#Arthur Morgan x reader

[evimightdraw]

Almost finished with another Arthur portraitttt

Just gotta tweak some details and finish the hair tomorrow

Sketch:

[chiaravnik]

the way i want dutch van der linde, arthur morgan and john marston to hug me

[dollyzdaydreamz]

was crying because some redneck almost killed me THRICE in a road rage incident. then I saw these pics and locked in.

fanfic ideas ahhh (*^ω^*)

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

✧ Fantasies in the dark - III

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader ✦ Summary: The only problem with being in love with a flame is that you can actually get burned if you get too close… ✦ Warnings/tags: SMUT 18+, MDNI! Blowjob, angst with no comfort, cunnilingus, talking you through it, fingering. Reader has some self-esteem issues. Mention of difficult past relationships. ✦ Words: 5,1k Arthur's pic is mine, others are from Pinterest. Hope this won't disappoint after all this time!

Part I - Part II - Part III

Wet noises and moans. The wood near camp is filled with them, contrasting with the tranquil, usual melody of the forest.

"Jesus, girl, easy…" Arthur hisses, pleads, even. His voice is low and raspy and so deep, close to that tone he has while taming a horse, but with that desperate urgency hidden inside.

You let go of him just for a few seconds, his tip tilting up on its own, twitching in nothing as he gasps sharply from the sudden change; boiling volcano to harsh, frosty air of this fresh dawn. He instantly misses the sweet and warm sensation of your mouth wrapped around him.

"What, you want me to stop?" You grin, teasing, your lips still close –too close– to his cockhead, brushing against its soft and wet skin, rosy color glistening and beading in the sunlight like an unresisteable treat for you to suck on.

He let out a short sigh, somewhere between a laugh and a snarl. "Hell no, but y'know I ain't gonna last long if ya- aaah"

Your lips had opened and eaten him and the last of his words whole, fully and voraciously. He curses, too loudly for his own ego not to frown at him, but what could he do? He had never been able to resist you since the very first time he had seen that silhouette of yours; now how could he, watching you on your knees, head between his thighs, his cock buried inside of your velvety throat. Every time, you were making him get closer to Heaven, achieving the miracle of opening the Gates once more.

A big hand gently falls on your head, fingers messily tangling in your hair, while he lets his hips succumb to the irresistible rocking they're urging him to, his fat shaft pulling in and out of your mouth. Not too brutally, never. You can feel the hardness of it against your tongue, against the back of your throat, and you smile to yourself noticing just how close he indeed is already. Your hands hold his shirt from each side of his waist –that overused blue shirt he hadn't stripped from, his member only fished out of his pants and union suit. Funny, how you noticed meaningless details in moments like those. Remnants of reality to keep you grounded on Earth, maybe. How the abused cotton feel under your fingertips. How his body and cock smell strong and manly and fucking divine. How the few dark curls escaping his clothes tickle your nose every time you push your face to his base. The way he tastes under your tongue, salty and heady. How the tip of his fingers feel against your scalp. From one end to the other, both of your bodies linked like …

"Oh god, damn it, how– how can ya be so good every' goddamn time…" He rasps, his eyes closing as he feels his orgasm coming at him with the force and speed of an avalanche; his hips thrust a bit faster, but it's subtle. You know he doesn't allow himself to be rougher than that with you. Invisible threads braided from his own problems, insecurities and griefs holding him back, pulling on his limbs as if he were only a puppet of theirs. His speech flows more freely, though, like to compensate, sinful, incoherent words flooding and flooding and flooding as he praises you again and again to the very end…

"Yeah, such a good girl, so god-damn perfect, taking me so good darlin'." His hand tightens in your hair, "Aaaall that' dirty mouth, jus' for me." His hips shudder, his eyes shut close as he pounds one last time and stays right there deep in your throat. - Oh, shit!"

His dick hardens as he spills inside, unable to stop it, secretly not wanting to. And it's so perfect, his head almost gets dizzy from it, his free hand holding the tree against which he's leaning to stop himself from collapsing. His cum warm in the back of your throat as he sinfully paints it. Balls empty, as almost constantly now, a stark contrast to their painful fullness of a few weeks ago, he groans softly in pleasure and fatigue, breathing in and out heavily through his nose in this blissful state.

His hand travels from your hair to your cheek, caressing your skin in a tender gesture. A gesture of gratitude. Thank you for making me feel like this. Thank you for doing it every day. For stopping the pain in my bones from burning me more, even just for a few minutes. For bringing solace to both my body and my soul.

Of course, no words ever cross his lips as he helps you stand up. His legs almost go weak again when he catches you swallowing with that proud, self-satisfied grin of yours. A nymph, he had thought of you the first time you had slept together. More like a succubus of Lust, he corrects and chuckles to himself.

"You're a wild one." He states, buttoning back his union suit, then his pants.

"You like that about me."

"Probably more than a' should, dalrin" … Ain't proper for a man to fancy a girl that much."

"Takling about that, it ain't proper neither to cary yourself with a cock that big…"

His hands fumble with his belt he had just picked up from the ground, his Volcanic revolver suddenly falling in the grass with a loud, muted sound. His head snaps up to look at you, his cheeks tinged a beautiful pink as a teenage boy getting his first kiss right on them. He's genuinely flabbergasted for a few seconds, his mouth slightly open in confusion, thin lips hanging a bit dumbly. It reminds you of that night you had caught him in the act in Rhodes, and you let a chuckle escape.

"Ya shouldn't say stuff like that, 'specially not a few feet away from camp." He protests, his usual frown settling deeply between his brows, instinctively rejecting your praise. He finishes buckling up his belt as he intended to in the first place, trying to brush off the primal, manly feeling of pride your comment had ignited in his guts. His enormous pistol he shoves back into his holster isn't helping with that either.

"You weren't that bothered about sound a few seconds ago…" You remark, brushing your knees then trying to fix your hair not to look too disheveled -as if you hadn't just sucked the hell out of the gang's toughest enforcer just a few seconds ago.

"Hush now, woman." He replaces his hat straight on top of his head with one hand, an amused smirk pulling his lips up. He looks down at you, gaze full of softness, deep blue color the only witness to the meanderings of his thoughts.

Looking at those eyes was like looking at the depths of a lake from above. You could always tell there was some life and movement under the water's surface, but couldn't point out what mysterious creature was swarming in those abyssal, muddy waters.

"I'll take care of ya tonight. 'm gonna make that cheeky grin disappear."

You shiver at the promise. You knew just how good Arthur surprisingly was at taking care of women that way. Biting your lips, you whisper some sultry last words in return, saying how you couldn't wait, before turning your heels and walking off to the numerous amount of chores still waiting for you.

Arthur doesn't bother to ogle at your ass as you do, your hips swinging subtly under your dress, the movment hypnotizing as you had almost reached camp. You both really should have walked further away from it, but damn it he couldn't had waited a second more with how hellish you were making his life at camp be. Stealing secret kisses, bending just in front of him, purposely getting your clothes wet, sometimes even downright caressing his crotch when no one was looking. And at the same time, you made it all heavenly, as some sort of devilish salvation. He scratches his jaw and walks the opposite way, not wanting to appear too obvious with the both of you coming back from the same spot together. There probably was not much to save, but still. His cock soft and satisfied and comfortable in his pants, his heart light, his good mood pushes him to accept Javier's friendly invitation to go fishing.

He can't help but let his thoughts get back to you, though. It had become more than a habit at this point, it was an obsession. Tasting your flesh, touching your skin, making love to you, and making one with you, it had all made him a devotee. He was a preacher who had the unthinkable privilege of having met his God.

He isn't catching much fish compared to Javier who was emptying the damn pond by himself. But he didn't care at all. It was a good, sunny day. One of the best he was having in a long time.

