#Red Dead Redemption 1 fic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

daizedndconfused · 5 months ago

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band on the run

a/n: i wasn’t gonna make this a series originally but i think i have to at this point cause im at 7k words and im not even close to being done. and i thought who actually is gonna read this if its like one part with 20k words hahaha. but anyway i love this idea and the dynamics i created i just hope it doesn’t flop but oh well you can’t win every time. not my usual content ik but hey free will is amazing. anyway the title is based off a song that inspired this fic i recommend listening to it it’s amazing. i guess that’s all i got if you wanna be tagged in the next part lmk i can do my best

characters: john marston x teen!reader x arthur morgan (PLEASEE FOR MY SANITY THIS IS NOT ROMANTIC ITS STRICTLY PLATONIC… just you’ll find out okay it’s cute!!)

type: fluff!! also spoiler free!!

warnings: mild swearing and mild blood but that’s it

synopsis: you’re from the city and go out of town with your brother for a business trip, little do you know something’s waiting for you and somehow you find yourself separated from him and now in the care of two men who have agreed to help you get to saint denis to find your brother

word count: 5.4k

part 1 |

You’re not really sure how you got here. Well, maybe that’s a lie. Technically you got here via train. A lot of them.

A few days ago you were living your best life in New York with your brother, but now the city was nowhere in sight. Unfortunately, your parents died a few years ago when you were eleven, leaving you with your older brother who was twenty one at the time.

It’s not as if he minded, or thought you a burden. In fact the two of you were very close–even before your parents passed. And it’s not as if they left you with nothing. No, if anything it was the complete opposite–they left you with more than you could ever imagine.

Though, no matter how much you pestered your brother, he’d never give you an exact amount. All you knew was that the two of you were going to be just fine financially.

However, two soon became three when your brother married the girl he’d been in love with for years when you were thirteen. You too, of course, love her. She was the complete opposite of your brother, and you think that’s why they fit so well together.

While he was cold and cruel with a rough exterior, she was nothing but golden hair and smiles as far as the eye could see. In a way they balanced each other–light and dark, push and pull, sun and moon.

You were young at the time, not naive, you knew how your parents built their wealth. Your family had been wealthy for generations–mostly due to your family’s involvement as New York's oldest and most feared crime syndicate.

Obviously, you grew up immensely protected and well cared for. Your parents may not have been the best people out there, but they did what they had to to make sure you had everything you needed. In their favor, they had a very healthy work-life balance.

That also meant you learned how to shoot a gun by the time you could stand the recoil, and play cards even younger.

Your father used to say that a young woman such as yourself should always know how to hold her own, and not depend on anyone for safety. He prepared you for all the worst possible case scenarios: how to escape rope bindings with nothing but your own hands, shooting a moving target head on every time, and basic hand to hand combat should you find yourself without a weapon.

However, he never prepared you for the situation you currently found yourself in.

Your brother had gotten an urgent business letter, requesting his presence out of state–a place called Saint Denis. You’d never been outside of New York, and you all but begged your brother to let you accompany him.

Eventually, after a lot of pestering, and some encouragement from his wife, he reluctantly agreed. However, your sister-in-law would not be coming on the journey either. She claimed she had no desire to sit in on his boring meetings and listen to him yell at people while they quivered in fear.

That and she was pregnant.

Ever since they found out your brother’s naturally protective demeanor increased tenfold. She was put under constant surveillance, and he almost canceled this trip due to her condition.

Ever the voice of reason, she assured him she would be fine, and that some sibling bonding would be much needed between you. After careful consideration and a lot of compromise, he agreed.

But after what happened on the journey, you’re not sure he’ll let you outside of New York any time soon.

It’s not like it was your fault–it was bad timing.

After two long and boring train rides, your brother informed you that you would only need to switch trains once more before you reached your destination. Your face practically lit up at his words, the energy slowly returning to your body.

Your brother laughed at your childish antics, the two of you making the most out of your so far boring trip.

Once your train rolled to a stop at some random station, you were the first one off the train, desperate to stretch your legs a little.

“Don’t go far, please!” Your brother called out as you skipped onto the surprisingly busy platform.

You turned to assure him you were fine, when you bumped into a stranger's chest.

“Apologies,” you jumped back quickly, dusting off your simple shirt. “Wasn’t paying attention.”

Looking up, you saw that the chest belonged to a gnarly, strong, black haired man with a scraggly beard. His beady eyes peered down at you, and you felt yourself shrink slightly under his gaze.

A lot of people back in New York didn’t love when children made mistakes, and though you didn’t think of yourself as quite so young, others would beg to differ.

He seemed to fall in that category.

“Well you ain’t from ‘round here now are you?” The man sniffed, a thick Irish accent present within his words.

“Uh,” you laughed awkwardly, backing away slowly. You looked around fervently for your brother, but it seems you wandered farther than you initially thought. He was nowhere in sight.

The man cocked his head, looking you up and down as if he recognized you.

“You look familiar,” he drawled.

“Oh, that–that can’t be.” You swallowed thickly. “I’m from New York City.”

Realization snapped in the man's eyes.

“Aye, I knew I recognized you.” The man barked out a laugh. “Got wind of your brother’s little visit to our end of Hell.”

Your heartbeat sped up within your chest as it started to click for you as well.

The accent, dark hair, and the brand on his pistol. He was an O’Driscoll. A gang you were familiar with, but not by much. They weren’t based out of New York, but boy did they stir up trouble when they visited.

Whenever there was a report of an O’Driscoll in town, your brother spent a majority of his time putting out fires and bullets in their heads. They had even started targeting some of your businesses in retaliation.

Your brother assured you it was nothing for you to worry about, and that he could deal with a couple of cowboys too far from home, but you were in their territory now.

“Care to point me in the direction of him?” The man lunged forward, seizing your wrist in a bone crushing grip.

You flinched, the fear imminent in your eyes. It was your unarmed teenage body against a grown man with arms at his disposal.

But as always, you acted quickly. You may be smaller, and younger than him, but that just meant you were all the more quicker.

You quickly twisted your wrist in a circle, successfully shaking the man’s grip as you dodged his other attempt to make a grab for you. Ducking under his arms, you wove through the sea of people who didn’t so much as stop twice at the sight of a grown man chasing a young girl.

Why would they?

“Joey!” you called, but you didn’t have time to look around for your brother with the O’Driscoll hot on your tail.

There was no response from him, and you were running out of places to run. Luckily, the platform was in the middle of a forest. You decided that losing him in the trees would be your best bet.

Leaping off the platform, grateful you decided to wear a pair of trousers, a button up and a vest to fit the local attire–you sprinted for the trees. The heavy footsteps and constant yelling behind you told you the man was still chasing you.

“Get back here you little shit!” He yelled after you.

Like that’s going to happen, you internally rolled your eyes.

Pumping your legs as fast as they could go, you wove in between the maze of trees, the nightfall surrounding you making it all the more easy to hide.

Checking briefly over your shoulder, you saw you had put a good amount of distance between the two of you. Even though he had a gun, the O’Driscoll clearly needed you alive for some reason, meaning he wouldn’t dare shoot you.

Making a split second decision, you picked up a rock, as well as a handful of dust, and threw it over your shoulder, straight at the O’Driscoll’s face.

You heard a cry of outrage come from behind you. Quickly, you located the sturdiest tree and scaled it as swiftly as you could.

You made it decently to the top, ignoring the splinters in your palms and blood across your cheek where a few tree branches had cut you.

Huddling against the trunk of the tree on a branch that barely supported you, you attempted to catch your breath as slowly and quietly as you could.

Below you, the O’Driscoll was swearing profusely, furiously rubbing at his eyes. You covered your mouth with your hand, desperate to quiet your breaths as he stood.

The O’Driscoll looked behind every tree within a few feet around you, but luckily he didn’t think to look up.

Not very bright these O’Driscoll’s.

With one last dramatic curse, and a swift kick to a nearby tree, he stomped off back towards the train station that was no longer in sight, even from your position in the tree.

You drew in a shaky breath, leaning your head against the rough bark of the tree. Your limbs were wobbly, and your mind was scrambled, but you didn’t move from your position. To do so would be a stupid move.

You weren’t sure how many of them were at that train station, or how they knew you guys would be there, but they did. You just hoped they didn’t get your brother.

No, they wouldn’t. Joey was much too smart for them.

It took a while for you to calm yourself down, but once you did, your mind and body both felt tired. You didn’t entirely trust yourself to sleep in a tree and not fall to your death, but you were so exhausted you didn’t care at that point.

