forgetminot

[forgetminot]

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

#laughs in chronic fatigue syndrome #cfs

[forgetminot]

- The Forbidden Fruit

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Request- I NEED ARTHUR TO STEAL DUTCHS GIRL AND SHOW HER A REAL MANS LOVING. FILTHY PASSIONATE LOVING. WORK YOUR MAGIC

A/N- I got incredibly carried away with this. Is basically prawn with no plot honestly. And far softer smut than I think you intended it to be but. Here we are. Enjoy.

Warnings- 18+ | implied toxic relationship ( reader is in love with Dutch van der Linde what can you expect here ), smut: cheating/affair, Arthur being desperate to please!!!, fingering, oral ( reader receiving ) , unprotected p in v and he accidentally finishes inside oops, like the tiniest amount of cockwarming ( WC-8.9k )

AO3 | Masterlist - requests are open :)

Arthur didn’t involve himself in Dutch’s relationships. He stayed polite to whatever young woman he had hanging off his arm at the time, but that was about it. He’d seen too many girls come and go- usually in floods of tears at being dismissed by the man that had seduced and charmed them into loving him. Just working his way through shiny new plaything to plaything, hiding his unending sorrow for Annabelle under the skirt of some new girl. 

Unfortunately you were no different. 

In your defence, he supposed, you had lasted far longer than the rest. The only real exception to that being the famed Annabelle herself. But as was almost inevitable, your time in the honeymoon phase was slowly crumbling down around you. 

Arthur did wonder if it was simply because of the current stress levels in camp. They had all been on the run for longer than he cared to try and count, but after the mess in Blackwater they had reached new heights of being hunted. It had never been this bad. Nothing had ever gone this wrong. Because before everything had gone to complete shit, he’d actually seemed quite taken with you. In truth Arthur actually had begun to consider the idea that Dutch really did love you. Had finally been able to move on from the weight on his heart of his dead lover. 

But no. 

Arthur was observing the same pattern as always, it had just taken far longer with you. And that just seemed to make it all the more cruel. 

He barely even looked at you most days now. Barely uttered a few words in return to any question you asked. 

And the arguing was growing ever more fierce. It was practically everyday. 

Arthur didn’t like it. Didn’t like the way Dutch treated you. Didn’t like the way Dutch was treating anyone lately. But you in particular had never been anything but nice to him, kind. Sweet. Incredibly naive but sweet. To Arthur too. Some of the girls Dutch had strung along had been vile, rude and entitled and stuck up. But you? You were a genuinely nice person it seemed. And maybe that was your greatest flaw, for someone like that did not belong with Dutch Van Der Linde. 

In fact Arthur had come to like you from a distance. The times he had spoken to you you had been interesting, intelligent. Far cleverer than him and he had always liked that in a woman if he was honest. 

But still you clung to Dutch. Though your patience with him of late seemed to finally be wearing thin. 

Dutch had never really been one to be ashamed or afraid of airing his dirty laundry within the gang. Whether that be packing on the PDA in camp in a way that often made Arthur want to vomit up his breakfast, or the even more puke inducing sounds of the two of you making up all night long. So arguing was no exception to that either. 

And today was no different. 

“ you barely even look at me! I’m right here! I always have been, I’ve always been such a good girl haven’t I? I do as you say. And look at how you repay me! “ Arthur sighed as he dropped a stack of bills into the box, successfully recovering yet another of Strauss’ debts for him. You were both screaming at each other again, the tent flaps pulled down as if that would over any form of soundproofing. It was the camp's regular ambience now it seemed. 

He did feel sorry for you, he really did. You’d left everything you had for Dutch. Some beautiful, intelligent, well spoken girl. Heiress to her daddy’s mining fortune up north, used to the finer things but seeking some adventure. And Dutch had offered you both. Drowned you in jewels and gifts- though unlike the ones you had once owned the ones he gave were not his to give- Shown you off like a shiny new toy on his arm. Expressly informed Miss Grimshaw that you were not to be lifting a finger, that you would not have to earn your keep with chores like the others. 

You earned your keep by looking beautiful beside him, by boosting his ego with your constant devotion to him, by letting Dutch use you for his own source of pleasure and by the sounds of things- that Arthur truly had no choice but to overhear- not getting very much back in return. 

“ You know I don’t think I’ve ever met a more selfish woman in my life! “ Arthur sighed and sat down on his cot, debating whether or not to make some attempt to get the sleep he had been planning the entire long journey back to Clemens Point. But his tent was but a stone's throw from Dutch’s. 

“ I have needs too Dutch Van Der Linde!” Everyone else in camp didn’t seem to mind it though, most of them preparing to settle in for the night. Whether that be passing out on their bedrolls or drinking by the fire. But Arthur wasn’t sure he could put up with another moment of the damn yelling. 

“ oh? You have needs? “ Dutch’s voice was condescending. Mocking “ I give you everything! You are acting like a spoiled child”

“ a child? A child!? “ Arthur stood back up again, deciding he’d fare better trying to sleep on the damn ground rather than next to the likes of you and Dutch. So he headed out towards the edge of camp, hiding himself in the woods by the water. He slumped down against a tree with a heavy sigh and wished he’d thought to pick up a bottle of beer on the way. 

But it was no matter. He was far enough away that he couldn’t hear the fighting anymore, but close enough that if he was needed anyone calling his name would be heard. 

He looked out across the water, enjoying his rare moment of peace. It was a clear night and a full moon, the reflection bouncing off the water in the most beautiful way. He pulled out his journal and started to sketch it, wishing he could capture its beauty better. 

‘ Dutch and the girl were arguing again. Got out of earshot for a bit to try catch some sleep. Thought the water and the moon looked mighty pretty ‘ 

He scrawled underneath when he was done, tucking it back into the satchel discarded at his side. Javier's guitar had silenced back in camp now and he figured everyone had gone off to bed. But he was quite content there by the water, so dropped his hat over his face and settled in to try and catch a few hours himself. 

He was just dozing off when he heard the sound of boots marching quickly through the undergrowth, snapping twigs as they went. And then the soft sound of someone mumbling to themselves. He silently hoped whoever it was would keep well away from him. But the boots grew nearer and came to a halt not so far away. The crackle of a match being lit and a heavy sigh. 

“ thinks he can talk to me like that? Bastard. Bastard he is. I’m a lady I deserve better than. Than that “ 

You. 

He cleared his throat lightly to inform you that he was there, but unfortunately still seemed to startle you. 

“ Christ! Gave me a damn heart attack Arthur “ he placed his hat down with his satchel with a sigh and looked up at you. In the light of the moon reflecting off the water he could see your cheeks were tear stained, the glow of the end of your cigarette illuminating your face further and showing your makeup in streaks. 

He couldn’t lie that it made his heart ache for you. He didn’t particularly have any solid feelings for you, but he did feel sorry for you. It was hard not to feel sorry for the woman seduced by Dutch. 

And you truly were a cut above the rest in his opinion. Beautiful as the early morning sun and, when you weren’t screaming at Dutch, as kind and warm as it too. But maybe that was fitting. Because much like the sun you could bask people in warmth, but burn them too. Beautiful and bright but scalding and he found he couldn’t look at you for too long, no matter how many times he wanted too. Simply blinding his eyes with your flaming beauty and having to turn away. 

But maybe he was just getting caught up in his metaphors. 

“ shouldn’t be out this far from camp “ you simply shrugged, taking another drag of your cigarette “ ain’t no one nice lingerin’ in woods at night miss” even if no Lemoyne raiders were sneaking around the trees, there were plenty of species of wildlife that would happily do a number on you. Chew off a leg or bite you with poison fangs. You didn’t know how to take care of yourself. You couldn’t handle a gun, didn’t have a single survival instinct in you. 

Dutch had quite made sure of that, he’d heard you ask once or twice. And had been denied. Charming you with some string of words about how you were far too delicate to be handling a gun. To leave it for the men. 

“ you’re lingering in the woods aren’t you Mr Morgan? “ he chuckled and shrugged. 

“ and I ain’t that nice. Point proven lady “ 

“ not like Dutch would care if someone took me anyway. He’d probably be thankful “ your voice was hoarse from the shouting and he couldn’t tell if you were going to cry again or not. You took a long drag of your cigarette before seeming to suddenly remember something, dipping your hand into the waistband of your skirt and pulling out a pack “ sorry my manners. Want one? “ he took one with a nod of thanks “ can I sit? “

You sat down carefully beside him then with a long sigh, tucking your legs beneath you, and leant forward so he could light the cigarette between his lips with the end of yours. 

“ thanks “ you both sat quietly for a short while. Smoking and watching the ripples in the water. He didn’t mind it actually, as much as he had been slightly annoyed at you disturbing his attempt to sleep. You were decent company. 

You rarely strayed from Dutch’s side, but on the odd occasion you had and Arthur had stumbled upon you having a moment to yourself at the edge of camp it had been quite nice. So he didn’t mind sitting there with you, company. For you both. 

“ I think you’re nice. By the way “ you said to break the silence, refrenching his previous comment of bad men lingering in the woods. 

“ No offense to you Miss, but you’re in love with old Dutch. I don’t think you’re particularly qualified to be sayin’ whether folk is nice or not “ he said it teasingly in some hopes of making you smile. And it did. A little. 

“ maybe not “ he watched you bring your cigarette to your lips again, glancing at your hands. Nails perfectly trimmed and not a single speck of dirt or sign of a scar. Hands that had never had to lift a finger. Ever. It was an interesting contrast to his own. Calloused and scarred and bruised “ but Dutch he… he…Can I ask you something? “ 

“ Sure “ he said and flicked his cigarette away. 

“ Do you think I’m beautiful Arthur? “ you asked meekly. Your face was sad. Lingering innocence yet to be wiped away by life somehow, the kind that only remained because you had lived a life so sheltered. Even with Dutch you were as sheltered as could be “ and don’t lie. Please “

“ I think you’re beautiful, sure “ you turned back to the water again, tossing your own cigarette before promptly lighting another. 

“ Dutch doesn’t. Not anymore. Barely even looks at me “ Arthur ran a hand over his face, not entirely sure what he was supposed to say to you in the situation. At all “ I know I know I don’t expect you to agree. You two you’re…you’re like two peas in a pod aren’t you? “ you said with a small laugh, but it held no humour. You took a long drag of your cigarette. 

“ me and Dutch it’s… we go back a long way. But… I will agree the way he’s been treatin’ you. Ain't nice. Not when you done nothin’ but be loyal to him for so long “ you turned back to him again and gave a small smile. It was like a wave of relief had washed right over you. 

Someone was finally listening. 

“ I think he’s got his eyes on Mary-Beth “ you mumbled, red stained lips wrapping around your cigarette again. Much like how he had found himself admiring your hands he now found himself admiring your lips. Soft and plump and stained red in the way they often were. 

He blamed it on his fatigue. 

“ he’d be a fool to give you up. You’re kind, loyal, hell you might jus’ be the most beautiful woman I know. He’s in a weird place right now. He’ll snap outta it, be back to readin’ you Evelyn Miller in no time. You’ll see “ maybe the last part wasn’t entirely true. But the first part was. And you seemed to bask in his compliments. He wondered when the last time Dutch had said something nice to you had actually been. 

“ Thank you “ you looked as though you might cry again. And he really hoped you wouldn’t. He didn’t like to see you cry. And he really wouldn’t know what to say to you then. Once again you turned your attention back to the water and gave a small sigh “ maybe I chose the wrong outlaw “ you said with a small laugh “ always have thought you were quite handsome “ 

He nearly choked on his own saliva, clearing his throat in hopes to pass it out smoothly. He didn’t know if it had worked. 

“ Really? “ 

“ Hmm “ you mused, tilting your head inquisitively to the side “ but you were oh so hung up on that Mary girl when I found Dutch”

“ Yeah well. Mary she’s- that’s all done with now “ maybe Mary was the reason he seemed to sympathise with you so. Because he too had had a broken heart. Though he was sure his was not as brutal as yours. 

“ Guess we both have bad taste don’t we Mr Morgan “ he chuckled and nodded. 

“ That we do miss. That we do “ he placed a gentle hand to your shoulder and squeezed in some form of comfort “ don’t worry bout Dutch though. Really. He’ll come to his senses and if…if he don’t then. Any man would be lucky to have ya “ you sniffled and he figured you’d started crying again “ I didn’t mean to upset- “

“ No. No I’m fine. It’s just…you mean it all don’t you? All these kind words? “ he shrugged and then nodded. 

“ Sure I do. You’re a beautiful woman. Inside an out “ something seemed to flash across your face, a million and one things whirring away behind your eyes. He’d never been that good at reading people, never one for knowing what people were thinking. And the look on your face was the most confusing he’d ever seen. 

The next part happened far too quickly for him to process it. Maybe because he was tired, maybe because he truly hadn’t even slightly suspected you to do it. You flicked away the butt of your cigarette and leaned forward, one hand to his leg and the other to his neck. And kissed him. 

He was taken aback and you pulled away before he could make any attempt to figure out what you’d just done. 

“ Sorry “ you sighed in slight annoyance, seemingly at yourself, sitting back beside him again. Like it was no big deal. Just something that had happened and had no real consequence “ shit- sorry “ Arthur scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and shrugged with a small laugh. Attempting to play it as cool as you clearly were. 

Maybe he’d finally cracked and entered some weird fatigue induced psychosis, hallucinations and hearing voices. And kissing Dutch’s woman. 

“ S’okay. No harm done “ he was bewildered. Trying to process the last 30 seconds and coming up completely blank. 

“ Just the way you talk about me I- Lord forgive me “ he was certain he must have looked half dense. Still completely confused at what on earth was happening with you. And maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit flustered at having a woman like you kiss him. Even if you were begging the Lord for forgiveness right after it “ no one’s spoken to me like that in a long time and…and I wish they had. I want to be told I’m beautiful again. I want to be kissed. I want I want…I want a lot of things “ 

Maybe Arthur was a stupid, idiotic fool. Maybe too many gunshot wounds and bumps to the head had finally caught up to him. Maybe he too wanted to act on his ever growing annoyance with how Dutch was behaving. But he found himself reaching out, fingers tucking under your chin to turn your face to look at him. Your eyes were so beautiful up close. Practically sparkling in the moonlight.

Oh he was such a fool. 

“ could’a jus’ asked “ a small smile tugged at your lips and you laughed a little. 

“ Yeah. Of course. Because you’d have said yes Arthur? “ he shrugged. He didn’t know if he would’ve actually. But now the thought was in his head “ alright “ you whispered and shuffled a little closer to him “ indulge me “ 

His thumb was absentmindedly brushing over your jaw, looking at you in the light of the moon and wondering how on earth Dutch wasn’t constantly begging for your attention. If he had a woman like you constantly hanging off his every word he wouldn’t know how to act. Would be like a mangy dog trailing around after you for food.  

“ I might’ve “ you gave a roll of your eyes but you were smiling still, a beautiful, tempting smile.

You were a temptress. A siren. Luring him in with your beauty to do something terrible. And you were vulnerable. Sad and seeking appreciation. And he was truly debating it. 

“ Well…“ you started quietly, looking up at him through your long lashes in a way that made his chest go tight “ there is… still time for you to say yes “ 

“ we ain’t gonna tell no one bout this y’hear? This it’s… it’s jus’ between me and you. Okay? “ your eyebrows furrowed for a second looking up at him intently, as if trying to figure out if he was joking or not. If he was serious. He wasn’t entirely sure himself, needed you to agree or disagree to put the thought to rest.  His thumb continued to brush along your jaw tenderly and your eyes fell closed for a moment. 

How long had it been since someone had touched you with such care? That something as simple as that seemed to mean so much to you. 

“ I understand “ you whispered, eyes flickering down to his lips again. He pulled you in close, barely an inch between your lips and then spoke again “ you’ll give me what I want? Don’t treat me like him “ 

“ Anythin’ ya want. You got it. I’ll give ya what you deserve “ you let a shuddering breath escape and gave a small nod before closing the gap between you both again. 

He hadn’t kissed anyone in a while, but he sure found his footing quickly. You kissed him like he was your source of air, climbing your way into his lap and slipping your hands into his hair. You tasted of cigarette smoke and something almost sweet. Whatever it was, it was an intoxicating mix. You were like a siren singing your call in his ear, drawing him in and taking him for your own. The weight of you in his lap was almost familiar, welcoming. Just… nice. 

He had almost forgotten just how fun it was to kiss a woman. How so many men seemed to shun it as boring, pointless- Dutch obviously included. But Arthur had always loved it. Had spent many a night as a youngster sneaking his way into Mary’s room just to kiss her. To spend hours kissing and talking and kissing some more. 

Kissing you was something else. Addictive. Intoxicating. 

Eventually he had to pull away, his lungs screaming at him for air. Your hands slipped out from his hair and down to grasp at the collar of his shirt, resting your forehead on his. 

“ Anything I want you say? “ you asked quietly, breathless. 

“ Anythin’ “ you smiled and lifted your head, a quiet determination settling over you. Your lipstick had smeared and he wondered how much of it was now on his own face. 

“ okay… undress me then “ you softly commanded, shifting slightly in his lap “ please. Dutch never- he makes me do it myself, barely even looks I- Please “ 

He almost laughed to himself about now he immediately thought getting you naked was entirely too risky. As if the entire situation alone wasn’t risky anyway. But he didn’t want to think too hard about that, instead simply channelled his recent annoyance towards Dutch into his actions. Tried to tell himself he was doing a good thing, taking care of you. 

You watched his face carefully as he gently untucked your shirt from where it was tucked into your skirt, some silky soft thing that probably cost more than everything he owned in his clothing trunk put together. He undid every pearl button slowly, eyes darting up to your face as he did. Your chest was heaving in long, heavy breaths. You were nervous. Or excited. He couldn’t tell which. 

You shivered lightly when he pushed it from your shoulders, now only the soft cotton of your chemise between his hands and your chest. Your nipples had hardened, from the slight night chill or lust he couldn’t say. But he found himself unable to resist the sight, leaning forward and capturing one between his lips through the cotton. You gasped softly, a sound so beautiful it made him groan. You sounded delicate. Innocent. You’d never made such sounds when he’d overheard you with Dutch. In fact a majority of the time you almost sounded in pain. 

But this sound wasn’t that. This sound was beautiful. And he wanted to hear more. One hand pushed at your back to bring you closer, the other palmed at your neglected breast in hopes you’d make the sound again. And you did. Gentle, soft gasps as his tongue dampened the material of your chemise, teeth tugging at you gently through the material. Your hand found his hair again, raking your fingers through it and arching your back into his touch. 

He couldn’t imagine why Dutch had never wanted to do such a thing. How could he not want to hear you make those pretty pretty sounds? How could he not want to feel you writhing in his lap and yearning to be touched. Maybe Dutch was more of a fool than he had originally thought. 

“ Need you to touch me- properly I- take this off “ your sentence was choppy, like you weren’t focussed enough to truly articulate the words you wanted to say. But he understood, pulling your chemise over your head and dropping it to land with your shirt. 

He took a moment just to look at you, not even entirely because he knew you’d want him to. Just because he wanted to. He’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t wondered what was hiding under your expensive clothes once or twice. How could he not when he had to try sleep through the sounds of you and Dutch of a night. 

“ God damn “ he said softly, hands soothing over your waist as you basked in his admiring stare, taking in the feeling of finally being looked at. Properly. 

“ like what you see Mr Morgan “ you asked, voice sultry and low in a way that made his cock twitch in his pants. 

“ Dutch is a damn fool “ is all he could say, leaning forward to kiss you again, his hands moving to grab at your chest. You moaned into the kiss as he squeezed and massaged your breasts with his large hands, seizing the opportunity to dip his tongue into the warmth of your mouth. Your fingers in his hair, twisting strands around your fingers and tugging lightly. He felt like he was on cloud nine. Certain he’d somehow taken a stumble through the veil and ended up at heaven's gates. 

He wasn’t a particularly religious man, but the way he was prepared to worship and praise you could truly be consider blasphemous. 

He couldn’t resist the temptation of getting his mouth on you again much longer, dragging his lips from yours and wrapping them around a pebbled nipple instead. You rolled your hips against him, those beautiful soft moans still falling past your lips. This was what you had wanted from him. To be worshipped. To be looked at as the beautiful temptress of a woman you were. And not merely glanced at and then used like some two dollar whore in a saloon. 

He wanted to nip at your skin, bite and soothe it with his tongue. But he knew he couldn’t. Couldn’t risk Dutch seeing it if he felt the need to stop ignoring you for a short while for his own needs. But oh how he wanted to. To mark up your smooth skin with reminders that you were desired. That you could look at as they faded and be reminded that you were wanted. 

“ I need more “ you whispered “ Arthur please. Give me more “ another roll of your hips followed by a small whimper told him enough. 

“ I know I got ya “ he murmured against your skin, pressing kisses up your sternum and your neck. Nose brushing at the underside of your jaw and working his way back to your lips again “ stand up. Lemme get you out of these damn clothes “ he caught the smile on your face as you stood up, he stayed seated and ran his hands over the fabric covering your hips. Something seemed to blaze in your eyes as you looked down on him. He realised it was most probably you that was usually being leered down on, but not now. 

Not with him. Not with Arthur. Arthur looked up at you like the goddess you were, looked up at you with what he knew was a silent pleading in his eyes. Dutch would never ask he knew it. Dutch took. Stole. Used. Arthur didn’t. Wouldn’t. 

“ I like how you look at me “ you said quietly, hand soothing over his hair “ you make me feel beautiful “

“ Cause y’are “ he murmured, hands reaching to the ties of your skirt. He wanted to see more. Wanted to see all of you. 

You helped him with the slightly tedious task of getting your skirts and undergarments off, but all so slowly. Taking his time. Making sure he appreciated every single layer of clothing you removed for him, right down to unlacing your boots and holding your leg gently to help you out of them. Until you stood there as naked as the day you were born, illuminated by the moonlight on the water. 

“ well ain’t you a sight “

Your skin was so smooth. Soft. Not a single scar that he could see. The skin of a woman who had never had to lift a finger. Had never known the hardships that he had. The only true blemish on your skin was the almost completely faded bruises on your hips. Fingertips. Dutch. 

He soothed his hands up your legs, pressing soft kisses to the pillowy flesh of your thighs as he went, and stopped as he reached them. 

“ He can be a little rough. It’s how he likes it “ you answered before he could even ask. Arthur too had been known to have his rougher moments. But he could never hurt you. Never mark you in anyway other than that of affection and care. 

“ I ain’t like that “ 

“ I know. That’s why I want you “ he pulled you back down into his lap, his large hands splaying over your hips as he took yet another moment just to look. To admire. To thank whatever stupid damn God may exist for placing such a heavenly body in his presence “ I feel a little like the odd one out here though “ you said with a small smile, tracing a finger down from the open top buttons of his shirt to his pants. 

He’d been far too occupied with you to even really notice the fact that he was ridiculously overdressed in comparison. 

“ Can’t have that now can we darlin’ “ your smile grew and you made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders with a gentle sigh. You ran your fingers through the hair on his chest, nails scratching lightly at his skin and peppering lipstick stained kisses as you went. Littering his collarbones, his sternum.

“ much better “ your hands kept roaming and your lips kept kissing. Hands seemingly wanting to touch him all, scratching lightly up his sides and over his waist, his stomach and his ribs. Slowly moving to slide over his shoulders and loop around his neck. You rolled your hips against him again and whined softly. He was so hard it was growing painful as he stayed restrained by his pants. But he wasn’t selfish. Not like Dutch. And he wasn’t about to seek out any form of pleasure himself until he had you seeing the stars you deserved. 

“ tell me what y’want “ he murmured, peppering soft kisses across your jaw. 

“ touch me “ you sighed blissfully “ please touch me “ 

His hand slipped down in between your bodies, brushing past the soft curls between your legs and couldn’t contain the groan of a sound that left him when he felt how warm and wet you were. 

“ Christ “ he muttered as your head dropped to his shoulder with a shuddering breath “ he ever touch you like this? “ he asked lowly, already knowing the answer. Why would he? He didn’t get anything out of it. 

But Arthur did. Oh Arthur did. 

“ no “ you whispered “ no never…please. More “ he tested the waters, pressing lightly against your clit and revelling in the squeak of a sound that it caused you to make. 

“ or like this? " You shook your head again, breathing shakily as he dragged his finger through the wetness and drew light circles around your entrance. 

“ Arthur “ you moaned his name in the most delicious way as he pushed his finger inside, burying it to the knuckle 

“ yeah and what about this darlin? “ he again knew the answer. Dutch didn’t care about your pleasure. Didn’t care about wasting time on something as simple as making you whimper and whine for more “ he touch you like this? “ 

“ no “ 

“ think ya can take one more for me? “ you nodded again and he withdrew his finger, gathering your slick on his other before pushing them both past the resistance of your entrance “ that’a girl “ he pumped his fingers in and out steadily, curling and probing at your velvety soft walls to test what you liked. 

“ This is so… oh god. This isn’t proper at all “ you laughed slightly, melting into a soft moan. Arthur chuckled, lifting your face up so you’d look at him. 

“ Ain’t proper at all? It’s damn right filthy darlin” your cheeks were aflame and you closed your eyes for a moment, grinding yourself against his hand “ look at ya. Drippin all over ma fingers like that. Ain’t proper. Not one bit “ you smiled, a cheeky, devious smile that made him lean forward and kiss you again. 

You were so wet it was obscene. He couldn’t tell where the sounds of you kissing stopped and the sopping sounds of his fingers began. You continued to grind down against his palm, practically riding his fingers, his whole hand wet and sticky with you. 

And he wanted to taste it. To taste you. To flood his mouth with the slick, liquid gold covering his fingers. It was an almost primal desire, like a desperation as strong as needing air. He needed to. He had to. 

“ Darlin’ “ he murmured, lifting your head from where it had fallen to his neck again “ gotta let me taste you. You gotta “ the look on your face only made him want it more. Your skin flushed and eyes blown out with nothing but pure lust and desire. He’d never needed anything more. Nothing else mattered, not the painful hardness in his pants, not the realisation that you were very much Dutch’s girl. He didn’t care about any of that. He just needed to be between your thighs. 

“ really? No one’s ever- oh god. Yes. Yes. Please Arthur “ he withdrew his fingers making you whimper and quickly grabbed his discarded shirt and lay it down on the ground. Then he kissed you again as he wrapped his arms around your waist, gently turning you to lay back on the shirt. It still couldn’t have been particularly comfortable. But you didn’t seem to mind, tugging at his hair and lifting your hips up against him as he hovered over you. 

He took his time moving down. Leaving a long and slow trail of hot, wet, kisses on your skin. You writhed underneath him, whining softly and twisting your hands in his shirt underneath you. He took extra time with your thighs. Kissing up from the inside of your knee and stopping before he could place his mouth where he really wanted to, then repeating with the other. 

“ Arthur “ you whined, still squirming around and desperate. 

“ I know. I got ya. Gonna make those pretty sounds for me again yeah? "You nodded, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to watch him as his head sank lower, spreading your legs wider to give him full access to the centre of you “ that’s a good girl “ he spread you open with his fingers, in awe of the way you parted for him. Like petals on a flower, dripping with the morning dew. 