Your face isn't hiding the euphoria you're radiating with. All the contrary. Sat under the girl's tent not too far from the lake's shore, bucket of soapy water between your legs, you even hum a tune that makes Tilly smile next to you, her mending on Hosea's jacket a little less mundane. You don't complain even once about your tiring chore as you usually do. In fact, it feels like there's no worry in the whole world. Like those quiet moments of peace, pleasant good weather between two storms. The frogs croaking from the lake, the birds and chickens chirping, Pearson and Grimshaw in deep conversation a feet away from you. Uncle's banjo. Not even Micah's filthy shirt covered in blood from a few moments ago could bring you down; the now-washed and mended cloth hung on the thread to dry along the dozen other ones you had taken care of.

"You're quite in the mood today, mh?" Tilly asks, an amused expression on her young face, with that light tone of voice you had grown to love dearly.

"Could say so…"

You voluntarily stay elusive, too proud and happy with yourself about all that had happened between you and Arthur since the gang had settled here. The thought of him emerges in your head once more as you realise the next piece of clothing to wash is one of his workshirts, the torn and dirty red fabric feeling coarse between your hands. It reminds you of earlier. The strong smell of his sweat fills your nose. It should have disgusted you more than anything, but all the contrary made your body grow hotter. You let a small chuckle escape you.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing."

"Is Arthur's shirt covered in some unknown substance again?"

"No, it's just…" You start, unable to resist the urge to finally tell someone about it, words simmering in your throat like an agitated pot. "It's just I can't help but think about what's actually under it, you know?" You hold the large shirt in front of you, eyes studying it with an obvious interest.

Tilly laughs quietly, her eyes still fixed on her knitting, slowly nodding with a knowing smirk. "Oh, trust me, sweetie, every girl here thought 'bout it at least once -

"No, I mean, I know how he actually looks… Without any clothes on…"

The needle stops in the air, and she turns her head to you, the biggest smile on her face, her eyes burning with that flame of curiosity that swallows everything once you've discovered the surface of something utterly interesting, a gold digger unable to stop searching for more. Her eyes dart quickly between the two of yours, as you can watch in real time the wheels turning in her head.

"Girl, are you serious right now?"

"We did it. Like, a lot of times." You drop a bomb, for the third time today. You can't help but love the way she's reacting, your heart swelling with pride, your brain bubbling from getting that sort of attention.

"I knew it! I just knew it! It was so obvious, I mean," the young girl expresses with the speed of a train, "Just the way he was looking at you, spending more and more time at camp, following you everywhere!"

You feel your cheek slightly burn, and your chest rising higher. Why was it all so important to you? You didn't exactly know, but it felt great hearing Tilly, a friend, maybe a sister even, expressing her excitement.

"Yeah, well, it was just for fun, you know? I guess he really needed to blow off some steam, and I was there, more than happy to help…"

"Oh my God, this is so exciting!" She puts her needle and Hosea's garment aside. "Tell me more! How is he like?"

"In bed…? Well, a bit like his usual self, I guess. Rough at times, but always… Gentle."

Tilly nods slowly in agreement, her lips still pulled into a mischievous grin.

"And he's needy and eager, oh my Lord Tilly, you have no idea how much he–

You were about to put Arthur's shirt in the laundry bucket and spill another juicy information before you're pulled off your perfect little cloud.

"I can't believe you're bragging about all this."

You tilt up your gaze, and you're met with Mary-Beth. She, so sweet and delicate, who had been so close to you since the first days you had joined the gang. Who had always treated you with kindness and understanding. You had never heard her talk to you this way.

Seeing you're not answering anything, Mary-Beth continues, her hands on her hips.

"Arthur's not your little toy to play with, [Name]. He's been through much more than you can imagine, and his heart should be nursed, not fooled."

Her tone isn't purposely mean, but it's still firm. It holds a deeper truth in it, something unsettling that puts you right back face to face with your flaws and responsibilities. She's scolding you like a mom would with her favorite daughter who had disappointed her. And it's moving, as difficult as it is to admit.

"I… I didn't think-

"Listen, I know you're not a bad person, and you don't think you're doing anything wrong," She starts, her arms now crossed on her chest, her eyes leaving you no escape. "But Arthur is fragile when it comes to love. I know he doesn't look like he could be fragile about anything, but it's the truth."

You search for words to answer, but nothing comes; it is as if you were trying to get out of quicksand with no branches strong enough to pull you out of the mess. You simply look at the ground, unable to hold her gaze any longer.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is, don't break his heart, please."

And she vanishes as quickly as she had appeared, heading towards Pearson's wagon. You can still see her from afar, and a weird, nauseous feeling settles in your throat. No words from Tilly, trying to reassure you in multiple ways, saying Mary-Beth is probably jealous or too worried, and that you should do what you want, could make it go away. She tries to cheer you up and ask some more questions, searching for the blaze of excitement and amusement from before, but the mood has definitely shifted.

You finally put Arthur's shirt in the bucket, its ruby color turning into a brownish, muddy one as all the dirt lifts off in the water. You watch it swirl in thick whirlpools of mud and foam intertwined, and you start to wonder. Was he falling in love with you? Were you about to break his heart? Was he searching for more, for something serious?

You had always thought Arthur was not the type to fall easily for someone. In fact, you had never seen him being romantically enterprising with a woman since you had known him. And between the two of you? It was all so recent. It all happened so fast. Inevitably, your thoughts travel to your past relationships. How they had failed, every time. How those men had left you, all without exception. How you had been deceived and cheated on and lied to. After years and years of it, you had come to the only conclusion. You were cursed. You were not enough. You weren't meant to be loved that way. To build something stable. You were sure of it.

"His heart deserves to be nursed."

That was certainly true.

But what happens to hearts that can't be saved or loved? What happened to hearts that had been dropped too many times, and left alone to shrink in the dark? Do they slowly fade and rot after so much time spent unused? Do they gather in a graveyard to die altogether, like a melancholic last procession before the unthinkable?

Are they capable of nursing another heart, although they haven't seen one in what felt like ages? Although they're already doomed?

Like a trap of glue engulfing you whole, those questions and reflexions stick to your skin and take up all the space in your mind for the rest of the day.

Arthur's tongue has no mercy for you. Well determined to give you a taste of your own medicine from what you had done to him in the woods near camp the same morning, he had been quick to shorten his dinner and usual evening around the campfire, not so subtly commanding you to come and join him in his tent.

You didn't even know the flaps could close before. Now, they're closed almost all of the time, guaranteeing the two of you a semblance of privacy, or at least a shield from the other's nosy gaze. Tonight it would save them from seeing you lying on your back on Arthur's cot right now, legs spread open, his huge, coarse hands keeping them in place, his head buried in your center as he drank from you like he would have from the purest and freshest of water from a wild cascade. Slowly, almost lovingly –and the thought brings back the knot in your throat– his mouth kiss and licks relentlessly your entrance, before laping all the way up to your clit, lips suckling at it as if wanting to suck poison from a snakebite.

You moan, the feeling delightful, the sight mesmerizing. Oh, those two blue eyes looking at your face from between your legs, those golden brown locks falling on his forehead, his lips red and wrapped around you, his crooked nose buried in your folds. You can almost feel how afire he himself is, like every time he takes care of you like this. And it doesn't surprise you. Arthur, the protector. Arthur, the giver. Arthur, the man who could spend a whole month outside in the wild if it would benefit Dutch or the gang. Arthur, the man who knocks giants down when they get too close to the girls and rips families from their lifetime savings, destroying his honor and dignity for his own folks. No wonder Mary-Beth was so protective of him, in return. Arthur could and would move mountains for them.

For you.

