Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader
TW: Mentions of weapons, descriptions of robbery, sh0ts fired, one dâŹath, LOTS of sexual tension, not much.
A/N: Sorry it took me a while to get to this chapter, call of duty brain rot is no joke.
Youâd never thought of yourself as being terribly impatient. Not that you donât have your vices, no, youâve got plenty of those. But impatient?
It seems only one man conjures that up in you.
If you were being reasonable, which isnât something youâre particularly adept at once anxiety sets in, you would acknowledge that you got here early, and you are not in fact being stood up by Arthur Morgan.
You would also remember that this is a robbery youâre waiting on, not some kind of date. Still, the way you got all dressed up this morning had a little more reason behind it than just blending in. You canât quite remember the last time you wore a dress this nice, or this tight, for that matter.
The only sound around is the breeze rustling the leaves, even the familiar sound of your horse huffing absent. Youâd left him a little ways away, ready to aid you in your escape once the time comes.
Normally this would be relaxing. The warm sun shining down on you, the soft wind sifting through your hair. Still, itâs accompanied by the ever present risk of being caught in the midst of your crime. The other concern plaguing your mind quickly dissipates like fog in the sun at the sound of heavy footsteps behind you.
He came. Just like the time before. And just like the time before, you feel that familiar sickly sweet shock at the fact.
Despite hardly knowing you. Despite how easy it would have been for him to get on an earlier stop of the train, rob it himself, and make like a bat out of hell with the whole payout. He came. You quickly stand at the sight of him. Heâs the same as always, just as rough and grizzly as the times before. Still, you canât help the way your breath hitches in your throat as he removes his hat, running a calloused hand through his unkempt hair.
âArthur.â His name falls from your mouth simply, natural as the rising and setting of the sun.
âMaâamâ His voice is low as he greets you, the slight smile on his face shining through to his cadence. Such chivalry for who you are to him. His partner in crime for today. You donât let yourself imagine what itâd be like to be more.
For a moment, though, you could let yourself forget. That you are a thief, a mirror to the man in front of you. An outlaw. A fox chased by hunters. You could pretend that having a normal life one day is an option for you. That you havenât destroyed any opportunity you might have had to settle down by getting your face plastered on the side of every sheriffâs office west of Blackwater.
You could, and for a moment it would feel so very sweet, so normal, so similar to what you could have had if the cards didnât fall the way they have. Although, it would only end in pain, and youâve had enough of that for a lifetime.
Still, the moment is nice, the weather is fair, the man in front of you is handsome, and you are just a woman waiting on a train. The reason why is whisked away with the wind for only a second before the sharp chime of the trainâs bell sounds, signaling itâs arrival to the station. And the beginning of your job.
âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ.âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ.
For Arthur, the blending in was always the hard part. Robbing somebody with a mask and gun comes easy to him after so many years of experience. But acting all innocent beforehand, like heâs not the only one thatâll leave this train with his pockets full? Heâs a thief, but an honest one, deception isnât his forte.
But it becomes a little easier with your hand in his distracting him. Every plan youâd both so carefully constructed fades to the background, pushed away with the cheshire cat grin you throw over your shoulder at him. Itâs like a dare, or a challenge, to what heâs not quite sure.
Maybe to prove himself to you, a feat heâs found himself reaching for more and more despite the way he swears to himself this is simply a job, and you are simply his partner.
Although, heâs starting to think itâs more about him maintaining his composure, something thatâs becoming increasingly more difficult as your figure leads him through the train to a seat near the back, your thumb rubbing back and forth softly on his hand. The kind of affection heâs never felt, not well, not really.
Sure, itâs been mimicked by different women on different nights. Ones who say and do the right things, and then walk away from the whole endeavor with a well earned wad of cash from a nightâs work. But heâs never experienced it truly enough to know to want it. Only walked through the motions.
Although, if this is a taste of it, heâs beginning to find it addicting, just the same as a good cigarette or bottle of whiskey.
