#alpha arthur morgan

[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!!

[tame-the-lion-writes]

anything but worthy [pt.2]

This is reposted from my ao3!

[SFW Arthur Morgan] tags: omegaverse

Ever since you were a teenager, you've loved romance books. First you pretended to hate them, and still occasionally do, but for all the tropes that you’ve scorned, there’s something inherently addicting about them, too.

You shared this little obsession with Mary-Beth, and as such, occasionally shared each other’s novels. She was an aspiring writer, you knew, and as an avid consumer, she’d appreciate your tips and critiques. But if there was one thing you couldn’t share, it was how much more you fantasized compared to her.

Pride and Prejudice was lovely, really – a testament to the change people will go through because they love someone. Romeo and Juliet was more of a tragedy, and while you understood the political metaphor, as a story, it felt a little too juvenile. There were the non-romances, too – Robinson Crusoe, Tom Sawyer or Huckleberry Finn. Hell, you’d even read Charles C. Chestnutt, since you were so invested in the politics of the time. Equality for everyone, past the bare minimums of the Civil War! 

But, on some level, you didn’t want the sensical. You didn’t want things that made sense – you craved suspension of disbelief. You craved something more primal, something that could be set aside from the sociopolitics of everyday life – something private, and personal, and perhaps a little… perverted.

Ugh. Putting it like that made you sound like you needed church.

(And perhaps you did.)

– but that wasn’t the point!

The point was – that for the past year, you’d been miraculously saved by a big strong mountain man, and now, in a time when women only had the options of marriage, elementary schooling, or prostitution, you had been swept into the wild drama of a gang of outlaws. This in itself was perfect romance material!-- if not perfect – ugh – Victorian erotica material.

(Because yes, those existed – though you certainly wanted something better than a couple dozen pages written from the perspective of a fucking flea.)

Now Arthur Morgan, in particular, was perfect romance material. You and Mary-Beth – and even Tilly – yes, Tilly! – had agreed as such. John was taken, Sean and Bill both idiots – though Karen would probably settle for the former. Javier was a romantic with a lovely voice, but you didn’t know him all too well, and Charles was almost too quiet. (Again, almost – he was handsome and kind and patient.) Dutch was taken, Hosea was more of a father, but Arthur – Arthur – he was a perfect mix of rough and sentimental. A perfect mix of rugged and gentle.

Though you might have underestimated just exactly how rough he could be.

Not to mention that he was an alpha – the greatest one in the pack, even above Dutch, you’d decided.

Admittedly, you didn’t notice at first – notice how often he looked at you, at least. You noticed his strength right away of course, and how much of a leader he could be when necessary, but it took Mary-Beth and Tilly and Karen – all of them – to make you realize he had taken a liking to you.

“God, you’re oblivious as hell, ain’tcha?” Karen had said one evening, throwing her hands up in the air. “The man’s been eyeing you like a piece of meat!”

“Now, I wouldn’t say a piece of meat–” Mary-Beth countered with a nervous chuckle, shaking her head. “More like a… a male lead!”

“A male– a fuckin’ what now?”

Tilly giggled in the background, covering her smile with her hand. “You know, Karen, like the main love interests in Mary-Beth’s books.”

The blonde made a face, scrunching up her nose. “You know I don’t read that shit. Too sappy for me.”

“It’s not… ‘shit,’” you defended with a smile, albeit an understanding one, but seeing Mary-Beth pout, you had to say something. “They’re pretty good in my opinion.”

“Oh, don’t you dare change topics with me, girly,” Karen scolded, rolling her eyes. “Either way, you know what we mean!”

 Actually, you didn’t – not until then. It was hard to believe a man like that could like you. But ever since that conversation, you found yourself looking over your shoulder more, darting your eyes in Arthur’s direction to try and catch him in the act. For the longest time, however, he seemed normal – busy with something else, not even close to facing you. You had nearly given up when, one night, when the gang was celebrating a successful job with drinks, that you looked up to see blue eyes staring you down, laced with a certain expression halfway between affection and lust.

That day, you looked away, red face hidden in the darkness. But from then on, with his whatever toward you confirmed, a returned interest had started to grow. And boy, did you try to hook him.

It started with simpler gestures, really – an odd form of courtship since you were shy and he just felt so big compared to life. You’d do all his laundry, hand him coffee or stew, or leave him a newly repaired shirt on the table by his bedside. One time, you even managed to scourge together enough money to buy him a new ink pen. Your excuse?-- that if he kept writing in his journal with pencil, the graphite would rub the letters clean off one day. And you knew how much his writing and drawing meant to him, even if he denied any form of intelligence.

But it took another few months before you’d finally gathered the courage. The courage to ask him to stay with you, through the heat – during your heat. But–

“I am anythin’ but worthy of that honor, little girl.”

The response made your heart sink, and for a moment, you thought that was that.

“I’m sorry, Arthur.” Your voice is shaky. “I just thought it would be nice – me and you.”

You felt like a little girl, trembling quietly in the night.  All that staring and time wasted – but it was just staring, not him actually planning to act on you. Well, now you just felt a little silly, too. Silly little omega. What kind of omega chases an alpha – not the other way around?

“I guess I’ll just ask Sadie or Miss Grimshaw to go with me again. Or maybe Karen, ‘cause she can handle a gun, too.”

But before you can disappear into the darkness, escape the vicinity and curl up – cry yourself to sleep – he speaks up again, explaining himself.

“I don’t wanna hurt you, omega. I don’t wanna hurt you. That’s all.”

“Oh, Arthur. I’d be okay if it were you.”

Something shifted that evening. And you parted ways with a better understanding.

The following day, the girls helped you pack – Miss Grimshaw being helpful in particular. She’d made sure some herbs for soothing tea was going with you, and had the others wrap up enough blankets for comfort. There was a tower, the older woman explained, back up north in the Grizzlies – nice and cool to keep your fever from being unbearable, yet not quite buried in layers of snow. Compared to the humid mists of Lemoyne, it sounded like sheer paradise. Arthur himself had scouted it out while on one of his trips, and after tidying up the place a bit, deemed it a safehouse for omegas like you, Mary-Beth, and Tilly. (And Kieren, too, but the boy didn’t like to admit it.) 

But when you expected Miss Grimshaw herself to hop onto the wagon with you, instead of a woman with makeup too gaudy for her features, you heard a rough groan as a man clad in brown leather pulled himself up to sit at your side.

“Er, Arthur, this is my wagon,” you said, dumbfounded, brain not quite working.

“Yup, I know.”

He cracked the reins, getting the horses to start their little trotting.

“It’s– it’s my wagon. I’m not going to town, you– you know that, right?”

“Yup. I know.”

You stare a few more seconds, stare hard, then sink into your seat, facing forward.

Oh my god.

Oh my god.

You hear faint laughter from behind you and raise your head to look over your shoulder, where you see the girls waving – grinning – and Karen hooting and hollering, knowing how things were likely to go. 

“Why– why did you change your mind?” you ask, breathless, gripping your hands tight in your lap. “You really didn’t have to.”

“Just thought about it last night. Thought– hell– once thought no one would have me. Then some pretty girl shows up an’-- well– guess your words hit a chord last time we talked.”

“Arthur, nobody in their right mind wouldn’t have you.”

The rest of the trip is spent in relative quiet, your mind busy processing the fact that Arthur would be staying. The stop at Rhodes for food was brief, the pass through Emerald Ranch even briefer. Then it was up to O’Creagh’s Run, where Arthur stopped by an old man’s cabin. The man had spared you a knowing smile, clapped Arthur on the back, offered to take you both fishing later, then sent you your way.

After that, it was just a little roundabout trip to avoid the steep parts of the mountain range, and soon, you two were passing into a clearing where a log tower came into view. It was a sturdy, impossibly pristine place, likely recently abandoned. A nearby campfire was still smoldering, but Arthur noted that people rarely passed through. Ambarino was a scarce place after all, with few homesteads and little reason to visit. And – on the off chance some other alpha was too nosy for their own good – the top of the tower provided ample range for Arthur to threaten them off with a gun.

