#red dead redemption fanfic

[vittoriaisfuckingpathetic]

save me from the nothing i've become

rated M | read it on ao3 | 3k words | next chapter

John’s eyebrows raised up in surprise. He had no idea that Abigail had settled down. “I– I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had a feller,”

She tilted her head, appearing confused. Then, understanding washed over her. “Oh, John, I’m not…” She shook her head. “I’m not married.”

She could tell he was still (justifiably) confused, so she continued. “I’d like to introduce you to someone. John, this is my son, Jack… Jack Marston.”

//

1899. Three months after the dissolution of the Van Der Linde gang, John reunites with Abigail, whom he hasn't seen in 5 years. Unbeknownst to him, she's kept a part of him with her the whole time.

NOVEMBER 1894

That fateful evening, everything had seemed relatively normal. Until, of course, it wasn’t.  

Abigail approached John at the campfire. The New Austin heat had cooled as the sun went down, and now there was a chill in the air. As such, he had been sitting with Arthur and Javier, the latter strumming his guitar somewhat aimlessly. 

“John? Can I talk to you?” She asked. 

“Yeah, ‘course.” He looked her up-and-down. There was something wrong, her body language was off, her voice a little shaky. She’d been acting standoffish and strange lately, so he’d been giving her space. Perhaps she was upset by it, and they’d likely argue. But then they’d go back to normal soon enough, as they always did. 

She glanced at the other two men. Arthur was nodding off, and Javier was paying no attention, instead focused on his guitar. She cleared her throat. “Can we talk alone?” 

John raised an eyebrow, but complied nonetheless. He grabbed his jacket off of the ground first, slightly put off by the fact that he had to leave the warmth of the campfire. Abigail lead him to the area overlooking the rocky cliffside, where two sideways barrels sat as makeshift seats. She gestured to one of the barrels. John sat, confused.

He looked at her, tilting his head. “You alright?” He was starting to get a little worried. 

“No. Yes. I will be.” She sat down on the other barrel gingerly, folding her hands in her lap. 

Her confusing answer did little to abate his worries. On instinct, he shrugged his jacket off and placed it around her shoulders. She accepted the gesture with little gusto.

“It’s okay. You can tell me,” he assured her. 

Abigail nodded tensely. She shook her head, a humorless chuckle escaping her throat. “Christ, I just.. I’ve been tryin’ to figure out the best way to say this. Spent all day tryin’ to come up with the words and I still can’t.” 

John was silent as he waited for her to continue. 

She was quiet for a good while, staring up at the stars. The sky was an inky black, and the cosmos twinkled in a cloudless sky. “I just— I can’t keep doin’ this, John.”

His heart sunk. What did she mean by that? Couldn’t continue with their relationship? He couldn’t think of anything he’d done wrong lately, besides being a little distant. But they both liked their space at different points, and it was never an issue before, so why would it be a problem now?

John opened his mouth. Closed it. “I… you’re breakin’ up with me?” He let out an awkward sort of breathy laugh as a nervous tic.

Abigail pursed her lips, mulling over her words. She shook her head. “No. I need out of this,” she gestured loosely. “This life, I can’t do it.” 

What else would she do? She hated her life before. Was her old life really better than whatever existence she’d carved herself in the gang? 

“So… you’d rather go back to prostitutin’?” He asked, indignant. He felt immediate regret upon seeing her expression. The way her mouth pressed into a thin line and her brow furrowed. 

She stomped her foot angrily, a cloud of dust rising from the impact. “That ain’t what I’m sayin’ and you know it! Christ, you can be so—“ She cut herself off with a clench of her fists. 

“So what are you sayin’, then? You leavin’ ‘cause ‘a me?” He stood up, rising to his full height. He was just about ready to storm off and leave. 

“Will you get your head outta your own ass for a minute an’ listen to me? This ain’t helpin’ nothin’!” She threw her hands in the air, gesticulating with an air of anger. 

John sat back down with a huff. “I’m sorry. Go on.” he forced out. He had so many questions, so much more he wanted to add. But he’d hear her out; deep down, he knew she was right. Arguing wouldn’t help her explain herself. 

She shook her head sadly, not meeting his gaze. “It ain’t nothin’ against you, John. You know how much I care about you. But I gotta do what’s best for me.” She hugged herself — hugging the jacket, John’s jacket, closer.

“And?” he pressed.

Her arms were still crossed, but the ire was gone from her voice. “I need to feel safe, and livin’ on the run with a bunch’a criminals ain’t safe. I have to protect myself.” 

Rationally, John couldn’t argue with her logic. But the thought of losing her hurt more than he could have ever thought. 

He said nothing in response — Hell, what even could he say?

Abigail reached out to touch his arm. “I’m sorry, John. I ain’t doin’ this to hurt you.” She let out a sigh, and when she finally met his gaze, her eyes were misty. “I already know what your answer is gonna be. But I have to ask, ‘cause I’ll spend the rest of my life kickin’ myself if I didn’t. Will you come with me?”

His mouth went dry. There were two clear-cut paths laid out in front of him. 

He could keep living this life — wild, lawless, dangerous. All the freedom he could want and all the danger that came with it. Going to sleep and wondering if he’d be greeted with a torched camp and a knife in his throat in the morning. The constant brushes with death and the exhilarating temptation it brought.

Or a life with Abigail. Freedom — but in a very different way; experiencing the wild, untamed world with the woman he loved by his side. 

That meant no more gang. No more safety net. No more stability. No more Arthur or Hosea or Grimshaw or Dutch.

Dutch… 

He thought of how Dutch would react, shuddering. He’d be labeled a traitor… and maybe Dutch would be right for it. After all, how selfish could he be? To leave his family, even if it was for Abigail? He couldn’t do that, could he? They needed him.

But Abigail wanted him. Yet she was willing to leave, seemingly with or without him. She’d survived much longer without him. True, she didn’t need him. But did the gang need him? Surely they did, he put his due effort in and in turn they took care of him. He owed the whole gang so much. 

He bowed his head down, unwilling to see the look on her face when he rejected her. “I… I can’t.” You fucking coward. 

Abigail nodded, seeming like she expected this. “I know,” she said sadly. She rose from the barrel she was sitting on. Silhouetted by moonlight, the grayish jacket on her almost looked like a pair of angel’s wings. 

Perhaps, she was an angel, of sorts. She wasn’t meant to stay in Hell with him. She was meant to soar to the heavens, far above this life. 

She was leaving. She was leaving him. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, a dull ache blooming in his chest. “Wait. Abigail?” 

“Yeah?” 

He couldn’t let her leave without saying it at least once. He exhaled shakily. “...I love you,” It felt only fair that if she was going to shatter his heart, he may as well give it to her fully. 

She gave him a sort of sad smile. “I know you do, John. I know you do.” 

And just like that, she was gone, like smoke dissolving in the air, having left his heart adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

OCTOBER 1899

FIVE YEARS LATER

Three months.

Three months had passed since everything had fallen apart. 

He had rode until the horse he’d stolen (after Old Boy had been shot out from under him) until it dropped. Then another, and another after that, until he’d passed through West Elizabeth. He spent his time roaming New Austin for a few weeks, then he went north into New Mexico. 

John wandered the desert almost as a ghost, wandering from place to place aimlessly. He was far enough away that he hadn’t seen any Pinkertons, and he’d done his due diligence to cover his tracks.

He hadn’t fully let his guard down yet, but he felt confident enough to stay in a settlement for more than a day or two. 

That was how he had found himself in his newest haunt. For the southwest, it was a decently big town — one by the name of Brimstone. It wasn’t quite the size of Blackwater, but it was close to as large, and besides, it was a good place to lie low.

John hitched his newest horse in front of a water trough. “Go ‘head, get yourself a drink, miss. You’ve earned it,” he said, smoothing his hand down her mane. 

He’d stolen the Gypsy Cob from a rather bold bounty hunter (who’d unfortunately caught a bullet in between his eyes). She was a pretty thing, white splashed-bay coated with soul-stirring blue eyes. “I’ll be back, lady. Think I’m gonna get myself a drink an’ find us a place to stay.” He had no reason to speak to the horse, but he’d been sorely lacking conversation as of late. 

The horse, naturally, didn’t answer him back, getting herself a well-deserved drink.

The town’s saloon was right across from where he’d hitched his horse. It was a short walk inside, every step made a little more excruciating by the sun beating down on him. 

God, he was filthy. He couldn’t remember the last time he wasn’t caked in sweat. 

The saloon, of course, housed degenerates of all sorts — the exact people John fit in seamlessly with. However, it was fairly empty, considering it was high noon.

All the better. Meant less people would talk to him. The wooden floors creaked under every step he took, drawing the attention of the few patrons inside. 

John fished a coin out of Arthur’s his satchel and apathetically tossed it onto the bar.

The bartender looked at him curiously. “You new ‘round these parts, stranger?”

“Guess you could say that,” John replied impassively. “Gimme a whiskey.” 

The bartender poured him a shot and slid it to him. “You look rough, partner.”

“Feel rough,” John muttered before tossing his head back and downing the shot. The acrid taste and slight sting in his throat made him feel a little bit less like a zombie. 

The room was quiet for a moment. The only other patrons were either sad drunks half-asleep on the floor, or crusty old men playing cards.

It was a downright depressing environment. Then again, he supposed he fit in perfectly with that. 

“We got rooms and a bath upstairs, if you need ‘em. Fifty cents for both.” The bartender informed him.

John sighed deeply. He reached into the satchel blindly, then placed a dollar coin on the counter. “That should cover me for about one bath and three nights.” 

“Thank you kindly, sir. Can I get you anythin’ else?”

“Nope,” John replied tersely. “Just the bath.” 

“Sure, partner. Bathroom’s upstairs, first door on the right.”

He muttered a thanks in reply and pushed himself away from the bar. 

As swiftly as he could manage, John sorted himself out. There was no reason to be hurried, but months of being on the run, it had become a habit to do just about everything quickly. After all, he had no idea when he’d next have to pack his things and go. 

That had been his reality ever since the Blackwater incident. For most of the year, there was always someone hot on his tail, only now he didn’t have the safety in numbers that being in the gang provided.

Firstly, set down the few items he owned inside his rented room. Soon after scrubbing himself clean in a rather tepid bath, shaving, and putting on (semi) clean clothes, John walked outside, the blazing sun still high in the sky. According to the bartender, there was an open-air market the next street over. He needed supplies; it had been almost two weeks since he’d bought anything, and his rations were getting uncomfortably low. Should he have to flee town suddenly, he’d probably be up shit creek without a paddle. 

It wasn’t like he didn’t have any money. When Arthur gave him the satchel, there was a ridiculous amount of money with it.

Arthur…

It still hurt to think about him. Hurt to think about a lot of people. All the people he’d lost. 

Hosea. Miss Grimshaw. Lenny. Sean. Kieran. Jenny. Mac. Davey.

Even Abigail, though she wasn’t a direct consequence of Dutch’s insanity. Though it had been years, he still felt her absence keenly. Almost like a wound that never quite healed. She haunted his thoughts nearly every day — but did she still think of him?

He had no idea if she was even alive. And now, it would be nigh impossible to find her with the bounty on his head. 

Perhaps it was fate that he ended up completely alone. He’d spent his formative years alone on the streets, and now it was much the same.

Of course, the difference was that he knew how to take care of himself. 

Still, he was just as alone as he’d been then. 

The open-air market was much larger than he expected. Not only that, but it was rather crowded considering the time of day. 

Merchants came from decently far, but considering Brimstone was the only town for miles, it made sense. The closest town was Tumbleweed, and it had taken him about two days to get from Tumbleweed to Brimstone. 

He was perusing the lackluster selection of fruit — granted, it was hard to get a nice selection of produce all the way out in the desert. A kindly old woman was selling plums, upselling to him about how they were the best locally-grown fruit you could find in Brimstone.

His stomach growled at the prospect of having something fresh to eat. He’d been living off of canned food and jerky (when he remembered to stop and actually eat, that was) for months. 

“How much will it be?”

“Five cents, sir,” 

He fished around inside his satchel until he found a quarter and placed it in her wrinkled hand. Then, he grabbed a second plum. “Keep the change, ma’am,” 

She grinned. “Bless you, young man.” 

Sometimes, it was the simplest acts of kindness that made him feel a little less like an irredeemable monster.

John nodded at the old saleswoman, then continued to wander aimlessly. He didn’t exactly know what he wanted to buy, but he was hoping something else would catch his eye the way the plums did. 

The trapper’s stand didn’t have much that interested him, but he did stroll by a little slower upon seeing a few of the pelts. Nothing was quite attention-grabbing enough, and after a moment he continued on.

Until he stopped dead in his tracks — because the woman just a few yards ahead looked eerily familiar. 

It couldn’t be… could it? 

Abigail. 

He’d recognize her anywhere. The woman who had haunted his dreams every day since she had left his life. 

She looked good. Happy. Relaxed. Healthy. All adjectives that couldn’t be used to describe himself.

She turned to face him — and when their eyes met, it was as if time had completely frozen. He forgot how to speak, how to stand, how to breathe. His mind played those last moments between them, how she had left him with his heart in her palm.

“Wait. Abigail?” 

“Yeah?” 

“...I love you,” 

“I know you do, John. I know you do.” 

“John?” 

“Abigail,” he whispered. He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. He pushed away the urge to run to her, scoop her into his arms and never let go, instead walking to her at a slightly hurried pace. He bumped into indignant townsfolk, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. His sights were solely on Abigail. John had complete tunnel vision; all he could focus on was her.

He was enraptured yet again by her bright blue eyes. They seized all the sadness in his heart when she looked at him. 

“It’s, um, it’s really good to see you,” He finally said, dumbly. He mentally kicked himself. He’d been thinking about this moment for five years and that was the best he could come up with?

His only other want was to take her into his arms and kiss her like he’d never see her again. He had so many questions for her. How long had she been here? Why was she in Brimstone, the middle of nowhere, of all places? 

“I heard what happened, it was in all the papers," she said, face scrunched in concern. “...You look like death.”

How he’d missed her. He thought about her so often, wondering what a reunion between them would be like. 

"Thanks," he replied, accompanied by a dry laugh, "I feel like death." 

She reached out to touch him, just a brush of her hand against his chest. Still, it made his heart flutter.

“...I thought you were dead,” she added quietly. 

John could say the same about her. He sighed, trying to ignore the memories she unwittingly dredged up. “I was one of the lucky ones,” 

“Karen? Arthur? Hosea?” 

He simply shook his head, eyes downcast. There was so much he needed to tell her. It would surely take hours just to cover everything that had happened this year alone.

She gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. “God, I’m sorry,” 

At that moment, a little boy — one with eyes that were the same blue as Abigail’s — decided to make his presence known, tugging on Abigail’s skirt insistently. “Mama, what are we doin’?” 

John’s eyebrows raised up in surprise. He had no idea that Abigail had settled down and had children. “I– I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had a feller,” 

She tilted her head, appearing confused. Then, understanding washed over her. “Oh, John, I’m not…” She shook her head. “I’m not married.”

She could tell he was still (justifiably) confused, so she continued. “I’d like to introduce you to someone. John, this is my son, Jack… Jack Marston.”

#red dead redemption fanfic #rdr fanfic #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr #johnigail #john marston x abigail roberts #john marston #abigail roberts #john marston fanfic #jack marston #rdr fanfiction #red dead redemption fanfiction #writers on tumblr #fanfiction #vittoria.doc

[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

[pursuedbyamemoryy]

Hello! How about something like Javier catching Reader (GN) sketching him? Reader has an interest in him but hasn’t really been the most obvious about it, showing it in more subtle ways

☆ i apologize for taking so long to answer your request, but thank you for being patient! i'm not sure how i feel about this piece, i went back and forth with it for a while. either way thank you for requesting, and i hope you enjoy reading <3 !!

w/c : 1.5k

it was a warm, sunny day in clemens point. you sat under a tree with your journal, quietly admiring and sketching javier from across camp. your journal was full of drawings of javier at this point, you’ve had a crush on him for a while but were never sure how to express how you felt outwardly. you’d sit with him by the campfire more often, compliment his singing more than usual, and even let your gaze linger on him for just a few seconds longer, but other than that you hadn’t done much to show your feelings for him.

he was currently sitting at one of the campfires, softly playing his guitar. his hair was fluttering in the gentle breeze, pulled back in his usual ponytail. his fingers gently plucked at the strings, a small smile on his face as he played a familiar song. you kept glancing up at him, trying to capture as many details as possible in your drawing of him. you had gotten so immersed in sketching him that you didn’t notice that he was looking right at you, his smile growing wider when your eyes met his. he glanced between you and your journal, raising an eyebrow, as if he was questioning what you were so focused on.

you felt your face grow warm, quickly averting your gaze. suddenly the blades of grass by your feet were very interesting. you were trying to avoid his gaze, slightly embarrassed. after a minute you glanced back at him as he shook his head and smiled, returning to his guitar and playing another familiar tune.

once your embarrassment faded, you returned to your work, adding some smaller details and shading. after a while you held your journal farther away, looking at your sketch from a different angle, and deciding you were happy with it.

you closed your journal and got up from your shady spot under the tree, making your way to your tent, tucking your journal into your trunk that sat beside your bedroll. you had already finished all your chores for the day, and decided to wander idly around camp, saying quick hellos to other camp members. you made your way over to the shore at the edge of camp, and sat down on the soft dirt. the sun was starting to sink below the trees, the sky changing from bright blue to a mix of pinks and oranges.

as always your mind drifted to javier. you could never get your mind off of him. he was so pretty, and not to mention cleaner and more well behaved than practically all the other men in camp. you loved the way he dressed, the way he tied his hair back. his hair looked so soft, you longed to run your fingers through it and play with it, maybe even braid it or put it up in silly styles. you loved the way his hands strummed his guitar and played the chords effortlessly. the way he fiddled with his knife, spinning it around when he was thinking or bored. you loved his slim waist and the way his hips moved when he walked.

you stayed there for a while, until the sun had fully set and the stars were starting to shine overhead. dragging yourself out of your thoughts you made your way over to one of the campfires, where a bunch of camp members were settled. they were listening to javier playing his guitar as usual, some even singing along, stumbling over the lyrics.

---

a couple days later you found yourself in a similar spot, underneath a tree in the shade, sketching javier. you didn’t know where he was as you hadn’t seen him in camp that morning, and you just assumed he was out on a job somewhere. you were working on an old sketch that you hadn’t quite finished, adding details and shading.

you heard the steady drum of hoofbeats coming up the trail and into camp, not bothering to check who it was, as you were focused on finishing this drawing. you wanted to give it to javier, and you wanted it to look good. you weren’t great with words, but you figured he’d understand how you felt once you showed him a drawing you did of him. every line was like a love confession, the way you were able to capture the small details that made him, him is not something someone who didn’t care about him would be able to do. you noticed every wrinkle, scar, blemish, and you loved them all, and drew them in a way that expressed that perfectly.

“you always have your nose in that journal of yours, don’t you, cariño?” you froze when you heard his voice, slowly turning to see javier slowing boaz to a stop next to you. he leaned down slightly, trying to get a better look at your journal. “i didn’t know you draw, looks good.” you saw his cheeks flush slightly as he realizes that you weren’t just drawing anything or anyone, you were drawing him.

“yeah, i’ve been drawing for a while. and thank you.” you say nervously, looking between him and your journal. did he like it? did he think you were weird or creepy for drawing him or was he flattered?

“what made you draw me, out of everyone in camp?” javier dismounted and sat next to you on the grass, your shoulders touching slightly and his thigh resting beside yours. he gently grabbed the corner of your journal, slightly turning it towards him in order to get a better look. he was so close, and he looked as good as ever. you felt even more nervous, your cheeks flushing an even brighter shade of pink.

“you’re just nice to look at, i guess.” you say quietly. you turned to look at him, and saw him smiling. he was looking so intensely at the drawing, as if he was soaking up every line you drew, committing it to memory.

“you draw really well, it really does look like me.” he paused. “is this why i always catch you staring at me?” he said turning to look at you, his smile turning into a teasing one.

you shrug, “i did say you were nice to look at, didn’t i?” you start to smile back, your anxiety fading away and your confidence growing. “i’ve drawn you other times too” you flip through your journal, showing him various other drawings and sketches of him.

he stared in awe at each and every one, not saying a word and just admiring your artwork. “these are great, you’re quite talented, cariño, why didn’t you show me these sooner?” he turned to look at you again, his cheeks slightly flushed.

“i guess i was just nervous. these drawings say a lot about how i feel about you, don’t you think?” you gently ran your thumb over one of your sketches, glancing up at him.

“they do, and that’s why i wish you showed me them sooner. maybe i wouldn't have been as scared to confess if i knew you felt the same.” he shook his head and chuckled. “i like you too.” he said softly, looking between your eyes and your lips.

you smiled, unable to hold back your excitement. “really?” he feels the same. he likes my drawings, and even more than that, he likes me.

