#bottom!arthur morgan x reader

[appalachiancowboy99]

After Dark

Arthur Morgan x CurvyFem!Reader Established relationship, high honor, grumpy Arthur in desperate need of release, 18+, MDNI (Minors DO NOT ENTER)

Arthur comes back to camp later than usual, with nothing but a bad disposition and a desperate need to release his pent-up frustrations.

Warnings: longer read, sexual content (oral, unprotected p in v, rough sex), mentions of violence, mentions of anger, and dabbles in sensual fluff.

Gif by: @sunwingsunset

A/N: Thank you so much to @photo1030 for not only being my sounding board in the never-ending chaos that is my writing process but also for being such a wonderful friend through it all. So grateful for you, don't know what I'd do without ya, C! <3 Thank you so much to @rivetingrosie4 for being an inspiration for my little works and being so supportive of my creative endeavors, not to mention the kind generosity of your friendship! Forever grateful for to have met you! @tortureddpoett I'm so excited to explore this budding friendship with you! Thank you so much for showing so much excitement for my work, IT MAKES ME EXCITED (EEP!). It means an absolute ton to me <3 @mr-inkslinger your friendship has been an absolute delight to explore! Thank you for posting that toe-curling smut that always has me giggling and kicking my feet! So happy to have met ya! And thank each and every single one of you for liking my first drabble and expressing interest in this next one. I'm so sorry it's taken me forever to publish this post, but hopefully, the next ones won't take me as long. I'll forever be grateful for your patience and kindness <3 But now, enough of my babbling, y'all enjoy yourselves with this one- I know I did ;)

Fuck. From the second he opened his eyes, he knew that the day was going to be fucking awful; his neck had a crick in it, his head was pounding from what little sleep he’s received over the last few nights, and now he had to trudge back out into the goddamn muggy heat to work. One disaster after another had piled up; everything that could have gone wrong, went so terribly awry that he wound up farther away from camp than he originally intended and managed to add a solid fifteen-dollar bounty to the mounting collection resting atop his head. Dutch had sent him out on a wild goose chase, following a lead from Micah that, of course, ended up being a complete waste of time. And that meant he was coming back to camp empty-handed, which almost certainly meant he'd be on the receiving end of another one of Dutch's lectures on the endless responsibilities placed upon his shoulders. He dreaded it, wanted to avoid spiraling down another conversation that would end in Dutch questioning his faith in the ever-evolving plan he’s found himself working on these days.

As if he needed any of that horseshit tonight. All he wanted was a moment of peace and quiet, a chance to catch his breath after the disaster of a day he'd just had, but instead, he was headed back to camp with nothing but bruises, a bloody lip, and a bad disposition to show for his efforts. Trees and other bits of scenery whipped by in a blur as Arthur spurred his horse onward, his surroundings melting together into a muddy mess of shapes cast by moonlight. He passed through New Hanover, his furious pace leading him down the familiar roads of Lemoyne, reaching the clearing outside of camp. Lenny and John are the first to spot Arthur approaching the thicket of trees disguising Clemens Point's main entrance. “Hey, who goes there?” Lenny’s voice echoes through the forest, bouncing off the thicket until it reaches Arthur’s ears.

“‘S me.” Arthur grunts out through gritted teeth, clearly not in the mood for any chit-chat. Even underneath the shadow of leaves and limbs, the scowl etched upon his face is easily distinguishable, a clear sign for anyone with any common sense to give him a wide berth for the rest of the night. Lenny and John, both, had a pretty good idea of what might happen when Arthur steps foot into camp and they don't want any part of it. As a result, they give each other a little knowing glance and stay in the treeline, preferring to avoid the impending shitstorm and let Dutch or Hosea deal with it instead. He strides past them in a fit of frustration, dismounting his mare with a jerky movement before she's even come to a complete stop. Kieran spots him and hesitantly approaches. That poor fool. "H-Hey, Mr. Morgan. Would ya like me to unsaddle the 'ol gal here?" Kieran's question was nothing more than an innocent query, but his expression turned the young man into a nervous wreck. If looks could kill, Arthur’s certainly could; his steely eyes are set ablaze with annoyance and irritation as he casts a hateful glance in Kieran's direction. Even Kieran knew better than to talk to Arthur when he was in this state, knowing that it would only lead to suffering at the hands of his unbridled wrath. Kieran’s eyes immediately darted to his feet, desperate to avoid Arthur’s icy gaze as his fingers trembled with the frayed ends of rope in his hands. Quickly as to not start any trouble for himself, Kieran took hold of the mare's reigns and led her away to the field of horses, putting as much distance between himself and Arthur as he could. A slight pang of guilt runs through him when he sees the way that Kieran high-tailed it out of his line of sight. He doesn't want to be harsh to the boy, he's been a useful asset to the gang, but his temper is just too far gone for him to muster up an apology. As fast as the angering thoughts snapping through his mind, Arthur turns on his heels and storms into camp in search of Dutch. His boots furiously hit the grass and reddened Lemoyne dirt as he passes by a few of the wandering eyes from those still awake at this late hour. Charles casts him a wary glance, and so does Sadie, but neither of them cares to look long enough to entertain what's about to happen. He passes by his own wagon and heads straight to Dutch's tent. Dutch is nowhere to be seen, yet the lamp light inside casts its soft golden glow upon the closed canvas flaps of the tent, indicating that he might be inside. Not wasting any more time than he has to, Arthur approaches the tent, not bothering to stop and think until it's too late. His hand raises, readying to peel back the canvas flap, when all of a sudden he hears the sweet amorous sounds of lovemaking echo through the night air.  Molly’s sweet voice gasps out between each movement of their squeaking cot, calling out for Dutch as the unmistakable sound of skin slapping skin penetrates through the thin canvas walls, revealing exactly what’s occupying Dutch’s time tonight.

“Oh, Dutch. Don’t stop,” she encourages through strained, unabashed moans of pleasure. Dutch’s deep, husky voice murmurs back something unintelligible, but the increased squeaking of their bed and the filthy little noises coming from Molly are a clear indicator that Arthur should be stepping away to give them some privacy. Embarrassment washes over him, causing a faint rosy flush to heat his face and bloom across his cheeks. For once, he's grateful for the distraction from his current frustration. On most nights, he'd find comfort in your presence, seeking you out to vent his grievances as a distraction from the ever-present aggravation that seemingly follows him around these days. But tonight, he just wants to retreat to his tent, away from everything and everyone, to try to calm down before he says or does something he regrets.

He strides past the dying campfires and tables that are askew from daily camp activities, and his mind tirelessly races from thought to thought, stealing his attention away from his surroundings. If Arthur had even bothered to look, he would have spotted your sleeping form laid out upon his bed the moment he stepped inside. You had been waiting for him all evening. After working yourself to the bone doing laundry, dinner prep, and other camp chores for Ms. Grimshaw all day long, you wandered your way over to Arthur’s tent in search of a quiet place to sit. Part of you wished to find him seated right there on his cot, wanting to simply have a conversation with the man who has stolen your heart, but to your disappointment, he wasn’t anywhere to be found. So, you waited for him.. And waited until the very idea of waiting became too tiresome and you unknowingly fell asleep.

Sneaking away from the gang for private talks with him has been one of your favorite things to do since you joined the gang so long ago. Y'all have always had a knack for avoiding the company of others. But somehow in the midst of squirreling yourselves away, both of you have come to find that you'd prefer being alone together. Eventually, this led to many nights where Arthur would seek you out just to speak his mind, allowing you to see the world through his eyes for a short while. You have not only embraced Arthur's thoughts, but in doing so, you have captured his heart all the same. If it weren't for you, he's certain he'd have lost his damn sanity long ago.

Arthur takes that dusty old gambler's hat off his head and runs his fingers through his hair, taking a moment to calm himself down. His eyes glance over the things laid out upon his bedside table before catching a glimpse of your figure awash by the pale moonlight in his periphery. Your hair is sprawled out over the small blanket you've rolled up into a makeshift pillow; curls flowing like a roaring waterfall, laying a mess, and finally free from the bun that was atop your head earlier in the day. His eyes rake over your voluptuous figure, noting every dip and curve from your plump waist and hips to the ample swell of your breast hidden by a layer of clothing. The moment his mind registers that your presence isn't a dream, his eyes soften and his mind no longer races with anger. You are his peace, the only thing in this world that he cherishes above all else. 

Sighing softly, he finally discards his hat from his hand and places it onto his nightstand before working off his worn leather jacket and satchel, resting them on the back of the chair nearest his shaving mirror. And while he's on his feet, he takes the time to carefully roll down the canvas walls of his tent, unraveling them with the quiet precision of a mouse, and securing them in a few simple knots to hide you two away from the world.

It's quite dark by the time he wanders over to the cot, dark enough not to notice himself brush against your legs as he takes a seat on the edge of the old creaking bed. The familiar, welcomed-warmth of his body pressing against your shins rouses you from your restful slumber. Your eyes flutter open to find his figure perched next to you, shrouded in a darkness so thick that you are sure you're still dreaming. His head and broad shoulders are slumped over as he begins working off his dusty boots, caked with remnants of mud and manure.

"Hmm... Arthur?" Your voice floats through the quiet darkness, laden with fatigue and clearly carrying the lassitude of someone who could fall back asleep at the drop of a hat.

He quickly glances over his shoulder at the sound of your voice, his eyes already adjusted enough to the shadows to see your tired face staring back at him with confusion. He silently curses himself for waking you. "Shhh, Darlin'. Don't wake up on my account. I'll be done in just a minute," Arthur lightly grunts out the last word as he struggles to remove his right boot.

Even in your own weary state, the exhaustion in his tone isn't lost on you. Thinking it best to rouse yourself as quickly as possible to free up his bed for him, you sit yourself up and will yourself awake with a slight stretch. "'S okay. You need rest more 'n me."

"No. You was restin' 'fore I got here. Go 'head and lay back down." He isn't having any of your courtesy tonight. He's worn out, far too tired to argue with you about whether or not it's appropriate for you to share his bed for the night.

The rest of the gang, aside from John, Abigail, Susan, and Hosea know nothing about the true nature of y'all's relationship. Although, the rest of the girls have picked up on the changes you've brought about in Arthur since your arrival so long ago now. Seeing him get all soft and doey-eyed at you over these last few weeks has most definitely tipped them off about what y'all really get up to when you're out running errands together. But they catch wind of you sleeping in his tent tonight, it will all but confirm their suspicions. And yet, you just can't bring yourself to move from the comfort of Arthur's cot with him sitting so close to you.

"What time is it?" The question falls from your lips, carried on the soft currents of a gentle breeze pushing through the tent flaps. Fine sinewy muscles flex beneath his shirt as he leans over to work off his other boot and you are powerless to admire the shape of his body beneath.

A muffled grunt escapes his mouth the moment he finally frees his aching feet from the confines of his boots, "Late," he simply replies.

You take a deep, cleansing breath, allowing the tranquility of the night to settle around you like a soft, comforting blanket. Outside these walls, no sounds of chatter or lively activity can be heard, aside from the gentle hum of crickets by the riverbank and the faint sounds of a squeaking cot stopping abruptly. The gang is unusually quiet, the air filled with repose now that Arthur's returned safely to you. Only a few stragglers tend to the campfires, their focus solely on themselves, interested in anything beyond the flickering flames; not even the sounds of Dutch and Molly or Arthur's irritation can disrupt the peaceful bubble encompassing Clemen's Point tonight.

The plush heel of your palm rubs over one of your eyes as you flit them toward the tent entrance, watching how the wind slightly ruffles the bottom of the canvas. It's only then that you realize that Arthur has tied down the walls for privacy on your account. Normally, he wouldn't bother setting up the walls before collapsing on the cot for a few restless hours of sleep. But tonight, he's gone out of his way to ensure your comfort. Your heart couldn't feel any more full of love for this man by your side, a man who puts your well-being above all else, even above his own. Never did you think that love would have been like this for you: sitting in the comfortable silence of privacy for lovers when that luxury is rarely afforded for women like you. But despite your gratitude for his thoughtfulness, a pang of guilt gnaws at you knowing he made the extra effort while you took up residence in his bed, a cot that's barely big enough for the two of you given your plump frame.

In an attempt to make up for taking up so much space, you roll yourself forward along the thin mattress and quickly slide past him, crawling toward the foot of his bed where his trunk of clothing is kept. You've decided to give him his space for the night, even though in your heart, you'd prefer to stay. Before your foot even slides off the trunk to touch the soft grass below, you're reminded of John stopping by Arthur's tent earlier in the day.

Through a half yawn, you speak, not giving Arthur the chance to catch-on to where you're headed, "'Fore I forget: John stopped by while you was out."

Arthur slightly leans back as his fingertips mindlessly fumble with the buckle of his gun belt. The slight clicking of the metal rings out as he works to remove the clunky accessory from his body. His strong back brushes against you as he moves with the comfortable ease he's come to enjoy over these last few weeks of secretly being yours.

"What about it?" His concentration is split half between himself and the presence of your body behind him.

Your words don't register in his mind until he's completely removed the belt from his body. He figures it was that stagecoach job he reluctantly handed off to John; it had completely slipped from his mind until this very moment, much like yourself. The cool metal filigree atop his trunk moves under your feet as you rest them just shy of slipping off its edge, causing the hazy memory to play out behind your tired eyes.

-

You were just settling yourself in, resting your weary body on the edge of Arthur's cot, just as you're doing now. Little beads of sweat accumulated on your forehead from working out in the intensity of Lemoyne's miserably humid heat. Grimshaw had you and the rest of the women working on camp chores, which you hadn't complained of, since it usually occupies the time until Arthur's usual return. However, the day was far too hot for you to not complain about the harsh conditions she had y'all in. Eventually, evening came and you were finally finished with the laundry, allowing you a moment's rest to seek out the comfort of Arthur's cot.

In the midst of wiping your brow down with one of his neckerchiefs you'd secretly swiped, the hard thump of boots hitting grass caught your attention. You'd anticipated Arthur's arrival, but something didn't feel quite right. The boots didn't move with Arthur's measured stride; they scuffed the grass and dirt, signaling a different, but familiar presence. The moment you look up, you spot John standing at the entrance of the tent, not at all surprised to see you sitting upon his cot as if it were your own.

For a brief moment, his brow furrowed in a mix of frustration and exhaustion. It was as if he was caught between the two warring emotions, each pulling him equally. Clearly, he expected Arthur to be back already.

"He not back yet?" The gruffness of his voice has you believe the former, rather than the latter.

"Not yet," you say in kind, hoping to ease some of his burden. "Was you needin' him for somethin'?"

John did and the news certainly wasn't going to sit well with Arthur at all.

-

When the thoughts finally coalesce within your fatigued mind, you internally grimace knowing that Arthur isn't going to like the reality of the situation. Gentleness has always been your strong suit, especially when it came to dealing with half of the bull-headed men in camp. So, you lace your words with the softest tone you can manage, "Said it weren't as much as y'all had planned on: about fifty-dollars tied up in what little him 'n Charles found."

And you were right. The news doesn't sit well with him at all. All of the compiled frustration of working a nothing-lead and now knowing that the other job didn't pay well either boils beneath the surface of his skin until he explodes like a whistling kettle. Preventing himself from lashing out at you, Arthur kicks his boot toward the other side of the tent, knocking it into the chair. The loud thunk of its sole hitting wood claps harshly and causes you to flinch, startling you fully awake from the suddenness of noise and his movement.

"Every goddamn day it's some shit," he spits through his teeth.

Although you know he'd never intentionally hurt you, the anger in his voice sends a cold shiver down your spine and your stomach flips and churns in knots. Usually, you'd blame yourself, reprimanding your big mouth for even opening up to mention something that you knew wouldn't bode well for his weary mind. But you're in too much of a shock to even consider self-deprecation as an option. Your wide eyes search through the darkness, watching the shadowed outline of the man you love heave in a deep breath to steal his nerves. His shoulders slump forward and head hangs low as he rests his elbows on his knees, utterly defeated from the compiled anger and exhaustion coursing through him.

It's at this moment that you remember the job Dutch sent him on earlier in the day; Arthur didn't want to go and had very little sleep after working on yet another lead that barely got them anywhere. If it had been left up to you, you would've made Arthur stay right here in this bed to get some rest like he deserves. You would've taken care of him so tenderly, but, as usual, what Dutch wanted would have far outweighed any of your concerns. You've learned to recognize the pattern of these situations by now, and given Arthur's aggression, assuming that today's job didn't go quite as planned would be hitting the nail right on its head. You test the waters with a quiet question, "Lead didn't pan out today, did it?"

The soft shake of Arthur's head, coupled with the shadow of his palm running over his face tells you all that you need to know: no, it hadn't gotten him any farther than where he had started. Another useless effort. Your heart aches watching him struggle with so much weight on his shoulders. No matter how strong Arthur might be, he's just a man struggling to carry his own burdens, let alone everyone else's. Ever since settling down here, Dutch has placed so much responsibility on him that you've wanted to scold the man for even mentioning Arthur's name in passing. He's worked himself thin and thread-bare, barely having any time for himself outside of the time he spends on the road traveling from place to place at Dutch's convenience.

Empathy for the man that you've fallen in love with so long ago breaks your heart, aching in desperation to relieve some of his pain. Instead of walking away, keeping to yourself, and silently shouldering any of the blame for setting him off, you choose to stay the night. Despite knowing full well that the girls will have their gossip circulating by morning, Arthur's needs are far more important than any snickering comment or playful jest that'll inevitably come your way.

You scoot back where you were and lean toward him with less apprehension than what your words had suggested. Resting your delicate palm between the broad expanse of his shoulders, you feel him tense at the soft slip of your tender touch over his shirt. The tips of your fingers glide over his shoulder and silently take purchase on the taut muscle there. With a gentle, yet firm pull, you coax Arthur back toward you.

"C'mere. Lean back 'n talk to me..." Your dulcet tone pierces through his irritation, encouraging him to rest in your awaiting arms.

Arthur slowly reclines back, allowing himself to unwind in your embrace as his much larger body sits snugly against your plump bosom. Relaxing doesn't come easy for him. Hell, you'd be surprised if it had, given the high tensions between him and Micah these days or the tiresome back and forth between the two rival families in Rhodes. He has every right to be terse and tensed up like a snake ready to strike, but you aim to comfort him even if that means you risk getting bit. Silence hangs in the air between you, aside from the gentle breaths and the occasional strained grunt catching in the back of his throat while he struggles to get comfortable against you, due to the remaining stress insisting on clinging to his tired body. Your loving hands splay out over the firm expanse of his chest, feeling the steady and reassuring thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms as you try your best to soothe your brooding lover. It's as if your mere presence cracks away at the anger lingering in the stiff tendons and taut plains of muscle along his torso until he relents and finally lets go. His body relaxes back into you as if he were sinking into the plush, luxurious drapery and bedding found in the finest hotels of Saint Denis; much like the bedding of the room he'd paid for the very same night he had whisked you away to bed you properly for your very first time.

He's silent for a long while, almost reluctant to burden you with his troubles. So, you take it up on yourself to start the conversation by spilling what had happened to you earlier in the day, thinking it might earn a laugh or two, "Well, I'm sure my day weren't as rough as your'n," you hum. "But I did fall off the dock, landing my hind-end right in that water."

The image would usually cause a humorous snort to escape him, but the irritation still bristling at his nerves prevents him from reacting with anything else other than a huff of annoyance, "I told ya to watch your footin' out there. Ain't no use to nobody if you get yourself drowned."

Fortunately, as he chides you his words begin to lack much of the anger from moments ago. But you sigh softly anyways, relenting to his incessant need to protect you from life's dangers, despite being able to handle your own, "I know, I know..."

With a few buttons of that old blue work shirt popped open by your deft fingers, the smallest opening there is just big enough to slip your hand inside and rest it up on the soft but wiry hairs at the very center of his chest. "You shoulda seen me, though," you murmur as you lean down toward his ear, lowering your tone as you press your cheek to the side of his head. "Was drenched head to toe, clothes clingin' to me like feathers on a wet chicken."

