#middle honor arthur morgan

[heavenlymorals]

Details that I've noticed about Arthur Morgan-

-He, for the most part, despises male touch, especially if it's overly affectionate. He gets tense anytime a man hugs him and wants it to be over as quick as possible (Jamie, Mickey) and he looks visibly offended when Professor Bell touches him. He even sometimes gets annoyed when Dutch touches him on his shoulder, someone who he considers a father figure.

-On the flip side, he does not mind female touch at all. He even initiates it sometimes (Tilly, the girl at Beaver Hollow). Now one could argue that they were high stress situations, but if Tilly was a dude, he would've just set her free, make a snide remark, give her a gun, and then he'd expect her to help him with the fighting. He is completely cool with the nun giving him a hug and doesn't get offended when Mary Beth touches his hand in their therapy session.

- He seems to be pretty well read. He knows Shakespeare, with Romeo and Juliet, and Icarus. He makes other literary references. This is probably due to Dutch. Dutch is clearly very well read and cultured. However, Arthur seems more interested in practical works like guides then philosophy and stories, given that the only book he has on his tent desk is a plant guide.

- He's great at remembering faces and less so on remembering names.

- He does have an amazing propensity to remember physical features, like how he is able to create amazing portraits of the people he meets without consistent reference. It's incredible and works back to the whole great at remembering faces thing. Same goes for animals.

- He is very curious. He is always touching things, looking at things, critiquing things, and trying to understand how they work.

- He generally refuses to be emotionally open with men and does it only with women- this could be due to the idea of the Cult of Domesticity. I've made a post about it before. Compare him speaking with the nun to Reverend Swanson. Compare him speaking to John about Dutch leaving him to him speaking to Sadie about Dutch leaving him.

- He is very connected or is fond of artistic people. He and Mary Beth talk about their journals. He is fond of Albert Mason's photography and helps him out. He is interested in Charles Chataney's artistic work, even if he doesn't like it or connect with it.

- Since a lot of camp members respond to Arthur's antagonizations with something like "not again" or "I knew I'd be next", it's safe to assume Arthur will go off on people from time to time, regardless if you play high or low honor.

- Does not have a fixed temperament. In some missions, he is more energetic and in others, he is more downtrodden. Very realistic and I fucking love it.

- Has direct eye content at all times- will look anyone in the eye and does not give a fuck. NPCs will look away from him if he stares at them.

- Gets mad when men don't behave like men, especially when it concerns women. He gets pissed at John for not stepping up and being a man to his family. He gets annoyed and even pissed off when asking why Beau couldn't have helped Penelope Braithwaite as she is his woman.

- Given how the camp falls to shit whenever Arthur isn't donating, we can safely conclude that Arthur is the most valuable member of that camp, bar maybe Hosea and Dutch.

- He is very reminiscent of the Dark Romantic, which is really interesting as a lot of times, it can be looked at as the middle ground between Romantacism and Realism, two ideologies that were very popular in the 19th century. I will make a full analysis regarding this later.

- Introverted, but not shy at all. In fact, he's very charismatic and is just as good as dealing with people as Dutch and Hosea (The Riverboat Mission) This 'dumb, mumbling' cowboy thing he's dumbed down to in the fandom is an insult to his character.

- He probably acted like a father figure to Jamie Gillis when he was still with Mary, given the fact that he taught him how to ride a horse. Will probably also make a full post about this later.

- Some people say that Arthur is around 5'10-11. Others say He's 6'0-3. Whatever his height actually is, he's still way taller than the average man during this time period, who was around 5'6. Now imagine that with muscles and armed to the teeth- fucking terrifying.

- Very sentimental. He keeps a photo of his supposedly no good Pa and wears his hat. He keeps a photo of his mother who he doesn't really remember at all. He keeps a photo of his dog, a horseshoe that probably belonged to a dead and beloved horse. He keeps a flower from his mother. Keeps a photo of Mary as well. If he had a photo of Isaac, he'd probably keep that too.

-Arthur died at 36 years old from Tuberculosis if you play high honor. The real gunslinger and outlaw Doc Holliday died at the same exact age and the same exact way.

- Genuinely doesn't give a fuck about movements, social issues, and cultural issues, but does care about individual people.

- I love him

- So fucking much

- 😃

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

✧ All the graces from Heaven

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Summary: Arthur and you enjoy a steamy morning at Strawberry's Hotel, much to the outlaw's delight. ✦ Warnings: SMUT 18+, MDNI! Oral (both reader and Arthur receiving), 69, a bit of fluff if you squint, porn without a plot, Arthur is more of a high/mid honor but loses it and gets a little bit rough, established relationship. ✦ Words: 2,6k ✦ a/n: Yeeeaah so. This is basically a 69 fic, it's pretty filthy and a bit less figurative than my usual works. Just pure smutty smut. I hope you'll enjoy it still! Pic is mine, not proofread! And as English isn't my first language, prepare for some misspellings.

The bedroom of Strawberry’s Hotel is filled with chuckles, and full of scattered clothes on the floor. Leathered boots, two shirts tangled together, jackets and holster belts thrown away messily on furniture. As a lighthouse in the middle of the sea, a black gambler hat stands tall hung on one of the bed's huge footboard legs over this tide of abandoned clothing.

Above it, the old wood creaks as two people mess with each other under the blankets, threatening to make the worn hat fall from its perch. Both are nude as the day they were born, and glued to each other as if they were wearing the other one’s skin.

You and Arthur had quite a time, last night. And since you had woken up, it was nothing but sweet words, cuddling and tickling. Teasing each other had become a private religion between you both, his sarcastic comments always met with a witty answer from you. It made him love you even more.

“Come on darlin’, stay.” Arthur’s deep voice asks you, as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, his nose impregnating with your smell, eyes closing on their own.

He feels good, there. It's in these simple shared moments, those laughs you sew together, those fingers and body you intertwine, those deep and dreamy conversations about your brighter future you share that Arthur finds his remedy. As if after all this life of surviving and fighting for a greater cause, a bigger picture, it was the simplest of things that appeared like an epiphany to him when it came to happiness.

You being the main source and Messiah of most of these humble pleasures, of course. His personal angel.

“You know I can’t. You may have the morning off for once, but I have somewhere else to be. Hosea needs me at the Tracker’s Hotel for a job.”

Arthur doesn’t hide his annoyance and grumbles against your skin, something about “Damn jobs always in the way” and “ The old man can wait a lil’ bit more.”

It makes you smile. As tempting as staying in bed all morning with a naked Arthur seems, especially considering how you can feel his fat cock feeling so soft against your hip, you feel self-conscious about leaving Hosea alone on your mission. You turn your head to the side to kiss your lover’s head, his sandy locks tickling your nose.

“Alright tough guy, time to go.” You decide before getting up in a sitting position, then crawling to the end of the bed to grab your ungarments.

“Not so fast, lil’ missy.” He objects with a low chuckle, obviously enjoying this little chase after you.

Before you can reach your aim, Arthur snakes his hands around your thighs and pulls you back to him in a quick and powerful motion, handling you as if you were the lightest feather, which makes you let out a squeal of protest mixed with surprise.

His laugh resonates for a second and then, he freezes. You had ended up on all four on top of him, but usually, your face was turned to his. This time, Arthur's nose is met with your plump rear, your chest to the other side, just above his crotch. You can feel his body, underneath you, getting tensed. This gigantic, massive, muscled body, so big and tall that his chest feels larger than a tree trunk between your spread legs. What was innocent playing for him just seconds ago had turned into a needy tension between the both of you. The air suddenly feels thick and a silence settles, a tense calm on the shore before a Maelstrom.

Your blouse and Hosea are a long time gone when you realize you can feel his breath on your pussy, the sensation making you shiver. You try to get up from the position, thinking he wouldn’t like to have his face shoved in your intimate parts, but his hands grip tighter and stop you, grounding you in place. You turn your head to him as much as you can considering your situation, taking an interrogative look at his face above your body.

His cheeks are red. Dark red. His eyes are fixated on your entrance, throat swallowing with difficulty. His bust rises and falls heavily, pectorals muscles swelling up before relaxing and rising again. He sighs, and you feel it again, hot air all against you, all against your now aroused and needy slit.

“We hum… We never tried like this…” He starts, voice low and suggestive about what he's implying, his hands traveling from your thighs to grab your ass, one hand for each cheek. They’re so big and firm, and feel so good there, as he squeezes, again and again, driving himself crazy as he admires how the perfect heart shape of your rear looks all squished under his fingers.

“You sure you want-”

Before you can even finish your sentence, Arthur answers it by pressing his lips to your pussy, exhaling through his nose and tightening his fingers on your flesh. This man always had such huge self-control for every dangerous situation known to mankind, but right now, it seems like he couldn’t resist taking a bite when having your perfect cunt under his nose…

A sharp and depraved noise leaves you, making his body burn like redden coal, his mind consumed more and more by your whole being and the simple feeling of your wetness all against his face. His whole universe reduced into this touch, lips against flesh, saliva mixing with arousal. Your sinful nectar and his.

“God, honey!” You whine, back arching without your permission, body moving backward to him, searching for more, needing more.

“Taste so goddamn good… Never gonna have enough of ‘this…” He rasps between a few more kisses to your folds, as a praise or a statement, you’re not sure, and he’s not either as words just flow through him and he lets them out without a drop of restraint or reflection. A rough, unstoppable river. That's how he feels every time he eats you out.

His tongue slowly slips out of his filthy mouth and licks your folds, slowly, tortuously, from bellow aaaall the way up to the inside of your ass. You could have been scared of not being clean enough for him or feeling nervous about his face almost buried in there, but the sound, the moan he had made suppresses all these anxious thoughts all at once.

You have to face the obvious: he’s loving it.

“Aah- Arthur…” Your hips roll against his face, desperate for some more friction, unsatisfied and so aroused by his teasing.

“You go on moanin’ ma name like that and am gonna come without ya even touchin’ me, darlin’.” He warns you, voice hoarse, lips mumbling against your folds, his beard and mustache tickling you just the right way.

You answer his words with a deep sigh, the filth of them burning you to the core. He laps at you the same way again, in one then two long and slow licks, as if savoring you like the finest whiskey he would have tasted. A mewl leaves your lips after each one of them. You’re starting to get impatient, and he knows it, he knows you after all those intimate moments. He stops his lips right at the entrance of your core and gently slides his right hand between your thighs.

The way he has to fold his arm to touch you there isn’t comfortable for him, his bicep being way too big to be crushed like that; but hearing you, feeling your thighs clenching and the appreciative words you let out when his fingers land on your sensitive bud is worth this slight pain. Always putting other’s needs before his own, always being devoted and loyal, always finding happiness in being useful, that was Arthur’s nature. And the bed was no exception to it.

“Was you not supposed to go somewhere?” He asks cockily in a falsely innocent tone, brimming with sarcasm and smugness.

“P-please, Arthur… Quit the teasing, for God's sake…” You ask, trying not to sound too pitiful, probably failing at it.

“A lil’ needy after all, ain’t ya? Ma sweet girl…” He coos, and you can feel his lips stretch into his usual grin, his heart gorging with pride and excitement to have this sort of impact on you.

Bending to your wishes, his fingers start to rub and trace tight circles on your clit as his mouth makes love to your pussy, his tongue delving in as deeply as he can, and the pleasure finally hits you like an earthquake. It feels so good, so damn good, your breathing quickly turning into loud moans.

Your head snaps back forward, and your body pushes your rear up all against him as a cat who would stretch after a nap. Arthur hums in delight and appreciation, unable to speak but encouraging you still. He increases his pace, his digits quick and sharp and so precise against your sensitive spot.

Your face falls down as every fiber of your body hardens, and that’s when your gaze is caught on his cock. Your pussy clenches hard around his tongue just by the sight of it.

It looks so hard and swollen that it must be painful for him. His hips buck forward into nothing, his member almost hitting your chin, with every lick of his tongue inside you. His round and reddish tip is leaking, pre-cum spurting out even more than usual, flowing all the way down into his dark curly pubic hair. His pants would have been completely soaked if he was wearing them.

You're salivating.

It would have been cruel to let him like this, right?

Focusing on him to try and not collapse from your own pleasure, you suddenly press your chest against his belly and take his cock inside your mouth without any warning. The taste of him, this strong saline flavor, fills your mouth.

“Damn!” Arthur shouts in surprise, momentarily parting his lips from yours, fingers slowing their pace. “Jesus, girl!”

This time, it’s your turn to grin, as much as you can, considering how big Arthur is between your lips. You don’t let him any time to think or protest, knowing he would insist that you’d come first.

The way you're crawling on top of him makes it even simpler for you to suck him off, your head naturally placed at the right angle on top of his crotch, and you take advantage of that. Finding support on the mattress with your arms, hands gripping his legs, you bring your mouth up and down hard and fast, sucking his shaft with such vigor you can feel his body squirming underneath you.

“Ngh-! Darlin’! S-stop, slow down! I ain’t gonna last like this!” He tries to plead but his words are drowned in a flood of groans and harsh sighs.

Despite what he’s saying, his body acts in the exact opposite way, hips jerking, cock shoving into your throat at the same time you’re working him. He tries, he really tries to keep on pleasuring you back while you work him, but he feels like he’s completely losing himself, unable to do anything else, to focus on anything else at all.

Your breasts pressed against his belly, his face buried in your pussy and ass, each of your thighs surrounding his head, and your goddamn mouth around his cock, this devilish tongue sliding all around it… He's completely losing his head. It's like being drowned in an Ocean of You. It’s too much. It’s way too much at once for a simple man. A simple, weak, mortal man feeling like he’s receiving every grace of Heaven all at the same time.

His basic instincts win the best of him. His arms are now wrapped around you, pulling you flush against his body, a hand back on your ass cheek, the other on your neck, spurring you into moving your mouth just like he needs to.

“Oh, shit! Yes, go on, go on, take it!”

You've rarely seen him losing his temper like this. He's usually gentle and soft, patient with you during sex, savoring the moment, making it last as much as possible, playing you like an Andante movement from the most sophisticated piece of a symphony.

Right now, he's unchained and rough, rushing to the Grand Finale without minding about false notes, drunk from you and the sensation of warmth he is feeling on every edge of his body; face, chest, cock, every inch of him merging with every inch of you.

He groans all against your pussy, as your saliva drools from this erratic pace. His fingers grip your head and ass tighter as he chases his high carelessly, already coming, way too soon and fast for him. His cock stiffens even more as he fucks your silky mouth, veins gorging with blood, tip throbbing in the back of your head.

“Aaah- Damn… Good… Girl!” He growls loudly with a thrust of his hips after each word.

The last one is followed by a loud and throaty whine, higher-pitched and vulgar, the kind of sounds he would usually let out when being hurt.

He shuts his eyes in a pleasured-filled frown as he pushes his face even deeper between your legs and, more from instinct than anything else, sucks hard on your cunt while he comes, lost, so lost in a sea of primal bliss and pure organic pleasure. His large body burns and tenses one hard final time, and you can feel the path of his cum traveling along his length against your lips as he releases inside you.

It fills you, his saline and strong taste blinding your other senses, cum as hot and sinful as his state, and you exhale with satisfaction as you swallow both this remnant of his ecstasy and the last drops of his sanity.

Arthur falls back heavily on the mattress, completely spent, his sweat staining the white sheets, his hands loosening their grip. Before removing them from your body, he allows himself a playful little spank on your butt as he speaks again, a revenge not strong enough to his liking for your sneaky move.

“Jesus, you’re… completely wild...” He sighs, his heart slowing after having beaten like war drums.

He’s still panting, mouth open and covered with a mix of this sweet cocktail of saliva and arousal. He licks his lips, feeling so satisfied, the sensation of your body everywhere on his skin still vivid and present. Like a stamp of black, indelible ink that has left its mark on a blank sheet of paper.

“You really enjoyed all this, didn’t you?” You ask back while getting off him, legs a bit shaky, your throat starting to feel a bit sore from the intensity you had chosen to go with. “I haven’t heard you whine like this for a long time…”

“I don’t “whine”.” He scoffs, knowing damn well he did, and suddenly feeling ashamed of the sounds he had made and guilty for the rough behavior he had displayed. His negative feelings are soon brushed off though, thanks to your beautiful and mischievous smile enlightening him.

“Yeah yeah, keep telling yourself that. I’ve still got ears to hear, Mister.”

“Hush. Now come here, 'gonna make ya feel as good and miserable as me from finishin’ that fast.”

His eyes burn with that fire he has. The one reserved for you and the excitement and adrenaline of action. You already know there's no way you'll walk out of this bedroom without being completely satisfied.

“Tonight. I’m already way too late to-”

“Now.”

The piece of clothes remains abandoned on the floor as the bed creaks again, that old gambler's hat only witness of Arthur's payback to you.

After all, he never liked leaving a job unfinished.

--

tagging some people who were interested in the scenario! : @amyispxnk @a-court-of-valkyries @fleouris

[zae-heeyyy]

Recalcitrance

Summary: You and Ms. Grimshaw just can't get along. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader Word Count: 1,763 Tags: fluff, kissing, high honor Arthur Warnings: camp violence, angry Arthur, suggestive themes

a/n: I have mixed feelings about Grimshaw. I think she's a very enigmatic character. Still, based on interactions I've seen with her, I feel this isn't too far off. These always end up super long for some reason. Idk how that keeps happening. Anyway, I hope you enjoy; thanks for reading!

recalcitrance: resistance to authority or guidance, often characterized by defiance or disobedience. It implies a refusal to comply with rules or expectations, despite attempts to persuade or control.

You and Abigail Roberts went way, way back. Working girls stuck to a code; part of that code was looking out for each other and ensuring you returned after one of your "shifts." Abigail ran away for a while, leaving you to assume she'd met a rich man and settled down.

When you met her again, she introduced you to Dutch Van Der Linde and company; you fell in with them shortly after. Since then, you constantly scrubbed blood from clothes, slept on the ground, and ate whatever game Pearson could find for the stew. Many girls you knew would never trade that life for this one, but you had a family to return to, even if they weren't the most conventional. And amidst it all, you'd found something you didn't think possible for you. 

You were drawn to Arthur Morgan instantly. The little things spoke volumes for you—how he checked on you in passing, the moments spent playing dominos together, and his overall politeness towards you. The bar was in hell, but he treated you so differently than any man ever had. Arthur's dumb cowboy act didn't fool you for a second, and you were captivated by him.

After one too many inadvertent shoulder grazes and incidental hand touches, the chemistry between you had become undeniable. Following a game of dominos he let you win, the stocky man asked you to take a walk with him. You weren't too far away from camp before you found yourself pressed against a tree by him in a heated kiss. So many thoughts swirled around your head. You were in the middle of nowhere; it was pitch black, and you were being hunted by the law, yet there against that tree was the safest you'd felt in a long time. 

Then, on another fateful night, you were alone with him at the campfire while everybody else had settled down. A sly smirk crossed his face, and he scooted closer to you, grabbing and kissing your hand. You giggled, maintaining eye contact as he kissed up your arm, gradually, a low groan escaping him. One thing led to another, and he guided you into his tent. You let him have you, and you, him. 

It was then, when you were on the brink of your climax, half-lidded eyes staring upward into his, that you finally understood what people meant by lovemaking. When it was all over, you got up to leave out of habit, but he drew you back into his arms and asked you to stay.

Since then, you've been his girl, and he made sure everybody knew, always kissing you before he left for a job, settling you into his lap at the poker table, or sneaking you away from your chores to spend time with him. You saw each other for what you were, not the labels that had been applied to you. And you loved him so much.

For the first time in a long time, your life was good. Well, mostly, except you hadn't quite mastered the life of navigating Ms. Grimshaw. Over the almost year you'd known her, she was rarely nice to you. She seemed more tame when Arthur was around, but he wasn't today.

By noon, you had gotten sick of hearing her voice, and she seemed more ornery than usual. The nagging was constant: do this, don't do that, do this faster, do this slower. You wished she'd shut the hell up and leave you alone. Just when you thought it couldn't get any worse, you saw her speed-walking towards you.

You were sitting, about to light a cigarette, when she approached, red-faced, huffing, and talking fast, "There you are," she started, putting a finger in your face. "Sitting around like always. I have had it with you!" You stood quickly out of instinct and opened your mouth to speak, but she cut you off. "You're useless around here, so why don't you go into town and start selling yourself again. At least then you'd finally be carrying your weight!" 

Her words stung like branding, making your heart race and your eyes sting. The few people left at camp had gone quiet. Mary-Beth looked on nervously while Karen was glaring at the older woman. Your heart pounded in your ears, and you spoke faster than your brain could process.

"All you're good for is being an ugly, hateful bitch." As soon as the words left your mouth, she swung on you. It was a backhanded slap that stung and broke the barrier that was holding back your tears. You recoiled, holding your stinging face.

"Know your place, girl, before you end up somewhere worse than on your back. Now get!" She pointed towards the edge of camp.

"Screw you," you said, quickly wiping away a falling tear, "I'd rather fuck every man in town before I keep letting myself be treated like this." You stepped up to her, " Want me to leave? Well, I'm goin."

And you did. You collected what little belongings you had into a bag and charged out of camp, eyes forward and your head held high. Tilly and Mary-Beth tried to stop you, but you marched down the dirt path until they couldn't see you anymore.

"Look what you gone and did you old hag," Karen spat, "Oh, just wait til Mr. Morgan gets back. Bet you won't be so high and mighty then." 

Arthur didn't ride in until sunset; he searched for you before even getting off his horse. His face fell confused by your absence, and just as he was about to inquire, Mary-Beth and Tilly approached. He knew instantly that something was wrong.

