luckily, your body relented and another pleasurable high coarsed through your veins. Dutch cursed under his breath, and you watched his face as his own orgasm took hold of him. He hungrily pressed inside of you, releasing thick and warm ropes of his seed as he chased his own high. He pressed his lips roughly against yours, and slowly, came down from his release to his calm and collected senses.

Silence filled the campsite as the two of you caught your breath, filling your sore lungs with air as he softened inside of you. He pulled his manhood free, along with a few drops of the remnants of his passion, and held your chin between his thumb and forefinger to face him as he did earlier that night. Dutch kissed you tenderly, reached into his back pocket, and handed you the dollar bills you had wanted to steal to pay off your debt.

“Now, you’re free to go.”

#Dutch Van der Linde x reader #rdr2 Dutch Van der Linde x reader #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 oneshot #rdr2 drabble #dutch van der linde oneshot

[assassins-and-hidden-blades]

Omg I remember you also write for rdr2 so from the hurt/comfort prompts #8 with Mary beth if you write for her too. Literally do whatever you want surprise me I'm already in love with your writing

31/07/2022: I'm HOPING I've got the right one here because there are 2 hurt/comfort prompt lists cause I'm dumb lol. Idk whether you would prefer a specific gender so I'll aim for gn! Hope you like!

GN!Reader x Mary-Beth Gaskill

#8: "Deep breaths, honey, you're okay now, you're safe."

The swamps of Lemoyne never sat well with you. The dark, swirling scent of rotten muck twisted your stomach into knots, and the lack of light except the one stream of moonlight set even your horse on edge. The wind of the night was especially chilling, shooting down your spine beneath your shirt.

"Easy girl, you're okay," you muttered, aiming to arrive at Lakay as soon as you could. Your horse shared no fondness for the damp bayou, and her skittishness only increased at every sound with no source. You reckoned she could feel the muscles drawn into tension in your thighs, shaking every so often. Taking a deep breath, you pressed on, if a little faster.

Off the beaten path, covered by the dense vegetation, your ears suddenly picked up a whimpering noise. "Hold on, now," you told your mare, pulling her to a cautious stop. She snorted, almost stamping her feet. "I'll just be a moment." Dismounting, you landed somewhat unsteady on the ground, hands grasping for your shotgun before turning to face whatever seemed to be lurking in the undergrowth.

Shotgun raised, you began tentative steps towards a body of water. As the trees cleared, your eyes quickly landed on a feminine figure in a white nightgown, kneeling at the edge of the swamp with her face in her hands. She was crying.

"Uh, ma'am? Are you alright?" Your voice hit the silence like a cymbal, the sudden change in volume striking your eardrums uncomfortably. Each step rose your heartbeat, and the twigs snapping under your boots rhythmically sounded like a countdown; each step counting down the seconds to whatever this woman has planned.

Your hands tightened around the shotgun, raising it ever so slightly. "Ma'am...?"

One pair of rushing footsteps. Two. Three.

You whipped around, but before you could aim, the shotgun was ripped out of your grasp and in the next moment, you hit the ground, a man covered in white paint kneeling over you, a blade aimed at your chest. A blood-curdling scream hit your ears as your hand pushed against his, a wrestle for life, while the other slipped into your belt to withdraw your hunting knife. As the tip of the blade kissed your chest, your hunting knife sank into his neck. You pushed him out of the way and drew your firearm, shooting the others closest to you. There stood one more, who took a determined sprint with a knife of his own towards you. Without thinking, you rolled across the short distance to your shotgun, turning around and pulling the trigger. One foot away, the last attacker crumpled, a hole in his torso.

You gasped at the sight, hardly able to take in the bloodied corpses littered on the ground. Thoughts only beginning to return, you remembered what got you into this situation in the first place. "Uh, ma'am?" you called, a shake to your voice. Looking around from where you sat, there was no one. At all. You heard her scream, right? That was what caused the adrenaline to race through your veins. Instead, there was dead silence. Dead, deafening silence.

"Oh, God." Barely keeping yourself composed, you stood on shaky feet, wiping the mud on your hands down your clothes, before picking up your weapons and marching towards your horse. Her ears were twitching, and she all but rushed over to you, nose nudging your shoulders and ribs. "I'm o-okay, girl. Just a bit shaken." You stroked her neck, leaning heavily against her. The unsettlement of your chest still would not calm. "Let's get home." You mounted, unsteady, and urged her onwards. She immediately increased her speed to a trot, verging on a canter. "Get us out of here." One more reassuring prick of your spurs and your mount did as you asked, no doubt wanting to return to the safety of camp as much as you did.

Lakay quickly came into view; the lights from the campfire and soft conversations barely registered in your ears. Instead, your mare slowed to a stop herself. You dismounted, head replaying that moment again and again, heart rate spiking each time the cold metal touched your skin.

"Y/n?" You startled at the voice, completely disorientated. Looking around, you noticed that you had walked absent-mindedly from the hitching post to a barrel of water.

"Mary-Beth?" you breathed. "Hey."

"Are you alright? You looked sorta dazed when you came in." She took your appearance in, where blood was scattered over your skin and clothes. "Are you hurt?"

"N-No, I'm okay."

"What happened?"

Gathering water in your hands, you began to wash your face. "There was this lady, an' she was crying. I approached to see if I could help her, and I turn around, and these people just... appeared out of the night. She screamed somethin' awful, Mary-Beth, and for a moment I thought I was gonna die. When it was all over, I turned around, an' she was gone."

"Did she run away?"

