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meowdymista · 4 years

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In For A Penny - Arthur x Female Reader

Notes: Adult content for an adult game.

Words: 5220

Arthur Morgan x Female Reader

Now on AO3!

Riding in to camp at Clemens Point, it quickly becomes clear a celebration is underway. The upbeat music and loud chatter advise a steady flow of alcohol, long before Bill staggers up to the hitching posts with a whiskey bottle in each hand.

“Mr Morgan! Have a drink with us!”

Arthur chuckles, rolling his eyes as Bill shoves the emptier of the two into his hand. “Thanks, Bill. What’re we celebrating?”

“I don’t really remember,” he slurs, continuing on past to his horse and raiding its saddle bag. “Sean saw some working girl in Rhodes…?”

Dismounting, he scans the camp and spots you by the fireside with Tilly and Karen. “A working girl, you say?” he asks, but Bill has found the opened bottles of fine brandy he robbed off some travellers earlier and is swaying his way over to the medical tent.

He removes his hunted gains from his horse’s flanks and takes a large swig of the honey coloured spirit, not averting his gaze.

“Hey, Arthur!”

“Hey, Lenny, how you doin’?” He slams the carcass onto Pearson’s table and drains the bottle, joining the young man leaning against the tree trunk.

“I’m good. Hey, you heard about Sean?”

“Something about him and a working girl?” He looks over to you again, surprised by the camp’s reaction to you. Usually when an outside woman is brought in, the camp splits down the middle, with the women and Strauss on one side, and the more confident, virile men closest to the poor soul brought in for the evening’s entertainment. Somehow you have found your way into the former, with the exception of Javier who is singing on the dirt by your feet.

“Yeah, a girl he met in Valentine! He-”

“Art’er Morgan!”

“Mr Macguire.”

“Pour yerself a drink!” Sean pushes a tin cup into Arthur’s chest, raising his own into the air and sloshing it down on the group. “We’re celebratin’!”

“Tha’s clear enough to see,” he growls, smirking “But the details are still a little hazy.”

“Oh, it’s a good story, Mr Morgan! It’s a good’un. See, back in Valentine after you boys picked me up from them bounty hunters, I borrowed a few dollars of Bill to get meself cleaned up see-”

“Not that the smell changed much,” winks Lenny, earning himself a laugh. He pats Arthur on the shoulder and moves off to join the fire.

“Bastard,” scoffs Sean, scowling. “Anyways, where was I? Oh yeah, I found myself talkin’ to a lovely lady with a beautiful face and, you know-” He gestures at his chest with his hands spread, laughing.

Ignoring him, Arthur sniffs the cup. “What’ve you put in this? Stinks of moonshine!”

“Nah, it’s whisky! Maybe gin… Maybe bit of everything, but you’re interruptin’ me there! Again! Do you want to know what we’re celebratin’ or not?”

“Fine.” He takes a swig and almost spits it out. Definitely moonshine.

“Well see, of course I needed to support the local economy of that muddy town, so I take her up to bed and we have a grand ol’ time! Honestly, it’s up there as one of the bests!” (“One of the few in total,” comments Charles on his way past.) “Anyways, after we say our goodbyes and I throw her the I’m too young to be settlin’ routine, I ride back to Horseshoe. Tha’s the end o’ tha’, bla dee bla, and then we come crashing into this place.

"All’s well, Mr Morgan. It’s been a coupl’ o’ months and I figure, hey, we’ve had some good scores, I reckon I’ve earned meself a wee pat on the back since none th’ rest o’ you fellers are doin’ it for me. I decided to get me revolver all done up nice at the gunsmit’ in Rhodes when I see her fanning herself outside the parlour house.

“You could have knocked me down wit’ a feather, Arthur! She’s leaning up against a pillar, with her belly out here!” He gestures again, his hand two feet from his untucked shirt. “I thought I’d had it, Morgan! Saw my life flash before me eyes! Sean Macguire, washed up at twenty t’ree!”

“So, we’re celebratin’ you becoming a daddy?”

“Oh no, Mr Morgan! No, we’re celebratin’ that I’m not going to be a pappy, and Ol’ Scar Face gets to keep his title as shitty dad of t’year!”

“I can hear you, you son of a bitch!” cries John from the poker table. Sean waves a hand in his direction dismissively.

“What makes you so sure?” asks Arthur.

“Because she was knocked up before she met me!” He grins widely, trying to instill the same excitement in his audience. Instead Arthur shakes his head, taking another swig, before cursing at the cups remembered contents and tipping it into the grass. “I’m just going down in history as a motherfucker! Not a pappy! How great is that?”

