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SOOO CUTE 🥰😭

Smiley boy!!!

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Dead. Dead and fucking pleased to be.

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Besitos 💋 🦌

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that one playstation achievement i hate

commissions open!!

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So uh... Mister Piney and I welcomed too little ones in our home this week end 🥹

(if you have cool names for a duo please tell us!! The ginger one is a male and the other a female 🥹 they're brother and sister) (and we love them so dearly already)

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Yeah well I was trying a brush I found

Thinking about create an alt account on twitter to post the full image but idk omg sorry Arthur sorry everyone it looks so messy but hey crumbs jiji

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THEY ARE SO CUUUUTE, THE SMOOCHIE!!!

The babies <3

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hello sweet pine! for a mini prompt, if you find the time, I'd love to see you write your modern Arthur realizing he's falling in love with her while she's doing something mundane, like making coffee 🌱💕 merci beaucoup!

Ariiiii I'm so so happy to finally write something for you!! And this request, omg. You know I'm obsessed with modern Arthur and my barista Reader AU, don't you? I really hope you'll like it! (as always got a bit carried away and wrote 1,8k LMAOO. Old habits are hard to loose I guess 😂 I kept it super fluffy with just a pinch of lust! Hope you're doing very well and that you'll enjoy! 💞

Dreamy, desperately smitten, corny, longing Arthur incoming!

⋆·˚ ༘ *

It's a slow, blissful morning. Outside, birds are to summer what dead leaves are to autumn. Their chirping mingles with the cheerful conversations of passers-by, those strangers of whom we never know more than the surface. Arthur loves sitting at this specific table in this Café, especially during summer. Firstly, because it's the one next to the biggest window, the whole wall being practically glass. He loves the sun's rays tickling his face, not too strong, not too long, just enough to feel good.

But the main reason, the one he couldn't possibly admit to himself, is that he's perfectly placed to watch you prepare the orders.

His curious eyes are drawn like a butterfly to the delicious nectar of the most magnificent of flowers.

There you are, so absorbed in your task, so dedicated, like in every aspect of your life. A few stray strands of hair fall on your forehead and cheeks, but your busy hands can't deal with them right now. He doesn't care; they make you even more beautiful. He's hypnotized by every move you make. He doesn't even know why. You're just making coffee. But he can't help it.

The way you grab the right jar of coffee beans, probably out of sheer habit, given the speed with which you do it. How you scoop them and delicately weigh them. So aerial, so precise. As if they were grains of gold. Your personal little treasure.

You pour them into the grinder and the effect is instantaneous. The scent fills the whole room, enveloping everyone like a generous creamy topping on a pastry. It's so pleasant that he could fall asleep right here and now, sitting at this table under this bath of golden light. Oh, how he already loved coffee before. But nothing he has ever smelled or tasted even comes close to the ambrosial experience he's having here in this Café.

The grains sublimated into this dark chocolate-colored powder, you pick it up while expertly grasping one of the portafilters. You twirl it in your hand like a cowboy spins his gun, and that makes him grin. It's like you've been doing it all your life. After all, you've made hundreds and hundreds of coffees every day. Yet you had this love in your eyes, this little smile on your lips that makes each preparation so special.

Your eyes perk up as someone talks to you. But your hands never stop working, carrying on with your task by instinct. It all looks so easy for you. You juggle utensils like a painter handles his brushes. You spin and fly from one side to the other, a feather in a fresh breeze. Your interlocutor has the intelligence, or the audacity, he doesn't know exactly, to make you laugh. Arthur's heart leaps so fast he feels like he's on a rollercoaster. Your eyes crinkling, your frank smile stretching from one end of your face to the other, shining brighter than the summer sun outside. He could have given anything to be responsible for that laugh. If only, if only he were.

He can see you using a little stamp to press the coffee powder perfectly into the portafilter container. He didn't even know it existed before. At home, he always makes his coffee the old-fashioned way, in a pot on the stove, and it tastes like gnat's pee –just fuel for his hard days.

At home. He can't help but imagine, for a brief moment, just a stolen second, you making that coffee just for him. In an apartment, no, in a farmhouse —stone kitchen and wooden walls and lands so big you could go riding together all day and no one would even know where you'd be. He would watch you fuss in the kitchen, your back turned to him. A cute little dress for hot days showing your bare thighs. Your hair tied up for him to see your tender neck. Your waist, he has only been guessing for so long beneath that apron, finally highlighted by a tight ribbon. You'd talk to him about nothing and everything, about how good or bad you slept. And he'd come closer, gently, to embrace you, his arms slipping gently under yours to wrap around that waistline of yours. There, he could answer with a witty sarcasm of his, and he would make you laugh. He'd whisper words just for you, words that only the two of you could share. He'd watch you continue even while he cuddles you from behind, the homey, warm scent of his espresso filling his nose, and everything would feel just right. He'd bury his head in the hollow of your neck and feel your back all against his body, from your tender shoulders to the curves of your rear pressed to his crotch–

A sharp sound of steam makes him blink out of his trance, slightly panicked, as if someone could have read his thoughts. You're now foaming some milk in a frother pot, sometimes gently tapping it on the counter to free some bubbles from it. He's almost ashamed of himself. What was wrong with him lately? Daydreaming like a schoolboy wasn't in his habits, or hadn't been for a very long while at least. And yet, he's still silently, intently staring.