Your heart rate spiked. "I dunno whether she was actually there at all." The altercation sat on your chest, and you found it harder and harder to breathe the more you thought about it. Was she a ghost, or were you finally going mad?

"Deep breaths, honey, you're okay now, you're safe," Mary-Beth rubbed your back in soothing circles. "In through your nose, hold it, and breathe out through your mouth."

You copied her instructions, a few tears rolling down your cheeks. Your skin was crawling, like there were ants in your blood. You both stayed like that for a few minutes, waiting together in the ambience of camp until your heart rate returned to normal.

"Arthur says they're called night folk. He's encountered them himself a few times; they're real bad people. Arthur's first time? Came back to camp shakin' like a newborn fawn." You chuckled at the imagery.

"Can I do anything for you? I can make you some tea, if you like, to help you sleep?"

Inhaling the cool air, you nodded gratefully. "That would be awfully generous of you, Mary-Beth. Thank you."

"Of course. Come sit by the fire when you're ready." She walked away, and you took the time to change your clothes into something cleaner, before meeting Mary-Beth alongside the others by the main campfire. She ushered you to sit on a log and wrapped a blanket around your shoulders, moving away only to hand you a freshly brewed cup of tea. "It has valerian root in it; it'll help you sleep."

You invited her to sit beside you, which she accepted gladly. "Thank you, Mary-Beth. I don't know how I would've got through the night if it weren't for you."

"Don't mention it," she smiled kindly at you. "It's the least I could do."

"What do you mean?" you questioned, a quirk to your lips.

"You just work so hard, an' I don't know whether you realise just how much everyone appreciates it. Arthur can't support the camp all by himself without working himself into the ground. I guess what I'm tryin' to say is that I-- we appreciate you, Y/n."

You smiled, opening your arm for her to join you under the blanket. She shuffled over, leaning on your shoulder. The both of you stared at the fire, unaware that your shared smiles were meant for each other. "I appreciate you too, Mary-Beth."

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 x gn!reader #mary-beth gaskill #mary-beth gaskill x reader #mary-beth gaskill x gn!reader #rdr2 drabble #x reader #1.2k follower celebration #i feel like I'm getting unrusty now #it's getting better #slightly better #but better

[verai-marcel]

Could you write reader gives Arthur handjob and overstimulated him.

The sounds of heavy breathing filled the air, and the scent of sex wafted around you, still warm and titlating.

Your hand languidly moved up and down along Arthur's slowly softening shaft.

"Uh, oh, darlin', please," he breathed.

Your grip on him tightened.

"Darlin'," he groaned with more urgency.

You continued to stroke him.

"F-fuck!" he gritted out, trying to squirm away from your grasp. "Too much, too much!"

You grinned evilly and kept your hold on him, although you slowed your rhythm.

Arthur could only moan helplessly, trapped by your touch, until he shuddered and spasmed, a small aftershock of an orgasm, your hand wet with the remnants of his essence.

He moaned softly, barely able to keep his eyes open.

"Love you," you whispered into his ear.

"Love you too, darlin'," he mumbled. "Even if yer one hell of a sadist."

#rdr2 drabble #arthur morgan x reader #nsft

[xmind-palacex]

This is just a lil Red Dead Redemption drabble it's omegaverse but sfw and Rivian is a place holder name because I couldn't think of what to name my oc

There was something nagging John in the back of the head ever since he seen that wolf up in the grizzlies. The scene replaying in his mind; a pack of wolves attacked him on horse back, the pack luring him into an ambush. He remembered getting tackled off his horse snarling teeth and claws aiming for his face, than something he would never forget it came fast in a blur and the sound of teeth crunch down on flesh and bone, the pained yelp of the wolf that was once trying to rip his throat out suddenly going limp blood dripping from its neck onto his face as his eyes locked with the creature above. Gold like burning suns with fur blacker than a moonless night stood above him. The black wolf with ease tossed the dead wolf aside turning its large form to the smaller grey wolves snarling at it. John thought he was afraid before till he took in the black wolf's appearance, long muscular legs, large paws, its fur looked thicker around the neck and shoulders where bristled with rage, this wolf was massive about the size of a bear. If it wasn't the fact he was the one on the menu he'd say the beast looked damn near majestic.

After that everything turned into a swirl of grey and black, snarling snapping yelping, fur blood. John took that moment to run while the wolves were to busy fighting amongst the black one over him to follow. But the stupid fool he was, was paying more attention to behind him than infront stepping off a ledge and hitting his leg wrong whilst losing his shotgun over the edge falling to who knows where. He was damn sure he was going to join it to but was yanked back with a growl to the small ledge before the back of his jacket was released. John sat there froze his heart pounding so fast it made his chest hurt, his breath coming out shallow and shaky, their was no mistaking the hot breath againt the back of his neck nor the feeling of a dogs cold wet nose. At that moment it was all consuming fear, that large black wolf came back to eat him. Turning his head eyes wide with a terror he's never felt before, expecting to see the wolf learing over him teeth ready to crush his skull but nothing...

John let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding as he now glared at the offending emptiness. That beast couldn't have just left him right? Animals don't do that? Specially not hungry ones! Or maybe it's just saving him for later? Yeah most likely. John reasoned.

It was an hour later when a can of food landed on Johns head startling him before it settled between his legs, soft dents of fangs but not enough to puncture.

"You tryna fattin' me up?" John asked not expecting a reply thinking the wolf most likely left only to hear a snort as if laughing at him.

"Oh that funny is it? But uh thanks," John said and he heard a huff. The wolf for some reason reminded him of someone back at camp.