Your eyelids felt heavier and heavier until darkness covered your vision. However, your rest was very short lived. Whether it was the sun, or the anxiety in your chest, it felt as though you had just closed your eyes when they flew open again.

Dawn painted the sky, and your muscles were achy from spending all night up in a tree. Stretching as best you could in the awkward position, you started your careful descent down the tree.

Once you were back safely on the ground, you quickly took off in the opposite direction of the train station. Going back was out of the question–there were most likely more O’Driscoll’s lurking around and you’d prefer if they didn’t catch you.

So here you were. Miles away from New York, in the middle of buttfuck hillbilly nowhere, completely alone. Not ideal.

Wrapping your arms around your stomach as it started to growl, you promptly ignored the hunger beginning to stab at your gut. If you could just find a source of water, the odds are you’d be able to follow it to a town of some kind where you could get help.

However, after hours and hours of wandering, your feet aching in your boots, all you had come across so far was a few rattlesnakes, and a lot of deer. The deer didn’t stick around long after catching sight of you.

As the sun started to dip, so did the temperature. You didn’t expect it to get as chilly as it did. You mostly likely didn’t notice it last night because of the adrenaline pumping through your veins, but there was none of that now.

It was just you to keep yourself company and warmth. As the sun set lower and lower over the mountains, you couldn’t help but feel extremely out of your comfort zone.

You had been taught a lot of survival skills, but none of them involved making a fire, or a camp in general. You lived in New York for God’s sake, why would you have had to know how to start a fire?

You dragged your feet behind you until you physically couldn’t stand it anymore. Too tired to climb another tree, you instead made yourself comfortable curled up against the trunk of a tree.

Shivering, you attempted to make yourself as small as possible to conserve body heat, but it might as well have been useless. The cold seeped through your clothes and to your bones. Nothing but a fire would thaw you now.

Tears of frustration sprung at your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You already looked like a mess, you didn’t have to make it worse by crying.

Another sleepless night had you waking at the crack of dawn. You didn’t want to get up. In fact, you’d rather do anything but. Walking was tiring, and you didn’t even know where you were going or hoping to find.

Your internal battle was short lived when a snap of a twig near you had you on high alert. Peering through the trees, you met the eyes of a beautiful doe munching on the leaves of a low hanging branch a few feet from you.

“You’re no O’Driscoll,” you attempted to joke, though your voice was hoarse and scratchy from the lack of water.

The doe did nothing but stare blankly back at you before eventually trotting away. Taking that as a sign, you slowly dragged yourself away from the tree trunk and continued your tedious trek.

This day was just as slow as the previous two. Walking, snakes, more walking, deer, but luckily no sign of wolves. You weren’t sure what you would do if you encountered the beasts. Probably take to the nearest tree again.

By the time midday rolled around you were just about ready to start throwing rocks at your surroundings and screaming at the top of your lungs.

That was until you heard voices up ahead. Diving behind the nearest bush, you listened closely. It sounded like two men…but they were arguing.

“I never shoulda listened to your sorry ass!” one of them accused.

“Oh right, so now this is all my fault?” the other shot back.

“Well it sure as hell ain’t mine,” the man with a gruff voice laughed humorlessly. “You asked me for help, remember?”

“I musta forgot,” the other man scoffed, “Arthur Morgan doesn’t make mistakes. Arthur Morgan is perfect in every which way. Arthur Morgan–”

“You shut your mouth, Marston before I go and do it for you!” The gruff man yelled.

Cocking your head curiously, you peered through the leaves of the shrub. Beyond you, in a clearing of grass surrounded by more and more trees, were two men sporting roughly the same attire.

The one on the left had long black hair that extended to his shoulders, and a stubble beard to match. Even from far away, you could see there was something off about the way his facial hair grew in. There were a few spots where the hair didn’t grow at all.

Odd.

By the way he was standing, and they way they hadn’t stopped bickering, you assumed this man was the one being blamed for something you knew not.

The other man had lighter chestnut brown hair that wasn’t quite as long as his companions. His facial hair was just a touch longer than the other man’s, but his was even in every way. And with the way he was glaring at the other guy you’d think he was trying to set him on fire.

Unbeknownst to you, you had subconsciously been leaning forward to get a better look at their faces that you didn’t notice you had snapped a branch on accident.

Two pistols wiped in your direction immediately.

“Don’t shoot!” You yelped, jumping up quickly from the bush, both hands raised in surrender, praying they wouldn’t shoot you on the spot.

You were mildly impressed that they were able to hear the branch snap over their obnoxious arguing, but they must live life in a state of constant vigilance if they picked it up.

The men’s expressions turned to that of surprise, but they didn’t lower their weapons. They most likely weren’t expecting a sixteen year old kid to be the one spying on them.

To be fair, you had only just gotten there and they were technically in your way.

“Uh, hi there,” you waved pathetically.

The man on the left let out a tired sigh and holstered his pistol. The other man didn’t. He continued to look at you from under the brim of his hat, his dark eyes barely visible.

After a moment the black haired man said, “Ease up, Morgan. It’s only a kid.”

“You remember what we were like when we were kids?” The man–Morgan?–scoffed but reluctantly discarded his weapon anyway.

“That don’t mean everyone is,” the other man reasoned, though neither one of them took their eyes off you.

You were honestly a little flattered they thought of you as that much of a threat.

Morgan hummed, crossing his arms over his chest.

You figured now was as good a time as any to start talking. Plus, you didn’t catch sight of an O’Driscoll tag on their pistols, so at least you were safe for the time being.

“Sorry,” you lowered your hands slowly. “I was just passing through. Thought you might have been the people who were after me. Didn’t mean to be eavesdropping.”

The black haired man scratched at his jaw, and seeing up closer you noticed the places where his hair didn’t grow was due to what looked like scars that were still healing on his face. They were only slightly pink still, but they wouldn’t fade all the way that much was certain. You assumed based on their position that they looked like animal wounds.

“After you?” he repeated. “Who’d be after a kid your age?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, Mister.” You shook your head with a tired sigh. “But if they wanted to make me run they succeeded. Barely slept a wink for almost three days, no food or water neither.”

“I can tell,” Morgan observed.

You gave them a tired smile. “Well, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll be on my way.” You failed to mention the part where you had no clue where you were going.

You attempted to take a step further in order to pass them but Scarface stopped you.

“Where abouts are you headed then?” he asked.

“Marston,” Morgan warned lowly.

Scarface ignored him, patiently awaiting your answer.

“I’m, uh, not sure,” you admitted sheepishly, scratching your temple. “Saint Denis? I think.”

He nodded in response, looking back at his friend. Morgan shook his head, a firm no in whatever psychic conversation they were having.

“How old are you?” Scarface asked, turning back to you.

“Sixteen,” you blinked.

Scarface looked back at his friend triumphantly, eyebrows raised.

He clapped a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t worry kid, we’ll take ya where you need to go safe and sound.”

“Jesus Christ,” Morgan muttered, shaking his head and looking up to the sky.

“Oh, it’s no trouble sir,” you reassured him. “I’m sure if you point me in the right direction I’ll be able to figure it out.”

“Not out here you won’t.” Morgan piped up this time. “You ain’t from ‘round here kid, that much is obvious. You won’t make it another day. I’m surprised you managed two on your own.”

You wanted to argue with him but he was right. You were teetering on the edge already as it was.

“Perhaps you’re right,” you laughed awkwardly.

“Sit down, kid,” Scarface led you over to rest your back against a boulder. “Have some water.”

You opened your mouth to tell him you didn’t actually have any water, but a canteen being thrown into your lap had your words dying in your throat.

But it wasn’t Scarface that threw it.

“Thank you….” you trailed off.

“Arthur,” he muttered. “Morgan.”

You nodded, uncapping the top and taking a deep swig, thankful for the liquid returning moisture to your dry throat.

“And you are?” you asked, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, looking at Scarface.

“John Marston,” he smiled kindly.

“It’s nice to meet you both,” you said honestly.

“And what are we supposed to call you?” Arthur asked. “You got a name or something? Or ya lose it on the way over here?”

John shot him an exasperated look.

“No, no, I gotta name,” you said. “It’s (Y/N). Santangelo.”

John rose from his kneeled position beside you immediately like you suddenly grew another head. He and Arthur exchanged looks–Arthur’s more of a what-have-you-done kind of way.

“Of all the strays to pick up of course you chose this one,” Arthur waved a hand in your direction.

John winced, looking back at you with what you can only pinpoint as hope.

“You ain’t happen to be from New York, do ya?” John asked.

“Yeah,” you confirm, a bit confused. “Brooklyn.”

At the men’s extended silence you decide to help them out a little bit.

“It’s in the city.”

“Well aware,” Arthur responded.

