#Red dead redemption two x reader

[bertieorangy]

Arthur : one day you’ll learn

Y/N : learn what?

Arthur : someone like me doesn’t get happy endings

Arthur : those are reserved for people like you

[bluecanvasshoe]

platonic!Arthur Morgan & teen!fem!reader

reader being female is only mentioned, like, once at the very start, rest of the story has virtually nothing to do w it

based around the end of the game!!

Arthur notices you’re upset after some sulking around, so he takes you fishing.

warnings: slight rdr2 spoilers, a little smidgen of misogyny, maybe ooc? idk, no beta reader we die like MEN 🔥, little bit of angst, comfort, NO ROMANCE‼️‼️‼️, …….lazy ending, I HAVE WRITERS BLOCK OKAY

word count: 1.5k

Part 2 !!!!! (link is fixed!)

——————

For the past couple months, it’s felt as if nothing you have done has ever gone right.

When carrying hay-bales to the horses, your arms grew tired. Micah laughed as you dropped the feed and breathed heavily. A few months back, Hosea reminded you that, as a child, you weren’t expected to do any of the more challenging work. However, the urge to prove yourself triumphed over his lectures.

Then Ms. Grimshaw approached you in camp, reprimanding you for your insistence on doing the more “manly” tasks. As a girl of the camp who was yet to be an adult, you, unfortunately, were not saved from her pressing you about your future in the gang.

Afterwards, while practising your handiwork with a needle, you pierced your index finger. It drew blood, so Strauss gave you a bandage and a disapproving look.

The gang slowly dwindled in numbers, leaving your already fragile state of mind in a bit of a crisis. Small things piled on small things that piled on big things, and you soon found yourself dreading chores, which turned into dreading every day that followed. The feeling of thinking you were actively disappointing every living being ever drowned out any sense of reasoning.

On a clear morning, you woke up groggy. All seemed well until you were punched in the face with the realisation that you had to actually get up.

Instead of wasting the early morning away, wallowing in the sadness of your flimsy canvas tent, you sat at the dying campfire. Your heart felt heavy in your chest, and your mouth subconsciously pulled down into a frown.

Arthur, ever the early bird, awoke not long after you and sat down on the next log over. His worn and muddied boots crunched on the gravelly terrain, interrupting the chirping of birds. The sun hadn’t yet risen, shrouding everything in a dusky glow.

“You uh… sleep well, kid?” said Arthur, holding onto a steaming cup of coffee.

“Yeah,” you replied simply, staring at the fire. Strauss told you not to drink coffee; he said it was “bad for a child’s development.”.

Arthur sighed, turning his head over as he propped his upper body up, an arm supporting himself by pressing on his knee. “You’ve been acting’ strange,” he commented, “we’ve all noticed. Is somethin’ botherin’ you?”

Your voice caught up in your throat, the words that formed in your head fighting to escape and pathetically losing. “No…just tired.”

The man next to you coughed lightly, clearing his throat. “You…uh, you wanna go fishin’? I oughta' bring some food back to Pearson.”

Fishing? Now there’s something you haven't done in a while. Maybe you could get out of the camp.

“Okay,” you fidgeted with the fabric of your sleep bottoms, your eyes darting from Arthur and back to the fire. It seemed Arthur hadn’t expected you to agree, as he hesitated to find a response.

“Alright, then. Be ready in...about half an hour.”

As promised, you were dressed a quarter after six; at least that’s what your pocket watch you pickpocketed forever ago said. Hopping up onto the pony you used on rare outings, you waited for Arthur to saddle up too.

“You got all your stuff?” He asked, storing away his fishing rod and hoisting himself up, grabbing hold of his horse’s reins.

You look at your saddle bag one last time before turning to Arthur, nodding. “Yeah. ‘Been a while since I've gone fishin’, though.”

“Don’t worry about that; I'll give you a refresher.” Arthur shifted his weight before clicking twice, lightly jabbing his spurs into the side of his mount.

Following his movements, — except spur-less, as you don’t do nearly as much riding as the other men in the gang — you began to move, your horse huffing gently.

You caught up to him thanks to his slow trot, swatting away a couple mosquitoes in the process. “Where’re we goin’?” you asked, your voice raised.

“Well, you ain’t too familiar with his area,” he quickly wiped his nose with his free hand, sniffling. “But it ain’t far. There’s a nice little spot on a lake nearby. You oughta' get a couple bites.”

“Uh-huh,” you sighed, looking down at your hands. Arthur was holding onto his horse’s reins with one hand. You had trouble steering your horse with two.

Arthur slowed once he approached a patch of gravelly sand, getting off his horse with you following. He took out his fishing equipment and walked over to the shore.

“Here,” Arthur reached into his brown satchel, pulling out a block of cheese wrapped in brown parchment paper. “Use some a’ this.” Reaching over, you broke off a small chunk and murmured a hushed ‘thank you’ in return.

“‘M guessin’ you remember what bait is and how to use it, right?” he remarked, preparing his rod. “I think I got it,” you muttered, fumbling with the fishing pole but eventually hooking the cheese onto the sharp point.

“Careful there. Don’t wanna poke your finger.” Arthur joked snarkily, waiting for you to get into a similar position to his, his fishing rod held in front of his body. The bandaged finger he was referring to was sliding the small bit of bait onto the hook clumsily. “Shut up,” you grunted, getting a good grip on the pole and holding it out in front of yourself. The water moved lazily, quietly washing up and down on the sand. The calm surface showed the fish that swam underneath. Minnows dashed around quickly, the small groups of fish moving together.

Crickets still chirped in the distance as birds were beginning to sing, too. The air smelled fresh and felt dewy, a light breeze turning trees into calming windchimes.

“You wanna hold it like this,” he said, tapping his index finger against the line. You attempted the same hold that he had, but with the limited information given, you didn’t immediately get the hang of it.

“No, like- like this, with your index on the line. Should be pressin’ against the rod.” Arthur peered over your shoulder as you adjusted your fingers, pressing the thin string against the wood of the rod. Arthur nodded. “Yeah, that’s good. Now pull back the bail.”

Now, you hadn’t a clue what the bail was, but that hardly mattered. Matching Arthur’s movements, you pulled a semi-circle piece of metal back and over the line spool.

“Alright, now be careful here; don’t wanna take out an eye. Draw back your rod over your shoulder, but not too far. The farther you draw, the longer the cast,” he advised, drawing the pole over his shoulder. You mimicked him.

“Now, you throw it over your shoulder and straight forward,” he instructed, watching your movements. The bait landed about 3 metres away from the shoreline, splashing pathetically before bobbing up and down.

“Just like that. Now, you pull back the bail and wait.”

Silence filled the space between you two—a suffocating, invisible force.

Deer galloped across the lake and within the thick brush. One stopped, a buck, and stared at the two fishermen across from it. His ears twitched before he joined the others.

Loons sang, their eerily beautiful calls travelling across the calm waters. Frogs croaked in the distance, and clouds languidly drifted overhead.

“Look, I… I haven’t a clue what you’re feelin’. But just know that you ain’t alone. We’ve all been stressed. I can’t imagine what you must be feelin’.” said Arthur, turning briefly to face you.

The sun peeked over the distant treeline, slowly casting a calming light over everything in the vicinity.

“I feel like I can’t never do anythin’ right.” You croaked, voice catching in your throat and a painful ache creeping up to your jaw.

“Aw, kid… whad’ya mean?" Arthur had never been great at comfort. He could do it, of course, though he certainly had his favourites when it came to his affections.

You stared off into the lake, your reflection looking right back. “Everythin’ I do feels like a failure. There ain’t a single thing I’ve been able to do right recently.”

Arthur sighed, reeling his line back in and casting it again.

“That ain’t true. You’re a kid. You’re learning. You aren’t… supposed to be great at everythin’, and nothin’ you do is supposed to be right; it’s just supposed to teach you something. This’ll go away; trust me.” He chose his words carefully, coughing to the side before continuing. “Now I know this probably ain’t what you wanted to hear. Feelin’ sad feels... nice sometimes. But it’s true. Basically everyone in this gang is an adult, ‘cept for Jack, so don’t go comparin’ yourself to anyone, you hear? We’re all goin’ through hard times; none of this is your fault, and you ain’t a failure for anythin’.”

The sun steadily rose, framed perfectly by the view in front of you. Your horses huffed occasionally as geese flew above, honking distantly.

He was right; you didn’t want to hear this. You don’t know what you want to hear. Maybe something about how awful you are, or maybe something about how great and amazing you are. You felt conflicted, confused, and even a smidge defensive.

“But I-” “but nothin’, kid. Do with that what you will, but just... think about it. Maybe see things from a different perspective.” He rasped, clearing his throat. “Or don’t; it’s your choice. But just give it some thought.”

Silence settled between you two again, leaving your conflicting feelings to dissipate.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, watching as your bait bobbed on the water’s surface. The chill of the north was soothed by the warmth of the sun, and everything, in that moment, felt okay.

—

Part 2

[celestia0473]

Van dan Linde gange x Cannibal! Reader.

Notes:Reader is nonbinary but you can see them as female or male,English isn't my first language,Reader backstory is lowkey similar to Bubba Sawyer,You're the oldest sibling,Platonic but can be seen as romantic,Reader described to be creepy and quiet,You're also 30 years old,I gained motivation after seeing tcm,Possibly in Michigan and listing to butcher vanity and masa work design,I also didn't include everyone from the gang here sorry :p

Warning:Cannibalism,Murder,implied necrophilia(No,nobody actually do it but it's mention)Mention of molesting,Foul language,Etc,May be ooc,Tell me if i missed anything that could be triggering,Abuse,Angst,Meat lot of meat.

•When you were young, Your family was always poor and hungry, So they found a way to survive and keep their full and satisfied, By eating each other.

•It ends up being a tradition in your family, A fucked-up one for sure, Most of your siblings are a bunch of rabid animals, After all eating food that always begs and screams will cause you to have mental problems and stress.

•And your parents are even worse than your siblings, Ever since you turned 10, They make you bait some people to join you for dinner or to find your missing jewelry in the forest.

•Of course, it was a lie. Your father either shoots them or knocks them out, and when you grow up, they make you do different types of chores and take the job of killing men, women, and even children.

•They always move from location to location, camping here and there to avoid suspicion.

•You had a sane mind at least, well not the sanest mind but at least you know what you're doing is wrong, But you do them due of fear, And probably desires, can't help yourself but salivating at the sight of blood, Despite the metallic taste.