“of course, mi amor, i wouldn’t lie to you.” he brought his hand up to cup your cheek gently, and you leaned into his touch. “can i kiss you?” he asked, his voice gentle.

you nodded and leaned in, his soft lips meeting your slightly chapped ones. it was a sweet kiss, soft and chaste, his lips moving delicately against yours.

after a moment you pulled away, resting your forehead against his and looking into his soft brown eyes. “i’ve been wanting to do that for a while” he said, smiling softly, his hand still resting on your cheek.

“me too javier, you have no idea.” you laughed, smiling warmly at him.

---

javier woke up the next morning, his eyelids fluttering as the rising sun hit his face. he groaned, rolling over in his bedroll, his hand hitting a piece of paper. he sat up slightly, rubbing his eyes. once his vision adjusted to the morning light he looked down at the piece of paper that had been gently placed by his pillow, a small flower placed right on top of it. it was a drawing of him, more specifically the one he caught you drawing yesterday. he smiled to himself and brought the flower up to his nose to smell it, humming happily. he looked around camp, his eyes catching yours as you took a sip of what he assumed was coffee. he gave you a warm smile, which you returned. he took the drawing and folded it gently, kissing it and placing it carefully in his trunk that laid beside his bedroll. he would continue to save every drawing you gave him, cherishing each and every one.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption fanfic #javier escuella #javier escuella x reader #pursuedbyamemory writes

[male-fanfics-for-days]

Check-ups Can be Rough

Arthur Morgan X Male Reader

A/n: A little fanfic idea I had while doing laundry, please don't ask why I am just really gay for this cowboy.

Warning: a slight sexual theme towards the end

Some of the men in camp had just gotten back from a decent-sized robbery, Arthur and you included in that group. Now in camp, you were quick off your horse and ushering the men into your medical tent to be checked before they were allowed to go about the rest of the day.

You were the camp's actual doctor, as helpful as Reverend Swanson's medicines could be in the harder situations, you were actually trained in what you did by professionals. Those same professionals taught you how to use a gun, specifically long-ranged weapons, you favoring the sniper. It was actually your attempted killing of Dutch van der Linde that brought you into the gang.

Charles went into the tent with you first, as he was usually the one in first if no one was obviously hurt. He wasn't ashamed to get checked over by the doctor, other men in camp thought going to you was a slight show of weakness.

After Charles was Javier, then John, a stubborn Bill Williamson, then Micah

Arthur would have gone after Charles but Dutch wanted to speak with him just as he had gotten back. Never one to half-ass things, you had Arthur promise to come to visit the medical tent after he was done, even if you gave him a quick once-over to see he was fine.

So, after talking with Dutch, he made his way over to your tent. Most times your tent flaps were closed when checking over someone, but you had assessed that none of them were hurt enough to need the privacy of a closed area. This meant Arthur could see you looking over Micah as he walked up.

He stayed quiet outside the tent, crossing his arms and leaning against one of the poles of the tent fixed to the ground, simply watching you work.

Arthur wasn't too ashamed to admit he was impressed by you. You worked in an efficiency he could only dream of achieving, always on point with everything you do but especially your shots. He's seen you first hand down men 100 meters away, and that was with a bow!

Then came your medical work. You never left anything to chance, not a cut, bruise, cough, or sneeze that happened in camp you didn't hear and check on. It was seen as overbearing and unnecessary to some, but Arthur knew that this carefulness came from a good heart.

You'd confided in him about how you were taught. Sure, you had read some books, but you were mostly learning by action. You saw firsthand how even the smallest cut could kill a man by infection, that an unassuming bruise of the skin could lead to amputation because of an ignored issue.

You knew you could be a bit too much sometimes, but after coming to care about (almost) everyone in camp, their wellbeing was on your mind constantly.

He watched you switch between looking over Micah's physical form to listening to his breathing and his heartbeat, which made the man swat your hands away.

"Alright alright, we're done here." He stands from the chair you had everyone sit in, glaring at your hands. "I ain't need to be fussed over anymore, I'm fine."

"That is for me to determine, Mr. Bell." You grit your teeth at him, putting away your stethoscope, pushing on his shoulders to sit him back down.

"Everyone gets the same checkups, and I just had to dig a 3-day-old bullet out of your shoulder."

"And I'm telling you, Doctor," Micah spits out in mockery. "I'm fine."

Micah goes to push you off him, but you shove him into the chair quickly. You put your knee on his chest, forcing the chair to lean back and hit the table behind it. Micah flailed for a moment but went still when you just as quickly brandished a small nearby scalpel (still clearly covered in Micah's blood from getting the bullet out) and put it close to his throat.

"Now, Mister Bell," You speak lowly, your eyes going dark as you lean in closer to him.

"I am a doctor, the only one here, in fact. You may not like it, but I'm the only one who can keep you alive in this camp, and if I see fit? I could turn a blind eye to your injuries."

Despite being pinned in a chair, leaning back on a table, and unable to sit up, Micah chuckles darkly.

"You ain't got the nerve." His voice dripped with venom. " The only kills you've gotten were from people dumb enough not to look in the trees, you monkey. Even today, you were hiding away and shootin' from afar, too afraid to fight like a real man."

"A real man, you say?" You scoff, leaning back and letting Micah's chair fall back to the ground as you back away.

You turn from him to the table on the other side of the tent, and having thought he won, Micah smirks.

Then, yelps and flinches as a much bigger knife than a scalpel embeds itself into the chair, right in the space between his legs and extremely close to his nethers.

Micah looks at the blade in shock then turns his head up to look back up at you, still standing in the motion of throwing it. A dark look in your eyes as you sigh through your nose.

"I'll tell you right now, Micah Bell, as good as I am with a rifle?" You point to his crotch. "I'm even better with a blade."

Looking back down, Micah sees that the blade was so close to his crotch and so sharp, that it sliced a thin hole right through it. While looking at the knife he doesn't see you walk over and pull it out of the chair's wood, swiping it near his face so close that it took a few strands of hair with it.

You take a cloth off your belt and wipe the blade down as if it being close to Micah was enough to dirty it. You turn your back to him once more and wave the blade out, dismissing him.

"Now get the fuck out of my tent."

Micah sat for a moment in stunned silence, as if he didn't expect you to openly threaten him within earshot of others. But then he huffs, standing quickly and stomping out of the tent, pushing past Arthur even despite having enough space to leave.

Arthur had watched all of that happen with so much focus, he only just noticed after Micah had left that his eyes were dry from leaving them wide open the whole time.

He wasn't sure why, but his heart was racing and his face felt hotter with every passing moment as he replayed what happen in his head. The way you silenced Micah, the way you held the blade, the way you stood, the way you talked. Everything about what happened made Arthur feel... something.

"Arthur," you called out, snapping him out of his thoughts as he looks at you.

You have a growing grin on your face as you clean your hands off in a bucket of water.

"Looking to camp in my workspace?"

Arthur gives you a confused look as you chuckle a bit and point down at his pants, a mischievous look in your eye.

"With your tent pitched I assumed you'd be staying awhile."

Horrified, Arthur looks down to see that, indeed... he had a very visible bulge in his pants. He gave an awkward cough, taking off his hat to cover himself, all the while you laughed.

If he wasn't red and hot in the face before, he sure as hell was now, your laughing at him sure didn't help.

"Alright, big boy, let's get you checked out quickly so you can deal with that in private."

With the realization of some feelings he had towards you, he also came to the conclusion that this was by far the most embarrassing medical checkup he's ever had.

#arthur morgan x male reader #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 x male reader #rdr2 arthur morgan #x reader #x male reader #red dead redemption fanfic #character x you

[brownsugarwrites]

Magnolia.

❥ pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

❥ warnings: none, fluff, suggestive (if u squint).\

❥ wc: 1.5k

It was the hottest day of the summer, and of course, your mother planned for your family’s BBQ to be hosted today. 

Sitting at the vanity, you applied blush to your cheeks, sighing as you gazed at your reflection in the mirror. Setting the makeup down, you put the white bow your mother made for you in your braids before raking a hand through them.

“Honey, the guests are arriving! Come down ‘ere and help me take the food out,” your mother called. 

Telling her you were coming down to help, you slipped on some white heels before leaving your bedroom. 

The sounds of your shoes could be heard as you descended the steps into the kitchen to help bring out the small finger food outside to the garden. 

“You look beautiful sweetheart,” your mother praised, eyes brightening at your attire.

Giving a thank you, you picked up the platter to bring outside.

He watched as you brought the platters full of food out to the garden as everyone congregated. The sky blue dress clinging onto your hips with the white bow holding a bunch of your braids together. 

He knew exactly who you were. One of the sweetest girls in this little town the two of you live in. Watching as you bring out the magnolia bouquet to your mother to show her gardening club friends her newest accomplishment. He would think you’re as sweet as those flowers you're holding. 

Drinking from his glass of whiskey he listened as your father boasted about his oil company and how business was booming as the sweat dripped from his forehead.

“Here's some water, Daddy,” you said coming up to the group of men intruding into the conversation

“How sweet of you, sweetheart, thank you. I'm sure everyone knows my daughter. Just turned 21 not that long ago,” he beamed as he introduced you to all the men. 

Waving shyly, Arthur watched as the sun beamed onto you and a slight orange glow radiated off you. Eyes trailing down to where your pearls sat right above your breasts that were enunciated by your strapless dress.

My, were you a doll to him…Your pink glossed lips with the red blush adorning your cheeks. 

“--and this is Mr. Morgan, sweetheart,” your dad said introducing you formally to him.

“Pleasure to meet you, beautiful,” he said flirtatiously, bringing your dainty manicured hand to his lips as you blushed at his gesture. 

Hearing your dad scoff under his breath, he smirked in response. 

“I'll be back gentlemen. Have to tend to the wife real quick,” your father said to the group of men before leading you away to take you inside 

Watching as you looked back at him as you were being dragged away, he sent you a wink. Feeling your cheeks warm in response you turned back around before walking into the house 

Finishing his whisky, he sat his glass down before going to talk to the other partygoers. 

As the night went on he watched as you sat close to your mother as she mingled with the other wives. You sat idle checking your nails occasionally as you listened to the mothers talk about their sons and how they would love to meet someone as gorgeous as you. 

You looked uninterested and very bored with the conversation at hand. Scanning the garden full of partygoers you locked eyes with Arthur as he drank from his glass.

Looking away shyly you excused yourself abruptly from the group of women before walking away to make your way to the front of your estate. You walked to the front where all the carriages were parked as you walked over to the fountain. 

“‘Cuse me, miss,” you heard a deep voice ring

“Oh, well, good evening,” you greeted shyly, turning around to see Mr Morgan descending the porch steps.

Making long strides to get to you, he stopped right in front of you before tipping his hat at you 

“It's pretty dark out ‘ere, doncha think, sunshine,” he asked, looking into your chocolate eyes.

His voice was so alluring you had to fight to keep the conversation alive 

“Well yes, I suppose. I just needed to escape all the gossiping mothers,” you said before giggling. 

As the two of you made small talk he got a generous whiff of the gentle scent of the vanilla perfume oil that adorned your body. The rushing of the wind aids in your perfume filling his nose. 

“What do you do for your work Mr.Morgan,” you asked curiously. 

Biting the inside of his cheek, he thought of a good enough answer to tell you. Knowing your father probably told you something different than what he does to scare you away from him.

“I do a little bit of everything, sweetheart,” he said with a smile.

Giving a ‘hm’ you let it go for now. 

“You mind if we sit down by the fountain,” you asked wanting to take the pressure off your feet that heels gave 

Inviting you to lead the way the sound of the heels clacking on the pavement as you walked to sit on the marbled edge of the fountain before swinging your legs to the side and crossing them. 

Locking eyes with the handsome man in front of you with the scruff facial hair and dark, mysterious eyes you began to grow the slightest bit of nervous. Your father instructed you not to speak to him but here you were in your family's courtyard talking to the man you weren't supposed to be conversing with. 

It was thrilling.

All the men your mother brought around weren't as mysterious as the man sitting in front of you. You wanted to learn more about who he was. 

“Might I say, you’re gorgeous.” he complimented breaking you from your thoughts 

“Why thank you, Mr.Morgan,” you said shyly before playing with your loose braid looking down as your cheeks heated in embarrassment

“You can just call me Arthur, sugar.” he corrected you before putting his hand under your chin so that your eyes could meet again

Gulping in nervousness, you avoided his gaze not wanting to get under whatever spell he was trying to put on you. He was a gorgeous man, and he knew it. You were captivated by him.

“No need to be nervous sweetheart I won't hurt ya” he laughed noticing your wandering eyes before scooting closer to you 

Hearing your breath hitch under your breath he smirked. You were adorable, seeing how you got shy under his gaze made him want to test the waters with you. Not caring what your father had to say 

“Hey, look at me,” he said gently but with some bass in his voice 

Eyes flickering up quickly at him your eyelashes fluttered and you peered into his dark eyes. Bringing his head closer to your neck he laid gentle kisses on your supple skin hearing the low mewls you gave of satisfaction. 

“M’daddy said ‘m not supposed to be talking to you, Mr.Morgan.” you hiccuped.

“I told you to call me Arthur sweetheart and aren't you old enough to make decisions for yourself?” he responded as you felt his breath fan over your neck 

“Well yes, but I dont wanna get in trouble, sir,” you explained before clearing your throat

Grunting softly at you calling him ‘sir’ he asked if you would like him to stop his teasing ministrations 

The thoughts about your father flew out of the window. To hell with him. 

Whispering a no you felt him attack your neck before kissing down to get to your collarbone. Leaving light kisses along it, you sighed in pleasure feeling his soft lips upon your skin. 

Pulling away he looked into your shimmering eyes that captured the moon before bringing your face towards his to kiss you

“Sweetheart are you out here-?” you heard your father's strong voice ring out 

Eyes shooting open you quickly came back to reality before standing up and fixing your dress

“‘M right here Daddy what's wrong,” you asked curiously 

“Your mother told me you’d been gone for a moment. Just was checking on ya.” 

Seeing Arthur still sitting along the edge of the fountain he looked back at you in confusion

“He’s not messing with ya is he sweetheart?” your father asked becoming protective over you

“No, Daddy he's not. He came out to check up on me” You reassured your father 

Giving him a side eye he left it alone before telling you that you needed to come in soon as the party was dying down for the night. Telling him ok you quickly waved him off before going back to Arthur 

“‘M sorry bout that Arthur-” you apologized

“‘'s fine, I should get going, sweetheart,” he said while fixing his hat on top of his head 

Swiftly giving you a kiss on your lips your eyes fluttering in response you kissed him back before throwing your arms over his neck and propping a foot up as you felt his rough hands go down to your hips to keep you steady 

Pulling away, you gave a shy giggle before bidding him goodnight.

“Write me some time, ya hear?” he chuckled before letting you go and kissing you on the cheek 

“I-I will!” you exclaimed with a big grin on your pretty face. “Good night, Arthur!” 

He watched as you scurried as fast as your heels took you back into your estate before looking back sending a shy wave and closing the front door.

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

[margowritesthings]

ROMEO AND JULIET: I

𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐬, 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲…

series masterpost

pairing: low honour!Arthur Morgan x O'Driscoll!reader (f) word count: 4253 words warnings: 18+ minors dni, sexually explicit, low honour Arthur, rough sex, fingering (r receiving), blood play, knife play, touch of cnc, dirty talk, degradation, enemies while lovers authors note: here it is! the first chapter of my most requested, most talked about series. I'm so excited for this one, y'all. I really pushed myself out of my comfort zone and wrote some absolute filth. I hope you enjoy the first official instalment of Romeo and Juliet! update - this is a reupload after the orignal didnt show up in tags! taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @elifsukirdaghehe @reaveries @delilah-grimes

It’s always astounded you, the way those warm orbs of light hang over the streets, glowing bright no matter the time of night. Saint Denis is a city that never seems to truly sleep. There’s always some lady of the night stalking her prey, some street urchins playing in the street no matter how high the moon, or, in the case of tonight, a shadowed outlaw sneaking through the hidden alleys and veins of the town. Arthur Morgan, enforcer and right hand man of the infamous Van der Linde gang.

It’s not the first time you’ve been assigned a job like this, following Morgan around gathering scraps of whatever intel he’s collecting at the time to get a head start on any jobs around. You’re by far the stealthiest of the O’Driscolls and Colm knows that, hence why you get sent out every time. This time, you’re pretty sure it’s a home robbery in one of the apartments atop a store in the city. Arthur has been scoping the same building out for the last 10 minutes, making circles with the turns in the streets and alleys he takes. 

You’re always 10 steps behind him, so used to the skill of following someone through their shadows that it comes naturally to you. You’re so light on your feet that your boots hardly make a sound against the cobblestone streets. Currently, your fingers clutch at the corner of a brick wall as you peer around a bend, watching Arthur make that face you’ve learnt over time means he’s got something. Despite the fact the two of you have never actually spoken a positive word towards one another, you know far too much about each and every little mannerism Arthur has for your liking, but when his lip twitches at the corners, you know he’s pleased with himself. You hate that you know it, but you just goddamn do.

Thinking about it, you hate a hell of a lot about the Van Der Linde. You hate that he’s there at every turn, with his cocky smirk and that drawl. You hate the way that every time you get one up on him, the next time he’s right there giving it back. You hate his stupid fucking smirk and the way he outsmarts your idiot family every damn time. Most of all, you hate that every time you cross paths, he lingers in your mind, hidden in the darkest shadows until it’s the dead of night and it’s just you, all by yourself in your tent. 

…anyway. 

Fuck Arthur Fucking Morgan. And his stupid goddamn shit-eating grin. 

Following his eyeline, you can see what he’s grinning at: it’s a back entrance, with a rusty old ladder just barely clinging to the bricks of the building. It would be all too easy to follow Arthur in and attempt to get to the loot before him, but why expend the effort when you can let him do all the work and pickpocket him on his way out? It’s the perfect plan, or it would be if Arthur hadn’t disappeared in the few seconds you spent looking over the ladder. Where you were watching is now completely deserted, the street lamps casting orange-hued light and striking shadows over the backs of the stores and apartments. Arthur is nowhere to be seen and your brows pull together with the strongest confusion. The ladder remains untouched, home un-looted and yet Morgan is gone? 

Your voice is barely audible as you whisper to yourself, “What in the-”

You’re cut off as metal cooled by the night air is pressed firmly against the tendons in your throat, to the point where swallowing might just break the skin. Your breath hitches in your chest when you feel a hard, large body press against your back, an arm snaking around your waist to keep you firmly in place. The sharpness of the weapon is so evident, you daren’t breathe.

“Now now, just what do we have here? A little stray who lost her way…” Arthur’s voice rumbles in his chest, low and throaty as his breath dances right on your ear. He’s so close, pressing the knife into your windpipe so that the only relief you can get comes from pushing your back further into him. It’s near impossible to think as you feel the outline of his cock against your ass, but you have to, because there’s literally a knife to your throat. And it’s Arthur Morgan and his cock should not matter. 

“Get the fuck off me, Morgan.” You hiss, voice restrained by not wanting to move your neck too much.

“Not a chance, O’Driscoll. Just what do you think you’re doin’, followin’ me like this? Can’t get your own leads?” He’s speaking through gritted teeth, the whiskey on his breath intoxicating your senses.

“I ain’t- argh!” A sharp pain shoots up your neck as the very tip of the knife knicks your skin.

“Don’t lie. Or it’ll get worse. What’s your plan, little stray? Gonna jump me? Stab me from behind, kill me in the shadows like the rest of your backward coward cousins?” 

Your eyes roll with the low blow. You’re so much better than your idiot cousins in every way and Arthur damn well knows that. He knows you’re the only one to match him, the only one he ends up head to head in heated, spitting arguments because you’re the one who can keep up. He also knows how much it makes you seethe to be compared to the bastards. 

Your movements are quick, as to not have your neck slashed open, but somehow you manage to whack Arthur in the stomach with your elbow. The second plays out like an hour when you spin out from under his vice-like grip and manage to grasp your own hunting knife. It’s jabbed into Arthur’s side, but not before he can push his arm into your chest and pin you to the wall, his knife back on your neck. 

Now, your chest is heaving against Arthur’s, the cold brick of the wall cooling your flushed back. It seems to have taken both of you considerable effort to dance around each other and end up like this, as you’re both fighting for breath. A defiant fire burns in your eyes as you look up at him, refusing to be the first to move or break this stalemate. Your knife presses firmer to Arthur’s side as the blade on your neck actually starts to steam.

“You know full well I don’t need to get you from behind, Morgan.” You spit, trying not to let Arthur’s distinct scent, that one that haunts you when you’re all alone, distract you. Instead you focus on the sensation of the sharp tip of Arthur’s hunting knife threatening to rip your skin again. This time, you barely flinch, not even breaking eye contact with the knife’s owner as it nicks you again. The cockiest smirk tugs on Arthur’s stubbled lip as his free hand reaches up to caress the origin of the sting.

“Oh, sure, you’re doin’ just great right now, princess…” A shiver rushes through your veins and runs down your spine when Arthur’s calloused finger swipes across your neck, spreading bright red blood in a line across the tendons. He brings the finger to his mouth, sucking the crimson clean off in one smooth movement. He actually moans, low and deep and you swear you can feel it in your cunt. The tiny cuts burn, but not as much as the scorched, invisible gash Arthur has left on you with his mere touch. 

