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rivetingrosie4 · 9 days

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Duet

(Part 1/2)

RDR2 | Arthur Morgan x Female Reader | Rating: Explicit | tumblr masterlist | Ao3

Summary: Arthur takes you out for a much-needed, fancy date. Though you both thoroughly enjoy the whole evening, you’re both eager to get home and make love. When you finally arrive home, Arthur invites you to take a steamy shower with him.

Tags: modern au, post gang, romantic angst, romantic smut, loving marriage, hot date, parenthood, eventual shower sex

Chapter word count: 6,097

𑁦𐂂𑁦

This work is partially inspired by the following song lyrics. It’s been my sincere goal to capture both the spirit of the lyrics and the feel of the song's music in this work. Please consider giving this beautiful song a listen at the link below.

-Penny and Sparrow, “Duet”

It’s a starless night in the city. Arthur pulls the steering wheel to the right, and the city’s bright lights, stark in their atmospheric places, reflect in a swirling mirage off the black hood of his pickup.

There you are beside him, your still form a steady breath of soundness amidst the rushing streams of blurred people along each side of the vehicle.

He sits back in his seat and breathes it in deeply—your presence. He’s always hated coming to the city. Where the buildings grow taller and tighter together. Where the voice of the stars is hushed to muted, then silenced by the blaring insistence of humanity’s crush. Where strangers are forced into each other’s spaces. But with you, he feels none of it. Feels only that breath of soundness that floods and fills the inside of the truck cabin, here and now. That follows the two of you wherever you go.

So, what was once a loathsome chore to be avoided is a pleasure, with you. And he’d been eager to carry it out.

It had been long past due anyway. He can hardly remember the last time the two of you had gone out for a date. Which is a sin in itself. It must’ve been before the baby. Had to have been after the private little wedding. Too long ago, either way. He’s always wanted to keep the feelings of excitement and specialness alive anyway, to repel any atrophy that could creep into your relationship over time if either of you failed to notice. To make you know that he hasn’t tired of you. Never could. And enough has happened since then. So he’d made a point to finally take you out, and to make it a thing both easy and sure. Not to let it slip from the calendar. To assure you the baby would be taken care of, that everything would be.

He’d even enjoyed the easy familiarity of getting ready in the same rooms. The sounds and smells of your preparation. Your heady, sensuous perfume that so easily undid him like the tail of an old, ragged 3-ply strand of yarn. The sight of you leaning toward the mirror to clasp the sparkling black pearl and diamond cluster earrings that he’d gifted to you moons ago to your lobes before turning to him.

God, had you shown out. A tiny slip of a number. Black silk that drapes along your form like shimmering river water, its bias cut showing your every bodily curve and setting his nerves aflame. The straps that display your dogwood petal-soft skin and highlight the elegant outlines of your shoulders, straps that are sure to be slid away when he gets you home and secreted away, alone in the quiet. He’s only too eager help them off and to see the gown fall in one moment to the floor around your feet, transformed to nothing more than a heap of rippling satin without you to fill it.

It was something—not a wonder to him, but something—that you could still so easily make him so crazy. Inside, like a wild dog with his tongue hanging from his head. How you knew just what to do, to make him so. And did it with quiet simplicity.

Because the reality is he knows you. He knows more about you than he knows about anyone, things he couldn’t put into words if he tried, maybe even knows you better than yourself. And one thing he knows is how deeply, how painfully difficult it’s always been for you to let anyone see your skin and body. Knows the reasons, what you’ve lived through, both in yourself and from others. Knows the pressure put on you by the world and by yourself to be some form of perfection. Knows how you like to cover up with covert layers, with sleeves and baggy, flowing frills.

But without asking if he’d like it, without even a single word, you’d done it. Worn a dress this evening that makes his own knees and body turn to mountain lake melt. Shown off your scars and stretch marks and rolls. Put your deep trust in him and unyielding love for him on bright neon display, in a way only he could know.

Christ alive, the mere thought of your trust swells his heart full of love and sends him wild with pulsating desire and need. And there won’t be anything to keep him from you tonight.

Silent in your seat beside him, you watch the show of neon lights on the hood of the pickup as it rolls down the city streets.

It had gladdened you heartily when Arthur had invited you out on a date of his own volition, unprompted. You’d gotten to a place where such things weren’t remotely on your radar anymore. And the invitation alone had quickened things inside you, like the sparked flicker of an incipient flame. You’d smiled and agreed, and he’d smiled, and the moment had been like widened lungs amidst the ruddy, laborious muss of daily life.

And you’d so wanted to be good for him. In your own mind, had wanted to be something less messily human and more put together. To be something with its unsightly bits tucked away, something easily and naturally suave and gracefully sexy. Wanted to remind him that you still cherish him so deeply and still so dearly long to be and feel cherished by him, though behind your fears, you always already know you are.

But you’d seen a black silken slip dress in the back of your closet with the tag still on it. And you didn’t have any other reason to wear such a garment than for an imaginary sexy date, by which time you would have magically become a different person—one without gnarled scars on the backs of your shoulders left by body acne in years passed, or flab hanging from under your arms, or silvery stretch marks from gaining weight and losing it and gaining it and losing it again, or rolls of fat above your pubic bone.

You’d pulled it from the rack and run the pads of your fingers over its shine, knowing it would never see the light of day—or dark of night—if not now. Hoping that Arthur could still feel something physical for you in it. Finding in yourself ample trust in him, that even if he didn’t, he’d never, ever hurt you, and would only behave in a way to make you feel special.

So you’d tried it on and decided to leap.

And from the master bathroom, you’d stolen peeks to watch Arthur dress in the connected master bedroom. With his hair already pomaded and already dressed in his black slacks and white ribbed undershirt, he’d slid his arm into the sleeve of his crisp white button down, then the other arm, then had stood before the full-length cheval mirror and had tugged and straightened the collar before looking down and slipping each button into its hole, working upwards. Then he’d tucked his shirt neatly into his slacks and had snaked his black leather belt through the loops, finally buckling it closed with a faint jingle. Each movement, each sound, had unraveled you from warp and weft to mere fibers.

You’d told yourself you needed all this intel. Because you’d also seen when he’d turned away and flipped his wrist to unbutton each cuff, rolled his sleeves to the elbows, and checked his antique 1899 pocket watch before slipping it into his pocket. And then you’d heard the low, deep clacks of his brightly shining black dress shoes against the hardwood floor, and you’d seen the faintly pronounced ripple of a few muscles in his back through the white fabric and the way it was stretched by his broad shoulders, hard arms, and tapered waist when he moved. And you’d known you would be the one to undo each button and remove each article when you both returned home tonight.

Though after years, you know well the order of all the garments and undergarments he wears, as he knows yours.

And when you’d turned towards each other, him entering the bathroom to dab on cologne, you entering the bedroom to slip on your shoes, the expression on his face had been a memory you will cling to and wear like a jewel until the reaper calls to fetch you. It had turned your spine and knees to oil and had heated your chest and face as if with steam.

He wanted you. Good God, did he want you. One fractioned moment of a glimpse had been all it’d taken. And it had silently stolen your breath. He’d said something like how stunningly beautiful you are, though you can’t recall the exact words. Because his eyes and face had said much more, and you hadn’t wanted to miss it. Nor had you missed when he’d fought to softly smile and not appear so ready to have you.

How deeply and fully you’d wanted him too, just the same. Like a guttural pull to his physical form in your belly, in your throat. Its inexorable urgency would only prove to continue to snowball steadily throughout the night.

Then you’d toed past each other, and he’d donned the bay rum cologne that always makes you weak and wet and delivers you into his arms, until you’re finally arching your back.

Sometimes, in your life now, a few moments catch you. Snare you. And you think. Of all the things you’ve been over the course of your life thus far, at turns. Young and stupid; an awkward whelp; a reckless thief; then a sly con; and, briefly, a friend among friends. A wife, and now a mother as well. But alone was the thing you had been for most of your life. Much more alone than the average person, for longer, and alone in every way that mattered.

Then Arthur had come and made you a woman that a man wants. A woman who knows a man’s body. A woman who has carried a part of him inside you. Things that had been so other—so distantly removed from what you were and had always, always been—that you’d never been able to conceive of such an existence or its experience. To be one—to actually be one. Now you are one. A woman that a man wants. A woman who knows a man’s body.

Then Arthur had come and taught you things about life and love you couldn’t possibly have ever known on your own. Things no one could have ever told you. That love could have such a brutally frightening quality and texture to it—what if the one you loved came to harm? That to be united with someone meant risking yourself—that if he or she died, part of you would decay with them. That love isn’t always something one must do, as is often with blood. That love could be just as strong a tie or stronger when one chooses to love. That the absence of shared blood dulls and fades nothing. That two may share one heart, and therein is the strongest of bloods. That the decision of love itself is not merely a flippant fancy, but a fixed rock of reality. Then Arthur had come and given it all to you.

Who would have ever thought? Who could have? Certainly not you.

The drive into the city and to the restaurant had been punctuated with quiet coos to each other for directions through the tight streets. He’d opened every door for you, from the car to the inside of the restaurant. Had rested his large, calloused outlaw-turned-rancher hand very gently on the bared, dimpled skin of your lower back, to show you through each of the doors.

Holy God, did it switch every nerve inside you to electric, flipped the fluttery animals inside your chest into a swarming frenzy. The considerate gestures had put you into the pocket of his palm like warmed, dripping honey. But just as moving for you, it also plainly told the whole wide world: you were his.

Once inside the ritzy restaurant he’d chosen, he’d even pulled your chair out for you. Your shared supper had featured smiles and genuine, familiar laughter over the white linen tablecloth. And even that had been his gift to you, that you’d felt in your body. Laughter’s soothing, comforting effects flooding and lulling you as the tightness of stress left you. And the thought had occurred to you—how grateful you are for a spouse who can make you laugh, who wants to, and whose ability to do so has never faded with time. He’s never even seemed to shy away from sharing in moments of laughter, not when it comes to you.

It was his marked attention that—for reasons you couldn’t quite explain—had brought you close to tears behind your blithe smile. He’d hardly ever taken his eyes off of you. It was truly like you were the only woman in the room. And rather than it being a possessiveness that had made that so special for you, it had been the fact that he didn’t need to see any other woman. That you were the only one who did anything for him. That he was spoken for. Then there was the fact that if anyone had gawked and ogled him or flirted with him, you could glory in the simple truth that a man with his heart and his body would be going home with you tonight. No one else.

But more than any of that, his generously given attention had filled and satiated your soul. Things you never—or hardly ever—received from any other human: sincerely absorbed and thoughtful conversation, the clearly apparent desires to hear your inner life and thoughts and to smile and laugh with you. The fulfilled longing to just be with you. It welled inside you, because it was everything you craved from him and everything you wanted to give him as well.

You’d been completely relaxed and at ease all through your date. Every time you’d released a rested breath, you’d noticed some lovely new thing about your surroundings. Dimly glowing light from the scrolling sconces and the faint clinks of several types of silver cutlery on fine china. Classical piano, violin, and bass played live in the corner and the brush of luscious velvet on your skin from the seat back. A divine yet light meal of delicately crafted scallops and the finest fresh oysters. You’d reveled in the briefest sensation of the oyster filling your throat and slipping down, each time you’d swallowed one.

For dessert, chocolate ganache and a mound of macerated strawberries, blackberries, and blueberries, tossed with mint and Grand Marnier, topped with scratch-made whipped cream, and dusted with fine honeycomb sugar. Sparse sips of bourbon barrel-aged Cabernet for him, and for you, a glass each of Chardonnay and later ruby port, from stemmed glasses. Undivided attention and meeting each other’s eyes with a wellspring of affection.

It had been just what your soul had needed, and he’d known it.

Arthur slows to a stop at a red light, inwardly groaning at the obstacle drawing out your journey home. He quietly sighs through his nostrils and taps his thumb against the wheel. He glances to you at his right side, and you exchange sincere smiles.

Facing forward again, he glances down at his left ring finger. A simple ring—a rounded silver band inset by a much narrower black one—rests upon it.

In a blink, he’s taken back to those early days, before the whelming thrum of daily life, before the visceral clutch of those terrifying days in the hospital, before Grace, before you’d even become pregnant.

How he’d loved you, in a raring, aflutter, dithery way; in a way that engulfed himself sweepingly, wolfishly; in the natural way, it often seems, of new love. Though he’d kept himself tempered and even, until he’d known with surety you’d felt the same.

Then had come the quiet little ceremony, and you’d spent over a year in honeymoon bliss. Trying all the while to become pregnant, knowing you only had so much time. Then you had. And effervescent couldn’t begin to describe the two of you. Your very body, your miraculous and wondrous body, had caressed and carried all those other dreams Arthur hadn’t been fully aware that he’d still had.

Then Grace had come. A month and a half early, and earthshakingly beautiful. But her lungs had wanted to fail her, when she’d only just had a chance to greet and grace the world with herself. And in one swoop, that same beautiful new world had threatened to shatter and crumble in on itself. The blistering maelstrom of vicissitudes had nearly spun his head off his shoulders. At the time, he could only imagine all that you were going through.

Together you’d watched her every ragged breath, every labored rise of her tiny, ruddy chest, from morning until night, in days that blended and stretched to insanity. Had been forced to remain on the other side of a glass cocoon that smacked too familiarly of a coffin to him. A tiny coffin.

It had nearly killed him, your loving protector, to have to watch you go through such intense heartache and not be able to do a single thing to inoculate you against it. To watch his new infant daughter struggle to hold onto life, when he could do nothing. It had been a sort of pain concocted especially for him.

Still, the two of you had clung to each other for strength.

But hadn’t you been the bearer of all the strength? Because when turmoil and uncertainty had crushed and clamped in on him, the very worst of his hideous fears had come pouring out of him. Instead of stalwartness and fortitude, he’d proven a source of splitting chaos and weakness. After a life with some seasons of swindling and criminality, spans of cool violence and masked cavalierness towards tenderness and endearment, it had been a tiny, helpless babe that had shredded him and turned him inside out. Coming apart at the seams; bloodying his knuckles with the trunk of an oak outside the hospital; in the culmination of his inner storm, whispering insidious, nonsensical fears through the pale, eerie, hospital-room gloam that the recompense for his life was to blame and that you’d be better off without him.

With seeming great effort and a quietly tremulous voice, you’d told him, without turning, that he was the only thing keeping either of the two of you alive. That such thinking was preposterous. And that you both loved and needed him now. And forever.

Of course, his special brand of fear and self-loathing had turned out to be the very last goddamn thing you’d needed to hear, and once he’d remembered your own anxieties and insecurities, he’d been flooded with remorse.

When he’d been coming apart, you’d been holding together. When he’d left his family to beat against the tree, you’d been the one to remain at Grace’s side. And when he’d whispered the lies his mind had convinced him of, you’d quietly, though quaveringly, spoken the truth aloud to right him.