The sound of your voice breaks through Arthurâs wall of thoughts as he sits down next to you in the booth, your voice soft despite your intentions. Youâd noticed the way he tensed up at your every touch, his eyes trailing after you when he thought you werenât paying attention.
Of course youâd noticed. Youâd been looking for it, after all.
âDo I make you nervous, Arthur?â Thereâs a smirk on your face as his eyes slowly drag up to meet yours, smoke from the cigarette hanging from Arthurâs lips swirling between your faces, shrouding his own like a frame.
You canât ignore the way your heart rate spikes as he answers, his eyes boring into your own. âIâd be a blind man if ya didnât.â Any hopes you had of flustering him are gone in an instant at his response. His voice is low, his southern accent coming through just enough to elongate every word he says. The lazy tone it brings makes you wonder how heâd sound in the mornings, voice even more gravely from sleep.
It takes a moment before you recover from the way his simple answer rendered you dumb, helpless to do anything but stare into his eyes and try to say something that sounds charming.
God, itâs been a while since you cared to impress a man. Even longer yet since a man has managed to actually make you nervous. Youâd started to forget how good it feels.
âYouâre very kind, Mr. Morgan.â You whisper your response as your eyes stay locked with his, the train starting to move unnoticed to the both of you.
He smiles, looking down for only a moment before becoming trapped in your gaze again, a fly in a web. âI try.â You try to hide the disbelief on your face, but the crook of your eyebrow manages to stir up a grumbly laugh from his chest.
Itâs only fair, considering this is the man who makes his living by robbing and killing. âThat right?â You question lightly, the smile on your face no longer a forced byproduct of your teasing. No, youâre really, truly enjoying yourself. Being the woman from earlier who actually was just waiting on a train.
He shakes his head with a chuckle before looking back up at you, a new seriousness to his response, one that sends your stomach fluttering like a giggling school girl. âNoâŚbut Iâve got my exceptions.â He may not say it out loud, but the insinuation is there.
Heâll play the part of a gentlemen, for you. And although you enjoy it, a deep, maybe even animalistic part of you craves to see the Arthur Morgan who holds a gun and mighty fist. A new well of anticipation builds up in your stomach for whatâs to come.
Maybe itâs just because itâs such a show of strength, demanding what he wants knowing damn well heâll get it. Maybe itâs just because itâs him.
Either way, you canât find it in yourself to care. You gave up morality a long time ago anyway.
As the train gets far enough away from the station, Arthur begins to slip a couple bandanas out of his pocket, one for each of you. And of course, the weapons. Arthur having guns on his hips didnât strike anybody as odd, especially since the poor, naive fools didnât know one was for you.
Slowly, carefully, his hand pulls from yours, cold air hitting where heâd warmed your skin. Youâre mesmerized as you watch him, his hand gliding up to his belt, pulling one of the guns from itâs holster, sly as a fox as he bends down, supposedly to scratch his leg.
But no, his hand slowly, achingly so, slides up your dress, placing the gun right on your thigh, the cold metal meeting your skin making a brief hiss slip from your mouth.
Itâs necessary, to hide it until the time is right. But God, itâs dirty. His eyes donât leave yours the whole time, and yours donât leave his hand, even as it disappears under the fabric of your dress. The look in both your eyes is the same, want.
Desperate, filthy, the kind all women are taught not to feel. The kind they all do, and the ones who kneel shun themselves for it.
But youâve never been one to bend, and so you embrace it. The knots it works your stomach into. The way it sends your heart racing like the thundering of a stampede of hoofs. The heat that seems to fill your whole body from one simple action, and one man. Thereâs a hint of danger to the way he makes you feel, the knowledge that you could slip off the edge anytime.
That he could push you to the edge.
Youâre starting to think you might like that.
The sound you make is just a little too loud, not that he doesnât like to hear it. His voice comes out as a low warning. âEasy, darlin.ââ And at that, you think you might just die.