You can’t buckle, can’t for even a second rely on anybody else to keep you upright, especially not the enforcer of the gang your entire family practically devote themselves to the ruining of. So you put all your focus into not thinking about the heat pooling between your legs again, and you try to keep the strength in your limbs. It’s near impossible when he leans right into you, his lips a hair away from the lobe of your ear. 

“Twice now I could’ve killed ya’. Slit that pretty little throat and watched the life drain from those big doe eyes… You’re losin’ your touch, little stray…” His breath on your skin is too much and you feel your instincts turning your head, but you can’t tell if it’s to get away from him or to further expose yourself. God, you hope it's the former. You’re terrified it’s the latter.

The cool metal is pulled away from your flushed skin, instead replaced by Arthur’s huge palm wrapping around your neck, his fingers winding upwards to cup your jaw and force your glare back to him. Arthur dips his head to the tiny patch of skin between your ear and jaw not covered by his grasp and, god help you, he sniffs. You can hear the growl catch in his throat as you do so and it takes everything you have to keep the gasp in your mouth. So much so that the grip around your knife falters, even if just for a second, letting the blade go slack against Arthur’s jet black shirt. 

He chuckles, forcing you to realise your mistake and rectify it with an even stronger hold, “See? I bet I could have that knife clanging on these cobblestones before anybody would ever know we’re here…”

…oh?

Your pulse is pounding against Arthur’s palm and you’re sure he can feel it’s quickening as you realise exactly where this is going. It screams your true thoughts, those carnal, forbidden desires out to Arthur despite the demeanour of resistance you’re so desperately managing to cling onto. Your pulse is pounding in other places, too, and it’s making it ridiculously difficult to stay focused.

Your jaw opens and closes helplessly, mind racing to find a smug enough quip to rival Arthur’s annoyingly quick wit. You’re coming up empty, having to put all your energy into not collapsing into his weight and letting him have his way with you. Arthur’s thumb creeps up your jaw to caress your cheek, kneading the reddening flesh with a tenderness that juxtaposes everything about this moment. The fury burning in your stare, the hatred engrained in years of butting heads and foiled jobs and venomous words spat at each other. For as long as you’ve known of Arthur Morgan, he has kept this fire burning in you. It’s the anger, it’s the fury and the hatred and the venom and the tension… and…

And fuck if you’re not about to shatter at the hands of this man.

You’re squirming under Arthur’s grip, your legs starting to feel like jelly as his intense stare burns at your skin like glass on an ant. You don’t know when it becomes inevitable, maybe it’s when your lips part for his thumb to run over the bottom one, or maybe it’s when your tongue darts out to lick his pad, or maybe it’s when he smirks at you, dipping right next to your lobe and taking it between your teeth. It doesn’t matter when it becomes inevitable, only that it does. And oh, god, does it.

You’re both wordless, the sounds of the people of Saint Denis existing around you and two hot, panting breaths the only disruption from an otherwise silent air. 

The knife returns to poke your cheek, leaving the faintest trace of your own blood on your skin as Arthur pulls the blade down your neck, chest and stomach. It’s featherlight, almost tickling until it reaches the crotch of your jeans and another gasp gets caught in your throat. 

A single seam rips open. 

With it, the smallest sound of the knife slicing the cotton becomes the loudest noise you’ve ever heard in your life. Arthur’s brow raises, and you hate that he gives you this second to back out. Even more so, you detest that you can’t seem to bring yourself to do it.

Arthur’s hand clamped on your throat, his knife physically warming at the heat he’s creating right between your legs, you mirror his expression, knowing speaking these three little words will be your undoing.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

There are two things you know about Arthur Morgan with absolute certainty: he never backs down from a challenge and he’s the out-and-out last person you should trust. 

…so why does your composure never once falter as Arthur cuts the crotch of your jeans clean open in one swift, expert movement? 

Each individual stitch tears effortlessly against the edge of the metal and you finally allow that gasp to escape you. The cold night air seeps through and clings to the wetness starting to soak the cotton of your underwear and you can feel the most furious blush alighting your skin. You’ve never felt so exposed, emotionally, as Arthur feels just how wet you are for him with a drag of his index finger up your covered slit, and physically, as he hooks said finger into the band of your panties, ripping them open effortlessly. At this, your cunt clenches around nothing and you have to stop yourself from crying out. You can’t lose your composure, won’t let him win even if you’re all but dripping down your own leg.

“Tsk tsk… All this for me, hm? I don’t think Uncle Colm would be all too happy to see what a mess you are for mean old Arthur Morgan…” He’s sneering, his teasing too much to bear, especially when considering both the angel and the devil sitting on your shoulders telling you to get the fuck out of here and definitely not-

“Are you gonna shut the fuck up and-”

You’re rendered unable to finish your demand, struggled out through Arthur’s grip, when two long, thick fingers plunge into your cunt and curl up inside you. You cry out, a strangled, pathetic sound before Arthur lets go of your throat and clamps a hand over your mouth instead. The rush of blood returning to your head sends you dizzy, mixing with the intensity of Arthur’s fingers oh so deep inside you to the point where it’s difficult to form coherent thoughts. 

Good. Coherent thoughts are not what you need right now, for they would tell you that this is the worst decision you could possibly make right now and/or ever and you really don’t think you could make yourself stop right now. 

You coil tighter and tighter each time Arthur pumps into you, trying in vain to stop the whines that vibrate the outlaw’s palm against your lips. You’ve never climaxed without some sort of clit stimulation, but you’ve also never been handled so… expertly. Arthur somehow knows you, inside and out as he pulls you right to the edge, pushing his fingers in as deep as they can go and tickling your walls with a come hither motion. In that moment, you’re sure you’d follow him to the ends of the earth… even if you’d shoot him there afterwards. 

Your own weapon is still tightly fisted in your grip, still pressing against Arthur’s side because you cannot lose this bet, despite the fact that you’re seconds away from cumming all over one of his hands and have your jaw clamped into the flesh of the other. You’re watching him, seeing the ever so slight concentration tugging his brows together a little before his blue-green eyes, darkened by the shadows to the point of near-blackness, meet yours. It’s the most intense eye contact you’ve ever experienced and it washes over you like ice water. 

Your jaw hurts from the force Arthur is applying to it and you feel so full even from just his fingers and when you’re sure you can’t take any more stimulation else you might break into pieces, you feel another inch slide into you and that cold metal press against the hood of your clit.

Because of course he hasn’t put the knife down. 

Fucking Arthur fucking Morgan. 

The pressure and the sensation of the cold on your clit hangs you over the edge like a damned man awaiting the gallows, and there's an excruciating moment that drags out a lifetime before your whole body is wracked with white hot pleasure and red hot pain pulling you apart at both ends. The very tip of the knife pokes at your inner thigh exposed by the large rip in the denim of your pants, but you can’t stop your legs shaking and pushing together. Your skin breaks just as you reach your pinnacle and you feel both sensations everywhere. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt, opposing forces at war in your very being, leaving splattered crimson on your leg and tear tracks on your cheeks. 

You don’t even realise you’ve dropped the damn knife, the clatter echoing around the alleyway over your mewls and the downright obscene sounds of Arthur working your soaked cunt through your high, fingers pumping in and out of you. 

It’s over with the force of a wave cresting and crashing. Blood rushing in your ears, you whimper when he slides his fingers out of you and follow his gaze downwards when he begins to chuckle again. He’s looking down at your knife, long discarded on the floor, and he’s smirking that smirk that makes you want to smack it right off his face. 

Arthur’s eyes drag from your weapon back to you, raking them over your whole body as he releases his clamp on your mouth. Air rushes to fill your lungs and you stretch out your jaw to ease the ache. He looks so fucking smug, especially when he lifts his hand to his mouth, inserting the two fingers he just had inside you past his lips. When he removes them with a tiny pop, he holds his knife up to catch the nearby street lamp. The tip is scarlet, shimmering through sticky blood, but the blade itself is covered in your slick.

“Looks like I win…”

Fuck. 

The regret is creeping around the corner, ready to set in and have you running down the street away from the man you hate most in the world, but just before it does, Arthur grasps your cheeks again,   forcing your jaw open and squeezing until there’s no room in your mouth for your tongue and you have to stick it out. It trembles, suspended in the tiny space between you and Arthur until he lifts the blade and runs the smooth edge over the muscle. You taste the metallic tang of your own blood and the sweetness of your juices mixing together. It’s lewd and carnal and disgusting and so fucking hot you could just cum on the spot. 

“Ah, see? You can be a good girl when you wanna be, can’t you? Cleanin’ up your mess…”

But you can’t. Not again, at least… You have to get out of here, away from this fucking devil in disguise who just made you cum quicker than you’ve ever cum in your life.

But you can’t think straight, can’t even hold yourself up, really, the rough brick of the wall behind you burning the back of your neck from the weight you’re putting into it when Arthur lets go of you completely. You hate that you feel the lack of his touch burning you worse than acid. You have to go. Now. 

“I… I have to…”

But Arthur isn’t listening. He’s already unzipping his pants, the shadow of his cock branding down his thigh.

“Oh no, I don’t think so. I’ve gotta get my prize, don’t I?”

Oh god. 

Oh god. 

You have to craft an expression of distaste, cannot under any circumstance let on that you can’t think of anything you want more in this moment. The distaste shatters quickly, however, when Arthur sheathes his knife and pulls his hard, thick cock out of his jeans. It’s a fucking masterpiece, twitching and pulsing, his deep veins and rosy head practically entrancing you. 

…until Arthur begins to palm his throbbing erection and his growl reminds you just who’s cock you’re all but drooling over.

“I ain’t a-“ 

But your protest is the next victim to die at the hands of the Van Der Linde as he grasps an ass cheek in each hand, effortlessly lifting you to your tiptoes so he can spear into you. He wastes no time or gentleness, invading you to the hilt first time. You’ve never felt so full. It’s almost too much, your sensitive nub still reeling from its first orgasm, but you take it like the most beautiful punishment you’ve ever experienced. You bite down onto your bottom lip to keep from screaming out, watching from the hidden shadows of the alley as a lawman walks past, completely unaware of the carnal sins of the flesh being committed just feet away from him. 

That thought only winds you further and higher as Arthur’s hard, relentless thrusts pound deep into you. He’s hitting the same spot his fingers were curling up into only seconds ago every damn time, completely overwhelming you and stealing the breath from your lungs. 

Arthur leans in close to the shell of your ear, “Oh, I bet you just fuckin’ love this, don’tcha princess? Little whore, comin’ undone like this just for me…”

“F-Fuck off-" you stutter out, barely managing to gasp for the air required to do so. You can’t finish your insult as calloused hands grip tighter onto your thighs and pick you up fully. It exposes you even more and allows a new angle for Arthur to fuck up into you and you see stars. You think your lip is bleeding from the way you’re biting on it, but you probably couldn’t count to ten right now. Who knows what’s going on around you when Arthur is so deep inside you. 

You’re hurtling towards another orgasm even without the external stimulation, feeling everything. The lewd sensation of Arthur’s balls slapping against your ass, his fingernails digging hard into your fleshy thighs, the mixture of the both of you dripping down your leg and soaking your newly ripped jeans, the taste of your own blood filling your moaning, mewling mouth. All of it.

“Don’t fucking cum in me, Morgan, or I swear I’ll-”

“Shut up.” he demands, his grip on your legs moving to wrap them tight around his waist so that he can release one side and pin you to the wall by your throat. It shuts you up, alright, as you can barely manage the gasp ripped out of you when he uses his other hand to smack your ass hard. His thumb squeezes your neck in just the right place and your vision starts to blur, and just when you think you might black out, he thrusts up into you, gyrating his hips in a circular motion. The head of his cock feels like it’s massaging you, the pressure in your temples growing and the throbbing in your cunt intensifying to the point where it feels like the earth is shattering around you. Arthur is growling into your ear, your nails scratching deep marks into his neck, ripping open the skin every so often.

“Oh fuck, oh Arthur d-don’t stop, don’t fucking stop I-I-” Your voice is croaked but somehow you manage your demand, and Arthur obliges, continuing to spear you. His pelvis is grinding down on your clit in perfect time to the pulsing waves you feel all over and at one point you swear those orbs of light hanging above seem to dance around your vision. Your complete release comes at the same time as Arthur’s release of your neck, the blood rushing back through your veins and making everything feel distant.

Arthur’s grunts and moans vibrating against your ear guide you back to Earth, your tight cunt feeling that much fuller after its second climax of the evening. You know you can’t take much more. You’re a drooling, mumbling mess in his arms. Arthur lifts your chin, taking the weight of your head in his hand to force your eyes onto him as he thrusts in and out a final, intense, invasive, wonderful time. 

He slips out of you just in time, his hot seed spilling out in between the two of you and splattering over your shirt. If you had enough pieces of your own mind to gather a coherent thought, you would probably be furious, but your tired limbs ache from being suspended for so long, the skin of your neck burning from the rough brick you’ve been forced against. 

It’s the most gentle he’s been all night when he places you onto the floor, supporting your weight until your legs have enough integrity to do it themselves. You can hear the teeth of Arthur’s zip, feel the cold air on your exposed jeans as everything starts to sink in.

“Here.” Arthur grumbles, as if it’s the last thing in the world he wants to do is help you, but you just about manage to grab the jacket he throws at you. You’re speechless, that fire once fuelled by lust now holding pure fury and hatred. Hatred for Arthur and his stupid fucking smirk, fury for yourself for giving into him… and now here you are, tying Arthur Morgan’s jacket around your waist after fucking him in an alleyway, his spurs clicking against the cobblestone as he leaves you alone in the middle of Saint Denis.

                         …God fucking dammit.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan fanfiction #rdr2 #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption fanfic

[rayeee10101]

𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐮 𝐑𝐃𝐑𝟐 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

(might do another one for the girls in the gang idk and if this doesn't exactly match the characters were going to pretend it does so don't come for me)

Characters ~ Arthur, John, Javier, Dutch, Hosea, Sean, Charles, and Kieran (this is not in order lol)

Arthur Morgan

Ok, as we said in another post he's definitely a truck driver.

He always has his dog with him no matter where he goes and he most likely has one of those giant bloodhound dogs or a bird dog. Maybe even a stray cat he found in a parking lot, who knows with him?

He probably pulls over on the side of the road to sketch some of the scenery he sees and it most likely causes him to be late to places he needs to be but oh well.

LOVES to put different stickers on his truck and to blow the horn for little kids that wave at him sometimes.

His dog is absolutely spoiled, having a giant bed in the passenger seat and probably over 20+ toys because Arthur can't help himself when he sees new toys or treats.

He's always uploading poorly taken selfies of him and his dog onto facebook (lets be real he's almost 40, he's most def uses facebook)

Dutch Vanderlinde

Let's be real, Dutch owns one of those fake gold shops that try to scam you and sell you fake jewelry, I don't make the rules that's just how it is.

But Dutch is good at his job, even if what he's selling you is fake he'd probably be able to convince you it was real by the end of the conversation.

Takes major pride in his business

Actually makes pretty good money considering he's a good liar lmao.

He def talked John into buying a fake diamond necklace for Abigail, John didn't realize he'd been scammed until Arthur pointed it out lol

Probably would give his S/O fake jewelry from his shop because he is cheap

"It's the thought that counts," he would tell his S/O when they point out that the ring he gave them wasn't real.

Somehow has managed to avoid countless law suits, no one really knows how though

He probably uses his shop as a cover up for money laundering ngl

Hosea Matthews

This ones difficult

lowkey feel like he'd work in a bank

Doesn't question where the large sums of money Dutch deposits comes from because he doesn't want to know lol

Has a picture of John and Arthur hanging up in his office

always having to lecture John on not falling for internet scams because this is like the 5th time he's had to freeze his bank account for fraud.

Always turning Dutch away because he tries to take out loans for stupid things that he doesn't need

Has to help John get back the money Dutch scammed from him ofc

Hosea likes his job though, it pays well and he gets his own office so what is there to complain about? 

John Marston

I wanna say he works in a zoo and has to deal without wolves just to be funny but I honestly see him being a mechanic

Always working on Arthur's truck when something happens to it.

Likes to teach Jack how to work on cars also, he considers it their "father, son bonding time"

Buys Jack the nicest truck when Jack is old enough to drive.

Has had to fix Sean's car after he drove it into a tree because he thought it was a good idea to drink and drive.

Drives around a classic car that no one else is allowed to touch or he'll have a stroke right there and then.

Everyone in the town comes to him when they need work done on their car, he even opened up his own show eventually

Javier Escuella

Ok, so I see him working as a singer in a bar, like with a cover band or something

he even performs his own songs that he wrote some nights

people love him

he actually has a lot of followers on social media from posting his music and videos of him playing guitar

if him and his s/o have a kid he definitely teaches them how to play guitar from a young age.

writes songs for his s/o

all the guys come and watch him perform some nights when they are all in town at the same time.

makes youtube tutorials on how to play songs on the guitar.

the other guys are convinced that he's going to become famous one day

Charles Smith

I see him working in an animal sanctuary for endangered animals or hurt animals

Definitely becomes best friends with a literal bear and treats it like your everyday normal pet.

Forms strong bonds with every animals he works with, something about his aurora is calming to be around

Doesn't allow John near the wolves when he visits.

Has had to stop Sean from trying to climb into the lion enclosure more times than he can count

He lets Dutch, Arthur, and Kieran come to visit some of the horses he takes care of.

He does volunteer work with animal shelters and other things like that.

Major animal lover in general, probably dog sits Arthur's dog whenever Arthur can't bring him somewhere

Sean Mcguire

This man CANNOT hold a job

Its not that he's lazy (he is) he just gets bored quickly and hops from job to job.

No one actually knows how he affords his apartment, Hosea is convinced he's selling drugs

He usually works in fast food places for a little bit just to make some quick cash.

Has shown up to work drunk a few times ngl

if he has an s/o he probably shows up to their job whenever their working to annoy them

Tried to get hired at a bar but that most definitely didn't last long considering he got plastered on the first night of the job

He probably is selling drugs but I mean, money is money?

Kieran Duffy

We already know the answer to this, he works at a stable

Tried to get a job with Charles but they didn't hire him :(

LOVES working at the stable, he basically gets to play with horses for most of the day

If him and his s/o have a kid he's definitely teaching them how to ride a horse before they can even walk

is always showing his s/o pictures of different horses he gets to work with

probably is in facebook groups for horses

he's a horsegirl

he owns his own horses too and always makes sure they look pristine and perfect

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #rdr #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption two #van der linde gang #red dead fanfic #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #charles smith #kieran duffy #john marston #red dead redemption fanfic

[readingcoco]

Hello Red Dead Fanfic Authors!

I want to throw my cowboy hat into the ring and offer my (free) services as a beta/alpha reader!

In my professional (non-smut-loving, long-fic-adoring, blorbo-obsessing) life, I am a full-time television script editor and story consultant and have been for the past 6 years. If these terms are new to you, it basically means my job is to work closely with writers and provide both proofreading and creative feedback, but mainly the latter. Screenwriting is obviously a completely different medium but there is a ton of crossover, and I would LOVE to support writers within the community who were looking for a beta/alpha reader to work alongside.

I am between jobs at the moment (as the entire TV industry is on fire🔥) which means I have a ton of free time and an itch to channel my creativity into characters and a world I am super passionate about!

Things I could help you with:

🌵 Proofreading

🤠 Research

🌸 Character consistency, motivations and voice

🌵 Brainstorming

🤠 Plotting

🌸 And generally, being in your corner cheering you on when you can't bear to look at your laptop anymore!

I will work on:

🌵 Long fics & One shots.

🤠 M/E rated fics are preferred, but equally, if it's beautifully tragic and will make me cry, then I'm all yours.

🌸 I am comfortable working on the majority of character pairings, including some of the more contentious ones, as long as I can buy your approach to the dynamic, character motivations and underlying psychology at play.

🌵X reader & OCs.

🤠Both the canonical period setting & Modern AUs.

🌸 And a bunch more stuff it's probably easier to dm about.

I am not the beta reader for you if:

🌵 You are under the age of 18.

🤠 Your fic is set in the omegaverse. It's not that it squicks me out, but it's not my favourite, and as such, I don't think I have read enough of it to be much help.

If you have never worked with a beta/alpha reader before but are interested in learning more about it then @theirprofoundbond has an amazing guide on Ao3 that runs through all the different ways working with a beta/alpha can work and help you with your writing.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 community #red dead redemption #red dead redemption community #rdr2 fandom #red dead redemption fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #beta reader #alpha reader

[vids-rdr2-artblog]

Saving Mary-Beth

I wanted to write a little fic where Kieran shows off that he’s not really a coward and saves Mary-Beth after she’s been kidnapped. I might write a second part that’s just pure fluff. 

Pairing: Kieran and Mary-Beth

Trigger Warnings: Violence against women, Murder, Abuse, Time period sexism. 

(Please do not read if you are sensitive on these topics!)

