#rdr/reader

[stray-cat-with-internet-access]

Arthur? 😳

[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 expected, 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

[doeeyezz]

literally just came everywhere oops <333

[bigboy-lovers-unite-writes]

Imagine slapping their asses 🙏🙏

•Dutch; immediately pissed off, depends on who slapped his ass, he might push his cigar into their arm or something out of anger. Will grumble if it's his partner and shoo them away, smokes enough cigarettes after that to take away ten years on his life (it definitely made a camp deafening sound when they slapped it)

•Arthur; the most shocked face ever, just has to stand there for a minute to figure out whatever the fuck just happened. Will stumble over his words, before glaring at the person and chest bump them a few times, but secretly he's nearly popping a boner 💔💔

•John; eye twitches, trying to hold back grabbing his revolver and threatening the person. Says something sarcastic and crosses his arms like the dumb child he is. Will definitely be so damn embarrassed that he flushes as red as Sean's hair. Definitely blabs about it to Abigail later and gets huffy when she laughs

•Hosea; jumps a foot in the air and his body bends like a banana 😭 he's not mad, he'd never get mad, but he is a bit embarrassed about that. He sighs softly, tells a little story about his youth and how he would be able to handle it when he was younger as he rubbed his sore ass, then says he's too old for all that 🫶🫶

•Javier; yells out the loudest Spanish he's ever said, nearly falls forward from the shock of it as both hands go to cover his ass. Can't see it since he pulls his poncho up over his entire face, but he is burning bright red and thinking about it for the rest of the month. Will never trust being around the person again, will side eye them and cover his ass with anything if he's around them again 😢

•Bill; Two different ways this could go. One, he's drunk as a bitch and he hurls a beer bottle them and starts cursing and chasing them all over yelling about how he's no queer, even if it was a woman that slapped his ass, or he will just glare and threaten them a little bit and try to intimidate them if by god he's not drunk

•Kieran; actually stands up straight for once instead of being like a shrimp literally 24/7. Looks like a bug when you pick up a rock, eyes all wide and face flushed even pinker than it usually already naturally is. Definitely looks spaced out the rest of the day, probably can't stop thinking about it for sure

•Sean; gasps and is completely over dramatic, falling and pulling whoever slapped his ass down with him. Definitely tells everyone that the person slapped his ass, and he sounds strangely proud about it too..

•Lenny; poor boy doesn't know what to do, he's stuttering and gripping at his favorite book that he was reading, glancing around as he tried to say something. Might quirk a smile after a while, but it's whenever that person isn't around (he's so embarrassed don't do it again he can't handle it 💔)

•Micah; immediately cracks up and dares the person to slap his ass again, sticking it out slightly. He then promptly slaps that person's ass twenty times harder than they slapped his. It becomes a little game between the two whenever they see each other

•Charles; the absolute politest, might get a bit grumbly. 'oh my' is the first words outta his mouth 😭 will ask them why they did that and if it was supposed to be funny. He's like a mother in this sense, but also can't stop grinning since he actually liked it ❤️

[slaughter-kin]

i have something inappropriate to say

[hihomeghere]

Salt and Pepper | Arthur Morgan / Reader

Word count : 1.4k Summary : Arthur notices his hair is starting to gray. I saw a post on here about Arthur with salt and pepper hair and I couldn’t stop myself hehe. Warnings/Tags : talk about death, getting old, Arthur loves his wife, no tb, Arthur and reader own a house, mention of past gang members, cursing, lots of fluff, self deprecation on Arthur’s side, bullets, mention of weight gain (in a positive way)

“Godamn ugly bastard.” Arthur huffed, his gaze piercing as he looked into the mirror. He hadn’t meant to have himself a pity party this morning. In fact he was feeling quite fine this morning before looking in the small bathroom mirror. Waking up next to you always puts a spring in his step. Especially when he’s waking up in a real bed, underneath a soft quilt that you happened to sew in some free time. Mismatched patches and all, it was his favorite thing in the small home you two shared. Hell, you were becoming quite domestic ever since the house was completed.

But he wasn’t exactly expecting to find gray hair sprouting from his hairline. He wasn’t that old, was he?

“Jesus.” He sighed, inspecting further he realized it wasn’t one or two gray hairs, it was almost twenty. Hidden under his longer than normal locks after forgoing a haircut for the last couple weeks. He was surprised you hadn’t noticed them, especially with how much you loved to run your fingers through his hair. Although, he loved it just as much, maybe even more.

God, he needed to get rid of these before you saw them. He was sure you had some tweezers around here somewhere. He opened up your drawer, rifling around for your tweezers. Bingo. His hands gripped the small piece of metal, a triumphant smile on his face.

It was only once he looked back up into the mirror, determined to fix this issue before you woke up, that he noticed you padding into the bathroom. Rubbing sleep from your eyes, you wrapped your arms around his middle.

“Mornin’.” You hummed, laying your cheek against his bicep, smiling sweetly at him through the mirror.

“Mornin’.” He said, clearing his throat.

“What do you need those for?” You asked, eyeing the tweezers in his hand. Caught red handed, he tried coming up with some excuse.

“Nothin’ sweetheart.” He said, giving you his signature smile, kissing your forehead. He slipped the tweezers into his pocket for safe keeping, at least until he had a free moment without you around. After all those years on the run and he could come up with nothing, Hosea would have been so disappointed in his lack of an answer. He swore he could hear the old man chastising him now.

“For a former outlaw you sure are an awful liar.” You tutted, shaking your head, slipping your fingers into his pocket and pulling out the tweezers.

“Well it ain’t my fault,” He huffed playfully, “Could never get nothin’ past you anyway.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck. You removed your hands from around his waist, leaning back on the sink as you looked up at him.

“Spill.” You said raising an eyebrow, your arms crossed over your chest.

Knowing he’d been caught, Arthur hung his head, a low sigh leaving his lips.

“It’s just-“ He cursed, turning to look away from you, “Well I’m goin’ gray.” He admitted, not meeting your eyes.

“And?” You asked in such a nonchalant manner.

“And?” He asked looking up at you, his brows furrowed.

“So you have some gray hairs.” You said with a shrug, “You’re acting like the damn world is ending.” You chuckled softly, a smile tugging on your lips.

“Well-“ Arthur sighed, pursing his lips, he didn’t want to be vain but damn it, it did feel like the world was ending.

“Honey.” You said softly, reaching up to cup his cheek. “Ain’t nothing wrong with some gray hairs.” You said, shaking your head, looking so goddamn patient as always. What he did in a past life to deserve you he would never know, he definitely didn’t deserve you in this one. You smiled, running your thumb over his couple day old stubble. He couldn’t help but sigh softly, leaning into your touch.

“Just makes me feel old ‘s all.” He shrugged, closing his eyes.

“Arthur.” You said softly, he opened his eyes. His bright azure pools looking into yours. “Getting old means we’re still alive.” You said pointedly, not missing the way your fingers trailed lightly down his chest.

He sighed softly, anyone who said he was the most like Hosea had obviously never had a one on one conversation with you. You had shared the same dry wit along with being just as wise as the old man. Sometimes he wondered if the two of you were more closely related than just being adopted by him as a kid.

As your hand settled over his heart, he couldn’t help but remember a time when you didn’t have this place. When his next breath had been an undeserved blessing. When you and Charles had pulled his broken body off that godforsaken mountain. You were right, he should be grateful for these gray hairs and new lines on his face. Should be grateful that he made it this far out west with you, where the air was dryer and slowly his lungs didn’t hurt as bad with each breath.

If anything he should be grateful that you’re here, here in this house. The house that he built specifically for you. That you’re not buried six feet under like most of the fellow gang members. That you didn’t catch a bullet like Lenny or Sean, how he wished they could have had the chance to grown old. Even as mouthy as Sean was, the poor bastard didn’t deserve that. Lenny was just a boy, foolish enough to be sucked in by Dutch’s silver tongue. He shook his head trying to clear any thoughts of the past.

God, along with the fact that somehow both of you still happen to be standing, the fact that you chose to stand by him after everything you went through makes his head swim. You could have left him at any point, hell he had begged you to leave after his death sentence. And yet, here you were.

“Guess you’re right.” He said, a small smile tugging on his lips.

“Course I am.” You teased, a smile spreading across your face. You leaned forward, brushing your nose against his. He accepted your silent invitation, pressing his lips against yours. So soft and warm and inviting. He could feel you smile against his lips. That small smile warmed him from the inside out, nearly making his toes curl.