It was you who was the strong one. You who had borne the immense weight of his fears. You.

And you’d continued to prove it when the two of you had finally been able to take Grace home. She’d been so frail. So helpless. But together—just as you had been to see her struggle—the two of you had been witness to the unfathomable mystery of the simultaneous fragility and resiliency of…life. Because she’d strengthened and flourished and breathed.

He recalls somewhere in the days afterward, when you’d sought to bathe her in the tub on your own, without the aid of a plastic doodad. You’d hastily offered promises he hadn’t asked for: that you’d be sure to keep alert and wouldn’t let her drift below the water’s surface.

It had been then that he’d noticed the faint, receding shadows beneath your eyes. He’d had to ask himself if he could remember whether they’d previously been darker than they were in that moment, and whether they were beginning to brighten. Either way, he’d realized the toll the ordeal had taken on you, that you’d never voluntarily alluded to—the fullness of which he’d somehow missed, having been caught in what he deems his own silly, self-focused storm.

In memory, he can still see you from his secreted place behind the threshold, seated nude in the tub with the naked babe on your arm, skin to skin. Can still make out the tinkle of the water droplets falling from your fingertips onto her tender crown and the soft babbling of Grace’s healthy coos. Can still hear your quiet, broken plea—

“Wouldn’t you like to stay with Mama, baby? Won’t you stay? Stay with me? Please-” you’d whispered, and had sniffled when you’d wept, “Stay.”

It had put his heart and soul through a sieve. Thoroughly riven, he’d silently leaned his crumpled face into the wall, resting his forehead and eye socket against the doorjamb. He had reached up and felt wetness upon his cheek.

It had been you who had been the strong one.

He remembered being forced to ponder: how close had he come? Had he been a cobweb’s thread away from losing Grace? From losing you? He’d never know. Didn’t want to. And in those moments, shadowed in the bedroom, he’d been thrust into the experience of how it could’ve been: what would he do? How when, in search of an answer, his head had poked through a firmamental membrane to find the black mist of—nothingness.

Willing himself back to the present moment just in time, he swallows thickly, and gives attention again to the onyx light of evening.

Such shoulders, he thinks, envisioning that elegant outline of your neck exposed by your black silken gown without needing to turn and look at you. They’ve surely borne more than just those thin straps.

You watch placidly as Arthur takes the truck to the left, and the traffic ebbs and flows as you roll through the night.

Somehow, it’s enjoyable to simply sit here with him. His passenger seat princess, sharing in the sweet, silent glances and smiles. Needing no words to know that he’s on pins and needles to get home and make love to you. And ruminating in the knowledge that you feel exactly the same way.

It had taken no convincing for you to agree when he’d invited you out, though he’d been ready anyway with explanations of the provisions he’d planned, having foreseen your thought for Grace. He’d spoken them before you’d even fully opened your mouth to form the question. And you’d had to smile, because Arthur didn’t normally tip his hand to show—well, much of anything; but of all things, certainly not eagerness.

Your current train of thought flits to Grace, and though you know you should try to remain in the present with him, you can’t help but wonder if she’s cooing and smiling, enjoying time on her belly or struggling with it, or maybe drifting off to well-fed sleep.

Four months ago, you’d been so caged with guttural worry, you hadn’t been in a position to imagine time away from her for a romantic evening. Four months ago, when you’d pushed her from your body too early, and her little lungs betrayed her.

An unmooring. That was what it had felt like. Snagged and suspended in a strange, amorphous abysm with no corners, no boundaries. Hovering somewhere in life that looked on fate.

You’d tried to be steady for her. Remained there, in her room, beside her glass case. With your body still wracked by the huge task of childbirth, you’d clawed to hang on by a wisped fiber. You’d held yourself and slightly swayed by the waist at times, to cope. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You weren’t ready for her to become nothing more than a lifeless shell. Weren’t ready to see these newly sprung fears become reality. Weren’t ready.

Arthur had held you up. He’d been the only witness to the crystalline dew of your tears in the early hours as they teetered and finally rolled down your skin. Had been there every moment of every morning, every afternoon, evening, and early dawn. Right at both your sides.

When your weak, poisonous mind had told you all the worst—that you were to blame, that your despicable body had failed her when she’d needed you most—he’d held you and poured into your ears the antidote: that all of it was beyond your control, that your amazing body had been a loving home to her, and that both he and Grace loved you.

And when you’d finally required sleep, he’d forced himself to keep awake. And you’d discovered him in the same place when you’d blinked awake. But that was when you’d noticed the stark rim of red all the way around his eyes, from more than just fatigue. And he’d quietly told you he needed to step outside.

When he’d returned, he’d looked worse than when he’d left. As you’d been watching Grace sleep, he’d walked up, arms hanging haggardly at his sides, and uttered the poison in his own mind with a sheer, ragged breath.

Hearing it had split a rift in your heart, and you’d fought not to let it feed the fear wanting to grow inside you. For so long you’d fought your own anxieties that you weren’t enough to keep Arthur from leaving you. He couldn’t have known that during those days and nights of worrying for Grace, this fear of yours had been exacerbated and magnified by thoughts you couldn’t seem to keep at bay: what you’d heard once somewhere, that even the most loving, devoted couples often part after the death of a beloved child. Surely, for him to leave you after such a loss would be too selfish, too cruel. But he had been cruel. Hadn’t he? He had, to others. Why not you? It would only be a different incarnation of cruelty, for him to leave you. Was it enough that he’d changed, that you’d seen it in him, that he loved you?

Roiling and scattered and warring against fears that seemed to leap to others like lily pads, you’d tried to work it all out inside, without a word across your tongue. You’d even inwardly berated yourself for such thoughts over your relationship with Arthur, while Grace was right there, fighting for life. But you couldn’t help it. You loved them both. So it was that the fear had grown to monstrous inside you. And to hear him speak nourishment to that beast… But he couldn’t have known. And in that moment, you’d had to consciously choose to use all your might to force yourself to believe it was only his extreme fatigue and worry talking.

But after you’d gently spoken the fruits of that internal fight aloud to him, you’d known he would be reminded of the history of your personal anxieties, like a clap of thunder to the back of his head.

You’d caught sight of his weary back hunching as he succumbed to all of it—the truth, the memories, the remorse, the renewed constancy, the overwhelming drain.

As he’d resumed his place at your side, you’d quickly fallen to sleep again, without having realized it. And when you’d awoke that time, you’d found his body had given out. Slumped back in his padded chair, head hanging to the side and mouth open, the fabric of his shirt rumpled to a wad. The journal left open and hanging haphazardly on his lap, his pencil limp in the pocket of his curled hand upon the armrest.

It was only then that you’d noticed the bloody damage to his knuckles, what looked like tiny fragments of tree bark left in his wounds. He hadn’t merely pounded a tree; he had hit it and dragged his fist through the jagged, toothy bark.

You’d called a nurse into the room and asked her to fetch you a first aid kit, planning to tend to him yourself. While she was gone, your eyes returned to the journal.

Since you’d been together, he’d voluntarily made it your shared journal, a place only the two of you could go. A haven. Nevertheless, since it’d been his custom for so many years beforehand, he always seemed to use it a little more than you did. There he was again, retreating to that sacred, secret, communal place.

You took the journal from its sliding perch on his thigh and saw the messy sketches of Grace in her cocoon, of you in your sleep. And you read in his beautifully old-fashioned hand, though it now bore a touch of needling worry to its scrawl, .

Grace Ada Morgan~

For a moment, I forgot. It was this insanity gettin’ into my head. I’m so exhausted, sweet babygirl. I forgot that leavin’ doesn’t ever fix anything. Please forgive me. I promise I didn’t forget that your mother and you are everything to me. Just forgot the right way to show it. Forgot that you both need me too. But I’m not goin’ anywhere. I swear it. I ain’t ever leavin’ you. Either of you. So please, don’t ask me to go into the ground. .

It had broken loose something inside you, and you had wept until, when you’d started cleaning his wounds with soapy water, he’d begun to wake. You’d quickly brushed your tears away, tried to smile, and kissed him, though you’d known he couldn’t miss the puffy redness of your eyes and nose.

Jointly, the two of you had renewed your commitment to never let Grace go without the knowledge of your love. You’d both affirmed the reality that you already had been loving her and would continue to love her through every moment of her life, short or long, including the moments of pain or difficulty.

Arthur had been your strength, even when he hadn’t realized it. He’d unwittingly been the catalyst to processing things you’d needed to, and had spoken aloud things you’d desperately required to hear. And before then, his broad back had carried the cumulative load of the fraught situation, his own fears, and your anxieties. He’d been much stronger than he’d known.

Having left city borders several minutes ago, the black truck’s headlights slice through the indigo night as Arthur begins the pickup’s slow ascent to your mountain home. He’s given the familiar sights of stately pines and dancing moths and a craggy dirt path. Ensigns of the home he’s made with you.

He can’t keep his mind from ambling again to all the times he’s been alone in these woods with you. Night fishing, skinny dipping. How often, even in the midst of such pleasures, his doubts and fears would surface. He would warn you of them, that to be with him would only bring you some sort of pain or cause you irreparable harm.

You’d always reply something to the contrary; different variations, but always the same meaning. That he couldn’t know that. That you loved him. And that to be without him would do you a deep pain you were certain of.

He pulls onto the winding road hidden by thick foliage that begins your shared property and leads to the homestead. Further down, he stops at the metal gate, hops out to open it, drives the truck through, exits again to close it behind you, and continues up the road.

Once he’s parked at the house, you’re happy to let Arthur hurry around to your truck door and open it for you one last time.

Out of habit, you try to hide the roll of your belly with your forearm as he leads you from your seat. You’ve never felt the urge to do so more strongly than you feel it now, after carrying your baby and acquiring even more flab and stretch marks than you’d had before. But it occurs to you that he’s told you numerous times there isn’t any need for such things. That he loves you and craves your body, just exactly the way you are.

Internally, your mind has always warred to believe that it isn’t too good to be true, that such spoken words are not only pitying sentiments and niceties. You’ve told him multiple times, even early on, that he deserved better, could easily get better, and that you harbored fears he would realize it all too soon for your heart. Fears that he would leave you all together, throwing you away like you just might deserve.

But he’s sworn himself to you, in heart and in body, over and over again. It’s as if you are shattered potsherds, scattered upon the floor, unable. Presumed by yourself to be worthless. He gathers you—every discarded splinter—dressing and filling the cracks of you with his own love, not hiding your history but honoring it. And binding you, until you’re stronger than before.

And in this way, he joins himself to you.

Have you done enough of the same for him? You think on it all through entering the empty house, hardly noticing the moon’s glimmering cast that strikes his wedding band as he unlocks the door before you, hardly hearing him toss his keys on the counter. You think on it as you both slip from your shoes and quietly pad into the bedroom, and you’re finally cognizant of your surroundings. You think on it as you turn and watch him walk into the room.

What his love and loving him felt like, at the beginning.

Like the sharp tip of a jagged pane of glass thrust up into your belly, channeling through your ribcage, pausing when it reaches your heart, and slicing slowly with a surgeon’s motion into the organ. Never had anyone but you seen the inside. Fear wouldn’t have captured what you’d felt. Because there would be no earth that could withstand the force of your knees when they hit, if when he saw the inside he tossed it aside, and turned away to depart.

But when he had seen, the moment of his seeing had imprinted you with the inside of his own splayed heart—a thing more primal than a name—on the inner walls of the atriums and ventricles, on the abdominal aorta, on the pulmonary valve. On dredged parts of you that you’d never thought another human would glimpse.

And now, you think on what that same love feels like, after all these years.

Seeing him, all of him, as he is. Being known so thoroughly by him. Splayed heart meeting splayed heart, clotted that way, the bloody cells fusing and knitting themselves anew. Grown over and healed to a scar. But healed. Forever one flesh and one blood. The mess of a deepening, steadfast, stronger love.

A love that stays. That chooses to. There was never anything more romantic to you.

Arthur flips on the bedroom light and gazes at you where you stand removing your earrings and setting them aside, waiting for him. All he can think as he ventures towards you is loving you, and feeling your love. The full scope of it, in its history, and in this moment. How it had started, so heady and engulfing, it had swallowed him whole; though it had hardly been ready for life’s travails. How it’s still those things, but much more. How he knows you. Better than he’s known anyone. How he’s seen you in your every form, in every turn of life’s capricious road, and loves you the more for it. How your heart understands his.

This love has long drawn a rich burgundy, like the Cabernet he’d sipped tonight. This love that has long taken anchored grasp, its taproot reaching down into the core of him. It has flowered and fruited several times over. And like any goodly, fragrant fruit, it refreshes and sustains him. Gives him life.

He takes his time gazing over the exposed skin of your shoulders, doing what he can to ready himself to show it to you. This shared love that has matured and sweetened and ripened to something devastatingly deep and forever lasting.

a/n: Part 2 will pick up with the very next moment in the story. Comments always welcome! Reblogs always greatly appreciated! Thank you so much for your gracious support.

tag list: @photo1030 @appalachiancowboy99 @cookiesandcreaminthetardis @clevergirl74 @subpopizzy

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grave-z-boy · 1 year

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Sharing clothes with Arthur Morgan

Paring: Arthur Morgan x male!reader

Warning: sex mentioned a few times.

Summary: Very short headcanons about sharing clothes with Arthur

Masterlist

It started with you borrowing his shirt.

Back before you were really dating and more so just fucking, you'd done it of accident

You'd nearly forgotten about the man you'd brought home, rolling out of bed and picking up the first shirt you saw on the floor.

Forgoing any other clothes and heading to the kitchen to cook, only to be forcefully spun around a few minutes later by a mildly possessive Arthur.

“That's my shirt.”

“I'm borrowin’ it, you can have it back in a minute.”

When you turned back around you could still feel his presence behind you, and see his hands caging you against the counter in front of you.

“Looks good on you..” he hummed out, sleep still evident in his voice.

You smiled to yourself but eventually had to break away from him to continue preparing breakfast.

As your casual fucking turned into dating your habit of wearing his clothes increased.

Stealing his hat straight off his head, then disappearing on a hunt for days.

“Accidentally” washing your clothes together and claiming what's his was yours.

Wearing his spare coat during the winter seasons.

Complimenting him on his clothes only to steal them later.

Buying him new clothes that you knew would end up back with you eventually.

Arthur isn't completely innocent either.

He's a clothes thief too, thought he might not be as conniving as you were when it came to this particular area of theft.

He’ll purposefully steal your clothes after sex, you hardly even realize it until you see him walking around camp wearing them.

Getting confused as to who clothes are what.

“That’s my shirt!”

“It was mine first!”