"Yeah know you remind me of this guy I know, real tall just like you're real big. Damn what'd your parents give you guys make ya grow so big huh?" John said resting his head against the rocky wall, his lips turning up hearing a sound that was like wolfish laughter.

John was pulled out of his thoughts by a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"You doing okay?" Hosea asked, he had noticed that far off look in John's eyes for a while now.

"Yeah, say do you know where Rivian is?" John ask.

"I saw him wandering off into the trees there most likely to clear his head of all the smell, you know how he is," Hosea said a look of almost pity in his eyes. John gave Hosea a nod of thanks as he made his way in the direction Rivian was last seen going in. John had to admit he couldn't begin to imagine what it felt like for Rivian to become so overwhelmed from slight changes in a gang members scent.

There sitting on a rock was the man John was looking for, long black hair reaching the small of his back, he wore a simple black button up and black jeans with brown leather boots.

"Can I ask you something?" John said coming up beside Rivian his eyes obscures by his brown gamblers hat and a smoke between his lips.

"You can always ask me John," Rivian answered his voice calm and welcoming something he was always grateful for.

"I keep thinkin' about that black wolf and something really bugs me," John said turning to look at Rivian for a reaction seeing as the man had no scent for him to read. A ploom of smoke left Rivian's nose.

"What exactly bugs you about it?" Rivian asked calmly but on the inside his heart raced with anxiety. Did John peice it together? What will happen if he did? Will John betray him? Try and kill him? Rivian was doing his best not to show his emotions on his sleeves.

"It reminded me of you," John said. Rivian swallowed glancing up a golden eye glowing like a blazing sun just like that black wolf.

"So it was you," John felt a sense of relief wash over him as he sat down beside the man he considered to be both a brother and care giver since joining the gang.

"Thanks for makin sure I didn't die out there," John said, he never knew how the man did it, always taking care of them from the shadows.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 john #john marston #male oc #Rivian is an oc of mine #rdr2 drabble #my wrtitng #omegaverse #a/b/o au #a/b/o fanfic #a/b/o #If you dont like dont read simple

[angelltheninth]

Arthur Morgan Teaches You How to Ride Him

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, dick riding, guidance, encouragement, inexperience, age-gap

A/N: Can we all agree that he is the hottest cowboy dilf?

"You wanna sit on there nice and slow sweetheart. Know you're eager for it but don't hurt yourself now." That was funny coming from the man who was just in a bar fight. You can still see the bruising on his knuckles and see where his lip was split. "Did seeing me fight do it for you? So wet down there, I'm thinking it just might've."

"It's not the fight I promise you." Maybe a little but more of it was Arthur's charm and boldness. And how delicately he treated you. Sure you knew he could give you a rough pounding, enough to potentially break the bed but he was set on teaching you something new today.

Today was a riding lesson. Dick riding to be exact.

You tried to take him in right away, which proved a little painful even with how slick you were. You balanced yourself on your knees above his hips, your pussy touching the red tip of his cock, hands on his chest, feeling the chest hair and the scars from knives and bullets. This sounded much easier then it proved to be when he suggested it.

"I might not be as young as I used to be but I'll still throw my fists for a pretty young lady's honor." Arthur wanted to protect you as much as he wanted to corrupt your mind with all sorts of sinful ideas, such as meeting him night after night, sneaking out just to fuck him, "Besides I reckon none of those wannabe tough guys back there could teach you half the things I know. Ain't that right baby?" His hands pushed you down with the right amount that you felt the pressure, but not enough to bruise as the cockhead pushed just past your entrance. "There we go, right where my cock should be. Now I want you to start rolling your hips downwards, slowly, until you're able to fit the whole thing inside there."

Your hips started moving, breath hitching with every inch of his cock that you managed to take. You've taken it plenty of times in the past but you were never the one on top, and even with this newfound control you had over the movements you thought it better to listen to Arthur's advice then take him all at once. Instead on the feeling of lust you focused on how his cock stretched you open more and more, causing you to tighten and release around him, looking at his smile which grew wider and wider until settling on a permanent grin when you took his whole length.

"Atta girl." With his feet firmly planted on the bed Arthur folded his arms behind his head to enjoy himself to the fullest. "Gotta say I'm real comfy like this."

"Yeah? Am I making you feel good, Arthur?" A big, satisfied smile split across your face. Your hips were still touching him when you tried wiggling around a bit, feeling every inch of his twitching cock, perfectly angled to hit your deepest spots, "Can you tell how good you make me feel too?"

"I'd be worried if I didn't. You're gonna need to go up slowly, repeat the sliding until it goes in smoothly for you, then you can start to pick up the pace. Be sure to keep your balance too, because sometimes," He pushed his hips upwards, making you moan his name along with a deep whimper, "you might get yourself a surprise or two."

Nodding you let his body settle back down and you on top of him again, filled with his cock and the new found confidence that you could make him feel just as good as he made you feel.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan smut #rdr2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 smut #rdr2 x female reader #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead redemption x female reader #smut drabble #smutember 2023 #x female reader

[hihomeghere]

My eyes only | Arthur Morgan / Reader

Word count : 500+ (just a little guy) Summary : Arthur thinks you look like a work of art Warnings/tags : Fluff, allusions to smut, nakedness, Arthur being in love, set in Shady Bell.

“You look like one of them paintings.” Arthur said lying next to you. Supporting himself on his arm as he sat up, his blanket hanging low on his hips. The sight offers you the slightest peek at the low v of his pelvis. His arm unconsciously flexed, the muscles of his bicep pulled tight.

“What do you mean?” You chuckled, rolling over to face him. Heat poured off your skin, your hair sticking to the back of your neck as you come down from your high. The only thing covering your nakedness was a flimsy sheet, pulled lazily over your body by Arthur.

