#alpha arthur morgan

[hihomeghere]

Heat | Alpha!Arthur Morgan x Omega!reader

Happy Valentines day! <3

Word Count : 3.5k

Summary : Nursing Arthur's rejection, you go to the saloon while your impending heat hangs over you. Will he be able to save you before another alpha tries to stake their claim?

Warnings/tags : A/b/o, knotting, marking/biting, slight angst, reader is referred to as she, has female parts, arthur is our miscommunication king, unwanted advances from another man, dubious consent (reader has expressed consent earlier but is not in the right state of mind), Ruts & heats, unprotected piv, creampie, slight breeding king (It's me, what do you expect)

Divider by @saradika

Tags : @photo1030

The lively piano filled the saloon, doing little to raise your spirits. Resting your palms against your cold glass, trying to ease the fire that burned in your belly. You were foolish, you knew that, coming into town this close to your heat. 

But the flush in your cheeks wasn’t entirely from your impending heat. No, the burning coil of rejection was what was causing blood to crawl up your neck and flood your cheeks. 

You sipped the whiskey, wincing as the liquid burned your throat. You thought it would ease the pain in your chest, but it only seemed to amplify the hurt. The painful memory of your fight with Arthur replaying over and over in your head. His jaw clenched, refusing to even look you in the eye. His voice raised as he snapped at you.

You shook your head, quickly downing your glass. Shivering as the liquid ran down your throat, heat blooming in your chest. You couldn’t ignore the subtle clench in your lower belly for much longer. The second tell tale sign that your heat was fast approaching. Like sand pouring into an hourglass, the time for you to find a place to ride out your heat was dwindling. 

Sweat dotted your brow, raising the back of your hand to wipe it away. The fabric of your dress was rubbing your skin raw, you itched to ditch the fabric. Although you weren't stupid enough to strip in a bar full of all kinds of designations. You ordered another, placing two coins down on the bar top.

The scent of an alpha invaded your nostrils, nearly suffocating you with how strong it was. You silently cursed yourself, you hadn’t bothered to cover how your distress was pouring off of you in waves. Anyone could have smelt it, omega, beta or alpha. Unfortunately for you it was the latter.

“Hello sweetheart.” The man cooed, his lips pulling back in a wolfish grin as he took the seat next to you. His suit jacket cut tight to his body, obviously tailored. Younger than you, his pocket watch hung from a golden chain, an easy target if you were here to do ‘business’ as Hosea called it. Robbing rich men blind.

You ignored him, a bead of sweat rolling down your back. 

“Omega.” Unable to stop the pull of your designation, you turned to look up at him. You realized too late that you were in the worst situation possible. Half an hour max, away from your heat, and this fucker looks like he knows it. “Why don’t you say hello, hm?” He asked, his tone dripping with command. 

You opened your mouth to respond when the familiar scent of pine and leather filled your noise. Wrapping around you like a warm embrace. 

Arthur, alpha. You didn’t have time to speak before his hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you off the chair and behind him. You could feel the anger pouring off of him in waves, your omega pumping out calming pheromones at his distress.

His chest heaved as he glared at the other alpha, fire burning in his eyes. 

“She don’t have to say shit to you.” He growled, “Now why don’t you run along, pup.” A fresh wave of slick dampened your thighs at his possessive words, your inner omega preening. You knew the two alphas could smell it, each of them stiffening respectively. The man’s lip twitched, as if debating whether or not to stake his claim. Although you doubted the man in front of you had a death wish. Arthur stood tall, trim waist and broad shoulders. A perfect alpha in every way. The man mumbled something along the lines of ‘not worth it’ before walking off. As the younger alpha retreated off to lick his wounds, Arthur’s hand wrapped around your wrist. In a flash he was dragging you out of the saloon, the night air doing very little to cool your feverish flesh. His touch was searing against your skin, branding you like a hot iron. 

He didn’t speak, his spurs clinking as he stomped across the dirt road. Pulling the lead off the hitching post.

“The hell were you thinkin’?” He growled, dropping your wrist, “You know how damn close your heat is and you go and pull this shit! Any of those bastards could’ve-“ He cut himself off with a frustrated growl, his hands on his hips as he faced away from you. “You’re lucky my scent is still on ya, only a young pup like him would've tried it.” 

Your lower lip wobbled as you stared at his back, tears pricking your eyes.

“Why’d you come after me?” You asked, wrapping your arms around your body. That caused him to pause, the hard line of his body tensing at your question. Your legs were starting to wobble, your breaths quickening.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked with a huff, turning to face you. You tilted your chin up, using the remaining bit of your strength to face him head on.

“You ain’t my alpha.” You said, tears stinging your eyes as you looked up at him. “You made that clear.”

-

He had been helping you ride out every one of your heats for the last few months. You were sweet on each other, the whole gang knew it, hell the whole world knew it. 

The way your eyes seemed to follow him wherever he went, drawn to him by some magnetic force.

Most would blame your designation. An unmated omega is going to naturally be drawn to any alpha, it’s in your nature. But you weren’t that kind of girl. Never had been. 

Sure, those few days every month when your skin turned feverish and debilitating cramps overtook you, you could do little but beg for an alpha to knot you. That’s why you were careful, leaving camp for a few days to hide away in an empty cabin, to ride out your heat.

When your biology took over, you couldn’t trust yourself. Your omega begging for any alpha, no matter who they were, to mate and knot you. Even the toughest omegas turned to putty around their heat. And ending up mated to an alpha who couldn’t control marking you, was oftentimes a fate worse than death. Breaking a bond, even an accidental one, could sometimes lead to death. That was in the case the Allha agreed to breaking the bond. Far too many omegas had been trapped in abusive bonds for your liking, and you wouldn’t be one of them.

Your fingers were a sorry excuse for a knot, hardly giving you any relief. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and there hadn’t been any alpha you trusted to take care of you. To not take advantage of your clouded judgement. That was until Arthur.

You had been running with the gang for quite a while, maybe a year or two. You would be lying if you said Arthur’s personality had first drawn you to him. He was an alpha in every sense of the word. Strong, loyal, caring, fierce. And he smelt so damn good, his scent covered damn near everything in camp. Pine and leather dusted against the hay bales, near Pearson's wagon, and absolutely covered his makeshift tent. 

You would catch yourself breathing in deeply whenever you walked past him, or his tent. Unable to stop the deep pull in your gut. 

But you never thought he’d look your way, never thought he’d see you. See you as more than an omega.

But he surprised you, treating you as more than just your designation. That had been what made you fall in love with him. To your delight, he had felt the same way. One thing had led to another, and he had offered to work you through your heats. How could you refuse? 

So when you walked over to his tent, your skin red and flushed, you thought he would jump to get you somewhere secluded. 

“Arthur.” You said softly, your heart faltering as he refused to look up at you. His eyes trained on the open page of his journal. “Arthur.” You repeated a little louder this time. His scent was nearly overpowering, settling over you like a heavy blanket. Pine, leather, tobacco, gunpowder.

“What?” He huffed, not raising his gaze. His jaw set as he shielded his eyes with the brim of his hat. 

“Well I…” You faltered, feeling yourself shrink in front of him. Trying to make yourself look smaller to appease him. “My… my heat is coming.” You watched as he took a deep breath, his chest expanding, before he exhaled shakily. No doubt smelling the slick spreading between your thighs. It was like time paused, both of you hung suspended as you waited for him to react.

“Don’t know why you’re talking to me about it.” He mumbled, scribbling in his book. You swallowed thickly, your brows furrowed as you took a step closer. 

“Well we-“ You spoke softly, tilting your head.

“There ain’t a we, don’t you get it woman?” He snapped, shaking his head. “I ain’t your damn alpha, it ain’t my job to help you through your heats.” His blatant rejection was like a slap to the face, your feet moving backwards as you stumbled. 

“What?” You asked, hoping, praying, that you had heard him wrong. 

“There ain’t nothing to discuss. Now I suggest you find somewhere to ride out your heat.” His words hardly a suggestion as his alpha command seeped into his words. You were helpless to do anything but obey him, turning on your heel as tears clouded your vision. 

-

“Damn it woman.” He sighed, the leather leads creaking in his hands as he clenched his fists. “That don’t mean I don’t care for you.” His words were tight, spoken through clenched teeth.

“I don’t need you Arthur.” You whimpered, hot tears rolling down your cheeks. “If I want to find someone to knot me through my heat, I’ll do just that.”

“Like hell you will!” He growled, snarling as he turned to face you. Your eyes widened as he met your gaze, red lined his eyes, the sigh of an incoming rut. A pitiful whimper left your lips, watching as his chest heaved with each labored breath. 

“You’re going into a rut.” You whispered, staring up at him as you clenched around nothing. He looked away, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed harshly. 

“You think I don’t wanna help you through your heat? You think I want you to be in pain?” He asked, shaking his head as he looked down at the dirt road. “But I can’t- I can’t promise it- it won’t take over.” It being the alpha inside him. A shiver ran down your spine despite the intense heat that burned you from the inside out.

An alpha in rut and an omega in heat was a recipe for disaster. Well, an unmated omega in heat. Bonded pairs often went into ruts and heats together, one being triggered by the other. But most omegas didn’t come out unmarked if their alpha was in a rut. Not to mention, it was the best time to breed.

“What if- what if I don’t want you to fight it.” You said breathlessly, your lids feeling heavy.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” He sighed, shaking his head.

“I do!” You urged, stumbling forward. “What if my heat triggered your rut. What if-“

“Don’t say another word.” His scent was only getting stronger, and you had no doubt yours was the same. The gland on the side of his neck was red and glistening. 

“What if you’re meant to be my mate.”

“It’s your heat talking.” He snapped, turning to look at you. “If you were thinking clearly you wouldn’t- you wouldn’t want this. Wouldn’t want me.” His tone is harsh, covering up his obvious self deprecation. Wouldn’t want him? Wouldn’t want Arthur?

You scoffed, shaking your head. “I’ve always wanted you.” You confessed, laying your hand on his arm. As your skin connected, your stomach clenched, your legs giving out from under you as Arthur’s hands grasped your waist.