“Yeah? You ever been?” you asked, eyes alight with hope.

“Nah,” Arthur shook his head. “Heard plenty about your kinda folk though.”

“What about ‘em?” you asked, discarding the now half empty canteen of water off your lap.

“We ain’t stupid, kid,” Arthur chuckled lightly, though it didn’t seem like he found anything amusing. “Everyone and their mama’s have heard ‘bout your kinda people.”

“Oh.” You shrank back against the rock.

A brief flash of fear crosses your face. Did you trust the wrong people? Were they bounty hunters? Maybe they were working for the O’Driscoll’s–helping them find you.

“Knock it off,” John smacked Arthur’s leather clad shoulder lightly. Then to you he said, “Don’t worry kid we ain’t the law. And we certainly ain’t turning you in nowhere.”

“Thanks,” you dragged your knees up to your chest, resting your chin on top of them.

There’s an elongated silence where you could hear John and Arthur speaking quietly to one another. You tried to pretend it wasn't about you, but you’ve caught a few bits and pieces and it most definitely is.

You really hope they’ll let you stay with them–you don’t have anywhere else to go. Plus, they seemed like okay men. Better than most in the city you’ve encountered anyway.

“Alright, here’s what we’re gonna do,” Arthur said as he and John finished their debate. “There’s a river just up ahead. We’ll go there, make a camp nearby, crash for the night, then get a move on.”

You nod fervently, opening your mouth to assure him you’ll be no trouble, but he held up a hand and continued speaking. “We’ll get you to Saint Denis. Odds are someone’ll be able to help you out there. Deal?”

“Deal.” You shot to your feet, a wide smile playing at your lips. You felt as though you were a street dog who had just found a temporary home. Again, better than being on the actual streets.

“You’re ridin’ with Marston,” Arthur stated.

You shot said man a grateful nod. He returned it just as enthusiastically.

The two men let out a series of sharp whistles, and soon the clop of horse hooves became louder and louder until two beautiful horses stood in front of you.

You let out a noise of awe. You’d never actually ridden a horse before. Back where you're from, they just pull things behind them, you don’t see a lot of people riding them through the streets.

John chuckled a bit at your awestruck expression as he mounted an auburn horse with a light mane and tail to match.

Arthur did the same with his own all black horse.

You approached the side of John’s horse, plotting how you’d go about getting on. It was tall–much taller than you realized.

You could feel the two men giving you weird looks. Well, more like Arthur giving you a weird look, and John trying not to laugh.

“You ain’t ever ridden a horse before?” John asked.

“No,” you admitted, face turning a bit red. “We don’t–I mean the horses are normally used for pulling back home.”

From over John’s shoulder Arthur not so discreetly rolled his eyes.

John however, extended his hand down towards you. “Grab on, I’ll hoist you up. Just put your foot here for balance and swing your other leg over.” John pointed to the place that would offer your foot the best support.

Nodding, you grasped his hand. John pulled you up as if you weighed nothing, it startled you at first. Recovering quickly, you placed your foot on the stirrup before swinging your other leg over the horse’s back until you were sitting comfortably behind John.

“See? Not so hard.” John said, patting his horse’s neck.

“Indeed,” you agreed.

“Feel free to grab on if you need some extra balance,” John said over his shoulder before turning back to Arthur. “Ready when you are.”

“About damn time,” Arthur grumbled before kicking his horse forward.

John rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Very dramatic, that man,” he joked before he too urged his own horse forward.

You were going to laugh, but the sudden jerk in movement had you lurching forward and grabbing onto John to prevent yourself from falling off.

“Alright back there?” John asked, taking notice of your death grip on his dark jacket.

“Think so,” you responded as the horse’s pace increased to an even trot.

“Alright,” John drawled. “Just let me know if you’re about to fall off.”

“Will do,” you assured him. “Might be sooner than you think.”

“Ah you’ll be fine,” John assured you. “Plus, I’m the one doin’ all the hard work.”

You peeked over his shoulder to get a grasp on what the ‘hard work’ entailed. From where you were sitting, it looked like all he was doing was holding the reins.

John chuckled when you voiced so, claiming the horse was doing most of the work.

“What are you doin’ all the way out here anyhow?” John asked, tailing closely behind Arthur.

So far, you liked John. He was easy to talk to. You two had been making small conversation for the past few minutes as you rode.

Arthur on the other hand didn’t seem as inclined to join. You weren’t quite sure if it was because of you or John. He didn’t seem to like either of you at the moment.

“Business” was all you revealed.

“Business?” John echoed skeptically. “What kinda business?”

“The kind I’m not supposed to talk about with strangers,” you responded. At this point, your death grip had been reduced to one hand clutching onto his jacket while the other laid on the horse’s back below you.

“Strangers? Come on now, you and I go all the way back to this afternoon.”

You shook your head with a mix between a scoff and a laugh. Your response was cut off when Arthur veered off the road, heading for a river you hadn’t noticed you’d been coming upon.

The horses soon slowed to a stop just off the bank–a secluded spot hidden by trees and fallen logs.

Arthur dismounted his horse, hitching it to a nearby tree. Releasing John’s coat and leaning back to make some room for him, he swung his leg over the side of his horse before offering you a hand.

You weren’t foolish enough to refuse his help.

As enjoyable as your first horse ride was, you couldn’t help but be relieved at both feet being back on the ground. Stretching out your shoulders, John and Arthur got to work quickly setting up camp using the materials on the backs of their horses.

You felt a bit bad watching them do all the heavy lifting while you stood there like a statue.

As John bent down to remove some things from his pack, you tiptoed towards him.

“Give me a job,” you stated.

John tossed a look over his shoulder. “A job?”

“Yeah, I feel a bit useless,” you admitted, moving the sand beneath your feet around with the toe of your boot.

John turned back to his pack with a small laugh. “You’re a kid, don’t worry about it.”

You rolled your eyes at his back, but no matter your pestering, he wouldn’t budge.

Eventually, you gave up on trying to wear him down, and instead tried your luck with the broody man who still hasn’t said as much as a word to you since your departure.

“Hey, Arthur?” You asked, peeking over the side of his horse as he rummaged through his saddlebag.

Arthur turned his head towards you with a blank look on his face. The only thing you got out of him was an eyebrow raise, but not a drastic one.

“Need any help?” You offered lamely.

“From you? No.” He grabbed a hunting knife and turned his back on you.

You didn’t let him go that easy. “Come on. It’ll go faster if I help. Just give me something to do. Something small!”

Arthur let out an annoyed sigh. “Alright, fine. How ‘bout you go get the fire started.” He nodded to where John had already gathered a small pile of wood.

“Okay, fire. I can do that.” You nodded, trying to convince yourself more than him. “Thanks, Arthur.”

He didn’t respond as you turned towards the pile of sticks, completely confused as to how you were supposed to go about this.

Sitting on your knees on the sand that wasn’t at all cushiony, you stared at the sticks. Maybe if you looked hard enough they’d ignite by themselves. Somehow, you doubted that.

Looking around for some type of rocks to bang together, you couldn’t find any that weren’t wet from the river.

You had spent so long looking for a rock that you didn’t realize John and Arthur had already set up a small camp for the three of you.

“Havin’ some trouble?” Arthur coughed as he and John stood behind your seated position in front of the wood.

Glaring at the wood you leaned back on your haunches, frustrated. “There aren’t any rocks anywhere!”

“Good thing that ain’t the only way to start a fire.” John stepped forward, striking a match and tossing it into the pile of dried grass below the wood.

Flames erupted from the dead grass and spread quickly to the wood, thus creating an effective fire.

You turned to glare at the two men sporting shit eating grins. The most emotion you’d gotten from Arthur yet.

“You had matches?” You demanded.

“We got everything,” John said as he heaved himself onto the ground near the fire.

Scowling, you leaned back on the log they had dragged over to your makeshift camp. Arthur sat opposite you and John, one ankle crossed over the other as he struck a match with the heel of his boot and lit a cigarette.

“You gave it a good shot,” John shrugged a shoulder against the log to your right.

“Don’t patronize me.”

Arthur laughed around a cloud of smoke.

Though you had spent today more on horseback than on foot you were still equally as exhausted. The hunger didn’t help with that.

John laughed as your stomach growled, turning to fetch something from his satchel.

“Here, eat this.” He handed you a roll of bread and a piece of meat wrapped in a cloth.

You didn’t object. Snatching the food from his outstretched hand you tore into the bread first, finding it only the slightest bit stale but still completely edible.

Neither of them spoke while you ate. Perhaps they were still mad at each other. It certainly seemed that way.