"What, what is it?" His eyes searched theirs. They looked at each other, silently debating who'd break the news to him. It was Tilly who stepped forward, putting a calming hand on Arthur's arm. She talked low and cautious, "Arthur, she—her and Ms. Grimshaw—they—" She was cut off by Karen and Ms. Grimshaw beelining towards them.

Karen's voice boomed, speech slurred. "Go ahead, tell 'em." She waved her beer-clutching hand between Arthur and Ms. Grimshaw, defiantly meeting Susan's gaze before tearing her eyes away to meet Arthur's. "That wench Grimshaw smacked her across the face and ran her out!"

Clenching his fist involuntarily, he leaned into Karen, talking low and steady. "The hell are you talking 'bout?" His chest was rising and falling quickly now.

Ms. Grimshaw stood resolute and waved him off. "This doesn't concern you, Mr. Morgan. This is my camp, and these are my girls and my rules," she finished, arms crossed, staring at Arthur.

Stepping close, he imposed his broad figure on Ms. Grimshaw, flashing a smile that was anything but inviting. He took on a tone he rarely used with the women.

"Oh, Susan, that's where me and you disagree. This may very well be your camp, and you can make up all the rules you want, but she's my girl." His face had straightened into a scowl by the time he finished.

"Well, I'll—" she began incredulously, hands still on her hips, but Arthur threw up a halting finger.

"Look, Ms. Grimshaw, I respect how you run this camp, but that girl, she's off limits. Now, I'm gonna find her and bring her back, and you can raise all the hell you want, but if you lay a finger on her again—" 

"Arthur..." Tilly cut in warningly. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned away, ending his conversation with Susan. "Where'd she go?" he asked no one and everyone at the same time, speed walking to his horse.

"She took off down the road," Mary-Beth called out, but his horse was already kicking up dirt. Riding as fast as he could, he reached the nearest town at record speed. He hitched the horse outside the train station, forcing the doors open with his shoulder. The place went quiet, everybody focusing on the sudden disturbance. Arthur ignored the looks he was getting, scanning faces for yours. Spotting you took no time, and you stood as soon as you recognized him. He rushed to you, taking your hands in his; concern riddled his face— a rare sight. Guilt washed over you as you looked up into his eyes; you opened your mouth to speak, but he started before you.

"You alright?" he asked, looking you up and down. Dirt had stained the hem of your skirt, and your eyes were tired; his frown grew as he looked you over. You wrapped your arms around him, pressing your head to his chest and nodding.

"Wasn't gonna go, just needed to get away for a while," you murmured into his chest. Rubbing your back soothingly, he exhaled with soft, relieved laughter. One arm still around you, he gently tilted your head to meet his gaze with his free one.

"Don't you go walking out on us. Least without tellin' me first."

You agreed with a quick bob of your head, and he pulled your chin in towards his, kissing you on the mouth. He withdrew and gestured to the bench you'd risen from earlier; you both sat. Arthur wrapped a big arm around you, and you buried your face into his shoulder.

"That woman hates me," you grumbled with a pout. Arthur squeezed you closer, and a faint grin formed on his lips.

"Nah, she never liked any girl I brought around. Give her more time." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "It's all outta love, I think," he concluded. You huffed at that, disbelieving.

"She got a funny way of showing it."

"Sure," he chuckled again. He sat for another minute before gently nudging you off his shoulder. Grabbing your bag and standing, he asked, "So you gonna come back with me?"

You tried to sulk but couldn't when he was standing there waiting patiently with his hand out. You finally relented. 

"Fine, but I ain't just gonna take it next time," you declared, taking his hand. A big smile stretched across his face. 

"You ain't gotta do nothing you don't wanna. If any of those fools have a problem with it, send 'em to me." You made your way out of the train station, hand in hand. You paused, gazing at him with a quirked eyebrow.

"I can handle myself just fine, Arthur Morgan." Another chuckle built up in him as he threw your bag on the horse. He turned to kiss the top of your head before grabbing you by the waist and lifting you up on the horse.

"I know, darlin'."

[morning-star-joy]

lose your faith in me

Pairing: Low Honor!Arthur x One-Sided F!Reader to High Honor!Arthur x F!Reader

Summary: Arthur only changes for the better when everything happens for the worst.

Warnings: Angst. Canon ending. One-sided love that subtly becomes requited in the end. Lots of regret and grief. Low Honor to High Honor progression (or Canon-Typical!Arthur as @joelsversion bec calls him). Sad ending. Low Honor!Arthur is mean but he's still got some of those Medium to High Honor qualities when I write him. References to Reader being kidnapped when Arthur meets/saves her (like the stranger encounter in the game). Canon-typical violence.

Wordcount: 3.6k

A/N: I was possessed with ideas for this in the middle of the night, and for once I wrote them down in my notes app! Super sad fic because I was sad over the pixel cowboy.

dividers by @saradika

masterlist || kofi || updates blog

Arthur could be a kind man if he wanted to be. It just so happened that most of the time, he didn’t want to be.

You’d heard tales of a more compassionate man who lived in the rough-and-tumble outlaw’s skin once upon a time. A time hardened body that held a heart beating with too much love for others. Care that the world threw back in his face. Sensibility that it kicked from him when he was down.

So each time he got back up, more of that sensitive skin fell away. It grew back tougher, littered with scars that told of the cruelty of the passage of time. Life had not been kind to Arthur Morgan, and so he was not kind in return.

He was decent enough to the folks around camp, giving nods and short greetings as he moved from one job to the next. It was that work he did for the gang that spoke to the once generous nature that life hadn’t completely stamped out of him. Work that nearly wore him down to the bone, and he still did it without complaint, even when he was bloody, beaten, broken down.

Or maybe even that was without tenderness of the spirit. Maybe it was a mere habit with which he worked for the gang. A stubborn, undying loyalty that remained even when the love was gone.

Maybe it was just out of trifling obligation when he shot down the monster of a man who had you hogtied on the back of their horse.

Maybe it was out of innate violence that he took one glance at you, battered and bloody with tears streaking down a layer of grime on your cheeks, and then delivered a few more gunshots to your kidnapper’s head until it was an indistinguishable mess of gore, throwing in some well-placed kicks to a long dead body for good measure.

Still, Arthur let you follow him. For miles you trailed after him on the horse that had just before been carrying you to your doom. You kept glancing around you, wondering when you would come out of the wilderness to wherever he was going, until he finally shouted back to you.

“What you followin’ me for, girl?”

You had paused then. Embarrassment gave way to heat in your face, and you held the reins tighter, staring at the back of that worn hat you would grow secretly fond of, eyes tracing the old twine wrapped around the brim. Wondering what story it told, how many more stories were held behind cold blue eyes. How many people he saved, how many more he’d killed.

“Ain’t got nowhere else to go, Mister,” you had replied quietly, and his shoulders, broad and carrying weights both quantifiable and otherwise, stiffened under the battered brown jacket he wore.

“Best find someplace, then.”

He spurred his horse forward again, faster this time. Intending to lose you, maybe.

And when you followed right on his path again, he brought his steed to an abrupt spot, whirling it around to fix you with a glare.

“You deaf, woman?” he snapped, and you winced, though you didn’t cower away from the angry man who had been your savior. “Told you to get lost.”

“I have nowhere to go.” You urged your horse to trot closer now, trying to gain eye contact to better implore him of your predicament. “No one’s waitin’ for me.”

He just shifted the brim of his hat down, covering the top half of his face, and you were stuck staring defeatedly at the edge of a strong nose and lips pressed into a firm, bitter line at your desperation.

What a burden you had been to him from the start.

“Please,” you had whispered, and he turned his head away completely, giving you only the image of a well-armed, dangerous man that wreaked havoc across the states, leaving blood and death and despair in every place he left.

Arthur didn’t say anything else then, not even when you followed him all the way to the first camp you had witnessed of the Van der Linde gang.

Many camps were to follow, as your group of degenerates and ne'er-do-wells could never seem to catch a goddamn break. At least they let you settle into the ranks relatively without fuss. 

But how could they not? When you kept your head down, kept your voice quiet, did your work without complaint.

Even as weeks turned into months, then into years of being there, you were a ghost among them. Nobody really knew where you came from, what you thought and felt. Your cards were kept close to your chest, for all matters except one.

At least if anybody noticed the way your eyes lingered on Arthur Morgan, they didn’t say anything. 

If anybody saw the way you hovered around the gang’s enforcer, like a pitiful lost puppy since the moment he had saved you from a fate worse than death, they didn’t judge you for it. Not to your face.

Time passed, one camp gave way to the next in your group’s ever-searching path to freedom, and you loved Arthur Morgan all the same.

Blackwater was good until it was bad. Colter was worse, cold winds biting into your limbs and keeping you half-numb even halfway out of the mountains and to Horseshoe Overlook.

You liked that camp the best. It had the most life to it, the most times you had seen Arthur smile in the whole time you’d known him, even small, fleeting smirks as they were.

That night when Sean returned may have been the best of your small, inconsequential life. Drinks were flowing, laughter was booming, and there was music every which way, a different song being sung or played around each corner.

And through it all, Arthur was nowhere to be seen.

He was one of the men who saved the boisterous Irishman, and the only one missing from the party. Throughout the night, you kept glancing around for a glimpse of his face, all to no avail.

Eventually, you took up a post near where the horses grazed, waiting with a drink in hand to catch him rolling back into camp.

When even that led to no sight of him, you ambled through the outskirts of the trees, farther from the glow of warm campfires and jovial festivities, searching and searching until…

There.

The moonlight shone off the speckled horse that Arthur had gotten in Valentine weeks before, hidden amongst the trees unless you were as close as you had gotten in your relentless search for the object of your affections. 

When you saw him a bit further on, leaning against a tree and gazing out over the cliffside with a cigarette perched between his lips, your heart leapt in your chest besides yourself.

He didn’t say anything when you emerged from the darkness and settled against a tree next to him. Likely he had heard you crashing through the forest in your half-drunken state, silently declaring you not a threat and, hopefully, not enough of a nuisance either.

Silence fell between you for a few moments. You never seemed to know what to say around him, and he never seemed to want to say anything around you.

Eventually, you settled on the wrong thing. “You did good today, Arthur.”

You could nearly feel the discontent grow at your praise, and you shifted under the weight of it in the air.

“Good?” he repeated the word like you had insulted him, although you had intended the opposite. Perhaps that was why he hated it so—because he hated himself so, couldn’t acknowledge a good deed he did if it hit him on the nose. “I beat a sick man for some money I didn’t even end up gettin’ before I did any good today, girl.”

“Arthur—”

“Our first trip into Valentine, ‘member that?” he interrupts you as if you hadn’t spoken, and you frown into the darkness, watching as he removes the cigarette from his mouth to tap some ash off the end.

“I remember you fightin’ those men off o’ Tilly and Karen—”

“I chased that man who recognized me out of town, right to a cliffside.” Arthur steps forward, the spurs on his worn boots clinking with the slow, deliberate movement. He flicks the burnt down cigarette from his fingers out over the cliff you were both standing next to now. “Just like this one.”

He gestures to it, glancing back at you with the cold words he spoke. The moonlight casts him into shadow, creating a faceless entity out of him, one that you know should terrify you. 

“He was dangling off of it, beggin’ for his life,” Arthur continued in that low, dangerous tone he reserved for intimidating folks, now using it to try and convince you of how wrong you’d always been about him. Even then, there’s a strange contradiction to the rumble of his voice—lack of empathy for what he’s done, and the knowledge of how awful that was in and of itself. “And I let ‘im fall. Figured it was better him than me.”

“Jesus…” you whispered, eyes fixed to the edge of the cliff next to where he stood. You wondered if he just watched the man’s grip loosen, or if those muddy boots had stomped on the tips of the man’s fingers, and you wince at the terrible imagery your mind concocted. 

Arthur had done worse, you know he had. All those times he’d shown up with blood on his clothes, you knew well they weren’t from his own injuries. And still, you’d gladly washed the stains from his shirts during your chores. Relieved it wasn’t his own. 

“Jesus ain’t helpin’ me, not with what I’ve done,” the man muttered with a frigid chill that sent shivers through you with how ominous his words were, how foreboding and imminent it felt. “Not with what we’ve all done.”

It’s quiet again as Arthur stands at the cliffside. You watch him glance over the edge, and yet you’re the one who finds yourself slipping, “We could still get out of here.”

He freezes. You know he knows what you mean, and yet he still asks, “Who’s ‘we’?”

“You and me,” you whisper breathlessly, the alcohol you’d consumed dulling the fear of the rejection you knew was inevitable as everything you kept bottled up comes spilling out. “Save up some money, get a small patch of land somewhere out where they won’t come lookin’. We can raise sheep or—”

“Sheep,” he scoffs. The man won’t even look back at you, won’t even give you the decency of eye contact as he breaks your heart. “Small land still ain’t cheap. And there aren’t many places they ain’t lookin’ nowadays, neither.”

“We can do it, Arthur.” You step closer, your eagerness on plain display in the moonlight, and he finally looks back at you. His face reveals nothing, expression blank as you finally lay all your cards on the table, his own forever in his lonely hands. “You and me.”

“You’re just as bad a dreamer as Dutch.” The words are harsh, bitter even, and it’s not the first time you start to wonder why you love Arthur Morgan. “Hell, you may even be worse.”

You think that’s the end of it then. You hope it is, but he stops next to you as he’s walking away, looks you right in the eye as he spares you no mercy in harshly chastising you, “Get your head outta the clouds, girl. Ain’t nothin’ good, ain’t no honest ending out there waitin’ for the likes of you and me.”

It breaks your heart. 

More than that, it makes you want to prove him wrong.

You never do quite prove him wrong.

Arthur Morgan is dying.

It both shocks and horrifies you, how long it takes the others to notice.

He carried on doing what he always did for the gang, hiding his own decay the best he could. His movements were slower than before, and you’d watch from a distance all the times he’d pause to take as deep a breath as his traitorous lungs could manage when no one was looking.

For a while, you dared to hope it was just a lingering sickness from his time stranded on Guarma. You thought he would shake it off eventually, bounce back healthier and stronger than ever before.

But he lost even more weight instead of putting it back on. His face grew gaunt, pale. Sharp blue eyes became streaked with red, clouded with a weariness that contrasted the strength you’d always come to associate with the man.

Still, things carried on with as much normality as the gang could afford, even with the camp clearing out more and more each day. 

Ghosts lived amongst you now, dead as well as living. Skeletons were buried under every crack and crevice you traversed each day, trying to pretend it would all be okay, like it always had been in the past.

At night, you heard Arthur coughing. 

It was always muffled, like he was smothering the sickness into his pillow, so as to not wake the others. But it became as steady a noise as the faint sounds of wildlife underneath the stars, tearing your soul apart further and further each time.

When you heard a weak gasp following a coughing fit one night, you rose from your bedroll, unable to stay in quiet denial of what was happening any longer. You pattered over to a dying campfire as if possessed, stoking it to life enough to concoct a health tincture to hopefully ease some of the pain he was trying to hide with every fiber of stubborn strength he still had left.

You slipped through the tent flap to see him curled up on his side, coughing and wheezing into his fist next to the dying light in the lantern beside his cot. The sight threatened to ruin you completely, leave you nothing but a husk of your former self in the grief of your sustaining love, but you held it together through sheer will alone as you approached him.

When he saw you, you saw fear. It flashed through his eyes, the blue of them just as pretty as the day you met him, even with the sickness that addled them.

Arthur opened his mouth as blood trickled from the corner of it, no doubt to insist you shouldn't trouble yourself with fretting over him, but you gently hushed him. 

You wiped the blood from his lips with your handkerchief, coaxed him to drink the tincture, taking sips through the coughing fit until it subsided. When it did, the words he finally gained that familiar strength to speak with shocked you.

“You always done right by me,” Arthur wheezed quietly, avoiding your eyes when they snapped to his face at the sentiment you never thought he’d acknowledge. “Don’t know what I did to deserve that.”

It struck you silent then, left you with an emptiness you didn’t know the first thing about filling up again. Knowing that he recognized all the love for him you’d kept locked up inside, until it was bursting from the seams. Knowing that he recognized how cruel he’d been to you, time and time again. 

And how you had loved him just the same.

“You saved me,” you whispered as you tenderly wiped the handkerchief along his blood speckled chin. Your fingers followed the path to skim across those scars where hair could never grow, where it barely grew now.

“Any decent man woulda—”

“Not many decent men, though,” you interrupted him, his eyes finally meeting yours as you spoke, “are there?”

You both fell quiet then, the truth of his nature hanging in the air between you. 

The sicker Arthur had gotten, the more he had changed. Faced with a slow union to his eventual mortality, his own body betraying him as his family fell apart, he had tried to right the wrongs he had done.

You had seen the shift; how it had happened slowly, then all at once. Giving away the money he had fought and killed for to help widows, orphans, or those in misfortune—some of whom he had put there with his own two hands. 

You think that Arthur saw those ghosts that still lingered better than the most of you. You think he loved them more than anybody else. That he fought to avenge them, or maybe give them peace, the best he could still manage to do.

Or maybe he was already one of them.

And still, for him, it wasn’t enough.

“I ain’t one of those, either,” Arthur murmured, denying the gravitational shift in his very own nature, his voice strained with effort from not coughing after you had tried so desperately to heal him. 

Tears blur your vision, choking your throat at his resignation to the cruel strings of fate, the belief that he was nothing more now than rot and regret.

“You’re close enough,” you whispered, meaning every damn word of admiration that you’ve held in your heart for him since the very first day. 

Because he wasn’t good, but he was good enough for you.

When he’s quiet again, his eyes still avoiding yours, you figure it’s time to go. 

You move to get up, and without a sound, his hand catches yours.

Arthur doesn’t let go.

You stay.

As long as you can, you stay.

“Where you goin’?”

Weeks later, more people are dead, or gone, or close to one or the other. You’re packing all of your measly earthly belongings onto one of the extra horses in the dead of night when Arthur approaches you.

“I dunno,” you reply honestly, heart in your throat as you avoid his gaze. You can’t look at him anymore, can’t see him working himself to death for a man who would gladly watch him fall into his own grave, who wouldn’t have the decency to stay long enough to watch him buried. “Somewhere else.”

“What're you plannin' on doin’ when you get there?”

“I don’t know, Arthur.” You finally look at him, afraid to see betrayal in his eyes at your leaving them, leaving him, when all you had ever wanted to do was stay.

But you only see understanding, relief, and genuine concern for if you actually have a plan in getting out. 

“Suppose I’ll become some kind of maid, or a working girl, or—”

“Don’t,” he whispers hoarsely, gaze hardening, and you throw your hands up in the air before grabbing onto your saddlehorn, foot in the stirrup as you hoist yourself up into the seat.

“What choice do I have, Arthur?” You’re defeated when you say it, as is he. As are all of you, doomed to who knew what awful fate was waiting at the end of this road the crazier that Dutch got, and the more that that snake Micah kept whispering into his ear.

What you had never expected was for Arthur to reach down into his satchel and pull out a stack of money. He hardly spends any real time thumbing through it all before handing the whole thing over to you. 

When you don’t take it, he grabs your wrist, and you lose your breath when his thumb tenderly strokes the inside. It’s as if he’s caressing your pulse, gently tracing the steady thrum of life still in your veins, as he turns your hand over and places the cash into your palm.

“You wanted sheep, right?” He’s so gentle with the question he murmurs to you in the still night. So kind to the memory you were sure he’d gladly forgotten.

It’s the final straw that breaks you.

You’re crying now, tears you had held in for so long streaming down your face, because this is the last time you’ll see him. You know it, he knows it, and there’s no goddamn thing left that you can do.

Still, you whisper that old, forgotten dream he had once chastised you for, “I wanted it with you.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Arthur rasps, a cough caught in his lungs that he fights back. His eyes are so tired, and yet they still hold your gaze so readily. There’s regret there, so much of it, and you wonder if he’s ever thought of that old pipe dream of yours, if it ever once was one of his. “I know. Get outta here, now.”

When you don’t move an inch, his voice takes on an urgency, harsh and desperate in its rasp, “Go, girl, ‘fore it’s too late.” And then he adds more words, quieter, but just as pleading, if not more gentle in their earnestness, “Couldn’t stand it if they got to you too.”

“Come find me?” The question slips from the tightness in your throat, from the depths of your heart, fruitless as your wanting is, as it has ever been. “There’ll be a place for you with me.”

The way Arthur looks at you then—the grief, the yearning—you dare to dream sometimes, years later, that maybe some small part of him loved you after all. 

Or at least the idea of you, of what could’ve been, towards the end.

“If there’s air left in my lungs by the time this is all done,” he wheezes with the words, a dreadfully poetic thing, “I'll go to you.”

He’s the one who spurs your horse off then with a gentle smack to its hide then, and you’re the one who looks back.

You weren’t a fool, much as he once believed you were.

You knew that Arthur Morgan would never have enough breaths left to crawl to you, in the end.

You could only hope he got that sunset.

[coltermorning]

Of Love and Loss Ch. 16 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: Caught by the law, you and Arthur have to find separate ways to escape their grasp.

Author’s Notes: Chapter sixteen of this one.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, minor character death, loss of parents, blood and injury, grief/mourning, survivor guilt, strangers to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, graphic depictions of violence

AO3 Link

~

Of Love and Loss

Sixteen: Luck and the Lack Thereof

Word count: 5002

The drop was short enough that you landed softly, something you were immensely grateful for when you straightened and saw a deputy manned at the bottom of the stairs. He was too distracted by the nearby commotion a painted lady was stirring to notice your thudding boots on the stairwell, but that still didn’t help the situation, as the only means of getting away was past him. Going back up the stairs would lead you into the hotel, and you wouldn’t risk running into Arthur and that deputy. Christ, you weren’t clever enough for this. The deputy on the stairs was likely stationed there for this very scenario—to catch an outlaw in the middle of escape. But you were no outlaw, couldn’t think like one. And while you stood there stock still, glad for the low evening light if nothing else, you knew there was no way around it—you would be caught. So much for Arthur’s attempt at saving you.