But you were far more delectable. A forbidden fruit begging to be tasted. 

And oh was it pretty. Even in the dark, in nothing but the light of the moon on the water, it was pretty. Begging to be tasted, touched. Admired. 

The sound you made as he dragged his tongue from your weeping hole to your clit was like music to his ears. He didn’t know how he managed to not come in his pants just at the sound of it. 

You still kept it quiet, but loud enough for him. 

His own, deep, guttural moan escaped from his chest as he licked again. Your taste flooding his mouth in a way so so much better than he could’ve imagined. 

He ate you like he was starved. Like a savage predator that hadn’t seen meat for days, like a man ready for the gallows enjoying his last meal. His arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping your legs apart for him as you bucked and squirmed against his face. It was visceral. Carnal. You made him feel like his grip on his own composure and control was weaker than ever, that he was holding on to it with nothing but his fingertips. 

“ Arthur “ he dipped his tongue into the welcoming warmth of your cunt, his eyes falling closed for a moment as he felt you clench around him, desperate for more. Desperate for him. And he would give you more, would give you anything you asked of him. But not until he made you come first. 

He let go of one of your legs and brought his fingers back to their previous position, wanting to feel you again. To be inside of you, as close as he could get. To make you see stars. 

The flat of his tongue found your clit again, certain he could feel you pulsing against him. Desperate and full of desire for him. He felt honoured, privileged. That you were so loyal to Dutch, glued to his side. Never even batting an eye at anyone else. And yet you had broken that for him. Had sought him out because you knew he would treat you well. 

Your back arched off the ground as he sunk them back into you, slipping in with a welcome ease. His thick fingers pumped into you at a steady pace, his tongue diverting all its attention to your clit. Lapping and sucking and letting you press his face harder against you as you tugged on his hair. 

“ don’t stop please dont- Arthur “ he had no intentions of stopping, none at all. In fact he simply honed in on his ministrations, working harder to push you closer and closer to the edge of the orgasm he knew you had been craving for weeks. 

“ Not gonna stop darlin. Ain’t stopping until you come for me. Taste so good, so good “ he murmured against you, curling his fingers and hitting a spot that made you gasp and your body shudder “ there we go, right there “ 

He flicked his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves, looking at you as best he could to gauge your reaction. You were pulling a little painfully at his hair, squirming and rolling your hips against his face. He let you do it. Let you be the one using a man for your pleasure, rather than being the one used for once. 

Your sounds were sinful. Melodic. He took it all in. Basked in the noises you made for him, the delicious taste of you on his tongue, drunk on you. On your taste. Your smell. 

“ Arthur- Arthur please I- “ you babbled, a slightly smug smile working its way onto his face as he watched your prim and proper facade melt away “ don’t stop “ 

He hummed an assurance that he wouldn’t, your hips bucking against his face as he did. You were so unbelievably wet, dripping out around his fingers and soaking the hair of his beard. He would never have thought it of you. The way you held yourself around camp, so poised and prim. The accent when you spoke that made everyone else around you sound so common. And yet there you were. On your back in the woods, chasing an orgasm being offered to you by an outlaw. Repeating his name like a mantra. 

And not even that of the outlaw you were in love with.

“ Arthur- “

Only seconds later it happened. You held a hand over your mouth as your orgasm hit you, muffling your choked moans, back arching off the ground and walls clamping down on his fingers as he worked you through it. Tongue still working diligently at your clit until you pushed your hand at his head, squirming away a little. 

He almost didn’t want to stop. Could’ve happily stayed there a while longer, but moved back, an obscene wet sound in the late night silence as he withdrew his fingers. 

He took his fingers to his mouth, sucking the remnants of your climax onto his tongue. Unable to control himself. You watched him do it, mouth slightly agape and eyes half open with some desperate undeniable look of utter desire. He could almost see the way it made you feel, could see you unable to contain the overwhelming feeling of realising you were desired. Wanted. 

“ God. You are unbelievable “ you whispered, pushing yourself up onto your elbows and grabbing at his arm. Your fingers looped around his wrist and tugged his hand towards your own mouth. He shook his head with a chuckle, slightly in awe as you took those same two fingers between your red lips. 

Your tongue swirled between his digits, plush lips wrapping around them and sucking. Your eyes locked on his as you did. It made his cock ache. He wanted your lips on him, wanted your tongue swirling around his length and milking him dry. He could imagine it if he thought hard enough. The way you hummed slightly in appreciation as you sucked his fingers clean, sent vibrations straight through his bones. Rattling him to the core. But he would never ask that of you. But the thought was one he would hold onto. It made him shift slightly. 

“ you ain’t so prim and proper lady “ he murmured as he withdrew his fingers, a string of saliva connecting his fingertips and your lips “ This ain’t very proper of you miss “ Arthur said with a small smile, teasing “ rollin’ around in the dirt with the likes of me “ 

“ Oh to hell with being proper if it means I get to feel like this “ you said with a small laugh and he kissed you again for what felt like the millionth time. He wondered if you could taste yourself on his lips, smell the heady delicious smell of you on his beard.

He would’ve been more than happy to leave it at that. No matter how badly he wanted to sheath himself inside you and stay there for eternity. His goal had been your pleasure and he had achieved it. 

But as he kissed you your hands began working at the buckle of his gun belt, opening it with a skilled ease that made him pull back. 

“ Darlin’ you ain’t gotta do that- “

“ shush “ you pushed at him lightly so you could sit up and went to work on the buttons on his pants next “ I want to. I- Arthur take them off “ he made far quicker work of his own clothes than he had of yours and you leant back on your elbows to watch him. 

You looked like a pinup girl. Like something he’d seen drawn come to life. Your eyes seemed hungry as you looked at him, dragging down his body and lingering on his rock hard cock. He was practically throbbing with want, the tip an angry shade of pink and leaking precum slightly embarrassingly “ come here. Please. Back down here “ 

He did as he was asked, crawling back over your body as you eyed him greedily. 

“ We really don’t…I mean, If y’don’t wanna- “ his words stuck in his throat as your fingers wrapped around the length of him with a small sigh. 

“ I want you to I just…can I ask one thing? “ he couldn’t get the word yes to escape his mouth, your fingers squeezing him softly in a way that made him see flashes of white in his vision. So he simply nodded “ don’t fuck me. Dutch fucks me, make love to me “ you seemed a little embarrassed at the request. But he didn’t think it was embarrassing. In fact he had had no plans to use you as brutally as Dutch. He was almost a little offended you thought he might. 

“ Told you, anythin’ you want. You got it “ you smiled softly and pressed another kiss to his lips before laying back down again. He positioned himself over you, caging your head in between his arms. And it truly was incredibly intimate. He wondered when the last time you had had such intimacy was. If you’d ever received such a thing from Dutch. 

He spat on his hand and grabbed a hold of his sensitive cock, stroking himself a couple of times to get himself slick. Not that he really needed to, you were already wetter than he’d ever known a woman to be. But the last thing he wanted was your discomfort. He lined himself up with you, eyes trained on your face as he dragged his weeping tip between your folds. You gasped as he caught your clit, still sensitive and alert from your first orgasm. 

“ Arthur please “ you whimpered rolling your hips up against him, so desperate to have him inside of you. 

“ So God damn wet for me “ he murmured “ such a good girl ain’t ya? “ you whined in answer, fingers wrapping around what you could of his bicep and digging your perfectly trimmed nails into his skin “ gonna make you feel so good I promise darlin’ jus’ like you deserve yeah? “ you whispered out a yes and brought your other hand to the back of his neck. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, still running his cock along the length of your slit. Teasing. 

“ Keep looking at me. Please look at me Arthur “ he continued to do as asked. Again. Though his eyes had barely strayed from your face anyway “ I need you so badly “ Eyes locked on yours, he finally pushed into you, he took it slow. Letting you take it inch by inch, watching the look of ecstasy wash over your face. Your eyes fell closed. 

He fought to retain his own composure, overwhelmed by the tight, wet, warmth of your walls enveloping him. He could feel every unique ridge and bump that made your cunt oh so perfect, feel every muscle stretch and contract as you adjusted to him. 

“ god- oh god “ 

“ shh shh easy there. I got ya “ he paused once he was seated inside of you, grabbing at your hip with one hand to angle your hips better. Allowing you to comfortably take all of him in. He waited, let you adjust to his size, not daring to move before he got the go ahead from you “ there you go, look at you, takin’ all of me like that. So good for me “ you basked in his praise, a dopey kind of smile spreading across your face.

“ so much bigger than him “ you whispered with a small laugh and Arthur couldn’t help the smug smile on his face. Kissing you and touching you and making you come on his tongue had been one thing. But having you like this? Having his cock buried to the hilt inside of you, so unbelievably close together. And to then be told that? To know he was about to do you better than Dutch ever had. Ever could. It felt like the biggest fuck you to the man that had been not only mistreating him of late, but also the goddess of a woman beneath him “ I’m good. You can move. Please move “ 

He didn’t need telling twice. Pulling out almost completely and thrusting back in in one smooth motion. The pace he fell into was just as you’d asked. Loving. Tender. But hard and deep, making sure his hips were flush with yours with every stroke. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulled his face back down to kiss him again. 

If anyone had spotted you they’d have easily mistaken you both for a lovesick couple having a private moment to yourselves. The entire thing intimate and passionate. No one would assume it was an affair in motion, hidden away in the woods by the shoreline in fear of your lover finding the pair of you there. 

But it was what you wanted. What you had needed. And he felt privileged to provide. 

He pulled back from your lips to watch you again, enthralled by the way your face relaxed and twisted in the pleasure he was providing you. You continued to spill those angelic sounds from your throat, growing breathier and higher pitch as he continued to drag his cock against the sopping, sensitive heat of your cunt. He had to focus hard not to finish in seconds. So much build up paired with being practically celibate for months was truly doing him no favours, but he focussed. He wasn’t letting this end until you came once more. You deserved it. 

“ Keep those pretty eyes on me “ he murmured as they fell closed again “ that’s it darlin’, look at me there ya go “ everytime he spoke the slightest word of praise you practically beamed, so desperate to hear it. To be told you were good. Beautiful. So different to Dutch constantly yelling at you about how annoying you were, how much your mere presence bothered him these days. So he kept it up. 

“ Doin’ so well for me. This pussy it’s perfect, ain’t that right? C’mon tell me “ he urged, still fighting off his ever looming orgasm. The sounds alone was enough to make him want to burst. Sweat slicked skin on skin, the wet sounds of your cunt dripping around the swollen intrusion of him. And those sweet sweet moans of yours. 

“ yes “ you whimpered “ it’s perfect “ 

“ That’s a good girl “ he increased his pace ever so slightly and your hands slipped from his arms to his back, dragging your nails down him to try to pull him impossibly closer to you. 

He moved a hand down between your bodies, rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts, grunting and choking back his own moans as you squeezed him. Like your body never wanted him to leave, gripping his cock with your cunt and making it ever more harder to hold back. He couldn’t help but have a look, glancing down to see the way you stretched around him, mesmerised at the way you took him in so deep. 

“ tell me I- oh. Tell me I’m beautiful “ you whimpered, sounding almost like you might cry. From pleasure, from upset. He didn’t know. But he continued to do as asked. 

“ you’re beautiful “ he murmured picking up his pace a little more, his sweat slick skin slapping against yours. He was desperate to see you come again. Wanted to see your face up close this time, watch your eyes roll back and your kiss swollen lips part in ecstasy “ so beautiful darlin. Doin’ so well f’me, takin’ me so well “ 

“ don’t stop, don't stop “ he dropped his head to your neck whispering every word of praise he could think of into your ear, your body arching up against his and whimpering and whining with every word. 

“ ain’t ever looked prettier than this “ he whispered, his own voice becoming breathless with the effort “ shit- look at ya, takin’ my cock so well. So pretty darlin’ “ 

Your second orgasm seemed to shock you as much as him, clawing at his skin to hold him close as your body trembled beneath him, biting at his shoulder to muffle your moans. 

He didn’t mean to finish inside of you, had fully intended to pull out. But the way your cunt had squeezed him, the sounds you had made as he pushed you over the edge for the second time… 

He muffled his own groan of pleasure in your neck, fingers digging into the dry earth beneath you, spilling load after load whilst fully sheathed inside of you. His entire body tensed, a pleasure he hadn’t felt in an incredibly long time. His heart was hammering in his chest, blood rushing loudly in his ears as it seemed to drag on forever. 

And then he came to his senses. 

“ m’sorry. Shit. Sorry “ he panted as he tried to compose himself and pushed himself up onto his hands to pull out. But you yanked him back down, arms wrapping around his back again and legs tightening around his waist. 

“ no. Please. Stay. Stay right there. Just a moment would you “ he had come to realise in the past.. how long had you two even been out there? However long it was, he’d come to realise he was terrible at saying no to you. Could never possibly even dream to deny you of anything you wanted from him. And so he slumped back down onto his forearms, dropping his head against your shoulder for a moment. Your chest heaved beneath him and you caught your breath, fingers tracing gentle strokes along his spine. He felt he could stay there for hours. 

“ You doin’ okay? “ he asked, pressing a light kiss to your jaw when he had composed himself a little more. 

“ marvellous Mr Morgan “ you whispered with a small smile “ truly. Marvellous “ he couldn’t help but kiss you again, the long lingering kind meant for two lovers. 

After a few minutes you both finally moved, re dressing in silence and then sitting back in your original position against the tree. He handed you a cigarette, lighting it and placing it between your lips. 

He wondered what he looked like. Wondered what evidence you had left on him. Had he sweated off the lipstick prints on his chest or were they still there? He knew you had scratched his back up good and proper and would have that reminder there for a few days at least. 

“ Thank you. Mr Morgan '' you said quietly after a few silent moments of smoking, blowing out a long stream of smoke “ I mean it I- i'm not sure what I’m supposed to say “ 

“ Don’t say anythin’ “ he said with a small wave of his hand, appearing as blaise as he possibly could but in reality knowing he wasn’t about to forget that night anytime soon “ its fine. Really. Anytime y’need me, for anythin’, you know where I’ll be “ you smiled and he watched your body relax a little more. 

“ you know, i might just take you up on that “ 

He sincerely hoped you would. 

#i just died and went to heaven #i love him your honor #hes so SwEET #the talent??? #Arthur Morgan

[forgetminot]

the only heaven i’ll be sent to (is when i’m alone with you); arthur morgan x reader

word count: 2K

warnings: smut!, afab!reader, religious themes (kinda. a bitch loves blasphemy<3), oral (f!receiving), body worship (arthur worships the ground you walk on), multiple orgasms (again, f!receiving), expressively asking for consent because that’s sexy! also yes the title is a hozier reference! feedback is appreciated as always <333

!!!!!MINORS DNI!!!!!

The wind blows softly over the half-closed lapels of the tent you and Arthur had set up somewhere around Dewberry Creek, your old, rusted lantern creaking as it sways with the night breeze. The flickering light does not seem to bother your companion, however, as he flattens his tongue over the seam of your cunt, moaning greedily into you. Arthur’s eyes flutter closed in ecstasy as your fingers tangle in his hair, giving the honey brown strands a sharp tug when he delivers a particularly hard suck to your pulsing clit. Your legs close around his head instinctively, trapping him between your thighs, tense muscles flexing against the sides of his face. A soft, breathy apology leaves your swollen lips, the pressure disappearing soon after as your lover pins your body down with calloused hands, brushing off your apology with a chuckle against your skin. You do not have anything to apologize for; Arthur Morgan, a man who has escaped death more than once, would gladly let himself be smothered by your cunt if it came to it. What a way to go that would be, he thinks. The closest to heaven’s gates he will ever get. And although Arthur isn’t a man of religion, he is more than willing to spend every day and every night praying at the altar that is your body, worshipping every inch of you with his eyes, his lips, his hands. Every kiss, every mark you leave on his skin is a holy reminder of the love shared between the two of you; of the passionate nights where Arthur can forget all about his sins and fully allow himself to be bathed in the sacred light of your affections.

“There you go, beautiful. Come back to me.” he coos at you, pushing hair out of your teary eyes, a tender grin on his face. His thumb gently runs under your eyes, wiping away the moisture there as you come back to your senses, focusing on his form above you. The sight of him is like a punch to the gut; blue irises swallowed up by fully dilated pupils, lips swollen and shining with the evidence of your previous orgasms, his beard is soaked through and his breathing ragged. You let your eyes wander down to where his bulge is straining against his union suit, biting your lip. The effect is immediate— his cock twitches under your sultry gaze, a soft groan leaving your lover’s throat.

“Stop lookin’ at me like that.” Arthur warns lowly, calloused hands running over the bare skin of your thigh. You giggle, lifting yourself up to brush your lips against his, your hand running down his chest, feeling his muscles flex under your touch.

“Like what?” You ask innocently, the teasing curve of your smile betraying your oblivious act. Arthur glares at you playfully, hand coming down to squeeze your inner thigh.

“Like ye wanna do real bad things t’me.” He mutters, voice raspier than usual, dripping with arousal. Suppressing a grin, you sit up, letting your hands slide all the way down to cup him through his clothes, thumb gently pressing against the wet spot on his underwear. A sick sort of satisfaction fills you at Arthur’s reaction —pretty blue eyes fluttering closed, his lips part in a strangled moan, hips jutting forward, seeking more pressure. You allow him a few moments to bask in your touch, swirling your thumb around his tip through the fabric and cupping his balls, before taking your hands off of him, leaving him breathing heavily.

“Maybe I do wanna do real bad things to you, Mr Morgan.” you whisper against his neck, leaving open mouthed kisses over his pulse point. A satisfied little giggle leaves you when you hear him cursing under his breath, hips bucking upwards of their own volition. Your victory is short lived, however, as your lover pinches your clit in retaliation, making you cry out. Satisfied, a smug grin on his face, he finally bares himself to you, making your breath hitch. It isn’t the first time you see Arthur in all of his glory —far from it, really, but the sight of how strong, how capable he is always manages to steal the breath right from your lungs. Freckles adorn the robust planes of his shoulders, ascending all the way across the broadness of a back toned from years of hard work; a petite waist and powerful hips curve out into muscled thighs and chiseled calves— Arthur Morgan is truly a sight to behold. He flushes under your heated stare but says nothing —how wise of him, you think, for he knows by now that you would never allow him to look down on himself, not even under the pretense of a joke. You deserve better than the way you treat yourself, you’d told him a million times. And you’ll spend the rest of your life proving it— that he’s worth it, be it through words, comfort, actions or through the passionate entangling of your bodies and souls. Because sex is more than just that to the two of you; it is a way of communicating the love and the needs you have for one another— Arthur, so painstakingly touch starved before you came along, now revels in the physical familiarity you two share. From fleeting touches to lingering kisses, he simply cannot seem to get enough of you; he does not believe the longing in his heart could ever be quelled completely.

Trembling gasps leave the two of you as Arthur slides his cock between your folds, coating himself in your slick. Jolts of pleasure thrum through your body every time his tip bumps against your swollen clit, your soft cries of pleasure causing Arthur’s cock to twitch.

“Sweetheart, if you keep makin’ all them pretty noises it’s gonna be over b’fore it even starts.” His accent is thick and his voice is shaky, excited little tremors running through his body at your state of undoing —all because of him. He’s made a real mess out of the two of you; drenched, sweaty and needy — thick strips of your wetness clinging to Arthur’s lower abdomen, precum pearling over the tip of his cock and gliding down his length; yes, your lover is more than willing to drown himself in your shared desire, to indulge in the carnality of your bound. Wrapping a hand around himself, he groans behind clenched teeth, sensitive to the touch, fingers quickly getting wet from how thoroughly turned on he is. He, however, remains unashamed, having accepted long ago that he will never be in control when it comes to you —he has never felt so connected with another human being, be it physically, psychologically, mentally or emotionally and he no longer bothers trying to hide the way you make him feel.

Understood. Respected. Appreciated. Loved. Alive. He’d never felt so many emotions prior to meeting you. Had never felt so alive; had never wanted to keep going as much as he has since you walked into his life. You make it worth it.

Letting his lips brush along your brow line, Arthur curls the fingers of his free hand around one of your thighs, spreading you open for him.

“Ye still good? D’ye want me to stop?” He asks, blue eyes roaming over your bare form with tenderness, trying to assess the situation. Even with you soft, pliant and soaked underneath him, Arthur Morgan would never dare to make assumptions about your desires, would never be so single-minded as to claim you without expressed consent from your part. He needs to know you want this as much as he does, wants this to be good for you— he thrives on your pleasure and your pleasure alone; can only feel good if you are. It is one of the many reasons why you love him so deeply, but in your lusting daze, you find yourself too strung up to fully appreciate it.

“Arthur Morgan, if you stop now m’gonna kick your sorry ass—oh!” Your voice breaks off into a pitiful little whimper when his cock teases your entrance, a low, rumbling laugh leaving him.

“As you wish, m’lady.” He allows himself to be playful for a few moments longer, basking in the frustrated little furrow of your brows and your pouting lips before pushing inside in one smooth glide, aided by your shared arousal. Arthur curses under his breath as your cunt flutters around him, trying to adjust to his girth. The blunt ends of your nails leave crescent marks onto the broadness of his shoulders and Arthur clenches his jaw, doing his best to stay still and allow you a moment of reprieve from the sensations that overtake your body. Busying himself with leaving marks onto your skin, he soothes the spots where his teeth have dug into, lips moving feom your neck to your chest to take a nipple into his mouth. The loud, broken mewl you let out at the action makes him shiver, goosebumps spreading all over his skin at the sound, but he continues to stay still, waiting for you to give him the permission to go on. It’s only when your legs wrap around his waist that he does finally let himself move, pulling himself almost all the way out before sliding back in with a quick snap of his hips. Another cry leaves your lips at the action, although this time sounding strangled, your cunt clenching around your lover’s cock at the delicious friction he provides you with. Your foot presses into the meat of his ass, encouraging him to go faster, deeper— a silent demand he is quick to indulge in. A series of loud, wet noises begin resounding around the two of you, only motivating Arthur on to thrust harder; your back arching up into him when he starts battering that one spot inside of you, rough fingers coming down to rub circles onto your clit. The moans pour freely from your mouth and into his as he kisses you, tongues tangling together in a messy, sloppy fight for dominance. You’re vaguely aware of the spit trickling down your chin but are far too gone to care; the coil in your stomach getting tighter and tighter with every powerful snap of Arthur’s hips into yours. Already sensitive from your previous orgasms, you rake your nails down his back, trying to warn your lover of your impending climax. Alas, gargling moans are the only thing you can manage before you finally snap; vision going white, body going rigid under his, you repeat his name like a prayer as waves after waves of pleasure wash over you. Arthur isn’t far behind you, spurred on by your own release, a long, incredibly deep moan rumbling through his chest before he pulls out of you, sticky cum splattering across your stomach. Coming down from your high, you tuck a few strands of hair behind Arthur’s ears, fingers lingering on his face lovingly. He leans into your touch immediately, turning his head to press a gentle kiss into your palm, his body trembling with the aftermath of his own orgasm.

“Was…” He clears his throat, rolling off of you and pulling you along to rest on his chest. “Was that good f’r ya?” The gravelly tone of his voice cannot conceal the genuineness of his question, his fingers running down the length of your spine. It makes you smile— he makes you smile, your sweet cowboy. Shifting to look at him, you kiss him right over his heart, fondness warming your features.

“It was. It always is, with you. I love you.” And despite it not being the first time you utter those words— far from it, really— emotion still takes over Arthur’s heart and features, eyes shining with a sheen of tears.

Love. You love him.

No, Arthur Morgan may not be a religious man, and he remains unconvinced of God’s existence, but he does know one thing; you are his little piece of heaven on Earth.

#this fandom is so talented i- #ahhhhhh #im in love #i love him your honor #arthur morgan smut

[forgetminot]

You write Arthur perfectly! Extremely talented 💙

- The gilded cage

Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

Request- how about some of the girls going along to the mayors party in Saint Denis. Have you seen the cut content of Molly when she was meant to be at the party? So Dutch takes Molly along, Arthur takes reader? And what if Arthur gets a a little jealous of reader mingling and then they sneak away for some smutty time together…

A/N- this is my first Arthur fic so he may be a lil out of character whilst I get to grips with writing him. I also have not written straight smut in like 2 years. But we vibe. Enjoy

Also shoutout to @devnmon for supporting and enabling my rdr2 brainrot. You’re a real one

Warnings- 18+ | smut: unprotected p in v, semi public sex ( wc - 7.7k )

Masterlist / AO3

Saint Denis was a little too rich for your blood. You’d only ventured into the city a handful of times, but the times you had you’d decided you didn’t really like it. You felt too… common. You never had liked the wealthy, flaunting their security and safety that was wrapped up in dollars and gold. 

But. You loved money. God did you love money. And as much as you hated the residents of the city, you sure loved robbing them blind. You always had had a knack for making the rich mysteriously lose their dollars and their watches, it had been the sole reason you’d ended up in Dutch’s gang in the first place. 

You’d even tried picking his pockets at first.

But you were on best behaviour tonight. Under Dutch’s orders. And you figured as boring as that sounded, you’d oblige. Simply because the men rarely let the girls get involved with any of the interesting stuff in camp. There was only so much laundry you could do before your brain truly went numb from boredom. Only so much listening to Miss Grimshaw nagging at you to do some work or Micah antagonising someone over something stupid. 

So even with Dutch’s strict orders to behave and your dislike of the city, you had jumped at the chance to come along to the party. 

“ i can practically smell the money “ you sighed as you took Arthur’s hand to step down from the coach, already hearing the bustle of the party happening somewhere out the back of the mansion in front of you “ you sure I can’t go pickin? Just a lil “ you were half joking, half not. On the times you had wandered into the city, the stuff you’d gathered picking your way around the saloons and back alleys had been a decent haul. The stuff some of these people carried around on the average day was enough to fund the food for the whole of camp for a couple days or more. 

Who knew what kind of goodies they’d have on them in their finery. 

“ no miss “ Dutch’s stern voice sounded, but he was sporting a small look of amusement “ keep those talented hands of yours to yourself. This is about business. We steal nothing. That goes for all of you. Steal. Nothing. Unless it’s information “ 

“ don’t worry. I’ll keep her in check “ Arthur spoke with a small chuckle, placing a hand lightly to your back. 

“ this is why we shouldn’t have brought the women. They always cause trouble “ Bill complained, as he stepped out of the second coach with Hosea, making you scowl. 

“ I hope you aren’t grouping me into that Mr Williamson “ Molly piped up with a disapproving scowl of her own as she stepped out of the coach, seemingly more mad at Dutch for not helping her out more than at Bill though. Arthur offered her his hand instead, helping her step onto the path without breaking her neck in her extravagant dress. 

Always the gentleman. 

She looked wonderful and you had begun to wonder if she had owned that dress all along or had gone out and got it special. Maybe Dutch had picked it up for her. It wouldn’t surprise you if she had been lugging it around from place to place, waiting for some perfect moment to pull it out. She always did look more put together than the majority of camp. Though you really didn’t understand how she could walk in the dress she was currently wearing, skirts full and you guessed pretty heavy too. 