Settling in, you were starting to feel the haze of your heat, but luckily, Arthur had given you some privacy to prepare. He waited outside, by the campfire, scavenging through the leftovers of the former occupants to see if they’d abandoned any cans of food. In the meantime, you’d bundled up your extra blankets and pillows, 

Once overcome by the sweltering heat of Lemoyne, now the cold of the Grizzlies has drifted through the opening at the top of the tower, allowing the cool air to sink and settle around you, and paired with the blankets still lightly scented with the smell of fellow omegas, it begins to slowly you into a sense of security. The stove can be turned on later if needed, to warm both some food and you – but for now, the temperature is satisfactory, and in your chemise, the urge to sleep is instant. You don’t even fight it. Within minutes, you’re drifting off into peaceful nothingness.

And that’s when the sound of a gunshot awakens you.

“Arthur?”

You call out his name in the dead quiet, clutching the blankets close. Your heat is on the edge of full force, and you’re just barely lucid enough to stand. Which you do.

“Arthur?” you repeat, bare feet falling in succession on the wooden floor.

Then it hits you – the swarm of what felt like dozens of other scents. The disgusting mixture of chalk and rotten food, pungent chemicals, and more. But somewhere in the middle, there’s the familiar smell of leather – the warmth of whiskey, and the freshness of rain.

And you notice – it’s raining.

There’s no more gunshots, not that you can hear, but now there’s the sound of a struggle outside. Gasps and coughs and grunts, among the sound of fists landing hard on flesh and bone. You flinch repeatedly at each blow and finally decide to peek through the window, where in the dark of night, you can barely make out the silhouettes of several people.

Two bodies lie still in the grass, water gathering in the wrinkles of their shirts. Three more are standing – one, you make out to be Arthur, while the other two are clearly trying to beat him to a pulp.

Emphasis on trying.

With a well placed kick to the gut, Arthur sends another one flying, and now it’s just him and the seemingly equally large man left.

You can’t make out what they’re saying, but you can make a good guess. Why else would a group of alphas swarm to one spot when an omega’s in heat? The thought makes you sick, and you cover your mouth, slumping against the wall by the window and forcing the bile down. 

It takes seemingly forever, but after a while, the sound dies down. One more glance out the window confirms that Arthur is the only one left standing – because of course he is – and the sight of his outline, standing against the bright of far-off lightning strikes, shoulders rising and falling with every labored breath – it makes you want to crawl right into his arms.

But as you open the door and the full strength of your scent floods down the path towards him, his body goes rigid. There’s something wrong.

“Arthur?” you call out a third time. Then a pause.

“... Arthur?”

He turns, and you see the spots of red splattered across his face. There’s this wild look in his eye – not the mix of affection and lust that you’d seen so long ago, but the pure animalistic drive of alpha pheromones. In the rain, the scent hits you. Yes – leather. Whiskey. The smell of dust after rain.

The heat pools in your blood, but so, too, does your body call you to run.

And you do.

_

Oh, you want the third part? The lovely, lovely smut? Check out my ao3

[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.

[bucksnbullets]

Im a little toasted but I love Morston sooooo much!!! They are so fucking cute together and I love their dynamic.,.,.REALLY thinking about ABO morston 🤤

[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.

[woman-of-balnain]

Masterlist

In Progress/Future/Potential Fic List

Key:

😈 - Smutty Thoughts

🔥 - Strictly Foreplay or Not Really Full-Blown Smut

💦  - Smut

💥 - Arguing Between the Pairing

💔 - Angst

💕 - Fluff

❤️‍🩹 - Hurt/Comfort

🐺 - A/B/O Dynamics

⚔️ - Historical AU

The Walking Dead

Rick Grimes

Endzeitfragmente (Fragments From the End of Time)  🐺

Summary: A collection of stories surrounding my Rick/Reader a/b/o pairing. They are all connected and inspired by the original series I wrote, titled ‘the Claim.’

Collection Masterlist

-

You Don't Form in the Wet Sand (I Do) 🐺

Request: An omega reader who is able to handle and defend herself and how Rick would deal with that considering he just wants to protect her.

Part 1

Part 2 - 💦

-

Corruption 🐺

Request: a sheltered reader who comes from a religious family and doesn’t really understand presentations or heat/rut cycles. When her heat comes for the first time after the world has fallen, Rick helps her through it.

Part 1 - 🔥

Part 2 - 💦 (Coming Soon)

Part 3 - 💦 (Coming Soon)

Red Dead Redemption

Arthur Morgan

Requests:

Bold as Love - 💦 💥 (You get jealous after seeing Arthur with Mary)

Bold as Love Part 2 - 💦 (Reader gets back at Arthur)

The First Shall Not Be the Last - 💦  (You lose your virginity to Arthur)

The Fine Art of Flirtatious Conversation - (You are Arthur's Secret Wife)

[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.

[emjiroki]

I want Alpha Arthur Morgan more than anything 😔

[in-ky]

Day 6: Alpha Morgan teehee

BREEDING KINK BREEDING KINK BREE- Summary: you're in heat and arthur comes and helps WARNINGS: A/B/O content and breeding kink, alpha morgan and omega reader (afab, no pronouns). he's kinda rough so medium-low honor arthur lolz. partially dubious consent? idk

You wanted him so badly. Normally, you would stifle your wants and continue on with your day with that sharp longing in your chest for him. But today, it was a need. You needed Arthur. The slick beginning to drip down your thighs was proof enough for that. It was the first heat you had that was giving you intense pain. You thrashed around in your tent, clawing at your sleeping shirt to try and get any sort of relief from the boiling heat you were shrouded in. The heat had come earlier than you were expecting. Usually, you would retreat to the safe house in Cumberland Forest. But, of course and as always, nature had other plans. So here you were, trying to cover up your moans and scent from the Alpha in the tent beside you.

Arthur had helped you with your heat a few times in the past. He always made you safe and protected and never pressured you into becoming his mate. But you wish he did. God how you wished he did. With his stupidly hot attractive body and his scent of bonfire and warm leather that drove you crazy. You wanted him more than anything, but he was just being nice and attending you as one of the group’s alphas. As another wave of cramps and slick crashed into your lower abdomen, you couldn’t help but cry for your alpha. 

He was there in an instant, ripping back the flaps of the tent and glaring down at you with nothing but pure, fiery desire in his gaze.

“Wh- Arthur?” You gasped, pulling your shirt back over you “What are you doing up?” He entered the tent and clasped it shut behind him, so no one would be interrupting you. 

“I smelled you hours ago. I’ve been waiting out there for you to call me in and make sure no one else got to you before I did.”

“Why would you do that?” Arthur leaned in close, placing a kiss on your earlobe.

“Because I’m your alpha.” With that, he grabbed you under your knees and pulled you down so your back was flat against your sleeping mat. You groaned as his hard length rubbed against your bare core, leaving a trail of slick in its wake. “And you’re my omega.” He continued to growl, unbuckling his belt” Your brain gushed with adoration and pleasure. He was yours. He had always been yours.

“Alpha, please.” You begged, clawing at his clothes “Please, I need you inside of me. I need your knot.” Arthur growled, and kissed your neck, nipping and sucking around the junction between your neck and your shoulder. If he had just been biting a little harder, the whole world would know about your pairing. He reached down and unbuckled his pants, sighing in relief as his cock got some pressure relieved. 

“Are you ready?” He asked, taking himself out of his pants. He laughed at your eager nod. “Of course you are, look how much you’re weeping for me.” Arthur gathered your slick on the head of his cock and slowly pressed into you. You immediately felt at ease as his length parted your walls. He was easily able to bottom out on the first thrust because of your eager spasming.