He sulks, trying to stay mad at anything and everything he can to give into the bristling anger at the back of his mind, but he can't. No, not when he can clearly envision you all soaked and surprised from falling into that cold lake. A faint smile curls up the corners of his lips and then, just as he almost chuckles, he clears his throat, holding his laugh back. However, you catch on far too quickly for him to play it off so easily.

You gasp softly in mock surprise as if offended by the idea of him laughing at you, "Arthur Morgan. Are you laughin' at me?"

That's when his temperament breaks, giving way to the huff of laughter rumbling through his chest. "I ain't laughin' atchu, per say..." he counters. "Just maybe at the thought of what ya mighta looked like comin' up outta that water: madder 'n hell, hair clingin' to your head," and as if to illustrate his point, Arthur reaches his hand backward and turns his head to try and catch a glimpse of you in the thick shadows, barely making your face distinguishable to his eyes, as he brushes his fingertips over the bits of hair clinging to your forehead from the muggy heat.

Though you narrow your eyes in mock annoyance, you lean into his calloused fingertips, accepting the gentleness of his touch while a giggle of your own creeps up into your throat, "Oh? Is 'at so? Maybe next time I find you out on that dock, I'll think 'bout pushin' ya in 'n lettin' you see how it feels."

He huffs out a skeptical breath and raises an eyebrow at the very thought of you even trying something like that with him. It'd be a futile effort and one that you truly wouldn't consider without the clear consequence of him pulling you right down with him.

And just as soon as the laughter came, it was gone again, replaced instead with a comfortable silence that settles between you two once more, giving him some space to think about what's happened to himself today. Long before the days of your arrival, Arthur would keep to himself and dwell on the ever-present burdens troubling his mind, brooding for hours. But with you, he feels a safety that men like him are rarely afforded.

"Well, if ya think fallin' in Flat Iron's bad..." he continues, "Try goin' halfway 'cross the state lookin' for a man that don't exist. Then when ya find someplace to get a drink, ya end up catchin' a few stray hits from some drunken bastard."

A soft gasp enters your lungs at the revelation. Another fight? You lean over his shoulder, reaching to take his scarred chin into your hand. It's hard to see through the inky-black darkness of the night, but even in the haziness, your eyes can make out the bruising along his jaw, the harsh scrapes of knuckles cutting over his cheek, and the jagged cut on his upper lip. It isn't a rare sight to have him come back battered and bruised by some job from time to time, but that still doesn't quell the uneasiness in your heart at him going through such pain and aggravation.

Your eyebrows furrow in sympathy for your rugged cowboy, eyes softening to match as you breathe out, "Oh, Arthur."

He's quick to dismiss your concern with a soft sigh, pulling away from you to lean forward and distract himself from your sympathetic gaze, "Ah, don'tchu go 'n worry yourself over me none, Darlin'."

Being fussed over or thought of so tenderly still isn't something he's used to; he's shown you that time and time again. But it never deters you from trying to make things better, to make things easier on him however you can. Whatever turmoil Arthur's got rolling about in his mind is far from the usual and it takes patience to understand; a patience that he finds only you can give.

You reach your hand out toward him. The delicate ends of your fingertips reach up to brush over the nape of his sun-kissed neck, grazing over the ends of his slightly overgrown hair, silently making a note to yourself that you'll trim it for him tomorrow. His body shuffles slightly backward, leaning in to accept your touch while he slips off his suspenders: pulling them down his shoulders heavy with burden, before taking his time to unbutton that tattered old work shirt you're so used to seeing around his muscular frame.

"'Sides..." he starts. "I did have some good that came from today."

"What's 'at?" you hum softly with a lilt of dryness. "Hittin' that feller back?"

He can't help the chuckle rising in his throat at the dry sarcasm touching your words. Arthur shakes his head softly, "Nah, Darlin', " the last word strains from his lips as he rises to his feet with a groan, leaving the safe comfort of your touch as he stands to undo his pants.

He glances over his shoulder, peering down at you through the darkness with a smirk curling up at the right corner of his mouth. Watching as your sweet eyes follow his every movement, Arthur turns to face you, allowing you to gaze at him as he slowly pushes the brass button through the eyelet at the top of his riding pants. The fabric opens effortlessly, revealing the red cloth of his union suit underneath. The sight of him before you, suspenders hanging loosely on either side of his long legs and his pants aching to be peeled from his strong form has your lips parted in awe at the man standing mere inches away from you.

He continues from just seconds before, "Seein' you laid out on my bed, purdy as a dream."

After stepping out of his pants now crumpled around his ankles, Arthur lowers one knee upon the cot nearest your thighs. He leans over you, using his thick fingers to tilt your chin upward, meeting his crystalline eyes. "Was one helluva sight I could get used to seein'."

The low timbre of his voice sends a shockwave of desire straight through your heart and into the aching pit of your stomach. Your lips draw up into a shy smile, and a faint dusting of pink envelops your cheeks just like the moment you'd first professed your feelings for him under that canopy of trees he led you through so blindly. Although it hasn't been long since that fateful night, the closeness of your relationship has escalated so quickly that your head and heart dizzy at the mere mention of his name.

Arthur's calloused thumb brushes over the supple swell of your bottom lip, enticing you to part them just for him. You comply, of course, unable to resist how a ghost of his touch makes you so pliant beneath him. And when he leans down to meet your lips with his own, your heart swells with tender affection. Those warm, slightly chapped, but pleasantly plush lips are heady as they connect with a passion that stokes the burning coals of desire in the very base of your core.

"Been waitin' to use that one for a while, hmm?" You hum contently while blindly guiding your hands toward the flare of muscle encasing his ribs. God, how you could worship this man and never tire of feeling how warm, how strong he is beneath your palms.

"Depends. It workin'?" He murmurs, smirking cockily against your lips.

Your mind begins to spin as the calloused pad of his thumb dips from your chin and swipes over your jawline. His fingers splay out over the side of your neck, fingertips gripping you with tender passion to hold you in place. He could easily break you, bend you with his finger and thumb as if you were nothing more than a twig beneath his rough and weathered hands. Never have you felt so small and fragile, always knowing in your heart that you took up much more room than other women. But, when you're with Arthur, he makes you feel as delicate as the petals on a beautiful flower, something so precious and worth loving; it's so much more than you'd ever experienced in your whole life. He touches you so tenderly as if you were made from nothing more than ash, a veritable pile of matter waiting to slip through his fingers at any moment.

You want to hum your praises to your lover, to let him know exactly how much you've wanted this, how much you've missed him, how well he's kissing you, touching you... But you can't. There are no words. He's stolen them from you, drawing all the air out of your lungs with his lips, leaving you gasping for the air coated in his divine masculine scent: sweet tobacco, wood ash, and mossy earth. He encompasses you, wrapping one arm around your waist as he pulls you close to his body, all the while shuffling himself forward to join you on the small cot. Your back presses against the hard wooden frame of the wagon making up the other half of his tent. He presses against you, holding you close to his strong body as he slides his right hand from your jaw, trailing it down over the soft skin of your neck, and down to your chest, where he heatedly palms your breast hidden just beneath your blouse. To have him touch you like this, like a man frenzied and dying for a taste of intimacy, has your head spinning and your heart on the verge of exploding if it hadn't already; for all you know, you could've died the moment his lips crashed into yours, and all that's left is a heaven you'd only dreamt of.

A low growl of appreciation rumbles through his chest for the plumpness of your body. Most men do not know the fine pleasures that extra curves on a woman can bring. But Arthur sure does. And oh how he worships your full figure, despite your opinions about yourself. His large, calloused palm shifts his attention to your other breast, kneading you tenderly while his lips work from your mouth, and instead, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses over your jawline and supple neck.

His name is a breathless sigh across your trembling lips as you allow your hands to explore his body in return. Touching over the large expanse of his torso and gliding your fingertips over the worn fabric of his union suit, you desperately search for the button that would bare him wholly to you. In the time it takes you to undo one of his buttons, his skilled fingers undo two of yours. Button after button unthreads upon both of your bodies, though his hands are much quicker at ridding you of your layers, leaving them strewn about on the ground until he's stripped you down and laid you beneath him in nothing more than your chemise and bloomers to conceal your decency. Arthur then crawls over you, his movements deliberate and enticingly slow as he cages you in with his hands pressed into the thin mattress on either side of your head. Shadows danced and shifted restlessly, playing tricks on your perception as you try to focus on what little of Arthur you could see through the haziness, making the absence of light feel alive. To feel him above you like this has your stomach in knots, tightening with a firey passion that's ready to snap at any given moment. Hearts are pounding, thrumming wildly against your ribcages like birds desperate to escape the confines of your chests. You hear it, hear how his breath shutters with each wild thump of his heart, and you feel it in his breath as it puffs over your cheek. He's losing himself to you and you him, slipping so quickly that rational thinking is no longer of use. You need him and he needs you.

The flaps of his union suit hang loosely from his body, allowing your hands to reach in and press flat over his heated skin. He shivers slightly at the contact, his muscles tensing and flexing beneath the tender meeting of your palms placed upon his scarred, goose-pimpled flesh. Your fingertips ghost over a scar on the right side of his ribcage, causing your face to crinkle with sorrow for what hardship your lover, this great outlaw, has had to endure in his lifetime. The damaged tissue is the result of a nasty fight he had as a young man: when someone stabbed him with the broken end of a beer bottle; they had aimed to kill him, but he had survived. The spot still aches with the memory of Hosea digging out the shards of broken glass from the angry, bloodied wound. But somehow, the way your delicate touch brushes over that old scar with such love and care causes the outlaw's skin to tingle, and his cock to ache with the pride of knowing that you love him so.

He takes his time with you here, laid out beneath him like a perfect little thing he's captured and kept safe by hiding you away in the privacy of his tent. After the day he's had, he wants to savor every bit of loveliness he's blessed with in your presence, so he can't rush this with you, not now. Arthur takes his time admiring you, letting his eyes rake over what he's able to see, and feeling what he cannot. Leaning down close enough to your face to capture that seductive glint in your glittering, lust-blown eyes, Arthur searches for any change within them as he maneuvers his right hand away from the mattress to trail along your sensitive flesh. The rough pads of his fingers ghost over your thigh, caressing the plump deposit of flesh along your middle, snaking up over your collarbones, and over your neck in search of your delicate face before sealing your mouth with his own in a kiss so tender you whimper from the initial contact.

Shivers of anticipation roll through him as your body responds to his touch: back arching off the bed, hands pulling on the nape of his neck to hold him down and assure that his lips won't leave yours, and the way your bloomer-clad hips roll upward in search of some much-needed friction. God how he could spend hours with you like this, letting his hands roam over your body to make you shiver and plead for any ounce of affection that he can give you. Your needy state is only exacerbated by the slight tremble in your thighs as he snakes his hands down over the pillowy flesh, seeking out the waistband of your bloomers. Ridding you of the cloth separating your pussy from his line of sight is an easy feat: the clad, slightly damp undergarment peels away from your plump hips with ease at the help of his precision; the Lemoyne heat causes the clothing to stick to your slightly dampened skin, but dammit if the temperature pales in comparison to how heated Arthur makes you feel. He tosses them down onto the ground, and places his hands upon your knees, spreading them apart as he sits above you to admire the feeling of your plump body beneath him.

His hand is unhurried and exacting, gently brushing his calloused knuckles down over your inner thigh, then lightly petting them over your soaked need covered by a soft thatch of hair. He can't see you fully, but that does nothing to stop his mind from envisioning how your cunt glistens with slick, all for him. The moment he presses his fingertips to your seam, parting you with the practiced precision of a lover, he lets a low, ragged breath escape his nose in appreciation for how wet you are. You shiver and instinctively try to close your knees from the pleasant surprise of his touch, and fuck does it feel good to have him brush over your folds like that.

"Always so ready, ain'tchya?" He murmurs, a teasing lilt to his voice as he takes his time in savoring the feeling of your slick upon his fingertips.

Your hips involuntarily twitch, bucking upward into his hand, seeking out his fingertips to make him swirl them over your aching little clit. You want him to touch you right where you need him, feel him right on that little spot upon that nub of nerves that makes your mind swirl and your body careen into a blissful orgasm. But he doesn't give that to you, not yet. He wants to work you over slowly, savoring every little sound he can draw out of those pretty lips. You're far too shy to answer him directly, instead favoring to cover your face with your forearms as he takes pleasure in taunting you like this. But the moment his fingertips threaten to part your folds, you let out a delicate little noise, someplace between a whine and a prayer to let him know that you're in no mood to endure his teasing tonight, "Arthur... Please."

Oh, how he loves to hear the sound of you begging; he's already half-hard at the idea of you wanting his touch, let alone hearing how desperate you are for it. He answers your prayer with a long, smooth stroke of his thumb parting your puffy, wet folds. You keen at how just a simple touch causes your stomach to flutter and your slit to clench around nothing at all. Your thighs, thick with strength, covered by a layer of squishy softness, part for him, relaxing lazily as he guides his thumb over each of your labia.

It was nearly impossible to get you to lay like this for him a few weeks ago; you'd been concerned about the unsightly appearance of your inner thighs: scarred over with dimples and imperfections, as well as the slight discoloration of having them rub together after so many years of being a larger woman. Most women that you've seen naked, don't have the same ailments upon their bodies as you have on yours. Just the other day when bathing with some of the girls in the lake, you'd noticed that even on Karen's body, a woman closer to your size, still didn't have the scars or discoloration across her skin in the same way that you have. And that night that Arthur had you laid out for him for the very first time, he'd noticed that apprehension in you, taking it as having second thoughts. But once you had explained how you felt about your own body, he hadn't even given the idea a single thought; his own body is mauled up, covered in old and ugly scars, and carrying more than three colors from all his time spent out in the sun. So, he couldn't have cared less about some scars, a little extra hair, weight, or even the discoloration over your thighs. What he did care about, however, was making sure that you felt loved in spite of it all. And now, it feels no different. To have you spread your legs for him like this, without a single worry holding you back, is a goddamn treat.

Fuck how good it feels to have the soft press of his thumb tease over your cunt, tracing the delicate path between your weeping entrance, to your swelling bud with a pressure so teasing and light that you squirm to feel more. Your plush lips tuck between your teeth to hold back any sounds that give away what you two are doing in here after dark, but it's useless; the lewd sounds of his thumb circling over your clit echo throughout the tent: a dead giveaway to anyone that dare walk by. Holding your breath like this isn't easy, not when the pounding of your heart echoes in your ears and your chest feels as if it's being seared from the inside out. A ragged gasp finally inhales through your nostrils, desperately trying to fulfill your body's need for air when you can no longer restrain your breaths.

He huffs out a low chuckle in amusement at the state he has you in: clearly desperate and in need to have your clit rubbed just the way you like it.

"Hmm.. Hear that?" He rasps out before going silent, letting you hear the sounds of your own slick being spread over your soaked cunt. He only continues when he finally reaches your clit, circling over the throbbing little nerve-ending to make you sigh out in pleasure for him. "So goddamn wet. All for me."

In a blur of movements, Arthur's chapped lips and teeth skim over your knee, slowly working their way down over your inner thighs. He nips at you, earning a few little squeaks and giggles until he kisses over your plump mound. His thumbs take hold of either side of your cunt, spreading you open to let the night air hit your wet skin. It's pleasant like this, to feel yourself spread out beneath him like a meal ready to be devoured and dammit if he ain't starved for a taste. Being eaten out has quickly become one of your favorite acts of intimacy in recent weeks; his tongue is so skilled at finding spots on you, making you come so deliciously, that most days it's all you've been able to think about. Hell, it's all you're thinking about now as his head sinks down to your core and his hot breath fans out over your aching need. His tongue slips out of that perfect mouth and flattens out over your seam, lapping at you once to earn him that little sigh of pleasure escaping your throat.

Your hands immediately seek out his head, combing through his slightly sweat-dampened hair as he swirls the blunt tip of his tongue over your clit.

"A-Agh, Arthur.. N-Not so fast," you whine out in protest, yet your hips bucking up into his mouth says otherwise. But he relents, nonetheless, giving you a moment of reprieve before he delves back in at the same pace.

He's aiming to make you cum quick and hard: slithering his tongue over your clit with the precision of knowing exactly what side and spot makes you writhe beneath him. Just left and then a little upward beneath that little hood of skin and he has you singing for him. Explicitves roll off your tongue one after another in between sweet little sounds that praise him for what effort he's putting in just for you. To hear you, feel you crumble beneath him like this is better than any robbery or score he gets out on the road. But just before he lets you come, he pulls his head back slightly and puffs cool air over your clit, making you whine.

"Shh.. Shh.. 'M gonna let ya cum, Darlin'. Don'tchu worry 'bout that none. 'M gonna take real good care of ya," he hums lowly as his lips and bristly scruff brush over your quivering inner thighs.

His promise isn't far off from fulfillment, not when he sinks his tongue into your heat and presses his opened mouth over the entirety of your cunt. He sucks hard, feeling your walls constrict around the wriggling muscle of his tongue as he laps inside your spongey center. Your thighs tremble with need as he fucks you with his mouth and slurps up your slick, drinking in as much of you as he can and relishing the tangy sweetness of your delectable taste. You throw your head back against the rolled-up blanket you had been using as a pillow earlier in the night, all while he eats you out like a man who's desperate to consume you.

But the aching throb of his cock, constricted by the thin fabric of his union suit, is far too angry for him to ignore. He's got to have you, now.

As he shuffles back up to his knees, leaving your cunt longing to cum on his tongue, you flutter your eyes open and snap your head up to try and catch a glimpse of what he's doing. Clearly, you ain't pleased with him teasing you like this, but when you feel his fervent movements, you realize that he's trying to work off his union suit. He wastes no time it peeling it away from his torso, but the moment he starts to tug it down his thighs, allowing his weeping cock to spring free, he nearly topples over and just about slams head-first into your body. Thankfully, he catches himself in the knick of time, grunting out a few curses as he grows impatient with his incapability to slide that damn fabric off his legs.

Amid his struggle to bare himself, you can't hide the giggle creeping up your throat as he curses under his breath, frustrated with how the fabric insists on clinging to his muscular legs. You help him slide the old red union suit off his body by digging your heels against the back of his thighs and pushing it down the long length of his legs until it reaches his ankles. The undergarment hangs loosely off his feet, causing him to kick it haphazardly off the side of the bed, letting it fall onto his trunk to skirt down on the grass below.

The instant his turgid length brushes over your inner thigh it twitches with the anticipation of feeling your tight, wet walls clamped around him, milking every drop of spend nestled away in his balls; spend that he so desperately wishes he could drain right inside of you. For now, however, just a single brush of your fingertips against him is enough. He has to hold his breath as he guides your delicate palm over his velvety shaft to stroke the needy ache away; if he isn't careful, he'd cum just like this. He hisses, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth as your fingers wrap around him and your thumb seeks out the weeping slit of his blunt tip. Arthur is, by no means, a small man: his legs are long, torso strong and wide, feet and hands are like bear paws, and his cock.. God, his cock is big. You could use both of your hands to stroke him and still, there'd be enough room for his tip to be entirely untouched. But you make sure as you stroke him with one hand, you pay extra attention to his tip, smearing his drooling precum over as much of him as you can, even down to the dark and wiry curls along his base and balls.

He's trying so hard to hold himself back, but with each tender pass of your thumb over that sweet spot along the underside of his tip, the last remnants of his patience crack away. You feel him crumbling like this, crumbling into a frenzied mess of low-hummed breaths and grunts through gritted teeth, and you fucking love it. Before you can even think about the desire roaring in the cavernous pit of your stomach, aching to be quelled, he smashes his lips into yours so hard that you're sure one of you is bleeding. The pain of his busted lip splitting back open is an angry reminder of the frustration still lingering at the back of his mind; he's as tensed up, pent-up, as a taut rope ready to snap.

With a quick movement, he swats your hand away, preventing you from jacking him into a fast climax. Then, in one swift motion, he grabs hold of your thighs and forcefully yanks you toward him, making the round swell of your plump ass plant firmly against the hard front of his strong body. Your thighs spread out, squishing over and conforming to the contour of his hips, the intimate contact leaving you both ragged and breathless. Your heart drums a frantic rhythm in your ears, drowning out all other thoughts and sensations that belong to you alone. It's as if your mind has descended into a tangled web of strangled noises and glorious sensations that only Arthur seems able to untangle or soothe. The faint outline of his body nestled between your thighs is a constant reminder that nothing beyond this moment, beyond him hidden away with you inside of this tent, matters.

