questionable at best

I got the best photo in rdr2

"...in the clearing stands a boxer

And a fighter by his trade

And he carries the reminders

Of every glove that laid him down

And cut him 'til he cried out in his anger and his shame

I am leaving, I am leaving

f!arthur morgan x f!reader

tags/warnings: sexual content (18+), implied sexual activity, mentions of nudity, fem!arthur, fluff, modern au, a bit of a silly plot

a/n: this is my birthday gift to my beautiful, talented cutie friend @dolliecowboys!!!! The plan for this fic came to me during lunch around February and I stuck with it ever since. Initially I set out to make Arthur be canon compliant while still sticking to a more modern setting but then I found my little lesbian self grueling away at writing descriptions about a big sweaty man and thought huh this isn’t working out whatsoever. So I sat myself down, had a quick back and forth in my mind, and bam I realized what I needed to do: make this about femthur. A few things twinged here and there, not much else changed about the character and voila, big sweaty butch lesbian. My absolute weakness. And Bambi’s too if it’s Arthur Morgan, of course. So I present to you, my sweet bambi, a fanfic that I hope you can find humor and joy in. Something you deserve to experience forever. MWAH MWAH ILY ENJOY AND ONCE AGAIN HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!! imagine curtains falling and lights dimming to reveal this lmao

Morning light pours into the small kitchen, dappling the tiled flooring. Your bare feet patter against it as the stove is ticked to life. An egg is cracked, a breeze rustles the lace curtain in front of you. It’s a beautiful day. Sky blue as ever, clouds drifting along lazily outside, birds chittering in the trees. Not too far off a horse whinnies, a few sheep are bleating.

Life on the ranch was an easy adjustment. Easier than you expected after leaving the city. Your parents had questioned your decision to move so far from them, to leave it all behind. But then they met the towering magnet that had caused such a sudden shift in your behavior. The woman you now call your wife. It made sense. You were in love. And love didn’t know any bounds. Love didn’t understand the price of plane tickets or what it meant to separate a mother from her daughter.

It just pulled people together, their souls and hearts Intertwined.

Moving to the countryside was the easiest decision you’ve ever made. The fields of lavenders and sunflowers and baby pink sweet peas called to you. The vast, endless landscape, the night sky dotted with a million tiny stars. Constellations that you never knew even existed coming out of hibernation. It was a dream come true. A childhood fantasy caught in your palms like a firefly, glittering between the cracks in your fingers. And with awe in your eyes, you promised yourself that you would never let it go.

Arthur was a bonus, of course. Sturdy, protective. Something else entirely. You couldn’t look away upon first glance, and you haven’t since. She was an apologetic mess when the two of you first met, having just bumped into you. Causing your drink to spill down the front of your blouse.

Napkins flittered around as she swiped at the mess, muttering a billion apologies a second. All you could do was laugh, cheeks burning at the way her fingers brushed across your skin, the way her eyes flicked up to yours at the sound. For a moment, your breath had stopped, and you forgot about the mess entirely.

You were inseparable ever since. Making it official in an unexpected rain storm, makeup smearing, tears streaming. Your lips locked, hands trembling together before you rushed off to shelter, your families close behind. Laughs lost to the wind.

You sigh wistfully at the memory, eggs sizzling with the heat of the stove, poked around with your spatula. The front door creaks open, interrupting your reminiscent peace. Glancing back, you find Arthur stepping inside, kicking her boots off with a grunt. She’s drenched in sweat. White tank stained near her pits. Fabric plastered to skin. Slowly she drags her fingers through her hair, trying anything to cool down.

You always joked that she would look good in a magazine. Big, hardworking, intimidating. A woman covered in sweat, shirt popping open. Everyone would swoon. She would brush it aside every time, giving you a playful shake of her head, a gruff chuckle.

“You just want something to ogle at.” She accused and you’d gasp, feigning innocence

“No! I’m just pointing out your beauty.”

“My beauty, huh?”

The scrambled eggs pop, browning at the edges. Tugging you back to reality. A gasp, a scrape, and a clink. Then your overdone eggs are sitting pathetically on a plate beside you.

