Arthur Morgan || Dad's Best friend - Red Dead Redemption

The quiet out in Big Valley at night was heavy enough to feel in your chest. Inside the cabin, the embers in the stone fireplace were still glowing low, tossing soft, flickering shadows across the timber walls. Your dad was upstairs fast asleep, snored out cold after a long day of travel, leaving the two of you alone in the thick midnight silence.

Arthur had tried sitting on the porch for a while, nursing a glass of dark bourbon while his lungs settled, but it hadn't taken long before the quiet turned restless. When you drifted out onto the patio after him, he’d let out a low, raspy chuckle, his sharp blue eyes softening as he set his empty glass down on the wooden railing with a quiet “thud”.

"Bored already, baby?" he’d grunted, a crooked, gentle smirk tugging at his short-cropped beard. "Well... can't have you wanderin' around out here with nothin' to occupy that head of yours. Come on then. Let’s see if we can teach you somethin' useful for once."

Now, the cool night air was biting at your skin as he walked you out into the open dirt yard in front of his house. The surrounding redwood trees stood tall and dark against the starlight, and the quiet rustle of his livestock in the pens filled the background.

Arthur didn't keep his distance.

He stepped right up behind you, his broad, 6'2 frame blocking out the cold wind as he backed you up until your shoulders were resting right against his wide chest. The thick, rich scent of worn leather, tobacco, aged bourbon, and the radiator-like heat of his body enveloped you all at once.

"Hold it steady now, kid," Arthur rumbled low, his gravelly southern drawl vibrating right against the shell of your ear.

Before you could process how close he was, his large, heavily calloused hands came up, wrapping completely over yours to help lift the heavy iron revolver. His hands were massive compared to yours, broad, rough, and steady. He manually adjusted your grip, his left hand gently cupping your elbow to guide it while his right hand covered yours on the gun's handle. His thick thumb stroked slowly over your knuckles, nudging your finger proper onto the trigger with patient care.

"C’mon kid, relax... hands shakin' over a little piece of iron," he murmured, a low, fond warmth dripping from his raspy tone. He squeezed your hands softly, his heavy brow resting gently against your temple as he looked down at your hands in his. "Silly thing, ain't ya? Soft hands... probably never had to handle somethin' this heavy before."

Every time he exhaled, his broad chest expanded against your back, his heavy heartbeat thumping steady against your shoulder blades. He was supposed to be showing you how to hit the wooden fence post out in the dark, but he was standing so close his body heat melted right through your clothes, shielding you from the night chill.

He leaned down just a fraction more, his rough stubble brushing the side of your neck, making a quiet shiver run down your spine. His grip remained warm and protective around your hands, pulling you just a hair closer into his chest.

"Don't go overthinkin' it now. You ain't gotta stress that brain of yours when I'm standin' right here, darlin'," he grunted softly, his warm breath fanning over your skin. "I gotcha. I'm doin' the thinkin' for the both of us. All you gotta do is listen to my voice and let me guide..."

He slid his thumb over your knuckles again, a slow, soothing stroke as he felt you relax into his frame.

*"That's it...you’re doing amazing, actually," he coaxed, his raspy voice dropping into a deep, gentle rumble that sent a wave of warmth straight through you. "Just let me hold ya steady. You're doin' so good, baby... such a sweet, patient thing."

His storm grey eyes locked onto the target over your shoulder, but his chest was rising and falling heavy against your back, his thumb lingering over your hand long after your posture was corrected.

"Now..." he murmured, his voice soft and thick with a quiet, protective tenderness, his grip holding yours sure and safe. "Sight it up real pretty for me... take a slow breath... and pull that trigger, darlin'."

The quiet in your family's house was absolute, save for the faint hum of cricket chirps outside the open kitchen window. Your dad was still out cold in his room upstairs, snoring away the evening's whiskey, leaving the early morning house entirely to the two of you.

You were sitting at the heavy oak kitchen table, clutching a hot mug of coffee in both hands, still half asleep and wrapped head to toe in Arthur's heavy flannel button up.

It was massive on you. The shoulders drooped well past yours, the sleeves swallowed your hands unless you cuffed them back, and the hem fell all the way down toward your knees over your pants. It smelled intensely like him, cedarwood, tobacco smoke, and the warm, worn leather scent that followed him everywhere.

The heavy floorboards in the hallway creaked under a slow, heavy tread before Arthur stepped into the doorway.