“ no need to bring you “ Bill continued. 

“ I ain’t even causin’ trouble “ you piped in, throwing your own scowl Bills way again “ When did you last contribute to the box anyways huh Bill? I don’t see you doin’ nothin’ but sit around all damn day. No need to bring you I say. Jus’ cause you ain’t got no lady on your arm you’re complainin’ bout me and Molly “ 

“ what? A lady like you? I should be damn lucky I ain’t “ 

“ why you- “

“ Bill I suggest you leave it “ Arthur murmured lowly, planting himself between you and Bill before you did in fact cause some trouble. Bill grumbled something, spitting on the floor with a look of disgust and turning away from you. 

Dutch sighed heavily, looking increasingly pissed off at the group in front of him and held his arm out to Molly. 

“ Miss O’Shea “ It pained you a little to know he was probably only being nice to her tonight for appearances sake. He’d been practically ignoring her recently. And wasn’t doing Molly any good. You hoped a night out of camp would do her well “ now would you all just calm. Down. We, are simple distinguished gentleman, here for business. So start damn acting like it “ you scoffed at that, making a pointed look in Bills direction as you did 

“ distinguished my ass “ 

“ play nice now “ Arthur said quietly, but you heard the smile in his tone as he did. He then offered you his arm as Dutch had done to Molly. But unlike Dutch the act didn’t feel performative, a way to blend in and appear far higher class than they actually were. Arthur actually was a gentleman. For the most part anyways. 

“ why thank you mister “ you said in a cheery tone, throwing him a coy smile and slipping your gloved hands into the crook of his elbow. 

It did feel a little funny to be walking beside him like that. All dressed up and in clothes that weren’t smeared with gun oil, dust or god knows what else. It made your mind drift a little to what life could’ve been like. 

Your group crossed the street, promptly being stopped at the gates 

“ gentleman “ the guard greeted, taking the invitation from Dutch’s hands “ the mayor doesn’t allow guns at official functions “ the way he looked at Dutch and the others was almost demeaning. Like he knew you were all riff raff and of course would be the sort to attend such an event armed “ Not after last years incident “ none of the boys seemed particularly thrilled to be handing over their firearms. Arthur in particular sighed heavily beside you as he handed his pistol over. 

He didn’t like being unarmed. Especially when he was out with you. You usually also had your gun belt permanently fixed at your waist. But it wasn’t exactly fitting with your current attire. 

Though you did note the guards didn’t even spare a glance to you or Molly, which in turn made you all the more smug knowing you had your knife tucked into your boot. Just in case of course. 

“ Luca here will take you gentleman to Mr Bronte. I believe he is expecting you “ 

“ I know you got that knife in yer boot “ Arthur said lowly so that no one else would hear. 

“ he ain’t said anythin’ about knifes. Only guns “ Arthur smiled and shook his head slightly, placing his hand over yours for a moment. 

“ that’s my girl “ 

You walked up the neat cobbled path to the mayors house then, unable to do anything but look in awe at the huge house in front of you. You’d thought Shady Belle was something spectacular, had walked around every room imagining what it had looked like in all its glory. Amazed at the vastness of the place and all the rooms it had. 

And yet it was nothing compared to this place. This was real money. 

“ I look okay? “ you asked, suddenly feeling ever so slightly nervous, smoothing your hand over your skirts. Even in your attempts to look as clean and put together as you did, some part of you felt like everyone would see you were a walking sham. 

All in all you knew you probably did look fine. The dress was the most lavish thing you’d ever owned, you didn’t even want to guess how much it had cost Arthur. It was still on the simpler side, skirts not quite as full as Mollys and not as detailed. But it was beautiful. Pale pink and ruffled shoulders and details on your skirts, gloves up to your elbows in a material so soft you’d sighed when you’d first pulled them on. 

It all made a nice change from the usual simple clothes you wore, hips weighted by skirts rather than your gun belt. And skirts that didn’t have a million holes darned over. 

And Arthur had picked it all out. Had picked it himself especially for you. 

It did make you smile to imagine him in the tailors, completely out of his depth when it came to women’s fashion but determined to find you something nice. Your big, tough cowboy staring blankly at fabric swatches and fancy hats. 

“ gonna be the prettiest girl here “ you smiled warmly at his words, hand smoothing over your dress again. 

He’d turned up that morning into your shared room of shady Belle, finding you hiding away from Miss Grimshaw on the balcony, the dress draped over his arm along with some fancy suit and tie get up for himself. He’d looked almost sheepish as he’d shown you it, promising to go get you something else if you hated it. Which of course you hadn’t. 

You’d practically jumped with joy at being able to go out on a job. The boys so rarely let the girls do anything meaningful other than tend to camp. Though this particular outing you knew Dutch had only brought you and Molly along because it would make your group seem a little more agreeable. Something about women making them look a little less intimidating. And of course Dutch and Arthur’s partners were the most obvious of choices. 

Much to Mary-Beth and Karen’s dismay. Though they had very quickly changed their mind at the idea of having to hang off Bills arm all night. 

It wasn’t exactly the reason you wanted to be brought along. But you took it. 

The inside of the mansion was as glorious as the outside, it almost made you angry that people had such wealth. That these people could sleep in a new room each night of the week if they felt like it, when people were starving outside of their gates. 

“ Hosea, Bill. Take the ladies out and enjoy the party. We’ll join you after we pay our respects to signor Bronte. Arthur, with me “ Arthur gave a curt nod 

“ I won’t be long “ he assured, hand slipping down around your back and leaning down to your ear “ hands to yourself “ you scoffed as he said it, looking up at him as he stepped away from you. 

“ I can’t promise “ you caught his smile as he walked over to Dutch and the staff. Disappearing up the stairs. 

“ it’s just this way “ one of members of Lemieux’s staff spoke, gesturing the four of you in the direction of some doors leading out into the party. 

“ let’s go ladies. You fancy a drink? “ Hosea said cheerfully, following closely behind you and Molly as you headed outside. You were ushered out into gardens, a mass of the rich and wealthy of Saint Denis all crowded around. Drinking and laughing at things you were sure were not as remotely funny as they were making it out to be. 

Bill quickly made himself scarce, disappearing into the crowds to do lord knows what, much to your joy. 

“ right. Champagne? “ Hosea excused himself to collect some drinks and you stood on the back porch looking down at the groups of people. 

So far removed from what you were used to. You wondered how they’d react knowing you and your little group were currently sleeping in a barely standing plantation home, half of you out under the stars. That you were frauds. Not glamorous and wealthy like them. 

In your experience the rich liked to pretend the poor didn’t exist. Unless they were hiring them as help. 

“ oh I missed this “ Molly said beside you, almost dreamily in tone. And seemingly more to herself than to you. It was quite possibly the happiest you’d seen her look in days. 

She fit right in. Her gorgeous dress rivalling that of some of the other woman down in the courtyard, her hair piled up on her head and her fancy jewellery that was actually hers. Not something stolen from an unsuspecting lady in town. This was Molly. Money and wealth. It still baffled you how she had ended up with Dutch, how she could leave that all behind for a life wandering. 

“ you go to party’s like this a lot? Before Dutch I mean “ she gave a small shrug, searching in her small purse for a moment before placing a cigarette between her lips. You could imagine an even younger Molly, a bright eyed teenager done up all fancy and weaving her way through a party just like this one. 

“ sometimes “ her eyes were scanning the crowds, practically sparkling at being surrounded by the upper class again “ wonder what kind of people are here “ she seemed to be talking more to herself than you again and very promptly dismissed herself, heading down the stairs and gliding between the guests. Like some true social butterfly, decked out in her finest. 

Hosea returned with three glasses of champagne and a slightly confused look noticing Molly had vanished. 

“ eh more for me “ he said with a smile, handing you your glass before promptly finishing his own and moving onto what would’ve been Mollys “ I’m going to do some snooping. You’ll be alright? “

“ I’ll be jus’ fine Hosea “ you said with a smile and watched him too disappear down into the crowds. 

It was interesting to watch them, to see them behave as if this entire event was a normal evenings activity. Maybe for them it was. But it all felt so… false. People who appeared to be friends but didn’t seem to even really like each other, some silent competition between everyone to have the better dress. The better hat. The biggest house. 

You’d take your creaky cot under the stars with Arthur any day, would much rather sit around the campfire getting tipsy and singing. Surrounded by real family. Real friends. Relationships built on loyalty and protection. Not on trying to out do each other. 

You walked between the small crowds, eavesdropping on conversations in hopes to find something useful. Something to take back to Dutch to prove bringing you along wasn’t a useless endeavour. But it was mostly women discussing their elaborate hats, sharing stories of the terrible jobs their maids did, or complaining about their husbands poker habits. Or gossiping about how they had heard one of their friends was in delicate condition. 

You heard mentions of Leviticus Cornwall, but nothing concrete enough to warrant telling anyone about. 

You tried hunting down Molly, simply to have a friend to stand beside and not feel so…out of place. But she had vanished into the crowds somewhere. So you planted yourself on the side of an ornate water fountain, simply hoping Arthur would return soon. Maybe he’d dance with you, or take you walking around the vast garden laid out ahead of you. 

You two never really got the chance to do things like that. Romantic things. Arthur had his ways, of course. He’d take you out riding or sit with you on his lap by the fire, telling you about whatever interesting thing he’d discovered that day. He’d bring you flowers he’d pick from time to time, find you interesting things when he went wandering, let you read aloud to him with the excuse he wanted you to get better at it. When in reality you had seen him confess to his journal that he simply just liked to listen to your voice. 

He was far softer than he appeared. With you anyway. And as much as you didn’t like the kinds of people in attendance, you thought it might be nice to pretend for the night. To be two wealthy young oil tycoons, dancing and drinking champagne together, gushing about your money and your jewels. 

You made your way through another flute of champagne before he returned, interrupting your frivolous daydreaming. 

“ there she is “ you turned your head with a beaming smile at his voice, relief at a familiar face “ been lookin for ya “ he sat down beside you, looping an arm around your waist “ you behavin’? “

“ course I am. Ain’t took as much as a pearl “ you said quite proudly, though decided not to mention that the temptation had truly been hard to deny. Not only were these people rich, they were getting drunker by the second. They were practically begging to be robbed. 

“ good girl “ 

“ it go okay with ugh.. what’s his name? “ you asked, turning to face him. He looked just as uncomfortable with the entire situation as you did. This wasn’t his scene. It never had been. He’d grown up just as poor as you had. 

Arthur robbed the rich, he didn’t fraternise with them. 

“ Bronte. Yeah. Fine. Dutch he’s tryna find the mayor or somethin “ he ran a finger between his neck and collar of his shirt, clearly growing uncomfortable with it. It made you laugh a little. 

“ you ain’t cut out for the finer life “ 

“ no. I ain’t “ he was looking around at the guests in a similar way to you. With a mild sense of disgust “ saw some woman back there, hat so big she were topplin over “ you smiled and leant your head against his shoulder, he tucked you in closer to his side and dropped a kiss to the top of your head. 

“ was daydreamin whilst you were with Dutch “ you mused. 

“ yeah? About what? “ 

“ playin’ pretend. Bein’ fancy for the night. Y’know dancin’ and pretendin’ we got buckets of money “ the small sigh Arthur let out made you wonder if he thought that was a life you pined for. It wasn’t. Not really. Yeah, you liked money but.. you just wanted to be comfortable. Little ranch or a cabin some place quiet. Not poor. Not rich. Just. Existing happily “ ain’t us though “ 

“ you and me we… we ain’t like these people. We ain’t ever gonna be like these people “

“ we don’t gotta be. Me, you. Some pokey lil farm someplace out west? Now that’s the dream cowboy “ he chuckled and nodded, dropping another kiss to your head 

“ that’s the dream darlin’ “ you both sat quietly for a short while longer, watching the rich get drunker and more foolish. The odd person acknowledged your presence, greeting you as they passed or tipping their hat. But mostly they left you alone. It was at the point that one man drunkenly stumbled into a bush a few feet away that made you speak up again. 

“ never thought I’d miss that damn swamp. But lord above… these people “ Arthur scoffed as he too watched the fool try and right himself again, leaves sticking to the pomade in his hair 

“ yeah. I think I need a drink “ he patted your side lightly so you’d stop leaning on him and stood up “ champagne? “ 

“ oh well ain’t you just so kind sir “ you said in your best attempt a dramatic upper class drawl “ and you gonna dance with me after mister? “ you asked with a teasing smile and he rubbed a hand at the back of his neck for a moment looking almost sheepish. But he was smiling, the sweet genuine kind he only really seemed to show around you. 

“ sure darlin’. But I’m definitely gonna need that drink for that “ he ventured back into the crowds then and you stayed put, continuing to watch the guests laugh and talk about how incredible their lives were. 

“ I don’t recognise you “ an inquisitive voice spoke, tinged with that accent that the wealthy had started latching on to in some attempts to make themselves sound more superior. Smarter. Whatever. You thought it was quite ridiculous. You turned your head to look at the man, seeing if he was in fact talking to you. 

“ talkin’ to me mister? “ he was eyeing you up and down like he was somewhat intrigued but amused by you at the same time. A stupid top hat on his head adored with plumes and the chain of a pocket watch hanging from his pocket. It almost made you laugh at how your brain immediately began thinking about how you could steal it and how much it was worth. 

“ I am indeed miss “ he stepped closer, puffing on his cigar and not taking his eyes off of you for a second “ I have frequented many of the mayors parties but you… I do not remember you “ a small wave of panic flushed your skin but you remained calm. Not recognising you was far easier to work your way out of than if he had recognised your face. 

“ I’m new in town. My… uncle. He’s friends with Mr Bronte “ the man hummed, sitting himself down beside you. 

“ so you’re here with your uncle? “ you shifted slightly at his closeness but remembered you needed to keep up appearances so forced a smile onto your face 

“ yeah. And my husband. He’s around here someplace “ the man’s eyes immediately darted down to your gloved hands, probably noting the lack of a ring on your finger. You and Arthur weren’t married. But you may as well have been. He often referred to you as his wife, and he as your husband. 

He’d ask you one day. 

“ a lucky man “ the man said, blowing smoke in your direction and still looking you up and down. You decided at that moment you very much wanted to steal his watch. Dutch be damned. Having to put up with the likes of slimy rich men for more than ten seconds… well you figured that warranted you at least getting something shiny in return. 

“ oh well ain’t you just a charmer “ you said with a smile, placing a hand to his arm “ you here with your wife mister? “ the man laughed and shook his head, scooting a little closer to you.  

“ I’m more of a… free spirit “ you gave a small laugh, trying not to crinkle your nose at the smoke blowing in your face again. 

Arthur often smelt of fresh smoke, both cigarette and fire, and that fresh air smell that clung to your clothes after being out in the open air for hours. And you loved it on him, because it was well… him. The smoke from this man was far from appealing. But that watch…

“ ohh I see. You ain’t one to be tied down huh? “ your fingers inched closer to the man’s pocket, wrapping lightly around the chain. 

“ everythin’ okay here? “ Arthur appeared behind you, a glass in each of his hands.  

“ ah is this the fine man that brought you along? Well aren’t you lucky sir “ the man spoke and you noted he didn’t even glance in Arthur’s direction as he spoke, you were now looping the chain of his watch around your wrist. Just one small tug…

“ Mr Callahan “ Arthur murmured, handing you a glass and standing behind you with a hand to your shoulder

“ wonderful to meet you sir. Me and your wife were having a delightful conversation weren’t we dear? "The pressure of Arthur’s fingers increased as he spoke the sweet name, though you weren’t entirely sure it wasn’t because he’d noticed the man’s watch was now safely hidden in the fabric of your skirt. 

“ oh yes. Wonderful mister “ the watch discreetly made its way into your boot and you were ready to get away

“ where’d you find a beautiful thing like this sir? I may need to frequent the place myself “ he placed a hand onto your arm and finally looked up at Arthur rather than at you. He made your skin crawl. You didn’t hold a single ounce of remorse for the stolen watch 

“ oh no where you’d like “ his tone was a little snippy, the kind when someone was starting to piss him off but he was trying to keep his cool. And Arthur kicking off in the middle of the mayors party wasn’t exactly a part of Dutch’s plan. 

“ now I am so sorry but i believe my husband did promise me a dance “ you rose to your feet, sipping your champagne before placing the glass down and taking Arthur’s from his hands “ ain’t that right my love? “ 

“ yeah… need ya to come with me “ he said lowly, offering you his arm. His face had gone slightly dark, not entirely able to read him, you frowned slightly. But let him lead you away from the man, completely bypassing the area with couples twirling to the music. 

“ where we goin? “ you asked with a small laugh, latching onto his arm again and having to take quick steps to keep up with his purposeful strides “ Arthur?”

He didn’t answer immediately, simply led you away from the crowds and around the side of the mayor's house. 

“ You mad cause I took that watch? Look he deserved it- “

“ ain’t mad “ he mumbled, still leading you along. 

“ okay… so we stealin’ somethin’ else? “ you asked with excitement filtering into your words, already trying to figure out what it could be “ need me to act like a maid? I can do that real good y’know. Is it money? Papers? Oh, is it jewellery? Gold? “ Arthur chuckled at your excitement and shook his head, bringing you to a halt between some elaborately trimmed bushes and trees in planters. 

“ we ain’t stealin’ a thing “ you pouted with a mild disappointment and he chuckled again, advancing on you and backing you up against the wall behind you “ don’t gimme that look “ he tucked his fingers under your chin, nudging your face upwards to look at him. He was a god few inches taller than you, but he always made you feel ten times smaller when he looked down at you like that. 

“ what’s gotten into you? “ you asked with a giggle, hands slipping under his jacket to slide over his waist. 

“ just wanted some time alone with you is all “ 

“ behind some trees? You are a strange man sometimes Arthur Morgan y’know that? “ he gave a heavy sigh and brushed his thumb across your cheek softly, watching you intently. He always looked at you like you like you were the only woman on the planet “ you sure you ain’t mad about the watch? “ 

“ no. I ain’t mad. Feller flirtin’ with my woman and only loses his watch sounds like a good deal to me “ he grumbled, leaning forward to press a kiss to your lips. 

And a light bulb suddenly pinged on in your head. 

“ are you jealous? “ you asked, unable to hide your complete utter joy and amusement as the realisation hit you. He grumbled some kind of an answer and tried to kiss you again but you turned your head to the side, so he settled for your neck instead “ why Arthur Morgan. You are jealous “ 

He didn’t answer you again, simply tilted your head so he could get at your neck more, his other hand splaying over your lower back to tug you close against him. A mischievous streak ran through you and you chewed on your lip for a moment deciding whether or not to push his buttons. 

“ he was kinda nice to me y’know. He seemed a nice feller “ Arthur’s teeth grazed your skin at your words and your smile grew bigger “ kept me from bein’ so lonely with you gone “ 

“ he wanted to do more than keep you company “ your fingers ran through the long strands of his hair, sighing softly as he continued to kiss your neck 

“ you think? You gonna keep me company now? “ 

“ oh I’ll keep you company “ you had said it only really to tease. Thinking that actually, a sordid little moment with your lover behind the bushes would be an incredible improvement on the evening. 

But it was hard to simply just kiss Arthur. He had wandering hands, had lips as addictive as whiskey. Even when you assumed he wasn’t particularly trying to work you up, he did. But the way he was tugging at your body to keep you pressed against him, the way his lips were burning a trail along your neck and across your jaw…

“ Arthur… y’know anyone could come round here “ 

“ stay quiet then and they ain’t gonna be none the wiser “ your skin prickled with heat at his words and your hips involuntarily rolled against him. Maybe it was the thrill. Maybe it was the fact that he was so… needy. Desperate to remind himself that you were his and not some stupid rich man in an equally as stupid hat.

He groaned against your hot skin as you pressed against him, the sound igniting something deep in your bones. Flaring up through good veins and cursing like lava through your veins. 

Your hands found themselves back under his jacket, fingers tugging at his shirt to free it from where it has been neatly tucked into his pants. You knew you couldn’t get it off of him but you still wanted to feel. 

You hummed softly when your fingertips met his skin, as hot as you knew yours must be. He loved to feel you touch him, loved when dragged your nails across his back, sunk your teeth into his shoulder to quiet your moans when you were dangerously close to other members of camp. 

You wished you could do it in that moment. Wished you were back in your room, truly the only good thing to come out of Shady Belle was the fact that you had a room. 

But Arthur didn’t seem keen on waiting. Seemingly having some point to prove to himself. And you were more than happy to let him. 

His hands drifted down to the floaty material of your skirt, reluctantly pulling himself away from your neck to frown at the material in front of him. 

“ why you gotta have so many damn skirts? “ he grumbled, fumbling with the layers of fabric hanging from your waist. 

“ you picked the dress “ you reminded him with a smile, chasing after his lips again. Desperate to kiss him properly now that he had stopped his assault on your neck. He kissed you with a energy that demanded your attention, that drew you in and locked you in place. Hot. Wet. Addictive “ least it ain’t as big as Mollys “ you said when you let yourself pull away. 

“ yeah well I weren’t plannin’ on keepin’ you in it when we- god damn there’s enough fabric here to dress the entire camp “ you couldn’t help the giggle that fell past your lips, watching him try to figure out how he was going to play out whatever sordid thoughts were running through his head. 

Your own mind had quite ungracefully fallen into the gutter itself, realising exactly what Arthur wanted. And your constant desperation for the man in front of you overruling all your concerns at the location. 

He seemed to be getting a little agitated with your dress and you held back the urge to giggle at him. Instead opting to try sooth the frown lines worrying at his forehead, reaching forward to palm at him through the material of his pants. In hopes it would be some kind of incentive for him to hurry up as well. 

As much as you needed him as badly as you needed air, you were also still aware of exactly where you were. And how long it would take until Dutch came looking. 

“ c’mon Arthur “ you whispered, desperation beginning to fill your words “ ‘fore they notice we’re gone “ it had been his idea to take you away, and yet you were seemingly the more desperate of the two of you now. But how could he or anyone else blame you? When he was all gussied up like he was. In truth you liked his normal attire a little more. Liked him a little more… rugged. But lord did he look handsome in his suit, his hair and beard all neat and tidy. 

Arthur’s breath audibly caught in his throat from your touch and it seemed to effectively spur him on. 

“ yes ma’am “ He spun you around with strong hands to your waist, your own hands bracing yourself against the wall. The next moments were a flurry of his hands hitching your skirts over your hips, grabbing at your undergarments before a strong arm looped around your waist to pull you back against him. 

His hand disappeared under your bunched up skirts making you gasp softly as his fingers dipped into the warmth between your thighs. 

“ this all for me darlin? “ you could hear the smirk in his words, feel it as he brushed his nose against your cheek. The short stands of his beard tickled at your skin, sending a shiver snaking along your spine. 

“ course it is “ the sound of a lady drunkenly laughing a little too close by made you freeze, hand reaching around to grab at Arthur’s arm. 

He didn’t seem discouraged by the idea of someone stumbling upon you both, simply moved his hand up to grasp gently at your jaw, turning your face towards his to kiss you. His other hand was still between your thighs, and you sighed softly against his lips as he drew a thick finger between the wetness of your folds “ oh Arthur…“ 

Your cunt clenched around nothing. As if silently begging for his fingers to just push inside of you, take you in a way you had always found so much more personal than just sitting on his cock. His fingers that held his guns, that he used to beat people to death more times than either of you could care to count. Those same fingers working you open, covered in the slick evidence of your desire for him instead of gun oil. Fingers that cause pain and damage, but also sent you spiralling into mind blowing pits of pleasure. 

And paired with the current location? It just felt… dirty. Erotic. You felt no better than a common whore loitering in a saloon for custom. You wanted him so desperately, needed him. 

“ Arthur “ you sighed, pushing your self against his hand as he toyed with your swollen clit. 

“ tell me what y’need pretty girl “ he said softly, tickling your skin with his beard and dragging his tongue across your neck before sinking his teeth into the flesh, making you whimper. 

“ you- Arthur. You. Please “ his hand continued its gentle movements as he worked at your neck. You pushed your hips back against him, grinding against the hardness still trapped by his pants in a way that couldn’t be comfortable. His breath shuddered against your skin as you did, holding you flush against him to let you wiggle your hips in a silent invitation to just take you already. 

A smashing glass drew your attention briefly away from him again. And as much as you could let him do that all evening, you were still hyper aware of your surroundings. 

You silently wished he’d just waited until you were back at camp, could take his time with you on that shitty little bed in the privacy of your room at Shady Belle. 

But there you were. And there were hundreds of others only a few feet away too. 

“ stop teasin we ain’t got the time “ at any other time he’d have worked you into a mess with his fingers, even dropped to his knees and disappeared under your skirts, have you coming on his tongue over and over again just because he wanted to. But he hadn’t planned the situation well at all, and you weren’t exactly in the best of locations. If anyone so much as peaked around the corner of the building a little too far you were certain you’d be spotted. 

And wouldn’t that be a tale. 

“ ain’t you bossy “ you opened your mouth to snip back at him, but your words evaporated into nothing but a soft whimper as Arthur followed your demands, pushing past his desires to take his time with you. Truly it was his own fault that he couldn’t though, as he withdrew his fingers and fumbled with the buttons on his pants. 

“ Arthur “ you whimpered softly, breath stuttering at the feel of his swollen tip brushing between the wet folds of your cunt. 

“ quiet now darlin’ “ He pushed in slowly, in the way he so often did. Making sure you felt every single devastating inch, your back arching against his chest as your body flushed with warmth. Even after so many times the stretch was still a lot, a deep burning ache that eventually melted away into a blinding hot pleasure that burnt its way through your veins. 

He pressed on until he was flush against you, the material of his opened pants scratching against your soft skin as he held you there a moment. He exhaled slowly, his breath warm against your skin. 

It was never fucking with Arthur. Not very often anyways. It was love making. Soft. And slow. And a brutal pace that made sure you remembered he’d been there the next morning, but oh so drawn out. He was gentle. Tender. It had always shocked you how violent he could be and yet become so careful and soft with you. And even there, concealed by a few perfectly trimmed bushes and planters, he was taking his time. Reminding you that you were his. And maybe reminding himself of the fact too. 

Reminding himself that maybe there were men only a few feet away that wanted you. That would pay for the pleasure of your company. But only Arthur could have it, that he was the only one you would ever offer it too. 

That this deep rooted instinct to protect what was his wasn’t entirely necessary but god was it wanted. That his desire made your blood boil with lust, skin burn under his touch. 

“ That’s my girl “ he whispered, tone low and steady as he set himself into a bruising pace, still tightly holding onto you as he did. His face had fallen to your neck again, lips latching onto every inch of exposed skin they could. 

You were certain you were going to walk back into the party looking like you’d taken a dip with some leeches. 

You tried your best to be quiet, teeth sinking into your bottom lip in some hopes that mixed with the sounds of the party happening only a few feet away you wouldn’t be heard. But it was so hard to be silent when he was fucking you like that. So determined, so strong, pulling out almost completely before pushing back in hard. 