7,203 words

Thank you @glenechoslasher for beta reading for me <3

Read it on AO3

***

Mary-Beth ventured into Rhodes with Mr. Pearson, having volunteered for the task for many different reasons—she loved to check and see if there were new books or authors listed in the newspaper and to simply get away from Miss Grimshaw. There was this relief that prickled the back of her neck when she knew that the woman wasn’t right there, breathing down her neck in the back of the wagon, and there was a sense of freedom seeing the open roads rather than their crowded camp. 

Pearson talked the entire way, so Mary-Beth didn’t bring a book, as much as she’d rather drown herself in words rather than his nonsense. This man probably had his lungs stored in his stomach or had a second pair because Mary swore she never saw him take a breath between his sentences. But she listened to him anyway, glad the trip between Rhodes and Clemens Points wasn’t long. 

“I’m glad you like to listen to me, Miss Mary!” Pearson said, sounding genuinely excited, which did make her feel good in some way, “Sometimes the others don’t like to listen to my stories, but you’re a good girl, Mary-Beth. When people say someone doesn’t have a mean bone in their body, you’re who I think of. I should take you on trips more often!” He laughed.

Mary-Beth became flustered and nodded, not wanting to say anything to bring down the mood of the jovial man, “Of course, Pearson. I think I read something in a book once about a brave navy man who sorta reminds me of you.”

Pearson perked up. “Oh? What book?”

Mary-Beth thought of a quick lie, a finger to her chin, “I don’t remember because it was so long ago, but if I find or remember it, I’ll tell you immediately!”

“Thanks, Mary. I’m not sure if I’d read it or not, but it’s great to see when great men are recognized.”

Pearson’s smile grew as he flicked the reins of the horse a bit more vigorously, and eventually, they reached Rhodes. It was sometime around 1pm, not too early and not too late into the afternoon. Thanks to Arthur being deputized here in Rhodes, she didn’t fear the lawmen as much as she did in Valentine and didn’t worry that they would be watching her every move. The folks here were a lot calmer and some of the women actually waved to her as she passed by. Welcoming, really. But man did she hope that the people of Rhodes didn’t think that she and Pearson were man and wife. A feller could get the wrong idea seeing them arriving on the cart together. She supposed however that if they had to hide their identities that way, then she would have to go through it even if she didn’t like it. Though her inner reader was curious and she had wondered how a romance between a couple with the likeness of them would interact. The girl did have a wild imagination, after all. 

Pearson parked the wagon next to the general store and the two climbed down, meeting at the back of the wagon. It seemed that they came at the right time because the train had just reached the station, its whistle blowing in the air. The man put his hands on his back and stretched his body, Mary hearing a few pops as she did so. He whistled at the store, “I’d love to have one of these puppies sometime. I think it would be exciting to run a shop like this!” he said excitedly before turning toward their empty wagon. He took out pieces of parchment from his pocket and handed one to her but kept the other for himself. “Alright then, I’ll have you get the stuff that we need from the general store and then I’ll go over to the butcher for some real meat. Arthur’s been good at gettin’ money for us, but he ruins a lot of the meat he brings to us, skinnin’ them himself…Plus I want something other than venison once in a while…” He grumbled mostly to himself then resumed, “You got all that?”

Mary-Beth nodded excitedly and held the note to her chest, “I got it, Pearson. When I’m done, I’m going to go find the newspaper boy, OK? I want to see if there’s been any new releases or authors.”

“Sure, sure.” Pearson nodded then took money from his pocket, “Here’s the money from the box. Buy ONLY what’s on the list or else Dutch will have our heads. You shouldn’t have to pay the men to put everything in the wagon, so let me know if they try to trick you.” He pointed a finger. “I’ll meet you back in an hour, Mary-Beth. An hour.”

“An hour, yes. Will do, Pearson.” Mary-Beth smiled and glanced over the list. Most of what he had put was canned vegetables and fruits, bread, and luxuries such as tea, cigarettes, and chewing tobacco. She was surprised to not see ammo on the list but some of the other gang members probably took care of that separately from a simple grocery trip. 

Taking the list to the man behind the counter, “Hello, I have a pretty big order to put in, can I get some men to help load some crates and put them on my wagon?” “Sure can.” The clerk pushed the catalog to her and she pointed out everything she needed and read off the number that was on the list. Reading it to him also gave her the comfort that she wouldn’t be scammed because she was a woman. Most men assumed that women couldn’t read, so she made sure to show that she could. “When do you think you could take it out to the wagon?”

The man answered as he rang her up on the cash register, “Oh, you’ll be able to load it immediately. We’re actually well-staffed, and my young men will be able to help ya. Maybe about fifteen minutes.” He smiled and told her the amount she needed to pay. 

Mary counted the bills and handed them to the man. She double checked the change before pocketing it. There would always be a side of her that believed anyone was capable of scamming her only because she was the type of person to do the scamming herself. She leaned against the counter with her hands, “It’s the wagon parked out next to the store. My companion is over at the butcher’s and he might come back in time to help out too. Do you need me to wait here, or could I go on another quick errand?”

“My boys will start putting your order together now and start loading on yer wagon. They’re fine boys too, I ain’t never had to swat them once. So you can stay and watch or come back when we’re done.”

Mary-Beth smiled and nodded, pushing off the counter, “Thanks sir, I won’t be too long. I just want to grab a newspaper. Do you know where it’s at?”

“Oh, the boy likes to move around town, but I think I spotted him toward the saloon, if you know where that is.”

“Uh huh, I do sir. Thank you!” Mary-Beth pocketed everything and left the general store. After taking a quick glance over to the butcher’s and seeing that Pearson was still busy haggling with the butcher, Mary-Beth headed toward the saloon with a chipper smile on her face, comfortable walking around the town by herself since it didn’t feel dangerous at all. 

As she headed up the road and toward the saloon, she kept her ears open for a newspaper boy, announcing the next paper but heard nothing. Maybe he sold out that day…Damn…Maybe the saloon had a copy that she could borrow for a couple of minutes.

Mary-Beth placed her hand on the door to the building but it didn’t budge. Damnit. Locked. Were they closed or was she just at the wrong entrance?

Making her way along the side of the saloon, she kept her eyes on the windows, trying to spot anyone inside. There wasn’t, and from the little that she saw of the bar, she noticed that even the bartender was out. It was strange to see the saloon closed at such a weird hour of the day, but maybe all towns acted differently than each other, and maybe not everyone here was a stupid drunk. 

Mary-Beth came around the back end of the saloon and just as she did, she heard voices. She instantly hid along the edge of the house. Two Irish-speaking men had a man wearing an apron held against the wall, a gun at his abdomen. Down at their feet was the body of a younger man. Dead. Mary-Beth looked behind her and realized that she had been so busy looking into the windows that she hadn’t noticed the blood trail right under her shoes. She had walked into a murder scene in the making. 

Mary-Beth’s instincts told her to flee. Just seconds after she saw the scene, she turned to leave, her jaw clenched shut. But someone was there now. She met the stale breath and before her stood a man. Then, there was a blinding pain above her left eye, right on her temple, his arm casting a shadow over her. Blood poured out from the gash on her head immediately. She hadn’t been knocked out immediately, but she fell back enough that the men behind the saloon noticed and dropped the man in the apron. She tried to crawl away but there was pressure in her lower back as her attacker pressed his heel and spur there. “What do we have here?” The one who had held a gun to the man in the apron approached, using the butt of his gun to lift Mary-Beth’s chin, causing a searing pain slice through her forehead. He swatted her hand away when she instinctively went to touch it. She could barely think of words to say.

“A witness. I saw her peeking around the corner at the two of you.”

“Tsk. Tsk. I hate to kill such a pretty thing, but I did tell the dead feller over there that there would be no witnesses. I’d be a bad man if I didn’t keep my promises.”

Mary-Beth flinched when his thumb pulled back the hammer of his cattleman, cocking it. 

The third man pulled his shoulder back enough that he stopped the man from shooting Mary-Beth. It took the woman a few seconds to realize that her brains hadn’t been splattered along the ground and that she was alive. 

“Wait a second there, I think I recognized her. I think I saw this woman in that livestock town with that shitty Arthur Morgan once. She might be a part of the Van Der Linde gang.”

Mary-Beth’s blood ran cold. Were these Irishmen O’Driscolls? She was in trouble…

The man with a gun whistled and looked down at Mary-Beth with hungry eyes. “Well, will ya lookie here. A simple armed robbery is turning into a gang heist. I won’t even ask you if you’re a part of the gang. If you are, then they’ll come save you. If you aren’t or if they’re dumb enough to save such an insignificant whore like yourself, then we’ll just kill ya. We won’t be wasting any of our supplies because we won’t feed ya. How does that sound, bitch?” He didn’t wait for an answer, not that she would have answered him in the first place, “Tie her up.”

“No—!” But before Mary-Beth could scream, her attacker kneeled right on her back where her lungs were, knocking the air from them. He shoved a nasty-tasting cloth in her mouth before tying her up with a lasso, pulling her arms behind her back. 

The O’Driscoll, with the gun, holstered it before he kneeled in front of her, sticking his finger into her blood, making the pain in her head significantly worse. She didn’t know what he was using her blood for but he kept pressing his thumb in the same spot before he finished whatever he was doing. “Take her to the horses, use the train to not be seen. And you…” He turned to the man with the apron, pointing his gun at him now, “Not another word of what happened here, yeah? We know where you work and where you live, so even if you blab about what happened here after we’ve left, we’ll come back and kill your family then force feed you their guts. Got that?” 

The man in the apron nodded, quickly disappearing inside, glad that his life had been spared, even if it cost this woman he didn’t know.

The last thing Mary-Beth remembered was being carried by the two men, one at her legs and one at her shoulders. With the throbbing headache she had, she was hardly able to squirm, and unable to scream. They carried her across the train and to their horses hidden on the other side. 

Who would save Mary-Beth?

Pearson returned the wagon and didn’t find Mary-Beth there. It wasn’t strange, considering she said he was going to track down the paperboy. Plus, it hadn’t been an hour exactly. So, he placed the carefully packaged meats and placed them on a crate that had already been loaded by the shop. He saw the boys bringing out a few more crates. 

One greeted him with a smile, “There’s just four more inside, sir.”

“Bring 'em’ out here and leave them on the stairs. I can get the rest of it from here.” Pearson took out two dollars from his own pocket and gave them each one for their hard work. They thanked him before bringing the rest of the gang’s provisions out and setting them at the top of the chairs. Pearson expected Mary-Beth to be back by the time he loaded up the last of the crates and strapped them down, but she wasn’t. 

She’s probably just talking to a local. She’s a good, chatty girl. We can’t go anywhere with the train being there anyway.

And so Pearson waited. And waited. The longer he waited, however, the worse he began to feel, especially when he heard the whistle of the train before it slowly left the station. There wasn’t quite anything right about this. Mary-Beth wouldn’t have told him one thing and then done another. Something must be wrong. 

“Mary-Beth?” he asked and looked down the alleyways around the general store and even the buildings surrounding it. Nothing. Wait, she did talk to the general store man, maybe he knows something. So, Pearson stepped into the building and walked straight up to the man, “Excuse me sir, my womanly…companion came up to you earlier to pay for the stuff that’s in the wagon next to your store. I can’t seem to find her though, did you happen to see where she went?”

The clerk cocked his head. “Oh yes, I did. She was looking for the newspaper, so I pointed her in the direction of the saloon.”

“Okay, thanks, sir.”

“No problem, thank you for your purchase, and have a good day.”

“You too.”

If Mary-Beth went to the saloon for a drink then it would make sense as to why she hadn’t returned yet. If she were a man. Mary-Beth was so…feminine and it didn’t seem to be like her to wander off for a beer or two. If it had been Karen with him instead, then there would be no doubt about it that she went out for drinks, but Mary-Beth didn’t do that sort of thing. Not to his knowledge, at least. 

Pearson made a quick trip to the saloon. He wasn’t sure if it had been busy beforehand but there were a couple men who looked more sober than the bartender themselves, so they must have just gotten there. 

“S’cuse me, you see a woman around here?” Pearson approached the bar and tried to ignore the hungry look in the men’s eyes when he said the word woman. 

The bartender looked drunk and dissociated from his job as he cleaned an already cleaned glass, only smudging it more. There was a nasty bruise on his eye, leading down to his jaw. Pearson wondered what happened to him. He probably shouldn’t have asked in the first place and just searched around the place himself. He only didn’t want to seem like a creep or worse, a thief. 

“Nope. Not around here.” 

“Alright, thank you kindly,” Pearson said without revealing much more to the conversation so the men who were drinking didn’t get any funny ideas. 

Pearson snuck around the side of the saloon before his stomach dropped. There on the ground was a drop of blood, leading to around the back of the saloon, accompanied by larger dried splotches of blood. His immediate thought was of Mary-Beth. Oh god, she’s dead! Mary-Beth is dead and I let her die! However, when he looked closer at the blood, he noticed that it wasn’t fresh and more dried up. He wasn’t an expert at human blood, but after skinning dead animals for as long as he had…He could tell when blood was new and old. It couldn’t have been more than an hour. This wasn’t Mary-Beth’s blood. However, it didn’t mean that there couldn’t be anything waiting for him around the corner. 

Following the blood, he stepped around the corner and found a mutilated body. 

There was a young man. Probably late teens or early twenties. Probably around the same age of the men who helped load his cart. His eyes were gone and lacerations around his body explained the blood that soaked the ground. It already had a decomposing smell of it, tangling with the smell of vomit and alcohol. While he didn’t like murder like this—it was overkill—he was secretly glad that he didn’t encounter the body of Mary-Beth torn to shreds. 

Pearson stepped closer and noticed a piece of wood with a knife in it laid out on the palm of the dead man’s hand. The closer he got, the more he realized that there was blood on the wood too, but it was fresher, drawn out methodically on the wood. He had to kneel to read the blood writings, which sent a chill down his spine. 

AM

DVL

3 DAY

COLM

And then there was a drawn picture of a location with a noose on it. 

There, lying next to the dead man’s hand was a cut lock of Mary-Beth’s hair and a torn piece of cloth that matched the same color and texture of the dress she had been wearing. The blood on the board was Mary-Beth’s. It was fresher compared to the dead male’s, making the man want to vomit.

Pearson’s mouth dried when he concluded what had happened. The O’Driscolls had kidnapped Mary-Beth and left a message for Dutch and Arthur about where to meet them. The O’Drisicolls had them by the balls and were steering them in the direction that they wanted them to go. 

Pearson tore the knife from the board and hid it on his belt, unsure if it was what ended this man’s life or was just left to accentuate their message. After hiding the lock of hair and cloth that would link Mary to this man, he grabbed the wood and rushed away from the scene as fast as possible, not wanting to be caught. Good thing the time meant that most men were working, though he wondered if they had gone at a different time if this would have even happened at all. Mary-Beth would be back at camp with her nose buried in one of her books. 

As much as he wanted to go to the sheriff, he knew he couldn’t. It involved his gang and the O’Driscolls! That wasn’t a good combination. 

Getting back to his wagon as fast as he could, Pearson raced back to his camp, constantly looking over his shoulder, not wanting to be ambushed on the way back, or followed back to camp. At some point along the ride, he considered abandoning the wagon and riding the horse back to camp, but he would still risk being followed and at the additional loss of money and supplies. 

“Who’s there?” Came John’s rough voice when he came close enough.

“It’s Pearson!” Pearson raced on by, doing his best to not tip the wagon by how fast he was rolling into camp. The horses whined the whole way, having been spent racing back to the camp, sweating and desperate for water. When they came to a halt, the young O’Driscoll approached to untether them. Seeing Kieran made Pearson’s blood boil and face turn red, but it hadn’t been Kieran’s fault this happened, just the gang he used to run with so he did his best to not direct his anger toward him.

Pearson rushed directly toward Dutch’s tent, catching everyone’s attention from the fast pace he clearly wasn’t used to doing. Dutch sat in the chair outside his tent, a book in one hand and a cigar in the other. Arthur was thankfully in camp, just in his own tent.

“Dutch! Arthur! We have a BIG issue right now!” 

Arthur perked up upon hearing his name and slowly sauntered his way over to Pearson and Dutch, his hands on his belt, “Oh yeah? What’s that? You eat all our groceries on the way back from Rhodes?”

“Now is not the time for jokes Arthur.” Pearson took the wood out, some of the blood smeared on his fingers but thankfully not enough to make the writing illegible. He also took the knife from his belt loop. Dutch and Arthur stared at the knife, intrigued, Arthur, stood up a bit straighter when he saw how serious Pearson was acting. It was unusual for him. 

“Well, then spit it out already!” Arthur tore the cigarette from his mouth and threw it to the ground. “What the hell happened?”

Since he had stopped running, there was an unsettled feeling in Pearson’s stomach. He felt like he was about to throw up. 

“Dutch…Arthur…Mary-Beth was taken by the O’Driscolls… They left us this note with her blood.” 

The moment O’Driscolls was brought up, Dutch’s face became red. “WHAT?! What did you see, Pearson?!”

“NUTHIN!” Pearson gasped, “She wandered off when I was at the butcher’s and they kidnapped her when she was behind the saloon. There was also a dead body behind there. The bartender had this ugly bruise on his face, so I have a feeling he saw something, but if we try to talk to him, it might link the gang to the O’Driscolls,” he explained, the words flying out of his mouth, “They left this with Colom’s name and a lock of Mary-Beth’s hair. They’ve got her fer sure now….” He handed the wood over. Arthur leaned over Dutch’s shoulder to read what the blood was, his eyebrows furrowing. 

By then the rest of the gang were gathering around, particularly the girls. Tilly held a hand over her mouth, “Mary-Beth…She was taken? Oh, Pearson…” Tears were in her eyes. 

Pearson could hardly look at them all, all their faces that of a grieving person in mourning. He felt a lot of shame for letting this happen to such a vulnerable woman. But Mary-Beth wasn’t dead, or at least he hoped that she wasn’t. He couldn’t live with the thought of getting an innocent woman killed. 

Kieran found himself on the edge of the conversation, but not close enough to hear the conversation. He had been so busy taking the horses off the wagon that he nearly missed it entirely. He brought each horse to the water trough, which they drank greedily before he joined the congregating crowd. What’s going on here? He wanted to ask but kept his mouth shut when the eyes of this gang had fallen on him. Had he done something wrong?

Well, if they were staring at him, then it had something to do with the…

“O’Driscoll, what did you do?!” Karen abruptly snapped at Kieran. Everyone seemed shocked at her outburst, seeing how kindly she treated Kieran at camp. There weren’t any tears in her eyes, but her face was worse than a raging bull’s. 

“W-What do you mean?” Kieran asked, stuttering but not showing any lack of confidence. He kept his composure. “I ain’t done nothin’ other than take care of the damn horses lately,” he added defensively. 

“Your O’Driscolls KIDNAPPED MARY-BETH!”

Usually, Kieran would have fought them on this. Would have yelled that he wasn’t an O’Driscoll! But ‘Mary-Beth’ and ‘kidnapped’ mentioned in the same sentence was something he didn’t like to hear. He couldn’t argue with them this time. 

“They took Mary-Beth…?” he gasped and looked over toward Arthur, “We have to go save her! They’ll do awful things to her.”

Arthur squinted his eyes at the man as if observing them for anything suspicious, and Kieran hated the feeling that it left in his stomach. “You mean you had nothing to do with this?”

“Of course not!” Kieran spat out, flaring at Arthur’s accusatory tone, “I like Mary-Beth and I hate the O’Driscolls. You should know that by now 'cause I tell it to you every day!” He hissed. “We can’t spend time here, just wasting, we have to go and track her…Who knows what they will do to her.”

“Leave that to me,” Charles said, ready to jump on his horse that second.

“Wait just a minute!” Arthur said, holding his hand out, stopping everyone from doing anything stupid, “There’s a date written here, and they’re goin’ to expect us to meet them there at that time, or else. Charles, you can go, but you have to be extra careful. One wrong move on ANY of us is goin’ to end Mary-Beth’s life.” He pointed his finger at everyone as he spoke to them.

From the looks of the entire camp right now, everyone was willing to pick up their guns right now and hunt down their sick rivals. Some like Grimshaw and Lenny already had their guns out and ready. 

“And the note was addressed to only Dutch and me. We’ll have to be the ones to go. If they see more than us, it won’t be pretty for us and Mary-Beth.”

“But you’re gonna be outnumbered by those idiots…” Bill argued, his hands clutching at his sides, not because he particularly liked Mary-Beth but because he hated how the O’Driscolls could easily try to blackmail them. “You never know how many people they’re gonna bring, Arthur. You need more than two men…”

“If they lay a hand on Mary-Beth, I’ll fucking tear their balls off…” Sadie gritted her teeth. Not another woman whose life was on the line thanks to this gang…

“If you should take anyone extra, then it should be me,” Kieran volunteered, stepping forward. “I don’t think they would be intimidated if they saw me.”

Bill laughed. “Yeah! Might be able to trade him for the girl. Take him with ya.” He shoved Kieran forward by his shoulder. 

“Not a bad idea.” Arthur rubbed his chin.

