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friendly reminder that Arthur Morgan has only one canon kiss in the game

and it's with a man named Charles

unfortunately it wasn't the one we were rooting for

#rdr2 #rdr2 community #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 arthur #arthur morgan #charles chatenay

Campfire and Tabaco

Arthur Morgan x Reader!Oneshot

I'm so sick of everything with Arthur Morgan being smut! So here's some fluff! There are some suggestive themes, and it's kinda angsty. But it's not smut!

Arthur wasn't a heavy sleeper. He couldn't be with the life he lived. But he normally could fall asleep just about anywhere. Under a tree or the stars, on a bench, or even just the plain hard ground. He always could fall asleep on his cot in his tent. Well, always except tonight.

He wasn't sure what time it was, but the fires had long stopped burning; only the glow of orange embers illuminated the camp. He was the only one awake aside from Charles, who was on watch duty.

Tonight had been the same as just about every other night. He made it back to Horseshoe Overlook a little before sunset. Uncle was already slurring his words; Javier was playing the guitar with Sean singing along poorly. Pearson was yelling to come get the stew while it's hot. Abigail was quietly scolding John.

He went and donated his day's findings to the box and cleaned his guns, and by the time he was done, the sun was almost gone from the sky.

Hues of blue painted Horseshoe Overlook as he sat near the fire, sketching the scene in front of him.

A drink in almost everyone's hand, they were celebrating a recent score from a stage coach thanks to information Tilly had provided.

Javier is playing an upbeat song; Abigail has Jack on her lap, and they're singing along with Pearson and Sean. Charles has a bowl of stew in his hands, trying to keep it from spilling every time Uncle leans into him. Dutch and Molly sway together, too slow for the song that's playing, but they're both holding each other like they might fly away.

You and Hosea dance together, matching the speed of the tune. He never thought he would see the old man move like that. A smile stretched over both of your faces, firelight dancing in your eyes.

The sketch took up two whole pages in his journal, and by the time he was finished, the music had slowed, and Hosea let you go laughing but out of breath.

Your face was flushed; you had taken a few swigs of bourbon. Your hair was down; normally it was tied out of your face.

Arthur thought you looked beautiful.

You two had always had a weird relationship. You both had a couple of late nights together, being sent on missions; you had even saved his life once. There were also a time or two when you both drunkenly made it into each other's tents. Arthur would like to say it was just drunken mistakes, just a one-night stand, a release you both needed from the dangerous and stressful life.

But deep down, he knew that he liked you. He liked you more than he would like to admit.

You were always gone from his cot by the time the rest of camp was up, and neither of you chatted outside of what was necessary. He wasn't sure if you knew what you did to him.

His head always turned when he smelled your perfume; his heart would race when he heard your laugh. Your face was pictured many times in his journal. And every time his lips met yours, he couldn't help but imagine a life with you away from all of this.

He ran a hand down his face, frustrated at his fantasies. Grumbling, he got up from his cot and made his way across camp to your tent.

He stops at the front of the canvas flaps. Debating. Some small part of his pride didn't want to want you, but he let his heart outweigh his pride for one time, one selfish time.

Arthur crouches down and pushes into the canvas tent. There you are, curled on your side on your bedroll. So peaceful, finally free from the pressures of the life you live.

As he walks further into your tent, he makes a noise that wakes you.

You sit up fast and reach for your gun, still mostly asleep.

"Hey, shh, it's just me." He says, a hand reaching out like he's calming a horse.

"Arthur?" you question, sleep still in your voice.

He laughs quietly; even when you're half asleep, you're so quick to reach for the trigger. "Yeah, it's just me, darlin'," he whispers.

You pause for a moment, eyes squinted as he shimmies further into your tent.

"I couldn't sleep." He makes his way to your side.

You look at him, eyes glazed with sleep, maybe suspicion, and maybe a bit of lingering alcohol from the night's festivities. Your hair was messy, and you just looked perfect.

"Just lay back down, hon." He says, hand on your shoulder.

You don't move right away, still confused from being half-awoken. But you do eventually lie back down, curled on your side, back to him; immediately, you're back asleep.