“For the kid? Oh, I’m sure he’s thrilled to pieces!” he says coldly.

“Ouch! Would you rather have another Jack in camp?”

“I would rather you stop risking becoming a father if you ain’t ready to be one!”

“Is that what you told Marston?”

“It’s what every boy is told when he becomes a man!” Arthur grabs a beer from a nearby crate, trying and failing to hide his frustration. “I guess no one ever thought you grown up enough to say.”

The redhead staggers, clutching his shirt. “Ooft, Mr Morgan, you're pulling me heart out me chest! I thought you’d be happy for me!”

“Mm, more like happy for the kid in question.” He looks back over to you, watching you laugh. Immediately he feels himself relax. “So who’s she? You bring her in to celebrate, or somethin’?”

“Who? Y/N?” Sean tops up Arthur’s cup, but he doesn’t notice. At that same moment, you look up and meet his gaze. He holds it hungrily, but Karen interrupts, offering you another drink, forcing you to look away. “Nah, she joined us couple nights back. Musta been the first night you was off huntin’ if you’ve not met her yet.”

“Y/N? That her real name?”

“As far as I know, but you know me, I don’t ask much.” Sean laughs and walks away, leaving Arthur to drain his beer in one.

“Everythin’ alright?”

He starts, pulling his eyes off you to find Abigail getting herself a bowl of stew. Unable to remember his last meal, he follows suit.

“Yeah, just gettin’ lost in my head I guess.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t mean it. Sean, I mean.” She gives him a sad smile. “Think he’s just scared of what could have been and relieved it isn’t.”

“Well, like I said, if he ain’t ready to be a daddy-”

“No one’s ever ready to be a parent. Hell, I was scared shitless when I found out I was expecting Jack, and then John…” “John’s scared of his own reflection.” This earns him a laugh as he tears them each a chunk of bread to go with their meal.

“You can’t tell me you weren’t scared when you found out about Eliza?”

“Oh, Miss Roberts, you don’t know the half of it.” They chuckle quietly, the warm evening air suddenly sombre. “Terrified is more like it, but I guess that went away soon enough.” His eyes drag back to you and how your smile lights up by the fire. “Say, who brought in Y/N?”

Abigail follows his gaze to where you’re sat and shrugs. “I don’t know exactly. Probably one of the fellas since we ladies don’t go out much.”

He takes another drink from the cup in his hand, but it no longer strips his tongue of tastebuds. “Hey, you not sitting down to eat that?”

“Not tonight,” she smiles, walking away. “Jack’s already in bed. G’night, Arthur, don’t make too big a fool of yourself, y’hear?”

He doesn’t. There’s something about you that draws him in, something about the whole situation that isn’t quite right, but he can’t focus when his jeans are tightening over his hips. He shakes his head, trying to clear it, but when Karen leaves her seat beside you, his untouched stew hits the ground and his spurs clink towards the fire.

********

“And who might you be?”

You look up from the flames, surprised. The man towers over you, his face unreadable and his thumbs tucked into his gun belt. Before you can answer, he has lowered himself next to you, nodding at the guitar playing mexican by your feet.

“Javier.”

“Arthur.”

“Didn’t take you long to serenade the newcomer, huh?”

You blush as Javier chuckles. “Usted me conoce bien.”

“Am I supposed to know what that means?” The stranger laughs loudly, drunkenly, his knee knocking yours.

“We’ve been running together long enough, haven’t we?”

“Ah, s’true, you got me there.” He shakes his head, chuckling as he shoves a cigarette between his lips. You watch his strong hands fumble with the small yellow box. His broad thumb pushes the insert too far, losing the majority of the sticks to the turf between his boots, but he doesn’t seem to notice. You grow more and more awkward as you’re forced to watch him drop or snap matches by the handful. He curses and drinks from the tin cup he brought over with him.

You notice Javier watching as well, his fingers continuing to dance over the strings. He mutters something in Spanish, and the smirk spreads enough to flash his teeth. You can only guess it is a friendly insult of some kind, but Arthur seems to come to another conclusion. He nudges you, and nods at the Mexican.

“Have you met the tough Mexican freedom fighter? The one that ran away when things got nasty?”

You hesitate, not sure how to respond. Luckily Javier shakes his head, his tightening jaw the only thing betraying his irk. “Let’s not play this game again, Arthur. It gets messy too fast.”

