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yorshie · 10 months

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You have Admired, Every Man Desires

Arthur Morgan x gen neutral reader (one mention of reader being dainty/delicate “easy to confuse for a woman”)

SFW, drinking, gambling, period typical danger, cursing, kissing. Liquid Courage Arthur makes a move on reader.

title from song Devil's Tattoo

Chisholm was a cattle depot nestled against the rocky scree of a plateau, the only landmark of significance as far as the eye could see. It boasted only four buildings: a saloon, general store, bunkhouse, and a tiny post office. The buffalo grass that surrounded the town had to be cut back each year, lest it grow up the side of the wood and sod buildings and the town disappear again.

In the light of a cat scratch moon, it was a desolate, lonesome place. The lowing of cattle could be heard from miles away, but the low, plaintive songs of the men moving between them were lost at a distance, tending to blend with the soft sigh of the wind. Dogs bickered and barked back at the various nocturnal sounds of encroaching animals, their shapes blurred as they moved quickly up and down the tracks worn in the sandy dirt.

You watched as one such dog eased up to the hitching trough at the front of the saloon, wary eyes on you as it leaned up and sampled the water., before its ear cocked backwards at some unheard sound and it disappeared across the street, back to its brothers and charges.

You tipped your bottle against the brim of your hat as it looked back at the mouth of the alleyway, lip curling as if warning you not to follow. “Wouldn’t even dream of it, asshole,” you mumbled into the drink.

It felt dangerous, this place, the air outside the swinging saloon doors foggy and warm from the pressed bodies inside, at war with the fall chill and cold wind that wound its way through the buildings. The only visitors were cowhands and punchers, loud men drowning themselves in noxious alcohol til the fumes had driven you out the doors. It was easier to watch the road, pretend you were useful, than try and keep an eye on Sean inside.

The irishman seemed determined to outdrink the cowboys, never mind the reminders you kept dropping that the two of you were suppose to lay low while Arthur and Trelawney met with a “friend” who was suppose to have information on coaches with light security. After the fifth round you realized Sean was ignoring your cautions on purpose, and finally fed up with him, you rose and left him to it.

After all, it was much easier to breathe outside as well, without all the hard, curious eyes that dissected your every move.

“Ain’t wise to be out here by yourself,” came a grumble from behind, and you flinched, hand dropping to your waist before your brain recognized Arthur’s voice. You breathed out slowly, and turned slightly to see him step out on the darkened porch of the saloon, cupped hands vainly trying to protect his match from the wind as he lit a cigar.

You made a curious sound, and his eyes flickered up, the edge of his mouth curling as he turned and leaned against a post with his back to the street.

“Nicked it from our circus manager.” He supplied, twiddling the cigar in his hand. “Figured I’d earned it after not putting a bullet in him on the ride here.”

You snorted, took a sip of your beer, and watched as he finished running the flame over the end, pulled, then checked the ash was even. “I don’t expect too much trouble from our end, but with this many liquored men in tight quarters, someone’ll end up dead by mornin’.” He set the cigar back in his mouth, shook the match and let it fall.

“I can handle a few drunk men,” you countered, and he chuckled.

“Of that, I have no doubt, but I’d rather be able to see you if trouble starts and you need help.” His look turned dark as the sound of breaking glass tinkled through the doors.

“Sides, ain’t no workin’ women here, and most these fellers ain’t seen anything resemblin’ a woman for weeks.” Oblivious to your raising eyebrows, he continued, “They ain’t gonna be too picky-” he glanced up and stopped, and you took a moment to pointedly sip your beer. “Well… they ain’t likely to care much on what they get their hands on.”

You hummed an affirmative, and he looked away, and you let your eyes ghost over him before you turned to the thick paned windows, the yellow glow distorting the moving shapes within. “You’re not worried about Sean?”

Arthur let out a breathy chuckle, and you glanced back in time to see him lean his head against the post and give you a slight smirk, hands settling around the buckle on his waist. “I don’t care about Sean’s hide half as much as I do yours, kid, and any man that’s drunk enough to tune out his scratchy yowl is welcome to em.”

It wasn’t what you meant, but you couldn’t help but feel amused, he looked so pleased with himself. Then you squinted, catching the slight ruddy tint of color on his cheeks. “When you were warnin’ me about ‘liquored men’, I didn’t think you were counting yourself.”

If anything, the color ran higher, but he met your squint and only let his lazy grin widen. “Well, never let it be said that I ain’t picky-”

You openly rolled your eyes at him, and he broke off, shouldered off the post and stepped closer. You felt the thrill of awareness seep down your spine as he stopped just shy of touching you, the smell of whiskey mingling with the cigar. His head tilted above your own, and even in the diffused light you could see the mischief warming at the edges of his gaze.

“You’re actin' quite brave for such a little thing.” You angled your body to face him more, watched as his eyes tracked down to the bottle you brought up between you to sip from. “I ain’t drunk,” he supplied suddenly, voice dropping to a lower octave, the sound rumbling between your close bodies. “Just figured it might be time for some liquid-”

He broke off suddenly, and both your heads turned sharply at the loud, booming barks coming from down the main road. Arthur slid closer, pulling you halfway behind the post as your head craned around in an attempt to see.

“That sounded too big to be a cow dog,” you murmured, bending to set your half empty bottle on the porch, taking the moment to peer out at the rapidly approaching figures.