Ever so slowly, arms encircle your waist. A moist chest presses against your back. A chin nestles between your shoulder.

“I hope those ain’t mine.” Arthur drawls against your ear.

You shudder, a smile curls up your lips, “They will be if you don’t go shower.”

She reeks of musk, dirt, hay. Everything you’d expect from a woman grueling away on her ranch under the rays of a summer morning. Usually you wouldn’t mind, but it’s a habit you’ve wanted her to pick up on recently. To wash the grime of her work off before a meal.

Arthur sighs exasperatedly, pulling away. She always made a big fuss about it. Moping all the way to the bathroom that’s tucked away in your bedroom, lip jutting out in a pout. It’s a side of her she only ever embraced around you. And although it is quite annoying at times, you can’t help but smile knowing that your wife is most comfortable here, in your presence and amongst the wooded walls of home.

“Why don’t we eat first?” She suggests, wanting to buy some time before her inevitable shower. “It’ll get cold if not.”

The logistics of showering before eating a meal that is just finished cooking doesn’t elude you. The eggs will definitely get cold, bacon will shrivel, the coffee that’s at a simmer will be nothing but room temperature once Arthur is finished.

You clear your throat, reaching for the plate and shuffling past her to set the table, muttering, “That’s actually a good idea.”

Arthur barks out a laugh, silently basking in her glory, “I have one of those once in a while.”

The afternoon comes quick. House heating up, birds gone off on their hunt for a meal. The curtains sway, water spurts out of the faucet in front of you, dishes are rinsed and scrubbed efficiently as Arthur bathes. She stomped off to the bathroom not too long after breakfast was finished, mumbling something about the ‘water probably being too damn hot.’ You just laughed and watched her go. Shaking your head in quiet fondness.

Now you’re setting the dishes back in the cupboard and drying your hands on a towel. Turning as soon as your finished, trying to remember your to-do list for the day.

Clean dishes. Check.

Get Arthur to clean herself. Check.

Tidy up your bedroom.

Ah, there. That’ll keep you busy for a while.

Your bedroom is right down the hall, vast and full of memories and yours. All yours. Photographs line the walls, some taken by a friend of Arthur’s others purchased at farmers markets and furniture stores. But things have piled up recently. Laundry, boxes, old grocery bags you told Arthur to just set to the side. Blankets are strewn about, the bed not even made.

You’ve got your work cut out for you.

With a deep breath to prepare yourself, you get to cleaning. Picking up the bags and stuffing them under your arms. Breaking down the boxes for storage. Folding and putting away the piles of laundry that have been waiting.

The closet door is pulled open, boxes and bags left on the bed for now as you hang up shirts and dresses. Hangers clinking perfectly into place along the rack, a low hum now vibrating against your lips.

You’ve always liked cleaning. Dusting, sweeping, whatever it is, you find peace in it. Peace in the abundance of tasks. The mundane activities that you can check off your lists one by one. It’s satisfying. Pleasing, even.

Things have just been hectic as of late, causing chores to pile up. Lists to go unchecked. It’s overwhelming. Especially with the preparations for your upcoming birthday party. The one Arthur insists on you having. You’ve never seen her this excited for a public gathering but it’s sweet in a way. Knowing she’s excited to celebrate you. You’re just not as excited, really, it’s nothing, it’s not like-

Leaning forward, you bump something in the closet and a few papers flutter to the floor, a gasp interrupting your humming. You bend down to quickly gather the fallen paper and… folder? That’s strange.

Lifting it up, something slides out. Glossy, bright. A photograph. A professionally done one at that. And upon closer inspection, a perfect tilt of your head, a very much needed squint,

Your breath catches.

It’s Arthur. Posed nude with nothing but a frilly gift box in front of her crotch. Ribbons dangling down in front. Thick toned thighs on display. Wide chest puffed out to bring emphasis to her breasts.

Blinking, your mouth opens and closes, a million thoughts running through your head. But only one loud enough to be clear:

She did this. For you. After all the shakes of her head. The gruff laughter and denial. She went and did this.