“…know you had another feller with you…” you heard from the window, the speaker’s voice less muffled now. The deputy was in the room with Arthur. Your heart seized knowing they had pinned you too, but that word he used got you thinking. Did they not know you were a woman?

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Arthur replied flatly. “And you, you make a habit of selling out your patrons to the law?”

“I answer to the marshal, not to you,” came another voice that explained how the deputy had found your room—the hotel owner.

“Don’t know about any partner of yours, huh? Then why’s that window open?” the deputy asked.

Time to go.

You heard Arthur make a sorry excuse that he had wanted some air before you were taking your hat off and fluffing your hair, making your way down the stairs. If they didn’t know you were a woman, it was the only leverage you had.

The deputy at the bottom of the stairs whipped his head around when he heard your approach. “Hold it right-” He looked you over. “There…”

You did as he said, feigning innocence as best you could. “Is something wrong?” You pushed femininity through your voice.

“Come down here,” he ordered, still suspicious. You did so, praying the deputy above you wouldn’t stick his head out the window and find you armed. Woman or no, it wasn’t a good look. Lucky for you, the deputy you approached seemed all too distracted by your opposing sex to care about your gun belt. “What are you doing taking these stairs?” he demanded, his eyes slipping down your body.

Fine. You could do this, or at least try. It wasn’t even close to being in your wheelhouse, but what other option did you have?

“I saw you down here,” you said lowly. “Can’t deny I was curious.” You stepped close, invading his space in a way that had that suspicion of his melting in favor of something else.

“That so? Why you armed then, little lady?”

“I like to stay that way,” you said, spinning a yarn for yourself. “Most men aren’t to be trusted. But you, being a deputy…”

Your instincts screamed at you to cut this meeting short, but you had to sell it or else get hauled in for shoddy acting if nothing else.

You reached in for the man’s badge, touching your finger to it, letting your hand linger on his chest a moment longer. He let you. And just like that, you knew you had him.

He spoke. “Well, I…there is a certain honor that comes with the job.”

“Something a girl can admire,” you replied softly.

He eyed you a moment before looking up at the window. Shit—it was still open. And if he had any wits about him, he would put two and two together.

He looked back down at you, but not an ounce of recognition lit his gaze. Instead, he smiled. “I’m on duty, but how’s about we find each other later when I’m not?”

You let your most saccharine smile curve your face. “Name the place, Deputy…”

“Gillard.”

“Deputy Gillard.”

“How about the Spokehouse?”

You had no idea what that was, but you kept your smile painted on and nodded. “I’ll be waiting for you there.” To keep up the ruse, you brought your hand to his badge again and ran your thumb over it, lingering a moment as you met his gaze. Lucky you, there was nothing going on behind those eyes. So you left him standing there staring after you, doing your best not to panic and rush away.

The farther away you got from the threat of danger, the more that nagging panic set in. Even though he had suggested it, leaving Arthur behind wasn’t an option. He had done so much for you, and leaving him now, especially after what you had just shared…it was out of the question. Now all that remained was thinking of a way to get him out of his predicament without finding yourself caught in it in the process. You considered all your options and knew, first and foremost, that you needed your mounts for any sort of escape. Plus, if you could stash away his gun belt in a saddle bag, you would look much less conspicuous. Men already tended to be curious about you with the way you dressed, so the less attention you drew, the better. You considered stealing a dress off some clothesline but thought better of it. It would result in the same feeling you had when wearing Arthur’s clothes—unfamiliarity. And if, God forbid, you needed to resort to any shooting, you needed every advantage of the familiar you could get. So you made way for the nearby stables under the cover of night, hoping Harriet would provide that familiar calm for you enough for this to all play to your advantage.

Upon arriving at the small barn, you found that your luck held. Luck, because there was no other explanation—certainly not any skill or cunning on your part. You snuck into the stables right past the snoring stablehand slumped in a nearby chair and found your mounts. They were stabled beside each other, but their saddles were thrown over their stall fronts. Sneaking them out as is would likely be easy enough, but tacking them would cause too much noise. You couldn’t risk waking the stablehand. Really, you could wake him and pay him with whatever money Arthur had in his satchel, but Arthur had ridden into town on Boadicea, so your taking her would make you as guilty as he was if someone recognized the mare. Best no one saw at all.

Taking a deep breath, you reached for the nearest stall door—Boadicea’s—and slowly pulled it open. It didn’t creak at least, but she nuzzled you when you shut yourself in with her and gave a low nicker of recognition. Your eyes snapped to the stablehand, but he remained deep in slumber, far from any consciousness to speak of. So you got to work, bridling first in case you needed to leave the saddles behind and make a run for it. That, and the bit tended to be the loudest part of the tack, so you carefully settled it into Boadicea’s mouth while keeping a close eye on the hand. You were lucky the mare had such an easy temperament, as she let you be without so much as tossing her head. Once you slipped the reins over her neck, you looked to the saddle. You would just have to risk its creaking leather.

Easy as you could, you blanketed the mare then lifted the saddle, using all your arm strength to keep it steady. You were keeping quiet enough until you had to swing the saddle over her back—she was taller than you realized. You tried lifting it up and over, but the far stirrup got trapped between the saddle and her back and made an impossibly loud creak of leather on leather. You froze, just knowing you’d awoken the stablehand. But no rebuke came. You slowly turned and looked over your shoulder at him. He had shifted in his chair, but he remained asleep, mouth open wide in a snore. Luck indeed.

You rounded Boadicea and fixed the stirrup carefully, then finished cinching her. Arthur’s saddle was cared for but older and worn, no doubt having many miles traveled in it, so the latigo slid through the cinch ring like butter. Your used up, lesser made saddle likely wouldn’t be so easy. But if all else failed, you didn’t need your saddle anyway.

Satisfied with Boadicea, you quietly left her stall and made for Harriet’s. The mule nuzzled you fondly upon entering, and you gave her a good scratch in return. She somehow always managed to calm your ever-racing heart. It was a wonder, you thought with a smile, just how often you found your heart trying to beat out of its cage since acquiring her. You blamed that on Arthur and his outlaw ways but found that a sliver of pride had worked its way into you for all that you were doing for him, something so brave in return. He likely thought you the least capable person on earth, but here you were, still going. So you once again set aside your nerves and got to work.

Bridling Harriet proved a bit more difficult, as she didn’t take the bit quite as easily as Boadicea did, but you eventually got her fully tacked without waking the stablehand. You dug through Arthur’s satchel, finding a surprising amount of items at your fingertips before landing on the bills you were searching for. You drug them out and counted out enough to be deemed acceptable, then stuck them in the handle of the stall door. Even with the sneaking around, you weren’t a complete reprobate.

With one last prayer that this would be quiet enough, you opened the stall door wide and led Harriet out. You stopped at Boadicea’s stall and did the same. She was the calmer of the two, so you put her on your left—the side closer to the stablehand—as you made to pass him. Only, when you finally worked up the courage to make your great escape, Harriet tossed her head when you tugged on her reins and made her bridle let out an awful clang of metal.

“Quiet down y’ old nag,” the stablehand mumbled, voice heavy with sleep. You froze solid with fear, but he didn’t even look up. Didn’t even open his eyes. He just shifted and slumped in the opposite direction, going back to snoring. You could hardly believe it but weren’t about to stick around and savor your success. You held on tight to both mounts’ reins and carefully led them past him and straight out, thankful for all the mud and horseshit packed down on the floor so that the sound of hooves hardly thudded. Like this had been made to happen all along. Once out, you grinned at your luck, mounted Harriet, and made for the outskirts of town with both of them in the remaining cover of darkness.

~

Arthur was in deep shit. He’d been in deep shit before, narrowly avoiding a hanging here or a bullet through the head there, but this was worse. His only defenses had ever been strength in numbers and his skill with a gun. He had neither. He was alone and weaponless, bound in sturdy handcuffs like some true outlaw these men had no business knowing he was. Worse still, he was innocent. At least, in terms of the past few days by this town’s standards, he was. The only mark against him had been breaking some sorry bastard’s nose, but from the looks of that saloon, that was a regular enough occurrence. So why was he being dragged in with all the pomp of a man gone rogue on a killing spree? He and the deputy had been joined by two more, the three men parading him down the street with some sorry explanation of bringing him in for questioning. When he’d asked what about, he was met with three matching glares and a shove to keep walking. Fair enough, only that it weren’t. And how ironic that was, being the sole instance he could genuinely plead innocence. Just went to show, innocence was exactly what Dutch always said it was—an opinion men had and nothing more. In terms of true innocence, well, that was better left up to a higher power. It was certainly the kind Arthur relied on now.

The deputies led Arthur to the jailhouse, escorting him inside and shoving him in a cell without removing the handcuffs. Even he suspected he weren’t that big of a threat.

“Thank you, boys. You’re sure it’s him?”

Arthur rounded at the sound of that voice, an unfamiliar and commanding one.

“We’re sure, boss. Old Mr. Parks swears by it.”

It wasn’t difficult to guess the first speaker’s identity. He was smaller and less threatening than Arthur imagined he would be, his subtle resemblance to his brother proof of that.

“Marshal James Lawrence,” he said, rounding his desk to approach the cell. “You must be Mr. Callahan.”

Relief trickled through Arthur. So long as his last name stayed out of it, this would be a predicament he could wriggle out of.

Arthur didn’t respond, fully intending to feel the marshal out if he was being accused of a crime serious enough to warrant all this.

Lawrence smiled, like he had already figured how this would go. “Deputy Foreman, would you kindly free our new guest from his restraints?”

Said deputy bumbled about, no doubt surprised at the request given that the marshal had taken such measures in bringing Arthur here.

“You sure? He came peaceable, but he ain’t exactly…”

Arthur glared, daring the man to finish that sentence. But he didn’t, Lawrence interrupting him. “I’m sure. Through the bars should suffice.”

The way he spoke…Arthur wondered where these two brothers had come from. They were educated, that was certain. But where one was condescending about it, this one commanded respect. It was obvious in the way his deputies regarded him.

Arthur turned and backed up to the bars, letting Deputy Foreman unlock his handcuffs. The things were heavy and too tight for him anyhow. They soon dropped to the floor with a loud clank and the rattle of a chain spiraling downward like a snake, the deputy retrieving them through the bars lest Arthur have any ideas about using them for some sort of escape.

“There,” Lawrence said. “More comfortable, I hope.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed at the kindness as he turned to face the man.

“Ah, of course. Where are my manners? You haven’t a clue why you’re here, is that right?”

The insinuation that Arthur would soon be pleading innocence didn’t sit well with him. He could see how the marshal could come off as becoming, but he wasn’t buying it. The man was a little too greasy-haired and mousy-faced, just like his good-for-nothing brother.

Lawrence smiled again. “Allow me to do the talking, then.” The deputies settled on the nearby wall with matching grins, like they had seen this show before and would thoroughly enjoy seeing it another time.

The marshal went on. “You have been brought in for questioning concerning the untimely death of George Lawrence.”

Surprise hit Arthur. Not just over the death either but because of the nonresponse the marshal had for his own brother’s very recent demise.

“Your brother?”

If Lawrence spited this, he didn’t show it. “Yes. He was found dead behind the saloon on Diggen Street, gunshot wound to the head.”

Arthur knew enough to know he was being gauged for any subtle reaction. Likewise, he kept his face neutral. Nothing good ever came of pleading innocence too soon.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

This, at least, took the marshal by surprise. His eyebrows raised with it. But he pushed on. “Where were you last night at the hours of ten to midnight?”

“Asleep. In that hotel. That no-good hotel owner can attest to that, he saw me come in.”

“Interesting. He told me quite the opposite. Said he saw you earlier in the day but never again.”

“‘Course he did,” Arthur mumbled. “He sold me out then. That’s where I was. You sure he didn’t kill the man, lying like that?”

The marshal shook his head. “I have my reasons for trusting the man. The question is, what reason have you to lie?”

“I don’t. I told you, I was in the hotel hours before that.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well, that’s the truth. If you don’t want to accept it, so be it. Ain’t my job to make you see sense.”

Lawrence’s face soured. Like he wasn’t used to someone he couldn’t get a rise out of. “I see.” He looked to the floor deep in thought, going back to his desk. He propped himself against it before speaking again. “So, you claim you were nowhere near that saloon last night?”

“I ain’t sure of the street, but I was at some saloon yesterday behind the hotel these idiots dragged me out of.” Said idiots glared at Arthur, and he couldn’t stop himself from letting out an unimpressed laugh.

“That’s the one,” the marshal continued. “Yet you just said you weren’t there. Which is it?”

“I was there early afternoon. Left no later than four.”

“Ah. Just in time for you to meet my brother.”

Shit. “Heard about that, did you?”

The marshal was smiling again. “Word gets around quickly in this town, Mr. Callahan. Especially when a stranger manhandles one of its citizens.”

“I wouldn’t say manhandle,” Arthur mumbled, knowing no matter how innocent he was, this was starting to look bad.

“I would. From the state of my brother’s wellbeing after his run-in with you, I would say it was worse. A vendetta of sorts, ushered in by a nasty temper and brought to its unforgivable end by a second run-in with him later that night. Tell me, Mr. Callahan, what did he say to provoke you to such violence?”

Arthur didn’t like this one bit. The bastard was good at spinning stories and pointing blame, that was certain. But Arthur hadn’t done it. The only way of proving it, it seemed, would be to prove who had. And in a jail cell, that would be damn near impossible. So Arthur stalled. It was all he had left to do while he thought of a better plan.

“You ever met that brother of yours? Should come as no surprise I wanted to punch him. He insulted me three different ways before I could get a word in.”

The marshal’s face twitched with something Arthur didn’t recognize. He would say fury over the man’s late brother, but that weren’t it. Arthur knew fury well, and he would already be thrashing it around if someone had killed one of his brothers in arms.

“I know he was…difficult to take at times. He never did seem to know when to keep his mouth shut. But that is no means to kill a man.”

“And I didn’t,” Arthur said flatly. “Gave him a good crack on the nose, which was fully deserved, but nothing more. No more than any other man in that saloon wanted to give him just as well.”

Lawrence crossed his arms. “And what’s this I hear about you having someone else with you at the saloon? Where is he?”

Relief flooded Arthur a second time—no one seemed to know you were a woman. Well, he was pretty sure George Lawrence knew, but he wouldn’t be giving that information up anytime soon. And as for the bartender, Arthur just hoped he knew to leave well enough alone in that rough crowd he tended. That left the hotel owner who definitely knew and who had been there when the deputy stormed the room—why hadn’t he said anything about it then? Arthur was starting to suspect him more and more.

“He left town. Said he was headed out early this morning.”

“To where, exactly? And why not with you?”

“I was…preoccupied this morning,” Arthur said, his mind flashing with the sight of you on the bed. “Told him I’d catch up. He has family in the next town over we’re going to see about working for.”

“Preoccupied how?” the marshal asked, no doubt thinking it had to do with covering up a murder.

Arthur’s face remained deadly calm as he said with caution, “With a woman.” It was an easy enough explanation and also ironically truthful, but he didn’t want to bring you into this anymore than he had to.

Lawrence eyed one of his deputies. “See about that, would you, Deputy Gillard? You know the woman folk around here well enough. We’ll have to confirm your story as truth, of course.” This to Arthur.

“Of course,” he grimaced.

“What was her name?”

Arthur panicked all of a second before a smile curved his mouth. “Said she didn’t have a name. Nameless, she got me to call her.” Arthur had to keep the heat off his face when he thought of your real name, of what had come with the knowledge.

“Sounds like Dot Owens if you ask me,” the deputy said. “She’s always playing games like that.”

Lawrence eyed his deputy in disapproval before waving him away. “Go question her then. And Gillard? No funny business. You have a job to do.”

The deputy’s face turned red as a beet. “‘Course, sir.”

He was soon out the door, leaving Arthur with that much better a chance at escape.

The marshal rounded his desk and sat in his chair, letting out a long breath. “I just find it awfully convenient, as I’m sure my deputies here can attest, that you have such ironclad explanations for all of this. Explanations which, pardon my suggestion, seem fabricated to fit the bill.”

Yep. Definitely brothers with that silver-tongued idiot. Arthur shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“The truth, Mr. Callahan. It would go a long way.”

Arthur scoffed a laugh. “I’m sure it would.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

It was Arthur’s turn to sigh. “It means I am telling the truth, not that that’ll get me anywhere. It means you’ve done a fine job of pinning me with this without having any real reason to believe it was me besides me being the one person stupid enough to put that idiot brother of yours in his place.”

The marshal’s eyes narrowed on Arthur, though the man went unnaturally still. “Careful.”

Arthur pushed on, not caring if the man was riled or not. “It just seems convenient,” he said, quoting Lawrence, “that you paraded me around town getting me here, that you want this blame pinned on me so easily, not giving it any thought that it could be someone else. Almost like you want me framed, for all this to go away.”

Lawrence just stared. He stared so long Arthur wondered how violent the marshal could be with that supposed quick draw of his. But when he spoke again, it wasn’t to Arthur. “Foreman, Vaughn, go find someplace to be.”

Great. At least Arthur had his hands in the very likely case this turned ugly.

The deputies gawked at Lawrence. “But sir, you don’t mean to-”

“Go,” he demanded. “I’ll come calling when I need you.”

The reluctantly did as he said, stumbling out of the door one after the other. Only then did the marshal rise to his feet. “That’s a mighty claim to make.”

“Give me a better explanation, and I’ll go singing you praises. Until then, this feels pretty forced, Mr. Marshal.”

“Forced? You beat my brother’s face in. That makes you suspect number one.”

“And you seem a smart man, Marshal. Even you must know you have to consider all your options.”

Lawrence waved his hand through the air in dismissal. “Enough of this. I won’t indulge myself in the ravings of a guilty man.”

Arthur found a humorless smile crossing his face. “I ain’t guilty. You just don’t want to believe it. Why is that?”

Lifeless, coal-black eyes met his own, and Arthur knew the answer before the man could say it.

“It’s because it’s your brother, ain’t it? You want someone to swing for this. You have no way of knowing who it was, what with the man being one of the least-liked in town. You just want someone to pin it on, some way of someone paying for this.”

Surprisingly, the marshal’s temper didn’t flare, or it didn’t show if it did. “I want the man responsible for this brought to justice. This town is full of cowards, Mr. Callahan. I can tell by your words, you’re not one of them.”

“And you think that means I killed him?” Again, just words. More stalling.

“I do.”

“Well, I didn’t. And I ain’t the only non-coward in this town, Marshal. Tell me, why exactly did you send your deputies away?”

“Just what the hell are you implying?”

“You thought you’d what, rough me up a little in retaliation? Or worse, did you not want your deputies hearing what I had to say?”

The marshal’s jaw twitched. Now he’d struck a nerve.

“That’s it, ain’t it? Your precious reputation is all you have in this town. Would be a shame for your own men to suspect you of such negligence.”

Lawrence smiled, an evil-looking thing. “I’ll be happy to watch you swing, Mr. Callahan.”

Something finally clicked into place for Arthur. “I’m sure you will. Can’t talk if I’m dead, right? Just like dear old George.”

The marshal slammed a fist down on his desk. “That’s enough! I won’t be accused of such nonsense!”

“Accused? Why, I didn’t accuse you of nothing, Mr. Marshal. Unless you mean to say that I think you did it?”

That lethal calm settled over the man again, and he spoke dangerously low in response. “I would be extremely careful with what you say next.”

Arthur smirked. “That don’t sound like a denial.”

The marshal rounded his desk and stormed Arthur’s cell, pointing a finger at him as he yelled, “I won’t be made a fool of by the likes of a low-down criminal like you! Tell all the lies you want about me, but come morning, you’ll hang!”

The man barely came up to Arthur’s chin, and the effect of him looking up and waving that finger was about as non-threatening as a child throwing a tantrum.

Arthur grinned. “Interesting.”

“What?” Lawrence shouted.

“That’s what got you angry? Not all that talk about your brother?” Lawrence’s face fell, and Arthur took that to mean he was right. “You just seem awful calm around someone you claim killed your brother. That is, until I said you did it.”

The marshal looked stunned. His hand fell, and he backed away a slow step. Then his face soured like it had earlier, and he repeated, “I’ll be happy to watch you swing.”

“Because I’m the perfect cover-up? Because you killed your brother?”

He rounded, his anger coming back full force. “So what if I did? It doesn’t matter anyhow! My no-good brother isn’t here to plague this town or say otherwise anymore, and you’ll be put to death for it no matter the circumstance!”

Arthur couldn’t believe his luck. And how useless that luck was. The man before him was guilty as sin despite his high and mighty manner, but he was right about one thing—it wouldn’t matter a bit come morning. Arthur would hang for this man’s crime, and there was no amount of spewing the truth that would get this town to walk him down from the gallows. They would gladly watch, happy to have not one low-down reprobate gone, but two. And they would hail their marshal even higher than they had before.

Marshal Lawrence had sat in his chair once more, fuming at Arthur and throwing insult at him left and right. But Arthur had no words left, nothing more to bait the man with now that his guilt was exposed. So he stood there crestfallen, thinking, of all things, of you. Not of how death had finally come to call. Not of his gang. Of you, and of how much this would crush you. He hoped you had gotten out of town like he said, but he knew that stubborn streak in you that ran a mile wide and knew you were likely waiting to see what came of him. He couldn’t bear to think about the moment you heard his neck crack. You would turn into that shell of yourself again, and there would be no one there to save you this time.