Jesus, he was lucky. More than lucky, he still couldn’t figure out how he had tricked you into marrying him. He wanted to be the best version of himself for you, he had made a promise to try every day to be a better man for you. You shouldn’t be tied down to a miserable old fool like himself.

As if you could read his mind, which he often suspected you could, your soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Besides,” You began as you pulled away, “I like the salt and pepper look.” Arthur scoffed, shaking his head.

“Really?” He asked, raising a brow.

“Really.” You nodded, running your hand through his hair. “Think you get more handsome every day.” If anyone was getting prettier every day it was you. Your hair was longer, cascading down your shoulders in waves. No longer tied up in a tight braid or bun. You looked relaxed, at peace. You became softer once you both settled into your new lifestyle. Not just emotionally, although you still had that fire which had first drawn him towards you, like a moth to a flame. You were physically softer, your harsh edges smoothing out as you started to eat and sleep better. Your curves became more prominent, and he certainly didn’t mind having more to hold onto late at night.

Maybe you truly did feel the same about him. He had never known you to lie. A blush settled on his cheeks at the thought. He shook his head, a small chuckle rumbling through his chest.

“Yeah, alright darlin’.” He says taking your face in his hands, kissing you again before you had the chance to embarrass him further.

Maybe getting old wasn’t so bad if you had someone to grow old with.

[grugruel]

Big Iron

Pairings:

bounty hunter!Arthur Morgan x outlaw!f!reader

NSFW/MDNI

Masterlist

Summary: She's escaped a robbery, and bounty hunters have been sent out after her. They'd made no problem so far– that said, the notorious Arthur Morgan set upon her trail.

Word count: 5.7k

Warnings: Arthur Morgan, pinv sex, rough sex, soft sex ish, lap/bulge-riding, praise, petnames (girl, sweetheart, ma'am), creampie, overstimulation.

AN: 3rd person pov, trying it out. Not yet proofread!

A campfire blazed in the night, casting a warm glow over the small, temporary hideout.

Smoldering flakes of ash rose skyward in tired swirls, and the woman's face lit up, sizzling embers of spent coal entrancing her.

The fires of a bright building shouldered It's way into her mind, stealing precious space from all else.

Trees around her rustled, and she leaned back against the rockwall. An overhanging cliff sheltering her.

Guard lowered, at last. She let herself slide down the wall until she felt the ground beneath her thighs. Then dove deeper into the memory.

Money was all she had needed. But the simple, well practiced heist escalated. Attempted arson had suddenly been added to her list of offences, robbery another one among them. Which she could admit to, and proudly so.

But the fire. . . Now the fire was not her fault.

Not only was the law after her, but they'd also sent out money hungry bounty hunters aswell. She'd already tied two of them down yesterday, big brutish men they were. All muscle and no brains. Still, they proved to be quite the nuisance. But they wouldn't be a problem anymore unless they died of starvation, which would indeed be u fortunate.

She gritted her teeth at the memory, her eyes interanally. She doubted it, seeing as they were curently tied to the fence of the sheriff's office.

Which left only one real threat.

One man, one singular man; a notorious outlaw himself. He was the sheriff's most resent hire. Big, deadly, tall and muscled. From long days of hard work killing and robbing she imagined.

She'd actually seen him in person once, and she could admit, he looked dangerous, and devilishly handsome. The rumors had been right about that, she was only hoping that his volatile reputation along with the Van Der Lind gang's would turn out to be folly.

She shivered at the thought, shaking her to the very bones. If it were from the thought of him or the cool of the night, she did not know. She closed her arms around herself, stroking them for warmth as she pushed the unpleasant thoughts away, her gaze snapping to the treeline beyond.

Back to reality, and suddenly accutely aware of the black darkness that lingered between the thick stems beyond. Her vision was good, and she was quite hidden after all. No one would be sneaking up on her.

"Ma'am."

From the shadows, a man appeared at the edge of the campfires domain, vaguely illuminated by its warmth. Broad and tall in frame, the deep night clung to his back. His sudden prescence was the only evidence of his arrival, he'd made no sound nor been seen before he'd needed to be.

Her eyes snapped in his direction, widening with recognition, the eerie sense divulged itself to her body. Like poison, it spread quickly, crawling into every blood vessel and turning them ice-cold along its journey.

"Mister," she greeted, doing her damndest to stay calm.

His hat covered his eyes, but the smile he dealt was unmistakable. 'There's quite the bounty on you, girl.' The drawl of his accent sunk into her skin like the warmth of the fire.

"There's no doubtin' that," she nodded in admittal, slowly moving away from him, "Although im only worth half of it, I assure you."

She moved slowly, eyes meeting his as they poked out beneath his hat. He tilted his head to face hers, regarding her silently. Eyes flickering over her, the way her hair fell over her shoulders, and how her blouse revealed the hills of her chest. ". . . 'S that so?. . ." He took a step closer, the rope in his hands now excruciatingly evident to her.

She got to her feet in one swift motion, hesitantly gesturing for him to stay calm. "Mister, I'm not a murderer. The sheriff framed me." She took a few steps to the left, placing the fire between them.

The man chuckled. "I belive ya' ma'am." His hands pulled on the lasso, adjusting its length. Gripping it roughly from time to time, trigger fingers readying themselves for any sudden movement. "But the law can be a crooked thing sometimes." His eyes narrowed in on her, then shrugged nonchalantly. "But, a bounty 's still a bounty girl."

The birds sang above them, and the world blurred around her, her knees suddenly weak. Unfortunately for her, he would be there to catch her in a sense too literal for her liking.

"And I can say the same for myself ma'am, I'm a bad man. . ." His voice imposed, yet, the gravely tone vibrated perfectly well in her ears.

Gulping her nervousity, she assessed her options. . . And then ran.

Trees rushed past in peripheral whirls as she made her way along the cliff wall. Rope flexed behind her, threads wringing against eachother as it was swung and thrown with a woosh.

The air caressed her cheeks, pulling tears from her eyes and whistling in her ears. She gave it all she had, but it wasn't enough to stop the lasso from capturing her with deadly accuracy. It fell over her shoulders and tightened around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides.

The rope pulled taunt–and the world stopped moving for a short second, with a yank, her body whipped forward, and her feet was swept from under her–then, just as suddenly, it sped up again.

Like a tree cut down for its timber, she fell. The ground rushed up to greet her face as she stumbled to the ground with a hard thud. She panted, smelling the earth and feeling the wet grass tickle her face as she struggled against her entanglement; wriggling and thrashing like a stranded fish.

Well-used leather chaps groaned behind her as he stalked closer, winding the rope up with friction she was sure could start a fire, her stumache churned the thought.

The woman rolled onto her back to get a better layout of the situation–and there he stood. Just by her feet, he loomed over her. With his back to the fire, it cast a back-lit glow around him, framing the big man as he filled her sight. Fear and desire fought for the helm, conflicting her mind terribly.

He crouched down, bending over her as he circled the rope around her waist, foirtyfying her restraints and securing his valuable bounty tightly.

He grabbed the lasso and pulled her up diagonally. It pinched her midriff painfully and pulled her body flush against his, just so he could level her head with his. ". . . And I've done bad things," he whispered, lips brushing against her ear. A dull pulse appeared where there ought to be no pulse. She screwed her eyes shut, and lust for this man was the last thing she should be feeling. But oh. . . How his breath raised goosebumps and spread like a wildfire over her skin.

He straightened his legs and stood back, pulling her with him while keeping their bodies close together.

Her breath fanned over his lips as they stood a mere inch apart, one bound and the other free. A smirk made its way onto his lips, his hands sliding along the tied rope around her abdomen until they were at her waist. And in one strong motion–he threw her over his shoulder.

She yelped in surprise. "You brute!" Kicking wildy in hopes of getting free. But one of his arms circled around her legs and gripped the back of her thigh to keep them still, while he laid the other on the small of her back to stop her from falling. "You keep your hands to yourself Mister!" She shouted, struggling against his bullish strength.

"Yes, ma'am." He assured as he began walking, not paying her futile thrashing much mind. "That's not the kind of bad man I am."

She cleared her throat and huffed, expecting more of a reaction. She didn't quite know what to do in this situation, she hadn't planned this far ahead. She didn't think she'd ever be properly cought. "Well, good," she said curtly, calming herself.

Being a nuisance and making this whole situation worse would be a bad idea, and she hadn't made any progress thus far, seeing as his grip was solid steel. So she'd have to settle her mind with the feeling of his strong back beneath her instead. In fact, she was reveling in the feeling of his hand on her thigh.