And it hits you, right in the middle of it, as this man is giving his soul to you, more dedicated to your pussy than you had ever seen any men be, eating every inches of it and thanking the Gods for allowing him to, lips litteraly french-kissing your slit with his eyes closed and his brows tilted upward as if tasting the most incredible meal he had ever tasted, drunk from it.

Of course. Of course, he was a head-over-heels romantic too.

Your brain starts to get caught in that glue trap again, but hopefully for you, it's the exact moment when he decides to brush a finger against your entrance. Pressing gently, reverently, his fingertip softly swiping against your skin, collecting your arousal and his saliva in a sinfully wet noise. And he sighs deeply. Oh God, how could you not have noticed before? Every gesture from him is a prayer to you. To his deity. He looks at you, attentive to your every reaction. Wanting to make sure you're feeling good, that you're feeling perfect.

He must have noticed you're not in your normal state, your teasing and provocative comments missing from the picture. He leave your cunt just for a few seconds, and his lips rubs gently against it as he talks, stubble softly scratching,

"You okay there, darlin'?" You can feel his warm breath against you, your legs going weak at it.

"All g-good, don't stop. Arthur, please…"

I don't want to talk about it. Please, please don't ask anything else, just keep going.

"Relax, sweetheart, everythin's alright, okay?"

And something in you almost breaks at how tender he is. He doesn't even know what's bothering you. But he notices it. And he cares about it, about you. Like he would do for a scared mare, he gently comforts and praises you, resting his cheek against your inner thigh as he regains some of his breath and uses his fingers to take over.

"That's it, girl, juuuus' like that." He groans in an affirmative tone as he feels your inside, warm and silky and softer than velvet. "Yeah, let yaself go, honey, come on." His index finger penetrates you in a slow, very slow push, every inch of it filling you little by little.

"Good."

His first finger is quickly joined by his middle one, and their tip directly reaches and starts to brush against that spot you like so much, making you arch your back and moan for his own delight.

"That's it, y'see? So perfect, lettin' all go for me." He hums in approval. "Ma' girl." He adds with a curl of his digits.

His girl.

Do you want to be his girl? Are you ready for this? For commitment? The questions are back in your messy brain. You will screw this up like always. Every time you had trusted a man, he had shattered your heart into a million pieces and had danced on it. The same heart beats fast in your chest, and you're afraid the baldly patched up pieces won't hold.

A weird mix of feelings overwhelms you; your soul a painting that uses too many colors that don't fit together at all; a grotesque blend of green and pink, and black and red. Every brush stroke covers you one by one like waves wash the shores -pleasure, fear, excitement, panic, affection, affliction.

"Let it go, darlin'," Arthur whispers again, almost begging you, his fingers curling again and again, brushing exactly where you need them every time, the pleasure reaching vertiginous peaks. This time he looks at them, shoving them in you, then retrieving and again, like in a trance. He's almost drooling at the sight. It's impossible to resist him. To resist this.

And it is so good that it finally suppresses anything else - a bucket of red paint splashed all over the canvas. One of your hand instantly reaches for his head, roughly bringing it back to your clit, and he happily complies, still groaning his praises when he feels your pussy pulsing around his fingers or hears your moans getting louder, the smell of your sex filling both his nostrils and his animalistic appetite.

His tongue finally finding again that nod of pleasure on the oustide, along with his two broad fingers that easily feel like a whole cock fucking that spot on the inside, the red leaks from the canvas and swallows everything in its path. He pumps and pumps and pumps faster and fasterand with a few more hard licks against your pussy, you finally come all against him, his mouth answering with a warm deep growling sound of pleasure coming deep from his throat.

A few moments of relief, when all that is heard is the camp's life around Arthur's tent, the frogs croaking from the lake, unaware of your inner struggles, and your heavy breathings.

Then the red curtain rises, and everything's back, in an even stronger way. You wish there were a way to stay in that sort of foolish, satisfied, dumb post-sex state. But Arthur using his black bandana to gently cleaning up your cunt grounds you to the inevitable reality. He hasn't even bothered to clean himself up first, his mouth and chin glistening in the dark of the evening. Once done, he gets up into a sitting position at the edge of his cot.

"Did ya like it?"

No man had ever asked you that. Nor looked at you with those big, shining, expectant eyes. Almost like a puppy. You want to tease him, as you had taken the habit of, as your nature was telling you to, but now, Mary Beth's words were resonating into your head, caging you once again. You shouldn't even be there in the first place. Both of you were going to end up hurt. You were convinced of it.

"Yes."

You can't say anything else. He looks at you while quickly wiping up his mouth and beard with his bare hand, waiting for more. But if you start talking, you know it won't end up well. Your body is screaming at you to flee. You don't even know why. Everything is jostled and tossed about in your head. So you listen to the irrational. You get up and reach for your undergarments, dressing back quickly. You wrap yourself up in your red shawl, covering the last piece of your skin from his gaze. And into your shell you go. The scarf feels like it's strangling your neck.

As you are about to wish him goodnight, one of his strong hands grabs your arm, holding a bit of the fabric too.

"Wait, [Name]."

You slowly look up at him. He's still as expectant as before. Your heart tightens.

"I erm… Y'know I thought… I thought that you could stay here a bit?" The puppy eyes again. There's a softness in this picture that makes your own self spit at your face for knowing you'll destroy it just in a few seconds.

"You mean, stay here and sleep with you tonight?"

"Well, yeah, if you want t-

"I can't."

An awkward silence slowly falls after your words and cuts deep through his flesh.

Your heart still beating powerfully in your chest, you feel like the roles are reversed from that unforgettable night at the Parlor house, this time you feeling like you've been trapped, or exposed, you don't really know, but like a frightened animal, your panic is getting the better of you.

"What d'ya mean you can't?"

"Arthur, I… This is complicated, I can't, I…"

I can't offer you what you need. Tell him. Just tell him. Why are you stuck like this, fucking tell him.

Both up facing each other, his hand still holding you firmly, your eyes cross his and there's a thousand unspoken words shared between your two souls. Flying and clashing silently like a meteor shower crashing against another one a thousand light-years deep in space, sound lost but consequences devastating. And you're a coward. His beautiful, rugged features are shutting, satisfied grin long gone. The blue of his eyes forever inscrutable. Your feet are acting on their own. You need to fly away, now. Getting too close is going to destroy absolutely everything. Run away. Now.

"I'm sorry."

Those shitty, dumb words fall from your mouth as some tears threaten to fall from your eyes. You walk away, his fingers closing in on your shawl. You almost run out of his tent, leaving it behind.

You don't even try to look back. You can't. You don't want to verify if you're actually destroying him right now, doing the very same thing your past lovers had done to you. Maybe he doesn't even care after all. You don't hear him say a word.

The painting inside you is saturated. A few new colors added: shame, guilt, sadness. It doesn't get better, as you take refuge in the girl's tent, not wanting to sleep right next to his. You see the form of the others on the floor, and as you lay and curl up to your side, you whisper for Mary-Beth to hear, or for you to ease your conscience and be able to sleep,

"I've stopped it before it was too late."

The days after are out of time for you. As if isolated in another dimension away from the real world, things are happening around you but it fly high above your head. People talking to you, chores, Abigail and John arguing, music notes from an instrument, you weren't not even sure which. And, to your awful surprise, your throat still feels tight and knotted. Frustrated, you try to ignore your own urges, too, your body screaming from the sudden lack of sexual satisfaction you had granted him more than daily, as if you had stopped smoking all of a sudden and were physically needing a sweetly burning cigarette at all costs. But as much as you think about him, you try to avoid Arthur.

It's only for the better.