•When you grew up, you had enough. Your family always makes you do the hunt and chores, always yelling, always fighting, so you end up blowing their brains off and enjoying dinner, finally free.

•Stealing a horse and your father's shotgun and dagger (or any weapon you want; i know shotgun are probably not well known during those times, but they are so cool), hiding your family bones, and you start with going to a town and buying important tools for survival.

•You end up becoming an outlaw. Aside from killing, you had a hidden talent of stealing and pickpocketing, After all, your family can't always live on human meat only. They also need vegetables and seasoning, you know! Oh. wait, they are dead.

•Even after you become free and you could live with animals meat instead of human ,You couldn't handle it, The argue whatever you see blood or meat, You can't control it.

•Long story short, You have been pretty lonely and bored these days(Especially after becoming a well known outlaw), You wanted a new family or at least a partner, Maybe you can join a gang?

•Your wishes come true one day, You met Dutch vand dan Linde, You told him about how you want to join this gang, And how talented and skilled you are, Of course he didn't trusted you at first and rejected your wish, But after few times he finally agreed.

"Thank you thank you so much! I promise i will be useful" You said happily while riding your horse with Dutch, With your weapons, Items and everything.

"Yes yes,I know you said this for the third time" Dutch sighed, He sounds annoyed.

"Oh sorry,I'm just too excited" You haven't changed that much ever since you were a kid, Carving for prise and love like your crave for human meat, You have been lonely for a long time, You almost missed your family.

•Where you were finally in the camp, You were grinning from ear to ear, Some members noticed the new face.

"Aye who's this fine beauty?" A guy with a ginger hair point in your direction while whistling.

"This is (_____) (_____)! The newest addition to the family,Make sure to welcome them warmly!" Dutch yelled loud enough so everyone can hear.

•Dutch told you at first to rest today and fit in the gang, Then the next day you do multiple works and chores, Before leaving your side.

•Unfortunately, Most of them know you as the violent criminal who gut people with no sense of remorse, You aren't very different from them though, Some of them felt uneasy around you but they were nice like Mary Beth, Lenny and Karen, Others feel a bit skeptical about Dutch choice of making you join the gang like Arthur, Javier and Housea.

•Meanwhile there's Sean who flirted with you, You replied with a thanks thinking it was a nice gesture, But Mary beth glared at him and told him to no bother you while holding your hand.

•Micah on the another hand was completely rude and bitter, Always getting under your skin, sending nasty look and comment whatever you bump shoulders, Tilly told you to he's usually like this and it's better to ignore him.

•After doing your tent, And tidying your items, you pick up your special meat and seasoning and give it to hosea saying that you can help him with the cooking, He agreed.

•He was asking about the type of meat and seasoning that you're going to cook, You lied about the meat,Saying it was pork, He replied with a hum.

•Later during the night, The gang were drinking and celebrating about the new member, Lot of the members were eating your soup, Praising Hosea.

"Oh no you should actually thank (____) they helped a lot with the cooking" Hosea said with a surprisingly proud voice.

"Really? Image if that cowpoke poison' us" Micah spoke,Voice filled with venom for some reason.

"Can you stop being an asshole for a minute?" John replied sarcastically.

"It's the truth! They could have killed us all right now" Micah yelled, Putting this empty plate aside.

•You decided to stay quiet instead of begin in the middle of the fight, You honestly wanted to giggle at how fast he's eating, He don't want to admit that he actually enjoyed your food and he will probably be the first one to die because of the amount of soup he's devouring if you actually poisoned it.

•After few months, You become known as begin hardworking, And a talented gunslinger, But also with a weird charm.

•The one that end up having a great relationship is Jack, He thinks you're so cool, And you also allow him to do things he isn't allowed, Like using a gun(One time then he got knocked out against the tree, Abigail scolded you both) Or giving him lot of candy.

•Aside from Jack, Other members start respecting and trust you in hard missions and jobs, And making nice relationship,You love drinking with Lenny, Karen or sean and start doing stupid shit, You're happy they are getting along with you, Even Micah start having some sort of respect toward you,

•But of course it doesn't mean nobody will notice your weird behavior, For example whatever you go out for a hunt, Hosea sometimes tell you to bring someone with you to help, But you refuse saying that you you're better alone.

•The one who also eyeing you suspiciously is Arthur, Whatever you both go out to rob or kill, He thinks you're acting as a creep, Looking at chubby, Young and healthy men and women with a eyes of hunger, Sometimes even gulping, And telling him to go back first to the camp after killing trying to take the corpse away from this sight.

•Pearson also mentioned how you you're the one who pick and cut the meat alone, In the forest, Almost trying to hide something.

•One time while stabbing a man who tried to kill you while stealing, This blood filled your face and you licked it in such away...That makes Arthur feels some type of emotion.

•Not to mention how fucked up you look sometimes, The eyes and the bags under them, Your face wrinkles and how old you look despite begin freshly thirty, Something totally happened to you.

•So one time while the gang was happily eating from your cooking, Arthur decided to confort you in front of everybody, Mentioning every point and demand an explanation to your behavior, You panicked of course, Sean tried to defend you saying that he's overthinking, A heavy and suffocating tension fill the air.

"Are you accusing them of begin a molester??!" Karen spoke with shock in her voice

"Hey i think you're overthinking a little bit too much" Bill raised this eyebrows, Agreeing with Sean.

"To be honest with the points,It isn't impossible" Charles said while gazing at your face.

"i don't understand.."Jack said with a confused face, Abigail cover this ear,Worrisome.

"I...Well i-i" You sutter while thinking of believable excuse, But with the stares, Murmurs and arguments, Your mind goes blink, And with Dutch circling you, It seems like Arthur discussed this with Dutch first.

"Well if you won't say anything..." Dutch click this revolver and point it at the back of your head, A few gasps were heard, Micah was watching with interest.

"WAIT WAIT! I will say it just please don't hurt me!" Your eyes become hazy and your voice tremble.

"Then spit it out" Dutch said in a cold way,Growing impatient.

"I'M A CANNIBAL,I EAT HUMAN MEAT FOR SURVIVAL AND MY PARENTS FORCED ME TO EAT THEM" You screamed at the top of your lungs.

"WHAT THE HELL!" John jumped up from his seat as the bowl in this hand fell of to the grass.

"Wait doesn't that means that the she had been feeding us human meat the whole time!?!" Sadie covered her mouth.

"YA CRAZY MOTHERFUCKER" The smirk was wiped off from Micah face before he jumped at you and grabbed you by the neck.

"WAIT I DIDN'T FEED YOU ANY-"But before you could say anything, A punch was thrown in your face, You fall in the ground and Micah get on the top of you, Beating you up.

"MICAH MICAH WAIT!" Arthur and housea tried to get micah off you, Dutch send a kick to your body out of anger, He trust you.

•There was a multiple different reaction, Karen ran away with sade and others to the bushes so they can throw up, Abigail covered jack eyes and picked him up away from the the violent fight, Molly and Grimshaw looked at you with pure disgust, The others were trying to broke the fight between Arthur, Hosea and micah with Dutch.

•You were knocked out, Charles finally picked up Micah and removed him from your body, Others were trying to calm down Dutch, After few hours and arguments, They end up tying you to a tree.

•The next day when you woke up, You were met with the nastiest stares you ever seen in your life, You probably thought they were going to throw rotten tomatoes in your face.

•You don't know what they are going to do with you, But hopefully they won't hurt you in any way....

I'm pretty tired,I will make part 2 in the future hopefully,Also you can make fanfics or headcanon inspired by it,Please tell me if there's a typo or a mistake:3 I'm a new writer so please be nice.

[stray-cat-with-internet-access]

[lowrisemiller]

ᴛʜᴏʀᴏᴜɢʜꜰᴀʀᴇ °˖⋆ ℧

“i met you there in texas, somewhere on the thoroughfare”

“on the side of the road in the same torn up clothes with a pistol in my pocket”

arthur morgan x fem!reader x joel miller

| masterlist | 4.4k words | picture doesn’t depict the appearance of the reader just for aesthetic |yearning, tension, kissing, oral f!receiving, gettin tossed around by two burly cowboys, praise, unprotected piv sex, cuddling fucking from mr miller, aftercare !

summary- Two rugged ranchers, lifelong friends Arthur Morgan and Joel Miller, find their quiet world upended when a younger woman arrives to work their land—and slowly works her way into their hearts. As desire grows into something deeper, the three of them cross the line between friendship and longing, discovering a love too wild and tender to tame.

They didn’t talk much, and that suited them both just fine.

Arthur had always said the land did most of the talking anyway. The wind in the grass. The lowing of cattle at dawn. The metal clang of fence wire tightening under calloused hands. After years of gun smoke and ghosts, the quiet wasn’t so much peace—it was penance. And Joel understood that better than anyone.

They’d run the ranch together for nearly a decade. Fifty head of cattle. A weather-beaten barn. Long days spent working fence lines or chasing down strays in the hills. Evenings filled with whiskey and silence by the fire. Arthur cooked. Joel carved. They didn’t need much. Just the land, the dogs, the horses, and the kind of friendship you didn’t have to label.

They were men who’d lost too much to ask for more.

The work was hard, and that was good. It gave their hands something to do. Their thoughts are something to drown in. Neither of them said it, but the house felt too big for two men their age. There were extra bedrooms no one stepped foot in. An empty porch swing that never moved. Sometimes, Joel would glance at the seat across from him at dinner and imagine someone laughing there.

Arthur would look out across the pasture at sunset and feel the ache in his chest like a ghost pressing a hand to his ribs.

Then came the girl.

She rolled up in a truck that coughed smoke and looked like it hadn’t seen an oil change in ten years. It was early spring—the thaw barely settled. Joel had just come back from hauling feed when he spotted the dust cloud and narrowed his eyes at the figure stepping out.

Boots in the mud. Soft flannel. Strong arms. A stubbornness set to her jaw.

Arthur stepped out onto the porch, wiping his hands on a rag. “You lost, darlin’?”

You shook your head. “Looking for the Lyle property.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed. “Old George Lyle’s place?”

You nodded. “He passed a few months ago. Left it to me.”

Joel leaned against the post, arms crossed. “Didn’t know he had any kin.”

“I’m not,” you said simply. “Just someone he trusted. Taught me everything I know about cattle and fixing fences. I owed him.”