He stomped out the campfire before moving to where he'd hidden his horse. "Sittin' or layin'?" He asked, being nice enough to hand her to option of sharing his saddle or to be stored over his horses ass.

She huffed, "what a gentleman. Take a guess Mister," she muttered.

He nodded, "Sittin' with me it is." His hands moved to her waist, and easily transfered her from his shoulder and onto the saddle. She scoffed for the sake of scoffing, eyes narrowing as she looked down on him, and if it had the power to, her look could certainly have killed him. "Quite presumtions of you."

With a low chuckle and a shake of his head, he gripped the saddle before climbing on. Placing his hands on either side of it, one hand on the pommel and the other on the cantel. Which just so happened to be between her thighs, and just behind her ass. Almost grazing her on both sides as he braced himself against the saddle, eyes meeting hers with a satisfied smirk, "Much more attitude from ya' girl and I'll have to take meassures."

Shock sprung itself on her, feeling dizzy all over again. The knuckle of his thumb was an inch away from brushing against her cunt. Her eyes widened at the fact, and the implications his words carried. Her loins burned, but she simply cleared her throat and neutralised her expression, "Id like to see you try." And faced away from him, turning her nose upward.

He climbed onto the horse, placing himself close intil her back and leaned over her shoulder. "I will if you'd let me, respectfully, ma'am," he whispered in her ear and then spurred his horse. Shivers shook her at that, her entire body vibrating with a dull sense of need.

They rode silently for a long while, and she wanted to sass him, she wanted it terribly. But was both afraid and hoping he'd take action, just as he'd stated.

The miles wound on, oh it felt never ending. Especially with the man behind her, rutting his hips against her with every step of the horse. He was a blessing against the cold, but pure torture as his heat soaked into all the wrong spots of her body.

Finally, it came time to rest. They'd ridden nonstop from the early morning of her capture to the next night. If that weren't enough, a heatwave had been raging for the entirety of the day as well, and the setting of the sun had barely made a difference.

He set her on the ground, binding her feet and hands before starting on the camp. Making quick work of the fire and tent as she sat down on a rock, silently watching the man work, and very much enjoying the show.

His skin was slick with sweat, much like herself. The cool light of the moon and the warmth of the fire made him glisten in every sense of the word, and oh, the way he toiled away.

He'd removed his vest and chaps as he got to work, respectively rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, which now stuck to his skin. A nuisance for him to be sure, but a dream for her, she could practically see the muscles of his chest rippling.

A drop of sweat trickled down her temple, tickling her skin and drawing focus away from the view. Her eyes widened as she realised how she stared at the stranger and shook her head, attempting to clear it.

Goodness, focus. She needed to hatch a plan.

Running would do her no good, he would be too fast. He wouldn't accept bribes either and was very hard to persuade. No attempts had been successful so far.

At that thought, unavoidably, abashedly her eyes snapped back to him as he pulled his shirt off and reached for a new one in his saddlebag. She clenched her jaw to keep it from falling, his strong chest was adorned by hair, trailing down his abdomen and disappearing under, the waist of his pants.

She swallowed. In that exact moment, she wanted nothing more than to see where that trail ended.

Her jaw began aching, she fought to tear her eyes away from him. Managing to direct her gaze to the ground instead, a d impatiently waited for him to put a fresh shirt on.

After a short while, she dared look up again. He'd pulled a log to opposite side of the fire and sat down, a cigarette had been placed between his lips, and was currently being inhaled with fervor. Tilting his head back, he released the cloud of smoke with a sigh.

Her eyes followed his movements intently, studying them as she hoped that perhaps he'd notice her and offer one–

"Want one, girl?" He nodded toward her, gesturing with the match box.

"I do, yes," she answered expectantly, holding her hands out for him to untie.

But to her surprise, he scoffed, then stod and walked around the fire. He crouched onto one knee in front of her, his arm bracing on top of the other. "You'll have to do better than that," he said.

He plucked the cigarette from his lips and offered it to her, holding it an inch from her mouth. She hesitated, observing him with disdain. "Go on," he nodded.

Reluctantly, she followed his orders, but met his eyes to make sure he knew how unhappy she was about it, and then leaned in.

Closing her lips around the cigarette, she could feel the dampness where his own lips had been moments before, and sucked the toxic smoke into her lungs, as if it were air.

She swore she saw something glint in his eyes, studying her pouting lips. And a plan struck her suddenly, but–

"Good girl," he hummed.

Again, shock gripped her. The praise rose right to her head, sending waves of heat cascading through her body. Then she coughed, the smoke settling wrong in her airways. She pulled back, letting him retrieve his cigarette while she worked to regain her composure. "You alright there, sweetheart?" He asked with a grin and patted her back before replacing the cig between his lips.

"Just fine, mister," she hissed, still reeling. "You got anything stronger? Whiskey, bourbon?"

He nodded and pulled out an old bottle of bourbon from his bag, "Could you?" She held her hands out to him again.

He studied her, stroking his stubbled jaw in thought. "Got somethin' for me, then?"

Insinuations led her down a path of filthy thoughts, but she instead opted for a simple, "Please?" Instead, attempting it cheapishly.

His hands slipped down to his hip, pulling the knife from its hilt. "That's more like it," he mumbeled with his cigarette clad lips.

And cut the rope around her hands and feet, stopping at the rope around her waist and met her eyes. "Try anythin'. . ." He raised his eyebrows and lowered his voice to a mocking tone. ". . . Run, hurt me, trick me." His eyes narrowed, the corner of his lip tugging. "And there'll be a steep price to be paid."

Swallowing, she nodded enthusiastically, "I just wan't a sliver of freedom before im locked up, you could understand that."

He nodded. "S'pose so. . ." And began untying. "The difference is, girl–" The lasso loosened and slid down her sides. "–that I'd never get caught." He gathered it and pulled it over her body, his fingers accidentally brushing against her hips, the sides of her breasts.

Her breath hitched, and their eyes met. Her skin tingled desperately as fluttering wingbeats set off in her stumache. Such a small thing, building into such a big reaction.

He cleared his throat, handing her the bottle as he threw the rope into the fire and put the lasso bag in his saddlebag. Finally replacing himself on another log, not as far away from her this time. He leaned back against the tree behind it and spread his legs wide. His bulge was enough to make her salivate. "It's not easy, you know, for a woman like me, when there's men like you, Mr Morgan."

Arthur quriked an eyebrow in question. "You know me?"

"I know of you," she corrected, taking a big swig of the fluid, then handed it back to him for him to do the same.

He nodded silently, a sigh escaping under his breath. "All bad I hope." He took another swallow, not to bothered by her statement. Probably used to hearing it by now.

She shook her head, taking the bottle and another gulp. "Many of the ladies say you're handsome."

At this, he looked up at her, chuckling. "Well, I don't know 'bout that."

"It's true. . ." Antoher sip, followed by a hiccup. "They say you can be quite the gentleman too."

His eyes bore into hers, his tone serious but expression joking as he humored her. "Depends on the lady." He reached for the bottle, and she stood up to give it to him. Walking closer, she handed it over, fingers brushing against each other in the motion.

His eyes met hers, and she brushed her hand under his chin. "You know what else they say, Mr Morgan?"

"No . . . What do they say about me, sweetheart?" A smirk made its way onto his lips. The liquor seamingly starting to affect the pair of them.

"That you're good in bed. . ." he stepped between his thighs, her hand falling from his chin to his neck, scratching at the nape gently.

He hummed appreciatively, then took another sip of the bourbon and set the bottle aside. His hands reached for her, coming to a rest on either side of her thighs, pulling her closer to him, squeezing them at his pleasure. "They're only rumours girl." He tilted his head backward, resting it against the tree to get a better look at her, eyes fastening on her lips.

With her other hand, she hiked her skirt up, revealing her thighs as she stepped over his legs. One at a time, then slowly sank down on his lap, while his hands automatically slid to her hips.

She placed herself on top of his bulge. He grunted from the pressure. The pulse within her began strumming at her nerves, turning them jittery.

"See, I doubt that, Mr Morgan." She whispered. "Women do not lie to eachother of such things." His bulge beneath her grew harder, luring a hidden smile from her. It took strength to will it from her lips and only reach her eyes. "They say you're rough, or gentle. Dependin' on your mood." As she said that, she could've sworn she detected the faintest red creep up his cheeks. Arthur Morgan, blushing? Now, she couldnt help herself and the smile reached her lips.