If it came to that, then so be it, Kieran thought to himself. Mary-Beth had been the first one in the gang to be kind to him, to show Kieran the proper respect he deserved as a person by giving him that small glass of water. It had meant so much to him. There was no way in hell he would allow people like the O’Driscolls to hurt someone as gentle as her. If it meant that he had to trade his life for her, then maybe he could do something good and prove himself, even if he didn’t make it out alive.

“Oh, Mary-Beth…Please be okay…” Tilly kept a hand to her mouth, then spoke softly to Kieran, “Please get her back for us.”

Kieran spoke softly to her, “I promise that we’ll get her back, Tilly. Arthur and I ain’t gonna let anythin’ happen to her, we promise…”

“You better.”

Mary-Beth tried to imagine herself in a whole new world, completely separate from the reality of hell she was currently facing. She was a princess and her prince charming sat across from her on the blanket, feeding her strawberries and telling her how much he would marry her and care for her. The bitter yet sweet taste in her tongue was imaginary but it was helping her free herself from the flames threatening to engulf her. She dissociated, forgetting anything that the O’Driscoll men did to her the moment they happened. 

She didn’t know when her own gang planned to get her, if they were even coming for her at all. Her hands were tied behind her back, connected to her ankles, making it impossible for her to move unless she twisted her body around, and even then it was far too painful for her to do that. She would be too exhausted before she could break the ropes.

If Mary-Beth had been listening, she would know that she had two days before the O’Driscolls were going to lay her out for bait, two days before she would learn if she lived or died. The gang planned to use her as bait, to lure the two strongest members of the Van Der Linde gang. 

One of the O’Driscolls approached her. She saw his boots right in front of her face and smelled the shit he had stepped in earlier. Her nose wrinkled and she refused to meet his eyes. “Oh, what a squirmin’ bitch ya are,” he laughed and spat on her face, making Mary-Beth flinch and swallowing a whimper climbing its way up her throat. She was surprised that he didn’t kick her before he stormed off, laughing and drinking with his friends—having an early celebration of the fall of the Van Der Linde gang.

Just remember your prince charming. Hell, you’d accept Sean as your prince charming at this point, she spoke mostly to herself, in her head and attempted to put herself back into the world of the last book she had read, imagining herself as the main character and Kieran as her prince charming. 

Wait.

Kieran…?

Why did she think of Kieran?

Sure, the two had been flirty with each other before, but she had never seen him in such a romantic light, or even imagined…kissing him…

But the memory soothed the aching in her heart, so her mind played the same scene over and over again as the days passed.

Kieran and Mary were in the meadows, sitting on a blanket softer than anything she had ever felt before. Wait, was it a cloud? There was a whole buffet of food laid out in front of her, and no matter how many bites she took, it never emptied. Behind them were two horses grazing and snoozing together. And whenever she looked at Kieran’s face, she felt the happiest she had ever been in a long time… 

Sometimes her brain had convinced herself this was reality. She wanted it to be. 

Mary-Beth was half asleep when a man grabbed her arm and cut the bindings, made her legs release, making them cramp, and her muscles scream in pain. Her hands were still tied as he pulled her to her feet, yelling at her as her legs wobbled and she would have buckled had the men not held her up. 

“Where…Where…” she mumbled before she was interrupted. 

“Shut up, you bitch.” 

A cloth was shoved into her mouth, forcing her to be quiet. 

“Put the woman on the back of the horse.”

Mary-Beth’s stomach lurched as she was lifted by her waist. She grunted as she was laid on the back of a chestnut colored horse, her stomach feeling the pressure as she was laid on her stomach. Never in all her life had she been hogtied and put on the back of the horse. She whined but shut up quickly to avoid them yelling at her any further. 

A man climbed on the back of the horse, kicking its sides with sharp spurs that were close to her face. Mary-Beth, with her eyes constantly on the ground, couldn’t tell where they were going. All she could do was count the seconds. It took them approximately seventeen minutes to pull to a full stop, the men whispering around her. 

“Quick, get the girl ready. They could be watching us and pop out at any moment.”

Mary-Beth saw the shoes of one of the O’Driscolls before they lifted her up. Instead of taking her off the horse, they shifted her into the saddle. All she could do was watch in horror as the men threw a rope over the branch of the tree they were under, a noose hanging at the end of it. She began to strain and pull on the restraints on her wrists but someone held her still as another pair of hands grabbed the noose and pulled it over her head. She felt tears as the noose pressed against her throat, tightening enough that it wouldn’t slide off her and only tighten when she fell off the side of the horse. They were going to hang her. Holy shit, they were going to fucking hang her! After that, she fell absolutely still, no matter how badly her body screamed at her to move.

“Two hours…If they’re not here in two hours just slap the horse and let it run.” Mary-Beth couldn’t see them, but an O’Driscoll stood behind her, a hand on the rear of the horse, who luckily remained calm for now. She relied on that calmness. But the woman wondered if the horse would feel her anxiety and become agitated before running off.

“Then leave her body. Maybe they’ll come back later and find her hanging and learn their lesson…We don’t spare the innocent.”

Please, Arthur. Sean. Charles. Kieran. She whispered the names like they were saints, praying they would come to rescue her. 

Time passed, but Mary-Beth wasn’t counting this time. Every second felt like an agonizing hour.

“How long has it been?”

“About an hour…”

And so they waited even longer. Mary-Beth’s thighs were aching from how tight she was squeezing on the horse’s saddle. 

An arrow sliced through the air, hitting the man behind Mary-Beth. The action was so abrupt that there was a moment of stunned silence. The horse shifted but luckily didn’t run off. Mary-Beth looked up, seeing the trees across the horizon, but saw no one in sight. Were her saviors still out there? “They’re he—” Another arrow whizzed through the air, shooting the man in front of her. 

“DAMNIT!” Mary-Beth looked in horror as one of the O’Driscolls raised a gun in the air. No, no, no!  Mary-Beth cried out in her mind, screaming and crying, wishing she could keep the horse in place. 

A gun fired, and then hellfire began. At first, it was arrows, and then it was gunshots.

Mary-Beth stared in terror as the horse’s ears flicked back. It freaked out before running forward, Mary-Beth hardly able to stop the rope from tightening around her neck. Just as the horse ran out from under her legs, arms wrapped around her body, desperately holding her around the waist and legs in a way to keep herself up. 

Even as the gunshots were heavy in the air, Mary-Beth was able to stare down at the person holding her. It was Kieran. KIERAN More tears formed in her eyes as she saw the man struggling to keep her up, to keep her from hanging right there. 

“SHOOT THE ROPE, SHOOT THE ROPE!” Kieran called out. 

Mary-Beth did her best to sit as still as possible, but everything was aching and she could hardly keep herself up as her body was crumbling quickly and she was hardly able to control what limb twitched. A choked cry escaped her throat and tears were impossible to hold back. 

An O’Driscoll stormed up to the two of them, his gun raised, ready to shoot Kieran between the eyes. Right as he pulled the hammer back on his revolver, there was a rifle shot, and blood splattered on Kieran’s face and on Mary-Beth’s dress. Then there was a second shot, and the rope around Mary-Beth’s throat became very loose. Mary-Beth fell on top of Kieran, taking the two of them to the ground. Kieran was on his feet a second later and grabbed Mary-beth by the shoulders. Even though she would have not wanted to be dragged anymore, there was a mutual and silent agreement that safety was more important as Kieran dragged Mary-Beth into the forest and brush, hiding them from the gunfight. Kieran sat back on the ground and pulled Mary-Beth flush against his chest. As quietly as he could, he took the cloth from her mouth and fumbled with his knife, cutting the bindings from her wrists, freeing her completely.

Mary-Beth’s mouth was open, tears in her eyes when she realized it ached more to shut her mouth from how long the cloth was stuck in her mouth. Kieran was about to pull away from the woman, to give her space, but Mary-Beth grabbed his arm and wrapped it around her body—feeling safe and protected like in the dreams she had hidden in the past few days. She closed her eyes and cried silent tears. 

Kieran hesitated but could tell that she just needed to be held for now. He kept her close to his chest as the gunshots thinned and the voices of the small group of O’Driscolls died out completely. They were all dead. But he remained quiet until he knew for sure that it was safe to come out.

“Mary-Beth? Kieran?” Came Arthur’s voice. 

Mary-Beth couldn’t speak. 

“We’re in here—!” Kieran stuttered and pulled himself and Mary-Beth up, taking the two of them out of the brush. 

When Mary-Beth saw Arthur, she practically fell into the arms of the man. “Oh Arthur…! You call came for me!” she sobbed.

Arthur awkwardly wrapped his arms around Mary-Beth. “Course we did. You’re a part of the family. We wouldn’t have left that to ya, all alone.”

“Are they all dead?” she asked, her bottom lip quivering.

Arthur nodded. “Dutch has one of them tied up right now and is talking to them. Otherwise, yeah. They’re all dead. Are you okay?” He asked as he pulled her back, looking her up and down, seeing the bruises and tatters on her. “Oh, Mary-Beth…You need to get back to camp. You think you can take her, Kieran? I’m gonna stay back and help Dutch get information out of this damn maggot.”

“Yes, please, I want to go back now. Is Pearson OK?” Mary-Beth asked.

“Don’t worry, Mary-Beth, he’s alright. Just get her to camp, Kieran.” Arthur walked away.

Kieran nodded and put his hand on Mary-Beth’s elbow, guiding her all the way to Branwen. When they were at the horse, he gently touched her arm. “Mary-Beth, I am SO sorry fer what happened to ya. Are ya okay?”

“I…I think so. I just want to get back to camp.” She approached Branwen from the side and turned her back to the horse, facing Kieran. “Can you help me onto the horse, please?” she asked, her arms slightly raised. “Everything hurts too much.”

“I sure can…” Kieran nodded and put his hands on her waist. He lifted her onto the back of his horse, feeling even more guilty as she winced in pain. The last thing he wanted was to cause her even more pain. After that, he climbed into the saddle in front of her, then raced off back to camp. His heart pounded with the leftover adrenaline from the gunfight, but it soared higher when Mary-Beth wrapped her arms around his waist and she leaned her cheek against his back. She…Wanted comfort from him? Him, of all people? He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but he was glad that she could trust him.

Kieran knew that there would be a group gathering when they returned to camp, so he made sure to approach quietly and calmly, hitching his horse at one of their posts. He got down and held his arms out naturally to take Mary-Beth off the horse. By the time he turned around, he saw the group gathering—just as he thought. 

“Oh, Mary-Beth!” Tilly cried out and ran before anyone else could. She ran to her best friend and hugged her, keeping her close. Mary-Beth broke down into tears as she hugged Tilly back. Kieran backed off and gave the woman some space, his hand on Branwen’s neck. However, he watched from afar. He watched as Mary-Beth was given new clothes, and how John gave her his tent so she could have privacy for a while. Karen, Grimshaw, and Tilly came in and out of the tent often, checking in on Mary-Beth. Sometimes he heard her crying, and it broke his heart. 

Sometime later in the evening, when it was darker than it was light, Kieran approached the flap of the tent and whispered, “Mary-Beth, is it okay if I came in?” he asked and waited for her answer. 

There was a small sniffle. “Oh, yeah, it’s okay…”

Kieran came in, carrying a tin plate of stew. “Have ya ate yet?” he asked. 

Mary-Beth sat on John’s cot, wearing one of her other outfits. The old clothes had been burned as no one, especially her, would want to attempt to stitch such clothing back together.

“Oh, no…I ain’t…I just haven’t had the appetite for it, but I probably should soon.”

“I got something for ya. Eat what you feel like ya can.” Kieran came in and moved across the tent and sat down next to her with the stew, handing it to her. Mary-Beth smiled fondly and sipped some of the broth. At least her stomach could handle that. 

“Mary-Beth…Yer awfully brave. Most don’t have the confidence when in the presence of an O’Driscoll.”

“Oh Kieran…” she whispered, “It was awful. I thought I was going to die…I thought they were gonna hang me. Had you not caught me, who knows whether I would have suffocated or if the rope would have snapped my neck right away. I wasn’t ready to die.”

“I’m glad I was there, Mary-Beth. I don’t know how you survived that…” Kieran’s hand touched hers, but then he hesitated. She noticed and immediately brought his hand back when he tried to take it away. 

“I just…I just imagined myself inside one of my books. I guess escapin’ into my own head was something that helped me…” Mary-Beth admitted Kieran, squeezing his hand. “It kept me alive until you saved me, Kieran. You’re a real hero. Thank you so much…” She wrapped her arms around his neck and held the man, who she sort of related to in some way now. She wasn’t sure if she should tell Kieran that she imagined that he was her imaginary hero. She didn’t have to though—Kieran was her real hero now. 

#mary beth gaskill #kieran duffy #kieran x mary beth #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption fanfic #rdr #rdr 2 #rdr fanfic #rdr 2 fanfic #rdr2 community #rdr2 #rdr2 fanart #red dead redemption 2 fanart #rdr2 fandom #red dead 2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption two

[absentcigarettes]

Whiskey Through Anger

Relationship: Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith

Word Count: 6751

Summary: Arthur near pitied the women who'd slept with Charles. He confused pity for envy. charles is mad bcs of the poachers who killed the bison, Arthur cheers him up by lending him his ass

Note: was my first time writing smut so it may be cringe. also it's completely un-beta'd so it might have mistakes

read on ao3

I need a drink.

That was the first thing Charles had thought after leaving the hunter bastards' camp. It was likely the only thing that would take his mind off of the merciless cruelty imposed upon those poor bison. It would also distract him from the unneglectable urge within him to hunt down the man who'd paid those poachers himself. That- and a quick fuck. Preferably with one of the saloon girls. The prostitutes would work, but most of them weren't as appealing to Charles; most looking for rich men rather than a good time. And it did well for Charles's ego whenever he successfully wooed the women into sleeping with him. On the way to Valentine, he'd suddenly remembered Taima's need to be brushed and fed. So with the most miniscule amount of sense left in his mind that had thankfully not been overtaken by the rumbling rage travelling through his veins, he turned back and rode towards camp.

He leaned against a tree, beside the horse's hitching posts, awaiting Taima's return from the lakeside. Earlier, he'd decided to settle for a quick shave. If he was gonna fuck, may as well be presentable. He shaved frequently but not daily; he wasn't into the scraggly, unkempt beards most men in the gang had. Except Arthur. That man could make anything Charles found revolting to be absolutely alluring.

Taima had returned, as he knew she would. "Here, girl.." He reached his hand out, to which she happily nestled her head in the palm of his hand. He felt his fury dissipate.

Until Micah came.

"Darkie!" The rough shrill of his voice called, "Where's your boyfriend?" Boyfriend. A nickname begun by Dutch to tease Arthur as he'd been seen frequently hanging around Charles more often. It ain't helped that they'd barely ever spoken up 'til Colter and that Charles rarely hung out with people. At best, he drank with Javier and John. Any other interaction with the gang members weren't personal. He didn't mind the nickname. But Arthur sure did, and that stung somehow.

"Excuse me?" His fury returned.

Micah leaned nearer, "You deaf, redskin?" He snarled, shoving him back. Charles could smell the nauseating toxins released from his mouth; Micah's breath was worse than a pile of rotting corpses.

Charles shoved Micah back. Harder. Micah fell back, knocking over the wooden crates behind him, as well as everything on them. The sound of the gang's belongings clattering on the dirt caused heads to turn in their direction. With the tip of his boot, he'd kicked Micah hard in the stomach, "Fuck." Another kick, "You." One final blow.

He considered spitting on him, but decided against it. He wouldn't resort to such feeble means to take his anger out.

"Let's go, girl," He said to Taima, jumping on his horse, who neighed in agreement before galloping away.

"Gimme a whiskey." He'd barged into the saloon and sat at the counter. The bartender was often friendly with Charles; despite the short time they'd been there, Charles had frequented going there to drink with Javier and at times, uninvited imbeciles such as Bill and when really unlucky- Uncle. Instead of striking up a conversation, as Charles usually would to pass the time, he stared at the bartender with dark eyes, expectantly awaiting his drink. It was evident that he was in a sour mood, so a glass was poured and served swiftly and without a word.

He took the sip, taking pleasure in how the burn in his throat so effectively distracted him from the seething wrath consuming him. Stirring the clear bronze liquid with his finger, he couldn't help but remember how he'd confronted those poachers. The anger that had overtaken him in that moment. The loud blast of the gunshot he'd heard after subconsciously shooting a dent in the man's face. He didn't regret it.

Suddenly, he remembered the cowardly pleas of the second poacher. How much he took pleasure in watching the man squirm. And suddenly- Arthur stepped in.

Arthur.

Oh, how his heart softened for that man.

He'd regretted yelling at him for letting the pathetic bastard go. He was always much more of a better man than Charles could ever be. Through his blind hatred, he couldn't think right, but there Arthur was. Returning to him his sight and helping him retrieve his mind- though, simultaneously overtaking his heart. After having first laid eyes on him back in Blackwater, the snarky cowboy with wits as well as beauty- he could never stop looking at him. For him. Whenever he'd leave Charles's line of sight, his eyes would instinctually begin to search for the man once more. He remembered wandering around the area for no particular reason but to catch a glimpse of him. At the time, he wasn't the kind to drink often, but whenever he was asked to tag along and told that Arthur would follow, he accepted immediately.

Pathetic. He thought. How delusional.

The man would never love him. He knew this. If by some miracle Arthur Morgan, the Van der Linde gang's best shot and toughest member, somehow held interest for the male sex, there was absolutely no way in hell he'd choose Charles.

It was enough for him that he could be considered a friend to Arthur. He was satisfied.

His solution to escape from his anger led him to wallowing in self-pitiful sorrow. Far worse than anger.

When the whiskey reduced to drops, he requested a second glass. Feeling his temper cooling, he sighed. Maybe time for that fuck.

A rough voice came, one he'd recognise anywhere: "I knew I'd find you here!" A slap on the back.

"Arthur." He near smiled.

The cowboy took a seat beside him and requested a beer. Charles took a sip, placing the glass down with a thud, "What are you doing here?"

His drink was served and Arthur took a sip. A smile played on his lips, "Heard a friend of mine were here. Unfortunately, it was you."

Though he knew Arthur joked often, he couldn't help the thought that lingered telling him it wasn't a joke. "Come on. Really."

"Well," Another sip, "I'd been searchin' for you."

"Hm?" He felt his cheeks heat up.

"Yeah, after I'd looted them bastards' camp, I rode back home. Thought you'd be there but all I'd seen were a very mad Micah." Arthur grinned, knowing damn well who caused Micah's well-deserved fury, "Second place I'd thought you'd be was here. Drownin' your anger in whiskey."

"You know me well." Charles smiled, taking a sip of whiskey.

"'Course i do."

Arthur accompanied him throughout the evening, 'til the sun had set and the customers increased. He provided a very welcome distraction for Charles from his foul mind and Charles was grateful.

The words they spoke became slurred and he couldn't help but notice how Arthur's lips turned more pink and how visible the flush on his cheeks were. They were both drunk. He knew that.

He hadn't drunken enough to puke his guts out or haze his vision 'til all he saw were distorting waves. But he was drunk enough for his lust to take over. Something that always happened when he drank and it certainly didn't help that right beside him was the man he oh so desperately craved for. They sat close. Too close. Charles could smell the wooden scent of his soap as well as the smell of cigarette smoke that lingered within his clothes. The whiff of whiskey on his breath, as he'd purchased a bottle for both him and Charles.

It didn't help the erection growing in his pants that their knees kept touching. And it certainly didn't help that Arthur was one touchy fella. Every few minutes a hand was placed on his thigh, shoulder or knee. It lingered a few seconds longer than natural that Charles nearly would've thought it was intentional if he didn't know any better.

When intoxicated he spoke his mind. It took a mighty amount of effort with the little composure he had left to prevent himself from yelling out his desire to fuck his closest friend. Instead he said, "I need a fuck."

Arthur stopped, "Don't wanna drink no more?"

"Mm.. not really."

"Really. Not enjoying my company?" He teased. God, of course he was.

"I always enjoy your company, Arthur," He said, slurring slightly. "But unless I can fuck you, I don't think I can sit here much longer. I'm still mad about this afternoon. Can't be sittin' here anymore- shit- I'd probably fuck you if I did." Fuck. Why would he say that. Why did he say that. Fuck fuck fuck.

The words Charles had uttered sent a spark down the pit of Arthur's stomach. Surely he didn't mean it like that. He was drunk. But then- so was Arthur. So he swallowed, "I wouldn't mind." The words come out before Arthur can stop them.

That had to be the alcohol talking, right? There would be no way in hell, that Arthur Morgan would ever say such a thing. Even if Charles was lucky enough to be blessed with the chance of even touching Arthur's bare torso- he wouldn't even dare to in fear of causing Arthur even the slightest bit of discomfort.

But.. Then again, he may never get such an opportunity again. Was Arthur bluffing? Or was it the whiskey. God, he couldn't think straight.

Finally he spoke, "What.." A pause, "What do you mean?"

He didn't dare look at Arthur.

Despite the bustle and laughter of the drunkards behind them and the sound of drinks being poured into glasses continuously, all that surrounded them was the awkward noise of silence. He looked at Arthur, surprised to find a prominent flush painted upon his cheeks, intentionally avoiding Charles's gaze, "I-" He cleared his throat, "A..As long as it'll help you."