He looked rough around the edges in the soft morning light, undershirt unbuttoned at the collar, dark silver streaked hair messy from sleep, and a quiet tiredness in his storm gray eyes. He stopped dead in his tracks the second his gaze landed on you sitting there in his shirt.

A slow, crooked smirk tugged at the corner of his bearded jaw as he leaned his broad 6'2 frame against the doorframe, crossing his thick arms over his chest. His sharp eyes dragged slowly down the oversized flannel swallowing your frame, taking his sweet time before meeting your gaze.

"Well... look at you," Arthur rumbled low, his gravelly southern drawl thick with sleep and an easy, fond warmth. "Woke up this mornin' wonderin' where my damn shirt went, only to find a little thief's gone and claimed it for themselves."

He pushed off the doorframe, taking slow, heavy steps across the kitchen floor toward you. The sheer size of him filled up the space, bringing that familiar, radiating heat along with him as he stopped right beside your chair, towering over you in that quiet, protective way he always did.

He didn't pull back. Instead, he leaned down, resting one large, calloused hand flat on the wooden table beside your mug, while his other hand reached out, his broad fingers gently catching the oversized collar of his shirt around your neck. His thick thumb stroked slowly over the soft fabric, brushing just barely against your skin.

"Fits you better than it fits me anyway, baby," he grunted softly, his raspy voice dropping into a deep, gentle rumble right over your head. "Silly little thing... looks like you're drownin' in it. You always gotta take what belongs to me, huh?"

He lingered right there in your space, his thumb giving the flannel a affectionate little tug, his chest rising and falling slow as he looked down at you with a quiet, undeniable softness he had no business showing his best friend's kid.

"Keep it on if you're cold, darlin'," he murmured, his thumb trailing a warm path down the front buttons before he finally let go, his knuckles brushing your chin. "I ain't in no rush to take it back off ya."

The early evening air in Big Valley was crisp as you brought your new suitor up the wooden steps of the front porch. He was neat, sharply dressed, and eager to impress your family, though he looked entirely unprepared for the sheer size of the house, the vastness of the land, and the three adults waiting on the porch.

Your dad was leaning against the porch railing, nursing an amber glass of whiskey while your mother wiped down the wooden dinner table out on the patio, setting out heavy stoneware plates. Arthur was leaned back in a heavy oak rocking chair right beside your dad, a quiet, towering fixture in the shadow of the overhang. He had his hunting knife in one hand and a block of cedar in the other, methodically whittling away at the wood. His hat was pulled low over his eyes, but the second he heard your steps on the stairs, his knife slowed to a halt.

His sharp blue eyes dragged slowly down the young man’s polished leather shoes, immaculate pressed suit, and soft, uncalloused hands before fixing on his nervous, rehearsed smile.

"I can see what it is," Arthur said smoothly, his gravelly southern drawl cutting through the air like a dull blade. He didn't bother standing up. He just sat there, his broad frame casting a long, dark shadow across the porch floor.

Your dad let out a low, weary chuckle, shaking his head as he took a sip of his drink. "Jesus, Arthur, give the kid a second to breathe before you go scarin' him off," your dad scolded lightly, though an amused grin twitched at the corner of his mouth. "Pay no mind to him, son. He's just an old bear with bad lungs and a worse disposition."

"I'm just lookin'," Arthur grunted, not even looking at your dad as he brought the blade back down on the cedar block, sending a long curl of wood falling to the deck. "And what I'm lookin' at is a city boy. Smells like rosewater and daddy's money. Walked up them stairs like he's afraid of breakin' his own ankles."

Your mother paused, setting down a basket of warm bread on the table, giving Arthur a stern, warning look. "Arthur Morgan, behave yourself. We have a guest," she said, though her tone was more like a mother scolding a stubborn uncle who refused to mind his manners. She turned to your suitor with a polite, welcoming smile. "Ignore him, dear. It's lovely to meet you. Come sit down."

Your suitor cleared his throat, trying to hold his chin up and stepping past Arthur to offer your dad a firm handshake. "It's a pleasure to meet you sir, and ma'am. I work in the banking sector over in—"

"Ain't ask for your life story, son," Arthur cut in again, completely ignoring your mother's glare and your dad's amused sigh. He rested his elbows on his knees, towering even while seated. "And I sure as hell didn't ask what you do with paper. I'm tryin' to figure out what you'd do if a wheel popped off a wagon, or if a wolf came out of them redwoods while you were out walkin' with my best friend's kid."