But it wasn’t your place to intervene. Instead, to keep yourself occupied you hummed a soft tune under your breath, foot tapping along to the rhythm in your head.

Maybe you were just happy, happy that though you were sleeping outside once more, you wouldn’t be freezing your tail off. Luckily, John had a spare tarp for you to lay on for the night.

Laying on your back, you looked up at the night sky. It was much different out here–more stars, less clouds, no smog to hide the beauty of nature you often forgot existed. You found yourself smiling as you drifted off to sleep, the crescent moon mirroring your expression from high above as your blinks grew more elongated by the second.

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slicedmayonnaise · 5 months ago

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I know I said I've been busy with my move and all, but I also finally added a little something something to my jovier mermaid au

(Click for better quality)

@javieramongotherthings tagging you because I know you liked this one

#maybe ill turn this into a proper fic one day #i suck at drawing backgrounds #john marston #javier escuella #jovier #jovier mermaid au #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #red dead fandom #red dead redemption community #rdr #red dead redemption two #red dead #red dead 2 #rdr 2 #rdr1 #rdr 1

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allthemeniveloved · 6 months ago

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Hey lovely! I hope you’re doing well <3

I was talking to a friend of mine about this and I feel like you could do the idea justice. My request: one shot about john marston with a reader who is EXTREMELYYYY forward/bold with her affections for him. Making flirty comments/outwardly flirting with him in public, making innuendos just to see him blush, etc. I think it’d be so fun!! No pressure if this isn’t appealing to you 😁. I love your blog btw!

I LOVE THIS IDEA so much, it’s not even funny! I will absolutely reblog this post when I get around to writing it within the next few days, but I didn’t want you to think I was ignoring this ask. I’m just a little busy right now but I’m itching to do this!

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marstonator · 7 months ago

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My John Marston Discord server is open to the public!

#john marston #rdr2 john #rdr2 john marston #john marston rdr2 #john marston fic #john marston smut #john marston fanfiction #john marston rdr1 #rdr1 john marston #rdr1 john #john fanfic #john marston fanart #john marston gifs #john marston x reader #john marston x you #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 1 #rdr1

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zanazirafanfic · 2 years ago

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Summary: "John Marston was dying. He was, he knew he was. No way a person could feel as bad as he did right now, and not be dying."

In which there is a fever, John is a touch dramatic, and a less-than-willing Arthur plays nursemaid for the night.

Whumpcember 2023 Day 1: "Fever" + "Tears"

Warnings: None Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Fandom: Red Dead Redemption Relationships: John Marston & Arthur Morgan Characters: John Marston, Arthur Morgan Chapters: 1/1 Word Count: 1,750

#whumpcember2023 #Whumpcember2023 Day 1 #Red dead redemption #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #arthur morgan #john marston #sickfic #whump fic #fever whump #Prompt fic #zanazirawrites

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dutchs-paisley-vest · 4 months ago

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You ever just write something so gas but also so revolting

Is “The deification of Dutch Van der Linde” a tag on ao3??? Hold on. Let me check something.

Okay cool, so can I propose something then-

#I really wanna talk about the biblical themes im putting into this fic and the parallels im drawing but I also am writing it #in a heavily disjointed way so I just dont even know what to say about it and RAHHHHHHH IM GOING INSANE #this is my magnum opus i fear #Dutch as god and John as Abraham #and these scenes that all involve “tests” as foreshadowing for the sacrifice of his own son(s)#John losing his faith in a “benevolent” god only to replace it with faith in another (Dutch)#and eventually come to realize that Man really WAS made in His image after all (cruel and merciless)#and yes I did describe one of dutch's custom schofield revolvers thank you for noticing #he gave it to him for this task specifically in an exchange of dutch's trust for john's loyalty + obedience to him and the gang #anyway this isnt edited tbh and I dont want to get ppls hopes up bc I dont know how long this thing is gonna take me #so its not going to be posted on its own just here as a rb so if you see it... it was meant to be fr #OH ALSO. the whole “John calling dutch sir” thing is inspired by the idea that john passes on his trauma to jack in subtle ways #bc I noticed that jack calls john “sir” when he is demanding respect or authority over his son and as their relationship kinda eases #he starts calling him “pa” more often #so I was like “ok but what if he's falling into old habits of how he was raised/taught things by dutch”#like idk man. the discomfort in the air between them when jack calls John sir is so palpable. you can tell it makes them BOTH uneasy #but also I might just be crazy so who knows #might turn off rbs later but idk!! we will see how insecure about my writing I get before then #posting even just snippets in a new fandom is SCARY so this is my way of microdosing that after god knows how long #red dead redemption 1 #red dead redemption 2 #<- idk what to tag this as bc its a pre rdr2 snippet but like... idk?? I have inspiration from both games so?????#john marston #dutch van der linde #paisley.txt

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nevadancitizen · 10 months ago

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THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA MASTERLIST

synopsis: After a deal goes wrong, you wake up in an abandoned building with an outlaw-looking man pointing a gun at you. To your surprise (and disbelief), you're in 1899. Much like the rest of your life, you didn't sign up for this. But, like the rest of your life, you'll learn how to deal with it. Maybe you'll even learn how to survive -- maybe even thrive -- in this new... predicament you've found yourself in.

ships: Arthur Morgan/Modern!Reader, Van der Linde Gang & Reader

tags: Time Travel, Slow Burn, Found Family, Van der Linde Gang as Family (Red Dead Redemption), POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Modern!Reader, reader is from the year of yahweh 2024

AO3 link, if you prefer to read there

massive thanks to: @heart-of-gold-outlaw for inspiring this, and @reddeadreference for keeping such a clean and well-organized blog of references that have helped a lot while writing ^_^

note: the reader in this fic is gender neutral. please do not refer to them with feminine or masculine pronouns. instead, please address them by they/them pronouns. this fic is all-inclusive and not meant to alienate anyone -- it's meant to be written so that everyone can read, no matter their personal pronouns!

PROLOGUE

COLTER

CH. 1: Somewhere (Far, Far) East of the Mojave

CH. 2: Charles Smith, the Man That You Are

HORSESHOE OVERLOOK

CH. 3: Of True and False Memories

CH. 4: The Mystery That is Arthur Morgan

CH. 5: A Cockfight Full of Pricks

CH. 6: Cup Your Mouth & Whisper Your Secrets

CH. 7: Suitors & Seers

CH. 8: The Real Housewives of Horseshoe Overlook

CH. 9: Unsaid Understandings

CH. 10: <currently being written...>

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hihomeghere · 10 months ago

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Here is my collection of Red Dead Redemption fics! I hope you enjoy! All of my fics are f!reader if not specifically mentioned

Smut 💋, Fluff 🪽, Angst 🗯️

Rdr2 Boyfriend vibes

John Marston

Burning Love Set in the epilogue of RDR2. You stumble upon John in Blackwater after being alone for years. When he invites you to visit Beecher's Hope, will you be able to fight feelings that have been building ever since you were kids? 🪽💋

Gloves John goes crazy over you dressed up for a job, more specifically your white gloves 🪽💋

Based off an ask 💋

Right Person, Wrong Time You and John have constantly been at each other's throats until you left the gang after he chose Abigail over you. When you return you find him gone, leaving Abigail and Jack. You create a relationship with Abigail and Jack, but what will happen when John returns? 🗯️💋

Part Two of Right Person, Wrong Time

Arthur Morgan

Fakin' It After a botched robbery, Arthur and you take refuge in a hotel, hiding from the O'Driscolls outside your door. When they do decide to search for you two, how will you throw them off your track? 💋

Fishing in the Dark You and Arthur have a private evening away from camp on the Dakota river. 🪽💋

Dreams Arthur starts having dreams of starting a family with you 🪽

My Eyes Only Arthur thinks you look like a work of art 🪽

Salt and Pepper Arthur notices his hair is starting to gray 🪽

Deserving. 6. I won't let anything happen to you, I swear. 34. I think you're showing. 36. You're glowing. 41. The baby loves hearing you sing/speak. 83. Was that a kick? 🪽

Blue Ain't Your Color Loosely based on the song, Blue Ain't Your Color 🪽

Little Things Arthur returns from a successful job and wants nothing more than to bury himself in you 💋

Prompts : #30 I just want to be yours. #50 We need to talk about last night 💋

First time : You want Arthur to be the one to take your virginity, you just dont want to tell him💋

Prompt : #4 "god, here- just hold my hand." Low Honor!Arthur 🪽

Arthur Morgan x Reader x Charles Smith

Baptized by Fire series masterlist

Wanna bet? It all started with a friendly bet and ended in the night of their dreams. When Arthur and Charles make a bet to see who can get the better score in bareback bronc riding, you, a barrel racer, asked if you could get in on their bet. But the prize you’re after isn’t who will pay each other’s tab, you’re after something more physical.