“You know, those portraits.” He said, a wicked grin on his face, “The ones that French feller made in Saint Denis.”

“Arthur!” You laughed, hitting him on the chest, a satisfying slap echoing through the room.

“What?” He laughed, deep and heartily. His shoulder shook as he grinned.

“You’re awful.” You said, shaking your head, trying to hide your smile.

“You’re laughin’.”

“Am not!” You chuckled looking up at the rotted ceiling. He rolled over, wrapping his hand around your bare waist. Digging his fingers into the soft skin of your side, you squirmed laughing under him. “Stop! Stop!” You cried, your cheeks hurting from how hard you were smiling. The setting sun peeking through the window, illuminating Arthur’s backside like a halo. Although he was anything but an angel at the moment. “I’m gonna pee!” You laughed, your hands planted on his chest as you tried to shove the ox of a man off of you.

“Alright, alright.” He relented, collapsing on top of you. You let out a loud ‘omph’ as he pushed all the air out of your lungs. You rolled your eyes, your fingers drawing mindless patterns along his freckled back.

He picked up his head, smirking up at you. “I’m serious, ya know?” He said softly, his finger trailing down your cheek. The hands of a killer, hands that have beaten and broken the strongest of men. Now lay featherlight touches along your face. “You’re beautiful.” He said, a soft blush covering his cheeks, the scars on his nose and chin a stark white against his skin.

If anyone looked like a work of art it would be Arthur. His body seemed to be carved out of marble, strong and hard. His muscles rippled under his flesh. And those eyes, bright blue pools you often found yourself drowning in.

“I think I should be saying that to you.” You whisper, smiling up at him. He shakes his head, a grin pulling at his lips.

“Nah, ain’t much to look at here ‘cept for you.” He mumbled, laying a kiss on your shoulder. You’d have to disagree, but your words die on your tongue as his lips lay a trail over your collarbone and up your neck.

“Maybe I should ask Mr. Châtenay to paint my likeness, hm?” You tease. His hand, no longer laying dormant next to your body, squeezes your hip.

“Not a chance in hell darlin’.” He said grinning wickedly at you. His other hand that had been moving along your cheek gripped the back of your neck. “You’re for my eyes only.”

#Arthur Morgan #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #rdr #fluff #hihomeghere #drabble #john Marston #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews

[gimmethosedaddymilkers]

More Arthur Morgan Headcannons

You guys really liked the Arthur Morgan headcannons last time (over 200 notes!) so I’m just gonna write some more out of the top of my head because why not?

Don’t forget to check out my newest 18+ NSFW excerpt from my rdr2 fanfic. It’s not for everyone, it’s an original character instead of an insert, but it’s on my page if you’re interested! 

Anyway, headcannons are under the cut! 

Arthur Morgan is a man who will beat himself up. No matter how small the issue, no matter what it was, maybe it wasn’t even his fault, but he’ll make himself believe that it was in fact his fault.

You tripped? 

His fault. He was distracting you. 

You sneezed?

Yep, his fault, he must have brought a cold to camp, and he kissed you, his fault. 

No matter what, some small, tiny little inconvenience, if he can link it back to himself, he will and he will blame himself. 

You have to convince him it isn’t his fault, and after a lot of talking eventually he will cave and say: “Well, maybe it ain’t my fault...” and then you have to do just a little bit more convincing because then he’s gonna ask repeatedly: “Can I do somethin’ to help you at least?” 

Arthur is also a man who does literally everything in his power to irritate/ rile you up. It’s hilarious to him. When nothing has happened and he isn’t busy trying to sit there and blame himself, he’s actually really loose and fun.

He loves to see you beet red in the face, and watching you get mad is funny enough he almost pissed himself once. He couldn’t remember the last time he laughed that hard. 

Hell you made him laugh so hard one time that he actually physically fell backwards on his ass, and while under normal circumstances he would have been embarrassed, he couldn’t even care that there was mud on his pants, not when he couldn’t breathe between chuckles. 

Arthur refuses to show you his Journal, he also refuses to show you what’s in his satchel. He’s easily embarrassed by the fact that he draws you all the time, and he’s afraid that he doesn’t do you justice. He feels like there’s no way in hell he could ever properly draw you out, and he doesn’t want you to see his ‘awful attempt’ at trying to show what he sees.

He knows you’re absolutely fantastic, beautiful, gorgeous, handsome, whatever you’d like to be called. He loves you to no ends, but he feels like he just can’t ever get the perfect look.

It never measures up to what he sees in his head, and he doesn’t want you to see it until he can get it just right.

You’ve seen a few sketches, on accident, you weren’t snooping, he left it open on the table next to his cot. 

He made you look absolutely stunning. Every little detail he captured was just down to the T. 

You didn’t know what to do, you decided it was best not to say anything, but the fact that Arthur saw you like that made you tear up every time you thought about it. 

Every once in a while you call Arthur “Mr. Morgan.” and he thinks that he’s upset you, and in reality he hasn’t done anything at all, you just think it’s funny to call him that rather than Arthur, or Art, or Arty, or any of the other various nicknames for him, because he’ll push out that bottom lip of his and furrow his brow as he tries to figure out what he did earlier. 

Though then you have to reassure him he didn’t do anything wrong, and then he’ll probably call you an ass before giving you a kiss.

Arthur’s favorite color, other than blue obviously, is actually red, he doesn’t know why, he hates dealing with blood, despite the fact that it’s on him more often than not, so it doesn’t make much sense to him as to why he’s so attracted to that deep maroon, but if you ask him what it is he’ll tell you both blue and red. 