Funny how life worked. Arthur was at death’s door, and the one person he cared about saving wasn’t himself. It was the person who had made him see why living mattered so much in the first place.

~

After lots of searching and your best attempts at remaining discreet, you had found the jailhouse. And you sat underneath one of its windows, listening in on every word the marshal said. Like how he had bribed the hotel owner into silence, and how he had shot his own brother in the head to keep him from tarnishing the family name any further. How Arthur was the perfect target. How, come ten in the morning, Arthur would hang for a crime he didn’t commit. You could hardly stand the sea of dread that resulted in you, threatening to drown you from within. But you would stand it. You owed him this. So you vowed to be ready at ten in the morning, rifle in hand.

You would save Arthur’s life even if it cost you your own.

_________

Chapter seventeen is here.

tag list: @nayomi247 @ultraporcelainpig @photo1030 @spiritcatcherxo @calcarius445 @meet-me-backstage

[cowboydisaster]

For the Christmas countdown!

Dutch sends reader and Arthur to find the perfect Christmas tree for camp. Reader says she knows a place near Colter. But they get lost, and what’s that? One bed? Needing to share body warmth? What ever could go wrong 😈😈 as smutty as you find comfortable to write behe

* ˚ ✦ Ceasefire * ˚ ✦

pairing: arthur morgan x f!reader word count: 2.8k a/n: One bed trope is elite. love this prompt. Arthur is a little toxic in this one ngl. probably med. honor. I aint gonna lie gang, this is fucking FILTH. warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, dubcon

cowboydisaster's christmas countdown: FOUR days 'till christmas!

christmas countdown┊main masterlist┊rdr2 masterlist

Arthur kicks the old door in, nearly crumbling the rotten thing before sticking his lantern into the worn down cabin. No words are exchanged as he ushers you though the threshold, slamming the door behind you both. 

The storm outside is brutal, battering the sides of the cabin, sounding like bullets pelting the walls. Hail and snow beat down on the roof, carried by whipping, whistling winds. Even in your wool coat, your limbs feel like ice, your fingers and toes numb.

The cabin you’re entering is old and creaky. The wind seems to whisper through the walls eerily, letting cold air soak through the cracks and wrap around you. You shiver, walking through the main room, pushing open a squealing door to reveal one small bedroom with one tiny bed. You nod, figuring as much. It’s the only door in the house, so you avert your attention back towards Arthur, knelt before the fireplace. He's digging through the wood by the mantle, grunting and sighing angrily to himself.  A tense silence continues between you and Arthur– it hangs in the air like static electricity, and you’re just waiting for it to strike.

“Arthur, I'm sorry.” You whisper, arms pulling your coat tighter around yourself. 

“Kinda late for apologizin’, considerin’ our circumstances, dont’cha think?” Arthur growls, finding a few pieces of dry wood and tossing them into the wood keeper in the fireplace. 

“I knew where I was goin.” You argue coldly, anger rising up the back of your neck, making the hair stand. Arthur shakes his head, avoiding your eye contact as he lights a kindle. 

“Oh, you did, did you? Then you mind tellin’ me why in the hell we’re stranded in the middle of god-knows-where, then? N’ on Christmas Eve? Dutch sent us to get a goddamn tree and thanks to you, we ain't even got one.” Arthur growls, voice finally rising, even though he’s been trying to keep his composure since you admitted you were lost. 

“I– Well you got me all turned around when you took us to the trapper!” You yell, pointing your finger at him angrily, “I had us on the way and then you just had to take us off on some wild fuckin’ goose chase. What even was so important that we had to take an hour-long detour anyway?! How are you gonna blame me when you had to drag me across the state just to what?! Sell a fuckin’ pelt? Make some more money for old Dutch?”

“No!” Arthur roars, standing up from his position on the floor. His anger flares up at your ignorance, “I was savin’ up money to buy your christmas gift—to buy you that goddamn saddle you wanted!!” Arthur’s voice reaches a shockingly loud timbre, and your ears ring. You step back, shocked and mortified by your assumption. Words fail you, and you stutter over them, tears already forming in your eyes at what you’ve done. 

“Arthur…” You say, tears forming in your eyes as he brushes past you, towards the door, “Arthur, you can’t go out in that storm.” You protest, but he’s already putting his gloves back on, placing his hat on his head. 

“Arthur, I'm sorry. Please don’t go out in the storm.” You plead as he pushes the door open. 

“I need some damn air.” He hisses, slamming the door back shut in your face. 

Your hand covers your mouth, silencing sobs as you watch him leave from the window. You hear Sugar’s cries as Arthur leads Jasper out of the small stable, and you watch as the gray horse carries Arthur out the main drag, his coat blending in with the downpour of snow and ice.

— — —

You roll onto your side, shivering on the single cot. There’s no blankets, so you do your best to keep warm by curling in on yourself and blowing warm air into your hands, down your coat sleeves. Cold tears slip down your face, your worry growing tenfold with every minute that Arthur doesn’t return. If he’s not back within the hour, you’ll go out into the storm to find him.

You glance at the pocket watch that is clutched between your numb fingers, signaling that he’s been gone for an hour and a half. Your heart seizes in your chest. The wind causes the windows to shake and clamber, and every once in a while, you perk up– hoping it’s Arthur coming back to you. But it never is.

A miserable whimper leaves your lips, and you sit up, cross legged on the bed to steal another glance at your watch. The fireplace gives off just enough light to see, and you push yourself up from the bed to start pulling your boots on. You’ll be damned before you let something happen to Arthur out there, not when it's your fault he’s out there in the first place.

Before you can get your boot on, the door swings open loudly. Arthur steps in, shoving the door shut behind him, stripping his big blue coat off and abandoning it on the floor. You let out a breath of relief, tossing your boots aside to run to him. 

“Baby- I’m so sorry for hollerin’ at you. I shouldn’t have left ya here.” Arthur rambles, feeling like a fucking fool. You care none, too relieved to see him here. He holds his arm open, catching you just as you run into them, tears of relief flooding your face. 

“Oh, I was so worried, Arthur.” You exhale, crumbling against him.. Lucky for you, he’s always been good at piecing you back together. 

“Christ, darlin’, you’re freezin’.” Arthur points out, readjusting and scooping you up into his arms. You lie your head against his chest, arms wrapped around his neck, clinging to him, as he carries you back into the bedroom. 

“I’m sorry, Arthur. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I shouldn’t have blamed you.” Your voice cracks. 

“Don’t matter, now. Now, I just gotta take care of you.” Arthur whispers, and you sigh with relief. He carries you into the bedroom, tenderly placing you down on the bed. 

“Lets get your clothes off. They’re wet, gonna get you sick.” Arthur says, worry deep in his eyes as he begins to undress you. He tenderly peels away each layer of clothing, hanging them over the fireplace mantle to dry. Once you’re bared before him, shivering, he wraps his jacket around your shoulders. It’s warm and dry, and it smells like oak and his favorite brand of expensive cigarettes. You inhale the scent deeply.

“Be warmer if I take mine off, too.” He whispers matter of factly, pulling off his own layers, sliding next to you in the bed. 

Arthur winces as you cling to him on the bed. Your limbs are like ice against his skin, and he pulls your back to his chest. His arm wraps around your middle, keeping you anchored to him tightly. Your body fits against Arthur’s so perfectly. Like two puzzle pieces fitting together.

A few moments pass by, with Arthur running his fingers over your hip, rubbing his hand down your thigh, waiting for the skin to warm up. 

“Any better?” He asks eventually, voice hoarse, waiting for the answer he knows won’t come. You nod your head, but your teeth chatter. You're shaking like a leaf against him. 

“Ya trust me?” Arthur asks. Of course, you nod your head. You trust him with your life, “I’ll warm you up.” He whispers. 

You shiver, this time not from the temperature as Arthur slides the jacket down over your shoulder blade. He runs his lips across your shoulder, pressing kisses in a line. His lips distract you from his wandering hand, fingertips trailing down your stomach. 

You breathe shakily in anticipation as his fingers reach your throbbing cunt. His skin is hot where yours is cold, adding an extra layer of sensitivity. You flinch when his thick finger bumps your sensitive clit. 

“Too much?” Arthur whispers between kisses, his hand drawing away from your skin. You nod. 

“We got all the time in the world. Jus’ gotta warm you up proper.” Arthur explains. He repositions himself between your legs, pushing your knees up by your ears, spreading you wide for himself. 

“Can’t wait to taste you.” Arthur grumbles, pushing your thighs back even more. You grip the sheets in anticipation as he licks the length of your cunt, coating his tongue in your juices, flicking your sensitive bud with his tongue. 

Your stomach seizes, and you whimper. 

“Yeah, how’s that? Talk to me, darlin’.” Arthur instructs, his nose rubbing against your clit, his tongue sinking into your heat. Arthur’s beard is tickling your thighs, and his fingertips are teasing along your entrance. 

“S’good, Arthur.” You exhale loudly. Your body is already warming up. Your skin is flush with want as he teases you. Arthur’s tongue circles back up to your clitoris, flicking over the bud in languid swipes. You taste so fucking good, he could keep you spread like this forever and never get enough. You would have no qualms with that, happily holding his head between your thighs for the rest of eternity. 

He wants nothing more than to keep you spread open like this. To taste you, kiss you. To hear you whimpering and calling his name. He wants to pull orgasm after orgasm out of you, until you’re sleepy and content and sore. He wants to press his cock into you over and over again, to roll his hips into you, stretch you out, fill you up. He wants to watch his cum leak out of you, just to fuck it back inside. 

Arthur’s cock twitches, and he groans, slipping two of his fingers into your aching entrance. Feeling how slick they become when he pulls them out, when he pushes them back in, curling them to hit that spot that makes you sing. 

“Arthur–” You moan, back arching off the bed. He wraps his free hand over your stomach, pushing you back down to the mattress, “So good. I– Oh, so fuckin’ good, Arthur.”

He smirks, tongue still flicking over your pink, swollen clit. Sucking it between his lips, grazing it with his teeth. It’s more than you can take. 

His fingers curl up, squelching as they rock your own juices back into you, brushing up against your fleshy g-spot, teasing it. 

“I-” You gasp, “I’m close, Arthur. I- I can’t it’s too much! Too-” You moan, tears of pleasure slipping down your cheek. 

And like the pull of a silk ribbon, he's pulling you undone. You're cumming on his fingers, squeezing them within your tight walls. Your clit is seizing against his tongue as you cry out his name, hands digging into his hair, pushing him further against you. You rock your hips against his face, thighs squeezing his ears. Juices gush around his fingers as he works you through your orgasm. Euphoria wracks your brain, picking you up and carrying you to another plane of existence. 

When you come down from it, you’re putty in his arms. Limp. 

“Easy, baby. Y’okay?” Arthur asks, hand easing up your waist, purposefully avoiding the spots where you’ll be the most sensitive right now. You nod, hands reaching up to his jaw, gripping him and pulling him down towards you. 

“Wanna kiss you.” You manage to murmur, soft as silk before his lips are meeting yours. 

You can taste yourself dripping from his tongue. Can feel the sticky wetness on his beard as you pull him impossibly closer. His tongue slips into your mouth, infiltrating your senses with the sweet taste of your arousal. 

Goosebumps break out across your stomach as Arthur’s knuckles trail up your waist, his thumb tickling a small circle around your stiff, sensitive nipple. It sends pleasure in shockwaves down through you, and you arch your back, pushing your stomach up against his chest. The hair on his chest teases your flushed skin, adding to the pleasure of it all. 

“So goddamn beautiful.” Arthur mumbles, pulling away just to get the words out before he’s against your lips again, devouring you. 

“Think you can take me now, darlin?” Arthur whispers, lips moving to your jaw, pressing loud kisses along the sharp line. You hesitate. He’s so big. It takes a lot of preparation.

He senses your worry, and then he’s there, reassuring you, praising you, making you feel so good. 

“You can take me.” A kiss to your neck, “You do so good, so perfect. You can take it. My good girl.” Arthur mumbles against your skin, hand slipping between your legs, pushing your thighs apart. His fingers slip back into your cunt, first two, then three. You whimper, hands digging into Arthur’s shoulders. 

“See? Takin’ my fingers as ya are. My good girl, aint’cha?”

You nod your head, teeth sunk into your bottom lip, “Yes, yes.” You whisper, breathing shakily. 

Arthur positions himself over you, slipping his fingers away, and you gasp at the feeling of his thick tip sliding up and down your lower lips. He traces his swollen, rosy tip across your overstimulated clitoris, and your nails dig into his shoulders, a pulse of pleasure rippling up your spine, sending waves down through your bones. 

You pay no mind to the weather, to the temperature. It bothers you none now. 

His thick, pulsing cock nudges against your entrance, and instinctually you tense, taking in a sharp breath.

“Shh, shh, easy, sweetheart. Relax. You can take it.” Arthur coos against your ear, pressing a kiss to your forehead. It's like being swaddled in a heap of comfort, of safety. You know he’d never lie to you, never hurt you. 

“Thata girl.” Arthur hums, grunting deeply as he thrusts just the tip into you. You squeeze him tightly, your walls gripping him, pulling him into you. He could do this all day, stretch you open, stuff his cock into your pretty little cunt, press kisses to your lips and your neck and your nose.

“Fuck, sweetheart. That’s it.” He grunts, pushing himself into you even more. Your back arches, stomach filled with pressure and legs spread open wide, “That’s perfect, so good fr’me.” He moans. 

“God, Arthur–” You cry out, a whimpering mess when he starts to rock. He’s splitting you in two, filling you so full, you can barely take him all. His length knocks against your g-spot, surpassing it even and stretching to your cervix. 

“Feel-” Arthur groans, “Good?” 

You tuck your nose against his chest, nodding, “Fuck, so good, Arthur. You’re so big.” 

The boost in his ego ramps up his stamina, and he rocks into you harder, sending the headboard crashing against the wall loudly with every thrust. The rhythm is barely noticeable compared to the sound of the hail beating against the roof. 

You’re suddenly glad to be stuck out here, if this is the repercussion. You crave his hands on you, his lips against yours. You want him to bend you over the table, take you against the wall, on the floor. You’re content to have him on every surface of this cabin, just to stay wrapped up in this bliss for a little while longer. 

“Easy does it, good girl.” Arthur grunts, face covered in a sheen of sweat, dripping down from a strand of his hair, falling onto your breasts. He fills you with every thrust, his cock carving out the shape of your walls, stretching them to wrap around him perfectly. The signature, wet sound of sex fills the room, drowning out even the storm, yet pale compared to the sound of your mixed moans and breathing.

“M’ close-” Arthur grunts, pace growing quick, cock twitching against your walls. You’re getting close, and he’s there too, grunting and squeezing, gripping your soft flesh. He curses, thrusting hard and deep, hips slapping loudly against yours. 

It pushes you over the cliff edge with no abandon, and again, you’re free falling, only kept here by the physical tether that is Arthur holding you. Your walls clench and squeeze, constricting around Arthur’s length. He groans beautifully, the sound cathartic to your ears, sending more blood rushing to your gluttonous core.

“Oh– Arthur!” You scream, gasping for air just to release it all back out in a slew of curses and moans. Your back arches high enough off the bed that your breasts slot against Arthur’s chest. Your body shakes, like a star on the verge of explosion, receiving no mercy as Arthur continues to thrust into you. He’s losing his control, caught off guard by the pulsing and fluttering of your second orgasm. You’re squeezing him so tight, and god– the moans you’re letting out are driving him wild—

And then, his warm, thick cum is flooding you, filling you up as he stutters and shakes above you, “F-Fucck, sweetheart. Takin’ me– so damn well.” Arthur groans, hips pumping into you twice more, arms shaking from strain. He pumps the last of his spend into you, groan dying down into a deep rumble in his chest.

He stills, taking deep breaths along with you, eyes slipping shut. His forehead falls against yours, and he presses a sweet, long kiss to your lips. It sends butterflies to your stomach, even after all this. He pulls back from the kiss, resting his forehead on yours once again.

“That was–” You begin, catching your breath, “damn.”

Arthur chuckles, “We’ll sleep the rest of the night n’ check out the weather in the mornin’. I don't reckon either of us will be cold.”

You huff a laugh, wincing slightly as Arthur pulls out of you. You grimace as his cum leaks back out. 

In a few short moments, Arthur has you clean of him. He lies beside you, head resting on your lower stomach as you brush your fingers through his hair. 

“Next time we fight,  just skip the runnin’ off, and take me to bed, alright?” You whisper, breaking the calm silence. Arthur exhales sharply. 

“Yeah, we’ll do that.” He chuckles, gripping your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles. 

“You think Dutch will be pissed about the tree?” You ask, referencing the Christmas tree that you’d failed to bring back to camp. 

“He surely will be.” Arthur says, “But, I say-” He presses a kiss to your hip, hand wrapping around the inside of your thigh, “to hell with his christmas traditions,” another kiss, “I like this one better.”

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow @holyratrimony @twola

[softrozene]

Reacting to Dutch Wanting a Night with Their Girl

Anonymous requested: Okay, so, I’ve had this in my head for a while. Dutch is a gross old guy who likes pretty young ladies, right? Well, Arthur/John/Javier has this real cute and super affectionate little thing on his arm. What? They’re married/engaged/dating? No, it’s fine. He taught that boy how to read! Giving up his girl for a night isn’t that big of a deal, he’s sure asking them in the middle of camp will go well. 

rdr2 masterlist

ALJSFDASKL This is so long omg. Let me know if you wanted something specific or anything- Wasn’t too sure if it was a request but I had to give my input. This is how I thought they would react and lmao this was super fun. 

Originally published on January 5, 2021

Arthur, Javier, John x Female Reader

Warnings: Dutch is super gross in this - We don’t stan, we do stan the three who stick up for their girl, Dutch is vulgar - I really did Dutch dirty in this but it was bound to happen eventually.

Words: ~900

Okay, one thing they all share in common is if it were you saying that Dutch said something to you, they would all be hesitant. Like “Nah, he didn’t mean it that way” or “Are you sure he said that?” or “I’ll go talk to him”- Then they end up doubting you as Dutch lies his way out of it (Yes, they would sadly be the dudes that apologizes for their friend’s behavior too)

They are hesitant only because Dutch did offer them a chance as part of the family in the gang- He did give them a decent chance at life and as anon said- Taught them to read and write. They see him as someone they owe a great lot to- so if you suddenly talk bad about him, they will want to defend him, or he will point the blame at you

In other words, their loyalty to Dutch will for sure make them not believe you at first

However- If they witness it that is an entirely different story:

Charles wasn’t asked for, but I will say since he is not that close with Dutch other than respecting him for being treated well in the gang, he will straight-up knock out Dutch the second he hears anything vulgar- Or whether you inform him. You matter more than the gang and he will defend you

 Arthur Morgan-

You have been skittish lately. That does not sit well with Arthur since you are only skittish with Dutch around- He thinks it is just because you are shy and nothing else until-

Dutch- Sweet, old, crazy Dutch comes up to the both of you, more so looking at Arthur in an expecting way and asks for a night with you- With others as witnesses nonetheless?

All of you would be stunned-

Dutch has a fucking serious tone- Arthur will be frozen then just stare at him for the longest time

“Dutch- You drunk?”

“What? Son, I would never- I was simply asking a hypothetical ‘what if’ question since you have such a divine being hanging on your arm all the time. You can’t deny the chemistry we have when we look- Hey now, don’t give me that look, Son. You know I would only ask if it would benefit you-“

He would keep saying creepy things along those lines and Arthur just snaps

Either by straight-up punching him in the face- Tackling him- Anything, no one can pry him off of Dutch until he good and satisfied that this once honorable man he looked up to will never gaze upon you again in that creepy face

He loses all respect for Dutch and Dutch’s confidence with how he thought he could get Arthur’s girl for a night

Everyone is wary and on edge, but it is for the better

Molly probably opens up her eyes

 John Marston-

Dutch does not even have to say anything- John notices the looks he has been giving you and he does not like it one bit

Dutch would not go to him first- Instead, John would confront him in the middle of the camp and be like “You serious right now Dutch? Eyeing my woman when I am right here, and Molly is over there?”

Dutch will respond: “I ain’t touching- I am just looking.” Or “Can you blame me? Look at her.”

“That is low- Even for you Dutch”

If Dutch even tries to defend himself, be fancy with his words, or place the blame on you- You can bet John will not hold back- The boys will have to pry him off Dutch (after letting John get a few hits in because Dutch ain’t as sly as he thinks he is)

This really is one of the worse things John has seen and he won’t stand with it (depending on how much he cares about you tbh) Like if he sees you as his wife you bet, he is ready to ditch the gang again but with you this time

We’re pretending Abigail and Jack are in a healthy place- Not this universe lamflasd

 Javier Escuella-

I really hate to say this guys but the way Javier reacts depends on what chapter you are in- In the gang.

Before Chapter 5+6 he would react on your behalf-

“Dutch- Did you really ask if you can borrow mi amor?”

He is pissed- He is beyond livid, he will try to be calm and collected but that will not last long and he will act on your behalf demanding Dutch respects you

If this happens after 5 and during 6- He will really think about it

He already betrayed Arthur and John, the gang is falling apart, all he has is Dutch and you- So he will really consider it (but I doubt he would let Dutch go through with it)

After Chapter 6 though- He will not hesitate to cut a bitch Dutch

He realized that he really lost the family that had his back, and it is all because of Micah and Dutch so if Dutch has the gall to ask him after everything you all went through- It is on- He will fight for your honor and he will apologize constantly afterward for helping to ruin the family you both loved and shared

[twola]

If you're comfy with it: high honor!Arthur comforting an F!reader's shame and insecurities in regards to being badly scarred in some way? I'm talking large patches with burns, scars, whip marks, what have you; enough to make someone jump if they saw her beneath her clothes. Esp bc she feels weak for already being smaller than most of the camp. Ty if you do this!!