Your mild hands let go of the pot and search for a pretty cup to finally assemble the drink. They look so tiny. So graceful, so feminine. So different from his. Pianoting along the rows of cups and glasses like turning the pages of a book, they seem to dance nimbly. He wonders how it would feel to hold them. Caress them. Discover if your skin is as smooth as it looks, and he's so sure it does. The sensation of your fingertips on his own palm. You choose a warm yellow cup with little bees on it. He loves how you pick one specifically for each of your customers. He usually received wooden or vintage little espresso cups from you. The fact that you knew he loves his coffee simple and classically plain is making his belly warm and tickling from butterflies.

The shot of coffee drained from the machine, you quickly put it into the yellow recipient. With the milk pot, you slowly, deliberately pour the milk foam to create beautiful shapes of white. A cappuccino. No, a work of art. Once again everything else fades apart from you two. Suddenly it's not the sun warming him; it's your beautiful figure beaming and blinding everything and everyone else. Is he- no. It can't. It's just curiosity, you're just real pretty and talented at what you're doing. He's just a good appreciator of a job well done. Right?

Right?

His lame excuses don't last two seconds. Jesus, of course it's not. Why would he even come to see you every day otherwise? Why would he be staring at you like a goddamn creep for hours? It could have been just lust— it could have. By the way he loves how you bend over that counter, how he steals a few glances at your ass when you pass him by, but the urge he often gets at night to finally see that chest of yours always hidden by your work uniform. Avidity is definitely here. But hell, he knows there are a thousand else different feelings fighting in his chest in addition to this one. They clash and dance and play music inside of him against his will; it's so much more powerful than reason. It's this inexplicable evidence, this terrifying fire that pushes us to drown into the unknown. Wasn't it the origin of everything, after all? Of all the passions, all the beautiful stories, and all the tragic ones, too? How could he, a mere mortal, have escaped it?

Yes, Arthur needs to be honest with himself.

He is in love with you.

He loves you.

And as his thick brain finally understands what his heart and cock have been trying to tell him for weeks now, you chose this exact moment to cross his gaze from behind the counter. Your order finished, you're simply cleaning the wooden worktop, and you smile gently at him. And you're an angel, just doing a simple task like this.

He instantly looks down between his hands. Caught right in the act, stupid moron. Trying to keep his eyes fixed down, he's surprised to find his open journal on the table. He had almost forgotten he was drawing all this time. The left page is covered in objects of various forms he must have found interesting, like the espresso machine, the filter holder, some coffee beans, the bee cup. And the right page- God. It's a full portrait of you, bent over the counter, focused. Your apron embracing your beautiful curves, those few rebellious hairs he liked so much on your face. There are also a few close-ups of your graceful hands, and your shining eyes, and–

"Everything alright, sweetie?"

Arthur violently closes the journal, his heart crushed in a panic. He looks up at you, bashful smile on his thin lips, pretty pink coloring his cheeks and ears. He internally curses at himself one more time. He clears his throat before answering, trying at all costs to gain some composure back.

"P-perfectly fine, miss, thank you." It's a lost cause. You're standing so close to him that he can smell those fruity notes of your perfume, perfectly complemented by the hearty ones of coffee and hot cocoa that must stick to you all the time. He would love to be able to make sure of it so much. Would he still taste it on your bare skin? Would he feel it on your lips?

"Alright then!" You nod happily and he wants your eyes to stay on him forever. They kill him, they save him. It's too much and not enough. He doesn't want you to go so soon.

"Could I ... Uh... Could a'have one more, please?" He mumbles with the little courage he oddly has when it comes to women.

You notice the pile of already tiny empty cups on the side of his table, next to that notebook he always carries with him.

"Of course you can, sugar." You chuckle a bit, nodding at the four abandoned mugs. "Careful with stomach burns, though. I don't want one of my clients ending up at the hospital."

"Don't worry 'bout that, I can handle it."

"I'm sure you can, tough guy." You laugh at his way-too-serious tone and answer from him, and turn your heels to get started on his order.

Arthur looks just like the dumbfounded lovey-dovey fool he is. His lips aren't even a smile anymore but a giant crooked curve of beatitude, his chipped tooth showing. His deep blue eyes, usually so sharp and alert are half closed in a dreamy expression. He settles his chin on the palm of his hand and sighs heavily. There, he goes back to watching the tireless spectacle you are to him.

If only you knew. He could endure his stomach being torn apart if it meant he could hear you worry about him like that again.

Soo here it is, sweetest Ari 👉👈 I'm actually pretty nervous! You don't know how honored I am to write something for you, whose work I respect and love and admire so much! Thank you for sending me this super sweet ask I could only get inspired by 🥰 love ya!

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HE'S SO CUTE OMGGGG EVIE YOU'RE SO TALENTED ON EVERY LEVEL

Cutesy Arthur studies

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fresh and juicy

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Really really like the scenario. I'm down bad for Modern Arthur, + Reader being an exotic dancer? Arthur's eyes getting stuck on her all night? And they meet again like it's destiny and Arthur is a mechanic? Yeeeessss!! Super excited to read the next part!

A Standing Offer Pt. 1 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: Your work as an exotic dancer introduces you to John, Javier, and Arthur. You are aggravated to realize that you’re attracted to Arthur, knowing your work prevents you from acting on your feelings outside of the club’s walls.

Author’s Notes: This is a modern au. There are vague descriptions of reader working as an exotic dancer as well as a minor car accident in this chapter. No injuries or anything of the sort. This is part one of three. Enjoy :)

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, eventual smut, car accident

AO3 Link

~

A Standing Offer

Word count: 5199

Part One

It had only been a week, and already you were cursing at the traffic.