The man cleared his throat, acting as if it had never happened. "That's told of me in everythin' I do." He smirked, the grip on her hips hardening, knuckles turning white.

"But you're always sweet 'n caring." She continued, her own words were building the lust within her, making the pulse ever stronger. It grew harder to focus. She needed to release some of the pressure building inside her. Evaluating the consequences, and deaming them minor in conparison to her needs, she rocked her hips downward–grinding into his bulge.

Simultaneously, she whimpered and he hissed. She leaned against him, her lips brushing against his ear as shenuzzled his cheek. "Apparently, It's also true what they say 'bout ridin' cowboys-"

"Girl," he interrupted with a chuckle. "Dont think I dont know what you're doin'. . ." He breathed. "Seducin' me." With the tight grip on her hips, he rocked her hips against him, the rough fabric of his pants grinding against her core.

With a gasp, one of her hands shot out to burry itself in his hair. She leaned into him, the other hand grabbing his shirt for support as she rested her head against his shoulder. He nuzzled his cheek against hers, returning the gesture and muttered. "You use your sweet talkin', then get me drunk 'n run off, that your plan?"

Her eyebrows furrowed, hips grinding down harder, her ruts becoming more frantic, needy. She screwed her eyes shut from the copious amounts of pleasure washing over her. All she could do to answer him was hum in admittal as she strained hard to focus.

He chuckled. "Easy girl. . ." His voice commanding, low and raspy as he slowed her hips, but keeps the pace hard. "Use your words." He ordered, loving the way she fell apart for him.

She nodded hastily, hoping it'd be enough satisfy his request. But he pinched her hip through the fabric of her skirt, and her eyebrows furrowed in pain. However, not having the energy to even make a sound. Her thoughts were a blur, she couldn't tell what to keep hidden anymore. "Yes– yes. . ." She moaned, the coil inside her tightening impossibly hard.

"Thought so," he breathed, the words curt on his tongue, but lust evident in his voice. Suddenly, his hands left her hips, snd one arm snaked around her waist, his hand placing itself at the small of her back to push her against him.

Then he stood, drawing a whine from her. She did not quite understand what was going on as the loss of movement gradually undid all the progress she'd made. "Mr Morgan?" She inquired, hesitantly wrapping her legs around his hips.

He walked them toward the tent. "Arthur," he corrected, carrying her with ease. Pushing the tent flap to the side, he kneeled, bending over her as he placed her on the ground.

"Arthur," she smiled, worry seeping out of her as she realised he was making them more comfortable.

His knees slid apart, hooking her legs upon them as they spread. Her hands shot up in response, grabbing onto the collar of his shirt to pull him closer, close enough for his lips to hover over hers. Their eyes met. "Please. . ." She whimpered, one hand sliding downward. ". . .Please." She said again, fingertips trailing down his abdomen, suddenly grabbing hold of his bulge with a firm hand, his member rock hard. "Outlaw or gentleman?" She asked, smiling a wicked smile.

A grutn escaped him while his lips brushed over hers. "Neither." And grabs her wrist, pulling her hand away from his crotch and catching the other in the same motion. His free hand reached over her head, and the hauntingly familiar groaning of strong rope sounded above her. She shook her head, "Arthur, please. . ." Panic moved into her voice, the repeated words carrying a completely different meaning this time.

He held both wrists with one hand and tied them together with the other, the rope stinging her skin. She cried out unhappily.

But he chuckled, in a matter of factly kind of way. Stroking the burn gently as ge corrected her, "Should've behaved." And when done, he sat back. Observing her as she laid tied up, legs spread in front of him, and circled around his hips. Much to his dismay, he wouldn't be enjoying the sight as much as he wanted to. "It's late."

"Arthur. . ." She pleads, attempting to appeal to him, one last time.

He turns his head just enough to see her in his peripheral. "Get some sleep. You got a long day ahead of you tomorrow." He flashed his eyebrows smugly. "Night, sweetheart." Then exited the tent without another word.

She huffed, unbelievable.

Sweetheart. . . But how could she be annoyed when he called her such a thing. She dreamed herself away, with imagines of a shirtless Arthur Morgan and the feeling of him inside her. But she'd not given up, make no mistake, he would fall asleep and she would leave. . .

The night carried on and the temperature finally began dropping, a shiver shook her pleasantly. It was a welcome change. Her body strained as she raised her neck to get a look of the outside. Through the flap she saw Arthur, sitting, snoring, hat covering his face as he leaned back against the tree he'd previously been sitting on.

Now, she needed to get rid of her restraints. Rolling over, she crawled toward the opening, her eyes never leaving Mr Morgans sheathed knife.

The fire had been reduced to embers at this point. Crackling and sizzling lowly as the cool moisture in the air riddled the grass with dewdrops, dampening her hands and skirt as she approached her goal. She sat on her knees, then moved to grab the knife carefully, gnelty sliding it out. The sound of it unlatching nearly had her yelp.

No movement in Arthur.

Shallow breaths, she exhales. Relief flooding through her begoee she began working the knife against her entangled wrists with her fingertips. Carefully regarding the vicious man for any signs of waking. But her thoughts slid, perhaps, if he caught her, he would be kind. Or would he be angry? She could truly not decide werther which reaction she'd most prefer–

The rope snapped, and exhilaration filled her. Gaze snapping between her free hands and the hunter, imagining her prospects. She stood quietly, holding her skirt tightly around her to keep the fabrics from rustling. Slowly, knife still in hand, she backed away. On careful tiptoed steps she faded into the night, the fire dwindling in the distance.

The darkness made it hard for her to see much of anything, at its height the tree-crowns silhouette were visible against the blue summer sky. Branches moved, leaves swished in the gentle wind. She grew paranoid, head snapping in every direction, reacting to every little noise around–

A branch broke behind her, she jumped, turning around so fast she almost ripped– a Buck. She froze, a god damned buck? She had expected it ro be Arthur, but she seemed to have ogtten the better of him. The animal looked at her, ears twitching as it chewed on grass– suddenly hopping away. She sighed and turned back.

Only to collide with something hard. Her thoughts raced, she knew, she knew. She looked up, eyes tracing along his body until they met his, half hidden under his hat. Reflexes prepared her to run, but before she had as much as taken a step back, a hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her back to him. Again, she thumped into his strong chest. Held against him with the familiar iron grip, she fought, as usual; but to no avail, as usual. He snaked an arm around her waist to hinder her from breaking free, yet she kicked and punched violently with her free limbs. But it made no dent in the man. He couldn't even spare her a reaction as he half carried, half dragged her back into the low light of the burnt out fire. He spun her around and pushed her up against the cliff wall, grabbing the wrist closest to him and pinning it above her head. "I warned you, girl." He snarled, the look in his eyes doing just as good a of job pinning her to the wall as his hands. He reaches for the second–

When something sharp digs into the soft flesh of his throat, he froze. His chest was the only thing moving between the two of them, heaving breaths of annoyance.

"Thrid times the charm." She smirked.

He raised his eyebrows and chuckled, "That so?" His voice mocking, and before she could comprehend what had happened, he'd captured both wrists with one hand and slammed them above her head and into the wall. And the knife had appeared in his free hand, she noticed this because it was now held against her own throat. "Repeat that for me girl."

Her lips struck a thin line as she attempted a neutral expression, although fuming on the inside. She shrugged her shoulders, "No." Was all she said, but stubborn in tone.

He nodded, looking her up and down, studying the buttons on her blouse. "Ought to teach you a lesson sweetheart."

She cleared her throat, deciding that to act nonchalant was her best option. "Yeah? What ya' gunna do, huh? Ravage me?" She asked half joking, but still hoping there'd be some truth to it.

At this, the corner of his mouth turned up, a wicked grin developing on his lips. "I just might." He breathed, tracing the tip of the knife downward, along her collarbone and then along the front of her blouse, coming to a stop at the first button. She gulped, feeling the knife poke through the thin fabric against her chest, making goosebumps run amock in reaction and the pulse reheating in her core. He leaned forward, pushing his body against hers until there was no room left between them, his head hovering just above the crook of her neck. "May I do with you as I please?"

This was it, the sweet balance between a hardened outlaw and a tender gentleman. "Yes– yes, Arthur please." Her voice near a cry, it took everything in her to control her tone–

Her blouse ripped, from top to bottom he cut it open, and she wasn't wearing a brasier. Her chest laid bare before him, and he groaned happily at the sight.

