#rdr2 x reader

[ravengards-rogue]

i lose control (when you're not next to me.)

javier escuella x reader

✧ tags : afab + fem!reader (gendered language + wearing dresses etc), established relationship, religious imagery (maybe sacrilege)takes place in ch.4 of rdr2, submissive!reader, soft dom!javier, some spanish petnames (mi amor mi vida, and hermosa i think), pillowing humping, penetration, very lovesick sex lol, veryy established dynamic, praise kink, written like. sooo explicitly for @nanamimizz, 18+

✧ wc : 5.2k (after editing mind you)

✧ a/n : this is fucking nuts LMAOO. i wrote this like. no bullshit in a day. i don't know how that happened. mentioned in the tags that this is for my beloved best friend but i think it's still okay to post. im losing it a little. i have hw due in an hour

✧ synopsis : javier can't help but feel some ways about the way you miss him. so dreadfully obedient. so apparently needy. how could he not adore you?

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

There’s something a little pathetic in the way you pine after Javier that makes him a worse man than he is. 

He’s good to you though. Always. Down to his bones, the core of him. The soul of him. It’s hard to be anything but good to you. 

In all of his life, across lovers, men and women - he doesn’t think he’s met a single soul who simply likes him as much as you do. Who preens so pretty with so little, who doesn’t need much at all. Never met a woman who tucks and folds herself into corners just to be polite. Never thought he’d find it so fascinating, either - but you prove him wrong often. 

It’s testament to Javier’s adoration that he can’t help but notice you anyway. That even when your featherlight footsteps and darling voice fall off and get caught on the wind and blown away - Javier will still manage to find you. Even with all of your attempts to make yourself small and unrecognizable, his sharp brown eyes will still catch on the linen of your skirts and the threaded gold of your cross necklace. Javier’s own body betrays him in his love for you, in his wanting. 

Even though he’s not interested in pretending he doesn’t love you, his eyes and mouth and hands would look and call and search. They’d never give him the opportunity to be anything but in love. 

It’s important that he makes that known. He’s only ever interested in being a good man to you. Holding you and kissing you and worshiping you until you’re melty between his fingers. Javier loves loving the resistance out of you and you always make it so easy for him. 

He’s a good lover by nature and by practice. Passionate and maybe a little conceited, it’s not his first brush with romantics. He can only hope it’ll be his last. 

Even so, he’s never been liked the way you like him. 

You like Javier in a way you seem embarrassed by when you remember. It causes you to act in ways out of character on the surface, emboldened. Maybe just needy. Enough to bask in his praise and affection once a little liquor has touched your mouth. You like Javier in a way that makes you lovesick and puppylike, all honeyed gazes and pouty lips. He’s never met somebody who likes him the way you do, without grandstanding. Just pure, puppy love. Almost innocent if you don’t look too long. 

Almost being what matters most. 

Javier knows the way you were raised, after all. Knows the intimate ways in which you fold yourself and tuck your wants between the pages of your diary and slip your requests under your tongue. It’s hard for you to want for anything too much because you’ve been told your whole life that wanting at all is a sin. Wanting may even get you killed. A good woman should want nothing but salvation. Anything more than that is indulgence and there’s nothing good about that. It translates in the way you carry yourself. You’ll stop and fumble and shy away before even fixing your lips to ask, like you’re planning on being rejected or told no. 

A good girl like you being told no so often, it’s made you all sacrifice and empty prayers. Javier often feels grief about your lives before each other but nothing makes it so evident as that. A good woman, a beautiful and kind and soft one like you should never hear the words no without the best of reasons. That’s what Javier believes for all of his lovers, but you’re special. 

And that makes it worse. 

For you he’d do anything. No price he wouldn’t pay, no place he wouldn’t go, nothing that’s too far out of his reach. He thinks maybe he’s so eager to give it to you because he knows you don’t have it in you to take it yourself. You won’t whine greedily even if Javier tells you too, so Javier’s giving is only a partial virtue. It’s mostly pride, after all. It hurts his ego a little when you refuse to bask in the love he so enthusiastically wants to drown you in. 

Despite his complaints though, it’s a part of you that makes him so weak to you. That you want with such desperation but don’t allow yourself to take - so it makes you pliant and willing and terribly, adorably pathetic. You’re so weak for Javier. Just for him, you always say. Always with a hand in his, or wrapped around his bicep. All yours, Javi. Always his. 

That’s the thing. Javier wants to give everything in the world to you. He wants to be good to you, and he so often is. But you do things sometimes, all collapsed under the weight of your own desire that drive him insane. Make him act in ways he normally wouldn’t dream of doing. Depraved and filthy and unromantic in all senses of the word. 

It’s really not very polite for Javier to stand and watch you at his door - humping his pillow with weeps and huffs. It’s not kind to embarrass you. He’s a good man, and a good man would cover you with his coat and maybe smile about how much you care for him. 

But there’s just something about the look on your face when you do it, something about the tear stains in your lashes and the way your cheek is pressed in his jacket. Something about that needy, incessant little ache in your voice as you call and call and call for him. As if you’re hoping you’ll answer despite him not being there.

Javier is a good man to you. Maybe he could be better. Maybe he’s not good enough.  

He stands in the doorway of your shared bedroom with a soft, gentle grin. There’s no question he’s behaving a worse man than he is. Than he ought to be. 

He’s quiet as he shuts the door, balancing his weight to remain noiseless. 

Javier doesn’t particularly like being all the way out in Saint Denis nor is he fond of intel missions. The city is loud, the people unfriendly - though he likes the music and art. He prefers staying in camp if he can help it, but this big bank heist has everyone busy. He’s at least thankful that it’s given him an excuse to be with you. Your knowledge of herbs and poisons and the like have been helpful to gathering information. Been a lot of slipping things in drinks and making people forget. The sort of dirty work he’s accustomed too, while also getting a chance to be with you in a place with four walls and a bath. A dream for the future, maybe. 

It’s been nice, but he’s been out now for two days - out in the streets gathering information about Bronte’s people. A bunch of lowlifes just like them, but with their hands in the pocket of the city. He’s only been gone for two days, so there’s no reason you should miss him this much. And yet he hears it anyway. And it pleases him, truthfully. 

He takes off his coat as he listens to you at the doorway. Shrugs the middle-weight material of his sheen suit jacket over his shoulders and lays it on a chair, takes off his wingtip-gaiter shoes, undoes the yellow puff tie from around his neck. Nothing but a white linen dress shirt and the dark black slacks he’s been wearing for days now, some parts covered in bloodstains he only barely managed to wash out in the river not long ago. 

He’s thankful he took a bath before getting in now, listening to you moan. His hands being clean feel like a blessing - just his luck. 

He manages to remain quiet as he steps into the main room - a single bed in the center. Javier finds you there in a heap as he rests his body along the wall of the entrance to his right. He crosses his arms over his chest as he takes a minute to take in the scenery, admiring the soft lowlights and the way they cast shadow on your body. 

The wooden bed frame creaks slightly as you rut your hips. You’re out of it, Javier can tell, since you’ve yet to sense the fact he’s come in. The paintings along the back wall click against soft red walls themselves, over and over in an arrhythmic tic. Javier tries not to laugh. Gives himself a minute to admire the moment for what it is, the vulnerable desperation of your lust. He has to get over the disbelief, too. Over the fact your face is buried in the open part of his bluecoat and that you’ve got a hotel pillow(his hotel pillow) between your legs. One that you’re humping so frantically he can’t help but feel sorry for you. 

You’re making a mess.

You are a mess. The way the white chemise falls over your back and hips, and the lack of finesse in your gestures. If Javier had to bet money on it - he’d bet money on the fact you probably didn’t start this way. He figures you nested with his coat and pillow to go to sleep and then worked yourself into something senseless and desperate. And he’d figure if he didn’t show up, you wouldn’t cum at all. You’d go to bed all frustrated and tired and just wait for him like always. 

Any man would be pleased by it, he thinks. And a good one would never embarrass you about it. Javier tries his best. Weighs his options, but the words slip from his mouth before he can think to stop them. 

Pure elation in his words wrapped up in a smug delight. “Aye, hermosa - you’re gonna ruin my things you know?” 

Your reaction is what he expects. You jump out of your skin first, sitting straight up. Javier bites back a laugh as you do, big wide eyes like a deer caught in the scope of a rifle. You look around the room, worried you’re imagining him. Once you’ve come back to reality enough to realize he’s real and tangible - all the neediness washes right back into your expression. 

“Javier,” You sniffle and god. Javier hopes the heavens are more merciful to him than he is to you. “Javi,” 

“I’m home,” He voices in a partial tease, walking towards you. He can tell you want to run to him. To crawl into his arms and lap and collapse there forever, but the dull throbbing between your legs is stopping you. “I would ask if you missed me but, somehow I get the feeling you did.” 

You let out a soft, sniffly whine as Javier sits in the bed next to you. He turns his body to face you a little better but keeps distance. You turn your face towards him. Javier cups your cheek in his palm, eyes tracing your features. Your lips are bruised like you’ve been biting on them to keep the noise down and your eyes are wet with tears, red stained in the waterline. His thumb brushes along the thin skin of your lower lip, clicking his teeth at you. 

“Look at you,” He reprimands, his voice tender as he leans in to give you a little relief. You kiss Javier too eagerly, impatient and lacking your usual timidness. It’s how he knows how far you’ve fallen. How simple and easy your reactions are. “You’re going to hurt yourself pushing so desperately,” He laughs again, a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Does it feel good, at least?” 

“It’s better when you do it,” You admit, falling forward. Javier doesn’t let you drop, but he doesn’t comfort you right away either. He laughs and lets a hand rest on your lower back, relishing in your reaction. You shiver, sensitive and overstimulated with so little at all. 

“I know,” He coos with as much faux-sympathy as he can manage. “Couldn’t wait for me a little longer? I’m hurt.”

“Nooo,” You draw the words out, pitiful and upset “I’m sorry. I missed you,” 

“It’s okay,” Javier says, knowing he wasn’t mad in the first place. Not even a little. “Ahh, what should I do with you now, do you think?” 

It’s hard not to laugh at the immediate noise of disapproval. He’s sure you’d be able to ask him for what you want if he coaxed you into it. One whispered word of tell me what you want, and you’d be begging for his cock with ease. Filthy words from such a pretty mouth, he likes the idea. 

But he’s feeling… something. Something on the border of sadistic and loving that has him instead thinking. 

Pretending to think. 

“Maybe you should keep going, hm? You’ll think clearer once you’ve let it out, don’t you think?” 

“I can’t,” You bemoan, pleading with him. “I’m trying but it’s—it’s not enough, Javier, please.” 

He shakes his head. “Oh, man. What am I gonna do with you? Should I help you, mi amor?” 

You nod your head rapidly. As if he’d ever leave you out to dry when you look all pretty helpless. He doesn’t mention it to you. “Please,” 

“Yeah? I’ll help you then.” He offers, taking your hand and guiding you to his lap with his legs stretched out. He sits you over his thighs, glancing back at his jacket and pillow, brows raised when he sees how sticky they both are. Your habit of drooling and your cunt soaking his pillow case, he laughs just a little seeing the state of them. You must notice because you hit his shoulders weakly. “So needy,” 

“Javier.” 

“Alright, alright,” He laughs again, kissing your cheek as he brings you to him. You frown but comply with his handling of you, strong hands pulling you over his thigh. He sits you down until your bare cunt is pressed against the clothed muscle. It dawns on you what he’s doing as he’s doing it, a noisy little whimper sounding as Javier pulls you close. Close enough to wrap your arms around his neck. He puts a hand on the back of your head, encouraging you to bury his face into the space of his shoulder. He can feel the relief in you when you do, slumping into him a second time today. “You have to move on your own, you know? I won’t help you.” 

“You’re being awful,” You say with no real malice or bite. 

“I’m a little hurt, that’s all. And I’m helping you aren’t I? Is that not what you want?” 

You groan against the skin of his neck. “I want your…ngh,” 

He hums against you, decides to be merciful since he’s teased you plenty and he’s going to tease you more. 

“Wanna feel me right here, don’t you?” He puts a hand between your bodies, pressing the back of his hand into your stomach. “I know, I know. But I want you to cum like this first.”

“Can’t do it by myself,” You sniffle. Don’t even try to push back, so obedient and willing. Javier hums sympathetically. 

“I’m here right? I’ll help you, mi vida. I’m not that mean, am I?” 

You shake your head no. He most definitely is, but maybe he can keep that a secret from you a little longer. 

“Here,” He says. Javier pulls your chemise up until it’s pooling at your waist. Strong, tan hands hold at your hips, squeezing the soft skin with a warm sigh. You keen immediately. He pushes his thigh up just slightly to give you the right kind of friction. Hiccuping in his lap, he sets a pace for you to grind yourself on him. A slower back and forth. When you get too wet, too needy - you get sloppy. Sometimes he can give it to you hard and fast but you’re sensitive. Sensitive to the point it’s easy to make you hurt, make yourself hurt if you’re too clumsy. 