Arthur blinked, then smiled faintly. “That man was a hell of a card player.”

You smiled back. “So I heard.”

Joel muttered, “Place’s damn near falling in.”

“I can handle it.”

You didn’t ask for help. That was what caught their attention first.

────🌾────

Arthur watched you from the hilltop as he lit a cigarette. Joel noticed the way your back stayed straight, even when your shoulders shook from exhaustion.

By the end of the week, Arthur brought you a wheelbarrow and a fresh pair of gloves without a word. Joel handed you a water bottle and said, “You’re stubborn.”

You grinned. “So are you.”

You worked from sunup to sundown, bandaged your own blisters, and cursed loud enough to make Arthur chuckle into his coffee. You shared dinner with them one night, then two, then a week’s worth.

Eventually, Joel fixed the plumbing at the Lyle place. Quietly. Arthur rewired the porch light. You thanked them both with a smile that made something shift behind Joel’s ribs.

Then the rain came. And the roof leaked.

Joel stood in your doorway with his arms crossed, dripping wet. “Get your things.”

Arthur leaned in the truck window. “Spare room’s open. Ain’t much, but it’s dry.”

You moved in that night. One duffel bag. One quiet “thank you.”

────🌾────

Weeks passed like molasses, slow and sticky and sweet in their own strange way.

You never expected to stay this long.

The old Lyle property was half reclaimed from the brambles, but the rain had done a number on the roof, and more than once you’d found black mold in places you didn’t want to name. Arthur had patched what he could. Joel came over one morning with a cordless drill and never really left after that.

Eventually, they offered you the spare room in their house. Said it was temporary. Said it just made sense.

But after a while, no one brought up the word temporary again.

You all slipped into rhythm without meaning to. Mornings started with coffee and bare feet on cool wood floors. Joel took his black, Arthur loaded his with too much sugar, and you drank yours leaning against the counter in a sleep shirt and shorts, eyes half-lidded. One of them always made eggs. The dogs—Boone and Lady—sat at your feet, loyal and lazy, with their heads in your lap.

You fixed fence posts beside Arthur, sweat beading on your skin, nails between your lips as he handed you the hammer. He liked the way you didn’t flinch around mud, the way you cursed like a 70-year-old rancher and sang old songs under your breath.

Joel taught you how to ride his favorite quarter horse. Big, quiet gelding named Shimmer. Said you had good balance. Strong thighs. His voice always got rougher when he said thighs.

Sometimes he’d linger behind you in the saddle, correcting your grip with a hand on your waist. Sometimes his breath would hit the back of your neck, and you wouldn’t move. Wouldn’t even breathe.

You rode fence lines together at dusk. Swam in the creek on hot days. Played cards and drank beer on the porch at night. You started calling Arthur cowboy when he got bossy, and Joel sir just to see his jaw twitch.

They teased you back, sure—but never touched. Not really.

They were good men. Older. Quiet. They didn’t want to scare you off.

But something was shifting.

Joel caught himself looking at your hands. Your neck. The soft line of your spine when you bent over to stack feed bags. He started lighting his cigarettes farther from the porch—so he wouldn’t be tempted to sit too close.

Arthur got quieter around you. His laugh lingered a little longer, but so did the way his eyes drifted lower when you walked into a room. He fixed things that didn’t need fixing. Made excuses to be near you.

They never talked about it.

But you felt it.

Like that one night you were in the stables brushing Shimmer’s mane and Arthur joined you.

It was late. The horses were fed, the sky painted in fading streaks of gold and mauve. You were still brushing Shimmer down in the barn, sleeves rolled, boots muddy. Arthur stepped in, quiet as always, carrying a mug of tea like it was just something he’d thought to do.

“You keep brushing that horse, she’s gonna shine like polished silver,” he said in a low tone.

You smiled without looking up. “She likes it.”

Arthur leaned against the post. “So do you.”

You paused, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He stepped forward and handed you the mug. You took it, your fingers brushing his—rough against your smooth. He didn’t pull away.

“You work too hard,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “So do you.”

He gave a soft laugh, but didn’t move. He was close now. You could smell cedarwood soap and old tobacco. His eyes dropped to your lips, just briefly, and that alone made your breath catch.

“Got dirt on your cheek,” he murmured, lifting one hand.

His thumb brushed your skin. Slow. Careful. You swore he lingered. His hand didn’t drop right away. Instead, it cradled your jaw for just a second too long—his thumb ghosting over your bottom lip.

You didn’t speak. Didn’t dare.

He held your gaze like a man about to say something dangerous—but instead, he only stepped back, knuckles brushing yours as he whispered, “Night, darlin’.”

You stood there in the hay dust, heart pounding, wondering what would’ve happened if you’d leaned in.

Or

That morning with Joel in the kitchen.

The house was quiet except for the soft clink of dishes. You were in the kitchen rinsing out a coffee mug when Joel came up behind you—close, not touching, but close enough that your body noticed.

“You always leave your mugs in the sink?” he asked, voice low and dry.

You smirked. “You always hover behind people in the kitchen?”

Joel didn’t laugh. Didn’t move.

“You been wearin’ my flannel all day,” he said instead, voice rough.

You glanced down and shrugged. “Yeah. It was on the hook.”

He reached past you, slow, grabbed a plate from the drying rack. But his body brushed yours just slightly—his strong chest at your back, his hand ghosting near your waist.

You stayed still.

“I like how it looks on you,” he said, almost to himself.

You turned to face him, breath caught halfway. He was too close now. His eyes dipped to your lips, then back up. His hand rested on the edge of the counter beside your hip.

“I’m not tryin’ to start somethin’,” Joel said roughly.

“Then don’t stand so close,” you whispered.

But neither of you moved.

His knuckles brushed yours. You swallowed hard.

“I do things slow,” he said finally. “But when I want somethin’—I want it all the way.”

Then he stepped back.

And your knees nearly buckled.

────🌾────

It became too much. The two men took over every single thought. Before you’d go to sleep at night you would replay memories and little things they both have done.

You hadn’t meant for this to happen.

At first, it was just about survival. About fences and feed and early mornings with dirt on the window. You were too busy trying to patch the roof and clear out the barn to think about anything else. Joel and Arthur had been kind—quiet and rough around the edges, but kind. You respected them. Trusted them.

But something changed.

It was in the small things. The way Arthur always made your tea just right. How he’d linger near you in the barn, his warmth close enough to touch. The way he looked at you like you were soft, like you were some delicate thing he didn’t dare grab with dirty hands.

And then Joel—God, Joel. That man carried tension like it was sewn into his spine. Everything about him was hard angles, clenched jaw, calloused hands. But the way he watched you in his flannel, the way his voice dropped when he was near—it made your whole body buzz.

You liked being near them.

Too much.

Sometimes you caught yourself comparing them. Arthur’s steadiness, Joel’s intensity. The way Arthur said darlin’ with that gravel-deep gentleness. The way Joel’s hand would rest on your lower back for a second too long, fingers twitching like he was holding himself back.

It was starting to keep you up at night.

You’d roll over in bed, heart pounding, wondering what would happen if you reached out. If you chose.

But the truth was, you didn’t know if you could.

Because they were both slipping under your skin.

And then—

One night, it all cracked open.

You were curled up on the couch, legs tucked under you, a throw blanket pulled to your chest. The movie playing was old and slow—some western Arthur liked. Joel had fallen into the armchair, nursing a beer, and Arthur sat beside you, closer than usual.

You said something about the sky, about how it was turning purple outside. Arthur hummed.

And then you felt it.

Joel’s eyes on you. Arthur’s hand against your leg, heavy and warm. The silence between all three of you stretched, pulled thin.

You turned your head—and both men were looking at you.

Not casually.

Not kindly.

But like men who had been trying not to want you for a long, long time.

Joel’s gaze dipped to your mouth. Arthur’s thumb traced a lazy circle against your thigh. You didn’t stop him.

Your breath caught.

No one spoke.

But the silence was loud.

And you knew—without a doubt—that this thing between the three of you wasn’t quiet anymore.

It was burning.

Still no one spoke.

Arthur’s thumb was still brushing circles against your thigh, slow and patient like he was memorizing your skin through the blanket. Joel hadn’t moved, but his eyes were darker now—hooded, jaw clenched, fingers tight around the neck of his beer bottle. The air in the room was charged, thick with heat and breath and something unspoken.

You swallowed hard.

And then, just barely above a whisper:

“…what are we doing?”

Arthur’s hand paused. Joel leaned forward.

You looked between them—at Arthur’s calm, unreadable face and Joel’s gaze flickering over your lips like he was already imagining what they’d feel like against his.

Neither of them answered.

So you pulled the blanket back, just enough to show the curve of your thigh, bare under the hem of Joel’s old flannel.

Arthur’s breath caught.

Joel stood up.

He crossed the space in three slow steps and knelt in front of you on the rug, large hands bracing on either side of your legs.

“You really want this?” he rasped. His eyes were locked on yours—hungry, hesitant, already gone.

You nodded, whisper-soft. “I do.”

Arthur let out a breath behind you. You turned slightly, meeting his eyes.

He was leaning close now too, hand still on your leg. “You sure, darlin’? Once we start this…”

“…we’re not stopping,” Joel finished.

You let your knees part between them.

That was all the answer they needed.

Joel leaned in first—slow, deliberate. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing your lower lip before he kissed you. It was careful at first, his lips warm and slightly chapped, tasting faintly of beer and restraint. But when you sighed into him, he deepened it—tilting your face up, tongue sweeping into your mouth with a hunger he’d clearly been holding back for weeks.

Behind you, Arthur’s hand slid higher on your thigh.

“You two gonna make me sit here and watch?” he murmured, voice thick with heat.

Joel pulled back just enough to glance over his shoulder. “Thought you liked watchin’, Morgan.”

Arthur chuckled low, and then his hand moved beneath the hem of your—Joel’s shirt—his palm warm and rough against your bare skin.

You gasped, turning toward him, and his lips were already there—softer than Joel’s, slower, his kiss all patience and promise. He kissed you like a secret. Like he wanted to keep you.

You moaned softly, body caught between them, and Joel let out a sound from deep in his chest.

“Bedroom,” he muttered.

Arthur didn’t answer—just stood and lifted you effortlessly into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. Joel followed close behind, one hand guiding your back, the other grazing your hip.