Silence.

"Help me?"

A nod.

"You know what that means, Arthur?"

He swallowed. Another nod.

They sat in silence for a bit before Charles spoke, "Okay."

"..." Arthur chugged down his whiskey, "Okay."

Suddenly they were upstairs. In a room they'd rented, with Charles's large frame pressed up against Arthur's, pinning him against the door. With their mouths pressed together, moving messily in terrible synergy. Wet and sloppy as saliva ran down their chins. Their hands running across eachothers' bodice in desperation, eager for the most meager amount of contact. Charles's hands running down Arthur's sides and Arthur intertwining his own hands into Charles's hair, tangling the once straight strands and tugging at the scalp.

Immediately after renting a room they'd headed upstair, uncaring of the eyes that may have followed them nor the whispers that could've trailed behind. Once in said room, the door slammed and Arthur was shoved up against the door, Charles's lips crashing into his with drunken desire. Catching Arthur by surprise, taken aback by his aggressive passion. He didn't know what to do except melt into the sensation and oh. Oh, how good it felt. The way Charles kissed him was- he'd never been kissed like that before. Charles kissed him with hunger. With need. As if he were a man who'd starved for so very long and it was only Arthur who could satiate that hunger.

Charles placed a knee in between Arthur's thigh causing the man to break the kiss, eliciting a moan from him, "F-Fuc...k," He whispered. God, the sound was heaven. He couldn't believe this moment was real. That Arthur Morgan himself was so near. Pressed up against him in such a vulnerable position. He connected their lips once more, pushing his tongue into the man's open mouth causing Arthur to groan into the kiss. God, he was perfect.

Charles broke the kiss and stared at Arthur. His lips reddened and lustrous, slightly parted as Arthur panted heavily. Beautiful.

Leaning in once more, Charles pressed his lips upon his jaw. Trailing his jawline with kisses a small nips, down to his neck and collarbone. Arthur whimpered from receiving Charles's not so gentle bites and sucks. He wanted more.

"Arthur.." He hummed, leaving marks upon his collarbone.

"Y-yeah?"

"You're doing this to help me.. right?" He sucked another mark onto his terribly sunkissed skin.

He swallowed, "Y..es.

"Good.." He whispered, his voice low and sweet, dripping of luscious, sweetened syrup, it made Arthur feel something he hadn't felt before and he absolutely loved it. "Get on your knees."

"What?"

Charles caught a hint of doubt hidden among his words. He kissed his jaw, "You sure about this.. right?" He whispered, "You can still back out.." It was the last sober part of himself that spoke. He knew once they'd gone farther he would've been far too intoxicated by Arthur to stop.

"Yes." Arthur whispered, low and breathy.

"Good.. On your knees, Arthur." Arthur did as told.

He ran a hand through Arthur's hair in admiration, taking in every bit of the man. His eyes peering up to stare at Charles, his cheeks so very flushed and his lips. God. His lips. "Good boy.." He spoke. The praise sent a terribly satisfying warmth down the pit of Arthur's stomach.

Charles could feel his erection hardening at the sight of the man. Arthur watched as the man undid his belt, unbuttoning his pants, his eyes widening when they caught sight of the beast of Charles's cock. The length was slightly over average, nothing special but fuck, the girth. He near pitied the women who'd slept with Charles. He confused pity for envy.

He flushed. Beginning to understand what Charles wanted. "Charles.."

"Yes, Arthur?" Charles traced his jaw, tilting his head further upwards.

"I.. I ain't ever done this before.."

A force tugged upon Charles's lips. He smiled, "Don't worry, I'll guide you.."

A nod from Arthur.

"Use your mouth, love. Hands too. Just lick it, suck it.. yeah.. like that." Love. He'd never called him that before.

Arthur placed a hand at the base of the cock. Fuck, it was huge. He could barely wrap his hand around it. He swirled his tongue around the tip, flicking at it once in a while, simultaneously pumping at the base. He mouthed the sides of the prick before enclosing his lips around the head of his cock. A groan escaped Charles's lips, encouraging Arthur to continue. He tried hard to remember how women he'd been with in his past did it to him but it was so long ago he'd forgotten.

Pushing his head down further he felt the tip of the cock hit the back of his throat, he fought hard not to gag, pushing the cock down his throat 'till his nose was buried in the man's pubes.

"God, you're so beautiful.." Charles whispered. Arthur felt his own erection growing as he pulled his head back and forth, gagging on his cock each time. It felt so good. He never would've thought he could get off on choking on another man's cock but Charles made it feel so good. The hand tangled in his hair began to grip harder, taking control of Arthur's motions as it forced Arthur's head up and and down. The cock hitting the back of his throat repeatedly made him gag. Arthur choked. Tried to pull back but Charles wouldn't let him, thrusting into his mouth as if he was nothing but a hole to relieve himself in.

Fuck, the thought made him harder.

His eyes rolled back as he choked on the cock, allowing Charles to take complete control as he relished in the his groans. "Fuck, fuck.. fuck, You're so good Arthur, so good for me. I'm gonna cum Arthur. Stay put for me, sweet thing.." Charles pushed his head down hard on his cock, not releasing the vigorous grip he had on Arthur. The man moaned, sending vibrations across his cock as he felt the hot, sticky liquid spill down his throat. Finally Charles let go, Arthur pulling back, panting hard as Charles's spend dripped down his chin. His lips reddened from the friction and his tongue stuck out with drool hanging off of it. His eyes glassy and face flushed. The sight was obscene. It nearly made Charles hard again.

"Arthur.." Charles sighed, his heart near implosion from the bliss of this moment. He pulled him up, pressing their lips together as they moved messily in poor attempts of synchronised rhythm. Through sloppily sensuous movements, Arthur panting in-between each slow motion. They stumbled towards the bed, Charles pushing Arthur not so gently down on the thin, old mattress. Finally he pulled away. Arthur panted, "D.. Did I do well?" His voice rasped.

God.. How adorable, "Yes, Arthur," He smiled, pressing a kiss upon his nose, "You were so good Arthur.. So good for me.."

The words unleashed a whine from Arthur, his cock pressing so hard against the fabric of his pants he feared the cloth would tear. Suddenly a palm rubbed at his groin. The moan Arthur let out was more than shameful. He covered his mouth with both hands, embarrassed of the volume of the sound.

"Don't cover your mouth," Charles whispered, palming harder between his thighs, "C'mon.. you made me feel so good, Arthur.. Tell me what I can do for you."

Arthur flushed, he didn't expect to receive any pleasure from this- though, in truth being this intimate with Charles was already far more pleasuring than anything he could ever have in his sad life. But he'd expected to help Charles release stress, doing anything Charles wanted, and once done he'd shamefully jerk off in silence with the thought of Charles's body above his (however far they'd go,) to help him relieve himself.

"I-It's fine Charles. I'm helpin' you get off, you don't gotta worry 'bout me."

"Yeah, but what if getting you off is what gets me off?" He spoke, pressing kisses across his clothed thighs.

"Then.. go ahead."

"Take off your clothes, sweetheart." Fuck, these pet names were getting out of hand. Arthur was enjoying them far too much.

He did as Charles said. With the cold air hitting his freckled skin, he couldn't help but feel so ashamed. Of his body and how turned off Charles might be. He felt too exposed. Charles just stared at him, his eyes never leaving, his gaze never faltering. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Did he just fuck it up? Was Charles so disgusted by his body he couldn't even utter a measly syllable out of his soft, soft lips? Fuck. Of course. He's such an ugly fuckin' bastard, no wonder-

"You're beautiful, Arthur."

"Huh?" He must've misheard him.

"God, Arthur.." He spoke as if breathless, "You're so perfect." He kissed him. Slow and steady, as if trying to take in all of Arthur. As if this moment was going to end if he didnt do so. God, he hoped it'd never end. "You're so beautiful." He whispered, leaving a trail of kisses down to his throbbing, weeping cock as he whispered bits of praise and words of affections. Arthur nearly believed it.

"Have you ever done before, Arthur?" He spoke lowly against his unclothed thighs, sending scalding reverberations across his lightly haired skin.

"Not.. Not with a man, no." He slurred, the effects of the whiskey still weighing heavily upon him, stirring his mind into a hazed blur as it rushed all the blood from there to his cock.

"You do this frequently, then? With women?"

"No, not- not in a long while now."

Arthur gazed blearily at the man whose face had been positioned between his thighs, aware of how vulnerable this position was for himself- as well as how it was so terribly tantalising.

"You," He broke the silence, "You done this before? With men?"

"Yeah. Not too often but it isn't anything too rare."

"I ain't thought you were the kind."

"What kind?"

"Y'know, the-"

"Cocksucking kind?"

Arthur flushed at his bluntness, "Well.. Yeah."

"I don't mind sucking cock. Don't mind fucking anyone with one too. As long as the holes attached to a warm body, I don't mind."

"So I'm just another warm body to you?" Arthur teased, though his heart near cracked open at the thought.

You're so much more than that, Arthur. Charles thought to himself. And his drunk self said exactly that as he pressed more kisses along his jawline, Arthur flushing at the words.

"So- how does this work? Sex with two men."

"One of 'em takes it up the ass."

Arthur's eyes went so wide, Charles feared it'd remain that way.

"And you.." Arthur muttered, "You took it up the ass before?" He asked in hopes of there being a chance he wouldn't have to take Charles's horse cock up his ass.

"Never. The other guys always just happened to want me to do them."

"Oh.." He didn't really like thinking of Charles and other men. Other people.

He opened his mouth to speak before Charles did so, "You don't have to take it up the ass. You already made me feel good, I just want to do the same, Arthur."

In truth he did want to take Arthur in the ass. He wanted to fuck the man so hard he begged for more. He wanted to fuck him into the bed. Hard enough that the rusted springs of the lumpy mattress no longer worked. He wanted the man to forget his own name and for the only thing left, engraved in his mind would be how good Charles made him feel. Oh, how he wanted to ruin the man.

The last sober part of himself had fought every other terribly, drunkenly lusted part of his body saying those few words. Though in truth he did want to pleasure Arthur. It was just that he wanted to fuck him while doing so.

"Will it hurt?" Arthur's raspy voice came.

"What?"

"If I.. took it.. there. Would it hurt?"

"Not if I do it right."

"Okay."

"Okay..?"

"Lord, Charles- Are y'gon'make me say it?"

A smile drew upon his lips, "I wasn't. But now I am."

"You're a bastard, Mr. Smith."

"Bold choice of words for the man who holds your precious orgasm in the palm of his hand."

"You make it sound like a threat. I don't need you to get me off." He spat.

"Really.." Charles leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of Arthur's ear, "You really think I can't just tie you up? Leave you here, splayed out on the bed for whoever comes next. Your lassos right on the ground, at my disposal." The words sent all the blood to his cock, it cried for release as it leaked precum upon Arthur's belly. Charles reached a hand down, rubbing a calloused thumb over the head of the cock, "You like that, Arthur? If I tied you up with your own lasso. While your cock's begging to be touched. Weeping for release. You like that? If I left you here for someone else to find. Someone else to fuck." Charles was bluffing, anyone else who tried to fuck Arthur- let alone touch him wouldn't still be alive to try anything.

"Christ, Charles." He breathed. Each word had sent a shiver that travelled down to his cock, "I want you to fuck me."

"Really. Where are your manners?"

"Please." He gritted out, "Please fuck me, Charles."

"So sweet, aren't you, Arthur?"

Arthur merely rolled his eyes in response.

Charles travelled downwards. Trailing kisses down his neck. Down his torso and up to his ass. Purposefully avoiding the man's terribly hardened cock as he whined for friction. He pressed kisses around the man's puckered hole, earning sweet, sweet moans that'd leaked out of the man's sweet, sweet lips.

Suddenly, his tongue begun to stretch the man's tight ring of muscle, earning a sharp gasp from Arthur. He was invading uncharted territory, savouring the sounds Arthur made and how beautifully his body reacted each time his tongue moved around within him.

Finally he'd pulled away, earning a loud whine from the man writhing beneath him. Grabbing the back of his knees, spreading them further open, he spat on his hole, making a mess as he coated the spit around the hole with his fingers. A finger doused in spit pressed up against his hole, "I'm putting a finger in, Arthur."

Arthur nodded before feeling something stretch him out. The burning sensation was not enough for the man to tell him to stop. It didn't hurt, but it sure as hell hadn't felt good. Why any man would willingly want this was completely unfathomable. But then- if the man was doing it with Charles Smith, he wouldn't mind.

"Does it hurt?" He whispered, pushing the digit in and out of the hole in slow, unhurried motions, taking care not to hurt the man.

Arthur hated being treated so- kindly. So properly taken care of, as if he were something fragile- something worthy of care. It made him feel so pathetic. "No. Put another finger in."

Charles merely hummed in response, slipping out the digit before swiftly pushing two fingers deep within him. Thrusting inwards and out, he kept wondering whether the men who enjoyed taking it up the ass were delusional. No way in hell could this have felt good-

Oh. Oh.

This was good.

"A-Ah.. More- there, Charles." He whined, it felt too good for him to be ashamed of the near ludicrous sounds he let out. Curling his thick fingers upwards, Charles massaged the man's sweet spot, splitting both fingers apart, scissoring him from within as he stretched him apart.

Briskly, he pulled out both fingers and pushed them back in, along with an additional digit as he spread them all out, stretching him out so well the uncomfortably pleasurable burn had morphed into a terribly intensified pleasure. He wasn't aware of the sounds he'd made, all he could focus on was how much Charles's perfect fingers stretched him out.

It wasn't enough. He wanted more.

"Fuck me Charles. P-Please, I need you."

"So polite now, Arthur.." He could hear the smile in Charles's tone as he felt him press more kisses around his collarbone.

"Please, Charles.."

"Since you asked so nicely."

He pulled his fingers out, soaked and wet with his own fluids. Swiftly, he pulled off his shirt and spat on his own cock, aligning its length in-between Arthur's flawlessly imperfect ass cheeks. It rubbed against his hole, he couldn't wait anymore- he felt so empty. So- So-

Full.

Fuck..

Charles had pushed all the way in, from the head to base, he took it all in. He forgot the girth of the man's cock, how thick and heavy it'd laid on his tongue earlier. Fuck. It stretched him out. His cock rubbed at the walls of his ass, just grazing upon his prostate. "Fuck, you're tight.." Charles groaned, placing a hand under his knee, rubbing circles upon the skin with the pad of his thumb in attempts of comfort, "Relax, love.. Just tell me to stop and I will." Arthur nodded.

Despite feeling Arthur relax around his cock, the warmth enveloping him still felt as if it was clenching around him. Threatening him to stay, restraining him from pulling out.

"I'm going to move now, Arthur." Another nod.

Slowly, he pulled out and slowly, he pushed in. Repeating these motions 'till he felt the man completely relax around him. He picked up the pace, thrusting in faster. Harder. Arthur began to whine loudly. Too loud.

Charles moved his legs which had previously wrapped loosely around his hips, upwards. His shoulders just beneath Arthur's knees. The position allowed Charles to hit deeper within him. Every brutal thrust inwards inflicted such terrible abuse upon Arthur's bruised prostate. Arthur loved every bit of it.

Pushing Arthur's knees against his chest, near folding him half, he whispered to the man, "Quiet down, Arthur. We can't have people hearing your sweet noises, now can we?"

Arthur merely babbled incoherent syllables before clamping his hands over his mouth. Adorable.

He hadn't assumed Arthur to take him so literally.

"You're so beautiful, Arthur.." He repeated for likely the millionth time during their encounter. Taking in Arthur's beautifully flushed and freckled face along with his beautifully glassy eyes as tears spilled out of them. He pressed kisses along those tears, tasting the salt on his lips, "So, so beautiful.." He whispered, burying his face in the crook of the man's neck, sucking and biting at his neck, leaving bruises and marks, that he was sure wouldn't leave for at least a week.

Arthur unclasped his hands from his mouth, "Ch-Charles, I-I'm- I'm gonna-"

"Go ahead, sweetheart.." He mumbled into his skin.

Arthur's moans grew louder and far more risqué as he wrapped his arms around the back of Charles's neck. "A-Ah! More, more, Charles! Pl..ease- There! Right there!"

As his pleas grew needier, his whines grew more lubricious. His intensifying grip around his neck reminding Charles of his strength. Despite how strong the man was, he submitted so willingly to Charles. Oh, how he loves the man.

Nearing his release, he let out louder cries that practically flooded the enclosed space, he didn't bother to silence Arthur, now uncaring of the possibility of them both being hanged if someone were to discover the intimacy of the position the were in. Instead, he revelled in the sweet symphony of his whines, his cries and his moans. He relished in the scent of sweat coating Arthur's olive skin and the sweet scent of sex as he fucked faster and harder into Arthur.

Hot, white cum spurted in-between their bodies. Onto Arthur's abdomen and Charles's toned belly. Dazing through Arthur's post-orgasm haze, he didn't feel Charles stop. Instead he fucked him harder. Faster. Arthur felt like he was going to burst from such overstimulation, "C-Charles, a-ahh, stop! Stop, stop, stop please- it's, it's too much!" But he didn't stop. Instead, a hand wrapped around his worn out cock, pumping it hard as his erection reformed.

"You can take it, Arthur.. You promised to make me feel good, didn't you?" He continued fucking him, rubbing hard on the terribly sensitive crown of his cock.

"Yes- Yes, Charles.." He moaned, "A-Ahh- I can't cum no more, Charles! Please-"

"You can, love.. C'mon.."

Arthur merely whined in response, squirming powerlessly beneath him. It was all too much. Everything felt like too much. Arthur soon felt his orgasm bubbling up as Charles fisted his once-again hardened cock. Feeling Charles pounding harshly within him whilst pumping his cock was too much- He was gonna- gonna-

"I-I'm gonna cum, Arthur.." He heard the low pitch of Charles's voice.

"M-Me too." He forced out, lacking the mundane ability to string together proper sentences due to having his brains fucked out by the man above him.

He let out the loudest moan known to man. It near shook the entire saloon but he was far too fucked out to be embarrassed of the noise. The man was utterly debauched.

The warmth of Charles nearly depleted as he felt the man about to pull out before he wrapped his legs tighter around him, "Cum- inside.."

The sight of Arthur was enough to make Charles heed his plea without a thought. He hummed, fucking him harder as he chased his release.

Finally- through his own orgasm, he felt a warm, viscous liquid released inside him. It felt so good. His load felt never ending, it continued to spurt out all over his ass after Charles pulled out. Such a position should've made him feel degraded, pathetic, instead- he felt completely raptured. The feeling of Charles's semen all over him nearly made him hard again.

Staring at his own thick cum spilling out of Arthur's so very reddened and swollened asshole, the white droplets sliding the bruised skin of both his inner and outer thighs that pressed so tightly together. He couldn't help but admire the work he'd done.

His eyes trailed upwards from Arthur's terribly abused hole to his wonderfully rubescent face; taking in how his eyes brimmed with saltwater as they so gracefully fell down his rosy, freckled cheeks. As if he'd lost himself in the mere sight on Arthur. In his red, swollened lips; glistening and nitid, wet from their shared , sloppy kisses. They parted slightly, taking in shallow breaths, panting from the sex mere moments before.

"Why're you lookin' at me like that?" Arthur spoke, his voice raspy, never-changing.

"Like what?" Charles responded breathlessly.

"Like you wanna goddam' eat me." A chuckle from Charles.

"Maybe I do." He pushed apart Arthur's bruised thighs and leaned into him, pressing more kisses at his already purpling jaw. "Charles Smith." He whispered, his tone meaning to be teasing but coming out broken and breathy.

"Arthur Morgan." He said in response at the shell of the man's ear.

Charles rolled off of Arthur, laying at his side. "I can't believe that just happened." Charles sighed ever-so blissfully, as if all his troubles had just been washed away and the sex they just had had granted him the secrets of eternal life.

"Y'mean- the fuckin'? Or the fact that it was with a man."

"The fact that it was with you."

"Oh." Arthur's eyes began to avoid his gaze, his cheeks beginning to redden as he muttered several minor words, "I can't believe it too well either."

"Y'know.." Charles turned to him, a hand reaching out to trace his cheekbone with his knuckles, "I've been wantin' this for so long now."

"You're kiddin'"

"Not at all." He swallowed, the alcohol that continued to coarse through his veins gave him courage to utter these pathetically buried feelings. Feelings he'd never admit to if well and sober. It was now or never. "I.. I've been interested in you for a while now."

"Since Colter?"

"Since Blackwater."

"You- Charles.." He stammered, unable to find the words to say, Charles merely chuckled at his bashfulness.

"It's alright Arthur. I knew those feelings would go nowhere," He'd uttered, Arthur missed the hint of sadness within his words, "The moment I heard you speak- your quick wit as well as your sarcastic quips, they immediately charmed me. You were just so oddly charismatic, and your beauty- Arthur. Your beauty. You were breathtaking. You are breathtaking."

Arthur couldn't utter a single word, his face merely continued to overheat as his mouth stood agape. "In Colter, when Mr. Pearson asked you to go hunting with me- My heart absolutely flipped. I jumped at the chance."