He grumbles, distracted when he finally gets a match to spark. He tries to hold it to the tobacco, but it burns out before his hands steady. He grunts in defeat, tucking the crumpled cigarette back into his breast pocket and turns to take you in. Somewhat satisfied, he leans forward, his hot breath moving the hair you have tucked behind your ear.

“So how much do you go for?” Your eyes widen with surprise. You try to speak, but no words form. For some reason, this tickles him. “Well? Cat got your tongue?”

“Leave her alone, Arthur.”

“Aw, Miss Tilly, I’m only playing.”

“Is he bothering you?” she asks gently. You can’t answer, your head is reeling with the way he spoke to you so bluntly, like you’re a whore looking for work. She sighs and gets to her feet, pulling you along with her. “C’mon. Let’s get another drink, and leave these assholes alone.”

“What’d I do?” he asks innocently.

“What didn’t you do?” mutters Javier.

“Wha’s tha’ supposed to mean?”

Tilly walks you away to a quieter corner, apologising, but you laugh it off. After all, you can think now. His proximity had put your head in a spin, but away from the heat and the physical contact you could think clearly again. You assure her no offence has been taken; he’s drunk, and something about his breath made you believe his drinks were much stronger than yours.

You clink a couple of fresh beers in cheers, and when Karen swoops round again, you let her pour you another shot of whisky directly into your mouth.

“Take it easy, huh?” Mary Beth says, touching Karen’s arm, but the blonde is already travelling again, this time towards the Irish man in the green bowler hat.

“Remind me again why I put up with you?” she slurs.

“Because you love me, darlin’!”

She laughs loudly, prodding him in the chest. “If I loved you, would I do this?” A crack reverberates across the lake, leaving the red head with a flaming red cheek.

“What was tha’ for?”

Mary Beth sighs in defeat, shaking her head at you. “She’s not normally like that, I promise. That boy is an exception.”

“Funny! I was just saying the same thing about Arthur!” You try to stop her, but she’s quickly confessed your strange encounter. Trying to hide your embarrassment, you find yourself infinitely grateful Tilly hasn’t heard everything he said. You like this group and don’t want anybody thinking less of you because of some drunken remark.

“Odd, he usually keeps to himself when there’s a new lady in camp,” muses Mary Beth.

“Abigail travelled with us a full month before he spoke to her.”

You set aside your empty bottle, feeling a little light headed. The two women muse, silently conversing in front of you until they’re interrupted with a shout.

“Where’s all this moonshine come from?” coughs Arthur, throwing aside a bottle he had found in the grass. “Is Sean trying to get everyone black out drunk?”

“Ah, not this time. That moonshine’s mine,” chuckles Hosea, walking over to pick up the bottle and return it to his tent. “I kept a couple back after we took it up to the Braithwaites. It comes in handy when making fire bottles and the like.”

“Well hide it somewhere more discrete, would ya?” Arthur splutters some more, following him. “I reckon Sean has already broken into your stash.”

“That would make sense,” sighs Hosea. You notice what had been five large bottles under the medical wagon has somehow dwindled to two. You also note that they are the same size and shape of the stuff Uncle had been drinking that morning, but you say nothing.

Following the women away from the campfire towards your beds, you see Mrs Adler close one of Mary Beth’s books she was reading by the lantern.

“It’s no good over here, ladies,” she grunts with disgust. “The boys are loud wherever you go.”

“Guess we had better wait it out by the water,” sighs Tilly.

“Hey, Y/N! What do you think of this?” Karen barrels her way to your side and, before you can greet her, she has tilted the contents of a tin cup into your mouth. The smell of alcohol alone is enough to bring tears to your eyes, and the other girls complain as you cough up a lung.

“Is that moonshine? And… tobacco?” you manage to gasp.

“I can’t tell no more,” she slurs, squinting at the bottle. She turns around and pours you a cup from a different bottle. “What ‘bout this one?”

Mary Beth grabs her arm. “Karen! What’s gotten into you?”

“Leggo of me!”

Whilst they argue, you take the cup from her outstretched hand and drink it down in one. “Wow!” You shake your head, looking into the cup as though expecting it to contain flames. “This one... raspberry?”

“Who knows?” She yanks her arm free and begins to stagger off. “I found two men making Moonshine outside of Rhodes. Think they’re experimentin’, or at least that’s what Arthur said.” She hiccups and laughs at you as the world begins to spin.

“Y/N, are you ok?”