Your hand was still gripping at his arm, blunt fingernails digging at his skin through his jacket. His pace increased a little, settling into a steady rhythm that carved a devastating stretch inside of you. 

“ y’know I think that feller- that feller back there. He wanted you like this “ you couldn’t help the smile that pulled its way onto your face, still flushing with joy at his jealousy. You knew Arthur desired you carnally. Always had done and always would. But a reminder like the present one was always nice. 

“ y’think so? “ 

“ I know “ he grumbled, his pace increasing a little more, clearly attempting to take out his frustrations with the handsy man. But also maybe simply trying to assure himself in the process too. 

Arthur didn’t like to admit it but he was a little self conscious. You’d heard him talk down to himself in the mirror countless times, had seen the way he spoke about himself when you peaked over his shoulder at his journal. Had an almost crippling fear of abandonment that sometimes he did need to be reminded that you wanted him. 

“ poor feller “ you said with a small sigh before pushing lightly at Arthur’s arm so he’d let you go. You winced slightly as he pulled out, immediately missing the heavy feel of him there, and spun around tugging him back towards you by the lapels of his jacket “ ain’t got nothin on you “ you hitched your skirts up in your arm and wrapped your spare hand around the now slick length of his cock making him stutter a breath. 

His face was flushed, bottom lip shiny from kissing you. You wanted to absolutely devour him, strip him of his fancy clothes and remind him just how much you wanted every part of him. 

The look in his eyes was almost primal. Desire and lust burning so brightly it made your chest ache, to feel so wanted. To feel so desired. 

To have a man so usually controlled and put together, be reduced to not being able to even wait until you got home. That he had to have you there. Right there in that moment. He couldn’t wait. 

You needed him to pull you apart. To worship every inch of you in the way he so often did. 

But the side of the mayor's house was truly not the place for such a thing. 

“ no one could make me feel the way you do “ you whispered, stroking him softly in your hand as you tried to stoke the fire under his ego. Make him realise he truly had no reason to be jealous “ and him back there? He thought he could huh? Poor feller “ 

“ poor feller “ he echoed, sliding a hand over your leg and hitching it over his hip, sliding back into you with a welcome ease that made your head fall back against the wall. 

“ Thinks he could fuck me better than this? Man must be damn crazy “ you said with a smile, breathless as he fucked into you. You were practically dripping around him, the lewd sounds between you enough to make your skin flush. 

“ you’re mine darlin “ you nodded immediately. Not a single doubt in your mind on the matter. You were his. And he yours. That was how it would always be “ all mine, you hear? “ 

“ all yours Arthur. Ain’t no man in this whole damn country could replace you” 

He moved with more determination, thrusting into you harder in a way you knew was going to bruise your back from rubbing against the wall. His all too familiar deep, hard pace. You pulled him down by the back of his neck, muffling your whimpers with his mouth cautious again that you were getting a little reckless. 

“ that good? Makin me feel so good darlin’ such a good girl “ the entire thing felt almost animalistic. Desires so strong they couldn’t be withheld. Dirty. Filthy. Perfect. 

“ God Arthur “ the look on his face alone made you clench around him, never wanting him to leave, needing to feel the heavy bruising sensation as he split you apart for the rest of your life. He hitched your leg higher, hitting some new devastating part inside of you that made you see stars. Eyes rolling to the back of your head and unable to contain the sounds escaping your throat any longer. 

“ There she is, jus’ like that darlin I got ya” his grip on your leg grew restless, fingers dancing over your skin and trying to pull you as close to him as he could get you. He always wanted you close. Always wanted to feel your skin against his own. A moment later his thrusts became sloppier and you knew he wasn’t far off. Though quite frankly neither were you “ so pretty for me like this ain’t ya? My girl “ his words only pulled you closer to the edge, knot twisting tighter. 

“ Arthur I- “

“ I know. I know darlin, can feel it “ he almost cooed, lifting a hand to cup your face gently “ that’s it look right at me. That’s a girl right at me “ with his gaze so intense you couldn’t hold it any longer, biting down on your lip as you attempted to conceal your sounds of ecstasy as you came over his cock. 

He was barely a second behind you, a stuttered groan of a sound leaving him as he dropped his forehead against yours, painting your slick walls with rope after rope of come as you clenched around him. Holding him in place so that not a single drop of him would go to waste. It was a risky business letting him finish inside of you, truly it was. But in your sex drunk haze you didn’t care, couldn’t give a damn because it simply felt too good to give up. 

He nudged his nose against yours, brushing his lips against your own and kissed you softly. So tender and gentle, his hand carefully lowering your leg back down, slipping his softening length out of you making you wince. He kissed the crinkles it caused to show at the corners of your eyes, whispering a gentle sorry. He soothed his hands over your waist with a care very few men had for women those days. 

“ my girl “ he murmured, littering kisses across your cheeks and nose. 

When he pulled back you couldn’t help but smile. The dopey, soft kind. He was looking far less put together than he had done when you’d arrived, the pomade in his hair no longer serving its purpose after your fingers had gotten to it. He’d broken a sweat too, his forehead shiny. His skin flushed. 

The smugness was overwhelming though, could see it in his eyes. In the small smirk pulling at his lips. He seemed incredibly proud of himself. 

“ you are somethin’ else “ he mumbled as he finished readjusting his clothes, reaching forward to slip the ruffled strap of your dress back up your shoulder from where it had slipped. Pressing a kiss to the skin there for good measure. 

“ I ain’t the jealous one “ you teased as you combed your fingers through his hair in some attempt to tidy it. 

“ ain’t jealous. No idea what you talkin about girl “ he said with a small clear of his throat in some attempt to hide the obvious lie, you simply smiled again and pressed a kiss to his cheek 

“ mhm sure “ 

There was something about having to go back out into the party with the light ache between your legs, with the evidence of Arthur’s jealousy slowly dripping down your thighs. And Arthur seemed to think so too 

“ now. I believe you wanted to dance? “

#arthur morgan #i love him your honor #the talent??? #ahhhhhhh

[forgetminot]

Devil's Backbone - Owanjila VI

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC/Reader POV 

Tags: Longfic, Slow Burn, Smut (18+), Violence, Canon-Typical Injuries

Limpany’s burning was a lot more than meets the eye. Deception, greed, and murder follow everyone touched by Leviticus Cornwall. A story where the Van der Linde gang gets even more inescapably involved in Cornwall’s dealings, with the survivor of the massacre at the heart of it all. Slow burn. Pre-Blackwater and beyond.

Owanjila VI: Fevered Dreams

Arthur’s entanglements weigh heavily on him, while a fever strikes in camp.

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Previous | ➵ Next

“I’ve… You’re… Oh, you’ll never change… I know that.”

He stares back at her, his eyes following when she dips into the train car following her brother until they find seats. 

Arthur doesn’t quite know what he wanted from this. The letter begging for his help - the fool that he is, he rode to her beck and call. His dark-eyed beloved, even now, after years gone by, she’s just as beautiful as the last time he saw her.

That last time, when she broke off their engagement. A letter some months later told him she was getting married, and it was like their love had never existed. 

And yet… the fool he is. The fool he is cannot say no to her, he will likely never be able to say no to her. That scarred heart of his - he reckons it will always belong to her. Wanting. Waiting. For something that will never be. She had even said herself - he’ll never change. He’ll never be what she wants, what she needs.

But damn well if he did not wish.

He makes eye contact with her once more through the window - god damnit, she’s just as beautiful as he remembers, age having sharpened her jaw, but those eyes, he can still get lost in them.

He still loves her.

The train jerks forward and slowly pulls away from the station. Mary Gillis leaves him and he’s alone once again, unable to change his ways. Unable to be what she needs. 

He is a damned fool.

Arthur stares down at the worn planks of the station’s platform, kicking at it slightly to stop himself from staring at the train receding into the distance. He grits his teeth, one hand going into his satchel and pulling out his half-empty pack of cigarettes. His jaw clicks as he clenches his teeth, annoyed that he’d have to go to the general store and get another pack. God only knows he can’t go without a smoke now, not now. Not when that heavy feeling in his chest, like he’s been shot, threatens to drown him.

His eyes close heavily after he lights the cigarette, breathing the tobacco in deeply. 

He still fucking loves her. And still, still, even widowed, she does not want to be with him.

Arthur rips the half-smoked cigarette from his mouth and tosses it to the ground, grinding it under his boot with much more force than necessary. Sighing, he grabs his hat from his satchel and places it back on his head, moving from the platform back toward the road where the Walker is hitched. 

Christ, maybe a drink could take the edge off his frustration. By the time he reaches his horse and pulls the reins from the post, he’s made his decision. A drink or two at that saloon in town. He swings himself up into the Walker’s saddle and guides the old horse down the mud-clogged street. By the time he reaches Smithfield’s, he’s edging on wanting to drink himself stupid - maybe then he could forget Mary’s damn eyes.

“Arthur!”

He looks up and finds Lenny Summers leading his horse urgently toward him. Arthur glances around before placing a hand on his hip, “The hell you doin’ way out here?”

Lenny’s face is ashen, sweat dotting his temples, “Strawberry - it was Micah -”

“Of course it was,” Arthur interjects, rolling his eyes as he slides down off the horse, taking the reins and knotting them on the hitching post before grabbing the reins of Lenny’s horse from him, knotting it as well.

“They almost lynched me!” The young exclaims, arms akimbo in agitation.

“Okay, alright, now calm down there kid.” Arthur places his hands on the young man’s shoulder, “Tell me what happened.”

Lenny recounts the sorry tale - that he had met Micah in Strawberry and the outlaw was three sheets to the wind already in a damn dry town - and ended up shooting some feller that he knew - and everything devolved into chaos. Micah was dragged to the jail, and now there was talk of hanging him.

Arthur cannot help but smirk as he guides Lenny up the porch of Smithfield’s, chuckling to himself at Micah’s predicament. He couldn’t wish it on a better man. 

Pushing Lenny toward the bar, Arthur digs his thumbs into the boy’s shoulder blades to attempt to relieve some tension. “C’mon now, kid. Let’s have a drink.”

“And Micah?” Lenny asks.

“He’ll be fine. Let ‘im dry out in a cell.” Arthur retorts with a grin as they reach the bar, “Alrigh- We’ll just have a couple, settle you down, then head back, okay?”

Lenny nods, and leans on the bar, rubbing at his face with frayed nerves, “Just one or two… right, Arthur?”

Arthur nods, motioning to the bartender, “Course, just a drink… no big drama. Can we get a couple of beers, please?”

-

The large tent on the hillside blazes with yellow-orange light, lanterns interspersed on tables and barrels in and around the canvas. 

Dutch Van der Linde is in a magnanimous mood. A gramophone, of all things, blares music into the night upon the shores of Owanjila, and various members of the gang sit and mull about the campfire.

Molly O’Shea sits upon his lap as if she sat on a throne, her emerald eyes surveying her kingdom and subjects as if the rest of the folk existed to serve. Her arms thrown loosely around his neck, one of his wrapped around her thigh, his rings glinting in the night.

She looks upon you with some kind of bored disdain from across the campfire. You pass the bottle of brandy that was foisted upon you back to Karen - you had acquiesced to her request and taken a healthy sip, frowning at the sweetness. 

Mary Beth laughs under her breath, rubbing your shoulder. “Ain’t my favorite neither.”

The men had returned from some sort of score, having ridden out the day before with Dutch all riled up - the kind of energy radiating from them like when they rode out to Blackwater those weeks ago. Horses stamping, voices hooting and hollerin’, but unlike the Blackwater fiasco, when they returned later in the night, it was in some sort of triumph.

For a moment, the glumness that had settled upon the camp was lifted - chores were set aside, and alcohol flowed freely. Even stern Grimshaw sat with a beer around the fire as the night fully settled.

“So, this train - obviously y’got something good, or you wouldn't be in such a mood.” Hosea tips his beer across the campfire at Dutch, who grins as his grip tightens on Molly’s thigh.

“Bearer bonds, courtesy of one Leviticus Cornwall.”

“Cornwall? The railroad magnate?” Hosea arches an eyebrow at Dutch, who seems completely unperturbed.

Across the fire, your stomach drops. You nearly drop the newly opened beer bottle in your hand, but by some divine providence, you don’t lose it. Ripping your stare away from Dutch, you look into the fire as the dread creeps into your chest, clawing at you like some kind of untethered beast, threatening to choke you and steal your breath.

You stare into the fire and see Limpany.

-

However you feel, you fear - about what the men just did, you kept it to yourself for the rest of the night. You excused yourself from the festivities and went to sleep without much further fanfare, but when you awoke in the morning, the stone of guilt and fear lay upon your chest much in the way it did when you had fled to Blackwater.

You busy yourself with morning work, getting the coffee pot ready while Pearson began the stew of unbeknown origins for the day. For all of the bragging that man did about his Navy days, he seemed to be a one-pony show. Maybe you could ask Hosea or Arthur to bring you to Strawberry so that you could eat something other than this stew.

Speaking of which, you noted Arthur’s absence last night - he hadn’t returned with the other men after the job - actually a few of the men hadn’t returned, now that you think about it.

Breaking open the tin of coffee, you dump grounds into the percolator before pouring water from the bucket, drawn fresh from the lake to set the coffee up. Placing it on the hook suspended above the fire, you lean over it for a few minutes as it brews.

The sound of footsteps behind you draws your attention from the percolator, and you turn your head from where you are stooped down to see who it is. Abigail slowly trudges toward you, rubbing at one eye with the back of her wrist. Grabbing one of the empty coffee mugs scattered about the ground, you wipe the inside with your skirt before pouring it full of coffee, standing up from where you had stooped down.

“Didn’t get much sleep?”

Abigail frowns before yawning, covering her mouth for a moment as you hold out the cup of coffee to her. 

“Jack was fussin’ all damn night. Kicked at me like a damn mule.” She mutters as she takes the cup, nodding in thanks as she immediately takes a long sip. You give a half-hearted frown as you look behind her, to the lean-to that the two of them sleep in, where Jack is still asleep under a blanket. It is strange for the boy to still be asleep, but if he was up most of the night…

Abigail blows at the hot coffee before taking another sip, “Been a while since he’s been like that. Hopefully was just one night.” 

You nod in agreement before she turns to walk back to her lean-to. Going back to the coffee, you start pouring another cup as more footsteps draw you to stand again.

“Good morning, dear.” Hosea smiles, placing a hand on your shoulder as you hand him the next cup of coffee.

“Morning, Hosea. You stay up much later last night?”

“Nah,” he shakes his head before bringing the cup to his lips, “I ain’t much for the late nights and bottles of whiskey like I used to be - hangovers are a bitch when you get as old as I am,” he chuckles.

You laugh and shake your head, leaning over to prepare your own cup as a horse whinnies in the distance, a rider arriving back into camp. Hosea squints toward the horse as it approaches, “Ah, it’s Lenny.”

Lenny guides his horse to where the others are tied off, and slides out of the saddle, nearly stumbling to the ground a step after landing.

“Oh, Lenny, you look like you’ve seen better mornings,” Hosea notes as Lenny staggers toward the two of you, looking absolutely miserable and the slightest shade of green. As he groans and walks closer, the overwhelming stench of alcohol wafts off of him and makes you scrunch your nose. You’re pretty sure there is vomit on his collar. You cover your nose to stop from gagging as Lenny wipes at his mouth, noticing your discomfort.

“Did’ya leave poor Arthur in another state?”

“He’s…somewhere. He was still in Valentine once they let us out of jail.” Lenny drolls, his eyes bloodshot as he bends over and places his hands on his knees, obviously trying to quell his roiling stomach.

“Jail?!” You exclaim as your eyebrows raise.

“Ah, one of those kinds of nights,” Hosea chuckles. Lenny groans and continues onward toward the shared lean-to where his bedroll is spread out, stooping down on one knee before giving up and flopping down onto the bedroll.

Your eyebrows still raised in concern, Hosea waves his hand in a cheery dismissal, “Don’t worry ‘bout him. He’ll slink back to camp and sleep it off. Boy can get a bit rowdy when he goes overboard.”

-

Christ, even his damn eyes hurt. His hat’s brim slung low over his face to keep the sun from his eyes - as if this damn headache could get any worse. The Walker sways beneath him, this ride from Valentine taking twice as long as the ride to town, and he hadn’t even gotten the new horse he meant to. 

Arthur thought it smart to leave town quickly after being let out of jail - evidently almost drowning a man in a pig trough is frowned upon in these parts. He’d like to blame the bender on trying to cheer Lenny up, but he knew, he knew that he had let things get out of hand partially on purpose. That drinking himself stupid would push the thought of Mary Gillis from his mind.

Instead, it gave him a massive hangover, a lighter wallet, and still at a loss about Mary. He quietly enters the camp with little fanfare, not wanting and very unwilling to make small talk with anyone.

Fortunately, he’s able to slink back to his cot without needing to talk to anyone, sitting down and pulling his hat off, tossing it further down on the cot as he rubs at his eyes with the heel of his palms. 

Hanging his head, his forearms rest on his knees as he stifles a pained groan. A canteen appears in his field of vision. He looks up, ready to tell whoever off, but finds you standing in front of his cot, holding out that canteen full of water. In the back of his hangover-addled brain, instead of shooing you off, he wants to call you an angel - that the water you’re offering him must be holy in the wake of his bender last night. He can already taste its freshness before even taking the canteen.

You smile, “I heard you had an interestin’ night, Mister Morgan.”

The morning light glints off your hair like it was some kind of spun gold. He swallows, taking the canteen from your hand, and mumbles some kind of thanks as he brings it to his mouth, the cool water just godsend that he believed. 

“Well, at least you didn’t come back with vomit on your shirt,” You chuckle lightly, taking a step back as you place your hands behind your back, “See you later, Arthur.”

“Missus Shaw.”

He stares down at the canteen for a moment, then flits his gaze back up to your frame, walking down toward the lake. The tendrils of your unbound hair bounce with each step you take. The sway of your skirts….

Oh god damnit.

Arthur rubs at his eyes with one hand once again, gritting his teeth against the creeping feeling in his chest. He downs another large gulp of water from the canteen. Chucking it onto the table across from his cot, he grabs at his hat as he lays down on his cot, sighing as he places the hat over his face, praying that sleep will take him quickly and that this headache will subside.

It did - at least he had that going for him today. A few hours of undisturbed sleep was entirely what he needed - by the time he woke, the sun was setting behind the ridge. He pulls himself from his cot, rubbing at his jaw with one hand as he rifles through his satchel for his cigarettes.

He’s approached by Susan Grimshaw, who steps in front of him with her hands crossed over his chest. Arthur looks past her toward the main fire, not wanting to be lectured at the moment. Susan arches an eyebrow before turning her head to follow where Arthur is looking. He lights a cigarette from his pack as she looks back up at him.

She snorts under her breath, looking back at Arthur with a tinge of amusement.

“Missus Shaw.” Grimshaw shifts her eyes back and forth toward the direction of the main campfire, where all of the women are gathered, chirping like sparrows as they eat their dinner on beat-up metal plates.

“What about Missus Shaw?” Arthur retorts; the lit end of his cigarette throwing shadows on his face in the night.

“She’s a nice girl. Doesn’t talk back, works hard, easy on the eyes.”

He doesn’t respond.

“And she don’t have a mean ol’ drunk of a daddy whispering things in her ear.” Susan narrows her eyes in an almost threatening manner, “Don't think I don't know who that damn letter came from.”

-

The next night proves to Abigail that Jack’s sleeplessness wasn’t a fluke. He had been lethargic all day, overtired and fussy. By the time night fell, the boy’s head was hot to the touch as Abigail scooped him up into her arms, beginning to fret as the night went on and he seemed only to get warmer.

You’ve fallen in next to Abigail, urging her to get Jack out from their flimsy lean-to and into the sick tent, having recently been vacated by John, who had healed enough to get out of bed. 

“C’mon, let’s get him into bed,” You reach down to Abigail, sitting on the ground next to Jack, and guide her by her shoulders to stand enough for her to gather her son up. The two of you walk slowly toward the tent, as you reach it, you step inside and turn up the oil lantern as Abigail lays Jack down in the cot. You root around for a blanket for a moment, finding an old one stowed beneath the cot, and spread it out over Jack. Abigail rubs at her brow worryingly.

“Think - think he’s breathin’ okay?” She asks, and the both of you lean over the boy on either side of the cot, holding your ears close to his face.

Jack whines then coughs harshly, and both you and Abigail recoil backward, sitting up straight next to the cot. Abigail frowns, looking apologetic - “God, sorry, Ruth - he -”

You shake your head, “It’s fine. He’s gonna be fine.”

-

You’d like to think it was the lack of sleep for staying up all night with Abigail, but as Jack rolls into another full day of fever, as the next night falls in, you can hardly stave off the exhaustion setting in.

“Shit, Ruth -” Abigail curses from the other side of the cot as she sits back down having brought the oil lantern in from refilling it, “You’re flushed - you - shit, you got a fever?”

You wipe at your brow, damp in the night, “ M’fine,” brushing her off.

But as the hours creep on, it becomes increasingly clear that yes, you had whatever Jack had come down with. It's not much after you start to nod off in your seat that Abigail picks Jack up, gathering him into her lap, and orders you to lie in the cot - your resolve broken by that point.

The night stretches on as you start to shiver in the cot. Jack pitifully whines in his mother’s arms as she hunches over in exhaustion.

“Give - give him here, I’ll hold him. You’re gonna get sick yourself if you don’t get some rest.” You reach toward Jack, huddled in Abigail’s lap. The poor woman’s eyes are bloodshot, dark circles appearing beneath them at her lack of sleep. 

Abigail is unable to hide the guarded look in her eye - her hesitance to let go of her greatest treasure. But after a moment, she acquiesced, exhausted.

She leans forward, Jack huddled to her breast like you’re sure she did when he was a baby. Handing him to you, you situate the child against your chest, pulling the blanket above you both. He does not awaken with the movement, but unconsciously, the boy curls himself into your embrace, his clammy cheek pressed against the exposed skin of your collarbone.

Your hand rubs his back slowly, softly, and when you close your eyes, you wonder if your boy would have curled himself into you the way Jack does. Clutch at you, searching for the comfort only a mother can give.

You choke back a sob, trying to keep quiet, but your attempt is in vain as Abigail notices, drawing closer to you again.

“Ruth - are y’ al-... I can take ‘im back-” Abigail stutters, placing her hand on Jack’s back again to brace him, about to pick him up from the cot.

“ ‘s alright,” You sniffle, unable to stop the tears tracking down your cheeks, “Jus - hic - my baby-”

Abigail’s face falls further, her hand moving from Jack’s back to grasp at yours, her fingers wrapping around yours, “Oh, Ruth, I’m sorry-”

“He… he was too early, b-but -” You shudder with another stifled sob, trying to not disturb the sleeping child in your cot, “ ‘e had his just a bit of his father’s dark hair-”

Abigail’s free hand reaches into the bowl of water, grabbing the rag and squeezing the excess water from it. She dabs it gently to your forehead, holding your hand tightly, comfortingly.

“And now… hic - I’ve got nothin, I’ve got no one, they’re g-gone-” You croak, tears falling down your cheeks freely. You draw the child at your chest in closer, as if Abigail’s son could temporarily fill the depthless void in your chest. 

You devolve into sobs, and Abigail holds your hand.

-

The ponderosa pines wave in the warm breeze, the sweet vanilla wafting through your nose as the clearing opens before you.

The cabin stands quiet across the way. Far quieter than when you left.

The door was left open.

Aethon isn’t hitched up, but the wagon is still next to the cabin.

The door was left open.

With unsteady steps, you slowly reach for the doorframe, looking down when your boots make a muted squelch on the wooden floorboards of the porch.

The door was left open.

Blood runs in wretched rivulets from the inside of the cabin, out the threshold, and into the world.

You step into the cabin, and upon the ground, his body is contorted into a death throe, his eyes wide open and blood running from the hole in his forehead.

As if you were caught in molasses, you move slowly toward the body, reaching out toward your dead husband who seems to be just out of reach. Finally, finally, when you reach him, you touch his cold form, hands on his shoulders, slowly coating your arms with his blood.

Your Frederick, dead on the floor. You weep into his shoulder, loudly wailing the mourning dirge.

A loud noise from outside draws your attention, and you turn to see a large shadowed figure in the door.  A lantern is thrown into the cabin by the figure, bursting into flames on the wooden floor.

Smoke quickly fills the room, and you begin to cough as you crawl toward the open door, taking your chances with the shadowed figure outside rather than with the flames. As you reach the threshold, you look back forlornly at your dead husband’s body before dragging yourself out the door. You stumble to your feet, coughing as you unsteadily step off the porch. You make it only a few steps before doubling over, coughing violently as one of your hands braces on your knee.

As your eyes water over, the shadowed figure appears again, walking slowly toward you. The figure becomes two. Two become three.

“Why, if it isn’t the lovely Missus Shaw. We’ve been looking for you.”

A gunshot pierces the night.

-

The canvas to the sick tent swings shut after Susan steps out, a basket of linen on one hip. He watches as she moves back toward the center of camp, calling for one of the girls to wash it.

He grimaces, the stitches in his skin pulling tightly as he works his jaw. Christ, his face itches something awful, but at least now he’s no longer bedridden, having thrown off the yoke of invalidity a few days ago.

John knows, of course, that Jack has taken sick. Christ, the way that Abigail tutted and fretted about, the whole damn world knows the kid has a fever. He’s kept a wide berth as the boy was relegated to the sick tent that he had so recently occupied.

He was just going to take a quick look in. He’s been listening to Abigail’s damn voice for the past two days through the canvas of the tent, and being stuck in camp and not well enough to ride yet, there was little else to do. She’s finally gone quiet. Hopefully, both her and the boy are asleep.

John barely notices that he’s almost crushed the unlit cigarette between his fingers as he approaches the tent, quietly leaning inside the canvas opening, blinking as his eyes adjust to the lantern light from the darkness outside.

Abigail sits on a stool, her head pillowed on her crossed arms on the small table. She’s dead to the world, exhausted as she’s sprawled out over that table. He looks over to the cot, the mess of blankets piled up over a still form. A mess of sandy brown hair tucked into a shoulder. 

You’re awake. He wasn’t expecting that, standing in the tent’s opening. Stuck, unable to escape, John can do nothing but take in the scene, the fevered blush staining your cheeks, the clammy pallor of your skin. The mess of your blonde hair pulled into some kind of bun that was falling apart. The matching, flushed look of the child pillowed on your chest, the boy’s labored breathing loud in the silence of the night.

Your hand moves to cradle the back of Jack’s head as he subconsciously curls further into you in his sleep.

John audibly swallows, knowing he’s been caught. Under your unfailing gaze, he turns and leaves the tent.

#arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2

[forgetminot]

Do you guys know that one scene

#hes so dramatic #i love him

[forgetminot]

Red Dog Redemption 2

A slightly (extremely) unhinged "rdr2 gang members (+ more) as dawgs" list by me and @sunfir3rain

BONUS CHARACTERS:

[forgetminot]

Literally all I can think of is slow, soft sex with Leon after a nice long Valentine’s day. (Joel’s version will be posted after this one.)