With her go-ahead he wasted no time, he let go of her hands and cut her skirt too. Cutting a slit as far as he reached with the knife then threw it to the side, and the tore the rest. She gasped, every nerve in her body on edge. In an instant, his lips were upon hers. Hungry, hungry lips devouvered her as hands roamed her body, groping and grabbing wherever they got purchase. Her own hands greedily searching for a steady hold in his hair, she grabbed a fistful and pulled gently. He moaned at the feeling, such a beautiful sound. His hands slid over her breasts, squeezing them, then pushed the remains of her blouse off of her shoulders.

Except for her undergarments, she stood completley exposed for him. She could practically feel him salivating when he cupped her clothed mound, and finding her clit with expertise and rub it through the fabric.

She tore herself free from his kisses, she had to breathe. A deep gasp brought oxygen to ger lungs once again, allowing her to whimperand moan in equal measure as he worked her clit. The pressure made her knees week, she wriggled, attempting to rut against his hand. But she was too unsteady to make progress. Noticing her difficulties, his other hand slid behind her back and held her steady. Allowing her to chase her pleasure. And left with no lips to kiss, he latched onto her neck instead, to suck at her sweet spot.

She hummed appreciatively, unable to keep a big smile from her lips as pulses of pleasure washed through her. She slid her hands from his hair and unbuttoned his shirt, running her fingers along his strong chest and abdomen, gingerly feeling all of him as her hands worked themselves lower. Finally unbuttoning his pants. She did no longer have to wonder were his happy trail dissapeared too, she bit her lip. He was huge. She stuck her hand into his pants and stroked him eagerly. "Need ya' Arthur, please." She panted.

He let out a strained grunt against her shoulder, and his hand left her clit. She whined, but didn't have to stay displeased for long.

Both his hands slid down her sides, and she tried to breathe steadily, but it proved hard. The feeling of his calloused hands on her skin was too heavenly. Suddenly, he lifted her. Pinning her against the cliff wall with his arms and the weight of his body, allowing her to wrap her arms and legs around him. She hadn't known, but he had wordlessly obided her request. He pulled her garments to the side, and line himself up with her entrance. "Sure about this?" He asked, a final reassurance.

"Yes." She purred, no hesitation in her answer.

And so he pushed inside her, the sheer size of him was making her want to scream–

"Good girl." He moaned, and directed his eyes to hers. She repressed a moan, biting her lip hard to hinder it as heat flashed through her. It was two words, yet she could've come undone from them alone, when said by him alone.

He gazed upon her softly, one of his hands left her thigh to gently stroke a strand of hair from her face. She smiled, and so did he. He was just giving her time to adjust, but her heart soared at the simple gesture.

God how could she feel so strongly for a stranger?

Her hands retangled in his hair as Arthur slid out of her, she furrowed her brows– but in a rough, quick thrust. He shoved himself back inside of her, filling her to the brim. He set a cruelly pleasurable, unrelenting pace. Any trace of gentleness gone.

She felt the pressure tightening within her, building snd building until she was on the verge of coming once again. Her hands sunk to his back, clawing and scratching because she did not know what else to do, he was too much, too good, too big. He overstimulated her with his mere prescence. And he knew when her walls tightened around him, adding extra pressure onto his already throbbing member. "You close girl?" He grunted, his gruff voice breathed against her ear and his hand squeezing her thigh roughly beneath her. God it was sublime.

"Mhm. . . So- close.'" She murmurs, her words coming out jagged as her body rocks with Arthurs thrusts. Pushed closer to her release with each thrust, once again, she shut her eyes and spots speckled her eyelids. Breathing turns frantic, she could no longer tell who was who as they mixed, moans and curses spilling from them both.

With a flash of pleasure, searing hot it soured through her, making her whimper uncontrollably. His thrusts slow, holding her securely, caressing her face and kissing her lips as she rides out her high. "You're alright girl." He breathes reassuringly, "Well done Sweetheart."

Overstimulated tears roll from her eyes, "Oh Arthur, you sweet, sweet man." She sighs happily, and he comes a mere second later. His seed filling her and oozing out.

They'd clean themselves tomorrow, since tiredness plagued them currently. He backed away from the wall and she clung to him, desperatley not wanting to part with him.

He carried her back to the tent, this time not bothering to tie her up as they laid down facing eachother. Arthur, grabbed her chin between his index and forefinger. Studying her thuroughly before they finally succumbed to sleep. She could escape if she wanted to, he wouldn't stop her this time. Her plan had worked, they both knew it. But they felt something else too, and they both knew it.

Hooded eyes blinked, blushing at Arthurs intent eyes and searching gaze. Her eyelids weighed down by exhaustion, It'd been a long few days, and before she knew it–

The light dawns, rays of dusty sunlight shone through the flap of their tent as the morning wakes. Bringing warmer tempratures and calm birdsong.

He opens his eyes, and immediately meet hers. She'd just been admiring him. "Surprised?" She asked, biting her lip and stopping herself from reaching out to touch him.

He smiles, "Naw, I was hopin' I'd wake up to you girl."

[allthemeniveloved]

Cradle

Summary: Arthur Morgan cares for his newborn daughter, reflecting on his past mistakes and vowing to protect his family at all costs.

wc: 1,681

ao3 link

a/n: Literally cannot get enough of hot father Arthur Morgan/John Marston right now. I'm ovulating.

The storm rolled in fast, the low rumble of thunder following Arthur Morgan as he urged his horse forward, the reins tight in his hands. His heart was pounding—not from the gallop of the horse beneath him, but from the fear gnawing at his chest. He had been gone longer than he should’ve been, out scouting for supplies, and now he was racing the clock. Racing fate.

And racing to you.

The moment Charles had found him in camp, breathless and shouting about how you were in labor, Arthur felt the air rush out of his lungs. He hadn’t said a word, just mounted his horse and took off like a bullet, the world blurring around him. All he could think of was you—your face, your voice, and the child you were bringing into this wild, dangerous world.

The cabin came into view, nestled in a clearing just as the rain began to pour. Arthur pulled his horse to a stop, leaping from the saddle before the animal had fully stopped. His boots hit the muddy ground, splattering his pants, but he didn’t care. The soft glow of the lantern in the window was his beacon.

"Did I miss it?" he calls out to whomever could hear, fear laced in his voice.

“Arthur!” Abigail’s voice called from the doorway as she stepped outside, shielding her face from the rain. “You’re just in time!”

He pushed past her with a muttered “thanks,” his heart pounding as he crossed the threshold into the small cabin. It was warm inside, the air thick with the scent of herbs and something sharp, almost metallic. The midwife—a kind-faced older woman who had been passing through camp—was kneeling by the bed where you lay.

You. His heart nearly stopped when he saw you, your face pale and damp with sweat, your hair sticking to your forehead. You looked exhausted, your body trembling as you gripped the sheets beneath you, but your eyes snapped to him the moment he entered the room.

“Arthur,” you whispered, relief flooding your voice. “You made it.”

He crossed the room in a heartbeat, dropping to his knees beside you and taking your hand in his. His calloused fingers enveloped yours, rough but steady, grounding you as you held on for dear life.

“‘Course I made it,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“You almost did,” you teased weakly, though your grip on his hand tightened as another contraction wracked your body. Your face twisted in pain, and Arthur’s heart ached in a way he’d never known before. He wished he could take it from you, bear it himself, but all he could do was be there.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I’m here. I got you.”

You nodded, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as you did as he said. He pressed a kiss to your knuckles, his thumb brushing over your skin in a gesture that spoke louder than words. He was here. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Time became a blur after that. The midwife gave instructions, Abigail hovered nearby with clean cloths, and Arthur stayed rooted by your side, his hand never leaving yours. He whispered words of encouragement, reassurances that you could do this, that you were the strongest person he’d ever known.

And then, just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, a sharp cry filled the room.

You collapsed back against the pillows, tears streaming down your face as the midwife held up the squirming, wailing baby. Arthur stared, his breath catching in his throat as he took in the tiny, perfect life you had brought into the world.

“It’s a girl,” the midwife announced, her voice warm with pride. Arthur let out a shaky laugh, his hand still gripping yours as he turned to you, his blue eyes shining. “A baby girl,” he repeated, as if the words were foreign to him. “We got ourselves a daughter."

Arthur Morgan had a daughter.

The midwife cleaned the baby quickly before wrapping her in a soft blanket and placing her in your arms. You looked down at the tiny face, your tears mingling with laughter as you marveled at the little life you had created.

Arthur leaned closer, his large hand hovering over the baby’s head as if he was afraid to touch her. But when he finally did, his fingers were impossibly gentle, tracing the curve of the baby’s tiny cheek, then her nose.