Getting back to writing, it was great to bang this one out (teehee). Working on clearing up my request queue, along with a renewed vigor for writing my longfic, Devil’s Backbone.

Painted Ribbons

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

Arthur’s new lover refuses to bare herself to him, and he’s dying to know why.

Arthur’s gaze lingers, for longer than is socially appropriate, at the swing of your skirts as you carry the overflowing tub of dirty laundry on your hip toward where the other women have set up for the day.

His thoughts drift to the night prior, where his hands dove up those skirts, eliciting soft mewls from your throat like music to his ears. He might have to pull you away from that damned laundry pile to do it again. His blood pulses through his veins like a livewire at the thought of it.

As if you could hear the conversation he was having with himself in his mind, you look up and make eye contact with him, a small, shy smile gracing your face before your eyes bat back down toward the laundry.

You’re a pretty little thing - short in stature, shy, and quiet - except when he has two fingers knuckle deep in your cunt. He has no idea how this started - he had been admiring you from afar, enamored by the way your nose scrunches up when you think, or how your pretty little eyes seem to always be looking down, lined with dark lashes that bat innocently when you look up. But whiskey - whiskey was your downfall, as many a poor girl, a night when you had partaken enough to shed your shyness and approach him, threading your arms around his neck as he eagerly pulled you into his lap. The meeting of your lips - well, that was his downfall. He had hummed into your mouth as he pushed his tongue against your lips and the moan that bubbled up from your chest - he knew he was a goner.

Was that only a week ago? 

Was it only two days ago that he took you out into the woods a short distance from camp and kissed you until you were both breathlessly clinging to each other?

Surely, this all must be some strange dream - last night must have been a strange dream, where you snuck into his tent in the middle of the night and crawled into his cot. He must have been unconscious when you allowed him to draw your skirts up and touch your knees, trail his fingers up your thighs, cup your core in his big warm hands, drown out your sigh with a kiss of his own.

Sliding a leg of your bloomers to the side, fingers working through the thatch of hair and brushing against the seam of your body, wet already, ready for him.

The slide of his index finger into your cunt went straight to his cock. God, what it would feel like to press another part of him inside you, to cleave you, to fully make you his. The thought alone was enough to sustain him as he worked his finger inside you, thrusting into your wetness enough to press his middle finger inside as well. Pleasing you, working you, giving to you, until you shudder beneath him, back arching up, your perfect little cunt clenching around his fingers, and it's everything he is not to come in his pants then and there.

Arthur shakes his head slightly from his seat near the small campfire, blinking back into the present. It surely couldn’t have been a dream. Could it?

But no, because you look up again, catching his eyes, and flush slightly, smiling like you can’t help it. 

Definitely not a dream.

-

To his delight, you’ve snuck into his tent again late at night, clad in a shirt over a simple petticoat skirt, barefoot and giggling softly as you climb into his cot, into his waiting arms. 

After several moments of bodies tessellating and the shedding of a skirt into a heap on the ground next to the cot, Arthur grunts and settles you next to him, hand creeping up your stomach over your shirt.

You shake your head, swatting his hand away as he reaches toward the buttons of your blouse.

“C’mon now, little darlin’, let me-”

He is cut off as your other hand sneaks into his open trousers, wrapping your little fingers around his cock, and pumping it heartily. His protest is forgotten quickly as he thrusts his hips forward nigh uncontrollably. He quickly works his pants down his thighs, kicking them off and climbing further up the cot as you scoot backward upon it, bare-legged and your shirttails hanging between them, hiding your cunt from his view. 

But when you lie down completely, smiling up at him while spreading your legs, he swears he’s died and gone to heaven. He drops the request to strip you down and strokes his shaft as he leans over you. 

“Y’wanna do this now?”

You respond by sitting up on your elbows and chasing his mouth, pressing your lips against his as he smiles into the kiss. He presses his hips forward, running the head of his cock up and down your slit, covering it in your wetness.

“Oh - oh,” You moan, and he shushes you quietly as he presses the first inch of him through the tight ring of muscle at your core, gritting his teeth against his own moan as your tight, wet warmth welcomes him in. 

By the time he’s slid completely within the sheath of your cunt, you’re a gasping, quivering mess beneath him, a silent whine erupting from you as he pulls his hips back to begin thrusting. The cot beneath you creaks as he settles into a rhythm, burying his face in the curve of your neck as he fucks you.

Your hands ball up his shirt, fingernails digging into his back as you turn your head into his neck and moan into his skin, your cunt clutching around him and your little frame shuddering as you come. 

God, it's so good.

Arthur groans, jerking himself from your warmth, stroking his length twice before his hot spend splatters on your inner thigh, causing you to mewl aloud for a moment before you have the wherewithal to slap your hand over your mouth to stifle the sound within his tent.

He collapses to the side of you, breathless, the cot creaking more as he lies on the very edge of it.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do that in camp.” You laugh into his ear as he breathes heavily.

Arthur places a hand on his chest as he turns his head toward you, throwing his other arm around your frame and dragging you bodily against him.

“Have any plans for tomorrow night?”

-

He’s spirited you away in the lull of activity right after supper - where Grimshaw and Pearson weren’t going to be missing your labor after you’ve washed dishes, and where Dutch was unlikely to send him out on something without advance notice.

The town just a few miles from camp isn’t much to talk about - but a hotel with clean sheets and blessed walls it did have. He’s paid up at the desk and all but dragged you up the stairs, you yelp in amusement when he pulls you against the door and leans down to capture your lips as he slides the key into the lock, pressing his hips against you for a moment before opening the door. 

You back in, smiling, breathless, and he’s barely latched the door behind him before letting his gunbelt clatter to the hardwood floor, kicking off his boots and shedding his jacket to crumble in heaps on that floor. You giggle lightly as you kick your shoes off as he gets close enough to encircle your waist with his large hands, pulling you into another searing kiss for a long moment before pulling back.

“C’mon, this big ol’ bed ain’t gonna break in itself.”

You smile, moving to untie your skirts, the layers of cotton hitting the floor, and shimmy your bloomers down over your hips, letting them pile with your skirts. You reach toward him, bare from the waist down, and he acquiesces to your grabbing at his clothing, quickly unbuttoning his shirt as he shrugs his suspenders down and pushes his pants to fall to the floor. 

He reaches for your shirt, and you scoot backward, onto the bed, just out of reach.

Arthur frowns, reaching toward you again, and your smile immediately falls, moving further back on the bed. 

As if he were approaching a skittish deer, he sits on the bed next to you and reaches toward your hips, very clearly staying away from your shirt.

“Why won’t you let me look ‘atcha?” Arthur asks, his hands around your hips edging on gentle as compared to lustful.

“Ain’t nothing you wanna see.” You grit out, your hands fisting in your shirttails, unable to make eye contact with him.

“Course I wanna see all of you, you’re the prettiest little thin’ I’ve ever set my eyes on.”

You breathe out heavily as he reaches for the first button. He pauses, not reaching any further. Instead, he leans over and places his lips on your forehead, in an attempt to comfort you.

When he pulls away, you look up at him, let out another shuddering breath, and pull his hands toward your buttons, allowing him to continue. You look at your lap as he unbuttons your shirt, baring your breasts to him, and put up no struggle as he pulls the sleeves of your shirt down your arms, bare to him for the first time.

“Sweetheart, what is it? I ain’t seeing nothin’ that doesn’t make me want you more.” Arthur leans in and cups one of your small breasts in his large hand, thumb grazing your nipple and you shiver in response.

“M’ back.” You whisper, continuing to avoid eye contact with him.

His hand moves up from your breast, up your shoulder, rounding that long curve, and down your back.

You close your eyes and are unable to stop the tears that slide down your cheeks as you feel his fingers pass over the raised ridges of your skin. He pauses, and you can’t hold back the sob that boils up from your throat.

Arthur immediately draws you into his embrace, pulling you to him, settling you in his lap, drawing your head into the curve of his neck.

“M… my daddy,” You sob into his skin, “He was a right asshole… H-he ain’t never forgive me for my momma dyin’ giving birth to m-me.”

He pats the back of your head, his other arm swinging wide across your waist, his bare skin against yours, fully against the stripes of scarring painted across your back.

“Used me as his personal whippin’ p-post. I ran away when I was old enough to.” You clutch at your arms, trying to make himself smaller in his embrace.

“ m’sorry, sweetheart.” Arthur rumbles out, his hand moving down from the back of your head to your upper back, rubbing in circles gently as you shiver in his arms.

“But some scars ain’t gonna change the fact that I think you’re the prettiest girl this side of the Lanaheechee.” He presses his lips against the crown of your head.

“Cause you haven’t seen ‘em yet. Ugly. The last man I was on my back for threw me outta the room after seein’ me.”

“Well, he’s a goddamn fool then.” Arthur snaps back, letting go of you as you pull away, your watery eyes finally making contact with his. You sigh and turn around in the bed.

Arthur frowns. Your back is absolutely covered in scarred-over lashes, pink and raised, from your shoulder blades down the curve of your spine to the dimples above your hips. Your shoulders shudder as you try to stifle a sob.

You feel his breath against your back first, then, his impossibly soft lips kissing down your spine, against the raised and pinkened lash marks that litter your skin. You gasp as he catches you off guard - instead of recoiling, he’s leaning in, instead of pushing you away, he’s pulling you closer.

You shiver, turning immediately toward him and surging against his lips, pulling him downward as you lay back on the mattress.

He slots himself between your hips, pulling back from your lips to look down at you. He brushes a lock of your hair from your forehead. 

“Now I don’t want you hidin’ from me no more. Got it?”

You roll your hips against his, relief and desire palpable between you.

“Got it.”

[applepiesupreme]

American Apple Pie

Pairing: Low/Mid Honor Arthur Morgan and female OC.

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Savigne Ricci is a temporary guest at the Van der Linde camp. Her path crosses with the enforcer of the gang, Arthur Morgan, and despite their differences, a relationship develops between them. Whole lot of smut and fluff, slow burn-ish.

Chapter 29

AOC link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54945853/chapters/148846414

"What's in yer head?" he asked from the chair he was sitting in.

Savigne came out of her stupor and smiled at him. "Nothing."

Another girl, Estelle had left today. Just like Rachel, she too had looked pretty broken up about it, but unlike Rachel who quietly disappeared back to her hometown, Estelle got up in the middle of her shift and simply walked out of the kitchen and never returned. "It was the stress" people were whispering. "She wasn't cut out to work under pressure" and "She didn't have what it takes". But Savigne knew better. She liked Estelle and felt bad for her, wondered about her prospects now that she had left the way she did. A recommendation letter from Chef Ecco was out of the question and Savigne wouldn't be surprised if, quite the opposite, he actually ruined her future work prospects.

His eyes flicked up at her from his journal. "Ya sure?" was his mild question.

She sighed and closed the book she was pretending to read and sat up on the bed.

"I was thinking that you owe me."

"That so?"

"Yeah," she mused. "You offered to go to that second map location, didn't you?"

His hand paused. A belated “When was this?”

“Very cute.”

She watched him thoughtfully hum and furrow his brow as if trying to recall. When he came to the conclusion that she wasn't going to fall for his brilliant amnesia play, he merely said: "That was then."

"What do you mean?"

"Meaning," he grumbled. "Ain’t on the table no more."

"Excuse me?"

He looked up at her. "Offer ran out."

"Well isn't that convenient?" she said evenly. "Why the hell did it do that?"

"Cause ya didn' take it, did ya?"

"How about I take it now?"

Arthur sighed and stubbornly sketched on, unfazed by her hard stare. 

"Hello?" she pressed.

"Expired."

"Why?"

"Cause it ain't safe."

"Wasn't safe then either I imagine."

"Well you was mad then."

"I knew it!" she scrambled to sit at the edge of the bed, ready for a fight.

He grunted in frustration and threw his journal on the table. "Woman, why can't y'ask for normal woman things?"

"Like what?"

"Like...goin' to a play. Or fancy restaurant. Or the zoo…"

“The zoo?” she echoed, incredulous.

He waved his arms in frustration and talked over her:"…A new dress. Jewelry. Ya know, the usual things."

"Pffft, please. I can do all those things myself, that's why." Then she quickly added: "This I can do by myself, too, by the way. It's just that you won't ‘let me’."

“Savigne, there ain’t no treasure. Never is.”

“Okay, think of it as an outing then. Sort of like going to the…” she almost snorted with the ridiculousness of it and added “…zoo.” Did Arthur ever fucking date? Who the hell had asked him to go to the zoo?

“Zoo is safe. This ain’t.”

“Why did you offer it then?”

“Cause you was in a mood, that’s why.”

“Aha!" she exclaimed, victorious. "Then how about you pretend I’m in that mood again. In fact, you keep this up, you won’t have to pretend because I’m getting there.”

He crossed his arms and looked away, jaws clenched. "Fine," he muttered finally with resignation. "Serves me right to offer."

She jumped up and came around to kiss his cheek. "I need to prepare."

"Ain't far," he said, sullen. "Don' pack like we goin' to California."

"Okay," she grinned and pulled out a sizable list from between the pages of one of her books.

They rode into the clearing late morning next Sunday and Arthur was extremely grumpy because their usual Sunday bath had to be sacrificed for the trip. 

"There it is!" she pointed with excitement at the waterfall across the lake. 

"I know it's there," was his dry retort. "I was the one who brought you here.”

"Jesus, you're glum! I'm sure Bill will survive one week without us."

He sighed at the great injustice of it and urged Frost to trot ahead. 

"Now listen here," he said over his shoulder. "This here Murfree country. Ya stick close to me, ya hear?"

"What's a Murfree?"

"Bad man."

"Oh, the usual kind, then."

He gave her look. "Ain't the usual kind. I mean real rotten, ya hear?"

"Okay," she said, sobering a little at his grave tone and urging Cricket closer. "Like what?" she asked a short while later. 

"They eat people."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I ain't kiddin', Savigne. Stay close."

She didn't need to be told twice. They walked the horses to a spot across the waterfall, then dismounted. She brushed off her jeans and cracked her back, taking in the scenery. Treasure or no treasure, it was a lovely spot, perfect for a picnic. For the most part the trees retained their color, but Fall foliage was starting to peek through here and there. The familiar crispness of Autumn was in the air and the hue of light was a milder gold color. A flock of geese squawked high above them, migrating to wherever it was they went when the weather turned. Fall in Saint Denis was chilly, rainy and glum. But this would be her first year of experiencing the season outside of a city and she was looking forward to it.

She pulled out the map. "Says we have to go behind."

"Give it here," he swiped it off her hands, still annoyed. Then: "Says we have to go behind." He ignored the sheepish look she gave him.

"Should I wait here, or...?"

"Sure, if ya wanna spin on a bonfire."

"But what about our horses, then?"

"They don't eat horse," was his answer. She thought she heard a mumbled "I hope" but wasn't sure and he walked away before she could confirm it.

She quickly ran after and followed him so closely, she almost tangled his feet. When they arrived at the waterfall he gave her a look. “We goin’ in and there better be a cave there or ‘m gonna be pissed.”

“Oh please, we wouldn’t want you to lose your sunny disposition!” she mumbled. When he glared at her: “I can wait here if you want,” she offered again.

“Could if you could shoot. Since yer more likely to shoot yer damn self, you comin’.”

“You know, they say if a pupil fails, the fault lies with the teacher,” was her acerbic response.

“Who says that?” he scoffed. “Failed pupils?”

“Here,” she tsked and handed him one of the coats.

“The hell is this?”

“A Mackintosh. I bought us these so the stuff on us stays dry.”

He pinched the rubberized fabric. “How long you been planning this?”

“Since I saw the waterfall drawing on that second map,” she said, hooking the lantern on her belt, then putting on her own Mackintosh which was a man’s model and way too big for her. Their boots would get wet of course but she had packed an extra pair for the trip and wasn't worried.

“Ya keep wastin’ money for a scam, won' be no cabin,” he teased but she could tell he liked the coat as it would keep his guns and satchel relatively dry.

“Who cares? I'm going to buy the cabin with the gold we're about to find.”

He snorted and offered his hand. When she took it, he stepped through without further ado and pulled her in his wake.

Momentarily the weight of the water on her shoulders and then she was through and when she looked up, they were at the entrance of a cave. They proceeded to climb in a little further to get away from the roar before they stopped.

“I knew it!” she twitched, squeezing Arthur’s hand with excitement. “Oh my god! The map is real! We're rich, Arthur!"

“Woman…” he sighed, then just clicked his tongue in resignation and shook his head.

“Was there ever a man as grumpy as you?” she grinned up at him, unbuttoning her Mackintosh.

“‘M only grumpy cause you could be naked, sittin’ on my lap right now, but instead we here.”

She motioned for him to take off his coat and handed him the lighted lantern, then folded the coats and left them by the entrance. “Thank God it's a cave this time. No more climbing.”

She whisked out the map again. “Says we go straight, then make a right at the juncture.”

When they turned the corner he stopped and she almost ran into his back. 

“I got news for ya.” The grin in his voice was unmistakable.

“What is it?” she tried to see around his broad back. 

He moved aside and there was a steep drop to their left. Unexpected vertigo buckled her legs and Arthur gripped her waist to keep her steady. “Hey, hey,” he cooed and pushed her against the cave wall. “Ain’t that high. Look.” 

He held the lantern over it and it was about thirty feet, which didn't change matters for her at all.

“I can do this,” she whispered, voice shaking.

He gave her a dubious glance. “Ya sure? I can go alone. Doubt anyone else comin' in here."

“I’m not staying here by myself in the dark. We only have the one lantern.”

“Okay. Lean back on the wall.” When she did, he grasped her hand. She closed her eyes when he started to walk along the ledge and she carefully crept along sideways, her back brushing the cave wall. A while later he stopped.

“Gimme the map.” She fumbled for it with closed eyes and held it out. There was a pause. 

“More news.”

She almost whimpered. “What now?”

“We gotta jump.”

“Are you bullshitting me right now Arthur?!” she hissed, her heart starting to thump harder.

“No. A section broke off.”

She moaned despite herself.

“Just wait here, I’ll be quick.”

She weighed the option of jumping against sitting alone in a dark cave with no light source, all manner of critters crawling over her and groaned a determined “I can do this,” trying to mask the clattering of her teeth.

He sighed. “Okay. Com'ere.” 

“Why? What are we doing?”

“Gonna take ya on my back.”

She sensed him crouch down and blindly felt her way to his shoulders and threw her arms around his neck.

“Savigne...” he paused when he stood up. 

“If you tell me I’m too heavy, I’m going to lose it!” This had been a running joke now for the last few weeks. She was aware she had gained a little weight and was quite self conscious about it, but Arthur was having a blast, casually slapping her ass as she was walking by or lustily fondling her thighs in bed.

“Was gonna say, relax yer hold. Need to breathe.” He tapped her arm and she loosened her viselike grip a little.

He slung his hands under her thighs but not before patting her buttocks. 

“What’s that about?” she growled.

“Just adjusting. For balance.”

“Bullsh-”

He jumped and a yelp tumbled out her throat, echoing in the cave.

He lowered her down and she clung to his shirt, eyes tightly screwed. 

“Fine now.”

She carefully peeked out and took a deep breath. “God, we will have to do that again,” she shuddered. 

“Show me the map.” 

He inspected it, then simply walked off with the lantern, leaving her trembling against the wall in the dark.

“Arthur!”

He returned and offered his hand, not even trying to hide the grin on his face. She gripped his hand with a glare and leaned back on the wall and crabwalked as he pulled her into another tunnel.

When they arrived at a juncture he made a left. The passage narrowed more and more and he took the lead as they squeezed sideways trough the slim openings, trying to fit their arms and legs around the rocks.

“Maybe ya should have gone first," she grinned over his shoulder. "Easier to push ya through from behind if that pretty ass o’yours gets stuck.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“Should be right up here,” he said, inspecting the map and made a right. “Don’t know how ya were gonna do this on yer own,” he muttered, inspecting the surroundings.

Probably couldn’t have, she thought but her pride didn’t allow her to say it.

They reached what looked like a dead end and he ran his hands across the wall. One of the rocks moved and he fumbled to pull it out. Then he shone the lantern into the gap and reached in, retrieving a folded piece of paper.

“There’s yer gold,” he sighed and handed it to her.

“Hold up the light!” she squealed with excitement. She was careful in unfolding it because it felt damp and fragile. She turned it around and read the words “final map” in a corner. “Oh my god, it’s the final piece!”

He hummed over her shoulder, not impressed.

“Does it look like anything to you?”

“Hard to tell. We’ll take a look outside.”

They ambled back to the jumping point. “Don’t fondle my ass,” she warned as she climbed on his back again.

“Think I earned it,” he countered shamelessly and did exactly that.

He jumped across and lowered her on shaky legs, then turned and gave her a crushing smack of a kiss. They found their way back to the cave entrance, bundled back up in their mackintoshes and waded through the waterfall. Savigne gulped deep breaths of relief when they came out into daylight. She ran ahead ahead and hastily hugged Frost's neck, glad that the horses were fine and not Murfree food.

“What he do?” Arthur asked drily from behind her.

“He was a good boy and didn’t act insufferable because he missed a bath,” she sighed and walked over to hug Cricket next because you can’t just hug one horse and not the other.