(Cw: AFAB reader with RE6/Vendetta/DI Leon! Fluffy start but still NSFW IF THAT WAS NOT OBVIOUS!!! Oral (pussy eating), squirting, somewhat overstimulation, p in v, creampie)

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED!

With Leon it’s all about time. He’s spent the whole day trying to give you the best day he can. Making up for his absence thanks to every stupid mission and assignment that kept him away from his saving grace. He’s been so off put by relationships for obvious reasons so he’s got to get this right for you. Flowers, food, little presents, the whole shebang. You’re craving ice cream? Store-bought tubs or right from a parlour baby? What’s that, gorgeous? Oh, you think that pink valentine’s day plush bear is the cutest? He’s totally not grabbing it to buy for you when you’re distracted by something. Craving pasta, huh darlin’? Takeout for back at home or right from a genuine restaurant? 

He doesn’t think he’s very good at it. At this whole boyfriend thing, at the concept of a real connection with someone. It’s jarring him even after all this time. You’re his first stable partner ever since his girlfriend broke up with him before Raccoon City, so even in his older age he’s still a bit awkward with it all but tries his damn hardest. 

What he’s not as awkward about? Fucking you.

He’s eaten you out so many times you’re practically shaking. Precum dribbling from the unattended head of his cock with his face buried between your thighs. The first time he made you cum it was slow languid licks from the bottom of your cunt up to the clit, with Leon sucking it into his mouth with a low groan. Made his voice vibrate in just the right spot that all of your pent up arousal just snapped. 

“There we go, angel. There it is.”

The second time was a bit quicker, a thumb pressed to the hood of that pearl to stroke and rub soft circles while also holding your poor wet pussy wide open for him. Spreading your folds nice and wide for easy access. Letting him go back to his licks but now also sucking and slurping right at the entrance to your tight hole. Not even breaching that stretched rim, teasing and teasing. It’s when he pulls back and spits on it that you cum again.

“Sorry baby, just- fuck.”

He can’t say it out loud but he loves when your cunt gets sloppy. Makes the wettest sounds ever and they all go straight to his dick. 

And the third time was when he went a bit wild. He’s just a man, honey. He can’t help but get pussydrunk on your taste, it was better than anything a bar could offer him. That’s why he practically motorboated your hole. Practically drinking you in, slick with his saliva and your past orgasms. Letting his eyes roll back at the way you arch and whine, keep making those noises for him. He could bust one from this alone. Shaking his face side to side with a low moan into you, nose budging against your clit so you squirm and whimper. And then his large hands are keeping your legs spread so he can dive in mouth first. Licking you open so he can eat you out the way you deserve. If he were feeling any more dizzy off your smell and flavour he’d fucking bite your pussy at this point. Should be illegal to taste so good. And when he pushes you so hard you fucking squirt? Let’s just say it’s a miracle all his cock did was twitch. 

Leon can’t help but be enamoured by you. He has to take his time with you now that he finally has a night to do that. 

When he does finally slide into you it’s all about close contact. His forehead leaning against your own, his warm breath fanning over the flushed skin of your face. He’s learned the rhythms of your body, the steady thrum of your heartbeat when it races like it is right now. In that moment with you sat beneath him, looking so very pretty in your dishevelled state. And he’s still taking his time. Unravelling you bit by bit and piece by piece between slow and passionate kisses. He’s got the whole night to take you apart and he’s going to make good on that promise. To snake his hands up your ribs and touch every ridge of your body as if he’s trying to commit it to full memory the next time he has to leave. And don’t even get me started on his pace. It starts out so painfully still and rigid. Simply sheathed inside of you without movement at first, letting you feel the way his cock twitches and jerks for you. How you drive him fucking crazy. Then he’s rocking into you, leisurely of course. Taking in every inch of your body that’s so beautifully wrapped around his dick, the way you shiver and whine at the pace. Your complaints are adorable. Pleading him to go faster, since it’s his fault you’re so pent up. Him and that damn mouth had you running in circles. 

But how’s he supposed to fuck you quick and done when he can have you like this? Taking in the way your warmth seems to swallow him up, how you seem to squeeze and clench around him every few minutes as if hoping he won’t leave. He can feel every tense and twitch of your cute cunt around him. You’re his darling angel, he has to savour you. Let desire drip down his chin to taste later; just like your past arousal that still lingered on his breath. 

“I know sweetheart, I know. Let me take my time, darlin’. M’ poor baby.” It’s a shushed coo down at you and your bucking hips beneath him. Sweat makes the loose side-swept strands of hair stick to his forehead, and his big blue eyes are so dilated they may as well have been black at this point. You delight and fascinate him in so many ways. Every day is new with you, no matter how long you’ve been together. “What, can’t- hah, fuck- handle a bit of teasing? Just- just hold out for me a little longer, honey.”

Don’t worry, Leon picks up the pace soon. Long, deep strokes to slide through the slick heat of your pussy. Shivering at the way you seem to mould to the shape of him buried inside of you. Groaning low in your ear as he drags you through slow kisses - from your collarbone to your shoulders, up your neck and finally your lips. He’s going to spend every hour he can worshipping you. Thanking you for your ever gracing patience with him. For understanding his job and hardships and still staying. And god you sound so good. Moaning and gasping like it’s your first time taking his cock. Weak hands hooking under his shoulders to try and grip tight to the muscles of his body. Better hold on, sweetheart. He’s not stopping anytime soon.

“God- Fuck, you’re squeezing me angel. Jesus. No matter how many times I stretch you out, huh?”

You’re lucky enough to cum another time before he finds himself getting lost in the tight, wet grip your cunt has on him. Takes his sweet time, finding the self control to rabbit into you, steady but still bucking up to the hilt. Sweet on you between kisses to your jaw and his large hands clasped above your head to keep himself stable. Putting all of his body weight into his hips so he can grind into you just right. Find that spongy spot that makes you keen and cry. There it is, gotcha. It makes you clench and pulse in a way that drives him up the damn wall. His stubble scrapes against your shoulder when his head falls into the divot of your neck, letting out a guttural sound when he hits his own climax. A mix between a groan and a whimper, you really do bring out the weakness in him. 

And yeah, he’s self indulgent. Can’t help but give a few last good humps to fuck his cum into you, stuff you up nice and full. Listen to you whine and squirm but then sigh in relief when he sits limp inside of you. Peppering kisses all over your face, he can’t help but smile lazily up at you.

“So, good Valentine’s day?”

All you can do is let out a breathless giggle and nod. “Definitely.”

“Yeah? Good. You’re worth it. Now just,” He grunts while settling his body weight down on top of you, forcing a groan of protest from your throat for obvious reasons. “Let me lay here for a bit.”

“How long is ‘a bit’ gonna be?”

“Meh, few hours. Maybe longer. Might be days with the way you took it out of me.”

Dude’s built like a bag of bricks, and it only becomes more apparent when he does this to you. But he makes you laugh. Makes your heart flutter, too. He makes you feel better than anyone else has. 

And that’s plenty enough for a bag of bricks like Leon Scott Kennedy.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #this shouldn't be legal #the talent #i love him your honor

[forgetminot]

john tries on one of javier's neckerchiefs ✨

inspired by @carpathiians :

[forgetminot]

Take Me One More Time, One More Wave, One Last Ride

✥ Summary: "He bares his teeth. He’s going to go in for the kill. “Say it,” he growls to you. You know what he wants you to say, and you would swear in another life he was nothing but a ravenous and revered wolf."

✥ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader (no use of y/n)

✥ Word Count: 5k

✥ Rating: 18+ MINORS DNI

✥ WARNING: smut, like really really smutty. i mean disgustingly smutty. praise kink, a lotta dirty talk, med-honor!arthur, a touch of choking and spit play, porn with plot

✥ A/N: hi yall!! long time no see! i'm a student in my final semester of art school, and because i did all my hard heavy work last semester, i have a lot more free time to write this time. i'm excited to be writing and creating more, and what better way to kick it off than with the beautiful man himself, arthur! :0) hope you enjoy <3

. . . . .

A starry night shines above Horseshoe Overlook. It’s mid-spring, and the weather outside is warm and soft, gentle breezes constantly swirling through camp, a welcome and wonderful reminder to the Van der Linde gang that their time out of the Grizzlies is done. Everything is quiet, save for a few crickets that seem to make home amongst the crew of everyone. Soft snores can be heard from other people’s tents.

Save for you and Arthur of course.

Arthur and you have been seeing each other for the better half of the last month or so. Sure, you hadn’t been with the gang long, at least not as long as others. When you all made your trip to the Grizzlies, the harsh winter freezing everyone's spirits, the lapping of the fire from the ferry soon a distant memory, you found solace within Arthur. While everyone huddled together for warmth and the sound of the snow a lullaby to lure everyone into a slumber, your eyes stared awake at the wooden walls. Arthur had also been wide awake that night, and with the chill freezing you both to your spine, you had sheepishly approached him asking for comfort and warmth. He obliged, opening his arms to you to huddle. And while everyone was dreaming of the spring to come just down the mountains, your fingers intertwined with his and the warmth from his lips became the furnace that warmed you to your core.

Your relationship was like this. Surrounded by the comforting twilight and the shine of ursa major. Never to be seen when the sun rises.

You both liked this. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Tonight, the flaps of his tent are shut tight to keep way of the peeping toms, lest the others know of your sins. Laying with Arthur, his back is to the cot while you lay on your hip next to him. The tent acts as your clothes, naked as the day you were born underneath it. Your lips are kissing his in such a heat it could melt gold, licking the inside of each other’s mouths with an almost feral intention. His lips are cracked and taste of tobacco and he’s beginning to pant into your mouth like a dog in heat. Sweat dripping off his brow while he begs into your mouth “please please pleasepleaseplease”. He looks absolutely pathetic, and you’re eating it up like it’s your last meal on earth. Your hand is wrapped around his cock, pumping him up and down, tracing the veins on his shaft with your fingers and making a map of it in your mind. You slide your thumb over the slit every so often, which makes him practically drool underneath you.

Boys tend to make fun of girls for the fact that when they crave that carnal desire, their slick drips out of them like a waterfall.

But it’s different with Arthur tonight, the way his precum leaks out of his cock, coating your hands and dribbling onto his thighs, making sweet stains on the cot beneath you both. “Does that feel good…?” you ask, letting the double o of “good” draw out long.

He does halfway between a nod and a shake of his head, looking into your eyes. “Yes…” he drawls out, followed by a groan when you tighten your grip and speed up your pumping, if momentarily. “Yes- ugh, yes… feels so good sweetheart…”

“That’s my good boy,” The praise hits his core directly and he moans underneath you. You’ve never seen Arthur like this; no, you don’t think anyone has ever seen Arthur like this. Pupils blown, the heat from the action making his face a nice shade of pink, and the way he absolutely has come undone with your touch. You crave him in the most animalistic way possible right now, and you lunge forward once again to engulf him with a kiss, biting his bottom lip on the way. The stimulation from the kiss and your hand doing wonders to his cock make him squirm and buck into your hand. You’re glad you kissed him, you think. The noises he’s making would be enough to wake anyone nearby and your mouth is enough to mute him for the time being. That’s what you tell yourself at least, ignoring the blossoming feeling in your heart that goes straight to your core, feeling your slick start to coat your thighs.

He notices the way your thighs rub together while you stroke him. Nothing goes unseen by him, wolf that he is.

At this notion, he realizes he can get the upper hand. He smiles into your mouth, not able to hide his intentions,and as your lips pull away to get air, he pushes your hand away right at the last second. You stop kissing him as soon as he does, looking down at him, head cocked in the way small animals do to indicate confusion. Cute, he thinks to himself. Arthur then sits up, the flush on his neck reaching to the tips of his ears. His golden locks are mangled and pushed in odd directions. He looks delectable, delicious, like a feast laid before a queen. He kisses you chastely, before reaching up  and gripping your throat, his roughly padded fingers pushing down on your airways. The way he changes speed to put himself in charge makes your head spin. “That was cute…” he pants, still catching his breath. The look in his eyes indicates he’s about to take the reins, whether you like it or not. You can’t object otherwise, the hold on your throat letting just enough air in, but not enough out to make your vocal chords say the things you want to say.

“But I think it’s my turn now, don’t you think sweetheart?”

God the pet names. Those two syllables can make you come undone in a matter of seconds as soon as the sound hits your ears.

You nod at him, smiling as he chokes you. He’s powerful, strong, it’s evident in the way he holds you like you’re prey. It makes you chuckle in his hold. If he wanted to kill you, he could, and that thought alone makes lustful shivers down your spine.

“Good girl,” he says to you, and you moan at the praise. 

He kisses you and chokes you harder, making the air leave your lungs. Tongue swiping over your lips to ask for entrance, and you let him. You taste the drool he’s built in his mouth over the course of your handjob, and you swear it was the water from an oasis. You’d drink it if you could. Pathetic animal you think to yourself. Coming undone just from the hand around your neck and the taste of his spit. If he kept this up with all the stimulation he’s causing to you, he could probably make you cum right there and then.

His other hand not acting as the noose around your airway moves up your body every so slowly. From your hips to your stomach, you can feel the years of hard work he’s built on the palm of his hand against your soft form. He moves upwards still, making it from your tummy to your sternum, right in the middle of your chest. You continue to whine at the motion until he moves left, and then it makes you moan into his mouth. It makes him choke you harder. The lack of oxygen to your brain is making your slick drip.

“Shh, girl…” he whispers to you in kisses. He kneads the plump flesh of your breast, feeling your hardened nipple in his hand, then pulls back from your mouth. “You keep moanin’ like that, you’re gonna wake up the whole camp.” Pinching your nipple, you silently whine, not moving your mouth but the sound attempting to escape your throat.

“You want that?” he asks you. You shake your head, not wanting to play the part of the brat tonight. You’re too desperate for contact for that.

“Are you sure?” he asks. Now he’s just being plain mean, releasing your throat to grope your right breast, pinching and prodding the nipple. He moves to kiss your neck, the spot right near the conjunction of your ear and jawline. Lips kissing the skin before he bites there. You whine again, feeling his hands grope you and play with you. He licks the spot where he just was, suckling your neck. “You could let the whole camp know how much of a whore you are; let them know who fucks you best,” he speaks to you between nibbles.

It’s at this moment, where the combination of his words and his hands on your breasts and him kissing the spot on your neck that if he asked you to jump, you would ask how high. And when he told you, you’d attempt- no; you would jump higher.

“Arthur,” you finally manage to pant out. He knows what he’s done to you and he’s smiling into your neck. He releases your neck suddenly, allowing you to finally take a deep breath in, then pulls away and grabs the sides of your chest. Those piercing blue eyes stare at the way your face has become a darker shade and the way your hair has started to become frizzy from the heat you both have been generating. It’s a furnace in here, and you would gladly burn in it.

“Lay down,” he asks, and you do, a spell having taken over you. He shuffles off the cot while you get comfortable. Laying on your back, head on the pillow, you glance at him. He’s looking at you so tenderly right now, eyes soft and he’s panting out loud. It makes those blossoms in your heart bloom. You push down the feeling again.

Something about the situation feels somewhat sad to you. Here is the man you’ve been pining over for months, long before the Grizzlies, hell, even before the ferry. And since that wintery night (and the many others after that, where naked body met naked body and where the friction could start a flame), you still aren’t quite sure how he feels about you. During the day, you both are normal. Too normal, considering the circumstances you have found each other in. If you weren’t aware of your nightly activities, you’d say the two of you are acquaintances, maybe friends if you really pushed it. There isn’t hand holding, no longing stares, no kisses behind trees. There is only this, the night sky and the coming undone of it.

To be fair, there hasn’t been much of a discussion. You’ve been too scared to. Arthur remains somewhat reserved and closed off from the others. Sure, he’s kind, he’s one of the best men you know. And he’s said multiple times that this gang is like family to him, but that’s about where he stops. No discussion of feelings, whether good or bad, with anyone. You are a fool if you think talking with him will change that. So you accept it as it is; you figure you’d rather have this than nothing.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

Sometimes, if you’re alone in your tent and being really honest with yourself, you think of yourself adjacent to Miss Molly O’Shea, in regards to your loyalty to him, despite not being shown much to be loyal to.

But here you are, laying like a dog on his back, defenses down. A lamb to the slaughter if he so chose. And still, you wouldn’t change a thing if you could help it.

As soon as you find the right spot, pushing the thoughts out of your head, he climbs back in, sitting down at the end of the cot in between the conjuncture of your thighs. He looks ravishing, you think to yourself, and he’s looking down at your pelvis like he’s about ready to bite and thrash you around in his jaw. Glancing at your eyes for permission, you laugh a little. “By all means,” you pant. Smiling, he grips one of your thighs and pushes it open to reveal what he’s been craving all night.

He whistles and it makes you turn a lovely shade of red.

“So pretty,” he says to you, getting down on his stomach. The praise makes you flush harder. No one has ever spoken to you the way Arthur does, and it’s evident by the way your mind and body react. He pulls himself closer, grabbing your hips. You can feel his breath on you, and it’s making you start to pant, little huffs of needy breath escaping your mouth.

“All this pretty pussy just for me,” he growls at you. He licks the slick of your thighs, biting and kissing his way up. You’re throbbing, you have a heartbeat in your loins at the mere idea of him ravishing you.

“Tell me, darling, who does this pussy belong to?” He kisses the side of your cunt, teasing you. He knows the answer, he just needs to hear you say it.

“Y-you..” you whisper. He kisses your lower lips in praise, it makes you squirm.

“What was that?” he asks. He breaths onto you, the puffs making you whine.

“You, Arthur…”

“What about me?”

“Y-you… my pussy belongs to you,”

He likes this answer. “Goood girl,” he says, annunciating the oo’s as you did to him earlier. He licks a stripe up your pussy before diving in, biting your cunt lip gently on the way. His tongue working what you could swear was a miracle.

The heat from this makes your face flush an even darker shade. You can feel his tongue move up and down your cunt, licking up your slick. He bites your lip gently and then he starts to suck on you. You moan, like really moan. Not like before where it was similar to a whimper, but you actually moan. You didn’t even mean to, you just had the carnal noise leave you before your brain could signal you to stop.

“Be quiet,” he growls, and you slap your hand over your mouth, following his command. He dives back in, licking and sucking at you, eating you like he was on death row and you were his last mortal meal. You whine and moan into your hand and buck into his touch. The feeling of his mouth on your pussy and the grip of his hand on your thighs make that old familiar coil in your body start to tighten. He licks his tongue right at your entrance and the motion makes you see stars through the tent. 

“Arthur…” you whine. Your leg starts to push against the hand that had been holding you open. To your surprise, he lets go, and you sling your leg over his shoulder. Those oceanic eyes are staring at you as he eats you out, predatory and mean. You feel small, and he feels big. Cornered and whimpering, whining under his watchful gaze. He knows what he does to you, and he would gladly toy with you all day.

He pulls his face back, and with the hand he just used to let go of your leg, he reaches under and over your thigh to play with your clit. You press your hand harder against your mouth to resist the urge to absolutely scream. The coil tightens further. 

“Such a pretty girl,” he says, eyes unwavering. You’re looking down at him as he does and he smirks. “You like this? You like when I play with your pussy and call you my good girl?”

When he starts talking like this, you know it’s over for you. You can’t resist the way his words fall on your ears. It makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. While you don’t believe in God, you would bet what little money you had that this was how heaven felt. If God Himself told you that he sent this man to give you the pleasure you were experiencing, you would become an instant believer.

“Yes… yesyesyesyes… Arthur please…”

He bares his teeth. He’s going to go in for the kill.

“Say it,” he growls to you. You know what he wants you to say, and you would swear in another life he was nothing but a ravenous and revered wolf.

“Yes.. yes my cunt is all for you, I love when you play with my pussy, please just let me cum let me cum please pleeease…” you speak it like a mantra, a prayer. You’d tell him anything he wants to hear as long as he gave you what you want.

He laughs like a hyena, knowing he’s won. 

“Go ahead pretty girl, cum for me.”

And you do, all too quickly. The coil burns and lets go and you release, hot and fast. White blistering heat courses through you as you do, and you know Arthur is growling in lust as he watches you come undone by his hard work.

When you come down, sweating and panting, your lips curl into a subtle smile. God, you would never get tired of the way he makes your body compulse and twinge. You glance over at him and he’s smiling at you, a genuine smile. Blossoms, you know. It is spring after all.

“You did such a good job for me,” he praises you. “Being such a good girl,” he crawls up past your thighs and your core and leaves kisses on your stomach. “What did I do to deserve such a sweet girl?” he whispers in prayer, kissing your sternum. He licks a stripe up to your collarbone before kissing your pulsepoint. “You’re all too good for me, my sweet girl.” he speaks to you. You smile and whimper at him treating your body so delicately. When he finally makes it past your neck, crawling to be on top of you, he makes little haste at kissing your lips. You lean in and sigh at the action, kissing him back. It’s sweet, it’s warm, it’s like honey, you can taste your slick on his lips and tongue. But the warm feeling is soon replaced with lust once more as you feel his cock press against your cunt. “But I’m gonna need one more outta you,” he says, kissing your cheek. “Can you do that? Can you come one more time for me?”

He starts to hump you, teasing you with his length. You smile, knowing he wants this just as bad as you do. When the head skims your clit, he groans. “Please, darling, I need to feel you,” he says before he kisses you sloppily. “Please, let me fuck you.”

Smiling into his kiss, you raise your legs to slot them over his hips, revealing your cunt to his dick. You teasingly kick his backside, similar to trying to get a horse to gallop. You’re ready, you’ve been thinking about this moment since you gently lifted the flaps to his tent earlier this evening. Hell, you’ve been thinking about him fucking you since you were washing dishes with Pearson, imagining this moment while you scrubbed crumbs and stains off dinnerware.

Pathetic animal, you think again. 

“Fuck me, cowboy.” you command and he grins at you.

Slotting his arms next to your head, you reach your hand down and guide him to your entrance. Prodding it with his head, he begins to enter you slowly. You whine as you begin to stretch apart at his cock. He’s watching your face, watching for any sign of displeasure or pain. No matter how many times he would do this, and despite how incessantly he’s been begging to fuck you all night, he would only continue knowing he was in the clear to do so. 

Arthur also wasn’t small by any means. He was a big man, in more ways than one, and he knew this. So, it was important to him that he ensured your pleasure as well. Not wanting to cause pain, at least, not unwanted pain.

You moan as he continues entering, keeps going, keeps sheathing himself in your heat, until he finally bottoms out. He pants, he’s whining, you’re moaning, your faces are red and sweaty and you can feel his sweat drip onto your face. You can feel his cock twitch inside you as your pubic becomes entangled. You smile at him and giggle out of relief and nervousness.

“Pretty girl…” he kisses your forehead, and it makes those flowers go into full bloom. You love when he does that. It feels strangely domestic. “You ready?”

You nod at him, looking into his eyes. His pupils are blown to the point you can barely see the blues of his irises. He wants– no, he needs you now. He needs to fuck you like it’s the last time he’s ever going to do it.

“Been ready, Mr. Morgan,” you breathe it out, almost a whisper.

“Good girl,” he says, and he sits up, your legs falling down from where they were previously positioned to now sit right on his hips. You move with him, and as soon as he’s on his knees, he grips your hips. He smirks at you, and you can only shake with anticipation.

And then he fucks you.

He fucks you so good that it makes you want to scream. As he grips your hips, he pulls out from you slowly before slamming back into you, letting his cock come almost all the way out before plunging back in. You can feel the heat from him penetrate you, and you can feel him twitch inside you. You moan before covering your mouth. He moves expertly, quickly, precisely. He knows exactly what to do to get you to scream his name.

“So fucking tight,” he groans, pumping into you. He has a bruising force on your hips and you know you’ll see fingerprints tomorrow morning when you inevitably wake up. He’s holding onto you for dear life and he fucks you so hard that you see stars. He’s no longer thinking with his frontal lobe, only going off of pure desire and lust.

It’s feral. It’s disgusting. And yet, it’s absolutely what the both of you have been craving.

He lifts one of your legs off of his hip and onto his shoulder. The new position makes you want to scream, as he’s hitting “just that right spot– yes– right there– fuck right there!” you whine at him. Your cunt stretched and being used by him just the way he wants to. Your brain melting as he pummels into you, becoming nothing but liquid matter as you can only think about him, his cock, and the blossoming feeling that begins to erupt in your core. You’re not gonna last long; you know you won’t, especially after all that he’s done to you beforehand.

“Arthur– Arthur…fuck… please,” you whine at him. He chuckles. He goes faster, he’s driving into you now, and you have to use both your hands to cover your screams. You’ve never been fucked this way before Arthur. Sure, you’ve had your fair share of men in your time, but nobody has ever made you feel this good before.

“Yeah? Does that feel good, darling?” He says to you, flushed and sweating. He’s gripping your thigh so hard that you’re sure it will leave even more bruises later. You’ll count them lovingly like stars before you inevitably have to deal with trying not to limp around camp in the daylight.

“Yes… yes!.. Feels so good,” you moan. He pants, his cock twitching inside you. He’s starting to get sloppy. You know he’s going to cum soon, and he makes it known by letting go of your thigh. He moves back to laying on top of you, falling down just above your face and kissing your lips as he bucks his hips into your cunt. Staring down at you as he completely ruins you.

“Open,” he commands suddenly, and you open your mouth, still panting. You’re shaking at this point.

Then he does something he’s never done before.

He closes his mouth and puckers his lips before getting close to you, and a dribble of his saliva leaks out, down down down from his mouth before he then spits it into your mouth. It lands on your tongue, a nectar from him. You savor it, letting it pool in your mouth.

“Swallow,” he commands again, and you don’t hesitate to do so. You feel it slide down your throat in such a way, it being the remedy for the hardship you’ve experienced tonight. You open your mouth once more to show him you swallowed it. He practically moans at the action, before he’s down again and he’s kissing you to taste himself on your tongue. 

He tongues you and sucks on your lips and you moan. You go to wrap your arms around his neck, but before you can, he moves his hand to grip your hair, the other one holding himself steady. He grips the length of your hair and pulls and it makes you yell out in pain and pleasure. You can feel it coming quickly. As soon as he starts to get mean, you know you’re doomed.

“Who do you belong to?” he growls, lust laces his voice. It drips out like honey from a beehive, and he’s full of stingers. “Tell me, who’s my whore? Whose pussy does this belong to?”

You want to scream, but some form of clarity prevents you from doing so, remembering you’re in camp. “You! You– you Arthur Morgan, I belong to you!” you whisper yell, you’re moaning and whining and sweating and huffing. The grip on your hair still held tightly. You can feel your cunt start to spasm. “I’m your whore, my pussy belongs to you” you whine into him. He laughs and kisses your cheek. He’s still fucking you at an incredible pace. He moves down to your ear where he says three words that make your brain leak out your ears.

“Cum for me.”

And you do. Fuck, you cum so hard. You cum so hard that it makes you feel more wet, and you can feel your pussy tighten around his cock, sucking him in, trying to keep him there. You moan and he covers your mouth with his hand, not stopping for anything.