Every morning, you keep repeating it. Trying to convince yourself you had not made a complete mistake. But truth be told, not talking to him feels heavier than you had thought. Seeing him going out of town with Sadie and coming back laughing with her, too.

Heav heavy heavy. Heavy to hold for this shrunk heart.

On the seventh morning, you're convinced you've made the worst decision that night. But you weren't one to let life bring you down. You could fix it. You would fix it. At least, would try and talk to him again. Be friends with him again. Was it even possible? You didn't know, but you had to try. Arthur's absence felt too heavy to keep living your life like this.

And, to be honest, the poor man deserved at least a proper explanation.

That was settled. Determined, searching for him to break the mutism in which both of you had fallen is the first thing you do after breakfast. Soon enough though, life's revenge smacks you in the face when Hosea informs you you wouldn't be able to find him in camp because he had just gone on a mission with Dutch and Micah. Something to do with the O'Driscolls, apparently.

No matter. You were sure of yourself now. You would talk to him as soon as he came home and get off his horse.

But you should have known it by now. Life is having a fight with you, and it always is one step ahead. Because Arthur didn't come back that night.

Nor the day after.

a/n: Sooo 5k words again, guess it is a habit at this point. Also super stressed again because this series is definitely having some attention and I'm so scared of disappointing. Also, having Reader's pov and reversing the usual roles is a bit of a challenge so I'm even more nervous about it, hope it was enjoyable!

Oh, and also as always, please let me know if there are any typos! This isn't proofread!

Anyway, thank you so, so much for the amount of love you're giving to those fics, guys!!

tag list: @a-court-of-valkyries, @redwritr, @cassietrn, @esquilone, @starlightt180, @narcoticv3nus, @thoughts-of-bear, @emjiroki, @prettyundeadgirl, @eternalsams @amyispxnk @babybatss-blog @ardeniaa @sauvignon-velvet @sweeterlilith @arthurmorganist @blueskies664 @tranquilty @stilliwait @maxiismp @stottlemorgan @lizynownow (I tried to tag people who had shown interest in part3, really sorry if I missed anyone!)

[grymghoul]

ARTHUR MORGAN has an impressive cock. You'd always figured a man who carries himself so surely would have one like that. Thick and heavy, crowned with hair a bit darker than what was on his head. The way it would always be half hard anytime he was around you was flattering. The way he'd take up all the space in that hotel room, striding around, parading naked, he'd steal the air from your lungs. The way it'd pat against his thighs as he took heavy steps through the room. You'd stare and he'd look away, flush in the face. There was an inherent sense of boyish charm about him, how he could be so rough and callous, but the second he was alone with you he was nearly shy. Intimacy with Arthur was earned, a privilege, not a thing to trifle with. He'd given it to you and you hadn't even realized how hard it was to earn this from him.

He blushed bright red when you'd seen it the first time, that breathy "Oh, Arthur.." had sent a chill down his spine. Arthur was extra careful with you, fearing he'd split you right in half on his cock. There was no hiding it. The way his ranch pants would be fuller around you, the obvious bulge of denim stretching around it. He loved that you could try to swallow it all you wanted and you could still grip fingers worth of it as his tip touched the back of your throat. He loved being able to have you seated on top of him and see his dick fucking you from the outside. A firm hand pressed against you, making you tighter and he could feel the way he so lovingly damaged your sweet pussy.

He would torment your guts almost effortlessly. He'd have you gripping the sheets, choking back moans and sobs and all manners of pretty noises in a hitched tone without even trying. He wasn't an egotistical man, but he knew it couldn't be like this for every man or no job would ever get done in the world. It'd come to a stand still as everyone would be lined up to fuck the next man. No, no he had to have something special with you. He was easily enamored with you and how you'd feel wrapped all warm and tight around him. How snug you were.

Each time felt like the first with Arthur. The way he filled you and would have you swollen and sore the next day. Even after the bath you'd end up in together, he'd keep you there, wet and sudsy against him and his thick member until you had pruny fingers. He loved that you were a whiny mess just from being near his cock.

You were made for him by God, he wasn't religious but he was sure of it. You fit better than any glove or shirt or saddle he could have tailor made. You were just as addicted to him. The way his flared head could take up residency inside you made you know that there was some higher power and they were merciful in such a way for you to have a taste of heaven on earth with your Arthur.

[mediocrecowboyhat]

hc share since you're looking

arthur sketching [whatever love interest] constantly. or getting caught sketching them etc.

said smut is okay so... bondage + sketching them

I said what I said

I was actually thinking about that the other week! I was in the mood to write something for Arthur again and thought of his lasso

Tags: no use of pronouns, explicit sexual content, bondage, reader receiving oral

Arthur Morgan loves loves loves to draw you! Half of the sketches in his journal are pretty much of you. Some are more detailed, when he has the time and opportunity to sit down and put your features onto paper. Others are a bit more rushed, but they're still wonderfully drawn.

As much as he loves to capture you in his journal, he also likes to keep it a secret. Whenever someone gets too close, he shuts the book with an audible slam and stores it away. It's always on him in some way, either in a satchel or tugged into his belt when he's in a hurry.

At some point, you find out about it, of course you do. Arthur, your loving partner, would like to get a proper portrait of you after all, one where you sit still for him and perhaps even strike a pose. It's fun, throwing on various clothing items to switch it up. One time you tied his black bandana around your neck and put his worn hat on and that sight alone had him go absolutely crazy.

Of course the man has thought about drawing you nude, but could never bring it over himself to suggest it. There are hints here and there that he sneaks in during conversations and more private moments, but nothing outright. He doesn't even have to, because you bring it up when you two find yourselves forced to book a room at a hotel one day.

You've thought about it a long time by now and he can't help but flush and clear his throat when you tug at the rope he carries around to catch folks or game. Arthur is good at tying knots, knots that don't give in under any force. Though they're not as tight when he slings the rope around your naked body, his calloused fingers ghosting over your bare skin.

Now you're laying there between the soft and fresh sheets, the restraints squeezing your muscles in an almost comfortable way. The outlaw is lost in the dips and curves of your body and his eyes linger on your form longer than usual when he takes your picture. Some incoherent grumbling from him and the sound of his pencil on paper are the only sounds filling the warm room.

He can't deny that the sight excites him and the more time passes the tighter his jeans feel. You catch his hand drifting down to adjust himself and it gets a proud smirk from you. It feels good to get him like this with just the mere sight of your exposed body. No words, no touches, just you. That's all he needs.

Once he's finished with the portrait, he goes to free you from your binds, but you have a better idea. Arthur can't argue that he hasn't thought about it either throughout the evening, so of course he's on board. Now his face is buried between your legs, his fingers digging into your soft thighs while his mouth pushes you towards the edge. Back arched and lips parted, you push and pull at the rope, but not to break free.

[girl-celestial]

Good to Me

ARTHUR MORGAN X FEMALE READER, semi-public. mdni

THE cool metal of his gun pressed against your upper thigh as he nudged your legs apart with one knee. His hands were already working hastily, bunching the fabric of your dress around your waist. Your back hit the rough exterior of the bar—though Arthur had the decency to bring you around to the shadowed side of the building, away from prying eyes. He peppered kisses carelessly along your neck, then lifted one of your legs so it hooked around his hip. The coarse denim of his jeans ground softly against your linen drawers, the friction making you ache.

Desperate for more of you, his calloused fingers fumbled with the lacing of your corset, distracted and clumsy against the delicate silk.

“Goddamn miracle you can do this all by yourself every day,” he muttered with a frustrated chuckle, his warm breath brushing your neck.

You slipped your hands between you, loosening the corset just enough for him to tug it down. Your breasts spilled over the rigid edge, flushed and full. He pressed one palm against the wall behind your head for balance as he leaned in, grinding his aching length against your wet center. He groaned low in his throat, beard rough against your throat, and rocked again—this time slower, deeper, enough to send your breath hitching. You could feel it in the way his brow knit that he needed this just as much as you did.