The hard length of his turgid pride parts your folds, gliding over the slick thatch of curls usually concealing your cunt from his eyes, but with his sight hindered, he can explore every single nook, roll, and crevice without you shying away. His weight bares down on you as he holds your legs into the crook of his arms, nearly bending you in half as he drags his cock over your seam. It feels so good like this, even though you can hardly breathe with the thickness of your thighs pressing against your already plump stomach, but when the tip of his cock knocks into your clit, it makes the strained pain well worth it. The back of your hand flies over your mouth as he continues on like this, pleasuring himself and you with each agonizingly slow thrust. Hearing your ragged, strangled half-breaths, he releases your thighs, leaving them to splay out lazily on either side of his hips as he leans down to steal a tender kiss.

Upon breaking his lips away from yours, the low hum of his voice finds its way through the haziness of your lust-broken mind as he murmurs against the shell of your ear, "Gonna take ya just like this..."

Chapped lips skim over your jawline and trail to your lips, where he gives you another tender kiss filled with gentle affection: polar opposite to the rough sex-driven outlaw you've gotten a taste of tonight, but aligning perfectly with the man you fell in love with all those years ago. Scraped knuckles skim against your slick heat as he slips his hand in between you both and presses flat over the thick, dark curls at the base of his throbbing length. His fingers spread wide over his pubic bone, holding his cock between his middle and ring finger, stiffening himself outward to seek out your clenched entrance. With a slight pullback of his hips, he guides himself to your slit, catching right on the taut muscle before pressing forward and splitting you open.

A soft cry hums in the back of your throat and he shushes you so tenderly, sliding his hands over your knees and down your shins to soothe the ache he knows you're feeling. You're so fucking tight, hardly different from the first night he took you and bedded you properly back at the Saint's Hotel. It nearly shatters him when your walls flutter around him, squeezing and pulling him in inch by inch as if you were carved out just for him to sink into. He stills only for a short moment, letting you feel him nestled up against your cervix before he slides himself out and enters you again with a sharp snap of his hips. Lingering anger and frustration from the shit day he's had still pulsates at the back of his mind, desperate to be released as the tension in his body rises.

The tight walls of your cunt clench onto him for dear life as jolts of pleasure and pain rack through your body.

Behind the shield of your palm, you cry out, "A-Agh, Arthur!"

You're trying your best to be quiet, to still your ragged breaths and hide your whimpers, but he's making it incredibly difficult. Each slow drag of his cock coming out of you with a satisfying pop, only to pierce you with a hard roll of his hips, sends you reeling. You're seeing stars, shaking from the pleasurable burn of the passionate fire he's stirring within you. Strong hands grip your hips, keeping you still as his thrusts guide you into a steady rhythm that makes the old wooden frame creak and groan with every subtle and sharp movement that your bodies make. Being discreet has left his mind entirely, no longer concerned with what sounds are coming out of his tent as he fucks you good and proper. No, he couldn't care less when the sounds of your slick pussy squelches as he presses himself flush against you and groans against the pulse point of your neck.

"Don't want ya hidin' them purdy sounds, Darlin'. Let 'em out for me," he grunts out between slow but hard thrusts.

Usually, intimacy like this is savored in the shaking breaths and whispered little sounds only audible to your ears, but tonight... Tonight Arthur is something else entirely. Primal. A damn, dirty outlaw. You love this new view of him, but you can't allow yourself to let the others hear. What if someone were walking by? Or Hosea or Dutch hear you two going at it? You wouldn't be able to look at them for a week! But he doesn't give you much choice in the matter: snaking his hand down between your bodies, his muscular forearm presses against your plush belly while his thumb immediately finds your clit.

"O-Oh, God," you whine as the pad of his thumb circles over you, followed by his name dripping off your tongue like the sweetest honey. "At's it... Such a good girl takin' me so deep. Mmm.. Gonna cum 'round me ain'tchu? Gonna give me a real good one, baby?"

God damn him if his mouth ain't filthy. The way he croons out those little praises and words of encouragement has your climax building faster than you ever could have anticipated. And the swirling of his thumb? It has you shaking, whining, pleading, practically begging for your release as he talks you through it, "C'mon, Darlin'... I feel ya squeezin' me real tight," he praises, "'At's it. Focus on me."

With one more swipe of his thumb over your sensitive clit and his cock hitting that sweet spot right against your cervix, you're tensing, digging your heels into the thin mattress, and cumming around him so hard that you see white. It takes everything in you not to scream, but the strangled sound coming out of you is loud enough to warrant some head-turning if anyone were awake. The moment your walls flutter and start milking him, he falls forward and drops down onto his elbows to cage you in. His thrusts are relentless as he takes his anger out on you in this way, using every movement of his body to release the bristling anger clutching onto his mind like a damn vice grip. No matter how fervent and frenzied, he's still careful not to hurt you, always thinking about how good he's making you feel while chasing his own release.

Arthur isn't a man of many words, but when you're gripped around him like this, clutching him with your arms, legs, and your fluttering pussy, he is downright mouthy. "Oh, such a good girl for listenin' to me. Shh.. Shh. I gotchu, baby. I gotchu."

His mouth hovers over yours, claiming your lips as he kisses you hard and possessively. Moans spill out of you, traveling through the expanse of his throat until it hums within his chest and he echoes one back. To talk like this with him, in a language only two lovers could understand, is far more intimate and pleasurable than anyone could ever know. Arthur is yours and you are his, no ownership or proprietary claim, but just the pleasant knowledge that both of you choose to love each other is enough.

With a few more rolls of his hips, he's nearing his own orgasm: length twitching and engorging as his balls tighten. In desperation, he quickly climbs off of you and pulls his cock out from your core. His right hand tightens into a fist around himself, and although you can't see it, you hear the lewd, effortless slide of his hand vigorously pumping over his tip like his life depends on cumming for you.

Finally, his orgasm hits him, working its way out of his tightened balls and spurting over your plump mound and belly. If he could see his spend on you like this, it'd be enough to make him cum all over again. But both of you are far too exhausted to even consider that so soon. You're still shaking, panting heavily as he lowers himself down onto you, not caring that his sticky spend is now covering the front of his body as well, as your sweaty bodies come down from such an enormous height.

His touch traces a slow, deliberate path down your leg until his fingertips reach the softness of your hip, where he gives your flesh a gentle but firm grasp. Reveling in the smoothness of your skin and the feel of your curvy form beneath his palm, he lets out a slow exhale through his nose. The heat of his breath spills over your neck and shoulder, doubled by the heavy breaths leaving his lips as he lazily peppers your clammy skin with kisses.

After a long stretch of quiet spent nestled into his hair, breathing in the comforting remnants of campfire intermingled with his musky scent, your breathing finally begins to steady. Slowly, your senses return to you one by one, like pieces of a puzzle falling back into place. Shock and disbelief jolt through your entire being as it finally hits you how easily he manipulated your body with his own strength and skill as a lover. You'd heard of men being rough with women, but never did you think it could be this pleasurable.

Your voice finally cuts through the relative silence, carrying a deep sense of satisfaction and astonishment with it, "Wh-here in the hell did that come from?"

An amused chuckle rumbles inside his chest, slightly huffing out of his nose as he slightly pushes himself off of you to gauge your reaction, "Reckon I were a little pent up. Why? You like it?"

To say you liked it was an understatement, but you'd like anything as long as Arthur were right there with you to experience it just the same. While his right hand slides up over the plump contours of your body, appreciatively grabbing at the plushness of your stomach and breasts, he lovingly brushes a few stray strands of hair off your forehead stuck there by the sweat covering your body. You hum softly in agreement to his question, deciding that you did enjoy this different side of him you hadn't respected, despite his rough exterior.

"Mhmm.. 'S always good with you," the loving words you murmur cling to his heart and earn you a pleasant kiss that tastes like the remnants of his busted lip.

As his lips trail back down over your jawline, his beard delightfully scratches over your sensitive skin, causing you to hum in appreciation for him loving you like a man who worships the very ground you walk upon. Your own body follows his lead, fingertips glide down the entire length of his back, tracing the contour of muscle that hint at the immense strength lurking beneath. You can't help but marvel at his shape, this man you love so dearly, and how his body was molded for love and carved from such a hard life. While your fingertips glide across his muscled frame, you can feel the subtle shift of his body as he adjusts himself on top of you, notricebly more relaxed than before: a clear testamanet to the calming eddect your touch has on him.

Curiosity peaked, you murmur, "You relaxed now?" as your fingertips idly trace the two little dimples that grace the base of his spine, just above the firm and muscular curve of his ass.

An amused smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, obviously enjoying the path your fingertips are carving out over his back. He'd never admit it, but he loves it when you grab him unabashedly, palming his ass like he so often does to you. The warmth of his cock brushing over your leg, hardening much faster than he expected for a man his age, tells you all you need to know.

He agrees with you, humming softly against your chest as he inches himself down to where his mouth hovers over the plump swell of your breasts, "Thinkin' that we just might need a little more time for relaxin', don'tchu?"

A/N: Big thanks for the divider from @saradika-graphics and the beautiful gif from @sunwingsunset, please go send them some love for their work! <3

Other creators that expressed interest and drew inspiration from: @subpopizzy , @cassietrn , @coltermorning , @redwritr, @zae-heeyyy, @twola , @amorgansgal

Please do go check all the blogs I tagged! You surely won't be disappointed!

As always, sending my love - M. <3

[grave-z-boy]

Little smut imagine w/ Arthur Morgan

Arthur Morgan x Male reader

Masterlist

You could feel the bark of the tree making marks on your back, your shirt having road all the way up your chest. You wrapped your legs around Arthur’s waist, holding on a tight as you could, damn near getting bucked off the man with every thrust of his hips.

You pants were hanging off the edge of your boot, while Arthur was fully clothed, his coat being the only thing that he took off, hanging it up on one of the sturdier tree branches before this all started. He held you tightly, keeping you from slipping. Panting and whimpering with half lidded eyes you tried not to claw to hard on the man’s back.

His cock stretched your hole in an almost painful manor, but it only helped further the pleasure he gave you with every brutal thrust. You could feel him so deep inside you, filling you up.

“Arthur..” you whined, resting your head on his shoulder, you could hear his ragged breath and his deep moans.

“Almost there, sweetheart, don’t worry.”

Then, as though the goddamn devil himself had spoken.

“Arthur, Y/n, where the hell are you!” Shouted Micah somewhere in the distance.

You both froze, locking eyes for a moment. You'd forgotten about Micah. You wanted to bang your head against the damn tree, especially when Arthur started to pull out.

“Arthur, please..” you whined.

Pressing a kiss on your temple, then another on your lips he said,

“I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

You wanted to throw Micah off a cliff.

You did eventually get yourself situated and presentable, just in time for Micah to come bustling through the clearing you'd found.

“Where the hell have you two been?”

“Hunting!” you said harshly, glaring at the man.

Snatching your rifle from it's place against the tree, you left the two alone in the clearing, off to go actually hunt.

“The hell’s wrong with him? ‘ the two of you get into a fight again?”

Snatching his coat off the branch, Arthur said,

“Something like that..”

[angelsknifeprty]

masterlist !! ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

the last of us

ellie williams

♡‧₊˚ streamer!ellie hcs 

abby anderson 

♡‧₊˚ nothin’ yet!

red dead redemption

arthur morgan 

♡‧₊˚ a night to remember

sadie adler 

♡‧₊˚ sadie as your girlfriend hcs

charles smith

♡‧₊˚ nothin’ yet!

resident evil

lady dimitrescu 

♡‧₊˚ nothin’ yet!

leon kennedy

♡‧₊˚ nothin’ yet!

ada wong

♡‧₊˚ nothin’ yet!

misc. characters

hazel callahan

♡‧₊˚ nothin’ yet!

kit tanthalos

♡‧₊˚ nothin’ yet!

[neuvilletteswife]

I want more sub Arthur Morgan fics pls.

[daneneedssleep]

IM BACK AND I HAVE AN ARTHUR MORGAN IDEA!!!

HighHonor!Arthur Morgan x LowHonorM!Reader

So high honer Arther right-

High honor Arthur still in his gang when you join. You have a very low honer and high honor Arthur won’t admit it but he reallllly fuckin likes you. I have a feeling that high honor Arthur is a mega bottom when it comes to low honor reader. And one day Arthur let’s the fact that he likes men slip out while he’s alone with reader and he lets reader do whatever he wants to him- with consent ofc.

Anyways if y’all want a full imagine of this lmk and I’ll make one! ~Marsie

[twola]

just saw a post that said “missionary, so we can keep arguing” and i feel like you’d do that justice if you’re ever in the mood to write it lol xx

Oh holy shit. I’m now in the mood. Here’s a low honor Arthur secretly has feelings, but they are way WAY underneath. Also shoutout to @shootybangbang, who insisted on a few points to add to this.

Fortitude

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

“Who is it?!”

“It’s Arthur, idiot!”

His deep voice booms across the camp and the onion you were dicing suddenly becomes victim to very vigorous chopping. The knife slams on the butcher table loudly as you grit your teeth.

Mary Beth looks up at you with a curious stare. “Are you…alright?”

“Never better.” You mumble as you continue to chop at the onion.

You wipe the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, letting out a long breath.

“Oh, Arthur, how nice of you to return!” Dutch’s sarcastic reply echoes across the way as he moves to clap his hand across Arthur’s back in welcome. “Anythin’ good out there?” He hands Arthur a bottle of beer, and immediately Arthur begins to drink.

“Shoah. Plenty to keep me out there. Better than loungin’ around here.”

Dutch guffaws at the pointed comment.

You grit your teeth again as you pick up the next onion. Laughter surrounds the campfire for several moments as you continue to chop. Arthur slugs back the rest of his beer before tossing it to the ground. “Now if you don’t mind me, I have a lady to see.”

You try to ignore his heavy footsteps approaching.

“C’mon now, missy. Let’s get outta here fer the night.”

You pause a moment before placing the knife down. Mary Beth gives you a look as you sigh, wiping your hands on your skirts. You give her a mumbled farewell as you turn to Arthur.

He stands there, all six feet of the fearsome enforcer of the Van der Linde gang. Able to tear men limb from limb. Hand on his gunbelt, the brim of that old gambler’s had shading his eyes against the sunset. A beard showing weeks out on the land.

Damn him, damn him to hell. 

You take his outstretched hand and follow.

-

It’s not terribly far away from camp. Just far enough not to be bothered. He stops his horse in a small forested glen and swings off of the saddle, tying the mare to a tree branch.

“C’mon now, girl. You seem so pleased to see me.” Arthur grunts as he unloads his small tent from his saddle bag, turning and immediately starting to 

“Very pleased. Been waitin’ on you every night to come back.” You retort, sliding off of the rump of the horse and turning to unfasten the bedroll from his saddle.

“That’s more like it,” He smirks back at you as he pitches the tent, “Don’tchu worry, I’ll get you right.”

When he’s finished with the tent, you stoop down and roll out his bedroll on the ground within, climbing inside as the dusk falls. Arthur follows you, stooping to his knees at the entrance of the lean-to. He tosses his hat toward the back of the tent.

“Get on yer knees.” Arthur orders as he starts to undo the buttons of his workshirt.

“No,” you huff, sliding back on your bottom atop the bedroll. You start unlacing your boots and pull them off, chucking them toward the entrance of the tent.

“No?” Arthur’s eyebrow quirks as he rips his gunbelt off.

“I ain’t gonna let you treat me like some two-penny whore. You’re gonna at least have the decency to look me in the eye.” You rasp up at him as you start unlacing your dress.

He kicks his boots off smugly. There’s something ironic in the way the two of you are quickly shedding your clothes to the back and forth going on in the tent.

“Oh, too good to bend over but not to get on your back for me?”

You shimmy out of your dress and quickly pull your chemise over your head. He works his pants down with his drawers. 

“Too good for you to fuck me like I’m any other hole.” 

“We’ll see about that-” Arthur chuckles as he stands on his knees opposite you, completely nude, cock blood-swollen and bobbing with his movements. His hands grab at your hips, grasping those dainty bloomers you’ve taken to wearing and pulling them down your thighs, over your knees, and completely off, chucking them to the side.

He licks his lips, the bastard, at the sight of you on your back for him, naked in the waning hours of the day. And yet, here you are, angry but desperate to be wanted, you just want… a little something more.

Arthur spits in his hand, slathering it on his cock. Climbing atop you in his bedroll, you spread your legs for him. The head of his cock catches on the rim of your cunt and he pushes inside, growling as he does so.

A whine, desperate, claws its way out of your throat as you clench at his forearms at the feeling of several hot inches of him splitting your core, filling you fit to burst. It’s the pain on a knife’s edge that seems to placate the aggravation in your soul.

He’s not gentle - you know that, you’ve never expected him to be. He fucks like he works - with physicality and brute strength. 

He does, at the very least, stay buried within you for a moment, his hips shoved completely up against yours, all those hot, pulsing, hard inches of him having carved a blazing path through your core. He does, at the very least, give you that moment to accept him, grow used to him, before grabbing your hips and starting to buck against you mercilessly.

“You’re -hah- infuriating,” Arthur spits out, locking his elbows as he finds a rhythm of slamming his hips into yours, the slap of skin on skin loud within the tent. No wonder he dragged you away from camp.

“You’re a lowlife -ngh-” You are able to grit out as he tries to fuck you into submission. But you know this game, you know his game. He may be the feared enforcer of the gang, but you’re not some feeble woman willing to let him do with you what he wants.

“Ain’t too low for you to let me fuck you.” He growls, words interspersed with his thrusts.

“Ain’t the same gettin’ myself o-off.” You sputter as he slings your other thigh over his shoulder and slams his hips down on you to effectively cut you off. You cry out in surprise at the change in angle of his thrusts, loudly to the point he slaps his hand over your mouth as he moves above you.

You sink your teeth into the meat of his palm. He hisses, pulling his hand away quickly. He looks down on you with annoyance.

“What the hell is wrong with you, woman?”

You grit your teeth against the anger that has been eating at you this whole time.

“I missed you, asshole.”

Arthur stops, jaw unclenching, cock halfway sheathed in your warm cunt. He looks down at you, eyes wide, brow unfurling, and the fire in his gut subsiding.

“Ain’t you ever think when you’re out for weeks at a time that you got someone to come home to?” You scowl up at him as he slowly lets your leg down from his shoulder.

Arthur frowns, biting the inside of his cheek.

“When you’re gone for weeks at a time, then come back bragging about it, it’s like you ain’t want to be with me. At least that’s what you got me thinkin’.” You lower your voice and encircle your fingers around his forearms. Your thumbs rub gently at his wrists, “So when you drag me out here to fuck you, are you telling me that’s all you want?”

“No.” He gruffly responds.

“Then act like it.”

He lowers himself to his elbows slowly, his cock slipping further inside you and you give a little whine in response. Arthur angles his forearms inward, giving him the ability to brush some of your hair from your forehead. You wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his hips, plastering your bodies against each other fully. 

“Just - try not to stay out as long. Or maybe take me with you. The cot gets awful cold without you in it. If we’re together, I want to be treated like we’re together.” You whisper, the anger in your blood finally dissipating. 

He hovers above you, finally, a fond smile replaces the previous bombastic smirk on his face.

“Want me t’ write you some poetry?”

“Kiss me, you fool.”

He immediately complies, smashing his lips on yours, tongue pressing against your lips, which you open to him. You moan throatily as he rolls his hips in a full stroke, pulling his cock near completely out and thrusting back in. He repeats the motion again and again.

“Want to be beneath me every night? That’s what my girl wants?”

Your reply is half a scream, “Y-yes! E-every night, Arthur-”

“Goddamn- yes, oh shit, that’s it-” he babbles as his strokes start to come unwieldy.

The molten fire burning in your core licks at your gut, the muscles in your legs start screaming - you know that you’re quickly going to reach your end with each time that he shoves his cock deeper inside you.