He coos into your ear. “Good girl, good girl, pretty girl, comin around my cock, fuck you feel so good.” He’s close, you can feel it. He’s sloppier than ever. He lets go of your mouth to position his hand near your head.

“Tell me, where do you want it?” He asks. And you feel disgusted by your answer, but not enough to stop yourself from saying it aloud. 

“In my mouth,” you beg. He smiles.

“Just what I thought,” he says. Arthur abruptly stops his mantra of his hips to pull out, quickly moving to straddle your chest, where he positions his cock on top of your lips. You open wide for him once again and you let him pump himself, finishing himself off into your mouth.

He moans when he cums, and his warm, hot seed spills into your mouth. It ropes on your tongue and coats your lips, some getting up onto your cheek. He slows down his pumping as the last of it dribbles out of his cock. He’s still groaning, and a warm smile graces your face as you swallow his salty cum. Grinning at him as soon as you drink the last of it, he chuckles down at the sight of you.

Looking back up at him, you think he looks picture-esque. His hair mangled, his face flushed and glistening with sweat, his pupils blown and his mouth agape in a pant. You wish photography was more accessible, because you’d kill to have this exact image to have as a keepsake. You’ll settle with cementing it in your mind instead.

“You feelin’ alright?” he drawls and you nod at him, still catching your breath.

“I’m feelin’ better than alright,” you chuckle out, and it makes him laugh, hanging his head down to do so. “You good?”

“Sure,” he says. He positions to lay on his side before holding his arm out open to motion for you to lay with him. You shuffle, and end up laying in the junction of his armpit and chest. He’s warm, so warm, feeling good against the cool breeze that welcomes its way into your tent.

Comfortable silence envelops for only a moment before you shuffle to look into his eyes. The way he’s looking at you with a soft smile on his lips, the smell of him enticing you, you feel the flowers in your sternum start to go into full bloom, the buzzing in your chest signaling that the pollen they’re releasing means they’re ready.

But you weren’t. You weren’t even thinking when you said it, it just fell before you could even think.

“I love you,” you whisper out.

Silence envelops again. This time, it’s not as comforting.

Fuck, fuck, why the fuck did you say that? What’s wrong with you??

The panic starts to set in, realizing what you just said. You sit up, hair still frizzing. He’s looking up at you with wide eyes, pupils now reverted back to natural size.

Fuck! Fuck! The animal within you starts to scream to get out, get the fuck out. 

“I-I’m sorry Arthur, I–” you stop yourself before you can continue. You get up, out of his cot, and start rummaging around for your chemise, discarded somewhere on the grassy floor. Sweat starts to pool at your temples, the fight or flight kicking in as you scavenge to find it. God, why’d you have to throw it off in such a haste?”

“Darlin’, I–” he starts, but you cut him off as soon as you find it and you slip it on.

“No, no, I’m sorry Arthur, I..” Anxiety creeps up your neck, it’s jaws finding place on your pulsepoint, perfectly shown by the hickey that now makes home there. “I need to go.”

You leave. You leave before he can even think to reply to you. You open the tent flaps and make your way out, over to the other side of camp where the other girls have their tent. You’re breathing all too quickly, you try to calm down. Normalcy is what you need, so you lay amongst the other women, hoping that slotting yourself among them will settle you down.

But while they snore peacefully, your eyes are wide awake. Unable to sleep.

And you know Arthur is wide awake as well.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan smut #red dead redemption 2 #i love him your honor

[forgetminot]

Arthur Morgan Looking Cute As Hell 39/??

[forgetminot]

I have no idea about the historical accuracy of this but imagine a reader who used to be in a pretty well off family (think like the braithwaites level in society) but she left it all and gave everything up to be with Arthur. It’s her first Christmas away from her family and she misses the Christmas tree back home. Queue Arthur cutting a tree down with his big manly man strength and dragging it back to camp to surprise her🥲

* ˚ ✦ Stardust * ˚ ✦

pairing: arthur morgan x f!reader word count: 4k a/n: margo!! This prompt was too cute. I kinda took it and RAN so I hope I did it justice! xx

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

christmas countdown┊main masterlist┊rdr2 masterlist

If there's one thing you haven't gotten used to in this way of life, it's the elements. Camp is situated in Big Valley along the Upper Montana River. It's beautiful, and more open country than you've ever seen in your life. But damn, is it cold in winter. Snow drifts down from Mount Shann, creating a beautiful flurry of white around camp, albeit a freezing one. 

At this moment, though, the cold doesn't bother you. In the safety of your tent, back tucked against Arthur's chest, it's impossible for the cold to reach you. He keeps you warm. Like a furnace, that man. You'd be worried he was running a fever if you weren't so used to his toasty-warm temperature. 

You shuffle against Arthur, readjusting in the soft cotton cot. The wind whispers quietly outside, peacefully. Gone is the loud whipping ice storm that had come through a week or so ago. It's been replaced by a quiet falling of snow, the creak of nearby oaks. 

“Darlin’? What is it?” Arthur whispers, voice sleepy against your ear. The hand that's hung over your waist squeezes gently, a small act of encouragement to respond. You smirk. You can picture his face, eyes closed, or half-lifted, eyebrows knitting with worry. 

“What's wrong?” He whispers again. The hand on your waist flattens against your stomach, gently pulling you back towards him. 

Oh, your Arthur. His heart is perfectly in tune with yours, and well, when yours is sunk, he notices. A peculiar little thing you've discovered– he always notices those small details, those small fluctuations in your mood. On top of that, he always addresses them. 

Those selfless personality traits are why you left the city in the first place. Arthur is genuine, real. He's caring, and he communicates with you when you're upset. Your mamá and papá were far too concerned with selling you off to the most eligible bachelor in Saint Denis to care about your feelings. The bachelor's characteristics were of no importance, just his wealth and status in society. That life was… a load of shit, as your dear Arthur would say. 

You'd started sneaking downtown at night to get away from the chaos of your home. Your parents were always fighting and screaming. Broken dishes and ringing ears became a staple in that house. La Bastille Saloon was a short walk from your house on Flavian Street. And that's where you met Arthur. 

Despite his career, you immediately recognized him to be the first honest man that you'd ever met in your life. In a mere thirty seconds of conversation, you'd found a depth to him that your father could never scratch, a kindness that no arranged husband would show you. And so it became a habit. You'd sneak out of your window a few times a week, meeting him at La Bastille– talking, laughing, drinking. Arthur's whiskey burned far more than the French wine you'd sipped on in your life. Where you came from, drinking was for show. To sip on a glass of imported chablis was to assert class, but Arthur taught you how to drink for fun. He'd taught you how to play cards and how to cure a hangover. Your parents would be mortified at your unladylike behavior. 

Arthur showed you fun, and kindness, spontaneity and honesty in a world that you thought was without those virtues. When Arthur had asked you to join him, it was an easy yes. He laid it all out. the good, the bad and the ugly. Criminals, you'd be joining. He was afraid that you would turn away, but crime is no stranger to you. Coming from high society, you saw the rich take from the poor time and again. You saw laundering and fraud, servitude, coercion and arranged murder. 

All your family does is twist lies for their own benefit. They're all snakes, sinking their teeth into everything they come across. Gluttonous in their pursuit to expel venom. It has drowned the whole city of Saint Denis, sunk into the cobblestone roads and poisoned the entire place. 

You see more honesty in the Van der Linde's life of crime than in your family's. At least the Van der Lindes are honest about what they do, and only rob from those who rob from others. 

Leaving with Arthur was the most freeing feeling you've ever experienced. You love him with all your heart. You love the gang, and your new life, and yet even with all that you've gained, you still left so much behind. Joining Arthur; it's the best decision you've ever made, and you don't regret it for a moment, but the approaching holiday is bringing out sadness, memories of your childhood, friends that you'd left in the city. Any good memory of the city is recalled through rose tinted glasses, but still, it's beginning to sting now that it's almost Christmas.

“Darlin’?” Arthur says, the grogginess no longer evident in his voice. He pulls you back to the present like a tether. His thumb drags soothingly over your hip bone, and underneath the thick blankets, you lay your hand atop his. 

“Hmm?” You offer. 

“Where's your head at?” Arthur whispers, breath against your ear. 

“Oh, just thinking.” You smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes. It's a sad smile, bittersweet. If a candle were lit, and he could see it, Arthur would be much more worried. 

His fingertips brush your hair away from your face, gently pulling some strands behind your ear towards the braid they have escaped from. 

Arthur lifts his hand from you, adjusting the blankets as you turn over in bed. Once you're facing him, he makes sure that all of the blankets cover your frame.

“It's just that this will be my first Christmas away from home.” 

A small silence ensues. One that threatens to let tears slip down your rosy cheeks. Your nose tucks into Arthur's chest as you sniffle, hoping he hasn't taken your words with offense. This is your home now, and you wouldn't have it any other way. But old habits die hard. 

“You missin’ home?” Arthur whispers between kisses to your hair. You shake your head quickly 

“No-no. I don't want you to think-” 

“Baby, I ain't gonna give you a hard time ‘cause you're missin’ home. Hell… my childhood weren’t nothin’ but a world of pain, and sometimes I miss it.” 

You should have expected his understanding. Arthur's never made you feel foolish for your feelings. His hand traces along your hip, keeping you warm and coaxing you to settle back into the comfortable space that he’s surrounded you with. 

“I’m finding it difficult.” You whisper, “The holidays are coming up, and they’re bringing lots of memories. Fond ones, things I don’t want to forget.”

“Tell me about them.”

“Well…” You crack a small smile, eyes going far away, back to old memories long ago, “Papá would have a Christmas tree shipped from Cumberland forest, only the best for him of course.” You chuckle, and Arthur smiles for the sweet sound. 

“And we would decorate it with candles, blown glass, popcorn and cranberries. Oh, it was such a sight Arthur.” You say, a wonder in your voice. The memories are crystal clear in your head. Bright colors, laughter, songs. 

Arthur's Christmas memories don't bring much joy. Except for the year his daddy didn't come home. Still, the way your eyes have lit up– Arthur wishes he could have experienced the Christmas that you're describing. He wishes he could see you with that much joy. 

“Have you ever seen a Christmas tree?” You ask, rekindling that tether and pulling him back to you. 

“Nah, only in the papers. I ain't never lived nowhere so fancy to have a Christmas tree.” 

“It was so beautiful…” You whisper, a chill running down your spine. You hardly notice it, but Arthur pulls you closer nonetheless, his body heat wrapping around you like the warmest of blankets. 

“It seemed as if when the tree was decorated and we all sat together, maybe it was not so bad.” You murmur, and the wonder dissipates from your eyes, replaced with reality. 

Arthur waits for you to collect your thoughts. A whistle of wind breaks the silence before you do. 

“Ah, I'm sorry for this show of emotion. It's silly of me.” 

He shakes his head, forehead gently meeting yours. Your eyes marvel up at Arthur, making out the deep blue of his eyes from a stretch of moonlight that's infiltrated the room. 

“You ain't ever gotta apologize for gettin’ emotional, sweetheart. Not with me.” 

All you can do is nod, feeling again like a schoolgirl with butterflies running rampant in your stomach. His breath traces your face, noses just barely lining each other. 

His lips meet yours, soft and sweet. Your heart soars like it does every time he kisses you. It's something that you're sure you won't ever get used to. But something you're hoping to find familiarity in, because you never want to stop kissing him. 

He pulls away all too soon for your liking, placing a sweet kiss to your forehead. When he hears your small whine, he huffs. 

“I know, get back to sleep baby, I'll still be here in the mornin’.”

It doesn't take long for you to slip back into slumber, not with the soft whisper of the wind, and the cocoon of warmth around you. Arthur practically carries you across the threshold into sleep with the way his arms wrap around you. 

In the little tent, deep in the snow, Arthur begins to hatch his plan. He kisses your head, climbing over you and out of bed to light a candle. It provides just enough light to illuminate the pages of his journal. Just enough light for him to illustrate his surprise. 

He had promised you– all those months ago, when he'd packed your bags onto his horse and ridden you out of the city– that he would do anything and everything to make you happy. It's a promise that he intends to keep  

— — — 

a few days later 

“This is the one.” Arthur marvels, sparkling eyes cast upwards toward the fullest, greenest evergreen in Cumberland Forest. You deserve nothing but the best, and he’s sure that he’s found it.  

Arthur takes a short moment to pull out his journal, dusting some fallen snow from the leather cover. He sketches the tree, a way for him to remember the moment. To remember how the tree had been, perfectly untouched in nature. He takes his time, back propped against the unhitched wagon in the forest, hat covered in a thick dusting of snow. A few flakes even drop onto the page, melting and smudging his charcoal. 

When the branches are sketched to his liking, he accompanies them with a quick passage and closes the book. 

For the lady. Christmas. 1899. 

When the book snaps shut and is stuffed back into his journal, he looks up, finding a questioning look on his trusted stallion’s face. 

“What?” Arthur’s brow furrows, “I’ll plant another one.” 

The stallion sighs.  

Arthur moves around the back of the wagon, pulling an ax from the toolbox, dusting some snow off the handle with gloved hands. The ground is covered in a thick layer of white, the horses too. They press their noses together, whinnying and rumbling, entertaining each other with horse-typical play in the snow. 

“Jasper. Sugar. Quit bein’ sweet on one another, we got work to do.” Arthur calls back to the two horses. What a pair, those two.

Jasper is Arthur’s stallion. He’s well behaved. Shy. Obedient. Then there’s Sugar. She was a gift from Arthur to you. White as snow and wild as the wind. She still is, despite all of her training. 

Arthur had brought the pair of them with the wagon to pull the tree back to camp. But now, Sugar seems more interested in kicking up snow, and well– Jasper is only interested in following Sugar around, hearts practically emitting from his eyes. 

Snow falls in thick flakes,  dotting Arthur’s red flannel and melting against the thick material.  He pays it no mind. The snowfall silences the forest, save for the rhythmic whack…whack of Arthur’s ax hitting the evergreen, and the softened sound of playful hooves in the snow.

“Don’t tire yourselves out.” Arthur huffs to the horses, “Jesus.”

A few more swings of the ax, and the tree begins to fall. It hits the ground with a thud, not nearly as loud as Arthur imagined it would be. But, the snow softened the fall, he supposes. 

In a matter of minutes, the tree is in the wagon. Just a few more, and Jasper and Sugar are pulling it home. 

If everything is going according to plan, right now you should be with Marybeth, picking holly. She had taken you out, because she had “wanted to spruce up camp a bit.” Little do you know, the little adventure is a part of Arthur’s plan. With you away from camp, he was able to borrow Sugar, take Jasper, and get the tree. With you away from camp, the final touches can fall into place.

Arthur gently taps the reins over the horse’s backs, urging them into a faster canter along the beaten down snow path back towards camp.

“Hyah! C’mon, we’re pushin’ it.” He calls to the horses. The little golden bells on their harnesses jingle and ring as he pushes them towards camp, massive evergreen in tow. He checks his pocket watch, cursing quietly before putting it away.  Sadie should be done by now. 

It’s not long before the horses are pulling into camp, large puffs of white billowing out from their noses as they catch their breath. Arthur hops down from the wagon, his hand running along the expanse of it as he reaches the back. 

“Well,  I’ll be damned!” Dutch’s voice booms from across the camp. He makes his way towards the wagon, “Now this is how we celebrate Christmas!” 

The evergreen nearly overtakes the wagon, branches sticking out from all directions, billows of snow still stuck to them. Dutch has no idea how Arthur managed to get it into the wagon. An approaching Hosea is just as flabbergasted.  

“You know, I never took you to be much of a romantic, Arthur. But this might just prove me wrong.” Hosea 

“Whatever you say. Now, quit gawkin’ and help me get this big bastard up.” Arthur mumbles, grabbing the thick tree by the trunk and pulling it down. Sap sticks to his hands as he begins to drag it out of the wagon. Carrying it into the center of camp is a group effort– much easier than Arthur getting it into the wagon by himself. 

“I reckon you two can handle this. I got some other things to check up on.” Arthur steps back, sizing the tree up and down.

“Run along then and leave us the hard work.” Dutch muses, within earshot of Arthur.

“Figured it would do your old bones some good to do real work, Dutch!” Arthur hollers back over his shoulder,  chuckling to himself as he makes his way towards the circle of tents.

“Mrs. Adler?”  Arthur hollers, approaching the A-frame tent, “You in there?”

Before he can part the white canvas tent, Sadie emerges, and he backs up.

 “You get it done?” Arthur asks, cheeks tinged bright pink from the cold. Hat white instead of black. Sadie chuckles for it. 

“Did I get it done?” Sadie mocks with a huff, “A’ course I got it done.”

From her tent, she pulls out a Christmas tree garland. A string carefully woven through dried cranberries and popped corn. It's beautiful and long. It must have taken her hours to make. Arthur’s eyes go wide in small wonder as she transfers the garland to him. 

“S’perfect, Sadie. She’s gonna love this.”

A wide, bittersweet smile stretches across Sadie’s face, “Jake taught me how,” there is a pause as Arthur nods in understanding, “Now go. Go decorate it for your woman.” Sadie smirks.  

“Dear boy! Dear boy, how does it look?” Hosea calls out, and Arthur’s attention shoots towards the tree. They have it standing upright now, perfectly in the center of camp. It stands tall, a real beauty. 

“Perfect.” He gapes at it, wishing he could have done something like this when he was younger– hoping that it will live up to your memories. Arthur doesn’t have the money to buy fancy ornaments, but he’s doing everything in his power to make it special for you. 

With the help of the horses and the wagon, everyone manages to wrap the garland the whole way around the tree, even up to the top. The little trail of white and red looks beautiful against the dark green of the pine. Arthur places lit candles in holders on the branches, casting a beautiful hazy glow that lights up the tree. Camp members begin to gather, circling around the tree, watching and helping. Mrs. Grimshaw offers some holly. Karen offers some candy canes that she had bought in town, hanging them from the branches. 

The sun begins to set, and Arthur checks his watch, knowing that you’ll be back any minute. A small tug on his pants pulls his attention downwards. 

“Uncle Arthur?” Little Jack whispers, eyes sparkling with the reflection of the tree lights, “I made this for you! For you to put it on auntie's tree!” 

Arthur’s brow furrows, and he glances quickly up to Abigail, who is smiling warmly. Jack reaches into his little bag and pulls out a beautiful paper star. He has apparently put a lot of time and effort into folding and cutting the paper into a perfect little topper. Jack’s little hands extend the star up to Arthur, the smile on his face brighter than any of the tree’s candles. 

“You made this?” Arthur asks. 

“Yep, I sure did! Momma even helped me cut the paper!” 

Arthur kneels on the ground– eye level with Jack, a smirk on his lips,  “I think we better put it on the top then, don't you?”

“Oh yes! It would be perfect on top! I just hope aunt y/n likes it…” 

“She’ll love this, buddy.” 

With some more help from a very grumpy Sugar, Arthur manages to place the star perfectly on  the tree top. And just in time, apparently.

When Arthur steps back, taking in the tree for all its glory, his jaw falls slack, eyes filling up with wonder.

It's beautiful. At dusk, the candles shine brightly. The garland has attracted a few red cardinals, and they rest in the branches, comfortable in the new camp tree. Everyone looks in awe. It’s perfect.

— — — 

“No peekin’.” Arthur whispers in your ear from behind, his hands covering your eyes. He slowly walks you forwards towards… something. He hasn’t explained anything to you, just… kidnapped you right outside of camp. You’ve been walking with him, eyes covered for nearly five minutes. 

“Oh, Arthur, what is going on!?” You giggle, hands covering the length of his own, a smile plastered on your face. 

“S’a surprise, darlin’. That’s why you can’t peek.” Arthur’s voice whispers from behind you,  his chest nearly pressed against your back as he inches you forward. 

You roll your eyes. Suddenly, his footsteps are still behind you, and you stop in return. 

“Is this why I was stuck in the forest picking berries all day?” You ask. Arthur huffs. 

“Shhh. We’re here.” He shushes. 

Your heart quickens with excitement, bottom lip tight between your teeth with anticipation. As much as you try to listen for any clues, all you can hear is the munching of hay and the crackle of the campfire– typical for camp after dusk. 

“Arthur…?” You whisper, almost afraid to break the quiet. Anticipation swirls in your stomach, followed by anxiety tickling up your spine. 

His calloused hands pull away from your eyes, and your lashes flutter as you focus on the sight in front of you.

It’s… a christmas tree. Your jaw falls slack, and as unladylike as it may be, you can’t help it. A small gasp escapes your rosy lips. 

It must be twelve feet high, and it's thick with branches. Candles, and decor wrap around the tree like a dress tailored to perfection. Color and light burst from the beautiful tree, and before you can control yourself, tears are welling up in your eyes. 

“Arthur, I–” Your voice cracks, the tears almost spilling over.

“Darlin’?” Arthur’s thumb softly brushes the inside of your hand. For a moment, he worries that he’s misstepped terribly. The sight of your tears brings forth a small panic, quelled by the outburst of your smile. Tears fall freely from your eyes, but they are of joy– not sadness. 

“You got me– You got me a Christmas tree?” You smile, wiping away the tears as he envelopes you into his warm arms. You sniffle, laughs of pure joy escaping into his chest as he holds you tight.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.” Arthur whispers to you, arms wrapped around your waist. The light from the tree dances in your eyes, almost as beautiful and bright as your smile. 

“Oh, Arthur, it’s perfect.” You gasp, eyes glued to the tree, pulling away to glance into Arthur’s eyes, “How ever did you get it here?” 

“With a little help.” Arthur nods towards the horse station where Sugar and Jasper are laying in the hay, nuzzling each other sweetly. As if knowing, Sugar whinnies towards you softly, followed by a quiet neigh from Jasper.  

Your eyes wander back towards the tree in front of you, and then to Arthur once again. His hands slide down from your waist, thumbs settling into the dimples in your back. 

“It's beautiful.” You say.

“It’s all yours.” 

In all of your life, Arthur has been the first person to cater to your emotions– to care about them. Your heart fills with love, so much that it overflows and floods the earth at your feet. Soaking into the ground of the camp, touching the hearts of the others around you. 

“I love you.” You whisper, head resting on Arthur’s chest, eyes fixed on a cardinal that’s pecking at the popped corn on the tree. 

“I-” Arthur pauses, realizing. His brow furrows, eyes flickering down, “Wait, what?”

“I said I love you.” You reiterate, chin propped on his chest to look up at him. Arthur looks nearly blown away by the words. Words he’s not heard from you yet. Words that he’s nearly let slip time and again over the past few months. 

Arthur’s lips crack into a smile, crows feet wrinkling for the action. His thumb brushes your cheek before trailing down to your chin, pulling you in towards his lips. You lean on your tiptoes, brushing your lips against his, meeting him with all the love and joy that you never thought would be possible for you. He’s taken you from a bad situation, and given you everything you could have wanted and more. Your lips press against his, pink-tinged noses lining each other. Your eyes flutter shut, snowflakes catching in your thick lashes as you deepen the kiss. Your fingers tangle into the hair at the base of his neck, your tongues dance with one another. 

When you pull away to breathe, your eyes lock with his, sparkling with light. 

“I love you too.” He smirks, hands wrapping under your thighs, eliciting giggles from you as he hoists you into his arms. Fat snowflakes fall into your hair as Arthur turns towards your tent, ready to carry you to bed. 

“No- wait!” You grip his arm, stopping him in his tracks, “Please, Arthur- just five more minutes. I’d like to keep looking at the tree.” 

Arthur pauses, brushing your cold cheek, “Alright. Five more minutes.” He smiles, pressing a sweet kiss to your hair.

The tree shines bright as ever, as if god had sprinkled stardust down from the heavens, painting your tree in beautiful white light. 

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

#giggling and kicking my legs #this is adorable #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2

[forgetminot]

lose your faith in me

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

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

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

Wordcount: 3.6k

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

dividers by @saradika

masterlist || kofi || updates blog

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What you followin’ me for, girl?”

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

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

“Best find someplace, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Arthur—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It breaks your heart. 

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

You never do quite prove him wrong.

Arthur Morgan is dying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

At night, you heard Arthur coughing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And how you had loved him just the same.

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

“Any decent man woulda—”

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

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

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

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

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

Or maybe he was already one of them.

And still, for him, it wasn’t enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Arthur doesn’t let go.

You stay.

As long as you can, you stay.

“Where you goin’?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s the final straw that breaks you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could only hope he got that sunset.

#im crying #this is so well written #the talent #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fanfic

[forgetminot]

The Outlaw In Front of You | Arthur Morgan x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ arthur morgan x gn!reader (or male, idrc) “Do we have to meet in a dingy motel in the middle of fucking nowhere?” aftermath of smut, like they’re both putting their clothes on when one of you two realize you only meet in hotels/motels - @mockerycrow ❞

: ̗̀➛ It's a moment of curiosity, a moment of wondering "we've always done this, but why?". Nothing else.

: ̗̀➛ swearing, sexual references

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Drying yourself off with the towel, you hummed as you thought about your relationship with Arthur; for years, you had been together, and although you didn’t mind the secrecy and the sneaking around, you did have to admit - you were kind of curious as to why he always asked you to meet in inns all the time as opposed to in the houses of your friends or at your own home.

You knew it was safe there, as your friends were all… sympathetic, for lack of a better word, when it came to you and Arthur. There was no way that they would tell bounty hunters where he was, and he knew that.

It was just a little curiosity, you didn’t actually mind it so much; a good, warm bed for the night with a hot meal and the man you cared most about in the world beside you - what could possibly be to complain about?

Plus, admittedly, it usually got you away from the small rural village where you worked and lived. It always gave you a change of scenery for a night - or two, if Arthur had found a good enough excuse to be gone from the gang for so long.

But as you left the bathroom and went back into the main bedroom where Arthur was, you paused at the door frame, leaning against it with your arms crossed over your chest; you watched him as he pulled on his trousers, and when he noticed you there, he looked over, and he smiled. 

“You all good?”

You nodded, running your hand over the soft bite mark on your throat absent-mindedly. “You sure did a number on me, cowpoke.”

Arthur laughed softly, blush across his features as he chewed at the inside of his lip. “I didn’t mean t’be so rough…”

“Oh, I know, don’t worry… plus, I like it when you fuck me and mark me,” you hummed, coming to sit beside him. Gently, you kissed his bare shoulder. “Y’know, I’ve been meaning to ask - do we have to meet in a dingy motel in the middle of fucking nowhere?”

He shrugged, taking a moment to look at you and all the marks he had left across your skin. “No, but… it’s nice to get away, ain’t it? Just us?”

You nodded, licking your lips. “I’m not complaining, mind… I like the fact that we can go somewhere.”

Arthur nodded, daring to softly kiss you. “You said about a museum a few miles back… I ain’t gotta go back to camp for a couple days - said I was trackin’ down a lead… if you wanna go, we can.”

“You? In a museum?” You scoffed, raising a brow. “I didn’t think it was your sorta thing.”