After moving for the third time, you were determined to like it here. It was a small city, easy to remain anonymous in and blend into the crowds. In your line of work, that wasn’t just a perk, it was a necessity. But even though you liked your new job and the people that came with it, the traffic to get to it was already a headache. A motherfucking headache.

Some asshole had just cut you off in a construction zone, and the string of expletives that spewed out of your mouth as you laid on the horn were inevitable. You couldn’t afford to have a bashed in car. Or worse, a bashed in head or body when your job relied on said body.

You soon reached your exit and put your blinker on with unnecessary force, still fuming when you got off the busy highway. You would have to ask one of the girls about a better route. Tonight.

The club was lit up with its usual deep red neon when you pulled into the lot, the music booming out of its doors every time they swung open. Which was often, considering it was prime time on a Saturday night. That’s what the girls here called it. “Prime time!” Ally had shrieked over the loud music on your first night when she saw you going wide-eyed at how many patrons poured in. It wasn’t like you were surprised by the steady number. This was the biggest city you’d ever worked in, though still on the small side. No, it was just that it had been a Monday night. Mondays were notoriously slow everywhere else. But, you guessed, not here. And that meant more money in your pocket anyway, so who the hell were you to complain?

You shut off your car and went inside, passing Harry on your way in with a smile and a wave. Harry was huge. Harry was every bit six and a half feet and just as wide—the perfect man to work the door. And you liked him too, which was saying something. Not everyone in these clubs was on your side. Harry, though, had been friendly from the start, and not overly friendly either—another good distinction. He gave you a nod and went back to keeping an eye on the patrons when he was quickly drowned out by the lighting and loud music pouring through the open doors.

The Rouge, this place was called. And it every bit fit the bill. The red neon outside was matched with the same deep red on the inside, the dim lighting making everything glow the same color as the name implied. And all the girls wore some variation of red from bright to blood. That is, excepting the frontrunner for the night who usually wore some kind of silver or gold. So far, this had been a girl named Madison you’d learned, because Madison could dance unlike anyone you’d ever seen. It was her that had been on stage when you came in for the job opening, and it was her who convinced you this was a place worthy of your time. Better than worthy. Maybe she could teach you a few things in the coming months. It would certainly make all the damn traffic worth it.

“Ruby!” you heard over the pounding music and turned to the sound of your stage name. You all had some play on a red name, from Scarlett to sweet, shy Rose. But it was easy to tell once you got to know the not-so-innocent Rose, the names were all for show.

You smiled and waded through the growing crowd to meet Ally—Carmine.

“You’re early!” she shouted, already taking your hand and leading you to the back rooms to get ready.

“Yeah, no thanks to the traffic,” you grumbled, and she tilted her head back and let out a laugh that you knew would draw attention from the surrounding patrons. She too was very good at her job.

“People are shit drivers here. You get used to it,” she assured you.

You were about to ask about another way to the club that didn’t involve the highway when a loud noise and a rasping laugh drew your eyes. It came from a booth with three men, one drunk out of his mind enough to have accidentally tipped over the table before slamming it back down on its feet. He’d spilled one of the other’s beer straight in his friend’s lap.

“Get a hold of yourself, Marston,” the third man snapped at him, looking less than happy to be here in the first place while the one with the beer on him was busy cursing just like you had earlier. The drunk one just laughed.

Men. The sight almost made you smile.

Ally pulled you into the dressing rooms past another bouncer, this one Misha. Misha wasn’t as friendly as Harry—never said a word, in fact—but you weren’t completely convinced he knew a lot of English. It didn’t matter much to you so long as he manned that door, which he always did. His icy stare was enough to ward off any idiot who got close enough anyway.

Passing him by, the lighting and music immediately changed. The dressing rooms were bright with good lighting for makeup, and Madison played a song over her electric purple speaker that she seemed to have had on repeat since you started working here. She sang along in her chair as she touched up her makeup. Ally led you to her own chair right beside her, as she was already ready, and sat you down in it.

“What were we thinking tonight?” she asked, examining you in the mirror.

“Same as Thursday?” you suggested, loving the smoky look you’d had then.

Janiyah sauntered up behind you with a smirk. “I think it’s time for the Ruby Red look.”

You’d heard of this—apparently each girl, or stage presence, had a signature look. The last Ruby they’d had to let go had one that was a showstopper. Or so you’d heard.

“So soon?” you said on a laugh. But Ally was already squealing with excitement and getting her brushes ready.

Janiyah gave you a wink. “Thank me later.” She turned to head out the side door, her signature introductory music beginning to play outside over the club speakers.

“Oh, you’ll love it,” Ally said, turning to you ready to begin. This was a huge perk of this place, and you hadn’t even known about it when taking the job. You had done your own makeup in the past, but Ally had taken you under her wing and done it for you every night since you’d started. To get a feel for the look, she’d said, but you knew she enjoyed doing it as much as you did getting pampered. It probably wouldn’t last forever, but you delighted in it while you could.

Within an hour, it was Ally’s turn to go dance, and she left you looking perfect and without another thing to do other than get dressed—the upside to arriving early. Perfect was somehow an understatement. The Ruby Red look was devastating. Simple yet lethal with a red lip so distracting it left even you smiling.

You admired yourself long enough for Madison to nag you about it before finally going over to get dressed. You had a range of red to choose from and went for an outfit you hadn’t worn yet—one you had a feeling would be complimentary to the look of your makeup and hair. Very. And once you slipped it on, you knew you were right—you looked hot as fuck.