As the baby settled in your arms, Arthur stayed close, his presence a steady warmth at your side. The storm raged on outside, but in that little cabin, all was calm. The three of you were together, and for the first time in a long time, Arthur felt like he had something worth fighting for.

-

The morning sun crept through the cracks in the cabin walls, casting golden rays over the small room. The air smelled of wood smoke and fresh pine, mingling with the faint scent of baby powder. Arthur Morgan stood near the hearth, rocking the tiny bundle in his arms with a tenderness that seemed almost out of place for a man of his size and reputation.

He hadn’t slept much the night before—not that he minded. Every sound the baby made, every soft whimper or rustle, had him awake and alert, ready to jump to your side or pick up the little one himself. But now, with you finally getting some well-deserved rest in the small cot across the room, it was just him and his daughter.

“She’s got your nose,” Arthur murmured, his deep voice quiet, as if afraid to break the spell of the moment. He traced a finger gently over her tiny features, marveling at how small and delicate she was. She stirred slightly, her face scrunching up in a way that made his heart ache.

“Already got a temper, huh?” he said with a small chuckle. “Guess that’s from me.”

He settled into the old rocking chair by the fire, cradling her close to his chest. The rhythmic creak of the chair mixed with the soft crackle of the fire, and for a moment, the chaos of the world outside seemed far away. He hummed a low tune, the same one his ma used to sing when he was a boy, his voice rough but steady.

“You’re somethin’ else, y’know that?” he whispered to her. “Didn’t think a man like me deserved somethin’ this good.”

She let out a small sigh, her tiny fist curling against his chest. Arthur stilled, his breath catching. It was the smallest thing, but it felt like the world to him. He hadn’t known he could love anything this much again, not since Isaac and Eliza. But here she was, proving him wrong with every beat of her little heart.

He glanced over at you, still asleep and bundled in blankets. You’d been through so much bringing her into the world, and Arthur had been there every step of the way. He’d held your hand, whispered reassurances in your ear, and wiped the sweat from your brow when you thought you couldn’t do it. And now, watching you sleep peacefully, he felt a surge of gratitude that he couldn’t quite put into words.

“She’s got your strength, too,” Arthur said softly, glancing down at the baby again. “Hope she’s got more of you than me. World could use more like her ma.”

The baby let out a small cry, her face scrunching up again. Arthur’s eyes widened, and he quickly stood, bouncing her gently in his arms. “Alright, alright, easy now,” he murmured, his voice soothing. “What’s the matter, huh? You hungry?”

He walked over to the small table where a clean bottle sat waiting, quickly warming it by the fire. Once it was ready, he settled back into the chair and offered it to her. She latched on immediately, her tiny lips working with determination. Arthur couldn’t help but laugh softly, his eyes crinkling with affection.

“There you go,” he said. “Ain’t no need to cry when your pa’s gotcha, huh?”

As she drank, Arthur leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. His mind wandered, thinking of everything he’d done, every bad choice he’d made, every road that had led him here. He wasn’t a good man—not by a long shot—but holding her, he wanted to try. For you. For her.

When she finished, he placed the bottle aside and held her up against his shoulder, patting her back gently. “You’re gonna have a good life,” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. “Don’t care what I gotta do. I’m gonna make sure you and your ma are safe. Always.” Arthur couldn't make the same mistake twice.

The baby let out a soft burp, and Arthur chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, settling her back into the crook of his arm.

A soft rustle from the bed caught his attention, and he turned to see you stirring, your eyes fluttering open. You smiled sleepily when you saw him, your gaze drifting to the baby in his arms.

“How’s she doin’?” you asked, your voice still thick with sleep.

Arthur smiled, his expression soft. “She’s perfect. Just like her ma.”

You sat up, stretching before crossing the room to join him. Arthur shifted slightly, making room for you to sit on the arm of the chair. You leaned against him, your head resting on his shoulder as you both gazed down at your daughter.

“She’s gonna have your heart, you know,” you said teasingly, though there was warmth in your voice.

Arthur let out a quiet laugh. “Reckon she already does.”

For a long moment, the three of you sat there together, the fire casting a warm glow over the room. The outside world could wait. Right now, all that mattered was the love shared in that little cabin—Arthur, you, and the tiny miracle cradled in his arms.

[springtyme]

𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬, 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

Arthur Morgan x afab!reader || Masterlist || Arthur playlist

summary: Since joining the Van der Linde gang, you have felt yourself gravitate toward Arthur Morgan. Like a moth to a flame, this rugged yet kind man has captured your attention. On an unusually cold night, your infatuation finally comes to a head.

word count: 5.3k

warning/tags: Smut! (18+, mdni!) Fluff. Grinding. Cunnilingus. Unprotected p in v. Arthur is a gentleman. This is my first time writing for Arthur and it's been a while since I played the game, so I hope I captured him okay.

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞: 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟎) 𝐇𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐭𝐡

The moon hangs high in the star-speckled sky, casting a silvery glow on the encampment of the Van der Linde gang, with the biting chill of the night air settling in like a thick blanket. The crackling of the campfire fills the air, chasing off the chill that has settled in once the sun dipped below the horizon. Arthur sits across from the flames, his usual bravado softened by the flickering light. He gazes into the fire, lost in thought, the shadows dancing across his strong features.

You sit a short distance away, bundled in a blanket, and you shiver despite the flames dancing before you. Your eyes flickering between him and the fire. The chill in the night is more biting than you had expected, and it has settled right into your bones. You glance at Arthur, his shoulders broad and inviting; an idea sparked in your mind.

Since you joined the Van der Linde gang, you have felt pulled towards him. Like a magnet to a magnetic field, strong and irresistible. You couldn’t even fight it, not that you would want to. There is something about Arthur—a mix of strength and vulnerability—that drew you in like a moth to a flame. And, despite his immediate ruggedness, he has been so kind to you, a much gentler man than his reputation would let on. 

It had all accumulated within you about a week ago, when you saw him by the river, you hadn’t meant to stumble upon him. You hadn’t seen much, you left almost immediately, not wanting to invade his space, but the view of his bare backside had been burned into your memory ever since. 

There was a rawness to him in those moments of solitude, something unguarded, something real. It left you breathless and a little envious of the water that cascaded over his skin, the way it dripped and glistened under the sun. That day, you realized your feelings for him went deeper than mere admiration.

Now, amidst the crackling flames and the pull of the night, you find yourself sorting through those emotions like kindling. You wrap the blanket tighter around you, contemplating your next move. The fire pops, sending a small spray of embers into the air, momentarily illuminating the dark before they vanish into the vastness above.

“Arthur?” you call softly, hesitating for a moment.

“Yeah?” he replies, glances up from the tin cup he is nursing, his eyes sparkling with the firelight. 

“Do you think… maybe I could sit closer? It’s getting pretty cold,” you say, the honesty spilling easily from your lips.

He raises an eyebrow but nods. “Sure…” You move closer, feeling a bit shy but determined to warm up. As you settle next to him, the warmth from the fire is immediately replaced by the heat radiating from his body.

“You’re freezing,” he comments, noticing how you hug your arms around yourself, still not quite warm enough. 

“Yeah… I guess I underestimated how cold it would get,” you admit with a shy smile.

Silence envelopes you for a moment, but it isn’t uncomfortable. The crackling of wood and the distant calls of the night echo around you, creating a serene backdrop. Arthur shuffles a little closer, his eyes flicking toward yours, as if assessing the situation.

“Here,” he says, leaning in a bit more and draping his arm across your shoulders. “That should help.”

Your breath is caught in your throat as his warmth seeps into you, a protective barrier against the cold. You stiffen for a moment at the sudden intimacy, but his presence is steady and comforting. It feels right.

“Thanks,” you mumble, leaning into him, instinctively seeking the heat the flames couldn’t provide.

“You’re really cold,” he murmurs, his breath trailing over your ear, making you shiver for an entirely different reason. “You shoulda said somethin’ sooner.”

You nod, reveling in the closeness, a soft warmth spreading in contrast to the chill of the evening. “I didn’t want to bother you. You seemed… deep in thought,” you say, glancing up at him sideways.

Arthur chuckles quietly, the sound deep and rumbling. “Not that deep… Just thinkin’ ‘bout what’s next. You know how it is,” he replies, his gaze returning to the flames. There’s an unspoken weight in his voice, a hint of the burdens he carries. You don’t push him for more; you know better than to pry. Instead, you shift slightly, fitting into the curve of his side, embracing the warmth he offers.