Itâs should seem chivalrous, but with the way he says it, itâs anything but. The fact that youâre this worked up over a man youâve known a handful of days should be embarrassing. Humiliating, even. But how can you blame yourself when itâs him?
Eventually he slides out of his seat slowly, you close after him, but only after retrieving the gun from under your dress. The feeling of your own hand, soft, slender, it canât compare to Arthurâs. Not in the slightest.
The world seems to slow in the moments before the robbery begins, both of you tying your masks around your faces and brandishing your weapons. Arthurâs voice breaks the blur, loud, his accent rough like hot desert sands.
And because Arthur has never been a man of dramatics, there is no fanciful announcement. No flourish or flair. Itâs ugly work, and he pulls no tricks to make it seem otherwise. An admirable trait to you, although you think others might not be able to see it as such. More brutality than honesty to the eyes of society. To the righteous, or those who like to see themselves as such.
The robbery goes by quick, cart to cart, booth to booth, and the same look in everybodyâs eyes, a perfect mixture of terror and disgust. Arthur never falters, not even for a second. All the victims are adults, and theyâre all rich, so he doesnât see much need for sympathy.
Still, he treats the women with a certain softness, if you could even call it that, compared to the men. His voice not quite so loud as he ushers strings of pearls and diamond rings into his sack with praises that still somehow sound like threats along the way. âAtta girlâŚthatâs it.â He speaks to them like spooked animals, and it takes a considerable amount of effort not to get distracted by his silken tone.
Maybe youâre the only woman sick enough to find it appealing, but you donât see any use in being ashamed of that. Or at the very least, it canât be any worse than the loaded barrel you have pressed to a particularly stubborn manâs head.
Well, he used to be stubborn, unwilling to yield to you. Now heâs coughing up everything heâs got, desperate pleas for his life falling from his lips.
Fucking pathetic. Just a moment ago he thought himself so strong, so different from every other person on this train for not giving it up. Truth is, that just made him the stupidest.
You and Arthur are nearing the front of the train when a familiar, sharp trill cuts through the air, like a crack of lightning, although a gavel might be more accurate in this case.
Deputies are surrounding the train before you can even fully register the sound of their whistles, signaling to one another where the two of you are. A strong hand grasps yours, dragging you off the train and out into the sun.
And right in front of a saddled deputy. Heâs dead before he can lift his own weapon, Arthurâs gun smoking next to his hip. Turns out the posters werenât being dramatic when they called him dangerous. Soon enough whistles of your own fill the air, and your horses come quick, skidding to a stop in front of the both of you, bullets whizzing by making them snort, prodding the ground with their hoofs nervously.
You both mount your steeds, setting them off running like bats out of hell. Leaving the deputies to chase after you, guns a blazing as bullets are dodged by swift movements from the horse under you. Bullets of your own fly behind you, although youâre far enough away by now that itâs more to scare them than hit them.
Not that you wouldnât if you could.
You risk to look to your right, peel your eyes away from your pursuers for a moment to watch Arthur. Arthur, who looks like a work of art, wind whipping through his hair, both hands preoccupied with firing his rifle, only experience on the run keeping him sat on his horse.
Heâs impressive, daunting, enticing in the most dangerous way. You wonât yet admit the sort of primal attraction you feel for him. The need to be closer, just a little bit closer every time you see him.
But you feel it, ohâŚyou feel it.
The cracks of guns firing begin to die down as you and Arthur crest a hill, disappearing onto the other side and out of the view of the police. You both get off your horses quickly, a swift smack to their rumps sending both of them running off wildly. Theyâll find their way back to you, but for now itâs safer if youâre on foot. Less noticeable that way.
The sun is beginning to go down, vivid splashes of pink and orange tinting the sky, a soft warm glow washing over you and Arthur, the quickly approaching darkness aiding in your escape into the trees.
For a moment itâs silent save for heaving breaths from the both of you, adrenaline still coursing through your veins from the escape. After a moment Arthur looks to you, speaking only after giving himself a moment to look you up and down.