"Yeah, it was weird that you wanted to help me out. Y'know 'cause o' your hand an' whatnot."

"You wanna know how I injured my hand, Arthur?"

"Been wonderin' for a while now."

"In Blackwater, durin' the heist- when you came to the boat, I saw a fella'. Probably a Pinkerton, wasn't sure. But he aimed his gun at you, I didn't think- I just put my hand at the barrel then knocked 'im out after."

A pause. His eyes traced the apple at Arthur's throat, watching how it bobbed as he swallowed. Watching how he took Charles's hand off his face and held it so very gently. Arthur Morgan. The Van der Linde gang's toughest, most intimidating member. The man he'd just fucked. That same man held him so, so softly. Tracing the grooves and bumps of his dark knuckles as well as the veins behind his terribly calloused hand. Then he spoke, looking up to reach his eyes, "Shoulda let me get shot."

Charles merely smiled, "I know. I'm a fool."

They laid beside each other, bathing it the afterglow of their previous activities. The only thing on both of their minds being the unknown mutual hope that it wouldn't be the last time they were so intimate. So Arthur broke the silence. "You tired, Charles?"

"Not.. in particular."

"Think you can go another round?"

An imperceptible smile, quirked upon Charles's lips, "I could go for several more rounds."

With those words, Arthur got up and straddled the man all in one swift motion. He leaned downwards, pressing their lips together for the millionth time.

His hands reached down to Charles's pants, "You gotta get these off though."

"No rush. We have all night.

The thought of Charles's fucking him into the mattress all the way 'till morning made his dick twitch. He kissed Charles once more, whispering through the kiss, "I wanna have our whole life."

He took a breath. "Let's have that then."

When the sun rose, casting it's amber hues across the rented lodging of their room and bathing the town with its slight warmth, Arthur's eyes fluttered open, wandering blearily around the foreign room before landing on the sleeping face of Charles.

Charles.

Charles?

He stared at the man beside him, the strong, sculpted arms wrapped around him. He couldn't move if he tried. The memories of the night before blurred through his mind, a flush crawling up his neck. Untrusting of his own intoxicated mind, he looked beneath the thin, cream blanket that barely covered them as it was clearly meant for merely a single person. As if their naked bodies pressed together and the near dried cum spilling out of his ass wasn't enough proof, the sight of Charles's bare cock underneath the blanket surely was.

Attempting to shuffle within Charles's death gripping bear hug, still processing the knowledge of getting fucked by the man the night before. Multiple times. The memory of Charles's cum in his mouth still lingered. The taste of salt and texture of slime that would've made him puke if it was anyone else but last night- was absolutely intoxicating.

With curious eyes he looked at Charles, taking in every curve and crevice on his face. Seeing things he'd never seen before. Every pore was visible, as was every spot of hair that trailed from his chin to his jaw. The memory of Charles's words to him as he laid beside him upon the white, dirtied mattress sheets made Arthur's heart absolutely dance. In truth, he'd felt the same. Ever since speaking to him at Colter, all that lingered within his mind was the faint thought of Charles. If the night before hadn't happened he'd never admit the fact he felt this way about another man. He didn't even know how he felt.

Suddenly Charles's eyes opened, blinking a few times as he looked at Arthur with half-lidded eyes. A lopsided smile bloomed upon his face, "G'morning, Arthur." He leaned nearer, pressing a kiss on his lips. The action made his heart thud so hard upon his ribcage he feared it'd explode. "Mornin'.." He forced out.

He didn't know how to act, considering the fact that they'd fucked continuously throughout dusk, passing out just before dawn. He hadn't had sex in years. Not since Eliza's death.

Charles merely continued to run a hand through Arthur's sandy, uncut locks, long overdue for a haircut. "I still can't believe last night." He heard Charles murmur.

"Neither can I."

A smile from Charles. "Thank you, Arthur." He looked at Charles, into his eyes, noticing the slightest bit a sorrow within them. As if unwillingly acceptant of the fact that last night was and inevitably would be nothing more than a one night stand. Charles parted his lips, as if wanting to say more. But the words never left those soft lips.

"What for?"

"Last night. Helping me blow off steam."

Oh.

Was that all it was to Charles? Were all the sweet nothings said the night before just a result of too much whiskey?

"Arthur?" Charles's voice, "You alright?"

Before he could stop it, the words ran out of his mouth, "I don't want last night to be the last."

"What?"

"I-" Fuck. He'd already said all that. Might as well. "I wanna do it again. With you. "

"Right now?"

"No- Charles. I mean-" He was never one for words. He wasn't even that good at English himself. "Arthur."

He looked up. Charles smiled.

He spoke.

"I'd like that."

"Yeah?" Arthur had never been the emotional kind but fuck. The knowledge that it wouldn't be the end made him near tear up. Or maybe getting fucked in the ass had shredded up his masculinity.

Nah.

"Yeah." Charles couldn't stop smiling. Fuck, the man was handsome.

"But- ignoring what I just said, you ain't too tired for another fuck, are you?"

Charles only laughed, crawling on top of Arthur and smashing their lips together through the laughter that bubbled throughout.

#rdr2 #rdr #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #rdr fanfiction #charthur #charles smith #arthur morgan #just cowboys fuckin #charles smith x arthur morgan #arthur morgan x charles smith

[johnpriceslamb]

hiii i love ur hcs smmm 🩷🩷😭 can we pls see arthur w a super affectionate clingy adorable cheery girlfriend pls im dying to see that man happy w an optimistic angel 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓺𝓾𝓮

❥ Headcannons w/ Arthur + his affectionate gf

𝓑𝓔𝓕𝓞𝓡𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤 𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓒𝓔𝓔𝓓 ! ꒰ ❥ female ! reader ❥ hyper-feminine ! reader ❥ reader is mentioned 2 be physically shorter than characters mentioned below ❥ 1k wrd count. ꒱

❥ Oh, he loves you.

❥ He was a bit reluctant to be in a relationship because of his past experiences. But he knew you wouldn’t handle his heart with carelessness, and as he gave in to his decision of being with you- he felt as if he entered into a relationship with an angel.

❥ You were so kind to him, so sweet, so utterly gentle it made him almost throw up rainbows and glitter. Sometimes he wondered how you even managed to be in the gang.

❥ He wouldn’t be so used to the clinginess at first. Before you came in his life, he didn’t get hugs nor felt someone cling onto his arm unless they wanted something, so it was a big change for him personally.

❥ But did he hate it? Absolutely not. When you first wrapped your little arms around his arm, his demeanour softened up immediately but his urge to protect you became even greater.

❥ PDA was new to him. Again, he was reluctant at first since he wasn’t so experienced in this field despite having past experiences, but he’s managed to get comfortable over time.

❥ The first time you’ve managed to display affection publicly with him was by interlocking your pinkie with his as you both walked around Valentines. A discreet action that no one could see unless if they were to near the both of you and squint their eyes.

❥ His cheeks became embarrassingly red when you intertwined your little pinkie with his, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the cheeky sight. He coughs awkwardly, tilting his head down which made the hat he wore block out the view of his face as he murmured that it was the sun making his face warm.

❥ It was cloudy that day.

❥ Each act of affection he’s received from you makes him all sappy and mushy inside, even if he was about to die from anger.

❥ Let’s say Micah manages to piss him off again the umpteenth time this whole week and his veins were visible on his forehead, a simple hug from behind by you or a little kiss on the cheek would make him droop and deflate, the anger which was bubbling inside his system was somehow replaced with comfort and relief just by your little action. He wonders how you manage to have that effect on him.

❥ Arthur is a big man, no doubt about it. It was kind of silly to see such a large comparison between the two of you. Even if you were as large as a wolf, or as tall as a palm tree, Arthur still manages to tower over you.

❥ Arthur enjoys your cheeriness. He envisions you as a puppy that yaps all the time, little tail wiggling at the back eagerly as he amusingly gives into your little babbling sessions of how you hoped that you made his day today.

❥ And he figures that you’ve already made his day just by existing.

“Arthur!”

There you were. Zooming to him like an excited puppy, hands giddily behind your back as you stand in front of the looming man. You can feel his eyes sizing you up and down multiple times to see if you’ve managed to get any blemishes from the time you and him didn’t see each other.

“Easy, girl.” He lets out a soft grunt at the feeling of your demure figure clinging to him like a koala. He holds you tightly with one arm below your tush to stabilise yourself, hoisting you up like a toddler. It takes him barely any effort to keep you still.

“Arthur,” You happily nuzzle your cheek into his chest, cooing out his name like a mantra, “I’ve missed you oh-so much!”

“‘S only been a day, darlin’.” He replies with that slow, southern drawl of his, “I missed you too though.”

“You better!” You beam as he strolls to his tent, plopping himself on his bedroll. You sit on his lap prettily, but you still manage to cling onto him like a koala.

He narrows his eyes at you, before sighing softly at the tiny kiss you give him on his cheek, “You’re a handful, y’know that?”

It doesn’t take long for him to reciprocate that little kiss of yours, landing his thin lips on your cherub-like cheek.

#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 rdr2 #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan fic #red dead redemption fanfic #arthur morgan x fem reader #arthur morgan rdr #sunshine x grumpy #fluff #rdr x reader #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 fandom

[pursuedbyamemoryy]

Hope you're having a good day/night! I come with a request if you want to write it (if not then that's cool!) What about a Charles Smith x reader where it's like 2 or three months after leaving with him to help the Wapiti people and reader finds out shes pregnant, and is super worried to tell him because of everything going on, of course he finds out though.

a promising future

☆ thank you for requesting! i love charles so much and i had fun writing this, i hope you enjoy reading <3 !!

warnings - pregnancy ( lmk if i'm missing any ! )

w/c - 1.8k

it had been nearly three months since the downfall of the van der linde gang. you and charles had decided to stay up north with the wapiti people and help them get to safety, rather than go back to beaver hollow. this gang had meant a lot to you, and the fact that it was falling apart was hard for you. you were close to so many members, including a couple who had unfortunately already passed away. you knew it was inevitable, but you had decided you’d rather not see the absolute end, so you stayed with charles. he was all you needed anyways, he was the love of your life, and he meant everything to you.

you and charles helped rains fall and the wapiti people pack up and move up north to canada, helping them get away from colonel favours and the army, in hopes of giving them as much freedom and peace as possible. you were happy to help, rains fall and his people were nothing but kind to you, and they deserved the best they could get. however with the stress of helping them out, you started to feel sick, and oh so exhausted. it’s just stress. i’m not resting enough. i haven’t been drinking enough water. you tried to convince yourself. deep down you knew that wasn’t true, but you didn’t want to add any more stress to you or charles’ life.

you and charles hadn’t exactly been careful when you’d slept together recently. you hadn’t had much time to yourselves, so you took advantage of every moment alone, which resulted in neither of you caring about where he finished. you had been around when abigail was pregnant with jack, and you had a lot of the same symptoms she did back then. there was no doubt in your mind that you were pregnant, and you were terrified.

you wanted to tell charles, you really did, but with everything going on these past few months you could never find a good time. you figured the last thing he needed right now was to be told that he was going to be a father, that you had a baby on the way. you knew that normally, under any other circumstances he’d be happy. but now he was working day and night, doing what he could to help the tribe get settled, helping with the sick, and getting them what they needed. you didn’t want him to worry about you and your baby on top of that.

you knew charles had noticed you were out of sorts, of course he had. he was very observant when it came to you especially, and you caught him looking at you worriedly here and there over the past few weeks. he knew you’d come to him when you were ready to talk, so he didn’t pry.

you were lost in your thoughts, helping with the laundry with some other tribe members. you heard someone come up behind you and rest their hand on your shoulder, you knew immediately who it was. he brushed your hair to the side, kissing your neck gently. you leaned into his touch, humming happily.

“hi charles” you said with a smile.

“hi, my love,” he said, placing another soft kiss to your jaw. “i was going to go out and hunt and get something for dinner, i was wondering if you’d like to come with me?”

you smile, and nod. “yeah sure, i’m just about finished with laundry anyways.” you wrung the water out of the shirt you were washing, laying it out on a rock to dry. standing up, you wiped your hands on your skirt and turned around to face charles, grabbing his hand as he led you to your horses.

“have you found any good hunting spots around here yet?” you say, patting taima gently and making your way over to your own horse, tightening his saddle and giving him a sugar cube.

“i found one decent spot close to here that had a bunch of deer, other than that i haven’t had much time to hunt.” he made sure taima’s saddle was secure and mounted her, waiting for you to do the same.

you hummed in response, mounting your own horse and riding beside charles out of the tribe’s current camp.

the ride was quiet, but not awkward. there was a lot of comfortable silence between the two of you, which you never minded. he led you a short while away from camp to a grassy clearing next to a thick grove of trees, where you saw a herd of deer lazily grazing.

he held his finger up to his lips, motioning you to be quiet so you didn’t scare away the deer. you nodded, slowly and quietly getting off your horse and drawing your bow from your saddle bag, charles doing the same.

you crouched down next to him, stealthily making your way closer to the deer. you got close enough that you’d be able to land a good shot, but still far enough away that you wouldn’t scare the herd. you both drew your bows, aiming at different deer. charles landed a clean shot, and while yours wasn’t as clean you both managed to take down the two deer with just one arrow each.

charles looked over at you with a smile, “nice work as always, my love.” he grabbed one of your hands, kissing the back of it gently.

“i could say the same to you.” you said with a smile.

you both stand up, making your way over to the deer, slinging the one you killed over the back of your horse and securing it. usually a quick hunt such as this wasn’t too tiring, but you were quickly starting to feel exhausted. you watched as charles secured his deer on taima’s rump. he then made his way over to you, looking into your eyes deeply, as if he could read all your thoughts.

“are you feeling okay? i know we’ve had a lot going on but you seem... distracted?” he took your hands in his.

you took a deep breath. you needed to tell him. he deserved to know. god, how do you even tell someone this? would he be upset? would he be excited? your mind was racing, your hands shaking in his. you started to tear up, your anxiety taking over.

“hey, hey, it’s okay.” he pulled you in for a hug, running his hand up and down your back comfortingly.

you rested your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, trying to collect yourself and your thoughts. charles didn’t press further, he just continued to hold you until you were ready to talk.

you took another deep breath and took a step back, looking him in the eyes. tell him. he looked worried. tell him. he continued to run his hand up and down your back comfortingly. tell. him.

“i’m pregnant.”

he stiffened slightly, his eyes going wide. “really?” he looked you up and down slowly. “you’re actually…?”

you nodded, looking away from him and at some random spot in the dirt. “yes. i’m sorry, charles.” you said quietly.

“sorry? my love, why are you sorry? this is great news!” he replied immediately, his hands moving to cup your face gently.

“we’ve had so much going on lately… i was worried that you’d be upset because we’ve been so stressed between everything that’s happened between the gang and the tribe...” you rambled, pausing for a moment. “you’re happy then?” you looked back at him, your eyes starting filling with tears once again, this time happy ones.

“of course i’m happy. sure we’ve been busy, but i love you, and i’m more than excited to start a family with you. in fact i’ve been wanting to start a family with you, and now that we’re out of the gang, we don’t have as much to worry about. no more bounties on our heads and pinkertons breathing down our necks.” he grinned. “and i have to be honest, i suspected you might be pregnant, but i hadn’t had an opportunity to talk to you about it.” he chuckled, wiping a stray tear that slipped down your cheek. he looked you in the eyes, then leaned down to place a soft kiss on your lips.

he wasn’t upset at all. he wants this, he wants a family. he’s happy. you kissed him back, wrapping your arms behind his neck.

you let out a sob as you pulled away, tears flowing down your cheeks. “i’m so glad.” you laughed, relieved. of course he was happy, why wouldn’t he be?

you giggled as he peppered kisses across your face, kissing away your tears. he pulled you in for another kiss on the lips, soft, sweet, and passionate. you didn’t pull away until you were both out of breath, resting your forehead against his.

“i love you.” you sighed.

“i love you so much.” you stayed like that for a moment before he reached into his satchel and pulled out a little envelope excitedly. “i almost forgot to tell you, i got us a place. it’s not much as of right now, but i’ll fix it up real nice for us. for our family.” he showed you the deed, which confirmed his statement.

you grinned, kissing him again. “oh charles, this is wonderful, thank you. thank you so much. how did you even afford this?”

“i’ve been saving as much as i can from all the jobs we used to go on while we were in the gang. it wasn’t much at first, but it added up.” he smiled. “we’ll still help out the tribe, of course, but i thought it was about time we got a place of our own. i want our baby to live a better life then we have, and i’ll do anything to make that happen, you hear?” he grabbed your chin gently. “i’ll do anything to make you and our baby happy, because if you’re happy, im happy.” he pulled you in for a hug, kissing the top of your head gently.

you stayed like that for a while, the rest of the world around you forgotten. for all you cared it was just you and charles in that moment. eventually as the sun started to sink below the trees, you decided it was time to head back to camp, lest the spoils of your hunt go to waste. you mounted your horses and made your way back to camp together, happier then you had been in a while. for once your future looked promising, and you were more than happy to be spending it with charles, and eventually your baby.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption fanfic #charles smith #charles smith x reader #pursuedbyamemory writes

[male-fanfics-for-days]

Brought to you by the future

Rdr2 x Reader 

A/n: This is just a snip-it of a story idea I had bc I’ve recently gotten back into rdr2 and wanted to write something about it. If this gets a lot of attention I’ll see about writing more, for now I’m just writing this to get it out of my brain. I didn’t know if I wanted it to be Arthur x Reader (not sure about gender either but def not female) but he’s the only character here so, thats what Imma put in the tags lol also this is kinda not great, just sort of rambling, but like i said if people like it i’ll fix it up a little  

Arthur Morgan has met a great many people in his life, especially in the recent year. After the failed Blackwater heist, every person he’s met after has been their own sort of strange.

Take this lady by the pond for example. 

Arthur was back in the grizzlies East by O'creagh Run, the place where Hosea had taken him to hunt that big bear a while back. He was back there to not only get some drawings of the area (he hadn’t had the time before to do so), but he also just needed a break from camp. 

He loved his gang dearly, something he was never ashamed to admit, but even families can get on your nerves sometimes. A few words past here and there, favors pulled in without any reciprocation or reward for his work, and overall just some bad luck in small ways (tripping over someones things thrown on the ground, taking on their chore cause they won’t do it). 

Yes, Hosea and him almost died to a bear in the area but it was dead now and Arthur did sure like the scenery. 

He was a little on the warm side so he decided to take a break in the water, rolling up his pant legs and wading into the pond. He splashed some water on his face, closing his eyes and breathing in the air. 

Until he got scared shit-less by some lady standing at the edge of the water near his stuff.

He’s not proud of it but he did jump, surprised by the woman's sudden appearance. She smiled at him from the grass, hands behind her back as if she were simply watching nature at its finest.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself.” She called out to him, not losing the smile on her face. 

Arthur calmed himself and nodded kindly, a little awkwardly as well.

“Sure. Suns out and heat got to me so... you know.”

“Indeed. All creatures love a good water bath in hot weather.”

Arthur tried his best to subtly take her in, but the way her eyes were unblinking and her smile ever present left him to believe that she knew he was looking, and clearly was unphased.

She was far from old and withered but clearly not in her prime. Her hair was a sun-bleached blonde placed in a messy side braid, skin a creamy color with darker freckles from cheek to cheek. Even from where he stood Arthur could see her light colored eyes, the green shown vibrantly against the blue light from the water. She wore a simple white dress and nothing else, no bodice or shoes or any accessories to be seen. Despite not wearing any shoes her feet were as clean as anything, even though she stood on the muddy shore of the pond.

Overall? She looked kind of like a woman you would find in those paintings of nature, as if she belonged there.

“Curious,” She speaks, though not directly at him. “To want this world, this life.”

“Pardon?” Arthur questions, only getting a little closer to hear the woman better, but she only continues to smile and wave him off.

“I’m only thinking aloud, sir, nothing too important to you. There is something I’d like to ask you though, if you’d be so kind as to lend your ear?”

If he was honest, the way she spoke was too proper to be just some farm girl, but she didn’t hold herself like a nobility either. Even if she were a noble, Arthur couldn’t think why a noble lady would be all the way out in the woods anyway, hardly any place for a luxurious vacation.

“Uhm... sure?”

Arthur slowly walked closer, not really knowing if he should be cautious or not of this woman, especially considering she was standing right next to his discarded gun belt. 

He stops about 2 or 3 feet in front of her, his brows creasing as she giggles into her hand, her smile still wide on her face.

“My my, you really are a deer.” She sighs. “I’m no prey to you, deer, you need not fear me.”

“Right.” Arthur pronounces, unsure of where this conversation was going. 

The woman turns on her heels, stepping over his things while walking in the tree line. Upon noticing Arthur not following, she turns back, a smile still on her face (Arthur wondered for a moment if her cheeks were aching at all).

“Come along then, deer. Better to speak within the trees walls.”

She then continued on into the forested area, Arthur finally walking up the bank and taking his gun belt and putting it on. As he gathered his things, and once finished, he thought for a moment if he was really about to follow some strange woman into the woods, alone, with no one around. Not even his horse stuck around, taking to grazing and feasting on the fresh grass around the area.