You’re always chasing pleasure but you don’t know anything about build-up. For a girl who tends to keep to herself and is always so meticulous - there’s something about seeing you get so sloppy that turns Javier on. When you’re wet and can’t think straight “Not too fast, okay? You’re sensitive, need it slow at first to make it feel good if it’s like this. Did you forget?” 

You nod, then moan hotly against his throat. Javier shivers at the way your tune changes. He can feel you breathe in his scent and relax as he guides your hips. He eventually stops touching you. Lets you take control of the pace just like he shows you. You manage to pace yourself despite how much you want to cum. Javier can feel how pent up you are. The fabric of his slacks going sticky, tacky from cum and arousal. 

You smell nice and soft, like baby powder and something floral. 

Javier’s been hard since he got in the door, but it’s starting to fog his mind up. Feeling your tits press against his chest, feeling your skin against his. Soft and pliant and beautiful. He kisses against your shoulders as you slowly start to build your orgasm up again. Not that it’s hard. 

You pull away from him, briefly - and your face makes his dick twitch. You’re always pretty but you’re especially pretty like this. Drool drips from the corners of your mouth, eyes lidded and barely blinking.

“Javi,” Your words are slurred. Javier laughs but doesn’t clean you up. “Kiss me,” 

“Sure,” He replies, though he’s all too happy to do it. Javier kisses you with tongue. He knows it’s what you want. Your hands curl up at his chest as he brings his own to cup your head and pull you to him. His tongue in your mouth is invasive but precise, knowing all the ways you want him to nip and kiss and suck on your mouth. You whine in complete pleasure, drunk from the sensation and he’s hardly touched you at all. 

He thinks of how he’ll fuck you as he kisses you. He’ll touch you more than he is now and you’ll fuck like lovesick rabbits until sunrise. It’s less something Javier decides and more something he knows. Like once he opens the door to pleasing you like this, it’ll be tough on him to close it again. 

“Javi,” You keep calling his name. It might be the only word you remember. Always seems to be when you get like this. “It feels so good. Feels so good when you touch me,” 

Javier kisses against your bare shoulder and neck, teeth scraping soft against your clavicles. “Mm. You’re doing well. A very good girl today,” 

You shudder at the praise, all the hairs on your neck raising from the drop of it. Javier laughs. You whine his name again but he doesn’t reply. He can feel you more than he can see you. Your body is twitching against his thigh and your muscles are tight where you hug against him. Javier calms you. 

“Gonna cum soon, huh?” 

You nod over and over, but can barely keep your head up to do it. And he laughs, full of fondness and affection as he peppers your face with kisses. He doesn’t have it in him suddenly, to tease you about it any more. He encourages you instead, hand on your hips to give you more friction as you start to grow erratic in your breathing. You pant hard against his ear, like you’re chasing something. Little bunny rabbit, he thinks. Your voice is little more than a croak. 

“Oh,” You moan, loud and helpless and needy as you cling to him. Your hands fisted in the back of his shirt as you cry out his name one more time. A prayer, maybe. Or a curse. Something in between. “Javier, oh,” 

“Shhh, that’s it. Just like that. Good girl. You’re so good to me.” 

You weep into his neck as you cum, your whole body tightening before breaking out into aroused shakes. You’ve completely lost it in front of him. On the brink of insanity with nothing but pleasure filling your empty-head. You hump against him thoughtlessly as you ride out your high, then finally lean against him when you’ve managed to reach the end of it. You don’t move. Javier can feel how big the wet patch of his pants has grown and tries not to laugh. 

You’re only barely coherent when you’ve finally pulled away. Your pupils are blown out and your face is flushed, sweat making your hair stick to your skin in the places it’s not tucked away. Javier laughs at the state you’re in, brushing his thumb along your cheek just beneath your eyes. 

“Are you with me still, do you think?” 

You nod, seemingly exhausted. He laughs again and kisses your temple. 

“Want you,” You say, despite your state. His eyes widen again at how soon after you’re asking him. He was planning on taking his time, but that plan might just be out of the race. He’s not above you begging him so sweetly. “Please, Javi. Need you, need you so bad.” 

You sound like you’re about to cry. He speaks in soft murmurs. “I thought you’d be too tired to keep going right away.” 

“No,” You mumble and shake your head. “Please. Please, want you so bad.” 

“You’re exhausted, mi vida.” 

“Please,” 

He chuckles. “Okay. Okay, don’t cry. Whatever you want, remember. Unbutton my shirt for me, mi amor.” 

You sniffle, your hands shaking as you fulfill his request. You’re exceptional at listening. Javier smiles at you, your eyes meeting as you do. You flush and pout, only barely managing to maintain his gaze without looking away. You unbutton his shirt dutifully. He puts a hand on your arm and rubs it soothingly. “You must’ve missed me a lot, huh.” 

You nod. “It’s bad, you know? Two days shouldn’t feel so long. It didn’t use too.” 

“Just means we love each other,” Javier assures, a safe place for you to express your neediness. “That’s nothing bad,” 

You nod, pressing your forehead to his. “That’s true,” 

“See? And it’s nice you know. Having someone miss me. Wait for me. Makes me want to come home instead of, I don’t know.” He feels his throat tighten at the sincerity but pushes through anyway “Dying for the cause. Or even just because.” 

It’s the first time you’ve smiled all day and god. Might be the only thing that’s ever mattered. Above all forms of love prior and past. Above revolution. Above god. Just you. You smile, happy and elated and keep unbuttoning his shirt with a coquettish-ness to you. Comfortable and safe. 

You help Javier out of his shirt, and wait for his approval to go after his pants. Undoing the buttons, you free his cock from the confines with a soft gasp. Javier laughs at the reaction, cat-like grin on his features. 

“Nothing you haven’t seen before.”  

“It’s so big,” You say, your hand wrapping around it briefly. Javier swears, head against the headboard. 

“Careful,” He warns, laughing thickly. “I’m pretty pent up too,” 

“Want it inside me,” You say so easily it startles him. You blink up at him through your lashes, too pretty for your own good. “Please?” 

“Should open you up a little.” 

“Want it to hurt,” You reply instantly. Javier feels his breath hitch. 

“Oh, fuck.” He breathes, trying to keep himself from cumming in your hands. “We’ll go slow.”

You nod quickly, not wanting to wait any longer. Javier curses himself for not being more polite. 

He guides your arms around his neck, his own arm around your waist as he lays you down on your back. You look up at him, surprised by his handling of you but not upset by it all. You mumble something he doesn’t catch, but it sounds pleased. 

Javier finds that he’s fond of missionary. He didn’t think he was the type, but there’s something about seeing you laid on your back that he likes. Likes being able to look at you and be close to you, to whisper sweet nothings in your ear as you curl into him. He lays you down gently on his spine, laughing at the way your legs wrap around his waist the second you’re comfortable. His hands go up under your knees but don’t push you too far. You spread your legs for him naturally, eyes fluttering with exhaustion and leftover stupid want. He looks down at you and smiles. 

“One more, okay? Just the one.” 

“I can’t,” You whine “Too sensitive. Just want you to cum on me,” 

“Are you doubting me?” He challenges, only partially. Your eyes widen and he chuckles. “Of course you can. One more,” 

You whimper, suddenly realizing you had no choice in the first place. But you nod, relenting to him like you so often do. Javier kisses you. It means more things that he’s comfortable telling. Means thank you, and that he’s sorry, that he loves you. He kisses you one more time after that, and smiles at how happy you seem because of it.

Finally, when Javier lays you down on the sheets beneath you - it feels like finding religion all over again. The loose material of your chemise has given up on covering you, exposing the soft mound of your chest and hardened nipples. He can see your neck and shoulders and everything else above and below. You’re so beautiful his cock twitches again, hard. 

He sits back up on his knees and takes a deep breath as he lays his cock against your puffy folds. You breathe soft, an aching sound from the back of your throat as you pull your skirt up to give him better access. He laughs gently at that, examining how nearly seven inches measures up to you and feels a little dizzy in the process of it. He’s done this with you so many times now, practically trained your body to take him without too much trouble. A welcome change from when you could barely fit the tip, too inexperienced to do it but even more determined. 

Even still some part of him worries about it. It’s not enough to stop him though, not nearly. His cock twitches against hard, wanting for you. He looks down at you and sees you stare up, admiring his figure. He laughs. 

“Like the view?” 

You nod. “Mm. Uh-huh.” 

“I’m glad,” He replies, then adds “Deep breath,” 

So you take a deep breath, and Javier pushes the tip of his cock into you with a loud grunt. You’re so soft. Wet, and pliant and soft around the swollen head of his cock, he can’t help but shudder with relief and desire. Can’t help but grit his teeth and grip onto your hips to steady himself. 

You breathe like the air has been punched out of your lungs, saying his name dreamily. “Oh, Javi,” 

He swears under his breath, something incoherent as he pushes the tip push into you evenly. It’s not easy. The resistance is there, but you don’t whine in pain right way - so it means it’s not too hard on you. Perhaps loosened by the previous orgasm, or simply so needy that it doesn’t bug you. Still, Javier makes sure to keep himself tight. He rocks, back and forth, ignoring the agony of that sensation to keep him from thrusting up into your soft, welcoming cunt. If he listened to what he wanted, he can’t be confident it wouldn’t make you ache. He already knows you will with this much. 

It takes a few minutes, and some whimpering from you before he finally manages to bottom out. 

You feel good. God, you feel good. 

He can’t imagine heaven, but he thinks being inside of you might be close enough. There’s certainly all the makings of religion when he makes love to you. You, a soft and loving deity, and him - a man laden with sin who longs to be saved. It makes sense to compare you that way. And it feels just as euphoric as the always described, being wrapped in you. Being part of your completion. What's religion without worshippers, anyway? 

Javier groans as he bottoms out inside of. When he manages to peel his eyes open and look at you, you’re debauched. He’s debased you this completely and he doesn’t know if you can even tell. He laughs, leaning down to kiss your neck and run pecks against your jaw. 

“Feel good?” 

“Feels so good,” You moan, then hold him tighter. “I love you. Love you Javier,” 

“Me too, mi amor. Para siempre. ” He hums, kissing your forehead before looking at you. “Can I move?” 

“Please,” 

“Touch yourself for me,” He tells you patiently. “Make yourself feel good.” 

You nod, dazed - a hand between your bodies as Javier sets a pace to fuck you. He knows you in and out. At least well enough to know exactly the ways to make you feel good. Only a few thrusts for him to find the perfect pace, perfect rhythm, perfect spot. You make a noise like a songbird, deep in the back of your throat and Javier can feel you pulse around him in pleasure. 

You stay like that, with him. Javier fucks you to his hearts content in deep, long thrusts - angled against the softest parts of you and wanting to make you feel good. He whispers sweet nothings as your nails dig into the muscle of his back. You feel good for him. You are good for him, wet and perfect. It takes all of his strength to fuck you consistently, the bed rocking underneath you both as he gives it to you hard. 

“I’m close,” You whimper, not seeming to believe yourself despite. “I’m so close, oh god, Javier.” 

“That’s it,” He whispers, chuckling against your skin “One more. Just one more and I’ll give it to you.” 

It’s the promise of his cum that drives you over the edge. You gasp and groan, shuddering as Javier pounds you through your second orgasms. He groans as he feels your pussy spasm and tighten around him, practically begging him to put it inside. He’s nearly lost his sense enough to do it, unhelped by the way your sweet voice begs him for it. He practically has to pry himself away from you, out of you to keep himself from cumming inside as deep as he can possibly go. 

He manages, barely, to stave off his own orgasm. Long enough pull himself out of you with a broken gasp and cum outside of you. Making a mess of your stomach and your soft, swollen cunt with his seed. He paints you in thick ropes of whites as he swears loud in the process, euphoria rumbling through him uninterrupted. 

“Fuck,” He moans, finally getting to the end of it. A little embarrassed by how much of a mess he’s made right along with you. “You do something crazy to me, you know that?” 

You stare at him, bleary eyed and giggly despite your exhaustion. “I know. Me too. I missed you,” 

He laughs, and can’t find the words to say anything but the same back. Of course Javier is a worse man when you’re around. 

Any man loved this much is bound to be a little ruined. 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

#javier escuella x reader #javier escuella smut #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 smut #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 smut #rogues love letters

[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

[johnpriceslamb]

𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐈 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐀𝐏?

❛ you ask the Van Der Linde boys if you could sit on their lap. ❜

BEFORE YOU PROCEED! ┊female ! reader . afab ! reader . reader is physically shorter than chars mentioned below . suggestive themes implied . wrds . not edited . not proof-read . Javier ver touchy . google translated Spanish . John is very drunk . 1.4k wrd-count

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍

You want to what?

You tinker your lashes multiple times innocently at his flabbergasted expression, unconsciously tilting your head at his dramatic approach. From your tone alone meant nothing but the most purest intentions, he knew well you mean no harm. But hearing those words made his cheeks burn a tad bit brighter.