“I’m go-gonna come, Arthur -ngh-”

“That’s it, darlin’ girl, come all over my cock.” He croons, changing his motions by pushing himself as deep as he can before gyrating his hips, trying to hit everywhere within you.

You seize up, your thighs clamping around his waist as you cry out to the heavens above, some garbled noise that sounds like the syllables of his name.

Arthur coos, in that teasing way that he does, shutting his eyes as he takes in the feeling of your pulsing core on his cock. The gush of wetness that surrounds him, starting to leak out onto his balls as you thrash and cry.

When finally you begin to calm down, he yanks himself from you and sits up on his knees as he squeezes his eyes shut, pumping his cock as if coming would save his life. 

You shoot up, leaning on one elbow, and bat his hand away from his cock, wrapping your fingers around his base and guiding it into your mouth.

“Aw fuck honey-”

He doesn’t last long. How could he? Not with your perfect mouth around him, not with your tongue pressing against the sensitive slit, not when you suck. With a strangled shout of your name, he comes, spurting warm down your throat. Salty and bitter, just like him - but you suck him dry as if you couldn’t get enough.

He flops down on the bedroll next to you, panting as you curl your body against his, placing your head upon his chest, your hand spread wide over his racing heart. Another centering moment later, he winds his arm around you. 

He’s not going to confess his love for you. You may never get that. But being tucked in his embrace as he holds you to him - for now, you are placated.

He kisses the crown of your forehead gently. You snuggle even further into his embrace.

This you could work with.

[morning-star-joy]

some sweet ending

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x F!Reader

Summary: A lazy night of domestic bliss.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI Smut. Handjob, v fingering. Domestic life kink, competence kink, praise kink. Sub!Arthur. Vocal!Arthur. Subtle orgasm denial. Premature ejaculation if you squint. Established relationship/marriage. Chubby!Arthur. Mention of past canon-typical violence. Cigarette smoking. Mention of food/eating. Post-Canon, no TB, Arthur Morgan gets a happy ending with lots of love and orgasms. Arthur's POV.

Wordcount: 1.9k

masterlist || ko-fi || updates blog

dividers by @saradika

The unbearable heat of the summer day eases just slightly as it transitions to night, but it still leaves a light sheen of sweat on Arthur’s skin as he lays back on the bed, naked as the day he was born to try and combat the heat.

“Hotter than the devil’s asscrack out there,” he grunts, brushing a hand through his hair, still damp from the bath you’d forced him to take after a long day of hard work out in the sun. 

Not sharing my sheets with a smelly, sticky ol’ cowboy, you’d ordered him towards the bath you’d drawn with a pointed look, and he was off to do what you commanded with little more than a sigh.

You hum beside him at his crude comment on the weather, curled up on your side and facing away from him, turning another page in the new dime novel you’d coaxed him to pick up on his latest run into town for supplies. “Charming.”

“That’s what they always call me,” he sighs out sarcastically, and you do huff a quiet laugh at that. It’s a beautiful sound, your laughter; one that has always been more reminiscent of pure music than something human to him, and it curls a smile up onto his lips.

Arthur leans over to rustle through the nightstand, pulling out a cigarette to place between his smirk. He lights it and settles back into the pillows, and you’re turning onto your back to mimic his movements, propping up against him even when he grumbles in protest at your added body heat.

He makes no real effort to shake you off, though. Not when your hand subconsciously finds his knee, seeking the connection between you, even when he was right here and never going anywhere again. 

Your fingers, just as callused as his from years of running as outlaws, slowly stroke along the inside of his knee. The touch is borne from familiarity of the most primal, most loving kind; the joining of flesh and meeting of hearts; the simple gem embedded into a slim band, glinting in the low, flickering lamplight when your fingers keep retracing the same lazy circle on his skin.

When you reach the end of your page, Arthur watches your brows furrow, your hand clasping at the bottom of the book fidgeting. It takes a moment before he realizes you were trying to turn to the next page without removing your hand from his knee.

The simple, silent act of not wanting to separate from him tugs at the fondness of you that had found a home in his heart years ago, a silent admiration that had turned into love and devotion somewhere along the way.

He holds back a chuckle before he grabs the top corner of the page, tugging it from your grip on the bottom of the novel and turning it for you. Your head ducks further into the pages, but he sees the smile turning up the corner of your mouth, and a huff of amusement blows smoke out around the cigarette still perched between his own lips.

Slowly, your hand slips from his knee and up his leg, the muscles tensing in his thigh when your fingernails graze alongside it. The traitorous twitch of his cock between his legs in the soft moment isn’t lost on either of you, but you continue to draw those same lazy circles on his thigh.

Each stroke draws you closer inwards, until your nails scrape up along the V of his hips and pull a quiet grunt from his throat.

Arthur only lasts a few more passes of your nails up and down that line before he’s mumbling around the cigarette, “Sweetheart…”

You hum again, taking the cue and dragging your fingers up towards his soft belly, rounder from the years of eating well and not running for your lives. He hadn't been too fond of it for a while, but you had certainly found more…unorthodox ways to change his mind about it.

Dragging your fingers through the thick hair that grew more coarse the further down you went, he sucks in a sharp breath when you reach the base of his cock, tracing it with the tip of your trigger finger as the smoke fills his lungs and sends a rush through his head.

He’d watched that finger press down on the trigger of your trusty shotgun for years, watched you take lives time and time again, for the gang and for him. And now you used it to tend to your ranch and undress him and Jesus he was already so fucking hard it hurt, especially with the way you kept—

“Goddamn teasing me,” Arthur grits through clenched teeth, and your laugh is so airy, so wonderfully carefree, because you had all the time in the world now.

No more camps, no more keeping quiet and finishing fast in tents with the flaps sewn closed. 

This house was yours, something you’d built from the ground up together, and you could take all night taking each other apart. You could make him sing, and you would, after so long of making it clear just how much you adored the sounds of pleasure he once was so baffled that he could even make for you.

Another thing he didn’t believe you could actually enjoy, not until he cupped your cunt through your bloomers on one night of making him moan and whimper until his throat was sore, and found you completely soaked for him.

“You still get hard so fast for me,” you whisper, your hand gently wrapping around his throbbing cock until you have it in a tight fist, giving it a tug that pulls a whine from deep in his chest. 

Sweat from the hot night coats your palm, making each stroke and twist easier, and he’s already melting back into the pillows, free hand grabbing around your waist for purchase as his hips thrust up to smack against your closed hand.

“Only for you,” Arthur whispers, eyes half-lidded as he stares up at the ceiling of your bedroom, in your home, taking another idle drag from the cigarette as you lazily jerk him off.

He can hear the smirk in your voice when you murmur, “Good boy,” and he would’ve been lost right then and there if you didn’t wrap your hand around the base of his cock and squeeze.

Arthur’s whimper is choked, hand spreading across your sternum and slipping up to cup the swell of your breast through the chemise that sticks to your skin in the heat. He feels your legs shift beside him, a soft moan leaving your own lips when your thighs rub together, and he squeezes his eyes shut, breathing hard through his nose as he tries to hold on for you.

“Turn my page,” you whisper your order, and his shaky hand is leaving your body in an instant to follow your command. The loss of his palm on you makes you whimper, and he bites his lip when your hand leisurely slides back up his cock to circle that damned trigger finger around the red, leaking head.

Taking these kinds of orders from you, trusting you enough to guide him, had become a sweet relief after years of having to be such a strong, immovable force for everybody who always needed something from him. And everybody always needed something from him.

Where he was now, his life with you—it was the first real choice Arthur had made for himself in…hell, maybe ever. 

You didn’t need him to be here, you would be just fine on your own, as would he. 

But this was what you wanted. It’s what he wanted. When everything went up in flames, you were both left standing together amongst the ashes. 

And once every loved one who remained was taken care of, this was your first choice. The only choice. One you both made together, steps you took beside each other, even if neither of you were sure just where it’d get you. 

That faith his mentor had always wanted—Arthur had always had it.

It just was meant for you.

His fingers hastily push up your chemise, slipping down to drag between the soaked lips of your pussy. All it takes is the way he easily sinks a digit into your wet heat, your walls welcoming him in and sucking him down to just the first knuckle, before he’s spilling in your palm.

You ease him through it, like you always do, whispering soft praises as you lean down to kiss along the inside of his knee, giving gentle tugs of his cock until all the spend you could get out of him mixes with the sweat on his stomach.

Arthur only takes the time to put out the dangerously burned down cigarette before he tugs you back when you try to get a washcloth to clean him back up, replying to your sweet, loving assurances that you would be fine with his own assurances that he wanted this, he wanted you.

Because you were his best girl, his goddamn wife, and he wanted to see that beginning of want in your eyes dissolve into the dazed, relaxed look of complete ecstasy. You may be fine without being returned what you gave, but he never would be.

And so you end up straddling the mess you had made him leave on his own stomach. He pumps one finger into you until you can take two, two until you can take three, and it’s not long before you’re grinding down along his hand, your own name forgotten. 

His large hand palms at your tits before he grabs one, massaging the soft flesh while his fingers curl inside you, and your eyes roll back into your head. Hips rolling desperately, your slick coats his bottomed out digits, dripping down to his wrist until you are coming with a cry of his name, and Arthur grins.

He never really smiled before you.

You smile too, and it doesn’t fade. Not even when you collapse on top of him, and you’re both a mess of miserably hot, sticky limbs, but at least the last tendrils of pleasure linger, tying you together in sweet bliss that makes you hum happily.

Arthur hums quietly along with you, lips finding your forehead in a gentle kiss. He mumbles against the warm skin there, “What was that you was sayin’ earlier? Somethin’ about your husband bein’ a smelly, sticky ol’ cowboy?”

Your palm smacks against the old scar on his shoulder, something that finally doesn’t hurt anymore, and laughter rumbles from his chest as you lay your head on it.

“Shut up,” you grumble, even as you snuggle into him and kiss the healed over skin gently. He welcomes you in close, despite the mess between you.

Then, not a moment later: “I love you.”

Arthur smiles again as he whispers it back to you, and that smile stays when you both get up to gently wipe each other down, crack open the window to let a gentle breeze into the hot, sex-scented room, then crawl back into your bed.

As he watches your face relax with sleep, and feels the call towards dreams himself, he vaguely remembers a time where part of him had longed for the end.

Now, he just can’t wait to grow old with you.

[johnpriceslamb]

𝓽 𝓱 𝓻 𝓮 𝓪 𝓭 𝓮 𝓭 𝓮 𝓵 𝓮 𝓰 𝓪 𝓷 𝓬 𝓮

🪡 Before you joined the gang, you used to be a tailor. An event was coming up soon which involved looking fancy, meaning that you had to take his measurements for a new suit.

𝓑𝓔𝓕𝓞𝓡𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤 𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓒𝓔𝓔𝓓 ! ⋆ female ! reader ⋆ hyper-feminine ! reader ⋆ very suggestive content w/ javier ⋆ close proximity ⋆ reader is mentioned to be physically smaller than said chars ⋆ poorly google translates spanish >.> ⋆ not proof read nor edited ⋆ wrd count/1.2k

🪡 arthur morgan ⋆ charles smith ⋆ john marston ⋆ javier escuella (sep) x f! reader

🪡 𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓱𝓾𝓻 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓰𝓪𝓷,

“stand still!”

You prattle on for the umpteenth time this evening. The loyal enforcer of the gang grunts at the feeling of the cold tape measure wrapped around his bare waist, as he begrudgingly lifts his arms up to avoid messing up the measurements.

“For someone so little,” He groans at the feeling of the flexible measure tightening deliberately around him, “You sure do have a lot of attitude.”

You ignore him, of course. You scribble down the exact number of his measurement down on a piece of paper with a slight hum. The beads of your delicate necklace hang delicately off your neck as you bend over the edge of the table a bit, elbows propping your demure head for support. Arthur couldn’t help but boredly take a peak of what you were writing down, before ultimately sighing as he hopes for this to go a little quicker.

the cigar in his mouth hangs low on his bottom lip, embers flying out from the tip. He takes another slow drag, before letting it out with a gentle sigh- to your direction. You throw the man a puffed-cheek glare, your little nose scrunching up at the smell.

He wouldn’t admit the fact that he felt warm when your fingers would touch his body so subtly when measuring him. Or when your face was so close to his ragged skin, he could really feel your soft breath. Did you always look that pretty when you’re concentrated?

“Hey, Arthur?” That familiar high-pitched voice catches his attention. His hands lazily grab ahold of his low-hung belt, before leaning in.

“Mh?” He lowly grunts, squinting his eyes at the sight of your beady eyes staring up at him. He chews at the end of his cigarette, letting out a huff when the smoke unexpectedly enters inside his body.

You cheekily smile, tinkering your dewy lashes at him to feign innocence. The pencil in your grip is tapped multiple times on the paper, “Wouldn’t pink be a suitable colour choice for your suit?”

“[name].” You’re lucky you were blessed with a cute little face, otherwise he’d have no issue throwing you in the lake nearby.

🪡 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓵𝓮𝓼 𝓼𝓶𝓲𝓽𝓱,

“..I’m not familiar with getting measured, I apologise if I make anything difficult.” Charles quietly explains to you in that baritone voice he had. You can’t help that sweet fluttering in your chest at the apology.

“Nonsense!” You wave him off with a toothy smile, “All you’ll have to do is stand still.”

The gentle giant in-front of you slowly nods. He’s not uncomfortable, but he’s kind of on the edge since this was new to him. But since it’s you, he can feel some of the tension in him melt. Usually, he tends to avoid interacting with other people at camp.

But you? Something about you made him draw closer.

“Just a matter of standing still? I think I can manage with that. No trouble with me.” A ghost of a smile slowly etches onto his dark skin at your expression. Almost.. puppy like.

You’re about to measure his full height to ensure the exact proportions of the suit are balanced, only to realise..

Your height (lack thereof.. oops.) comes in as a bit of an issue here. For plot purposes, there aren’t any stools around nor could you go on your tippy toes to measure him fully.

“..Ah.” Charles blinks at the situation. Amusement crosses his face, before gesturing to hand over the end of the measuring tape. He holds it just at his head, patiently watching you peak at the number it falls down to at his ankles.

“Oh my..” You let out a tiny squeak at the number, a shy smile appearing on your sweet face before scribbling it down on a piece of paper nearby.

“Oh my?” He repeats you, “What? Is that.. Is that bad?”

“No, no!” You stammer, meekly brushing your hands over your light pink petticoat, “You’re just.. Y’know. You’re tall.”

“Oh?” He smiles lightly, lovingly looking at your light expression, “I hope that won’t be too much of a problem.”

“It’s not a problem. Quite the opposite, actually.” You quietly mumble the last part. Oh dear, you can feel his gaze, practically warming up your soul, staring at you as if you hung the stars. You feel your cheeks heating up.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing!”

🪡 𝓳𝓸𝓱𝓷 𝓶𝓪𝓻𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓷,

never in your life have you wanted to smack a man in the face so badly.

“Woah,” John grins like a newly wet dog from running through a puddle, “Y’here to take my measurements or to feel me up?”

All you did was just wrap the tape around the swell of his hips. Your cheeks puff out, purposefully tightening the tape to get your point behind.

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind either way.” He cheekily smiles, before scoffing at the feeling of the measuring tape deliberately tightening around him.

You swear you can smell the scent of booze. You ignore it, before straightening your back to measure his waist. What you can’t ignore however, was that raspy drawl his voice had which somehow makes you fall for him over and over again.

He may be as dumb as rocks, but his little antics drew you in.

“Hey,” He calls out to catch your attention. You sweetly tilt your head up, and to the side when he looks down at you.

“You gon’ pick the colours of my suit, or do I get to?” He asks curiously.

You ponder, “Well.. Do you want to?”

He thinks about it for a moment, before coming up with an answer. “Nah. Reckon you should. You’re the professional, after all.”

You can’t help but let out a soft giggle, “I wouldn’t go that far.”

When you’ve finished his measurements, you excitedly turn to him to discuss the colour choices which’ll be appropriate for the event coming up soon. Both of your eyes meet and he peers down at you with a loving gaze, it catches your breath a bit before you force yourself to look down at the notes which contained your notes.

“I think your suit should have a low v cut to really show that upper-body of yours. Perhaps a classic navy blue as your primary colour, and— Hey! Are you even listening to me?”

He blinks a few times, a bit sheepish. “I am, I just don’t got a clue on what you’re saying, sweetheart.”

You can feel your hand tighten.

🪡 𝓳𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓮𝓻 𝓮𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓪,

“Ah.. Quite close there, aren’t you?” He has this.. devilishly handsome smile you want to wipe off badly. He peers down at you as if you were nothing but a little dollie while you measured his chest.

“‘M not trying to be!” You whine, going just a bit lower to wrap the measuring tape around his waist now. You hum delightfully as you find the exact number, squinting your eyes to see where the tip of the measurement tape lands on.

While you’re busy with your own little thing, you don’t notice the way Javier admires you from above. He can’t help but comment on it too.

“You know,” He starts of with a slow, lazy smile. Mischievous, even.

“You’re looking very pretty working down there.” He puts a lot of emphasis on the word ‘very’ in his sentence. It’s subtle, but if you were to be paying attention to him you’d get it immediately.

You tilt your head up to innocently thank him with a small smile etched on your pretty little face, before realising what his words were implying. That little..

“Javier!” You scold him with a very high-pitched tone. You feel your dignity fading away as soon as he replies with a mocking laugh to your whining.

“You know I’m just playing around, chica. Don’t take it so seriously.” His hand goes down to cheekily pinch your squishy cheek to get his point through. You frown.

“You’re horrible.” You babble, begrudgingly taking his last measurement. You’re very tempted to give him the cold shoulder, but decided against it.

“You’re too kind.” He sarcastically replies, that same lazy grin on his face from the start as when he sees you scribbling down some notes about his measurements and preferences. You throw a tiny glare at him, “I’m the one creating your suit here, be nice!”

“Mhm? I haven’t gotten to express my gratitude yet have I?” He takes the notepad away from you, setting it aside before easily picking you up by the waist and setting you on the table, your legs dangle off the edge easily as he nears you.

“Permiteme que, querida.”

[appalachiancowboy99]

Fireside

Arthur Morgan x CurvyFem!Reader Pure unadulterated smut, 18+, MDNI (Minors Do NOT Enter) Warnings: sexual content, oral sex, cowboy giving

----------------------------------------------------------------------

It was new territory for both of you: this game of stolen glances and shy smiles across Camp, finding excuse after excuse just to feel the thrill of your fingertips dancing over his arms and chest. And then there were those moments where he'd seize any opportunity to pin you up against the side of Pearson's wagon, pressed close against your body just to make you feel the heat and solidity of his frame against yours, no matter how dangerous or reckless it might be. Despite how much he cares for you and how much he enjoys your time together, it's an impossible task to keep his mind from spiraling down every possibility in which he'd be damning you to the same fate, to make the same mistakes he had with Eliza and with Mary, leaving you a shell of the woman you once were. Even if he's riddled with doubt and fear, he won't let you slip through his fingers like a fading dream. It's been quite some time since he's felt so drawn to someone that he can't rationalize why he can't- why he won't stay away. He doesn't quite understand it himself, but for the first time in his life, he ain't fighting it, not with you.

It is no accident that he found himself in this current predicament; setting up a makeshift camp with you outside of Rhodes just to spend some alone time with you. He had made sure of it, insisting on not heading back to Clemen's Point after seeing how pretty you looked all cleaned up and excited to join him on his run to town even if it was just for a pack of cigarettes at the general store. Determined to have some peace away from the commotion of camp, he veered his horse off to the side of the road, leading you through the thicket of trees stretched out alongside the expansive fields of Lemoyne, heading to a clearing just before the edge of Flat Iron Lake. God, was it a good choice. Instead of hearing another riveting story from Mr. Pearson's days in the navy or having you get whisked away for any late-night tasks for Ms. Grimshaw, he's kneeling fireside, watching you fold out his emergency bedroll for the both of you, imaging all the possibilities that the night holds; particularly all those that end with you spread out beneath him.