“Let’s get you inside.” He breathed, his chest heaving as he pulled you along to the nearest hotel. Your mind was going fuzzy, his scent too overpowering as he led you into a room. “Make your nest.” He said, his tone gentle as he leaned against the door. You ripped at your clothes, tearing them off of your body as you began to build your nest. Tearing the bed apart as you laid the blankets out to your liking, adding your own dress and underclothes. For the first time all day you felt some sort of relief.

But you were missing something, missing Arthur. 

“Alpha.” You whined, sweat dripping down your body as the fever started to overtake you. The ache in your core growing as you rubbed at your clit. He stiffened, his fists clenched at his sides. “Please Arthur.” You cried, slipping a finger inside your dripping cunt, “Alpha please.” You arched your back, pushing your breasts up as you tried to entice him.

“It ain’t right.” He said through gritted teeth, shaking his head, “I can’t-“

“I want your knot, I want your mark.” You cried, adding another finger to your heat. Pumping them in and out as you writhed on the bed. It wasn’t enough. Your entire body was ablaze, and the only remedy was his knot. 

“You’re not thinking clearly.” He repeated, his boots scuffing against the floor as he fought against his primal instincts. 

“Oh fuck me Arthur!” You cried out, throwing your head back as your first orgasm washed over you. It soothed the ache, but only for a moment before the next cramp ripped through your body. 

His expression was pained, his brows drawn tight as he squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Darlin I-“ He shook his head, his resolve crumbling, “You know I want you so bad.”

“Then take me, please.” You whimpered, spreading your legs, his red rimmed eyes immediately drawn to your wet cunt. 

“Christ almighty.” He whispered, dropping to his knees as he crawled towards the bed. Pulling off his clothes as he drew closer. He laid his hand on the edge of the bed, his eyes finding yours.

“Come here.” You pleaded, giving him permission to enter your nest. He climbed onto the bed, a deep growl rumbling in his chest as he quickly slotted himself between your legs. His hands gripped your thighs, his thumbs pressing into the swollen glands there. Slick mixing with your pheromones as you writhed under him. “Alpha!”

“Shhh,” He shushed you, “I’m gonna take care of you ‘mega, you know I always do.” He ripped off his shirt, sending the buttons flying across the room. You grabbed the blue fabric before he could discard it, tucking it into your nest. 

“Want you- want your knot- need your knot.” You babbled, reaching for him as he shucked off his pants. His cock bobbed up against his belly. Thick and weeping, as he settled between your legs. He lowered his head, running his nose against the gland on your neck as he scented you. 

“Fuck me darlin’-“ He groaned, white knuckling the fabric as he fought the urge to knot you right then and there, “Smell so damn good- always so goddamn good.” He dipped his hips, the mushroom head of his cock bumping against your clit. A cry ripped through your chest as you raised your hips, chasing after him. “Easy, easy sweetheart.”

“I can’t-“ You cried, tears springing to your eyes, “I need you, need you to knot me! Mark me!”

He thrust into you with a growl, filling you completely. Even with your slick it’s still a pinch, your mouth opens in a silent cry as you clenched down around him. Too sensitive and on edge to stave off your orgasm. Not that you would want to.  He doesn’t wait, pulling out to slam back into you. His cock rubbing up against your walls in a way that has your toes curling.

With each thrust he pushes you higher up on the bed, the headboard thudding against the wall. If the other customers at the inn couldn’t tell what was happening by the stifling scent of pheromones and moans, the slam of the wood against the wall was a dead giveaway.

“So tight- how the hell are you still this tight?” He gasped, clenching his jaw so tight his teeth ached. Fighting the urge to bite down on your swollen gland. His tongue darted out, tasting the sweet skin of your neck. You jolted, clenching down on him as a gasp left your lips. Your nails raked down his back, locking your legs over his hips.

“Y/n… omega…” His breath fanned against your neck as he panted against you. The sound of skin slapping against skin filling the hotel room. 

“I want it-“ You whimpered, baring your neck as you pulled him closer. You knew what he was thinking, a pained groan rumbling through his chest. “We’re meant to be.”

If he marked you, you’d be branded not only with his mark but his scent. Anyone would be able to smell him on you, know that you were his mate. While that wasn’t a problem for law abiding citizens, Arthur had too many enemies. With a bounty on his head that size, not to mention O’Driscolls and Pinkertons on his tail. You’d be an easy target, something to be used against him. 

But goddamn it, he wanted you to be his. You were in every sense of the word, but still unmarked. Which meant any alpha or beta out there could still have you. 

Your hand reached up, cupping his cheek as you made him face him. Your eyes hazy, lined with omega silver as his hips pistoned in and out of you. Wincing slightly as the bulb of his knot began to swell. Catching around the ring of your cunt with every thrust. 

“Mark me. Make me yours.” You pleaded, your voice shaking as you clung to him. 

Arthur considered himself a strong willed man, with a good head on his shoulders. But at the end of the day he was only a man.

“I’ll take good care of you, omega.” He promised, sinking his teeth into your gland before he could change his mind. As his teeth pierced your neck, a mix of pleasure and pain washed over you. He growled against your skin, pushing deep inside you with a final thrust as his knot slipped within your pussy, locking the two of you together. Another orgasm washed over you as he began to fill you with his cum. The cramps in your belly almost nonexistent as you breathed out a content sigh. His jaw loosened, pulling away from your neck. His tongue lapped at the torn skin, cleaning you up as you laid boneless under him. 

His knot was still pulsing, pumping load after load inside you. Maybe this time it would take. That thought sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“C’mon darlin’.” He cooed softly, gently moving your legs off his hips. He tilted your body so you were on your side with him behind you. Both of you moaning as his knot tugged at your walls from the movement. “That’s better.” He whispered against the shell of your ear, his arms wrapped tight around your waist. His hand spread across your belly, warming your skin.

You could sense his fear, the insecurities lying deep within him. Your bond now set in stone, his feelings, his scent, all that stronger. 

“It wasn’t my heat talking.” You promised, his arm tightening around your waist.

“You’re still in heat.” He mumbled against your skin, running his nose up and down your neck as though he couldn’t help himself. 

“I’m clear enough to know that.” You said, turning your head to look back at him. “I’ve wanted you to mark me ever since you started helping me.” 

“I believe you.” He whispered, a myriad of emotions shining in his eyes. “I just- don’t know why you’d want to be tied to an old outlaw like me.” His gaze lowered, an almost shameful expression crossing his face.

“I don’t care what you’ve done Arthur.” You said softly, his thumb rubbing small circles against your skin.

“You should.” He mumbled, “If you were in your right mind you’d run as far away from me as possible-“

“I don’t care because I see you.” You said cutting him off, “Past the bullshit, past the persona you have to play, past even the alpha.” You placed your hand over his, lacing your fingers together. “I see you Arthur.” 

He pulled his hand away, your heart sinking. But before you could dwell on it, his hand tilted your jaw. Turning your head to look at him as he covered your lips with his. You eagerly returned the kiss, parting your lips as his tongue darted out to taste you. The metallic taste of your blood still heavy in his mouth.

“Don’t know how I got so lucky.” He mumbled breathlessly as he pulled away, “But I swear to you, I won’t let nothin’ hurt you. Even me.”

“I know you won’t.” You said, pressing your lips against his.

[emjiroki]

Help I had an Alpha Arthur thought and now i can't sleep

[dazednstoned]

Arthur Morgan has got to be my favorite depiction of healthy masculinity. He is still masculine and tough, but at no point does he need to put down others to assert himself as that. He values and respects women and doesn't express any need to establish his "toughness" over them. They are people and friends to him, not just objects that serve him in some way.

And most importantly, HE ISNT AN EMOTIONLESS STATUE!! He has honest and vulnerable conversations, he has meaningful friendships, and admits his past wrongs and then learns from them!!

[twola]

Defying Conventions

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI, A/B/O

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link ➵ Next

Navigating the world as an omega is hard enough - but navigating a friends with benefits relationship with an alpha is even harder. You're hell-bent on not being defined as anyone's property, not belonging to anyone - but biology has other plans. ABO. Honestly this is just smut.

It’s a dangerous game you are playing. 

You know that. He knows that. But living on a blade’s edge is something you all have been doing all of your life.

Your breath heaves as you come down from your high, sweat plastering your skin and your hair hopelessly tangled. 

Your limbs are also hopelessly tangled with his in the slightly lumpy bed. Sure, it wasn’t the Bastille in Saint Denis, but it was the best you could get in Valentine.

Beats his cot, it’s much too small for these activities anyway.

His lips gently press against your neck, tongue darting out against that sensitive spot under your scent gland, and you shiver delightfully in response, clutching at him everywhere.

He rumbles in approval, pressing up on one elbow to catch your lips in a long, satisfying kiss.

“Mmm, you like that?” His deep voice drips like honey from his lips as he pulls back, balancing on his forearms, his hips still pressed deeply into yours.

You smirk, running one hand through his hair, “What do you think, cowboy?”

Arthur’s knot pulses in your cunt, and you know it’s going to be several minutes more before it shrinks enough for him to extricate himself from you.

Not that you mind. Deep underneath it all, your bleeding omega heart yearns for it, though you would never speak those words into truth. 

He mustn’t know how you plead for him when you’re in the throes of your heat. How you beg, whispering into your pillow needily for him to come and fuck you, to knot you, to mate you, to breed you.

You don’t want to give anyone that kind of control over you. Even Arthur, your current bedmate with whom you’re aghast to admit you have been imagining all these things and more during your heats.

Your last heat was downright painful - the burning desire in your cunt couldn’t be slaked by your fingers. You wept, holed up in a cabin outside of Blackwater, wishing and pleading and begging for Arthur to come fill the emptiness within you.

But no - that was your rule. Never during your heat. The temptation would be too much. Hell, you gave up on refusing to let him knot you the third time you slept together. But never, never enough to tie you to him, to make you belong to him. You don’t want to be just some alpha’s omega. 