“Sure,” you say, trying to blink your way back to single vision. Taking a deep breath, you squeeze your eyes closed and reopen them. Mary Beth and Tilly are looking at you with concern. Mrs Adler’s face is unreadable. You can feel your cheeks burning, but also feel the confidence blossoming in your chest. “Yes. I’m fine.”

“Have you had moonshine before?” asks Tilly with concern. “It’s strong stuff.”

“A couple of times,” you admit, smiling despite yourself. None of the women look best impressed, but Karen rescues you, wrapping her arm over your shoulders after an about turn and drags you back to the party.

“Have all of you met my friend, Y/N?” she slurs.

“You’ve been with us two days now, is that right?” asks Charles gently. You nod, cheeks still scorching hot. You spot the brooding figure stood at the back of the group and somehow your cheeks grow hotter still. The distance allows you to see him in his entirety - his legs thickening at the thigh from the horse riding, the faded blue shirt tucked in at his narrow hips and stretching up to the thick broad shoulders. The crackle of the fire reflects in his eyes, and suddenly it’s not just your cheeks that are uncomfortably warm.

You don’t resist as Karen pushes another bottle into your hand.

“Who was it that found you?” asks Lenny.

“I wasn’t found as much as-”

You’re interrupted by a snort. “LENNAAAAY!” cries out Arthur suddenly.

Lenny groans. “Oh, not that again!”

He laughs that loud laugh to the group, staggering over to clamp a hand on the young man’s shoulders. “Here, we go out for one drink and I swear the next day the bartender tells me I asked every single person in the saloon if they were Lenny.” He doubles over. “But most of ‘em were white! And half of ‘em were women!”

“It hurt to find out what you think of me, Arthur,” teases Lenny.

Charles is watching the blonde man as he staggers, trying to calm himself down. “How much has he had to drink?” he asks no one in particular.

“Oi! Karen!”

“Uh oh,” giggles Karen, elbowing you.

“Where’s me moonshine gone?”

“Your moonshine?” Hosea intercepts Sean before he can reach you. “I think you’ll find that moonshine was camp supplies!”

“Yeah, Sean! Camp supplies.” She lifts your hand holding the bottle. “Thought you liked sharing?”

“Miss Jones.” Hosea turns around, voice stern. “Is that my moonshine?”

“No, sir,” she answers sweetly. “S’camp’s moonshine.”

He rolls his eyes as she takes another big swig, sloshes some into your cup and throws the rest onto the fire which immediately burns up. You can’t help but laugh at the degree of disapproval radiating from him. Taking the opportunity of your mouth agape, she tips the cup into your mouth and makes you swallow.

“First rule of drinkin’ is to never drink alone,” she states proudly.

“I feel like you’re supposed to ask first,” you gasp.

“Nah, that’s how you end up stuck in camp. If you want something, you have to go get it!”

“Mr Matthews!” squawks Miss Grimshaw from her bed. “God help you if you do not get that girl to bed!” “Shut up you old hag!” Karen retorts, stumbling as Hosea leads her away.

“Apologies, Miss Grimshaw. I’m on it!”

Blinking you realise you are the only one standing this side of the fire. The men are quiet, watching the flames eat at the logs, each of them in their own head. You can feel something watching you, and when you look up, you spot the same cowboy staring at you. As you lock eyes, he blinks and shakes his head as though coming to his senses.

With a big sigh, he ambles towards the shoreline, dropping his beer on the ground as he passes. The world is swirling, but without his eyes on you, you suddenly feel invisible. Taking a deep breath, you follow him as best you can. You aren’t graceful and you certainly aren’t quiet, but the sound of deep sleep comes from the tents you have to pass, undisturbed even when you almost fall on top of them.

When he reaches the water he stops and leans his head back, looking up to the night sky. “You fool, Arthur Morgan,” he mumbles. “Why’d you have to be such an idiot? No wonder the women hate yer.”

You clear your throat and he flinches so hard, he almost falls over. You apologise, rushing forward to catch him. He grasps your outstretched arms and somehow manages to right himself. It takes a moment to realise you’re still holding on to one another.

“I’m sorry about before,” you begin, dropping your arms.

He mirrors you, shaking his head. “Nah, s’my fault. I ain’t ever been the best drunk.”

“I’m- I don’t mean that. I’m just…” You force yourself to take a deep breath.

“Listen, it was my mistake. There’s a lot going on, we gotta lotta plates spinnin’ and then I saw you, and...” He trails off, looking out at the water, sighing sadly. “I’m sorry for jumpin’ on yer like tha’.”