“May I please— “No, no, I heard ya the first time- I just..” He abruptly cuts you. He narrows his eyes at you, sizing you up head-to-toe just to see if you were in a playful manner. You weren’t.

He grumbles softly, contemplating. He scratches behind his neck for a bit before a deep sigh escapes his mouth and he leans back on the wooden chair he sat upon.

“C’mere.”

He beckons you to come closer with two fingers lazily waving in the air. Immediately do you obey his simple commands like a lost pup, hands clasped prettily in-front of your chest as you easily plop yourself on his lap. Your back almost hits his chest, akin to a literal brick wall from all of the labour work he’s done. Unconsciously does his large hands come to your hips, positioning them slightly just so you’d be a tad bit more comfortable.

It’s easy to tilt your head upwards to see his face, the prickles of hair sticking out on his chin is the most prominent thing from your view. He feels your stare almost immediately and looks down at your beady eyes. He has to stop himself from grinning at your unawareness.

The cowpoke could only narrow his eyes at the soft giggle you produced from your mouth, a hand resting on your hip, “What?”

You look away with a tiny smile, “Nuthin’.”

He lets out another deep sigh, before pinching your cheek.

𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍

The bottle of beer in his hand almost slips to the ground after hearing your simple question.

He raises a hand to scratch at the stubble on his jaw, mindful to be aware of the deep claw-marks embedded on his skin. The bottle was placed on the table with a clumsy clatter, back supported by the edge of the table.

“..Watchu say?” He squints his dark eyes at you. He must’ve drunk too much, perhaps he heard you wrong. His tone was always raspy yet so demeaning playful even. You took it as if he didn’t want you to, and you shrink meekly.

You stutter shyly, “I’ll just go ask someone else—

He felt his guts squeeze and churn at the sight of you sitting on someone else’s lap. All sense of proper etiquette is thrown away from jealousy and alcoholic behaviour, his hand is very quick to grabbing yours as he roughly pulls you back. A tiny squeal escapes your lap as you clumsily fall on his chest and onto his hard thighs.

Your hands are clinging onto his opened top to balance yourself, the smirk on his face visible as he sees how shy you suddenly became.

The strong scent of alcohol makes your nose scrunch up. He rests his chin on the crook of your neck, stubble lightly tickling your sensitive skin. After a few minutes of making yourself comfy on his lap and finally staying still, his hand comes to grab his bottle to take another chug.

“John,” You almost whine at the way he unconsciously starts to bounce his knee up and down. A habit he’s not prone to ever since he started drinking. It was almost like he forgot you were sitting on his lap after a few minutes. Immediately does he stop his movement, a low slurr of babbles and a soft hiccup escapes his lips, “Whoops— sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart.”

Suddenly, he cheekily stares down at you.

“Y’know,” He hics.

“Yer behind feels kinda good on my-

“John.”

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇

He’s a bit clueless at first, bless his heart.

He’s busy carving a small piece of wood with his knife, hunched over as his long hair falls, covering the sides of his face almost elegantly. He wasn’t bothered to tie his hair back, nor raise a finger to place it behind his ear. He stops re-shaping the small piece of wood as he hears a soft patter of footsteps from in-front.

“Hm?” He hums, his guard lowers significantly once realising it was you. The knife is lowered too, and the items were placed afar so it does not distract you nor come in your way.

“May I please sit on your lap?” You ask with those big beady eyes of yours, hands behind your back as your tone is light and sweet.

Of course, silence is ensured for a few seconds. His brooding figure straightens up from his spot. He quirks a dark, angular brow at your much smaller figure.

“Why?” He asks with a straight face.

Your cheeks burn, and your expression was alike of a kicked pup. He catches on quickly, and he immediately feels bad for seeming so nonchalant and blunt.

“U-Um.. I just, I wanted to.. N-nevermind. Sorry.” You shyly stammer, akin to a doe whom tries to stand up for the first time.

He easily suppresses the smile which almost etched onto his face at your stuttering. Cute.

“I didn’t say no, y’know.” He gestures you to come over with a simple pat on his thigh. You beam, eagerly toddling to him like a tiny tot wanting to get her stuffies. You sit yourself on his thighs, shoes quite literally lifting off of the ground because of how big he was. Even if he sat down, he still always towered over you.

He allows you to wiggle a bit on his lap, but a hand comes down to rest on your knee to squeeze it a bit as a gentle warning to not go any higher. You do obey, of course. Your back is to his chest, your hands positioned on your lap as you almost melt at how warm he was.

“Comfortable?” At each word he uttered to you, it was more toned down in pitch, a low hum always started. You nod lazily, a smile of satisfaction of how comfy he felt underneath. You don’t mind the way he snakes his arms around your waist. “Good.”

𝐉𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐔𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀

You regret asking.

Simply put, he’s handsy.

The smirk on his face is very visible. The log he rests upon feels even more smaller as he slowly starts to manspread right in front of you. The guitar in his hand is placed gently just to the side before he beckons you to come forth. You reluctantly sit on his lap, almost squirming at how close he was.

A hand on your hip, another squish to your thigh, a soft roll from his hip teasingly upwards, a touch here, a touch there..

“Javier!” You whine, swatting his hand off your curves. He could only teasingly grin, before shrugging. “..Tu pediste esto.” His voice serenades.

You try to swat his hands off again, but merely give up, knowing he won’t stop any time soon. You lay your cheek on his chest, lithe arms wrapped around his waist as your back arches a tad bit from not supporting your structure. His hands are on the small of your back, rubbing small circles on the softness of your clothed skin.

The embers from the mini camp-fire is light and descends off in the dark night, crackles of the wood calms your nerves down just a bit. He does tone his touch down just a tad bit for your sake, despite wanting to desperately grab at.. literally anything. He’s had ladies before, but by far was he the neediest when it came to you.

You can’t help but take a small peak from above, wispy lashes coming to tinker a bit when he tilts his gaze to fixate on you. A small smile on his face, as he greedily eats up all of the touch you gave to him.

“..hi.” You quietly mumble, a bit muffled because of the fact that half of your face is mushed against the fabrics of his clothes. A fox-like grin etches on his tan face as he presses a tiny kiss on your forehead, entertaining you by replying with a simple “hola.”

“You’re really clingy- and touchy. I hope you know that.” You grumble when his hand comes to cup your curves again.

He smiles lazily. “I know.”

#fem! reader #rdr2 x you #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #afab! reader #arthur morgan x fem! reader #charles smith x reader #charles smith #javier escuella x reader #john marston x reader #javier escuella #john marston #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 john #red dead redemption fanfic #red dead redemption 2

[lesbian-for-arthur-morgan]

Request : first time holding hands

I’d love to see their reactions 😭

First Time Holding Hands

Short Headcanons || Gender Neutral Language!

Genre: Fluff Featuring: Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Dutch Van Der Linde, Javier Escuella, Charles Smith, Sean MacGuire, and Sadie Adler Warnings: None

AN: A shorter post today! Thank you so much for requesting these were so fun to write I literally love doing cute little moments with these characters ~ I hope I answered the way you meant !! lol I feel like I got a little off track in some ---> Requests are open! Check out guidelines if you have any questions :)

<><><><>

Arthur Morgan:

This man is a nervous wreck around you. Especially when you first start showing feelings for each other.

It took a million years for him to even admit that he was a little sweet on you, he is definitely not initiating anything past that point.

He can barely believe that you like him back.

The first time you grab his hand is not during anything special.

You’re sitting in the front of a wagon with him while on the way into town. The sun is casting a golden sheen across the earth, the air is warm but not hot, and the birds are swooping and playing in the sky overhead.

Without much thought you reach down to where he’s resting his arm on his thigh and envelope his hand with your own.

He tenses up at the contact, scared to make any sudden moves in case he might scare you away.

He doesn’t look at you directly, instead just glancing at you from the side of his eye. He wonders if you meant to do that or if you just did it by accident.

How your hand would end up on his on his thigh he doesn’t know.

When your thumb starts stroking the skin around his knuckle, tough and calloused from a few too many brawls, he starts to melt and relax a little bit.

He flips his hand around, which makes you pull away slightly, and fits his fingers in between yours. That way he’s holding your hand back and it’s a mutual.

There’s a blush on his cheeks and a grin on his lips. Not a word is spoken, but Arthur relishes the comfortable silence as he tries to think of what on earth he could have done to deserve something so perfect - to deserve you.

John Marston:

John is not a touchy-feely kind of guy. Not at first anyways. He doesn’t get what you see in him. He doesn’t understand why of all the men in the world - Hell, all the men in camp - you chose to waste your time with him.

He’s angsty like that.

He knows of your feelings for him and he gave a strong inclination that he might like you back but never confessed anything really. He figured you understood him enough to know.

You did, but he’s hard to read sometimes.

The first time you hold hands, he actually initiates it. You try not to overstep any boundaries with him, so he always has to make the first moves.

While playing a few practice rounds of poker (John is trying to teach you to play/play better), jokes are being thrown back and forth and rocks are being used as chips for show.

When John’s focus is pulled to the cards in his hands, you take the opportunity to try and grab a few rocks from his pile to add to your own as a little joke.

John catches you and places his large hand on top of your own making you freeze. A smug grin is plastered on his face and he doesn’t even look at you before placing his cards down, showing off a winning hand.

“Read ‘em and weep, Darlin’,” He laughs but never removes his hand from yours.

A small blush rises to your cheeks and his gaze falls to your combined hands. He curls his fingers under your own so that he’s fully holding your hand in his.

You try to catch his eye, but he’s so focused on his large, scarred hand covering your softer skin. It eats at him a little; a guilty feeling settles into his chest.

You place your other hand on his cheek and press on it lightly to direct his head to look at you. You smile one of your so-sweet smiles that makes his stomach ache a little with admiration, and he grins.

The two of you sit there for a while and continue trying to play poker each with one hand.

Dutch Van Der Linde:

Dutch has always been really hands-on with you. (Wink Wink)

He’s flamboyant, a show-off, cocky, and passionate. He loves to show you off and show off to everyone that you are his.

The first time he holds your hand, it’s to explicitly show that you are his and he is yours.

Most times after that, when Dutch holds your hand it means that the two of you are connected, not two people but one. Not just a couple but a unit.

He’s dramatic that way.

The very first time he holds your hand is during an argument with Hosea. A few things about camp affairs come up, plans are being thrown around, and Hosea makes a comment suggesting that you don’t need to be there for their conversation.

Dutch glares at the older man and reaches down to grasp your hand in his.

“But Daddy I love him!” Vibes I’m not going to lie.

He stands a little taller now that he’s touching you, it makes him feel stronger and more sure of what he’s saying. He puffs out his chest and looks down his nose at Hosea.

Hosea rolls his eyes a little and puts his hands up in surrender, telling Dutch that he can do what he wants.

When Hosea leaves, Dutch uses your entwined hands to pull you towards his side a little bit and hold you in an embrace.

He calls you his partner in crime, his other half, and a million other sultry things he can think of that causes a heat to rise in your chest.

He doesn’t let you go for the rest of the night after that, choosing to show off to the rest of the gang members that you two belong together and will always be.

Javier Escuella:

Javier values romance in a relationship.

Maybe nothing incredibly grand - but sweet notes, acts of service, small gifts here and there - he likes to show you how much he loves you through actions more than anything else.

All that and more is shown later on in your relationship. At first, though, Javier is more protective than romantic when it comes to you. It keeps him from showing his emotions at times, and makes him oblivious to your feelings other times.

He just doesn’t know what’s too much because he feels a lot of things, but he wonders if showing all that too soon will scare you away. His feelings are so intense that he gets scared away from you sometimes.

The first time he holds your hand is when you knick yourself while trying to do tricks with one of his knives.

You envy the way he’s able to just do the flips and graceful switches with the blades, and even how he can effortlessly play that five-finger-fillet game.

So, naturally, you try to replicate a trick you’ve seen him do a million times and it ends with a little gash on the heel of your palm.

It’s barely bleeding and looks more like a scrape, but as you hiss in pain Javier has forgotten his chore as he rushes to see what you’ve done to yourself.

He tsks at you and gently wraps his fingers around your wrist to get a better look at the wound.

You’ve forgotten the scrape at this point as his touch is sending jolts of adrenaline through your arm and his face is so close to yours you could count his eyelashes if you wanted to.

He doesn’t notice, too busy looking to see if you’ve mortally wounded yourself. When he’s satisfied that you won’t die, he looks up at your face (Which is dark with a blush and you’re trying to avert your gaze from him, but you just can’t).

He doesn’t understand what’s gotten into you until he sees your joined hands and a knowing grin cracks into his face.

“I’ll kiss it, make it better,” He murmurs and presses a slow, tender kiss to the palm of your hand while gazing up into your eyes the entire time.

He knows what he’s doing.

Charles Smith:

I genuinely feel like Charles is the most well rounded of the group when it comes to his emotions and how he conveys what he’s feeling to you.

Communication king for sure.

The first time Charles holds your hand it’s like he’s always done it.

It’s so natural to him that there really is no concrete first time that changed the meaning of your relationship or created some big deal.