“I will never get used to how nice you feel when you’re gripping me like this.” He groaned, burying his face into your neck and sucking on the sweet spot. Your moans got louder and more desperate, not caring who might hear you.

“Arthur, please!” You gasped at his thrusts “I need you. All of you.”

“Fuck,” He hissed, gliding in and out of you “Who do you belong to?”

“You, Arthur!” You cried, gripping onto his shoulders as the force of his thrusts caused your legs to shake.

“Whose- shit- who’s your alpha?” “You are! You’re my alpha, I’m your omega. I belong to you forever.” The words tumbled out of your mouth without you thinking, but it ignited something in Arthur.” “Damn right.” He growled, picking up his speed. “You’re mine. Mine to love and protect and breed and no one else’s. Everyone's gonna know who you belong to when you're round with my pups. Everyone's gonna see just how good of an omega you are. My omega.” You couldn’t respond to it, but your heart filled with the love and adoration that you had always felt for Arthur. He was yours. Forever. And you were his. And as he rolled you over onto your sides, knot stretching your walls to ensure none of the cum he was continuously pumping into you escaped and muscles tired from both of your releases, he pressed a kiss to your forehead and muttered the three words you had been longing for ever since you met him.

“I love you.”

[tame-the-lion-writes]

anything but worthy [pt.1]

This is reposted from my ao3!

[Arthur Morgan SFW] tags: omegaverse

Once upon a time, someone told Arthur that he was a good man. Yet right now, he felt he was anything but.

Because–

Lavender. Honey. Vanilla syrup on a cold, cold day.

You were once the newest addition to the gang, brought in right alongside Sadie – a family friend you happened to visit the day the O'Driscolls came around. Together, you hid in the cellar, the constant howling wind your saving grace, especially since you were an omega whose mere presence could drive alphas mad.

The day they came was an unfortunate one, and while Sadie's inner alpha called on her to protect both you and her husband, there were just too many of the damn rats to fend off. Hence retreating underground, hence curling up together for warmth. She smelled of cinders and sawdust, and for a while, it was enough, but had you stayed much longer, you two would have surely frozen to death.

And then someone new arrived.

Three "someones," really. There new alphas – to be exact, but your focus landed on just one. It was a miracle that Sadie had managed to survive the mere stress of her dead husband – her mate – but the scent of natural competition had heightened her senses once more. So she led the way out of the cellar, blade in hand, steps slow and cautious while a snarl rumbled low in her throat.

What followed after wasn't so pleasant, but soon enough, you were wrapped in linen – lifted onto horseback and embraced in the arms of a brown-haired stranger. The haze of hunger and cold, the lull of steady hoofbeats, paired with the comfort of something safe – of someone safe – of an alpha – was all it took to cradle you to sleep. Yes, a sleep where you dreamed off–

Leather. Whiskey. The smell of dust after rain.

They said you could stay until you figured out where to go, but that scent was one you couldn't bear to leave. And Arthur Morgan could say the same thing about you.

Since that day in the West Grizzlies, there was just something about you, and he couldn't put his finger on it. Because sure, he'd been heartbroken before – he'd chased after Mary, he'd made himself a fool, but you – yes, you – you were something different.

He wouldn't call it love at first sight. Hell, he told himself, he hardly knew a thing about love. If anything, he knew what love wasn't, at least sort of – and surely, the complexity of what he felt couldn't be defined so simply. You see, for example, was it love when he wanted to hold you? Maybe. Was it love when he wanted to wipe your tears? Maybe. Now, was it love when he wanted to have you – on your back in his bed, skin red and lightly bruised, while he gripped your wrists so tight, a little more, and they would break?

About that – most certainly, no.

But goddamn if he didn't hate it – no, love it – when sometimes, you'd act all cute and lovely, look up at him with those big doe eyes, and smile without knowing how he thought of you each night. There was an inherent need to protect you, to keep your smiles innocent, yet the simultaneous dark craving that tempted him to make you cry. He'd sweep you up in his arms, he fantasized, then carry you to his tent – where he'd lay you down so gently, yank you by the ankle as he undid his pants, hoping to see you scramble away then give in when you realize it was hopeless.

Again, he'd remind himself – those thoughts were all fantasy. Scenarios he'd work out in his head when the sun had settled, or whenever he had some privacy out in the woods or away from camp. He'd never actually act on it – no, he was too good for that. But those thoughts made him question if he was really good at all, or if he was teetering towards the edge – putting up a facade out of sheer strong will and not really because he was any sort of moral man. Because moral as he may be, as loyal to a code as he may be, beneath all that humanity was still the devouring instinct of a beast.

Alpha, alpha, alpha – longing for an omega, omega, omega. Oh–

Lavender. Honey. Vanilla syrup on a cold, cold day.

He wondered if you tasted just like you smelled, and if you'd let him take a bite of your neck–

"Arthur? Hey, Arthur?"

"Hm? Sorry, you say somethin'?"

"No, not really. Just worried – you've been staring at nothin' for the past, uh, fifteen minutes or so."

It's a hot summer Lemoyne evening, and you're down to your chemise, and his blue eyes can't help but skirt across the fine neckline. It's brief, but he notices the beads of sweat littering your skin – the way your collarbone disappears behind lace, and the way his mind tugs at his fingers to tug it down–

But he clears his throat and looks away, refusing to face you as you lean over, standing right beside him. "It's this damn heat. Can't even think straight–" he excuses with a gruff tone. It's not entirely a lie.

You purse your lips but seem to accept his answer – you've been oblivious so far, he knows, and he legitimately wonders how the hell when all he's done lately is edge towards being a fool. Or even a fucking creep– 

"Well, um, maybe you shouldn't– uh– sit so close to the fire then," you eventually add, offering him a sheepish smile.

It's true, Arthur realizes, that he's been so lost in thought – so lost, in fact, that he's damn near roasting his face in the flames. The campfire is less than a foot away from him, and he's been wearing a jacket this whole time. He didn't even think to peel off the extra layer, too muddled in pheromones or hormones or whatever. After all, he'd decided, you were meant for cold days. Fantasies of you, he decided, should be reserved for cold days.  But you were vanilla syrup, sickeningly sweet in the heat of summer. And heat– heat– when was yours again?

He shuffled back a few inches, so he's not about to be set on fire, but it does little to calm his soul when he's already so riled up inside. The way your brow furrows, the way your lips pout – if he focused on you any longer, on the fact that he could oh-so-easily grab you by the hips, Arthur would have to set a blanket or a pillow on his lap. And that alone, in this damn heat, would raise so many questions that he would hate to answer.

But he doesn’t have to grab you by the hips – you seat yourself next to him, and the proximity alone makes him want to curse. This camp was no place for you – this gang no place for you – and he was certainly not going to be a good man for you if your oblivious actions kept him latched on like a pike. Oh – but he wanted you safe and comfortable – and begging and screaming – and perfect and soft – and clothes torn apart. He wanted you splayed out before him, marks on your thighs – wet and needy and raw and ready for–

– him. 

Arthur covered his lower face with a hand, as if to scratch his beard, though it's really to bite down a curse. He wanted you, like a sacrifice – to have and hold – and hold down. So many mixed feelings, when you're a predator who loves their prey.

“Dunno why Pearson thought it would be a good idea to make stew again, in this heat. Maybe we could make jerky instead. Those don’t need to be hot to eat,” you comment, poking around the fire with a stick, moving about the logs so the flames last a little longer.

“If Pearson actually cared about what’s palatable, he wouldn’t be makin’ stew. Not again,” Arthur muttered in response, unable to help himself as he subconsciously leaned closer to you. The smoke was doing nothing to dull out your scent, but he wanted to cover it up with his own – with leather, and whiskey – and the smell of dust after rain.

“Oh! Speaking of food–” you whip back around to face him, and he reels back so he at least doesn’t look like a madman– “we need to go into town tomorrow. Miss Grimshaw said we’re running low on supplies.”