Though he thinks that’s a stupid question.

His least favorite chore around camp is chopping wood. His back hurts, he rides a horse all day and he doesn’t have any back support, nothing for his lumbar, so chopping wood would, you think, crack his back, however it cracks it in the worse possible way. 

Sometimes its so bad that if he chops wood and just cracks his back the wrong way then he has to lay in his bed for a day or two, it’s too hurtful to move. 

Arthur braids your hair, he doesn’t think about it, it just happens, he gets bored and your hair is right there, and before you know it your hair is braided and the only reason it’s done so well is because he braids his horse’s tail. 

Sometimes you braid his, when he lets it grow long enough. He feels like it looks stupid, but you think it looks sweet. 

You put it up in a ponytail sometimes too, and again, he thinks it looks stupid and hates the way he looks with it, but you think he looks wonderful, and you do your best to try and convince him to keep it up like that. 

Sometimes, if you’re lucky he will.

Not only that, but Arthur sometimes cuts his hair short and grows his beard long, you’ll braid his beard and he looks like a Viking. You think it’s hot as hell. 

He does like this look better, and he will keep it for a long while, sometimes you can even convince him to grow out his hair longer too to complete the Viking look.

When he looks like that, you boost his confidence with all the compliments you give him. Though to be fair you give him a bunch of compliments anyway. 

Arthur loves sleep.

As much as he is awake and running around.

He’d sleep all day if he could, sleep all day, all night, and literally do anything he could to just sleep. Doesn’t matter where he is, how uncomfortable the spot was, no matter what, he would do his best to nap.

You love to see him nap, or sleep, it’s so attractive to see him sleep on his stomach, his hair all tousled and his arms under his head. 

He’s especially cute when he’s hardly awake and can barely speak.

“Arthur, are you awake?”

“Mhm...’m up.” 

“Are you really?” 

“Mhm.” 

“What are you doing today?”

“Hmh?” He shrugs.

He’ll look at you with half lidded eyes and a partially open mouth, trying to decipher what you’re telling him, but he’s not awake enough to fully comprehend what it is you’re trying to get him to understand. 

Sometimes you’ll see him napping against a rock or tree in camp, and sit next to him, lucky enough that he doesn’t wake up, and you’ll lean against him and take a nap there with him.

Usually by the time you wake up he’s managed to wrap his arms around you and pulled you into his lap. 

He snores too. 

Only sometimes, not all the time, but sometimes, usually on a day that he’s been running around, the days he’s been lounging around he doesn’t snore too much. 

When he does snore, it’s not too loud, but it can be annoying, but you’ve gotten so used to it that you just listen to it to fall asleep at this point.

When you try to tell him he snores he doesn’t believe you and claims that you do, but you can tell by the red in his face that he does believe you. 

#rdr2 #rdr2 community #Rdr2 Headcannons #Rdr2 drabble #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #Arthur Morgan drabble #Red Dead Redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 drabble

[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

[messrmoonyy]

-Sadie Adler as your gf hcs ( sfw/nsfw )

Sadie Adler x Fem!reader

A/N- I am in fact posting these out of pure and utter spite because Sadie Adler can. And will. Kiss girls. Because this is what?! Fan fiction!And it brings me an insane amount of joy that the sheer idea alone of Sadie being queer angers people. Sadie Adler kisses girls pass it on!!!

These are mostlyyy epilogue and beyond based Sadie pls lemme be your lil housewife

Dedicated to @queer-sadie-adler for being the true voice of reason lately amidst the hell hole that has been the queer Sadie discussions. You’re awesome.

Masterlist - requests are open!

• she’s incredibly protective of you. One wrong look your way and she’s ready to start shooting or swinging. Shes so a ‘ why don’t ya take a picture, it’ll last longer ‘ baby has some slight anger issues

• falls very much into the ‘ I hate everyone except you ‘ category. So stoney faced and ready to brawl with everyone, but soft gazes and tender touches with you.

• you hear her before you see her. She’ll ride back home to you after going after a bounty and proudly announce her return with a ‘ honey I’m home! ‘ as she rides up to your home.

• secretly adores the way you fuss over her before she goes out. She lost everything other than you in the space of like. A year. so it’s nice to be reminded how much you care about her. And that she has someone in the world to care about herself.

• she’s actually a pretty decent cook. And you can often expect her to try cook you something nice. Especially if she’s gotten onto your bad side some how, she knows a nice romantic meal will butter you up nice and quick

• I have this thought that she is just a nightmare to share a bed with. Girly tosses and turns and takes up too much damn space. But it just gives you the excuse to crawl up close to her and get comfy in the little space she leaves, falling asleep practically on top of her.

• and on the subject of sleeping. Has just the finest motherfuckin morning voice you’ve ever heard. Her raspy ‘ Mornin my darlin’ in your ear everyday makes you wanna melt into a puddle every damn time.

• loves sharing a bath with you. Especially if she’s been gone for a few days. She’ll make some excuse that it’s just to save on water. But in reality she just wants to relax and hold you close to her, feel your skin on hers to remind her she’s not just some angry bounty hunter. All tough and rough and fighting. She needs the gentle and the calm you provide her.

• hand holding. Forehead kisses. Sitting in her lap as you read on the porch. Just small, gentle acts of intimacy. The kind not discussed but well practiced between lovers.

• she can get in her head a little sometimes. She knows it’s not easy being in a relationship like that in 1907. And she knows that she doesn’t make it much easier on you with the works she does either.