It sends a thrill through your body, an adrenaline rush. Her frame is perfectly sculpted to your tastes. Skin sweatslick. Freckles clear. Hairy arms and legs tilted just right. Stomach protruding forward, the v of her hips a beautiful trail downward, your eyes following it lower and lower and-

The shower is shut off, handle turned hard, startling you back to reality. Frantically you scoop the folder up, shoving the tantalizing photo back inside before straightening out, eyes darting around the room.

The bed.

Perfect.

You rush over and stuff everything under your pillow, saving it for later. Later when you can confront her about it of course. Not for any other purpose.

The bathroom door swings open and a towel clad Arthur meanders out, squeezing her wet hair with her head tilted. Mumbling something about being finished. She glances up, noticing your guilty expression. That weird stance.

“What?”

“Nothing.” You shrug.

She narrows her eyes, water dripping between her furrowed brows, “Suspicious.”

“You’re always saying that.”

“Yeah,” she steps forward, “cause you’re always suspicious.”

“I am not.”

“Mm, don’t know if you can lie yourself outta this one. What were you up to?”

“Nothing.” You repeat, looking down at the boxes and bags still sprawled out atop the bed, “I was cleaning.”

Arthur follows your gaze, snorting, “You call that cleaning?”

“Hey! Stuff has been… cleaned.”

She shakes her head at you, tossing the hair towel over her shoulder and moving to sit at the edge of the bed to avoid crushing your work, “Yeah. Me.”

“Oh?” You huff, crossing your arms, “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Dusk comes in a rush. Heated kisses, quick flicks of your tongue, clothes pulled on in haste. Chores needing tending. Dinner needing cooking. You two ate late, grinning like a bunch of fools across the table at each other. Skin still prickling with touches, lips and thighs still wet with evidence.

Once arthur was finished eating she lounged back with her hands across her stomach, leg bumping yours under the table. She was wearing nothing but a tight pair of black underwear and a loose fitting t-shirt, her air dried hair curling up around her ears. The sight brought you back to those photos, which made you more than eager to get to bed.

Now you’re propped up, back against the headboard, wife stretched out beside you, lamplight drenching the room in a yellow glow. Those boxes and bags lay scattered over the floor, pushed to the side in the heat of passion. Your attempt at cleaning worthless.

Arthur rolls away, tugging on the blankets with a low grunt. You’ve been watching, waiting for her eyelids to droop, for her to give into sleep. And it seems she finally has.

After one last peek, you turn and pull your pillow upwards, reaching for the enticing folder just waiting for your return.

You eagerly throw it open, a slight shake in your hands as you pick up the photos. Quick to begin inspecting each and every one.

They get more risqué the further you sift through them. Frilly gift box lowered, legs parted in such a manner. One hand moved upward to grip at a breast, the other still holding tight to that box.

Your throat bobs, skin burns.

The last one leaves you breathless.

Her entire body on display. Full frontal. Thighs spread, leg now propped up on the box, revealing every hairy inch of her.

There’s a low groan beside you and then Arthur’s sleeping form is shifting, arm instinctively reaching out toward you, wrapping around your waist and tugging. You gasp, the photo fluttering out of your grasp and dropping to your lap with the others.

“Mmmh,” she mumbles something incoherent against your skin before lifting her weary head and blinking up at you, confused.

“Go back to sleep.” You whisper.

“Wha-“

“Shhh”

“Why are you….“ she trails off, stretching out her legs and scrunching up her face, “it’s late.”

“I know. Couldn’t sleep.”

Arthur, being Arthur, pulls away, moving to sit up. Moving to check on you. With a roll of her shoulders and a yawn she glances at you and then immediately drops her gaze to the photos. Eyes widening.

“Where’d you,” she blinks, looks at you, then back at the photos, “where’d you find those?”

“The closet.”

“Right. Yeah. My perfect hiding spot.”

You snort. She glares.

“Ain’t funny.”

“It sort of is.”

“You weren’t even supposed to see ‘em yet!”

“Well I did.”