He plays his swerve off with a sarcastic grin – a guffaw. “Runnin’ low– I just went into town with Sadie. I ain’t forgettin’ that shoutout any time soon,” he huffs, slamming his hands down on his knees and shaking his head.

“Well– er–” you begin again, your lips forming a small pout, “I– I mean, I kinda need to go to a hotel or… preferably… a cabin… soon?”

His blue eyes examine your own for the truth, and though his jaw is clenched tight in suspicion, it soon loosens, his mouth agape.

You wanted?--

Oh.

A beat.

Oh, no–

“Darlin’, are you askin’ me to–”

You bring your hands up, waving them frantically in front of your face, a nervous laughter erupting from your throat.

“I– I mean–” you repeat once more, only to hide your face with both hands. “I-I’m sorry, Arthur. It’s just– I thought asking you outright would be weird, but it seems I’ve made things worse… And– and it’s not that I wanted you in the room or anything! I just thought it would be nice to be with you, and you’re always around to comfort me and help me with things, and– and I trust you to protect me, you know? You– you make me feel safe.”

“I am anythin’ but worthy of that honor, little girl.”

Your face falls, and your hands do, too. And you watch as he glares at the fire, features hardened once more. He sees it out of the corner of his eye – your expression – and his gut twists and turns, spurring guilt into his mind. You speak– again–

“I’m sorry, Arthur. I just thought it would be nice – me and you.”

He hears you suck in a deep breath as you get to your feet, ready to shuffle off to bed.

“I guess I’ll just ask Sadie or Miss Grimshaw to go with me again. Or maybe Karen, ‘cause she can handle a gun, too.”

Your voice grows quieter and quieter by the second, and that guilt of his builds up, inversely proportional to the sound. But as you move to step away, he opens his mouth once more.

“I don’t wanna hurt you, omega,” he explains, fingers curled in tight fists. “I don’t wanna hurt you,” he repeats again. “That’s all.”

“Oh, Arthur–” you place a hand on his shoulder– “I’d be okay if it were you.”

[pine4pple-b0i]

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

[oblongblockofsteel]

Broken Doll Part 3

SUMMARY “You’re a blank omega, right?”

That question has been asked too many times in his life. Not that it had ever been Trelawny's choice to even BE blank. It's his greatest wish to bond, to feel connected, but when he bonds with Arthur Morgan, it's more pain than he ever bargained for.

There’s a modest mansion nestled in the rough little valley of Willowbrook. It was impossible to see from the road and had remained almost undetected for years. According to Trelawny’s sources the property had enough valuables to make a duchess blush, and he and his compatriots aimed to alleviate these wonderful people of that heavy burden.

‘Wonderful’ being a rather subjective term, his sources were also quick to share rather strongly held opinions of these people.

‘Peculiar’, ‘odd’, ‘strange’ was often used by the polite.

‘Fucking insane,’ from the more honest.

Trelawny despised going in blind, and so he had persuaded Arthur to rather take things a bit more methodically this time around. They were to watch the house for three days to pinpoint routines, determine how many people lived there, and possibly find out who these people actually were.

Arthur and Trelawny set out early that next morning. Charles and Javier would head off later in to small town nearby to see if they could pick up any more information. Trelawny would prefer to be plucking the brains of sheriffs and barmen, but he opted for a few days in the countryside this time. Besides, if his con was to work on these, he really shouldn’t be seen too much in town. Once Arthur and Trelawny had determined the variables, they were to meet Charles and Javier by a crossroads where they’d discus the plan further. Simple, easy as can be.

And of course Trelawny would be acting as distraction and right in the firing range as per usual.

He never really minded it. He quite enjoyed being the center of so much attention; it fed the ego enough for at least a few weeks. As a performer by nature, he really couldn’t be anywhere else but on the stage. No matter the size of it or the type.

The ride was quiet, the horse’s hooves soft against the dew-soaked earth as they cantered over the wet mud. Trelawny in a rare moment enjoyed the silence, taking the time to think of possible distractions and the problems which might occur during the heist.

His appaloosa tossed his head a few times, more frisky than he first thought. So, when they turned the corner to take the main road he egged him on a bit, taking Arthur past with a bright laugh. Arthur, of course, did not take to that kindly and quickly sped up, coming up from the side. Trelawny lay low on Gwydion’s back, feeling the muscle and bone shift and pound beneath him. He heard a sharp whistle just as they reached a hill and like a shot, Arthur and Boadicea shot past them and reached the top a good length ahead of them.

“Ya really thought you could beat Boa?” he asked panting and patting her arched neck.

Trelawny laughed again, “Perhaps on a dull long stretch of road you can beat us, Mr Morgan. But give us a road with sharp turns and all manner of obstacles, and Gwydion will show you how it’s done.”

The little appaloosa tossed his head as if in agreement and Arthur snorted, shaking his head.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Trelawny laughed and they continued onwards.

They reached the small mansion by midafternoon. Surroundings hills and forests made it difficult to see if you didn’t know where to look. It was as dilapidated as he expected. The estate around it had become over grown with weeds, the plants and garden unkempt and unruly. But even without binoculars, he could see a stable full of horses, a man walking down a path to what he assumed was a greenhouse.

There was life, and treasure to be found. Jewels if his sources were good – which they always were - a whole stack of jewels hanging behind a portrait in the main bedroom.

“You sure about this?”

“Have I ever been wrong?”

Arthur huffed, “Wrong? No. Unlucky? Hell, yes.”

“Let’s hope my luck has turned.”

Arthur snorted and turned Boa away from the house, “Let’s go find us a spot.”

They quickly set about scouting the area. They were looking for a spot that was both secluded and free of too much traffic. Some of these areas could be quite busy and they wanted to avoid them as best they could to avoid suspicion. They discussed possible pitfalls of the area, noting homesteads that were too close for comfort or trails hidden between the trees that hinted at possible traffic.

They finally settled on a cramped forested area, obscured from view but with a high ridge on the site which would be perfect for Charles to take out a few men with his bow if need be. But just before starting their vigil, Arthur noted a woodcutter’s camp only around thirty yards from the road. They packed up and moved on.

It would be dusk before Arthur finally settled on a spot: a slight ridge far from roads with a perfect view on the mansion hidden between trees and bush. A long stretch of river hugged the short hill close from the east, cutting in between the house and the hill and a rock face rising up behind them, meant they would not easily be spotted if they kept low. They scouted the area for a good hour but found no settlements, farmsteads, homesteads nor well-hidden woodcutters or trail.

“This should do very nicely,” Trelawny agreed, plopping down on a rock overlooking their target directly.

“You tired of looking, old man?” Arthur’s smile was downright mischievous.

Trelawny took off his hat and wiped at his forehead, “Not all of us can be boorish gorillas with more brawn than brains, Mr Morgan.”

He snorted, “I’ll go get us a rabbit, can you start the campfire?” he paused, then turned back and with a downright mischievous smile said, “Do you even know how?”

Oh that little snip. Taking a long drag of his cigarette, Trelawny stood up and walked straight towards him scratching at his chin with an idle hand.

“I rightfully don’t know,” he said, voice taking on a slight sing-song tone. “I haven’t done it in a while, I do so love living the high life, eh, Mr Morgan?”

“You sure do.” He crossed his arms, as if waiting for something. And Trelawny so hated disappointing people.

“Well now,” he raised a hand with a closed fist, and looked straight at Arthur, “Do you think this will work?”

Bright yellow sparks clapped right in Arthur’s face, he took a wild step back and nearly stumbled to the ground in his haste. “Fuck, Trelawny!”

He laughed right from his belly, and Arthur, despite his surprise failed to hide his own grin. “Go get us some dinner, my dear boy! I believe I can figure out a blasted campfire.”

“I think you just might,” he agreed, jumping on his mount, Arthur tipped his hat the man took off into the field.