• but she loves you wholeheartedly. And she knows that you love her just as equally. And as much as she feels she doesn’t deserve you, she’ll keep loving you until you don’t want her anymore which would never happen of course

•NSFW•

• she needs to be the one in control all of the time. This isn’t to say she doesn’t like receiving, or like having you on top of her. She just likes to be the one with her hands on the reins yk.

• in fact. She quite enjoys you on top of her or In her lap. But even so, know that she’s the one pulling the strings and she’s two steps ahead of you at all times

• she’s gentle and soft with you, but determined. Whether that’s knowing exactly where to touch you and abusing that same spot over and over again until you’re a shaking mess. Or telling you where and how to touch her.

• I said this in my last hcs but fingers in the mouthhhhh. Idc what anyone says. I see it so vividly. She loves it. Loves watching you suck her fingers to get them wet. Or clean them off.

• eats pussy like a god. Will have you seeing stars and thanking whatever Lord may exist for putting that woman right between your thighs. Sloppy and thorough and has you coming with her name on your tongue.

• thigh riding!!!!

• girly loves to manspread. Will sit there and pat her leg for you to perch on, but manoeuvre you to straddle her leg instead. And she loves how it makes you blush ‘ you’re a regular ol’ cowgirl now ain’t ya honey? ‘ as she leans back in her seat to watch you I’m literally going insane

• morning sex!! Waking up spooning with her, teasing her by wiggling your hips against her until she slips a hand over your hips and between your legs

• ‘ this what y’ wanted? Been dreamin of me honey? ‘

• will absolutely get up afterwards as casual as ever and ask what’s for breakfast. As if she hadn’t just had her fingers buried in your cunt.

• her aftercare is just so gentle. Especially if she’s been gone a while and has you coming for hours on end. She’ll praise you and hold you and help clean you up. Maybe drag you into the tub with her and sit behind you to wash your hair.

• and she enjoys the intimacy of dressing you so much more than undressing. Getting you comfy and cosy in clean night clothes before snuggling up with you in bed, letting you rest your head on her chest and tangling up your legs together.

#Sadie Adler kisses girls pass it on!! #I’m also writing a drabble/os on that thigh riding thing as we speak #gnawing at the bars of my enclosure for this woman #Sadie Adler #sadie adler x reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 community #rdr2 fanfic #Sadie Adler smut #x you #fluff #arthur morgan #john marston #van der linde gang #rdr2 Sadie

[twola]

Yo yo yo! I have a request. Do Arthur x f!reader where he's teaching her to fish because Hosea/Dutch has found out shes weirdly squirmy about fish but she's being a reluctant brat about things and Arthur loses his temper 'GODDAMMIT wOmAn!' Style. Make its as unhinged smutty as you please (so a LOT 😏) Thank you! 😘😘😘

Ooh. Well now - I do not like fish that much, so this isn’t a stretch for me 😂 This was super fun!! I hope you enjoy.

Gone Fishin'

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

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

As Arthur reaches the end of his convalescence after his run-in with Colm O’Driscoll, Hosea has a task for him - teach one of the girls how to fish. The task, he finds out, is a little harder than he imagined. Also, he’s a little harder than he imagined. 

Lemoyne was warm. Warm and humid, buggy, and miserable. Arthur’s work shirt stuck to his skin, even after shedding his full union suit underneath his clothes, he’s still too damn hot. 

He’s hot and bored.

The pain in his shoulder is just a niggle at this point, but Grimshaw refused to let him go work again, even though the wound has closed up, scabbed over, and is scarred with new pink skin. 

Three more days, Grimshaw pointed at him, and with that tone that he knew he would catch hell from her if he disobeyed.

But he’s past languishing under the shade of his tent. Idleness may suit a drunk like Uncle - but not a man like him. He is a man of action.

He needs to do something. Or he is going to go crazy.

-

“Oh, come on, dear. It’s relaxing.”

“Hosea, I don’t do fish. I don’t like eatin’ them, and I sure as hell wouldn’t like catching them.” You huff, standing at the end of the dock. 

Hosea sits next to you, a fishing pole in his hand as his feet dangle over the side of the dock. You fiddle with your skirts as you gaze out at the lake, the water glinting in the afternoon sun.

“It’s an art, dear girl.”

You scowl down at him, “Fish are disgusting.” 

He laughs, “Oh, you. We’re on a lake, you’re gonna have to get used to fish real soon, missy.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. It’s hot, and you wear just a simple white chemise top tucked into your cotton skirt, baring your arms and decolletage to the sun, a welcome opportunity after almost freezing to death in the Grizzlies. 

Hosea looks back toward the camp, where he sees Arthur mulling about. An idea strikes him, genius, as his ideas often are. He stands up, and waves over to the recovering gunslinger, “Arthur, c’mere! Got somethin’ for you to do!”

“No- Hosea,” you whisper harshly, clenching your fists in your skirts, “What are you doing?”

Arthur approaches the end of the dock, running his hand through his long beard, not having shaved in weeks at this point. “Hosea,” He grunts, then looks to you, “Miss.”

“Dear, you need to learn the fine art of fishing. And Arthur over here? He needs somethin’ to do other than sit around pissin’ off Grimshaw.” Hosea waves his free hand toward the camp,

Hosea claps Arthur’s back with his free hand, then turning and tugging you toward the gunslinger on the dock.

“Now you kids take the boat and get on out there, it’ll do both of you some good.”

“Wait wait, wasn’t it you and Dutch makin’ fun of me for the trout incident? I shouldn’t be teaching anyone how to fish.” Arthur shakes his head.

“Nonsense, boy. You caught plenty last time we went out. Besides, it’ll get you out of camp.”