Your clothes eventually become a giant mixing pot of both of your things until it is impossible to tell what used to belong to who.

#arthur morgan x male reader #arthur morgan x male!reader #arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 x male reader #red dead redemption 2 x male!reader #rdr2 x male reader #rdr2x male!reader #rdr2 x reader #x male!reader #male!reader #x male reader #male reader #male reader insert #✮ — z boy

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gogogodzilla · 11 months

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day 24, primal play

arthur morgan x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie, spanking, dubcon but they're roleplaying, medium/low honor arthur, public sex, bondage kinktober ☠︎︎ main masterlist ☠︎︎ read on ao3

It was a stupid game, really, and you truly shouldn’t be away from camp for such a long time. You tried to justify your absence by robbing and hunting as much as you could. This week, however, you were the one being hunted.

The rules were simple. Arthur would give you a day head start as you got as far away from camp as you could, and he would track you and eventually ‘catch’ you. You were careful not to make this game last longer than a week. The need to ravish each other and the obligation to be at camp were both too great to deny yourselves for too long.

In the beginning, you’d leave Arthur little gifts for him to find along the way. They’d have clues as to where you were going or small tidbits of the things you wanted him to do to you. He always made sure to keep your fantastical writings and make them a reality.

It was the anticipation that kept you on edge for as long as the game lasted. You never knew whether the rustling you heard was just the wind or Arthur coming to claim his prize.

You knew it was risky to turn your back, even just for a moment. Your fears came true when the familiar cool metal of a blade was pressed against your throat. You hadn’t even heard him come up behind you.

“Now you oughta know better,” Arthur’s gravelly voice murmured against the shell of your ear. “Pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be all alone out here… Not with dangerous outlaws running ‘round these parts.”

He dragged his knife slowly down your front, tracing every little dip and curve of your chest. You were ashamed by just how much his actions riled you up. He wrapped his bicep around your neck, keeping you trapped against him, as his knife trailed across the tops of your thighs.

“You one of ‘em?” you questioned, pressing your ass into his groin.

You felt the scratchy fabric of his bandana brush against the side of your neck as he pressed his nose against you, breathing in your scent.

“Some would say that,” he hummed before sliding his knife into the holster on the back of his belt. Your body hummed with excitement and something… more.

The rope of his lasso hit the back of your thigh, and he removed it from his belt with his free hand. “Hands behind your back, darlin’,” he ordered, and you wriggled against his grasp, feigning to put up a fight.

He looped his foot around your ankle and brought you to kneel on the tall grass before pushing you to the ground. You thrashed in his grip as he settled his weight on your bottom half, and wrestled your hands behind your back, tying them together.

“What are you doing?” you whimpered, tugging against the rope that bound your wrists.

Arthur shimmied down to rest on the backs of your thighs and spread his hands across your ass, kneading the flesh there. “Little thing out here for the taking,” he murmured as his hands trailed up your sides and slid under you to grope at your breasts.

You bit your lip, attempting to stifle the whine that threatened to escape you at his touch. He lifted himself so he was hovering over you and pulled your hips up so your ass was in the air, inviting his touch.

He slid a hand across your calf and then under your skirt. His calloused fingers drug over the smooth skin of your thighs before moving to caress your clothed heat. You gasped as he teased you through the thin fabric of your undergarments.

The unsheathing of his knife caused your ears to prick up and you felt the familiar cool metal of the blade pressed against your neck once again.

“Gonna keep quiet for me, darlin’?” Arthur questioned as he used his free hand to tug your undergarments down your legs, leaving you bare for him. You gasped as the cool night air brushed against your cunt.

You nodded quickly, “Yes, anything you want.”

“That’s what I thought,” he hummed, satisfied with your answer.

At the clinking of his gun belt leaving his hips, you pressed your core against him whining at the feeling of the rough denim of his jeans against you. He was quick to free his weeping cock from his jeans. He stroked himself once and then twice before sliding his length between your folds, eliciting a breathy moan from you.

He leaned down so his chest was pressed against your back. “So wet for me, darlin’. You want this outlaw to use this pretty little cunt of yours?” he said as his breath fanned across your cheek, having pulled down his bandana at some point during your encounter.

He didn’t give you enough time to answer before he was pushing his cock inside you, inch by aching inch. You groaned at the way he stretched you, the sharp prick of him entering you had you squirming.

He pushed your thighs further apart with one of his knees as he began to rock his hips against yours.

“Shit, darlin’,” he hissed with the slow drag of hips leaving you a moaning mess under him. “Should tie you up more often.”

Each rut of his hips was deeper and harder, filling the open air with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and Arthur’s soft grunts. He moved his knife away from your neck and trailed it down your back, the tip of it leaving goosebumps in its wake. He moved to drag his knife over your clothed breasts, each thrust of his hips pressing the blade dangerously close to your skin.

With his free hand, Arthur reached around you to rub harsh circles around your clit. His pace was brutal, but you loved every second of it. He tossed his knife to the side, opting to grip your hip with one hand while the other stroked your clit.

A jolt ran through your being as a harsh smack lands across your ass, earning a yelp from you. Arthur was quick to run a soothing hand over the reddened flesh as his hips stuttered against yours.

“Good girl,” he grunted, and his praise went straight to your core.

He landed three more smacks across your ass before you were cumming harshly on his cock, squeezing him in a vice grip while your orgasm ripped through you. Each drag of his hips through your heat was bringing him closer to the brink as his pace increased. He came with a strangled groan as he filled you to the brim, his white hot load coating your walls.

You relished the feeling of him inside you. His cock twitched as he came down from his orgasm and his hips slowed. Within a few moments, he was pulling out of you and a whine was escaping your lips. You loved the feeling of his cum dripping out of you and covering your thighs, and Arthur groaned at the sight.

“So beautiful,” he hummed as his fingers danced across your thighs.

You rolled onto your back, grinning, “Think this was the quickest you’ve caught me.”

Arthur grunted, “I had Charles teach me a few tricks. Told him I needed some help hunting.”

You laughed as you looked up to the stars. You’d have to give Charles your thanks.

#arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption two #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 arthur #reader insert #no y/n #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #arthur morgan smut

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2demondogs · 2 months

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FTM Reader/Arthur Morgan Headcanons

A/N: The amount of FTM reader inserts I've seen on Ao3 gave me the push to write as openly FTM. This is my first writing for this fandom, but I'll write more and I'll take requests. :)

Being the Wild West, going stealth is the only safe option. It takes time to learn who is trustworthy enough to risk your life around when injury means outing. Arthur is not the gossip type, and your preference for him doesn't hurt either.

He finds out on a mission. Your torso gets injured, and it doesn't leave much of a choice. Arthur gives enough of a rat's ass to prefer helping you than allowing you to potentially get injured further.

He might not even question it at first. Not his business. Until the chest bindings have to come off, and he's admittedly confused. Still, you have an open wound, so that explanation is not exactly top priority.

He's heard of trans people*, but he doesn't understand what it entails. As a good friend, Arthur would rather understand than rat you out based on a moral dictionary he barely even follows himself, and would say as much.

He could empathize with the feelings of displacement, self-loathing, even your gender euphorias to an extent. It feels good to be a man, sometimes.

You wouldn't ask, but he might find himself giving you advice on passing better out of a natural urge to protect you. Secrets are vulnerabilities, and he cares about not losing you. Square your hips, smoke a cigarette before you speak to lower your voice. Simple things that avoid complex questions.

His sexuality isn't something either of you question much. Despite his objections, the society Arthur was raised in still influences him. Who is to say past fancies haven't been mistaken for platonic admiration? He thinks of it more, now, but he'd rather it be simple to love you.

*Trans people were usually called "cross-dressers" in the 1800s, accurate vernacular came much later in the 1900s. I thought it was an interesting note on language that makes this scenario a lot different than we normally experience it today, as there wouldn't be a definition like "transgender" to rely on.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 headcanons #headcanon #arthurmorgan #ftmreader #reader insert #reader insert headcanon #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x male reader #arthur morgan x ftm reader #fluff #sfw

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wizard-on-whales · 8 months

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A Fine Night For Debauchery (Arthur Morgan x Reader)

NSFW - Minors do NOT interact

Warnings: near drowning, Arthur is a cheeky bastard (Who also gets a raging boner when he sees boobies), lots of teasing...I mean LOTS, filthy shameless smut, fingering, P in V, unprotected sex, pet names

Word Count - 3k

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Trelawny. Goddamn Josiah Trelawny. You blamed him for the impure thoughts that were keeping you up. Not that they were about the man himself but that dress he made you wear. You and Arthur were the main distraction for the Riverboat mission you had been sent on. The two of you were playing a newlywed couple there to win a little extra money for the success of your marriage. And to rub your “riches” in since Arthur had recently hit a score in the oil business. None of that was true, of course. And it wasn't the first time you and Arthur had been paired together for a mission where you had to pretend to be a couple, but tonight seemed more intimate.

You sat on his lap, one arm wrapped around his shoulder while he played the poker game. You could feel Arthur shifting under you now and then, his eyes subtly glancing down at your chest that was practically shoved in his face. The dress that Trelawny had picked out for you was extremely tight and revealing. Your corset pushed your breasts up to the point they were practically spilling out of the top. And although you usually wore low-cut dresses, you never wore corsets. You found them to be too claustrophobic, so you avoided them. You felt uncomfortable in the thing; it was digging into your sides and seemed to be a size too small. The feeling of it cutting into you caused you to squirm often, and every time you moved, Arthur flinched a little, sucking in a breath. At first, you thought he was shifting from your weight; maybe he was just trying to get more comfortable under you and the unnecessarily heavy dress you wore. But once you realized why he was actually shifting, you felt hot. If the makeup you wore wasn't as heavy as the dress, everyone would have been able to see how red your cheeks were burning.

Once he had won the game and got up to collect his reward, tension seemed to be released from his shoulders. You assumed he was uncomfortable, not wanting to be seen as just another one of those men. He wasn't, you knew that. Things like that weren't controllable, so you washed it off as just the compromised position you had been sitting in for so long.

All of those thoughts were quickly thrown out of your brain when shots were fired. You ducked behind the bar and pulled your skirt up, pulling your gun out where it had been nestled on your thigh the whole night. Once the coast was clear, everyone made a run for it. You, Arthur, Javier, Trelawny, and Strauss jumped off the side of the boat and started swimming for shore. The only problem was your dress made it impossible to swim. As soon as you hit the water, it quickly weighed you down, getting heavier the more water it absorbed.

“God damn this dress!” Your arms flailed as you panicked, hardly being able to keep your head above the water. Arthur noticed your distress and swam towards you, helping to keep you up,” Get this thing off of me!”

Arthur tugged at everything he could, trying to untie the corset and undo buttons, but they weren't coming undone quickly enough.

“How the hell am I supposed to do that!” He started to panic as you continued to struggle in his arms. He was able to unhook the front of your corset, pushing it off before seeing the maze of strings that held your dress up.

“I don't know, figure it out!” Arthur hesitated for a moment before grabbing the seams sitting against your breasts and ripping the fabric. One hard jerk was all it took for the dress to come off. He pulled you flush against him with one arm and pushed the rest of the dress down your legs.

“That works,” you felt your cheeks flush red. You still had your undergarments on, and despite wearing them around camp often at night, you had never felt more exposed in front of the man. Although you could swim on your own now, Arthur still kept his arm firm around your waist as the two of you swam to shore together.

Now here you were, lying on your bedroll, staring at the rotting ceiling above you. Your hair was still damp from the water, and although you had changed out of your wet bloomers into a nightgown, your skin was still cold to the bone. Your mind was flooded with impure thoughts you were trying desperately to get rid of. With Dutch being your brother, you had known Arthur the whole time he had been in the gang. He was 14 when Dutch and Hosea found him, and you were 12. Although you had always found him attractive, you would have never admitted to having a crush on him.

The two of you were close, supposed to be like family, but as you continued to lay there, you questioned if your relationship had ever been like that. The constant subtle touches, the occasional flirty banter, the few times the two of you had slept in each other's arms looking for warmth or comfort. Nothing inappropriate had happened those nights you slept next to each other, but now you couldn't help but wish something had...

The thought of Arthur ripping your dress off so easily made your cheeks burn again. You let out a heavy sigh before getting up from your bed roll and making your way up the creaky, old stairs of Shady Bell. Your heart pounded with each step you took. You stopped in front of Arthur's door, hesitating for a moment before opening it. Arthur was sitting up on his bed, journal in his hand. He looked up before quickly closing it and clearing his throat a little. You noticed his cheeks turned a soft shade of pink.

“You alright?” He asked, standing up and putting the journal on his map table. You still stood in the doorway, your hand sitting on the knob.

“I uh…,” You looked away from him and out the broken window, trying to form a thought. He stepped closer, which clouded your brain even more,” Never mind.”

Just as you went to step away, Arthur grabbed you. His hands placed firmly on both of your arms as he kicked the door shut. Your heart rate picked up as you looked up at him. Arthur was looked down at you in a way he had never done before. Like a predator stalking its prey. Your brain finally formed a sentence as you stared at the burning desire behind his eyes.

“I need you, Arthur,” the words came out quiet.

“Im a bad man, darlin’,” His voice was just as low. You moved your arms slightly, and he immediately let you go. You wrapped them around his shoulders, pulling him down slightly.

“You know Im worse,” Your eyes were fixed on his lips as yours hovered above them. Arthur dropped his head, his lips hungrily devouring yours. He stepped back, dragging you with him, his lips still on yours. He pulled you with him until the back of his legs hit his bed. He pulled away from you, a strand of saliva following as he did.

“You sure you wanna do this, girl?” His words seemed genuine as he stared at your eyes and lips.

“I've never been more sure,” You pushed his shoulders down, making him sit on the edge of his bed. Stepping back a few feet, you grabbed the bottom of your nightgown and pulled it over your head, throwing it onto the floor next to your feet. Arthur's eyes gazed over every inch of your body, drinking in your features like you were a smooth glass of whiskey.

“Come here,” you stepped closer, your legs against his. His rough hands immediately went to the back of your legs; one stayed put with a heavy grip. The other drug up your leg to your stomach until it was grazing dangerously close to your breast, “ Sit.”

You obeyed. You were a rough woman yourself... hell, probably more ruthless than Arthur. You almost never took orders from anyone, not even your own brother. Anyone who told you what to do would get a gun in their face, and it often ended with their brains on a wall. But here you were doing exactly what Arthur was telling you to. Like a dog eager for a treat. You sat on his lap, straddling him. Arthur smirked, his thumb swiping over your nipple. You wrapped her arms around his shoulders and leaned down, kissing him feverishly. Your hands grabbed his suspenders and pushed them off of his shoulders. You leaned back and started to unbutton his shirt. While you did, Arthur's eyes never left your face, his hands slightly roamed your body, feeling every curve he could. Once the final button was undone, Arthur took the shirt off and threw it to the side. Your hands immediately went to his chest, feeling him up and down.