Madison whistled at you, making you laugh.

“You think?”

“Definitely,” she said, going back to her eyeliner. “Mark my words, you’re making twice what you normally do tonight.”

That would be insane, but a girl could dream.

With nothing left to do but wait for your turn on stage, you took to your phone and scrolled mindlessly, bobbing your head to Madison’s music. And before long, you were up. You stood with the usual jitters that came with a new job and wanting to do well, shaking them off.

“Go kill it, Ruby,” Madison teased.

“Always,” you shot back before bouncing out of the room on the balls of your feet, taking the door that would lead you to the back of the main stage.

Upon arriving, you did a few stretches before your song began to play and Keith—the club owner and announcer—introduced you over the speakers. Time to shine.

Dancing had always been as natural to you as breathing. You had a tendency to get lost in the music and the movement, lost in the way the body naturally meshed the two together. Tonight was no different. Especially with the way you looked, the way you were dressed, the low, daunting song—each movement was slow and deliberate. And you were soon drawing patrons over left and right, a few drunk and whistling at you, a few staring hard-eyed from their booths. It wasn’t difficult to tell this was already your best night yet.

Three songs in, and you felt the familiar soreness from working your body along the pole. You welcomed it as you always did, proud of it. It meant you were doing something right at least. As did the few men standing close stage-side, all vying for your attention. One happened to be the drunk guy from earlier, the one who had spilled beer on his friend. He was waving bills at you with a thoughtless smile plastered on his face. You recognized that buzzed happiness and chose to go over to him, as the other two were eyeing you much too seriously for your liking.

“Hi,” you drawled, still dancing slowly as you neared him.

“Hey there,” he answered, his grin growing.

“What’s your name?”

You spun around inch by inch as he answered, knowing the cardinal rule when dancing like this—keep the show going lest the other patrons lose interest.

“John.”

How fitting for the simple-minded man. But he did have some very interesting scars across his face that made him handsome in a rugged sort of way.

“Mind if I dance for you, John?”

“Not at all, Ruby,” he said, his voice so grating you couldn’t tell if he naturally talked like that or if he was trying to be heard over the music.

You kept on, showering him with attention, flashing your eyes at him as you dropped low. That fat grin on his face remained as he tossed money onto the stage.

“Marston,” you heard, a cutting voice from behind him drawing your attention. His friend from before, the one without beer on his lap, walked up and yanked his arm around. “What the hell did I tell you?”

You were good at your job—John never took his eyes off you. But, you realized, your own gaze was stalling on the newcomer. He brought ruggedly handsome to a whole new meaning in the low red light.

“Javier went to clean himself up. I figured a dance from Ruby here wouldn’t hurt,” John said, pointing to you, still with that smile.

“‘Course you did,” his friend said, turning to you. “Miss, excuse us.” He pulled on John’s arm to take him back to the table he had escaped from, only John didn’t want to go.

“Get off me,” he snapped, shrugging off his friend’s grasp. Here we go, you thought, sticking money in the band of your skimpy clothing before rising back to your full height, dancing back to center stage. You didn’t want any part of a fight.

Soon, the newcomer got John under control enough to drag him back to their booth against the wall. You could see Misha eyeing them but staying put. They weren’t causing too much trouble. Yet.

After a few more songs, you took your leave and stepped into the crowd, showing attention to the two men who had eyed you stage-side earlier. You didn’t stay long with either, needing to work the crowd to keep up the steady flow of money you were receiving. It was remarkable—what Madison had said was true. You were making hand over fist compared to the first few nights. You couldn’t tell if it was the larger crowd or your scandalous look, but either way, you were instilled with more confidence with every step deeper into the crowd. And finally, you happened upon the right side of the room and on a certain table that made a genuine smile turn your lips.

“Shut up, she’s- Ruby!” said John with that goofy grin back in place.

“Hello, boys.” All three of them sat back and admired you. The one they’d called Javier seemed to have forgotten all about the beer on his clothes, too busy eyeing you. But you couldn’t stop your gaze from lingering longer than necessary on the one you didn’t know the name of. God, he was handsome. Especially with his attention on you instead of his friends.

“Ruby,” John repeated, drunk out of his mind. “How about a little dance?”

That drew his friend’s attention. He scoffed. “If Abigail could see you now-”

“Abigail ain’t here,” John spat. He brought his attention back to you. “Sorry about him. Where were we?”

“Trouble in paradise?” you teased, tilting your head to the side in a way you knew notoriously drew gazes.

“Just a bastard that don’t know not to stick his nose where it don’t belong,” John answered, shooting the other man a glare.

“She’ll kill you. You know she will,” the man answered. “Blame me all you want to, but I ain’t the problem and you know it.”

Lovely. The last thing you needed was to get between a man and his woman. With this, you began your retreat.

“Well, as riveting as that sounds, I have rounds to make.”

“Going so soon?” Javier asked, stopping you from turning away completely.

“Leave the woman be,” the stranger said. “Surprised the sight of you two ain’t run her off already.”

That made you stand your ground. You crossed your arms and faced him down. “And what makes you the expert?”

You threw him a cutting smile as his friends whooped and laughed at him. He shook his head with lowered eyes, but his smile gave him away as embarrassed all the same.

“What, no quip for me?” you pushed.

“No, no quip for you,” he said, sitting back and slinging an ankle over a knee.