“Fine.” Arthur groans, grabbing the fishing rod from the older man’s outstretched hand.

“Hosea-”  You whine, but your benefactor nods his head, cutting you off.

“Go on.” 

You roll your eyes, following Arthur as he steps into the rowboat moored at the dock, taking his outstretched hand, and helping you step into the small boat.

“You kids have fun now.” Hosea waves, a smile on his face.

Arthur grunts, picking up the oars and pushing off from the dock. You sit in the bow of the rowboat, scowling, as Arthur rows away from the camp, scanning the horizon. A hushed quiet falls as he guides the boat southbound, the camp becoming smaller and smaller as he rows deeper out into the lake.

“Why do you want to learn how to fish?”

“I don’t.” You huff, your arms crossed over your chest.

“Then why the hell are we out here?” Arthur stops rowing, a scowl also settling in on his face.

“Cause you can’t say no to Hosea.”

“Looks like neither can you.”

An awkward silence settles in between you.

“Well, we’re out here now. Might as well make the best of it.” Arthur says, pulling the oars into the hull of the boat and picking up the fishing rod. He holds it out to you.

You let out an exasperated sigh, refusing to uncross your arms.

Arthur grumbles, adjusting the hat on his head, before drawing the rod back and pulling a feathered lure from his pocket, placing it on the hook. He casts the line further out into the lake. 

“Didn’t really plan on fishin’ today, otherwise I’d have some live bait - worms or crickets or whatnot.” He turns back to you, tugging on the rod slightly, glancing back as the lure bobs in the water.

You glower, scrunching your nose at the mention of live bait.

“I hate fish.” You grit out.

“Oh, hush.” Arthur chides. The line pulls, and he feels something bite.

“Here ya go!” He pulls back the line, the fish hanging in the air. With a grin, he swings the pole in your direction, the bluegill flopping on the line, getting closer to your head.

You scream, standing up in the boat and batting the fish away from your face, causing Arthur to jerk to the side, dropping the fishing pole in surprise. The boat violently bobs side to side with your movement.

“Goddamnit, woman!” Arthur yells, nearly falling over the side of the boat as he tries to catch the pole that you batted away from him.

“I told you I don’t like fish!” You screech, sitting back down slowly as the boat bucks. 

“That’s it, Christ; you’re such a goddamn brat!” Arthur throws the pole within the hull of the boat and grabs the oars, thrusting them into the water forcefully. He heaves the oars, forcing the boat forward as he angrily pulls and pushes back toward the shore, breathing heavily as he propels the boat through the water.

“Arthur - wait-”

“Waste of my goddamn time,” He continues, fuming. It actually feels good to work his muscles like this.

“Arthur!”

By then, it’s too late. The boat hits a sandbar and beaches itself, and the speed at which Arthur was rowing causes the boat to lurch violently, sending you flying forward into his body, and you both tumble to the hull of the boat, a jumble of limbs and your skirts.

Arthur pushes you up, and you nearly fall backward with the force of his shove.

He swears as you get your footing, sitting up and looking for the oars as he pulls himself back up to his seat.

The oars are nowhere to be found. He probably dropped them when he beached the damn boat. Actually, as he squints, he sees one floating away from the sandbar, back toward the middle of the lake.

“Shit.” He curses.

“You idiot.”  You sneer at him, lifting your boot to find it wet with lakewater, a hole having sprung in the bottom of the hull, the wood splintered as water rushes in. You hike up your skirts as the level of water rises within the boat.

Arthur jumps out of the boat, grumbling, looking this way and that as you climb out as well. The sandbar the boat is beached upon is on one of the small islands off the shore of the lake, a good fifty feet to the mainland. He curses to himself as he looks back into the boat, the hull filling with water.

“Now what?” You ask critically as you let your skirts down, following him as he stalks along the island’s shore. 

He doesn’t answer, looking around at the sandy ground beneath his boots.

“Watch out for the snake.” He points at the ground next to you, and your eyes dart downward as a brown water moccasin slithers by.

You scream, jumping toward him in fear away from the snake as it glides away into the water, and in a jumble of limbs, you’re somehow climbing the man as he stumbles backward.

“Get me out of here!”

Arthur tries to have some sort of propriety as he tries to regain his balance, but it’s hard when the only hold on you he can get is to loop his hands under the backs of your thighs. You’re clutching at his shoulders, trying to get yourself off of the ground, and end up finding purchase on him by wrapping your legs around his hips, your skirts askew as you pant in terror.

“Fuckin’ stop-” Arthur grunts, stumbling backwards, finally losing his battle with gravity as you and he tumble into a sand dune. His hat flies off, rolling on its rim in a circle, finally settling a few feet away.

Of course, of course, it couldn’t suit him to land in any kind of proper or decent way. No, no, he had to land completely on top of you, slotted between your hips, your skirts creeping up while his traitorous, immature, villainous cock swells at the pressure of his weight against your clothed cunt.

The air has been knocked out of your lungs, but beneath him, you gasp as he tries to move. Your knees frame him, skirts fallen to your hips to show your skin. Your arms are still thrown around his shoulders as he tries to push himself up, his hands slipping in the sand, causing him to crumble down on you, his hips fully pressing down on yours.

Shit. Shit.

He’s trying to think of anything - rotten meat, Uncle’s laundry - anything to stave off the growing erection tenting within his pants. But alas, he is a slave to his own biology, as his cock stiffens and his blood rushes into his groin.

You stare up at him. His eyes dart away in embarrassment, a blush deepening on his cheeks.