Shaking his head, Trelawny e went to gather some sticks for the fire. He had only done so years ago while travelling with a Circus. They’d been kind, they taught him magic, and showed to him that he could survive, that he could be more than he ever thought he might be. Mostly, he remembered Bryan…

A love nurtured through wild adventures and constant laughter. A kiss in the dark, an embrace that turned into more, the sharp sting of a bite, and the painful disappointment of a bond unformed.

His hand paused, turning its journey away from a stick to settle instead on his neck. Bryan had, at least not abandoned him as the others had. Over twelve bites and not a single one would take. Not even his dear Deirdre, whom was now married to the owner of a mine up in Saint Denis.

Frederick was his name.

He sighed heavy and deep, and quietly gathered a few more sticks for the fire, pushing away his misery.

Thoughts of bonding brought up thoughts of Arthur and his impending marriage. He wondered what it would be like for the Alpha to be shackled to a Beta. Shackled might be a rough a term, but many Alpha’s felt incomplete in beta marriages.

Was that the reason the lad was so uncertain?

“Josiah!”

Oh dear, I’ve lingered for too long. Grabbing around three more sticks he popped up and hurried back to camp.

“On my way, dear boy!”

Arthur, silhouetted by the dipping sun, spun to him, his expression tight with worry, “Thought something had happened.”

Josiah held back the urge to roll his eyes, “I am fine, Arthur. I’ve been taking care of myself since I turned fifteen.”

“Sure,” he shrugged, “But anything can happen.”

Trelawny glanced up, a sharp reprimand on his tongue, but Arthur’s demeanor made the words curl up and die. His stood; hands on his hips, head bowed a little, and shoulders hunched and so clearly worried.

“True,” he said instead, “But I’m fine,” he touched his arm and Arthur’s smile widened a little, soft with relief.

The evening came alive with the barks and caws of nightlight. Trelawny leaned back against the rock, taking long delicious drags from his cigarette.

“Arthur…” he ventured.

“Mm?” Arthur, hat tipped low was leaned against a tree; hands crossed over his stomach and head bowed.

“Have you ever been bonded?”

The head tilted up, revealing wary eyes.

“You asked me so many questions last night that I thought it only fair to ask you in turn.” He took another long drag and kept his eyes on his companion, examining his reaction. Arthur’s expression softened a little, his lips pursed under the hat then with a heavy sigh.

“No.”

“Truly?” That was surprising, “I’d have thought you’d have at least one sweetheart by now!”

He chuckled and shook his head, “Nah, not yet.”

“Oh? I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe it.”

“Especially,” he continued, ignoring his response, “Seeing as you were so adamant to know how to court a lady when you were but eighteen years old.”

The nightlife sounds crept back in. The stark shriek of an owl piercing the night and punctuated the absolute silence from his partner. Arthur sat forward, his face falling into shock.

“You remember that?”

Trelawny laughed, “Of course!” he said, “How could I not? Young Arthur marching up to me with a face carved of stone and asking pertinent, deliberate questions about how to court a lady.” Trelawny laughed, “And after you had your fill, you had nodded and marched off only to ignore me for a whole of three months!”

Arthur buried his face into his hands, “Ahh damn, I thought you’ve have forgotten about it. That was just…” he cleared his throat.

“Endearing?”

“Stupid,” he muttered pulling his face out his hands, “Just beyond stupid.”

Trelawny shook his head, “Not stupid if it was sincere,” he stared at Arthur, “Was it?”

“What?”

“Sincere?”

In true Arthur fashion he rubbed the back of his neck and smiled, “Yeah, I guess. But I never asked them though.”

“Why ever not?”

“Chickened out.”

“A shy Alpha? Now there’s a thought.”

Arthur reached over and punched him lightly in the shoulder, “Shut-up!”

Trelawny laughed.

For the rest of the evening, they sit around the small fire, chatting about anything and everything, Trelawny truly enjoyed Arthur’s company, his smile and laugh, and that wonderful shyness that cropped up from time to time. Endearing really was the best word to describe the man.

The rabbit was delicious, the company even better, and he went to sleep with a lighter heart.

[twola]

Defying Conventions II

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

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link ➵ Previous Please be warned -cw: omegaverse, breeding kink, impregnation, pregnant sex, graphic birth. If those things bother you, then this is not the fic for you.

I feel like I am taking a big risk with this one. As someone who has recently gone through childbirth, it is definitely a traumatic thing, even when things go well. I write as a coping mechanism for trauma - so here it is.

It’s all going to shit.

Hosea. Lenny. Dead. John just busted out of Sisika. The bank robbery in Lemoyne gone completely south - and being marooned on that godforsaken island.

Not to mention Dutch and his behavior. Seems like Micah is in the man’s ear more than anyone else nowadays.

Beaver Hollow is miserable - damp, in these dark, dusty hills of Roanoke. It's stifling, the misery this place exudes.

“Arthur-” 

Arthur whips around, ready to snap at yet another person asking him to do something-

It’s you. Your cheeks are the slightest bit flushed. His hackles settle, temper calmed by the nearness of his other half.

“What d’ya need, darlin’?” He smiles as he raises his hand to welcome you into an embrace.

You don’t move, causing him to frown.

“I… uhm, I-” You stumble slightly, your hand unconsciously moving to your neck, where you have pinned a shawl to cover your skin.

Realization dawns on him, and a low, dull ache begins to burn in his gut.

“Y’ sayin’ we need to get away for a few days?”

You sheepishly shake your head, cheeks flushed. His smile returns and he takes the step to move closer. He wraps his arms around you, clutching you to him. You sigh and melt into his strong embrace.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble into his chest, shuddering slightly as you can feel your heat closing in on you. Tomorrow you’d be a blithering mess.

Arthur presses his lips to your forehead.

“Reckon that’s the best thing anyone’s asked me to do in a while.”

“You ain’t mad?” You look up at him, incredulous.

“Am I mad about my mate askin’ me to get away from this shithole for a few days and spend the hours ruttin’ away?” 

“I just hate being so… needy. Dumb omega shit.” You sigh, burying your head in his chest again. 

Arthur sighs knowingly, then grins as he pulls the shawl down to expose your neck and immediately buries his head against your clammy skin.

You yelp in surprise and arousal as you feel his tongue press against your mating gland - it’s a good thing that he has one arm strong around your waist, or else you would be stumbling to the ground.

Arthur groans quietly, squeezing you gently. “I’m yer alpha. Y’know what I need? I need to satisfy you.”

You try to push him back, afraid that you’re going to go into heat standing here in the middle of camp as he nuzzles at your neck. Alas, your lover is built like a brick wall, and it is only after quite a bit of fidgeting and you trying to yank your shawl back up that he takes the hint.

“Annesburg? Or d’ya want to go further?” He drawls as you try to collect yourself. 

You scowl up at him, “After that, we’ll need to go to Annesburg. Now.”

Arthur smirks, his eyes hidden under the rim of that old gambler’s hat. “Say less, darlin’ girl. Say less.” 

-

It’s a miracle that you can stand upright, there in the gunsmith’s shop as Arthur leans on the counter. While he had been in the foulest of moods earlier in the day, he’d found a second wind the moment you told him you needed him - suddenly acting full alpha - cocky and possessive and hell-bent on getting you desperate for him.

Christ, the whole ride down from Beaver Hollow was near excruciating - Arthur having dragged you onto the saddle in front of him, pressed against him completely, instead of pulling you up on his horse’s rump. Leaning over every so often and nipping at your neck. Groping your breast after passing another rider on the road. By the time the two of you had ridden into the dusty mine town, the flush that had dusted your cheeks before extended down your neck and chest.

“One room. ‘nd here’s extra to not bother us for a few days.”

The poor gunsmith blanches, completely understanding the threatening tone in Arthur’s voice. He nods, handing the alpha a key, muttering directions to the room, in the building next to the shop.