“Hm. Shame.” And, even though it would make you an idiot and you wouldn’t have said it without that attractive smirk of his, “How about a dance then?”

His smile turned shy. “Ah, no,” he said, motioning to the other two. “This is their gig. Best you choose one of them.”

The others both perked up at that, but your gaze went cutting back to the stranger. “What brings you here, then?”

The man scoffed. “Babysitting.”

That brought a curse from Javier and a drunken, “Hey!” from John.

But you were smiling all the same, knowing you could at least get your money’s worth now. Maybe money and then some if you got your hooks in the stranger well enough.

“That’s too bad,” you said, throwing him a smirk as you stepped forward and grabbed Javier’s shirt, pulling him to his feet to follow you. “No one likes a babysitter.” And, as you walked away dragging the dopey-eyed Javier behind you, you leveled the stranger with a look you knew would hold his attention. And it did. He watched you until you finally managed to tear your eyes from him. Goddamn handsome patrons. Always the most dangerous ones.

You took Javier back for a private dance, going through the ropes instead of showing him any genuine attention. Your mind was on the floor, on the nameless man.

“You boys come here often?” you asked him while you danced, making sure to stay just out of his grasp.

“Me and John, yeah. Arthur’s usually too much of a pussy to come around.”

You let out a laugh, noting his name. “His loss,” you teased.

“It sure is,” Javier answered, reaching for your hips again. You turned instead, putting your back to him as you danced, keeping away from his hands. Men were always so grabby in these rooms, much more confident than the floor patrons. That is, if they weren’t out of their minds drunk. You were willing to bet if you’d given John a dance, he wouldn’t have given a fuck about touching you in front of other people. But that didn’t matter now. This was all a spur-of-the-moment ruse, and one you weren’t particularly proud of.

“You’re new,” Javier said, pulling you from your thoughts.

You turned and flashed him a smile, teasing with how low you dropped just above his lap. “How sweet of you to notice.”

“Like I said, we’re here enough.”

That wasn’t exactly something to be proud of, you thought, but you didn’t say a word.

Javier leaned back against the plush seat cushions, admiring you. “And you’re definitely the hotter Ruby.”

You let a genuine blush cross your face. Nothing like the feeling of your inflated ego, brought out by these good-for-nothing men. You didn’t care who the compliment came from. It felt good all the same to hear it.

“You’re too kind, Javier.” You let his name drop from your lips like slow-poured honey. He noticed, his eyes flashing to your mouth. And your smile widened—you were good at this.

You teased and teased the man until you finally got your money out of him, mentioning you needed to get back to the floor.

“You break my heart, hermosa.”

He tugged on your hand limply as you rose to leave. You flashed him another smile. “Such pretty words. I enjoyed this, Javier.”

You leaned back to go, and he leaned with you, reluctantly letting your hand slip through his fingers. You gave him a laugh, one light and drawn-out enough that you knew it would linger as you slipped back into the real world. And without turning back, you were sure it did.

Shamelessly, your eyes immediately went to the table you’d taken Javier from. To Arthur. He was still sitting there with John, but he wasn’t paying him a lick of attention. Instead, his eyes were on you. You flashed him a quick but genuine smile—your ploy had worked. He just took a sip of his beer, eyes never leaving you. And with that, you went back to the crowd, letting the thought of you linger with the handsome stranger.

The later it became, the drunker the patrons grew until you began to feel guilty about the money you were taking from them. But if they were stupid enough to part with it, so be it. You had to make a living too.

The night had another perk to it in that you got to work the floor while Madison danced on stage. Most of the men were so transfixed by her that they remained polite to you if not uninterested, sometimes not even paying attention to how much money they doled out to you. All said, Madison had been dead right. You had made twice more than usual by the time you sauntered past Misha and back into the dressing room.

It was better than you could have hoped for, and you were beginning to think you’d stumbled upon a dream job as you dressed in your street clothes and prepared to leave. The only downside to the night had been the patron you’d had your eye on’s lack of pursuit. Arthur had watched you plenty but never rose to the challenge you’d laid out for him. But so be it—you would likely never see him again anyway.

Taking the back exit as all the girls did so as not to be followed to their cars, you passed the third bouncer—Tom—and waved goodbye. Tom was the most chipper of the three and waved back, wishing you a good night. All things considered, it was shaping up to be the best you’d had in a long time.

When you got back on the highway, there was soon a cacophony of blaring horns and swerving drivers, you being one of them. And when you entered the construction zone and things narrowed down to one less lane, it only got worse. So much worse, in fact, that you were busy cursing a man who had missed merging into you by inches and didn’t turn in time to see that the truck in front of you had stopped dead. You slammed on your brakes, your tires squealing against the pavement, making you barely stop in time, only inches away from the truck. Your heart hammered once, twice, and then your car went crashing forward anyway, hit by the vehicle behind you. You went plunging into the truck at your front in the process, not hitting hard enough to do much damage, but hard enough for you to let out one long string of curses at the car behind you before you could even get your bearings.

The truck in front of you pulled off to the tiny shoulder in what little space the caution cones allowed. You followed suit, as did the person behind you. Good. Because as soon as you were safe and could throw it in park, you were flinging your door open and storming straight for the idiot.

“Are you insane?” you yelled over the din of the traffic. “You could have crushed me like a fucking bug! And look at my car!” You turned and took in the damage—nothing that would total it, but nothing you could afford to fix right now either.

The owner of the car hesitantly got out, cowering at the sight of you bearing down on her. For God’s sake, it was a teenage girl who didn’t even look old enough to drive. You ran a hand down your face with a groan of annoyance. “At least tell me you have a license.”