“I get it,” you say softly, looking into the fire. The flames crackle and pop, sending sparks dancing into the night. You steal A glance at him, but just as you look up, he looks down at you, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as if he caught you in the act of admiring him. It makes your heart skip just a little and heat creeping up your cheeks. You quickly return your gaze to the fire, feigning indifference.

The atmosphere shifts slightly, the warmth between you growing with each passing moment, and you can almost feel the magnetic pull of his gaze. Arthur doesn’t need to say anything; the silence is filled with everything unspoken, the tension hanging like the starry sky overhead.

“Cold as it is, it sure is peaceful tonight,” he remarks, glancing up at the stars for a brief moment before his gaze slips back to you. You nod, the serenity of the night cloaking you, but it’s the closeness with him that makes the stars shine brighter. There’s something intimate about sharing a moment like this amidst the chaos of the world, just the two of you, together under the vast expanse of stars.

“Yeah, it is,” you agree, your voice barely above a whisper. A warmth blooms in your chest, and you allow yourself to lean a little further into his side, breathing in the scent of him—leather, smoke, and something distinctly Arthur.

“Y’know, sometimes I wonder how we ended up here,” he says, his tone contemplative, stirring your curiosity. “This life… it ain’t pretty, but it’s moments like this that keep us going, I reckon.”

You turn to look at him, noting the way the firelight casts shadows across his face, highlighting the rugged lines that tell stories of hardship and resilience. “It is,” you respond, then add playfully, “I guess it beats freezing alone out here.”

He chuckles softly, and the sound vibrates through you. You can’t help but study him closer, the way his mouth curves when he smiles, the tenderness that lies beneath his hardened exterior. “You got a point. Just don’t go gettin’ too used to me keepin’ you warm,” he teases, his tone playful but his eyes betraying something deeper.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you reply, attempting to sound nonchalant, though your heartbeat quickens at the thought of sharing more than just warmth.

A moment passes, and the atmosphere shifts again, charged with an electric tension. You feel his breath against your skin, each inhale igniting a flicker of desire deep within you. Tentatively, you glance up again, catching his eyes locked onto yours, and your heart races.

You look up at him, wanting to reach out and bridge the unspoken gaps between you and In that moment, as the warmth of the fire flickers and the world outside of your little bubble fades away, something shifts. Arthur’s fingers brush against your arm, a gentle caress that sends shivers down your spine. The air feels thick with unspoken words, an invitation hanging between you both.

“Y’know… I actually wouldn’t mind if you got used to me keepin’ you warm,” Arthur murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, laced with an undeniable sincerity that makes your breath hitch in your throat. The shift in his demeanor—more serious, more vulnerable—sends a rush of heat through you.

Your heart pounds against your chest, and you can’t tell if it’s from the warmth of his body or the pull of desire igniting between the two of you. “Arthur…,” you start, but the words escape you as his gaze drops to your lips.

Without fully realizing how it happens, you shift closer, your breath mingling with his. In the space of a heartbeat, he closes the gap, his lips capturing yours in a heated kiss. It’s soft at first, a gentle exploration filled with a sweet urgency, but soon turns more fervent, fueled by a longing that has been building unnoticed until this very moment.

Your hands find their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the surprisingly soft strands as you deepen the kiss, leaning into him, feeling the heat radiating off of his body. Arthur responds in kind, wrapping his arm tighter around you, pulling you against him, as if he never wants to let you go.

The world around you fades away, leaving only the warmth of the fire and the heat of each other. You lose yourself in the sensation—his lips moving against yours, his fingers skimming over your back, igniting every nerve in your body. 

As the world outside dims, it feels like nothing else exists but the two of you. You feel his body against yours, the roughness of his hands juxtaposed with the fire’s warmth. The chill of the night fades completely, leaving only the heat that surges between you.

“Arthur,” you breathe, pulling back slightly to catch your breath, your forehead resting against his. His eyes are dark and intense, a mixture of longing and something deeper.

“Yeah?” he replies, that low rumble of his voice sending tingles down your spine. His gaze stays locked on you, filled with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt about how he feels.

“Are you gonna keep me warm tonight?”

Arthur’s breath hitches slightly at your question, a playful spark lighting in his eyes. He searches your gaze as if looking for the truth behind your inquiry, the shadows of the fire dancing across both your faces, bathing you in its warm light.

“I reckon I can manage that,” he answers, his voice low and full of promise, steadying himself as he leans even closer. The intensity of the moment is electric, wrapping around you like the embrace of the night.

With a slow deliberation, he shifts his body, creating a more intimate cocoon around you. His hand runs gently down your arm, sending waves of warmth pulsing through your skin. You feel the weight of his gaze on you, heavy yet inviting, as he moves slightly, his lips brushing past your ear.

“Why don’t we head to my tent, then?” you suggest, a nervous thrill coursing through you at the thought of such proximity. The air hangs between you, thick with possibilities.

“Lead the way, darlin’,” his voice gravelly and coaxing, a hint of mischief threaded through his words. The intimacy of the proposition sends a shiver down your spine—not from the cold this time, but from excitement.

You stand, heart racing, and reach for Arthur’s hand, your fingers intertwining with his as you lead him away from the warmth of the fire and the potential curious eyes of the camp. The chill of the night air bites against your skin, but Arthur’s presence is a comforting blanket around you. The way he moves beside you, the strength of his hand enveloping yours, intensifies the fluttering in your stomach.

As you approach your tent, the world outside fades into silence, just the two of you amidst the stillness of the night. You pause just outside, your pulse quickening as you glance back at him. His gaze is dark, heated, full of expectation, and it sends a thrilling rush through you.

Without thinking, you lean in slightly, brushing your lips against his, a teasing caress filled with anticipation. He responds instantly, his hand moving to cradle your face, deepening the kiss as his other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you against him.

“Let’s not waste any more time,” he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot and mingling with yours as he nudges you into the tent. You stumble in, laughter spilling from your lips as he follows, his gaze intensely focused on you.

Inside, the dim light casts a cozy glow, illuminating the space where your bodies stand mere inches apart. The air is thick with tension, the scent of leather and smoke surrounding you as Arthur steps closer, a predatory glint in his eye. It sends another wave of excitement coursing through you.

“Closer,” he says, voice low and commanding, and you obey instinctively, stepping into his personal space. You can feel the heat radiating from him, and the electric spark between you intensifies.

His hands find your waist, gripping you firmly as he leans down, capturing your lips again with a fierce need. This kiss is different—hungry and demanding. You melt against him, losing yourself in the taste of him, the warmth of his body enveloping you. Your fingers tangle in his shirt, pulling him closer, urging him on.

Arthur’s hands roam your back, gently urging you towards the edge of the small cot amid the tent. You gasp against his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to explore further, trailing kisses down your neck as you tilt your head back in delight.

“Damn,” he murmurs, his voice ragged with desire. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” His breath is warm against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as you pull him back up to you, crashing your lips together again.

The feeling of him—his rough hands, the weight of his body—intensifies the urge coursing through you, the desire to surrender to this moment. You tug at his shirt, muscles straining beneath your fingertips. With deft hands, he works it free, his shirt falling to the ground as your hands roam over his bare skin, feeling the heat radiate off of him.

“You’re incredible,” he breathes out as you touch him, exploring every inch of his toned torso as he leans over you, the power dynamic propelling your heart rate even higher. His lips find your collarbone, brushing over the sensitive skin, making you gasp.

“Arthur,” you murmur, your voice a combination of need and admiration. He pulls back slightly, his blue eyes dark and full of intent as he studies you. There’s a possessive heat in his gaze that makes your insides curl with anticipation.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispers, his breath hovering over your lips. The way he speaks sends a ripple of excitement through you, the possibilities stretching out like the night sky above.

“I want you,” you admit, surprise mingling with clarity. The words tumble from your lips, bold and unguarded. “I want all of you.”

Arthur grins, a slow, wicked smile that sends a rush of heat through you. “Then you’ll have me,” he declares, and in an instant, he’s on you, capturing your mouth again, deepening the kiss as he pushes you back onto the cot.

The world around you fades away, engulfed in the warmth of the moment as his body presses against yours, igniting every nerve with a fervor you hadn’t anticipated. Your breath quickens as he trails kisses down your jaw, over your neck, and back to your lips, again and again, each exploration sending electrifying sparks shooting through you.

His hands roam freely, brushing against your skin while his lips do their own wandering, every touch stirring a primal need in you that’s impossible to ignore.