He knew you watched him whenever he would do chores around camp. The way his muscles flexed through his shirt when he carried the hay bales or threw bags over his shoulders. And your eyes would never once leave him if he was chopping wood. His shirt off, suspenders hanging from his hips, just like they were now. His back and arms flexing with every swing. He wouldn't look at you while you stared, but he could feel your eyes burning a hole in him. And oftentimes it would end in Miss Grimshaw yelling at you to get back to work. You were staring at him the same way now, the same hungry look in your eyes burning a hole through him.

Arthur couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed and shy about it, his cheeks flushing slightly, but you didn't care. You leaned back down to kiss him again, hands still roaming his chest and memorizing every defined muscle on his arms. His own hands still wandered your body as he moved one from her breast and her heat. One finger dragged slowly up her cunt causing you to let out a quiet whine.

“God,” He groaned into your mouth, “Yer’ soaked, and I've hardly even touched ya. Whatchu’ been thinkin’ about, girl.” He removed his mouth from yours, his finger still barely touching your heat.

“You,” You breathed quietly, “The way you-” he pushed a finger inside of you, cutting off your words as you moaned.

“What about me,” He smirked, his mouth hovered right above yours, his breath hot against your lips.

“The way you ripped my dress off…so,” he pulled his finger out and pushed two in this time, “God- so easily.”

“I've been thinkin' bout’ that all night too, darlin’. Can't sleep because of me? Can't sleep because you've been thinkin' about fuckin’ me? Hmm?” He picked up his pace, his two fingers moving quickly, his thumb barely grazing your clit. You dropped your head to his shoulder, mouth open, but nothing came out. You knew you had to be quiet, or someone would hear. There may have been walls, but they were thin and rotting, and the broken window didn't help, “Is that it, Darlin? Gotta answer me, or I'll stop.”

“God, yes. Please, Arthur,” You let out another quiet moan, biting his shoulder slightly to muffle it. He groaned as you bit down, his hips moving slightly to ease his own throbbing heat.

“Please, what?” His teasing frustrated you, but your brain was too clouded to tell him off.

“Fuck me, Arthur, please.” That was all it took. He pulled his fingers out and flipped you onto the bed so that he was on top. Your hands quickly went to his pants, unbuttoning them and pushing them down his hips slightly. Your finger traced his hip bones and V-line. He sat back up and pulled them off the rest of the way.

“So eager…all for me,” He leaned down, whispering in your ear before planting a wet kiss on your collarbone. He placed a heavy hand on the base of his cock, pumping it a few times and letting out a groan before lining it up with your entrance.

He pushed into you slowly, both of you letting out a sigh. Arthur dropped his head to your chest, kissing one of your breasts as he bottomed you out. The man was large on every term, towered over most men in height, could easily toss anyone over his shoulder, so it was no surprise he was blessed below the belt too.

“You alright?” He looked you in the eyes, letting you adjust to his size before continuing. You nodded your head and bit your lip slightly, “That ain't gonna work, darlin'. Use your words.”

“Yes,” He connected his lips to yours once again and slowly moved his hips. You moaned into his mouth as he moved quicker, “Please, Arthur. Faster.” You threw your head back against the hard mattress.

“You like it rough, don't ya,” Arthur groaned as his hips continued to hit yours, picking up his pace. You couldn't speak, only nod your head and let out another strangled moan, “ I should've known, you dirty girl.” The noises coming from between your legs were filthy, getting messier as Arthur's strokes became more desperate.

“God, Arthur,” You moaned his name, your hands pulling at his hair. He clamped a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet.

“Yeah, that feel good?” He asks, his tone mocking her slightly, “Gotta be quiet unless you want the whole camp knowin’ how much of a whore you are.” He grunted, pulling one of your legs up further and kissing your neck. He bit down on the soft skin on your collarbone, trying to mask his own noises. The coil in your stomach tightened, your legs wrapping tighter against him. Arthur could tell you were close, so he steadied his pace, wanting you to finish before him. He lifted his head from your shoulder and watched your face as you got closer. You bit your lip to keep yourself quiet, pulling yourself closer to Arthur as your back arched. Your breathing got heavier as you let out a breathless moan, your nails digging into Arthur's scalp. You let go, feeling everything in your body tighten before immediately relaxing. Arthur pulled out, his hand desperately finishing what had been started, wishing his hand was your warm walls. You watched as he finished, groaning to himself as his filth leaking out onto your stomach.

“Jesus,” He let out quietly, leaning forward to kiss you. You wiped the loose strands of hair that stuck to his forehead out of his face. He pulled back, looking at you. This time instead of being full of lust, he looked at you with the sweetest eyes, a slight smile on his face. The two of you stayed like that for a few seconds, drunk on each other. He sat up slightly, grabbed his shirt off of the floor, and cleaned you up, “Shit, yer shakin’, darlin’.”

“I'll be okay,” You planted a small kiss on his forehead and wrapped your arms around his shoulders again, pulling him closer as he finished cleaning you up. He layed down next to you, wrapping his heavy arm around your middle. Your back was against his chest, his face buried in your hair.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while now,” Arthur said quietly, placing a small kiss on the back of your head. You smiled slightly to yourself, resting your hand on his arm.

“You been havin’ dirty thoughts bout me for a while, Cowboy?” You teased him slightly, his arm wrapping tighter around you.

“The filthiest,” You could hear the smile in his voice as he kissed your neck.

“Well, I guess you'll just have to tell me all about them, so I make sure they come true.” You turned in his arms so that you were facing him.

“I won't say no to that,” Arthur leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on your lips, “But for now, I just wanna hold you and get some sleep.” He gave you a soft smile, and you agreed with him. Both of you closed your eyes, enjoying the warmth of each other's arms once again, only this time, the night hadn't been innocent.

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#arthur morgan #arthur morgan rdr2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #van der linde gang #arthur morgan x reader #smut #arthur morgan smut #whoopsy daisy #this is the filthiest thing ive written #i have sinned once again #insert dutch walking in the next morning “WHAT THE FU-”

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atlasalexanderwrites · 9 months

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IMAGINE...being there with Arthur when he goes to Thomas Downes for his payment and interfering before things can go too far (preventing Arthur from catching TB)

WORD COUNT: 953

WARNING: none that I can think about, Arthur may be OOC some.

OTHER: reader is gender neutral; no gender specifics given to the reader so your choice!

A/N: the brain rot is real with RDR2 and with Arthur Morgan; I've been feeling icky for the last few days and the others in my house are all coming down with stuff so I needed a comfort character aka Mr. Morgan himself.

A/N2: I've been wanting to write an alternative to the scene where Arthur gets sick where...well...he DOESNT get sick. Originally, I attempted writing him as more low honor Arthur and then instead got this instead lol

A/N3: ENJOY!

“Arthur stop.”

“Arthur this has gone on long enough.”

“ARTHUR DAMMIT!”

Your weren't overly, physically strong by any means, but your partner wasn't in his right mind and was swinging blindly at the poor, frail man he had pinned to the ground. Arthur wasn't thinking clear enough that you were able to knock him to the ground and off of the man who immediately rolled to the side and started coughing, blood splattering all over the ground.

You held a hand to Arthur's chest, praying like hell he had the sense not to start swinging on you as well. “Mr. Downes, I am so sorry about this. I…it seems the heat has gotten to my partner. Is there somewhere that we can speak, calmly and peacefully?” The man had been upset the entire time you and Arthur had been there. Whatever reasons he had for borrowing from Strauss, you knew that you and Arthur didn't have even half of the story. And while you ran with the Van Der Linde gang, the last thing you enjoyed doing was swindling poor people who clearly were unable to repay the loan.

“Arthur, go clean your hands off. Now. And stay with the horses.” You demanded, openly glaring at him and silently warning him against arguing with you.

He grumbled and spat at the ground, but knew you well enough not to push his luck.

You waited for him to stomp off before turning back to the Downes family.

They were watching you with hesitation and distrust, which you couldn't blame them at all for, but you could also see something hidden just beneath the surface. Something akin to hope.

You sat with them for over an hour, listening to their troubles and how they had ended up this way. They truly were just misfortunate souls who had landed on bad times that seemed to only get worse.

Mr. Downes was sick. Really sick.

It had affected his ability to work as he once had. Taking aloan from Strauss had felt like the only thing to do at the time. Even if the man knew it was a bad idea.

“Get well, please. You won't hear from myself or my associates again.” You promised, biting back the raw anger building in your stomach for Leopold Strauss. What the hell had that man been thinking loaning to these people?

He's a fraud. Just like the rest of us in the Van Der Linde gang. Liars, cheats, and no-goods.

How could you have expected anything but this?

“Feeling better?” You asked Arthur, coldly, as you met back up with him at the horses.

“Oh don't start with me. What the hell was that back there? I nearly had the payment.”

“You nearly guaranteed your own death, Morgan, don't get an attitude with me. That man is sick, his family is struggling, have some…some compassion. This isnt you, Arthur. You're not a thoughtless, careless asshole who beats up the helpless.”

“Oh what the hell do you know about me?”

You rolled your eyes and pulled yourself up into your horse's saddle, “I know you’re better than this. I know you're not meant to be the next Dutch. And I know that all of this eats away at you at night; whether you want to admit it or not.”

Arthur scoffed and rolled his eyes, “Yeah well, you think you’re so smart, dontcha?”

“Smarter than you’re acting,” you grit your teeth and pulled at your horse’s reins to turn away from him, “Get your head out of your ass, Arthur, and stop trying to act so damn tough. The others might like you like this, but I don’t. And I can think of a few others who don’t either.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Arthur was sitting atop his own horse now and rode up alongside you. He was still upset, but his tone was lower and more gruff than anything else, “I was handling things just fine back there.”

“Sure, Arthur.”

“I didn’t need you to step in.”

“I know that, Cowboy.”

“Will you stop answerin’ me like that?” A sigh slipped from your lips as Arthur’s hand suddenly reached across the small distance between the horses and wrapped around your wrist, keeping you from taking off and trying to force you to pay attention to him. “You’re still too soft on people, ya hear? He knew what he was getting into when he accepted Strauss’ loan.”

Meeting his gaze, you nodded and responded with, “Yes, he did, but people make mistakes, Arthur, and it shouldn’t be met with a stiff fist to the face. He’s ill, Strauss took advantage of that. Thomas Downes and so many more are simply trying to get by. Just as we are. It doesn’t matter now. The debt is settled, I’ll handle things with Strauss.”

It was easy enough to see the look of thought behind Arthur’s blue eyes, and you could tell he was thinking over everything that had happened and all you had said. Finally, he nodded stiffly and let go of your hand. “Alright then, Partner. I’ll follow your lead.”

“Really?” You questioned, brow raised.

Arthur shrugged, “Don’t sound so surprised. Don’t I always do as you say?” His tone had returned to a more teasing nature, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in amusement.

“No, you don’t. If you did, we wouldn’t always end up in these situations.”

Humming, Arthur rubbed at his chin and asked, “Would you have me any other way?”

A laugh escaped your mouth before you could stop it and this time when you rolled your eyes it was out of fondness instead of irritation as before. “No, Arthur Morgan, I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

Hey! I hope you all enjoyed! If so please consider liking and reblogging! Thank you!

Please stay safe!

~ Atlex Writes

#imagine #imagines #reader insert #creative writing #fandom writing #fandom #red dead redemption 2 imagines #red dead redemption 2 imagine #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan one shot #arthur morgan imagines #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 fanfic #one shot #fanfic #fanfiction

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junosmindpalace · 5 months

Text

FOR YOU, FOREVER AGO

🎧 take a piece of my heart and make it all your own.

pairing: arthur morgan x gn!reader

wc: 1.7k

synopsis: arthur, and the notes he leaves in the books he gifts you. who could have figured love can transcend time?

content: established relationship, reading, reading and some more reading (together), soft and playful love, fluff with some angst at the end (arthur's death mentioned). reader is briefly said to be wearing a chemise.

a/n: i said i wouldn't write him again and here i am. writing him again. because this game has taken up so much of my writing headspace...

There’s an old saying that Arthur has heard retold in various different ways, and it went along the lines of “an idle mind is the devil’s playground.”

It derived from Proverbs 16:27: “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop,” something he later found out upon overhearing the phrase from the Reverend’s mouth during one of his rare sermons. Arthur doesn’t believe much in any sort of sacred text, but he could, to an extent, believe in that phrase.

It’s a belief Dutch and Miss Grimshaw hold in especially high regard, and their incessant nagging to do away with him loitering about in the camp proved that. And while he agrees that it is necessary for everybody to do their part, Arthur spends much of his time out involving himself in all kinds of tough and weary business, and like anyone else, sometimes the enforcer needed a break.

Though it seemed so to quite many people, Arthur’s mind was not solely fixated on his life of crime. Like many other people he was a man of love, who enjoyed reveling in Mother Nature’s beauty, and memorializing its likeness in his journal in gorgeous detail, too. He enjoyed lingering in on conversations that took place around him; mundane things like about rumors and town happenings, though they weren’t always pleasant. And above all else, he enjoyed being around you.

Scare was the time to enjoy such leisure with your responsibilities, however. Often, he would return to camp well into the dead of night or during wind down time you had permitted for yourself (because Lord knows Grimshaw wouldn’t) to entertain your mind. Borrowing from the collections of books around camp was one of few forms of amusement you relied upon for some sort of satisfying stimulation.

Arthur couldn’t help but sometimes be jealous of this. To enjoy the leather cover of a book against his fingertips and the patches of sweetgrass and lavender enclosed around him like a makeshift bed was a luxury he could rarely afford. Yet still, he found ways to incorporate his own amusement to look forward to when he did have the off time to enjoy it.

The habit, at first, was a means of compensating for his long absences. It was almost his way of giving you a piece of his heart to hold to your chest, fill your mind, make your own with your wild imagination while he was away for sometimes frightening days at a time.

Arthur provided you with literature of all sorts, from dime novels to hardcover books, when he encountered them on his travels. Mythology retellings, exaggerated tales of the fictionalized Wild West, dramatic historical fiction with royalty, castles, and dragons, and the sort of philosophy books Dutch enjoys reading passages aloud from that critique civilization. Each one, though unique in content, held a message with consistent love that made your heart swell and your lips stretch into a pleasant smile at the intent behind them.

Couldn’t resist.

Thought you’d like this one.

All my love.

Thought of you.

For you to enjoy when I’m away.

To keep you preoccupied while I’m gone.

To make up for lost time.

