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#rdr2 x reader
ravengards-rogue · 2 days
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the evening stretch | warm-up series.
ft. the prompts, nsfw / "dinner" / arthur morgan.
✧ tags : afab!reader + fem!reader outdoors sex, oral (f!recieving), reader is an outlaw, established relationship, desperate arthur morgan, 18+
✧ wc : 2.7k
✧ a/n : hello! this is part of a little warm-up series i do on my other blog where i pick three prompts and try to come up with something. i normally do them in a rut. im working on a commission and im super stuck so.
this actually landed on javier four times in a row but im being kind and sparing a friend so. here's mr. morgan.
✧ synopsis : arthur thinks the place between your legs would suit him quite nicely.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚。⋆
Honest to God, Arthur's never been like this before.
He ain't all that pious to start, so perhaps the sentiment doesn't stretch as far as he would like it too. But it's true, all the same - that in all the lives he's lived, he's never experienced this much bone-deep desire for another human being.
Which is outright ridiculous, since right now you're just making supper. Dinner, you always clarify with that yankee accent. You're going to have dinner together, 'cause Arthur needs to eat. He works hard, according to you.
It's not much, but you're a better cook than Pearson. Even if that's not saying a whole lot. And you're insistent on making the man eat, always on his case about how it's hardly enough for a man his size.
Arthur can chalk it up to being that you love him, as you have told him foolishly many times. He's sure you're not gonna be happy with him in a minute since again - all you're doing is making dinner.
It's just... something. Something about you today. Dammit, he doesn't understand it neither. You've got a job together, and you and Arthur play convincing husband and wife since you practically are anyway. Arthur's been watching you today closely. You lie pretty. Smile with all your teeth, clever with a careful finesse and an honest knack for debauchery and indecency.
You love calling yourself an awful woman. Joking about dying an unweddable spinster given your crudity.
But Arthur likes it in you. Of you. Likes it so much he's done nothing but readjust his pants watching you squirm your way out of every difficult situation and sling the revolver on your hip like a tried-and-true gunslinger.
You're a fine woman to him. A fine one.
The fire crackles as you place a pot over the little flame of the faux stove. You've made a real dinner somehow - with some vegetables and creeping thyme and carefully butchery of meat. It smells good and you seem proud of it, stirring the thing with the sharp end of your knife. Careful not to scrape the pot.
Arthur watches the light glow orange on your face, carefully observing the way it shines on you. You don't look up at all when you speak.
"Gonna stare a hole into me, Morgan."
He feels something warm crawl up his cheeks. He scratches his beard instinctively, tucking his hat over his eyes.
"'m sorry," He says, unsure of how to cover for himself. "Been thinking about some things."
"Don't hurt yourself," You reply, sardonic and dry. Arthur adores you. He laughs to himself and feels warmed by the pleasant smile that seems to give you.
"I'll try. Ain't much used to thinking,"
"Penny for your thoughts, then Mr. Morgan." You reply, carefully moving the pot around so nothing burns. "Might help you clear your mind if you get some of it off your chest."
He's backed himself into a wall. Goddamn him and his big mouth. He hesitates, taking it off this time. Fidgety.
"Yanno, there ain't a lot women like you. Not that I've met at least."
You give him a look. Your lips pressed into a flat line, unimpressed by him.
"Is that so?"
He laughs to himself. "It is indeed. You're a real piece of work. 'Specially going around batting your lashes, making yourself out to be a housewife."
"Aw what, did you like seeing me all doe eyed?" You smile to yourself, teasing but not entirely insincere. "If it helps, since you're the fake husband, I'm only half-acting."
That makes him grin. Though you say it with confidence, the sincerity it makes you flush.
"It ain't that," Arthur says again, looking at your face for the second time in a few minutes. "Just that you're a fine woman to be around. What do they call it...resourceful. That's what I'm thinking of."
"Who taught you such a big word, Morgan?"
"Trelawny, I'd guess."
You laugh, loud and beautiful and Arthur smiles. You look at him from across the fire. "Well, I'm glad you like my company, Mr. Morgan."
"I do more than like it," He hums, offering a reprieve. He nods at you carefully, head tilted. "Come 'ere,"
Your eyes widen at him, but you don't deny him of what he's asking. For that he is awfully grateful. You're more than capable and much less than needy. There's victory in your deliberate desire for him, Arthur thinks. You want him enough to let him chase you.
You come sit by Arthur. You're a little awkward with him still but he don't mind. It adds to whatever he feels for you, sugar-sweet affection and all. You sit on your knees and Arthur turns his head looking at you.
Beautiful. Beautiful thing you are, really. He has a hard time finding the words to tell you.
He reaches up, hand cupping your face. You lean into the touch, palm resting on calloused hand. He adores you.
"And quit with the Mister Morgan nonsense. Drives me crazy."
"Arthur," You say, slow and deliberate. "You know you're looking at me like you wanna eat me."
'"Read my mind, then."
"Arthur," You repeat, scandalized. He would smile if he wasn't so serious. "We're supposed to be eatin' dinner. You got into a whole spat with them Leymone Riders just today. You need to recover,"
His smile widens.
"Lettin' me go down on ya will heal me just fine,"
You look at him exasperated. Arthur leans into your neck, placing chaste kisses down the line of your jaw. He kisses you just there - underneath your earlobe, knows it drives you crazy.
"Lay down, sugar. Help a poor, injured man heal."
You pull away from him with faux exasperation, fond smiling breaking your face.
"You can be such a dog some times, do you know that?"
"I'm afraid I do,"
You give him another unimpressed look, but you listen anyways. Arthur moves so you can lay down on the bedroll - his bedroll. He takes off his coat just before you lay your head, playing it underneath you to get you more comfortable.
"Dinner's gonna burn," You tell him, almost reflexively. He laughs as he looks at you, your hands folded over your stomach and flat. He laughs at you.
"Burn? You feeling warm?"
"Arthur!"
And he laughs again, catching your boot in his hand as you go to kick his chest lightly. He sets it back down as he stares at you. You're quite the sight. Adoration bubbles up into his throat, blooms out into a hum. The sound of crickets and owls and all sorts of night wanderers sound - but none are distracting enough to pry his gaze away.
"You're looking too much," You say, your voice a half tremble. He nods.
"Got too," Arthur hums, leaning forward into your space. You always smell good to him, some cross between soft earth, and sweet liquor and clothes left in the sun. Skin and salt and sweet. "Who knows how long I'll be around."
He presses his lips to yours gentle and you kiss him - but only once before pulling away. Your eyes suddenly serious, warm palm on his cheek.
"Don't say something so morbid. If you go, I go,"
"Sweetheart—"
"No buts." You affirm, pressing your thumb to his lip all serious. Your eyes meet and for a moment - just one minute, all he wants to do is stop time from moving. From stealing him from you in life at all. Even a few seconds, intolerable. "Don't feel to good to hear, does it? So don't say it."
"Alright, alright," He huffs, laughing against your neck. He kisses it again, right against your pulse - quickening under his teeth as he bites and scrapes. He mulls over how much he wants you, and how little time there is to do everything. "Jus' lemme...I dunno."
Now you're cheeky, smiling up at him. Lord above, you do something so terrible to him. "Now that's just not true, baby."
He laughs deep and raspy. It's not true, because he knows exactly what he's after.
Arthur lets his hands plane over your clothed body. He doesn't bother with the ritual of undressing you entirely - since the act doesn't deserve the intimacy. You do, maybe - but Arthur's head feels too foggy to do anything civilized. He has to settle for letting his hands grip the fabric of your skirt and push it until it bunches around your waist.
There's no real delicacy in it, save for the way your breath hitches as Arthur gives himself better access. He moves to lay on his stomach between your thighs. He wishes it were brighter to give him better view. He's seen it plenty but looking at your pretty pussy alone gets him harder than steel.
His hands go underneath every layer of fabric to undo the little tie of your undergarments. You squirm when Arthur takes them off, but you don't pull away.
It's pretty. Even with the dim light of just the moon and fire to let Arthur see it. What entices him mostly though is the scent, after a long day of riding out alone - there's something about the way you smell - sweat and all that makes the back of his mouth ache with want. Makes his teeth hurt just dreaming about it.
He doesn't let his animalistic urges take him yet. He knows you need the build up. His hand is soft as he grips onto your waist. He pulls your legs further apart and lets his lips brush the inside of your thigh. Starts at your knee and works his way up, his mouth burning hot - open kisses. You giggle at the sensation of his beard, but it's tamped down with lust Arthur knows like the back of his hand.
Slow, deliberate, sinful. He knows the way you liked to be touched so exactly, but the pace is set more by his desperation. It grows ten sizes listening to you sigh and huff, feeling your hands come down to touch his hair and play with it.
"Arthur," Your voice calls. Pleading. Wanting him. You're so good at making Arthur loose his composure with so little. It's hard to tease you as your voice clips off into a whine. "Arthur,"
"I've got you," He says, assured. He means it as much as he means anything he's ever said. He ain't a decent man, but this much he can say full ways. "I've got you, sugar. Ease up. Let me take care of you,"
And so you again, breathless - boneless and eager. You let Arthur into your space, and something about that. Something about you. His heart races, blood pumping through his body. It pulses in his ears, head swimming with nothing but praise for you.
You're a fine woman. You're a good girl. The best he knows.
Arthur can feel the way your clit pulses with want before he ever puts his mouth on you. Makes him chuckle, gloved hand resting on your navel. He uses his thumb to pull it back, before using both hands to spread you open. Then, in an act less then gentlemanly, spits on it hard. He watches it land, lewd as it drips between your fold. He laughs to himself.
Another pitchy call of his name and Arthur decides he's had enough fun to get him through the evening.
He kisses your clit first, thinks it's only gentlemanly. When your hips buck up trying to chase the feeling of his mouth - he laughs. His hands dig into your hips. You're soft, skin dimpling from just how tight he holds onto you.
When he finally gets what he wants, his own body lurches forward from want. He nearly slumps into the ground - half-way between relieved and utterly addicted. It's a sense of euphoria unmatched by the finest liquor or cigars money can be.
The taste of you fills his mouth as Arthur eats.
Arthur is not used to playing predator. Not interested in the act of devouring. You often compare him to some sort of herbivore. But there's something too hungry, too visceral, too primal for him to be anything but a coyote. A teethed thing, all screwed up from hunger.
He lets his tongue slip against the seam of your cunt, all the arousal collecting in his mouth. His senses flood with something heady, sweet but bitter and he groans shamelessly as a result. Spoiled by the taste and utterly debauched.
"Oh, god - Arthur, you're—"
Arthur is pleased by the way your words are cut off by your own moan. He slides his tongue back up, wet muscle firm as it lays flat against your clit. There's a slight twitch like it's asking for more attention.
Arthur is all to eager vtoo provide, closing his lips around the twitching bundle of nerves. He knows what you like. Learned over time just the amount of pressure he needs to suck with and the speed he needs to draw his tongue over your clit to get you right at the very edge of your orgasm.
He teases you to that pace. Slow increases in either or, until it's just at that perfect medium. Once he hits that spot, you always moan so pretty.
You shudder, your body lurching up as your hands get tighter in his hair. "Aah, fuck. Ngh, Arthur. Don't do this t'me."
You begging him not too makes him want to do it more. If Arthur were any less aroused, he would. But his brain can barely think up enough to stamina to do that. His own cock is strained against his work pants - hips instinctively rutting into the bedroll just beneath him. Silently seeking friction all while hoping he doesn't get enough to distract him.
It'd be a damn shame, he thinks - letting anything pull him from the taste of your pussy. From the smell of it, from the sight of it, from the feeling of you. Sticky, pulsing strings of arousal coating his tongue and turning all his thoughts to dust.
His cock throbs again as you rut against his mouth. Arthur pins you in place.
"Please," You say. A magic word he ain't much stronger than. "Please make me cum,"
You really are a good girl, the way you know exactly what makes him tick. Arthur moans into your cunt as he sucks and licks and eats. He'd die over it, and he does not mean it lightly. It's the only thing in the world he wants to do in the moment. He laser focuses on finding that sweet spot again.
And he knows he does when you start whimpering. Squirming and holding onto his soft brown locks and pleading for something you don't know about. He can feel how wet your getting - dripping along down his beard and face. Thick strings of your arousal stick and slide down his neck.
He's never been a messy eater, but you've been disproving many of his prior understandings of himself. He supposes it's only natural.
"Oh, baby," You say, not even his name. Arthur knows it's a warning that you're gonna cum. All he can do is encourage you. He hums into your soft, wet cunt and you groan again. "Fuck, Arthur. I'm gonna cum."
Arthur knows better. He doesn't do a thing but keep going. Lets you move and thrash and pull away but keeps you firm in his place and eats your pussy until you can barely think.
He knows the knot is untying before you do because of how much you squirm. When you cum, you cum hard. Your back arches up into a picture perfect curve, toes curling and hands tugging at his roots for purchase.
He can feel every pulse of desire as you finally do let go. You cry out, loud enough to startle any nearby critters. Your fingers grip tight at the base of his hair as the orgasm washes over you. It's just as magnetic as it was the first time.
He's sure that will always be true.
When Arthur pulls away from your pulsing, wet core - he can feel just how much of his lower face is sticky. He's sure you also know, if the way you laugh is anything to go by.
And he's not long to follow after. Not even a few seconds and he can feel something in pants tighten - a mess of white staining the front of the denim in an onset of lust damn near shameful. Is he a teenager again? Lord above.
Breathlessly, you look down at him after you've ridden your high out.
Pulling up Arthur by the collar, you look at him slowly and frown. You look impassioned and a little frustrated.
You kiss him tender after you've come too. Once, then twice, then a another time with your hand still drawn into a fist. Arthur grabs it closed, opening your palms before kissing the palm of your hands until you're no longer mad.
"Hate how good you are at that," You admit, a little drunk of the euphoria of all of it. "Make me feel so crazy."
Arthur beams at you unapologetic.
"It's good to be that with me, sweetheart." Arthur says, kissing the corner of your mouth. "Now how about you go and give me one more?"
You laugh breathlessly but don't go to stop him at all.
"Insatiable man."
"Only for you, my girl."
.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚。⋆
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nanamimizz · 1 day
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tags: 18+ minors dni / kinda nsfw but i wanna be on the save side / kissing / making out / established relationship / grinding/ mention of cum / mention of spit and drool
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javier quickly learns something about you that he finds quite cute for all intents and purposes.
you enjoy kissing.
small ones he presses to your cheek when you come up to him at camp. the ones that linger when you press them to his brow as he lays next to you to sleep. the ones where you laugh in between them by the edges of camp when he has to set his guitar to the side - he had intended to sing for you but finds more music in your flustered giggles than his playing. he knows those are your favorite, when you look at him with big love stricken eyes and smile so tenderly at him.
javier finds that his favorite are these - when he has you away from camp and all to himself. he had found a good fishing spot with plenty vegetation. javier lets himself relax as he reels in fish while you go off foraging for herbs and other plants. he likes seeing you like that, in your element, as you dutifully pluck at plants and write them in your journal. whether you use them for your benefit or for some poor bastards detriment javier is happy to see you happy at least.
he stays by the water until his bag is full and the fish slowly finish their dinner to disperse under the now black water. you are little aways, skirt hiked to your knee to avoid getting anything stuck on it with your journal in hand and pen in your mouth as you keep surveying the small patch of land for anything you might have missed. javier swears you’re eyes are sharper than his, being able to see so clearly in the dim light despite the light of the moon. packing his rod is muscle memory, letting his hands do the labor as he watches you - taking in how the moonlight shines on the highlights of your hair while you pick something else. you write it in your journal with a pleased smile and add what you found to your own bag that is embroidered with orange poppy flowers.
you lift your gaze to where he is and smile warmly at him. you must have honey for eyes the way his teeth hurt from how sweetly you look at him and you make your way over to him. you remind him of your horse, a muscular buckskin kiger stallion that is the most sure-footed horse he’s ever seen the way you jump over the rocks with your heeled boots. you breath a soft hello as you are before him, flustered and doe eyed as he lets his hands find your waist to bring you close.
“what did you find, mi amor?” he asks warmly letting his lips kiss your cheek as your arms go around his shoulders. you hum pleased and murmur into his ear that you found sprouts of swap potatoes and other miscellaneous herbs that are common place but you had run out of over the months. you press a kiss of your own at the corner of his lips and ask about the fish. javier grins big and tilts his head to the filled bag that rests where he stood. you gap and lean your head into his shoulder and laugh.
“i think you might be a better fisherman than mr. matthews.”
“don’t let that old timer hear say that, it’ll sting his pride more than he’d say.” javier laughs and it makes you laugh too, the evening air cool and pleasant between the two of you. your fingertips play with the ends of his tied hair as you hum softly, relaxed with the gentle breeze and the sound of water running.
“so what now - are we heading back?” you say, voice soft just for the two of you. javier smiles and his eyes crinkles like a fox’s when he presses his lips to your ear.
“we could…or…we could have some time together.” he whispers into your ear flirtatiously, the hands that were at your waist go down to cup at the curve of your ass. each take their fill and squeeze enough to make you gasp as he chuckles at how you fluster even now.
“h-here?”
“only if you’d like.” he responds smoothly grinning when you shyly duck your head only to nod at his suggestion. it makes him laugh, the way you duck so demurely against him despite knowing how you have him, when he tells you it always makes you embarrassed. javier nudges your cheek with his nose - "come here, look at me." as sweetly as always you obey and tilt your head up to him. javier is a good kisser - much better than you are so its easy for his tongue to make it's way into your mouth.
his tongue brushes against yours and you moan softly, gripping the back of his vest as he presses closer to you enough so he can feel the way your heart pounds in your chest. it makes him smile into the kiss even has he let's himself get lost in the sucking of your tongue and sound of your quiet moans. you part with him snickering at your flushed state and soft pants - it's sweet how you look at him with pretty eyes and he can't help himself to reach out and pinch your tongue. javier snickers at how you gasp but you let him, relaxing and looking at him with pretty glassy eyes.
"you really let me do anything to you, huh?" you nod, letting out a breathy little noise of agreement and he let's go of you. you'd always let javier does has he pleases, he's the only man in the world that has earned the right to do so. it's why you let him lead you to a thicker tree, and why you follow him to sit on his lap facing him with his back to the trunk. you are spread out on his lap, skirt hiked up enough that javier can see the ends of the garters that keep up the white of your stockings. tan hands settle on the exposed tops of your thighs and carefully sneak up to sink into your plush flesh.
his thumb resting on the birthmark on your right thigh, one that vaguely looks like a heart that he finds so endearing as he spreads you out over his pelvis. you are still clutching his lapels bumping your nose against his as you press kiss after kiss against his lips while his hands come to grip your hips. you kisses grow sloppy when you begin to lick at his lips desperately wanting to have his tongue in your mouth as you begin rock your hips against his lap.
javier pants softly, groaning against your mouth when the warmth of your cunt is felt as you rock against him - feeling how the delicate soft cotton of your delicates grows wet against the forming bulge of his cock. your breaths intermingle as you both feel heat coil in your stomachs are you rock against each other, you clit catching on the rougher fabric of his dark jeans. you tongue brushes against him as javier’s hands dig deep and ground you down against - it makes you moan as lightning dances up your spine at the pleasure. you flush against him, whining at how javier doesn’t let go of your form keeping you where he wants as he feels you grow more and more wet against him.
“javi, javi - please.”
“what is mi amor, que quieres de mi?” he asks you what you want from him and there thousands of words on your tongue that drip like the drool that escapes you as you experience more and more pleasure from how javier moves you against him. you feel his cock twitch, pulsing beneath you and moan - long and deep from your chest. you’re lidded eyes, glistening from pleasure look at him with all the adoration your lax tongue can’t muster. you only go to kiss him, taking him by surprise as you suck on his tongue, letting go of his lapels to instead let one hand come to the base of his ponytail and grip.
he moans into your mouth and comes with a sweet shock, staining his pants beneath you as you whine so softly at the feeling. you are pulled off to one of his thigh and you hump at it on your own as you let your lips go to javier’s neck. you kiss and suck at the skin, moaning as his grip tightens from his aftershocks. rubbing your cheek to his stubble you whisper into his ear as place a candied affection after another on his skin - “don’t waste it next time please.” javier is helpless beneath you, becoming lax and merely a place for you to grind to completion.
“don’t - don’t say those things when you don’t mean it.” he hisses into your hair and you whine defiantly as you cum on his thigh.
“i do - i do mean it -“ you gasp in between the cresting peek of your pleasure, letting your tongue go to lick the salt of his skin. “want all of you in me always.”
“jesus christ,” javier laughs high and sickeningly fond, “you’re a little pervert.”
“just for you.” you mumble, hips aching and face tucked into his neck as you almost melt into his chest. his hands rub at your back, warm and soothing as you come down from your pleasure high.
“can we stay here - just for awhile?” javier hums and agrees, letting you almost go limp in his embrace as your eyes close shut. he stays there, with you in his embrace til the moon is high in the sky and he looks down at you, and stays there a little longer.
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ashs-cardboard-box · 3 days
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Street rat
~ Hosea Matthews/Teen!Male!Reader
~ Familial (found family)
~ 3.2k words
Request :3
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Growing up a street urchin was far from easy, much less, when you’ve just barely turned fourteen. Often spending your nights scrounging the city of Saint Denis for any sort of food or shelter, only to get spit on and degraded as soon as the sun rose the next morning. You could count on one hand the amount of meals you’ve had in a month. Like most orphaned kids, having to turn to thievery as a means of survival.
Usually, you could get away with it all, growing a knack for pickpocketing. It was easiest to pick off the stupid or the drunk, but they didn’t always have the most money on their persons. When you got particularly desperate, you’d snatch someone’s coin purse and just pray you could outrun the lawmen. Taking shelter in whatever crack or crevice you could slink your nimble body into.
Naturally, when you saw a group of strange individuals one evening, wandering around the streets of Saint Denis, bickering about the lifestyle of the folk living here, you thought you struck oil. They all stuck out like a sore thumb between the whores and the rich pricks. Your eyes picked over each and every outfit, taking specific note of the worn, leather satchel, strung across one of the taller gentlemans’ torsos. Surely these folks had something to offer?
While you hadn’t been taught to read nor write, you were smart and resourceful. Yet, in that same instance, desperate for anything. It had been a couple days since you'd last eaten; having to hide out in an old alley in that time to avoid the hunt across Saint Denis that had been sparked against “that little street urchin robbing folk”. You didn’t want to imagine what would happen to you if you got caught– from lawmen to regular civilians– to you, they were all bad.
Watching. Waiting. Hiding behind whatever objects you could with your eyes locked on that one goal– the man’s satchel. You could practically feel the leather underneath your fingertips. The indents of the coins inside. Unfortunately, you got careless and sloppy. Feeling your blood run cold as soon as the group started to head back to their horses, all tied to an old hitch rail, you knew your time was limited before there would be more eyes on you than you could count.
Rushing out from your hiding spot and weaving your way through the group, only to finally get your dirt caked hands onto that satchel. Digging your fingers around it firmly and tugging, pulling it from the man in just two short pulls. You were surprised that the strap had snapped. Staring at the satchel now in hand, it took only a few milliseconds to register what it is you had just done, before you actually gathered your bearings and took off running.
“Damn it, kid!” you hear a gruff voice shout from behind you, but you don’t stop. Your bare feet hitting the rough, cobblestone road below, listening to the scuffing of several boots behind you. You were used to the chase. It was damn exhilarating, practically feeling the adrenaline rushing through your veins.
You thought you had made it away successfully. No longer did you hear the bickering nor shouting of angry men and women as you ran from them. That was, until you hit something akin to a wall, knocking you off your feet and right onto your ass on the pavement below. Instinctively, you clutch the satchel to your chest like your life depends on it. Panting heavily as you look up at what stopped you.
A strangely stressed man with a weird scar on the right side of his jaw and cheek, interrupting the growth of his facial hair. His face was contorted into a scowl, his chest heaving just as yours was. You could hear a few more people approaching quickly, and you could only imagine they were a part of the same group the man was. Your wide eyes don’t leave his own.
“Gimme the damn bag,” the man demands. His voice sounding hoarse and breathless as he glares down at you like you were nothing more than scum underneath his boot. Stubbornly, you shake your head. He didn’t like that in the slightest. He crouches down to your height and yanks the collar of your shirt, pulling you face to face with himself.
“I ain’t askin’, brat. Gimme the damn bag or I swear I’ll–” the man is interrupted by another, but you’re too focused on the man grabbing you to look away. The satchel clutched tightly to your boney chest. “Let the boy go, John. He ain’t hurtin’ anyone..” the new man sighs, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder, whom you now know is John.
John looks over his shoulder towards the other man, he looks quite a bit older than John, you note. Reluctantly, John scoffs and lets you go with a shove to your chest, standing back up again and folding his arms over his chest. 
Instead of demanding the satchel from you, the older man digs around in his pocket for a brief moment before pulling out a roll of banknotes. Flipping through them as he counts mentally. Cautiously extending them down to you as if you were rabid. Your eyes flick down to the money, then down to the leather satchel in hand, before up into the old man’s eyes. He looks sincere and gentle. Something you’re quite not used to. Either run the risk of having the satchel be empty and keep it, or take the money from the man and run the risk of passing up a large sum.
You hesitate for a long moment, making the group grow impatient and groan, silently demanding you to make a choice. The man’s gentle gaze never wavers from you, showing you that it’s okay to take your time. Sighing heavily, you tentatively reach up in an attempt to try and take the money from the man, only for him to pull it away from you.
“Satchel first,” he says quietly as he extends his free hand to take it. He was wise, you note. Possibly assuming you would take both and run off. You huff through your nose before roughly setting the satchel into the man’s hand. Grinning warmly, he sets the roll of banknotes down into your lap. “Arthur,” he says gruffly as he stands back up with a small groan. His movements are stiff and uncomfortable, probably due to age. A third man with longer, sandy blond hair– Arthur, snatches his bag out of the older gentleman’s hand, earning a hearty chuckle from the man.
You inspect the roll closely. It’s almost hard to believe he just..offered it to you. No doubt it was to pay you off, but you had never earned anything that wasn’t stolen before. You look back up at the man in confusion as his friends walk back down the street to their horses. Slowly rising to your feet and clasping your new money protectively to your chest. The pockets on your overalls having long fallen off.
“What’s your name, boy?” the man inquires as he looks down at you. Your eyes narrow as you look back up at him. You didn’t trust this in the slightest. People weren’t nice to you, that’s just not how things were. The man sighs and looks over your head to where his group is retreating into the saloon.
“Fine. I’ll start. My name is Hosea Matthews, and you are-?” He, Hosea, trails off. Looking back down at you encouragingly. You grumble strings of profanity under your breath and look away from him, your trust issues on full display. Closing yourself off as you cross your arms over your chest, your money still clutched protectively in one of your hands.
“Y/N..” you mumble, shuffling uncomfortably underneath Hosea’s warm gaze. It felt crushing. Having been left without care or guidance for so long, any sort of kindness was foreign.
“Atta boy!” Hosea praises with a chuckle, slowly reaching forward and ruffling your greasy hair through his bony fingers. You scowl as you stare up at Hosea underneath your eyelashes. “How old’re you, Y/N?” he asks calmly, entirely unfazed by your piercing eyes as he pulls his hand back.
“You ask too many questions, old man.” you bark, taking a step away from Hosea. It’s not that you didn’t want the kindness, far from it actually. You just didn’t know what to do with it. You were never taught proper manners or politeness. No mother to teach you how to read nor write. No father to teach you to hunt nor shoot. It’s always been just you.
Hosea, however, finds great amusement in your outburst. Grinning widely as he takes a knee in front of you, getting down to your eye level. Pressing his palms into the denim of his jeans over his knees.
“Can’t say I disagree with that.” He muses with a chuckle. His eyes flick over your scrawny form entirely. Picking apart your mud and sweat stained shirt, underneath your tattered and torn denim overalls, of which he can only assume used to be blue. He can practically see your bones due to not eating properly, and it only makes him feel sympathetic to you. 
“Listen, kid. You got potential and I know we ain’t exactly..acquainted, so to speak- but what’d you say if i offered you a good meal everyday and a place to sleep?” Hosea asks abruptly, causing you to grow even more confused. What did this guy want from you? There was no way in hell he was just..offering these things to you, right? 
Seeing your reasonable apprehension, he continues. “I can- I can talk to Dutch and get everything situated if you’d like?” he suggests hopefully, to which your eyes widen with a realization. Dutch.. Where have you heard that name before?
“Dutch?” you echo, allowing him to nod in confirmation. “Heard the name before, I reckon? Dutch Van Der Linde?” Hosea inquires, cocking his head to the side as he studies your reaction, a grin playing across his chapped lips.
You swallow thickly and nod hesitantly. Dutch is well known around Saint Denis. Horror stories being told amongst townsfolk of the atrocities their gang has done. In that moment, you felt a mixture of confusion and fear. You regret attempting to steal from an outlaw; from Arthur– known for being so closely tied with Dutch himself. Yet all of this begs the question:
“What do you want with me..?” you mumble, feeling your heart race nervously in his chest. It was strange. Usually, it only beat like that after getting chased by the law. Standing here now, in front of Hosea, you felt a conflicting tsunami of emotions crashing inside you. Beginning to mindlessly fidget with the money in hand.
“Like I said, boy. You got potential to be a fine young man. We could use that around camp, y’know. You’d still have to work like the rest of us, but you’ll be fed ‘n cared for.” Hosea grins, carefully reaching forward and placing a supportive hand onto your shoulder. His thumb gently rubbing over your shoulder.
His touch was foreign to you. His kindness was like no other. You’d never admit it, but for the first time in your life, you felt like you actually had a father. While not trusting this strange, new man entirely, you couldn’t deny the innate curiosity to check out what this “camp” has to offer. Maybe it’d beat living out on the streets, vulnerable to the elements. Tentatively, you nod.
Hosea chuckles as he stands back up straight, his joints audibly cracking with each movement. He moves his hand back into your hair, ruffling it once more before walking off, silently telling you to follow. Walking next to him, you’re nervous and tense– a stark contrast to his calm demeanor, as if he’s done this before.
This was an incredibly stupid idea, you think, one of your most yet. Despite this, you allow him to help you mount his horse. Shifting uncomfortably atop the saddle as he takes his seat right in front of you before taking off. Startled, you wrap your arms around his waist tightly, your cheek pressed against Hosea’s back, earning an amused chuckle from him.
“Scared?” He teases, to which you shake your head subtly. He can feel your racing heartbeat against his back, it’s clear to him you’ve never ridden a horse before. With one hand on the reins, he moves the other down to your arms around his waist. His calloused hand rubbing up and down your forearm soothingly, careful to not nudge your bankrolls and make you think he’s trying to take them back.
The ride from Saint Denis and through some old woods is mostly silent. The various sounds in the surrounding environment is the only thing heard. Sounds of wildlife, occasional gunfire and screams, the horses’ hooves trotting against the dirt path below, paved by the past voyages of many. Taking in the different foliage, you only wish you could keep those flowers burned into your memory forever.
Hosea slows his horse as they approach a small clearing. Grumbling a small “sit tight” as he carefully dismounts his horse, leaving you sat on his saddle in confusion. Your eyes watching over his every move closely. His boots brush aside different weeds and plants until he crouches down, looking over his shoulder towards you.
“You see this, kid?” He chimes as he gestures to a strange plant amidst the rest of the foliage. Having small clusters of red berries over it’s large leaves. Without waiting for your response, he continues. “Ginseng. Good for a buncha shit.” he clarifies confidently. Digging his knee into the dirt as he grabs the plant by the base, attempting to tug it up but with no success.
 Huffing as he pulls his hand back from the plant, digging his thumb into his sore palm as he looks back over his shoulder towards you. Taking the hint, you hop down from Hosea’s horse. Stuffing your money into his saddlebags for safekeeping before shuffling over towards him. 
Crouching down just like Hosea, you wrap your whole hand around the base. Only to have him gently guide your hand down to the very bottom, closest to the roots and the dirt below. With his guidance, you start to tug on it. Your hands shake from the force until eventually, the roots snap free. Sending you backwards and right back down onto your ass in the dirt. 
Looking down at the plant in your, now sore, hand, a satisfied grin spreads across your face. Hosea laughs as he pats your back. “Good job, son! Ain’t seen one that big in a long while” he praises before slowly standing back up, helping you up as well.
It felt..oddly nice. Being called son. Having some sort of father figure in your life. Instead of getting pissed off like you normally would’ve, you can’t help but to share Hosea’s sentiment. You’re proud of yourself. You had never even considered harvesting such things before, as Saint Denis isn’t exactly known for its foliage. Glancing back up towards Hosea brightly, offering him the ginseng plant.
“How’d you know what it- y’know- was.. I guess?” you ask curiously as he takes the plant from you, walking right back over to his horse and placing it into his saddlebags. “Been ‘round quite a long time, kiddo. You learn a couple things over the years.” Hosea responds with a soft chuckle. Briefly inspecting his palm before offering to help you back up onto the horse, which you accept gratefully.
“Can you teach me ‘bout all that stuff, Hosea?” He nods eagerly. It was a hassle trying to teach Arthur about the medicinal value of different herbs and plants. He was glad someone was taking interest in it. He was unsure of just how long he had left, after all. Mounting his horse and sitting in front of you once again as you take off.
It’s a long while until you make it to, what you can only presume is, Hosea’s camp. All sorts of tents, wagons, horses, and people around a large clearing between the trees. Practically starry eyed as you looked over it all. Yet, unfortunately, everyone else didn’t share the same sentiment.
While not stopping their tasks, you could feel their eyes boring holes into your skin, only serving to make you nervous. Following in Hosea’s shadow as you dismount his horse once more. Having him pull out a few strange objects, the ginseng, and your money, before another gang member approaches and takes his horse. The man seemed timid, much like you felt, but you tried to be the strong-headed boy everyone wanted you to be.
Hosea is confident in each and every step. Unwavering under the stares of his colleagues. Marching right up to one of the open tents, with you following behind like a lost puppy. Your eyes flick across the interior as Hosea begins to speak with the man, whom you can only assume to be the owner. Taking in everything you can before you finally look up to meet the man. None other than Dutch Van Der Linde himself.
You could feel yourself shrink in his presence. He wasn’t as scary nor demonic as people made him out to be, but his stature was intimidating no less. You could hear Hosea speaking to him, trying to convince him to let you stay, but his words were jumbled to you. All you can focus on were Dutch’s eyes. It was as if they held no emotion behind them whatsoever. His expression remaining stoic as he looks down towards you, hiding behind Hosea’s leg, before back up to his co-founder. 
Utter silence. You couldn’t tell what was running through the man's head in that moment, but Hosea seemed to be able to read him like a book. The only response Dutch gives is an exasperated “fine,” much to Hosea’s surprise.
Hosea beams as he gently ushers you forth into Dutch’s direct line of sight, his hands gently on your shoulders as if a proud father. You give a sheepish wave with your free hand, your other clutching your roll of banknotes tightly– almost too tightly. Hosea’s hands reassure you slightly, but not enough. He introduces you to both Dutch and anyone around to listen.
As much as they distrust you, some of them can’t help but notice how similar you are to them when they were kids. Namely, John and Arthur. Picked up by Hosea off the streets, introduced to Dutch, and given the closest thing any of them call home.
Naturally, over time, everyone grew closer. No longer suspicious of you being an O’Driscoll in disguise, treating you as one of their own. Learning all sorts of new things from the only man you could ever know as your father, Hosea Matthews.
He would reassure you on those lonesome nights where the thoughts ran rampant through your head. Holding you close to his chest and letting you cry it all out until you, inevitably, fall asleep right in his arms in his bedroll. You were his pride and joy ever since his dear Bessie passed on. He could only focus on giving you the world as much as he was able.
............................................................................................
This ones a long one </3 but I hope you like it :3
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angelltheninth · 6 months
Text
Arthur Morgan Teaches You How to Ride Him
Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader
Tags: nsfw, smut, dick riding, guidance, encouragement, inexperience, age-gap
A/N: Can we all agree that he is the hottest cowboy dilf?
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"You wanna sit on there nice and slow sweetheart. Know you're eager for it but don't hurt yourself now." That was funny coming from the man who was just in a bar fight. You can still see the bruising on his knuckles and see where his lip was split. "Did seeing me fight do it for you? So wet down there, I'm thinking it just might've."
"It's not the fight I promise you." Maybe a little but more of it was Arthur's charm and boldness. And how delicately he treated you. Sure you knew he could give you a rough pounding, enough to potentially break the bed but he was set on teaching you something new today.
Today was a riding lesson. Dick riding to be exact.
You tried to take him in right away, which proved a little painful even with how slick you were. You balanced yourself on your knees above his hips, your pussy touching the red tip of his cock, hands on his chest, feeling the chest hair and the scars from knives and bullets. This sounded much easier then it proved to be when he suggested it.
"I might not be as young as I used to be but I'll still throw my fists for a pretty young lady's honor." Arthur wanted to protect you as much as he wanted to corrupt your mind with all sorts of sinful ideas, such as meeting him night after night, sneaking out just to fuck him, "Besides I reckon none of those wannabe tough guys back there could teach you half the things I know. Ain't that right baby?" His hands pushed you down with the right amount that you felt the pressure, but not enough to bruise as the cockhead pushed just past your entrance. "There we go, right where my cock should be. Now I want you to start rolling your hips downwards, slowly, until you're able to fit the whole thing inside there."
Your hips started moving, breath hitching with every inch of his cock that you managed to take. You've taken it plenty of times in the past but you were never the one on top, and even with this newfound control you had over the movements you thought it better to listen to Arthur's advice then take him all at once. Instead on the feeling of lust you focused on how his cock stretched you open more and more, causing you to tighten and release around him, looking at his smile which grew wider and wider until settling on a permanent grin when you took his whole length.
"Atta girl." With his feet firmly planted on the bed Arthur folded his arms behind his head to enjoy himself to the fullest. "Gotta say I'm real comfy like this."
"Yeah? Am I making you feel good, Arthur?" A big, satisfied smile split across your face. Your hips were still touching him when you tried wiggling around a bit, feeling every inch of his twitching cock, perfectly angled to hit your deepest spots, "Can you tell how good you make me feel too?"
"I'd be worried if I didn't. You're gonna need to go up slowly, repeat the sliding until it goes in smoothly for you, then you can start to pick up the pace. Be sure to keep your balance too, because sometimes," He pushed his hips upwards, making you moan his name along with a deep whimper, "you might get yourself a surprise or two."
Nodding you let his body settle back down and you on top of him again, filled with his cock and the new found confidence that you could make him feel just as good as he made you feel.
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Note
Request : first time holding hands
I’d love to see their reactions 😭
First Time Holding Hands
Short Headcanons || Gender Neutral Language!
Genre: Fluff Featuring: Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Dutch Van Der Linde, Javier Escuella, Charles Smith, Sean MacGuire, and Sadie Adler Warnings: None
AN: A shorter post today! Thank you so much for requesting these were so fun to write I literally love doing cute little moments with these characters ~ I hope I answered the way you meant !! lol I feel like I got a little off track in some ---> Requests are open! Check out guidelines if you have any questions :)
<><><><>
Arthur Morgan:
This man is a nervous wreck around you. Especially when you first start showing feelings for each other.
It took a million years for him to even admit that he was a little sweet on you, he is definitely not initiating anything past that point.
He can barely believe that you like him back.
The first time you grab his hand is not during anything special.
You’re sitting in the front of a wagon with him while on the way into town. The sun is casting a golden sheen across the earth, the air is warm but not hot, and the birds are swooping and playing in the sky overhead.
Without much thought you reach down to where he’s resting his arm on his thigh and envelope his hand with your own.
He tenses up at the contact, scared to make any sudden moves in case he might scare you away.
He doesn’t look at you directly, instead just glancing at you from the side of his eye. He wonders if you meant to do that or if you just did it by accident.
How your hand would end up on his on his thigh he doesn’t know.
When your thumb starts stroking the skin around his knuckle, tough and calloused from a few too many brawls, he starts to melt and relax a little bit.
He flips his hand around, which makes you pull away slightly, and fits his fingers in between yours. That way he’s holding your hand back and it’s a mutual.
There’s a blush on his cheeks and a grin on his lips. Not a word is spoken, but Arthur relishes the comfortable silence as he tries to think of what on earth he could have done to deserve something so perfect - to deserve you.
John Marston:
John is not a touchy-feely kind of guy. Not at first anyways. He doesn’t get what you see in him. He doesn’t understand why of all the men in the world - Hell, all the men in camp - you chose to waste your time with him.
He’s angsty like that.
He knows of your feelings for him and he gave a strong inclination that he might like you back but never confessed anything really. He figured you understood him enough to know.
You did, but he’s hard to read sometimes.
The first time you hold hands, he actually initiates it. You try not to overstep any boundaries with him, so he always has to make the first moves.
While playing a few practice rounds of poker (John is trying to teach you to play/play better), jokes are being thrown back and forth and rocks are being used as chips for show.
When John’s focus is pulled to the cards in his hands, you take the opportunity to try and grab a few rocks from his pile to add to your own as a little joke.
John catches you and places his large hand on top of your own making you freeze. A smug grin is plastered on his face and he doesn’t even look at you before placing his cards down, showing off a winning hand.
“Read ‘em and weep, Darlin’,” He laughs but never removes his hand from yours.
A small blush rises to your cheeks and his gaze falls to your combined hands. He curls his fingers under your own so that he’s fully holding your hand in his.
You try to catch his eye, but he’s so focused on his large, scarred hand covering your softer skin. It eats at him a little; a guilty feeling settles into his chest.
You place your other hand on his cheek and press on it lightly to direct his head to look at you. You smile one of your so-sweet smiles that makes his stomach ache a little with admiration, and he grins.
The two of you sit there for a while and continue trying to play poker each with one hand.
Dutch Van Der Linde:
Dutch has always been really hands-on with you. (Wink Wink)
He’s flamboyant, a show-off, cocky, and passionate. He loves to show you off and show off to everyone that you are his.
The first time he holds your hand, it’s to explicitly show that you are his and he is yours.
Most times after that, when Dutch holds your hand it means that the two of you are connected, not two people but one. Not just a couple but a unit.
He’s dramatic that way.
The very first time he holds your hand is during an argument with Hosea. A few things about camp affairs come up, plans are being thrown around, and Hosea makes a comment suggesting that you don’t need to be there for their conversation.
Dutch glares at the older man and reaches down to grasp your hand in his.
“But Daddy I love him!” Vibes I’m not going to lie.
He stands a little taller now that he’s touching you, it makes him feel stronger and more sure of what he’s saying. He puffs out his chest and looks down his nose at Hosea.
Hosea rolls his eyes a little and puts his hands up in surrender, telling Dutch that he can do what he wants.
When Hosea leaves, Dutch uses your entwined hands to pull you towards his side a little bit and hold you in an embrace.
He calls you his partner in crime, his other half, and a million other sultry things he can think of that causes a heat to rise in your chest.
He doesn’t let you go for the rest of the night after that, choosing to show off to the rest of the gang members that you two belong together and will always be.
Javier Escuella:
Javier values romance in a relationship.
Maybe nothing incredibly grand - but sweet notes, acts of service, small gifts here and there - he likes to show you how much he loves you through actions more than anything else.
All that and more is shown later on in your relationship. At first, though, Javier is more protective than romantic when it comes to you. It keeps him from showing his emotions at times, and makes him oblivious to your feelings other times.
He just doesn’t know what’s too much because he feels a lot of things, but he wonders if showing all that too soon will scare you away. His feelings are so intense that he gets scared away from you sometimes.
The first time he holds your hand is when you knick yourself while trying to do tricks with one of his knives.
You envy the way he’s able to just do the flips and graceful switches with the blades, and even how he can effortlessly play that five-finger-fillet game.
So, naturally, you try to replicate a trick you’ve seen him do a million times and it ends with a little gash on the heel of your palm.
It’s barely bleeding and looks more like a scrape, but as you hiss in pain Javier has forgotten his chore as he rushes to see what you’ve done to yourself.
He tsks at you and gently wraps his fingers around your wrist to get a better look at the wound.
You’ve forgotten the scrape at this point as his touch is sending jolts of adrenaline through your arm and his face is so close to yours you could count his eyelashes if you wanted to.
He doesn’t notice, too busy looking to see if you’ve mortally wounded yourself. When he’s satisfied that you won’t die, he looks up at your face (Which is dark with a blush and you’re trying to avert your gaze from him, but you just can’t).
He doesn’t understand what’s gotten into you until he sees your joined hands and a knowing grin cracks into his face.
“I’ll kiss it, make it better,” He murmurs and presses a slow, tender kiss to the palm of your hand while gazing up into your eyes the entire time.
He knows what he’s doing.
Charles Smith:
I genuinely feel like Charles is the most well rounded of the group when it comes to his emotions and how he conveys what he’s feeling to you.
Communication king for sure.
The first time Charles holds your hand it’s like he’s always done it.
It’s so natural to him that there really is no concrete first time that changed the meaning of your relationship or created some big deal.
Charles isn’t really someone who likes to show off and isn’t into public displays of affection. Brief hugs and hand holding are the only things he can bring himself to do with you if there are other people present.
He likes to hold your hand a lot despite that. Kissing, groping, or anything even a little heated is a big no for him (in private it is another story), so he likes to have your hands intertwined more often than not.
At first he would come up to you and hold his hand out, palm up, with a quirked brow as if asking you to place your hand in his. You oblige, of course, and he would follow you around camp or vice versa.
Now, Charles doesn’t even bother asking before he comes up to you and just grabs your hand whenever he sees you.
There’s no question about it, the two of you are always connected.
If he can see you he is by your side holding on to you.
It’s not possessive (unlike Dutch cough cough), but it’s more for his own comfort. He likes being near you and he likes that you seem to enjoy being near him.
Charles finds his twin flame in you, his other half. Much more than a soulmate, but his person.
Sean MacGuire:
Sean never really knows where the two of you stand in terms of a relationship.
He flirts with you over and over and over again. You laugh and blush occasionally, but end up telling him to shut up and wandering off.
He knows that he can come off as a sarcastic ass, but he didn’t realize that it’s so intense that you can’t even tell that he’s genuinely trying to get you to notice him as more than a friend/fellow gang member.
The thing is, it is hard for you to tell. Sean isn’t known for being the most serious guy in the world and you’ll be damned if you let him make fun of you by flirting with you and making you swoon or something.
The first time you hold hands with Sean is also consequently the first time you see Sean’s feelings for you are genuine, not some trick.
You turn away from Sean after he’s thrown yet another flirty remark at you, but before you even have the chance to mutter “Shut up, MacGuire” He’s shot out and wrapped his fingers around your own in a strong grip. It doesn’t hurt, but you can’t just pull away and tell him to stop messing around.
You turn back and look down at your conjoined hands.
“Please,” He begs and pulls you an inch closer. “Listen to me.”
You can hardly focus on anything but the warmth of his hand in yours and the way it makes your heart swell and tingle.
He explains his feelings for you, every last one of them. Some were a little more explicit and detailed than you expected, but you appreciated the straight forward honesty.
Let’s just say after that conversation the two of you hold hands and more pretty often in the future.
Sadie Adler:
Sadie and you hold hands all the time. She literally cannot tell how you feel about her.
Is this a friendship? Is it more? She has no idea because you’re so comfortable with her that the line between friends and partners is so blurred Sadie isn’t even sure if there was a line to begin with.
One night, you and Sadie are lying outside the tent that you share stargazing. Sadie is telling you what she knows about the stars and you chime in every now and then with your own little details. She loves the excitement in your voice when you remember the story to a constellation or find one that you hadn’t notice last time.
Your bodies are close, but your hands are closer. Lying in the grass, Sadie can feel the heat from your fingers and hers twitch and beg to touch yours.
She’s nervous, though, to take the relationship further. She doesn’t know if she’s ready to admit what she wants.
While she’s debating if it’s worth it, your pinky finger stretches and curls around her own. She audibly gasps at the action and her head whips over to see if you realize what you’re doing.
You’re already gazing at her with soft eyes and a small smile. It makes her bones turn to jelly at the sight and she tries to speak, but the only thing that escapes her mouth are sharp exhales as her words get tangled in her throat.
She tightens her pinky finger around yours, and you understand the meaning behind it.
It was all still confusing, but Sadie knew one thing: Friends don’t look at each other like that.
<><><><>
I love Sadie so much y'all don't even know
Hope you enjoyed!!
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gothicgunslinger · 7 months
Text
being arthur's wife means a whole lotta intimacy. what i mean by that is, cuddles on his cot every night – his arms loose, yet heavy around your waist, his lips not once leaving the nape of your neck; pressing sweet, stubbled kisses as you whimper his name. arthur enjoys the idea of sex being natural to you two, it's never purposefully initiated it just..happens, is lead into. when you whimper, he slips his hand – after, wetting his fingers on your tongue, of course – beneath your underwear. he circles your clit, still kissing your neck, then your ear – murmuring praises, his breath hot, "that's my girl", "my angel", "there's my pretty girl", "such a pretty voice". and, when he slides his cock in, you both simultaneously gasp – going slow, steady, he finds your hands and holds them at your chest. when he's close, "together now, sweetheart, come on..you can do it, angel, come on.." – because, he refuses to come before you do, or without you, and not once has either of those things happened.
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johnpriceslamb · 1 month
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Your writing is so damn sweet I adore it!!
Personally, I’ve got a habit of constantly stealing people’s clothes. So, how about stealing Arthur Morgan’s blouses and shirts? Wearing them and leaving the scent of sweet perfume to linger. Or maybe even rummaging through his wagon, trying to find something to take, yet being caught in the act.
❥ 𝓒 𝓐 𝓤 𝓖 𝓗 𝓣 .ᐟ
˚₊‧꒰ Arthur keeps losing his shirts. ꒱ ‧₊˚
𝐁𝟒 𝐔 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐄𝐃 ! female ! reader . hyper-feminine ! reader . reader is mentioned 2 be physically shorter den him . OOC ! Arthur maybe ? . flufflfufffluff . not proofread nor edited . ~ 500 wrdz .
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“Stealin’ my shirts without my permission, now?”
Your met with a hard chest from behind, breath hitting your sensitive neck. The little hairs on your nape stand from the abrupt sensation of his breathing, effectively giving you goosebumps.
Sweet.. delicate. Must be a new perfume.
He almost groans at how delicious you smelt. His shirt’s gonna hold onto that scent until he’s washed it. He’s almost giddy about it- a real sucker for lovely scents.
A hand comes to travel down your shapely figure up and down a few times, a low hum of approval escaping your beloved’s nose because of the fact that his hand smoothens out his shirt which was quite prone to wrinkles in the way you positioned yourself on the bedroll below- also because you’ve happily invited yourself over to his bedroll.
Did he mind?
Absolutely not.
A sleepy smile is etched on your face, dainty head resting on his chest as your back is snuggled to his front. He lets out a soft grunt at the fact that you backed up into him so eagerly, and he can’t help the soft coo escaping his lips as he pulls the thin blanket over you and him.
You eagerly turn to your side, the bedroll beneath you two sinks just a tad bit- barely noticeable anyway. Big beady eyes stare up at him, tainted with some sort of angelique feature which makes his heart stutter for just a moment. Damn, he fell hard.
The night bedazzles with stars, the only source of light was the moon which shone on your face ever-so prettily. A soft yawn escapes your lips, “Mm.. Missed you.”
“Yeah?” He replies softly, southern drawl escaping so thickly. Cracked lips coming down to press itself on your forehead, “Missed you too, darlin’.”
That silly little smile is on your face again. He feels your hands unconsciously going towards his just to fiddle with his fingers.
“Like my new sleep-wear?” You cheekily gesture to the shirt he owned that was worn by you as some sort of night-gown. A few of the buttons on top weren’t closed, more-so for comfort than the appeal to appearance.
He rolls his eyes, tugging at your hair gently from behind which elicits a tiny giggle from you, “Damn brat, you are.”
“This is the, what? The third shirt you’ve stolen from me?” He grunts.
“Fourth,” You correct him. This earns another tug to your hair.
“Point stands.”
“‘S comfier,” you softly babble, “warmer..”
“I know.” His hand comes to rub at your small back lovingly, enjoying the way you fit into his arms so perfectly. A little doll, you were. Just for him. And only him.
Your beady eyes sleepily stare up at him, “Where were you?” Your simple question provokes a soft hum from him.
“Oh, y’know. Just doin’ the usual. Rode to ‘Denis to pick up something for Dutch- …” He suddenly stops as his eyes track down your figure beneath the blanket. You quirk a brow at his abrupt silence, small hands coming to needily tug at his shirt to get his attention back.
“Are those my damn socks?”
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polakina · 14 days
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how they fuck you
red dead redemption headcanons #2
hc masterlist // masterlist
on my third playthrough of rdr2 and i cannot bring myself to play low honour. why do i put myself through this?
also this is ridiculously long, got a little carried away but i shall not apologise
rating: explicit
-
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is always gentle with you at first
delicate touches, lingering kisses, gazing eyes at your every movement or ministration
"what do you want, mi amor? tell me"
loves to hear you beg for him, want him
it just turns him on even more
dirty talk through the ROOF
this man knows how to talk you through it
"fuck you feel amazing, hermosa. yeah, just like that, huh? anything for you"
will eat you out for days if he could
never really tried it before, even when he lived in Mexico, he never really gave it a go
but with you, he wanted to try everything. whatever you wanted, he was up for it
so when you first asked him, he was nervous as hell, but willing to try
he found out he loved it and does it every single fucking time he had you all to himself
buries himself between your thighs like a man starved, his arms wrapped tightly around your thighs to keep you still
his tongue worked fucking wonders on your pussy, knowing exactly where to focus his attention, loving how you always moaned a little softer when his tongue dipped inside your cunt
fucks you slow, savouring the moment when he can
loves to have you riding him. seeing you on top spurs something inside him
his hands grip your waist fiercely, guiding your hips to grind against him, pulling sweet, elicit moans from your throat
loves to cut your clothes from your body with his knife
it's so much more satisfying than just taking them off with his hands
kinda likes quickies. prefers taking his time but there's something about pulling you away for a few minutes to have his way with you behind the protection of a tree or something that he loves
usually happens out on missions, so there's risk of the gang seeing you guys, but what's life without a little risk?
you could be on watch beside your tent while everyone sleeps, and javier will come over to keep you company
but it doesn't take long for his hand to slip into your pants as he whispers all sorts of things in your ear as he sits behind you while you try and continue your watch duty
was terrible at aftercare before, never really understood the in's and out's of it
but learned eventually with you, when you explained it to him
now he's at your beck and call whenever you need it
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wear this man's hat around camp and that's all he needs to pull you to a secluded tent
but wear it while you fuck him? arthur would die happy in that exact moment
likes to call you 'cowgirl' when you ride him. you always roll your eyes at how stupid it sounds, but it doesn't stop him
the two of you don't have all the time in the world. being one of dutch's most trusted members, he's needed away from camp a lot more than anyone else
so you've both learned the art of being fast
and it doesn't take long for him to make you cum
never asks for them, but loves blowjobs
he likes to draw in his tent when he's got time to himself, so when he sees you come in and sink to your knees in between his lap, he can't think of a better sight
the absolute king of praises (have you heard how he talks to his horse?? imagine him talking to a woman oml)
not a fan of degrading, he never saw the appeal, but uses other methods to 'punish' you
"what do you want, darlin?" he'd say as he's fucking you from behind, your face pressed into the pillow to stifle your moans, your ass in the air held up by his hands on your hips. "oh babygirl, you wanna cum, huh? then you can beg me for it, can't you?"
will edge you for days
especially when he knows he's going to be away for a few days afterwards
definitely grabs the headboard
mainly for his own stability to be able to thrust into you harder as you moan his name into the room
has his hands on you at all times
holding your hands above your head by your wrists, holding your face against the mattress with his hand on the back of your neck, curling his fingers in your hair and gently yanking your head back when he pounds into you
when you do get a night away from camp, he wants to make it last the whole night
takes his time with you to the point where he's practically teasing you for hours
takes his time undressing you, kissing every part of your body, touching every part of you until his fingerprints were practically imprinted into your skin
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give this man some guidance or it's like walking through a maze blindfolded
learned a lot with you
figured out really quick what you liked and what you didn't like, what places he could touch you that would send your head spinning
this eventually led him to learn how to be very sneaky in public
he could touch you in such simple places, in such an innocent way that no one else would think anything of it
but you'd know, and you wouldn't stop it
you like the way he touched your neck? he was all over that shit, cupping your cheek, his fingers tickling your neck
you liked his hands in your hair? his fingers tangled at the base of your neck, pulling your hair slightly to tease you
his hand would rest on your thighs, fingers slowly creeping up your thigh while you were all sat around the campfire
you'd always give him a little glare, which he would ignore, a goofy smirk on his face
and the way he fucked you was no different
he had mastered the art of teasing your body and your limits, and put that knowledge in every time he had you alone
"come on, marston. stop teasin' me like this"
he'd always smirk, working his way down your body in a painfully slowly manner
"i'm takin' my time with you, sweetheart. you just lay back and relax. lemme take care of you"
loved to make you feel good before he even thought about himself
but when he was too pent up, he came a lot quicker than he wanted
but he made up for it when tending to you afterwards until you were practically pushing him away, too sensitive for his expert fingers
not the best at going down on you, but makes up with experience
but what he's really good with is his hands
his fingers
they know exactly what they're doing when he pushes them inside your soaked pussy
curling at that devastating spot inside you that makes you crumble to your knees
loves to be on top of you, seeing your face contort when he pushes inside you slowly, deeply
he's basic, a lover of missionary, but seeing your face and watching your body writhe under his grip is really what turns him on
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Text
[In life you have two paths who you want to become]
Type A Y/N : I like to do illustrations ☺️💕
Type B Y/N : I like to dissect people, did you know I’m utterly insane ☺️💕
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nneedynymph · 2 months
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kissing Arthur would be so lovely. his lips only slightly chapped, rough yet soft and warm, just like the touch of his hands <3 maybe his stubble would tickle n scrape the apples of your cheeks as his slick tongue swipes across your bottom lip. you’re plush as velvet, the cowboys touch grows hungry as his hands grip the fat of of your waist and he pulls you closer. arthur never wants to stop tasting you 💗
decor credit : x • x • x
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svgarwitch · 5 months
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Yall ever just... yearn for a fictional character more than you do for fresh air or food or water?
Why can't they be real? 😭
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ravengards-rogue · 15 days
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i thought of you so often.
arthur morgan x reader.
✧ tags : fem!reader (gendered language, explicit use of she/her in reference to reader), children / planning on children, generally sappiness, fluff, au where nothing bad happens to arthur hdskjsdkfhsj.
✧ wc : 2.4k (???)
✧ a/n : arthur morgan.... save me arthur morgan....also not a super original thought but i can't Stop thinking about it.
✧ synopsis : a collection of love letters, all unfinished, tucked somewhere you aren't meant to find them. oh, arthur loves you more than you knew.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚。⋆
You try to keep out of Arthur's belongings.
He's owed some privacy, for one. More than that, you've never felt any reason to look into it. Arthur isn't a man of many words, though you catch moments of his introspection should you pry. He isn't stoic, neither. And above all things, he's kind. Really truly kind in a way that makes him different from other men.
You don't have any complaints about him is what you mean. Unlike the men you've loved before, there are no short-comings of Arthur that would drive you to wanting to investigate his own personal things. Especially something so personal like his journals, prior or present.
On top of that, you were there with him through everything. You were part of the gang and stayed by him when it all fell apart. It was towards the end of that that Arthur came to you near frenzied, told you his plans, his thoughts. Confided in you and no less than begged to go with him where he ran.
You loved Arthur enough to stay, and so things ended - and you ran. There isn't much his journal could tell that you couldn't surmise on your own.
It's been years now, and you've long since left that life. You live with Arthur quietly, peaceful in the moments with a garden and kitty sweet as sugar.
It's a good life. An honest, quiet one sometimes to the point of being boring. You rarely miss the action, though occasionally you'll take up a bounty just to feel alive and make some money.
Mostly though, you live as unassuming folk. No bloodshed, no wardens, no gunslinging.
Been talk between you both about having a baby, recently. Serious talk. You've made some money between here and there, and you've got a good life. You've traveled too. But it gets a little lonely, and you don't really get your fill with just Jack when John and Abi are ways away.
Before anything like that, though - you need to clear some space. Empty out some belongings and things collecting dust. Living in one place for too long creates all sorts of mess, you find. When Arthur is home to help, he does - but he's been busy lately figuring something out with Charles. Some business venture related to ranching that you know nothing about so far. They'll tell you when its ready.
Usually when you're tidying, you keep to just your things, or your shared things - but Arthur has lived more life than you. It shows in that big closet space filled with nick-knacks he has yet to toss.
You'd mentioned it to him not too long ago and he'd given you permission to go through them.
(A kiss to your forehead from chapped lips and hands holding your waist, Arthur hums in acknowledgement as you ask his permission.
"Ain't nothing I gotta hide from you. Do whatever you need.)
But like you said - you try to keep your nose out of his business if it's not necessary for you to be in it in anyway.
You weren't trying to look through his things, really. You started cleaning, worked your way to that last box. Up on a shelf in his closet, a little too high for you to reach easily. You made a misstep and dropped the damn thing. It barely missed your head as the whole thing fell open, and out came journals and papers and photographs.
You've always known Arthur to be sentimental, so none of it has been particularly surprising. A photo of wolves and him on a horse, the picture from John and Abigail's engagement. Some other scraps of sentimental value.
And then there was a journal. Not Arthur's journal that he's always using, but another you've never seen before. You know Arthur journals, seen the thing plenty though you never look unless he shows you first.
A journal with a dark brown stained leather binding, fallen open and your name scrawled out in pencil lead at the top of it.
The curiosity got the better of you, okay? Not your damn fault.
So you're thinking on it.
The fabric of your skirt is pooled out underneath you as you hold the thing in your hands, sitting down on the ground surrounded by things. You've stowed away everything else that fell out from the box after ensuring it was intact, including Arthur's journals. Everything with the exception of the one you're holding.
Some guilt eats at you. You don't wanna upset him potentially by having looked. Even if he gave you permission, looking in the damn thing is a little different. But your name was there so clearly, and well - you didn't think he wrote about you. Apart from here and there, maybe.
You hold the book out in front of you with a sigh, looking fondly at his name ingrained in the leather. You press your forehead against it with, resigning yourself completely.
"Lord forgive my pryin'," You mumble, hoping it's enough to absolve you.
Your heart feels funny as you let your fingers trace over the hard edge of the front cover, one eye shut as you start to open it slow.
The first few pages are nothing special.
A page outlining who the journal belongs to and when it was started, and some doodles of yarrow and oleander. The pages after that filled with mundane entries. About people he met or things he saw, all endearing to you. The corners of your lips tug up slightly.
You really love this man helplessly.
You flip through a few more pages, many of them blank before writing starts to appear again. Little by little, you find passages. You look to the dates up at the corner (though not all of them have one) and trace the timeline. This is from all the way back in Horseshoe Overlook.
It feels like ages ago now.
You look at a page with no date, and reading the writing in it. There's doodles of flowers and trees along the bottom of the page. The words are easy enough to make out - because Arthur has the most unusually beautiful handwriting.
There's some entries about you. At first, they all include your name in some context. Mentioned in the same way Arthur might mention Hosea or Abigail. The further you go, the less you see it. The more you become her and she.
It's a trend. The longer you read, the less there is about anyone else. Just you and all your silly idiosyncrasies tucked between pages. Something lovestruck and foolish lights its match in you.
Saw a body hanging at the tracks at Valentine. A gruesome sight. I told her about it and she laughed. Asked me to take her to see it. A strange woman, by all accounts.
You feel yourself smile a little as you continue to flip through the pages.
She joined me riding into town today. Said she had some business to attend but would not tell me any details. After, she came with me to purchase a new gun. I engraved a snake into it's handle, per her request.
Another few pages littered with drawings of delicate berries and waterfalls before you stumble across more writing. The more you flip, the longer the passages become you.
You can't tear your eyes away.
Rained today. Nothing too terrible or worth mentioning, except that she nearly caught a cold playing in it. I brought her coffee to keep her warm, but could not scold her further upon seeing her delight.
Another passage, this time written with messier hand writing. A coffee stain splatters on the white of the page.
Your heart tugs on itself. Swells about a thousand sizes. To think he wrote so much of your time together between these pages.
You read and read and read - and each passage is a little more mundane at the last. Some pages go on in vivid detail, but others are so short you aren't sure what to make of the fact he wrote them at all. As if such little details were important enough to keep in mind.
I picked a flower for her. I thought it would suit her taste. It was white with delicate petals. I did not know the name.
She wore it in her hair this evening. I find I can't stop grinning.
One passage on the next few pages, longer than the rest, catches your eye. From later in your time together, written when you were in Leymone. Near Scarlett Meadows and before the mess in Saint Denis.
After Arthur had been kidnapped.
I have gone on and on about the business with Colm O'Driscoll in many entries before this one. Yet, I find it difficult to forget. Many times I have come close to death, and still no experience lingers on my mind quite like this one. Everyone has done their best to look after me. For that I am grateful, though I do not care for being looked after. What use am I like this, I wonder? Perhaps, I should simply be grateful to be alive and in one piece, if a little uglier than I was. Alongside Miss Grimshaw and Miss Tilly, she has been by my side while I recovered. Such a carefree woman and yet I have seen her cry and weep over me countless times in the last few weeks alone. The decent man in me is apologetic for causing sorrow. Perhaps, it is the outlaw in me that feels some strange relief or satisfaction. Her fussing does not give me any grief. If anything, I find myself all the more endeared. Such a decent woman does not belong in a place like this. I hope she is able to go somewhere far away and live peacefully. I am not so shameless to want anything more. The time together we have spent, I will make sure to cherish.
Something painful and pitiful tugs at your heart. Even when Arthur admitted his feelings for you, he had started it on a similar tangent. You tell him often that you're the one who feels out of bounds with him. That a man as decent and as honest as him often feels like too much for you to have so easily.
A tear slips from your eye and you laugh at your own sentimentality, wiping it away before it can splatter onto the pages.
The further you read, the more sporadic entries become. You find that there are pages filled with sketches of you, but many of them are scratched out or half erased - like he did not find them good enough. Of your side profile, of your hands, of you pointing at a target with a gun. You feel a strange feeling of love wash over you.
Instead of concrete thoughts, you're met with Arthur's abstract. Subtle complexities and studies. There's honest tenderness in the way he sketches you and the words he chooses to caption each with. Lighter, thinner lines. Smaller doodles like stray daydreams caught onto a page.
You've never doubted Arthur in his love for you, quiet man he is - but it proves to overwhelm when presented to you in such a way.
You get to back pages. There, you're finally met with more writing. Except, instead of journal entries, there's the start of letters. You find your name at the top of the page.
Over and over. Love letters, all unfinished or scrapped. Written over and over and over, but not completed. There's tens of them at least. You've never received a love letter from Arthur before, though it's nothing you fault him for.
Now you're almost glad. You like this much better.
My darling girl My muse The better half of me, I must find some way to tell you all of what I think of you. It seems no words do it justice, I'm afraid. Still, it is in my best interest to try.
Damn that man.
When you find yourself starting to weep, you don't fight the feeling. You merely shut the book closed and set it in your lap before crying into your hands.
Such overwhelmingly happy tears. You feel off balance. If the whole world turned on its head this very minute, you're unsure you'd notice. What a decent, honest man you've come to love. What a tender one.
In the middle of your crying, you don't hear the door open or close. Nor do you hear Arthur's heavy footfall until he's in the doorway, with a voice worried half to death.
"Sweetheart, what in the hell?"
You turn your head to look at him, watching his eyes widen at your tear stained face. You clamber to your feet hurriedly, book dropping onto the ground next to you as you throw yourself at him as soon as you can.
Arthur is a steady enough man not to stumble when you do, though you can feel his apprehension. Eventually, he circles his arms around your waist. His hugs are strong. Bout strong as him and then some. An arm wrapped around your waist, the other crossed over your back all around your shoulder. Full pressure as he squeezes you tight, patting the back of your head.
"I leave you alone for a few hours. What has gotten into you, little lady?"
You pull back and and look at him, wet lashes and all, before leaning up to kiss him. Arthur meets your lips chastely at first before making a noise of surprise as you kiss him further. You use both hands to grab his face as you do, scruff scratching against your skin. His lips are soft, welcoming. He melts into the touch, so easily - blue eyes lovestruck as you pull away.
"You know I love you, don't you Arthur? More than anyone in this crazy world we live in,"
His face softens visibly. He smiles at you, touching his head to yours.
"Somehow, I do. Though, I'm wonderin' what the hell brought this on."
You tuck your face against his chest, feeling his laughter reverb through you at the way you cling to him so fervently. You sniffle as you talk.
"Found your journal. The one about me,"
He goes stiff, then silent. When you look up again, he's blushing red. He pinches his brow.
"Lord, I'd forgotten all about it,"
You shake your head.
"Ain't nothing for you to be embarrassed about. You are so wonderful,"
He pouts at you. Your heart swells. "You ain't helping with the embarrassment."
You hold him further. Hug him so tight, worried he'll disappear if you don't.
"I love you, Arthur."
"You already told me once, didn'tcha?"
"And I'll tell you one thousand times over," You emphasize, pouting at him. "Really. I love you,"
"I love you too sweetheart," His hand cups your face, thumb brushing along your waterline. "Don't cry no more. Spoils that pretty face."
"I'll try but I don't know if it's all out of me,"
Arthur laughs, pressing a kiss against your hairline. "Guess I'll just have to wipe your tears."
.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚。⋆
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borzoia · 2 months
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Save a horse-- Ride a Cowboy!
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Arthur Morgan x f!reader Includes; PIV, cowgirl position, drinking, consensually fucking under the influence. MDNI
A/N; My take on the save a horse ride a cowboy trend.
It was a summer night, the saloon was packed with loud mouthed men drinking enough liquor to kill a boar. Ladies were scattered across the bar waiting for a sober(ish) man to swoop them off. Standing beside your two friends you swayed side to side, your shoes were definitely not made to stand for this long. Ignoring the nonsensical chatter of the girls beside you, you notice a familiar face– Arthur.
Arthur and you had a short history, when your horse escaped from your family’s barn he was quick to chase her down and bring her back seemingly calmer than when she ran. He’d help with you little favors from time to time, you’d repay him with homemade sweets and some liquor. He’d never stayed long than a few hours at a time, keeping the conversation simple as he let you talk most of the time. He was a sweetheart whether he’d like to admit it or not, but you could never quite get him to crack his shell.
You push past a few drunks who have no spatial awareness and stand behind Arthur, he’s rambling about some big bust he had with him and his gang, wordlessly you pluck the cowboy hat on his head, placing it on your own. He turns around with a glare that could kill but his face softens when he recognizes it’s you, he lets out a low laugh, quickly snatching the hat back.
You hop on the bar stool next to him, “Someone’s ready for a fight.” You remark. “Always.” He says slyly, throwing back what’s left in his glass. The rowdy group next to him laughs wickedly, playfully roughing him up, “You gon’ take that cowboy?” They tease, Arthur ignores them for the most part. “C’mon Arthur! Save a horse ride-”
Arthur slams the empty glass on the bar, “Hush now!” He growls, the men erupt in laughter unphased by the man’s outburst. “Bunch o’ children..”
Eventually they sulk away, going off to harass another bystander. You and Arthur get to chatting, you bring up his horse and he happily updates you on his well-being, he’s opening up more than usual, going on about the mini adventures he has in his day to day life, the little feud’s he gets into with the gang. He swears he’s no poet and even stops himself mid sentence to reiterate that, in your opinion he has a beautiful way with his words not in the fancy way, but he keeps your attention like no one else. “Them boys earlier..”  You start,
“Awh, they ain’t worth a breath.” He says. “So you know 'em?” You reply.
“Drinkin’ buddies, that’s all.” “They got you riled up with that ‘Save a horse’ crap.” You comment, he lets out a gruff laugh. “You know what that means?” He glances at you without lifting his head. You shake your head, sipping your whiskey, He laughs again the time avoiding your gaze. “What?” He ignores you, “C’mon, I ain’t a little girl!” You say, which only eggs him on, he finishes the bottle in his hand, shaking his head as the bottle slams down. “I ain’t your teacher.” He rasps, bringing his elbows to rest up on the counter. “Please!” You beg, shaking him lightly, “Thought you wasn’t a little girl?” He snapped. You roll your eyes, a dull silence falls between you, you turn away, observing the crowd of men and women dancing, laughing and drinking, you turn back to Arthur with a smirk, plucking the hat off his head once more and wearing it, he turns to snatch back but you leap from your seat, walking backwards with a wide grin. He’s pissed, you push past the crowds of drunks, til you hit the saloon doors, drunkenly you forget about the steps and nearly tumble down them, Arthur snatches your wrist, “Watch it, girl.” He scowls, he pulls you back up to the porch dragging you away from the few onlookers outside. “Sorry,” You mumble stumbling into the wooden railing. “You’re alright.” He says. “Why won’t you just tell me already?” Arthur sighs, readjusting his posture and hanging one hand on his belt. “It’s dirty.” He says quietly. “‘Save a horse– Ride a cowboy.” He says, your eyes widen a bit, the hat now loosely on your head. “I ain’t that kinda man,” He looks to the side, maybe it was the liquor or lack of people– but you laughed, in his face. “‘What you got hidin’ under that skirt for me?’” You mock his voice, leaning into him as you laugh, “Arthur you are a filthy man don’t lie.” “Watch your mouth.” He barks.
“Or what?” You retort.
He sighs loudly, chewing the inside of his cheek, you could see the moment on his face where he thought ‘Fuck it.’ He grabs your forearm, dragging you down the saloon steps, he knew the route to your apartment, hell he had an extra key, he crashed into your living room, slamming the door behind you two.
Before you knew it his mouth was on you, rough beard scratching your face, he pulls away, “where we goin’?” He rasps, “I don’t care,” you huff, “I need you.” He laughs against your lips, “And I’m filthy,’ he says before closing the gap, he guides you to the couch, laying you down gently, he next moves were the opposite, a rough hand find your waist, the other pushing up your skirt, massaging your thighs, but not daring to go any further. Your uncoordinated hands work to unbutton your blouse, there’s unexplainable heat beneath your skin and Arthur’s hands are ice cold, “Tell me to stop and I will.” He says in between kisses, “Don’t.” You exhale. Your words are a green light for him, he moves down to your neck placing open mouthed kisses down your soft skin, your hands get entangled in his brunette hair, soft gasps leaving your mouth, he palms one breast through your bra, tugging the strap down on the other side, he places soft kisses on your bare chest while the other hand roughly gropes you, the contrast was enough to make you whimper. 
His rough touch leaves you for a moment, moving to undo your bra with one hand, he tugs the fabric off of you, sitting back to admire your bare chest, “Look at you,” He remarks, you whine, dragging his hands back to your aching body. “Easy girl, you’ll have your turn.” He chuckles, undoing his belt and discarding it somewhere in the room, he unsheathed his cock, you immediately reach for it like your greedy, “Ah-ah, hands to yerself.”  he strokes himself for a measure, fondling your chest with his free hand. He lowers himself, pushing your boobs together and slotting himself between him, he grabs your wrists, pinning them on the arm of the sofa with one hand, with every thrust he lets out a low groan, using you as he pleases. “Fuck..” He moans as you arch your back closer to him, your chaste whimpers and whines are like music to his ears bringing him closer and closer to the edge. Suddenly he pulls away leaving your chest covered in precum.
Wordlessly he hooks his fingers around the hem of your skirt, pulling the garment down in one fell swoop, again he tosses it with no regard. He wraps his hands around your waist, flipping you over so you're on top, he lets you get comfy atop his hard cock, slowly rocking your hips back and forth. “Thatta’ girl..” He praises, slowly pushing your panties to the side, “C’mere girl,” He pulls you close, your chest to his, he places kisses on your collarbone as he slides inside your dripping core, you whine at the stretch, “Sh.. shh.. That’s it..” He lets you sit up at your own pace, guiding you into a slow rhythm, “Just like that, sweetheart.” His hands leave you to rest behind his head, giving you full control.
With a hand on the couch you steady yourself, keeping the slow pace, despite your inexperience you’ve heard plenty of talk on how to please a man, you grind your hips against his before lifting up and slowly coming back down, his tip is bruising your cervix even at the turtle tempo. Arthur takes the hat from his head, placing it on yours as you continue to ride him, it gives you a new filled confidence, you speed up, boobs bouncing as your hips slam down. Your moans bounce off the walls and you’re sure your neighbors can hear but god you’re drunk on his cock, Arthur throws his head back as your speed up, clenching around him when you hear his breathy groans, “Fuck..!” He moans, his half lidded glossy eyes meet yours and he snaps, “C’mere.” he says, pulling you close once more, he grips your ass and mercilessly pounds into you, fucking every sweet sound possible out of you, you repeat his name like prayer as the thread inside you snaps, your fingers tangled in his hair as you cum. His pace doesn’t relent, “Just a little longer sweetheart..” He breathily groans in your ear, pumping in and out of your cunt slower til pulls out and finishes. For a few minutes the two of you lay in silence, breathing heavily as you recuperate, you’re the first to break the silence. “You.. are a filthy man Mister. Morgan..” You pant, “Don’t sound like a complaint to me, cowgirl.”
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grave-z-boy · 8 months
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Sharing clothes with Arthur Morgan
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Paring: Arthur Morgan x male!reader
Warning: sex mentioned a few times.
Summary: Very short headcanons about sharing clothes with Arthur
Masterlist
It started with you borrowing his shirt.
Back before you were really dating and more so just fucking, you'd done it of accident
You'd nearly forgotten about the man you'd brought home, rolling out of bed and picking up the first shirt you saw on the floor.
Forgoing any other clothes and heading to the kitchen to cook, only to be forcefully spun around a few minutes later by a mildly possessive Arthur.
“That's my shirt.”
“I'm borrowin’ it, you can have it back in a minute.”
When you turned back around you could still feel his presence behind you, and see his hands caging you against the counter in front of you.
“Looks good on you..” he hummed out, sleep still evident in his voice.
You smiled to yourself but eventually had to break away from him to continue preparing breakfast.
As your casual fucking turned into dating your habit of wearing his clothes increased.
Stealing his hat straight off his head, then disappearing on a hunt for days.
“Accidentally” washing your clothes together and claiming what's his was yours.
Wearing his spare coat during the winter seasons.
Complimenting him on his clothes only to steal them later.
Buying him new clothes that you knew would end up back with you eventually.
Arthur isn't completely innocent either.
He's a clothes thief too, thought he might not be as conniving as you were when it came to this particular area of theft.
He’ll purposefully steal your clothes after sex, you hardly even realize it until you see him walking around camp wearing them.
Getting confused as to who clothes are what.
“That’s my shirt!”
“It was mine first!”
Your clothes eventually become a giant mixing pot of both of your things until it is impossible to tell what used to belong to who.
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angelltheninth · 9 days
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Intimate moments #3: whuspering to each other with Arthur from RDR2? I loved thst little smut blurb you did for him.
Arthur is the kind of man anyone wants. Evidence: me.
Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader
Tags: fluff, developing relationship, whispering, flirting, secret relationship, almost kiss
A/N: Remember to reblog and comment to support writers. Also I'm taking commissions right now so DM me if you're interested.
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3. Whispering to each other
Arthur sat alone most of the time when he visited your saloon, or suppose it was your dad's but these days you ran it more than him. He preferred to stay behind the counter, pouring drinks and making small talk. It was up to you to go from table to table and Arthur's was always your favorite.
The gunslinger kept to himself most of the time, only getting involved when the situation called for it. Which in your small town wasn't often.
"It's why I like it here. A man can finally relax and put his feet up." He smirked from his chair, leaning far back on it, one leg propped up on the empty chair next to him.
"You know I like your company Arthur but if I see you putting your filthy, dusty boots on one of my tables you'll be the one cleaning them all night." You playfully pushed his foot back down as you set a full glass in front of him.
He laughed in a way he knew would attract attention. Specifically... "Yer dad's lookin' this way again missy."
You knew he would. Your old man didn't hate Arthur of course but he had a mild fatherly distain toward any man who spent a lot of time with you. So naturally you were attracted to Arthur even more, with his soft eyes and charming grin and adventurous spirit.
As you bent forward to wipe down the table you leaned in a bit too much, Arthur's eyes flickering down for a moment. "Is he looking?" You asked in a hush tone.
"Yeah. Your dad looks like he's tryin' to kill me right now." He didn't seem to scared of that threat. He's outrun many dangers, angry fathers were the least of them. "Does he know about... our outings?"
"I suspect that he suspects." You smiled knowingly as he tried to kiss you. In response you grabbed his hat and pushed it into his face. "If you want a kiss you have to be alive to get it."
"I can do that. Same time tonight?" He whispered, his hat further muffling his words against the noisy backdrop of the saloon.
"I'll be there." Dating Arthur in secret was by far the most exciting thing that's happened to you. The fact that it drives your overprotective dad crazy is an added bonus. You're pretty sure he'll come around soon, Arthur's charms have a way to making people like him.
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do you have any headcanons for arguing and making up? i’m a slut for angst with comfort 🙈
Making Up After a Fight
Gender Neutral Language!
Genre: slight angst, fluff Featuring: Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Dutch Van Der Linde, Javier Escuella, Charles Smith, and Sean MacGuire Warnings: Dutch is kind of toxic | Not edited
AN: Sorry it took me so long to get these written! I went through some nasty writer's block and decided to play the game a little to help out but all that did was distract me for a week. This is definitely pretty roughly written - I'm also a huge slut for angst with comfort, though, so I hope you like these! <3 ---> Requests are open! Check out guidelines if you have any questions
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Arthur Morgan:
Arthur gets frustrated easily when he feels like he’s not being listened to or understood. It’s not really anyone’s fault, but his emotions can get the better of him and he’ll say something that he doesn’t mean.
“You got bait for brains or are you just being an idiot for fun?” (or something like that)
You know in the back of your head that he doesn’t mean it, and he regrets it the second the syllables bounce off his lips. Your brain can know something but your heart will still hurt all the same.
Usually when Arthur is getting too big for his britches with you, you can shut him down and put him in his place. It’s something he highly respects about you - not putting up with his bullshit when he gets like that. Sometimes, though, your eyes will start to water and you can’t say anything without feeling a lump in your throat constricting your vocal chords.
You have to turn and walk away or else you’ll cry in front of him. That would just make everything worse.
Seeing your form retreating, knowing that you’re running off because you’re hurt rather than angry, made Arthur’s chest grow heavy with guilt. His first instinct is to follow after you and hold you until you’re feeling better.
But since he’s the one who hurt you, he just lets you walk away and he goes to pout since he thinks he deserves to be outcast for a little while.
He’ll give you as much space as he can bear, avoid you for an hour maybe two, but he comes crawling back with those puppy dog eyes and a singular wild flower in his fist.
He’ll go to his cot where you’re sitting with his hat in your lap. You stopped being upset five or ten minutes after the argument. Once you took a few deep breaths you understand, but you also had to understand that Arthur would come back to you after he was done punishing himself.
So you waited.
When you saw him approach with that sheepish expression and slouched posture your heart bled for him. He was a brute and an ass at times, but he meant well.
“’M’sorry, Darlin’,” He’d mumble and get on his knees in front of you. “I didn’t mean it, I never mean it.”
He places the flower in your lap by his hat and gazes up at you. His hair is long and falling in front of his eyes a little, so you brush the strands away from his forehead to get a better look at him.
His blue eyes are a little red and there’s a deep crease in his forehead from an hour or so of constant worrying.
“You can be so mean sometimes, Arthur Morgan,” You scold him lightly and he sighs, nodding.
“I know.”
He spends the rest of the week making it up to you. Truly it doesn’t matter exactly what was said or what the argument was about, when you are truly hurt by his words/actions it kills him. He’ll punish himself for a bit then come back ready to spoil you with words, presents, kisses, and anything else you could possibly ask for.
John Marston:
He’s constantly arguing with you about something. A lot of the time he just picks at you to get a rise out of you - he thinks it’s funny.
Things can get out of hand quickly with him if he grates on a nerve of yours and you bite back though. His first instinct is to give a smartass retort and it just spirals into a full-blown fight from there.
“John Marston you are a pig!”
You storm off and hide in your tent for a while. He’s just standing there dumbfounded. He starts asking himself why he let it get to that point, why did he have to open his big ol’ mouth and antagonize you?
He tries to get you to talk to him, he’ll pace in front of the tent and start calling your name nicely. He won’t ever open the flap though, he doesn’t want to invade your space and risk riling you up anymore.
When you ignore him he’ll eventually get the hint and wander off.
He tries to figure out something to do while he thinks about how to make it up to you. He offers to help Arthur out with any bounty hunts or little jobs, he’ll offer to take Bill or Lenny into town, or he’ll just pick up extra shifts of being on lookout for the camp.
When you finally come out he has to restrain the urge to run to you and scoop you up, demanding that you forgive him so that he can stop pouting.
He does drop whatever it is he’s doing to approach you and makes small talk to test the waters.
“How are you?”
“Fine, John.”
“That’s good… You still mad at me?”
You roll your eyes and try to walk away, but he shoots out and grabs your hand before you can get too far. He doesn’t hold you tightly; his fingers gently encase your own, if you wanted to leave you could easily. But, you falter with your back turned to him and wait for him to speak.
“I’m sorry, really. You know I’m an idiot.” He’s practically whining as he says it, begging for you to look at him.
You turn your head slightly to give him a side glare. At first, the sight makes his heart drop into his feet and he thinks he really screwed up this time, but when a small smirk starts to quirk the corner of your mouth upwards he lets out a low sigh.
“You are cruel,” He chuckles and tightens his grip as he pulls you into his arms and wraps you up in a bear hug.
Your laughs are loud and genuine as he twirls you around, pressing chaste kisses to your cheeks as he does so. Your voices echo throughout the camp once again.
Everyone in camp knows what’s going on with you and John whether you’re fighting or making up, your business is everyone else’s.
Dutch Van Der Linde:
I want to start out by saying Dutch never actually apologizes when you two fight. He’ll buy gifts, say pretty words, whisper sweet nothings, and all the like, but the words “I’m sorry” have never left that man’s lips in his entire life. He will not start now.
Dutch’s obsession with the O’Driscoll’s can cloud his judgment on many things, it makes him blind to reason. Further than that, it makes him hateful and sometimes just plain mean.
He trusts you, he loves you. So, you’re stuck listening to his plans and his grievances with the gang, the law, the O’Driscoll’s, and any other misfortune he has had to endure in his life.
He’ll go on and on, plotting, groaning, whining. One night, after being sat on his cot for hours, you’ve had enough. You beg him to do anything but complain and come up with a half-brained plan to get rich quick.
It hits a nerve and he blows a fuse.
“You don’t understand what’s at stake, do you?” He’s practically yelling. “It’s so easy for you - I spoil you!”
You’re stunned into silence as he shouts at you. You didn’t expect him to blow up.
“Get out of my tent, get out of my sight!” He sends you away. In a daze you stumble out of the tent and into the dark camp.
There’s a few people still up wandering around. Mary-Beth is singing by the fire and Kieran is trying to sing with her, but doesn’t really know the words. Your feet start moving on their own and you take a seat across from the two at the fire.
“What’s going on, gunslinger?” Karen shuffles to a seat beside you and settles down. Mary-Beth’s singing falters for a minute but she continues on, just quieter.
“Dutch is pissed.” You mumble, staring into the flames.
“When is he not? Have a drink,” Karen shoves a bottle of beer into your hand and watches as you take a long swig. She continues, “Have some fun without him for once.”
The night takes a turn from there. You sing and dance and laugh. A few more people join in until it’s gone from moping around the fire to a proper party around it. Javier even brings out the guitar. The noise is enough to draw Dutch from the dark hole in his tent to see what’s going on.
When he sees you, the tears on your cheeks have dried and your face is flushed from the drinks, he can’t help but feel a little guilty. To him, afterall, you were just naive. You didn’t understand what was truly going on in the camp, didn’t understand his plans.
He creeps out of the tent and sneaks up behind you as you’re dancing along to Javier and Mary-Beth. When a pair of arms wraps around your waist, you let out a little squeal.
Dutch spins you around so that you’re facing him, your bodies pressed flush together causing a heat to flare in your stomach.
“My beautiful dancer,” Dutch mumbles and presses a soft kiss to your lips. You don’t fight, don’t ask any questions. You’re just happy that he seems to be sorry for what he did. He’s holding you after all of that, kissing you. He must be sorry, and so are you.
When he pulls back you gaze at him with half-lidded eyes. “I’m sorry, Dutch.” You whisper.
“Hush now,” He starts swaying as he holds you, leading you into a dance.
Your fight is practically forgotten by the end of the night. In the early hours of the morning, everyone is stumbling back to their respective beds. Stomachs are full and heads will be aching come noon, but to you it was all worth it. So long as you and Dutch aren’t fighting anymore.
Javier Escuella:
He hates fighting. I mean not in general, but just with you.
He won’t allow himself to be taken advantage of or walked all over, but if there’s some stupid argument that’s making you mad he will roll over and apologize. Just to keep the peace.
He loves you more than he loves being right, and if it makes you happy to just admit that then so be it.
When y’all do fight, though, it’s over something big. Stupid quarrels are so rare that the first time anyone catches wind that the two of you had a falling out it shocks half the camp to the core.
Javier would only truly get upset with you in a life or death situation. Like when you decided to not tell anyone you were heading into town really quick and met a few O’Driscoll’s in the general store.
When you saw them you recognized them as few that had gotten into a fight with Javier in town a few weeks ago. Javier let them walk away to save face, there was a large group of witnesses that would have pretty much guaranteed him an execution if he had taken their lives.
Your heart skipped a beat as one of them turned to look at you, but they left shortly after you entered the store and you prayed that would be the end of it.
After you finished at the store, though, you walked through the door to find the three men standing in the road before you. Their arms were folded across their chests and their legs spread in a dominant stance.
You clutched the items you bought to your chest and tried walking away from the trio, but one of them called out and made you stop in your tracks.
“You’re one of Dutch’s people ain’t you?” The tallest one said. It wasn’t really a question, he knew who you were.
“And what’s it to you, mister?” You shot back, reaching for the dagger in your belt.
“I’ve got a few questions for you about your boss.” The three of them started moving towards you. They surrounded you and backed you to the wall of the general store. You whipped out your dagger to tell them to back off, but it wouldn’t do much against three of them - you knew that and so did they.
The only reason you had made it out of that situation without even a scratch was because Arthur happened to be riding through town on his way back to camp and noticed the commotion.
He brought you back to camp, and that’s where you saw Javier standing at your cot with this arms crossed and a scowl darkening his features.
“What the hell were you thinking?” He practically shouts at you.
You didn’t mean to, you held them back as long as you could, but tears start flowing freely down your face in large, hot drops.
Javier’s scowl disappears almost immediately. He didn’t expect you to cry. Maybe yell back or explain yourself, but not cry. He drops his arms and grabs both of your hands in his.
“Are you okay?” His voice is low and laced with worry. Arthur got to him first and told him what happened briefly, so he knew you weren’t physically hurt, but other than that he didn’t know what happened.
“They surrounded me. I was - I was so scared, Javier.” Your throat was thick and it was hard to speak. Javier embraced you, rubbing your back and holding the back of your head as you cried harder into his shoulder.
“You’re safe now,” He assures you and presses soft kisses into your hair.
He spends the next few days feeling guilty for being mad at first.
You tell him you understand his reaction and that you were sorry,but he just says sorry back to you and claims he shouldn’t have been angry when you were scared.
You’re both equally sorry, I guess.
After that, though, Javier refuses to let you go anywhere alone. You don’t have to go with him but you have to have a traveling buddy in case anything like that happens again.
Charles Smith:
Doesn’t fight with anyone, really.
Sure, you can get mad at him and yell and hold a grudge, but he just lets you figure your emotions out from afar if that’s what you need. He gives you space when you need it, attention when you want it, and does anything that he can for you.
He loves you more than anything in the world, so when you’re mad at him it eats away at his insides until you make up. He’s literally the consent king, though, and will wait for you to come to him before he initiates anything.
It feels like he doesn’t care sometimes. It drives you crazy that he doesn’t chase after you and try to make up with you then and there or rectify the situation immediately, which turns into another argument.
“Do you even give a shit what I feel?” You frown at him one morning after a small argument that he just brushed off from the night before. He assumed since you slept with him in his bedroll, that meant you were over it.
“I love you! What are you talking about?” He rubs at the little stubble on his chin in exasperation.
“You never listen you just say ‘okay’ and move on. You don’t learn that way, Charles. You roll over and the same thing will keep happening because you aren’t listening.” You try to explain yourself. Charles nods but you can’t tell if he actually gets what you’re trying to convey since he never acknowledges it more than that.
You sigh and get up.
“I need a minute, come talk to me when you can.” You walk away from him and towards Miss Grimshaw doing the laundry.
Charles just stays where he is and lets out a long deep sigh. He thought it would be better for him to just agree with you, it would make you happy to be agreed with rather than continuing to fight over something so trivial.
He hasn’t been with the group for a super long time, but he’s created a strong bond with Arthur. So, that’s who he goes to to ask for advice on the whole situation.
Charles relays as much as he can back to Arthur and the cowboy just starts to chuckle at the absurdity of the conversation. He’s used to people coming to him for advice (he doesn’t really get why), but the situation with you and Charles came out of nowhere for him. He didn’t realize you two fought ever.
“No relationship is perfect, Charles.” Arthur suggests.
That’s literally no help to him so Charles walks off and tries thinking what to do. He comes up with nothing, though. Which makes him frustrated.
He starts walking towards you. You look up and see his determined face and scrunched brow and excuse yourself to meet him halfway.
“We need to talk.” He says, his words are intense but his gaze is still soft. You aren’t scared of him anyways.
“I think we do.” You reply and follow him to a private area right outside of camp.
The whole time he goes off about how he doesn’t get what you want from him. What you expect him to do or say when you get mad or annoyed.
“I just want to know you care about me and my emotions.”
“Dear, I care about you more than anything in the world. More than life itself, why do you question it?” He’s basically pleading with you to understand him, to finally see that just because he isn’t as forward with every single thought (good or bad) on his mind doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about you or your emotions.
It takes little to no time for you to throw your arms around him in an embrace and mumble an apology into his hair.
Even your big fights aren’t really fights.
Sean MacGuire:
Sean does stupid stuff all the time. Literally he does stupid stuff more often than he does anything smart.
Especially when he’s drunk.
One night a small group of some of the gang decided to head into the saloon in town for a drinks for the night. You and Sean were always up for a good time and tagged along - obviously.
It presented opportunity for a little pickpocketing as well (if you didn’t get too drunk and sloppy to do it).
Everything went well for the first hour. Drinks were shared among the group and laughs were bellowing through the air with a contagious warmth. Better yet, no one seemed to be testing the waters and starting a bar fight.
Sean had his arm around you the entire night. He claimed it was to let all the scoundrels at the bar know that you were his and no one should even try to stake a claim to you.
You rolled your eyes but stayed nestled in the spot.
That is, until you were pulled away by your bladder. All the drinks were catching up to you and you slipped from under him to run to the restroom really quick.
When you came back, though, a working woman had taken advantage of your absence to catch Sean’s attention.
In his drunken state, Sean couldn’t even realize that the weight of the woman beside him wasn’t the same as when you were sitting there before. He didn’t say a thing as her arms wrapped around his torso or when she ran her fingers through his longish hair.
Tears fill your eyes almost instantly. You try to blink them away and get a better look at the scene in front of you, but it doesn’t change. It only gets worse as her lips start leaving rougey red stains on his neck.
“Sean!” You shove at his shoulder. When he sees you in front of him, his bleary red eyes turn to the woman beside him. His brain takes a minute to put two and two together, but by the time he has figured the situation out you are pushing through saloon patrons to get out into the night air.
Sean sobers up immediately. He pries himself out of the grasp of the other woman and follows your trail out the door.
He calls your name over and over again until he finally finds you sitting on the street corner crying into your knees.
“Please, Love!” He approaches you and your head whips up at the sound of his voice.
“You stay away from me you dog.” You snap and get up. You’re still pretty drunk as well however and you wobble and nearly fall over at the sudden movement.
Luckily Sean catches you by the arm before you can tumble into the dirt.
“I didn’t know she was there, honest. Thought you was there beside me.” He lifts a hand to your cheek, ready to brush away some of your tears, but you turn your cheek and shrug him off.
“Sure.” You say and try to walk away. He catches your arm again and turns you towards him once more.
“Honest, Love. Why would I pay for sex anyways - I’ve not a penny to me name and you give it to me for free.”
The sentiment was there, but definitely not the right thing to say.
You have to physically restrain yourself from hitting him upside the head at his words.
He sees the struggle on your face as soon as he says it and clamps a hand over his mouth.
“Sean MacGuire you bastard!” You shout at him, but can’t help a weak laugh from erupting from your throat at the end.
“I didn’t mean that, oh lord I didn’t.” The terror in his face only causes you to laugh harder.
The laughter surprises him and even yourself, so much so that the both of you are laughing. Though you don’t really understand why.
“If you ever-“ You say with a mocking glare, “Ever do something like that or say something like that again, I am leaving you Sean MacGuire.”
“I wouldn’t blame you one bit,” He says somberly, still with a small smile.
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I didn't write for Sadie because I genuinely could not think of a situation for her or how she would be, my brain died halfway through writing Sean's. I'll just have to write some Sadie focused hc's next time teehee~
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