He muttered under his breath as he stuffed the lantern and the raincoats into the basket tied to his horse. 

Amused how invested he was in the Sunday baths now, she was about to tease him when suddenly she was grabbed from behind and the cold steel of a blade appeared at her throat. 

The click of a gun cocking stilled Arthur immediately.

“Eaaasssyy now, mister,” came a voice from her right. A man stepped into her view. He was tall and skinny with greasy blond hair hanging into his eyes. The denim overalls hanging loosely over the skeletal frame of his naked bony shoulders was stained with all manner of blotches, some of them undoubtedly the dull maroon of blood. Her eyes drifted to his face: Protruding eyebrows framing a set of cunning, cold grey eyes. His nose had clearly been broken at some point and had healed somewhat crooked. Once, when she was perusing books about exotic animals at the library she had seen the picture of a naked mole and he reminded her of that - big teeth, skin pale and hairless, eyes beady. He was marred with an old gash on his left cheek. In his extended hand a sawed off shotgun, pointing at Arthur with cold precision.

Arthur calmly resumed and finished his packing before he turned around, palms up in placation. His eyes immediately flicked to her, the knife at her throat, then to whoever was standing behind her.

“There a problem?” was his mild question to the man with the gun.

Savigne swallowed as her pulse picked up. Her eyes darted between Arthur and the man, lingering on the gun in his hand and finding their predicament increasingly grim. They hadn't encountered anyone on their way to the clearing, so the odds of someone riding by and offering at least a window of surprise were very low. Her heart sunk with the realization that they could die right here, right now, on this random Fall morning and nobody would even find their bodies. Or...their fate could be a lot worse than death.

“Yeah there is, partner,” the man said amicably. His grin revealed gaps of missing teeth. “Yer on our land.”

Arthur, bizarrely composed given the circumstances, gave him a long look with hooded eyes. “That so?”

The man nodded as his grin grew and stepped closer. The hand around her waist tightened and she was forced to rise on her heels to accommodate the blade. The sour, musky stench wafting off the man behind her turned her stomach and she almost gagged. Her eyes drifted down to his hand, caked in dirt, fingernails jagged and long as if he had burrowed his way out of a grave. She had to fight the urge to keep her hands up in surrender instead of clawing it off herself. 

“Don’ like strangers much,” was the easy answer, delivered with a toothy grin. She stared hypnotized at his wide mouth with those long yellow teeth and the fat lips, imagining them chomping on human flesh. A fresh wave of bile rose in her throat and she swallowed it back down.

“Just passing through,” Arthur drawled, head swiveling as if to take in the vista but more likely assessing who else was out there.

A low chuckle behind her and Arthur’s eyes flicked to the spot over her shoulder again. “Might wanna take yer hands off my woman,” was his calm suggestion.

Against the backdrop of a hyperventilating Savigne, the slight tremble in the blond man’s gun arm and the shallow and fast, dog-like panting of the Murfree behind her, Arthur looked absurdly collected, as if he had just woken up from a restful sleep. 

"Maybe yer just passin' through, cowboy," was the tease from over her shoulder, colored with amusement. "But this here is city folk. She ain't yer woman cause yer friggin' in yer tent thinkin' on her."  

“You nick her even a little, y'aint leavin' here alive,” was Arthur’s dry retort, eyes icing over. A deliberate pause before the addition of “Boy.” 

“Watch what ya call me, mister!” She heard the shift from hyena laugh to anger in the voice and shuffled her feet to regain her balance as the arm across her waist tightened like a coiling snake.

“Y'aint no man, hidin’ behind a woman,” was the calm assessment.

“Hey! I’m holdin’ the gun here!” the other man barked, waving his arm but again, it fell on deaf ears as Arthur’s eyes remained glued to her captor.

“Ain’t hidin’,” was the hiss at her ear as the blade momentarily wobbled, then steadied again. He roughly pulled her against himself and ignored her shudder of disgust, perhaps even enjoyed it. His voice was shrewd when he spoke again: “She smell nice.” He took a deep inhale of her hair. Savigne pressed her lips flat to keep the whimper in. And her breakfast. “Pretty, too,” he drawled on. “Just had us an openin'.” The hand on her waist spread like a spider on her belly. “Poor Barb died with m'baby in'er.” Savigne's head swam and the world dimmed a little as he placed his chin on her shoulder. “What ya say?” was the low song in her ear. “You like rough guys, do ya? Ya gonna looovee me. Things I'll do to ya...no man even dreamed doin’.”

“Ain’t gonna ask again, boy!” Arthur spat, turning fully towards her and squaring his feet.

“Hey!” the man with the gun to his left barked for Arthur’s attention.

“Shoot ‘im in the gut,” her captor crooned. “So he die slow, watchin'.”

To her horror the hand on her stomach started to crawl downwards and she reflexively gripped it and tried to wrestle it off herself.

Then everything happened at once.

In an unfathomably instantaneous blur Arthur drew - no, more like a gun materialized in his hand. Later, Savigne would rewind this moment in her head dozens of times and still not understand how it happened. She had seen a mock duel and a shooting competition at a county fair once and had marveled at the speed of the shooters. But what happened in that clearing that day was leagues beyond that. One moment Arthur’s hands were still slightly upturned and away from his belt, then she might have blinked for a fraction of a second, and suddenly he had a gun in his hand and with expert subterfuge he never broke eye contact with her captor but it was the blond man’s face to his left that disintegrated. 

The gunshot boomed and echoed in the clearing, startling the horses and making them dance away as Savigne jumped with surprise. She stared, frozen stiff with shock and the man behind her stilled in incomprehension, too. The body collapsed almost in slow motion, first sinking on its knees, then toppling over as blood continued to spurt from the ruin that barely a second ago had been a face.

The swelling of her captor’s lungs pushed against her back and was followed by the bellowing thunder in her ear: “YOU PIECE OF SHIT, FUCKIN' PIECE OF SHIT, FUCK YOU!!”

Arthur didn’t even look at the toppled body. He didn’t look at her either. He kept his eyes glued to that spot over her shoulder. The knife on her neck instantaneously appeared against her stomach, the tip of the blade prickling her shirt above her belt.

“Gonna rip out her innards for that!” was the howl as she momentarily closed her eyes, afraid that she would pass out.

"He was pointin’ a gun at me,” Arthur drawled with a bizarrely casual tone and twirled the gun smoothly back into his holster. His palms rose back up. If this was done to pacify the Murfree, she didn’t understand why it would work. The blur of a draw he did a moment ago would persuade anyone otherwise. But to her surprise, despite his loud breathing, she sensed the hesitation of the man behind her. “Man’s got a right to defend himself, aint he?” Arthur pressed on, his voice calm and coaxing, a far cry from the frostiness earlier. The panting in her ear became raspy and quieter.

“Y'ain’t done point a gun at me, have ya?” Arthur continued, straightening a little and relaxing his shoulders. The repose in his eyes would have confused an angry beast and in the same manner it served to restrain the man behind her too. At least for the moment. The silence was so deep, she literally heard the blood from the corpse to her right splattering to the ground.

The sullen, almost childlike “No,” mumbled against her hair surprised her but maybe it shouldn't. She didn't know who these people were but it was easy to deduce the heavy inbreeding and the dullness of the offspring that would follow.

Arthur nodded in easy agreement. “Then get outta here.”

Another silence.

“Bullshit!" Uncertain. Nervous. "Y’aint gonna let me go.” Lilted like a question.

“Savigne, he nick ya?” For the first time since this madness had started, his blue eyes drifted to lock on hers. Her head stuttered with a shake.

“Good. No harm done. Ya let my woman go and I let you go. Simple.”

The Murfree thought on that for a moment. “She comin’ with me,” he tried and there was desperation in his tone. As if he wanted to believe Arthur but couldn't quite get there.

“Ain’t gonna happen,” was the flat answer that brooked no argument.

"I know youse shoot me in the back, you fuckin' piece of shit!”

To her amazement, Arthur unfastened his gun belt and loped it away.

Another silence.

The knife tip on her gut wobbled and this time she did feel a bite but she didn’t say anything. Then suddenly for the first time the hold across her waist loosened just a little bit.

“You can take m'horse.” Savigne’s eyes widened with disbelief as Arthur walked to Frost and brought him over by the reins.

The two men looked at each other for a long moment and then she was sharply pushed forward and stumbled, but Arthur caught her before she could fall on her face. His left arm curled around her back as she clawed at his shirt and tried to burrow into his chest. Not even a moment later she heard a sharp “Hya!”, the slap on a rump and Frost taking off.

"Stay here,” Arthur said quietly into her ear and before she had a chance to react he untangled himself from her grip and stalked to his gun belt. He whistled sharply as he reached for it and refastened it with smooth expertise and Frost immediately bucked his rider and turned to trot back towards them. The man remained a tangled heap on the ground for a long moment, then finally got his legs under him and scrambled off but Arthur casually shot him in the thigh and he collapsed with a sharp cry. She saw him clearly for the first time and realized why the 'boy' was taken as an insult. He was younger than she expected, maybe barely twenty years old with a mop of tangled, messy brown hair and few whiskers for a beard. Pale and gangly like his friend had been, he sat cradling the wound on his thigh, glaring back at them with naked hatred.

"Savigne,” Arthur said and her gaze snapped to him. “Look away.” There was something in his eyes she had never seen before and he didn’t give her a chance to decipher it as he turned and marched off towards the yowling Murfree without another word. In one hand he held his large hunting knife, in the other his gun.  

She meant to look away like he had asked but couldn’t tear her eyes off him, striding over as the other man desperately raised his blade. She flinched when another gunshot rang and the man’s hand disappeared in a mist of red. Her skin crawled at the screech that erupted at that. Last thing she saw was Arthur calmly holstering his gun and hefting his blade before he knelt over the man. Then she turned away, doubled over and threw up. She dry heaved, gasping for breath and threw up again. There was a low mutter that sounded something like “Ya think ‘m gonna let ya run off after you put hands on my woman, boy?”, chased by a soft thump and a wet moan. She stumbled towards the lake on shaky legs, falling to her knees as her vision darkened and brightened again, crawling on all fours to reach the water. 

She sat there, mind momentarily blank before she jumped at another high shriek and remembered why she was there, washed her face and repeatedly slurped water from trembling hands to gargle the sour aftertaste from her mouth. Then she leaned over and dunked her head into the lake to restart her brain. She remained submerged like that for as long as she could, finding comfort in the quietness under the water. When she felt her lungs burn she sat up, sputtering and wheezing for breath, hair plastered on her face. From the corner of her eye she saw Arthur drop to his haunches beside her to quickly wash off his hands before he turned and roughly pulled her into his arms. She collapsed into his embrace and clung to him, shivering like a leaf as his hold tightened.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, chin resting on her head as she scurried her face into his neck, chasing the comfort of his familiar scent. 

She tried to nod although she wasn’t sure of the answer.

She felt the thunder of his heart, a stark contrast to his cool demeanor, against her cheek before he gripped her shoulders and leaned back to see her face.

”I’m fi-”

He crushed his lips against hers, his hands holding her head in an iron vise. She was too stunned to respond and took a shuddering breath when he broke it.

”Look at me.”

She did and his eyes bored into hers, then crawled over her face before he pulled her closer and kissed her again.

”Yer okay,” he soothed, hands wiping wet hair off her cheeks.

His eyes roamed the clearing. “We should leave," before he looked at her again. “Can you stand?”

She wordlessly hauled herself up. His arm circled her waist and she half walked, half stumbled with his aid towards the horses. When she attempted to climb up Cricket he gripped her waist and lifted her on Frost instead. “You ride with me,” he said before he slung himself up to sit behind her. “Don’ want ya to fall off.” She nodded in a daze as his arm came around to secure her against him. He called for Cricket to follow as he turned Frost around and galloped out of the clearing, into the surrounding woods. 

How long they rode on, she couldn’t tell. It felt like a long time but when they came out to a well traveled main road, the sun was still in its early afternoon position. She had no idea where they were and placed her hand on his lying across her abdomen. 

“Ya good?”

She nodded again.

“Sorry,” was her late raspy response.

“What ya sorry for?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbled. “For being useless.”

“Y’aint useless. I don’ doubt those two butchered seasoned men.”

“I…almost got us killed," she whimpered the realization breaking her voice. "Or worse.”

He didn’t say anything for a while. Then: “Ain’t yer fault. This is a hard country, Savigne. Full of hard men.”

A hard country, she thought, where the weak get weeded out like chaff so only the strong remain standing. Where men abuse children, women and other men until they run into a smarter, faster, more ruthless man. The image of him dismissively reholstering his gun while he hefted his blade, looming over the man on the ground flashed before her eyes. This is his country. I’m just living in it.

Her hand tightened on his. “How far are we from Valentine?”

“Why, ya wanna wash off?”

She thought of the man’s vile breath on her neck and that grimy hand caressing her abdomen. Her stomach gurgled, looking for something else to push out but luckily failed. “Can we?” she shuddered.

“Sure,” was his soft response.

They arrived in Valentine late afternoon. The horses were stabled before they headed to the hotel. Bill looked up when they walked in - both of them wet, Savigne pale and shivering, her hair a tangled mess and Arthur covered in blood. A true professional, he wordlessly reached for their clean clothes basket and added the key of the room with the large tub to it.

“Thank you,” Savigne croaked, voice still shaking. “Sorry, we’re a bit…late today.”

“No worries Ms. Ricci,” he said coolly. She sighed and ignored the fact that he had begun to call her Ms instead of Miss a while ago. Men had a barometer about these things she couldn’t read and for whatever reason, somewhere along the way Bill had decided that she wasn’t single anymore just like he had decided it would be Arthur’s money he would take and she was too tired to argue.

“We’ll bring the dirty clothes later,” she mumbled as she turned to the corridor leading to the baths.

After she washed her body and her hair she just sat there and quietly sobbed for a long time. Arthur didn't acknowledge it, didn't talk through it and instead pulled her onto his lap and gently brushed her shoulders and ran water over her hair. She sat with her back cradled in his chest and cried until she ran out of tears. Maybe because she had been having such a great day until the shockingly sudden turn of events; maybe because she was overwhelmed and utterly fed up with being surrounded by so many men trying to hurt her, or maybe the evil she faced today superseded all her prior experiences, but the encounter had shaken her a lot more than the ordeal with the O’Driscolls had.

After she was all cried out she leaned back into his embrace, feeling calmer and lighter.

“What would have happened to me,” she whispered at long last, “if you hadn’t been there?”

His hands glided over her stomach, his thumb lingering on the small cut on her skin. “I was there.”

“But what if I was alone?” Her head dropped on his shoulder.

He sighed and kissed her temple. “You wasn’ alone.”

His refusal to feed her nightmares was annoying but understandable.

“You were never going to let him leave, were you?”

“No.”

A moment passed.

“He looked young,” she mumbled.

“A young snake’s bite will still kill ya,” he said carefully.

She turned in his lap to sit facing him. Her fingers ran through his hair and danced down his cheeks. For reasons she couldn’t explain, the question of what he had done to the Murfree clogged her throat. Had he slid his neck? Had he stabbed the man to death? Or, in his thirst for poetic justice, had he actually disemboweled him because that’s what the man had threatened to do to her? She was afraid that if she asked, he would actually tell her so she shied away from the question and settled for a whisper of “Why did you kill him like that?”

There was a silence as he watched her, eyes devoid of remorse or doubt while she ran her fingers over the muscles in his shoulders and the puckered reminder of his most recent injury on his left shoulder. “You think less of me for what I did?”

She mulled this over for a few moments, then sighed “No.” In her gut, she knew that as young as he had been, the man had been honest when he had promised to do unspeakable things to her. “It's just...I don’t understand it."

"You won'," he shrugged deftly. "Some men are just evil."

She nodded. "Maybe I can't understand it and you know what - maybe I don't need to." She locked eyes with him. "Because you do and...my safety is your job.” She snaked her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “Because you’re my man,” she whispered into his ear as she hugged him.

The hands caressing her back stilled with surprise for a long moment. Then he pressed a long kiss on her shoulder. And another further up her neck. He swiped her hair away as he continued the trail of kisses to her cheek before fingers on her chin turned up her face and he kissed her properly. 

“Damn right I am,” he mumbled against her lips.

[verdemoun]

jumping ahead in the timeswap au because i am the captain personally i headcanon jack not making it to 20. i think life had well and truly defeated him and he was too tired to keep running, and he ended up hanged for ross's murder.

side tangent a) imagine the emotional devastation the VDLs in modern era would feel reading that. there's a grainy photo/sketch and they can almost tell what jack looks like, how much he looks like john, how old he already looks at 19, and then there's the noose sitting on his shoulders waiting for the trapdoor to be pulled. the article portrays ross as a poor elderly man of honor killed by jack marston, outlaw, a dangerous sociopath

side tangent b) john and jack being reunited. john really struggling not to be angry because he wanted/expected so much better for jack: knowing he was never an ideal father (or even a good father) but how much he didn't want his son to be like him, how clear he had been to never become an outlaw. then, the grief. it's only been 3 years but being able to see how much those three years have changed jack, physically and mentally, just by the way he carries himself and that dead, destroyed look in his eyes. jack struggling not to be angry for a lot of the same reasons because at 16 he was left taking care of abigail as heartbreak and illness killed her, and a ranch they could barely take care of together. jack realising his mom, dad and little sister got to play happy family in current day without him.

well now that that's out of the way: dues-ex-isaac morgan

isaac morgan deciding jack marston is his personal responsibility. sure, the whole recipe of staying in a house for a few weeks slowly learning about the current day slowly works for most VDLs, but isaac understands that not only is jack 19 (a teenager) but the culture shock isn't quite as severe going from 1914 as it was 1899.

isaac throws rocks at the window until jack sneaks out his first night in modern day. he forces a helmet onto his head and gives a vague warning that 'it's going to be faster than a horse', before setting off at very illegal speeds on his motorbike

jack immediately loves it. it's very much what he needed: the adrenaline, feeling like he's rebelling, seeing the chrome and crowds of city as a blur become more and more recognizable in outdated suburbs until they're pushing 100mph on the highway

isaac strategically takes him out to the desert, because the desert really hasn't changed that much, and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. they lay down and trauma-bond about how fucked their lives have been (isaac, who experienced the timewarp like a child moving house and had to teach things to his 19th century mother, jack, who grew up in the chaos of the VDL gang with his mother as the only constant: deadbeat dads taken to the metaphorical extreme).

'there's only two things you really need to know: you can't buy alcohol until you're 21 and cigarettes are actually really bad for you' 'cigarettes are BAD??????'

isaac introduces him to cliche teenage emo music through a dodgy bluetooth speaker. jack marston actually listens to music for the first time

arthur getting a frantic phone call from john saying jack snuck out

charles offering to help track them down, because they immediately know isaac is involved

charles and arthur finding a drunk isaac and jack air guitaring to mcr in the middle of the desert

isaac and jack are instant best friends. instead of the coddling most of the gang do when something is new and initially intimidating, isaac laughs at him and it's honestly more comforting. like yeah, traffic lights take a hot second, but jack does feel dumb for not realising that the changing lights and loud beeping meant it was time to walk/run.

isaac literally doesn't hold his hand unless he has to, meanwhile jack has had months of living alone as an outlaw in 1914. they balance each other out in the worst ways. isaac will say they shouldn't walk through a dark alley and jack is like pfft if someone tries to mug us i can take them

their hangouts go from jack bookworm marston helping isaac study at college to isaac being the one calling his dad because 'heeey we might be in jail' in 3 hours. all parental figures involved are going grey with stress

[azenorie]

morston ficrec

some (goddamned) faith by manic_intent

rating: explicit. archive warning: no archive warnings apply. categories: M/M. additional tags: that AU where arthur goes with john on his sabbatical / alternate universe - canon divergence / first time / christmas prompts/ pre-canon.

summary:

“You didn’t have to follow me,” John said, after half a day of Arthur saying not a goddamned word.

a haunting of men by ididnotmakethemoon

rating: teen & up audiences. archive warning: no archive warnings apply. categories: M/M. additional tags: vampire.

summary:

"If Arthur didn't live, at least he didn't die, either."

stangers in the night by manic_intent

rating: explicit. archive warning: no archive warnings apply. categories: M/M. additional tags: that AU where john and arthur belong to different gangs / alternate universe / alternate universe - canon divergence / first time.

summary:

John’s hand closed on the holster of his pistol. Before he could draw, someone hauled the stranger back. Big, handsome man with a red bandana and a blue flannel shirt. He smiled at the stranger with very white teeth. “Jameson, why’re you bothering a kid for?” Jameson scowled. “Ain’t none of your business, Morgan. Fuck off.” “It’s the middle of the day and I’m angling for a quiet drink. You starting a fight ain’t gonna be so quiet,” Morgan said.

new blood by manic_intent

rating: explicit. archive warning: no archive warnings apply. categories: M/M. additional tags: that omegaverse AU where alphas and omegas are a different species of people / omegaverse / alpha/beta/omega dynamics / non-traditional alpha/beta/omega dynamics / alternate universe / first time.

summary:

“You trying to get me in trouble, kid?” Arthur said as he slowed Boadicea to a walk. The skinny kid who Hosea and Dutch had fished out of some nowhere town out west scowled and straightened up in the saddle. He wasn’t much of a horseman—his ‘borrowed’ horse, the usually docile Lady May, snorted and chewed at the bit. If he’d stolen Lady May out from under the noses of everyone in camp though, he was in trouble. “Not a kid,” said the kid, sticking out his lower lip. “Name’s John.” “And how old are you, John?” Arthur gave John a pointed once-over.

rearrange me by dandywarholic

rating: explicit. archive warning: no archive warnings apply. categories: M/M, F/M. relationships: john marston/arthur morgan, mary gillis linton/arthur morgan. additional tags: growing up story kinda / crushing real bad but youre a rat man / and the person youre crushing on is a large Rat man / id tag low honor morgan but this is just kinda how i hc him when he was in his twenties / A BITCH / First Time / they dont have great sex education in the west / nothing happens while john is underrage / arthurs a fuckhead but hes not THAT big of a fuckhead / dubcon / sorry to anyone who read before I tagged that / I had one job

summary:

Ever since John was young, Arthur had always been incredibly mean to him. This wouldn't matter to him if it were anybody else. And he really wished Arthur Morgan were anybody else.

eye of the beholder by Yuu_chi

rating: explicit. archive warning: creator chose not to use archive warnings. categories: M/M. additional tags: hurt/comfort / post injury / pining / chapter three spoilers / Arthur's Journals.

summary:

He thinks of John last night, on his back flicking through the pages with the faintest look of wonder on his face. Of the way he’d clutched it close when Arthur had tried to pull it away. It’s enough to make his sore heart ache, and he wonders why he does this every time.

two fools west of chicago by atqi

rating: explicit. archive warning: no archive warnings apply. categories: M/M. additional tags: fluff and smut.

summary:

"You're acting strange." John said warily, his voice soft, slow, careful. It was like staring down his rifle scope at a herd of deer. One false move and he could find himself in the middle of a stampede he couldn't escape. Arthur held his jaw tight. He moved to sit up and turned, looming over him. - A younger Arthur Morgan and John Marston take a job to track down a businessman's mistress and discover an affection for each other on the road that ends up giving them both what they need. All sexual content is 100% consensual and everyone has a good time except for the one guy who gets shot, but that's not during sex.

hear the river say your name by midnights

rating: not rated. archive warning: creator chose not to use archive warnings. categories: M/M. additional tags: pre-canon / angst / fluff and angst / angst with a happy ending / major character injury / (everyone ends up ok tho) / recovery / injury recovery / kissing / smoking / anal fingering / oral sex / anal sex / getting together / hurt/comfort / they're dumb / blow jobs / outdoor sex.

summary:

figures, it would take a bullet to the gut for john to get his shit together. ft. aggressive smoking, pining, and cowboy fools

samaritan by fallen_arazil

rating: explicit. archive warning: graphic depictions of violence / major character death. categories: M/M, F/M. relationships: john marston/arthur morgan, eliza/arthur morgan. additional tags: child death / alternate universe - canon divergence / angst / relationship(s) / protective john marston / families of choice / alternate universe - bounty hunters / POV third person limited / divided loyalties / hurt/comfort / dysfunctional relationships.

summary:

Second epilogue added   Arthur Morgan followed his own advice and left the gang when he had a child (the canonical Eliza and Isaac), taking up as a bounty hunter. Along the way he picked up a young John Marston, who thus never runs with Dutch. Despite leaving, Arthur never truly left his connections behind him, and when Dutch asked for help, he always answered. In 1899, during the event of the game, this arrangement might eventually force Arthur to choose to whom he truly owes his loyalty. John sneered. "You think I'd protect Dutch Van der Linde? Believe me, if I knew where he was, I'd tell you. Hell, I'd go get him myself. He's worth 10 large right now." Milton sneered right back. "I am not a fool, Mister Marston, kindly do not treat me as one. You would do nothing without Arthur Morgan's say-so, and that will be what puts you on the gallows right beside him."

we are lost men by drow

rating: teen & up audiences. archive warning: no archive warnings apply. categories: M/M. additional tags: the classic sharing a room scene.

summary:

He wonders what John is thinking right now, with his hand raised as if to stroke his cheek. He wants to say, 'what are you doing, you damned fool' but instead. Instead, he closes his eyes.

white december by WhyWouldIEver

rating: teen & up audiences. archive warning: no archive warnings apply. categories: M/M. additional tags: alternate universe - canon divergence / pining / oblivious pining / kissing / john and abigail are bff / soft boys because it's christmas / arthur angry arthur sad arthur is confusion / now they’re treeeeee tree fallin’ / i love myself for that pun / legend of the east satchel logic / blizzards & snowstorms.

summary:

John's been avoiding Arthur for years, much to Arthur's confusion. A blizzard rolls in when they're riding back to the gang after a job and now they gotta find a way to keep warm while cooped up in a tiny shack to wait out the storm. Naturally, some secrets are revealed.

don't let it fool you by midnights

rating: not rated. archive warning: creator chose not to use archive warnings. categories: M/M. additional tags: pre-canon / first kiss / pining / angst / angst with a happy ending / hand jobs / bonfires / drinking / john has a crush / young arthur morgan / high honor arthur morgan / (obviously) / fluff and angst / brokeback mountain if it had a happy ending and was about arthur and john / and was also... totally different

summary:

dutch sends arthur and john to a ranch in big valley to tame a herd of wild horses. ft. horse tamin', star gazin', and pining

all of them wolves by thegoodreverend

rating: explicit. archive warning: creator chose not to use archive warnings. categories: M/M, multi. relationships: john marston/arthur morgan, abigail roberts marston/john marston. additional tags: SLOW BURN y'all / touch-starved arthur / the trapper au nobody asked for / AU / trapper!arthur morgan / bisexual arthur morgan / bisexual john marston / one good boy and one screaming raccoon trying to get out of that outlaw life / there's some abigail/john/arthur mostly just mentioned / rancher ot3 au is the fandom hill i will die on

summary:

Arthur Callahan has left a name and a lifetime behind him. He's content with a life of solitude in the foothills north of Big Valley. Things are simple, and safer than his time riding with Dutch van der Linde. Until one day, they aren't.

moving right along by devils_trap

rating: explicit. archive warning: underage*. categories: M/M. additional tags: pre-canon / john marston and his fight to prove himself / would it be weird to tag for home invasion bc that's...what this is / homestead robbery home invasion / bisexual john marston / bisexual arthur morgan / crossdressing / genderplay / not sure how to tag for that since it's all john and all kinda nebulous / period-typical homophobia / implied/referenced child abuse / period-typical sexism / though it's...arthur pigtail pulling more than anything / alcohol use / this became a super long character study sorry y'all / praise Kink / anal sex / anal fingering / rimming oral / sex / top arthur / bottom john

summary:

There’s nothing like it: the knowledge of a job well done, a plan carefully crafted, Arthur fucking Morgan's stamp of approval. Even though it hasn’t exactly happened yet, it’s going to go flawlessly, John can feel it. John made sure of it.

* john's age is not stated.

a problem shared by laetificat

rating: explicit. archive warning: no archive warnings apply. categories: M/M.

summary:

Arthur knows John like he knows his own skin.

[herbatalover]

Hello, hope your having a good day/night?

I dont know if your still taking requests but if you are could I request HH Arthur Morgan x LH Male S/O

A/N: I'm sick, so I might write more fanfics now. Hopefully you'll enjoy <3 I'm sorry if it's not what you had in mind!

HH Arthur Morgan x LH Male Reader

"Crazy bastard"

You were sitting by the fire late at night, drowning your sorrows in some whiskey. It was the usual time where dark thoughts came over you. You were a bad man. A horrible one. You lived a bad life. Not by choice... You had to adapt to the life you were thrown into.

Taken in by a strange couple and their unruly son when you were just a kid. Saved from getting shop by an angry shop lifter. What an interesting day.

"Hand them over boy..." The man growled at you. You hugged the two cans of beans closer to you, glaring at him. You were desperate, starving. You didn't know how to use a gun, how to hunt, so you had to steal. This time however, you got unlucky.

"Piss off" you hissed at him. The man looked furious, pulling a gun out, pointing at you. You froze, feeling like a caged animal. Nowhere to go, getting killed over some food... Not exactly how you wanted to die. Your pa would be disappointed.

No, he'd be disappointed if you gave up. You won't. You held the cans tighter, only raising one hand slowly. The man watched you, hoping you'll pass the cans over to him, and instead was greeted with a middle finger. You gave him a grin.

"I am not dying yet partner" you pushed down the fear, getting ready for a bullet. If you're going to die, then at least with some honor.

There was a gunshot.

But the bullet never came. Instead, the man fell on his knees, wide eye, blood slowly leaving his mouth. He fell on the ground, face first. You looked at him confused before noticing a hole in the back of his head. There was a quiet chuckle behind him.

"Nice work Arthur" said a black haired man, you soon-to-be leader, walking over the man, approaching you. "Now who do we have here?"

From that day on you joined Dutch's boys, becoming their second son. You grew close with Arthur, akward conversation turning into late night talks. But, it wasn't a family you hoped for.

You killed many people. Men, women, children sometimes too. Robbed people, both wealthy and poor. Became an errand boy, especially when Herr Strauss joined, having to go around collecting debts. Beating the crying people who begged for mercy.

You were there when the Backwater mess happened. When John got brought back from being torn apart by wolves. When they brought the woman, Mrs. Adler and the "not O'Driscoll" in. When they brought Sean back home.

And now you were stuck near Rhodes, staring at the fire, thinking how your life would look if you'd try to be a good man. If you tried to behave. If you didn't stole those damn beans.

You got up, sighing heavily, feeling the alcohol go into your blood. You headed over to your tent, passing Dutch. You could've stayed quiet, but something pushed you to open your mouth.

"There he is... When are we going to Tahiti, boss?" You scoffed at him, only to get a confused look. You narrowed your eyes "we both know you plan is bullshit, so how about you tell everyone the truth that we're fucked?" You growled. Dutch, now turning irritated turned to you.

"Cut it out, son. I get you're stressed, but we don't need that right now."

"oh I ain't stressed... I'm just seeing clearly" you grinned, but got yanked away to the side. You blinked confused and turned to yell at whoever grabbed you, until you realized it was your beloved Arthur Morgan.

"What are you doing Y/N?" He frowned and looked at Dutch with a sigh "he's been drinking again.... Don't mind him. You'll work it out, you always do" he nodded to him, pulling you away. You rolled your eyes, pushing him away, yet going in the same direction he was pulling you to - his tent.

"Why do you have to lick everyone's ass?" You muttered, walking in. Arthur frowned, following you.

"We're in a tough situation, no need to steer up more commotion" he walked closer to you. You turned to him, glaring at him.

"Of course, because you're the high and mighty Arthur 'Perfect Son' Morgan, aren't you?!"

He looked at you surprised. To be honest, you yourself wasn't quite sure where that came from.

You loved him. He was the love of your life, you'd never hurt him. But you were jealous. Jealous about how he was better than you. How he was nice to everyone, how they all adored him. How he got smiles and pats on the back while you got scowls and scoffs. You were a bad man, you knew that. But you wanted to be adored. To be known.

Yet being nice seemed to be pathetic.

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows, placing his hand on your cheek. You let out a quier sigh, turning your head away. He was looking at you a bit, then cupped your face, turning to him.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing" you pushed his hands away "go be adored. Go find someone who won't ruin your reputation. Go suck everyone's dick so they love you"

"The hell are you talking about?" He laughed, but stopped, noticing you were serious. He frowned, taking your jaw, turning your head to face him.

"I am not leaving you."

"I'm not good for you, Arthur!" You glare at him. "I'm a monster! A good for nothing killer, I don't deserve you, I'm not good for you!"

"Horseshit" the man rolled his eyes. "You're perfect for me"

"I'm not! Maybe you're perfect, but I-" you couldn't even finish because Arthur captured your lips in a soft kiss. You wanted to push him off, but sighed, melting into it. He snickered quietly to which he earned a hit (more of a tap) on the chest. He slowly broke the kiss, looking you in the eyes.

"That's not true" he smiled. "You're everything I could ask for"

You were staring at him quietly, before burying your face in his chest.

"... You smell like cigarettes" you changed the subject. You always did when you got embarrassed or didn't want to face the truth. He sighed softly, petting your head.

You stayed like this for a bit, before you could hear his voice again, jumping a bit as you didn't expect it.

"Hey Y/N?"

"Yes?"

"Have you had the dark thoughts again?" He placed his head on top of yours, petting you softly. You blinked.

".... Maybe a bit"

"You know what it means~" he hummed, one of his hands sliding down, grabbing your ass. You tensed up surprised before chuckling quietly.

"Crazy bastard...."

[karistiltskin]

what if i said "but I would die for you in secret" but imagine merlin and arthur.

peace lyric analysis as merthur:

"Our coming-of-age has come and gone

Suddenly the summer, it's clear

I never had the courage of my convictions

As long as danger is near

And it's just around the corner, darling

'Cause it lives in me

No, I could never give you peace"

OUR COMING-OF-AGE?? okay, listen. as we know, arthur's coming-of-age moment is linked to his coronation. He literally has an episode called "The Coming of Arthur" parts one and two (S03 E12-E13). it's arthur becoming king and merlin starting to finally feel like he's getting somewhere with their destiny because of arthur's crowning. this is our setting. we're now in the after.

"I never had the courage of my convictions as long as danger is near" SHUT UPPPP SHUT UPPPP like actually oh my god. as long as danger is near is so so sick and speaks so loud. merlin absolutely does have the courage of his convictions and just to clarify, collins dictionary [colin morgan ;) ] states it as the confidence to do what you believe is right, even though other people may not agree or approve. BUT when arthur is in danger he does not do the "right" thing. he listens to the giant lizard instead or gaius (still love him) and does anything, anything, to make sure arthur doesn't get harmed no matter what.

rip morgana and getting poisoned.

rip mordred's entire existence.

although arthur attracts danger, merlin attracts just as much. and merlin is magic. (ugh, I'm getting sad and the only reason i won't cry is cause i'm in the middle of a lecture. a nighttime lecture). merlin can never give arthur peace because he is everything arthur was conditioned to hate. arthur can never give merlin peace because he's a king with expectations from Camelot and neighboring kingdoms. aka they can never be peacefully together without the threat of danger from them both and towards their relationship.

"But I'm a fire, and I'll keep your brittle heart warm

If your cascade ocean wave blues comes

All these people think love's for show

But I would die for you in secret

The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me

Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?"

merlin lights arthur fires. that's it. that's the tweet.

merlin is also arthur's closest friend and confidant. he definitely gets arthur to see other perspectives on a situation and makes sure he remains compassionate and fair. for example, that look arthur gave merlin in S05 E11 during kara's trial?? my god. or the episode where arthur killed that one king's son under the influence of his uncle, the sleaze.

THEY WOULD DIE FOR EACH OTHER IN SECRET. NO ARGUMENTS. they've proved episode after episode again that they would no questions asked. people who don't know them just go "he's just a servant" or "you would choose him over your kind?" (ouch) not knowing the depth of their relationship. but yes. yes they would. and they would not have a single regret. they would deny the hell out of it but the proof is in their actions.

but you got a friend in me yes ma'am they do.

and it would be enough. it would. do they need a reminder that they were both born in mind of each other? that it was written since the beginning of time? that both of them have their own personal demons that instead of running away they'd take care of each other instead? that they're the most important person for each other and nothing can split them apart because they've grown to trust each other so much that their souls have intertwined? two sides of the same coin? other half of my soul, as the poets say???

"Your integrity makes me seem small

You paint dreamscapes on the wall

I talk shit with my friends

It's like I'm wasting your honor"

from arthur's pov he knows merlin is better than him. the way he interacts with people, his morals and values, his humbleness, just everything really. he pretends to be mad and upset about it but there's such deep admiration in it that he's actually self-aware.

dreamscape (google) definition: a landscape or scene with the strangeness or mystery characteristic of dreams

arthur finds merlin so strange!! so strange and mysterious.

the walls: i read this one fanfic on ao3 called "The Tragedy of Godhood" by Lilmia_Casand (read it!! it's so good. short, but beautiful) and the summary states:

"Merlin had gotten better at controlling his magic over the years, but it still spilled over, as if he were the source instead of someone calling upon it. It seeped into the castle walls, into the stone floors..."

This was the first thing I thought of (this quote stuck with me, it got bookmarked) and i couldn't have said it better. here's a play by play: arthur lives in a castle. the castle has walls. a lot of walls. he sees these walls everyday. the walls are familiar. the walls stay. the walls are forever. he can't imagine the castle without his walls.

walls = life/the future

magic is part of merlin's mystery because he's essentially hiding HIMSELF.

(does this make sense? no, prob not but bear with me)

there's an air about merlin where when you think about him, you realize you actually don't know much about him. he's a mystery. you know his jokes, you know where he's gonna be at whatever time of day (not the tavern, contrary to what arthur thinks), you know his favourite food. you don't know about his parents, you don't know why he saved arthur at his first feast, you don't know why he stays around.

arthur reflects on this and realizes it one day when merlin starts to become unavoidable in his mind. then he thinks, 'i really know nothing about this boy.' over time, merlin stays by his side, always, and arthur is so dependent on him that he starts worrying if he'll ever leave and if not him, camelot (he has abandonment issues 100%).

also see: S01 E10

hence, "you paint dreamscapes on the wall" is arthur saying, "you're the biggest mystery i've ever met and you make me wonder what every day will be like with you. will you be here tomorrow? and the day after that? until I'm married and have children who will favour you over me? will you be here to see them? to see me? i can't see it through the haze. i can't see you through the haze."

moving on—fuck that was so much longer than it needed to be—arthur and merlin talk shit about each other ALL THE TIME it's hilarious. and they know the one "bad" thing they talk about doesn't define their entire character because they hold each other in such high regard but... well...

(they definitely have regrets after)

"And you know that I'd swing with you for the fences

Sit with you in the trenches

Give you my wild, give you a child

Give you the silence that only comes when two people understand each other

Family that I chose, now that I see your brother as my brother

Is it enough?"

they both go all out for each other but with a focus on merlin, he goes ALL. OUT. it's war with him. nothing is half-assed. he fights, and fights, and never takes it less than seriously. but he also is there at arthurs lowest moments. when they're losing and when arthur is feeling too much or has too much on his shoulders. he's there. through it all.

merlin will give arthur anything he asks. he's already given him the purpose of his life and has hidden his magic until arthur's dying day because he thought that's what arthur needed and thought he would never accept him as he is so he gave it up.

but he's also given arthur the best thing he has. a friend. understanding. communication without words. souls recognizing souls, so much that the silence may be quiet but words are being exchanged through that same silence.

also, speechless eye conversations that range near the line of sexual tens—

then in the last line, merlin is saying: your people are my people. your burdens are my burdens.

"But there's robbers to the east, clowns to the west

I'd give you my sunshine, give you my best

But the rain is always gonna come if you're standing with me"

this goes both ways!! the only difference is that arthur's is visible and merlin's is hidden. explanation: arthur no doubt has enemies, it's not a secret. being a king and a target from the magic community, that man is almost getting killed everyday. it is not a peaceful life. he knows that. but nonetheless, he has shown merlin his best before—merlin is literally the reason he reaches the best person he can be, like the growth omg—so he knows he can give it but he knows there's a lot of baggage (external and internal) that comes with being with him.

as for merlin, his enemies are a secret. and they're dangerous. arthur faces some of those same enemies but from the product of what they've created, not them personally. no, merlin goes head-to-head with the people who curse/try to kill arthur. and he gives arthur a version of his best (he still has to keep many many secrets) but even if it's limited it's still genuine. although his secrets, his late nights, and his pure exhaustion are a part of him as well. and you can't have sunshine without rain.

okay ,WOW, i'm wrung out. it feels incomplete so i might add additional things later on but for now, enjoy.

once again, thank you if you read this, thank you bbc merlin, and thank you taylor swift.

(notice how i didn't use the word love once)

[dazednstoned]

idk if you’ve talked about this already but what do you think the name of John and Abigail’s daughter was?

Ironically, at some point I was gonna ask this as a general question bc it's something I'll have to include in my fic later on.

Susanna seems to be a relatively popular hc. It's after the song John sings in the epilogue and also the name of John and Abigail Adams' (who all the marstons names are inspired by) deceased daughter. I like this one, but I'm pretty sure there are already fics out there that use it so I don't wanna copy that.

There are some Arthur related ones, but I really dislike those. I don't think John, who can't even talk ab Arthur, would name his daughter something like Morgan or Artis. I like to think Abigail gave her the middle name Beatrice to honor Arthur indirectly though.

Sorry I didn't really answer ur question lol. But if anyone has any hcs for the marston daughters name I could use in my fic PLEASE lmk bc I can't think of any.

[coltermorning]

Of Love and Loss Ch. 15 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: You ask something of Arthur that leaves you with a decision to make in return—one that could cost you both.

Author’s Notes: Chapter fifteen of this one.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, minor character death, loss of parents, blood and injury, grief/mourning, survivor guilt, strangers to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, graphic depictions of violence

AO3 Link

~

Of Love and Loss

Fifteen: The Distraction of Choice

Word count: 5221

You awoke slowly, adjusting to consciousness and the glaring light against your eyelids. When you finally managed to open them, you already knew what you would find—the warmth against your body made it hard not to.

Arthur slept with you, facing you, arm thrown over your middle. His face was so close you debated kissing him. You hadn’t seriously considered doing it since just after the first time, but now it was a hard urge to shake.

The light was softer now as it fell on him, his eyelashes catching it, lit golden by it. His breathing was even and deep. Peaceful for all the hell he normally gave you. And all you could think was that if you kissed him now, maybe there was a chance that peace would remain. Bloom into something you wished he could feel for you.

You imagined it instead as the slightest turn of your mouth formed a smile not just for the way he had picked on you about imagining the very same with that postman but for the way it would feel with Arthur. The softest press of your lips to his, awakening him. His searching eyes as he looked at you, drawing back in surprise. Then acceptance, gentle and simple, as he came forward again and kissed you back. It would be slow this time. The last kiss had gotten away from you, but not this time. This one would be soft, a lazy press of your lips and a blocking out of everything but the two of you in this bed. There would be no expectation, no need for feelings shared or something more. Just a kiss that dragged on, ended, and left the two of you lighter than air. You wanted it so badly you found yourself moving closer to him. Your breathing quickened, and when he was hardly an inch away, difficult to discern the smaller details of this close, you stopped. As lovely as the thought was, it needed to remain that way—just a thought. Hidden within you as all your other deepest desires were, no more than hope tangled up with things long lost.

Arthur’s eyes opened.

Your heartbeat thundered through you as you wondered if you were imagining it, but no, that was really him looking at you, moving his head back when he realized you were so close and staring so deeply.

Neither of you said a word. You were too scared to, but his silence was unusual. He would normally fill the space with some kind of passing humor, but he didn’t. And suddenly the pressing weight of his arm wrapped around you was as telling as anything he could say, as he didn’t move it away. He didn’t back down apart from the slight surprise he had shown. So the pair of you just stared, still tangled together under the blankets.

Precious seconds passed, and then you felt his thumb rubbing back and forth against your side so carefully you were scared to move for fear of him stopping. But still he didn’t shy away, and he didn’t say anything. So you did.

“Why won’t you kiss me again?”

The whispered words were out before you could take them away, and his gaze stayed searching.

“Is that what you want?”

His deep, calm voice this close, that question…

“I thought I made that obvious.” You still could do no more than whisper that confession. Like saying it louder would make it harder to part with.

His eyes dipped to your mouth.

“What do you want?” you asked suddenly, shocked at the attention he was giving you.

His gaze met yours once more, and with it came all those feelings of attraction you’d had toward him before. His handsome face after that haircut, the blue-green starkness of his eyes. His full lips.

“Same as you, I suppose.”

Your heart was racing so fast the pressure of it built high in your chest—anticipation.

“Why don’t you?”

He pondered this, finally stopping those gentle caresses of his thumb. “‘Cause in a few weeks I’ll just end up leaving you. Then we part even more miserable.”

You hadn’t thought that far ahead—couldn’t get past this moment.

“But…” You had to rally your courage to say what you wanted to. “Since we know now, what the other wants…won’t we regret it if we never try?”

He looked to your mouth again. “Probably.”

“So kiss me. It’ll hurt to watch you leave either way.”

The confession surprised him—his eyes widened as they met yours. And with that look, you found the courage to speak. For his sake.

“I’ve grown more fond of you than I cared to admit before. And not just because of what you’re doing for me, taking me all this way. It’s because you’re…kind and smart and amusing. You’re careful with me even when I don’t deserve it. And it’s easier to be myself around you than I ever thought I could be after what happened to my parents.”

He studied you a beat. Then, “You don’t really know me.”

“I do. I know that you only see the worst parts of yourself, but you aren’t just your past, and you aren’t just some undeserving outlaw. Because when no one else would have, you scraped me off the ground and stood me back up. You buried my parents. You’ve taken me all this way. How can you not call that goodness?”

He didn’t have a response to that, averting his gaze.

“It’s why I want you to kiss me. Why I have since the last time you did it. Not because of what you’ve done for me, but because of the man that makes you. One I would be…honored to have the affection of.”

He moved his hand from your side to your hair, catching the horsehair braid between his fingers.

“But would I be doing right by you?” His mouth turned up at the side, the saddest smile you’d ever seen him make. “That’s all I’ve been asking myself this past week. Maybe it’s what I want, but is that really what you need from me?”

It was certainly what you wanted in this moment, lying so close to him. But what you needed?

You needed to be focusing on the uncertain future that lay ahead of you. You needed to be seriously considering that in a few weeks’ time, you would no longer have Arthur. That forward thinking was what your parents had been trying to teach you. But couldn’t you learn all that on your own, after this good thing you had with the man before you came and went? Couldn’t this be the last selfish thing you ever reached out and took for yourself?

Arthur was running his thumb over your braid, admiring it when he sighed, like something had settled within him. “I want you to think on it. If it’s worth it. Because if it means that much to you…” His eyes met yours, soft but brilliant in the light. “It’ll hurt you that much worse in a few weeks time.”

He didn’t say the rest—how much it would hurt him too. But you felt it as he looked so deeply into your eyes you could see, for the first time, every single thing he was feeling. It was the only time he had ever allowed you to see underneath the surface, to the man lying below.

Arthur rose from the bed and turned away before you could stop him. Your words died on your tongue, the moment slipping away. But you owed him at least this much—time to think on it, to do this one, simple thing he asked of you. So you let him get up and get properly dressed, let him give you instructions to leave the door locked after what had happened at the saloon the day before. You barely caught where he was going—the general store—because you were too busy watching him. Just watching, this man who held so much respect for you that he hadn’t done the one thing both of you desired most. All for your honor. You were starting to realize that you were the one who needed to work on that honor, not him. He was as honorable a man as you’d ever known.

~

Arthur’s mind raced as he walked, heading for the general store, remembering to put one foot in front of the other out of muscle memory alone. He was too busy wondering why he had just left you back in that room. He was a goddamn idiot. The fact you hadn’t told him so suggested he was somewhere along the right track, giving you space to think, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to turn right back around and storm those stairs and kiss you. He had wanted to before, but after all you’d said…

He’d never heard anything like that. From anyone. Even now, he was mixed with guilt and pride over the kindness you’d given him in those words. And it had honestly surprised him. He’d thought all this time, you’d been putting up with him at best. Despite what you said about being obvious in your affections, you had been anything but. And knowing now how much you cared for him…who was he to deny what that could turn into?

Just what that could turn into, Arthur pondered as he stepped inside the small store and found the cigarettes in a passing glance. He took two boxes, then one more, all as his mind turned circles around itself. He set the boxes down on the counter, and the store owner started, “That’ll be-”

“Here,” Arthur interrupted, already handing over the money owed. He didn’t have time for this. He was starting to realize, no matter how much he knew he had been right in doing it, that leaving you in that hotel was costing him precious time. So he paid and stashed the cigarettes in his satchel and was walking out the door just as another man tried walking into it, nearly running square into him in the process.

“Watch it,” Arthur snapped, his words filled with enough warning that the man jumped out of his way and let him pass. Arthur eyed him from his shiny boots to his equally shiny deputy badge and silently cursed himself a fool. But the deputy didn’t say a word, so Arthur moved on, his mind remaining elsewhere.

The walk back took entirely too long. What if you changed your mind? You hadn’t stopped him leaving before, so who was to say his words hadn’t changed your mind already? He hadn’t wanted to seem disagreeable in his answer, but looking at you after you had laid your thoughts so bare for him left nothing for him to say but the truth. It wasn’t a denial, he reminded himself. He hadn’t told you no. He’d as good as said he would do anything you asked of him. He just hoped you would keep on asking.

Arthur was so distracted that by the time he reached the street across from the hotel, he noticed someone following him that he should have noticed three blocks ago—the same man he had nearly run over in front of the store. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. This back street was out of the way and nearly across town. Arthur normally would have confronted the man, but that deputy badge on his chest didn’t sit right. He could just be upset over Arthur making him cower earlier, but Arthur had a feeling it had to do with his little jaunt to the saloon yesterday, with that idiot he had run into with more grease than gall.

Knowing whatever the reason, the man hadn’t yet confronted him and seemed to be staking him out instead, so Arthur turned left and away from the hotel. He wasn’t about to lead a deputy right to your door. He backtracked and took another sharp left into an alleyway, picking up his pace. He knew he could lose the man in the crowded town, but he needed a plan in the meantime. Any attention from the law was unwanted attention, so he thought of a way to get you out of that hotel and to the stable unnoticed. You had both overstayed your welcome. It was time to leave, time to get you home, time to push all thought of that kiss into the next town over lest he end up in worse shit than he already was.

~

Hours later than he should have been back, Arthur sprang through the door and locked it behind him, immediately rounding on you.

“Get up.”

You did so without hesitation. “What’s wrong?”

He crossed the space in a moment, taking your chair and setting it by the door. He sat in it, leaning forward so that he could hear any disturbance in the hallway outside.

“Arthur?”

He shushed you, the sound taking any further word from your mouth. What had gone wrong? You thought of what the bartender had said in that saloon about the new marshal and his brother. Had Arthur run into them?

You moved to stand beside Arthur, looking at him with questioning eyes instead. He finally met your gaze from under the brim of his hat, holding his finger to his mouth for you to keep quiet. You nodded, and he whispered in answer so low you could hardly hear him. “Ran into the law on the way back. Think I lost them, but I can’t be too sure.”

Damn. You two needed to get out of town. Now. You had come this far and wouldn’t get caught up here like you almost had in the last town.

“Let’s wait for night and leave then,” you whispered just as lowly.

Arthur shook his head. “Safer here. They’ll have to knock on every door to find us. We’ll have fair warning.” He nodded across the room, and you followed his gaze to the window—an escape, if necessary. The thought made you clam up with fear. Maybe they wouldn’t find you, and it wouldn’t come to that.

“What happened?”

He wouldn’t meet your eye, just kept leaning toward the door like it would spring open any second. “Nothing.”

You didn’t believe that in the slightest. “Arthur-”

“Hush,” he hissed. Then, even quieter, “They was tailing me. First one deputy, then two. This has to be about that Lawrence feller.”

Indeed. The barman had been right.

Needing to siphon off some of your restless energy, half of it pertaining to the newfound danger, half of it for what you had decided to tell Arthur when he returned, you went back to the bed and gathered your things together. All that amounted to was your clothes you had yet to put back on, but it was better to be prepared if you had to make a run for it. With that thought in mind, you eyed said clothes. You were more comfortable in them, more familiar with them, and if you got in a tight, you knew it would be better to have your clothes on than Arthur’s. Especially since George Lawrence and that whole saloon had seen you in the latter. So, with nerves returning, you said without looking at Arthur, “I’m changing my clothes. Don’t turn around.”

He didn’t answer with much besides a muttered, “Stay quiet,” so you got on with it.

You hadn’t realized how much you appreciated proper-fitting garments until yours were back on. You felt at ease, like this threat was just another hill to climb. And when you looked to Arthur, you found a new bout of confidence flowing through you that you hadn’t felt before. You grinned. Maybe that kiss wouldn’t be so far off after all.

When all was in order from your boots to your hat, you took Arthur’s newly folded clothes to him. “Here.”

He looked around, his eyes catching on you for a breath before he took his clothes back and stuffed them away.

“Thank you for letting me borrow them.”

“No problem,” he muttered, going back to staring at the door. Utterly unfocused on you. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about kissing him. He would probably shove you off of him if you tried, too concerned about the goings-on on the opposite side of the door. So you let out a small sigh as your confidence cooled and turned toward the bed again, landing on it to wait for the threat to pass. You pulled out your father’s ledger in the meantime, opening it to a random page. It normally would have sucked you in with your father’s familiar scrawl, but the figures blurred, all of your concentration remaining with the man across the room.

After many minutes like this passed in silence, Arthur finally seemed to be satisfied that no one had followed him in, as he rose and stuck the chairback beneath the doorknob. He wasted no time in getting a new cigarette out of his satchel and lighting it.

You tossed the ledger aside and smirked at the sight of him smoking so soon. He caught it.

“What?”

“I know why you smoke now,” you said, leaning back on your hands.

“Don’t have to have a reason-”

“You smoke when you’re nervous.”

Arthur scoffed and tried to wave this off, but you pushed. “You said before you don’t get scared anymore, but I know you get nervous. And you smoke to ease those nerves.”

His eyes went distant, and he had no retort, so you knew you had it right. Whether it be about concern for this trip or nerves over things you brought up to him, he had done it since the beginning.

“I got a lot on my mind,” he muttered. “What, between you and this trip and all those folks I left behind…”

You could understand a man like him being worried over lawmen chasing him down, but his words made his priorities clear to be anything but his own well-being. All he ever seemed to worry about was the safety of those around him, even when his neck was on the line. You wondered why. What had happened to make him like this—so nervous about protecting those around him that he was downright self-destructive, couldn’t stand to be with his own thoughts about it without a cigarette in his hand? You recognized it for what it was the same moment you tried to compare it to your own circumstances—losing someone did that to a person.

You studied him a beat as he stood there smoking, making up your mind. It was your turn to stick your neck out.

You patted the bed beside you. “Sit.”

“Why?”

“Just come sit down, stubborn.”

He crossed the room slowly, already putting out his cigarette. The bed creaked with his weight as he sat, just as your chest seemed to tighten at his closeness. But you pushed your own nerves aside to say your piece, unsure if he needed your help but knowing you would regret it if you never said a word.

“You lost someone didn’t you?”

The words hung there. He looked to his boots, his hands coming together as he leaned forward—a man in defeat.

“I’ve lost a lot of people.”

“I figured.”

You wanted him to take the lead, to say only what he was comfortable with. Your response would form from his, from what he needed from you.

He finally looked to the window, letting out a long, tired breath.

“My son among them.”

You were so stunned you could only stare at him. He looked to you, such sadness in his eyes you couldn’t stand it, but he soon went back to staring at his hands.

“He was a good kid. Too good for having the likes of me as a father. But he…got killed in a house robbery when I weren’t there. I should have been there, for him and his mother. She passed too.”

“I’m so sorry, Arthur.”

“Me too.”

You couldn’t think of a thing to say to comfort him. You knew how meaningless words felt when the only thing that could make hurt like that go away was if it had never happened at all. But he had come this far, had wanted to help people ever since and be better because of it. So maybe there was something to be said for all the hardship.

“I know how painful it is to lose someone. I mean, obviously I do, but…it doesn’t go away. And I’m just-” You looked at him then, meeting those sad eyes when they rose to yours. “I’m proud to see who you’ve become in spite of that. To have proof that we can get through these things and come out better on the other side.”

His gaze turned bitter. “If I’d been better from the start, it would never have happened.”

Those words cut into you like ice. Because if you’d been better from the start, listened to your parents, you never would have had need for this trip. They would still be alive.

“Maybe,” was all you could say. It was your turn to let your gaze fall to your hands, distracted by thoughts too heavy to see through.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he muttered, like he realized then how much you could relate to him. Of all the outrageous things, you smiled. He saw it. “What’s that look for?”

You shook your head, leaning over onto his shoulder and looking out the window. “I’m just glad it was you who found me. So we can be miserable together.”

He huffed a laugh. “Sure.”

It wouldn’t be much longer now with him. Not long at all. This was not the time for regrets, not when you and Arthur had so many they were liable to swallow you both. So you continued to lean against him as you said, “Thank you for telling me.” And, feeling the weight of loss and the overwhelming sense of love that came with it, “And I’ve made up my mind.”

Arthur shifted beside you, but you couldn’t look at him now. Not when you were dangerously close to feeling something for him that would be unbearable to lose in a few short weeks.

“About what?” he said.

He knew what. You knew he knew what. But you said it anyway, because there wasn’t enough time in an entire lifetime powerful enough to hold it in.

“I want you to kiss me.”

“Now?”

Your heartbeat pounded through you. You nodded against him, still unable to look at him.

He scoffed. “You would wait ‘til we’re wanted by the law.”

You pushed against him, finally meeting his eye. “Until you are,” you corrected.

He cracked a grin. “I didn’t know any better, and I’d think you had a thing for wanted men.”

“Not wanted men.”

“You sure about that?”

His smile was killer, and you were staring straight at his mouth when you felt that same confidence from before and said, “Just you.”

Arthur’s expression filtered through emotions so fast you could hardly keep up, but he finally landed on one you understood. Because you’d seen it before, just once: the last time he kissed you.

Want.

“One condition,” he said, voice suddenly shot so low it made your stomach tighten in anticipation.

You didn’t answer, waiting. Watching that gaze of his and all it meant. Memorizing it.

“Tell me your name.” His eyes remained heavy-lidded, full of desire. And as tempting as that look was, it wasn’t what made you want to hand over this last piece of yourself. It wasn’t his handsomeness or the want that burned within you. It wasn’t even the words you had just traded, baring all your hurt to each other. It was the knowledge that your name was something your parents had given to you, and you hadn’t doled it out before because no one on earth meant as much to you as they had. But now, there was someone who did. And why deny him a moment longer when you’d already asked everything of him?

You looked into Arthur’s eyes and felt a smile reach your mouth. “Y/N.”

After all this time, it felt good to say it. Like you’d found yourself once more. And it felt even better when Arthur’s gaze turned into one of admiration, when he repeated your name back to you on a breath so fond your heart seized up with it.

You nodded.

Before he or you could think better of it, he was pulling off your hats, his hands reaching for your face and dragging you to him, meeting your lips in a kiss both soft and loving, needy and sure. Sure as you were that this was right.

It started gentle, just as you imagined it would this morning. Then your desire got the better of you. Still kissing him, you turned and brought your legs underneath you on the bed, facing him, taking his head in your hands. You didn’t have a clue what you were doing, only that this felt more right than anything ever had.

Arthur pulled back to look at you. You were both breathing heavy, holding each other, still so full of want that he smiled, and you smiled right back, and he leaned over you and took you down to the bed, kissing you again. His strong hand came down beside you, holding him above you, but his other found your head and tilted it back. Gave him a better angle for his mouth to meet yours. Then you felt his tongue just as you had the last time, and it was a heat that burned through you hotter than anything ever had. Your hands wrapped around that broad, muscled back of his and brought him closer. So close there was no more space between you. His heavy body atop yours was aiding in that pressure that built within you, and all you could do about it was kiss him harder, over and over, meeting his tongue and nearly shivering with desire for the way he used it. Christ, you could learn a thing or two from this man. In the meantime, you could only bask in this. How perfect it was to be with him like this. It was what you had been missing before, you realized—not affection or anything of the sort, but life, full and lived in. Not tucked away in some mountain valley, never to see or feel or experience something for yourself. If this was what life held for you, you would gladly choose it. Again and again and again. And that was exactly what you did as the minutes ticked by.

The two of you parted, talked, brought it back up, kissed again. Enough of this, and you found yourself on top of the man, more courageous than you ever thought you would be. But there were no longer nerves in you, or if there were, they existed for an entirely different reason. Now they just urged you to keep kissing him, to let the moment last as long as you could. Because these days with him were fleeting. You would hold onto this happiness with every fiber of your being while you still had the privilege.

What must have been an hour went by. Then another. Filled with conversation and his warm, irresistible mouth.

Just as you found yourself smiling like an idiot at another terrible joke of his, oblivious to anything but him, a fist beat on the door so hard it startled you and Arthur apart. The force of the knocking shook the door and the chair still stuck under the knob, making an awful rattling sound that filled you with dread and stole away whatever joy you had.

“This is Deputy Foreman of Plainview Law Enforcement. Come out unarmed!”

And just like that, any hope that this trip had turned for the better shattered. Fear flooded you, cold and unending, and all you could do was look to Arthur. He cursed and scrambled from the bed, stuffing his hat back on his head and throwing you yours.

“I need you to trust me,” he whispered so quietly you had to strain to hear. “Do exactly as I say.”

You just stared at him, startling again when that same fist beat on the door a second time.

“Get up,” Arthur whispered. “They can’t know you was here.”

“Arthur-”

“Now,” he said with such quiet force that you were reminded of the outlaw you met out in the woods among those two thieving men—an enforcer. A killer.

You stood and set your hat on your head, snatching up your father’s ledger and tucking it away.

“Here,” Arthur whispered, already beside you, holding out his satchel and his gun belt with his gun still tucked inside it.

You stopped and balked at him. “I can’t-”

“Come out now, or I will take this door down! Don’t make me ask again!” The unfamiliar voice had you crawling back inside yourself in terror. But there was no time for that, no time to wonder why the deputy was here, how he had found you, what it meant that Arthur was giving you his belongings…

Arthur strapped his gun belt around your waist himself in a fervor, yelling in response, “All right, I’m coming! Pipe down with that, would you?”

The door just rattled with more fistbeats in response as Arthur tossed his satchel over you. He stopped and looked you square in the eye, voice staying low. “I don’t know what they think they have on me, but I don’t want you getting tangled up in whatever it is, so you’re gonna go out that window and drop down to the stairs below. Go get your mule, and get out of dodge. You understand?”

How he was this quick on his feet under such stressful circumstances, you couldn’t understand, nor could you get past your own worry enough to do as he said.

“I’m not leaving you-”

He practically shoved you toward the window and whispered his reply. “Go. Now.”

You stared at him a heartbeat longer, not wanting this all to end so soon, before he turned and made for the chair under the knob. As it stood, if you were going to escape, you had seconds to do it. You patted your chest to make sure your father’s ledger was tucked away, took one last look at Arthur’s retreating back, then made for the window. It was the only thing you knew to do. You would be absolutely no help to him captured right alongside him.

You had the window shoved open and were judging the drop when Arthur started arguing with the deputy on the other side of the door. “Let me get my damn clothes on. Christ.” He motioned at you to go, and all you could do was get one last look at him, at the room where you had both given over so much of each other, before you stuck your feet out the window and fell.

_________

Chapter sixteen is here.

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[unrivalling]

Arthur Morgan from RDR2 for blorbo bingo!

Oh man I feel like you were reading my mind because I just fell back down the RDR2 clip rabbit hole and have been considering picking it up again. It’s been a while since I’ve played but I’m gonna do my best

- westerns in general are a very particular embodiment of masculinity for me, and Arthur Morgan is in the top tier of The Gender That Is Happening There

- I played high-ish honor Arthur (mostly)

- I basically either go for gnc queer bishies or dudes like Arthur Morgan. There’s basically no middle ground.

- I Fucking Love the Literary Tradition of Outlaws and Always Have