Even his.

Arthur leans down and places his lips upon yours again, moaning into your mouth when you open it for him.

For now, this arrangement suits you both. 

-

After the mess in Blackwater, after nearly freezing in Colter, finally - things seemed to settle down as the gang found refuge on Horseshoe Overlook.

A splendid time, of course, for Arthur to go into rut. When he came to you breathing heavily through his nose and his irises bleeding red, you supposed that it was better now than during all that previous mess. Even though you and he had not been together long enough for you to see him like this, you knew enough of alphas to recognize it when you saw it.

But rut - rut was a powerful thing. The kind of thing where he grabbed your hand and pulled you away from the laundry you were doing with a force that nearly knocked you over. Pulling you away from the camp, deeper into the forested area surrounding the gang’s hideaway.

“Fuck-” He curses as he stumbles through the woods, trying to get far enough away that he can touch you without some dumbass from camp interrupting.

You’re yanked forward into his embrace as he stops in a small clearing.

“Don’t you want to go to a hotel or somethin’?” You ask as he nips at your earlobe, unsure if you’d actually be able to remove yourself from him long enough to get to a hotel room.

“Naw-,” Arthur nearly growls in your ear, “Can’t wait that long to have you.”

You smile - there’s something incredibly endearing to see him so needy. Almost omega-like, if you had to put a descriptor on it.

“Show me what a good little omega you are.” His voice is rough like he’s been gargling gravel.

You nod, completely under the spell of his dominance. Leaning back against the tree, you hike up your skirts to pull your bloomers down, letting them flutter to your ankles as Arthur’s hand shoots forward between your legs, coating his fingers in the slick that’s accumulated there.

He growls in approval, his other hand working at his gun belt. After a few moments of finagling his belt crashes to the ground in a heap of leather and metal.

“How - how do you want me?” You ask meekly. 

Meekly? That is a word you would never use to describe yourself. But now, with Arthur’s eyes blazing red, his muscles bulging and his breath heaving like a wild animal, your instincts overrule everything and you just want to submit.

“Present to me, little omega,” Arthur smirks as he moves to press the entire line of his body against yours, engulfing you in the warmth of his embrace.

You sigh in contentment as you tilt your neck upward, allowing him access to the sweet-smelling gland under your jaw.

“God-” he rasps, his cock ramrod hard against you as he buries his face in your neck, “Gonna fuck you so good, darlin’.”

You moan in response and grab his wrist, shoving his hands back between your legs, where you drip with unmet need. As he mouths against your neck, his hand probes between your folds before he slides two fingers into your cunt, making you mewl as he begins to thrust his fingers in and out of you, coating them in your slick. 

His other hand immediately paws at his gunbelt, yanking the leather hard enough that it whines as he unravels it from his hips. In a blur of heavy breathing and dizzying arousal, he removes his hand from you and maneuvers you to the ground, your skirts hiked up as he peels his pants down like a man possessed. As he crawls over you, you look between your legs to see him hard and ready for you, the beginnings of his knot swelling before he even has a chance to press himself into your heat.

You mewl as he covers you and desperately pushes in, with one long, forceful stroke of his cock, he buries himself in your cunt without preamble. Your slick eases the entry, but still, the ache of his intrusion makes you gasp as you get used to that double-edged sword of pain-pleasure. You dig your nails into his shoulders as he retracts his hips and presses forward again, unrestrained in a way he has never been with you before. 

He’s not gentle, not in the depths of his rut. He slams his hips into yours like some wild beast, grunting and snarling as he uses your body to slake his needs. You whimper with each thrust, your head dipping backward out of biological habit, and you bare your neck to him completely. Time becomes irrelevant as he rocks your hips into the earth below.

“Gonna fill-” his breath stutters, “y-you up, sweetheart-”

“Yes,” you plead, and he throws his hips into yours one final time before you feel the sharp pain-pleasure of his knot expanding, locking himself into you. It’s naught but a few seconds more that he lets out a long breath, his cock twitching within you as he lets loose his spend.

Draping himself over you, the harshness of your coupling quickly fades as he catches his breath. The red rims around his pupils begin to fade as he returns to a state of mind not completely controlled by his sex drive.

“I, uhm… it’s gonna be a while.” Arthur admits sheepishly, tucking his head back toward your neck as his breathing slowly starts to even out.

You cock an eyebrow at him as a blush forms on his cheeks. He nuzzles gently at your neck as you tense slightly.

“How is that any different-”

“Like… a while longer.”

You purse your lips and narrow your eyes, “How long?”

“…An hour?”

“Arthur.” You snip back at him, frowning, “And you couldn’t… y’know, do this in a bed?” He finally presses himself up from where he had buried his face in your neck.

He smiles down at you, adjusting himself on his forearms to keep most of his weight off of you. “Sorry darlin’, couldn’t wait.”

You roll your eyes, but as he leans down to kiss you, you eagerly return it. “At least,” you whisper between kisses, “Let’s lay on our sides if we’re gonna be here a while.”

Through a jumble of limbs, the two of you finally situate yourselves on your sides, one of your legs thrown over his hip where you remain joined. You toss your skirts over the both of your legs and hips, shielding yourselves from anyone unlucky enough to stumble by.

“One more thing, sweetheart.”

You frown as you feel your shoulder dampen from the damp patch of moss you’re laying on. This blouse won’t get another wear out of it before it goes into the laundry tub…

“What now?”

Arthur lets loose a breath from his nose, and you notice his pupils are blown and the fingers over your hips pulse as he squeezes your hip hard.

You feel him rock forward ever so slightly - as much as his burgeoning knot will allow, and you understand what’s happening.

Arthur groans, quietly at least, his eyes fluttering shut. The blooming of warmth from where you are joined makes your cunt quiver.

“And how many times is that going to happen?” You huff, feigning annoyance but secretly, in that damned omega heart of yours, you cannot help but to love this moment, locked together with an alpha who chose you during his rut.

“Few times…” Arthur mutters.

A lopsided grin forms across your face when you kiss his reddened cheek. There’s a growing part of your heart that wishes you were heating. A traitorous part, one that longs to belong to someone. One that longs to belong to him.

Against everything you’ve fought for, the hard-won independence and defiance of your biology, here you are, wishing and wanting to be owned. To be marked. To be bred.

Is this the true nature of an omega? 

He softly presses his lips against yours, and damnit, you sigh contentedly as you grasp at his shirt. Arthur winds his arms around your shoulder.

Damn him, damn him properly.

-

Unlike your situation with Arthur, the gang spirals ever downward - from getting chased out of Valentine by Cornwall’s goons, to Sean’s death at the hand of the Grays, to the Pinkertons finding their last camp. And Christ, that’s not even counting Jack being kidnapped.

It’s like the world is imploding around the Van der Lindes.

Thankfully Jack has been returned.

Dutch has been doing more and more in the city, and the men have been out and about quite a bit 

You rub at your brow absentmindedly, wiping the sweat that collects there. Damned swamps. Damn Lemoyne. Even inside, it's so damn hot… the sweat seems to be pouring off of you, even after the sun has gone down.

You rub at your neck absentmindedly as you sit on your cot in the large room you share with the other girls, alone for a moment with everyone else sitting around the fire outside.

Your finger swipes across your mating gland, and you pause as you look at your hand in the dim light.

Your palm has a hint of gloss upon it.

Fuck. Fuck.

It wasn’t just how stupidly hot and humid these damn swamps were. No. No, you were going into your heat.

Stumbling, you try to be as quiet as you can be as you get up from your cot, grabbing your gun from underneath your lumpy pillow, and heading to the back door, latching it gently behind you as you walk quickly away from the mansion toward the river. 

You look back at the old plantation house to see the yellow-orange hue of the oil lamp in Arthur’s room lighting up the night.

The traitorous voice in your head whispers in your ear.

This could all be over if you just went to him.

No. No, you won’t do that. You won't be someone’s property. Even his.

You shiver as another jolt runs through your body, breaking out in a sweat you know to be from your heat-fever. You swallow, turning back around, and stepping away on unsteady feet, you head south, your revolver gripped tightly in your trembling hand.

Your breathing is heavy and labored as you make your way slowly to the arcing path at the edge of the property. By some miracle, you’re able to stay upright over the rope bridges and prevent yourself from becoming alligator bait.

Leaning against a kudzu-covered tree, you curse under your breath as you feel your slick begin to come. Saint Denis glitters in the distance as you pant, out of breath and you know you can’t go much further. 

A run-down shack on the edge of the Lanaheechee seems to be your only option. You press onward, your boots dragging through the swampy mud and ankle-deep river water as you haul yourself toward the old shack, praying that it isn’t already occupied.

Fortunately, in the one stroke of luck you are having tonight, it’s not. You can at least pull a chair in front of the door to keep it closed before you collapse to the floor, breathless, clutching at your gun as you try to drag yourself to the corner of this small room, tears finally bursting from your eyes as you lean back against the wall.

Goddamnit.

You’ve been so wrapped up with Jack’s disappearance and the move to Shady Belle that you completely lost track of when you were due to have another heat. You should have prepared. You should have packed supplies and locked yourself in a hotel room in Rhodes or Saint Denis or anywhere.

You shudder again as a feverish wave hits you, and the trickle between your legs is more noticeable. A sob escapes your mouth as you lean your head back on the old wooden wall, cursing yourself and your existence in this damned omega’s body.

Waves of feverish need threaten to drown you as you curl in on yourself, panting, your hand diving beneath your skirts to try to assuage the burning, but you know, nothing you do will quench it.

You’ve hiked your skirts up over your knees and worked your bloomers down your thighs when you hear heavy footsteps on the porch outside. Cursing again, you right yourself and grab at your gun, your heart dropping as someone starts to try to open the door.

The door bursts open with a hail of splintered wood and you huddle yourself in the corner of the room, raising your revolver toward the door. The gun shakes violently as you pant, dizzy and feverish in the throes of your heat.

“Shit, sweetheart.”

You can barely see straight, but you know that voice. The gun drops from your shaking hand as you cry out in need, clattering on the floor.