Charles isn’t really someone who likes to show off and isn’t into public displays of affection. Brief hugs and hand holding are the only things he can bring himself to do with you if there are other people present.

He likes to hold your hand a lot despite that. Kissing, groping, or anything even a little heated is a big no for him (in private it is another story), so he likes to have your hands intertwined more often than not.

At first he would come up to you and hold his hand out, palm up, with a quirked brow as if asking you to place your hand in his. You oblige, of course, and he would follow you around camp or vice versa.

Now, Charles doesn’t even bother asking before he comes up to you and just grabs your hand whenever he sees you.

There’s no question about it, the two of you are always connected.

If he can see you he is by your side holding on to you.

It’s not possessive (unlike Dutch cough cough), but it’s more for his own comfort. He likes being near you and he likes that you seem to enjoy being near him.

Charles finds his twin flame in you, his other half. Much more than a soulmate, but his person.

Sean MacGuire:

Sean never really knows where the two of you stand in terms of a relationship.

He flirts with you over and over and over again. You laugh and blush occasionally, but end up telling him to shut up and wandering off.

He knows that he can come off as a sarcastic ass, but he didn’t realize that it’s so intense that you can’t even tell that he’s genuinely trying to get you to notice him as more than a friend/fellow gang member.

The thing is, it is hard for you to tell. Sean isn’t known for being the most serious guy in the world and you’ll be damned if you let him make fun of you by flirting with you and making you swoon or something.

The first time you hold hands with Sean is also consequently the first time you see Sean’s feelings for you are genuine, not some trick.

You turn away from Sean after he’s thrown yet another flirty remark at you, but before you even have the chance to mutter “Shut up, MacGuire” He’s shot out and wrapped his fingers around your own in a strong grip. It doesn’t hurt, but you can’t just pull away and tell him to stop messing around.

You turn back and look down at your conjoined hands.

“Please,” He begs and pulls you an inch closer. “Listen to me.”

You can hardly focus on anything but the warmth of his hand in yours and the way it makes your heart swell and tingle.

He explains his feelings for you, every last one of them. Some were a little more explicit and detailed than you expected, but you appreciated the straight forward honesty.

Let’s just say after that conversation the two of you hold hands and more pretty often in the future.

Sadie Adler:

Sadie and you hold hands all the time. She literally cannot tell how you feel about her.

Is this a friendship? Is it more? She has no idea because you’re so comfortable with her that the line between friends and partners is so blurred Sadie isn’t even sure if there was a line to begin with.

One night, you and Sadie are lying outside the tent that you share stargazing. Sadie is telling you what she knows about the stars and you chime in every now and then with your own little details. She loves the excitement in your voice when you remember the story to a constellation or find one that you hadn’t notice last time.

Your bodies are close, but your hands are closer. Lying in the grass, Sadie can feel the heat from your fingers and hers twitch and beg to touch yours.

She’s nervous, though, to take the relationship further. She doesn’t know if she’s ready to admit what she wants.

While she’s debating if it’s worth it, your pinky finger stretches and curls around her own. She audibly gasps at the action and her head whips over to see if you realize what you’re doing.

You’re already gazing at her with soft eyes and a small smile. It makes her bones turn to jelly at the sight and she tries to speak, but the only thing that escapes her mouth are sharp exhales as her words get tangled in her throat.

She tightens her pinky finger around yours, and you understand the meaning behind it.

It was all still confusing, but Sadie knew one thing: Friends don’t look at each other like that.

<><><><>

I love Sadie so much y'all don't even know

Hope you enjoyed!!

#rdr2 arthur #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #john marston #john marston x reader #dutch van der linde x reader #dutch van der linde #javier escuella x reader #javier escuella #charles smith #charles smith x reader #sean macguire #sean macguire x reader #sadie adler x reader #sadie adler #arthur morgan headcanons #rdr2 headcanons

[gothicgunslinger]

being arthur's wife means a whole lotta intimacy. what i mean by that is, cuddles on his cot every night – his arms loose, yet heavy around your waist, his lips not once leaving the nape of your neck; pressing sweet, stubbled kisses as you whimper his name. arthur enjoys the idea of sex being natural to you two, it's never purposefully initiated it just..happens, is lead into. when you whimper, he slips his hand – after, wetting his fingers on your tongue, of course – beneath your underwear. he circles your clit, still kissing your neck, then your ear – murmuring praises, his breath hot, "that's my girl", "my angel", "there's my pretty girl", "such a pretty voice". and, when he slides his cock in, you both simultaneously gasp – going slow, steady, he finds your hands and holds them at your chest. when he's close, "together now, sweetheart, come on..you can do it, angel, come on.." – because, he refuses to come before you do, or without you, and not once has either of those things happened.

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #rdr2 community #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #self indulgent #red dead redemption two #finally posting arthur content #smut #rdr2 smut

[polakina]

how they fuck you

red dead redemption headcanons #2

hc masterlist // masterlist

on my third playthrough of rdr2 and i cannot bring myself to play low honour. why do i put myself through this?

also this is ridiculously long, got a little carried away but i shall not apologise

rating: explicit

-

is always gentle with you at first

delicate touches, lingering kisses, gazing eyes at your every movement or ministration

"what do you want, mi amor? tell me"

loves to hear you beg for him, want him

it just turns him on even more

dirty talk through the ROOF

this man knows how to talk you through it

"fuck you feel amazing, hermosa. yeah, just like that, huh? anything for you"

will eat you out for days if he could

never really tried it before, even when he lived in Mexico, he never really gave it a go

but with you, he wanted to try everything. whatever you wanted, he was up for it

so when you first asked him, he was nervous as hell, but willing to try

he found out he loved it and does it every single fucking time he had you all to himself

buries himself between your thighs like a man starved, his arms wrapped tightly around your thighs to keep you still

his tongue worked fucking wonders on your pussy, knowing exactly where to focus his attention, loving how you always moaned a little softer when his tongue dipped inside your cunt

fucks you slow, savouring the moment when he can

loves to have you riding him. seeing you on top spurs something inside him

his hands grip your waist fiercely, guiding your hips to grind against him, pulling sweet, elicit moans from your throat

loves to cut your clothes from your body with his knife

it's so much more satisfying than just taking them off with his hands

kinda likes quickies. prefers taking his time but there's something about pulling you away for a few minutes to have his way with you behind the protection of a tree or something that he loves

usually happens out on missions, so there's risk of the gang seeing you guys, but what's life without a little risk?

you could be on watch beside your tent while everyone sleeps, and javier will come over to keep you company

but it doesn't take long for his hand to slip into your pants as he whispers all sorts of things in your ear as he sits behind you while you try and continue your watch duty

was terrible at aftercare before, never really understood the in's and out's of it

but learned eventually with you, when you explained it to him

now he's at your beck and call whenever you need it

wear this man's hat around camp and that's all he needs to pull you to a secluded tent

but wear it while you fuck him? arthur would die happy in that exact moment

likes to call you 'cowgirl' when you ride him. you always roll your eyes at how stupid it sounds, but it doesn't stop him

the two of you don't have all the time in the world. being one of dutch's most trusted members, he's needed away from camp a lot more than anyone else

so you've both learned the art of being fast

and it doesn't take long for him to make you cum

never asks for them, but loves blowjobs

he likes to draw in his tent when he's got time to himself, so when he sees you come in and sink to your knees in between his lap, he can't think of a better sight

the absolute king of praises (have you heard how he talks to his horse?? imagine him talking to a woman oml)

not a fan of degrading, he never saw the appeal, but uses other methods to 'punish' you

"what do you want, darlin?" he'd say as he's fucking you from behind, your face pressed into the pillow to stifle your moans, your ass in the air held up by his hands on your hips. "oh babygirl, you wanna cum, huh? then you can beg me for it, can't you?"

will edge you for days

especially when he knows he's going to be away for a few days afterwards

definitely grabs the headboard

mainly for his own stability to be able to thrust into you harder as you moan his name into the room

has his hands on you at all times

holding your hands above your head by your wrists, holding your face against the mattress with his hand on the back of your neck, curling his fingers in your hair and gently yanking your head back when he pounds into you

when you do get a night away from camp, he wants to make it last the whole night

takes his time with you to the point where he's practically teasing you for hours

takes his time undressing you, kissing every part of your body, touching every part of you until his fingerprints were practically imprinted into your skin

give this man some guidance or it's like walking through a maze blindfolded

learned a lot with you

figured out really quick what you liked and what you didn't like, what places he could touch you that would send your head spinning

this eventually led him to learn how to be very sneaky in public

he could touch you in such simple places, in such an innocent way that no one else would think anything of it

but you'd know, and you wouldn't stop it

you like the way he touched your neck? he was all over that shit, cupping your cheek, his fingers tickling your neck

you liked his hands in your hair? his fingers tangled at the base of your neck, pulling your hair slightly to tease you

his hand would rest on your thighs, fingers slowly creeping up your thigh while you were all sat around the campfire

you'd always give him a little glare, which he would ignore, a goofy smirk on his face

and the way he fucked you was no different

he had mastered the art of teasing your body and your limits, and put that knowledge in every time he had you alone

"come on, marston. stop teasin' me like this"

he'd always smirk, working his way down your body in a painfully slowly manner

"i'm takin' my time with you, sweetheart. you just lay back and relax. lemme take care of you"

loved to make you feel good before he even thought about himself

but when he was too pent up, he came a lot quicker than he wanted

but he made up for it when tending to you afterwards until you were practically pushing him away, too sensitive for his expert fingers

not the best at going down on you, but makes up with experience

but what he's really good with is his hands

his fingers

they know exactly what they're doing when he pushes them inside your soaked pussy

curling at that devastating spot inside you that makes you crumble to your knees

loves to be on top of you, seeing your face contort when he pushes inside you slowly, deeply

he's basic, a lover of missionary, but seeing your face and watching your body writhe under his grip is really what turns him on

#fanfiction #fluff #smut #fanfic #rdr2 smut #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 #javier escuella smut #javier escuella rdr2 #javier escuella x reader #javier escuella #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #john marston #john marston x reader

[lowfunctioningoptimist]

Modern RDR2! Reacting to you calling them “Husband”

After that tiktok trend where ladies have been filming videos or taking orders and refer to their boyfriend as “husband.” Some of the fellas go into multiple categories.

Responds immediately with, “I ain’t your husband”: MICAH, Josiah, JOHN, Bill

Looks around and says, “Husband? Where?!”: Sean (as a joke), John (not as a joke).

Stares at you, waits for you to correct yourself, is happy when you don’t: Charles, ARTHUR, Javier.

Responds by calling you his wife/husband: CHARLES, HOSEA, Javier(nearly passed out tho).

Follows after you to make sure he heard it right: Javier, Dutch, Kieran, Arthur.

Gets cocky about it, starts calling himself your husband publicly: Lenny, Hosea, SEAN, EAGLE FLIES, Micah.

#rdr2 #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 x you #arthur morgan x reader #charles smith #arthur morgan #charles smith rdr2 #charles smith x reader #dutch van der linde #micah bell x reader #eagle flies #rdr2 lenny #rdr2 hosea #javier escuella x reader #john marston x reader #rdr2 headcanons #arthur morgan rdr2

[viharbinger]

A Proper Husband

To Know: wife!reader is shorter than Arthur , fluff and fluff only mwuah

When Arthur came back to the camp from the mayor's party in St Denis, you were all over him. His hair was combed, his suit was tailored nicely, everything you didn't think your mud loving husband could become.

He came back a few hours after dinner and you gasped at the mere sight of him. "Who is this handsome, proper and dressed up fellow?" You gush, walking up to him to adjust his blazer. He chuckles as a response, standing still so you could admire him longer. "Your husband, ma'am." He clears his throat and plays along, ears warm and stomach tingly from the sudden affection.

"Ah! And you combed!" You gush even more, pulling his tall stature down to press kisses all over his face, tickled by his stubble. And he squints everytime you brush your lips near his eyes. You're just not used to seeing him all cleaned up for a party, the last time you did was your wedding and unfortunately, it only lasted for a while!

"Get a room." John sneers as he walks past the two of you. You finally stop kissing him and cup his face gently. You were about to say something again but the setting was just perfect. Javier was singing and playing his guitar, and everyone in camp was either getting ready for bed or dancing with one another.

"I would love to be danced by a suited man once in a while." You grin cheekily, tip toeing your fingers up his shoulder. He laughs as a response, quick to grab your hands on his shoulder to bring you closer to the source of the music.

You both swung with each other, danced left and right, maybe stepped on one another's foot once or twice and tracked dirt all over his expensive dress pants. But at least you had a great time with the love of your life. And it's not often you see your husband in a clean getup!

And so, your night consisted of countless kisses and giggles, dancing and singing. You couldn't have had it any other way.

#Arthur Morgan x reader #rdr2 x reader #arthur x reader #red dead redemption 2 x you #Arthur Morgan x wife reader #. bee writes #Arthur Morgan x you

[saturncodedstarlette]

[In life you have two paths who you want to become]

Type A Y/N : I like to do illustrations ☺️💕

Type B Y/N : I like to dissect people, did you know I’m utterly insane ☺️💕

#Creepypasta x reader #horror x reader #slashers x reader #Monster x reader #Monster fucker #Eldritch x reader #call of duty x reader #Demon slayer x reader #chainsaw man x reader #spiderverse x reader #Tokyo revengers x reader #rdr2 x reader #resident evil x reader #one piece x reader #attack on titan x reader #Twisted Wonderland x reader #obey me x reader #jujutsu Kaisen x reader #stranger things x reader #Trigun x reader #x reader #x you #self insert #Hazbin hotel x reader #madness combat x reader #Silent hill x reader #x y/n #Outlast x reader #dbd x reader #scp foundation x reader

[threadbaresweater]

one warm day is all i really need | arthur morgan x reader

Arthur doesn't think you're interested in him any more than you're interested in fishing, which ain't much. You hope he shares even an inkling of the feelings you have for him. It's no surprise to anyone else in camp that there's something between the two of you, and they make sure you get a chance to show each other how you really feel.

The details: 3.9k words. Female reader with a backstory that isn't really elaborated upon in this fic but might be at a later date if I have the spoons; several gang members act as side-characters/wingmen (and women); alcohol and cigarette use; sex (pretty vanilla, but a little rough and intense). NSFW. This is also my first fic for a new fandom, so please be gentle with me. It's been a while.

Arthur first notices your eyes on him one evening around the campfire at Shady Belle. He won’t accuse you of staring– Lord knows he’s been known to look at you with the same foolish grin you’re wearing now– but he tips his hat to acknowledge you. The heat in your cheeks is suddenly warmer than what the fire has already provided; your grin only grows until your teeth are showing, and you duck your head into your shoulder to hide. Arthur takes a long swig from his whiskey bottle and grimaces as it goes down. He hasn't had a drop of anything in days, and the burn takes a little while to grow numb to now. 

“Think she's sweet on you, Morgan,” Sean says in his Irish lilt, giving Arthur an elbow in the ribs. 

“Naw, she's lookin’ at you,” Arthur deflects, though he hopes he's wrong. He thinks he knows.

“She told me last week to keep my eyes on my own work,” Sean continues. “I really don't think it's me she wants, Arthur.”

You turn to whisper something to Sadie, who laughs out loud with her face tilted toward the stars. You dare a glance back at Arthur, who is, in fact, looking at you.

Maybe there's some truth to what Mary Beth told you yesterday.

“Arthur's been awful quiet lately.”

The sun shines through the trees and dapples the table where you're seated with bright spots of pale yellow. It's your third round of dominoes with Mary-Beth, and she's whooping your ass, as usual. You don't know how she does it, but each game you play, you're a little more privy to her prowess. 

“You think so? I don't know him as well as you.” You hope it isn't obvious that your heart started beating a little faster at the mention of his name. It leaves you breathless.

“Oh yeah,” Mary-Beth continues. “He's been scratchin’ away in that journal of his a lot more, too.” She leans closer, conspiratorial, her eyes twinkling with the gossip she's about to share. “Karen said he went to town twice last week to have a hot bath. If you knew Arthur like I know Arthur, why…you'd know that's highly out of character for him.”

“But you said he'd been quiet. Is that unusual for him, too?”

She hums and purses her lips. “Well you see, Arthur isn't usually a man of many words on a good day. But it's been real bad lately. He don't even give John a hard time like usual.”

You ponder the dominoes for a moment and then make your move. It doesn't earn you any points, but at least you didn't have to draw. “What do you think the problem is?” you ask, nonchalant as possible.

Mary-Beth smiles. Big and bright and sparkling. “Oh, it's not a problem at all.” She lowers her voice and cups her hand to her mouth. “Arthur's in love.”

You gasp, then giggle behind your hand, and Mary-Beth follows suit. Hosea looks on and shakes his head, so you quiet down, reaching across to grab Mary-Beth's hands. “Who do you think it is?” 

Her cheeks are tinted pink, and she looks around to make sure there aren't any ears to hear. Word travels fast around camp if one isn't prudent. “I think it's you.”

A thunderstorm rips through Shady Belle a little over a week later. Your little tent that you share with Sadie is ripped straight off its supports in a terrible gust of wind, and you and the others hightail it inside the house to take cover just as it begins to hail. There's quite a ruckus as everyone huddles inside, windblown and rain-soaked. A few of the men hold up lanterns to illuminate the darkness while you watch the lightning and feel the thunder shake the old bones of the house. 

“Everyone just calm down,” Dutch calls, descending the stairs, wearing some ridiculous robe with his arms spread wide. “Are we really gonna let a little old thunderstorm keep us from getting a good night's sleep?”

“Says the man with a bed inside the house,” Arthur bites, rounding the corner from what used to be the kitchen, holding a lantern up high in front of him. “Dutch, you better allow these ladies to take cover in here for tonight, or I'll–”

“Or you'll what, Mister Morgan? Pray tell, what kind of man do you take me for?” Dutch's eyes are fiery as he stares Arthur down; a display of dominance. A veritable cockfight. 

Arthur's jaw twitches, but he doesn't back down. “The kind of man I should hope would have some goddamn respect for his family.”

There's a tense moment or two where everyone is quiet, then Dutch relents. “Fine, fine! But I expect everyone out there pitching in to clean up in the morning.” He points at Arthur and raises his voice again. “That includes the other man with a bed inside the house,” he sneers. 

Arthur shakes his head, then looks away only to catch sight of you, shivering in your wet undergarments, huddled close to Mary-Beth for what little warmth the two of you can share. For a minute, he forgets to breathe, then composes himself enough to cross the room.

“Come on in here. Get yourself warm and dry by the fire.” His hand on your elbow is rough but warm as he leads you toward the fireplace. You nod and look back at Mary-Beth, who shoos you away with a flick of her wrist and a wink; you notice that her teeth are chattering. Despite the humidity that hangs heavy in the air, the temperature has turned chilly with the storm.

Arms crossed over your bosom to preserve any shred of modesty you might have left, you allow yourself to be led away by Arthur. Dutch and some of the others head upstairs while Charles and Javier keep watch from the front porch. 

“You alright?” Arthur asks. He covers your shoulders with one of his heavy winter coats, and you pull it around you, grateful for the weight and warmth of it. Another clap of thunder shakes the house and you jump. Arthur chuckles.

“You laughin’ at me?” you quip, placing your palms flat in the direction of the fireplace. You don't even bother to hide the grin you feel curling on your lips. 

“No madam, I am not,” Arthur says earnestly, taking a seat beside you on the old wooden crate he's set up as a makeshift bench. 

“Then just what do you find so funny, Mister Morgan?”

He scratches the back of his neck, looking into the flames. “Aw, I dunno. I'm sorry. It's just that you're…” 

You bump him with your hip, unable to stop the giggles that bubble up from your chest. “I'm what?” you pry.

There's a clatter of something falling on the front porch, and Arthur uses it as a good excuse to get out of this hole he's dug for himself. “I better go see what's going on out there. Charles might need my help.” 

“I'm what, Arthur?!” you call, to no avail. He's gone before he can see the proverbial hearts in your eyes.

The saloon in Rhodes is a little nicer than the ones you visited in Valentine, though it's a far cry from the ones you used to frequent in Saint Denis. Still, when Sadie and the other girls decide that it's high time you have a little fun in town, you throw on your best dress and let Karen curl your hair and even apply a little of the makeup you snagged from a homestead up north. For the first time in months, you feel like a proper woman. There isn't time to be melancholy about the past, though, when the boys start whistling and cat-calling upon the sight of you and the other girls.

“Aw, knock it off!” Sadie hollers. She's decided to dress up a little tonight, too, much to everyone's surprise. But she hikes up her skirts to hop into the wagon, calling for the rest of you all to hurry it up. “I've got a bottle of rum with my name on it that's waiting for me to come drink her all down!”

You catch the sunset on the way to town. It's dazzling over the meadows, all golden light and warm, blazing oranges and reds that settle into a brilliant pink by the time your reach the main road into Rhodes. You wish you could see Arthur's eyes, but he's got a handle on the reins next to Charles in the front of the wagon. You've seen him watching the sunset before; he always looks so peaceful those evenings at camp, and you often wonder what he thinks about in those few minutes before the horizon is painted in pastel hues.

Karen starts singing a song that everyone eventually joins, and before you know it, you're pulling up in front of the Rhodes Parlour House. You can already hear the piano and a few voices from outside; the sound of it stirs something in your soul that makes you long for the familiarity of home, but you quickly shove it aside in favor of the company of your new family.

“Madam.” Arthur's voice brings you out of your thoughts and back into the present, where he waits at the back of the wagon with his hand extended to you. You beam at him, and he feels dizzy. And when your soft hand fits into his, he straightens his knees so they don't buckle and betray him.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” you say, lifting the hem of your skirts to step out onto the dirt road. 

Arthur leans in, dangerously close to your ear. You can smell the whisky and cigarettes on his breath, along with the faint tang of gunpowder and hair pomade. “You sure do look nice in that dress.”

You demure and fan yourself with your hand. “Just how much have you had to drink already tonight?” you giggle.

“Ahh, just a little nip to take the edge off.” 

“Mm-hm. Sure, Arthur. Whatever you say.”

The night starts off relatively calm, as most nights do. You and the other girls find an empty table to sit and pick up on the town gossip, and the men start a hand of poker. It grows loud and crowded sometime around midnight, and it's hard to have a conversation without shouting over the din of voices, the clink of glass bottles, and the slow drag ragtime music from the piano. The ambiance is charming and lighthearted, and there are even a few couples drunkenly dancing on the porch.

You push back in your chair and find that when you stand, you're a little more wobbly than you thought you would be. The alcohol has loosened you more than you realize, and you grip the table for support until you feel a firm arm around your waist. “Whoa there.” 

It's Arthur, who has won the last round of poker and has come to check in on you and the other ladies. You're pulled tight against his chest for one fleeting moment, and you look up into his eyes. He, too, seems drunk, with his eyes gleaming and drooping at the corners, his smile easy and his cheeks flushed. 

“My knight in shining armor,” you slur, pretending to faint in his embrace. He only pulls you tighter against him, both of his broad hands splayed across your back. You laugh, and he smiles.

“You weren't getting another drink, were ya?” he questions with a raise of his brow.

“‘m thirsty,” you whine, lifting your empty glass entirely too close to his face. It knocks against his nose, which sends you into another fit of laughter.

Arthur takes your wrist– gentle but firm– and lowers the glass away. “Think you need to drink something that's not whiskey,” he drawls. You can't help but watch the way his lips form around the words; the slip of his tongue between his teeth, the way his mouth turns up into the hint of a smile when you pout. Before you can think too long and hard about it, you lunge forward and kiss him. Hard and clumsy and impulsive. You don't give him time to react. You're far too involved in the kiss to notice, but the girls at the table behind you have all gone silent. Arthur slides his hand along the side of your face and presses his fingers upon the nape of your neck, kissing you back like he really means it. (He really does.)

You pull back suddenly, breathless and reeling, swiping the back of your hand over your mouth. You're still held firm in his embrace, but the playfulness in his gaze has been replaced with an intensity that makes your knees weak all over again.

“What'd ya do that for?” he asks.

“Could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, you started it.”

“And you finished it.”

“Oh, I ain't finished with you, yet.”

“That a promise or a threat?” Your pulse is thumping wildly in your ears.

“Ya know, they got rooms upstairs for that!” Sadie shouts. There's a ripple of laughter across the table. Arthur's hand on your cheek feels like a brand, his arm about your waist an anchor. The rest of the room comes back to you in a woozy blur, and you look around, a little lovestruck and a whole lot drunk. Arthur's lips at your temple make your eyes flutter shut, and the room fades to black as tIt'weight of you slumps against him. He staggers only slightly, but holds you firm, chuckling softly.

“It's a promise,” he whispers.

You come to some hours later. Your mouth is dry as the desert, your head feels like lead, your skin broken out in a cold, uncomfortable sweat. At some point, it seems you were covered with a downy soft blanket, and the pillow at your head is much more fluffy than the makeshift one you made out of a bedroll at camp. At first, you think you're dreaming. Then, you wonder very briefly if you're back at your childhood home in Saint Denis. You almost call out to your mother when you hear a soft snore from the other side of your bed. 

The room spins when you turn your head, and you rub your eyes until Arthur comes into focus. He's sprawled in an armchair a few feet away. His arms are crossed over his chest while his chin is tucked into his chest. Off to the side, you spy his boots; his big toe pokes through a hole in his sock and you smile at how vulnerable he looks.

“Arthur,” you whisper, shifting slightly as you pull the blanket up around your chin.

He grunts and lifts his head slowly. He frowns a little at first, but when he focuses on you lying there, so close he could reach out and kiss you again like he did last night, there's a slow, easy smile that spreads across his face.

“Hey there, party girl. You feeling alright?”

You could kick yourself for all the giggling you've done around him lately, but you can't help it. He brings out something giddy and downright foolish inside you, so you toss a pillow at him and bury your face in the sheets.

“Aw, come on now. I'm just messin’ with ya.” He leans forward and rubs your head affectionately. “I'd say you were feeling pretty good last night.”

It's in that moment a white-hot jolt of sheer panic shoots down your spine. Quickly, you check to make sure you're still wearing clothes. Aside from your breasts being a little lopsided in the confines of your bodice, you're relieved to find that your dress is still intact and– more importantly– on your body. You dare another peek at Arthur and notice that his shirt is unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest and he's discarded his vest somewhere, but he, too, is fully clothed. Thank the good Lord above. 

You must've said that last part aloud, because Arthur laughs. “Don't worry, nothing happened. Though it weren't for lack of tryin’ on your part,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Thought I was gonna have to lock you in here like some feral cat till you settled down.”

Oh. Oh Lord. You try to recall what happened that led you to this room, but all that comes to mind is a lot of loud conversation, some dancing, a spilled drink across Sadie's lap, and Arthur's hand on the side of your cheek. “Oh…”

Now you remember it in vivid detail.

“Didn't know you cared for me like that,” he says. It's earnest and tender, a few shades less intense than the kiss you now recall, the one where it felt like he wanted to eat you alive right there in the middle of the saloon. Now, he thumbs your cheek and looks at you so fondly you swear your heart jumps right up in your throat. “I mean, I'd been hoping. Wasn't sure you was looking for a romance.” He huffs a short sigh, frustrated with himself. “Aw, hell, what am I saying? ‘Course you weren't. You're just looking to survive, just like the rest of us, and here I–”

“Shut up,” you say, taking hold of his hand and tugging him closer. He resists until you pull even harder, watching the fire in your eyes blaze to life. “You talk too much, Yankee.”

“I ain't no damn–”

“Kiss me.”

He's over you in an instant; you're pressed flat against the bed, completely and totally at his mercy. This kiss feels different than the drunken one last night. It's sober and honest, if not a little hesitant, as if he's holding himself back from devouring you wholly. The warmth of his body against yours takes your breath away. Or maybe it's the way his tongue laves heavy into your mouth, unashamed of how badly he craves the taste of you. You grip his hair at the roots and tug him down to kiss him harder, lifting your upper body to meet him until he presses down, his chest flush with yours. 

Things get heated quickly.

His mouth moves across your cheek, down your neck, and he groans against your skin, rutting his cock against your thigh. You fleetingly wish that he had managed to get you out of that dress before he presumably tucked you into bed and passed out in that chair, because there’s a whole lot of fabric between you and him that really pisses you off right now. Arthur must feel much the same, because he’s bunching your skirts up past your knees while you’re fumbling with his belt buckle, desperate to feel him against you, inside you. It’s clumsy and crazed, rushed and rough, but you manage somehow to shuck off every last bit of your clothes and his until you’re breathless and so, so eager beneath him.

“Need you now,” you whine. You feel insane. Dizzy and dehydrated, impossibly turned on, every nerve ending on fire when his callused hands grip the fat of your thighs and open you to him. 

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?” One of his hands slips between your legs to find you wet and swollen. He presses the pad of his thumb against your clit and pushes a finger inside you; the sound you make nearly has him finishing there on the sheets, so he wastes no time in getting himself as close to you as humanly possible. 

“Never wanted something so bad,” he murmurs into the dip of your shoulder. He wants all of you– all at once– wants to fuse his hands against your skin and sink himself into you so deep that it would be impossible to tell where he ends and you begin. The heat from his body takes away what little breath you have left, his mouth on each part of your body building the buzz in your chest until you feel like you might just burst open. You grab at each other like it's the first and last time you might have this opportunity, as if you want more than what the other of you is able to give.

Considering the kind of life you’ve both led so far, it’s a good possibility that you might never get to do this again.

“Give it to me,” you plead, opening yourself further to him, fingers wrapped firm around the base of his cock. “Please.”

Arthur Morgan is a man of incredible strength and self restraint, except when it comes to a woman like you.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he takes you. It’s primal, sweaty, filthy, rough. Arthur pushes as far inside you as he can go, then pushes further when you beg for more. He cups your knees with slick palms and presses you open as far as you can bend; you tug roughly at his hair and bite down on his shoulder when the pleasure builds to a blinding ferocity. The wooden bedframe knocks angrily against the wall with each thrust, but you can’t bring yourself to care if anyone hears. You can’t focus on anything beyond the feeling of him filling you with every stroke of his cock, of the taut, corded muscle in his back and shoulders as you grapple to hang on as tight as you can. Your orgasm hits your hard and fast, and he encourages you through it, taking his time to give you long, controlled strokes. It’s as pleasurable for him as it is for you. “‘Atta girl,” he rasps, lips moving against your ear. Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle your cries, but he pulls it away and threads his fingers with yours, pressing it onto the pillow. “I wanna hear it.”

Your moans are what drive him over the edge.

He buries his face against the side of your neck, panting heavily as he comes, driving into you so hard that you can almost feel the mattress beneath you begin to sag under the weight. You cradle his head in your hands and link your legs around his waist, boneless and languid in the aftermath of your own pleasure. When he moves, you move with him, riding out the waves together until you’re both too tired to move another muscle.

Neither of you speak for a while. He lies on his back with an arm around your shoulders while you curl against him, tuned into his heartbeat and swirling little patterns into the hair on his chest. It’s comforting to feel him next to you, to watch his chest rise and fall as he steadies his breathing, to soak up the warmth of his skin against yours. 

You’re the first to break the silence. “Did everyone else go back to camp last night?”

Arthur nods slowly. “Something tells me they planned all this.”

“Planned it? You mean…” You lift your arm slowly and flick your wrist to acknowledge the room you’re laying in. “This?” You lift your chin and grin at him. “Or getting us together?”

“Room was paid for before I even had a chance to ask if they had one,” he explains. “Think it was Mrs. Adler.”

You vaguely recall her shouting something about a room after you kissed Arthur last night, and you shake your head. “You complaining?”

He turns to his side, draping an arm across your hip. “Me? Never.” You’re suddenly pressed beneath him once again; from the looks of it, you won’t be getting out of this bed anytime soon. “Specially when I’ve got you here to help me keep warm.”

#arthur morgan x you #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 x reader

[ravengards-rogue]

the main difference between arthur and john is that arthur talks you through it and john doesn’t.

arthur, in particular, is real fond of talking it through. its his propensity for being thorough in important endeavors. no matter how fast or how slow the sex is or when it happens—arthur will be there to guide you through each step. he’s not a man of many words, not really anyway. but that’s mostly because there’s so few people he feels the need to share with. you though? oh arthur talks to you for hours. about anything on your mind and his. you’ve heard the deep, low rasp of him against your ear laid out under the stars tens of times. but its different when he’s touching you. a gloved hand between your legs, whispering rough romantics against your ear. “real wet for me, barely touched ya. you like that, im guessin’. oh don’t fuss, sweetheart, im just teasing. easy, easy—go on and feel good.”

john, though— is a man of action. he’s not articulate or thoughtful in the same way arthur is, all gunsmoke and sharp edges. he prefers not to draw it out because he always feels like he’s running on borrowed time. john doesn’t need to tell you anything, though he does like to listen should you feel different. his words feel empty to him, you know. instead of nights talking, its late night horse rides to beautiful places. shared cigarettes and borrowed jackets, john wants to show you himself. john expresses his love by taking you apart. single-minded in the endeavors of pleasing. the only sound your voice whining and his laughter, barely audible and so delighted by how he makes you feel. his nose against your sex or the tip of his cock pressing against you. deliberate and tense. all john needs is for you to be there, so he can show you all of it. silent but so, so deadly. all of him for you, a quiet promise.

#zero.thoughts #john marston x reader #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 x reader #sharess' whisper #IM SOOOOOOJSHDJFJSJDNWNDNAJ

[angelltheninth]

Arthur Morgan Gives You Aftercare and Walks You Home

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, aftercare, nudity, suggestive, kissing, secret relationship, flirting, age-gap, sneaking around

A/N: The scenario of secretly dating Arthur wouldn't leave my mind.

Who knew that you'd be the kind of woman to sneak around with an older man? You didn't for sure, or your friends, or your father, especially him. Is it really sneaking if Arthur was supposed to be your escort and guard anyway? Yes, because you were supposed to be at a meeting, not in the room he was renting. And you sure as hell weren't supposed to be naked in his bed.

"Brought some water and cloth." Arthur entered and locked the door behind him. "Let's get you cleaned up. Open up for me sweetheart."

He was too casual for this, cleaning up the mess he helped make. Your hips twitched upwards when he pressed the wet cloth between your legs. "It's sensitive. You should really learn how to treat a lady right, Arthur."

"I know how to treat a lady. Exactly why I have you in this state. Be still so I can finish here and get you back home before your old man sends an army after me." Arthur's smile was still warm and playful, as were his eyes, now that you got a better look at him.

Stranger, guard, and now your secret lover. Quite a turn of events for a quiet little town like yours. It was more like those romance stories you heard of.

Arthur helped you get dressed as well, asking if anything hurt anywhere. Suposedly he was holding back on you before, yet his strong hands still left marks on your delicate thighs. A reminder of your night together, one that you can call upon in the earliest hours of the morning when your imagination and your hand tend to wander.

He was almost too perfect of a man while in public, treating you with the respect a rich young lady like yourself deserves. "Here's your stop missy. Tell your old man I said hello."

"I will not. He might suspect us furher." Even with that risk you still placed your hands against Arthur's chest and kissed him. His prickly stubble scratched against your skin, making you hold back a laugh. "Thank you for another lovely night."

"The pleasure was all mine." Actually it was very mutual.

#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 fluff #rdr2 smut #rdr2 x female reader #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead redemption x female reader #smut drabble #fluff drabble #x female reader

[johnpriceslamb]

Your writing is so damn sweet I adore it!!

Personally, I’ve got a habit of constantly stealing people’s clothes. So, how about stealing Arthur Morgan’s blouses and shirts? Wearing them and leaving the scent of sweet perfume to linger. Or maybe even rummaging through his wagon, trying to find something to take, yet being caught in the act.

❥ 𝓒 𝓐 𝓤 𝓖 𝓗 𝓣 .ᐟ

˚₊‧꒰ Arthur keeps losing his shirts. ꒱ ‧₊˚

𝐁𝟒 𝐔 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐄𝐃 ! female ! reader . hyper-feminine ! reader . reader is mentioned 2 be physically shorter den him . OOC ! Arthur maybe ? . flufflfufffluff . not proofread nor edited . ~ 500 wrdz .

“Stealin’ my shirts without my permission, now?”

Your met with a hard chest from behind, breath hitting your sensitive neck. The little hairs on your nape stand from the abrupt sensation of his breathing, effectively giving you goosebumps.

Sweet.. delicate. Must be a new perfume.

He almost groans at how delicious you smelt. His shirt’s gonna hold onto that scent until he’s washed it. He’s almost giddy about it- a real sucker for lovely scents.

A hand comes to travel down your shapely figure up and down a few times, a low hum of approval escaping your beloved’s nose because of the fact that his hand smoothens out his shirt which was quite prone to wrinkles in the way you positioned yourself on the bedroll below- also because you’ve happily invited yourself over to his bedroll.

Did he mind?

Absolutely not.

A sleepy smile is etched on your face, dainty head resting on his chest as your back is snuggled to his front. He lets out a soft grunt at the fact that you backed up into him so eagerly, and he can’t help the soft coo escaping his lips as he pulls the thin blanket over you and him.

You eagerly turn to your side, the bedroll beneath you two sinks just a tad bit- barely noticeable anyway. Big beady eyes stare up at him, tainted with some sort of angelique feature which makes his heart stutter for just a moment. Damn, he fell hard.

The night bedazzles with stars, the only source of light was the moon which shone on your face ever-so prettily. A soft yawn escapes your lips, “Mm.. Missed you.”

“Yeah?” He replies softly, southern drawl escaping so thickly. Cracked lips coming down to press itself on your forehead, “Missed you too, darlin’.”

That silly little smile is on your face again. He feels your hands unconsciously going towards his just to fiddle with his fingers.

“Like my new sleep-wear?” You cheekily gesture to the shirt he owned that was worn by you as some sort of night-gown. A few of the buttons on top weren’t closed, more-so for comfort than the appeal to appearance.

He rolls his eyes, tugging at your hair gently from behind which elicits a tiny giggle from you, “Damn brat, you are.”

“This is the, what? The third shirt you’ve stolen from me?” He grunts.

“Fourth,” You correct him. This earns another tug to your hair.

“Point stands.”

“‘S comfier,” you softly babble, “warmer..”

“I know.” His hand comes to rub at your small back lovingly, enjoying the way you fit into his arms so perfectly. A little doll, you were. Just for him. And only him.

Your beady eyes sleepily stare up at him, “Where were you?” Your simple question provokes a soft hum from him.

“Oh, y’know. Just doin’ the usual. Rode to ‘Denis to pick up something for Dutch- …” He suddenly stops as his eyes track down your figure beneath the blanket. You quirk a brow at his abrupt silence, small hands coming to needily tug at his shirt to get his attention back.