“C’mere, baby.” His voice is laden with desire as he outstretches his hand for you to take.

"Hmm?" You ask, stopping to glance over your shoulder, only to see his rugged features awash in the orange glow of firelight. Crystalline eyes pierce your heart, crumbling down the walls that protected you and shielded you from the pain of never knowing what love could be. No, there was no idea, no concept of love until he came crashing into your life all those months ago. Love with Arthur is like opening a fresh wound: ripping into your heart and seeding himself so deeply inside of that aching muscle that you fear one day he’ll just bleed you dry and leave you with the dull ache of his memory. However, his presence alone is like a soothing balm to your weary and wounded soul, healing you like the hands of god himself and reassuring you that he’d never leave; he’d crawl through the pits of hell and back just to be spared a passing glance. You trusted him with your life then and against all the nagging self-doubt screaming in your mind, you trust him now.

He can hardly tear his gaze from you as you come closer, his eyes hungrily taking in every inch of your curvy form from the supple sway of your hips to the way the corners of your plush lips curl into an affectionate smile. You place your hand in his as you lower yourself onto his lap, the grass and weeds beneath you tickling your legs just as your knees meet the ground on either side of his hips. Even if you were to pay him no mind, he'd still relish the chance to be this close to you, to see the delicate little imperfections scattered across your skin, to feel the warmth of your love radiating off of your body like a roaring furnace, and admire how your eyes flicker with a sense of hope he'd long forgotten. In the mess of smoothing out your skirts to hide your thighs from his wandering gaze, a lock of hair breaks free from the bun on your head, flopping down on your face in a single ringlet. He reaches up to tuck it behind your ear, his fingertips skimming softly over the supple flesh of your cheek, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. A wave of affection washes over him as he gazes at your face illuminated by the flickering light of the fire, and he can barely contain himself. He longs to shower you with compliments and affection, to give you the love and attention that you so rightfully deserve, but he can't. He has no words; believes there are no words to describe exactly how a single brush of your skin against his makes his heart stop and his mind cloud in a thick fog with nothing to picture but you. You make him feel like a damn fool, a fool so caught up in love that he can't distinguish his left from his right. Words are meaningless here- showing you is the only way.

You never thought you’d find yourself in this predicament: a handsome man like Arthur guiding you toward him, stealing a kiss from your lips like a man starved for the slightest bit of affection. Nor did he think he'd be holding such a beautiful woman in his arms, a woman deserving of so much more than he could ever give. Good things like this don’t happen to you, nor do they happen to men like him, but against all odds, you’re both here wrapped in each others’ embrace without a care in the damn world.

Your plump, pliable lips press against his with a tenderness rarely afforded in the quick, passionate encounters you’ve found yourselves in these days. Tonight, there will be no rush of hands lifting your skirts, no hard press of his cock entering you without warning; tonight, he’ll take his time, drawing out each orgasm after agonizing orgasm from that pretty pussy like you deserve. Arthur breaks away from your lips abruptly and latches onto your pulse point, drawing out that little whimper that sends his head spinning. Your breath is but a whisper as his name drips off your tongue like a fine brandy: silky smooth, "Arthur.." Just as you expect him to reach your collar, unbutton your blouse, and ravage your flesh, he pulls away. Your eyes shoot open only to see him taking off that old gambler's hat while leaning back.

Through a half-laughed whisper, you say, "What're you-" Before you can finish protesting, he rests his back on the plush grass beneath you both, his hat clutched in hand. He sets it aside on a nearby log before turning his attention back to you with a wolfish grin.

“Gonna love you like ya deserve. C’mere,” he murmurs, eyes roaming over your flushed face and heaving chest.

With that, his hands were back on the swell of your hips, thumbs gently pressing into the soft cotton of your skirts, coaxing you with a gentle yet firm pull that guided you away from the comfort of his lap and over his stomach until you're kneeling just above his chest. His eyes lock onto yours, silently pleading for you to rest your fullness on him; he needs to feel every ounce of you as if his life depended on it. You hesitate, looking down at him from above with your pretty skirts pooling over his chest; his face peeking out below a sea of sage green ending just below his chin. Silently urging you to finally give in and settle yourself onto his chest, he reaches upward and gently grabs hold of your waist.

You can’t.

Y’all are already in a compromising position out here in the open. It’d take just a single person to glance in the direction of your camp by the lake to see Arthur delving under your skirts by firelight. His boldness takes you by surprise, a sweet gasp filling your lungs as he leans up, pressing a gentle kiss to your aching cunt through your dampened drawers. That's all it takes for you to give into his touch and rest your hips upon his chest. Your sweet musk alone sends a shiver of pleasure down his spine, pooling straight into his stiffening cock. A low growl of satisfaction leaves his lips in appreciation for your willingness to let him please you. Your eyes are trained on his head ruffling beneath your skirts before looking up at the night sky, noting how the faint white glow of moonlight breaks through the canopy of leaves and limbs, casting shadowed shapes upon the forest floor. His gentle kisses shift from the apex of your desires, the scruff from his beard pleasantly scratching against your skin. While he traces the little blue lace detail on the hem of your drawers, the low timbre of his voice buzzes against your thigh, “Can I take these off of ya?”

There's no denying the desire that runs through you at the thought of being bared to him in such a risque position; to undress yourself and have him beneath you, feasting upon your quivering cunt as if he were savoring you like the very last meal he'd ever taste. Oh, how you remember the first time you felt the wet warmth of his tongue darting out of his lips, pressing against you to show you all the ways in which a real man loves his woman. In truth, Arthur had been the first to awaken those romantic emotions within you, to ignite the spark of desire and affection that had been suppressed for so long. Society had labeled you a spinster, a woman unworthy of love and affection, but he had shown you that you were worthy of so much more than some horseshit label. He had taken your first kiss, been your first intimate touch, and with every moment you spent together, he showed you that you were beautiful and deserving of the kind of love written in those books MaryBeth lets you borrow. The thrill of feeling him once more makes your blood run hot, leaving you with no other choice than to hum softly in agreement. If this is what he desires, then who are you to deny him?

Slowly, you rise off his chest, lifting yourself up to your knees. Your fingers nimbly work to undo the ties that hold cover to the last remnants of decency you have left. You can feel his eyes on you as you undress, watching your every move with an intensity that sends shivers running down your spine. As your skirts fall away, leaving you exposed and vulnerable, you gaze down at his face, the flush of desire dusting his features in a faint reddish hue. His eyes remain locked on yours, unmasked desire blazing in their depths. You begin to work on your blouse and chemise, eager to bare yourself to him, but Arthur's impatience gets the better of him as he struggles with the buttons and ties fastening your clothing. His fingers move quickly and feverishly, desperate to get you stripped down and exposed to his hungry gaze. Through his struggle, he moves his hands back down to your drawers, pressing his thumb against the seam of your body to watch the light fabric catch between your folds. Between your soft gasp and his feigned murmur of forgiveness, he takes hold of the thin fabric and rips it right down the seam of your best set of undergarments. "Arthur! Them's my last good pair," you scold, but it does no good: he's too far gone.

His lust-blown pupils take in the sight of the dark thatch of hair separating him from your aching desire. Oh, for heaven's sake, you internally chastise yourself. Someone could stumble upon your little camp and see you naked as the day you were born, mounting his face like your first ride on a new saddle. But the instant his plush lips meet your seam, all doubt, and all fear subsides, giving way to burning passion. Your back arches, instinctively pressing your hips upon his wanting, salivating mouth, and burying his nose into your plump mound. God how he's missed this, missed taking you so fully and unapologetically. Your sticky sweet nectar coats his lips like the finest honey, driving him wild for a taste of your supple sweetness. His tongue flicks out of his mouth, pressing flat against your slick heat, parting your folds in search of that little bud of nerves screaming his name. You are all that he can taste, all he can breathe, all he can feel.

Darkness clouds his vision as his eyes flutter closed, though flashing behind his eyes is anything but: the image of your face twisting and contorting in agonizing pleasure erases all thought and memory from his mind, leaving only you in its wake. Soft crackling embers, gentle knickers from his steed, the lewd squelches of his tongue lapping at your core, and the sweet flighty sounds escaping your lips create an orgasmic orchestral hymn he's longed to hear these past few weeks. His cock swells, pressing uncomfortably against the rough jean fabric of his usual working pants. Rutting his hips upward, he finds that the tight seam rubs him in the most delicious way: pressing against his cock as if you were leaning back to palm him while he eats you out.

Just as his hips grind upward to find some torturous relief, your hips involuntarily rock against his tongue, guiding him exactly where you need him to be. The strong, wet, muscle glides over your clit, swirling so slowly that your thighs tremble with each expert pass along that tiny bud screaming his name. Embers from the campfire crackles and burns far too close to your bodies not feel the sweltering heat baring down on your skin. Yet, it pales in comparison to the feverish flush that gathered in your face; it spread across the apples of your cheeks to the tips of your ears, leaving them burning almost intolerably. You found yourself struggling to catch your breath as desire worked its way down your throat, squeezing out all the air in your lungs like the first drag off a cigarette before its buzz envelops you completely. His tongue only leaves you for a moment, using it to murmur, "That feel good, baby?"

His voice rumbles through your cunt, causing you to clench around nothing. He needs no answer. He already knows how much you're enjoying this, how much you've been needing to feel his mouth on you by the soft little gasps in between a string of expletives following his name; his favorites being, 'O-Oh Arthur,' 'Oh fuck,' and 'God, pl-please, Arthur.' Pride swells in his chest knowing that he's the only man that's able to ravage you like this. You belong to each other, heart, body, mind, and soul.

Lubrication leaks from you like a damn fountain, coating your pretty little slit like it just begs for him to enter your aching core. And that's exactly what he finds himself searching for. With a small forward thrust of your hips, his tongue parts you, pushes your cunt open, and penetrates you with its wriggling mass of muscle. It wasn’t like his cock filling you, hitting your womb with every thrust, rubbing you so impossibly deep that you could see stars, but it was enough to shatter your pride and make you forego all composure and decency, whatever sense of the word it may be. The very tip finds that soft spongy spot inside, licking and writhing with each dip in and out, all while his nose presses against your clit. “A-Arthur,” you groan. “I’m so close.”

Oh, he knows you're close. Your cunt quivers around his tongue, pulsating in time with the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. Your creamy slick coats his beard, nose, and hell, even his cheeks as you properly use him to reach your end. Everything around you is spinning. Nothing exists beyond this moment shared between two lovers shrouded by nightfall. No, nothing else matters except Arthur's mouth devouring you, drinking you like cold water on a hot summer's day. You're his solace, his sustenance, something worth truly dying for. And if he smothers to death beneath your soaked cunt, then he'd thank God for such a heavenly way to go. His hips rise and fall, undulating as if he were fucking into your tight, gummy channel; it's all he can imagine, all he wants to feel is fucking you and you being fucked. Flicking his tongue inside of you, hitting that sweet spot, pulls you closer to the edge. Your hands are frantic, never taking purchase on any one place until they find the mess of chestnut hair atop his head. It takes everything in you not to rip his hair out as both of your hands take fistfuls into your palms. He growls into you, panting heavily for what little air he's able to take in. Finally, his tongue retreats, moving back up to your clit to give you one hard suck that sends you spiraling over the edge. From the top of your head to the tips of your toes are awash in electricity, burning, shaking through you like a thunderous wave as your climax takes hold. You scream his name, but he doesn't stop attacking your clit with the gentle flick of his tongue through hard suction. No, he doesn't stop, making sure to rip another mind-shattering orgasm out of you until he allows himself to come. You fall forward in an attempt to move from him, but he holds you down with such strength that you're forced to stay seated. You block off his airway, smothering his nose with your mound as he continues his ministrations on your clit. You feel like you're dying, shaking and sweating like a fever has taken your body over, until another orgasm rounds its peak. With one more jerk of his hips, he spends himself in his jeans; cum leaking out of him like a stream, soaking into his union suit while your cream drenches his beard in a frothy white delicacy. Once you gain your composure, you glance down at him to realize that he can't breathe. "O-Oh God, Arthur. You alright?" You pull away from his mouth, giving him a moment to catch his breath as he looks up at you with fiery, hungry eyes. The flame of the campfire casts shadows over his face, the light illuminating him in a warm, golden glow. His beard glistens with your essence, and he gazes up at you with an expression of reverence, silently worshiping what power your body has over him. As you attempt to lift yourself off of him to give him some much needed breathing room, he clamps down on your thighs, preventing you from moving. That familiar smirk draws up the corner of his mouth and a spark of desire flickers in the ocean of blue surrounding his lust-blown pupils, "Where you think 'yer goin'? Ain't done with you yet." ---------------------------------------------------------------------- A/N: Hi! I really hope y'all like this little drabble. My great friend @photo1030 inspired me to post a little something, so I have her to thank for igniting my creativity again. It's my first time posting anything like this, so feedback of any kind would be greatly appreciated! So again, thank you, C, for being my first supporter <3

Other creators I enjoy/drew inspo from: @rivetingrosie4 @coltermorning @subpopizzy @amorgansgal @immajustvibehere @twola

[messrmoonyy]

- Arthur Morgan hcs ( high honour vs low honour ) 18+

HH!Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader / LH!Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Request- LOVE your writing, can we get a high honor vs low honor Arthur in bed? HAVE A LOVELY DAY :D

A/N- ty to the anon for requesting this, I’m in one of those ruts where I’m struggling to write one shots more than like a few sentences here and there or hating everything and restarting a million times lol. So a HC request was a nice way to get me writing without thinking too hard 😭💀. I will say I have never and could never play low honour. So if it’s inaccurate well… it’s fanfiction. This is basically soft vs rough Arthur lmao

Masterlist

Low honour

- He’s a slightly selfish lover. If he comes first then he doesn’t particularly care if you haven’t

- Likes to use his size to his advantage. Hes taller. Heavier. Wider. Likes when he can pin you down and put his weight on you, trapping you in place. Size kink goes crazy

- Which also leads into his love of choking. And hair pulling. He just likes to manhandle you , he likes that he’s so much bigger and can just like… toss you around a bit. He likes knowing he can wrap his hand around your throat and have your literal life in his hands, and you just willingly let him.

- Of course he’s far tougher and rougher. HH!Arthur will spend ages working you up and relaxing you and making you come in the most blissfully world shattering way. LH!Arthur just wants to see how many times he can make you finish before you pass out

- OR. If he’s feeling particularly dickish. He’ll just edge you. For hours. Days. Simply because he thinks it’s funny. And he’s a jerk.

- Prone bone is one of his favs. He can trap you in place, press your face into his pillow and go to town.

- lip biter. Absolutely will tug your bottom lip between his teeth mid make out

- Possessive. Likes leaving hickeys all over you. Especially where others can see them. And he doesn’t like you hiding them either. He wants people to know you’re his

- He’ll praise you but it’s usually pretty degrading too. Like think ‘ who’s my good lil whore, hm? ‘

- Loveeeessssssss You giving him head. Loves it. And will actively ask for it unlike HH!Arthur

- The sloppier the better, roughly fucking himself into your mouth until you gag and choke and urging you to keep going? Yeah he loves that shit. ‘ that’s it. Good girl choke on it ‘ ‘ you can do better than that princess ‘

- DARE I SAY IT. DARE I SAY LH!ARTHUR HAS A GUN KINK. CAUSE- cue my silent war flashbacks to that one Tess gun kink fic I wrote.

- Ass man. Will smack it and grab it every chance he gets. Whether it’s in the bedroom or not.

- Finishes on your face, tits,ass. Likes the look of it it fills some possessive desire inside him. Like he’s marking you.

- And he ain’t tryna get you pregnant

- he may be an absolute dick but he does give you some aftercare. He’s not the cuddly type. But he’ll help you clean up and kiss you, tell you you did a good job. He’ll always make sure you’re doing okay because he loves you

•High honour•

- Treats you like you’re delicate. Even if he knows you’re not. He’s tender. Gentle. He worships you. There is not a single inch of skin unkissed, caressed. Loved.

- He always wants you to come first. And multiple times too. But in a different way to LH!Arthur. He doesn’t want to overstimulate you he just wants to give. Hes such a giver. And he would happily spend an entire day with his head between his thighs if he could.

- Like. This man is a munch. He is. Argue with the wall. He is

- And he’s damn good at it. And thorough. Buries his damn face in you. And you’ve seen the size of his hands, those thick fingers of his make an appearance too. He knows your body well and can hit the perfect spot with practiced ease ‘ that’s it darlin, right there yeah?’

- He’s sloppy with it and he doesn’t care. If his beard isn’t glistening with you when he’s done then he didn’t do it right

- He likes missionary. So he can see your face and kiss you as much as he wants, he just loves to watch you. He likes to see the way he makes you feel, likes to watch the way your face twists and relaxes with the pleasure he gives you.

- Praise!!! So much praise!!!

- ‘Doin so fell f’me darlin takin me so well ‘ ‘ look so pretty like this ‘ ‘ eyes on me darlin, wanna see that pretty face when you come ‘

- Loves you playing/pulling his hair. Whether it’s when he’s got his head between your thighs or when he’s buried deep inside you and you’re desperately clawing at him. He loves it

- He’s a boobs typa guy. Loves to grab them and and suck on them, especially if you have your fingers running through his hair at the same time.

- He likes to finish inside despite the risk. But if not he’ll wait until the very last second and pull out, just spilling onto your stomach. He doesn’t wanna… defile you. You’re a precious creature worthy of being worshipped and desired, not treated like some cheap saloon girl.

- But deep down he wouldn’t even mind if you did get pregnant. He wants nothing more than to have a family with you one day.

- the sweetest aftercare. Cleans you up and helps you get dressed again. The act of dressing someone rather than undressing them is so intimate and he loves it.

- he’ll cuddle you and pet your hair, tell you how much he loves and adores you. How beautiful you are, how good you made him feel. He literally is a never ending fountain of praise.

[margowritesthings]

A Job Well Done

pairing: Arthur Morgan x reader (f) word count: 4944 words warnings: 18+ minors dni, sexually explicit, oral (f giving), rough oral, a little choking, a touch of voyeurism, explicit language, it's pretty much a blowjob fic authors note: idk what to say... this started as a little drabble because me and my fiancé love having a little smoke together at night and.... well, here we are I guess?? i hope you enjoy you lovely lot, and if you've asked to be tagged and you're not please let me know!! I have a new system for keeping track of my taglist and I may have lost some requests in the transfer

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @elifsukirdaghehe @reaveries @delilah-grimes @mrsarthurmorgan7 @twola@the-marsh-harrier @wildfloweroutlaw @photo1030 @luvliewriting@pine4pple-b0i *if i've missed you please let me know!!!*

You pull Arthur’s jacket tighter around your shoulders, settling into the old wooden chair while it creaks beneath you. Thanks to being in the middle of the Lemoyne swamps, it isn’t too cold despite the moon hanging so high in the sky above you, the jacket is more for comfort. From where you sit, you can see near the whole camp, watching lanterns flicker off incrementally as each member of your makeshift family retires for the night. A few of the boys stay up, drinking by the fire, their voices muffled and distant in the thick air.

It’s been a week to the day since you last saw Arthur, before he left to track a rather sizable bounty down and attempt to cushion out the camp funds, and God do you miss him. The days feel so much longer, nights so lonely you’ve considered saddling up and finding the bastard yourself just to bring him home sooner. Comfort can be found, though, in the ways Arthur’s presence has bled so deeply into your life that his physical being doesn’t even need to be here. 

His smell lingers on the jacket he left (the one he wore every day before he had to leave just so you could wear it when you missed him), that perfect mix of tobacco and whiskey and something so ineffably Arthur that you soak up every time you wrap it around your frame. 

He’s there in the routines you've built your lives around, intertwined as they are, the ones you can’t shake even if he’s not beside you. The cup of coffee in a morning, his so much better tasting than yours but you try anyway. The first morning after he left, you made two, ending up giving the extra to a very grateful Abigail to save face.