Charles Smith

Knight in Shining Armor 1. "Kiss me" "What-", 81. "Your heart is racing." 🪽💋

Prompts : 12 "You look so much softer, so much calmer, I wish you could see yourself as you sleep."13"Sleeping with you was the best sleep I've gotten in years." 54“Here, take my blanket.”55 “You’re cute when you smile, you should do it more often.” 61 “I said I’d take care of you.” 🪽

Desperado Set four months after Charles leaves with the Wapiti. You and Charles try to figure out what to do after the gang falls apart. Comfort fic 🪽

Javier Escuella

Prompt : #19 You're leaving now? 🗯️

Prompt: "You heard me. Take. It. Off.” "Do I look like I’ve moved on?” 🗯️🪽

Kieran Duffy

Prompt : #66 Were you touching yourself? 💋

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #john marston #javier escuella #charles smith #kieran duffy #arthur morgan x reader #john marston x reader #charles smith x reader #javier escuella x reader #kieran duffy x reader #hihomeghere #masterlist #rdr2 x reader

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poopiefart420 · 2 months ago

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Hehe low honor jack marathon headcanons

I’ll prob get post-nut clarity posting these but ermmm he won’t leave my brain so

It’s also a whole yap fest from my notes so nothing is revised

he’s addicted to alcohol but he’s picked up on opium occasionally because of the “love is the opiate” mission and another one where he sells opium.

-he also sells the opium on the side he doesn’t care that he’s pushing people further into addiction when he’s down with them. (Anger at the world, apathy, etc.. emo ass)

-he lost his virginity much faster than high honor (that version respects woman) because he just does not care about staying pure or what happens to him in general. That doesn’t mean he’s not socially inept or a ladies man/fuckboy, just means he had maybe two or three experiences.

-his pick up lines usually give him a bad rep anyways (THEY DO NAWT WANT HIS ASS)

-he spends most his time by himself he believes the world is against him for the hand he was dealt. It’s really because he never learned how to socialize past his family and animals so it feels like a chore he will never be good at.

-he’d rather be angry than feel more of a waste of space

-things John have said stuck with him even in adult hood, for example johns original distaste for his nose being in a book all the time (“writing silly stories….”). He gave up on reading and all the other things that made him less “tough”

-he wonders if his pa would actually acknowledge him as a man now or will he continue to feel disappointed he got jack as a son

-jack can’t stand to read no more either, reminds him of his last days with Abigail where he would read her to bed.

-he can’t go back to beechers hope, he can still

Smell the rot in the barn (sensory hallucinations), see the dust forming on surfaces, the graves up on a hill. It’s all too much for him.

-instead he floats around whatever hotel or saloon available, if not those he’ll set up camp far away and hope someone ends his life in his sleep.

-those suicidal tendencies never end for him, he hasn’t shot himself yet but a lot of the times he’s hoping someone will just shoot him dead while he’s walking aimlessly.

-he’s attempted but they all failed not because he messed up or realized he wanted to live, but because he was afraid of his parents reactions to seeing him if there is an afterlife. (He’s still afraid of disappointment even now)

-low honor jack is known to be sadistic, finding a sick sort of thrill in killing people. Even with animals he will say a voiceline that will throw the player off (ex: “I guess I just miss Rufus” after killing a dog). It gives him a sense of control he hasn’t had all his life, everyone around him dying or leaving.

- bounty hunting or hit man jobs would suit him most, and he builds a reputation for being a cold hearted killer (if only they saw him 3 years ago when he was just Abigail’s silly boy)

-HALLUCINATIONS, he has visual, olfactory (smell), and auditory hallucinations. Most of them are people in his life the clearest ones are of his mom because he remembers her the most. Anyone he doesn’t remember is disfigured and blurry.

-they don’t do anything but stand in his vision but it makes him freeze all the same. It’s worse when he can hear mumbling static or dogs barking.

#rdr1 #rdr #rdr2 #red dead redemption 1 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption 2 #adult jack marston #low honor jack marston #jack marston #jack marston rdr1 #jackalope #he deserves more than this but I like to see him suffer 😇#I love the recent low honor fics #OK BYE BYEEEE

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moeitsu · 1 year ago

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♡The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee♡

(Arthur Morgan x OC) Masterlist

Hey Cowboys! -ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Below is where you'll find all the chapters to my Red Dead Redemption fanfic, I will keep it updated as I continue to post more chapters. But in the meantime, I wanted to make things a little more organized and easier for you to navigate.

Whether you just started reading, or if you've been keeping up with the story since the beginning. I want to thank you! This started as a little side project to keep me busy during my down time at work, but it's turned into something I'm really passionate and proud of! So thank you for all the support <3

!!Please be aware this fic is explicit. As it contains blood/violence, as well as other adult themes!!

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╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ Ao3

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ Wattpad

Summary: Kate McCanon, a young widow from the north, meets outlaw Arthur Morgan. When the two cross paths she discovers a complex man wrestling with his own sense of right and wrong. As their unlikely bond deepens, Kate becomes determined to guide Arthur towards a brighter path, even as tensions rise within his gang led by the enigmatic Dutch van der Linde. With danger lurking at every turn, Kate must navigate treacherous territory to protect those she holds dear, all while finding love in the most unexpected of places.

Story Tags: Original Character(s), Widowed, High-Honor!Arthur Morgan, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Chubby!Arthur Morgan, Canon Divergence, Happy Ending, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Child Loss, Infant Death, Eventual Smut, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Emotional Sex, Eventual Pregnancy, Fluff/Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Sweet/Hot, Touch-Starved, Sexual Tension, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Men Crying, Torture, Blood and Violence, Survivor Guilt, Aftermath of Torture, Caretaking, Injury Recovery, Period-Typical Racism, Anxiety, Self-Hatred, Self-Doubt, Depression, Emotional Constipation, Historical References, Major Character Deaths, No Beta, Over 200k Words

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Ch 1 - The Years Creep Slowly By Kate becomes entangled in a heist with two strangers, Hosea and Arthur, forging an unexpected bond amidst their criminal endeavor. Ch 2 - The Snow Is On The Grass Again A fisher of men and A strange encounter. Ch 3 - The Suns Low Down The Sky Welcome to Horseshoe Overlook Ch 4 - The Frost Gleams Where The Flowers Have Been It's time to collect a debt. Ch 5 - My Heart Beats On As Warmly Now A well deserved hunt with Charles, met with an unexpected surprise back at camp... Ch 6 - As When The Summer Days Were Nigh The battle begins, and the past is revealed. Ch 7 - The Sun Can Never Dip So Low Kate is not immune to the dangers of the land. No matter how much she loved it, the land will never love her back. Ch 8 - Or Down Affections Cloudless Sky A blissful sunny day after a long hard night. Ch 9 - A Hundred Months Have Passed Kate and Arthur share a tender moment in the quiet of the night. Ch 10 - Since Last I Held That Hand In Mine The Course of True Love and other Revelations Ch 11 - And Felt The Pulse Beat Fast Arthur and Hosea share meaningful conversation after a night of advertising some moonshine. Meanwhile Kate finds herself involved in a dubious mission with John and the boys. She patches up Arthur as the day ends with an air of unspoken desire. Ch 12 - Though Mine Beat Faster Far Than Thine - Part 1 Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God in a world that is ugly with violence and hate. Ch 13 - In Dreams, She Comes To Me - Part 2 Arthur’s life is ebbing out like the tide. Kate must work quickly and diligently to reverse the cruel hands of fate. She is aided by the help of an unexpected ally. Ch 14 - A Hundred Months ‘Twas Flowery May As Kate navigates Arthur’s recovery, she discovers that true strength lies within her trusted companions, finding relief in their unwavering support during the trials of his healing journey. Ch 15 - When Up The Hilly Slope We Climbed Arthur struggles to adjust to his new disabilities. Meanwhile Kate finds a job outside of camp for them, providing a few days respite and some much needed alone time. Arthur finally reveals his feelings. Ch 16 - The Past Is The Eternal Past Kate and Arthur welcome a new life into the world. The scene brings back tender memories of Arthur's past, he finally finds the courage to open up to her about his family. Ch 17 - To Watch The Dying of The Day Say, isn't it strange? I am still me, and you are still you. In this place. Isn't it strange how people can change? From strangers to friends, friends into lovers. To strangers again. Ch 18 - To Hear the Distant Church Bells Chime The gang finds a new hideout at Shady Belle, just outside the heart of the new modern America. With Jack still missing, Kate and Arthur must work together to find him. Amidst the tension, Arthur confides in Kate about his deepest regrets. Ch 19 - We Loved Each Other Then The Gilded Cage. Kate and Arthur attend an exclusive garden party hosted by the Mayor of Saint Denis. As the night progresses, their mutual desire intensifies. Ch 20 - More Than We Dared To Tell In vulnerability they meet. As the world fades to a gentle hum, their hearts beat as if they're one. In the aftermath, quiet and deep. Love whispers promises they'll keep. Ch 21 - What We Might Have Been As tensions within the camp simmer and new challenges surface, the gang finds themselves slipping further into uncertainty. Amid the chaos, Kate and Arthur navigate the weight of their individual struggles, leaning on their bond to weather the storm and hold onto what matters most. Ch 22 - Had But Our Loving Prospered Well As Dutch readies the gang for their next big score, Arthur is sent to Saint Denis to settle unfinished business, only to face a ghost from his past. Meanwhile, Kate's come down with an illness, but a vivid dream sparks a newfound resolve to secure her and Arthur's future—no matter the cost.