“Lord, woman, keep on like that and I’ll have spent myself,” he said with a crooked smile, glancing down at your body beneath him.

“Please, Arthur,” you breathed, and something in him snapped at the sound of your soft plea.

The innocence in your voice, the sinful curve of your breasts still exposed—he couldn’t hold back. With a swift motion, he turned you around, pressing your front against the cool wall. Your nipples grazed the brick as you braced your arms in front of you. He hiked your skirts up again and slipped your drawers down in one fluid motion. The moonlight caught the wetness between your thighs, and he gazed for a breath, greedy and reverent.

“Such a good girl,” he drawled.

You heard the buckle of his belt come loose. One rough hand cupped your hip as he guided himself to your entrance. He pushed in slowly at first, letting you feel every inch, then seated himself fully with a single, sure thrust. He stayed there for a moment, savoring the way your body wrapped around him, before finding his rhythm. Each slow, deep thrust rocked you forward against the wall. His hand rose to your chest, fingers catching on the curve of your exposed bosom as his pace grew more fervent.

“Quit runnin’ from me now,” he growled, hips clapping obscenely against your backside as he pulled you back into him.

“Look at you,” he said, voice thick with hunger. “Takin’ me like this where anyone could see.”

It was almost too much until one calloused finger found your swollen bud, rubbing fast, tight circles until your body trembled. Your legs gave a soft shake, and Arthur gripped your hips tighter, holding you steady as he drove into you without mercy.

“So perfect,” he panted. “So good to me.”

You glanced back just as he came, watching his face twist with pleasure. He dropped his head, his hat shadowing his eyes, his grip firm and grounding as he spilled inside you.

You stayed like that a moment, bodies pressed close, breath mingling in the cool night. Then, with surprising gentleness, his hands steadied you, tucking you into his chest. He straightened the dress he’d so thoroughly disheveled and gave you a lazy, satisfied smile.

“So good to me,” he said again, softer this time.

[lonesomedovescry]

a kiss for each of your finger tips.

then a kiss on your palm, his whiskers scratchy against it as he brought it to cradle his face.

saying goodbye to arthur was never easy. tears welled up the moment he approached his mount. the silhouette of him walking from you was almost too much to bare, and dripped down your face in silent runs.

“sweet girl.” he’d say scoldingly when he turned around to see you, though his turquoise eyes swam with softness. “crying for me.”

he’d press his mouth against the tears in gentle kisses. then, mounted with his dark hat shadowing the panes of his face, he’d begin the ritual worship of your hands. he was leaning down towards you now, eyes closed as he savored the feeling of your hand against his cheek.

“i love you, darlin’. you know that.” he’d say this with his eyes still closed, as if he was feeling your love in his very bones.

you did, and you loved him. desperately. hungrily. with every cell in your body and without a moment’s doubt. you loved the outlaw like he was god. all of these thoughts raced through your head but you could only reply with, “come back to me in one piece. ill hunt you down after a fortnight.”

his eyes would open then, sparkling with humor. “you promise?”

you’d kiss him through his scratching laugh.

the days would pass painfully slow. laundry was scrubbed, a shirt of his nearly pressed and starched for him and hung in the closet. bread was baked and ate alongside a solitary bowl of stew. the small cabin you had for yourself become a prison. the days you spent with friends in town were the only reprieve.

but when he came back to you… oh lord, when he came back to you.

you’d spot him on the horizon. he galloped towards you with an eagerness that made you laugh. the book you clutched as comfort was thrown onto the floor as you barreled out the front door and down the steps.

and there he was, dirty and sweat-stained, smelling like gunpowder and coffee.

and there he was, taking you in his arms and bringing you close, breathing your name like a healing prayer.

[ilovebabygirls]

[THE GANG ON A JOB TO ROB A TRAIN]

MICAH [ABOUT TO ASK A QUESTION TO DUTCH] : Shoot me if I'm wrong-

ARTHUR [ALREADY REACHING FOR HIS GUN] : Go on.

(YOUR NAME) : Man, you're always wrong.

JOHN : Don't you wanna live?

JAVIER [SNICKERING] : Este gringo es muy tonto.

SADIE [ROLLING HER EYES] : Shut the hell up.

DUTCH [DESPERATE FOR PEACE] : Kids, settle down!

[slaughter-kin]

oh my god…. MY SHAYLA

[thedilfdiaries]

Ahhhhhhh guuuurl this was incredible 😍 what a perfect appetizer before my dinner 🤭 this was cute and sweet and I giggled and heart eyed the whole way through 💖💖💖 incredible work my love 🫶🏼

“Didn’t think I’m a woman did you? Heard it all before. Just get on with it and handle me like you would.”

“Now handle me like you would, Arthur,” you whispered, turning slightly to kiss his hand.

Like You Would ♡

f!reader, full fluff!! 🥰 18+ / pic by me! / divider: @aquazero / A/N: wrote all this down in an hour 🤭 I love this actually <3 the happy ending he deserved! ☹️

Arthur huffed out a satisfied sound, pulling the lasso hard enough to make the bounty fall.

Faceless. Dead or alive for $1000.

“Hold still,” the outlaw grumbled as he reeled the wanted in and started tying them up — not without a fight, to none of his surprise.

Once tied tight — pulling a grunt from Faceless — Arthur sat them upright and crouched in front of them, snickering at the glare from the badly cut holes of their mask.

“Now let me take a look atcha,” he said, voice low and dripping in mischief. Just a glimpse of the person who had him running in circles for weeks.

A beat and then the mask was pulled off.

His eyes widened as he took her in; a woman. A pretty one at that-

“Wait a minute! Mama was an outlaw too?” Your 10 year old gasped, sitting up from where she laid.

“Mhm. And a pretty one at that,” you teased, elbowing your husband who’s sat with you at the edge of the bed.

“Well,” Arthur cleared his throat with a smile. “We don’t know for sure so don’t interrupt me. Anyway,”

She turned away from him, hiding behind her hair. That fire in her eyes remained bright.

“I-..” Now he was the one tied; on his tongue. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have handled you so rough, I didn’t-”

“Didn’t think I’m a woman did you? Heard it all before. Just get on with it and handle me like you would.”

And with that, Arthur nodded. Though the last words had him feeling a little-

“Alright that’s enough. Bedtime,” you cut off, pushing Arthur off your daughter’s bed. You had forgotten this.. cursed little detail from the story. And curse him too, he laughed, that bastard.

“Aw! Feeling what-”

“Maybe you aren’t old enough after all,” you smiled, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “For another time, okay?” She can only sigh in defeat and nod.

“Sorry kid,” Arthur chuckled, walking to the door.

“You should be,” you muttered as you joined him. He only pulled on your hand, fingers quickly intertwined. Following it, a soft kiss on your temple.

With a roll of your eyes and a smile you could barely dam, you wished your daughter a good night and closed the door.

“Now you,” you turned to your husband.

“What about me?” He played, turning to you too. That stupid — and irresistible — half smile on his face as he walked backwards to your bedroom.

“You are staining my outlaw legacy by putting unnecessary details like that. I’ll have you know I was famous.”

“Why, it ain’t unnecessary, darlin’. If anythin’, it was the start. The foundation of our marriage, if you will.”

“Shut up,” you giggled, pushing him. But before he got very far, he pulled you into a kiss.

You gladly melted into his lips, moving until he’s pressed against the door. With a click of the doorknob, the both of you are stumbling onto the bed, laughing like teenagers.

As your laughter died down above him, he looked at you just like he did that night. That fateful night he caught you.