Arthur’s heavy footsteps rush towards you, and he drops to one knee at your side and cups his hand softly under your jaw, lifting it gently to make eye contact with you. Tears stream down your face, over your flushed cheeks as all you can make out is a watery visage of his frame looming above you.

“Are you hurt? Jesus, you're scaring me.” Arthur looks you all over, his other hand running down your arms to look for any wounds.

God, everywhere he touches you is fire.

You sob aloud and Arthur immediately sits down next to you and pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around you. 

“ ‘S okay, I’m here.” He says soothingly as he rubs your back, “Saw the tracks of you leavin’ camp on foot… what are you doin’ out here?”

You wonder how on God’s green earth he’s not affected by your sorry state when all of a sudden he shudders, his arms tightening around you near painfully.

He curses under his breath as he pulls you off of his lap and back onto the floor next to him. You mewl pitifully at the loss of contact with his body.

His large hand cups your cheek and you open your bleary eyes to look at him.

Arthur’s blue eyes have started to bleed into red, he winces slightly when he sees the gold of your irises.

“Christ, you’re in heat.”

You sob again, one of your hands flying to your lower abdomen as your body cramps in furious need, here he is, here’s your alpha, he can make this all go away.

All your life, you’ve fought against the nature of being an omega. You’ve locked yourself away during your heats, and you’ve pushed back violently from the idea of needing someone to take care of you. To own you. You’ve hated the helplessness of it all, but it seems like it’s all caught up to you here in this run-down cabin on the edge of the swamps.

“Sweetheart -” Arthur rumbles, his voice growing low, dangerous, but his tone still gentle and patient.

“It hurts so much.” You’re able to choke out, doubling over in pain as Arthur catches your shoulders.

“Y’gotta want this- Christ, I’ll do anything for you, but-” he pants, righting you and keeping a strong hold on your shoulders, “Y’gotta want this.”

Your voice cracks, “I…”

It is so hard to put into words, not when you’ve lived your life trying to escape the truth of your nature.

You’re so close to letting the words spill from your mouth - I want you, I always want you, I want to belong to you -

“I… I hate this- bein’ an omega. I don’t want to be… owned by someone… I want, I want-”

I want you to belong to me.

“Sweetheart.”

You moan pitifully in response.

Arthur gets up on one knee, and another crack of pain shoots through you as he inches away from you. It is assuaged briefly when you feel his hands on your shoulders trying to keep you upright.

“I can stand watch outside. I’ll make sure you’re safe.” Arthur’s hands move from your shoulders once he’s established that you can hold yourself up, to grasp at your hands, reassuring.

“I-” You wince and take a breath, feeling your slick soaking your bloomers beneath your skirts, “I don’t want that..”

“I’ll give you everythin’.” Arthur nearly croaks, his hands tightening their grip on yours involuntarily.

“Will ya-” You swallow your pride as you shift uncomfortably, sweat creeping down your neck along with the sweet-smelling oil from your scent gland, “Will you mate me?”

Arthur swallows visibly, “I will.”

“Will you-” You trail off, looking down at his hands holding yours, the heat radiating off your body, the thrumming need in your core… you close your eyes, let out a final breath of resistance, and give in to what you realize you truly desire.

“Will you breed me? Will you give me a part of you to create somethin’ new?”

Arthur’s hands nearly crush your own. “I had a boy once, he died along with his mother. I never mated her.”

You realize you’ve gone too far, you go to pull your hands back from him, but his grip does not let you go. You look back up at him, to his red eyes bleeding his own biological need for you, and cannot look away.

“Ain’t that stupid no more.”

“You mean…?” You ask timidly.

Arthur Morgan gets up on his knees again and gently, but with a barely concealed strength underneath his skin, pushes you to lie on the floor.

“I’m gonna knot you, girl. And if it doesn’t take, I’m gonna keep fillin’ you til it does.”

The cry that escapes your mouth sounds like a wounded animal, a sound of such primal need you were unsure that it really came from you. You tear at your clothing, far too hot on your skin, hiking up your skirts to grab at your bloomers again.

Arthur’s large hand brushes yours aside and presses against your cunt, he groans loudly when he feels the wetness of the cotton shielding you. He grasps it and roughly pulls on your bloomers, tearing the cotton off your body and you cry out pathetically, needily.

He throws your skirts up around your waist, baring your lower half, as he gets up on his knees and starts unlatching his gunbelt. It tumbles to the floor loudly as he undoes his suspenders from his pants and shoves them down, his large cock bobbing upward the instant it is freed from its confines.

Once, twice, three times he strokes it as he moves to lean over you, his free hand next to your head holding himself up. Before he covers you completely, you shiver as you stare at a bead of precum pearl on the head of his cock before dripping down to land on your thigh. You spread your legs for him and without any further preamble, he guides his cock to your opening and presses inside.

The amount of slick weeping from you should be embarrassing, he slides deeper into your cunt without resistance and groans while doing so, not stopping until your pubic bones touch each other.

You mewl as you feel him stretch you, fill you, satisfy the burning hunger deep in your body. Christ, if only he could never leave you - never leave you feeling hollow and alone. Christ, his flesh splitting you - so much more sensitive now, it is like you have been empty all your life and suddenly found the piece to fill you. You can’t imagine ever spending a heat alone again.

He gets down on his elbows to suspend himself just above you, rocking his hips slightly. Your legs wrap around his waist and he grunts in approval.

“H-how do you want it?” He hisses through his teeth, and when he opens his eyes again, you see his pupils blown and rimmed by red. The muscles of his neck cord along the collar of his shirt. He’s fighting off his baser instincts, it’s obvious to see. He’s gone into a rut, triggered by your heat.

That simply wouldn’t do.

“Rut me, alpha.” You whisper, and he groans aloud in response. Large, warm hands grasp at the back of your thighs and your legs are heaved up and over his shoulders.

Arthur bends you in half, snarling as he throws his hips down into yours and fucks into you with the force and brutality of an alpha in rut. You accept, mewling, loving every second of the near pain you feel as he thrusts himself into you. God, you wish this would never end.

He’s panting, straining, sweat dotting his brow - a sight to behold as he takes your legs off of his shoulder and allows them to fall open on either side of him. You can feel the swelling of him build as he grinds himself deeper into you before pulling out slowly.

Arthur throws his hips into yours with finality, and you scream aloud in overwhelming pleasure as his knot swells within you, deeper than he’s ever been before. He groans breathily before his lips find their way to your neck. You feel his entire body lurch into yours, smothering you, as he spills his seed into your waiting cunt. You whimper at the feeling of warmth blooming inside you before you yelp aloud as you feel his teeth encircle the gland on your neck and sink into your flesh.

This, this, this is what it means to be an omega, not to be owned like a piece of property, but to be wanted, needed by the one person in the world you’re mated to. Tears cloud your vision as you wince at the breaking of skin on your neck, your fingers digging in hard into Arthur’s back as a low moan flies free from your throat.

It takes several moments, but as both of your breaths begin to calm, Arthur presses up on his elbows and takes most of his weight off of you, his knot still strong, locking the two of you together. 

His river-blue eyes catch yours, and you smile at the red stain on his lips - the sign of his claiming you as his own. You raise your head to kiss him, the coppery taste of your blood heady as he opens his mouth to yours. A hand weaves through your messy hair, long having fallen out of the updo you had earlier in the day.

Arthur pulls back slightly, pressing his forehead against yours and letting his eyes slide shut. You press your lips up to his once more before whispering joyfully.

“You’re mine now.” 

He snorts but does not correct you. Here you are turning conventionality on its head, but Arthur is not the kind of man to throw it back in your face. With a tired, contented tone, he gives a sound of agreement before his low voice rumbles against your cheek.

“I am, little omega. All yours.” 

A rush of excitement fills you at his spoken admission, and with a strength you didn’t know you had, you press your hands onto his shoulders and roll him over, so that you are splayed out over his hips.

“Mine.” You gasp out as his hands clamp to your waist like vices. You begin to gyrate your hips over his, the only thing you can do with his knot still hard and keeping your hips locked together.

Your hands land on his pectorals, and his eyes flutter in pleasure as his breathing speeds up, moans bubbling up from deep in his chest.

“Fill me up, alpha. Your omega wants you to breed her.”

Arthur’s eyes shoot open at your words and in naught but a moment, his hips leave the cabin floor and he groans out another round of completion, spending within your heat with a loud grunt.

You lean over him playfully as he catches his breath. A triumphant smile beams across your face as you sit back up on his hips and pull your hair out of your face, twisting it back in a messy bun - just about all you can handle right now.

Arthur’s large, warm hands encircle your waist, his thumb rubbing at your hip bone as he calms down.

“Yer gonna kill me tonight, aren’tcha?” He breathes up at you, a grin appearing across his face as well.

“How many more times you got, old man?” You giggle, and Arthur shoots up into a sitting position, making you squeal as he tips you backward, letting you untuck your knees and swing your legs around him once more.

“Plenty enough to keep you satisfied.” He nips at your chin playfully.

“Oh yeah?”

“UUh-huh” he rumbles into your jaw as he kisses back toward your ear, “Gonna be drippin’ with me by the time I’m done with you.”

You press back on his shoulders so that he looks at you fully. You study his face for a moment before one of your hands brushes back a strand of his honeyed hair behind his ear.

“I don’t want to just be your omega.” You whisper, your eyes falling down his face to his neck, knowing yours is marred with his mark.

“You ain’t, sweetheart. You’re my partner. My equal.”

“But how can an omega ever be an alpha’s equal?” That voice that’s been teasing you all your life pipes up before you have a chance to quiet it.

The next thing you know, you’re dipped backward onto the floor, gently spread out as Arthur lays on top of you, still joined at the hip.

He leans down and presses a kiss softer than he should be allowed to give upon your lips. 

“Since I need you jus’ as much as you need me, maybe more.” He breathes, rolling his hips against you, causing you to gasp as his knot slips a little in the vice of your cunt.