Then, you do something that throws him even further into this pit of arousal he finds himself in.

You slowly roll your hips against him and he cannot help but to let out a low moan in response and press his swollen cock against you harder.

Christ, your hair has fallen from its bun, spread out on the sandy soil of this island like some sort of halo.

Two minutes ago he wanted to throttle you. Now, underneath him, he wants to make you gasp and cry and oh, to say his name in a high whine-

“Fuck-” he curses, but before he can go any further, your hands move from his shoulders to the back of his neck, and you pull downward gently - not enough to move him, but enough to give him permission.

He waits for a moment, searching your wide eyes, your open, wet lips, and in that moment, he throws caution to the wind and leans down to slot his lips against yours. You continue to roll your hips against him, crossing your ankles over his back in a surefire sign of what you wanted, whining into his mouth.

And fuck, if he wasn’t going to give it to you.

As he leans back on his knees, sliding his arms from around your waist, he paws his suspenders down and starts unbuttoning his pants, desperate to free his swollen cock. He grunts with a hint of satisfaction as he pulls his length from his pants, closing his eyes as he strokes himself several times. He faintly recognizes your squirming beneath him, and when he’s opened his eyes again, hand still on his cock, he’s struck by what he sees. You’ve shimmied down your bloomers, skirts flipped up and over your hips, pooling across your waist.

Your folds glisten with moisture, and his hips jut forward near uncontrollably, his cock seeking out your warmth, his body yearning to bury itself within your hips.

“Y- you sure-?” One last chance - one more opportunity to back away from the precipice - to realize that you are both being ridiculous - one second ready to kill each other, the next…

“Arthur please.”

Well, there goes his reservations.

One of his large hands spreads out over your hip, the other around the base of his cock, and he presses the swollen, dripping head of his cock against your folds, trailing downwards as he parts them to your opening, groaning in pleasure as he slips in half an inch.

His hand leaves his cock as he leans back over you, arm landing next to your shoulder, as he gently presses his hips forward, sliding in as you shut your eyes in overstimulation. By the time his hips press against your own and he’s sheathed in you to the hilt, your eyes flutter open as you let out a breath you were holding. Arthur’s other arm comes up to bracket you in, his mouth hanging open as a strand of his honeyed-brown hair falls forward between his eyes.

He lowers himself down to his elbows to press himself completely against you, seeking out your lips again as he bucks his hips forward, causing you to mewl into his mouth, your arms wrapping around his neck, one hand cupping the back of his head, fingers threading into his long hair, grasping it tightly as he settles into a rhythm of rolling his hips back and forth.

You pull on his hair and he groans, thrusting hard into you in response. Seems like you aren’t over your surly mood. He finds a hard and punishing rhythm, again feeling good to work his muscles after his convalescence.  It had been much longer than that since he’s worked these particular muscles.

“A-Arthur-” You moan loudly as he continually strokes that spot within you. He grunts in response, pulling his cock nearly out of your cunt before slamming his hips back into you.

You shriek in pleasure, and for a moment he’s thankful he’s marooned the two of you on this island yards away from the shore of the lake.

“Y’gonna come for me?” He harshly whispers into your ear, “Y’gonna come on my cock?”

That does it.

You cry out, back arching against him, head thrown back into the grassy dune, a high keening sound that makes him moan helplessly in response, gyrating his hips as your cunt clenches hard around his length, warm and wet and perfect.

“Fuck - fuck - woman…” He groans, rutting forward as you come down from your high, his cock pulsing and covered in your warm slick, and he is forced to pull himself from you, gliding out as he sits back on his knees and starts to pump himself.

You look up and god, is he a sight. His hips buck forward as he strokes his length, his mouth hanging open and muscles of his abdomen clenching under his shirt tails. A low moan escapes him as his other hand flies to cover the head of his cock, and he comes with his eyes screwed shut, looming over you.

He pants, for several moments, before opening his eyes. You sit up, needing, needing more, and you loop your hands around his neck again and pull his lips to yours, pressing your tongue into his mouth. He grunts in surprise, but leans into the kiss, tangling his tongue with yours.

You pull back, a smile creeping across your face, and as he opens his eyes, he cannot help the same.

“Is that how your lessons always end?” You laugh as he tucks himself away with his clean hand, leaning to the side to wipe his other hand in the grass as a half a smile creeps across his face.

“Only when the student is difficult.” He rumbles, tucking his shirt back into his pants as you start to pull your skirts down over your thighs.

“Mm.. I do remember you offering to teach me to shoot before Blackwater.”

Arthur arches an eyebrow as he rebuttons his pants and slides his suspenders back up. “Y’gonna be a brat about it?”

“Of course.”

He smirks, reaching for his hat on his knees. You push yourself up to stand, shaking your skirt free of sand and grass as you look for where you tossed your bloomers in your fit of passion.

“Arthur.”

“Mhm?” He replies, running his hand through his long hair before placing his hat back on his head.

“How are we going to get back to shore?”

-

Hosea smokes a cigarette sitting by the scout fire, the sun having gone down some time ago.

He’s starting to feel a niggle of concern that the two of you aren’t back. The both of you can certainly take care of yourselves.

You’re stalking back toward your tent, your clothes soaking wet, hair plastered down your neck. You refuse to give Hosea even a passing glance as you head back to the women’s tent.

Hosea arches an eyebrow as Arthur walks closer, also fuming. Also soaking wet. The gunslinger looks at Hosea briefly before carrying on.

“Lesson didn’t go as planned.”

#rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #red dead fandom #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #red dead fanfic #red dead smut #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #tumblr prompt #drabble #twolafic #gift fic