There’s a nightly routine, too. The one where you get ready for bed, then climb through the window to meet him on your balcony. He’s always there waiting with a cigarette hanging from his lips, patting his lap ready for you to crawl on. He’ll drag a match across his boot, (or sometimes the bottom of yours, if you’re still wearing them) lighting up the smoke before handing it to you. You’ll pass it between each other, catching up on your days, limbs entangled just how they should be as you watch Shady Belle fall asleep around you. 

Without him, those routines bring you comfort, grasping onto the remnants of your cowboy until his safe return. That’s why you’re sitting in this spot, pulling a cigar out of the little tin stash box Arthur left behind. Normally it’s just a cigarette, you could never survive a cigar a night and have the throat to tell the tale, but there’s something inexplicably Arthur about this brand of smokes, something you’re seeking tonight. 

You pluck a match from the tin, striking it against the table beside you, never having gotten the knack of igniting the thing on your boot as effortlessly as Arthur does, and light the cigar between your lips. The all-familiar woody essence dances across your tongue, your tired muscles relaxing from the first few tokes. 

It’s just you, the moon and the crickets as you sit on the balcony, Arthur’s smoke between your lips. You wonder what he’s doing. He should be sleeping, but knowing him he’s probably up planning, or doing exactly what you are right now. You pray he’s safe, hasn’t been gotten by the law or worse, gotten himself killed. You can’t let yourself even think about that, the very idea bringing a tremble to your limbs. To combat the sudden spike in anxiety, the next time you bring the cigar to your lips you drag in just that bit more smoke, letting it soak down your spine. Not nearly as experienced in smoking as Arthur, you cough a little, but you recover much quicker than you used to. 

Memories of that first time, of Arthur offering you the little brown stick and you nervously nodding, bring a little smile to your face. Oh, how you spluttered, Arthur giving you his drink on instinct, only realising that the whiskey burn would do the opposite of help once it was too late. You’d have been in your right mind to be embarrassed as hell, but by the way he chuckled as he rubbed circles around your back told you that he found it nothing but adorable. 

You sit there for a few minutes, basking in the precious peace so seldom found nowadays and taking a drag every now and then, the smoke riding a sigh from your lips. Your eyes slip closed, trying to shut off as many senses as you can to really connect with that smell and taste, imagining him emerging from your bedroom window to be here with you. 

He’s much less graceful than you are, often catching some part of his person on the windowsill when he climbs out onto the balcony. So many nights spent patching up little holes in his pant legs, right where that out sticking nail used to be in the frame before he ‘bested it in combat’ (i.e. pulled it out with a hunting knife and threw it ceremoniously in the lake). 

Manifestation is a powerful tool, you’ve always believed that, but you still nearly jump out of your skin when you feel a large hand grasp your shoulder just as you imagined, Arthur’s gruff, hushed whisper tickling the words “hey, sweetheart” into the skin of your neck. It takes you a second to catch your breath, heart racing from the shock before everything registers and reality sets in. 

“Arthur?”

He’s here.

“C’mere, darlin’.”

You fly out of your seat, the rickety old thing nearly splintering under the force, launching yourself into his open arms to burrow yourself into him.  Every part of him consumes your senses and you drink it all in like an addict. The smell, the real thing, much more of that Arthur essence than the whiskey or cigars, probably because he forewent breaks in his journey for those little pleasures to get back to you sooner. 

He seems to be taking you in as much as you are him, inhaling long through his nose and sighing it out contentedly, feeling whole again after so long without you in his arms.

“I missed ya’, beautiful.” He says softly into your hair, holding you tight against him, his knuckles brushing up and down the small of your back through layers of clothes you’ve stolen from him. 

“I missed you so much…” You mumble into his shirt, hardly able to breathe through the wall of hard chest muscle you’re pressed against, caring even less. 

It’s only then do you remember the cigar, forgotten and abandoned, smoking away on the table propped up on a jar lid turned makeshift ashtray. Most of the boys don’t bother with one, and neither did Arthur, until a fateful night a few months before you started dating when you first handed him the jar and told him you read something about birds and rabbits eating the butts of cigarettes. He kept the little piece of junk right next to his bedside, waiting for you to find it after that first night together. 

Arthur spots your momentary pull of attention, pulling his chest away to raise a brow down at you with a little chuckle rumbling his chest.

“Having a fancy smoke of a night, are we?” 

A cheeky little smirk- Arthur’s favourite, actually- tugs at the corner of your lips, waiting patiently for him to kiss it away.

“The smell reminds me of you…” you play coy, earring yourself that kiss when Arthur lifts you up to his height, kissing you softly, letting his world and yours fall back into place together. 

“Well I’m here now, angel. Wanna sit? Could do with a nice cigar with my girl to celebrate a job well done.” 

You’re eager to nod, heart fluttering at the prospect of getting to sit with him and hear all about his trip. He untangles from you to sit down first, patting his lap for you to crawl into. You fit perfectly together (you should do, you were made for eachother), head resting on his shoulder, legs splayed over his thighs with your arm draped over his shoulder. The cigar has gone out, so Arthur strikes a match so expertly on his spurs before shaking it out and placing his hand on the small of your back for support. You lean into him, watching him take puffs of the cigar and feeling the tiniest bit of tension leave his joints. He looks so natural with a smoke between his teeth, commanding an air of power with each movement he makes. Smoking doesn’t suit just everyone, you think, but God, does it suit him.

“We’re celebrating? You got the bastard, then?”

“Sure did,” he says, smoke spilling from his lips with each syllable. Arthur looks you over again, drinking in the dearly missed view, before kissing you on the forehead and flipping the cigar between his fingers to offer it up, “Eventually found him up in Fort Brennand, but he weren’t alone. Nearly lost a damn eye, but luckily only Woffard had to be brought in alive, so I dropped the other bastards and ran.”

You hang on his every word, your hero. You know he’s downplaying the fight, the danger of it all, but he does it so that you don’t worry every time he’s gone. It never works, and you always do, but you love him for trying. 

“Oh, Arthur, I’m so glad you’re alright…” You coo, pressing a hand to his cheek, feeling the weeks worth of stubble scratching against your palm. He nuzzles into your touch, not unlike a cat, and your find yourself keeping your hand there to mindlessly play with his hair, tipping his hat off to put on your own head. He chuckles, reaching to adjust it on you.

“Course I am, couldn’t leave you here all alone with this buncha’ fools, could I? Besides, someones gotta bring home the bacon around here, and you know Marston’s too trigger happy to bring a bounty in alive.”

“So you got the full price?” Your eyes gleam, the proudest smile on your features as Arthur nods and shifts both your weights for a moment to pull out a stack of bills and smack them on the table dramatically.

“You’re damn straight I did, baby.”

Of course he did. Arthur never fails, and God knows how much the camp needs this right now, freedoms diminishing by the day as Dutch makes more enemies and plans jobs that just seem to keep going wrong. But you don’t want to think about that right now. Right now, there is only you and Arthur, and the promise of a whole night spent with him uninterrupted. You hand him the cigar back, along with a stolen kiss, and he takes another mesmerising drag. The way he holds it, every so often tipping the ash into the first gift you ever gave him, it does things to you that you just can’t explain. It’s just a cigar, and yet you’re pressing your thighs together tight to futilely subdue the tightness coiling between them. 

“I’m so proud of you… I always am.” Unkempt locks of hair are twisted between your fingers, your face so close to Arthur’s you can pepper his cheek, temple and lips, whenever not occupied, with little kisses, Arthur’s hat sometimes tipping up against his forehead on your head. The two of you are always like this after a few days apart, unable to get enough of each other or keep your hands off one another. You shift your weight to access him better, catching his bottom lip between your teeth to press a long, tender kiss there. He hums under you, hand splaying under your jacket to grasp at your shirt. It’s seconds before you feel it, that hardening that nudges up against your thigh, prodding and reminding you just how much Arthur has missed you.

You pull away from the kiss, just enough to raise a teasing brow at how sensitive your cowboy is to your touch. He shrugs, unashamed, with that cheeky grin and those glistening eyes directed right at you. 

“What? I missed ya…” His words are accompanied with a pinch of your ass, which makes you writhe on top of his stiffness, the friction dragging a low growl from deep within his chest. 

“I can see that, cowboy… I missed you too. I missed you more.” You emphasise, nipping at his lip again and splaying your fingers across his chest. He rises to your touch, and you feel him stiffen more so under you. It takes a second of manoeuvring, but you’re soon straddling him, hovering above him like the angel he sees you to be. From this angle, with the moon behind you, you’re glowing. 

“You absolutely did not, you little siren…” He growls again, pulling at the flesh of your ass so that you’re grinding against him, the friction of denim against denim igniting you both and burning so wonderfully. 

“Oh, yeah? I can prove it.” There’s a little cock of your head, a raise of one teasing brow as you start to slide off him. He looks confused, disappointed, even, until your knees rest on the planks of wood on the balcony floor and he instinctively spreads his legs to give you the space between them. Your fingers splay across his thick thighs, and they tense under your touch, as does Arthur’s jaw. He’s starved after a week without you, clearly trying to reign in a control he’s struggling to possess. There’s no wonder, having his girl knelt before him like this. 

“You wanna take this to the bedroom?” He growls out, abandoning the still smoking cigar in the jar lid. You look up at him, peeking out from under the rim of his hat. 

“No.” You reach for the cigar, taking a few drags yourself before flipping it in your fingers just like he did and placing it between his teeth, “Finish your smoke.”

A distant laugh captures Arthur’s attention for a second, reminding you both just how close you are to the other gang members. You’re somewhat hidden by the railing, but if they looked in your direction, Arthur is fully visible from the chest up. A simple bob of your head- and you’re planning on plenty- would bring you into view. 

The look Arthur gives you when he quickly diverts his attention back from Marston and the others is downright feral, especially when your hands reach for his belt buckle. Nimble fingers make quick word of the obstruction, and you’re soon pulling Arthur’s thick, long length out from his jeans. He groans at your very touch, involuntarily bucking his hips up into your hand. 

You laugh, the sound a tempting little giggle as you tell him “Patience, cowboy…” 

He almost snarls in response, clearly having been goddamn patient enough over the last week where all he could do is fuck himself with your name on his lips and the thought of you knelt just like this between his legs at the forefront of his mind, always. 

Just as you lean in, when your soft lips trace over his rosy, swollen head, he pulls you back by plucking his hat from atop your head and throwing it to the side. He rests the cigar between the fingers of his free hand to free his mouth to speak to you.

“Need to see you while I fuck that pretty little moutha’ yours, angel…”

His words soak through you (and soak you through), and you just can’t wait a second longer, needy to have his cock deep down your throat, desperate for the burning of your lungs and the stinging in your eyes when he loses that control he so often vehemently clings to. 

Unable to wait a second longer, you run your tongue from base to tip, feeling every vein pulsing under your muscle and eliciting a deep groan from Arthur. When you finally take him in your mouth, his hand reaches to cup your cheek, following you down as you take as much of him as you can. 

“Fuck.” He groans, fingers reaching to tangle in your hair, scratching at your scalp. He’s probably louder than he should be, your eyes flickering to the general direction of the others as a warning, but they soon snap back to your cowboy, an intense eye contact burning at your skin as the head of his cock bumps the back of your throat. Arthur never takes his eyes off you, guiding you up and down his length and bringing the smoke to his lips. The tip of the cigar flares a deep, fiery orange, and smoke billows from his mouth with each laboured breath you coax from him. The way he’s sitting, fingers of one hand pulling at your hair, controlling your movements, and the other limply holding the smoke, he exudes a power many seek to master but never quite get. It makes your heart swell and your cunt throb for him, knowing on your knees before him is the only place you ever want to be, knowing only you inhabit it. 

You can taste Arthur, his salty essence leaking from the pure ecstasy you’re providing and spit pools in your throat, mixing with it and dribbling down your chin. Arthur catches it with his thumb, guiding you off his cock to push the digit into your mouth and let you suckle from it. You do, hungrily, adjusting on your knees to better take Arthur deep down your throat and-

“Arthur! That you?” 

Marston. 

For eyes widen at each other, Arthur instinctively pushing you a little lower by your shoulder to keep you out of sight. John hasn’t seen you, and you’d like to keep it that way, being in the incriminating position you are between Arthur’s legs. 

You spot the irritated sigh, the twitch of Arthur’s jaw as he plasters a fake friendliness onto his features and peers over the balcony to see his brother standing on the clearing below. 

“Sure is. Whatchu’ want?”

Straight to the point.

“We didn’t hear you get back. How long’ve you been here?”

All that tension you’ve worked so hard to dissipate comes back to Arthur’s form with a crashing force. You can almost hear his plea for just one second a’ goddamn peace, merely by the way he sighs before answering. 

“Not long, thought I’d try and sneak past you fools and get some shut eye.”

Subtle, cowboy.

Ever oblivious, or simply not caring, John continues, “How’d it go, then? You got the bastard?”

He has you pressed against his thigh to hide you from sight, cock standing to attention right beside your face. It’s too tempting, especially with a none the wiser Marston stood right below. When your tongue darts out, hovering above Arthur’s twitching, aching cock, his eyes flick down to you, warning residing deep in his eyes. You take it as less of a warning, more a challenge.

You wouldn’t.

Oh, but I would.

And you do. You lift up, just enough to fit the head of his throbbing cock past your lips and slide the whole length in. It bumps the back of your throat, but upon hearing Arthur’s strangled, poorly hidden groan, you can’t seem to stop yourself.

“Y-uh… Yeah, I got ‘em…” 

It’s impressive, how he can just about hold a conversation despite his cock being so far down your throat his balls rest on your chin. 

You can’t see John, but you can only imagine how his head must tilt and his brows must pull together at the strange response from Arthur. 

“You alright, brother?”

He won’t be.

You blink up at Arthur, feigning an innocent, near angelic expression as you inhale through your nose and push him even further into you. You hum, low and quiet, letting the vibrations pass through him. Arthur whimpers, instantly knocking any and all sounds you’ve ever heard from top spot and replacing them as your favourite in the whole world. 

“I-I’m fine. Just tired.” He tries to hint again, to no avail. His fingers are digging into your shoulder with a bruising force, that control slipping bit by bit with every passing second, every little movement. Tears prick at your eyes, that burning in your lungs you’ve been reaching for finally igniting. You’re stuffed with him, feeling so full that it’s hard to breathe. When you go to release him, to be able to gasp for precious air, you realise you can’t, Arthur’s huge hand holding you right in place with his palm flush against the back of your neck. Revenge. 

“Where’s the Mrs?”

A raise of a brow. You’re not married, but everything is so naturally right between you and Arthur that the gang just seem to have defaulted to that. It makes you beam, wanting nothing more than to be this man’s wife, the kind of wife that makes him cum down your throat while he has a menial conversation. 

“S-She’s- fuck…” When he grips harder at you, you gag around his length, tears now streaming down your cheeks and mixing with your spittle and the little bits of precum that leak out from Arthur. “She’s in bed. I-I better go check on her, a-actually.” He whimpers again, fingers now gripping into your hair to keep you in place. You’re not sure how much longer you can last like this, struggling to breathe, overflowing and, God, so wet for him. 

John sounds unconvinced. You’d giggle, if you could.

“Alright… Well, g’night, brother.”

Arthur barely manages a grunt, and you can feel his thighs tensing and twitching from the sheer effort of not bucking his hips up into you and giving the pair of you away. He stills, most likely waiting for Marston to fuck off already, before he rips you away from him and pulls you to your feet, gripping your aching jaw with force enough force to keep it open. 

“You goddamn siren.” He isn’t mad. He’s trying to be, but you know Arthur far too well, and he’s burning with a fire far hotter than mere anger. Need. 

The mischievous glint in your eye is all you can offer for response, what with his iron grip on your face, but you do manage to slip your tongue out and lick the pad of his thumb, tasting the mixture of fluids still lingering. 

It’s all getting too much, knowing what you just did and who you did it around, hearing Arthur unable to string a sentence together because of you. You don’t think you’ve ever been so turned on in your life, so desperate for a release that you’re pathetically writhing in Arthur’s hold. He notices, forced anger on his features replaced with a cockiness that only comes from knowing he’s regaining the power in the situation. 

Your cheeks tingle when he releases you, sitting back in the seat and leaning back, one elbow resting on the arm of the old wooden chair and picking the cigar back up. God, you could ride him in that chair till morning, if you thought the wood wouldn’t splinter under the force. 

“You gonna finish what you started, my little siren?” He asks, taking an especially long toke from the smoke while he waits for you to drop to your knees before him. Your cunt throbs, screaming out for his attention, but it would seem your antics have earned you punishment. 

Your knees hit the wood with a force, though an involuntary whimper escapes you, hips grinding pathetically against nothing. Arthur notices, smirking like a goddamn cheshire cat at his little wanton whore. 

“Patience, angel.” Your own words echo back to you like a slap in the face. You definitely deserve this.

The grip you had on the power in this game you’re playing with Arthur officially disappears when his hand snakes around the back of your neck, grasping at your hair and winding it around his wrist like a leash. You have to tilt your head so the tugging at your scalp is a mere burn rather than a sharp pain, but that’s just where he wants you. 

“Now, little siren, I’m gonna teach ya’ some manners, and you’re gonna finish what you started, alright? And if you’re a good girl, maybe I’ll think about getting that sweet little cunt of yours off…”

It’s all it takes, the promise of Arthur’s fingers deep inside you while he sucks on your clit just how you like it, lapping up your juices like a man starved, and the defiance in your eyes dissipates. Arthur bends you to his whim, messy, sloppy putty in his hands as he drags you onto his weeping cock. You’re all but drooling for him, leaking out of the corners of your mouth when he slips into you. Your scalp tingles with the pull, especially when Arthur involuntarily tightens his grip with a hiss of his breath. His tip bumps the back of your throat, but he doesn’t stop even when you’ve fit all of him in that you can.

“Fuck, good girl, just like that baby girl…” he groans, and when you open your eyes to look up to him, he is watching you with a gaze so intense you feel like it could tear you apart. The tension burns between you, coiling so tight the chirp of a nearby cricket could snap it. 

There’s an unspoken question in your eyes when you start to nearly choke on his length of when you’ll be released, but his eyes darken, “Come on, baby, you can take more, can’t you?” 

He seems to register your fear, but it phases him little. It seems more a challenge, really, coaxing him into rocking his hips into you, pushing you even further onto his cock until you feel it start to breach past your throat in a way you didn’t even know possible. You splutter, wriggling and writhing as you try your hardest to breathe through your nose. 

“Shh… good girl,” he coos, a ravenous look taking over your usually so lovable cowboy. You’ve pushed him, and God do you live for it. “Not much further… wanna see you take all of my cock, alright? You gonna do that for me, angel?” 

You can’t nod, but it isn’t much of a question, not much choice available with your limited movements and the way Arthur has completely commandeered your body. You’re irrevocably his, body and soul. 

It doesn’t feel possible to fit more of him in, your throat burning for relief that won’t come until Arthur is satisfied, but when he bucks his hips into you, you feel his base press against your nose. He groans hard, the noise initially from the sensation of having your throat wrapped around his cock, but when he sees the sight of you, tear stained and gagging on him, the moan is pulled out into a noise of pure ecstasy. 

“Good girl… my good fuckin’ girl.” 

His thumb rubs lovingly over your wet cheek, a sensation you cling to as the corners of your vision get fuzzy. Fuck, you’re not sure how much longer you can hold out, but you’re so desperate to feel Arthur’s spend trickling down your throat, feel him lose control and moan just for you that you’d honestly be willing to die for it. 

Your expression, complete with lust-fogged, watery eyes, and beautifully flushed skin, teases the last of Arthur’s restraint like a razor thin blade against that final thread. When it finally snaps, you’re allowed one gasp for air, before he’s thrusting back into you hard. You can feel him stiffen, even more so than before, as his hips splutter into your mouth and he starts to tumble over the precipice into that realm of pleasure that only the two of you share. 

“F-Fuck, sweetheart, I’m gonna-” But he interrupts himself with a visceral, primal groan, the vibration of it shattering the both of you. You take advantage of his practically inebriated state to regain some of your own anatomy, managing to swirl your tongue around his pulsing head inside your mouth. The hot, salty spend blooms across your tongue at that, Arthur guiding you by the cheek to bob up and down on his cock while he paints your throat white. His moans are a melody you’ll never tire of, animalistic and vulnerable all the same. 