Now, Arthur will admit to not being an entirely smart man. The lessons and teachings he got were from outlaws who took him in, but they did teach him about survival. Was it wise to follow a stranger into the woods without any inkling of what they wanted? No, but damn did it make him curious. 

He knew about what happened to the curious cat, but seeing as how he had lived this long with his level of curiosity, he wagered he would be fine. Even still, he held a hand close to his gun should he need it.

He followed her path into the woods, she was nice enough to stop a few paces and wait for him. Once she saw him she turned and walked further in, only stopping once they were encased in a sea of trees.

She turned to him, the smile on her face slowly becoming unsettling (only because of how long she had been holding it) while she spoke to him.

“Curiosity is often a trait among those who long for something. I was curious once too, you know.”

“Of what?” Arthur asks, looping his thumbs through his belt as he speaks.

“Nature, of course. Of how it works, why it worked the way it did, who made it work. Then, my curiosity was sated, and I became free.”

Arthur slowly nods, squinting his eyes and pretending to understand.

“You are curious too, sir. I can see it.” She nods, as if confirming it to someone else who wasn’t there. 

“I’m curious?” Arthur echoes back.

“Of the future.” She explains. “You long to know what will become of the world in the future, what will become of you. You are not alone in this curiosity, that I can assure you. I can help you sate your curiosity, if you will allow me to.”

Still trying to make sense of all that was happening, Arthur frowns his brows her way.

“How would you do that?”

“Someone in the future calls to the past.” She closes her eyes, putting her hands together in that of a prayer. “They chant into the universe of their want, their curiosity for this life.” She opens her eyes.

“For you.”

“For me?” He echoes again, his voice now dripping in disbelief. 

“For you,” She confirms. “They wish to meet you, curious of your life outside of what they can see of it. You are being watched, as we all are, by the universe that surrounds us. They want to shift into this plane of existence to escape their own, to sate their curiosity. It just so happens that you are wanting to look into the future, while they look into the past. Allow me to sate both curious creatures, to bring past to future and future to past, to allow you both to live in an equal present.”

‘Alright,’ Arthur thought to himself. ‘She's crazy.’

He couldn’t wrap his head around what she was talking about. Someone in the future wants to come to the past? Meaning the future already is happening? And to him specifically? And what about his curiosity of the future. Isn’t everyone wondering what the next day will bring? Who they will be in the years to come, what the world would look like? He could hardly be the only one wanting to know what the future entails.

She must be talking nonsense, just some lady who lived away from society for too long and went a little wacky.

“Uh, well, that’s a kind offer, really but uhm-”

“This will live with you, you know.” She cuts in. “This curiosity will eat away at you until the day the air leaves your lungs, and by the end you will have wished you had done something to cure it. I’m giving you that chance now. A little peace of mind, brought to you by the future.” 

Arthur sighs, running a hand over his mouth and looking around where they were. He didn’t think she was scamming him, Arthur liked to believe he could tell if someone was trying to scam him. She seemed like she really believes what she is talking about.

Part of Arthur just told him to leave, leave this weird woman to whatever she was speaking about and continue on with his life. This part was fighting a battle with the other half of him... who was curious. Surely it couldn’t hurt to hear her out, he’s already followed her into the forest and let her speak her weird speech. He’d already fed into his curiosity by talking to her, it couldn’t be worse to hear her out.

“How would you go about... ‘sating’ my curiosity.”

“All you would have to do is answer their call.” She smiles (the smile having not left her face). “Chant back to them through the universe, and you will get your answer.”

“I just... chant.” Arthur raises a brow, getting more skeptical as all she does is nod. “And what is it that I chant?”

“Allow yourself to think of what you really, truly want from the future. Reach your mind and soul out into the universe and ask your question, chant your wish. And if you feel new words reach your mind, words of a wish to be in the here and now, welcome them in. Allow then to get here as you guide them.”

Arthur once again sighs, but he has already come so far with this woman. It was as if he were speaking to some religious person (maybe she was), and she was asking him to reach out to god. Maybe it was like that, like a prayer, not that Arthur has ever done much of that before.

“Here,” She says, kneeling on the ground and sitting on her heels in the grass, raising her hands up to him in an offering, still smiling away. “I can help you start.”

With one more look around the forest they were in, Arthur sighs and shrugs, hits his hands on his thighs before going to his knees as well, taking her hands gently. 

Her hands were smooth, soft, and warm. Not a single callus on her hands from work (or crime), and it gave him pause. Maybe this woman was just naive. She said she was curious about nature, and here she was. Barefoot in the woods with nothing but a simple white dress. 

Arthur really didn’t have much to believe in, not a religious sort himself, but he knew it could bring comfort to those who wanted it. Maybe, just maybe, he could get at least one question answered.

“Close your eyes,” She instructs, her own eyes closing. Arthur took a moment before doing the same. 

“Now, think of yourself in an empty room. A room with no doors, no windows. Just an empty, white room. Do you see it?”

It takes Arthur a few deep breaths and some thinking, but his mind eventually goes clear and he sees himself in an empty white room, kneeling on the ground.

“Yeah?”

“Now think, think about what makes you curious about the future. What do you really want out of the future? Do you want to be there, do you want it with you, or do you simply want some answers?”

While in this white room in his head, he thinks over what she said. 

What does he want from the future?

He wants his family to finally be safe, not having to run from anything anymore. 

He wants the world to be easy on him, to not take so many things from him like loved ones or love itself.

He wants the world to slow down, even for just a moment, for him to take a breath while time slows.

He wants to know what will become of the land that was once wild and untamed, wants to know if it will still be free or if it will be shackled and broken in like the wild horse it was.

He wants the future to give him answers, in whatever form that wants to come in.

“Have you got it?” She asks gently.

“I... think so.” He replied just as lowly.

“Now chant your wish, your questions, your curiosities, and reach. Reach for the answer.”

Arthur repeats the wants he has, the questions he has, and continues to imagine himself in that blank room. And for a while nothing changed, he chanted and reached but no answer came. It was only when he went to give up that new words formed in his head.

“I want to be there. I don’t fear the consequences of leaving for a new reality. I want to walk the world as they do, feel what they do, see what they do. I want to be there.”

“I... think I'm hearing something.”

“The answer, guide them to your empty room, open your door for them.”

Arthur then began to imagine a door in this empty white room, a simple wooden door with just a handle, no lock. Then he thought about that door opening, and he thought back to the words in his head.

“Walk the world I live, feel the world I feel, see the world I see. Give me my answers and I will give you yours.”

Then, through the door, came the silhouette of a person. They walked slowly through the door and Arthur stood.

“there’s.. a person.” He says out loud.

“Greet them.” She replies.

So, standing in the white room of his mind he walks just as slowly towards them. The shape shifts from tall to small, skinny to heavy, long hair to short hair, white hair to black hair. Everything about them shifts between all these different forms, as if they were choosing what to look like, who to be.

Arthur and the figure now stood in front of one another, their form still blurred and shifting, but then seemed... excited. Even though their face was blurred and Arthur could barely tell who or what he was looking at, he could just tell they were smiling, a wave of happiness coming from them as they tilt their head at him.

Arthur was told to greet them, so he offered his hand to them to shake. But they did not just take his hand, instead they took both his hands in theirs. A strange feeling then passed through Arthurs hands to his arms, then from there all over his body like a full body shiver. But he wasn’t cold.

It wasn’t an entirely pleasant feeling, but it didn’t hurt. It was that prickly feeling you get after laying on a limb too long, but not as intense. 

It traveled through his body, then back down his arms to his hands. And once it reached his hands, a subtle light traveled up the other beings hands, arms, then over their body. 

As it did so, the light revealed what the person looked like. No longer was their skin changing colors, now a single color that stayed. Their hair, their height, body, everything about them finally stopped shifting. Now Arthur could see who they truly were.

Their eyes were closed, however, so Arthur tapped their hands with his thumbs. When their eyes opened, he felt his own eyes open too.

Now, no longer in his head, he was kneeling in the same forest as before. But he wasn’t holding hands with the cream skinned woman anymore. Instead, kneeling as well and holding his hands in replacement of the woman, was the person he saw in his head, but now they were in the flesh.

They looked back at him with just as much shock as he looked at them, seemingly just as surprised at seeing Arthur in person. 

They spoke. 

“Holy shit... it worked!”

#rdr2 #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 arthur morgan #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 x male reader #rdr2 x gn reader #rdr2 fanfic #x reader #x male reader #x gn reader #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption fanfic #fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x male reader #arthur morgan x gn reader

[alwaysaslutforarthurmorgan]

Here it is y'all! Part one in my Everybody Lives/Nobody Dies AU!

End game is Arthur/Reader but that burn gonna go real slow, guys

Enjoy🧡

#I'm already workin' on part two y'all #May I Stand Unshaken #Z Writes #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 reader insert #red dead redemption fanfic

[lacaptaine]

Summer Scribblin'

DISCLAIMER: I MAY HAVE TAGGED IT AS ARTHUR WITH READER BUT IT ISN'T ROMANCE, JUST FLUFF, AND CUTE FAMILY LIKE DYNAMIC. THANKS.

Hello, this is my first contribution to fandom ever and like; I barely write. Just so you know, I am no writer, unless I feel like it. I needed to however get this idea out of my system, because I believe Arthur deserves to feel a little happy for a moment. I'm leaving a link to ao3, but there's also a tumblr text version below. : )

Arthur Morgan has a soft spot for children, change my mind.

WORD COUNT: 2,391

____________________________________________________

SUMMARY: He may be a terrible man; until a child comes along. That's where his heart melts, paternal instincts kicking in rather immediately. With that, we see the Outlaw finding himself enjoying the presence of a peculiar youngling, who doesn't seem to speak much.

Humid was the air on this land, almost like one would jump into a pot of boilin' stew. It almost felt impossible to breathe at times, many of 'em outlaws seekin' shelter under the confines of tree leaves, some optin' for minimum amount of layers to cover their bodies. Terrible damn weather.

One of 'em outlaws, 'spite the rather unpleasant conditions, still decided to sit in here and scrawled like an angry, bad man that he can be, his large hand holdin' his pen in a tight grip, its tip runnin' in quick strokes. His brows were pulled down, creating a fresh pairs of wrinkles on his sweaty forehead. One of the fellow members of his gang, whose mouth ain't ever stopped runnin', had a lot of things to say 'bout today's action in the town, criticising his alleged lack of backbone. Fuckin' moron; one who'd rather come in 'n watch everyone's brains splatter all over the walls, at times leaving one wondering whether the numbers matter to him only in terms of money, or with the numbers in question being 'bout casualities. The higher the amount for both, the better he felt, one would assume. The cowboy's fingers stroked over slicked strands of blonde hair as he sighed deeply. He ain't got the patience for the bastard, and he's come to realise that it is indeed better for the sake of keepin' it together if he'd ignore him. After all, at the end of the day, the moron's gettin' real kick out of it. He's just a waste of breath, waste of space, waste of mind, waste of food, waste of... 

Alright, maybe he will focus on appreciating the wildlife, instead. 

After he was done with givin' his frustrations a little outlet, rather than a bullet to the previously mentioned fella's head, he turned the page, and opted for drawing, a particular hare catching the man's attention. It didn't move, so it proved to be a perfect opportunity for him to drown in the world of, uh... bunnies. It's better than causin' more fuss.

Not so long later, a gentle padding of boots against the ground reached the man's trained ears; however, suspecting that it's just one of the gang members passin' by, he didn't bother lookin' up, having found nothing close to eagerness for conversation. At some moment, soft footfall stilled on the grass, right next to him, what he assumed could be someone waitin' for him to speak.

'What is it?' he inquires, rugged voice rasping out, in a manner which one might find threatening, blue eyes remaining set straight on the paper in front of him. The answer, however, has never been granted to him, deepening the scowl on his face. Leaving the questions hangin' in the air was always a lil' bit of a burden. 'Whaddya-'

With a turn of his head, his sight is welcomed by a particular person, a new... rather small member of their gang, leaving cowboy's face scribbled with bewilderment. She stood there, her height barely reaching past his reclined form, her facial structure being an epitome of innocence. Tiny hands clasped right in front of herself, her head bowed like one of a fawn's. 

'If that ain't... hey,' he greeted, having cleared his throat. 'I, uh... You want somethin'?' The outlaw fixed his expression almost immediately, opting to give a child a smile which oozed warmth and safety, almost forgetting 'bout whatever the hell's been on his mind just a second ago. He wouldn't want to scare the youngling with a a mean look; 'specially since he was able to see her own cheeks roundin' up into a bashful smile itself. She couldn't have been livin' here on this earth for longer than five years, though he cannot tell with them kids. What he knows is that the man has a special set of behaviours reserved for small folks like her, and that the poor thing needs friendly faces to get accustomed to. He is a terrible man, one that kills, one that beats people up and robs the hell outta 'em, but he didn't have the heart to just be another mean bastard when it came to children.

There's a case of her peculiarity that everyone's been rackin' their brains about. First, the kid didn't speak. No one was able to come up with the reason; she seemed to hear just fine, although she merely responded with a glance; if she bothered sparing one, which brings another aspect. It could always been 'bout the fact that she were a little one, nevertheless, eye contact proved to be challenging for her; her gaze always averting as soon as someone returned her own. It left several members wondering about the history behind this quiet girl, other than the tragic circumstances surrounding her discovery. For now, they opted to making the child feel like at home. She hadn't got anyone else to turn towards, with the The Outlaw finding the lost youngling alongside the Leader of the gang a few months back. Her wailing, and a couple of lifeless bodies were enough backstory for them to come to a conclusion that the poor child was utterly alone in this harsh world.

With that, the man suddenly realised that it is the first time he's able to see the colour of her eyes, the curious lookers taking in the sight of a journal in his hands; more specifically, scribbles he had done a few days back when he was on his journey through the forests of West Elizabeth; as the pages turned when he wasn't holding them in place. He always had it with him, this journal; something about the world around him capturing his interest everytime, with paper providing space for his thoughts, or even doin' as much as letting him capture quickly what he had seen. Interestingly shaped trees, wonderfully coloured flowers, animals; funny lookin' or not, always ended up finding their own place in his journal. It ain't like he shared it with anyone, it was after all so personal to the man. A child, however, was enamoured by little drawings he did, fascinated by the details of a wild hare on a page, her tiny mouth slightly open. With one last glance at the man, she hesitatantly took a step towards him, with an expectant gaze, her finger pointed towards the small patch of grass next to him. 

'You, uh...' The Cowboy repeats her gesture awkwardly. '... Wanna sit with me?' No response aside from an endearing tilt of her head, as if he were lookin' at a pup. He found himself unable to resist a gentle laugh, even if he were quite unsure of how to go on about with this one. Something 'bout this youngling just had him in her tiny grasp; that much was clear. She needed someone to make her feel safe, having her childhood ruined in such a cruel manner. Warmth washed over him; because it truly is the first since she were able to hold the eye contact with him, as if she were finally opening herself up. 'Alright, come here, Lil' one.'

Perhaps, it will be best if he were to repeat himself, that's for sure. In an inviting manner his large hand moved, tapping it against the green ground next to him, the seat she eagerly took. 

'Ah... Look at you, comin' outta your shell, yeah?' He encouraged further, with the toddler glancing up at the man's face once more, with a small giggle. Then what follows... Silence. As usual. A nod of his head, and he thinks for a moment, feeling her stare on him. "What should he do?", he wonders, scratching his rough chin as he tries to think of ways he could entertain the child... While she ran tiny fingers over the clean sheet of paper, as if she found the texture rather fascinating. Ah, well, it... it's his... Well, private belonging or whatever, but it ain't like the kid will steal his journal and run away with it, no. She is very polite when she makes a bashful gesture of her hand, as if to ask him if she may hold it, if she can use the sheets of paper, and something about it just melts his cold heart, devoid of any kindness, or so, as he likes to believe...

'Here you go,' he said simply, the journal traversing through his hands to her own, because for how long can he resist his paternal instinct, the one he thought had died a long time ago? He's a bad man, he thinks. The youngling skips over the pages with words, a natural instinct to be more drawn towards the pictures of flowers he'd made.

'My, a real connoisseur of art,' the man laughed, but the girl haven't looked up at him, her eyes observing the sketch of a deer with intrigue. 'Not like I'm, uh... any artist or somethin'...' He was a tad awkward, that's for damn sure. He was a rugged outlaw after all, a terrible man, robber and a killer of the worst sort. Seein' small folk like her just makes him... Wonder what makes a little pup like her want to hang around with him. 

After a moment, the child looks up at him with a bashful look on her face, almost apologetic in a way. Her hand slightly raised to her face, tapping her finger against it. Oh.

Suddenly, it all makes sense now. 

The outlaw cleared his throat; right.

She ran into an empty page, rubbing her round nose with fingers deep in thought, before her eyes peeked into the pen in his hand, gaze that the Outlaw followed with utmost attention. He didn't know what to think, it ain't like... Ah, those damn children. 

'Wanna, uh... draw? Scribble a little?' His speech was slow, giving her the time to observe the movements of his lips. The pen was raised, its tip drawing circles in the air, while he pointed at the journal in the child's hand. Trying his best to make an attempt at finding a different way to speak and help her understand his intentions, past the verbal communication, he saw the child next to him lighting up all of sudden, a reaction that got him smilin'. Smilin' to a point where his cheeks hurt. She perked up, like little, baby deer, and it took all his strength to not melt as her tiny fingers took the extended pen out of his large hand.

This precious thing was overjoyed, that much he could see. It's like the pen transferred an energy that's been waitin' for its release since the day she was born. The child doodled, using the simplest shapes to portray different creations of nature. A big tree on the left, with a sizeable flower that reached half of its height; a smiling cat with three whiskers on each side of its muzzle, probably havin' in mind a feline that she may have seen at some point in her life; equally just as big, and a little house. The Outlaw, normally, wouldn't have it within him to just let someone scribble all over his belonging, but god damn it. It's a child. Ain't like they got much paper lyin' around for free use. If that means seein' a the little duckling happy, so be it...

The man saw a red squirrel running right in front of them, stoppin' every once in a while to check the surroundings. And of course, he didn't have the heart to stop the little artist in the heat of her passion, but he couldn't let the opportunity for her to see the curious animal just pass! He nudged the girl gently, just on her arm, and pointed at the rodent that tried to jump over the tree. It took her a moment, her eyes being squinted in focus, before relaxing when she saw it. 

'Look'at it go, almost as tiny as you!' The man laughed gently, lookin' down at her once more, seein' that she's already traced the lines which resemble the squirrel; the girl havin' made sure to emphasize long ears and fluffy tail. The animal on the paper was almost as huge as the cat next to it. He's a bad man, and yet, he couldn't resist the smile that's been plastered on his face for a good few minutes now. She may not have been as expressive as other children he'd see, but when the baby giggled, when her lips curled up, or even when she did as much as she scrunched her nose in focus; warmth washed over his cold, cold and, once again, cold heart. It's like the girl melted it, and stole it, the precious little thing she was, paternal instincts resurfacing within him once more.

And then; just like that, he saw a sketch, and his eyes widened slightly. On a page he sees a drawing of a person... A man with a beard, a hat on his head, with a scarf wrapped aroung his neck, and the widest damn smile on his face, like the one of a fool's. The Outlaw wiped his mustache, taking into his hands the journal she had extended to him, with that expectant look on her face. She waited for that nod of approval, needing it more than anything at this moment; an approval that he, this rugged man, granted. Of course, he knew who that fella on the page was; it were him, or, how the toddler saw him as. A big fella with a hat, who smiles at her widely. He wasn't an outlaw to her, or a goddamn cowboy. To the girl, he was just a nice man who let her draw in his journal, who kept her safe from dangers of cruel world, which took her childhood. Possibly the first person she had approached on her own ever since she found herself in the gang. 

And that is something he couldn't wrap his head around. How is it possible, that he; a person so terrible as he is, was the one that this kid somehow wasn't threatened by?

And god, why was he smiling so much? He cannot tell. 

What he can tell, however, he hasn't done that for so long. 

And that her own smile, he wants to protect. 

#arthur morgan and reader #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #fluff #read dead redemption fluff #red dead redemption fanfic #arthur morgan & original character #arthur morgan x reader

[mushrubes]

Red dead Redemption masterlist

Masterlist | Prompts

Key -

❀ - Fluff

✮ - Angst

❦ - Most popular

I - Imagines

P - Preferences

S - Series

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Arthur Morgan -

Cowboy (i) - ❀

I promise (i) - ❀ + ✮

Guard dog (i) - ❀

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Dutch Van Der Linde -

Alone (i) - ❀ + ✮

Possessive (i) - ❀

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Javier Escuella -

I wait for you (i) - ✮

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Sean Macguire -

My time (i) - ❀

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

John Marston -

Scars (i) - ❀

Another? (i) -

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Kieran Duffy -

-none yet

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Charles Smith -

Braiding (i) - ❀

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Sadie Adler -

-none yet

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Lenny Summers -

-none yet

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Hosea Matthews -

Another? (i) - ❀

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

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