You follow his gaze out across the shore, listening to the waves lap gently over themselves. Dark smudges of geese fly through the moonlight and into the wisps of clouds that are starting to crawl in across the inky sky. Somewhere a laughing gull cries out, repeating itself like a grandfather clock on the hour.

“We’ve had… a lot to drink.” You close your eyes, but the world spins. He must see you wobble, because a hand touches your back before your eyes open again. You look up to thank him and find his eyes tracing your lips. You realise you’re biting your lip.

With a deep breath you straighten yourself up out of his arms. He doesn’t stop you, if anything it snaps him out of his trance.

“We’ve had a lot to drink and I don’t want to give you the wrong idea.”

“O’course, Miss. I understand.”

You turn your head to look up at him, to learn more about the stranger, but instead you find yourself staring at the muscles in his arms and the soft halo surrounding them. You swallow, and try to drag your gaze upwards, but you’ve already seen the bulge in his trousers, and you don’t make it to his face before noticing the skin radiating from the top of his shirt. His chest, his shoulders, his entire torso looks strong. You wonder if it feels the way it looks…

“You were saying, Miss?”

You feel the words vibrate through your fingers and rumble right down your arm. It takes a moment for the sound to wake you, and when it does you realise your mouth is open and your hand has found its way into the V of his shirt.

He’s already looking down at you. You feel the pulse of desire between your hips and the warmth spread as his grey gaze transfixes you. “Y/N?”

Grabbing his upper arm in one hand and his neck in the other, you pull yourself up to kiss him square on the mouth. With no need for encouragement, he returns the pressure, pulling you flush against his body.

Your body purrs as his trousers tense against your skirts, and a groan escapes your chest as his teeth brush your neck. Your head falls back, your lungs already panting, your nails dig into his shirt. When something brushes the back of your head, you open your eyes to see that you’ve moved a little away out of sight of those still at the fireside. He has you pressed up against the wall of eroded dirt, kissing you deeply, squeezing your breasts and you accept his worship.

His hair is thick between your fingers and you hook your leg around him to pull him closer. The move takes him by surprise, but he recovers quickly, providing you the weight you yearned for. He returns the motion, one hand breaking free from between you and rustling up your skirts in search of your ass.

You lower your leg and shove him hard in the chest. He falls back, confused until your undergarments land beside his head. You try to dispose of his trousers the same way, but the suspenders won’t allow you access. Realising your intentions, he pulls them off of his shoulders, cradling your head in both hands as he continues to nibble your lip, your hands fumbling over his union suit.

Coming up for air frustrates you until you see his exposed chest. You trace your fingers over his skin as his grip moves to your hips, pulling you down onto that bulge.

“Get this thing off me now or so help me,” you moan. Eager to obey, he pulls the waistband of your skirt, making it crack as the buttons pop off. With help, you manage to lift the skirt over your head, your blouse already unbuttoned half way.

He pulls his arms free from the cotton as you tug his trousers from his legs, his feet wrestling clumsily as he tries to kick off his boots. You try to scoop the loose change back into his pockets, but he’s pulled you back on top of him, kissing you again, his hands exploring your exposed skin and tugging at the strings of your corset. You try to help him, but the thick member rubbing against the inside of your thigh wipes any pre-existing intentions

Your entire body stiffens as he slips inside you with a long guttural groan. Suddenly the urgency has dissipated and is replaced with a low throbbing tremor deep into your core. Instinct forces your hips to grind deeper onto him, forcing air out of your lungs to make room.

You can feel yourself building, feel his fingers digging into the bare flesh of your hips, your pelvises trying to make contact with each other. You lift your arms behind your head, stretching your upper body as though somehow you can make more room for him inside you and cram more of him in. He pushes your body up and brings you slamming back down before you can object, and you feel it again, the throbbing of your core as he slowly bounces you over his shaft, groaning.

Before the bubble can burst, he throws you off. You open your mouth to argue, but he’s scrambling to his knees, reaching for your hips and pulling you back into him. You don’t really understand until you’re on all fours and he pushes himself back inside. He begins to build up speed, and you can feel his balls slapping against your clit. You don’t know what to do with yourself, he’s hitting all your sweet spots, your hands reaching for anything to hold onto, but instead returning fistfulls of dirt, sand and seaweed.

Your eyes roll as the bubble of pleasure which has grown ever larger inside you bursts. You can feel your muscles squeezing, then pulsing and squeezing again as though milking him. You can hear him choking at the sensation and as the edge of your orgasm softens, you push back hard and pull away, lengthening each stroke.