You were dizzy with it—wrapped in warmth and want, floating somewhere between them, their hands anchoring you. They moved like they’d talked about this before. Like they’d been waiting for the moment you’d fall into them.

And now?

They had you.

And they weren’t about to let go.

Arthur laid you down with care.

The mattress dipped beneath his weight, creaking softly under the solid strength of his body. Joel stood at the edge of the bed, watching—his eyes burning dark, like he was trying to memorize you just like this: flushed and breathing heavy, hair mussed, legs parted slightly on the sheets.

“You’re beautiful,” Arthur murmured.

His hands were on you already, calloused palms sliding up beneath the borrowed flannel. You gasped when his fingers brushed over your ribs—feather-light at first, then firmer as they moved up to cup your breasts, thumbs stroking lazy circles over your nipples.

“God,” you whispered.

Joel leaned over, hands braced on either side of your thighs. “Look at you,” he muttered. “Fuckin’ perfect.”

Arthur was kissing your neck now, his beard rough against your skin, lips soft. He moved slow, like he wanted to savor it—each kiss dragging lower as he pulled the shirt higher, exposing your bare stomach inch by inch.

Joel’s hand slid up your thigh, spreading your legs wider. “She’s shakin’,” he rasped.

“I know,” Arthur murmured. “I got her.”

He kissed the curve of your hip as Joel leaned in and kissed your mouth again—this time harder, deeper. His tongue met yours with raw hunger, his grip on your thigh tightening. You moaned into him, your hips twitching upward, aching for more.

Arthur moved between your legs now, dragging his mouth lower, slower, lips brushing your inner thigh.

You whimpered.

“Patience, sweetheart,” Arthur said, voice low and warm. “We’re gonna take care of you.”

Joel’s hand came up to cup your jaw, turning your face back to his. “Gonna treat you so fuckin’ good. You hear me?”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes.”

Arthur’s mouth pressed right where you needed it, hot and open, licking and sucking on your clit, and your back arched. Joel swallowed your gasp with another kiss, his hand sliding under your head, cradling you there, grounded and worshipped all at once.

They worked in tandem—Arthur’s tongue slow and methodical, like he was learning every response you gave him, every tremble. Joel’s lips at your ear, whispering things that made your skin burn:

“Can’t believe you’re lettin’ us have you like this.”

“Such a good girl.”

“Never gonna forget the way you sound, takin’ us like this.”

You reached down blindly, fingers threading through Arthur’s hair, and he groaned low against you, the sound vibrating through your core.

“Joel—please,” you breathed.

He growled softly, undoing his belt with one hand, kissing along your jaw with the other. “You want both of us tonight, baby?”

You nodded frantically. “Yes. Please, I want—”

Arthur’s mouth dragged up your body again, kissing your sternum, your throat. “Then you got us, darlin’. Every fuckin’ inch.”

Joel’s mouth met yours one more time, possessive and rough.

And as they undressed—hands and mouths and quiet praise—you realized something:

This wasn’t just desire.

It was need.

Arthur kissed you again—slow, steady—his mouth hot and tasting faintly of you. He’d shed his shirt somewhere between the bed and your thighs, and now his body was pressed against yours, warm and solid. You could feel every inch of him, every deliberate drag of his chest over your nipples, every reverent pass of his hands over your hips.

Joel was behind him now, kneeling on the bed, jeans tugged halfway down. His eyes never left your face.

“You want Arthur first?” Joel asked, voice low, almost a growl.

Your breath caught.

“I—yes,” you whispered.

Arthur groaned. “Good girl.”

He kissed down your body again, this time moving slower. Not teasing—just devoted. He wanted to feel every shiver. Wanted you pliant beneath him when he finally slid into you.

You reached for him, fingers threading through the back of his hair as he nudged your thighs apart again, lining himself up with practiced care. You felt the thick press of him at your entrance, and your whole body tensed in anticipation.

Arthur cupped your face with one hand, brushing his thumb over your lip.

“Breathe for me, darlin’.”

You did.

And then—he pushed in.

A long, slow slide that made your toes curl and your jaw drop, gasping as he filled you inch by inch. He held himself there once he was fully seated, forehead pressed to yours, both of you panting softly.

“You feel that?” he whispered. “How good you take me?”

You nodded helplessly, overwhelmed by the fullness, the stretch, the heat.

Joel sat beside you now, one hand stroking your hair back from your damp forehead, the other trailing down to your chest. He cupped your breast, watching Arthur move inside you with a hungry, reverent stare.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Joel muttered. “Look at you.”

Arthur started to move—slow, deliberate thrusts that rocked your body up the bed. He kissed your neck, your collarbone, whispered soft praise as your fingers clawed at his back.

Joel leaned in, kissed your cheek, then your lips—deep and lingering, tasting every moan Arthur pulled from your throat.

“You’re so good,” Joel murmured. “So fuckin’ good for us.”

You were unraveling, every nerve lit up, caught between Arthur’s steady rhythm and Joel’s mouth and hands. You felt possessed, held, worshipped.

And then Arthur pulled out slowly, pressing one last kiss to your sternum.

“Think she’s ready for you,” he murmured, looking at Joel.

Joel didn’t wait. He was on you in seconds, flipping you gently onto your side, spooning in close behind. His chest was slick with heat, breath ragged against your ear.

“You okay, baby?” he murmured, lining himself up.

“Please,” you whispered.

He pushed in with a groan—deeper than Arthur, thicker, dragging a broken cry from your throat as he filled you completely. Joel’s hand curled around your waist, holding you in place as he began to move—grinding slow and deep, his mouth pressed to your shoulder.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he hissed.

Arthur knelt in front of you now, brushing hair back from your face, kissing your mouth sweetly while Joel fucked you slow and unrelenting from behind.

“You’re ours now, ain’t you?” Arthur murmured. “Both of us.”

You nodded, tears at the corners of your eyes from how full you felt, how overwhelming it was to be held between them.

Joel’s thrusts grew harder, his breath turning rough against your skin. “Say it,” he growled. “Say you’re ours.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped. “I’m—yours.”

And when you came—loud, shaking, completely undone—they didn’t stop holding you. Didn’t stop whispering how good you were, how beautiful you looked, how they’d never let you go now.

You belonged to them.

And tonight, they made sure you knew it.

────🌾────

The room was quiet.

The kind of quiet that settles in after a storm—soft and sacred, broken only by the sound of three tangled breaths.

You were between them again, your body boneless and glowing, cheek pressed against Arthur’s chest. His heartbeat was a slow, steady thump beneath your ear, and one of his hands ran lazy circles along your spine, grounding you.

Joel lay behind you, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist, his body flush against your back. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, the heat of his skin, the quiet way he breathed your name like a prayer.

“You okay, baby?” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

You nodded, lips brushing Arthur’s skin. “Yeah. Just… wow.”

Arthur chuckled low in his throat. “That a good ‘wow,’ or a we-gotta-run-away-and-never-talk-about-it-again kinda wow?”

You laughed softly. “The first one.”

Joel hummed, and you felt his lips move against your shoulder. “Good. ‘Cause we’re not lettin’ you go now.”

Arthur shifted just enough to cup your face, thumb brushing over your cheek. “Didn’t hurt, did it? We didn’t push too much?”

“No,” you said, voice thick and quiet. “It was perfect.”

They exhaled together, that tension in their bodies finally melting all the way out of them.

Joel sat up first, kissed your shoulder, then leaned over to grab a warm cloth from the bedside. He was slow and gentle cleaning you up, murmuring quiet things like I got you, just relax, you were so good for us. Every motion was careful, reverent. Like you were something fragile. Something theirs.

Arthur pulled the blankets up, letting you settle again between them.

You felt completely safe. Wrapped in warmth and worn flannel and calloused hands that held you like you were the softest thing they’d ever touched.

“You always this quiet after?” Arthur asked, his fingers trailing along your ribs.

You shrugged, half-smiling. “Not always. But I’ve never… done this before.”

“With two men?”

“With two people who actually care.”

They both stilled.

Joel leaned forward, brushing hair from your face. “We do,” he said quietly. “Care.”

Arthur nodded, resting his forehead against yours. “This wasn’t just a one-time thing for us. Not if it ain’t for you.”

You looked between them, your heart thudding louder than it had all night.

“I don’t want it to be,” you whispered.

Joel smiled—soft and warm and rare. “Good. Then stay.”

“I'm already here.”

Arthur kissed you again—slower this time, with all the gentleness in the world. Joel tucked himself closer to your back, his hand slipping under your shirt to rest flat over your heart.

You fell asleep wrapped in both of them.

And when the sun rose through the dusty window panes the next morning, they were still there—one hand in your hair, the other tracing your spine, like they’d never let go.

And maybe they wouldn’t.

tags: @zevrra @xodilfluvr @whimsydoe

[slaughter-kin]

he has stayed constantly on my mind since 2018

[strangesthirdeye]

REAL

[bigboy-lovers-unite-writes]

Imagine slapping their asses 🙏🙏

•Dutch; immediately pissed off, depends on who slapped his ass, he might push his cigar into their arm or something out of anger. Will grumble if it's his partner and shoo them away, smokes enough cigarettes after that to take away ten years on his life (it definitely made a camp deafening sound when they slapped it)

•Arthur; the most shocked face ever, just has to stand there for a minute to figure out whatever the fuck just happened. Will stumble over his words, before glaring at the person and chest bump them a few times, but secretly he's nearly popping a boner 💔💔

•John; eye twitches, trying to hold back grabbing his revolver and threatening the person. Says something sarcastic and crosses his arms like the dumb child he is. Will definitely be so damn embarrassed that he flushes as red as Sean's hair. Definitely blabs about it to Abigail later and gets huffy when she laughs

•Hosea; jumps a foot in the air and his body bends like a banana 😭 he's not mad, he'd never get mad, but he is a bit embarrassed about that. He sighs softly, tells a little story about his youth and how he would be able to handle it when he was younger as he rubbed his sore ass, then says he's too old for all that 🫶🫶

•Javier; yells out the loudest Spanish he's ever said, nearly falls forward from the shock of it as both hands go to cover his ass. Can't see it since he pulls his poncho up over his entire face, but he is burning bright red and thinking about it for the rest of the month. Will never trust being around the person again, will side eye them and cover his ass with anything if he's around them again 😢

•Bill; Two different ways this could go. One, he's drunk as a bitch and he hurls a beer bottle them and starts cursing and chasing them all over yelling about how he's no queer, even if it was a woman that slapped his ass, or he will just glare and threaten them a little bit and try to intimidate them if by god he's not drunk

•Kieran; actually stands up straight for once instead of being like a shrimp literally 24/7. Looks like a bug when you pick up a rock, eyes all wide and face flushed even pinker than it usually already naturally is. Definitely looks spaced out the rest of the day, probably can't stop thinking about it for sure

•Sean; gasps and is completely over dramatic, falling and pulling whoever slapped his ass down with him. Definitely tells everyone that the person slapped his ass, and he sounds strangely proud about it too..

•Lenny; poor boy doesn't know what to do, he's stuttering and gripping at his favorite book that he was reading, glancing around as he tried to say something. Might quirk a smile after a while, but it's whenever that person isn't around (he's so embarrassed don't do it again he can't handle it 💔)

•Micah; immediately cracks up and dares the person to slap his ass again, sticking it out slightly. He then promptly slaps that person's ass twenty times harder than they slapped his. It becomes a little game between the two whenever they see each other

•Charles; the absolute politest, might get a bit grumbly. 'oh my' is the first words outta his mouth 😭 will ask them why they did that and if it was supposed to be funny. He's like a mother in this sense, but also can't stop grinning since he actually liked it ❤️

[maebelmelee]

big strong cowboy arthur can't get enough of his little wife?

It's so overdone but I cannot stop reading and writing this trope over and over again.

Content below the cut (18+/MDNI)

The Exception

Arthur is a big man.

You’ve known it since the moment he first stood over you with those storm-colored eyes and that low, gravel-scraped voice.

But being his wife? That’s when you truly start to feel the weight of it.

The way his broad chest wraps around your back at night, how his hands span your waist like you’re something delicate and warm he don’t ever want to let go of.

Sometimes, while you’re just going about your day—folding shirts, sweeping the floor, tending to stew—and next thing you know, he’s sliding up behind you, palms already spread over your hips, voice thick with heat as he says, “Ain’t a damn thing in this world as pretty as the sight of you just bein’ mine.”

He’s addicted to how petite you are against him. The way your head fits right under his chin when he pulls you in close. How your thighs fall apart with the slightest nudge from his knee.

He teases you sometimes; pulls you up off the floor like you weigh nothing, tosses you over his shoulder just to hear you squeal, but there’s nothing mean in it. It’s reverent. You’re his, and Arthur don’t take that lightly.

When you sit in his lap, he wraps his arms around you like he’s shielding you from the whole goddamn world. He kisses your temple, your neck, your shoulder, even the tips of your fingers if he’s feeling tender. “Ain’t never get tired of this,” he mumbles into your skin. “You feel too good, darlin’. Too goddamn sweet.”

In the quiet hours, when it’s just you and him and the rustle of canvas around your tent, Arthur becomes a man of fewer words, but a hell of a lot more feeling.

He strips you soft and slow, calloused hands glidin’ over your curves like he’s afraid you might vanish if he’s too rough. Not that he always holds back. Not when he’s buried deep and groaning your name against your throat, saying how tight you are, how good you take him.

He’ll press your wrists into the mattress, kiss the corner of your mouth, then look you straight in the eye and murmur, “You were made for me, weren’t you, pretty thing?”

He’s not shy about how much he wants you, either. Sometimes he’ll come back from a job dirty and bruised, still pull you into his lap like you’re the only thing that’ll make the ache go away. You’ll straddle him, lips barely grazing, and he’ll say it with a growl, “Don’t care how tired I am. I need you. Just like this.”

And when you give in, when you start to grind, when you whisper his name and tug his shirt off over that broad back; he’ll lift you up and carry you to bed without so much as a breath between. Like having you is as natural as drawing breath.

Arthur don’t worship nothin’. Not money, not a god, not Dutch Van der Linde’s dream. But you? You, his sweet, fierce, little wife? You’re the exception.

[midgarangel]

ꗃ snowed in | arthur morgan ⭐️

summary: arthur finds you out all alone without your horse in the middle of the grizzlies during a bad snow storm.

contents: nsfw! arthur morgan x fem reader, good honor arthur, pre tb, both of them are the definition of touch starved, penetration, reader squ**ts?? hell yeah.

words: 3.5k (?) i have no clue

—

Up in Mount Hagen west of the grizzlies, the fire was going while he set the tent up. It hadn’t snowed in days thankfully. Arthur could tell it would in the morning just by how the temperature dropped severely throughout the night.

“You’re alright..”

His beloved horse Boadicea, shook off the chill in the air and neighed. Arthur got some sleep as best as he could, deciding to wait till dawn to set off.

—

Tracking a bounty all the way up here might not have been the smartest idea. Some lowlife criminal with a fine price on his head, wanted dead or alive. Arthur hoped he would stumble upon the man frozen while out riding. Instead he was met with endless amounts of snow ahead of him.

He couldn’t even get a cup of decent coffee going, day was already off to a bad start. It was now around eleven a.m based off the pocket watch he kept in his satchel. Boadicea kept trekking as best as she could.

Arthur loved to get away from camp whenever he could. None of Dutch’s nonsense, no Micah, no nothing. Only now he wished he could turn around and see greenery and meadows instead of pure white.

Boadicea snorted, the snow seemed to be falling heavier. Arthur couldn’t see ahead of him and it seemed like a blizzard was approaching.

“Just a little more girl cmon..”

The wind roared far out as they continued. The path below them was still visible. Yet, deep in the grizzlies now it was no use going back. He fed Boadicea a carrot hoping her stamina would improve.

Best to keep going, he thought. No way I’m gon make it out of the range till it calms down.

With the storm calming down a bit, Arthur took note of his surroundings. Near the now frozen lake, lake isabella. The trail that adorned the body of water had footprints that looked fresh. Footprints that belonged to someone smaller than Him. His suspicions were about to be confirmed.

He heard sniffing and shuffling up ahead. Rounding the corner he laid eyes on you. On tbe ground picking up the contents that were on e in your basket. Your outwear covered in snow. The basket you were carrying blown across from you, and your crops on the ground.

“Er, you alright there?” He asked cautiously.

You turned around frazzled.

“Who’s there?”

Arthur threw his hands up in defense coming into view, not wanting to scare you.

“Woah there it’s okay ma’am I don’t mean you no harm.”

You nodded. He seemed harmless, you were hoping he kept his word.

“Well it makes no difference now…if the snow doesn’t let up, nothing will grow for the rest of the month.”

“If an outlaw or wild animal doesn’t get me then starvation will.” You continued defeated.

He watched you dust off the snow from your shoulders. Noticing you didn’t have a horse.

“You walked out here all alone?”

Shaking your head yes, you explained to him that you left your horse home knowing how harsh the weather would be.

“She’s too old to be out here in weather like this…thought I could make it before it got real bad.”

Arthur thought that was a stupid idea, you could tell from his face. He felt sorry for you.

“Is your home nearby? I could take you there.” He pointed to Boadicea.

You eyed him wearily. A handsome stranger in the middle of a snowstorm offering to take you home? Too good to be true. He had to be trouble, but something about him seemed honest. His blue green eyes sparkling in contrast to the white all around you two.

“Yes..just a couple of miles. Near the frozen waterfall.”

You watched the gears turn in his head. He was glad he found you before you had froze to death.

“Well, ill erm,” He gathered up his supplies making sure Boadicea was ready to go. Offering a stretched out arm to you.

“Cmon, I gotcha.”

On the way to your tiny cabin of a house you attempted to make small talk. It was a ways to go, a few more turns down the trail.

“So, why’re you out here?” You asked, hands on his lower back hanging on.

“Bounty huntin.”

You took a mental note of that. If he had any plans of robbing you once you got home you were done for. Yet you found humor in this predicament.

“Sure I can trust you?” You chuckled.

“Not a bounty are you?” He rebutted.

A comfortable silence settled over the two of you, halfway through the ride.

“Your horse is beautiful..reminds me of mine when she was younger.”

Arthur smiled, you couldn’t see though.

“My pride and joy. Don’t know what i’d do without her, how long have you had yours?” He asked.

Looking back on the time you first got her it seemed like a lifetime ago. Your Dad made one of his wishes come true before he died, bringing her home from an auction. She was just a foal when you were twelve.

Now twenty eight, Olive got sick last year. You vowed to take care of her as best as you could. Even if that meant coming out in a snowstorm as bad as this one in search of herbs for her.

“Sixteen years and counting I hope.” You said.

“She’ll pull through, long as she’s got ya.” Arthur meant that. You sounded sincere, he respected that.

“I’m right here.” You pointed to the brown wooden cabin hidden by flower bushes. Your house was in front of the waterfall you mentioned earlier.

Arthur got off Boadicea first to help you get down. He rounded the corner to help you. The steadiness of his grip, the way his other hand comes to your waist when your legs wobble slightly upon landing, had you besotted. You were grateful for his touch, even if it burned.

A bone chilling wind came through ruining your moment, almost blowing you away. You stumbled a bit, Arthur grabbed your wrist before you could fall.

“Careful there.” He said smirking under his hat.

“Thanks.”

Gathering yourself, you wondered where he’d be off to now. One side of your brain saying to invite him in, the other saying give him a couple of dollars and send him on his way.

You hadn’t had company in god knows how long. Living out here in the mountains wasn’t for the weak, you considered yourself strong. Especially after your parents passing. It’d be nice to hear someone else’s voice for a while over some tea and bread.

“Hey um, wanna come in for a bit? Just till the snow-”

“Oh ma’am it’s alright you don’t-”

“No no I insist, I only have a few dollars, it’s the least I could do to make up for it.”

“Unless you have somewhere to be.” You added.

Arthur hesitated. He didn’t have anywhere to be. He was probably gonna go back to camp once the storm was over, the last place he’d want to be these days.

“Well, as soon as it stops i’ll be out your hair.”

“Come on in.”

—

Arthur sat at your small dining table taking in your home. Kitchen full of spices, teacups on the shelves, flour on the apron hanging up by your counter. Honing in on the fireplace across from your bed, it was a small space but you made it look big and full of life. Out the window he noticed a small barn behind the house. That must be where Olive is he thought.

“Here’s some fresh bread, made it this morning.”

You set the plate down in front of him. His mouth watering at the sight.

“Want some honey and butter?” You asked while rummaging through your cabinets, back turned to him.

“I’d love some.”

You smiled warmly at him grabbing the honey and butter.

“Hope you haven’t been eating just plain ol bread all the time, where’s the fun in that?”

Guilty.

“Can’t really fit that kinda stuff out here, gotta make room for my coffee.”

You shook your head.

“Foods more important but I understand. My Dad was a coffee drinker, traded anything for a good batch.”

“He’s a good man.” Arthur said as he took a bite of his bread.

“Before he passed he told me where his secret stash was.” You laughed.

Arthur chuckled lightly.

“You can have it if you want. I should’ve offered you that before I asked you to come in.”

“I’m happy you decided to come in though.” You added.

He nodded in agreement. He could tell you meant that.

“This is a nice space you got here. It’s remote, but you can survive here alright. Can do without the snow though.” He said looking around.

“Why thank you. That means a lot. You’ve probably lived your whole life outdoors.”

“A lot of it, that’s for sure.”

“I barely left the city before coming here ya know. People always talk about the simplicity of country life but it can be hard at times.” You said.

“I guess we only know what we know, city life sounds awful.”

“Oh it is. A truly empty and boring existence…but an undeniably easy one.”

“I bet.”

“So what about you? Where are you from?” You inquired.

As the sun sets with no signs of the snow stopping, you settle in for a evening full of stories of Arthurs escapades and card games. Getting to know a bit about the people he calls family.

He tells you about Dutch and Hosea, how much they mean to him. He mentions a man by the name of John who he sees as a brother. He also tells you about Tilly, who he saved a few weeks ago from some bad people. Then he mentions Charles, the man who taught him how to use a bow properly.

“You know... I had a son once. Years ago. I don't talk about him much.”

He didn’t usually open up to people like this. He’d only known you for a few hours yet somehow you now knew little parts of his story.

“Good kid.” Arthur took a sip of his bourbon then handed the bottle to you.

You took a sip. The warm amber liquor burning as it went down. Finding solace in the fact that you guys shared similar experiences.

“I’m so sorry Arthur.” You passed it back to him.

“S-all good. I’ve made peace with it. Miss em like hell though.”

Another instance of comfortable silence settled. The fire crackled in front of you two, warm enough to forget about the cold outside.

“How about that Horse?” Arthur nudged his head towards the window.

“You wanna meet her? We can keep Boadicea in the barn for the night too.” You said giddily.

Arthur took in the excitement from your face. You had a pretty smile.

“I have some medicine in my satchel. Happy to share. Just gotta lead me to er.”

“You’re a good man.”

“You don’t really know me.”

“I know enough. Theres always more to find in ourselves…you helped me to see that.”

“Reckon you’ll be just fine.” He said getting up.

When you get outside the air is a lot calmer with the snow up to your ankles. Arthur offers his arm for you to hold on to as you walk to the barn.

“She’s in here.”

You open the door slowly. Revealing a frail mahogany horse with white spots. She stands slowly after hearing you approach.

“Heyyyy there girl. Sorry I’ve been gone for a while.” Olive neighs in response, receiving the pats you give her.

“She’s a stunner.” Arthur says as he watches you with her.

“Should’ve seen Ol when she was in her prime. I love her even more now though.” You say cooing at her.

“Stallions bring out the best in people.”

Arthur takes the medicine out of his satchel, walking up to her. It’s late night and the orange glow from the barn lights makes him look impeccable. He gently coaxes Olive into taking the medicine, looking totally in his element.

“You’re so gentle with her.”

Arthur smiles at that comment.

It makes you dizzy. Spending the entire day with him was amazing though it went by so fast. The last time you “talked” with someone was at your local butcher about meat prices. Arthur had saved you from getting hypothermia, ate your bread, provided stories, and now he’s helping your horse. Maybe it was the two sips of bourbon but before you could stop yourself-

“Would you be that gentle with me?” You say suddenly with want on your face.

Arthur glances at you and chuckles. He’s been thinking about how your hair looks so soft and how your freckles show up the most when you smile. He can’t forget about how warm your personality is, or your hospitality. That’s all enough for him to entertain you.

“Did I hear you right?” He asks, still tending to her.

You wait with bated breath turning your head to the side in anticipation.

“There you go girl..” Making sure she’s alright, he turns to you walking closer.

He places his hand on your face smoothing his thumb over your cheek. You lean into his touch.

“Only if you’ll have me. And if you want me to be gentle.”

You nod slowly in the palm of his hand, pulling yourself closer into him. Your noses rub together hesitant in wanting to kiss. He takes your chin in between his fingers.

“It’s been so long…”

“Y‘need this as much as I do. Hm?”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and whispered in his ear.

“Badly.” Was all that you said.

He took a deep inhale, inhaling your scent.

“I…It’s been a while darlin.”

Your chest ached at the rawness in his voice. You cupped his jaw and pulled him back enough to see his face—eyes needy yet earnest.

"You’re here now," You murmured. "I’ve got you."

That was all the permission he needed.

When his lips finally touch yours, he kisses you, really kisses you, it’s slow, and deliberate at first, like he’s aware of how delicate this moment is. His breath hitches, just barely, but you feel it in the way his hands dig into your clothed hips, dragging you flush against him, no space, no air, just him. He kissed you like a drowning man who just then realized where you two stood.

“Wait a sec. Gotta do this properly.” Arthur said still holding you.

You look confused at first, then you understood. You both couldn’t do this in the barn.

“Such a gentleman.” You laughed, the both of you making your way back inside the house.

So as fate wanted, your bed creaked at the force from Arthur sitting down. Straddling him now, your knees press into the cushion, chest light against his, the steady rise and fall of his breath meeting yours. He marveled at your beauty silently before kissing you again.

The second kiss is different. Sloppier. Needier. His tongue pushes past your lips, dragging deep and wet into your mouth like he’s starving for it, like he needs to savor the heat of you just once before he lets you leave the house. He licks into you slowly, unhurried, groaning softly as he swallows your breath like it’s something sweet on his tongue. You gasped, grinding your hips against the hard length straining in his pants.

“Arthur…” you moan, rubbing your thinly covered core against his rough jeans.

“This darn skirt. Getting in the way of things.”

Helping both of you strip down, clumsily giving up on his own clothes since he was more focused on you. You pressed kisses anywhere you could reach in between.

He dropped to his knees between your thighs on the bed, hands gripping them like he needed to hold on. He wanted to feel every inch of you.

He kissed the inside of your thigh, mouthing at your skin, leaving messy, open-mouthed kisses all over your hips, your stomach, your chest.

"Been dying to taste you," he admitted shamelessly. Breath hot against your core.

“Can I?”

You nodded, and he dove in, tongue lapping at you smoothly, savoring you. Hearing your light airy moans egged him on. He was trying to memorize every inch of you all at once. You felt like a small animal with a predator’s teeth on her neck with the way he looks at you.

"Could stay right here forever.”

His rough hands reached the curls of your most intimate part, running his fingers there as if he were petting it while you watched in amazement. He was a real man.

You whimpered, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging sharply out of embarrassment or something softer. Imagining what it would be like if he did stay here forever.

“So goddamn pretty.” He groaned into you, couldn’t help himself. You gasped.

“Your clothes..wanna see you.”

Arthur lets out a soft chuckle as he straightens up. You watched him undress while you lay on the bed. He could tell how much it was for you, all naked while he was still clothed, the spontaneity of it all. No blankets covering you yet. You felt shy but you were too lustful to show it.

His front and back were rippled with meat and muscle, the type of figure one can only attain through constant hard work and running. His skin littered with scars in different shapes and textures, some fully healed and others jagged. You've never seen a man quite like him. You wanted to ask him about each scar.

“Come here..” You beckoned him. He crawled up your body, his dick rubbing slick and heavy against your thigh. The both of you were drunk off of each-other at this point.

“Still want me to be gentle?” He asked while kissing your neck.

“Do whatever you want.” You moaned when his tip softly went in. Your breath hitched, feeling finally full in who knows how long.

He pushed himself completely in you, noticing your eyes roll back momentarily. Cunt split open and stuffed, you adjusted to his size.

“You don’t even know what you’re askin’ for,” he says quietly, like it’s just between the two of you and always will be. “But I’ll give it to you anyway.”

Your mind was a daze, you just wanted to feel him all around you. Completely enveloping you, all your senses locked on Arthur.

“So good," he choked out. "You can take it darlin.”

He kisses you. Filthy. Deep. His tongue pushes into your mouth before you can breathe, and you melt into it, whining into the hot slide of it as his hands roam low, gripping your ass like he’s already imagining how it’ll feel when you switch positions.

You repeated what he said in a daze. “I can take it…” Wrapping your legs around his waist, meeting his thrusts, each one a little more tantalizing than the last.

He gently takes your legs and puts them up so you could wrap them around his torso. You melted deeper into his body, submissive flares. You weren’t even aware of him moving your hair out of your face. You bit your lip at the gesture

“Jus’need to see you sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

The new nickname had your heart jumping. So happy that you had moved up from being called “ma’am” to “darlin” to now sweetheart. If he stayed he’d come up with even more names.

Suddenly he flipped the two of you over so he’s behind you, shutting you up with another kiss before you can protest. It’s slower and heavier like he’s savoring your desperation.

Legs spreading automatically to make room for him, you look up and bat your eyelashes. The room smells like want. The sweet aroma of honey, wood, sweat and sex. You’re glistening, shimmering under the dim lighting of the cabin. Leaking warmth like a prayer meant only for him.

His growl rumbles up from deep in his chest, a sound that vibrates through the bed beneath you and takes root in your spine. There’s nothing gentle in the way he moves.

Your thighs tremble and a choked, broken moan punches free of your lungs before you even realize it’s coming. Your hand flies to your mouth instinctively, fingers splayed across your lips like you can hold in what he’s tearing out of you. Arthur doesn’t stop.

“Let me hear ya.” He rasps, eyes locked between your legs like they’re tracking the center of the universe. Your hands grip the sheets, as you fuck him back. Begging him without words but with whimpers to never stop.

He groans against you, deep and wrecked, and the vibrations pulse through your cunt like an aftershock. Pounding into you at this rate, your mind goes blank at one point, he’s relentless. He taps your hip with the back of his hand and looks at you like you’re God.

“Not yet sweetheart. Gonna ride me,” he pants, dragging the words out low and rough as you crawl on his lap. Breath hitching as your thighs spread over his, the air between your bodies sharp and electric. Your cunt drags over his shaft, slick and hot. The sound that leaves his throat is pure hunger as he grabs himself in one hand, smearing your arousal down his length. Dragging the head through your folds with purpose, watching your face twist with need.

“Don’t run,” he breathes, his voice barely more than a growl, forehead pressed to yours. “Be good.”

And you are good.

You lower yourself inch by devastating inch, the stretch slow and punishing, your body fighting to take him as your nails dig into his shoulders, your breath coming out in little gasps that sound more like worship. You feel your walls part around him for the third time tonight. Feeling every ridge, every vein, every delicious ache as you sink down and bottom out.

He hisses, biting at your throat. Arthurs hands clenching around your waist like he’s anchoring himself in place.

“Look at you. Fuckin’ perfect.”

You moan into his mouth when he kisses you again, sloppier now. More tongue than lips. And then you move rolling your hips, building the rhythm that will destroy you. Every bounce draws a new groan from his throat, every grind makes your clit drag against the coarse hair at the base of his cock, sending jolts of pleasure through your spine. Your thighs burn but you couldn’t care less.

The bed rocks with the momentum, each thrust pushing the air from your lungs, each slap of skin against skin driving you closer to the edge. His hands find your ass, pulling you down harder, making you take him, and when you whimper, he chuckles dark and low against your throat.

“Yeah, darlin. That’s it. You hear that?” he grunts, pressing his palm to your lower belly, feeling the bulge where he’s buried so deep inside. “That’s me right there.”

You practically wail out, your high and aching body pulsing around him as your thighs tremble from the stretch. The slick of your cunt dripping down him. The musky sound of your bodies slapping together filling every inch of the cabin like heat pressed into fogged glass. Was it even snowing anymore?

Arms wrapped tight around his neck, your face buried against his temple, your fingers tangled in his hair like you’re trying to fuse your body to his. You can feel him panting against your collarbone, open-mouthed and desperate, like he’s biting back something loud, something animal, something barely tamed.

“Christ,” Arthur breathes against your skin, the sound more of a broken moan than a word. His voice wet and trembling. His teeth find your neck again, grazing the sensitive curve where shoulder meets throat, biting down just enough to make your pussy clench around him in response, and he feels it.

He groans against you, lips dragging along the line of your jaw as he grinds you down harder, deeper, every upward thrust punching the air from your lungs.

You’re babbling now, nothing coherent, not even words, just gasps and little broken sobs of pleasure, your hips moving on instinct, chasing something bright and unbearable as his dick grinds right into that perfect, dizzying spot inside you.

“That’s it, ride it out, sweet girl. You sound so fuckin’ pretty when you cry like that.”

The pressure mounts, unbearable. You can’t even fight it anymore. The pleasure barrels through you like a lightning strike, brutal, hot, and fast. You throw your head back as you moan deeply. Completely wrecked and shaking. Your thighs lock around him as your cunt spasms violently, clenching down on his dick like it’s trying to keep him.

And then wetness. Heat. Everywhere.

It’s not just an orgasm. It’s something more. Something primal. You squirt around him, the gush soaking his thighs and the sheets below you. The sound obscene as your slick pours out uncontrollably, drenching his lap as you collapse against him with a sob.

Arthur growls, so loud and feral it rips through the cabin like thunder. He slams into you one final time, cock pulsing deep inside your fluttering heat as he comes, thick, hot, and endless!groaning your name into your shoulder as his body trembles beneath you. He doesn't pull out. Doesn’t even try. Just stays buried to the hilt.

He wants to keep you twitching, leaking, falling apart on top of him until you forget what it feels like to breathe without his dick inside you. Eventually, your hips go still. Your head drops onto his shoulder while his arms curl around your waist like armor. One hand stroking slowly up your spine, the other resting flat against your thigh.

Your walls are still fluttering, milking him gently, your cunt wet and stretched and full, and neither of you move. You cockwarm like that, breathing in sync. Sticky skin with the wind howling outside.

Arthur presses a kiss to your temple. Another to your shoulder. One more just beneath your jaw, slower this time, reverent.

He murmurs something into your skin. Something low. Something that sounds like your name.

“Reckon you could stay for a while? You say looking at him tenderly.

He takes your hand and kisses your knuckes. His touch is soft. He just fucked you like a goddamn animal but is still the only man alive who knows how to hold you after. He just might be.

“I’ll stay till you get tired of me. I have no where else to be sweetheart.” Arthur laughs heartily.

You can’t wait to make coffee together in the morning.

—

first arthur fic!! i love rdr2 so much it had to be done. ty for reading xx <3

[gam3r-girli3]

━━━ arthur morgan, feminist icon since 1863™.

[zae-heeyyy]

Aegis

Summary: You defend your daughter from Micah. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader Word Count: 1,810 Tags: fluff, family, girl dad Arthur, angst, high honor Arthur Warnings: Violence, mistreatment of a child

next

an: This was an anon request. I was weary about this one because I'm not a mom, nor do I spend a lot of time around toddlers, but omg exploring girl dad Arthur was so fun! Shout out to @emerald-ranch for helping me with a horse fact for this one! Thanks for reading. Enjoy!

Aegis: as in protection, means or method of defending

A pair of hazel eyes cut through the dark, shining like twin stars burning holes in the blanket of night. Those usually bright supernovas seemed dull now, washed out by the weight of the world. Your daughter's tiny form scooted in impossibly closer, and you bundled her up, swaddling her like she was still the wiggling newborn you'd held in your arms three years ago.

"Bea," you sighed, trying your best to shield her from the beast that was your frustration. Exhaustion had settled in your bones hours ago, pressing your patience paper thin. Sleep called out to you from the void, and you wanted so badly to answer, but your daughter reeled you back every time.

"I want Daddy," she whined, clutching the fabric of your shift in her little fists. 

You missed him too; she had no idea. In a time that seemed like forever ago, you and Arthur laid in this same cot, your fingers tangled in his shirt in the way your daughter's were in yours now. Motherhood terrified you, and after telling Arthur you were pregnant, you cried all through the night. Raising a child was daunting enough, but doing it with an outlaw in a gang seemed like a nightmare turned reality. 

Solid arms held you together in body and mind. He was your rock even though he was going through his own quiet panic. Arthur knew the harsh realities of parenthood all too well. Still, he knew the brightness, blooms, and blossoms it could bring, and he let himself want it more than anything. Making good on his second chance at having a family, he married you right away and devoted all of himself to you and the baby.

That warm summer night after your screams and her cries had died down, he bowed his head over her, staring without a word. First, one salty tear fell from his face and onto the blanket you'd knitted for her, then another, and another. You tried to offer him the dignity of silence, but your tears burst out with a sob. It was only then that he spoke, snapping out of his baby-induced trance, his eyes wide with concern.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong at all."

And his baby loved him oh so much, the very definition of a daddy's girl. He was the one who protected her from spiders and wasps, the one who made her giggle til her face turned red, the one who'd lift her up on his shoulders and run amok through camp, and the one who snuck her candy when she thought you weren't looking. He was her Polaris, and little did she know, she was his entire universe. Leaving both of you at camp, even if only for a few hours, chipped away at a piece of his soul every time. In the present, you combed your fingers through her light-colored hair and kissed her on the head twice–one from you and one from Daddy, as you always told her.

"I know. He'll be here when we wake up, honeybee."  

And the tent fell silent, but your daughter twisted and shivered, unsettled by passing footsteps.

"Momma…" Her words came out smaller than her. "M'scared."

You wanted to tell her there was nothing to be afraid of, but you couldn't lie to her–not when there was a price on her father's head, not after Blackwater, and not after Colter. In yet another attempt to calm her, you whispered soft shhs. But then she spoke once more, a single word–a name, and your breath caught in your throat.

"Micah."

You sat up with the quickness of a startled doe, sweeping your eyes over your daughter. Tears stained her rosy cheeks, but she was otherwise unharmed.

"What about Micah?" The question came out more urgent than you'd intended, and she hid herself in your bosom. You hoped she didn't hear your heart pounding wildly against your rib cage. 

"Don't want him to come here."

"Why'd he do that?"

She only shook her head. You peeled her away from you, wiping her tears away with the pads of your thumbs before cupping her face in your hands. Your voice was loving but firm–a quiet, motherly demand.

"Bea. Talk." 

She vocalized as best as she could: "He's scary and mean."

And then, after a long pause, her small hand came to rest over yours on her cheek.

"He touched my face."

A curtain of red-hot wrath veiled your vision, and it took everything in you to hide it from the baby in your arms. No matter how big she got, she would always be that pink, wrinkly baby in the knitted blanket. You put on a stellar performance, eyes twinkling, your smile adding light to the darkness that'd settled over you. You reassured her that Daddy and Uncle Dutch would take care of that, that she had a whole family looking out for her, and that she was safe. 

In one last attempt to get her to settle, you laid back down, closed your own eyes, and began a slow hum of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." In the middle of the second run-through, she'd gone limp, finally.  You tried to follow suit, but your thoughts were louder than ever. 

Arthur'll be back soon.

Let the men dish it out. 

Get some sleep, get some sleep, get some sleep.

But your legs swung over the cot, and you left your eaglet behind in the nest as you soared into camp, sharp eyes scanning for your prey–a rattlesnake masquerading as a man. The drunk bastard saw you coming, flashing his fangs in a smug display of mockery. He didn't expect the beer bottle he'd been nursing to explode across his head, the glass shattering like a storm of meteors crashing down to earth. The impact sent him sprawling to the ground, and you were on top of him in an instant in the only way you'd ever be–out for blood. A blackhole temporarily swallowed both of you as you slammed your forehead into his with all the force of two colliding planets. 

The shockwave drowned out everything around you–so much so that you didn't hear someone shout for Arthur and didn't notice your husband had returned just before you left the tent. Micah fought back hard, trying in his intoxicated stupor to twist free, but you had him good, your nails like talons breaking skin and cutting off his air supply.

An owl-like screech tore through your lungs as two strong hands yanked you away. Your husband's eyes locked onto yours, grounding you, clearing the haze of fury. Time seemed to slow as you saw yourself reflected in concerned chrysocolla-colored eyes.

"Hey now, hey, easy…"

Just when he thought he'd calmed his distressed mare, the snake hissed in the grass.

"Get control of your whore, Morgan!"

"Arthur," you caught his attention, him looking from Micah back to you, "Beatrice." 

At hearing his daughter's name, Arthur bared his teeth and dug his nails into his palm. Without thinking, he shoved you aside, and you knew if you let him get to Micah, all hell would break loose. Roles reversed, you grabbed at his sleeve with both hands, pushing your weight into your heels to keep him in place. Micah started a mocking chortle. 

"That seed of yours." He tried once again to rise up on his feet, "Ain't much hope for her. She'll let fellas buy her for a penny just like her momma."

His taunting stung enough for you to temporarily lose hold of Arthur, and he took his chance, sending the metal tip of his boot flying into Micah's chin. The devil incarnate spit out blood and chipped bone and let out a hoarse, guttural bellow of pain, but he didn't try to stand anymore. 

"Lucky she got to you first." Arthur spat, "I ain't stopping her next time."

Your husband stomped off with his arm around your waist, back to your lion's den where your cub was still sleeping soundly. Collapsing onto the cot, you dug your palms into your eyes, trying to ease the pressure of a building headache. Lantern light came into your field of vision as Arthur's calloused fingers pried your hands away. 

"That was stupid," he whispered, aware of Beatrice still sleeping. One hand clutched your chin, and the other moved your hair out of your face to get a good look at you, "I woulda' handled it."

The cold sting of a wet cloth against your bruises made you wince. 

"I know. Couldn't help myself."  

Arthur didn't say anything else and finished cleaning you up in silence. Though the presence of your family back together brought you a semblance of peace, you twisted the gold band around your finger, lost in hellish thoughts. You and Arthur made promises to each other and to your little girl, and you'd make good on them, no matter the cost.

"I'll kill him next time."

Arthur had stripped down to his union suit and nodded at you as he took his hat off and set it beside the photo of your daughter's namesake.

"I know."

Then, his face lit up. He stopped your fidgeting by taking your hand in his and kissing your knuckles. Deep down, he knew you had it in you, but something about his wife, the sweetest thing he'd ever met, nearly ripping a man's head off his shoulders with her bare hands, struck a cord of pride within him. 

"Though I don't think anybody in their right mind would tempt you after seein' that."

And you felt embarrassed of your wild display of maternal ferocity. But Arthur, in all his tenderness and love for you, made all your doubt vanish.

"That's my girl," he whispered, holding his hands out.

You let him hoist you up into his warm embrace. The steady rise and fall of his chest and rhythmic heartbeat could've lulled you to sleep right then and there. This closeness had become a delicacy since parenthood, and you savored every bite. Arthur sighed contently as he breathed in the scene before him. Though you were buried in his chest, you knew he was looking over at his sleeping baby girl while he was hugging you.

"Maybe one day she can spend the night with Abigail and Jack, and we can have some husband and wife time." 

You hummed in agreement, tempted to let your limbs fall weak in his arms. The sounds of rustling blankets woke you right back up.

"Daddy?" 

Arthur didn't let you go. Instead, he squeezed you harder, a silent thank you for the life you'd birthed, the life you'd given him. He guided you back to the cot beside your daughter, tucking both of you in and pressing a soft kiss to your foreheads.

"Hey, sweetheart. I'm here," were the last words you heard before soaring serenely off the cliff of consciousness. 

[bluecanvasshoe]

kind of important so pls read!!!

ihihiihihigi!!! this was posted earlier under a repost, but idk how many people noticed the message part, sooooo……….

basically, i’m wondering if we want a part 2 of the platonic Arthur x reader fic i wrote not long ago!!! i felt it was unfinished and i wanted to do the story justice. and, if not a part 2, do we want snother platonic fic?? if so, who should i do??? should i do a poll??? let me know!!!!

considering charles or hosea n dutch but if anyone has suggestions then send in a request or comment 🙏

[2kiran]

STATUS: ON-GOING | READ ON AO3

HERE LIES THE five times Arthur called you ‘honey.’

PAIRING: Arthur Morgan x Reader

CONTENT WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, Bounty Hunter!Reader, Ex-Military!Reader, top male reader, bottom arthur, canon-typical violence, fluff, hurt/comfort, reader gets injured, arthur does not have TB. warnings included in every chapter.

SETTING: Red Dead Redemption 2

THE DIRECTORY ❯❯ PROLOGUE

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

EXTRAS ❯❯

TO BE CONTINUED

[stray-cat-with-internet-access]

Arthur? 😳

[ariseur]

hi love!! i saw that your requests are open and im here to help🫡

can i request some red dead headcanons/blurbs? maybe what their affection/kisses are like? arthur, john, javier and charles are my pookies (especially charles oh my god i love him so so much) but i would love to hear your thoughts on anybody really!!

hope you’re doing well <3

AFFECTIONATE - VAN DER LINDE BOYS

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ notes - for some reason i cannot post rdr2 with my manga headers or cutesy pink dividers it feels so off to me i have no idea why 😭 but thank you for sending this request in, i love it sooo much!’ it’s nice to see another charles lover in this fandom lolol— you take care as well!! 🫶

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ warnings - mentions of injuries in kieran’s and charles, kisses and kissing (?), hispanic!reader / spanish speaking!reader in mind for javier’s, intended lowercase, alcohol and drinking in sean’s, lmk if i missed anything!! 🫶

ARTHUR MORGAN who will put calloused hands around your waist when you’re alone in your tent at night, burrowing his nose in your hair as he lays behind you. you can smell his musk, the scent of the outdoors and faded linen, as it clings onto you with its tight grip and lingers. you don’t mind though, and neither does arthur; simply basking in your warmth as the crickets chirp in harmony with your soft exhales.

“‘ve missed you.” you say, your right hand crawling to interlock itself with his own draped over your waist as it fiddles with the soft skin there.

“missed y’too, darlin’.” you can feel his chest rumble with his voice, tone deep and gravelly from the lack of use. you let your eyes close as you savored the feeling of his hands caressing the small chub that gathered itself in his hands when he squished too much. you would give anything to have moments like these with arthur whenever you could.

JOHN MARSTON who’ll scoff as you pressed kisses along his face, sitting on his lap as the campfire graced your bodies with its warm glow. his affections held a more stand-offish tone to them but on the off occasional that he got a little too tipsy, you could never pry him off of you.

“if i’d’a known any better, i’d have thought you was in love wit’ me,” he huffed. regardless of his dumb comments, his hands never failed to find their way upon the dips of your hips, rubbing circles over the fabric of your clothes.

you bumped your head into his head as he chuckled, raspy voice rumbling throughout his chest as you halted your kisses and instead rested your head on his shoulder. your foot, bare and tapping against the ground in tune with the distant strums of javier’s guitar and karen’s drunken singing kept you grounded — kept you remembering that this was real, this was all real; and you were alive.

“why? you complainin’?”

you felt john’s cheeks widen with his grin. “naw,” was all he said.

two things that JAVIER ESCUELLA cherished most in this world were family and freedom; and he knew that he felt at peace knowing he had both of these things in that moment. you by his side, as neither of you had a care in the world. the sun glimmered and lazed around, taking its place on your backs and replacing the cool, dawn air with its heat. affection with javier is passionate and it’s scary, you never know what you’ll get or suffer the next day but it doesn’t matter — you persevere knowing you’ll find home in his arms a night more, you’ll live long enough to seek refuge and if you died in the process; it’d be okay knowing you died with who you loved.

deft fingers came to slide up and down the wooden fretboard along with his other hand plucking on the strings. you hadn’t realized you’d been staring until he peeked one eye open from under his bowler hat, a teasing smirk on his face as he mumbled, “no me miras con esos ojos, corazón.”

you rolled your eyes, “que quieres decir, javi?”

he hummed, he knew you knew what he meant — and you knew that he knew. but for now, you’d continue to stare, admiring your beloved that sat so prettily on that log; simply playing his guitar. he had his freedom, and he had his family right here.

loud laughs erupted from the obnoxious irishman known as SEAN MACGUIRE, a jug of alcohol in his hand and his darling in the other.

“i’m tellin’ ya, luckiest man alive—! they said they loved me, can y’believe it?” his accent only got thicker by the minute as he raved to everybody that walked by about how you had suddenly professed your love once more as you two sat on the barrel circling the rounded, wooden table. you smacked his arm to which he let out a rasping cackle. “shut up, will you?”

“ah, never. y’know ya love me,” he puckered his lips dramatically as you scoffed. giving him a chaste kiss, he groaned as you pulled away too quick before you went in deeper, seeing his eyes widen in shock before yours fluttered closed. he laughed out the side of his mouth before his hand, ever so gentle, buried itself in your hair. sean was a loud lover, one you’d typically be embarrassed by — but that only meant he loved you more than anything. a drunk man’s words is a sober man’s thoughts and he had you on his mind all the time.

CHARLES SMITH who’ll treat your wounds silently, as he always did except this time would be different. a tense silence would fill your tent other than murmured hisses and apologies due to the peroxide and other various natural remedies he preserved for your care. charles would always keep a level head, warning you not to go on jobs that micah would egg you on yet charles would always wait for you to return.

he never said anything during these times, charles loved silently. instead of telling you he loved you every second or having you on his lap like others, he’d bring you a trinket you remembered wanting from a storefront window or he’d take you out hunting with him; teaching you how to properly set up bait ( not in the reckless way that sean or bill would attempt to mansplain about ). he’d take care of you and he’d listen to you. so when you’d gasp and bite your fist from how badly he had to stitch your leg up, his hand would grab yours and bring it down to rest on your thigh — intertwining fingers as his thumb grazed over the crescent shaped marks your teeth left.

you really did love KIERAN DUFFY, seeing the way he’d try to puff his chest out when the guys at camp would look at you when really, he’d get all shy and blushy when you babied him. he wasn’t so used to this sorta thing, you know, relationships. everybody in camp looked at you like you were crazy, but they knew better than to tell that to you ( or him ), knowing they’d only get an earful from you about how sweet kieran really was.

you’d dress his wounds and in return, you’d find your horse prepped and groomed all pretty in the mornings — already fed and provided with water. and when you’d ask arthur or tilly, they’d always shrug and say, “must be that o’driscoll boy.”

you treated him with care, like no one had ever had, and that was the greatest gift in itself to kieran. he saw you as an angel, he’d even try telling you sometimes although backtracking a bit just to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable. kieran duffy’s affection was careful and nervous, stiff gestures presented to you although all of his worries melted away once he heard your sweet laugh. he didn’t know much about this stuff but that was okay, he’d learn just for you.

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𐙚 requests are closed — june twenty eighth, 2024