âYou lose anything?â His voice is a low whisper, meeting your ears soft and rough all at the same time. You roll your eyes at the suggestion before lifting your sack, still as full as ever with your take.
âDoubting me?â A small tsk tsk sound slips through your lips that makes Arthur smirk. âIâm insulted, Morgan.â
He shakes his head, not quite used to a woman like you. Confident, endlessly teasing, witty. He likes it, of course, but it takes a hell of a lot more thinking to talk to you than most his fellow gang members. Although, heâs starting to learn how to get to you.
That same smooth, husky voice hits you, causing you to draw an uneven breath through your nose. âGuess Iâll have to make up for it someday, hm?â The devilish grin that finds purchase on his lips is a clear indicator that he noticed your reaction, and he liked it.
Heâs finding he likes most things you do.
âIâll look forward to it.â Your answer is soft spoken, nervous under his unyielding gaze. He provides a nod and low laugh in response, along with one word that he practically growls out.
âGood.â Your eyes dart away at this, the promise heâs seeming to make sending chills through your whole body. Arthur Morgan, youâve noticed, has a way of making you feel like a woman. Not a thief or a threat, just a woman. Makes you feel pretty, makes you feel wanted, makes you feel want.
Itâs more than seduction, youâre beginning to think. Thereâs a certain respect in the way he looks at you, a knowledge that he considers you his equal even as he watches you squirm under his whispered words. In his eyes, youâre a person, one he wants to know, to discover, not just an outlet for every fantasy that keeps him awake at night.
Itâs funny, considering the context you know him in, but heâs a gentleman. Not in the traditional sense, of course, but through small things. Like the way heâd been sure you were on your horse before even reaching for his own when the deputies swarmed. When heâd stayed back on the chase so itâd be easier to aim at him than you.
Heâs selfless, in a way. He wouldnât believe it if you said it, and most wouldnât think it if they knew him. But he is. Doesnât make him perfect, heâs far from it. Although you think thatâs why youâve begun to like him so much. Heâs marred, immoral in a dozen different ways, but he doesnât try to hide it. He doesnât cower under the piercing eye of society. Arthur is brutally honest about who he is, and itâs only working to pull you in further.
âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ..
The rest of your journey is silent before you find your way to a cabin, seemingly abandoned. Mold grows on every wall, and the roof is dilapidated for the most part, letting the moon shine in through the holes. The night is still hot, the fire Arthur built for light making it hotter still. Red tinged light dances along your body, hypnotizing him as it shines off the sheen of sweat on your skin.
Staying here for the rest of the night is wisest, if either of you are found tonight, the parts of your faces that werenât covered will be fresh in the minds of deputies. Besides, Arthur can think of worse ways to spend an evening than sitting across from you at a fire, the whiskey he kept in his satchel burning down his throat.
He sees the way you eye it and he hands it over wordlessly, watching as your lips wrap around the bottle, the amber liquid falling into your mouth like a sip of straight fire. Exhaustion is finally settling in now that adrenaline has fully worn off, your eyelids drooping. The liquor doesnât help, only adding to your inability to stay fully awake.
Arthurâs voice is softer than usual as he speaks, not wanting to startle you as he moves over to take the bottle from your hand gently. âGet some sleep, sugar.â The pet name causes a drowsy smile to play on your lips, your response coming out in series of mumbles.
âWhat âbout you?â you whisper groggily, causing a small laugh to bubble up from Arthurâs chest. âI will too, nobodyâs gonna find us out here.â A contented hum rises up from you, and itâs the last noise you make for the night as you drift off to sleep. After a while itâs clear that Arthur isnât quite as honest as you thought he was, seeing as what he told you was a blatant lie.
He didnât sleep a wink the whole night, keeping a careful eye on you until the sun rose in the morning.
A/N: yâall this almost turned into inappropriate use of a wâŹapon for a second if you know what I mean.
i hope you enjoyed despite how long he this is. Thank you to anybody that read the whole thing.