It's late when Arthur finds time to enjoy the stories with you, propped up on his side in the while his other arm is draped loosely around your waist as you lay in the same position, holding the book the two of you were enamored with in one hand. The firelight illuminates the pages for him to read from over your shoulder, his fingers brushing over your stomach and arms absentmindedly as he immerses himself in the world along with you.

“This gentleman sure is a character.”

“Ain’t he?” you snicker, taking the comment as an indicator to turn to the next page. “Almost reminds me of someone.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” he raises a brow at you, observing your expression with a tilt of his head.

“Nothin’ at all.” you hum innocently, pretending to fix your attention back onto the pages. He catches your bluff when he teasingly curls his arm around your waist and presses you closer against his chest, invoking a squeal of laughter from you as he ruffles your chemise.

“Just turn the page.” he chuckles with a slight shake of his head and a roll of his eyes, but when you meet his playful gaze with one of your own, any further teasing dies on his tongue as his breath becomes lodged at the sight of your glow in the firelight.

“Okay.” you tut with a raise of your brows, resituating yourself and leaning further into his grasp, to which he responds by hugging you closer.

When your time wasn't spent under the stars, it was in your tent. Accompanied in your shared bedroll was a book from a marketplace stand you had picked out together when scouting around town. One of Arthur’s hands holds it on his stomach with his fingers at the bottom, while his other holds your shoulder soothingly. You lay your head over his heart, listening to its steady pulsing, and following the small text with tired eyes to lull you to sleep.

Sometimes he read to you, when your eyes grew too heavy to look up at him, and your brain was too exhausted to form coherent enough thoughts, let alone conversation. He'd read with his free hand, voice gradually becoming husky with thick exhaustion of his own the more he read on.

“Why’d you stop?” you murmured to him as you lulled you head up to look at him, briefly slipping into fuller consciousness when taking note of the absence of his voice amidst the evening chill.

“Thought you’d fallen asleep,” he replied, rubbing a hand up and down the side of your arm before planting a kiss on your forehead. You only shook your head.

“A little more?”

Arthur peered outside through a crevice in his tent to the pitch black, redirecting his attention back to you with a sigh. “Alright. But only a little.”

Sometimes you read to him, when he returns to the campsite with his brain scrambled from the hat and madness of his travels, and longs, almost on autopilot, for your presence and an extended period of rest. With his arms wrapped firmly around your waist, legs tangled on your sides and head snug against your stomach, you propped up one of the books you had borrowed from Mary-Beth, a romance that you could always rely on to knock Arthur out, with one hand, while the other carefully threads through his locks of brown hair.

“That sounds like a nice place to live, don’t it? In a house with a white picket fence and a beautiful garden.” You had asked him quietly one of those nights, looking down at his still figure, who merely hummed in response against your stomach. “Maybe outta the country.”

“And go where?” he replied drowsily, peering up at you through small eyes.

“I don’t know…surprise me.” you teased, and Arthur chuckled.

“Maybe someday, sweetheart.” he placed a kiss on the fabric of your night wear, letting out a sigh as he adjusted himself against you again. “Maybe someday we’ll go somewhere real nice.”

Amidst ever changing lives—periods of transition and transformation and hard feelings and new hopes and dreams—you made sure to often revisit his little notes kept in between the first few pages of a book picked out with you in mind and written with all the care you had to offer to one another. Nights apart we’re spent tracing the loving words with your eyes, running a nail through the loopy font. It reminds you that you lay under the same stars, the both of you wishing to reunite sooner than later upon one of the billions that twinkled in the sky.

When Arthur had passed under the dying night sky, the menial, but important, declarations of love became lost to you.

Focusing on anything outside of survival seemed impossible afterward, and the grief was all too fresh and thought consuming. Most of the time was spent rebuilding your life to the best of your ability, something not quite what you had envisioned in hopeful late night conversations with Arthur, but more bare minimum. No beautiful porch with a nice garden, no homey furnishings. Only a simple bungalow with a creaky bed and a bag of few possessions you managed to snag in your abrupt departure.

At the bottom of the bag one day, you find something, no, many things, you had not laid your eyes upon since before the hope of a new dawn was extinguished within you.

It had been the first time you had felt an urge to be productive. For most of your days were spent in melancholy and anxious paralyzing thought that kept asking, what’s next?

You held them in your hands carefully, turning them over before opening them curiously, only to have your breath hitched when your eyes landed on the front.

Couldn’t resist.

You scrambled for another.

Thought you’d like this one.

Another, and then another. All of them until the reminders brought you to tears.

All my love.

Thought of you.

For you to enjoy while I’m away.

To keep you preoccupied while I’m gone.

To make up for lost time.

The rest of the night became dedicated to remembering all that you once had, and that you were once determined to have. Reading stories that always seemed as fantastical as your dreams of a sweeter life, perhaps where they even derived from. The inspiration and hope they fuelled gradually returned with each memory you recounted of your shared dream with Arthur.

He had given it to you in the end. Taken you some place nice, even if he wasn’t there himself to enjoy it with you. He’d given you a piece of his heart all those years ago, and you made it your own. Given you the resources—just enough money and a whole lot of love—to help you realize a life you always wanted. He was there; in the blooming flowers, in the magnificent dawn and dusk, in the pages of books you held carefully between your fingers. And you’d remind yourself of it every night with a trace of your fingers over his scrawled messages of adoration.

return to masterlist.

#i am slowly transitioning to writing more character fics #which you can find on my ao3 #so feel free to follow me there :)#im currently working on two (2) very lengthy rdr fics #one being centred around the women of rdr2 and another basically inserting adult jack into my own fictional 1910s world #with tati helping me a lot with #so look forward to that!#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan oneshot #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan angst #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 fluff #red dead redemption 2 oneshot #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 fluff #red dead redemption 2 angst #rdr2 oneshot

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forgetminot · 1 year

Text

Incorrect Quotes - Arthur Morgan x Y/n Edition

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

Y/n : "That sounds amazing! Doesn’t that sound amazing, Arthur?"

Arthur : "...No."

Y/n : "I think I speak for both Arthur and I, when I say that it sounds amazing!"

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

Y/n : "If you don't stop talking bullshit, I'm going to jump out of that window."

Arthur : "...We're on the ground floor, Y/n."

Y/n : "I know but I want a dramatic exit."

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

Arthur : "Why do you think I don’t like you? Of course I do. I would kill for you."

Arthur : ...

Arthur : "Ask me to kill for you."

Y/n : "...First of all, calm down-"

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

Y/n : "Did you really have to stab them?"

Arthur : "You weren’t there. You didn’t hear what they said to me. "

Y/n : "What did they say to you?"

Arthur : 'What are you going to do, stab me?'

Y/n : "I guess that's fair."

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cherryrogers · 2 years

Text

➳ quality service

pairing: arthur morgan x reader

warnings: female reader, smut with a helping of fluff, bath sex, praise kink, arthur morgan being sexy and perfect (needs a warning bc… damn)

summary: Arthur has a surprise for you that results in some... antics.

word count: 6.1k

a/n: first rdr2 fic !!! this is unnecessarily long and very self-indulgent but i hope u all enjoy nonetheless <3

The saloon is loud tonight; bustling with businessmen clinking their drinks while laughing boisterously and young women nattering away to one another. The music is overshadowed by the noise, but people are dancing anyway. There’s enough going on in the area where you feel confident in slipping your fingers into the coat pocket of the man standing next to you, just to the left of the staircase.

Taking a sip of your whiskey, you carefully search with your other hand through the deep pocket; the man chatting away to his friend is none the wiser. The pads of your fingers touch a cold object, and as you slowly remove it from where it was snug in the gentleman’s coat, you smile to yourself upon seeing what you’ve accumulated: a platinum pocket watch.

Swiftly, you slip the finding into your own coat pocket, eyeing your victim one last time and making sure he hasn’t noticed the weight disappearing from his jacket. He hasn’t. Not yet, anyway. Of course, you’ll be long gone before he does. And to think, you never thought you’d be good at this. That Dutch Van der Linde and his gang could make a thief out of you.

Satisfied, you turn around, planning on looking around the saloon for the cowboy you’d seemingly lost. But as you turn away from the staircase, your heart plummets to your stomach and you gasp when your eyes meet with a broad chest, and then avert upwards to meet a pair of blue eyes you know very well.

Arthur chuckles as you swat his chest; you’re relieved to see him, despite being unimpressed with his re-emergence. “The hell is wrong with you?”

“Sorry, darlin’. Didn’t know you frightened so easily.”

“I don’t,” You huff. ”I just don’t like being snuck up on.”

“I wasn’t sneakin’,” Arthur says. ”I told you to wait at the bar.”

“Well, you was takin’ too long.” You shrug, pressing your lips to your glass and sipping your drink. Arthur eyes you for a moment, taking in your playful smile before shaking his head.

“My sincerest apologies, then,” He responds. Quickly, he snatches the drink from your hand and throws his head back, downing the rest of the strong liquid. You scoff, but don’t even have time to berate him for stealing the whiskey you paid for before he’s placing a hand on the small of your back, urging you out of the saloon. “C’mon,” He nods towards the exit, placing the empty glass down on a clear table. “Let’s get outta here.”

You let him guide you out of the building, the cool evening air hitting your face feeling instantly more calming than the ruckus going on in the saloon. You’re not the biggest fan of Valentine, but admittedly, you’re rather fond of the town at night. The street is quieter, there’s no one yelling at you to buy a newspaper or preaching about a religious organisation you’ve never heard of. It’s not hot and busy with wagons and horses, but there’s a chill in the air, and the street is quite pleasant to stroll down when there isn’t the risk of being knocked over by someone speeding down it with a cart full of goods.

Winding your arm around Arthur’s, you pull yourself close to him, looking over your shoulder at the saloon in confusion as you step down onto the street. “I thought you was taking us out for drinks?”

“I said I’d take you into town, didn’t I?” The man looks down at you. There’s a knowing look in his eye that makes you suspect there’s… something out of sorts going on.

“Sure…” You reply, knitting your brows. “Where’d you get off to, then?”

“Just sortin’ out some things,” The cowboy says nonchalantly, and when you don’t respond, he glances at your face, your puzzled expression prompting a smile to pull at his lips. “What?”

You quirk a brow. “Arthur, what are you up to?”

“I ain’t up to anythin’,” He claims, but you can tell he’s hiding something behind that smile. Arthur may be good at acting alongside Dutch and Hosea, but he is not a good liar. “What were you up to, anyway? I saw you slip somethin’ into your jacket. Good job I ain’t a lawman.”

Though you’re certain he’s evading your questions, you decide to play along. Reaching a hand into your coat, you pull out the pocket watch, getting a good look at it for the first time. The platinum is smooth against your fingers, and there isn’t a finger mark to be seen on the glass. It must’ve been brand new, poor guy.

You hold it in front of Arthur, smiling to yourself out of pride as you observe the watch tick. “Mary-Beth’ll be pissed; all the ones she picks up are only silvers.”

“Well, look at you,” Arthur nudges you lightly. “I remember when you wouldn’t even pickpocket a man with his bag wide open. Now, you’re robbin’ off the clock. Hosea’ll be proud.”

Your chest warms at his words. Hosea has spent a lot of time since you’ve been with the gang teaching you how to thieve from pockets and satchels belonging to businessmen and wealthy folk alike, even after Miss Grimshaw decided pretty early on that you’d be better off just carrying out camp chores under her supervision. He will be proud, you think.

You look up at the man through your lashes, slipping the pocket watch back into your coat. “Are you proud, Arthur?”

Arthur smiles knowingly. “You know I’m always proud of you.”

“Yeah, well I like hearin’ it.”

“Oh, I know you do.” The man lets out a laugh, and heat pools in your cheeks. Arthur Morgan, the tease. He likes to act all humble and oblivious, but he also has a habit of making your face flush and your heart race whenever he pleases.

It’s only now you realise that you’re no longer outside of the saloon, and the conversation has distracted you from where you’ve been walking. Looking up, you see that you’re both heading towards the hotel, and again, you’re turning to Arthur curiously.

“It’s a little early to be turnin’ in, ain’t it?”

“That’s why we ain’t turnin’ in just yet,” The blond says, walking the two of you up the steps to the hotel and pushing open the door, moving aside. “After you.”

“Arthur, what—?”

“After you, go on.”

You sigh, wanting to both laugh and scoff at his insistence. It’s as if you’re both actors and you’re not remotely following the script. Obligingly, you slip past him through the door, into the hotel reception. The door shuts behind you, and Arthur’s hand is then enveloping your own, pulling your past the reception desk.

Chuckling, you shake your head. “I know we ain’t exactly law-abiding citizens, but we at least need to pay for the—”

“Jesus, woman.” He suddenly turns around, raising a brow at you while squeezing your hand in his. “Do you trust me?”

You pout. “That ain’t fair.”

He gives your hand a tug. “We’re just down the hall, c’mon.”

Finding that your questioning is seemingly completely futile, you decide to simply shut up, and follow Arthur behind the hotel lobby and through the hallway. The baths are down here, you know that much. But they need paying for too, otherwise you’re not allowed in.

Except when Arthur pushes open one of the doors, it’s unlocked, and by the steam clouding the small window and the smell of soap filling the room, it’s obvious a bath has already been made up. Made up for the two of you, apparently.

But that’s not all. The shelf over the bath carries a bottle of expensive whiskey next to two glasses, alongside a large vase filled with vibrant pink tulips and a fresh bar of soap. Rose petals scatter the mat underneath the bath, and a few even float on the surface of the clear bath water.

You breathe a laugh, hearing the door shut behind you. Then, there’s a hand on your lower back, and you turn around to face the cowboy, who looks all too happy with himself at your reaction.

“Arthur Morgan, what the hell?” You say, looking between him and the scene in front of you, not knowing quite where to look or what to say. “Did you do this?”

He tilts his head to the side, smiling. “I may’ve had a part in it,” He turns you back around to look at the bath, the water still steaming hot. “Looks nice, don’t it?”

“It’s…” You trail off, stepping towards the bath and leaning forward, taking in the fresh scent of the tulips. “God, it’s just lovely.”

“Well, it’s all yours.”

Standing up straight, you look over your shoulder. Arthur takes off his hat and places it on one of the chairs to the side, his skin beginning to glisten from the steam. You blink, still in shock.

“They do all this for twenty-five cents?”

“God no,” The man laughs. “Nah, this was…”

“This was you,” You grin, slowly crossing the room to him. You wrap your arms over his shoulders, letting your fingers thread through the hair at the nape of his neck. “What did I do to deserve this, then?”

Arthur places his hands on your hips, letting his thumbs run over the bones there above your skirt. “You always deserve nice things. And I ain’t a man of grandeur, nor can I afford to be, but… I thought you’d like this.”

The smile on your face hasn’t gone away since you walked in the room, and you shove your grin into his neck, feeling like pure bliss as his arms move to envelop you. “Oh, Arthur… you great sap.”