“They were a surprise.”

“A good one.”

She groans, dragging a hand down her face, pinching the bridge of her nose. Then she’s grabbing the photos out of your lap, snatching them away from you. “You ain’t getting those back until Friday.”

Lucky for you, Friday comes in the blink of an eye. House crowded with friends, laughter and loud retellings filling up the small space of your living room. And lots of appreciative comments about you. The cake is brought in later. Pink and delicately frosted, sprinkles scattered all around. Colorful candles sticking out the top. Arthur holds it steady for you, a wide grin on her face as everyone begins singing happy birthday. It’s as out of tune as it is sweet. Then you lean forward and make a wish, blowing out the flames, ending it with a laugh.

The last of the guests left not too long ago. John and Abigail having stuck around a while longer just to catch up. It’s quiet now, empty gift boxes surrounding you on your spot at the couch, Arthur not too far off. A plate wobbling on top of her leg, a glob of frosting all that’s left behind. She glances at you, raises a brow and then reaches forward, scooping up some of the frosting on her finger and sticking it out to you.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head and moving toward her to lick it up but shes smearing it all over your nose before you can, eliciting a bubbled laugh from you.

“That’s for ruining the surprise.” She chuckles, leaning back again and sucking away the excess frosting. “And trying to hide it.”

“I’m sorry.” You giggle.

“Oh you say that now.”

“Yeah, alright. I’m not sorry.”

“Thought so.” She shakes her head, fondness settling in her gaze. A quiet peace falling over you two.

You nestle back into the couch cushion, letting out a soft sigh. Feeling an overwhelming sense of calm after the loud, eventful party. Arthur watches you, admiring the sight of her pleased wife.

“Someone’s happy.”

You glance sidelong at her, smiling, “It’s almost like it’s my birthday.”

“Oh yeah, guess it is.” She shrugs, setting the plate aside with another chuckle, “guess that also means you won’t be doing any chores today?”

“That’s exactly what that means. And it also means that I deserve another little treat.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhmm.” You beam.

“I’m sure you got something in mind already.”

“You know it.”

The photos. Perfectly posed, farmer-tanned skin bare just for you. A perfect little gift that would’ve blown your socks off if you hadn’t ruined it for yourself. It’s still perfect though. And exactly what you expect to receive now.

Slowly, with a devious smirk and a turn of your head, you meet Arthur’s knowing gaze. She rolls her eyes. You pout, clasping your hands together to plead.

“Fine.” She grumbles, moving to stand up, “because I promised.”

“Yay!” You exclaim, doing a little happy dance that gets you a snort from her and a sharp point of her index finger.

“You better not be doing that dance when I return.”

To her “dismay,” you’re doing multiple little dances and not holding back any of your reactions as you sift through the photos once again. Taking them in with unrelenting joy. She is sat beside you, laughing and shaking her head, making little comments to tease you but it’s obvious she isn’t actually put out by your excitement. She loves it more than anything. Loves that you love her.

This is where you’ve always belonged, and it truly is the easiest decision you’ve ever made. Marrying this woman. Living on this ranch. It was all you could ever ask for, that childhood dream in the whites of your smile, the friction of your excited movements.

Leaning over with a giggle you plant a sloppy kiss against Arthur’s lips and whisper a quick, “Thank you.” Not just for the photos, but for it all. For this wonderful birthday celebration. For making this decision a million times worth it.

And for never letting you go.

second a/n: ALSO HAPPY PRIDE MONTH EVERYBODY!!!! My first pride month finally embracing the fact that I’m a lesbian let’s fucking go, and it only seems fitting to have this be the first fic I post this month🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ also the first fic I post in a while, sorry about that I’ve been busy with school work and my inner turmoil, you know how it is. I love love loveeee you Bambi and I hope you have the most spectacular birthday, here’s to twenty more years of life and then another twenty after that and then another!!! and cheers to those years being nothing but prosperous for you

Dividers from: here

Hi, so I never posted this because I got really insecure about it and I really want to know if it’s good or not so can you guys reassure me or like give me tips please :( ramble under here.