Arthur smirks, turning around and grabbing your arm, guiding you quickly to the room. Punching the key into the lock, he opens the door and watches as you stumble inside. A rumble, all alpha, punches out of his chest as you wipe at your brow, leaning against the wardrobe in the room.

“I’m just gonna get the horse straight. Be back in a minute.” Arthur calls back as he steps out of the room, leaving you to pant wearily as you survey the room that you’re going to lock the two of you in for the next couple of days.

You whine as you paw at the shawl hiding your neck, finally unlatching it and throwing it unceremoniously to the floor. Feverishly unbuttoning your blouse, you pull your arms out of it and toss it aside as well. You’re yanking the straps of your chemise down your arms and baring your breasts as Arthur re-enters the room. Your chemise hangs around your waist as your hands cup your breasts, your breath coming in short, fast pants.

“Need it that bad, omega?” Arthur purrs, pushing your hands away from your chest and placing his own atop your breasts, squeezing gently as you moan.

“Don’t - don’t be cruel- I’m…shit, I’m in heat.” You gasp out as his thumb traces over your nipple. Your knees shake as your hands grasp at him, and you feel your bloomers dampen as your slick begins to come.

One of Arthur’s hands moves from your breast to your waist and immediately starts yanking at your skirts, loosening the waist and pushing them down, along with your bloomers, to pool on the floor at your ankles, leaving you completely bare.

“I’ve got you, darlin’ girl,” Arthur grasps one of your hands and presses it against his massive erection in his pants, and you mewl desperately, craving the way he fills you.

“Go on, get on the bed.” He nods to you and you shakily follow his order, laying down on the bed and opening your legs, rubbing at your throbbing core, watching as your alpha undresses himself. Jacket and work shirt, denim and union suit, they are all shed as you watch, touching yourself all the while.

He goes to climb into the bed with you as you catch a glimpse of his eyes - the faintest red rim around those blue pools.

You groan, a pained cry from your chest, and he stops immediately. Your heat has fully set in, and your body jolts in furious need. You sit up rapidly, trying to gain some semblance of control over yourself.

“I.. you… you begin to rut, there’s a chance-” you suck in a breath against the cramping pain, “I’ll take.”

Arthur hovers over you. “Is that what you want?”

A pained gasp is all you can reply.

“It hurts-” you moan, crumbling forward in the bed, clutching at your lower abdomen. Arthur’s large, warm hands find your sides immediately and gently push you to lay fully on your stomach.

“Hands and knees, let me take care of you.”

You breathe heavily, labored, through your mouth, your fever making you weak. You let him maneuver you however he wants, having lost the strength to do anything else. Your limbs are drawn under you, and your head presses heavily into the old pillow. He positions himself behind you, grabbing your hips and hoisting them up. You moan throatily into that pillow as he takes one hand to stroke his cock into full rigidity.

Before he presses inside, it hits you. You push up on your elbows and he stops, rubbing your lower back. You breathe out against another cramp that shudders through your body. “You… you’re gonna…”

All of the hotheadedness of being an alpha vanishes.

“Honey we don’t have to - it’s what you want.”

You swallow. He’s in position to mount you, the most base and primal of ways to slake this biological need. The complete and utter submission of an omega to their alpha.  Some say it’s an old wives tale, but omegas know - they are taught very early on, that being mounted was supposedly the best way to breed - the surest way to conceive a child. That if they were caught out in the world by an alpha, to fight like hell to not be mounted.

“What do you want, Arthur?”

He leans over you and you feel his lips on your shoulder as one of his hands gently grasps the crest of your hip.

“I wanna spend my days wit’ you.”

“That don’t answer the question.” You suck in another breath against the pain.

He pets your cunt gently, making you shiver as his knuckle parts your folds. “I’ll be happy either way. If you wanna spend our days ridin’ as partners or raisin’ children - I’ll be there as your mate.”

“And… and if I want…?” You gasp out against the pain, your slick starting to run down his knuckle all the way to his wrist, “If I want to have your child?”

He groans loudly and removes his hand from your cunt, immediately smearing your slick all over his cock and he pumps it vigorously. His opposite hand clamps hard on your hip, yanking you up to align with his swaying pelvis.

“Omega-” he growls, all predator, with the blunt head of his cock pressed against the seam of you, probing against the rim of your cunt, raring to plunge into your body, “I’ll breed you right, girl.”

His voice is rough, his tone warning. Another sway of his hips and his cockhead slips in, you do your part and press your hips back to take him, to urge him forward. You moan throatily into the pillow as he presses inside - somehow his cock feels bigger, thicker in this position than at any other time. 

“Fuck, darlin’.” Arthur curses when he’s fully sheathed inside you, hands strong on your hips. On his knees behind you, he guides you on and off of his cock as he thrusts his hips in tandem. The bed squeaks with the movement of your bodies. You clench the pillow hard as your lover picks up the pace, fucking into you frantically.

With each powerful thrust of him into you, you feel his knot start to grow, stretching you with a pain that you crave. If you were able to turn around and look up at him, you’d see his eyes rimmed in red. But you could tell, with the way his hands clamp on your hips, the hardness of his cock - you know he’s gone into rut.

He slows, breathing heavily through his nose, reminiscent of a beast of burden.

“Darlin’-” his voice is rough and thick with arousal, “Last chance, omega. D’ya want me to put a baby in you?”

You shudder, hissing at the finality of his implication as you feel the trickle down your neck from your mating gland of that sweet, pheromone-filled oil. 

“Yes.” You whine, “Yes, Arthur, let me - give me, ngh-” you throw your hips backward to spear yourself on his hard cock, “Breed me.”

“Fuck-” Arthur groans, and almost immediately, his knot swells, stretching the rim of your cunt as he locks himself into you. You whine against the pain-pleasure of it all.

Here you are, on your hands and knees, alpha mounting you, waiting for him to breed you - oh, what a place to be in - what a situation you thought you would never be in. Arthur quickly leans over you, plastering his chest over your back, his strong arms caging you in on either side of your own. It’s terrifyingly intimate as he breathes loudly through his nose, nipping at the gland on your neck.

The world slows. 

“I love you,” he rumbles into your ear, and gives one more thrust into you, knot keeping him snugly in your cunt, “I love you - I love you -” He babbles before sucking one final breath in.

Every nerve of yours is alight. You’ve never felt so in tune with your body. For one final instant, you shiver, your womb ready to accept. One final cramp of need, lower than ever, and you know it is the way your body sings for your mate. Your heart stops. Your cunt clenches at Arthur’s cock, as if it were begging for him the same way you shamelessly are.

Splayed over you, his lips quickly find your gland and he sucks, you gasp, and then you can feel it - deep in your body, you feel the warmth of his seed, his cock pulsing in your cunt as he fills you. 

The sound he makes is beautiful, a moan that transcends physical need. No, this was more. This was your mate, this was breeding, this was the pinnacle of what you were born for. This was creation. The swell of emotion overflows as tears burst from your eyes. You let out a crooning moan of your own as you take him, you take all of him, every pulse of him into your womb. 

The moment seems to last forever. Heaving, panting, groaning, Arthur empties himself into you, locked at the hilt, your body shaking at the sheer implication of it all. For once in your life, your omegahood was not a curse. Your alpha, bent over you, mounted and pumping his hot spend into you.

Arthur gasps like a fish out of water once he’s done. The roaring of your heart in your chest seems to overpower everything. You sob loudly and he immediately sobers and moves the two of you to lay on your sides on the bed, still locked at the hips. He brushes back a lock of your hair, “Honey, are you alri-?”

“I love you,” you cry out, taking his hand and pulling it to your breast, over your heart. “Arthur I love you, I need you - you’re everything-”

He settles in behind you, his knot still locked strong within your body.

“Honey darlin’ girl…” You can feel him smile into your hair, “Mate.”

All of the fierceness, the rough possession, it all has faded as Arthur gently nuzzles the back of your head.  You pull his hand down to your belly, right to the cradle of your hips, to splay out over your womb. “Our child - Arthur.”