The man grumbles against your shoulder, his beard tickling the bare skin there. “Guess I can’t even argue there.”

You could stand here forever, breathing in his scent and basking in the warmth of his embrace, and you’re sure Arthur realises this, as he pulls away after a few moments, nodding towards the bath. “Water’s gonna get cold, darlin’.”

Letting your hands fall from his shoulders, you frown. “I don’t want you to leave just yet.”

“Now, who said I was leavin’?”

It takes a few moments for you to assess the situation, but then it clicks, and you suddenly feel very… hot. The two whiskey glasses should’ve been a giveaway. Is it even allowed? Couples sharing a bathroom? Though, Arthur has a talent for convincing any man of anything when he looks at them with cold, hard eyes. But he isn’t looking at you like that now, no — his eyes are soft, matching the smile on his lips.

Stepping back from him, you shrug off your coat, idly throwing it over a chair to the side. “You are somethin’ else, cowboy.”

He ducks his head, something he always does when he’s somewhat flustered. You smirk, your stomach bubbling with anticipation.

You begin unbuttoning the front of your dress, but a few moments later, Arthur’s large, calloused hand comes to rest over your own, and you look up at his face.

“Let me,” He says quietly, moving your hands aside and beginning to work carefully on the buttons himself. “You’re not lifting a finger tonight, alright?”

Nodding, you bite your lip, watching as the buttons come undone one by one. Eventually, Arthur is able to slide the rest of the dress down past your hips, and the garment falls to the ground. It’s not like the man hasn’t seen you in your underthings before, not to mention in much less, but it always feels like the first time you’ve been bare to him. The racing in your heart and the goosebumps on your skin make that clear.

You lift your arms when his hands move to the hem of your undershirt, pulling it from where it was tucked into your bloomers and riding it up your stomach, then past your chest and head. He even takes the liberty of folding it properly and placing it on the chair along with your coat, as if your dress isn’t currently a heap on the floor.

Half naked now, you purse your lips, feeling your nipples harden instantly even in the warm room. You wait patiently as Arthur folds your shirt, and his breath noticeably hitches when he comes back to stand in front of you. Lightly, he runs his thumb across your collarbone, then down the curve of your breast. You can tell he’s tempted to forget the warm bath and just have his way with you, but this isn’t about him.

He runs his hands down your waist and then removes the rest of your clothes, and once you’re fully bare to him, he lets out a long breath.

For a few moments, he simply rakes his eyes across your body, taking you in as if he hasn’t seen you like this countless times before. Then, he hums, leaning in to press his lips to the spot just underneath your right ear with a hand at your ribcage. “Beautiful.” He whispers, and your lips break into a grin despite yourself. Doesn’t seem so concerned about the bath cooling down anymore, you think. Lightly, you push against his chest.

“Water’s gonna get cold, darlin’.” You imitate his words from before, leaning forward to press a kiss to his jaw. Arthur reluctantly steps back and shakes his head, holding out a hand for you to take. You take it gladly, before lifting a leg and climbing into the bath, the hot water nipping at your ankle as you swing your other leg over.

Placing your hands on the sides of the porcelain tub, you sink into bath, a breathy sound leaving your lips when your body is almost fully submerged.

Arthur positions himself on the side of the bath, just in front of the shelf. “That feel nice?”

You nod, letting your head fall back against the tub. “Feels like heaven.”

“Mm, good.” The man responds, content with your answer. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, eyeing your exposed neck and parted lips. This is the closest he’ll get to heaven, he thinks, getting to see you like this.

Turning around, he picks up the whiskey bottle and twists off the lid, before pouring a small amount of the liquor into each glass. You lift one of your hands to retrieve your glass of whiskey, but Arthur holds up a hand, leaning forwards and bringing the glass to your lips himself.

“You weren’t kiddin’ about me not liftin’ a finger, then.” You grin against the glass, letting the man slowly tip the glass and pour a small amount of whiskey into your mouth.

“No, ma’am, I wasn’t.” He replies, pulling the glass back after a few moments and setting it back down on the bath shelf. There’s a drop of the spirit sitting on your bottom lip, and he bites the inside of his cheek when you swipe your tongue across it and sigh contentedly at the taste. He lifts his own glass then, taking a generous sip. This evening is supposed to be about your pleasure, and his stomach is doing somersaults just at the sight of your lips like he’s a goddamn teenager.

“Now that’s good whiskey,” You marvel, your voice bringing Arthur out of his thoughts. “We got the funds for that back at camp?”

“We can dream.” Arthur drawls, knowing he had to borrow some money out of the funds box just to buy one bottle. He’ll make it back, of course, before Miss Grimshaw notices his loan in the ledger.

You hum, shutting your eyes. “This feels like a dream. You’re like a dream, Arthur.”

You squint open an eye when you hear the man scoff, picking up the whiskey bottle momentarily and turning it over. “Christ, how strong is this stuff?”

“That ain’t the whiskey talkin’, you silly man,” You laugh, leaning forward to grab one of his hands, playing with his long fingers. “I mean it. How many other ladies get this treatment from their fellers, hm?”

Arthur shrugs, clearly discomforted by the attention suddenly turning to him. “Well, I wouldn’t know about any other ladies…”

Stifling a chuckle, you give his fingers a squeeze. He’s just so goddamn sweet, your cowboy. “Ain’t that good to hear.”

After a few moments, you reach for the bar of soap on the shelf, but once again, Arthur’s hand stops your from retrieving it. Instead of arguing, rather excited by the idea of the man washing your hair and scrubbing your body clean, you simply lean back in the tub and let him grab the soap.

It must take at least fifteen minutes for him to make his way down your body with the soap and his hands. First, he threads his fingers through your hair, working the soap from your roots to the tips of your hair; you almost fall asleep at the sheer feeling of his fingers massaging your scalp. Then, he brings the soap to your neck and chest, lathering it in his hands before smoothing it across your collarbones and shoulders. The soap trickles down the valley of your breasts, and Arthur bites his cheek and he runs a hand underneath one breast, lathering soap across it before doing the same to the other. He hears your breath hitch the moment his fingertips touch you there, and God, there’s a tent forming in his pants already.

He cleans across your arms, laces soap between your fingers, and then moves on to your lower body.

As he’s leaning forward to splay a hand over your stomach, you press a hand to his chest, and he pauses momentarily, looking down at you.

“Your shirt’s soaked.” You say, and it takes Arthur a moment to register your words considering all he can focus on is your long, wet lashes and glistening skin.

“Oh,” He replies after a few seconds, looking down and indeed seeing that his shirt had grazed the surface of the water while he’d been taking care of you. He glanced back over at you, before beginning his work again. “Doesn’t bother me, darlin’.”

But then you’re pressing a hand to his chest again, more insistently this time. “You’ve gotta take it off to dry, or it’ll still be wet in the mornin’—”

“It’s fine, really—”

”For God’s sake, Arthur. Will you just—” You drop your hand from his chest, pulling your knees close and resting your chin on them, eyeing the man through your lashes. “Will you strip off and get in here with me?”

Oh.

Arthur looks down at his soaked-through shirt again, then at you, staring at him so fuckin’ prettily that he’d be an absolute fool to decline you.

“You sayin’ I could do with a bath?” He jokes dryly. This is meant to be an evening for you, and now… Jesus. You want him in there with you, skin to skin. Something about it seems so intimate that even he wants to ensure that you’re sure of yourself on this.

“Arthur, I wanna share this with you,” You say softly, bringing a dripping hand to his cheek. “You deserve this just as much as I do.”

If you had the time, Arthur could list a thousand reasons why that certainly isn’t true, and that a man like him shouldn’t be sitting in a bath of rose petals. But it’s your night, he guesses, and if this is what you want, then so be it.

Not that he’s at all complaining about the change in his plans. As he stands and begins to unbutton his shirt, he revels in the smirk that overcomes your lips as you watch him undress. He chucks the shirt along with his pants over a different chair to where your clothes are, not bothering at all to fold them neatly like he did with yours, until he’s down to his underwear.

God, your legs feel weak despite the fact you’re sitting down. You leisurely take in the view; Arthur’s broad chest on show, lightly covered in hair that trails down his abs and below the waistline of his underwear. His thighs look strong and big as always. Every time you lay your eyes on them, even clothed, you’re hit with a desperate urge to sit yourself all comfy on his lap.

He’s quiet as he finally slips down his underwear, as if he knows your mind is running wild and it’d simply be rude to interrupt your train of thought. There’s an ache in your core as your eyes avert downwards; he’s half-hard.

The man takes a second to remove the bath shelf from over the tub, making more room for an extra person to slip in. You lick your lips despite yourself as Arthur then steps over to the tub, and shuffle yourself forward before he climbs right in behind you, one leg at a time.

He breathes a sigh of relief as he sinks into the hot water, his knees bending on either side of you. When he’s fully lowered himself in, you turn your body around and wrap your arms around his neck, your breasts pressed against his chest.

“This alright for you, girl?” Arthur says, his hands cautiously coming to rub up and down your back, gushing the bath water back and forth.

Smiling, you press your lips to his, wishing there was a way you could sink into his skin just to be impossibly close to him. His hands tighten on your waist, and you kneel forward, sighing into the man’s mouth as you feel the head of his cock graze over your lower stomach. Arthur pulls back then, smoothing a hand over the side of your face as you frown at the interruption.

“Let me finish taking care of you.” He says, though he’s rock fucking hard now from you being pressed so close against him. He wants nothing more than to dip his hand below the water and between your legs and really take care of you, but he’s a gentleman before he’s a man with needs. At least when it comes to you anyway.

“Do whatever you want with me, cowboy.” You breathe, turning your head in his hand and pressing a kiss to his palm.

It’s meant to be your evening, you know, but what you want frankly is for Arthur to take complete control. The hot bath is wonderful, of course, but the only thing that can provide you with utter euphoric pleasure is him. Doesn’t he know that, after all this time? Surely after tonight, he will.

A low grumble elicits from the man’s throat, and he resists the debilitating temptation to lift you up and sit you right on his hard length, instead pushing you to sit back on the other side of the tub, and he grabs the soap again.

Starting at your left foot, he lathers his hands with soap and rubs them from your ankle to the tips of your toes. Then, he runs a soapy hand across your knee. He notices you sitting as stiff as a board, and he smiles to himself, knowing that you’re likely as worked up as he is.

Carefully, he starts working on your thigh, caressing the soft skin there as he slides soap from your upper knee all the way to your ass. It takes him all he has to not stop there and pull you right to him, instead controlling himself and doing the same process on your other leg.

You’re silent throughout the whole thing, eyeing his large hands smoothing soap over your wet skin, feeling your stomach tighten with every caress, your cunt throb with every stroke of his thumb against your inner thigh. You toy with your bottom lip between your teeth, controlling your breathing as best as you can while Arthur’s hands roam your bottom half, until you feel his fingers ghost over your lower stomach once again, and you just can’t take it anymore.

Quickly, you grab his hand, pausing his movement. His eyes meet yours then, dark and heavy with lust.

“Arthur, please.” You whimper, and well, that’s enough to make the man forget his self-control and completely give in to you.

He pulls you forward by the hand you took, onto your knees kneeling over him and pulling your lips down to his. You moan into his mouth, and God, his cock is hard. One of his hands moves to your breast, kneading it as he tilts his head further to the side, pushing his tongue into your mouth.

You push his shoulders back, pressing him against the back of the tub and climbing into his lap, straddling his thick thighs and almost sloshing water onto the mat below.

His name leaves your lips in a soft moan as his mouth latches to your neck, your skin tasting like both soap and salt. His left hand stays at your breast, thumb grazing over your nipple in a way that makes your mind fog up. At your hip, his other hand grinds you down onto him, your clit grazing against the shaft of his length, hard against his stomach.

After sucking a dark mark onto the delicate skin in the crook of your neck, Arthur pulls back, putting both hands on your hips now to move you against his lap.

“You’re so fuckin’ good,” He says against your collarbone, planting sloppy kisses there. “Such a fuckin’ good girl, ain’t you?”

A hand moves across your stomach, then trails lower, and you gasp and callous fingers press against your throbbing clit. Even under the water, he can feel the actual slick between your legs, the heavenly warmth of your cunt. In slow circles, he rubs two large fingertips against your bud. You grind onto his fingers, your mind clouded with the sensation of pleasure.

“Please.” Is all you can muster out, your hands tight on his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

“Please what, sweetheart?” Arthur utters, dipping his lips so he can press them to the swell of your breasts. “Tell me what you want.”

Against your clit, his fingers move faster. “I…” You sigh, attempting to rack your brain for a string of words you can say to make a coherent sentence.

“That’s it, girl. Use your words.” He speaks against your chest, large blue eyes looking up at you. If he was younger and maybe a virgin, he’d probably come at the sight of you right now. Your brows knitted, lips plump and parted eliciting broken sighs, your chest damp and nipples pebbled, a mark he made dark and bruised on your neck. Such a fuckin’ sight for sore eyes.

“Shit, Arthur,” You breathe, moving a hand to run through his blond locks. “I… I wanna ride you. Wanna ride your cock.”

It’s Arthur’s turn to moan now, a low sound against your skin. When he tells you to use your words, you use them, alright. But he loves that you’re honest, that you’re comfortable enough to tell him exactly what you want from him, and of course, he’s more than happy to provide.

And well, he also just loves that foul mouth of yours.

Swiftly, he slips a long finger into your pussy, and you gasp at the sudden new sensation. New, as if he hasn’t been knuckles-deep inside you too many times to count now. Yet it’ll never not feel like the best sex you’ve ever had. Each time is simultaneously utterly perfect yet somehow better than the last.

Another thick finger slides into you and you can’t help but grind onto the two fingers inside of you now, feeling them prod against the sweet spot deep in your cunt. Arthur’s lips move to your right nipple, circling it with his tongue as he curls his fingers just perfectly.

You drop your head, pressing your lips sloppily to his temple. “Fuck me, Arthur. You’re… you’re so…”

You’re not even sure which word you’re searching for, but maybe it’s already obvious to Arthur what he does to you by the way his fingers are pumping in and out of you so easily and by the sounds falling from your lips.

“Let me ride you now,” You mumble against his cheek, his scruff tickling your jaw. “Please, Arthur?”

Arthur pulls his mouth from your breast and looks up at you. Your eyes are teary with desperation, and when you clench around his fingers, he elicits a throaty noise, his hand at your ass lightly squeezing the flesh there.

Please. The damn word drives him crazy when you say it. When you breathe it in his ear while he has his fingers snug in your cunt, begging for his cock to replace them. When you say it after anything and everything, as if he wouldn’t give you the world and more if you only looked up at him through those pretty lashes.

So good. You’re just so good. Too good for him, in his opinion, but he’ll try his damn best to be what you deserve.