He laughs quietly to himself again, amused by your drunken, sleepy state.

He curls his body around yours, one of his arms used as his own makeshift pillow, and the other finding its way to where your chemise and drawers meet, and to the soft skin of your stomach and side. He buries his nose in your neck. You smell like campfire and tobacco; he wishes he could bottle it up.

You sigh, relaxing back into his embrace.

He squeezes his eyes shut; Lord, he wishes every night could be like this. Together, sharing warmth. He wishes you two wouldn't act like strangers during the day. He wants to make you laugh while the sun is on your face. He wants you to tell him about your life other than when you two are on a mission together.

But the life you both lived wasn't meant for love, at least that's what he told himself. But he found that love was all around him; he loved Dutch and Hosea, who had practically raised him. He loved John like a brother, even if he was hard on him. He loved Jack and was willing to step up for the boy when John ran.

He is pulled from his thoughts when you shift, hand moving to his on your stomach, fingers interlocking with his. Whether this is an unconscious move or intentional, it melts Arthur's heart a bit. He presses a kiss to the back of your shoulder.

Then his eyes weigh heavy, and his breathing matches yours. Sleep overtakes him as the moon is still high in the sky.

~~~~~~~~~

Golden light streams in through your tent, assaulting your eyes. You stir when an arm tightens around your midsection.

Over your shoulder, you see Arthur wrapped around you. His hat is abandoned, hair falls loosely over his face. Stubble on his face; you can see the small patch on his chin where hair refuses to grow, a scar from a bar fight, most likely.

You'd never seen him look so peaceful before; you'd never seen his sleep so heavy before.

Why was he in your tent? On your bedroll. You had some to drink last night, but not enough to forget another one of you twos drunken one-night stands.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you groan and attempt to pry Arthur off of you.

He doesn't let go; he grips you tighter. Fingers pressing into the skin on your side, and he groans in protest.

You decide to let him sleep. While this was bizarre, the sun was up, and Arthur was wrapped around you. You selfishly were basking in his warmth, in his touch.

He was always so aloof and standoffish with you during the day. Everyone else he greeted kindly and conversed with. But it felt like he was always just tolerating you. Unless it was just you two alone; if Dutch sent you on a mission, he spoke to you, and he even laughed. You don't understand the dynamic.

It wasn't made better by one very drunken night; he kissed you, away from the prying eyes of others in the camp, and you pulled him back to your tent. He was gone when you woke. Ever since then, you took turns finding your way to each other's tents late at night, and being gone by morning.

You knew it was more than you two just sleeping together. The sexual tension was obviously there, but on late nights when it was just you two around the fire, something burned between you. He was so kind, fetching anything anyone asked for. He was so calm with his mare, speaking with so much love to the animal; you would've never thought he was a ruthless outlaw.

And even when he drunkenly kissed you like a man starved, he touched you gently and spoke softly. When his fingers absentmindedly drew circles on your skin, you wanted something more from him. You wanted to know about him more than just the few hours you made small talk while on horseback.

Arthur groans and buries his head into your shoulder, the sun now bright through the flap in your tent, blaring into his eyes.

As Arthur stirred, you turned around to face him. He was awake now, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He looked a bit surprised that you were awake.

"Mornin'," He said, clearing his throat.

"Good morning," You say voice still laced with sleep. He looked almost embarrassed. "What happened?" You said, confused by the state of dress you both were still in.

"M' sorry," He says, ashamed, "I just wasn't sleeping well."

Your bows knit in confusion.

He studies your face for a moment. Blue eyes trying to read you. "I'll go," He says, sitting up and starting to leave the tent.

You sit up with him and reach for his shoulder. "Arthur, wait," You say, hushed, not wanting to wake up anyone else in the camp. "You don't have to leave."

He stops, his back turned to you. He sighs something heavy. "I'm sorry, I gotta get goin'." With that, he leaves your tent.

Warmth still radiates from where he was lying.

You're so confused, and kinda pissed off. Who the hell gave him the right to come to your tent and get pissy when you don't know why he's there?

You sigh, falling back onto your bedroll.

Arthur Morgan, why do you do this?

~~~~~~~~

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