“Promise?” You whine breathily as you can tell he’s heading toward another orgasm.

“P-promise.” He stutters.

Arthur presses his lips to yours with a finality that sends you reeling, clutching at him as he pours himself into you once again.

[marvelgaynesstothemax]

I think one of my favorite things right now is the thought of an alpha and omega dynamic, but the omega keeps picking the absolute worst places to nest.

Like the survival instinct is just not there lmao.

Examples being:

- The omega has a horrible dust allergy but insists on building a nest in the couple’s dilapidated attic.

- The omega hates the cold but finds themself unable to resist piling blankets in the middle of the kitchen floor under the air vent.

- The omega makes a nest in the middle of a main door way in the house and gets pissed anytime anybody steps on it.

[shootybangbang]

In which the part meets the whole [Part 5]

[Ao3 link]

[Pairing]: Arthur Morgan/Reader

[Rating]: Explicit

[Content Advisory]: this has omegaverse (alpha/beta/omega) dynamics, elements of psychological dissociation, and light dubcon (see note at end)

[Part 1][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4]

------

Something in this feels like fracturing. A ramifying split between the you who’d woken up this morning fevered and dizzy with the assumption that you were simply sick— and the you now, with her thighs wrapped around an alpha’s hips and his seed pooled impossibly deep. An irreparable divide, unnavigable.

But there’s nothing at all conflicted in Arthur’s expression. He looks more content now than you’ve ever seen him. Some essential bitterness carved out of him, at least for the time being. You hadn’t known that he could look so gentle, and it tightens a strange, sweet twinge in your chest to see him like this. Girlhood hopes, the ones you’d drowned inside of yourself the moment you’d realized the truth of your condition, come swimming to the surface now like starved fish. Rippling, flashing a mockingly bright fin here and there through the water.

You comb back the dark blond hair falling into his eyes with your fingers, then greet him with a quiet, hoarse, “Hey.”

He smiles. “Hey,” he answers— casually, as though he weren’t currently hilted inside of you.

“How, uh… how long do you usually…”

“‘Bout twenty minutes. Sometimes thirty.”

“Thirty minutes,” you echo. “Good.”

His weary chuckle carries in it a familiar hint of self-deprecation. “That’s good? Means you’re stuck with me like this for the next half hour.”

It’s as though a barrier has fallen away, nothing left to trap what you’d otherwise be too shy to put to words. Sincerity bleeding through that you know you’ll regret in the grey dawn of rationality. “Of course it’s good. Because I like this,” you flatten your palm over the stretch of skin beneath your navel. “Having you right here.”

Arthur breathes in sharply. “Gonna be forty minutes if you keep talkin’ like that.”

“So I should keep at it, then? I should tell you how much I like having your come inside me, h-how warm it is, and—”

“Omega,” he growls. and the word strikes a forlorn chord in you, those three syllables previously a curse, but they sound so fucking good when he says them now, as certain and right as your own name. And you vaguely register that you ought to be horrified by the power this gives him over you: that submission tied by blood, the ruling of your own body to his will. But with the dizzying sensation of being tied, the worry is shoved away in pursuit of pleasure.

Arthur presses his hand against the back of your neck and loosely cups it there like he’s going to scruff you. “You want me to take you again, omega?” He grinds himself against you as he speaks, and the sparking friction of it has you whimpering helplessly, shamelessly. “D’you want me to… ah…” he pauses and seems almost embarrassed to say it. But the same delirious lack of inhibition must have him in its grasp as well, because he continues, “D’you want me to fuck another load into you?”

The unprecedented crudeness of his speech shocks you into silence, and it’s all you can do to nod.

“Then you best stop rilin’ me up, because the longer I’m like this, the longer you’re gonna have to wait.”

You nod again, suddenly docile and obedient as a church mouse.

“You gonna be good for me then, omega?”

“Yes,” you whisper. God, that word. Makes you a captive through your own pleasure. Lashes you to him like leather cords passed through your bones.

“That’s what I like to hear.” 

His mouth grazing your own feels like a seal as absolute as red wax dripped on an envelope. Your own fate folded inside, its destination set. No way out. Not now. Maybe not ever. 

But as long as it’s Arthur— the fucking asshole who’d made you scream yesterday when he’d feigned falling off a bridge, the man who’d foraged for and forced you to drink a disgusting concoction of yarrow and meadowsweet when you’d run a temperature this morning— you can bear it, you think. The damnation of being owned. 

You ain’t just a thing for me to use, he’d said. A pretty thing to hear, and something you’d have agreed with once, back when you still had notions of egalitarianism. Before you’d seen firsthand the near universal hell others of your kind inevitably find themselves bound to, all the fire ground out of them, only the grey-ashed cinders of their past selves any indication of any life they might have lived outside captivity.

And yet he treats you like a person. Would have left you untouched if you hadn’t begged him to fuck you, you’ve no doubt about that. Even went so far as to decouple completely when you’d flinched beneath him, prioritizing your own useless comfort over the dictate of his rut. 

Arthur smooths his hand over your shoulder, following the curve all the way down to your forearm. He peers into your face like he’s searching for something lost beneath clouded water, and asks “You alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just had a feeling.”

He’ll be angry if you tell him. Not with you, but with himself. The slow decay of regret will sink into all this and take away this peaceable surrender. “Thinking about what happens after,” you reply, and it’s not a lie, not really. Only an omission.

It’s an unwelcome intrusion of the reality beyond the quiet pocket of reprieve this isolated outcrop has become. His thumb finds the inside of your wrist and swipes gentle arcs against the tendon ridged there, and after a brief silence during which you can’t meet his eyes, he says, “Things’re comin’ to a head soon, I reckon. Dutch said after one last score, we’ll be able to—”

“Don’t talk about Dutch when you’ve got your cock in me,” you grumble.

He dashes an apologetic kiss against your forehead. “When,” he says. “And I mean when, not if… when we’re both clear of all this, where d’you want to go?”

“What, with you?”

“No, I meant just you by yourself— ‘course I mean with me, dumbass.”

With him. With Arthur. The dismal, eager leap of your heart at the very thought of it. “I dunno.” You have to fight to keep your voice level. “It’s a big country, and I haven’t seen hardly any of it yet.”

“Yeah? Where to first, then?”

You begin rattling off a litany of destinations previously relegated to daydreams and wishful thinking. The canyonlands, those redstone basins sliced and worn smooth by centuries of water and wind. Or maybe the desert with its white dunes glinting like hills of heaped snow. Or the Grizzlies, all its bleak crags that come alive with greenery in the spring, when meltwater runs bright through the pines…

“Christ, woman,” he groans. “You askin’ me to take you on a goddamn tour from West Elizabeth to California?”

“Well, you don’t have to take me to see all of them…”

“Should start with the Grizzlies. ‘Cause it’ll be slow goin’ for a while, else the altitude’s gonna make you real sick.” He says this quiet with the burden of thought, plotting out a future like twining the fraying filaments of your lives together. “Stop in near Denver for supplies, and from there we can go Southwest, towards Painted Desert.”

As he sketches out that tenuous path, you close your eyes and press your cheek against his chest, counting out the low thrum of his heart. You listen drowsily as he lists possible routes and puzzles over hunting locales and difficult terrain, and you interrupt him periodically with idle and ignorant observations that he gently derides you for. The weight of his palm at your back is like a centering stone, anchoring.

He’s in the middle of dissuading you from visiting the Great Salt Lake (“nothin but brine flies and buzzards out there”) when he pauses and braces your hip with his hand. “Hold on,” he says. “Think my knot’s gone down enough that I can…” 

Arthur grimaces as he slides his softening cock from between your thighs, and the ensuing ache of withdrawal is tempered somewhat by the warm drip of his release, the quiet reminder of what you’re for. An omega: just a thing to be fucked and used and bred. There’s no denying it now— not with the baptism you’ve just been given, this induction into an existence marked by your own inescapable submission. 

He’s hard again from just beholding it, and regards the beading precome at the tip of his cock like a ripening curse. Hastily, he says, “We don’t have to… I mean, you gotta be sore from…”

“Again,” you demand. 

The look on his face, the raw adoration— you’d wrap the leash around your neck yourself to have this every day. Let it choke you to an inch of your life. You can feel it closing in now, as he kisses you and slips his hand between your thighs to feel the flow of seed and slick coating his fingers. 

He’s less cautious this time, now that you’ve taken him once without breaking. When he pushes himself back inside, he fills you with a single, drawn out stroke, every second of that renewed penetration a sweet agony of anticipation. And when he fucks into you, he seems to be entranced by the view of his previous release still glistening at your slit, the new smoothness of his thrusts with his own come to ease the burn. 

That first time had all the careful tending of observation, his own pleasure set aside in worry of what the simple force of him might do to you. But if not gone wholly, it is diminished now. There is a self-indulgence in his movements now, a roughness that you had but caught glimpses of before.

It’s indescribable, the intensity of having him this second time. The drip of what he’d given you before spilling down the backs of your thighs, each thrust weighted with eager anticipation of what he’ll soon replace it with. He groans when you brace a hand against his shoulder and hold his torso at arm’s length, all the better to watch the pumping of his hips, the shine of mingled release on his shaft that disappears and renews with each thrust— and oh, the silver fire of his eyes as he takes in the sight of you beneath him. You grin to have caught him off guard, and he echoes it as he shifts your hips up and mounts you in such a willful, dominant way that all your smug satisfaction dissolves into weak, fervent whimpers. He presses the backs of your thighs against your chest and drives into you as if the fluid friction of fucking was the purpose of his creation.

“You take me so well,” he says, so sweetly that it makes you servile, and draws out a depth of devotion antithetical to your temperament. Like pulling up a line from an ocean lure, coaxing from that unexplored territory something strange and sharp-toothed and possessed of an unknown trepidation. God, right now you would expose to him even the bright red jewel of the heart beating in your chest, give him every bit of yourself until there were nothing left to use.

Arthur hooks both your knees over his shoulders and pauses a second to press a kiss to your calf. His stubble scrapes against the delicate skin there, and you feel the gentle curve of him smiling against you. 