Ch 23 - To Call Up Their Shadowy Forms In a chaotic, adrenaline-fueled poker game, Arthur and Kate find themselves ensnared in the deadly consequences of their choices during a fine night of debauchery. Ch 24 - The Story of That Past Tension runs high as Arthur grapples with the weight of impossible choices, his loyalty to the gang tested against his growing desperation to protect Kate. Meanwhile, Kate endures her own silent battle, caught between the chilling reality of her imprisonment and the lingering hope that Arthur will not abandon her. Ch 25 - The Hope That Could Not Last The time of outlaws and gunslingers is coming to an end. Arthur risks everything in a dangerous gamble to free Kate from the law. While the weight of the world threatens to crush him, Kate’s unwavering hope burns brighter than ever. Ch 26 - I Care Not To Repeat Arthur’s unexpected act of kindness sets the stage for a fragile alliance between two men shaped by loss and loyalty. Upon returning to camp, they must work quickly to prepare for yet another journey. Ch 27 - Words of Mine Long Years Ago The journey to Annesburg is steeped in silence as tension brews. Arthur wrestles with his emotions and fights a losing battle to shield Kate from the oppressive weight of his sins. Ch 28 - I Would Not Cause Her One Regret Under the tender care of Wapiti's medicine woman, Kate receives life-changing news that will forever alter the course of her and Arthur's future. In the midst, she uncovers a gift left by Hosea, something that will carry them through the journey ahead. Ch 29 - There Is A Future Thank God In the midst of their desire, Arthur's long-buried sorrows rise to the surface. Overwhelming with intensity, Kate's tender heart is determined to sooth his pain. In the aftermath, they share a quiet, contemplative moment, their thoughts turning toward the future.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━ If you're interested in reading about my OC, I linked some posts about her below! <3

Kate McCanon Lore Face and Voice Claim OC Commission! Spotify Playlist About me!

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jillsandwhichs · 1 year ago

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Get to know me:

My name is Cilla. My pronouns are she/her/hers. I am a bisexual woman. I absolutely love Resident Evil and everything under the umbrella of survival horror. I also love The Last of Us, Life is Strange, Attack on Titan and more. My favorite ships are Valenfield (Chris x Jill) and LeviHan (Levi x Hange). If you have any other questions, feel free to ask them in my ask me box. Thank you.

Rules:

Here are some rules I hold for my blog. If you break them at all, you are instantly blocked. Thank you.

Be kind & respectful to everyone on my blog including me and commenters.

Do be mindful of the fact I write smut and post it. If that is not your thing and it makes you uncomfortable, refrain from visiting my blog.

I do not allow any form of racism, bigotry, abelism, sexism, etc on my blog. Hateful speech such as that will be immediately shut down.

If you plan to critique my writing, do it kindly. I love criticism but only when it's meant well.

Do not repost my writing at all. Not ever.

When giving requests, there are certain things I will not write. If you'd like me to go more into depth, feel free to ask me!

This is common sense but do not look through my blog if you're under the age of 16. Even then, 18 and up is what I prefer and what I think is best suitable for my blog.

Lastly, because I cannot think of anything else now, just be cool and yourself.

Navigation:

Navigation section for each one of my Resident Evil fanfictions. Every single one is included here.

Cleon - One Shots/AUs

Valenfield - One Shots/AUs

RE Characters x Reader - Smut Shots

Heart on my Sleeve - A Valenfield Story

Golden - A Cleon Story

Aeon - One Shots/AUs

Now here are each one of my The Last of Us fanfictions. Every single one is included here.

Our Future Days (Joel Miller x Reader series)

Joel Miller x Reader - Smutshots/AUs Collection

Now here are each one of my Attack on Titan/Shingeki no Kyojin fanfictions. Every single one is included here.

What We Gain/Book 1/Levi x Reader

Now here are each one of my Red Dead Redemption fanfictions. Every single one is included here.

Worth it (Arthur Morgan x Reader series)

Other platforms:

I post all of my fanfictions on Wattpad & Ao3 as well. Wattpad always gets chapters first so if you're eager to keep reading a certain fic of mine, feel free to check out my Wattpad because chapters are always posted there first.

Wattpad

AO3

This isn't necessarily a social of mine but it is an RE Discord server I run so here! RE Discord Server

Here is my link tree. It includes my straw page, Tiktok, X & Instagram. Linktree

#resident evil #masterlist #chris redfield #jill valentine #valenfield #claire redfield #leon kennedy #cleon #resident evil smut #smut smut smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #resident evil fanfiction #valenfieldfic #cleonfic

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vid-sold-to-the-saja-boys · 20 days ago

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Welcome to my Pinned Post!

Any information here, especially commissions, are prone to change! I use my main blog to mostly reblog artworks or pictures or memes from my many fandoms. But if you like my artwork, please stick around, or follow my side blogs of my fandom-oriented fanarts. I am a HUGE canon x oc artist...

Hi! Who am I? Well, my art alias is Vidjauser. I am an artist who loves doing and consuming content of illustrations, comics, and character design. I am a roleplayer, but very picky about my partners. (Romance?👀🫶)

As you can tell, this is a KPop Demon Hunter Art/Fanfic Blog. I recently became addicted to the movie and the Saja Boys.

She/Her/They/Them 🏳️‍🌈

24, ♒️ , INFP

Minors please do NOT interact or DM me. I sometimes post NSFW or suggestive artwork/fanfictions.

I actually recently graduated college with a Bachelors in Art & Design and Art History.

Art Tag:

Instagram:

BlueSky

Main Blog/Commission Information:

Fic Masterlist:

Some Incubi aren't nice:

Incubus Jinu x Manipulated Reader (NSFW)

Summary: Incubus Jinu is mistaken as an old childhood friend…and takes the opportunity to have a proper meal.

Tags: Oneshot, first person, smut, incubus, dubcon, demon, teratophilia, P in V sex, no protection, creampie, choking, improper use of a belt and soda, dubious consent, implied somnophilia

Ask 1:

“In your Incubus Saja Boys Au, how would the Saja Boys react to Reader, who's completely flustered, especially if any of them or worse, all of them flirt with Reader? Thanks!”

Summary: The Saja boys came particularly hungry to this fansigning. That was never a good sign for poor little reader.

Warnings: Suggestive, but not smutty. Being aroused is brought up a lot.

Other Art Blogs:

Main blog (I repost and follow from here vidjauser-fables)

Love and Deepspace (Active)

Squid Game (Semi-active)

Red Dead Redemption (Retired but there are old artworks posted here)

My Time at Sandrock (Not retired but I am not actively posting here).

Commission Information:

#kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters fanart #kpop demon hunters art #k pop demon hunters #k pop demon hunters art #k pop demon hunters fanart #saja boys

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uncouth-egg · 28 days ago

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Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x AFAB Reader

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 3766

✦ Slight degradation kink ✦ PIV sex / fingering ✦ Size kink / Cowgirl ✦ Dirty talk ✦ Unsafe sex (do not emulate) ✦ Smut

Summary: You and Arthur need to take shelter when a rainstorm surprises you in the valley.

🚫 18+ ONLY 🚫 This fic is rated Explicit and is not intended for minors. Please do not interact if you're under 18.

This is an xReader fic that I have reworked from an older 3rd person fic with QUITE a bit of added flavor.

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Episode 1-fireside vocabulary

The two of you had been riding all day already after the hunt in the valley. The clouds rolled in black and quickly over the grizzlies with a torrent neither was prepared for. The water from the river started to swell uncomfortably fast under the torrent, as if the sky itself was falling into the valley.