He presses against your hot skin, arms wrapped tightly around you, and the next thing you know, that overwhelming warmth shoots through your cunt again as he breathes out heavily.

“Gonna make sure I give you one.” He groans, voice rough as he shallowly pumps his hips against your rear, another round of spend coating your insides.

You mewl, accepting him, rolling your hips as you make another noise of desperation.

“Y‘okay?” He asks, his arm tightening around you.

You whine, wiggling your hips, testing the strength of his knot. He growls in your ear, one of his hands shooting down to your cunt and forcing your legs apart and the other wound under your ribcage, engulfing and squeezing one of your breasts.

Arthur sucks in a breath and nuzzles the back of your neck. His hips jut forward once again, and his cock swells within you.

“Got one last one in me - gonna, gonna g-give you-“

Your entire body quivers in anticipation, and you grab Arthur’s hand from your breast and spread it over your lower belly, holding your hand over his. Over where you will grow and create and swell with child, his child.

“Give me a baby, Arthur-”

Arthur grunts, cock pulsing, and you mewl as you feel the bleeding warmness of him exit his body and enter yours. Gentle waves of him, dripping down and over his knot, smearing across both his and your thighs. A physical sign that he’s filled your cunt to the brim with his seed.

Finally, as the two of you breathe heavily from near-exhaustion, Arthur’s knot recedes enough that he is able to pull himself from you. Arthur slides himself from your body gently, and you whine as his inches leave you. He leans over you and kisses your temple. “I’ll get us some food. Get some rest.”

You turn over in the bed to face him, rubbing gently at your belly. You smile, mischievously.

“I like you mountin’ me.”

Arthur scowls at you, “Jesus Christ, you can’t just say that. We’ll never leave this bed if you keep acting like that.”

You simply smile, leaning in and taking his lips with yours, throwing your leg over his hip, preventing him from leaving the sanctity of the bed. One of his hands rounds your hip to cup your ass.

Shivering slightly, you involuntarily clench as you feel another trickle of his essence leak from your cunt. You look down between you, Arthur’s eyes following yours. You unwind your leg from his hip and turn to lie on your back. 

Your dark hair has lovely drips of white coursing through it, and Arthur groans quietly when he sees it. He reaches, collecting that viscous rivulet on his finger, and you watch intently as he looks back at you, raising his brow as he trails his finger through your thatch of hair.

He lovingly, gently presses it back in, and you whine with oversensitivity at the feeling of his thick trigger finger slipping through the sore rim of your cunt. Arthur takes your lips with his, smothering your complaint.

After several moments, he extracts his hand, leaning back on his elbow. He nuzzles against your neck, the now-faded ring left by his teeth those weeks ago.  “When will you know if you took?”

You shrug, “I guess when my heat ends. Never really paid attention much to them omega lessons…What happens now?”

Arthur rolls onto his back, stretching himself out in the bed, looking up at the moisture-stained ceiling of the rented room. “Things are endin’ with the gang. As much as it kills me to say it…”

You move closer to him, laying your head upon his chest. “And us…?”

“You’re my mate. You’re hopefully carrying my child. Ain't gonna make the mistakes I’ve made in the past.”

You fiddle with a strand of your long, messy hair. “I know we’re mates and all but…” you trail off, eyes trained on the strand of hair instead of him.

“Let’s get Swanson to marry us,” Arthur says, winding his arm around you again.

A smile blooms across your face and you immediately sit up and kiss him, hard, dragging him back down to the bed.

You awaken the next day in the mid-morning, when the sun is already high in the sky.  Arthur’s already up, sitting on the side of the bed, half-dressed. He looks back at you as you stretch your arms overhead. Yawning, you run your hands down your body to rest at the cradle of your hips.

A warmth blooms under your hand. You don’t know how to explain it, but you’re sure you took.

His large hand covers yours.

“Thinkin’ so?”

You nod, looking back at him, unable to stop yourself from smiling. You push yourself up and crash into his embrace.

“But you know, can never be too sure.” You giggle.

A spark of amusement shoots through those river-blue eyes of his.

“Get on your knees, omega. Let’s make sure.”

-

Months Later…

“Absolutely not.”

You frown, pouting reminiscent of a petulant child. You have to stop yourself from stomping your foot on the old wooden floor.

“Ain’t no way in hell am I mountin’ you when you're this close to giving birth.” Arthur scowls at you, looking you up and down with a set jaw and exasperated tone.

“C’monnn…” You tease, taking your hands and running them down your ribcage to highlight your quite large belly under the fabric of your dress.

“No. Christ, it’s hard enough not to go into rut when you’re just sleeping next to me.” Arthur shakes his head, turning away from you, trying to distract himself.

“Gentle?” You wind your way around him, your hand tracing up his back.

“Woman….” He gives a warning tone, but you can tell that you are wearing him down.

“Please, alpha.” You press yourself against him suggestively, taking one of his hands and placing it over the swell of your belly, “You need to take care of your omega.”

His fingers pulse over your skin, and with a sigh, he gives in, “I ain’t knotting you, no matter how much you beg. Christ, I shouldn’t even be entertainin’ this.”

With a giggle, your fingers fly to where his suspenders are fastened to his black work pants, and before he can even react, you have one unclipped. He snatches your hands away from his waist and holds them up above your head.

“You are the most troublesome-”

You lean up on your and kiss him, effectively silencing his retort. When you pull away, you smile up at him, and he cannot help but give the smallest smile back.

“Like I was sayin’, troublesome. C’mon now, get in bed.” Arthur playfully swats at your hip as you grab his hand, pulling him toward the bedroom.

The small cabin could use some updating - but for the soon-to-be three of you, the small homestead tucked away in the hills of Ambarino is exactly what you never knew you needed. A small bedroom, a bed tucked over in the corner, a fireplace, and an old, beaten-up dresser - for all the time you’d spent running, sleeping in tents and on bedrolls - having a home with your husband was something you’d never think you’d have.

As you reach the bed, he stops you and spins you around, holding you upright all the while. Arthur leans down and presses his lips against yours, one hand pulling at your dress, gathering up the skirts, bunching them up, raising them up, up to your hips. With an awkward shimmy with your belly hanging low, your bloomers pool to the floor with a quick tug from Arthur’s fingers.

“C’mon - lay down,” Arthur taps your hip and motions to the bed.

You raise your eyebrows as he undoes his other suspender, about to comment on how dressed the two of you still are.

“No-” he warns, “You take everythin’ off and I’m definitely knotting you. And we aren’t doin’ that.”

You’re about to complain again but are cut off as he pushes you, gently, down onto the bed before shoving his pants and short drawers down his saddle-hewn thighs.

At that sight, you quickly lay down, rolling onto your side as you hike your skirts up to bare your cunt.

“Thought so, troublesome.” Arthur jokes as he slides himself into bed behind you, the skin of his pelvis and cock warm against your rear. 

It takes some awkward maneuvering - everything is awkward when you are this far gone, but finally, he slowly presses himself into you, and you sigh in contentment.

It’s everything he is not to slam his hips into you, to knot you, to claim claim claim. But he needs to be soft, to be gentle, to be careful. 

You moan appreciatively when he gives a shallow pulse of his hips. The sheath of your body feels like a live wire - primed and ready to snap at any time. The pace he finds is slow, but full and heady. You mewl, your body shuddering as you come, and Arthur is forced to pull himself from you and wrap his hand around his cock, hissing as he feels his knot expand around nothing.

You struggle to turn yourself over, but finally do so and wrap your hand around his knot, joining his hand around that swollen base of him. He unclenches his jaw and looks down at you as you squeeze at him, moving your fingers from his hard knot up his shaft, and downward again.

“Sweetheart you don’t-” he grits out as you begin to pump him.

“Hush-” you interrupt as you lay your head upon his chest, twisting your hand around him as you stroke up and down. It doesn’t take long for him to find his own end. Arthur growls, thrusting his hips upward as he comes, spurting white out of the head of his cock over both of your hands.

After catching his breath, he kisses the crown of your head, “You okay?”

You look up and smile at him, satiated.

-

Arthur tosses the last of the firewood he’d been chopping all afternoon in the pile under the overhang, wiping the sweat from his brow as he lays the ax against the outside of the cabin. Grabbing the carbine that he had been cleaning earlier, he shoulders it as he pushes through the front door.

“Darl-”

The bedroom door is closed. Warily, he grabs the door handle and slowly opens it. Arthur stops completely, eyes widening as he scans the room. The whole atmosphere has changed from even this morning, and he slides the carbine from his shoulder and props it against the wall. 

It’s dark, the curtains drawn against the midafternoon sun. Before his eyes adjust to the darkness, he can just barely make out your form, leaning against the mantle, your head on your forearms.

He closes the door again, recreating the safety of the nest. He realizes that’s what it is only after shutting the door. A nest. 

“Is it-?”

You nod as pain rips through you and you groan, clutching your belly. Arthur is on you in an instant, holding you upright. 

Immediately, a fierce agitation in his blood sings. Protect, protect, protect.

You breathe out heavily through your nose as you stand up to full height again. “C’n you make a fire? I need… I need-”

“Anythin’, darlin’. Here, how about you sit down-”

“No, no I need to walk.”

For the next hours, you pace back and forth in the room, wincing every so often, one hand supporting your belly. You’ve kicked your shoes off, and Arthur has as well, sitting in a chair next to the fire, knee bouncing as he watches you intently. The warmth of the room is nearly suffocating to him, but he would never dream of asking to open the window or put out the fire. He simply rolls up the sleeves of his faded blue work shirt.

You suck in a pained breath and a groan echoes through the room as you double over, trying to assuage the overwhelming feeling in your hips.

“I- I think it’s time… h-help me get undressed and onto the bed.”

Arthur nods, stepping closer to you and reaching for the laces of your dress, pulling them apart and helping you step out of the fabric. He continues, solemnly, pushing the straps of your chemise down your shoulders. Gently, your chemise falls away, your bloomers puddle at your feet. Arthur’s blood is on fire as he can see the rivulet of liquid trail down your legs. Your breasts heavy and full, nipples darkened, your belly low. Your body heaving.

He is in awe. Not carnally - though he always wants you - he is in awe of you gritting your teeth against a wave of pain. He is in awe at the movement he sees in your belly. He is in awe of what is about to come, what you are about to do. You groan and reach for him. He immediately places his hands around your waist to steady you. You murmur softly as you lean into his embrace.

“Let’s get you to bed, darlin’ girl.” Arthur gently leads you to the bed and helps you lie down in it. You groan, trying to get comfortable, but it is a lost cause.

The hours continue to roll by, punctuated by your body seizing in agonizing pain every few minutes. You whimper to the ceiling, jumbled syllables of prayers, of curses, of his name.

He wants to growl, he wants to go outside and tear something to pieces. There is an overwhelming need to destroy as he watches you writhe in pain trying to bring his child into the world. He wants to fight another alpha - to dominate - to provide some kind of placation to the inferno in his chest.

Another pained, agonized whimper from you brings him back to reality.

“Si-sit me up,” You grit your teeth as Arthur helps you up, he sits at the head of the bed behind you and you lean back on him for strength. He will give you it all, he would give you anything to take this pain away, if only he could shoulder this task for you. You spread your legs a little further as your head falls back upon his shoulder, a wail crawling out of your throat. Slick trails down your neck from your mating gland as Arthur helps to hold you in a reclined position.

Spiced, warm, rich- with just a hint of the sweetness you usually smell like. It’s different, and instead of driving him wild with the need to rut, it’s making his heart pound with anxiousness and protectiveness. He’s sure if someone were to encroach on the area he would tear them to shreds with his bare hands right now.

“Doin’ so good.” He murmurs against your temple and you moan again in response, your head lolling forward as you hoarsely cry out.

“A-Arthur, its- it’s comin’, the baby-” You pant, and your hands move from clutching the bed sheets hanging between your legs.

“I’m here, I’m here.” Assurance is all he can do at the moment.  Blood begins to stain the sheet underneath you as you breathe heavily out your nose. Red smears your thighs as the end draws near. Your back tenses and your fingers clutch at his. Your nails dig into the back of his hand, but his pain be damned. Your head turns into his chest, squeezing your eyes shut, searching for some sort of comfort.

A rumble, deep and strong, claws up from his chest. His free hand spreads out over your belly, pulsing, cramping, hard - he can feel the ordeal your body is going through beneath his fingertips. Moments drag on as you breathe heavily through your nose.

With a gasp, you grab his hand from your belly and draw it down between your legs, against your cunt. Tears stream from your eyes as you wail loudly, the final moments having arrived. 

“Y’can do this, sweetheart, you’re doin’ so good-” He murmurs into your temple as you pant, another cry clawing up from your throat.

“Arthur-!”

Taking in a measured breath, you shudder in against him, a hoarse shout filling the room as you deliver the child. In a rush of blood and fluid, Arthur finds himself cupping the baby’s head as it slides into the world. A final scream pierces the room as you push again, the child’s shoulders and the rest of its body leaving you and into the waiting hands of its parents.

You immediately are lucid, and bring the child up to your chest, and the newborn’s piercing cry fills the room. The white-blue cord from the child’s belly pulses against your own, the blood connection between the two of you still strong. 

Arthur is struck dumb. He can barely comprehend what has just happened as you coo gently at the wailing babe, sticky and bloody. 

“L-lie us down, and get that linen blanket o’er there.” You whisper as you rub the child’s back, and its cries slowly quiet. He is jolted back to reality, and slowly, gently lies you down in the bed, standing up and grabbing the aforementioned blanket and bringing it back to you.

You’re able to wrap the babe loosely upon your chest and belly. You look up at Arthur, but his gaze is trained on the rough swaddled babe. The tufts of dark honeyed hair peaking out from the linen. Those blotchy red cheeks.

“Your son, my alpha.” You whisper.

Arthur gapes up at you, seemingly unable to comprehend your words, until something clicks and he immediately leans over and places his lips upon yours in a desperate, emotional kiss.

“Oh, sweetheart - you - you-”

You chuckle softly.

“You’re perfect, he’s perfect - my darlin’ omega girl.”

The child latches to your breast and begins to slowly suckle. The warm spice of your scent from giving birth recedes, and a sweetness replaces it. It’s new, this scent, the tang of milk and notes of comforting vanilla. Arthur breathes in deeply, resonating deep in his bones that you are no longer just his mate; you are mother to his child.

The boy’s scent - a combination of yours and his, invades his nostrils. Of sweet vanilla and leather. Of that tang of milk. He wants to nuzzle against the child and breathe in deep. The only scent he wants to be bathed in forevermore.

In those quiet moments after the ordeal of birth, you open the swaddled linen to give him access to cut the cord between you and the child, a quick flick of his hunting knife above the child’s abdomen. He holds you, kissing your temple and murmuring sweet nothings as you clutch at the child, delivering the afterbirth with a soft, stifled whine of pain.

Things start to slow. He’s got a new purpose now. As you drift to sleep, cleaned and in a new chemise, upon fresh sheets, his gaze moves to the basket next to the bed, where in a fresh swaddle of linen, his son also sleeps.

It's murderous, the things he would do to protect the two of you. This nest, the newborn child, and you recovering from birth. His blood sings- not in the need to fuck, but in the solemn duty he now has - as alpha, as husband, as father. It's fierce, the protectiveness he now feels. Like a snarling wolf defending territory. Alpha, protector. Head of the family.

He sits down in the chair opposite the bed, carbine in reach, beginning his watch.  The watch that would consume him for the rest of his life. 

But he’s content with this new calling. 

[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.