What can you do but give in?

The position that he takes you with now is one you’ve never experienced before. He keeps you on your back, near immobile and trapped by both the weight of his body and the unmitigated affection in his expression. There is a domination in it that you would have refused anyone else, but that you offer willingly to him, knowing that he’d free you up if you should so much as frown at him. And it really is absurd, the kind of power he’s allowed you over him. Contrary to natural law, building up a tenuous new order in its place.

“Look at you,” he croons. “All soft and sweet for once. Didn’t think you’d ever let me see you like this.”

You turn a luminary shade of crimson heretofore seen only in the plumage of certain exotic birds. 

“And so fuckin’ cute.” Arthur slides your legs down from his shoulders, straddles your thighs round his hips as he leans forward. Skin to skin again, a growl rising up in his chest with a tenor like longing, as though the act of kneeling before you had been one of deprivation. A sacrifice that he’d been forced to make, choosing between the view of you desperate for him, or the twine of your arms around his neck. “That noise you make whenever I call you ‘omega’.”

It catches in your throat, the responsive little whimper that you let out like an animal yipping in eager response to her master.

“The way you tighten up when I say it. It makes me— christ, it makes me…”

“Arthur—”

He bucks into you hard and kisses you near violently, as if in substitute to some deep-seated urge. A kiss almost like a bite. “Makes me want you all to myself,” he says hoarsely.

You nearly present your throat to him right then and there, and only manage to stop yourself by the last grasping thread of your diminishing self control. But he senses that conflict in you somehow, raises his workworn palm to your neck and wordlessly shields it from the threat of himself. Gentle, even in the harshness of his thrusts now, the jumping pulse of his pleasure approaching fast, and the swell of his knot heavy against your slit. 

It takes him just three staggered thrusts to lock into you this time, and with each one he whispers reassurance amidst that brief sting of pain, his own teeth clenched from the sheer intensity of his high before he fits himself completely and gives you that beautiful, helpless moan of his— a sound that is new to you still, and that you would gladly learn by heart. Arthur ruts a few short and jerky strokes that do little more than shift the length of him to a tight and aching friction, and it takes less than a minute of that priming before he shivers and gasps, the muscles of his hips and thighs taut as he fills you with the sudden warmth of his spend. The thick pulse of his seed like the frantic beat of his own blood, the liquidsmooth heat of it trickling deep, the guttural gasp that he muffles against your skin as he presses his mouth to your shoulder, as if the sinful force of his pleasure was such that he could not stand to face the eyes of its source— christ, it’s enough to seize at the core of you, plunge you headlong over the edge of your own vertiginous fall.

After, when your ears have stopped ringing and the soft abatement rests quiet over you both, he turns red and awkward when you ask him coyly what exactly “all to himself” entails. Arthur clears his throat, changes the subject. “You, uh. You hungry at all?”

“Probably.”

“After this, we should both eat somethin’. Figure out what we should do ‘bout provisions.”

“Or we can go for round three.”

“Food first,” he says sternly. “Then fucking.”

The firm underpinning of authority in his voice winds a current of unease in you as tight and hard as a dead man’s knot. And it’s stupid; he often takes this tone with you when he thinks you’re being unreasonable, but you can’t help but blurt out, “So now that you know I’m an omega, you think you can boss me?”

“What? No.” Judging by his naked bewilderment at the accusation, it wasn’t a line of thought he’d come remotely close to. “That don’t matter none to me. You bein’ an omega, that is. In my eyes, you’re still the same little fool I rode out with this morning.”

Ah christ. He looks like he really means it. His eyes full silver, his cock still holstered full and tight inside you, the well of your body slick and warm with two loads of his seed— every conquering sign plain to see, and still he persists in maintaining this false veneer of equality. When he touches the tips of his fingers to your cheek and directs you to look him full in the face, you turn your head slightly to brush your lips against his palm.

“Which means I can boss you because you still got barely a clue how to set up camp, let alone get along by yourself out here.” He kisses your forehead; you go as weak as if it were a bullet he had planted there instead.

When he withdraws this time, he pointedly keeps his head turned away from you and pulls up his trousers with a businesslike yank of his waistband, all the while pretending that he isn’t struggling to button his fly over the stiff and eager jut of his cock. You’re too exhausted to do more than whine out a few wheedling complaints in an attempt to lure him back. It’s cold without him there, you pout, and he’s too goddamned honorable to do anything more than retrieve his leather jacket from his saddlebags and chuck it in your general direction.

There isn’t much to eat. He’d been planning on hitting town this evening to restock, he admits, splitting two loaves of sourdough and a few strips of dried venison between you both, and says he’ll lay the hoop net in the river before sundown.

“I’ll help you,” you tell him through a mouthful of crusty bread.

“Like hell you will. You’re stayin’ right here.”

“What, why not?”

“Because if you come with, that net’s gonna end up floating away downstream while we fuck on the bank.”

The fabric of his trousers is strained tight over his erection, and though he makes every effort to look away, every contour of his body seems to tug in your direction. He is a conduit of compulsion, the current of his blood surely as vocal as your own, whispering in inverse. So it’s not hard to sway him— a clumsy bit of flirtation, the wheedle of your voice soft and sad— the kind of performance that yesterday’s you would have turned her nose up at, but she fades now sure as sunlight in the face of your own setting fate.

You trudge behind him through bramble and pine as he clears a way through the underbrush, with his spare shirt wrapped around yourself like an oversized tunic and your inner thighs swiped to gleaming with every step, wet with the steady drip of his come. Each unsteady footfall is an admonishment, the slickness of seed at your center as insistent as a new wound, as arousal itself.

The river is not cold. Its shallows are sunwarmed, silt bottomed and soft. Shoals of silver-sided fry fragment and dart when you shuck off your boots and wade in calf deep, wisping through the water like swirls of bright dust. You bend to pick up rocks to weigh down the net with, and catch him staring at the pale streak of him that runs down your leg, swerving at the hollow behind your knee. 

He swallows hard, red-faced, standing there on the shore with his hands untangling the net. The bottom of his pant leg soaks dark as he takes a sudden step into the water, and his pupils are dilated so wide that the silver of his iris is an emaciated ring of hunger. And will he take you like this, with the mark of his release gleaming on your skin, and ought you let him, ought you present yourself like a doe with wolves’ teeth ringed gentle in her open throat, like a good omega, like a proper omega—

But he blinks. Busies himself with work, though his fingers are shaking and the muscles of his arms and back tight. When you splash over to help anchor the net with foraged sticks and stones, your submerged hand brushes his; he touches the cupped cradle of your palm, but lets his momentary touch trail away with the parting current, and says nothing. Only when the task is complete does he smile at you with the angle of his mouth still somewhat bashful, gesturing with his thumb towards the camp in which he’s fucked you twice in as many hours, and in the end you can’t even make it halfway back before pressing your heat sodden body against a high-branched oak and dragging him into you by the buckle of his belt.

Rough scrape of bark along your back, a strew of monarch butterflies startles and scatters through the air in a shiver of orange and black wings, and it’s transfiguration that is on your mind as he pulls you flush. A worm will spin her bed of silk, sleep through the liquefaction of her body and the slow crystallization of poisoned wings. When she wakes, does she mourn what she has shed? And when Arthur inevitably puts his teeth to your neck and clamps down, will you grieve the unbonded past?

Omega like any other. Little breeding bitch with your heart on a rope.

But it’ll be alright, so long as it’s him. It always is.

------

Author's note: I've always thought that being an omega was a horrifying concept in many ways, given the potential loss of personhood involved. Here, the reader is having an EXTREMELY intense heat, and her thoughts are spiraling out of control in ways that are not at all obvious to Arthur right now. Not entirely sure where I'm going with this, very much testing the waters, but I'll state up front that though this may touch on darker territory, I'm very much intending this to stay consensual. It's a delicate topic though, and feedback/criticism is very much welcomed.

[readingcoco]

Hello Red Dead Fanfic Authors!

I want to throw my cowboy hat into the ring and offer my (free) services as a beta/alpha reader!

In my professional (non-smut-loving, long-fic-adoring, blorbo-obsessing) life, I am a full-time television script editor and story consultant and have been for the past 6 years. If these terms are new to you, it basically means my job is to work closely with writers and provide both proofreading and creative feedback, but mainly the latter. Screenwriting is obviously a completely different medium but there is a ton of crossover, and I would LOVE to support writers within the community who were looking for a beta/alpha reader to work alongside.

I am between jobs at the moment (as the entire TV industry is on fire🔥) which means I have a ton of free time and an itch to channel my creativity into characters and a world I am super passionate about!

Things I could help you with:

🌵 Proofreading

🤠 Research

🌸 Character consistency, motivations and voice

🌵 Brainstorming

🤠 Plotting

🌸 And generally, being in your corner cheering you on when you can't bear to look at your laptop anymore!

I will work on:

🌵 Long fics & One shots.

🤠 M/E rated fics are preferred, but equally, if it's beautifully tragic and will make me cry, then I'm all yours.

🌸 I am comfortable working on the majority of character pairings, including some of the more contentious ones, as long as I can buy your approach to the dynamic, character motivations and underlying psychology at play.

🌵X reader & OCs.

🤠Both the canonical period setting & Modern AUs.

🌸 And a bunch more stuff it's probably easier to dm about.

I am not the beta reader for you if:

🌵 You are under the age of 18.

🤠 Your fic is set in the omegaverse. It's not that it squicks me out, but it's not my favourite, and as such, I don't think I have read enough of it to be much help.

If you have never worked with a beta/alpha reader before but are interested in learning more about it then @theirprofoundbond has an amazing guide on Ao3 that runs through all the different ways working with a beta/alpha can work and help you with your writing.

[hannibalzero]

Arrowheads and second chances

Charthur chapter 7 teaser 🦌🦬🦌🦬

It had almost been a week.

No one had tired to kill Charles.

If anything, the family of the Sliver dagger ranch was..

welcoming.