“It ain’t,” he admitted with a shrug, handing you your shirt when he noticed the small bumps up and down your arms. “But… you like ‘em, don’t ya?”

“I do, yeah,” you tugged on the shirt between short, soft kisses. “But I don’t wanna drag you along if you ain’t gonna enjoy it.”

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout me,” he moved so that he could gently lie you on the bed, straddling your waist as he gently ran his thumb down your jaw. “I ain’t that worried - if you’re gonna like it… we can go.”

“Arthur,” you hummed, hooking your arms around his neck as you smiled. “For a son of a bitch, you sure can be a good damn boyfriend, y’know.”

He smiled, daring to steal another kiss. “Do you wanna go?”

“I do,” you whispered. “And to make it up to you, I’ll buy the first round at the saloon?”

“That sounds great,” he admitted softly. “How’d I get so lucky?”

Arthur wasn’t shy about it. He knew he had found the diamond in the rough with you; he knew that he had found someone who was more than willing to go through every risk and precaution there was to be with an outlaw like him, someone who knew what they were getting into and didn’t mind.

You could keep yourself safe, he had seen that much when you had taken on a pack of wolves who were after a local herd of sheep; he didn’t have any doubts that you could have held your own if bounty hunters were to get in your way.

Sure, he still wanted to protect you, but no more so than anyone else in the world wanted to protect their own partners. He knew he could never introduce you to Dutch or Charles or Lenny or Hosea or Abigail, but that wasn’t your fault in the slightest; you couldn’t change something like that, although he was sure you would have tried if you could. 

With you, it wasn’t like with his other partners; you didn’t try to change him at all. You didn’t try and convince him to leave the only family he had ever known, you didn’t try to turn him into a gentleman.

You were content with Arthur the way he was, although you did keep telling him off for shaving, which never failed to make him laugh. You didn’t tell him to change the way he spoke, to try and take away his strong, thick working class accent.

Never once. You didn’t try to tell him that he had to speak “properly”, or that he had to watch how much he swore. The Arthur you had in front of him was the one you were content with, the one you loved. 

You always made that known to him, that you loved him just as he was; you noticed a few times when you were first together that he often tried to make himself into someone different, and since then, you always felt like you had to tell him - you didn’t want him to be somebody else, you didn’t want him to try and act like somebody else.

You wanted Arthur Morgan.

You didn’t want somebody else, you didn’t want an actor, you wanted the outlaw you had fallen in love with.

The outlaw you adored.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #im in love with him

[forgetminot]

🌈💖✨Send this to the twelve nicest people you know or seem to have a good heart and if you get five back you must be pretty awesome 😎💜💚💙🩷

💙💙💙

[forgetminot]

RED DEAD REDEMPTION II ∞

[forgetminot]

hi! do you take requests? if not you can discard this but i really love the way you write emotionally charged moments so i’d love your writing style on this prompt, it can be a one shot or more of a blurb whichever you like: so perhaps taking place post canon where arthur is found half dead on that cliff and reader is nursing him back to health, trying hard to stay strong and believe he’ll get better but arthur is just waiting to die any day now and wishing he hadn’t been found, until he hears reader in another room crying to herself having to see him so deathly ill like that and slowly losing hope. so he starts feeling more determined to at least try for her sake and maybe see her smile one last time. but in the end he does get better, not quite back to his full strength yet but better 🥹 hope i didn’t ramble too much, i absolutely love your work and the way you write and i can’t wait to see what you post next 🫶🏻

IN TREMBLING ARMS

Pairing | Arthur Morgan x Fem! Reader Summary | While the world you had built around yourself seemed to crumble right before you, the last measures to sustain your happiness grew hard to take as the man you love fell deeper into his own despair. Tags | Angst-heavy, description of violence and wounds, fluff somewhere... :o Word Count | 11.4k A/N | Hiiii lovelies! ♡ I recently got this request that I really liked the sound of, which meant I obviously had to write it;) I hope what I wrote was in tune with what you had in mind! Enjoy! Also, thank you for the kind words♡

The pain of recalling an old life is surely something we’re all familiar with. Undoubtedly, it’s a brutal world we live in, one that sometimes takes too much and only gives small crumbles in return. You often found yourself crawling the ground to pick up these crumbs, laden with dust and dirt, just like your joyous memories are tainted in blood and pain–small glimpses of happiness amidst the hardship in day-to-day life, the tiny things that make living worth fighting for.

They were all thanks to Arthur. You’d been aware for quite a while that he didn’t think highly of himself, meaning he couldn’t possibly estimate how much his presence impacted your life. He couldn’t see that every good memory lately was in his favor–how he held your entire world in the bare palm of his hands. He could never understand, and you could tell he didn’t.

Every part of you was clinging to the last remains of a man who dropped the world’s weight off his shoulders, preparing to breathe the last breaths on this earth, alone and without you. It was so close now that you could almost taste it. You could tell by how his shoulders dropped heavily in resignation, the words that grew dull and lifeless, and his wit that never failed to bring a smile to your lips disappeared. 

Even so, you saw glimpses of the man you fell for, and if you looked closely, you could find those few crumbles that gave you hope, even though they were ridden with filth. He’d still pinch your waist lightly to jest when you were in a bad mood, always putting your comfort above his own, even though he needed it more.

The burden on his shoulders was heavier than ever when he returned from being out. He was no doubt following Dutch's careless orders that, with time, became more uncaring and, worst of all, unsafe. It bothered you heavily that there was no regret anymore as he bid his orders around like Arthur wasn’t hunching down in exhaust with every step, more often than not needing a seat as coughs so rough wrecked through him, never failing to make you cringe.

Of course, Arthur could take care of himself, never stopping short of explaining that to you. But now, times were different, and you could see his eyes grow slightly more hollow every time he returned to you, and his bloodshot eyes grew into normality.

So naturally, you never stopped short when voicing your concerns to Arthur, but he was so headstrong he refused to acknowledge the toll everything was taking on his body. Deep down, you wondered if he continued since he had come to terms with his fate, putting other’s safety before his own because he had simply stopped trying. 

He damned you for not listening to him, but his words held no real threat because he couldn't find it in himself to force you away against your will. So he let you stay, and through his violent coughs and wheezing, he always felt you rub his back soothingly, knowing that his time was running short. Because of this, he took every chance to bask in your gentle touches that felt more like home than anything else.

"Did you find out anything about John today?" Speaking softly, you run your fingers through his tousled hair, undoubtedly from wearing his rugged hat all day, observing his tired face as you were on his lap, Arthur sitting down as he came back to rest his aching legs.

"Mmm, we did." Thumbing at the fabric of the shirt you had stolen from him, he let the words rumble softly against you, breathing warmly against the chilled skin of your cheek.

"Abigail's real worried, you know, begged to come with us." Humming, you pondered over his words. Your dear friend has been over her head in worry as of late, the disappearance of John not doing the slightest to ease her anxiety.

"We'll get him back." You weren't sure if you were reassuring Arthur or yourself, but then again, there wasn't much you were sure of anymore. It seemed unlikely that anything you would say would comfort him, but that didn’t mean you didn’t try–every chance you got, you wanted to make him see reason.

Bringing you closer, he breathed heavily into your shoulder, throat whistling slightly from the strain, as his hands gripped your waist firmly, sighing in contentment when you hugged him back.

"How are you feeling?" you whispered, earlier taking notice of his eyes that had grown redder than usual and the slight blood stain he hastily wiped when you approached him, hoping you didn't get the time to spot it.

"The usual, I guess." Nodding slightly to appear positive before you, he let out a heavy sigh.

As the silence stretched, he kissed the top of your head lovingly after a while when you nuzzled your head further into his shoulder, savoring the moment since you hadn’t seen him much these past days. 

"Tomorrow, me and Sadie thought about goin’-" You didn't give him a chance to finish, lifting your head from his shoulder as a frown appeared. God, you knew it was coming, but you had hoped he would still see reason and not do something stupid like that in his condition.

"Couldn't someone else go with Sadie? You not-" Catching yourself before you said the words you knew would get him riled up, you sighed slightly. "I'm sorry. I'm just so worried about you, Arthur. About everything."

"Hey." Cradling you closer, he softly grabbed your chin between his calloused fingers, beckoning you to meet his warm gaze. "What did we talk about, hm? I'll be alright." 

You grabbed his cheek and stroked your thumbs against the scarred skin. He was so beautiful to you, just like he had always been, and you were sure he would scoff at you if you voiced your thoughts. But it was true. That face had seen you through the most challenging times of your life, and never had they been the reason for your tribulations and sadness. 

"Now you're just lying to me to make me feel better." A long silence followed as you stared at each other, both stubborn beyond means, until the corners of his mouth raised slightly, a low chuckle rumbling deep in his chest. Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t help but smile against your will, trying to keep your previous frown on your face. 

His eyes, often weathered and wise, turned into soft pools of warmth and affection as they gazed at you. The world’s weight seemed to lift every time, even now, leaving only the tender vulnerability of a man deeply in love.

"Now, now," he spoke, words growing into his usual teasing tone as he grazed his hands along the fabric covering your sides, a wicked smirk growing on his lips. There’s an intoxicating allure to how his lips curve, never stopping short of making the butterflies in your stomach go haywire. "There's that smile I've been looking for." 

Slightly tickling the sides of your stomach, you gasped as you tried peeling his hands away when a giggle left you from the unexpected sensation. Damned be Arthur and his refusal to let you worry about him, always trying to lessen your pain when he was severely worse. 

"No, Arthur! Stop it!" Laughing merrily, he placed small kisses in the small crevice of your neck, relentlessly tickling your sides as you squirmed in his arms, an ugly laugh leaving you as you found it harder and harder to breathe amidst his torture. He snickered audibly at the sound leaving you, always finding humor in the strange quirks he loved so much.

The moment didn't last long, though, for the gut-wrenching coughs that left him amidst your banter made the cheerfulness of the moment quickly grow into a distant memory. Arthur would tell you he was okay and that all he needed was a few moments, just like he always did, but you both knew the disease was growing more severe as time passed.

Your precious memories grew less and less, though, and as time passed, there were hardly any crumbs left for you to pick up. The ugly paint of power, distrust, and hatred covered them. A hatred that grew so deep in every single being that surrounded you, and even in yourself. Hostility from one’s upbringing, misfortune, and wrong-doings. Bitterness for striving towards a goal that doesn’t have a finishing line, only a no-return sign at both the start and end. 

A selfish disdain, it is, and oh so human. How could you possibly find the end where everyone could make amends when they had no will to change? How could you save him when he didn’t want to be saved? His only interest now was to get everyone away from the gang that he could for the time being. It had been apparent for some time now that whatever this was, it was over.

Because of this, Arthur told you to leave some time ago. He had begged you on his hands and knees as the blood he coughed up dripped like rain down his paled, gray skin. A beautiful tragedy it was, one that would leave people in a theater with tears glistening down their cheeks as the sight before them clenched at their hearts. That wasn’t how you experienced it, though. It was more like someone cutting through your numb skin and laying your heart down on the table to unfold every crevice and nook to prod at every part that hurt so terribly with a knife. 

It made you wonder if hearts could bleed. You weren’t sure, but somehow you knew yours did as every strained cough from the man you love caused the tears that fell from your eyes to turn into a deep red, mingling with his on the ground. 

As he begged, you could only stare at the ghost of a man you once loved: the warm skin turning cold under the palm of your hands, calculating and mischievous eyes growing vulnerable and exposed, and strong arms that once held you tightly, weak and skinny. They gripped your skirt for dear life like the sullen fabric covered with filth kept his weary body alive. And god, how you tried, despite the pitying looks thrown your way and resistance from Arthur's side, you wanted to keep him alive.

You had hated no one in your meager, seemingly insignificant life, but you hated Arthur. You hated him passionately for trying to make you leave behind the only thing that made you feel even the slightest bit of happiness. The only reason you had stayed with these people for so long was him, only him, and now he asked you to leave so he could spend the rest of his short time either getting shot or dying from his disease?

“You go now, or I’ll drag you on that train myself and tie you to the seat.” Silence had followed his last attempt to push you away, thick with a wave of heated anger from both of you as the remnants of your love grew shrouded in an unwillingness to understand. You didn’t want to recognize his worry, for you knew it would be the end for you and him.

“I ain’t got much left to lose now, so I must do this. You have to understand. Go.” The bitterness in his words grew colder as he spoke; the conversation that started so filled with passion grew harsh.

“Don’t get much to lose?” Your meek voice was choked up with frustration as you felt your heart drop to the ground. “What about me?!” 

Everything hurt deeply, like he had set your whole body alight and then stomped on the remaining ashes. You had tried so hard to keep your head straight for Arthur through these challenging times, following every step he took loyally, never once questioning his decisions. Him telling you to leave had been the final straw. For him to expect you to give up everything you had done for him made you wonder how much you were worth to him.

“You can’t just tell me to leave!” Broken sobs left you when you spoke, hands trembling where you tried to rip his hands off your skirt, anything to lessen the tightening in your chest. When he didn’t ease his grip, your hands hit his chest as tears flowed down your warm cheeks. He closed his eyes from where he sat, the grip on your skirt turning his skin ghostly pale as you tried to create some distance, refusing to let you back away. 

In your head, he was supposed to want you with him until the last second, and you could not dare imagine it any other way. Because of this, it wounded you deeper than he could imagine.

The hands that never once had grown harsh with you only pulled you closer, letting you bat tirelessly at him while your eyes grew heavy with a furious sadness gnawing at your insides. The surrounding air had become thicker than it usually was in the confines of Beaver Hollow, so it left you gasping for air as the distress wound its way around your throat.

His eyes were as warm as they always seemed when looking at you, and you damned him for it. Even when Arthur broke your heart, he rendered you entirely at his mercy the way he kept this gaze reserved for only you–like he understood you.

“I hate you.” Growing weak, you sank to your knees and rested your weary head on his chest, letting him hold you as you trembled in his sickly arms. 

Soon after that, it seemed everything had reached a breaking point, and it couldn’t have been late enough. Arthur put you behind Sadie on the tall horse, making her promise to get you somewhere safe while he went and risked his life. Risk it for what you thought, kicking and screaming at him as he lifted you. Sadie was trying to comfort you, her hand on your waist as the worry for you and Arthur filled her mind.

"Let me down!" Tears were falling from your bloodshot eyes, filled with endless pools of agony and sorrow as the man before you avoided your gaze. "You're not sending me away!" You attempted to swing your leg over the saddle as you spoke through the hiccups that wrecked through you, fighting against Sadie’s hold.

"Please, sweetheart, come on." Broad arms caught your waist hastily, lifting you to put you back behind the worried woman. "Go with Sadie, now; she'll keep you safe." His voice grew distressed as you resisted, a deep worry for your safety that he always kept as a priority clouding his thoughts when you didn’t comply.

Not listening to him, you shimmered down the horse and threw your arms around Arthur's familiar embrace, burying your head in his shoulder as you breathed in his familiar scent. "Don't leave me here; please take me with you." 

You knew now that his death was inevitable, an end you had refused to acknowledge as possible ever since you first set your eyes on him. Despite this, the love you kept for him made everything pale in comparison, not wanting to spend the endless days of the remaining part of your life without him. If he would find his solace in death, so would you.

He didn't answer you, instead wounding his arms around your smaller frame as he hugged you tightly against him, trying to map out every part of you into his mind so that even in death, he could remember the feeling of you forever. 

"Don't go." You begged him without shame, holding onto him tightly as your tears darkened the material of his shirt. "I'm begging you."

You felt a pair of hands cover your cheeks, the blue orbs you knew so well staring reassuringly into yours, hiding the endless anguish taking cover behind its facade.

"I love you, sweetheart." His voice shook as he spoke, gazing with a terrible agony into yours. "I love you so much, you hear me?" Shaking your head slightly as he said, you could only weep as you realized your attempts to save him were useless. 

"I love you too, Arthur," you said through sobs. Arthur was stroking the tears from your eyes as he pulled you in one last time, face scrunching together from having to leave you as he kissed the top of your hair.  

So, in the end, he watched you leave as you stared after him in disbelief when Sadie set off, your body growing numb as he disappeared between the forest trees, hugging the woman as sobs wrecked through you.

"God." Crouching down, he panted as coughs broke through the silence surrounding him after you departed. But it didn’t seem to be the only thing rendering him on his knee as the dirty ground prodded at his knees, the all-to-consuming thought of never seeing you again clamping at his heart something so fierce he thought he might heave.

He had never been a stranger to heartache, having lived a life full of gut-wrenching memories and stories that were not for the faint-heartedly. But this, this was something entirely else. All these years of fighting, never knowing where he would rest his head the next night, and for what? So he could be free? He had been angry, so very angry at the world. 

It all felt meaningless now, the constant blood on his hands, the pain he had brought others that might as well have been him had he chosen another path, the choice to drag you with him to the gates of hell instead of taking your hand and running off so he could keep you forever. 

And in the end, as he lay there on the mountain, bleak eyes staring at the rising sun, he could feel an unfamiliar peace crawl up his feet, relaxing the very troubled muscles that had never rested up to his chest where a heavy weight had been present his whole life. In it, the heaviness had torn a big hole in his chest that pulled every good thing that had found him in his life into the prolonged darkness. 

 But somehow, a relief was spreading in his mind as he figured peace was closer than he thought, slowly and surely beginning to unfold in front of him. Darkness spread around him as the last lights reached his eyes before the tired lids grew shut, the now ever-so-strong memory of you branded into his mind.

–

You were no stranger to the rain. As a child, you reveled in the droplets that fell from the sky when the clouds formed. It was so simple, yet a memory so strong that it stuck with you throughout your life. Now, though, the rain that clung to your clothes only made the numbness grow worse, unable to feel your fingers as you rode on the muddy path that stretched before you, slippery and treacherous. It was no longer comforting, raking through your body like ice, chilling you from tip to toe.

Although not sure of your actions, there wasn't a single regret in your body for leaving both Sadie and Abigail when they found John, taking the first chance to head back the way you came from, the glimmer of hope that you would discover Arthur alive pushing you on, even though it dimmed with time. 

When John returned, he could only look at you sadly while shaking his head, the look in his eyes enough for you to understand that Arthur hadn’t come with him. But you knew, of course you did, that he wasn’t coming back to you; his words and your knowledge of his ways are telling enough.

You had calmed down now, thinking more logically, but you preferred how you felt before instead of the hole beginning to form in your chest. It consumed you, growing bleaker and bleaker with time, making you wonder if you would ever find Arthur.

You found him eventually, but the torment of seeing him lying lifeless as the warm, lingering evening sun glazed over his skin beat at your bruised heart. For the first time since you’ve known him, he looked so small, like his body was cowering against the ground, seeking shelter from the cold breeze and a world that had grown so cruel, so malicious. 

If the anguish following his departure was anything to go by, the sheer pain that shot through you after your bewildered moment of silence could only be likened to a thousand times worse. What you had feared the most seemed to be reality now, and it couldn’t have hurt any less.

Your aching feet, sore from climbing the far way up the mountain, ran the muddy path up to him as your hands enclosed his cold cheeks–swollen and purple with bruises as dried blood covered the majority of his skin. 

“No, no, no!” You mouthed the words since you couldn’t get a single sound to leave you, a force so firmly clamping at your throat. You grabbed his clothes, shaking him as if it would make a difference and show a sign of life. It didn’t work, so you could only wrap your trembling arms around his neck, wailing out his name while begging the heavens above to bring him back to you, for the pain was too much to bear.

How would you continue life without him? The thought was too heavy to consider, your distressed mind refusing to believe he was gone. He’d always rise back up the moment something brought him down, so strong mentally and physically that you sometimes wondered how he was real. Why couldn’t he do that now and spare you all this hurt?

“Do you remember when we first met, how you always told me we would run away, just you and me?" Grabbing his hand, you placed small, lingering kisses on the battered knuckles, intertwining his fingers with yours as your voice trembled fiercely. 

There had been a magnetic pull in the way his gaze had lingered on you when he spoke of his deepest wishes as if every word was a silent vow etched into the very fabric of your relationship. It’s something you both said of often when everything grew heavy, like an escape from reality to what things could be.

“How can we do that now if you’re going to leave me?” Sobs wrecked through you, gazing at his closed eyes while you internally begged for them to open. “Why are you leaving me?!”

Resting your head on his chest, you breathed in the scent solely your Arthur as he flooded your senses. Your guttural cries of anguish filled the air until your voice broke, eyes growing heavy with strain while you could only lay there with him, imagining he was alive under you.

Your head had grown empty after that, laying upon the body you had so many times before. You remembered the moments of complete and utter peace when he held you in the confines of his tent, warm hands always managing to find sanction around your waist no matter how exhausted he was.

The thought made you smile, remembering how his heartbeat would pick up as you intertwined your fingers. He was in many ways stoic, rarely sharing how you affected him, but you knew. In secret, of course, you knew, and you would kill to feel that again.

But when he fell asleep underneath you, the beating pattern would cease and instead follow a slower thud, never failing to bring you to sleep. Just like it beat now, you felt the lids of your eyes that were still wet with tears grow heavy under the comforting thudding of his heart, lulling you closer and closer to sleep.

Your eyes shot open so fast that you almost got a whiplash, raising your knees in disbelief. Arthur was lying still even now, body still beaten and bruised, but as you put your fingers on his pulse, you could feel it.

There it was, the slight thud of a pulse buried deep between the layers of skin and flesh, keeping Arthur alive despite the turmoil that had rendered his body almost inert. Grabbing the sides of his face, you shook it slightly, hope now filling your mind even though he didn’t move a single muscle. 

God, he was alive, even though barely. The air got lodged in your throat as you felt puzzled, having been dead set on having to bury a corpse. 

“Arthur, can you hear me?” Not a single indication left him as you spoke, wiping the hair covering his eyes so you could get a better look at him. A slight fluttering of his eyelashes could be seen as your voice broke through the stillness of the mountain. The more you grabbed his body in disbelief, the more movements you saw from him: fingers twitching slightly, small intakes of breath, and brows furrowing in small motions. 

Raising on your feet, you sat down with his head in your lap, stroking his cheeks gently before you started tapping at them briskly, anything to wake him up. It didn’t work, so you started calling for him loudly, hoping it would reach him wherever he was. 

“God dammit, Arthur, wake up!” 

That did it. Unfocused eyes began to open up from underneath you, though Arthur found it difficult because of the swelling around the eyes. Seeing him so beaten up hurt you heavily, but you put all your energy into making him regain consciousness, forcing the turmoil far away from your mind. 

“Hey, look at me. Can you see me?” The slightest motion of a nod could be seen, and you thanked whoever above that he responded to you.

Although through blurry eyes, he could see a slight indication of you hovering above him, wondering if he somehow had ended up in heaven to be able to gaze at you one last time. But maybe it was hell after all, the torturing fire replaced with you, barely in reach where he couldn’t touch you, which was the worst kind of torture he could conjure up.

You could see his fingers flex slightly, in your mind trying to show signs that he heard you, but in his stretching so he could reach out to you to touch the softness of your skin with his sinful hands.

“I need your help, Arthur. I can’t carry you alone, so you need to try, okay?” To be quite honest with yourself, you had no idea what you were doing, never mind if it was even possible to get him to move to the state he was in. But you had to try, at least. You weren’t leaving him here to fend for himself in search of help, pondering if those few moments could lead to his death. It was the only way.

“I told you to leave.” Amidst his close-to-death confusion, Arthur had grown more conscious, managing to speak as his eyes closed again. He realized you weren’t conjured up; instead, you were as real as could be as you prodded at his exhausted limbs. 

You ignored his hurtful words, putting your arms under his head so you could assist in getting him to raise. He wasn’t light, that was for sure, but still, you tried until he was sitting up, although his head was hanging low and his back was arched forward in exhaustion.

“Come on, Arthur, I need you to help me.” Amidst your tries to keep him upright, you felt the all too familiar flood of tears threatening to flood from your eyes when the challenge felt impossible. You never felt so weak as you did right now, the possibility of helping him stay alive fading against the man's heaviness and your weary muscles. 

“Honey, go. You-” Arthur slurred out as he almost dropped. “You shouldn’t be here.” Yelling in frustration as he once again fell towards the muddy ground, you put your hand over your face as the dam of tears broke.

“I’m not leaving you here to die, Arthur!” Taking a deep breath, you bent down again to try once more. His eyes were barely open now, staring at you in pain. “Please, just try.”

A loud grunt left him as he raised again, hands gripping the soil underneath him, damning your stubbornness. Although weak, you managed to get him to stand, leaning most of his weight on you. It was hard, no doubt, to feel his body supporting your smaller one, but it worked, for now. The breaths leaving him were awful, and he gasped out loud as you stepped forward slowly. 

“This ain’t gonna work, honey,” Arthur mumbled, not a single hope left in his body to survive the long way to safety.

“Yes, it is.” You refused to listen to him, mind set straight on getting him to the horse. 

Far back in your mind, you remembered a place Arthur used to take you, always going on about a man he used to hunt with until your ears bled. He had told you of its location when the poor man had died, bringing you there once. That should be fine, you thought. Hopefully, it was empty. If not, you have another problem on your hands. 

The way back to the mare was challenging, with both of you falling countless times as the ground underneath you was uneven and riddled with stones. But your stubbornness wasn’t in vain because, after some time, you saw the familiar black coat of the horse appearing in front of you like an angel.

Not a single sound left him, eyes now almost closed as coughs left him then and again, both body and mind tired. He was taller than you, so he got on the horse much faster than you initially thought possible. Soon after, you swung your legs over the saddle in front of him, letting him lean his weight on you as you circled his arms around your waist so he wouldn’t fall off. 

“Stay awake, Arthur.” Glancing back when you didn’t get an answer, you only met a tuft of hair as his head fell on your shoulder. “Come on, I can’t do this without your help.” 

The road to the house you barely remembered was long, and you couldn’t ride too fast, worried about the grip on you that grew less by the minute. Thankfully, he had managed to stay awake the whole ride, but you felt his breathing grow more unstable and shallow. 

The weather on that mountain had been forgiving, like time and space had stopped moving in sorrow, the warm sun covering you in its blanket. Now, though, the howling wind surrounding you made your surroundings bitterly cold, arms held in front of you to see where you were going.

Many times, you tried to speak to make sure he was still with you, but your voice grew muted against the forceful wind, so you gave up, hoping his weight on you meant he held some sort of consciousness.

As time passed and darkness began to spread around you, a small house by a lake appeared behind many trees and foliage. It was different from what you remembered, but still, somehow the same, staring back at you like some sort of angel, the promise of comfort egging you forward.

Not a word was exchanged as you helped him down the horse, a solemn resignation making him follow your will without a complaint, or maybe he was too tired to complain; you weren’t sure.

Stumbling through the doorway, it felt just as cold as outside, shivers shooting through you. It felt strange just barging into a dead man's home, but you deemed your selfishness just, Arthur’s health at the forefront of your mind. Empty of life, it was, and it made you relax slightly, not having to worry about someone else taking refuge here.

Soon, you could rest your heavy arms; you thought as the bed in the right corner of the house appeared before you like a halo. With the door closing behind you with a slam, you waste no time pulling Arthur with you in clumsy steps, letting him lay down on the soft mattress with a huff, dust flying around you as the bed creaked audibly under his weight. 