Arthur cries out into the night as he empties himself of weeks of pressure. You can feel it pouring into you, feel him twitching against your walls, and you lean back greedily. Eventually there is nothing other than your shared panting. No snoring, no birds, barely any tide.

You land on your front, exhausted. A muffled thud confirms Arthur has also hit the ground. You can barely summon the energy to lift your eyelids - the orgasm far exceeds anything you have achieved on your own or past partners.

Eventually you roll onto your back. The purple of the night is retreating in favour of violet and soft pinks. Following the colours, you see the first trickles of the sun bleeding over the shrine of the camp. You let it wash over you, feel it cleansing your spirit.

Wondering if Arthur is still breathing, you lift your head. He is also watching the serene sunrise, tranquility smoothing the lines of his face.

The bark of a dog snaps you back to reality. People are stirring in camp and you are as good as naked on the beach. As though summoned by the horror, a chuckle ripples over the water.

“Have yourselves a good evening?” asks a man rowing past. You grab your skirts and whatever else is at hand and flee.

************

“What were you thinking?”

Arthur groans, pulling the blanket over his face, but it gets yanked straight back to his waist. “Not now. Please, Hosea.”

“Not now? Put your trousers back on, boy, before there’s a mutiny!”

He tries to reach to see if there’s evidence for the battering, but he vomits spectacularly over the edge of the bed.

“What the devil took over you last night? You! Of all people!” Arthur is barely able to breath between retches, the remnants of the moonshine, spirits and bile, splashing against the crates. “You take the one girl here without a history and- what’re you doing over here? Go find your mother!”

“Calm down, she’ll get paid,” he groans, wiping his mouth as a loud giggle knocks another nail into his brain..

“Why has Uncle Arthur got his bottom out?”

“Ooft, mark the day, young Jack! Eyewitness accounts report that the sun does not, in fact, shine out of Arthur Morgan’s arse cheeks! Who’d’ve thunk!”

“Mr Macguire, make yourself useful and take the boy with you! And tell the women to stay the other side of camp too!”

“Aw, but they’re already gigglin’ about it.”

“No one will be gigglin’ when I’m finished! Now git!”

“Alrigh’, alrigh’, keep your pants on!” Sean’s cackle splits Arthur’s head open. He tries to move the blanket, awareness creeping in amongst the hangover as the infamous chortle sounds.

“Not you too, Dutch. Go see to the women.”

“My boy, you have royally outdone yourself this time.” His laughter booms off the trees. “Come along, Miss O’Shea, nothing to see here.”

“I think a lot of t’girls will disagree with you there, Dutch.”

“Especially Y/N if the stories are true!”

“Ain’t no stories to be tellin’! Everybody heard them!”

“Shee-yit.” Arthur groans, his memory hissing at the scratch marks on his back..

“Trousers on. Now. Before more people come ogling.” The chest by his feet creaks open, and clothes begin to rain on him. “And for the love of God, sort out the mess you made on the shore! Last thing we need is Pinkerton’s following the trail of bloomers to camp!”

He sits up with a grunt, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, eyes squinting at the bright light of the tent. Hosea kicks a lone worn boot away from the puddle, cursing.

“A little privacy?”

“Don’t make me laugh! You might not be a teenager, but I’ll throw you out by your ear!”

“What’s your problem?”

“My problem?” The old man gestures to the heavens. “Where to start? Disrupting the camp with your racket! Littering belongings for others to find! Playing buckaroo with the girl who’s here for her protection!”

“Her protection?” He scoffs, his hands shaking too much to button his shirt, but his stomach sinks.

“She didn’t tell you?”

He winces. “We didn’t do much talking,” he admits.

“Dutch found her robbing the trailers just above Rhodes. He was going to give her a ride home - to that run down place, Lonnie’s Shack - but Sean had scoped it that morning. Said some bandits rocked up and took out the father living there before setting up camp. So Dutch brought her here instead.”

“Bet you’re going to say she’s not even a whore at this rate,” he groans, trying to push himself off the bed, but the sight of his adopted father’s scowl knocks him back. “You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.”

“Get up and clean up, mister!” Hosea kicks the chest and stalks away. “Before I give Bill his gelding tongs back!”

#rdr2 #rdr2 fic #rdr2 fanfic #Arthur Morgan #Smut #MeowdyMista #Arthur Morgan x Female Reader #AM x FR

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