Charles had a room to himself in the bunk house, if anyone needed him when he was resting? People knocked. Respected Charles space, allowed him to use the same latrine and wash clothing. invited Charles to meals and even schooling?

Hosea Matthew’s gave Charles a slate and chalk to practice his writing and arithmetic.

He could read some, knew the basics of arithmetic thanks to his Uncle, but actually honing the teachings was a rare treat.

Charles could remember his own mother encouraging him to learn and practice what he learned. If she taught him how to tie a knot, they would redo the knot again and again until it was just as good as hers.

Maybe that’s why he had such a gift with patience?

But this still could be a trap. Suckering Charles in with such kindness? He wouldn’t let down his guard just yet.

Then there was Arthur Morgan.

strangest omega Charles had ever seen.

There was no such thing as gendered work, for Arthur Morgan there was just work. He broke horses with Charles, John and Kieran. chopped wood, bailed hay, leveled ground for a rabbit pen (supposedly). Did laundry with Bessie and Tilly, made pies and bread.

It amazed Charles how damn strong Arthur was!

Arthur had come back from hunting with a big horned ram draped across his shoulders like some fine lady wearing a fur. Like it didn’t weigh anything! Not only that but the kill of the animal was downright beautiful.

One single arrow right between the eyes. No pain, the animal is given respect for its gifts.

[pine4pple-b0i]

tombstone redemption challenge edition: figure out who’s a tumblr-user vs who’s a reddit user

[emjiroki]

I want Alpha Arthur Morgan more than anything 😔

[twola]

i think another a/b/o fic would heal me. or jealous arthur... 🫦

¿PORQUE NO LOS DOS? 🎉

Claim

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

This, this is something that has gotten his hackles up.

Arthur seethes to himself in this stupid, stupid suit, chafing his neck.

Dutch; in all of his wise planning, brought you along. “An unclaimed omega is sure to smooth some of the negotiations - Bronte is an alpha, just a man.”

Hosea wasn’t exactly pleased. Arthur wants to tear something apart.

You flit around in that pretty little dress of yours, off the shoulder and baring your neck for the whole world to see that you’ve never been claimed, that no alpha can say that you are theirs. Indeed, Dutch is right - you’ve garnered attention from onlookers throughout the party - from scandalized women to men following you around like puppy dogs - alphas and betas alike.

He angrily stalks around the periphery of the event, of little use to go carousing. Arthur keeps you in sight for most of the night, until Dutch sends him off to investigate something about Cornwall in the Mayor’s office. He does so, grumbling to himself, and comes back down to the garden to put eyes on you again and threaten death upon any man who got too close.

“Arthur-”

Your hushed voice cuts through the din of conversation like a knife. Not loud, but he hears you say his name clear as day. It sends a shiver down his spine. He spins around to find you leaning against the column of a pergola, seemingly unable to stand upright. He swears as he rushes toward you. 

“What is it - did you have too much to drink, did someone-”

He trails off as his eyes open wide. The flush on your cheeks is more than the champagne would cause. You reach toward him, and instantly, he realizes that you’re about to tumble to the ground. He catches you before you make a scene, his strong hands under your elbows as you gasp.

Arthur swears. “Shit, you’re goin’ into heat, ain’t you?”

You look up at him, terrified, sweat breaking out on your temples, “It- it’s not supposed to come for another week -”

Your plea is cut off as your knees buckle, and Arthur quickly shoots an arm around your waist, holding you up. He quickly walks the two of you to the garden, sitting you down on a bench and settling on one knee before you. As you hold your stomach against a cramp, Arthur tucks strands of your hair behind your ears gently.

“She alright?” 

“H-Hosea-“ you whimper as you look up, finding the older man leaving above Arthur’s shoulders.

“Heat,” Arthur mutters. He looks up at Hosea seriously.

Hosea has a pained look on his face when he takes you in. “I’ll handle Dutch and the rest of the night. You get her somewhere safe.”

Arthur nods, standing up and wrapping his arm around your ribcage even tighter, and you moan softly as your head lolls into his chest as he pulls you to stand. Your flushed cheeks and sweat-soaked decolletage make it obvious that you’re going into heat. And without a claim; without an alpha’s scent on you, it was just a matter of time before every man at this damn party would be gunning for you.

Arthur starts to walk the two of you toward the front gate.

“Arthur.”

Arthur turns his head to make eye contact with Hosea one last time under the garden lights before he takes you toward the front gate.

“She’s trusting you, boy. See that you don’t betray that trust.”

Arthur grinds his teeth but nods his head solemnly. Far too many men would take the opportunity of a lifetime, a heat-drunk omega, defenseless, ripe for the taking. As much as he wanted to, as much as the beast within him roared to, he would not force you to do anything you did not want. Omegas were put upon enough in this world.

You lean on him heavily, arms wound together, as he walks you to the opulent front gate. Armed guards stand at the ready, noticing them walking toward the street.

“Act drunk,” Arthur whispers in your ear, and you nod and turn into him, swaying as if you had too much to imbibe. 

“Evening gents, the Missus had one too many glasses of champagne. Headin’ back to our room down back on tha’ other side of City Hall.”

The guards mumble amongst themselves before one moves out of the way, allowing Arthur to drag you through the gate. Once across the street, he pulls you along much faster than a husband helping his drunk wife would naturally move. Making a beeline into the park, you whine again as Arthur nearly drags you forward across the cobblestoned Flavian Street.

The two of you make it to the fountain before he stops, looking around at people out in the night. Police officers mull under the streetlight, eyeing you both for a moment. Arthur pulls you from under his arm and helps you stand before him, trying to look inconspicuous, like lovers at night.

Your hands land on his biceps as you suck a breath in and slowly look up at him. He curses inwardly at the sight, even more of his goddamn blood pooling in his groin.

“Arthur-” you whisper, your face flushed and cheeks red, obvious even in the night. Your eyes are rimmed with silver, unfocused, dilated. You suck in another breath as you sway, and his hands clamp around your waist to keep you upright. You lean your forehead against his sternum and shiver. The sheen of wetness trails down your neck, and Arthur nearly goes cross-eyed as you try to bury yourself into his chest, knees shaking, nearly collapsing.

“Sweet- sweetheart. You gotta stay upright or the law is gonna think I’m kidnapping you.”

You moan quietly. “I feel…”

“I know, I know. I’ll get you somewhere safe.”

By some power unknown, you’re able to continue to walk the entire distance, tucked into Arthur’s side. He’s shrugged out of his dinner jacket and placed it around your shoulders. He nods to the policemen as he walks you past them - he’s sure at least one of them caught a whiff of your pheromones. He cursed under his breath as he remembered he had no weapons on him. Nothing to defend you but his fists… in most cases would be enough.

Your small hand clutches at the lapel of his shirt, and as much as he’d want to just take you in his arms and carry you, there are too many prying eyes around.

After what seems like forever, the two of you make it to your destination. He brusquely demands a room once the two of you nearly stumble into the Bastille, several card games still going on at the late hour.

Arthur knows as he pulls you toward the stairs that the beady eyes of men at the table are on you, the scent of your pheromones unable to be hidden anymore. He grits his teeth as the two of you slowly ascend the stairs, wanting nothing more than to throw you over his shoulder and march into the room.

But this isn’t about what he wants. No, he’s trying to ignore his achingly hard cock. Trying to ignore his blood pulsing through his veins. Trying to ignore the preemptive swelling of his knot.

Painstakingly slowly, the two of you finally reach the room, where he quickly kicks the door closed and you all but collapse onto the bed, sucking a breath in as you clutch at your abdomen.

“I’ll stay outside. You’ll be safe in here alone.”

“No-” you cry out, pressing yourself up on your elbows in the bed, “Don’t leave me, please, Arthur.”

Arthur grinds his teeth, goddamnit, this was hard enough already, “Sweetheart, I need to leave this room while I still can.”

“Don’t leave me, I want you to stay.”

Your plea hits him like a freight train, the tension having licked up his spine. His cock pulses with interest, “You don’t know what you’re askin’ for…”

Your whole body shakes and you moan, your head falling back onto the mattress. “Oh please, please, I know what I’m asking, oh please-”

“Sweetheart-”

“Arthur please, please come here and knot me.” You whine, sitting and starting to gather your voluminous skirts, pulling them up, your stockinged calves up to your knees on display before he has the wherewithal to move.

He steps closer and places his heavy hands on yours to stop you from baring yourself further. “Stop, that’s your heat talkin’.”

You push at his hands and heave yourself up to a sitting position. “No, no, I’ve… wanted to ask you for months. Before Blackwater. I… I just been scared you don’t want me.”

“Don’t… want you? Christ, woman. Of course I want you. Jesus, I’d ride you somewhere safe every month and hold you through them heats.”

Arthur sits down on the bed, dangerously close to you, rubbing your wrists gently with his thumbs. The red-blooded alpha in him roars to push you down, rip your underthings, and knot you until you scream his name. But he does not. If anything he has gotten good at in his thirty-six years is dampening down his desires.

You grab his fingers and draw them toward your lace-trimmed bosom, “Please…”

Arthur is unable to bite back the groan that claws its way out from his chest.

His hands, normally such rough tools of destruction, skitter up your ribs to the back of your dress, deftly undoing the clasp below your neck as the dress slumps forward off of you. You shiver as your breasts are more exposed, held in only by your corset - the next target of his quick-moving fingers, pulling at laces and ties. You’re dizzy, and unable to do anything other than breathe heavily as your corset is pulled from your ribcage, your chest exposed as Arthur gently leans you back in the bed. Gently, too gently for an outlaw, for an alpha, he pulls your dress from your frame, your lace-trimmed underthings following, until you shiver, bare underneath his gaze.

You whimper and he hushes you quietly, as if he was calming his mare. Those deft fingers undo the starched shirt, shedding his clean white shirt and crisp pants with urgency. By the time he has stripped himself naked and kicked away his too-nice shoes, you reach toward him, beckoning him into your embrace.

Arthur climbs into the bed, his large form hulking over yours, muscles straining against his skin, his cock bobbing heavily, ready for you.