She nodded with wide eyes.

“Good. I’ll call the police. You just- just stay there.” Then you whipped around and made for your bashed-in car to find your phone. Only, the driver of the truck was blocking your way, leaned against your car with arms crossed. You nearly stumbled when you caught his face—it was Arthur, the patron you had left behind not even thirty minutes ago.

“Fine bit of driving that was,” he quipped at you.

“She pushed me into you,” you snapped back, your anger taking over, flinging your hand in the young girl’s direction. “It’s not my fault no one in this fucking city knows how to drive.”

He chuckled, the sound low and annoyingly attractive. “You’re right about that at least. That people can’t drive, not that it weren’t your fault.”

You scoffed at the insult and continued toward your car, shoving him off of it. “Move. I need to get my phone.”

“Cops are already on the way,” he said.

“Great. You get a gold star,” you said, retrieving your phone anyway, fuming at the way your cutting words only seemed to amuse him. And at the way you still seemed to want him despite the fact that you were now outside of the club, and that was a very foolish thing to want.

You slammed your door shut and made to circle your car and assess the damage when he stopped you. “Don’t bother. You need a tow.”

“And what makes you the expert?” you shot at him.

He smiled, the handsome casualness of it making you want to kiss his lips and simultaneously slap yourself for it.

“That’s the second time you’ve asked me that.”

The reminder of your conversation in the club made your reply die on your tongue. This was a patron. A man who’d had his eyes on you all night. It was a dangerous line you were walking, letting him talk to you like that.

Avoiding that subject, you pointed to your bashed-in back bumper. “It still looks drivable to me. My airbags didn’t even go off.”

“The back ain’t the problem,” he replied. He started for the front of your car, and you begrudgingly followed. You glanced back at the girl behind you who had her nose so deep in her phone you knew it was because you had scared the shit out of her, yelling at her like you had. You rolled your eyes and followed Arthur, noting that on top of everything else, he had a perfect ass. Goddamn him.

“You can’t drive it like this,” he said, pointing to your front bumper.

You rounded the front and immediately let your words fly. “Mother fuck. Your truck did this?” The front bumper was dented in right in the middle, not terribly but enough that it curved underneath the car now, dragging the ground.

“My hitch,” Arthur said, pointing to his truck. His perfectly preserved truck, not a scratch on it. The ball on his hitch had punched straight into your bumper, keeping his truck from being hit.

“Oh, that’s just perfect, isn’t it? Just great. You get to drive away without a scratch, meanwhile me and this idiot have to pay God knows what to get our cars fixed.”

He was about to reply, but you suddenly couldn’t stand whatever it was he was about to say, realizing how bad of a spot this accident put you in. “You know what? No. I’m not paying for a tow truck too. I’m driving this thing home.”

“No you ain’t,” he said with force. “You go forward and that whole bumper rips off and goes under your car. Then you’ll be paying triple what you already are.”

“Again, why would I take your advice?” you snapped, annoyed that he may be right.

“I’m a mechanic,” he said. “I work on shit like this all the time.”

You felt like using every curse word you knew then, just to get your anger out over this situation. If what he was saying was right, as you were sure it was, you would be out of a car and out of a good chunk of money for the whole month.

“I can’t afford all this!” you yelled, throwing your hands up in exasperation.

“Relax,” he said. “I know a guy who can tow it cheap. I’ll have him bring it to my shop. I can fix it for a hell of a lot less than what those big places charge you.”

You faced this near-stranger to gauge what the hell was going through his head. Was this all because of the club? Because he had seen you dance and figured a little off your car would get him something in return?

“What’s in it for you?” you asked, the question as pointed as you could make it.

He just shrugged, not shaken by your question in the slightest. “I been there. It ain’t fun, making your money stretch to last the week.”

Well that was…better than what you expected. But still, you were too suspicious over the circumstances of your meeting this man to let it slide entirely. And, admittedly, you were biased over being attracted to him. “And what about her?” you asked, nodding back toward the girl.

“Same deal for her.”

That was better. If you went to this man’s shop with the other girl, at least the chances of you being killed by a psychopath went down. Plus, you remembered, Arthur had turned down a dance from you at the club. That was worth something at least. And he was being awfully casual with his help now. But that could have been a ruse. Either way, you decided to keep your guard up when you agreed to what he had proposed. You couldn’t afford to do any less in your line of work.

Arthur went and told the girl the same, and before long the cops appeared. Stories and information were swapped, tow trucks were called, and you were soon watching your car being hefted onto the back of one, unbelieving this had happened in your very first week here. Fucking figures.

The whole thing had one tiny upside, and that was that Arthur mentioned Javier and John were both passed out drunk in his truck, barely even waking during the wreck. You sauntered over while the tow trucks were finishing their work and peeked in his windows. Sure enough, John was so far gone that he remained passed out, mouth wide open. Javier, though, was stirring through all of the commotion of cop car lights and tow truck noise. He blinked open his eyes to find you there looking in on him and gave a bleary, “Ruby?”

“Boo,” you said through the window before disappearing with a laugh. He would likely remember it all as a dream.

You rejoined Arthur and the other girl—Emmy, you’d learned. The driver of the first tow truck walked over, and Arthur introduced him. “This is Kieran. He’ll drive you to the shop.”

You eyed both men and, on a whim, turned to Emmy. “Care to ride with me, Emmy?”

The girl was still looking at you like you may pounce on her, making Arthur chuckle.

“Shut up,” you snapped at him before looping your arm through hers, leaving her no choice. “You’re coming with me. Kieran, was it?” The man nodded, giving you nearly the same wide-eyed look as the girl. “Hope you don’t mind an extra passenger.”

“Uh, no, I- no! Not at all,” he said, stuttering after you. Arthur was laughing again, making you roll your eyes as you led the two others to the cab of the truck.

As it stood, Kieran was likely the least intimidating man you’d ever met, so this ride would be an easy one. As for dealing with your new pal the obnoxiously handsome mechanic, that was another matter. You still weren’t entirely convinced this was a good idea, but you needed to save money where you could. Especially only one week into a job you would now have to find another way to get to.

You sighed and wrote it off as bad luck, pulling Emmy into the truck with you. Kieran got in the driver’s side and didn’t say a word, and Emmy finally gained the courage to look you in the eye and say, “You’re being weirdly friendly for someone I just hit with my car.”

That made you laugh, thinking that the same thing applied to who you had rear-ended. You just patted her arm and watched Kieran carefully pull out onto the busy road.

“Us girls have to stick together, Emmy.”

She didn’t answer, joining you in watching the street lights begin to pass by one after the other, leading you farther into this shit show of a night.

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

"There’s no rhythm, no sweet talk, no softness. Just noise and dirt and the two of you colliding again and again, skin smacking on skin and the ludicrous squelching sound of his cock pistoning in and out of your sopping cunt."

Dying here🫠🔥

Firewater - Chapter 4

PAIRING: low to mid honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader. explicit.

Who knew that the next thing closest to hate was lust?

taglist: @v3lv3tf0x, @stottlemorgan, @mrsarthurmorgan7, @appalachiancowboy99, @pinescent-and-gingerbread, @blueskies664, @arthurstinmug, @ultraporcelainpig, @emerald-ranch

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Previous | ➵ Next

It’s loud.

Loudness, of course, is a subjective term of measurement. But no matter how subjective one’s sensibilities - it’s loud.

The ridiculous sound of skin slapping on skin. The wet squelches of arousal. The jingling of his spurs as his boots scrabble in the dust.

Probably more so the sounds coming from the two of you.

He none too gently thrust his hips forward into yours, the head of his cock pushing through the rim of your cunt and you howl to the moon like a desert coyote when he fills you with seven inches of blood hardened flesh.

He bottoms out in your channel, his pelvis mashed hard against yours, all of him enveloped in the warm, wet clutch of your insides. Arthur groans like he’s been gutshot.

Neither of you is gentle. He moans your name against your skin like a prayer, a curse, a confession. You dig your heels into his lower back and hiss into his ear, “Harder, Morgan. That all you got?”

He snarls, one hand fisting in your hair. “Don’t tempt me, woman. I’ll break you in half.”

You laugh, low and breathless. “Try it.”

And he does.

He catches your thighs and hoists them onto his shoulders before pressing you down into the dirt again. As your body is folded in half, a loud, helpless cry leaves your mouth.

There’s no rhythm, no sweet talk, no softness. Just noise and dirt and the two of you colliding again and again, skin smacking on skin and the ludicrous squelching sound of his cock pistoning in and out of your sopping cunt. The scent of sweat, whiskey, and sunbaked skin mixes with the desert wind. He calls you trouble with a smirk you want to slap off his face. You call him a bastard as you rake your nails down his neck.

“You drive me goddamn crazy,” he grits out, every word landing against your jaw like a brand. He slows his thrusts to gyrate against you, and you seethe in response.

“Don’t stop, you bastard!”

Enflamed, maybe a bit enraged, Arthur growls and grinds down into you harder, your legs shaking as he follows your order.

“That hard enough for you? Huh?” He sneers down at you, and is completely satisfied when your response is just gasping syllables of his name

“Ar- arth-Arthur-!” 

“Tha’s it, y’gonna come for me?” He pulls your legs from his shoulders and guides them to wrap around his waist. Balancing his hands on either side of your shoulders, he heaves himself into you, punishing with his rhythm.

“Y-yes, yes- Arthur-!”

He hisses as you clench around him, wailing your pleasure in his ear. Christ, he hasn’t felt a woman come around him in so long-

“Fuck!” Arthur groans loudly as he pulls out of your heat desperately, having just enough wherewithal about him to not come inside your velvet cunt. He lets your legs fall unceremoniously on either side of his body as he lurches forward.

His hot spend lands in your balled up skirts unceremoniously as your limbs remain tangled together. Arthur’s forehead presses against yours, the two of you breathless and shaking, covered in dust and dried sweat. You feel his pulse hammering through every inch of contact.

The night air cools your skin, but neither of you moves. There’s blood in your mouth from biting your lip too hard. A raw place on your neck where his stubble scraped. A bruise already blooming on your thigh from where his belt buckle dug in.

He rolls over, unceremoniously falling into the dirt, his pants around his thighs while you lay with your skirts around your waist. You mumble something incoherent as you try to stumble up, your skirts falling to give you some kind of decency, though the dirt on your shirt and your wild hair do you no favors.

Arthur stares at the sky for a moment, only then realizing that the stars were moving. He curses as he sits up, yanking his pants up, and there is no sign of you anymore. He grunts, wobbling when he gets to his feet, and proceeds to stumble directly to his tent, where he passes out with his boots still on, face down in his cot.

-

“Jaysus, Morgan.” Sean MacGuire saunters up to Arthur, a shit-eating grin on his face. The hangover Arthur is nursing in the shade of a saguaro cactus next to his tent is legendary.

Arthur has neither the patience or the temperament to deal with the boy this morning.

“The hell are you looking at?” He spits, venom in his tone.

“Didn’t know you still had it in ya’!”

“Had what in me?” 

The redhead elbows him in the side, raising his eyebrows with a mischievous grin, “Still makin’ the ladies scream yer name in the middle of the damn night.”

Arthur’s whiskey-induced headache immediately doubles.

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

HE'S GORGEOUS OMG!! Love how you have modernized his clothes 🥰

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

RED DEAD REDEMPTION II ⎡Black Belle⎦

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

He pulls you down into the dirt with him, the two of you tangling like wild animals. It’s graceless, a little clumsy—spurred by heat and anger and too many drinks.

Love how crude you're going with this series Twola. We love some realism to got with the whole war and hate energy between the both of them 👌

Once again I caaaan't with the way they fight and throw insults and sarcasm at each other it's just so good 😭 “Pretty sure I can fill that pretty mouth.” Cocky bastard, I want to slap him and kiss him at the same time.

Ohh that tease at the end, the way he grinds it against her clit gnnnn- going feral here. Loving this little series so much already!

Firewater - Chapter 3

PAIRING: low to mid honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader. explicit.

The stars are the only audience tonight.

taglist: @v3lv3tf0x, @stottlemorgan, @mrsarthurmorgan7, @appalachiancowboy99, @pinescent-and-gingerbread, @blueskies664, @arthurstinmug

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Previous | ➵ Next

You barely hear your own gasp when he grabs you again, crushing your mouth beneath his like it’s the only way he knows how to shut you up. His kiss is heat and grit and too much whiskey, his teeth catching your bottom lip like he wants to punish you for every word you’ve hurled at him since that godforsaken ranch.

You kiss him back harder. Your little hand buries itself into his open trousers, brushing against his half-open union suit before your fingers finally find skin - the hard skin over his pelvis, covered in wiry hair. You dig your hands into his pants further and he lets out a ragged breath when you come into contact with the base of his cock, starting to strain against the fabric. In a flash, he drags your hand out of his pants, and you gasp against the force he uses.

The desert around you blurs into nothing. The sharp scent of creosote and dust clings to your skin. His hands are everywhere—rough and demanding, like he’s trying to memorize your shape with his fingers alone. When he grips your hips, your breath catches. When he growls against your throat, you swear your knees go weak.

He pulls you down into the dirt with him, the two of you tangling like wild animals. It’s graceless, a little clumsy—spurred by heat and anger and too many drinks.

“Tell me you want this,” Arthur rasps against your ear, voice low, smoky. He grabs your skirts and begins hiking them up, up past your knee high stockings, to where your bloomers ride dangerously high on your thighs. You lift your hips and help him shimmy off your drawers, your skirts pooling at your waist. He stares at your cunt, that thatch of dark hair at the apex of your thighs. For a moment, he is quiet.

“You think I’d let you touch me if I didn’t want it?” you spit back, breathless, sitting up and biting at the edge of his jaw. His scruffy beard tickles your lips.

He groans deep in his chest, something feral and unhinged, recovers and pins your wrists in the dirt above your head. His mouth hovers over yours. “I been wantin’ to do this since that first goddamn night you yelled at me in Wyoming. To make you scream my goddamn name, you little hellion.”

You smirk, lips slick and swollen. “You just like when a woman puts you in your place.”

“Nah,” he mutters, dragging his mouth down your neck. “I like when a woman looks at me like she wants to bite.”

You do. Right now, you want to bite, scratch, ruin.

Everything that’s been simmering between you both for months—every unspoken word, every stolen glance, every time you turned away before it got too dangerous—boils over in the heat of the desert night. The stars just starting to rise above watch like quiet witnesses as you lose yourself in him, and him in you.

Arthur leans back up, pinning both of your wrists under one large hand of his. He pushes his trousers down over the swell of his ass and takes his cock out, stroking himself to full rigidity. 

Shit. You inwardly curse to yourself as you stare at him, he’s huge.

He looks back at your face and immediately grins, haughty and self-important, “Pretty sure I can fill that pretty mouth.”

You recover, only then realizing that the dumbstruck look on your face was only inflating the man’s ego. Not that he needed much - Jesus, where did he keep it all?

Arthur doesn’t let you get in a word edgewise at him before he guides his cock between your folds, thrusting along your cunt, the head of his cock hitting your clit and making you moan. He rolls his hips in a rhythm, those turgid inches of him parting your lower lips and smearing your quickening arousal everywhere.

Every time the bulbous, now weeping head of him hits that bundle of nerves above your opening you want to scream. Every time that full length of him teases the rim of your cunt, you want to beg.

You try, oh you try, fighting against his iron hold, but there is no overpowering the man. His heavy, full testicles smack against your ass and you lose the fight against your own composure.

“A-Arthur, put it in, put it in - for God’s- please-” You cry, you beg, it’s shameless, “Put. It. In.”

“You want it that bad, dontcha?” Arthur sneers above you, flexing his hips again, torturing you.

“Please-”

He grunts, letting go of your hands above your head to steady himself. One of his hands digs into the packed desert earth beneath you, the other grasping the base of his cock. 

Guiding himself toward your quivering, soaking cunt.

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

I want to do edibles w him and we'll fuck rough and sweaty hMMMM

Ss by me