“C’mere,” he gently said, right hand already guiding your face towards his again.

The sound of his breath as your lips melded with his was like the hiss of a fire put out; like the whole world disappeared with it and it was just the two of you.

“If they had your face on that poster,” he muttered between kisses, flipping you over. “I’d have caught you sooner.”

“Ain’t work that way.”

“Ain’t gonna let me say somethin’ nice?” You laughed. Oh, how happy he made you.

He pulled away, that same look in his eyes as he cradled your face. Like a man who won much more than $1000 that night. He made a mental note to thank Alden again first thing in the morning.

“Now handle me like you would, Arthur,” you whispered, turning slightly to kiss his hand.

“Yes ma’am.” And with that he was gone <3

thank you for reading! 🫶🏼

my masterlist

[funkycoloured]

ֹ⠀⠀ ⊹ ⠀. 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄 ⠀`⠀ ִ⠀

red dead redemption 2 bots.

𝅭⠀blood money . ARTHUR MORGAN catches word of a quick way to make big bucks. the van der linde gang is in a constant need for cash, so he knows this opportunity is too good to pass up. the only thing is, you're the one in charge of this job. the leader of a prominent and feared gang, you practically run this little town. he had heard stories of your name and the reputation attached to it, and he has to get over his premature grudge if he wants the money. gn!user

𝅭⠀bossy little thing . ARTHUR MORGAN knows how bossy you can be. hell, everyone at camp does, and you don't exactly try to better yourself. it's part of your nature. he enjoys teasing you, just to get a rise out of you when he knows how angry you can get. he can't help himself when you're ordering him around after a grocery run from town. fem!user

𝅭⠀bruised and bloody . ARTHUR MORGAN tries to get you to open up after being captured by the O'Driscolls. the incident at blackwater had left the gang scattered and broken — and everyone thought you had died in the gunsmoke. after being found in an encampment in the mountains, you're brought back to the van der linde gang where he patches you up. gn!user

𝅭⠀bothersome rat . JAVIER ESCUELLA noticed your harsh dislike for Micah. the man never seemed to leave you alone, and Javier's own hatred seemed to double at the sight of the horrible treatment you endured. you had insisted you didn't need help countless times before, until Javier has enough and steps in after a particularly unsavory scuffle. gn!user

𝅭⠀blood-soaked cross . JAVIER ESCUELLA always thought you seemed out of place in the Van Der Linde Gang. you were some sort of religious freak, and not in the way that Reverend was. you were too kind, too pure, to be living on the road with outlaws. you had never taken a life, believing it to be the greatest sin of all, until you're faced with life or death. Javier is there to pick up the pieces in the aftermath. gn!user

notes ᝰ.ᐟ i have no idea how each title ended up starting with a "b" but that's kind of annoying me. anyways, let me know if any links are broken. tlou bots coming next week?? tried a new layout and I might stick to it. this was supposed to be a bigger drop but then I got writer's block for my other ideas mb some of these are a little half-assed due to said writer's block.

[strangesthirdeye]

REAL

[evimightdraw]

FINISHED ARTHUR MORGAAAANNN

I’m done edging you guys, thankbyou guys so much for the 250 reblogs on my last post and all the support, you guys are the best🫶🫶

Honestly not completely happy with the results, but can’t be bothered to fix the mistakes anymore.

Here are some process pics:

[inkmonster21]

Wildflowers in the Wind

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Series Masterlist

Warning: drunk Arthur (Lenny mission)

34. Just a Beer or Two

Lenny galloped in on his horse, his face filled with urgency, and interrupted the conversation between Arthur and Dutch. Lenny was barely able to catch his breath, his words tumbling out in a rush. "They got Micah," he exclaimed, his voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and urgency. "He's been arrested for murder. He was in Strawberry, and..."

Dutch placed a hand on Lenny's shoulder, his voice filled with reassurance. "It's okay, son," he said, his tone calm and soothing. "Just breathe and take a moment to collect yourself."

Lenny's words hung heavy in the air, the gravity of the situation palpable. "They nearly lynched me," he continued, his voice trembling as he relayed the tale of his close encounter with the townsfolk. "They... they got Micah in the sheriff's in Strawberry... and there's talk of hanging him," he added, his voice tinged with dread and concern.

Arthur couldn’t resist but throw in his two cents, "Here's hoping."

Dutch shot a stern look at Arthur, his expression serious. "Arthur," Dutch said, his tone firm and reproachful.

Arthur met Dutch's gaze, his expression unyielding, “what?” He held nothing but contempt for Micah, and the idea of him meeting a terrible end was far from unwelcome. "That fool brought it on himself," Arthur stated flatly. "You know my feelings about him, Dutch."

Dutch defended Micah, his loyalty to the man never wavering. "You think I can’t see past his bluster to the heart inside?" he challenged, his voice filled with conviction. "He is a fine man."

Arthur remained steadfast in his refusal, his expression resolute. "No, I ain't saving that fool," he stated firmly, his words tinged with a mixture of disdain and determination.

Dutch's expression softened, his gaze fixed on Arthur. He sighed deeply, acknowledging the impracticality of his involvement. "I can’t go," he admitted, his voice layered with regret. "My face will be all over West Elizabeth." He paused briefly before continuing, his tone firmer, "I’m asking. He would do it for you."

Arthur let out a weary sigh, his reluctance evident, but he ultimately relented. "I don’t think he would," he muttered, his voice tinged with doubt and resignation. Despite his reservations, he relented, his loyalty to Dutch overcoming his disdain for Micah. "But fine, alright." The decision weighed heavily on him, but his commitment to Dutch won out.

Arthur looked at Lenny and questioned, “You okay, Lenny?”

Lenny nodded in response, but his shaken demeanor betrayed his words. "Yeah, of course, I'm okay."

Arthur, observant as ever, looked at him skeptically, his eyebrow raised. "You don't seem okay," he observed, his voice betraying a hint of concern.

Dutch's voice was firm as he turned to Arthur, giving him instructions. "You take that kid into town, Valentine, not Strawberry," he said, his tone commanding. He paused, then added, "Get him drunk." Dutch's eyes locked with Arthur's, his gaze intense. "And Arthur, no crazy business."

Dutch walked away, leaving Arthur to process the task ahead. "And you get Micah out of that jail," Dutch reminded him, his tone authoritative. "I'll get to it, Dutch," Arthur responded, his mind already racing with the implications of the mission. "Just… can’t drop everything," he murmured, a touch of hesitation in his voice.

Arthur let out a weary sigh, his weariness apparent. "Alright," he relented, resigned to the task. "Come on, Lenny." He beckoned for Lenny to follow him, a sense of purpose filling his movements.

The ride to Valentine was swift, the two men riding in tense silence. The sound of hoofbeats filled the air, creating a rhythmic beat that accompanied them on their journey. As they rode, Arthur's mind wandered, and he found himself thinking about the possibility of seeing you singing at the saloon. The thought brought mixed feelings, a combination of excitement and trepidation.

As they reached Valentine, Arthur glanced over at Lenny, his expression stern. He felt the need to warn him about the previous encounter with the townspeople. "Now... I should warn you, me and a couple of the other boys got in a bit of a fight last time we was here," he explained, his voice tinged with a hint of caution.

Lenny's curiosity got the better of him, and he couldn't help but ask about the nature of the fight. "What kind of fight?" he questioned, his tone tinged with mild concern.

Arthur responded defensively, trying to downplay the situation. "Nothing bad," he explained, his voice taking on a reassuring tone. "We kept it clean. We're all good."

Lenny chuckled slightly, his skepticism evident. "If you say so, Arthur," he replied, his words tinged with a touch of disbelief.