You open your legs, quaking with unrestrained need, and he settles himself between them as naturally as if you and he had been doing this for years. His cockhead notches at your cunt and he surges forward to mash his lips against yours as he presses through the wet rim of your cunt. You moan, piteously and loudly, as those hard inches slowly slide into you, strong and unyielding, until he is fully seated within you, your cunt stuffed full of his flesh. He pulls away from your lips and leans his forehead against yours, swallowing deeply himself, as if he has to recenter his mind.

Your hands find your way to his pomaded hair, releasing it from its hold as you run your fingers through it. He opens his eyes, those damned blue eyes of his, and they focus on yours for a moment before he slides his head down, his lips probing your neck before he kisses the rim of your ear.

“Still want me to knot ya?”

You turn your head to look at him fully, and you smile, your legs lifting and your ankles crossing over his back.

But he makes no move to cross that threshold.

“Arthur?” Your hand moves to cup his cheek.

He swallows, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment before focusing on you again, “Darlin’, I… I want to claim ya.”

Silence falls between you. You blink up at him and he frowns, inwardly cursing for having gone too far. He goes to pull himself out of you before you regain your wits.

“Yes, yes Arthur, please, make me yours. I’ll be yours the rest of my days and I’ll always please you and you can have me whenever you want-” You babble on before he shushes you with another kiss.

“Hush now. You’re gonna be mine, and I’m gonna take care of you, little omega. Through all them heats, you’ll never have to hurt again.” He smiles back at you, his uncertainty from before gone. 

You mewl in response. Arthur grunts as he lifts himself to his elbows and rocks his hips forward sharply, making you sigh.

“Gonna mark you-” he groans as he starts to slam his hips into yours at an increasing pace, “Ain’t no other alpha ever gonna have you, ever gonna look at you again.”

You whine at the thrust, baring your neck, permitting him to fully make you his. He snarls, all alpha, as his hips slam into yours, eyes bleeding red before you have to close yours in overstimulation.

“No one will ever-”

Thrust.

“Touch you-”

Thrust.

“Again-”

He gives one final, brutal thrust, his hips slamming into yours.

The base of his cock swells, and you whimper against the stretch, a bolt of pain-pleasure through your pelvic ring as he expands, locking himself into you. Arthur grunts loudly as he lowers himself down on top of you, his cock twitching violently within you as hot spurts of spend paint your insides. As he finishes, his lips find your neck and his teeth encircle your weeping gland, and they sink into your flesh, causing you to cry out in both pain and relief. The feeling is so overwhelming that you shudder around him, gushing slick around him as you come.

In a knot of entangled limbs, damp with sweat, the two of you pant wearily as you return to your senses. Arthur gets up on his elbows, one of his hands reaching up to brush strands of hair out of your face. You open your eyes to see him smiling down at you, his lips stained with your blood before his tongue darts out to clean himself.

Your hands find his hair once again, affectionately smoothing it down. Arthur nuzzles against your forehead and you smile up at him with adoring eyes.

He glances back down to your neck, where a perfect circle of teeth marks your skin. Before he can linger, you make a small, needy noise and he leans up to kiss you again, adjusting his hips slightly as he covers your body with his. His knot holds strong, sheathing his flesh within yours.

As he kisses you and you clutch at him, his mind drifts to you in that dress, with your neck on display. How now, every man would see his mating mark on you.

How now, the world would know, you were his.

[nthspecialll]

It is so weird being hateful on tiktok while having a rdr pfp or name, like dude, the voice actors would NOT condone this. I mean Roger (arthurs va) literally said "terfs aint got no friends" and "trans rights are human rights" and Rob (Johns va) celebrates national velociraptor day and is just a big goof ball. All the VAs are.

I saw an Arthur Morgan be fatphobic and like I am gonna be honest with ya, I dont think Arthur would be fatphobic, I actually think he would love some chub.

I saw a John Marston be transphobic as if he didnt have that whole "you ever met a Jewish, british homosexual?" Thing in Undead and the VA is over there trying to learn gen Alpha slang.

Like dude, how do you use the work of the NICEST and most ACCEPTING people ever while spreading hate? Learn whos face you are using because you are actually embarrassing yourself dumbass.

[miguel-owhora]

Howdy my fellow sigmas. Proud to announce, again, that I am going to be attempting Kinktober !!! and hopefully it doesn’t end the same way as it did before :3

Now then, I’ve decided to go the ‘easy’ way and select the kinks/fetishes for each day, but have you guys pick the characters. Or whatever. Some kinks/fetishes do repeat but ! who cares lmao. Feel free to use this list as inspo or something idk man

Anyways, here’s a list of character’s that I’ll write for, and the available days! I’ll update the slots with each req :)  

Characters:

Miguel O’Hara , Peter B , Webslinger , Ben Reilly

John Price , Simon Riley , Kyle Garrick , John MacTavish , Phillip Graves, Vladimir Makarov

Steven Grant , Marc Spector , Jake Lockley

Arthur Morgan , Dutch Van der Linde , Hosea Matthews , Micah Bell , John Martson , Bill Williamson , Charles Smith , Javier Escuella , Kieran Duffy , Lenny Summers , Sean MacGuire

Slots :3

Watersports | Fear play | Semi-Public Sex - Miguel O'Hara

Face Fucking | Sex against Furniture | Fingering - Micah Bell

Sleepy Sex | Scent Kink | Knotting - John Martson

Begging | Blowjob | Mirror/Window - Dutch Van der Linde

Anal Fisting | Power Dynamics | Corset - Micah Bell

Masturbating Each Other | New Relationship | Omega/Omega - Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Dollification | Nipple Play | Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics - Micah Bell

Orgasm Control/Cum on Command | Feet Fetish | Piercings/Body Modifications - Miguel O'Hara

Titfucking | Corruption/Blasphemy Kink | Shower/Bath - Micah Bell

Animal Characteristics/Partial Transformation | Pillow Biting | Hog Tied - Arthur Morgan

Dildos | Mating Cycles/In Heat | Smelling Clothes - John Price

Praise Kink | Stuffing | Creampie - Ben Reilly

Choking/Asphyxiation | Fuck or Die | Sexual Punishment - Kieran Duffy

Boot Worship | Creampie in Throat | Hair Pulling - Micah Bell

Breeding Mount | Doggy Style | Genital Spanking - Arthur Morgan

Face Fucking | Strength/Power Kink | Deep Throat - Lenny Summers

Unprotected Sex | Armbinding | Spanking - Kieran Duffy/Mary-Beth Gaskill

Anal Cock Warming | Premature Orgasm | Dacryphilia/Crying Kink - Arthur Morgan

Squirting | Fuck or Die | Face Fucking - Kyle Garrick

Size Difference | Fingering | Pregnant Kink - Hosea Matthews

Oviposition | Predator/Prey | Mind Breaking - John Martson

Over-the-Knee Spanking | Puppy Play | Toys - John MacTavish

Cock Worship | Lactation | Vibrators - Miguel O'Hara

Weight Gain | Lingerie | Breeding - Dutch Van der Linde

Daddy Kink | Cock Worship | Cigarette Burns - Dutch Van der Linde

Gunplay | Hate/Angry Sex | Violence Kink - Miguel O'Hara

Sneaky Sex | Fingersucking | Anal sex - Hosea Matthews

Dry Humping/Grinding | Quickies | Cumming in Pants - Micah Bell

Knife Play | Blood Kink | Handjobs - Javier Escuella

Squirting | Cam Sex | Service Top - Bill Williamson

Author’s Choice? Perchance…

[outlawruben]

RIP Van Der Linde gang 😔 you would’ve loved:

Abigail Marston - Marriage counseling, Stanley Cups, The Barbie Movie

Arthur Morgan - Slim Jim’s, Bass Pro Shops pyramid, Levi’s wooly Jean Jackets

Bill Williamson - Grindr, Shitty Gas Stations, “Don’t Tread On Me” flags

Charles Smith - Mitski, microwaved popcorn and movie nights, Bison as a protected species

Dutch Van Der Linde - Backseat Driving, Political Debate Podcasts, fruit flavored vapes

Hosea Matthews - Keurig Coffee Machines, chiropractors , Candy Crush

Jack Marston (depending on age) - Warrior Cats, Percy Jackson, Disney +

Javier Escuella - Electric Guitars, Cards Against Humanity, The Oscars/Grammys/Golden Globes

John Marston - 3 in one soap, Ford Truck Of the Month, band T-shirts

Josiah Trelawney - Magician Kits, Amazon, America’s Got Talent

Karen Jones - White Claws, Dolly Parton, Brittany Broski

Kieran Duffy - Star Stables Online, NASA space pictures, JellyCat Plushies

Lenny Summers - Kindle tablets, Soundproof headphones, Barnes and Noble

Leopold Strauss - Cashapp/Venmo, Facebook, Wikipedia

Mary-Beth Gaskill - thrift shopping, fanfiction websites, Taylor Swift’s Eras tour

Micah Bell - Ben Shapiro, Alpha Males, Playing Devil’s Advocate

Molly O’Shea - Steel Magnolias, Weighted Blankets, Themed Calendars

Rev, Orville Swanson - Bible study, AA meetings, Sacramental Wine

Sadie Adler - WLW music, Matching tattoos, Gym Membership

Sean MacGuire - Totino’s pizza rolls, Good Mythical Morning, Sugary Cereal (Lucky Charms /j)

Simon Pearson - Hell’s Kitchen, Panini press/waffle iron, Walmart Superstore

Susan Grimshaw -Life 360, Boxed Wine, Cats

Tilly Jackson - Mani-Pedis, Shea Butter Scrubs, Micellar Water

Uncle - Wheel Of Fortune, Recliners, Car seat heaters

[hannibalzero]

Souther nights!

🦌🦬🦌🦬

[oldrockformations]

Choose ur Arthur Morgan Mischaracterization!

Teenage boy who thinks Arthur is an alpha male misogynist who shoots people for fun

Middle aged straight woman who thinks Arthur is some sort of one dimensional cowboy playboy