"Arthur, I swear to God," your dad laughed, setting his glass down on the railing and stepping over to clap Arthur on his broad shoulder, giving it a firm shove. "Stop pickin' the poor boy apart. He just walked through the gate."

"I'm tellin' you, he's soft," *Arthur rumbled, completely dismissing your dad's hand on his shoulder as he pointed the tip of his whittling knife right toward the young man's hands *"Look at them fingers. Never held a tool in his life. Never chopped a piece of firewood. Soft... like a little pat of butter left out in the sun. You reckon you could protect anything, boy? 'Cause from where I'm sittin', a stiff breeze looks like it'd knock you flat on your backside."

Your mother threw her hands up in the air. "That is quite enough! Arthur, go help inside if you're going to be so rude."

"House is fine, ma'am," Arthur replied smoothly, not moving an inch. His cold blue eyes locked onto your suitor with a quiet, lethal intensity that made the porch air feel ten degrees colder. "He don't belong here. Look at him... hands shakin' already."*

Your suitor’s face flushed a bright, burning red, his posture slumping as he looked from Arthur's massive, scarred frame to your dad, who was now just watching with an awkward, amused smirk, clearly not planning on actually stopping Arthur. The young man swallowed hard, his hands visibly trembling.

"I—I'm a respectable man," the suitor stammered out, his voice cracking under the weight of Arthur’s unwavering stare. "I treat them well—"

"You talk too much," Arthur cut in, his voice deadpan and entirely unbothered by your parents' presence. He stood up slowly, all 6'2 of broad, muscular frame unfolding until he was towering right over the poor guy. The sheer presence of him filled the entire porch, completely eclipsing the evening light. Arthur leaned in just an inch, his raspy voice dropping into a low, terrifyingly soft rumble. "And you're standin' way too close to what ain't yours. If I hear your voice wobble one more time, I'm gonna throw you over this railing myself. Now get out of my sight before I lose what little patience I got left."

A single tear actually spilled over the young man's cheek. He squeaked out a choked, pathetically quiet sound, looked wildly at your parents who both stood there in stunned silence, then turned right on his heel and practically sprinted down the porch steps. He stumbled over his own polished shoes, almost face planting into the dirt before scrambling into his buggy and whipping his horses into a frantic gallop down the driveway.

*Silence settled over the porch, broken only by the fading sound of wagon wheels.&

Your mother let out a long, heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Arthur... you are unbelievable. That poor boy is going to have nightmares."

"He was a spineless little toad anyway," your dad admitted with a sudden, booming laugh, shaking his head as he picked his whiskey back up. "Though you didn't have to scare the tear ducts out of him, Arthur."

Arthur didn't answer either of them. He just wiped his hunting knife off on his trousers, sheathed it at his hip, and turned his gaze back to you. His sharp expression softened instantly into that familiar, quiet warmth as he leaned against the doorframe, his heavy frame relaxing.

"Well," Arthur rumbled low, a crooked, dark smirk tugging at his beard as he reached out and patted the top of your head like a child. "That one was fragile, baby. You're gonna have to bring home somethin' with a little more spine if you want 'em to last past sunset."

The house was dead silent, save for the low, rhythmic ticking of the hallway clock and the faint whistling of the wind through the pines outside. It was well past midnight. Your parents were fast asleep at the end of the hall, and Arthur, who’d stayed the night after a long evening of playing cards and drinking whiskey with your dad, was downstairs in the guest room, trying to let his lungs rest.

He’d almost managed to drift off when he heard it.

A quiet, muffled sound from up the stairs. A floorboard giving a tiny creak, followed by the faint, hitching gasp of breath coming from your bedroom.

Instinct took over before his brain even caught up. Arthur was out of bed in a second, his boots silent on the runner rug as he moved up the stairs with the quick, practiced quiet of an ex-outlaw. Thinking someone had snuck in through the window, or that you were in some kind of trouble, he didn't bother knocking. He pushed your door open in one smooth, heavy motion, stepping right into the room with his sharp blue eyes scanning the dark.

"What's goin' on in here—"

The words died right in his throat.

There was no intruder. Just you.

You were sitting up in your bed, the blankets tangled around your waist, completely flushed and pink from your chest to your cheeks. A light sheen of sweat glinted on your skin in the pale moonlight pouring through the window, your breathing shallow, heavy, and visibly hitching as you froze like a deer in the headlights.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what you’d been doing under those covers.