“Are those my damn socks?”

#fem! reader #rdr2 x you #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x reader #afab! reader #arthur morgan x fem! you #rdr2 #arthur morgan x fem! reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan rdr2 #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 fanfic

[lesbian-for-arthur-morgan]

do you have any headcanons for arguing and making up? i’m a slut for angst with comfort 🙈

Making Up After a Fight

Gender Neutral Language!

Genre: slight angst, fluff Featuring: Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Dutch Van Der Linde, Javier Escuella, Charles Smith, and Sean MacGuire Warnings: Dutch is kind of toxic | Not edited

AN: Sorry it took me so long to get these written! I went through some nasty writer's block and decided to play the game a little to help out but all that did was distract me for a week. This is definitely pretty roughly written - I'm also a huge slut for angst with comfort, though, so I hope you like these! <3 ---> Requests are open! Check out guidelines if you have any questions

<><><><>

Arthur Morgan:

Arthur gets frustrated easily when he feels like he’s not being listened to or understood. It’s not really anyone’s fault, but his emotions can get the better of him and he’ll say something that he doesn’t mean.

“You got bait for brains or are you just being an idiot for fun?” (or something like that)

You know in the back of your head that he doesn’t mean it, and he regrets it the second the syllables bounce off his lips. Your brain can know something but your heart will still hurt all the same.

Usually when Arthur is getting too big for his britches with you, you can shut him down and put him in his place. It’s something he highly respects about you - not putting up with his bullshit when he gets like that. Sometimes, though, your eyes will start to water and you can’t say anything without feeling a lump in your throat constricting your vocal chords.

You have to turn and walk away or else you’ll cry in front of him. That would just make everything worse.

Seeing your form retreating, knowing that you’re running off because you’re hurt rather than angry, made Arthur’s chest grow heavy with guilt. His first instinct is to follow after you and hold you until you’re feeling better.

But since he’s the one who hurt you, he just lets you walk away and he goes to pout since he thinks he deserves to be outcast for a little while.

He’ll give you as much space as he can bear, avoid you for an hour maybe two, but he comes crawling back with those puppy dog eyes and a singular wild flower in his fist.

He’ll go to his cot where you’re sitting with his hat in your lap. You stopped being upset five or ten minutes after the argument. Once you took a few deep breaths you understand, but you also had to understand that Arthur would come back to you after he was done punishing himself.

So you waited.

When you saw him approach with that sheepish expression and slouched posture your heart bled for him. He was a brute and an ass at times, but he meant well.

“’M’sorry, Darlin’,” He’d mumble and get on his knees in front of you. “I didn’t mean it, I never mean it.”

He places the flower in your lap by his hat and gazes up at you. His hair is long and falling in front of his eyes a little, so you brush the strands away from his forehead to get a better look at him.

His blue eyes are a little red and there’s a deep crease in his forehead from an hour or so of constant worrying.

“You can be so mean sometimes, Arthur Morgan,” You scold him lightly and he sighs, nodding.

“I know.”

He spends the rest of the week making it up to you. Truly it doesn’t matter exactly what was said or what the argument was about, when you are truly hurt by his words/actions it kills him. He’ll punish himself for a bit then come back ready to spoil you with words, presents, kisses, and anything else you could possibly ask for.

John Marston:

He’s constantly arguing with you about something. A lot of the time he just picks at you to get a rise out of you - he thinks it’s funny.

Things can get out of hand quickly with him if he grates on a nerve of yours and you bite back though. His first instinct is to give a smartass retort and it just spirals into a full-blown fight from there.

“John Marston you are a pig!”

You storm off and hide in your tent for a while. He’s just standing there dumbfounded. He starts asking himself why he let it get to that point, why did he have to open his big ol’ mouth and antagonize you?

He tries to get you to talk to him, he’ll pace in front of the tent and start calling your name nicely. He won’t ever open the flap though, he doesn’t want to invade your space and risk riling you up anymore.

When you ignore him he’ll eventually get the hint and wander off.

He tries to figure out something to do while he thinks about how to make it up to you. He offers to help Arthur out with any bounty hunts or little jobs, he’ll offer to take Bill or Lenny into town, or he’ll just pick up extra shifts of being on lookout for the camp.

When you finally come out he has to restrain the urge to run to you and scoop you up, demanding that you forgive him so that he can stop pouting.

He does drop whatever it is he’s doing to approach you and makes small talk to test the waters.

“How are you?”

“Fine, John.”

“That’s good… You still mad at me?”

You roll your eyes and try to walk away, but he shoots out and grabs your hand before you can get too far. He doesn’t hold you tightly; his fingers gently encase your own, if you wanted to leave you could easily. But, you falter with your back turned to him and wait for him to speak.

“I’m sorry, really. You know I’m an idiot.” He’s practically whining as he says it, begging for you to look at him.

You turn your head slightly to give him a side glare. At first, the sight makes his heart drop into his feet and he thinks he really screwed up this time, but when a small smirk starts to quirk the corner of your mouth upwards he lets out a low sigh.

“You are cruel,” He chuckles and tightens his grip as he pulls you into his arms and wraps you up in a bear hug.

Your laughs are loud and genuine as he twirls you around, pressing chaste kisses to your cheeks as he does so. Your voices echo throughout the camp once again.

Everyone in camp knows what’s going on with you and John whether you’re fighting or making up, your business is everyone else’s.

Dutch Van Der Linde:

I want to start out by saying Dutch never actually apologizes when you two fight. He’ll buy gifts, say pretty words, whisper sweet nothings, and all the like, but the words “I’m sorry” have never left that man’s lips in his entire life. He will not start now.

Dutch’s obsession with the O’Driscoll’s can cloud his judgment on many things, it makes him blind to reason. Further than that, it makes him hateful and sometimes just plain mean.

He trusts you, he loves you. So, you’re stuck listening to his plans and his grievances with the gang, the law, the O’Driscoll’s, and any other misfortune he has had to endure in his life.

He’ll go on and on, plotting, groaning, whining. One night, after being sat on his cot for hours, you’ve had enough. You beg him to do anything but complain and come up with a half-brained plan to get rich quick.

It hits a nerve and he blows a fuse.

“You don’t understand what’s at stake, do you?” He’s practically yelling. “It’s so easy for you - I spoil you!”

You’re stunned into silence as he shouts at you. You didn’t expect him to blow up.

“Get out of my tent, get out of my sight!” He sends you away. In a daze you stumble out of the tent and into the dark camp.

There’s a few people still up wandering around. Mary-Beth is singing by the fire and Kieran is trying to sing with her, but doesn’t really know the words. Your feet start moving on their own and you take a seat across from the two at the fire.

“What’s going on, gunslinger?” Karen shuffles to a seat beside you and settles down. Mary-Beth’s singing falters for a minute but she continues on, just quieter.

“Dutch is pissed.” You mumble, staring into the flames.

“When is he not? Have a drink,” Karen shoves a bottle of beer into your hand and watches as you take a long swig. She continues, “Have some fun without him for once.”

The night takes a turn from there. You sing and dance and laugh. A few more people join in until it’s gone from moping around the fire to a proper party around it. Javier even brings out the guitar. The noise is enough to draw Dutch from the dark hole in his tent to see what’s going on.

When he sees you, the tears on your cheeks have dried and your face is flushed from the drinks, he can’t help but feel a little guilty. To him, afterall, you were just naive. You didn’t understand what was truly going on in the camp, didn’t understand his plans.

He creeps out of the tent and sneaks up behind you as you’re dancing along to Javier and Mary-Beth. When a pair of arms wraps around your waist, you let out a little squeal.

Dutch spins you around so that you’re facing him, your bodies pressed flush together causing a heat to flare in your stomach.

“My beautiful dancer,” Dutch mumbles and presses a soft kiss to your lips. You don’t fight, don’t ask any questions. You’re just happy that he seems to be sorry for what he did. He’s holding you after all of that, kissing you. He must be sorry, and so are you.

When he pulls back you gaze at him with half-lidded eyes. “I’m sorry, Dutch.” You whisper.

“Hush now,” He starts swaying as he holds you, leading you into a dance.

Your fight is practically forgotten by the end of the night. In the early hours of the morning, everyone is stumbling back to their respective beds. Stomachs are full and heads will be aching come noon, but to you it was all worth it. So long as you and Dutch aren’t fighting anymore.

Javier Escuella:

He hates fighting. I mean not in general, but just with you.

He won’t allow himself to be taken advantage of or walked all over, but if there’s some stupid argument that’s making you mad he will roll over and apologize. Just to keep the peace.

He loves you more than he loves being right, and if it makes you happy to just admit that then so be it.

When y’all do fight, though, it’s over something big. Stupid quarrels are so rare that the first time anyone catches wind that the two of you had a falling out it shocks half the camp to the core.

Javier would only truly get upset with you in a life or death situation. Like when you decided to not tell anyone you were heading into town really quick and met a few O’Driscoll’s in the general store.

When you saw them you recognized them as few that had gotten into a fight with Javier in town a few weeks ago. Javier let them walk away to save face, there was a large group of witnesses that would have pretty much guaranteed him an execution if he had taken their lives.

Your heart skipped a beat as one of them turned to look at you, but they left shortly after you entered the store and you prayed that would be the end of it.

After you finished at the store, though, you walked through the door to find the three men standing in the road before you. Their arms were folded across their chests and their legs spread in a dominant stance.

You clutched the items you bought to your chest and tried walking away from the trio, but one of them called out and made you stop in your tracks.

“You’re one of Dutch’s people ain’t you?” The tallest one said. It wasn’t really a question, he knew who you were.

“And what’s it to you, mister?” You shot back, reaching for the dagger in your belt.

“I’ve got a few questions for you about your boss.” The three of them started moving towards you. They surrounded you and backed you to the wall of the general store. You whipped out your dagger to tell them to back off, but it wouldn’t do much against three of them - you knew that and so did they.

The only reason you had made it out of that situation without even a scratch was because Arthur happened to be riding through town on his way back to camp and noticed the commotion.

He brought you back to camp, and that’s where you saw Javier standing at your cot with this arms crossed and a scowl darkening his features.

“What the hell were you thinking?” He practically shouts at you.

You didn’t mean to, you held them back as long as you could, but tears start flowing freely down your face in large, hot drops.

Javier’s scowl disappears almost immediately. He didn’t expect you to cry. Maybe yell back or explain yourself, but not cry. He drops his arms and grabs both of your hands in his.

“Are you okay?” His voice is low and laced with worry. Arthur got to him first and told him what happened briefly, so he knew you weren’t physically hurt, but other than that he didn’t know what happened.

“They surrounded me. I was - I was so scared, Javier.” Your throat was thick and it was hard to speak. Javier embraced you, rubbing your back and holding the back of your head as you cried harder into his shoulder.

“You’re safe now,” He assures you and presses soft kisses into your hair.

He spends the next few days feeling guilty for being mad at first.

You tell him you understand his reaction and that you were sorry,but he just says sorry back to you and claims he shouldn’t have been angry when you were scared.

You’re both equally sorry, I guess.

After that, though, Javier refuses to let you go anywhere alone. You don’t have to go with him but you have to have a traveling buddy in case anything like that happens again.

Charles Smith:

Doesn’t fight with anyone, really.

Sure, you can get mad at him and yell and hold a grudge, but he just lets you figure your emotions out from afar if that’s what you need. He gives you space when you need it, attention when you want it, and does anything that he can for you.

He loves you more than anything in the world, so when you’re mad at him it eats away at his insides until you make up. He’s literally the consent king, though, and will wait for you to come to him before he initiates anything.

It feels like he doesn’t care sometimes. It drives you crazy that he doesn’t chase after you and try to make up with you then and there or rectify the situation immediately, which turns into another argument.

“Do you even give a shit what I feel?” You frown at him one morning after a small argument that he just brushed off from the night before. He assumed since you slept with him in his bedroll, that meant you were over it.

“I love you! What are you talking about?” He rubs at the little stubble on his chin in exasperation.

“You never listen you just say ‘okay’ and move on. You don’t learn that way, Charles. You roll over and the same thing will keep happening because you aren’t listening.” You try to explain yourself. Charles nods but you can’t tell if he actually gets what you’re trying to convey since he never acknowledges it more than that.

You sigh and get up.

“I need a minute, come talk to me when you can.” You walk away from him and towards Miss Grimshaw doing the laundry.

Charles just stays where he is and lets out a long deep sigh. He thought it would be better for him to just agree with you, it would make you happy to be agreed with rather than continuing to fight over something so trivial.

He hasn’t been with the group for a super long time, but he’s created a strong bond with Arthur. So, that’s who he goes to to ask for advice on the whole situation.

Charles relays as much as he can back to Arthur and the cowboy just starts to chuckle at the absurdity of the conversation. He’s used to people coming to him for advice (he doesn’t really get why), but the situation with you and Charles came out of nowhere for him. He didn’t realize you two fought ever.