They walked up to the saloon door and Arthur pushed it open. "Here we are," he said as they walked through the saloon doors and took in their surroundings. The atmosphere was familiar, with the usual saloon sounds of conversation and the clinking of glasses.

Arthur entered the saloon and saw you on stage, engaged in conversation with your bandmates. You had not yet started singing, the lull in the atmosphere a prelude to the melody that was to come. He couldn’t help but stare for a moment, taking in the sight of you on stage.

Seeing you there, even just standing and talking, was a sight for sore eyes, and he found himself entranced for a moment by your mere presence.

Arthur gave himself a mental shake, breaking free from the momentary trance your mere presence had put him in. He nudged Lenny, signaling for him to follow as they made their way to the bar.

Lenny inquired, "Just one or two... right, Arthur?"

Arthur nodded stoically. "Course. Just a drink. No big drama." He spoke resolutely, his eyes locking onto the bartender.

The bartender's eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Arthur. He was wary, his words carrying a hint of warning. "You," he said, his tone fearful. "I don't want no trouble."

You approached the bar, your words effortlessly cutting through the lingering tension. "Oh please, James, you know Tommy started it," you stated firmly, a smile plastered across your face.

Arthur turned at the sound of your voice, surprised to find you standing beside him. His expression flickered from surprise to a weary but welcome relief, his mind unable to keep up with the emotions flooding through him.

You looked at the bartender kindly. "Give’em two beers on me," you said, your voice firm but soft. The bartender's eyes widened in surprise at your generosity, but he quickly regained his composure and nodded in agreement.

You spoke softly, drawing Arthur's attention. "Hey there, cowboy," you said, your voice filled with a playful venomous tone. His expression softened at your words, the nickname bringing up more emotions than he was willing to admit. Hearing it spoken with such a bite shocked him.

He gave you a slow nod, his voice gruff but holding an undertone of emotions. "How you been?"

You gave him a small smile. "Oh, we’ve been just fine. Happy. Can't complain," you replied, your tone holding a sharpness.

He gave a nod, his gaze shifting slightly, avoiding eye contact. "That's good to hear."

Arthur's heart and mind warred within him, the words he wanted to say bubbling just beneath the surface. He could feel the emotions welling up inside of him, the weight of a decade's worth of thoughts and feelings threatening to break free. But instead, he remained silent, his eyes still avoiding yours as he fought an internal battle with himself.

You forced a laugh, pitiful man. "Okay then," you said, your voice tinged with a subtle hint of resignation. You took your beer, the glass heavy in your hand. "Enjoy the show, boys," you added, giving a nod before turning away and heading back to the stage.

Arthur watched you retreat to the stage, his heart heavy with the words left unsaid. He could sense the hatred in your voice, and it only added to the guilt he felt. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on the task at hand: getting Lenny drunk.

You took a deep breath, composing yourself as you prepared to perform. Despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you, you couldn't help the small smile that crept across your face.

In a way, you felt like you had a chance to subtly give the man who ruined you a taste of his own medicine. As you stood on stage, surrounded by the expectant faces of the crowd, you knew that the song you were about to sing would serve as a subtle jab at the man who had left you shattered.

You counted your band in, and then you began singing, your voice filled with raw emotion. The words flowed effortlessly from your lips, each syllable carrying the weight of a decade's worth of lingering emotions.

"He was the picture-perfect man of my dreams," you sang, your voice steady yet tinged with a hint of bitter irony. "He was a shotgun locked and loaded on me." The words hung heavy in the air, the truth in them all too clear to those who knew your past.

"He was a blonde-haired, blue-eyed, sweet-talking snake," you continued, the words falling from your mouth with practiced ease. "Loving him was my greatest mistake." The final words rang out, the truth of them hanging in the air like a heavy cloud.

The lyrics of your song washed over Arthur like a tidal wave, and the words felt like daggers to his heart. With each word, you painted a vivid picture of the pain and regret you had experienced, the truth of your emotions palpable in the air.

As the sound of your voice echoed throughout the saloon, he could feel the weight of guilt weighing down on him, the past he had left behind now rearing its ugly head in the form of your words.

The sound of beer bottles clinking together filled the air as he went from one to the next in a desperate attempt to drown out the words he was hearing. He couldn't bear the weight of your words, and he found solace in the bottom of the bottle, the alcohol numbing the pain and regret that coursed through him with each verse you spat.

“And that’s the thing, you see…” Arthur drunkenly looked around, his voice slurring as he called out for Lenny. "Lenny, where are you?" he yelled, stumbling through the saloon as he searched for his missing companion. The patrons turned to look at Arthur, some amused, others confused by his drunken state.

Arthur stumbled up to the stage, his words slurring as he tried to speak coherently. "Darlin', I know you hate me," he said, trying to sound more sober than he was. "But can you tell me where my buddy went? Feller about yay high." His eyes were bleary, his balance questionable as he stood before you, a drunken mess in search of his missing companion.

Before you could even respond, Arthur was off again, stumbling from table to table, asking anyone who would listen if they'd seen his friend. "Can't find my friend, you know where he went?" he slurred, his words a jumble of drunkenness and slurred syllables. You shook your head, watching the spectacle that was Arthur, amused by his drunkenness but also slightly concerned.

In between songs, you quickly jumped down from the stage and approached him, taking hold of his shoulders. "Arthur," you said, your voice gentle yet firm. "Your friend‘s upstairs, look." You gently guided his chin, turning his gaze towards the stairs that led to the upper level of the saloon.

Arthur's gaze was slow to follow, but he eventually looked towards the stairs, his focus shifting. "Upstairs," he muttered, his words slurred and difficult to understand.

"That's right, upstairs," you confirmed, your voice steady and soft despite the absurdity of the situation. You kept your grip on his shoulders, keeping him standing upright in his drunken state.

Despite being a drunken mess, Arthur found humor in the situation and laughed, his words slurring as he exclaimed, "I'm coming, Lenny!"

The sound of Lenny's laughter filled the air as he fell to the ground, his amusement evident. It was a sight to behold, seeing this man drunk out of his mind and stumbling his way up the stairs.

You couldn't help but shake your head, a small smile growing on your lips at the scene unfolding before you. It was a mix of amusement and disbelief as you watched these two grown men stumble about, their drunken antics reminiscent of children rather than hardened outlaws.

He was still handsome, and funny, and a brute, and such a… WAIT! STOP IT! He abandoned you!

Arthur leaned on the railing in his hand, his eyes hazy and unfocused as he watched you sing. The music washed over him, your voice a melody that tugged at his heart strings, despite his drunken state. He tried to focus on the lyrics, but they seemed to blend into a bittersweet symphony that both comforted and pained him.

Lenny's drunken question pierced the air, his words slurring as he questioned Arthur. "Why ain't you ever marry someone, Arthur?" he repeated, his speech slightly clumsy but his genuine curiosity obvious.

Arthur's gaze flickered toward you with a smile, his words tinged with bittersweet reminiscence. "Me and her," he slurred, his finger pointing in your direction. "We were gonna get married." The words hung heavy in the air, a reminder of the past he had left behind.

Lenny's initial wide-eyed expression quickly gave way to a howl of laughter, his eyes still wide but now filled with amusement. It was as if he thought Arthur's words were nothing more than a joke, a humorous notion that couldn't be taken seriously.

Despite his drunken state, Arthur joined in on the laughter, his giggles blending with Lenny's. It was a drunken moment of levity, the weight of the past momentarily forgotten as the two men bellowed with amusement.

You couldn't help but watch in disbelief as Arthur and Lenny jumped up and down on the floor, their drunken antics drawing attention from the other patrons in the saloon. It was a sight to behold, two grown men behaving like rowdy teenagers, their inhibitions loosened by the alcohol coursing through their veins.

Time passed, and at some point, Arthur lost sight of Lenny again. He stumbled about the saloon, his vision blurry and his sense of direction impaired by the alcohol. He called out for Lenny, his words slurred and barely comprehensible.

Arthur stumbled about, his words slurred as he called out for Lenny. "Lenny, where are you hiding now?" he yelled, his voice loud but slightly garbled. He finally spotted Lenny across the room and let out a loud cry of triumph. "There you are, Lenny!" he exclaimed, a goofy smile plastered on his face.

Arthur squinted at the man, realizing with a start that he had mistaken him for Lenny. The man was wide-eyed and taken aback by Arthur's drunken state, and he suggested with a concerned tone, "Maybe you should switch to water, my friend."

You finished your set and now lingered in the saloon, torn between heading home and staying a bit longer. Your concern for Arthur weighed heavily on your mind, seeing him completely intoxicated and likely to get himself into trouble or hurt. Leaving him in this state felt wrong, even if it wasn't your responsibility to watch over him.

Lenny grabbed Arthur's shoulders, his laughter booming in the air as he questioned him. "Arthur, Arthur, what are you doing?" he laughed, his tone filled with genuine amusement. Arthur looked at Lenny, his eyes slightly glazed.

Arthur and Lenny began slapping each other, their drunken state adding a touch of absurdity to the situation. The saloon filled with the sound of their slaps and their laughter as they continued their contest, their coordination impaired by the alcohol.

You turned your back for mere minutes to fetch a new drink, but when you turned back, both Arthur and Lenny had vanished. The space where they were moments ago was now empty, their sudden absence leaving you bewildered.

You heard their laughter coming from outside, the sound of their amusement carrying through the saloon walls. Curious, you walked towards the door, intending to find out what on earth they were up to this time.

You walked out of the saloon, your curiosity piqued, only to see Arthur dumping a man in the trough. The unexpected scene left you baffled, the image of a grown man being dunked into the trough like a disobidient child almost comical in its absurdity.

The man managed to escape the trough and scamper away, leaving Arthur and Lenny behind. The men were left laughing uncontrollably, their balance precarious and their bodies swaying like drunken sailors on a boat.

You couldn't help but ask, a mix of amusement and concern in your voice. "What the hell are you doing?" you questioned, your tone tinged with both fascination and bemusement at the antics of these men.

“This! Fun!” Arthur called back, a drunken grin on his face as he pointed to the trough. "It's fun!" he repeated, his words slurring into one another.

Lenny cackled, "We're having a hell of a time!"

"Hey, stop right there!" the lawmen called out as they approached. Lenny bolted away in one direction, while Arthur took off in the other, “you’ll never take me alive!”

You let out an exasperated huff and took off after Arthur, your heart racing with a mix of frustration and concern. "Arthur! Stop!" you called out, your voice urgent and firm as you chased after him.

But Arthur, in his drunken stupor, was oblivious to your pleas and continued running. His movements were clumsy and uncoordinated, but he managed to maintain his pace, albeit unpredictably weaving through the streets. You chased after him, your frustration growing with each step.

In his drunken state, he tried to jump over a fence but instead ended up face-planting himself into the dirt, his body sprawled on the ground. He couldn't help but laugh heartily, amused by his clumsiness.

You looked down at him, a mix of amusement and concern etched on your face. "Oooh, you okay?" you asked, your voice tinged with a touch of empathy but also a hint of wry humor at his drunken foolishness.

"I'm good!" he bellowed, a goofy grin on his drunken face. He attempted to stand up but fell back down, landing flat on his butt. Despite his drunkenness, he was unharmed, but his pride was certainly wounded.

His gaze met yours, and he seemed almost surprised to see you there at first. Then, in a moment of drunken clarity, he slurred, "You real, darlin’?" His tone was a mix of incredulity and genuine curiosity.

Your heart skipped a beat as his words hung in the air, their implication both serious and absurd. He was completely wasted, the effects of alcohol making reality seem hazy. "Of course, I'm real you big oaf," you replied, your tone soft yet firm, a mix of reassurance and mild irritation at his drunken confusion.

You extended a hand, trying to pull him up, "Come on," you said, your voice tinged with a mix of concern and exasperation. He took your hand, his grip loose and uncoordinated, as you tried to help him to his feet.

The journey back to your house was a comedy of errors in drunken movement. You supported Arthur, your balance affected by the alcohol in your system, as you stumbled and staggered with him toward your front door. Just as you reached the doorstep, he unceremoniously tripped, landing face-first on the steps.

You sighed, a mix of concern and annoyance in your voice, "Oh for Christ's sake, Arthur." You tried to help him up, but he was too heavy for your slightly inebriated self to lift on your own. "Get up, Cowboy."

He tried to lift himself, but he was too far gone, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. He let out a chuckle, his words slurring as he replied, "I can't, darlin'.“

You rolled your eyes, half-exasperated and half-amused by his drunken state. "You can't, my ass. Get up." Your tone was firm, yet tinged with fondness.

He chuckled, his words trailing off into a hiccup. "I'm trying… really, I'm trying," he mumbled, his words slurring together as he attempted to stand. But his efforts were in vain, his body failing to cooperate with his brain's commands.

With a final exasperated sigh, you watched as his body went limp and he passed out right there on the front steps. You couldn't help but chuckle at the sight, a mixture of amusement and disbelief. There he was, a grown man passed out on your doorstep, snoring softly like a child.

You headed inside, your movements slightly clumsy from the alcohol coursing through your veins. You grabbed a blanket from the nearby couch and returned to the front door, finding Arthur still sound asleep on the steps. With a bemused smile, you gently tossed the blanket over him, covering his body with the soft fabric.

You stood there for a moment, watching him sleep and silently shaking your head at the absurdity of the situation. Here you were, taking care of a grown man who had forgotten you.

[photo1030]

That would SO be me…

reader and arthur having a crush on each other and reader having to ride with him on his horse for the first time

"What do you mean he left you here?" Arthur wipes his hand down his face in exasperation.

He found you, completely on accident, sitting bored on one of the benches at Wallace Station, with no train coming for hours. He slid down from his horse, hitching the mare to the post outside the ticket window, and made a beeline for you.

"He said the take wasn't good enough for me to earn the ride back to camp. And he left me here." You simmer in rage, your hands crossed over your chest as you slump back against the bench in a very unladylike way.

"That's your first mistake. No more going out with Micah. Ever."

You pout, but then look down at your feet in shame, "I learned that lesson."

Arthur sighs, "Well come on now, let's get back to camp." He extends his hand to you and you take it, letting him pull you up.

He does not let go of your hand as he pulls you toward his horse. Internally, he seethes, thinking of what he was going to do to Micah upon his return. Leaving you out here, all by yourself? That snake was in for a world of hurt.

Upon reaching his horse, he lets go of your hand and adjusts the saddle slightly before turning back to you. "The way back down to the river is steep. You need to be in the saddle in front of me. Don't want you gettin' bucked off."

He's greeted with silence and... are you blushing? Wait, was he imagining the tightening of your fingers around his as the two of you walked over?

Could you possibly reciprocate the fondless he felt for you?

Unwilling to stew in the awkwardness, Arthur plows ahead. "Alright, up you go." Without even asking, he grabs your waist and heaves you up to the saddle, and you gasp in surprise for a moment before regaining your bearings and settling yourself atop the horse.

He pulls himself up, settling in behind you. One of his hands sneaks around your waist, lightly holding you against him. He winds his other hand around the reins.

You place your hand over his, securing yourself to him. As he clicks his tongue to get his horse moving, you are caught by surprise and jolt backward, plastering yourself completely against him. To include the curve of your behind against his crotch.

Shit. This was going to be a long ride.