It feels like it never stops, Arthur’s spend filling your mouth up and leaking out from the corners of your lip. You can hardly stay still, writhing your needy cunt against your own heel, desperate for a reward you’re earning when you look him in the eye and swallow it all down. Pride blooms across Arthur’s features, saturated with a love that warms you from the inside out. His thumb caresses your face softly, wiping the tear tracks as you finally release his cock from your mouth and he guides you to your feet, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then nose, then lips.

“My good girl…” He coos, barely above a whisper as you breathe each other in, both as breathless as the other. Your throat aches, your jaw burning, but you’d do it a thousand times over to experience what you just did all over again. 

“Now…” He splits the sentence with another kiss, catching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, “Get on inside, sweetheart, I think you’ve earned yourself a reward.”

[strvberrydoll]

Rosemary

Summary: Kidnapped in the middle of the night you’re dragged far away from camp by the ruthless Lemoyne Raiders. Your disappearance a painful wound for Arthur who has to, quite literally, fight for your love back.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

AO3 link

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Content: angst, hurt/comfort (finallyyy !!!) description of gun fight, kidnapping, heavy themes

wc: 5k

a/n: so we’ve finally come to the end of this silly little story. The comfort is finally here woohoo !! I’m actually kinda proud of this chapter because I tried a different approach to writing and idk,, i like it. Thank you from the bottom of my heart to every single one of you who liked Rosemary and filled my days with love, I’ll forever be grateful to all of you. A slightly better version of Rosemary will be posted on my ao3 account along with a new series im writing following John Marston and the reader. The plot for it will be revealed in a few days. As always let me know what you think of this chapter <33 (gif from pinterest)

Pain.

The very first thing you noticed was the pain—a sharp, throbbing agony spreading from the back of your head to the front. You winced as you tried to move your hands to support your head but your limbs felt heavy, almost as if you were trying to lift one of Pearson’s flour bags.

Everything was dark. A muffled piercing sound rang through your skull. You blinked, trying to clear your vision, but failing as the pitch darkness of the thick woods clouded your vision. Trying your hardest to get out of your dream-like state you decided to focus your mind on what exactly was happening, the last thing you remembered was your fight with Arthur and taking a walk into the woods outside camp. And then the pain. Oh, the pain was killing you.

You had to go back to camp and ask Reverend Swanson for some medicine.

You once again tried to raise your hands to your head to check for blood but your action, unfortunately, was unsuccessful. And then you felt it. The rough, scratching sensation of rope digging into your wrists. Your arms were bound tightly behind your back, the coarse braided fibers of the rope biting into your skin with every slight movement. Panic flooded your mind, its freezing tide rushing down on you as you realized that you were tied up.

“She’s comin’ to. We better hurry up before she starts and give us trouble,” A low, hoarse voice cut through your panic haze.

From your lying position, what seemed like the figure of a large man could be made out approaching you in the darkness. You felt yourself being hoisted roughly into the air, before you were slung harshly like a sack of potatoes, across something hard. A horse, you judged by the pungent smell of hay that invaded your nostrils. The saddle dug painfully into your side as the animal began to move forward under the command of its rider. The sudden movement made you almost throw up, your head pounding rhythmically with each rapid beat of hooves on the woods ground. You wanted to scream but no sound escaped your throat, the pain in your body too intense. As the horse rode further and further into the woods you could feel your consciousness slowly slip away,

‘Arthur,’ you managed to utter before darkness took over you.

The second time you awoke, it was due to the biting cold of dawn. The sky above was just starting to lighten, the first rays of sunrise penetrating through the dense treetops, coloring everything in pale hues. You were lying on the ground again, your body stiff and muscles aching. You shivered uncontrollably, teeth chattering together, your dress doing a poor job at keeping you warm, as you tried your best to gather your scattered thoughts. The men were still nearby, the sound of their hushed voices mixing with the rustling of leaves blowing in the wind. Despite the overwhelming pain and tiredness you felt washing all over your body you forced yourself to stay awake.

You rolled to the side as best as you could, mud staining the soft colored fabric of your dress and cheeks, trying to find out where they had taken you. You knew you had to think clearly, to find a way out of this nightmare. Your eyes, although blurred, scanned the area in front of you. You were in the Bayou area, the shadow of tall trees and surrounding swamp a dead giveaway of the location and judging by the various bottles of moonshine all over the place, your kidnappers probably took you to an old moonshine distillery camp.

“You sure she’s worth all this trouble?” a high pitched voice asked.

“What, a beauty like her ? Absolutely partner,” another man responded, his tone cruel. “Just keep her quiet until the boss comes back, then we’ll have ourselves a real party,” he added laughing.

Fear gripped your chest like a vise—you could hear footsteps approaching, quick and heavy. Rough hands grabbed you by the shoulders, flipping you over onto your back, your eyes focusing just enough to see the blurred outline of a man’s face looming above you, the bitter smell of liquor and tobacco taking over your senses, the end of his yellow scarf tied around his neck dangling down in front of you. Lemoyne raiders.

“Well, look who’s finally awake,” he muttered, his voice dripping with mockery as he smiled down at you. He took out a small pocket knife from his satchel leaning in closer. The blade flashed in front of your eyes as he lowered it down to your cheek, slowly moving it down towards your neck without breaching your skin.

Your breath caught up in your throat, your chest rising and falling rapidly making you lightheaded as the blade touched the sensitive skin of your neck. Your heart pounded so violently in your chest that it made you physically sick. A strained whimper left your lips as tears welled up in your eyes blurring your vision. You were completely frozen in place, terrified under the man’s knife. The man menacingly laughed at the sound you let out, flashing his yellow teeth at you, satisfaction evident in his cold eyes.

He roughly manhandled you up by your arm, his tight grip leaving dark bruises on your skin as your feet dragged in the mud. The man pushed you inside a decaying wooden cabin, its interior surprisingly worse than the exterior, you noted as you were sat down on a small chair positioned in the corner of the entrance room, far away from the door.

Another man, much smaller than the previous one, grabbed you by your hair lifting your face towards his making you wince.

“You’re gonna stay nice ‘nd quiet Miss,” he said before stuffing your mouth with a dirty piece of cloth, the bitter taste of dirt making you gag.

The two men spared you one last glance, a satisfied expression painting their faces, before leaving the cabin to join their other men outside, locking you in.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

The usual cheerful chirping of birds coming from the trees surrounding Clemens Point camp acted as a morning alarm for Arthur. The chill morning air biting at his exposed ankles, his blanket messily tangled up his torso as a result of the restless night he spent tossing and turning, waiting for you to come back. He knew that following you was the wrong choice. You wanted some space from him and he respected that, but his heart couldn’t help but ache at the missing warmth of your body in his bed. He waited and waited for you, his eyes growing heavy as he rehearsed in his mind all the ways he could make it up to you, until his body succumbed to its tiredness and fell asleep.

Putting on his hat he lazily walked towards the coffee brewer on the campfire near the ladies’ tents, his mind replaying the events of the night. The way you looked at him as if he had just shoved a knife into your chest, your pretty eyes bloodshot and puffy from the constant crying. Your trembling form making its way out of your shared tent hunting his mind like a vengeful ghost. He loathed himself for that. It was his damn fault. He had to make it right and he’d do anything to take all the pain he caused away.

Sure you had slept with the girls since you never made it back to your tent last night, he expected to find you chatting away with Tilly as the both of you usually prefered to start early on your morning chores, his steps carrying him with a determined aura, but once he made it in front of the ladies’ tents you were not there. His face scrunched up in confusion as a small glimmer of concern planted its root in his head. That same glimmer grew rapidly as he darted his eyes around camp seeing no signs of your presence.

“Arthur,” the gentle sound of Abigail’s voice snapped him out of his turmoil.

“Abigail, hi.” he answered absently, eyes still scanning the camp’s grounds in hope of catching a glimpse of you.

“Look, I don’t want to be nosy but is everything alrigh’ between you two ? I heard you two yelling last night, she was pretty shaken up before you arrived”

“Yes, no—I don’t know. We had an argument, and she didn’t sleep in our bed last night. Can't blame her really, but I can’t seem to find her,” he explained, concern radiating out of every fiber in his body “Have you seen her ?”

“No, not since last night. Maybe she just needs some time alone” she reassured, placing her hand on his shoulder. The gesture soothing his worried thoughts.

“Yeah maybe you’re righ—“ Arthur didn’t get to finish his sentence as the cutting voice of Leopold Strauss interrupted him.

“Herr Morgan, Herr Morgan. Busy, my friend ?” The Austrian man approached him, a folded piece of paper in hand.

Arthur's shoulders dropped. He dreaded working for Strauss, but the older man was persistent, always ready with another fella to squeeze dry for some cash. Sure, the money helped keep the gang afloat, put food on the table, and clothes on the backs of the women and children, but the work, well, the work was dirty. It was the kind of work that gnawed at a man’s conscience.

“What is it now,” Arthur turned to face him, Abigail excusing herself, patting his back before leaving to wake Jack up. Strauss handed him the piece of paper, fortunately for Arthur only one name was scribbled down. ‘Gwyn Hughes’

“He’s an undertaker in Rhodes, he shouldn’t be giving you any trouble but he’s a slippery fellow. Just scare him and collect the debt” he explained. Arthur sighed accepting the job, wondering when all this loan sharking business would come to an end. You always hated when he’d go out dealing with Strauss’ business, saying how the gang should steal from the rich to help the poor and not steal from the poor to help the poor. He knew deep down inside of him you were right, but unfortunately money is money and with the gang’s situation looking far from good, every single cent counted.

He put the paper in his satchel before walking towards the hitching post, his gaze falling on your Tennessee Walker before mounting his horse.

“Oi english!” Sean called out from his lookout post “you look like shit this mornin’”

“Yeah well, don’t I always,” Arthur groaned before signaling his horse to move forward.

The collection of the debt turned out stranger than Arthur ever imagined. As it turned out Gwyn Hughes, the debtor, planned to pay back his debt by robbing a woman’s grave and as if that wasn’t enough he tasked Arthur to clear the cemetery and eventually stop the people from coming in. By noon, Arthur left Rhodes with a diamond brooch, a few bruises on his face and a confused conscience.

He returned to camp exhausted, his body and mind heavy, the dirty work weighed heavily on him as he hitched his horse near camp. All he wanted now was to see you, hear the sweet sound of your voice, even if you’d yell at him. He just wanted to see you. But as he ventured inside the camp, the usual hum of chatter was gone, the atmosphere heavy. Something was off. Abigail and Sadie were the first to come up to him, Abigail face pale while Sadie scanned around camp anxiously.

“Arthur,” the brunette called out, her voice rising with an edge of worry as they hurried towards him. “She ain’t been back”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat “Wha—What do you mean she ain’t been back ? Nobody’s seen her ?”

“Last time I saw her was last night, I was on lookout and saw her headin’ out towards the woods, thought she was goin’ for a walk” Sadie explained, her expression filled with worry. “I asked ‘round camp and no one has seen her today”

His stomach dropped as numerous possibilities of what could’ve happened to you flashed through his mind. Without muttering a word to the two women, Arthur stormed over to Dutch’s tent, the latter standing outside talking to Hosea about the recent developments on the Gray-Braithwaite situation. The moment they saw Arthur approaching their conversation dissolved, the look on his face signaling them that something was off.

“What’s the matter Arthur ?” Dutch asked, concern dancing in his eyes.

“It’s about her, she went out last night and no one has seen her since” he explained, his voice strained. Dutch expression hardened

“You think something happened to her ?”

“I do, yeah”

“Alright then better move quickly, Charles! Bill !” Dutch called, his voice reverberating across the camp calling out the two men. “Arthur’s Miss is missing. I want you two to go out with him, see if you can track her down. The others, I want all eyes on the perimeters of camp, if she comes back you holler. Nobody moves from camp.”

Charles, who had been crafting some poisonous arrows near by the campfire, quickly dropped his task as he listened to what happened. He quickly gathered all his gear and began to move towards the horses, Bill just a few paces behind him.

“We’ll find her, Arthur. She’s gonna be okay” Hosea consoled him, but the older man's words did little to calm Arthur’s racing heart.

Within minutes, the three men were mounted on their horses and heading into the woods where Sadie had last seen you. Arthur’s mind was racing, a dangerous storm of fear and anger bubbling beneath the surface. He couldn’t lose you, not like this. Not after everything that happened.

The woods were dense, the tall trees casting deep shadows that made it difficult to see much of anything, but luckily Charles was an expert tracker, the hunter’s keen eyes scanning every inch of the ground for any sign of you.

After what felt like an eternity for Arthur, Charles held up his hand, signaling the other two men to stop. He dismounted Taima and crouched down, examining something on the ground. Arthur quickly joined him, his breath catching in his throat as he saw what his friend had found.

It was her bracelet, the golden one he had gifted you for your first anniversary. The small wristlet laid in the dirt, the delicate chain now broken. Arthur felt the whole world crashing down on him as he picked it up, his hands shaking in a mix of anger and fear.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

As the hours dragged on, you struggled to stay alert. The pain in your head had dulled to a persistent ache, but every muscle in your body screamed in protest with every small movement. Your wrist burned, blood dripping down your hands as you tried to wriggle them out of your ropes, the process slow and agonizing, but you could feel the ropes loosening further and further. You just needed to grit your teeth through the pain. The men had become less concerned about you, talking and drunkenly laughing amongst themselves, making you nauseous at their inhumanity.

Then a man entered the cabin, followed by two others behind him. He was tall and well built, his hairline receding leaving his hair to hang awkwardly on the sides. By the way he dragged himself around you deduced he was their leader. He crouched down beside you, his face dangerously close to yours, his breath fanning in your face making you scrunch your nose at the rancid smell of his breath. He reached out to check your ropes, tightening them furthermore, the action causing bolts of pain to shoot through your body.

“What was a pretty lady like yourself doing all alone in the woods mh?” He took out the now drenched piece of cloth out of your mouth. You swallowed, feeling your dry throat burning at the action.

You couldn’t muster the strength to respond. Your head lolled to the side as the man stepped back, a sinister grin plastered on his face. Then a harsh, stinging sensation hit your cheek.

“I said what were you doing all alone in the woods, slut” Tears welled in your eyes, both from the pain and the hopelessness of your situation. Your thoughts kept drifting back to Arthur. You had to hold on, had to find a way to escape, if not for yourself, then for him. He would come for you—you knew it deep down in your heart, but you needed to survive until then.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

Arthur’s eyes burned with anger and fear. He clenched his fists around the bracelet, his mind racing. “She was here,” Charles said quietly, his voice grim. “And she wasn’t alone. Look at these tracks, it seems like there was a struggle. She was taken.”

“By who?” asked Bill.

Charles pointed his finger to the ground, where the faint outline of various boot prints led away from their spot. “Judging by the tracks, it looks like a group of men. Three, maybe four. Could be Lemoyne Raiders. They must’ve grabbed her and taken her somewhere nearby. At this point the only place near is the old moonshine distillery.”

Arthur’s blood ran cold at the thought of you in the hands of the Raiders. The Lemoyne Raiders were known for their brutality, his encounter a few weeks prior with Sadie confirmed their reputation. The thought of what they could be doing to you filled him with a rage so intense it nearly consumed him.

“We find their hideout, and we get her out,” Arthur said through gritted teeth, already mounting up on his horse “I’m gonna kill all them goddamned bastards. I don’t care what it takes.”

Mounting their horses they followed the tracks, the three men riding fast through the woods. Thankfully it hadn’t rained so the trail was still clearly visible. It led them deeper into the Bayou region, the trees growing thicker and the air heavier with humidity and tension.

Finally, after what felt like hours, they spotted the moonshine distillery through the trees. It was a crumbling mess of buildings, half-hidden by the vegetation in the shadows, but there was no mistaking it. A few horses were tethered outside, and faint light flickered from the windows of an old cabin.

Arthur’s heart pounded as he dismounted. Charles and Bill followed him as they hid behind a crumbled stone wall, his hand instinctively reaching for his gun. Their eyes scanned the area, there was a man guarding the horses while a group of five others were sitting near by the campfire, drinking and laughing with each other. He exchanged a quick glance with Bill and Charles. This was it. They’d kill those bastards outside, storm the cabin, take out anyone who stood in their way, and get you out of there.

“Let’s go, I’ll take that guard near the horses out” Bill whispered, his voice steady with resolve. He made quick work of killing the guard, his knife glimmering just a second in the light before settling into the man’s neck. Charles and Arthur joined Bill in action. Arthur was the first to shoot his gun, the bullet piercing clean through one of the men’s chest. Then all hell broke loose.

Bullets went flying as the Lemoyne Raiders spotted them, the air filled with smoke and gunpowder as both sides fought violently. Their position didn’t offer too much cover, the Lemoyne Raiders, although drunk, fought hard, their guns never stopping. A stray bullet scraped Arthur’s arm but that didn’t stop him as he barely registered it. His mind was singularly focused on one thing—getting to you before it was too late. And in just a few minutes Arthur, Charles and Bill managed to take down all five men outside. Moving quickly out of their cover they reached the front of the cabin, and with a nod from Arthur, they burst through the door.

Chaos erupted as they stormed inside. The few Lemoyne Raiders inside the cabin barely had time to react before Bill and Charles opened fire, cutting them down where they stood. Arthur moved with deadly precision, his eyes scanning the room for any sign ofyou. And then he saw you, tied to a chair in the corner of the room, your face bruised, wrist bloody but alive. You were alive

The last of the Raiders fell as Arthur rushed to your side, his hands quickly working to untie the ropes that bound you so tightly. Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice, you thought this was just your mind playing tricks but tears welled up in your eyes falling rapidly down your face when you realized it wasn’t your mind playing tricks, it was really him. Arthur had found you.

“Arthur,” you barely whispered, your voice hoarse and weak.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Arthur murmured, his voice shaking as he finally freed you from the chair. He quickly checked you for more injuries before pulling you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he’d never let go. “I’ve got you sweetheart. You’re safe now.” You were still in shock from the whole ordeal, overwhelmed by the mix of emotions—fear from the attack, but also a deep, undeniable relief that Arthur was there with you. In this moment you both forgot your fight, your mixed feelings and both held each other, the intensity of the moment washing over you. You held each other for a few seconds longer before separating. A strange turmoil of emotion took over you as you looked around the room seeing the body of your kidnappers unmoving on the ground. Unable to look at them a second more you diverted your attention back to the group of outlaws in front of you.

The first who broke the silence that fell around you was Bill, awkwardly clearing his throat before adding “We need to get movin’ all this gunfight definitely caught someone’s attention”

Arthur offered his hand to you and you took it, using it as leverage to get yourself up to your feet. Your vision spotting for a second before coming back. You didn’t find in your heart to let go of his hand, his warm skin offering you peace. They escorted you out towards the horses. Arthur helping you up on his before sitting behind you, his strong arms holding you tightly to his chest giving you support. The last thing you felt was Arthur chaste kiss on your temple before you let yourself fall asleep.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm orange glow over the camp as the day slowly faded into night. The air was cool, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the trees surrounding your tent. Inside the tent, the air was still, heavy with unspoken words and lingering tension.

You were finally out of the cot after three days of recovery. The girls had come to check up on you in the morning, bringing you a mug of coffee and a pack of chocolate biscuits Mary Beth had managed to steal from the general store. The pain had dulled, your wounds were slowly healing, but the ache in your heart was still fresh, raw from everything that had happened. Arthur had barely left your side the entire time, his presence a constant, quiet comfort, but the words exchanged between you could count on your fingers. The silence between you two was loaded, filled with everything unsaid, with everything that had been tearing at you long before the kidnapping.

The both of you were now in your shared tent, you sat on the edge of the bed absently tracing the edge of an empty tin cup of peaches with your fingers. The room felt suffocating, but you knew you couldn’t keep avoiding this conversation any longer. The memory of those letters, the sight of Arthur and Mary together in Rhodes, his lies. it all still stung, a wound that hadn’t yet healed.

Arthur was seated on the small chair at the foot of the bed, his head hung low, hands toying with the rope that wrapped around his worn hat, face brim as if bracing himself for what was to come. He had watched over you, cared for you, over the past three days but there was a palpable distance between you two now that neither of you could ignore. You could see the lines of worry etched into his face, the guilt that had been gnawing at him for days.

Finally, you broke the silence. Your voice barely above a whisper “Arthur, we need to talk.”

He looked up at you, his aqua eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and something else, something that made your heart ache more at his sight. “I know,” he replied quietly, his voice rough and tired from the last couple sleepless nights. “I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout what happened, before all this mess.”

You took a deep breath, gathering the strength you needed to confront him, to confront the hurt that had been tearing at your heart. “You lied to me, Arthur. About the letters, about Mary. About everything.”

He winced at your words, the truth of them hitting him hard. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “I thought—I thought if I didn’t tell you, it would hurt less. That it wouldn’t matter, ‘cause it was supposed to be nothin’. But it was a mistake. I should’ve been honest with you from the start.”

Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, the pain of those memories sharp like the ghost of the tip of the Lemoyne Raider’s knife on your neck. “I saw you two together, Arthur. In Rhodes. You both looked so happy. It felt like, like my worst fears were coming true. Like I was losing you.”

Arthur stood up slowly, taking a tentative step in front of you. His hand reached out, but he stopped mid air, hesitating as if he wasn’t sure if he had the right to touch you. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he repeated, his voice thick with emotion. “Mary, she just needed help after the passing of her husband. She didn’t have anyone else to turn to and I didn’t have the guts to shut her down. So I helped her. I didn’t want to drag you into it ‘cause I didn’t want you to worry.”

You looked up at him, searching his face for the truth. “But you lied, Arthur. And that hurt more than anything.”

He nodded, his expression pained. “I know. I know, and I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to make things worse between us. But I can see now that I did that anyway by not bein’ honest.” A tear slipped down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away, trying to keep your composure. “I love you, Arthur. But I can’t live like this, I can’t live wondering if there’s something you’re not telling me, if there’s a part of you that’s still with her.”

Arthur’s face scrunched with regret. “There ain’t. I swear to you, there ain’t. She’s from another life, a life I walked away from a long time ago. Jt’s you I love darlin’. It’s always been you.”

You looked down at the tin cup in your hands the juice residue sloshing as you toyed with the cup, your fingers trembling with the heavy weight of your next decision. “I don’t know if I can just forget what happened Arthur, it hurt too much.”

He stepped closer, this time his hand gently cupped your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “I don’t expect you to forget. All I’m askin’ you is to try. Try give us another chance. I’ll do better, I swear it. I’ll be honest with you, about everything. No more secrets.”

His touch was warm as his thumb stroked your cheek, comforting you and despite the hurt, you couldn’t deny that bright flame of love that still burned inside of you for him. You met his eyes, seeing the sincerity, the sheer desperation in them. He made a stupid mistake of thinking for you, but he was now acknowledging his mistake, he was willing to try and be a better man for you, a man you could see your future into.

You let your tears fall freely now as you nodded, your voice barely a whisper. “I want to try, Arthur. I want to believe in you, in us again.”

He kneeled down to your height and held you into his arms, holding you close as you cried against his chest, the tension of the past days finally breaking down. His hand gently stroked your hair, his voice a low murmur of comfort in your ear.

“We’ll make it work, I promise. We’ll get through this.”

[cowboydisaster]

Christmas countdown request:

Have you ever sat in a hot tub while it's snowing? It's a magical experience. Your top is chilly, your bottom half is so warm, and if you look directly up at the falling snow it looks like the stars are floating down around you.

Anyway, Arthur should take reader skinny dipping in a hot spring and it starts snowing and they get to enjoy that magical moment while cuddling naked in the hot spring 😁

* ˚ ✦ Nightfall * ˚ ✦

pairing: arthur morgan x f!reader word count: 1.9k a/n: OKAY-- i have experienced this and i LOVE it. I couldn't help myself from writing the smut, really. Smut in a hot spring is too good. I'm obsessed with this. warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, thigh riding, inexperienced reader, cowgirl

cowboydisaster's christmas countdown: TWO days 'till christmas!

christmas countdown┊main masterlist┊rdr2 masterlist

The breeze is cold against your bare skin, the snow soft against your feet.

“Are you sure this won't hurt?” You ask again, eyes flickering over towards Arthur. He chuckles as he unbuttons the bottom of his shirt, slipping it off his shoulders and letting it fall to the rocky ground. 

“Yes, I'm sure.” He says, amused. 

“Why did we have to wait ‘till nightfall?” You ask, teeth chattering, hand running up your bare arm, over the goosebumps that are appearing. 

“You’ll see. C’mon, darlin, before ya catch a cold.” Arthur whispers, hand on the small of your back as he leads you across the flat rocks, towards an unknown destination. 

He’d wanted to surprise you, had planned this little trip weeks ago. Your horses eye the landscape curiously, not daring to leave the forest and venture out onto the strange, warm rocks. A nervous smile rests on your lips, a slight anxiety resting in your stomach. Arthur doesn’t miss the shudder in your breathing, nor the beating of your heart in your ears. Wishing to quell your hesitation, Arthur reaches for your hand, squeezing it gently in his own.

“You trust me?” He whispers, green eyes searching yours, and you nod. Hand in hand, you both venture across the rock. Arthur smiles for the way you marvel at their heat. The snow melts away from them, and small bubbling puddles of water rest at your feet. You raise an eyebrow, never having seen anything like it. 

“Where are we?” You ask, looking down, seeing more water, ponds and pools of it, hot and steaming. The warm pools are crystal blue, and seem to glow in the pitch black of night. 

“Cotorra Springs.” Arthur smiles.

Your eyes go wide, taking in the beauty and the wonder of the hot springs. Arthur leads you towards a particularly large one, and you study it. The way the water steams, warmed by some forces in the earth, the way the moon reflects in the strangely clear waters, the halo of light that shines out from the circle in the earth. 

Arthur watches your curiosity with loving eyes. He knows that you were very sheltered, and he’s trying to show you as much of the world’s beauty as he can. The wonders of nature are something that he often takes for granted, but not you. Every flower you come across, every landscape and every animal you meet is met with deep wonder and appreciation. Seeing the way you study, how your eyes light up at something new is… enchanting for him.. 

“Is it magical?” You whisper, your eyes filled with stars reflected from the water. You lean down, running your fingers through the spring, pulling away quickly at the warmth. You look to Arthur for reassurance, relaxing when you see him stepping down into the water. 

“Reckon it might just be.” He hums, extending a hand out to you. You take his calloused hand, letting him help you. Your toe meets the water first, and you pull it back, hesitating. 

“S’alright, sweetheart. I gotcha.” Arthur whispers, and trusting him wholly, you step in. 

The warm water envelops you, chasing away the chill that had been sinking into your bones. Arthur sits on the naturally carved ledge in the spring. You hesitate, but he nods– signaling that you’re okay– and you follow.

“Incredible, ain’t it?” Arthur whispers, head tilted back, looking up at the stars. The snowfall combined with the bright stars enrapture your attention, and you stare at the sky, wondering if it’s the snow falling onto your tongue, or the stars themselves. 

“It’s beautiful.” You murmur, brushing your hair back with wet hands, extending them to the sky, catching snowflakes that promptly melt against the warmth of your skin. 

Arthur is sure that in all the things he’s seen, all the places he’s gone, he’s never seen anything as beautiful as you. Your wet hair falls in tangled waves down your back, your smile is brighter than the stars above as you try and catch the ones that sprinkle down to you. The wonder in your eyes. That wild streak in your heart. Arthur could draw you day and night in his journal, and never truly capture your glow, or the way your smile brightens a room, the way your laughter heals broken hearts. 

Sometimes he wonders how you do it. How does someone with so much pain– so much trauma– stay so optimistic? So grateful for life and for people? In all that Arthur endured, all it ever made him was an angry fool. But you. You’re a phoenix. 

Arthur’s hands grip onto your waist, pulling you into his lap, your legs sitting across his own as he holds you wedding-style in his arms. 

“How’d I ever get so damn lucky?” Arthur whispers to you, green eyes laden with emotion. 

Your smile picks up all the cracked pieces of his heart, the liquid gold pouring out from your soul glues it back together.

“Karma.” You answer quickly, “Because good things happen to good people, Arthur.” 

Your legs are toasty warm in the water, but your chest and shoulders shiver lightly in the cold breeze. You cuddle closer to Arthur to make up warmth, laying against his chest. 

“I ain’t a good m-” 

“Shh.” You say into his ear, lips remaining there for a moment, pressing a slow kiss to his cheek. 

“You are a good man.” You whisper, turning in Arthur’s arms to face him, straddling him, “and…” You press a soft-as-silk kiss to his neck, “I love you for it.” 

His breaths grow a little quicker at the contact, and suddenly you become all too aware of the position you’re in.

“Too good to me.” Arthur whispers in between open mouthed kisses to your neck. His hands find your waist, fingers digging into your soft flesh, gripping you tightly. 

You whimper, breath shuddering as he pulls your hips down, grinding your core against his leg. 

“Arthur we’re–” You take a breath, “What if someone comes along?” 

“No one will come along, darlin.” Arthur reassures, thumbs trailing up your torso, pressing circles against your firm, sensitive nipples. 

Despite your sheltered childhood, you struggle none with this. When you were eager, Arthur had shown you– again and again– what you could do to make yourself feel good, to what you could do make him feel good.

“Keep talkin’ to me, sweetheart. Tell me how it feels.” Arthur’s voice is like velvet against your ear, his lips locking on to your lips, your jaw, your collarbone. One of his fingers continues massaging your swollen, pink nipple, and the other travels lower, teasing your thigh, stroking your hip. 

“Please, Arthur.” You whisper, hips rocking gently, waiting for friction.

“Jus’ wanna touch you, sweetheart.” Arthur groans, pulling your hips down against his leg, helping you to rock them, to fuck yourself against his thigh, your warm bodies still half submerged in the spring. The temperature does something for you all on its own. Your breasts are exposed to the cold, only warmed by Arthur’s touch, but your lower half is heating all on its own, and combined with the hot water, it's almost overstimulating. 

“Just like that-” You gasp, head tossing back, hair dipping back into the glowing water. Snowflakes flutter about, landing in your hair, on your face, and your breasts, scattered white specks that Arthur picks up with his trail of kisses. Your hips keep their steady pace, and Arthur continues teasing you, featherlight fingertips trailing down your legs, ghosting over the backs of your knees. 

“Easy, sweetheart.” Arthur’s voice reaches your ears in a strained huff. 

He wants to pull you down onto his throbbing cock, to roll his hips up into you, watch you rock yourself, fuck yourself on his length. He wants to watch those beautiful eyes roll back into your head over and over, wants to hear his name coming from those pretty, plump lips. He wants to mark you, kiss you, make you his. He’s not sure if at heart he's a good man. However, he is sure that you make him a very bad one. His cock is straining against his stomach, and every rock of your hips is rubbing against him, and jesus, he can’t take it much longer. 

It’s selfish, purely selfish as he dips his hands below the water, pulling you up. Your face wrinkles in pleasure when he slides you down onto his cock, and the gesture nearly sends him to heaven. Your soft skin goes tense, muscles tightening, cunt gripping him, pulling groans from his cracked lips. 

The glow of the water shines impossibly brighter, illuminating you. Your face is flushed, your breasts bouncing with every one of your rocks.

“Oh–” You moan, hands gripping onto his sturdy shoulders, “Arthur!” 

“Tell me what’cha need, darlin.” Arthur grunts, squeezing your ass in his hands. 

You reach for his wrist, grabbing it tightly, and shoving it down between your bodies. Arthur smirks against your skin as he nips at your earlobe, sending waves of pleasure through all the pressure points in your body. His thumb makes a steady pace on your clit, and when you toss your head back in pleasure, snowflakes spot your eyelashes. 

“Feel good? Gonna cum for me?” Arthur groans, cock twitching inside you, pushing up into you. You press your chest to Arthur’s, the added stimulation of your nipples against him creating an influx of sensations.  

“Good… Good, there you go.” Arthur praises, feeling the stutter of your hips, noticing the whine of your voice. 

“Cum for me, sweetheart.” Arthur kisses your neck, and your stomach clenches down on him, “C’mon, baby. Cum for me.” 

Your hips stutter, voice growing louder, strained as you rock against him. Arthur curses as your walls tighten around him, squeezing out every bit of self control that he’s clinging on to. Your orgasm works through you slowly, building and building, like a dam cracking before it bursts. 

“There, there, just–” Arthur groans, “Jus’ like that, darlin’. Doin’ so good. I’m– nearly there wit’ ya–” 

You shudder and gasp, fire erupting in your abdomen, spreading over your limbs. A few unrhythmic, upward thrusts and Arthur is there with you. His hips grind up slowly, pumping his cum into you, filling you full as he groans, hands tearing into your hips with their force. He thrusts again, slow, breathing deeply as you both come down. 

“That–” You shiver, sweat clinging to you, cold from the temperature. 

“I know.” Arthur finishes for you, pulling your body against his chest, keeping you mostly in the water for warmth. His arms wrap around you, fingertips trailing slowly up and down your spine as tingles spread through your limbs, little waves of aftershock hitting you now and again. 

Arthur doesn’t pull out, just keeps you in his lap, holding you, kissing your head, praising you. 

The falling snow lands in your hair, and as Arthur looks up at the vast expanse of stars, he's sure you’re one of them. An angel, come down as a star. Something divine, surely.

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow @holyratrimony @twola @calcarius445 (send an ask to be added/removed!)

[lottiies]

THE ART OF SHARING A COWBOY HAT

⇢ arthur morgan x gn!reader + leon kennedy (rdr2 au) x gn!reader

cw: fluff, lighthearted smut, drinking + implications of throwing up, confessions, mentions of children but it’s still gn friendly, prone to typos

note: um i originally wrote this with only arthur in mind but lowkey think it could apply to leon as well, i thought this was a super cute idea !! these are just rambles and written for fun, so excuse any typos eee (⩾﹏⩽)

i. A GENTLEMANLY ACT

you’ve lost count of how many hats you’ve lost over the years — it wasn’t your fault! just a small bicker with a tiny group of o’driscolls usually resulted in your hat being knocked off while you rode your horse and shot at them.

was buying a new one even worth it? with dutch on everyone’s ass about contributing money, not really. as if the bastard actually helped out.

plus…you’d grown to rely on a certain man who always shared his hat with you as if it were co-owned.

amidst a camp out in the open with the sun pouring in through the leaves of the tall trees that surrounded, your eyes were often squinting. everytime you sat in the shade, it moved over within a couple minutes and left you back in the sun. how frustrating.

“you’ll burn to the crisp by letting the sun beam on ya like that.”

before you could look up to face the familiar voice, the bottom of a hat blocked your view and was placed on you. okay, that felt real nice.

or maybe that one time you stumbled out of the saloon, clutching your stomach with your cheeks all puffed, awaiting the harsh liquor that was begging to be thrown out of your system.

it was night time, the dusty dirt paths were still lively with people walking past. but you needed fresh air, so it would have to do.

being the secret softie that he was, he followed you when he noticed that you had practically limped your way out. geez, he’d been in your position too many times — throwing his guts up with his mind swirling.

“lightweight.” he teased, laughing a bit, placing a hand on your back and rubbing it to comfort you.

“oh gimme a break.” you slurred back, already hunched over. “and stay away…’m bout to burst.”

you weren’t kidding.

he placed his hat on you, keeping your face hidden from any passerby’s. because what kind of man would he be if he just let everyone see your pained face? a foolish one, that’s what.

everyone knew he was sweet on you, it was painfully obvious.

ii. SILENT CONFESSION

the air felt still as the two of you stood beside each other, each leaning against the balcony of a hotel. you guys were close, a little too much to be considered just friends.

his elbow was touching yours, and his gaze didn’t stray from you even once. you captivated his entire attention, more so than the clear stars glimmering in the moonlit sky hanging above.

he couldn’t hide his feelings for you, he couldn’t afford to with how unpredictable life was. he didn’t think much of himself, but he’d be damned if he let some other fella swoop in and woo you.

you didn’t need to be helped. there was no sun in your eyes, or rain pouring onto your face, nor was there any need to hide your face.

his eyes strayed to your lips once before looking back into your eyes, trying to read you. the fondness you held gave him some courage.

he took his hat off, his tousled hair now on display, maybe you could run your fingers through it later.

no words were spoken.

he placed his hat on your head, hoping that would convey his message: he wanted to be yours, and for you to be his.

iii. EASING ALL DISTRESSES

having a lover who’s constantly away isn’t for the weak. it has you feeling like a character out of a book who’s described as melancholic, solemnly gazing out into the distance, awaiting the person who sets your soul ablaze and gives you that fuzzy feeling in your stomach.

him.

but he always spends time with you before he leaves, duh.

after he preps his horse for another long journey away, he makes his way over to your worried form. whether you act nonchalant or downright show how concerned you are, it doesn’t matter, he treats you the same, not wanting you to sulk.

“c’mon love, don’t give me that look. i always come back relatively unscathed, don’t i? you’ve got nothing to worry yer pretty little head about.”

you purse your lips. yeah, he was strong and mighty, but you couldn’t get rid of all the thoughts in your head. “yeah, but being worried ain’t a crime.”

with an amused smile, he takes the adornment perched on his head off and puts it atop your own, adjusting it so it fits more properly. “there ya go.”

he always thought you looked awfully beautiful wearing something of his, his hat had always been dear to him, having scratches and flaws here and there from the encounters he faced. it looked perfect on you, and it felt accomplishing, like if the hat itself was some sort of wedding ring.

he cups the side of your face, using his pinky to lift your jaw while his thumb caresses your cheek. “hold onto this for me, okay? keep it on yer head all the time.”

the act alone had you smiling, returning the adoring gaze he looked at you with. he leaned in closer, pressing his lips against yours for a sweet and temporary goodbye.

iv. TANGLED UNDER THE SHEETS

the chilliness of the harsh winter weather seeped through the wood of the cabin. there were plans to get moving somewhere warmer, but it would be a rough journey. maybe you should be resting instead, but you weren’t.

labored breaths and grunts emanated from the room, accompanied by occasional fits of laughter and whispered words. the two of you were going at it like rabbits on your cot, making the room heat up — no chance you were shivering even with the way it was pouring outside.

his hips were snuggled between yours, his cock slowly pumping into you inch by inch. he was going slowly, trying to make the most of the time you guys had here at this cabin.

“i’m getting a cramp, hold on.” you whine the complaint out, needing to get in a different position.

he laughed, peeling himself off you and laying on his back, his chest heaving heavily.

“what are ya laughing at? you try having your legs up in the air for that long.” you huff as you moved over to straddle him.

“i think i’ll pass on that.”

he always thought you looked amazing on top of him, his eyes sparkling with utmost devotion. naked, vulnerable, so willing to show him every part of you. he loved it.

“ya gonna ride me? i think you’re missing something.” without missing a beat, he reached up for his hat, taking it off and sitting up to place it on you. his free hand snaked down to your ass, giving it a couple pats. “that’s better, now you’re ready.”

you grinned, pressing your hands against his chest to push him back down towards the surface of the cot.

he held onto the back of one of your hands, his other one reaching to hold his cock, letting you sink down onto him. he couldn’t take his eyes off your face though, watching as it contorted into one of pure ecstasy.

v. FAMILY HEIRLOOM

he’s a romantic at heart, he liked the idea of having a hat just for the two of you. he has plenty of others though, that can be passed onto any children you two have or take in as a part of your family — ones they could grow into.

that longing came into fruition. his arm was wrapped around your waist, pulling you close. your eyes were trained on your two children, just a couple years apart, running around aimlessly because the hats their pops put on them were so big it covered their eyes.

“careful…” you mumbled under your breath, not wanting them to fall on any branches or injure themselves. not like they heard you, obviously, but your lover did.

“they’re tough as nails already, jus’ like us..” he reassured you, but it was met by a skeptical glance from you, rightfully so.

“i know, i know…they’re so tiny though, i don’t wanna see even a small scrape on them.”

“worrywart.”