“Flash floods comin’, we gotta get to higher ground now!” Arthur shouts over the rain and wind whipping through the trees, holding down his hat. You nod and redirect your own horse up a narrow path to follow him. The rain came down harder, the earth becoming dangerously slick.

“What’ll we do? We can’t make camp!” you yell.

“There’s an abandoned house just at the top of the hill I’ve seen, we can wait out the rain there.” You could feel the water soaking through all your layers and your core seizing up at the sudden cold. Arthur took the lead as the light quickly disappeared behind the hill. You followed the best you can until you reached the damn thing. He helped you off her horse as was his way. Once you hit the ground you scurry in through the unlocked door taking care to bring in your guns from the rain. It’s dark and dingy inside, you can barely see a thing, so you set your mind to finding a lantern or candle while Arthur brought in the animals you had been bringing to camp from the hunt. So much for getting back by nightfall.

“You got any matches on you?” you ask.

“Yep.” He tossed a pack from the inside of his jacket and went back outside to stable the horses behind the house and bring in the rest. No candles yet, but there was a fireplace so you keep wandering the house for scrap wood of any kind. There’s a coat rack that would have to do. Any lumber from outside would be too wet to burn. You break it down by whacking it against the stone wall and pile it into the fireplace. Arthur came in from the rain once again and unloaded all the gear on the floor and blocked the door behind him.

“It’s close quarters, but that’ll have to do,” he says.

“Oh that’s fine. You still have that newspaper you bought yesterday?” you ask.

He slipped it out of his pocket, “Sure,” he laughs. The water had destroyed it, nearly turning it to pulp. “You wanna read it?” He tosses it to the ground with a wet slap. Your teeth begin to chatter and he shake his head, “I told you to bring a better coat, look at’chya.”

You try to laugh, “Hindsight, Mister Morgan. We need to get these clothes dry. Can you find something we can cover up with while we hang them?”

“Of course. I’d hate for you to see this thing,” He jokes, gesturing to himself, as if you hadn’t even wanted to suggest covering up; but not freezing was more important at the moment. Arthur left to excavate the bedrooms after peeling off his coat. You have no idea how he hasn’t noticed you staring yet. Maybe he did and was gently trying to deter you. In the cupboards you find a few cigarette boxes and empty them out, tossing them into the fireplace under the wood and lighting them on all sides. You’re just too cold and wet to think about Arthur taking off all his clothes, although the thought did bring her some warmth, just not in her frozen fingers and toes. The fire was taking well, so you drag over some chairs and started to hang her outer layers close to the heat.

Arthur’s voice came from around the corner, “Found a few dry quilts, although I cannot promise they’re clean. Oh pardon.” He turns away when he sees you stripped down to your bloomers.

“Dry will do just fine,” you say, and take the top one off the stack in his arms, wrapping it around yourself. He was right, they smell musty, but they are dry which is more important. When you’re with the gang he is loud and braggadocious, but when the two of you go out on jobs together he is almost… demure. He still doesn’t see you as one of the girls like Karen or Tilly. He treats you with an awkward formality you’ve never known what to do with.

“I do have a few extra shirts in my saddlebags over there if you’d like,” he says.

“Thank you, Arthur.” You make your way to where he’d left his saddle bag and dig out a thick cotton blue shirt, worn thin in a few places. You look back at him by the fire where he was taking off his shirt, not looking in your direction. Once you know he isn’t looking for sure, you put your face into the fabric and take a deep, appreciative inhale. It’s still clean and unworn from the wash, but you can smell him clear as day. Smoke, nicotine, pine, dirt, sweat. You don’t know that you’ve ever had it this bad before, as far as you can remember, which still wasn’t a lot after that fall you took before they found you. You pull it over, unable to keep yourself from thinking about it meaning something or obsessing over how big it was on you, despite hardly being a delicate little lady. You keep the quilt over your back like a tent while you slide off your rain-soaked undergarments before wrapping up again.

Now, slightly warmer than before, you dig back through the kitchen to try to find candles again. This time you find a few old tallow candles buried with a single pan and three bottles of dusty, unlabeled red wine. You can hear Arthur singing quietly by the fire while he strings up the lasso to hang the rest of their clothes to dry. You made sure never to say anything about it anymore, since the first time you did he’d stopped and been gruff the rest of the day. Eventually, you realized he didn’t really know when he was doing it, just a little thing to pass the time. You especially loved that he was always a little off tune. You bring the candles and a bottle of the wine to the musty couch in front of the fireplace, now fully alight and working away at the musty chill in the room.

“Do we still have that rabbit from this afternoon?” you ask, offering him the bottle you were able to open with your knife. He hesitates before taking a deep swig and hands it back.

“Sure. You got any herbs? We could have a regular feast.”

You smile. “Sounds like a plan.”

He’s able to roast the rabbit in the fireplace easily, and the two of you quickly downed the bottle of wine between the two of them, talking about nothing as you usually did. The rabbit was fine, never your favorite, but you’re thankful for a proper meal. Without asking you go ahead and open a second bottle of wine.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” he asks, setting the empty bottle down beside the couch.

“I’m all out of good ones, time for a bad one” You plop back down and take a long drink yourself. “Thank you for dinner, as usual.” He was always taking care of you, and you tried not to be embarrassed about it, hardly the picture of a frontier woman yourself.

“Sure,” he nods.

“And the shirt.”

“‘Course.”

“And… for helping me back in Valentine. I would never have made it out alive if it weren’t for you.” As the wine began to settle in you were slowly remembering that you always were a touchy-feely drunk. Vague memories of confessions and hugs and tearful kisses among friends danced at the fringes of your memory.

He tries to eschew the compliment as usual, “You’re a resourceful woman, I think-”

But you press a hand on his chest, covered by the thick quilt, though not… entirely. “No,” you say. The rain continues to pound the roof and you can hear a branch break and fall to the ground outside.

“No?”

“No. I would’ve died,” you slur a little into an accent you dodn’t have. ‘Ah would’ve dahd’, it sounded like.

He smiled despite himself.

“You saved me.”

His smile fell. “I helped make you a killer. That’s all.”

“You helped me become a survivor.” You drink again from the bottle, imagining it meant something that they shared the mouth of it, imaginary kisses. “Thank you. For everything.” You're distracted by the sight of his tawny chest hair peeking through the opening of the quilt, shining in the firelight. It takes your breath away and you giggle, though if you’re honest you feel more like drooling. Your hand slowly moves inward, grazing the hair gently with your fingers. You both freeze and stare at your hand. The wine had settled into her whole body with a hazy, heavy, happiness, not to mention that warm ache between your legs. You knew what you would find if you were to slip your hand beneath the blanket. Your hand slowly makes its way up through the hair on his chest to his neck, along his beard, and eventually to his slightly chapped lips.

“Fuck,” you breathe. “You as drunk as I am?”

“Maybe. No use in being fools.” He removes your hand and sets it back in your lap. “You use that word a lot for a lady, you sure you even know what it means?” He teased thoughtlessly. His eyes felt slow to move. He takes another drink, besides.

“If I don’t, are you going to teach me?” you say, unable to help yourself.

He chokes on the wine and it nearly goes up his nose. You didn’t talk like that. You didn’t talk to him like that, least of all. He visibly regrets his words immediately. He thinks of you as a lady, softer and sweeter than he deserves. Once his cough settles, he spoke up, trying to be firm.

“Now, I wouldn’t dare do such a thing. I doubt you need a vocabulary lesson from the likes of me.” He was not about to presume.

“Such a gentleman,” you chide.

He opts to go back to the wine again, hoping you would wait away the rest of the night in drunken silence. He knows you're watching him, he can see it out of the corner of his eye. The blanket was starting to feel too warm but he dare not remove it in front of you. Another long drink.

“Can I have another taste?” you ask.

“Sure.” He offers the bottle again without looking you in the eye, but you don’t move. He faces you to offer it again. You reach out slowly only to set your hand on his wrist and lower it, and the bottle with it, to the table. Instead, you lean so close he can smell the soap you used. You kiss him open and slow, making him feel suddenly weak. Your tongue seeks entrance to his mouth, which is immediately, stupidly granted. With a grunt, he follows your lead, against what little good judgment he had left. He’d imagined your pink, pillow lips parting for him before, a shameful amount of times. This time is so searingly real. You kissed him with a hunger he never ascribed to you being capable of, tasting the dry, peppery wine on both your tongues. You pull away; and everything about you is breathy and flushed and even more dangerous and intoxicating than any liquor. You hum and move on to kissing his neck, hastily crawling into his lap.

“Nnh,” he grunts, “you are drunk.” He’s trying to be reasonable.