Glancing at Arthur, his face was still contorted in pain as it had been since you found him. You carefully lifted his legs on the bed, removing the filthy, wet shoes from his feet and throwing them to the floor. Leaning over him, you touched his freezing cheek, finding him already passed out.

Hastily, you removed the wet clothes from his shivering body, laying them by the foot of the bed as you hurried to drape the sheets as well as some pelts you found over him to warm him up. Looking around, you tried to get your hands on some firewood to warm up the house, thankfully finding some not too long after your search. Your arms complained, though, from the weight already spent from the strenuous day–blisters on your fingers only worsen it. 

The room soon filled itself with an orange glow, bouncing in heavy shadow on the walls, and your whole body huddled close to the fire as you warmed your hands for a moment, not realizing amidst your frenzy that you, also, were almost freezing to death in the chilly night.

It only lasted for a moment, though, the reminder of Arthur making you rise on your tired feet, rummaging through the cupboards and various wardrobes to find some supplies. Luckily, it appeared that the veteran kept quite the supplies on him, which you thanked him for under your breath. Some bandages you were sure you could still use were pushed into your arms, a few tonics that could lessen the pain, and, best of all, coughing medicine. 

Walking back on the creaking floor, you dragged a side table closer to the bed and placed what you had found in your search, running outside quickly to get the water pouch hanging off the mare. 

It wasn’t easy tending to Arthur; the number of hits he had taken was noticeable. Some kicks to his ribs, it seemed, amidst the various other bruises that loitered his skin. Stopping in your tracks, you wondered who could have done this. You hadn’t thought about it until now; your worry for his safety has been on your mind this entire time.

Micha.

The sudden thought of him sullied your mood even further, making you realize that no Pinkerton would leave him at the brink of death like that. Undoubtedly, they would have finished him off or taken him with them, another way to get to Dutch, for sure. 

Cringing deeply at every purple bruise you dragged your finger over, hatred for the man laying his hand on Arthur grew. It was more fierce now than ever, the persistent name-calling and teasing he put him through when the disease started taking its toll not nearly as severe as this. You knew Micha was capable of this; deep down, you had known.

And where was everyone else, you wondered. Thinking logically, everyone had most likely run away the second things went downhill, but Dutch and Charles? Javier? Had they lost Arthur as they escaped from Beaver Hollow? And why did John not return with him if he had been alive?

The questions were running wild in your mind, but you had to put your questions aside for now; there was enough time later to wallow in contempt and confusion. Instead, you focused on cleaning the rest of Arthur’s bloodied face and bandaging the more gruesome gashes on his body. You knew getting him better wouldn’t be easy, but you weren’t ready to give up.

Sighing audibly, you put your head on your knees when you had done all you could and dragged the sheets over his shivering form. Gods, you were tired. It felt like your whole body had been running on spurts of adrenaline until now, and now that you got the chance to sit down, it rushed over you like a tidal wave. The whole ordeal, by any means, had felt like a fever dream.

No, more like a nightmare, you concluded. It was strange, and everything had happened hastily like the time had been fast-forwarded. Quite the difference from now, as the only thing audible was you and Arthur’s breathing and the slosh as the water hit the bridge just outside, time seeming to stand still in the tiny house by the lake.

It felt nice, though, you concluded as your eyes grew heavy. It was like the air around here cleared your sullied head slightly from all the months of stress and worry–gaining some distance even though it wasn’t by much. You could see why the man who had lived here chose to stay, finding the landscape calming yourself. 

Often, Arthur would tell you about the man. Hamish, you believed his name was. A veteran, he said as he stroked your hair, telling you about the days he spent with him, softly lulling you to sleep. You had always found their relationship endearing but were only met with a scoff from Arthur every time you voiced your thoughts about their camaraderie. The idea made you smile.

You turned your gaze toward him, gazing thoughtfully. The swelling on his face was severe but not yet rendering him unrecognizable. You admired him for a moment, the rugged masterpiece under the purple bruises that the harsh strokes of life had always weathered. Yet he had always seemed to have been carved with a pen so beautiful everything it created couldn’t be anything less. Every scar, like poetic verses, had always added to his allure.

In many moments, Arthur’s gaze had been a haven for you, a refuge where you could peer into his most profound thoughts when he kept himself away from you. It was a place where you could find solace amidst all the chaos, a silent dialogue–a gaze that showed what he never said. But now they were closed, and the thought left you sadder than anything.

–

You had tended to Arthur many times before, and even though the scrapes had been nasty, this was something entirely else. His disease only worsened the state of his injuries, taking you ten steps back every time you thought you could see a flicker of consciousness in the following days.

Yet, he remained motionless on the bed for days on forward, awful coughing episodes making him shoot straight up from the mattress. Succumbing to the relentless coughing, it echoed in the room with harsh, hacking sounds. Each one seems to wrack his body, the force evident in how his shoulders tense and his grip tightens on whatever’s within reach, the strain etched on Arthur’s face, lines deepening with each cough. 

Your hands reach his back to reassuringly rub the warm skin, feeling helpless. Unable to stand his pain any longer, you retrieve the cough medicine you put on the side table, the label on the glass bottle promising relief. 

Too out of it to register what you were doing, he only lays there as you pour the liquid down his throat, and as soon as his sore throat swallows the last drops, his eyes flicker close, body relaxing in resignation on the bed.

“You would hate me if you were awake right now.” A breathless laugh left you, hand stroking the hair away from his face as you pondered how long he would stay like this. It seemed that’s what filled your days and nights now, constant worry as you sat plastered by the side of the bed, holding his hand tight as you prayed for whoever would listen to give him back to you. 

Rarely did you take the time to open the various cans loitering the cabins, filled with canned food and other things that would fill your stomach well? Instead, you grew nauseous at the thought of it. You took the chance to spoon Arthur some soup, though, the small moments between sleep and wakefulness, hoping it was enough to give him some energy.

Some nights, when the pain was too much to bear, you would wound yourself around Arthur like a snake, being mindful of his injuries as you rested your head on his chest. You would listen to the slow thumping of his heart that had grown steady, slowly falling into a deep sleep, letting your heart rest, if even for a moment.

–

You were unsure how much time had passed in that house, endless days bleeding into each other. Most time was spent looking after Arthur, and when you weren’t, you were perched on the wooden steps of the house, gazing into the flickering water of the lake. Your bleak eyes always stared heedlessly at the scenery before you, and although beautiful, it did nothing to lighten the intricate knot growing in your chest.

Despite trying to keep your head straight, doubts always come to mind whenever you don’t have your hands full. What if you had been wrong all this time, and Arthur wouldn’t get better? The possibility was big, but you couldn’t imagine doing it any other way as you thought more of it. But all this chaos and energy you put into keeping the very soul of him alive, what if it wasn’t enough? What could you do that would be enough?

You walked down the porch steps with light steps, bending down on the bridge to wash your face, hoping it would ease your mind. While it didn’t, seeing your drained face and bleak eyes greying your features worsened it. You could only sigh as the sight of your exhaust reflected in the water.

“God.” You said, sitting back on your heels as you stared into the distance, horrified. No wonder you hadn’t taken the moment to care for yourself in the drastic days of apprehension, having been too wrapped up in the horrifying complications. With closed eyes, you rinsed your face, refusing to give yourself another lookover as you walked back towards the house.

The sight that you saw when entering through the door made your heart rise your throat. Blue eyes you adored so much were staring back at you, and although laden with fatigue, they were halfway open, gazing at you indescribably.

Quietness followed your surprise, and after a moment of contemplation, Arthur mumbled out under his breath. “Why'd you come back?” 

His question hung heavy in the air; the only answer you could provide him was a face of bewilderment, mouth dry like cotton. 

“I can’t-” As Arthur closed his eyes, a sluggish arm came to rest over his eyes. “-can’t save you now.”

You motioned to speak, but the words were lodged somewhere deep down where you couldn’t bring it up. Instead, you stepped closer to Arthur with small steps, like he wasn’t real. He couldn’t be; you hadn’t been given that hope for the longest time. But he was breathing before you now, moving. 

You were so quiet at this moment you even surprised yourself, but as you crawled your way beside Arthur and draped your arms around his neck as you had done so many times before, you found that the bridge holding your tears at bay had blocked the words so they couldn’t escape you. But the bridge overflowed, tears now running freely down your cheeks as the feeling of his arms finally circled your waist. 

He held you in that cranky, old bed for a long while, drowsy, sunken-in eyes closing in content regardless of his earlier concern, basking in the warmth your body provided his shivery one as his hands memorized you. The sunlight mirrored its way on your skin, the feeling now warm and tender, unlike the cold and empty touch it grazed with you before.

Arthur’s raspy voice pulled you closer in his embrace as he consoled you, tears wetting the skin on his neck as you gripped the strands of his hair tightly in your grasp.

“Hush, now.” He murmured out, voice so comforting it only increased your sobs.

"Breathe, sweetheart, breathe." Whimpering into his shoulder, you gasped for air between your snivels, breathing erratic that grew somewhat more stable as he ran his broad hand over the small of your back, hushing soothingly.

Things seemed to ease up from that day onward, and now that Arthur grew more conscious, you didn’t feel the draft of loneliness waft through you anymore. Still, he wasn’t up on his feet yet, heavily bedridden as the slightest movement could set off his coughing.

While his recovery gladened you something immensely, you could tell it put a heavy strain on his confidence; not used to being so weak and counterproductive. You could see how his eyes faltered when you tended to his wounds and how he avoided your gaze as you helped him eat, a deep confliction noticeable.

In these moments, he grew quieter than he usually was now. It was like he was waiting for something–something that was just out of his reach, putting a distance between you that wounded you deeply. You had to tell yourself many times to give him some time, to provide him with some peace of mind as he recovered from the trauma to both his body and soul.

So, you took the struggles daily, and as you stayed with him, you could see a glimmer of the Arthur you knew–the stubbornness, the humor, the fierce loyalty. But they are fleeting moments, overshadowed by the weight of his conviction that he is destined for a different path that doesn’t intertwine with the life you could offer.

“You know,” He told you one night, surprising you as you were plastered on the chair beside his bed, stroking the back of his hand while deep in thought. “I always felt at peace out here, like the air is different somehow.” He only got a hum as your eyes were locked on his fingers, intertwined with your smaller ones. 

“It’s something I always imagined for us.” He murmured, staring at the ceiling as he searched for the words to voice his thoughts rightly. “Well, when times grew hard, I thought about it quite a lot.” 

After some time, a small smile graced the corners of your lips, never having heard him be so open with you. You often voiced your wishes to run away together, towards something more fulfilling, something that would ultimately be safe. An ordinary life with Arthur was more than you could ever ask for, always opting to tell him about it late at night when he was too tired to react fully to your words.

It wasn’t possible; you both knew it, so it was only decided as wishful thinking. Also, Arthur always shot the idea down when you steered the conversation that way. He was too loyal to Dutch, finding your words unthinkable, constantly shaking them off as nonsense. Now, if it was because he felt that way or finding the thought hurting too much, you didn’t know. 

“I didn’t know you felt that way.” You spoke quietly, meeting his warm gaze as he stared at you, lifting your hand to his chest, where he placed it against his heart. 

“Mmh. Well, every time I passed here, I thought about you.” He smiled slightly at you, continuing as a rumbling chuckle left him mid-sentence. “Hamish asked about you quite a lot, found you fascinating, he said.”

“Me?” You raised your eyebrows, half-endearingly for the thought that Arthur talked about you and half-suprised that you made an impression on the man. “How come?”

“He wondered why a woman like you stayed with someone like me. Said you were doin’ charity work or somethin’ like that.” You rolled your eyes slightly in jest, bringing his hand to your lips as you placed a nimble kiss on the coarse fingers.

“Well, I happen to like doing charity work,” you mumbled against the skin, breath warming the cold tip of his fingers, finding Arthur gazing at you indescribably.

But some days, he let the words that he pondered about day in and day out be heard, and those moments were the hardest for you.

“I don’t understand you.” He would mumble as his head finally began to clear. You told him that John, Abigail, and Jack had likely gone to safety. It made his mouth’s corners chirp slightly, content they got on alright. But as matters turned to you, he suddenly became cold, eyes crinkling when his eyebrows screwed together.

“You get the chance to go and live your life to the fullest, yet you go back to try and save a man that already died a long time ago.” It appeared impossible for him to wrap his head around the thought, looking at you as if you were a scientific experiment. 

“You’re not dying.” 

“YES, I AM!” You gasped slightly as his voice grew loud suddenly, yelling out the words as his hand pointed at you, eyes wide open where he lay glued to the bed. 

“And all I want before I die is to see you safe, and you can’t even give me that!” 

He had never yelled at you like this if he had even yelled at you at all. Arthur had always tended to take the image of the rugged, unforgiving brute, but never had he been that way with you. It was always tender touches, calculating glances, and a sense of utter contentment when you were around–acting like you would break if he didn’t keep calm and collected.

It differed from now, the usually calm sea of his eyes now a stormy whirlpool, harshness lining the edges, and it was pointed towards you. You pulled your hands against your chest nervously, wishing to shrink into the ground to avoid his, to you, unjust fury.

“Stop.” Your voice grew quiet as the air in the room seemed to lessen, eyes shooting towards the ground. 

Groaning, Arthur raised his arms, gasping when he had to support his weight on it. Stepping forward to help him, you were only faced with his palm begging you to stay away. 

“Of course, I couldn’t leave you,” you reply gently. “Besides, I had to know what happened to you.” 

“Stubborn woman, didn’t I tell you to go? It ain’t safe anymore.” You backed away, not wanting to listen.

“Now I don’t know where the hell Dutch is, where Micha is, which means this is far from over. That’s why I’m sayin’ you shouldn’t stay!” He tried to reason with you, make you realize that your part in this was over.

He felt conflicted. Whenever he thought of you, he struggled between being selfish and thinking of what was best for you and what he needed to do to keep you alive through all of this. On one side, he longed for every part of you to remain with him, but on the other side, he couldn’t stand you being hurt on his behalf more than you had already been. 

He knew he crushed you in the process, it was undeniable, the cries that left you when placed behind Sadie before telling enough–but it had to be done, despite how much he despised himself for putting you through this. You were always so calm and level-headed that he couldn’t be anything more than heartbroken when you called after him that day, the distress so unlike you.

Arthur didn’t like it, which fueled him to push you away even further when he realized you didn’t see reason, deciding that the only plan left was to show you what kind of man he was, or rather, what kind of a man he was to everyone else. 

“This isn’t you talking, Arthur.” 

“What do you mean it ain’t me talkin’?” His face grew red with strain as he spoke, alerting you as you bent down to meet his gaze, placing your hands on either side of his cheek. He scrunched his eyes together, heart pleading to give into you as your ever–so-gentle hands closed around him.

“You're sick, Arthur, and you’ve been beaten to a pulp. Now, I don’t know what transpired on that mountain, and I’m not sure finding out would do me any good, but I thought-'' Stopping in your tracks, you closed your eyes. “I thought you had died, Arthur. I, I cried for you, thinking I would never see you alive again.” 

“I ain’t less than a ghost now, darlin’; you should have left when you had the chance.” He stared tiredly into your eyes and then turned away from you. “You have to accept that. It’d gone much easier if you left me on that mountain.” His heart beat as he voiced the reality of his thoughts, knowing it would hurt you, but the statement was also true.

Silence followed for a long time after that, the turmoil inside you breaking, seeping like blood from the cracks of your heart as you were left staring at the side of his face. 

“I’ve loved you for a long time, Arthur, but it has never felt like I’ve known you entirely.” While he gazed at you, the fury still raced deep in the blue orbs, coloring them darker with pain. 

“You have a barricade around your heart that I can never breach. And I tried; believe me, I did. For the longest time, I tried to be there for you, be something for you to come home to, to ease your mind that always was off somewhere else, somewhere I could never follow!” Your tone that started quietly grew loud as you spoke, heart racing inside your chest as the words fell like liquid out of your mouth.

“I can’t-” Your voice hitched, angry tears falling unwillingly from your eyes. “I can’t help you if you don’t let me in!”

“I don’t need your help!” You could see Arthur close off from you even more, pushing you away as the harshness of his voice cut you like a razor. “I never had!” His voice broke as he yelled, panting as he sat on the bed, hunching forward as frustration rose.

“Arthur!” You felt anger grow in your chest, finding him unbelievable as you swatted at his chest lightly, standing up to put some distance between you, seeing him trailing after you. “I’m done with you telling me to go when all I live for is you!” Fiery and consuming anger flared within you, setting your cheeks ablaze as you spun around to face him.

“Well, I’m over you being so stubborn all the time! Never listen to me when I only want to see you off safe, caring for me like it’s a glimpse of hope that I’ll survive!” A scoff of disbelief left you, staring at him as you almost laughed in shock.

“Me!? Stubborn!?” Your palm found your forehead, voice laced with anger-filled frustration. “That is very rich coming from Mister. I never listen to anyone other than myself!” You paused before you yelled. “Ever!”

“Because I know what’s best, alright!? And I know that you should be far, far away from me!” A fire started to show in his voice, but it also crept into your bones, warmth spreading on your cheeks. 

“Oh, and what?! Find some boring, middle-aged asshole who’ll tie me to the kitchen and make me have tea-party with some lifeless, dreary, pompous, old ladies?!” Your breathing was hectic as the words spilled out in a heated rush.

“Yes, that’s what I want, ‘cause that would mean you would be safe!” He stalked closer, cornering you at the door.

“I’d rather die, Arthur,” you said. “I’d rather die with you than face the long, bleak years of this world alone! You backed away, feeling suffocated when he didn’t give you any space to breathe.

“The only place I feel safe is with you, Arthur!” Your voice broke slightly, gripping his shirt to shake some sense into him. “It’s with you I’ve always felt at home!” Gripping his stubbled cheeks in your palms tightly, you pleaded with him as he gazed into your eyes. “I’m not leaving you; get that through your thick, dumb skull!”

“Stop being so goddamn unselfish and think about yourself for once!” He met your gaze, dark as he stared at you from underneath his brows. “Get out the hell out, leave!” 

You only stared at him, cold shivers like freezing water wrecking through you, backing towards the door as his shadow grew more prominent, stepping unbalanced on his feet towards you. Grabbing your shoulders in his broad hands, he stepped so close that all you could see were his eyes blaring into yours.

“Come on!” He yelled, shaking your body as if to shake some sense into your stubborn mind. “GO!”

Choking on your tears in distress, you were left gasping for air as you tried to breathe, feeling his body falter above yours. The coughs that now raked through him made you sink on the floor with him, and as the blood splattered on your dress, covering your chest in a deep red that contrasted the ivory fabric, you sat on the dirty floor, a man devoid of the will to live anymore laying in your trembling arms. 

After that, you only felt his lips that sought yours, entangling your limbs together like snakes in a snake pit–not a gentle surrender but a clash of hunger, a collision of lips borne from ages of holding back the reality.

Bloodied lips against bloodied lips met in a fierce urgency after taking a quick breath, fueled by the unspoken desires and the acknowledgment that, despite your disagreements, the love you kept for one another was deeply engrained in both of you, hearts unable to stand the hate you felt.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, gripping as if seeking reassurance as the world blurred. Anger melted into a raw vulnerability, frustration giving way to the unspoken plea, and the desperation grew more considerable than it ever had–and as you both pulled away, breaths heavy and gazed locked, the air crackled around you as he instead hoisted you up in his arms so you could fall into each other’s embrace yet again.

Your tears now rubbed their way down Arthur’s cheeks, your breath hitching as sobs still found their way through you. His broad hands pulled you tighter against him, the inner fight that took place in his mind showing as he wanted to push you away, only to draw you closer to his dying limbs.

“You know I ain’t a good man, honey. That ain’t going to change, ever.” His gaze was gravely and serious as he stared into your eyes, an uncanny vulnerability etching them deep down. “This life lives within me; I can’t escape it. I can’t escape the sins that I carry. I’ve done horrible things, things you couldn’t even dream of.” Sighing, he closed his eyes. “You know that.”

Your eyes softened as you saw the wrinkles in his face release, finally hearing something real coming from him. “You’re not your sins, Arthur. And even if you were, I’d carry them with you, lighten the burden.” Stroking his cheek with the tips of your fingers, he opened his forever lonely eyes, now staring into yours.

“God, I tried, honey. I tried to get you to leave, talkin’ to you in ways I’ve promised myself I never would–everything to get you to leave.” He pushed your head against his shoulder, resting his head on yours in defeat. “It was harder than I thought, see you cryin’ like that.” Sighing heavily, he continued. “But somehow, you always stay.”

“I’m not leaving.” You mumbled against his skin.

“There’s no mistaking that.” He chuckled, stroking your back. “Everything I do is to keep you safe; you’re so stubborn not to realize that.”

“I’m safe when I’m with you, Arthur.” He didn’t answer you for a while, holding you comfortingly. He felt the strings that held his will up loosen, giving up on trying to push you away, the sight of you sobbing tugging at his heart.

“I feel like all I do is make you cry lately.” Staring at your smaller arms that hugged him, the doubt that he still wasn’t good enough for you clouding his mind. 

“You make me cry when you push me away,” you admitted, your voice steadier now. “It hurts, Arthur.” He sighed, fingers still entangled in your hair, twisting your hair strands with his fingers.

“I know, honey,” he murmured, a concession to the unspoken ache.

“Then stop.” He lifted your head to make you look at him through wet eyes.

“Stop hurting me; I can’t handle it anymore.” He felt like you had shot him right in his chest as you begged him, staring through vulnerable eyes he rarely saw. He had done countless horrible acts in his life, but this was indeed to be pivoted as the worst, never having felt the pang of agony quite so brutal.

He couldn’t tell how long he would live now, down to his last breaths, but he didn’t have the power to keep you away from him any longer, not when you were so adamant about staying. Had you been angrier at him, he was sure you would take your things and leave him, but there was a part of you he so adoringly loved, a part that always seemed to care too much, love too hard. 

Somehow, he praised whoever made you that way because were you not, he would no longer have the light of his life in his arms, even if his time was running out. No longer would he be able to feel the graceful touch of your fingers on his skin and the sparkling in your eyes as you stared up at him in mischief, making him feel more alive than he had ever felt in his miserable life.

Hugging you closer to him, he captured your soft lips in his, feeling the ache only increase as he basked in the way you sighed, relieved. You felt the promise of not pushing you away anymore lingering in the corner of his mouth, dragging you closer to him as hope finally seemed in reach.

–

“And as the last light of day shone through the window, he realized how it felt like to hold the world in the palm of his hands, for her eyes were the window to everything he wishes for, and more.” Glancing mischievously into Arthur’s eyes through the pages, you conclude. “The end.”

Pushing the book’s pages close with a loud bang that echoed through the sunlit room dramatically, you presented him with a toothy smile.

“I never took our dear friend for being such a romantic, Arthur.” Raising from the bed, you spun around to face the man who seemed reluctant to let you go, bending down to stare into his eyes cheekily. “Are you sure you went hunting together? With all these books, maybe you spent your time cooped up here reading romance?” A giggle left you as you walked towards the stove, checking on the stew bubbling deliciously, the smell making your mouth water as it passed your nose when you opened the lid. 

Behind you, you could almost hear how Arthur’s eyes rolled back into his head, arms still outstretched towards you. “Sure,” he drawled, staring at you warmly as you teased him. “Our favorite pastime. How did you know?”

His sarcastic tone reached you as the warmth of the cooking burned your tongue slightly when you tried to get a taste, hissing as you dropped the spoon back into the pot. 

“You can’t fool me, Arthur; I know you’re a true romantic.” Pushing your finger against the sore part of your tongue, you turn to face him, resting against the counter. 

“It’s something I always imagined for us.” You mocked slightly, puffing out your chest as your voice grew into his familiar southern drawl, imitating your earlier talk with him some time ago.

Scoffing at you, he suddenly rose from the bed, the book falling from the floor as he stepped towards you. Perking up at his motion, you found yourself stuck as his arms encased around you, the warm scent of him mingling with the food as he stepped closer. 

Cowering slightly under his gaze, you giggled nervously as you leaned back. “Have you ever heard of personal space?” He didn’t answer you as you jested with him, palms finding each side of your face as his eyes observed you tenderly. 

God, he loved you like this. Ever since your fight, every obstacle that hindered you from growing closer to each other was breached. Every time you laughed, it filled his heart with warmth, finding the life he once fell in love with reaching you again as you settled; the hardest of times now passed.

He couldn’t help it as he pressed against you, sighing deeply as your lips found his in a loving caress, smoothing over one another as the sound of your slight humming broke through the silence. 

It felt like a blessing to have Arthur close again. Some time ago, you feared you had utterly lost him as he remained a shell of who he once was, shielding himself from you and everyone else. Although at ease now, the heavy shadow of his disease still lingered over you like a cloud, most times reminding you of the sad realization that all was not well.

Despite this, you could see how much better he was faring, now both up on his feet and with a sane mind–much more like the man you fell for. At times, the anxiety still clawed its way into your mind, wondering if all of this was too good too last. Although, since both you and Arthur realized that relying your thoughts and fears on one another was fatal if this was going to work, he always kissed your worries away, driving the somber mood gone with his hands.

“Where did you go?” The words rumbled quietly against your lips as your eyes lifted to gaze into his wondering ones, feeling him push your hair behind your ear. You gave him a small smile, playing with the buttons on his shirt.

“Secret.” You whispered when you felt him lean closer again, the tension growing in sparks around you. 

“Oh, I see. We keepin’ secrets now?” Raising his brows in fake mock, you felt his hands circle your waist so he could lift you around his torso. An innocent smile covered your lips as he hoisted you up, slightly pinching your waist so you let out a breathless laugh.

Stalking back towards the bed, you realized his only plan had been to bring you back all this time, giving Arthur a knowing look. “I am allowed to have some secrets, you know.”

“Are you now?” He smirked at you, kissing your nose before laying you on the soft bed, hovering above you. “I think I know a few ways to get you to speak.” Crawling up your thigh was a hand filled with sinful intent.

“Well, I won’t tell, you brute!!” You laughed as you squirmed against him, wishing his hand away as they traveled further.

“Oh, I’ll show you, brute, darlin´.”

All the wounds and hurt weren’t healed by any means, but as time passed, it started to mend the damage it created. The crumbs that once were so few grew larger and larger, now swapped out with a special love that you were sure was destined just for you and the man who always had it in the palm of his hands–only the need to accept himself in order to let it reach you. 

And while this story certainly isn’t over, the worry about Arthur’s health and the glimmer in his eyes he still kept for the life he had lived and would never escape still existed. You could tell he was aware you saw it, noticing him staring longingly into the wild, fingers flexing with anticipation.

But those were thoughts for darker days. For now, as you lay with Arthur’s arms wound around you and the sparkling of the fire cracking into the silence, you would bask in it for as long as you could. With the soup long forgotten—you realized you would follow him to the ends of the earth if he asked you, even if it meant your death.

#im in awe #that was amazing #im not crying youre crying #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader