Rdr1 - Blog Posts

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this cut scene in the wagon with De Santa in rdr1 has been going on for like 5 mins, and its just pure silence. smh

Guy whose wife comes out to him as a lesbian and he just sighs and starts googling ‘estrogen near me’

'We gotta stop meeting like this...'

so john marston revolutionized the socio-political situation in mexico to get his wife back, but your boyfriend can’t remember your favorite color?😦… oh okay…😯 oh… okay😒

Finished rdr1 yesterday:D I saw a post about someone wanting to put Dutch on their inspection table and couldn't agree more this man is way too interesting for my own good

First post of 2024 yay

You're starting to look really weird.

Oh Yeah. Your face is out of place and i can't make you out.

playing rdr1, someone please get this man away from the microphone.

Who was in charge of these dialogues?????

Wasnt there 1 (one) native spanish speaker in the whole production team to tell them how broken the spanish of 90% of the VAs was???? Grammar mistakes, awful pronunciation, awkard deliveries, unnatural phrases, random ass dialogue sometimes ("esta noche voy a comer panochita dulce", sir, this is a wendys, AND IM THE FUCKING CLIENT, i do not want to know!!!!) even the subtitles put accents marks where there shouldn't have been 😭😭

Allende's dialogue was the most broken, but sometimes i couldn't even understand what npcs were saying if there wasnt subtitles.

Love the game, i loved the Mexico region, loved the story there as well, i could tolerate if 1 or 2 NPCs were non spanish speakers... but all off them?? Including main characters???? Cmon rockstar..

anyways, that's it, rant's over.

John marston drawings cuz he’s sigma

Hello guys!!!! Here are some red dead redemption stickers I made a while back that are available on my shop if you're interested!! Thanks for viewing and hope you all have a great rest of the month!!!!

https://vampire-kandii.square.site

what you do when my polycule pull up

who's the biggest twink in rdr?

An Arcane redraw, but with a Red Dead twist

One way to look at the Red Dead series is that the 2nd game is a classic western while the 1st game is a spaghetti western.

The 2nd game starts off with a more friendly, happy environment. Despite the gang committing crimes, they’re presented as a tight-knit family that gets to have fun every now and then. For example, Arthur and Lenny getting drunk at the bar. As the game continues, it slowly turns into a more harsh, unforgiving environment. Gang members start dying left and right and that feeling of comfort you had with your gang family disappears.

So, when Arthur dies and John takes over, the age of the classic western ends and the age of the spaghetti western begins.

That’s why RDR1 is pure grit and sadness from beginning to end. Even if you never played RDR2, there’s a feeling of despair and loneliness that permeates throughout the game. John, compared to Arthur, is bitter and more ruthless. John is the more morally grey protagonist, especially during the Mexico arc where he showed a lack of empathy towards either side of the revolution.

There’s a YouTube comment that I think perfectly summarizes this. Arthur Morgan is a John Wayne cowboy since even though he can do awful things, he’s generally presented as a hero trying to do right by his loved ones. John Marston is a Clint Eastwood cowboy since he tows the line between good and bad. Even though you like him since he wants to do right by his family, he’s incredibly ruthless and more inclined to commit violence than Arthur was. What also makes this comparison works is that it fits with the change in the eras; John Wayne represented the early classic westerns while Clint Eastwood represented the spaghetti westerns that premiered afterwards.

Can't believe I haven't posted this art of marstony here yet! Have some charles too!

Achieved another level in therapy, and gained the ability to draw myself again, I'm very proud of myself.

Also I came back to my RDR obsession, so Im gonna draw me and my friends in RDR

Also I did a playlist, it's not cowboy music because there's no outlaw cowboys in my country (but some how there's some American confederate community here) , only the Cangaceiros but they're different.

Here cowboy can mean any kind of people who work with cattle, so I peaked the traditional music from my region

New favorite character (he doesn’t even have a name)

His overdramatic ass tripped on nothing

Dressed in yellow with his yellowboy

The Lancaster Repeaters in the game were based after Winchesters lever action rifle which was often called "Yellowboy" for it's polished bronze frame. And although the gun in the game was designed after the 1866 model (which was Winchesters first ever gun) the 1873 model was considered to be "the gun that won the West" as it was a favorite not only among the cowboys but also the Indians

PILLOW TALK— A. Morgan

summary -> partnered up with Arthur was the easy part, falling asleep, was not. Thankfully Arthur had some plan in mind

warnings -> language, violence, death, age gap, smut! p in v, pullout method, fingering, handjob, finger sucking, praise, pet names, mentions of anal, mdni.

Tomorrow, you and Arthur would be heading out—just the two of you. Dutch had given the orders, said he needed a pair of riders who could handle themselves, and for whatever reason, Arthur had chosen you. Not that you weren’t capable—you’d proven yourself enough times—but Arthur was particular about who he worked with. You weren’t sure if it was trust, or something else entirely.

You weren’t sure when things had started shifting between you, when the looks had started lingering, when the air had started crackling every time he stood too close. But it was there now, pressing in, thick as the summer heat.

You tapped the cigarette against your knee, then finally struck a match, bringing the tip to the flame. The first pull was slow, smoke curling past your lips, settling in your lungs before you exhaled through your nose. Arthur watched you, the firelight casting sharp shadows across his face, making his eyes look darker, more intense. "You ever get tired of this?" you asked, voice quieter now. "The runnin’, the killin’?"

Arthur considered you for a long moment, then reached for the bottle again. "Ain’t much time to get tired." He took a sip, let it sit on his tongue before swallowing. "You?"

You shrugged. "Ain’t never known anythin’ else."

He nodded like he understood, because maybe he did. You’d both been running for a long time, living on the edge of a knife, caught between lawmen and outlaws, between survival and something worse. There wasn’t any room for softness in a life like this—no room for dreaming of things you couldn’t have.

"You sure you trust me to watch your back out there?" You asked, flicking the ash from your cigarette.

Arthur’s gaze flicked up, sharp and unwavering. "Ain’t a question of trust." That wasn’t an answer. But it was all you were going to get.

A gust of wind swept through the camp, kicking up dust, making the flames dance wildly for a moment before settling. Arthur stretched his legs out in front of him, let out a slow breath, then reached into his satchel and pulled out his revolver.

He spun the cylinder idly, checking the rounds, his expression unreadable. "You ever been to Saint Denis?" He asked after a while. You shook your head. "Fancy place," he mused. "Too damn loud for my liking. Dutch, though—he thinks that’s where the future is."

His jaw tensed slightly, barely noticeable, but you caught it. "You don’t?"

Arthur huffed. "Ain’t never seen a future worth livin’ in." Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. There was something heavy in his voice, something that made your chest ache in a way you weren’t used to. You didn’t like it. You’d seen Arthur angry, seen him ruthless, seen him crack a man’s skull without a second thought. But this? This quiet resignation? It didn’t sit right with you. "You ever think about leavin’?" you asked before you could stop yourself. "Just… ridin’ off, findin’ somethin’ better?"

Arthur glanced at you, then back down at his revolver. His fingers stilled against the metal, his thumb resting against the hammer. "Ain’t that simple."

"Maybe it is."

Arthur laughed, but it wasn’t amused. "You got somewhere in mind, sweetheart?"

The way he said it, voice lower now, like the word itself had weight, made your breath hitch slightly. "Anywhere’s better than dyin’ out here for nothin’," you said, barely above a whisper.

Arthur’s expression flickered—just for a second, just long enough for you to see something break through that careful mask he always wore. And then it was gone, buried beneath that same unreadable calm. "You best get some sleep," he murmured, pushing himself up. "We got a long ride ahead." He didn’t look at you as he turned, didn’t wait for you to respond. You watched him disappear into the dark, the glow of the fire catching against the worn leather of his holster before he was swallowed completely. You exhaled slowly, dragging one last pull from your cigarette before flicking it into the dirt.

The wind howled through the trees, and in the distance, thunder rumbled, low and threatening. The storm would be here soon. The morning was cold, the air thick with the smell of damp earth and rain on the horizon. The fire had burnt out sometime in the night, leaving behind nothing but grey ash and the faint scent of smoke. You stretched out your shoulders, rolling the stiffness from your muscles, your mind still hazy with sleep.

Arthur was already up, working on the horses, adjusting the saddles and making sure everything was in place. He barely looked at you as you pushed yourself to your feet, but you could feel the weight of his attention, even if it was only for a second. "You leavin’ without me, Morgan?" you muttered, voice still rough from sleep.

Arthur smirked, tightening the straps on his bags. "Figured I’d let you sleep in, seein’ as you ain’t much good to me half-dead."

You rolled your eyes, brushing the dirt off your pants. "Real considerate of you."

Arthur chuckled under his breath, but didn’t say anything else. He was like that—always had been. He could talk when he wanted to, could spin a lie or a story well enough, but most of the time, he let the quiet do the talking. You didn’t mind. You mounted your horse, shifting in the saddle as Arthur swung up onto his own. He adjusted his hat, his eyes scanning the sky. "Storm’s movin’ in quick. Best we get a move on." The road stretched ahead, long and empty, the kind of silence that made your nerves prickle.

You rode alongside Arthur, the two of you keeping a steady pace, the only sound the rhythm of hooves against dirt. The mission was simple enough—ride into Lemoyne, track down some bastard who’d crossed the gang, and make sure he didn’t walk away from it.

You’d done worse jobs before, but something about this one had your stomach in knots. Maybe it was the way Arthur had been last night, the way he’d asked if you ever thought about leaving, like the thought had been sitting in the back of his mind for longer than he cared to admit. Or maybe it was just that riding with him like this, alone, made you more aware of him than you wanted to be.

You didn’t like the way your pulse kicked up when he glanced at you, the way your fingers clenched just a little too tight around the reins. It wasn’t obvious—at least you hoped it wasn’t—but you could feel it, that stupid heat creeping up your neck, that second where you had to look away before he caught you staring. It was annoying. It was irritating.

And worst of all, you didn’t know what the hell to do about it. "You got a plan for this?" you asked, more to distract yourself than anything.

Arthur exhaled, shifting slightly in the saddle. "Yeah. Find the bastard. Put a bullet in ‘im."

You scoffed. "Real detailed." 

Arthur smirked, but there was something sharp in his eyes when he looked at you. "You got a better one?"

You didn’t answer. Mostly because no, you didn’t, but also because you were too busy trying to pretend that the way he was looking at you wasn’t affecting you. 

The town wasn’t far now, the road giving way to worn wooden buildings, the smell of smoke and mud hanging in the air. You could feel the shift in the atmosphere, the way the people moved, the way their eyes darted toward you and Arthur before quickly looking away.

This place had seen its fair share of violence. They knew better than to get in the way of it. Arthur pulled his horse to a stop near a small saloon, barely more than a shack with a sign hanging half off its hinges. "Reckon he’s in there.” He muttered, jerking his chin toward the door.

You adjusted your gun belt. "How you wanna do this?"

Arthur swung down from his horse, dusting off his jacket. "Quiet. If we can." His gaze flicked to yours, steady. "If not—."

"I know," you muttered, already moving to follow him. Inside, the saloon was dimly lit, the smell of stale beer and sweat thick in the air.

Arthur led the way, his movements easy but deliberate, the kind that made people pay attention even if they didn’t want to. You let him take the lead, keeping close, scanning the room. It didn’t take long to spot the man. He was sitting in the corner, half-turned away, a glass in his hand.

Arthur didn’t hesitate. "Mister.” He drawled, his voice calm, almost lazy.

The man stiffened. That was all the warning you got before everything went to hell. He went for his gun, but Arthur was faster. The crack of a shot split the air, and suddenly, the whole place was moving—men scrambling, chairs scraping against the floor, voices shouting over each other. You didn’t think, just reacted, drawing your revolver as Arthur fired again.

The man dropped, blood spreading across his shirt, his fingers twitching once before going still. Arthur was already moving. "Come on."

You didn’t need to be told twice. You covered him as he pushed through the door, gun still in hand, heart pounding. Outside, people were moving, stepping back, watching. A few men had their hands hovering near their holsters, but none of them seemed stupid enough to make a move. You swung up onto your horse, Arthur doing the same beside you.

"That went smooth.” You muttered, kicking your horse into motion.

Arthur snorted, shaking his head. "Yeah, real smooth." The two of you rode hard out of town, the storm finally breaking, rain coming down in sheets, turning the road to mud. You could still feel the heat of the fight in your chest, the rush of it, the way the air had felt electric. And beneath it all, beneath the gun smoke and the storm, there was something else.

The way Arthur had looked at you. The way your stomach had flipped just a little too hard. The way this whole thing felt like it was building to something, something you weren’t sure you were ready for. And worst of all? You didn’t know if you wanted to stop it.

The rain hammered down, slicking your coat and dampening your hair as you and Arthur pushed through the mud, your horses sliding beneath you with each sharp turn. The storm had rolled in heavier than you’d expected, but you didn’t mind. It kept the town behind you at a distance, and for a moment, it felt like just the two of you—nothing else mattered.

Arthur’s gaze was fixed ahead, his jaw set as he steered his horse through the storm. You kept close, the wind whipping at your face, making it hard to focus. Still, something about the way he was so calm, so controlled, made you feel a little less unsettled. You shifted in your saddle, but your thoughts kept returning to that look—the one he’d given you in the saloon before the chaos had kicked off.

The way his eyes had lingered just a fraction longer than normal. You could feel that same tightness in your chest, that tension building up, and you hated how much it rattled you. "How far do you reckon we’re gonna make it before that storm gets worse?" You asked, trying to break the silence.

Arthur glanced over at you for a second, his expression unreadable. "Not far,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm. "We should find shelter soon."

"Great," you muttered, mostly to yourself, but the rain made it hard to tell if he heard you. You’d been out in worse weather before, but this felt different—more dangerous somehow, like the storm wasn’t just weather, it was a warning. The road ahead was barely visible through the sheets of rain, but Arthur kept pushing forward, steady as ever.

You followed close behind, your horse slipping slightly in the mud, but you managed to keep your balance. As you rode, the storm seemed to intensify, the wind picking up, making it nearly impossible to hear anything but the roar of the weather. You were beginning to wonder if you’d make it out of this mess in one piece when Arthur’s voice cut through the noise.

"Get ready," he said, his tone low, "we might have company."

Your heart skipped a beat as you instinctively reached for your gun. Your eyes scanned the road ahead, but all you could see were flashes of lightning and the thick fog of rain. "How many?" You asked, voice tight.

"Not sure yet," he muttered, "but keep your eyes open."

You didn’t need to be told twice. You were ready for whatever came next, but something gnawed at you, a feeling you couldn’t shake. The air around you had shifted, and now, you were on edge, expecting the worst. Then, through the rain, you saw them—figures moving along the side of the road, shadows in the mist, too close for comfort. You couldn’t make out their faces, but the way they moved told you everything you needed to know. They weren’t friends. Arthur didn’t hesitate. He spurred his horse forward, the sound of hooves against the soaked earth drowned out by the pounding rain.

You followed him, your heart racing as the distance between you and the figures closed rapidly. As you neared, you could hear the distinct sound of boots crunching against the wet ground, the rustle of leather. Arthur pulled his gun, his eyes never leaving the shadows ahead. "You ready for this?"

"Always.” You replied, your voice steady despite the rush of adrenaline pumping through your veins. The figures came into focus then, a small group of men, guns drawn, their faces hidden beneath wide-brimmed hats.

Without warning, one of them stepped forward, a grin on his face, though it was barely visible through the rain. "Looks like you two are lost.” He called out, his voice rough but loud enough to cut through the storm.

Arthur’s response was immediate—a shot fired into the air, a warning. "Get out of the way, unless you want trouble."

The man didn’t seem fazed. Instead, he took a step closer, his hand twitching towards his holster. "I think we’re past warnings, don’t you?"

You didn’t wait for Arthur’s signal. Your hand was already on your gun, drawing it smoothly, just as the first shot rang out. The fight was quick—too quick. The sound of gunfire, the crunch of boots on mud, the smell of gunpowder all mixed into one chaotic moment.

You and Arthur moved together, a seamless team, each shot calculated, precise. The men never stood a chance. In the end, all that remained was the sound of rain pelting the ground and the faint echoes of the struggle that had just unfolded.

Arthur holstered his gun, wiping the rain from his face, his eyes scanning the area as if expecting more. He didn’t speak, but there was something in the way his shoulders relaxed, something almost imperceptible, like he was finally allowing himself to breathe.

You exhaled, your own heart still racing, and turned your attention to the fallen men. "You alright?" Arthur asked, his voice quieter now, almost calm.

"Yeah," you said, though your hands were still shaking, just a little. "Just a bit too close for comfort."

Arthur nodded, but his gaze lingered on you longer than necessary, something unreadable in his expression. You couldn’t look at him. Not now, not when your head was still spinning from the chaos. "Let’s get out of here.” He said, his voice low, the sharp edge of command still present.

You didn’t argue, pushing your horse forward, following him as you both rode out of the danger zone, the storm still raging around you. But even as the rain poured down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the storm wasn’t the only thing you had to worry about.

You could feel it now, that unspoken thing between you and Arthur, the way his presence seemed to shift in your chest, like it had been there all along, waiting to crack wide open. And you didn’t know whether to run from it or let it consume you. The tension between you both had been building for days—weeks, even—and now, with everything that had happened, it was almost unbearable.

You tried to focus on the road ahead, but your mind kept drifting back to him, to the way his eyes flickered over to you, his hand steady on the reins, his posture rigid yet somehow relaxed in that familiar way. It made you feel uneasy in a way you didn’t want to acknowledge.

The campfire that had been burning bright hours earlier had now dwindled to a small, flickering flame, casting shadows across the tents. Arthur didn’t say much as you arrived, just a quick glance in your direction before he dismounted, tying his horse to the post with practiced ease. You followed suit, the dampness of the night air seeping through your clothes.

Arthur opened the flap of the tent, giving you a small nod before stepping inside. You hesitated for a moment, the thought of the close quarters making your chest tighten, but then you followed him in, the tent feeling smaller the second you crossed the threshold.

The rain outside continued to fall in a steady rhythm, but inside the tent, the sound was muffled, almost distant. The fire from outside barely flickered in, leaving the inside dim and quiet. You unbuckled your wet coat and set it down, feeling a shiver pass through you as you tried to warm up, your clothes still clinging to your skin.

Arthur was already sitting on his bedroll, his back to you as he untied his boots. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. You hadn’t been this close to him in a long time—alone, without the chaos of the mission, without the noise of the camp.

There was something different now, something you couldn’t explain, and it made the silence feel heavy. You sat down on your own bedroll, facing away from him, though you could still feel his presence behind you, like a constant shadow in the corner of your vision. You tried not to think too hard about the way his broad shoulders looked in the low light or the way his scent lingered in the air. His voice cut through the stillness.

"You good?" It wasn’t a question he often asked, not like this. His tone was steady, but there was something softer about it now, something that made you hesitate before you answered.

You forced yourself to turn and face him, meeting his gaze for a split second before looking away again, your fingers picking at the edges of your blanket. "Yeah," you said, the word coming out quieter than you meant. "Just tired."

He leant back slightly, his arms folding across his chest, watching you intently, as if waiting for something more. You shifted uncomfortably, the weight of his gaze settling in your chest. "You sure?" His voice was still low, but there was a note of concern in it that you weren’t used to.

You swallowed, unsure of how to respond. You hadn’t realised just how much the mission had affected you, or how much you were still carrying with you. It wasn’t just the danger, or the gunfire, or the constant feeling of being hunted—it was everything. The unspoken things, the things that had been building between you and Arthur for so long now, things you couldn’t ignore any longer. You nodded, though you weren’t sure if you believed your own words. "Yeah. I’m fine."

There was a long pause, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The silence stretched out, thick with unspoken words, heavy with that pull between you. You could feel your heart thudding in your chest, the way his presence made everything feel amplified, even the smallest movements. You weren’t sure if you wanted to run from it, or if you wanted to let it take you over.

Arthur shifted slightly, leaning forward, the space between you closing just a little more. His voice dropped lower. "You don’t look fine.” He said, his tone almost teasing but with an edge that was hard to ignore.

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of your lips, even as your stomach twisted with nerves. "I’m not in the mood for your teasing right now, Arthur.” You said, your voice quieter than usual, but there was a firmness to it, a sharpness you didn’t often let slip.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and gravelly, but there was something in it that made your breath catch in your throat. You hadn’t realised how close he was now, how his presence had filled the space between you, how much you wanted to close that final gap, even though you weren’t sure why. "You never are.” He murmured, his tone softer now, but still carrying that same edge of familiarity.

There was no mistaking it now—the tension was there, thick between you. You could feel it in the way his eyes followed your every movement, the way his body seemed to lean just a little closer, his posture relaxed but still watchful. It was a game of balance, a dance neither of you had fully committed to, and the closer you got, the harder it was to stay steady.

You cleared your throat, trying to shake off the feeling of being too close, of being seen in a way that you weren’t ready for. "We should get some sleep," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, though the words felt far from convincing. Arthur didn’t say anything right away, his eyes searching yours for a moment longer, like he was trying to figure something out, something you weren’t sure you understood.

Finally, he nodded, but he didn’t move away. "Yeah," he said, his voice just above a murmur. "Guess we should." But even as he said the words, you could feel the pull between you both, the closeness that neither of you were willing to ignore, even as the night pressed in around you.

The rain fell harder outside, but in the quiet of the tent, with only the soft crackle of the fire and the sound of your breathing, the storm inside felt louder, more real. The night stretched on, the storm still raging outside, but it couldn’t drown out the tension inside the tent.

You couldn’t sleep.

Every time you closed your eyes, every time you tried to settle into the warmth of your bedroll, it felt like something was pressing in on you, making it impossible to rest. You fidgeted again, twisting onto your side, then your back, then your stomach, trying every possible position to find comfort, but it never came. You could hear Arthur’s steady breathing beside you, but the closer you were to him, the more you felt the weight of the silence between you. His presence was too overwhelming, too close.

You weren’t sure if it was his proximity or the way the air felt heavy with unspoken things, but you couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in your gut, like something was about to crack open.

You turned onto your side again, facing away from him this time, hoping that would ease the unease, but it didn’t. The more you moved, the more you felt like you were drawing attention to yourself, and it only made the tension worse. You could feel him now, like his eyes were boring into the back of your head, his presence so close that it was suffocating. You didn’t dare look at him, though, because if you did, you weren’t sure what you’d see.

Maybe it was the storm outside, or maybe it was the damn tension building between you, but you couldn’t stop moving. You had to do something to keep from losing your mind.

"You done yet?" Arthur’s voice cut through the silence, low and gruff, but you could hear the irritation creeping in now. You froze, your heart skipping a beat.

You hadn’t expected him to say anything, and the sharpness of his tone made your chest tighten. "Just… can’t sleep," you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. You heard him shift beside you, the sound of his bedroll rustling, and you knew he was watching you now.

"You’ve been moving like that for hours. You planning on keeping me up all night?" His voice was rough, but there was a hint of annoyance in it now, a sharp edge that made your pulse quicken.

You couldn’t help but feel a little defensive, even though you knew he was right. "Sorry." You muttered, though you didn’t know why. You weren’t sure if you were sorry for being so restless, or sorry that you couldn’t seem to get a grip on whatever was simmering between you two.

You felt him shift again, heard him let out a sigh. "You think that’s gonna help?" he asked, his tone now a little softer, but still firm. You didn’t respond. Instead, you turned your head slightly, just enough to catch the glimpse of his silhouette in the dim light of the tent.

You could tell he was still awake, that he wasn’t planning on sleeping anytime soon either. The silence stretched between you two again, but this time it wasn’t as comfortable as before. It felt thick, charged with something that neither of you was willing to acknowledge. You swallowed, trying to push the feeling down, but it refused to stay buried. Your body felt like it was on edge, too aware of him, too aware of the way the space between you seemed to shrink with every passing second.

"Maybe you just need a little… distraction," Arthur said after a while, his voice low but deliberate, as if testing the waters. You frowned, not sure what he meant, but you didn’t have time to ask before he continued. "Something to tire you out," he added, his tone almost teasing now, a faint smirk in his voice.

You blinked, your stomach tightening at the suggestion. You hadn’t expected him to say that, not like that. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. You were suddenly aware of the distance between the two of you, how far you had been from each other just moments ago, and now how it felt like everything was getting just a little bit closer. "What… do you mean?" you managed to ask, your voice quieter than before, though you didn’t think it was out of curiosity. It sounded more like you were trying to hold onto control, trying not to let your thoughts wander into dangerous territory.

Arthur didn’t immediately answer, but you could hear him shift beside you, his movements slow and deliberate. You could feel his eyes on you now, though you didn’t dare meet his gaze. "I mean," he started, his voice rougher now, like he was taking his time with each word, "If you can’t sleep, maybe you need something to wear yourself out."

You weren’t sure what he meant by that, but you could feel the weight of his words settle between you two, making the air feel thicker, heavier. Your heart raced a little faster, and you couldn’t help but feel a small flutter of something you couldn’t quite place. You turned away from him, your chest tight, not sure whether to call him out for his words or to let them hang there, unspoken. He leant back against his bedroll then, letting out a long breath, as if he was satisfied with his suggestion.

"I don’t mind giving you a hand," he added, his voice low, barely audible. You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, your pulse quickening, but you didn’t know how to respond to that.

It wasn’t an offer, not really, but the way he said it made you feel like the air had shifted even further, like you were teetering on the edge of something you couldn’t fully understand.

You swallowed, your body feeling restless in a new way now. You knew he wasn’t being serious, not in the way you thought, but the tension that had been building up between you two made everything feel heavier, more intense.

You frowned, not sure where he was going with it. "What do you mean?" You asked, confusion making your voice sharper. You could feel him shift beside you, the sound of his bedroll moving.

He was closer now, the tension between you two thick enough to make the air feel heavy. "I mean," he began, his voice low, "You’re wound up tighter than a spring. Maybe you need somethin’ to tire you out." The suggestion hit you like a brick, and for a moment, you couldn’t process it. You turned your head then, eyes wide, but you couldn’t read the look on his face.

It wasn’t playful, but it wasn’t serious either—it was something else, something between a tease and a challenge.

Your body felt like it was buzzing with energy, but it wasn’t the kind of energy you could work off easily. It was something deeper, something that ran straight through you when he was this close. "Arthur…" Uou breathed, your voice barely a whisper. You wanted to say something—anything—to break the tension, but the words didn’t come.

The space between you two felt impossibly small now, like you could reach out and touch him without even trying. "What’s the matter?" He asked, his voice low and patient, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent to it. "Can’t handle it?" The question stung, but you couldn’t deny that it struck a chord deep inside you.

You opened your mouth to respond, but you didn’t know what to say. You could feel the pressure building in your chest, like something was about to burst, but you didn’t know whether to fight it or give in to it.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you felt the pull between you two, like gravity. He wasn’t moving away, wasn’t backing off, and it was making everything inside you feel ten times worse. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you were too lost in it to speak.

"You gon’ let me?" Arthur said, the words slow and deliberate, like he was testing you, waiting for your reaction. You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks, but you couldn’t look at him, couldn’t face him because you were afraid of what you might see.

The tension in the air was suffocating now, the silence hanging like a thread about to snap.

Arthur leant in slightly, his proximity enough to make your heart skip a beat. "C'mon," he murmured, his voice soft, almost a challenge. "You know you want this."

The words hit you like a jolt, and for a moment, your brain short-circuited, struggling to form a coherent thought. The space between you two felt like it was disappearing, the way his eyes softened, and how he seemed to wait for your move. You could hear your own breath now, loud in your ears, the storm outside pounding against the canvas of the tent, but all you could focus on was the way Arthur was looking at you.

"You think I don’t want this?" You finally muttered, your voice barely a whisper. But he heard it.

His smile was slow, a little crooked, and his eyes darkened with something more intense now. He didn't reply, instead, he reached out, a hand coming to rest on your jaw, his thumb brushing your lower lip in a gentle motion. It sent a shiver down your spine, but you didn't pull away.

"You sure about that?" Arthur’s voice was barely a murmur now, his face inches from yours. The tension between you two, thick and undeniable, was suffocating. He waited, giving you a moment, and that was when it happened.

You didn't lean away, you didn't hesitate.

You closed the space between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was slow and tentative at first, like neither of you were sure what would come next. His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, his fingers pressing gently as he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer. You let yourself go, just for a moment, lost in the heat of it, the pressure of his lips against yours, the taste of him.

"Easy, girl." He growled against your lips, his prickly beard scratching at your chin. The rasp of his voice sent a shiver through you, the roughness of it matching the way his hands had tightened just slightly where they rested against you. His thumb traced slow circles against the back of your neck, his touch firm but careful, like he was still testing, still giving you room to pull away. But you didn’t.

You leant into him, your breath shaky, your heart hammering so hard you were sure he could feel it.

Arthur kissed you again, slower this time, but deeper, more certain. His lips pressed against yours with a heat that had been simmering for far too long, a fire barely held at bay.

You could taste the whiskey on him, the faint remnants of tobacco, but underneath it was something distinctly him, something you had caught whiffs of before but never like this, never this close.

His hand slid from your neck down to your waist, fingers pressing into your hip as he pulled you closer. The bedroll beneath you rustled as you shifted, your hands coming up to his shoulders instinctively, gripping onto the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. "You always this restless?" Arthur muttered against your lips, his tone half amused, half strained. His breath was warm against your skin, sending a spark straight through your chest.

"Only when you're around.” You murmured back, surprising even yourself with the honesty in your voice.

Arthur let out a rough chuckle, his grip on you tightening for just a second. "That so?" His lips brushed the corner of your mouth, trailing down to your jaw, the scrape of his beard making your skin prickle in the best way.

He took his time, tracing the line of your jaw, his breath hot against your skin as he worked his way down, slow and deliberate. His free hand ran down your side, the warmth of his palm seeping through the fabric of your shirt, the weight of it making your stomach twist in ways you weren’t ready to admit.

You tilted your head without thinking, giving him more room, and he took it. His lips brushed against the pulse point on your neck, and you swore you felt him smirk when your breath hitched. "Ain't nothin' to be nervous about, darlin'," he murmured, voice thick, teasing. "Unless you want there to be."

You knew exactly what he meant, the words hanging between you like a dare, but you weren’t about to back down. You shifted against him slightly, your fingers still gripping his shirt as you breathed, "And if I do?"

Arthur paused, just for a second, just long enough to let you feel the weight of what you had said. His fingers flexed against your waist, his body tensing slightly, and when he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes were darker now, unreadable. "Then you best be real sure about it," he murmured, his voice lower now, rougher. "’Cause I ain't the type to stop once I get goin'."

You stared at him, heart pounding, feeling the heat rolling off him in waves. His grip on you was steady, grounding, but there was a restraint there too, a hesitation in the way he was holding himself back. You could see it in his eyes—the way he was waiting, watching, letting you decide.

Slowly, without thinking, you reached up and touched his face, your fingers grazing over the stubble along his jaw. His breath hitched, just barely, and for a brief second, you felt him lean into your touch. It was the smallest thing, but it sent a thrill through you, a rush of something you weren’t sure you could name.

"You ain't answerin' me," Arthur said, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges. His lips were still close enough to brush against yours, his hand still firm on your waist. "You really wanna test me tonight?" The way he said it sent heat pooling in your stomach, but you weren’t about to back down.

You let your fingers trail down to the collar of his shirt, gripping the fabric lightly as you whispered, "I think you already know the answer to that."

Arthur exhaled sharply, a rough chuckle leaving his lips before he muttered, "Christ, girl, you’re gonna drive me mad."

And before you could say anything else, his lips were on yours again, more insistent this time, more urgent. His fingers dug into your waist, pulling you flush against him, and the sheer heat of him, the solidness of him, sent your head spinning. You barely registered the way you shifted, the way the space between you disappeared entirely.

All you could feel was the warmth of his hands, the slow, deliberate press of his lips, the way he kissed like he had been holding back for far too long. He wasn’t hurried, wasn’t frantic, but there was a weight to it, a slow-burning intensity that made your skin prickle with anticipation. His hand drifted up from your waist, trailing along your ribcage, not quite reaching too high, but enough to make you shudder.

Arthur noticed, of course he did, and the low hum he let out against your mouth told you he liked it. "See?" he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you. "Told ya you were restless."

You swallowed hard, breath uneven. "And what’re you gonna do about it?" Arthur smirked, the kind of lazy, knowing smirk that made your stomach flip.

His fingers traced over your jaw again, lingering at the corner of your mouth before trailing lower, lower—until he hooked his thumb at the edge of your bottom lip. "Open.” He said, voice rough, firm.

Your breath hitched, and for a second, you hesitated, not because you didn’t want to, but because the weight of it, the sheer intensity in his voice, sent a thrill down your spine. But then you did, parting your lips just slightly, just enough for him to press his thumb inside, resting against your tongue, testing.

Arthur let out a breath, low and deep, his eyes never leaving yours. "Good girl." And that was where you lost whatever composure you had left. Your breath shuddered against the thick air between you, the weight of Arthur’s gaze pressing down harder than his thumb resting heavy on your tongue.

His jaw tensed, and for the briefest second, something in his eyes flickered, something dark, something wild, but then he huffed a rough, low laugh, shaking his head like you had just made a mistake.

"Jesus," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to you. His thumb dragged down, slow, tracing the curve of your bottom lip as he pulled back, leaving the ghost of his touch lingering there. He wiped his hand on his thigh, jaw clenching as he exhaled through his nose. "You ain't got a damn clue what you're askin' for, do ya?" The words were teasing, but there was something else underneath them now, something strained, something barely holding together. You swallowed hard, your pulse still hammering as you reached for words that wouldn’t come.

Arthur watched you for a long moment, his eyes dragging over your face like he was memorising every reaction, every little shift in your expression. Then, with a quiet scoff, he ran a hand down his face, muttering something too low for you to catch. His fingers twitched against his thigh, his breath coming rougher now, uneven.

He shifted slightly, his knee brushing against yours, his weight shifting between hesitation and something heavier, something you could feel simmering between you. He paused, lips just inches from your ear. Arthur’s breath hitched as you held his gaze, the weight of his hesitation heavy between you.

The air was thick, suffocating, and as his thumb brushed over your lip, you could feel the pulse of his restraint, each second stretching further than it should. You weren’t backing down now; the heat between you was undeniable, and every part of you was alive, aching for more.

His eyes flickered with uncertainty, the same conflict you had seen earlier returning like a storm rolling back in.

He pulled back, just enough to give himself some space, but his hand never left your waist. "You’re too young for me." He muttered, his voice gruff, but the way he said it made you feel something far different than what he intended.

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curling into a teasing smile. "So you don’t want this?" you asked, letting the words hang in the air like a challenge.

Arthur’s jaw clenched, and for a second, he just stared at you, as if he was weighing his next move. "Never said that," he growled, his voice rougher now, his eyes searching yours for something. "Just... don’t know what the hell I’m doin’." He leant back slightly, but only enough to give you some room to breathe, his hand still tight on your waist.

You didn’t give him the chance to pull away completely. Your lips met his again, soft at first, hesitant, but then deeper, your body leaning into his as you pressed yourself against him.

His breath faltered, the tension between you growing thick as he let you guide the kiss. He didn’t pull away, but his hands remained still, like he was waiting for some sign, some permission to move forward. His thumb brushed over your lips again, tracing the curve of your mouth, as if he couldn’t help himself, but there was still something holding him back.

Arthur’s breath left him in a rush, and before you knew it, his hand was gripping your hair, his other arm pulling you tighter against him, as if he couldn’t stop himself. "Christ.” He muttered under his breath, his lips crashing against yours in a way that made everything else fade away.

His control was slipping, and you could feel it, the way his hands shook as they moved over your body, the way his touch grew more insistent, more desperate. He paused for a moment, his lips still on yours, but his breath was heavy now, his chest rising and falling against you.

"I ain't lookin’ to ruin ya.” He muttered, the words coming out like a warning, but you didn’t want warnings.

You wanted this, wanted him, and you made sure he knew it. "Pity.” Your voice barely a whisper, but it was all he needed. His resolve snapped.

His lips crashed down onto yours again, harder this time, and you could feel the heat of his body, the fire building between you. He kissed you as though he needed it, as though nothing else mattered anymore. The kiss deepened, more urgent, more hungry, and you could feel him pressing against you, his hands moving down your body, pulling you closer with each second.

You didn’t pull away. You didn’t want to. But just as quickly as it had all started, he pulled back, his forehead resting against yours as he breathed heavily, his fingers still tangled in your hair.

"You’re gonna drive me mad," he muttered, his voice low, hoarse. You could feel his heart racing, his body tense as he fought to hold onto whatever control he had left. His hands moved to your shoulders, gently but firmly guiding you back. "You’re too young for this, girl.” He said again, his voice almost pained as he looked at you, searching your face for something, anything that would tell him he wasn’t making a mistake.

You just looked at him, your chest still heaving from the kiss, and nodded. "Never said I was innocent.” You murmured, your voice barely above a breath.

He let out a strained laugh, the sound almost bitter as he ran a hand down his face. His eyes flickered with something—desire, regret, confusion—before he kissed you again, slow this time, like he was trying to remind himself of what he was doing.

His hand moved from your hair, down to your neck, his thumb brushing over your pulse. The kiss was softer now, but the heat was still there, simmering beneath the surface. He pulled away again, his breath ragged, his eyes dark. He studied you for a moment, like he was trying to read the answers in your face. "You sure you want this?" He asked, his voice rougher, uncertain. You nodded, just once, but it was enough.

"God, yes." You whispered, and this time, he didn’t pull away. He kissed you again, his touch growing more insistent, but he still held back, like he was teetering on the edge of something he couldn’t undo.

The kiss deepened, and for a moment, it felt like nothing else mattered. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty, just the two of you, lost in the heat of the moment. But as quickly as it had started, he pulled away again, his hands shaking slightly as he ran them through his hair. "You’re gonna be the end of me," he muttered, his voice low, like he was talking to himself more than you. You didn’t say anything, just stared at him, feeling the pull between you. "You don’t know what you’re askin’ for.” He warned, his voice rough.

But you just smiled, the corners of your lips curling up slightly as you looked at him, knowing full well what you wanted, and what he wanted, too.

“Then show me, old man.” You thought you were being real cheeky. Arthur just clicked his tongue before he rolled over, now caging you between the bedroll.

“You gonna wish you ain’t runnin’ that sweet mouth.”

Like a man on a mission, one with hunger, his large hands went to the waistband of your pants, and tugged them right down, making you gasp in shock; both from his agility and the cold that kissed your thighs.

“Fuck, look at you, sweetheart. Could see that fucking wet patch from miles away. Ain’t you such a needy thing.” Arthur cooed, bringing a thumb to rub over your wetness.

You whined at the contact, hips jerking when his thumb managed to delve and kiss your clit. “Arthur, please?” You pleaded, raising your knees to be on either side of him.

“Huh, so now it’s Arthur,” he shook his head, though complied to your demands. He curled two fingers into your panties and pulled them down, exposing your sopping cunt, even through the dim moonlight, Arthur could well see your neediness. “Ain’t that something.”

“Need you real bad, Arthur. Can’t wait.” You sighed, hiking your hips up to get more of him on you.

“Quit your rushing, girl. You ain’t the only one who’s been needin’ this.” Arthur scoffed, using his forefinger to run through your folds, gathering slick.

His confession caused your heart to skip a beat. Had you been blind all along? How many opportunities had you missed?

“As much as I would love to get right to it, I need to stretch you out first, sweetheart. I’m a little to the hefty side, so bear with me.” You moaned out, eyelashes fluttering as he sunk in two, thick fingers.

“Oh, Arthur.” You felt unbelievably stretched, even though pain blossomed between your legs, it was easily overlooked by pleasure.

“Shit, darlin’. You’re real fuckin’ tight. This might take a while.” Arthur’s voice was wrecked, like he was talking through gritted teeth.

There was only so much the man could endure, and having the patience to not devour everything about you, was none of that.

“Arthur, please? I can take it, don’t need no prepping. I need you, Arthur. Don’t you need me?” You at this moment craved to feel him inside you.

“Sweetheart, if I didn’t need you, I sure as hell wouldn’t be knuckle deep in your pussy.” He chuckled, shaking his head. Arthur curled his fingers, the thick digits pressing against that sweet, spongy spot inside you, causing you to cry out. He twisted his wrist, fingers flipping with before he spread them inside you, prying you open more and more.

“Oh, fuck, Arthur.” You moaned, fingers curling against the thin blanket below you.

“Just relax. You’re takin’ my fingers so well.” He praised, feeling your juicing drip onto his palm. He lifted his thumb, the pad finding your abandoned clit, rubbing and flicking at it.

Your eyes tipped back into your head, your toes curled in your socks. Arthur’s fingers caused you to make sounds you never knew you could.

You clamped down on him, causing Arthur to his. “Shit, girl. Y’squeezin’ me real tight. Don’t even know if I could fit.”

“N-No! You’ll fit. Fuck! Have to…” you managed to get out, before your words melted to moans, something tightening and tugging in your lower belly.

“You’re pretty determined. Guess we’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

At this point, your thighs were shaking, and your body was sweating, yet you managed, with trembling fingers, to reach into Arthur’s lap, and nudge at his belt, desperately trying to get it undone, but efforts were fruitless. “O-Off. Take it off.”

“Geez, darlin’. Buy me a drink first?” You rolled your eyes, more so than they were, at his joke. You sighed out when he complied, free hand meticulously able to undo his belt, and even slide it from its loops.

The rest was easier, you were able to pull his zipper down, and then reach his underwear, tugging in jarred movements, at the black fabric.

Your body shuddered as his cock sprung free. Arthur was not joking. He was huge, and had a brain melting girth to him, topped by an angry, throbbing tip. You had no idea how you were going to sit still tomorrow, or even mount your horse.

Your back arched, your cunt was making lewd, wet sounds fill the tent. You huffed and choked on moans, yet you were able to wrap your fingers around Arthur’s cock, finger tips barely touching.

Arthur hissed at the contact, as if you burnt him. “Yeah, girl. Stroke me nice ‘n slow. Don’t wanna cum too soon.”

Arthur wrapped his larger hand around yours, using yours to fist his cock as he thrusted his hips into your hand. He bent his neck, pursed his lips, before a thick glob and saliva dropped down onto the shaft of his cock, now coating your palm as you jerked him off.

“Mm, that feels pretty good. Good fucking job.” He sighed, a crease forming between his brow.

His fingers has slowed, too caught up in what you were doing, before he snapped back, vigorously rubbing at your clit, and thrusting his fingers in you.

“O-Oh, Arthur! Can’t hold on any l-longer! Oh! Oh!” You cried, fingers tightening around his cock. A rather loud moan tumbling from Arthur’s lips.

“Cum, sweetheart. Make a mess on my fingers. Shit, yeah. Let me see what you can do.” Arthur’s fingers curled once more, and that’s when white filtered in your vision, and you were cumming hard.

Your cum splashed onto his hand, dribbling down your ass, throat going raw from the sobs you were letting out. Arthur’s fingers didn’t stop until you finished.

“S-Shit, okay. Let go of me now. I think you’re ready f’me, aren’t ya, girl?”

You nodded, letting your fingers drop from his cock. Arthur shifted on his knees, now angling himself until his cock was prodding at your hole.

He wrapped his slicked hand around his cock, coating it further in your release until he was satisfied. He glanced up, waiting for you to stop him, to which you’d never.

His hand fell to your hip to squeeze it as he pushed in, slowly, letting you adjust.

You whined as he went, cunt fluttering around his veiny shaft as he sunk in, until the tufts of hair on top his balls grazed your clit. Arthur let out a long sigh, now fully sheathed inside of you.

He drew his hips back, cock glistening, under the faint moonlight that trickled through the tent, covered with your previous arousal, before he sunk back in. It was slow, he was testing the waters.

You shifted beneath him, silently telling him to hurry up, not that you wanted to get this over and done with, but you just needed more.

Arthur sniggered, he almost wanted to say ‘don’t say I didn’t warn you’ but he felt that would ruin the moment. Instead, he grounded his knees into the bedroom before he pulled out, then snapped his hips forward, hips rhythmically thrusting into yours at a toe curling pace.

Arthur’s lips were suddenly below your ear, grunting and groaning into the shell of it. “Y’know how many times I’ve imagined this, sweetheart? Enough times for me t’wonder if I was even gonna make it to heaven.”

You moaned, loudly, at his words. Fingers flying to his shoulders, even though they were covered by his shirt. “Thought you s-said I was too young for you.”

Arthur grunted, breath hot on your skin, hips pushing you up in small movements. “That’s the part that was gonna send me to hell.”

You tried to give a smile, though your lips wobbled, falling open as you moaned for him. “It didn’t stop you…n-now.”

“Should’ve.”

“Am I the best you’ve had?” You asked, with staggering confidence.

Arthur chuckled, though it came out ragged. “It’s not a competition, girl. Why? Am I the best you’ve had?”

You moaned, they slowly came out higher and higher as his fat tip nudged your sweet spot. “N-No. You’re like second bes-st.”

“Second? Guess we’ll have to change that, then.” Both of Arthur’s hands were on your hips, digging into the flesh before they spun you around, chest now meeting with the bedroll, cock slipping from you momentarily.

Arthur let out a low whistle at the sight of your bare ass. Rough palm immediately going to the ample cheeks, spreading them to see both your holes. “Y’ever gonna let me fuck you there?” Arthur asked, thumb barely grazing your tight ring of muscles causing you to gasp.

“What? No. That’s…dirty, it’s gross.” You coughed.

Arthur hummed, his cock pressing back to your cunt before sliding back in with ease. “Not t’me, girl. Not to me.”

Arthur moved his weight, now leaning forward until he was just about laying on top of you before his hips found their steady rhythm.

This new angle had him so much deeper, filling you up entirely. You didn’t mind when his rough patch of hair brushed the glove of your ass, or how your breath came out shallow as he slinked an around your neck.

Your face was smushed between his thick muscles, hair awry. This position had you leaking more.

You had no where to go, not as his cock bullied your hole, you were stuck between Arthur, all hot above you, and the bedroll. Arthur was murmuring sweet nothings to you, rolling his hips, sharing your moans. “Sweetest fuckin’ pussy ever. Gonna get me greedy over it, sweetheart. Don’t know if I’d be able to go a day without it.”

You tried to get words out, but it was almost impossible with how your cheeks were pressing together.

“What was that?” Arthur asked.

“I said…you don’t have t-to.”

Arthur grinned, hips pummelling harder into yours. “Givin’ up your pussy to this old man? How mighty generous. But don’t worry, darlin’, I don’t plan to go a day without fuckin’ you.” You clenched around him at the thought.

Arthur Morgan was going to ruin you, for good.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Drool dribbled from your lips, your fingers digging into whatever surface they could find. “A-Arthur, think I’m gonna cum again.”

Arthur sped his movements up, balls slapping into the front of your pussy as they swung. “Cum, sweetheart. Cum on my cock.” He grunted.

Your vision blurred and your brain melted, dribbling through you and out your legs as your cunt spasmed, and before you knew it, you were gushing around him.

“S-Shit, girl. Making such a big mess, good fuckin’ girl.”

Arthur pulled out, hand wrapping around his cock to jerk it before he was spilling his thick load onto your ass. He shuddered as he came, hips stilling when he finished.

Arthur groaned when he was done, chest rising as he sat up on his knees, staring at the faint sight of the mess he made of you. He sighed, pulling out a handkerchief from his back pocket to wipe his cum off you, before he was tugging your pants up your thighs, and his up his.

He slummed to the side, back to his sleeping bag while you shifted on yours. His arm found you and pulled you roght to his chest, lips ok your forehead. “Now y’better fall asleep. Don’t think I can do any more rounds.”

You snorted, though your eyelids fluttered in tiredness. “Bones can’t handle it?”

Arthur huffed. “I’ll show you what these bones can handle.”

And before long, you were sliding onto Arthur’s lap, shimmying out your clothes again, preparing for the long, long night ahead of you, even if we’re about to fall asleep.