Slowly, he removes his fingers from your pussy. You frown at the empty feeling, but then Arthur presses his lips to yours, and suddenly you feel a sense of fullness again.

When he pulls back, he brings his thumb to run over your bottom lip. “Whatever you want, sweet girl. You wanna be fucked good and proper?”

You nod, grinding down on Arthur’s cock, prompting him to buck his hips upwards, his tip hitting your clit.

“Words, girl.” He warns, taking his shaft in his hand and pumping it slowly, relieving some of the frustration he’s had since you started unbuttoning your dress.

“Yeah, good and proper.” You say, lowering your mouth to his neck and kissing upwards from his collarbone to just below his ear.

A desperate whimper leaves your lips when there’s suddenly something running through your folds. Hiding your face in Arthur’s shoulder, all you can focus on is the throbbing of your clit as he rubs the head of his cock up and down your slick cunt.

“Wanna see you, pretty girl,” He rasps against your ear, sending shivers down your back. “Sit up for me.”

Obediently, you push your hands against his shoulders so that he can see your face again, and you don’t even have a moment to prepare yourself before Arthur is slowly pressing inside of you. He keeps a tight grip on your hips, slowly sinking you down his thick length, inch by inch. He’s always slow with this part, half because he wants to make sure he doesn’t hurt you, half because the feeling of your walls engulfing him is worth more gold than he could ever want.

Both of you inhale sharply once he’s fully sheathed inside of you, and Arthur’s grip on your hips is bruising. He catches your lips with his again, before he slowly lifts you up from his lap, beginning to move you up and down his length.

You let out soft whines against his mouth as you feel the head of his cock nudging against your sweet spot over and over, holding tightly onto his shoulders and helping him manoeuvre you up and down. You go slow at first, getting used to the stretch of his cock, pleasure shooting through your core each time he pulls you to his lap.

But as you gain your bearings, you find the strength to start controlling the pace. Against the pull of his hands, you begin rolling yourself down onto Arthur quicker. The man’s breaths grow heavier, his hands loosening on your hips. He moves one of them between your legs, sliding his thumb across your clit once again.

“God, you’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” He growls against your cheek, relishing in the sounds falling from your lips. “Prettiest damn thing I've seen, you ridin’ me like this…”

It’s overwhelming and amazing and obscene, the pleasure erupting in your core, Arthur’s other hand moving from your waist to your breast to your ass, wanting to feel everything all at once as he rubs your clit faster and faster, the bath water sloshing over the sides of the tub and making a mess on the floor.

You bite your lip at his words, taking a hand from his shoulder and placing it on his jaw, stroking the scruff there. “So fuckin’ good, Arthur. Always fuck me so good.”

Arthur can act like he’s above getting hot and bothered just by some dirty words in his ear, but when say his name like that, especially while he has you bouncing on his cock, it drives him completely insane.

“Mm, that’s right,” He responds, beginning to buck his hips up in rhythm with the rolling of your hips. “Always take me so well, don’t you, darlin’?”

Teary-eyed, you nod quickly, feeling your climax gradually creeping upon you. The water that originally levelled at your chest is now barely kissing your navel, and it’s now sweat rather than water spreading a light sheen over your chest and face.

Pulling you with him, Arthur leans right back against the tub, and you’re pressed close against his chest once again. The new angle allows him to fuck deeper into you as he moves his mouth to nibble on your neck again. You practically cry into his shoulder, the pain and pleasure being all too much.

“You’re alright, girl,” He soothes, his lips moving against your neck. “You’re nearly there.”

He’s right. Your legs are trembling either side of his thighs, and your cunt is clenching tightly around him involuntarily. The gruff sound of his voice makes your heart swell with adoration for him. You think his voice could get you through just about anything, and the way he praises and assures you like it’s second nature, that alone is enough to tip you over the edge.

Arthur’s getting close too, you can tell. His brows are deeply furrowed and every rock of your hips into his prompts a guttural sound from his throat. You could just about do this forever, draw Arthur Morgan to his high over and over again so that all he knows is divine pleasure. It’s what he deserves, you think. It’s what he deserves for everything he’s done for you, anyway.

It happens before you can register it; Arthur ruts impossibly deep into you, hitting just the perfect spot, and with a final swipe of his thumb against your clit, you’re coming apart right before him.

“Mm, there you go,” Arthur raspily guides you through it. “Atta girl…”

The man watches it happen with pleasure. Revelling in the hearty moans falling from your lips, in the contortion of your expression as you ride through the climax, in the pride that he did that. He made you come right around his cock, his sweet girl.

Just as you’re coming down from your orgasm, Arthur feels himself about to unload. You whine as his hands grab your waist and slam you onto him a few more times, even the slightest pressure on your sensitive clit making you shudder. But the pain is enjoyable when his thrusts are sloppy and slowing down and you know he’s about to come.

With one final rut, Arthur quickly palms himself and removes his length from inside you, and suddenly hot white strings are shooting from his tip, decorating your stomach. You smile lazily as he moans lowly, milking his cock and watching as he makes a mess on you.

Within a few moments, the two of you are quietly catching your breath, and entirely spent. Tiredly, you sit back properly on Arthur’s thighs and let your head rest against his shoulder, feeling utterly content as two strong arms come to wrap around your body, and a long kiss is pressed into the crook of your neck.

“I have to say,” You breathe into his chest, running your hand over his stomach. “I ain’t ever had service like that here before.”

Arthur huffs a chuckle, trailing a hand down your back. “I’d damn well hope not. That part of the service was meant for the room we got rented, anyway.”

“Well, the night is still young,” You smile up at him, reaching up to kiss his jaw. “And you ain’t that old…”

Truthfully, you can feel his cum still sticky and trickling down your stomach, and you aren’t exactly… unaroused by it.

An amused grumble vibrates in his chest, and he squeezes your waist, leaning forward to reach around you and grab the discarded bar of soap at the other end of the tub.

“C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

You smirk into his chest, and he must be able to sense the smug expression on your face.

“Again.” He adds.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan reader insert #arthur morgan fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan smut

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nexionswild · 1 year

Text

IN WHICH MANEATER!reader admits their feelings for the van der linde boys. [p.1] [p.2]

includes: arthur ∿ john ∿ dutch ∿ hosea ∿ javier ∿ micah.

content warning: none, pure fluff, no pronouns [GN], some fem!words [“minx” “temptress”]

a/n: first headcanons in a while! personality may not be as accurate but eh, do what you will !!

✦ ﹒ arthur morgan

you.. what?

arthur doesn’t believe in being remotely worthy of any romantic interests, he always thought you were out of his league. needless to say, it’s a pretty loving yet interesting surprise. he even comes as far as questioning your tastes in men.

but of course, he doesn’t say no, and god knows what would happen to his mental state if he ever dismissed your feelings.

by the time your confession came out, he’d admit that he loved admiring you from a distance, seeing how you swayed men with your charms and wits. it was always fascinating for him in a weird way. he can’t quite put it in words, but by simply observing you, he could feel things.

“alright, alright … i’ll take the goddamn minx’s hand, but don’tcha go cryin’ on Grimshaw’s dress if ya’ startin’ to regret yer decision, understand?”

obviously, he’s so grateful to have you under his wing now. it’s almost like a dream he’ll never want to wake up from, it’s a blessing, even.

although arthur still doubt how long you’ll stay with him, due to his bad experience during his first relationships with some women, he’s trying to be optimistic about the way it will turn out.

he doesn’t have much to say or do, except awkwardly appreciating your presence and the way all of your attention shifted onto him, but he’s not a slacker in this relationship, hell no.

you’re constantly victim of his tease, and often gets to be his main focus every now and then. being a natural gentleman, he doesn’t mind offering you help during your missions. and his treatment gets especially more overwhelming after a task that includes seducing a feller for information. he’d like to say that he’s not the jealous type, he understands you’re just doing your job, but god. he should be the only man that gets to hear all of these sweet words.

✦ ﹒ john marston

completely and utterly baffled. him? you and him? together?

“why?” was the first thing that came out of his mouth. he regrets it.

when you explained it’s really by the way he behaves with you, the way he’s gentle and soft for you, always slacking around until he gets to work when you ask him to from dutch’s part, that’s where he realizes, he really didn’t made any efforts to try and keep his feelings away from you. he is embarrassed.

lord knows how red his face was when you admitted that he may be one of the most tender man you’ve ever came across from the millions of other ones you had to seduce for survival, to think he was one in a million, in a way, you made him feel special.

he could only hide his lips with the back of his hand as he reluctantly tried to look at you, in which he desperately can’t. and while you await his answer, his heart keeps beating faster and faster, he worries you may even hear the sound of his heartbeat from where you are.

eventually, after a long moment of awkward, peaceful silence, with the sounds of birds and winds clearing the void of noises your head, john eventually grumbled a little “yeah, i guess i like you too.”

he can’t believe that he managed to get into a relationship with someone as charismatic as you, knowing he absolutely has zero charms. but this reality doesn’t apply to you, it seems. with the way you shower him in compliments and constantly pampering him with kisses ever since your confession, it makes it hard to believe that he wouldn’t be a man of interest.

in return, he’d quietly shove all of his love and affection by pulling you into a simple hug or enticing you to join their partying when the gang suddenly pops out the alcohol and plays music for some event. he’s a fun man when he tries to be, otherwise, it’s really just long, and silent moments of adoration as he hugs and cuddles you from behind.

before he even got together with you, he was already a little frustrated with the men you had to engage with for the sake of the mission, but now that you’re his, his frustration is even worse.

“you better try and come up with som’ other plans, regarding [y/n] dutch.”

✦ ﹒ dutch van der linde

“of course, i’ll love you forever.”

he’ll tease you about your feelings, dutch already grew a reputation amongst women for his ability to entertain with just talks and conversations. he even swayed men to like him for being friendly. after all, why do you think he knows and have contacts with so many people?

admittedly, dutch secretly loved it when you confessed to him. there’s something about you initiating it that sparks a bigger interest in you. you were a pretty thing to look at, a painting in exposition for a museum. of course he had his eyes on you for a long while ever since you joined.

he only puts you in those (insufferable) tasks to see you in action, and boy, was he impressed with the way you’d easily wrap those creeps, men and women alike, around your finger so quickly. not only were you useful for the gang, but you proved you’re more worthy than those petty missions.

he’ll never admit how he would also punish himself watching you whisper those sweet-nothings into their ear, only hosea knew the kind of face he would make when you did your job.

surprisingly committed and devoted into this relationship, you honestly expected something lacking. i mean, the way he treated molly should’ve trigger those red flags, but there’s something about him that you couldn’t quite touch on, that was so annoyingly attractive. and that devotion never faded away, you always kept him entertain in some wicked way, god knows what kind of poison you have for him to be so hooked on you.

he’d always slide his hand around your waist, tracing the edge of your body with his fingers as he looked down on you. and the way you gracefully accepted his touch only made him want to crave for more, he wants more of your subtle validation every time he shares an intimate moment with you. you’re his elixir, and he will never stop getting sick if it means consuming you more and more.

don’t expect this relationship to end. he will never let go of you. ever.

good luck trying to contribute to the gang and do your job, because dutch will never stop fucking up your work for the simple fact that he should be the only one who gets to experience your seduction.

“i should seriously come up with different plans now that you’re mine.”

✦ ﹒ hosea matthews

it took hosea some convincing to let him know that you were serious about your feelings, he always took everything under a sarcastic joke, until he realizes you actually mean it, his smile drops as he’s processing the information.

hosea is aware he’s not as devilishly handsome as dutch, he thinks of himself as a boring old man who likes novels and wisdom. to think you, a young and seductive temptress, in love with him? he doesn’t know how to eat that in a whole.

that is probably the first time you ever seen him that nervous, but the way he plays it out as a joke was still endearing, but annoying, at the same time.

“who forced you? i swear, i won’t be mad if ya’ just told me, y’know?”

when he finally accepts the fact that you’re really interested, hosea couldn’t help but smile again. he’s a jokester, seriously, what do you see in that guy? he makes you laugh. (nudge nudge, wink wink) and the sheer fact that he made you bend over (not in that way)mon your tummy as you try to suppress your laughter into quiet snorts so many times was just charming, in your opinion. and impressive as well. no men made you laugh like that before.

you couldn’t care less if he was too old or too modest, he was the perfect amount of gentleman. he’s been loyal to you like some kind of butler, and it was just so lovely to see him act like such a domestic husband when you ask nothing from him, and it was even more funny to see him quietly appreciating your flirtatious remarks before you got together.

now that you are in a relationship, your teasing has gotten even worse, and hosea desperately tries to keep up with you but you always left him in long flustered silences before he cracks another joke to try and change the topic. but he doesn’t leave you do all the talk, when you need comforting words after a mission, he’s here. and he’s the perfect man for encouragement and motivation.

he understands that it must be hard to always be a man’s attention, and he couldn’t be any more proud of you for trying to play your part for the sake of the gang. he doesn’t care about the comments you have to use towards these men for information, he knows whatever you do or say, he’s the only one you love, and you’re the only one he loves.

“you’re just.. perfect.”

✦ ﹒ javier escuella

you’ve never seen him so. happily. flustered.

he doesn’t want to show this side to you, he’s a scary outlaw who knows how to handle a knife, guns and such. but you made his heart flutter, how is he supposed to react to your feelings in a way that wouldn’t miserably damage his image as a brave yet intimidating gunman?

being generally polite and soft-spoken, you couldn’t hear him literally grumbling in spanish under his breath, not like you could understand him anyways, he was talking too fast in your opinion.

“ay.. dios mío. i don’t know how to say it. but, i really..”

he can’t afford to look you in the eyes, you’re so beautiful and precious. you’re no saint and that, he shamefully loves it, so much. no amount of words can describe how he loves seeing you talking your way out of conflict with those honey words. and because of that, you’ll only ever hear his confession in spanish before he pulls you in an embrace, which told you that he’ll happily stay by your side if that’s what you want.

it frustrates you that he’ll only talk about his feelings in his native language, that’s his mother tongue, and as much as you love to hear his love words in spanish, you also want to know what that means. you want to hear those words clear and loud, and javier can’t help but chuckle at your desperation. it was adorable. he didn’t know you had that side for him; being cute. usually, he would only see you tempting men and women, or constantly hearing your teases.

seeing you pout just made him want to speak spanish more often, he savors everything you offer him. and there couldn’t be anything more delicious than your new expressions, he especially loves it when you blush for him, because it came to a point where hearing his mexican rants was.. weirdly attractive.

“te quiero mucho, querida.”