“No relationship is perfect, Charles.” Arthur suggests.

That’s literally no help to him so Charles walks off and tries thinking what to do. He comes up with nothing, though. Which makes him frustrated.

He starts walking towards you. You look up and see his determined face and scrunched brow and excuse yourself to meet him halfway.

“We need to talk.” He says, his words are intense but his gaze is still soft. You aren’t scared of him anyways.

“I think we do.” You reply and follow him to a private area right outside of camp.

The whole time he goes off about how he doesn’t get what you want from him. What you expect him to do or say when you get mad or annoyed.

“I just want to know you care about me and my emotions.”

“Dear, I care about you more than anything in the world. More than life itself, why do you question it?” He’s basically pleading with you to understand him, to finally see that just because he isn’t as forward with every single thought (good or bad) on his mind doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about you or your emotions.

It takes little to no time for you to throw your arms around him in an embrace and mumble an apology into his hair.

Even your big fights aren’t really fights.

Sean MacGuire:

Sean does stupid stuff all the time. Literally he does stupid stuff more often than he does anything smart.

Especially when he’s drunk.

One night a small group of some of the gang decided to head into the saloon in town for a drinks for the night. You and Sean were always up for a good time and tagged along - obviously.

It presented opportunity for a little pickpocketing as well (if you didn’t get too drunk and sloppy to do it).

Everything went well for the first hour. Drinks were shared among the group and laughs were bellowing through the air with a contagious warmth. Better yet, no one seemed to be testing the waters and starting a bar fight.

Sean had his arm around you the entire night. He claimed it was to let all the scoundrels at the bar know that you were his and no one should even try to stake a claim to you.

You rolled your eyes but stayed nestled in the spot.

That is, until you were pulled away by your bladder. All the drinks were catching up to you and you slipped from under him to run to the restroom really quick.

When you came back, though, a working woman had taken advantage of your absence to catch Sean’s attention.

In his drunken state, Sean couldn’t even realize that the weight of the woman beside him wasn’t the same as when you were sitting there before. He didn’t say a thing as her arms wrapped around his torso or when she ran her fingers through his longish hair.

Tears fill your eyes almost instantly. You try to blink them away and get a better look at the scene in front of you, but it doesn’t change. It only gets worse as her lips start leaving rougey red stains on his neck.

“Sean!” You shove at his shoulder. When he sees you in front of him, his bleary red eyes turn to the woman beside him. His brain takes a minute to put two and two together, but by the time he has figured the situation out you are pushing through saloon patrons to get out into the night air.

Sean sobers up immediately. He pries himself out of the grasp of the other woman and follows your trail out the door.

He calls your name over and over again until he finally finds you sitting on the street corner crying into your knees.

“Please, Love!” He approaches you and your head whips up at the sound of his voice.

“You stay away from me you dog.” You snap and get up. You’re still pretty drunk as well however and you wobble and nearly fall over at the sudden movement.

Luckily Sean catches you by the arm before you can tumble into the dirt.

“I didn’t know she was there, honest. Thought you was there beside me.” He lifts a hand to your cheek, ready to brush away some of your tears, but you turn your cheek and shrug him off.

“Sure.” You say and try to walk away. He catches your arm again and turns you towards him once more.

“Honest, Love. Why would I pay for sex anyways - I’ve not a penny to me name and you give it to me for free.”

The sentiment was there, but definitely not the right thing to say.

You have to physically restrain yourself from hitting him upside the head at his words.

He sees the struggle on your face as soon as he says it and clamps a hand over his mouth.

“Sean MacGuire you bastard!” You shout at him, but can’t help a weak laugh from erupting from your throat at the end.

“I didn’t mean that, oh lord I didn’t.” The terror in his face only causes you to laugh harder.

The laughter surprises him and even yourself, so much so that the both of you are laughing. Though you don’t really understand why.

“If you ever-“ You say with a mocking glare, “Ever do something like that or say something like that again, I am leaving you Sean MacGuire.”

“I wouldn’t blame you one bit,” He says somberly, still with a small smile.

<><><><>

I didn't write for Sadie because I genuinely could not think of a situation for her or how she would be, my brain died halfway through writing Sean's. I'll just have to write some Sadie focused hc's next time teehee~

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan rdr2 #rdr2 arthur #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 x reader #red dead redemption #john marston #john marston x reader #dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde x reader #javier escuella #javier escuella x reader #charles smith #charles smith x reader #sean macguire #sean macguire x reader #rdr2 headcanon #rdr2 headcanons

[gothicgunslinger]

Arthur had baby fever.

Pressing soft, subtly purposeful, kisses to your tummy – leaving a trail, the tickle of his stubble earning a quiet, breathy giggle from your lips.

"How's..uh, Rosemary, for a girl name?" He murmurs, just as he levels with your hip-bone – lips, lingering only an inch or so above your clothed cunt; his chin teasing the hem of the fabric that protected your 'modesty'.

In reply, you huff a small, gentle laugh – "Arthur Morgan," Comes your voice, your beautiful, beautiful voice, "Are you trying to make a baby with me, tonight?"

Arthur's voice is a little rough, hoarse, when he answers – "Maybe..would that be so bad?" Before you can answer, you’re whimpering, as he plants a firm kiss to your cunt – the heat of his breath, weight of his lips, unable to be masked by the fabric of your undergarments. “Arthur–” You half-scold, and he kisses once, twice more.

“Answer me..” He grumbles, fingers fiddling with the band of your underwear, tugging them down – just enough to expose you to him, cold, night air hitting your skin. You shudder. “Do you want a baby? With me?” He urges, and you feel his tongue – gasping.

“Yeah..yes, yes just..please..” You pant out, hips arching.

“Ah, ah,” Arthur tuts, pulling back, “I need to know that y’mean it, sweetheart.”

Inhaling, almost as an attempt to steady yourself, you nod – shifting, “‘Course I do, Arthur, I– actually, there’s nothing I want more.” And it’s true. Arthur smiles, you can feel it, when his mouth returns to your needy, damp cunt. “You’re perfect,” He groans, tongue teasing your clit, making you flinch – “Perfect for me..gonna be so pretty, with a baby in y’belly..” You couldn’t deny the fire those words set alight, in the very pit of your stomach.

“I love you..”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

#rdr2 #rdr2 community #rdr2 x reader #smut #red dead redemption two #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan

[mx-pastelwriting]

RDR2 Headcanon - How They'd React to you coming to them when its a cold night.

RDR2 x GN! Reader

Summary: How They'd React to you coming to them when its a cold night.

Warnings: Fluff, Cuddles, Established Relationship

Characters: Dutch van der Linde, Arthur Morgan, Javier Escuella, Charles Smith, Bill Williamson, Hosea Matthews, John Marston

Dutch van der Linde

-Would wake up startled and reach for his gun under his pillow, but quickly sees it's just you.

-He takes a breath, a sign of relief, and asks you with a laugh what you're doing in his tent.

-Only dating for two months, you never spend a night in Dutch's tent. He respected your choice to go slowly, but on this cold night, everyone had to huddle up near the fire, leaving no room for you.

-Explaining to him, he happily opens his blanket for you to snuggle in. His hands wrap around your waist, him being the big spoon.

-Being so close, he whispers into your ear, telling you how much he loves you and the moments you have.

Dutch spoke sweet nothing into your ear, his warm body welcoming you, the shivering one. As you fall asleep, he pulls you closer into his chest. He kisses the back of your neck, making you laugh in your sleepy state. Not stopping, he locked his fingers with yours to bring you more warmth. Your eyes started to fall closed; he noticed and pulled the blanket over you, tucking you in with a final kiss on the cheek before you fell asleep.

-

Arthur Morgan

-Would be up and see you coming to his bed; through the five months you had been dating, you had only been next to him in bed three times.

-It wasn’t a regular thing to come to his bed and cuddle with him, but he welcomed you with open arms.

-He could feel how cold it was, so he moved over before pulling you onto his chest and putting the blanket around you.

-Saying nothing, the only thing you hear is his warm breaths and his heartbeat, which you could only hear in his little space.

-Waiting until you stop shaking, he gives you a kiss on the hand, taking it from the warm underside of the blanket before you fall asleep.

You could feel Arthur's hand cup your cheek; its warmth tingled your cheek, and as it came closer, you kissed him, causing a hummed laugh from him. Smiling, you cuddle in more into his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist as he did yours, and looking up, you meet his eyes. You kiss him, cuddling up into his neck. Taking a final deep breath, you close your eyes, having his breaths lullaby you to sleep. You could faintly catch an "I love you," but you chalked it up to the crackling of the fire a few feet away.

-

Javier Escuella

-After his song for the night, as he was getting ready for bed, he saw you come over with your bedding.

-Would greet you and help you place your bedding next to his by the fire. As you both lay down, he faces you, warping his arm around your waist.

-You only started dating, but he made you feel like the only thing in his world. Dutch had nothing on you in Javier's eyes.

-He kisses you as he talks to you and then sings you to sleep, his voice like honey, like his kisses now on your cheek and forehead.

-Pulls you in closer as he sings to intertwine his legs with yours, tucking in your blanket more, and watching you fall asleep.

Javier's arms were warmly tucked under your arms, and his voice sang softly with words only for you. With your eyes closed, you could hear a smile on his face and his hand caressing his thumb. He planted kisses on your nose before going back to singing, He didn't care if anyone listened to him; he wanted them to know how much he loved you, despite him not being able to say it just yet because it would be too soon. He let you fall asleep with his love song playing in the background as you faded into sleep.

-

Charles Smith

-You would have to get him off guard duty; thankfully, he was just about to switch with Bill.

-The bedding was already set up beforehand by you; you watched him as you shook under the blankets.

-Only dating for five and a half months just about how long he had been with you and the gang—you noticed how talkative and close he had been to, among other things, you, so you took that to confess your love for him.

-He quickly gets in, warping his arms around you and letting you rest your head on his chest. He rubs his hand on your arm, trying his best to warm you up.

-He kisses you on the top of your head, and he told you stories that his mother told him.

Listening to his stories, you tuck your arm close to you as you hear his faint heartbeat with his lungs air coming in or out, letting him continue with his story. You watched the fire going with the wind, but your eyes fought to close, and Charles's voice lulled you to sleep. It was quickly affecting you. With his arm soothing you, in the end, you lost hearing his warm voice as you faded into sleep.

-

Bill Williamson

-He would be a bit drunk, and you would have to get him to bed or at least tell him it's bedtime.

-He was a very lovely dove to you when he was drunk, so tucking him in was easy, and he pulled you to his chest. He mumbles "I love you" a lot.

-Kisses you so much all over your face, but if you tell him to stop, he does because he knows he smells like beer.

-You dated him for a year now, and throughout that time, you've made him less of an asshole, but he's still your Bill.

-A living space heater keeping you warm through the night, he would snuggle into your neck in the middle of the night.

Bill kissed your cheek and neck, talking about how much he loves you, and you laughed as his kisses tickled your skin. Soon after you asked him to stop, he thought about it for a minute, then did snuggle into your neck. His arms warped around you, but he continued to whisper "I love you" in your ear, kissing you one last time before letting you both go to sleep.

-

Hosea Matthews

-Would wake up when you get into his bed, though not getting his gun as you tell him it's you.

-He cuddles you quickly, feeling that you were shaking. He whispers that you're okay and rubs your arms, the friction from which gives you more warmth.

-He gives you kisses on your cheek and forehead, then cups your face, trying everything to make you stop shaking.

-When you did, he pulled you closer. Now he had to get you to sleep. He makes voices and tells stories about getting people out of money.

-Though he had made you laugh up a storm, you were exhausted after his words. He noticed and gave you a kiss one last time before you fell asleep.

Hosea rubbed your arms, slowly kissing the top of your head. He whispered something you couldn't make out, but it soothed you. You listened to his lungs and heartbeat as they slowed, then heard his soft snores. You huffed a laugh at it, but quickly you fell under the sleep spell, and you cuddled closer. Closing your eyes, you fall asleep, hoping you can wake before him to get him coffee. You love when his face lights up.

-

John Marston

-He would be so confused waking up to your cold body next to him shaking, but he would ask you "What's wrong?".

-After telling him, he pulls you closer to him, kissing your cheek. His voice was hoarse as he told you how cold you were.

-He pulled the blanket up more, letting you intertwine your legs with his.

-He wanted to move you both next to the fire, but he could not when your shaking had come to a stop.

-Trying not to fall asleep first, but losing the battle, he talked little loving things into your ear with a final "I love you".

John put his hand on your back, rubbing it here and there; you could feel his body move like he was wanting to move, but you had only just stopped shaking. He had laid back down and continued to talk, pulling you closer. You could hear in his words how he slurred; he was falling asleep. Patting his chest, you tell him to go to sleep, but he tells you he's not tired, so you just leave it with a smile, letting yourself fall into the sweet bliss of sleep.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is and grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

#arthur morgan x reader #javier escuella x reader #charles smith x reader #bill williamson x reader #hosea matthews x reader #john marston x reader #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 headcanons #dutch van der linde x reader