“So are you,” you remind him.

“I’m not too drunk to do you this disservice, ma’am.”

“Oh, so I’m a ma’am now?” you tease.

“You’re a nice lady, I’m not-”

“You don’t know what kind of lady I am.” You kiss him on the neck again, your hands running lower, causing him to shiver.

His hands grip your hips. He meant to lift you off him, but you bring herself down in his lap instead, and he tries his damndest to keep his moan inside his mouth, but it made its way into yours. In his drunken thinking, he can quite get himself to care anymore. He’d wanted this or something like this for so long, he couldn’t help but think only of how good you smell, how you taste, how you sound, how soft and firm and good you feel in his hands. He hadn’t made love to a woman properly in years. Maybe a decade. He’d fucked ‘em, paid for ‘em, even. But he wanted to make love to you so badly. You’re breathing so hard in his ear, slipping the quilt off his bare shoulders. “I’m not gonna be able to tell you ‘no’ much longer,” he says.

“Then don’t,” you practically growl, growing impatient with all the fabric you’re wrapped in. “You’re no gentleman, Arthur.” You sit back up and start fumbling with the buttons on the shirt you wore of his.

He’d tried to ignore how it made him feel to see you in it. He had to admit it was just as selfish of him to offer as it was generous. He shoos your hands away and proceeds to take care of the buttons himself.

“Why, mister Morgan–” you begin, but the rest is lost in the press of his mouth against yours, rough and final.

“That’ll be enough outta you,” he grounds out. His fingers make quick work of the buttons, pulling the fabric apart until your breasts spill free into his hands. “You’re right. I ain’t no gentleman.” Arthur liked breasts in general, but the sight of yours in the firelight flushed and heavy in his palms, seems to knock something loose in him. He bends his head and runs his tongue over one peak, then the other, circling slowly, his lips dragging open-mouthed, while his hands kneaded greedily. Your fingers find his hair, yanking hard enough to make him groan low against your skin. He pushes you onto your back and crawls over you tasting as much of you as he had access to, better than any day dream he’d brought to his tent while alone.

“Arthur I-” you gasp, your hips grinding up underneath him.

He doesn’t let you finish. “I said no more talk.” His mouth trails hot and wet across your collarbone, your sternum, down the slope of your ribs.

You surprise him yet again by grabbing his hand and forcing it between your legs without another word. You’re not wearing anything at all underneath his shirt, now mostly falling off of your shoulders. He may have been wrong about how proper he thought you were.

“Christ,” he grunts, his drawl molasses slow under your ear. In his wine-muddled head, he can feel himself getting carried away. ““You sittin’ here like this? Waitin’ for me?”

You nod, flushed and wild-eyed. His fingers slide through your slick and he groans low in his throat.

“Goddamn. You’re soaked. Fuckin’ drippin’. Want me to teach you how it’s done, huh? That it?”

You nod wildly, your half-dry hair curling along your red cheeks.

“All this for me?” he mutters, his voice half-laugh, half-growl. “Jesus,” he mutters. “You already know enough to be dangerous. Or maybe you just wanna be ruined.”

Your breath hitches. You can’t think. He curls his finger and finds something that makes your vision blur. He slides in a second without asking. His thumb brushes over your clit, slow at first, then mean, making an undignified whine crawl up your throat.

He wonders how long you had been sitting there like that, ready for him all the while you talked and laughed and drank. He tests you with a single, rough digit, your response overly positive before he eagerly moves on to two, curling them forward and drawing a lewd noise from your mouth.

“That’s it,” he says, voice low and rough. His mouth is back on your breast, hot and sucking and just shy of cruel.

You moan with a shocking volume while he works away at you, winding you up like a music box around his fingers, fucking you with his hand.

“Atta’ girl. I wanna hear you. Ain’t nobody out here but me, sweet thing.”

You pull his hair harder in response. “You said not to talking,” you snarl, gripping his shoulder.

“Those sounds you’re makin’ sure as hell ain’t talkin’,” he gloats, smiling wickedly. He finds your clit and gives it generous, circling attention with his broad thumb, bringing out another cry as you writhe against him. You can barely open your eyes. Arthur’s hands are so different from your own, large expert things with far more dexterity than expected. He works your clit with his thumb and sinks his fingers deeper, rough and perfect, and when you come it’s a hot, shaking thing that knocks the wind from you. He holds you through it, watching every twitch, every shiver. You yell when you come on his calloused hand and lay panting beneath him for a moment, the thin sheen of sweat along your chest shimming in the firelight. His typically bright eyes are so much darker than you’ve ever seen even as they glow in the firelight.

Once you finally come out of your revelry your expression is what he could only call tricky.

“Come’ere,’” you whisper, gently guiding his face to meet yours for a series of breathless kisses. You slowly raun your hand down his chest, finding his cock under the blanket with your hand easily enough, making him groan and feel overconfident.

“Look at you, with your soft little hand around my cock. Is it what you expected? Do you think I’ll fit?” he teases, attempting to keep himself composed but breathing heavily, panting between phrases. He knows that you could tell him to do anything you wanted now. There was a gentleman somewhere in his conscience telling him to slow down. He’d meant what he said when he called you a lady, but it was far too late for all that, he supposed. You gave him a few good strokes, where you learned how he couldn’t possibly know.

“You drive me crazy,” you murmur.

Before he can respond, you push him onto his own back on the couch, the wine making him slow to react, both your blankets sliding by the wayside while you plant your knees on either side of him. His cock is flushed and heavy between you, the head slick, already leaking against his stomach. His hair is completely askew and his chest rose and fell as though he’d been sprinting. You take him in hand and run the tip through your slick folds, slow enough to make him twitch. He groans like it physically hurts not to move. You brace your free hand on his chest—warm, solid muscle under coarse hair—and begin to sink down. The stretch makes you gasp. He’s thick and unrelenting, and it takes a breathless moment to take him fully. Arthur’s eyes roll back, jaw tight, one hand curling around your thigh like he’s hanging on for dear life.

“Aw, fuck–” He grits his teeth and grabs your hips. You do wince, but only briefly before you’re fully saddled, causing Arthur to hiss. YYou pause at the base, adjusting, his breath trembling. Your walls flutter around him and he groans again, deeper this time. You start to move—just your hips, tilting forward with a slow grind, letting him feel every inch. He’s no help at all, already half-gone, eyes locked on where your bodies meet like he can’t believe it until he comes back to himself, his hands gripping your waist tight, helping you lift and sink, lift and sink.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, eyes tracking the bounce of your breasts as you move. Arthur saw the only thing more beautiful than a sunrise over the mountains; a naked woman riding him like he was a fucking horse. He’s rendered stupid and speechless, his hands gripping the thick flesh of your hips to help keep pace, to lift and bring you down onto him. He loves helping. You move with steady, delicious force on and on until you find what is just right. His hands slide up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples while you keep the rhythm. His eyes are locked on you now, starving.

“You like that?” you whisper, dragging your nails down his chest.

“Fuck, yes, I like it. You tryin’ to kill me?” you slur. You shift your angle, rolling your hips in a slow, punishing grind. Every time he bottoms out inside you, he groans like he’s falling apart. You can feel him throb, feel the drag of him inside you, feel the pressure building with each movement.

He’s breathing hard, panting, his head tilted back against the couch like he’s praying for mercy and the slap of skin on skin drowns out even the rain pounding the roof of the cabin.

You slide your hand down your stomach and touch yourself where you’re joined, circling slowly. Arthur watches, eyes wide, mouth parted.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” he mutters, hips bucking up without meaning to.

You’re close. You can feel it building, that ache deep in your belly curling tighter and tighter. Arthur feels it too—he’s meeting your thrusts now, hands locked around your hips, dragging you down harder, deeper.

“Come on my cock,” he pants. “Please—fuck—sweetheart.”

Your whole body locks, thighs shaking, heat rushing through you like wildfire. You clench around him and he follows with a broken moan, hips jerking up as he spills inside you, hands digging into your skin like he never wants to let go.

You collapse onto his chest, both of you boneless, hearts pounding. Sweat slicks your back, your thighs, the hollow between your breasts.

For a long moment, you sit braced with your hands on his chest, your breath hot and heaving, the sounds around you slowly coming back to your attention; the heavy rain, the crackle of the fire beside you both.

You lean down and kiss him with an open mouth. “When's the next vocabulary lesson, Mister Morgan?”

He can't help but laugh, the sound thick, running his hands up her soft back. “Hell, sugar,” he wheezed, palming your ass, “You’re the teacher now.”

#rdr2 #rdr2 arthur #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x female oc #fanfic #my writing #smut

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