✦ ﹒ micah bell

WHAT? you had all the men in the world and out of everything, you chose him? him???

he doesn’t understand you, he really doesn’t. he’s been here, shaming all of your good graces and degrading you into oblivion since your sole purpose here is “to pretend to be a sexworker” and you like him?

fine. he may have been under your spell as well, i mean, you’re attractive. he knows that you are, why else would dutch set you up in dirty work like that? — but he have way too much pride, and if you think he’ll apologize for his behavior or told you about how he felt about you, safe to say: don’t get your hopes up.

not only is he straight up puzzled, but the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes he’s been craving for you this whole time, he was just in denial. he had too much confidence and pride to admit that he’d ever fall in love with someone like you, i mean, he’s been acting like this for so many years, what makes you different from the others? why was your attention so important to him? you’re nothing but some whore, right? or so he thought.

“fine.. but don’t get yer’ hopes up, pretty girl. just cuz’ i’m blessin’ you with my last name don’t mean anythin’. got that, sweetheart?’

he’s lying. you know he is. blessing you with his last name? is he expecting you to stay until marriage?

not that you mind, since you’re crazy enough to develop feelings for him. and he’s crazy enough to make you want this marriage.

ever since that day, micah has been noticeably more attentive towards you, both by hearing out your adventures and by touch. you wouldn’t notice him scooting closer and closer whenever you talked, you wouldn’t notice the way his head cocked to the side as his hand slid up your waist, tracing the frame of your body before reaching your shoulder and firmly grabbing it, pulling you closer to him. you only noticed when you felt his breath tickling your chin.

oh, he enjoys having an effect on you. all those months, he’d seen you play your way with people in sexual nonsense. he never liked how you got all the attention, or that you were focus on anyone else but him for that matter, but now he’s got you just where he wants you to be, right beneath him.

he loves to see you get quiet when he’s close.

“well? don’tcha keep me waitin’ pretty girl, better talk or waste my time.”

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ahqkas · 4 months

Text

RED DEAD REDEMPTION 2 MASTERLIST ; (bold means i prefer writing for the character or have some experience) ; arthur morgan, john marston, javier escuella, charles smith && to be changed!

♯ARTHUR MORGAN

01. ONE SHOTS

02. MISC

i. what love feels like with him

ii. what are his kisses like

iii. arthur with a shy lover

iv. lover with chronic pain

v. touch starved lover

vi. obvious crush

vii. he sees you in his shirt

♯ JOHN MARSTON

01. ONE SHOTS

02. MISC

i. what love feels like with him

ii. he sees you in his shirt

♯ JAVIER ESCUELLA

01. ONE SHOTS

02. MISC

i. what love feels like with him

ii. he sees you in his shirt

♯ CHARLES SMITH

01. ONE SHOTS

02. MISC

i. what love feels like with him

ii. what are his kisses like

iii. charles with a shy lover

iv. lover with a chronic pain

v. touch starved lover

vi. obvious crush

vii. period comfort with charles

viii. he sees you in his shirt

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harrypoppinss · 23 days

Note

Hey !! So, maybe a Charles Smith with a chubby s/o w stretch marks 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

You ask and I shall answer 🫡

—————

Canada

Charles Smith x afab!reader

(I didn’t proofread this one🙏 i apologize for any spelling mistakes)

Warnings: fluff, a hint of insecurity, post van der linde gang

If there was one way you could describe the feeling you had in America, it would be suffocating. The revolution of machinery made it less desirable for you and Charles to stay in Saint Denis.

You had considered renting off a piece of John’s ranch for your homestead that Charles has been mentioning about making for the two of you, but it just didn’t feel right. You had been in America during your time running with the Van Der Linde gang, and now that it was over; it was time for some fresh scenery.

You two had considered Mexico, but decided the weather was less than desirable. Then your minds turned to Europe, but the only issue was travel, you were weary of boats. Then you came up with a solution; Canada.

That’s how you found yourself in the cold country, with a small ranch with your now husband Charles. The journey to this new life was rough, but you had eachother through it all. That you never doubted. You had built a stable life, there was no more running to be done. You had expanded your bloodline with a 5 year old little girl name Emilia.

Currently, you were standing on your porch, watching Emilia endlessly chase the dog around the small expanse of the area between the barn and the fence where the horses were grazing on the pasture, you arms crossed over your chest. The birth was hard for you, with it being a day long event of agonizing pain.

It had left your body with some stretch marks, along with a small amount of chub from just how big of a baby she was. But that never changed how Charles saw you. Everytime he looked at you, it was with absolute adoration, love. Before the baby, you had always been a bit chubby but still, that never deterred him from doting on you.

Postpartum was mainly to blame for your lack of self esteem. It was hard for you, but Charles was there by your side, encouraging you and helping you through the small episode of depression you fell into. He never once saw you as any less than a woman for it, in-fact the new life brought into the world by your body made his love swell for you even more.

The sudden feeling of hands sliding over your stomach as you stood on that porch, admiring your little girl as she yelled at the dog to come back with her stuffed toy. Charles rested his chin on your shoulder. A small grin on his face as he saw the scene. You leaned back into his embrace, contentment flowing through your veins.

“She gets that from you.” he said to you, a soft tone lacing his voice. He was referring to how stubborn she was about getting that toy back, even if she didn’t even play with it.

You shook your head in a small protest, denying it even if it was true. She was spitting image of you. She had your hair, your eyes, and your nose. Her skin was a mix of both of the colors that made up you and Charles.

“She doesn’t,” you hummed out, you head turning to look at where his own head rested on your shoulder as his arms tightened around your waist. “If anything she gets that from you.” He glanced over to your face as you looked at him, before he leaned in, bringing his lips to yours in a small kiss.

His hands moved to grab your hips as he spun you around in his arms, his hand taking their stop on the small on your back. One of his hands did end up moving to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek softly as his eyes held nothing but adoration.

“Everyday you seem to get more beautiful.” he hummed out. The sudden compliment made a crimson shade slowly creep up your neck as you bashfully looked away from him. Your self doubt was swimming in your mind, he could tell. He always could.

“None of that,” he hummed out, his hand guiding your face back to his as he gently made you look at him. “You’re beautiful.” He said again, his free hand sliding to rest on your hip. “Every part of you, it’s exquisite.”

You knew he meant it too, how could you not? His eyes were practically shaped into hearts the entirety of his small speech he just gave you. He leaned forward, his lips pressing onto your forehead, before he dipped his head down to be level with yours.

“I’ll show you what I mean tonight.” He declared, a small grin tugging back at his lips as they met yours once again. Your hands slid up to cup his strong forearms, before your kiss was interrupted.

A loud “eww!” rang out in the air. You both looked in the direction to see your daughter’s face scrunched up into a grimace as she saw the scene of her parents kissing infront of her.

“Ew?” Charles said, sidestepping as he had a small, mischievous glint in his eyes. He always did this what Emilia would do something along those lines, he gave you one small glance before he made his way down the porch steps. Making your daughter squeal as she darted away from her father.

A smile tugged at your lips as you watched Charles easily catch her, lifting her into the air as he pressed a series of small kisses playfully to her cheek. Yeah, you were definitely glad you moved to Canada.

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Authors note: I’m finally back😼 I’m in my rdr stage again currently and I have SO many ideas🙏

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#charles smith #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 charles #charles smith x reader #fanfic #writing #reader insert #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption community #red dead redemption fandom #red dead redemption x reader #x reader

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marttapav · 11 months

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SELF INSERT BULLSHIT I LOVE THEM IDC

#artists on tumblr #art #rdr2 #digital illustration #red dead redemption 2 #charles smith x reader #rdr2 sketches #doodle #arthur morgan x reader #canon x oc #canon x self insert #arthur morgan #charles smith #charles smith rdr2 #arthur morgan rdr2 #art journal #sketch #self insert #oc art

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unidentifiedly · 7 months

Text

Eventful Morning

Micah Bell x reader

- In which Micah almost scares the reader to death. Or at the very least, scares them enough for it to have consequences.

"Tip, tip, tip" Soft sounds of rain droplets made their way into your ears.

"No, no. Just a few more minutes." You thought to yourself, unable to open your eyes just yet. Slowly but surely you adjusted to the idea of waking up and opened your eyes. The off white canvas tent filtered the morning light beautifully. Glancing around yourself, looking for your favourite blouse and overdress, your gaze fell on the small dusty mirror in front of you, perched atop a trunk and supported by a stack of hardcover copies of romance novels.

In the mirror, yourself staring right back. You glanced at the intricately engraved brass pocket watch by the side of the bed. The watch itself was a birthday gift from Arthur a couple months back. The arms reaching toward four and twelve, it was way too early to get up and start one's day. Yet, here you were.

Softly humming to yourself you tied your hair up lazily with a ribbon, deciding to spend the hours of the morning organizing your safe haven. The gang had only recently arrived at the new spot, Horseshoe Overlook they called it. Far too east for Arthur's liking, but to you about anything sounded better than heading back up those cold mountains toward Colter. You were used to it at this point, the constant moving around. It was a way of life that held you tightly in its grip.

That being said, the new camp was still unorganized and there was sure to be work around that needed doing. This was a chance to have some private time, peace and quiet for yourself.

Sorting through the mementos and trinkets from throughout the years was quick, you wiped the dust off of the little mirror with the corner of your nightgown. Gathering up the few clothes you had laying around and neatly folding them up you realized the growing pile of fabric by the end of your bed was clothes and linen that needed washing, not something that should just be sorted back into the trunks right away. "I think it was Charles who mentioned there was a river just west of here?" Mumbling to yourself, you picked up the dirty clothes and put them in a basket, not bothering to dress up all the way. "Everyone will be asleep at this hour anyways, and if not, it'll be Miss Grimshaw awake. It's nothing that'll bother her too much." Pulling on your trusty leather boots you untied the strings holding the fabric flap door of your tent shut. A prompt walk to your horse, a beautiful paint mare, and you were off along with your basket of laundry. With the carelessness, soft hums and the skip on your step you failed to notice a pair of eyes watch you leave the camp. The observer finished smoking his cicarette, let his legs fall from the log they were resting on while chucking the cigarette butt over his shoulder, and rubbed his hands together. What on on God's green Earth were you up to this early in the morning, and barely dressed to boot?

The sound of a running stream reached your ears fast. Charles had of course been right, even a blind man would notice the Dakota River from this close by. Hopping off your horse and tying the reins to a nearby tree you swung the basket on your elbow and kicked the boots off your feet, walking straight into the cold running water. Oh how sweet the feeling was! In a low point of the river, a rock stood taller than the surface of the water, so you took a seat and began the chore.

"Eeeasy there boy" Micah huffed to Baylock, staying well hidden in the trees, observing you from afar. A smirk spread on his lips as he saw your boots and gun belt scattered on the riverbank, and you sitting on a rock in the middle of the water, with your back facing him. Dismounting with an agile leap, he slowly but surely started making his way toward you.

Completely lost in your activity and the sweet warm sunshine of the spring morning you were singing to yourself, getting ready to leave. Looking at the last blouse, and squeezing the extra water out of it a surprisingly strong wave hit the rock and splashed water all over you, soaking your thin white linen undergarments. "Fuck!" You stood up and turned around, screaming out loud.

"Mic- Mr.Bell! What the fuck are you doing?"

Keeping his eyes locked on your body, his smirk widened, his arms reaching out toward you. "Just call me Micah, and I could ask ya the same thing, sweetcheeks. Now come on here." He beckoned with his hands, but you refused.

"No, I don't think so, you can't just creep up on me like that Mr Bell. I could have dropped my laundry basket, or worse, fallen down and then drowned out of shock!"

You took a step back, lifting the now heavier basket full of wet clothes up to rest against your hipbone.

For every step you took back, Micah took one forward, and the man had both the advantage of longer legs and facing the direction he was going. It didn't take long for things to go south.

"I'm warning you Mr Bell, I'm going to tell Arthur about this, and you know he is not going to be happy!" You tried in vain.

"Hrmph. The cowpoke ain't got nothing to do with how I conduct my business with a lady such as yerself."

You were taken aback, "what did you just call me? You never- Ah!"

Slipping on a rock and falling back, you reached out to Micah for support, and closed your eyes in anticipation of the cold hard surface of the river. The sensation never came.

"Gotcha." Eyeing down at you was Micah, who effortlessly supported your almost naked body by your waist and left arm. "Now how about ya let me show you a good time as a thanks?" One of his eyebrows rising up and his face forming a seductive expression.

You, however, were too occupied to notice or care. "Micah you idiot! All of my clothes are fucking gone!"

And indeed, the river was decorated with the various pieces of clothing running merrily downstream, way too fast to catch up to.

"Well, ya won't be needin' any of those for th- Ow!" "Shut the fuck up and help me get dressed before anyone else notices!"

The ride to the camp was one of the worst you had ever experienced. For Micah, it was the opposite. A prideful smirk on his cocky face, throwing you the occasional remark about the curve of your waist and ass, and how good you looked in just his jacket as you rode, and making no attempts to be quiet and discreet as you arrived in camp. You tried your best to ignore him and get away from the situation as quickly as possible. Hopping off your horse, not even bothering to tie the rains to the hitchpost, you walked briskly toward your tent only to run straight into Sean.

"Oi, watch where ya- Y/N, wow, let me tell ya, could not see this one comin'!" A smirk instantly grew on his face, and he slapped a hand on Micah's jacket, on your shoulder.

"Sean it's NOT what it looks like, and don't you dare mention this to anyone either!" You whisper yelled while taking off the jacket, exposing your still wet and thus transparent garments. Sean blushed bright red, poor guy, and you stomped right in to your tent.

Not being able to face the rest of the day, the longer you stayed in your tent the more intimidating the prospect of leaving felt. Surely Sean had told everyone about what he saw, and you'd be mocked til eternity.

No, there was no way you'd ever leave that tent again.

A few hours later you were starving for a snack and stuck your head out to find the main area empty. Great! An opening. As soon as you stepped out, a voice rang: "Y/N!" You turned around, mouth open to start defending yourself, only to face a very noticeably beat-up looking Sean. "Listen, sorry about the earlier, I never saw nothing, alright?" You nodded in confusion and he smiled, thanked you quickly and scurried off. You got the food you were after, and returned to your tent to eat it. There, on your cot, rested a shirt and a dress, folded in a way which looked like a very bad attempt, with a piece of paper on top. There, in barely legible rough handwriting:

"The idiot won't bother ya about it. M"

You smiled to yourself, feeling the fabric of the clothes. Both of good quality fabrics, a white undershirt and a red simple dress. Just like the ones you usually wear every day.

Observing from a distance as you emerged from your tent in your red dress, Micah Bell smiled to himself as he sharpened his knife, softly murmuring to himself: "Gotcha ta call me by my name at least. That's a start."

note: Yay! My first ever piece of writing I've published online :) do suggest if you get any good ideas and like my writing style.

#micah bell #micah bell x reader #rdr2 #micah x you #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #reader insert

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