Arthur stood frozen in the doorway, his broad frame completely blocking out the hallway light behind him. His hat was off, his silver streaked hair messy, and his henley shirt unbuttoned at the throat. His sharp, observant eyes dragged slowly down your flushed face, taking in your wide eyes, your parted lips, and the way your chest was rising and falling in rapid, uneven breaths.

The initial tension in his shoulders melted away, replaced by something much heavier and far more dangerous.

A slow, crooked smirk began to tug at the corner of his bearded jaw. He didn't turn around, nor did he close the door all the way; he just pulled it shut until there was only a tiny sliver of light left, stepping fully into your room. His heavy floorboards creaked softly under his weight as he took two slow, unhurried steps toward your bed.

"Well..." Arthur rumbled low, his gravelly southern drawl dropping into a deep, raspy whisper that barely carried across the room. "Look at you."

He stopped right at the edge of your mattress, towering over you in the dark. The thick, warm scent of cedar, tobacco, and his familiar radiating heat filled the space between you as he leaned down, resting one large, calloused hand flat on the mattress right next to your thigh.

"Woke me up from a dead sleep with all that rustlin' and sighin'," he murmured, his sharp eyes darkening as he took in how utterly caught you looked. He reached out with his other hand, his broad fingers gently catching your chin, his thick thumb brushing over your burning, pink cheek with a slow, possessive stroke. "Care to tell me what a sweet little thing like you is doin' up so late, lookin' all worked up like this?"

He leaned in just an inch closer, his rough stubble brushing against your skin, his thumb trailing down to press lightly against your trembling bottom lip.

*"Silly baby..." he grunted softly, his warm breath fanning hot over your face, his raspy voice dripping with a dark, teasing fondness. "You know you ain't supposed to be playin' with yourself under your daddy's roof... especially not when I'm just right downstairs."

The house was completely still, drowned in the deep, heavy silence that only settled over Big Valley in the dead of night. Upstairs, your dad was sound asleep down the hall, his rhythmic snoring fading into the background. You’d been tossing and turning for hours, unable to shake the restlessness, before your feet carried you down the creaking hallway to the guest room door.

You turned the brass knob as quietly as you could, pushing the door open just a crack.

The room was dark, bathed in the faint blue glow of moonlight streaming through the window. Arthur was sitting up in bed, shirtless, a worn leather journal resting on his thighs. The second the door clicked, his sharp blue eyes cut toward the entrance, instinctively alert before softening the moment he recognized your silhouette in the doorway.

He set the journal down on the nightstand, letting out a low, raspy sigh as his broad shoulders relaxed.

*"Can't sleep, baby?" Arthur rumbled softly, his gravelly southern drawl thick with sleep and an easy, fond warmth.

He didn't hesitate or question it. Instead, he reached down, turning back the heavy wool quilt and the crisp white sheet, making a generous space on the mattress beside him. He patted the empty spot with one broad, calloused hand, his crooked smirk barely visible in the dim light.

"Come on then," he grunted softly, his voice dropping into a gentle, raspy invitation. "Don't just stand there freezein' in the doorway. Get in here."

The moment you climbed into the high bed, Arthur leaned over, his massive frame looming warmly over you as he pulled the heavy covers all the way up to your shoulders, tucking the edges neatly around your neck like you were something precious that needed protecting from the night chill.

Then, he slid back under the covers right alongside you.

The sheer heat radiating off his 6'2 frame hit you instantly, melting away the cold of the hallway. Before you could even settle into the mattress, Arthur’s long arm reached out, wrapping securely around your waist. With one gentle, effortless tug, he pulled your back flush against his broad, muscular chest, completely enveloping you in his space.

He rested his chin lightly near the top of your head, his thick arm acting like a heavy, protective anchor across your stomach, holding you tight against him. The rich, comforting scent of cedarwood, tobacco, and clean laundry enveloped you all at once.

"There now..." Arthur rumbled low, his chest expanding against your back as he took a deep, steadying breath. His thumb began to stroke slow, soothing circles over your hip through the fabric of your clothes. "Ain't nothin' to worry about out here. Daddy's gotcha."

He shifted slightly, pulling you just an inch closer, his large hand cupping your side to hold you firmly against his heart. Every slow, heavy heartbeat thumping against your spine, combined with his gentle, raspy breathing, began to drag you down into a deep, heavy exhaustion.

"Close them pretty eyes," he murmured right against your hair, his voice a deep, purring rumble in the quiet room. "Just go to sleep, darlin'... I'll be right here when you wake up."

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