“Naw, more like a bloodhound,” Arthur answered, all softness and warmth gone. His grip tightened on your bicep, pulled you upright, and started herding you further down the porch towards the edge of the building, where you both paused at the sight of another figure coming from the opposite way.

“C’mon, kid,” Arthur swung himself off the porch and into the alleyway with a soft thud, his hands already aloft to catch you as you jumped. He tugged on your arm again, and you readily followed.

“What about Sean, and Trelawney?” You whispered belatedly, almost skipping to keep up with Arthur’s longer stride.

“They’ll head out the back, go ‘round and get the horses. Despite all evidence contrary, Sean can smell lawmen a mile away. As fer Trelawney, well, he’s slippery enough to be part eel.”

“An eel?” You parroted, incredulous, and were rewarded with a sigh and a roll of shoulders.

“You start sassin’ me now, kid, and your hide might end up worthless after all.” It was rumbled out, but you snorted, and Arthur pushed you in front, urging you faster towards the back of the building. His hand was a burning brand against the small of your back, fingers splayed wide against the fabric as he pushed you forward.

Light flared at the end of the alley, and Arthur’s push became a firm grip as he hauled you back and around, and without thinking you pushed, hard, against his chest.

His back hit the side of the building, his hiss of pain turning into a low swear as you tripped forward and crashed into him. The hard edge of his pistol’s handle dug into your hip while the jut of his arm and elbow caught against your stomach, and you distantly realized that you had trapped his right arm, likely trying to draw.

The light swung in a high arc, and you panicked, threw up your hands, knocking against Arthur’s nose and sending his hat flying with another curse. You grabbed at the sides of his face and dragged him into the dip of your neck, heart a mad dash as you pressed more fully against him.

He stumbled, his free hand tightening in the back of your shirt and pulling it taunt against your ribs, and you felt the shudder work through him as the two day scruff on his jaw scraped below your ear.

You kept an eye at the end of the alley, swallowed thinly, and tried hard not to think of the way Arthur felt pressed against you, the warmth of him a burning furnace compared to the cold. Tried so hard not to breathe as he shifted under you, the creak of leather loud as he widened his stance. Without thinking you ran your nails through his short hair, lightly scratching his scalp, earning a hitch in his breath and another shiver against you.

The light blessedly continued on, and you heaved out a breath, lurching backwards and away from temptation. Arthur’s grip relaxed on your shirt, and he let you pull him up, though with a quick two step forward he knocked you off balance, his grip jerking you backwards at the same time.

“Arth-”, half his name, confused and high pitched, then the air knocked out of you with a sharp rap as your shoulders hit the wall behind you and he crowded into your space.

Your hands shot out, grabbed the fabric between the bottom of his vest and the rough leather of his gun belt, pressed against the warmth of him radiating out, and without thinking took in a deep lungful of air. He stank of horse, gunmetal and whiskey, the air between you rapidly heating up as he glared down at you.

His hand tightened against the small of your back again, and you shivered uncontrollably as you felt the fabric inch up and cold air tickled in. That whisper burn of his beard was back, cheek rasping against your earlobe as he leaned in.

“You think you’ll be so calm and collected when I finally do get my hands on you?” His voice was a rumble, a distant thunder that snuck into your bones and turned your stomach to jelly. Your teeth snapped shut, the click of your jaw audible, and you felt him smile, hot breath painting over your exposed collar, before he leaned in even closer, his larger frame caging you in as his chest pressed firm against your own.

“C’mon, kid, don’t loose your nerve now.” Amusement despite the chiding tone, and you breathed hard through your nose, felt his own nudge your head further to the side, the softness of his lips a shock on skin rubbed raw.

Slowly, softly, your hands moved, slid upwards over his vest until you could cup the sides of his neck, felt his pulse thudding in time with your own.

“There’s the kid,” his whispered words were pressed against your skin, so low you strained to understand, and you clamped your lips closed on the moan that bubbled up at the quiet praise.

“Think you and I need to have a talk,” he continued, his lips grazing your pulse once more, before he moved back slowly, his grip keeping you back. “But I don’t reckon we can have it proper, here.”

You blinked up at him stupidly, breathed in again, brain slowly catching up to what he was saying. He chuckled at your expression, hand coming up to chuck your chin. “C’mon, kid, let’s go find our idiot and circus manager, and get the hell out of here.”

He tugged you after him, and you went woodenly, your feet barely obeying as you followed the sway of his wide shoulders.

———————————————————————

Two more hours left alone with these idiots, and I might break my promise to Dutch and shoot Trelawney after all. Slippery as an eel indeed, don’t think even I could hold him long enough to strangle him, though my hands do itch something fierce every time he opens his goddamn mouth.

Sean is drunk, no surprise there, but at least he’s passed out, so we’re saved from whatever torment he could inflict.

The kid is staring into the fire, dead to the world. Doubt I could clap and they’d even blink. Don’t know if I should take any pride in that, but part of me still remembers the look on their face when I turned the tables on them.

Teach em not to pull a stupid stunt like that. Though in hindsight, I probably just encouraged more bad behavior.

I already planned on making the group split in the morning, for want of some peace and quiet, but maybe the kid’ll be up to following me back the long way home.

Ah, who the hell do you think you’re foolin’, Morgan?

#rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption fandom #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfiction #cussing #cursing

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