“Arthur,” you breathe, tugging him closer as you arch against him, the heat between you both rising like wildfire. “Please,” you beg. You need him, need him to touch you without anything between you, no clothes, no barriers.

He pauses for a fraction of a second to meet your gaze, seeking confirmation—desire laced with care—and in this moment it is as if can read your thoughts. You don’t need to voice your wish, only to confirm to him that it is okay. 

“Please, Arthur,” you repeat. It is all he needs to hear. Calloused hands start to undress you, helping you shred your garments and expose your skin to the chill air of the night.  

The cool air rushes over your bare skin, contrasting sharply with the heat radiating from Arthur as he leans over you, his breath warm and steady. A shiver runs through you, not from the cold, but from the heady anticipation swirling in the air. With every piece of clothing that falls away, a new layer of vulnerability is revealed, but instead of feeling exposed, you feel a sense of liberation, a boldness surging from within.

Arthur’s gaze is intense, roaming over your body as if committing every curve, every scar, and every inch to memory. His exploration is slow, deliberate, full of reverence, and it ignites a fire within you that dances just below the surface. You watch as the flickering light from the fire outside casts warm shadows across his rugged features, illuminating the desire etched in his expression.

In one swift motion, he discards your last garment, and a heat flushes through you, both from exposure and the rawness of the moment. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice a low rasp that tugs at your heartstrings. There’s an honesty in his eyes that makes you feel cherished in a way you never expected.

“Arthur, I—” you begin, but he silences you with a kiss, capturing your words and folding them into the intensity of the moment. His lips move over yours with a tender ferocity, igniting a hunger that spreads like wildfire throughout your body. You respond eagerly, your hands pulling him closer, craving his touch against every inch of your skin.

He breaks the kiss, leaning down to press his lips against your collarbone, trailing soft kisses down to the swell of your breasts, his breath warm against your skin. Each movement sends jolts of pleasure coursing through you, every kiss igniting a spark that sets your nerves alight.

“Arthur…” you breathe, arching your back instinctively, wanting more of him, needing him to explore every inch of you. His hands roam freely, caressing your curves, memorizing the way your body responds to him.

“Easy, darlin’,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rich with warmth and desire. “I got you.” There’s a sweetness to the way he speaks, a reassurance that only deepens the connection between you. He lifts his head to meet your gaze, and in that moment, the world outside, the gang, the chaos of life fades entirely. All that matters is the quiet, intimate space you’ve created together.

With a gentle touch, his hands guide you back down towards the cot, his body following, pressing against you, enveloping you in his warmth. You feel the weight of him against you, the sensation almost overwhelming in its intensity as he leans down, kissing you deeply once more. The kiss deepens, both of you lost in the surge of desire that envelops you.

You pull him closer, your hands exploring the muscles of his back, tracing the lines of his form. He moves with a mix of urgency and reverence as he grinds against you, cultivating a rhythm that makes your pulse race. You feel every press of his body against yours, the heat soaring higher with each passing moment. you gasp as you feel the curve of his hardened cock through the rough denim of his jeans.

“Darlin’, I want to taste you,” he murmurs, the growl of his voice promising things that make your breath hitch. The implication sends a thrill up your spine, desire surging through you like fire. You can hardly respond, only nodding breathlessly, caught up in the intensity of his gaze and the heat radiating from his body.

“Please,” you manage to whisper, the plea escaping your lips with a mix of eagerness and urgency.

With skilled hands, he begins to move lower, trailing kisses along your body, down the gentle curve of your waist, following the soft dips of your hips. Each kiss sends ripples of anticipation coursing through you, and you arch towards him, craving more. Arthur moves with deliberate slowness, taking his time, savoring every moment, the intent in his eyes making you feel cherished and desired.

“Trust me,” he whispers, his breath ghosting over your skin, and you can hardly muster a reply as he reaches your thighs, the heat of him only intensifying your longing. You can feel the weight of his gaze as he looks at your body, and a breathless shiver runs through you; he's memorizing you, relishing each curve.

His hands part your thighs gently, and you feel an exhilarating rush of vulnerability and excitement. With a teasing touch, he trails his fingers along your inner thigh, barely brushing against your skin, igniting sparks of electric sensation. The anticipation builds within you, a tantalizing chord strumming tighter and tighter, waiting for him to play the melody that will make it snap.

“Arthur,” you breathe, the urgency of your need unmistakable now.

“Gotcha,” he replies, the smirk evident in his voice before he dips his head. As soon as his lips make contact, you let out a soft gasp, your body responding instinctively to his mouth. His warm, firm lips explore and tease – deliberate, unhurried – and the world outside the tent melts into nothing.

Every flick of his tongue sends waves of pleasure crashing over you, and you feel yourself lose track of everything—the camp, the stars, the night—nothing matters but this moment, this connection. He revels in the taste of you, eyes locked onto yours as if wanting to drink you in not just physically, but soulfully.

“Just relax, darlin’,” he murmurs against you, and the sound vibrates through you, only adding to the swirling sum of sensations. You feel his lips curve into a smile against your skin, knowing just how responsive you are to him, and that realization sends a ripple of heat coursing through you.

His movements become more fervent, focused on every inch of you, and as his tongue works its magic, you feel your body tighten, shaking at the intensity of the pleasure he’s drawing from you. “Arthur…,” you gasp again, surrendering completely to the waves of ecstasy that just keep rising and rising.

“Feel good?” he teases, glancing up briefly, and the rogue glimmer in his eyes tells you he knows just how much you're enjoying this.

“More than good,” you reply, your voice trembling with need. “Don’t stop.”

“Trust me, I won’t,” he promises, and his focus returns, deepening the intimacy of this moment. He immerses himself fully, your body moving instinctively in rhythm with his expert ministrations. The sensation becomes addictive, and with each flick, each pull of his lips, you feel yourself teetering on the edge, ready to leap.

You can feel the tension building, each wave of pleasure rolling higher within you, and you fight to hold on, pleading with him through moans and gasps. With a final, deliberate stroke against your most sensitive spot, you shatter, the world erupting in a shocking brilliance as you crest over the edge and fall into bliss.

“Arthur!” you cry out his name, your body trembling, stars exploding behind your eyes, and you lose yourself completely in the overwhelming pleasure. The waves of ecstasy roll through you, and it feels like everything fades away—nothing but you and him, anchored together in this intimate cocoon.

He continues to tease and coax you through your high, savoring every moment, every sound you make. The connection between you both deepens in this exquisite stillness—passionate and primal, a sweet collision of souls in an unforgiving world.

When the tremors finally subside, you pull him back up to your lips, hunger evident as you kiss him deeply, tasting yourself mixed with the warmth of his breath. Arthur responds, diving into the embrace, arms wrapping around you, pulling you close as you share this sacred moment.

“Goddamn,” he breathes into your mouth when you finally part, his voice rich with both awe and hunger, the need between you still pulsing like a living thing. “You’re incredible.”

You manage a breathless laugh. “I could say the same about you.”

He smirks, brushing a palm gently over your cheek, his thumb lingering against your cheekbone. “And trust me, darlin’, I’m just gettin’ started.”

Your heart races again at his words, the promise of more sending a thrilling shiver down your spine. As you pull him closer once more, ready to explore every depth of this connection, nothing seems daunting anymore—just the two of you, the embers of the fire outside, the stars above, and the wild world fading beyond the complexities of your shared intimacy.

“Then get out of those boots, and those jeans, and take me, Arthur.” Your statement hangs heavy in the air between you, a daring challenge laced with vulnerability. Something primal glints in his eyes as he gaze down at you, igniting a spark that sends butterflies swirling in your stomach

With a swift motion, he frees himself from the restraints of his jeans, the sound of the fabric falling to the earth blending into the chaos of your racing hearts. You glance down, taking in the sight of him, and a rush of lust surges through you. He’s strong, and rugged, the embodiment of passion entwined with a rugged charm that makes your pulse quicken.

Arthur positions himself between your legs, leaning forward to kiss you deeply again, his body pressing against yours, reminding you of the heat that you both share. His hands roam over your body, exploring every curve and contour, igniting sparks wherever he touches.

“Damn, you feel good,” he murmurs, his voice rough with need as he trails kisses down your body, savoring every taste, every gasp that escapes your lips. The way his lips move on your skin makes it nearly impossible to hold back, your body arching and twisting beneath him as you crave more of his touch.

“Arthur, please…” you whimper, the urgency in your voice unmistakable. You need him, need him to fill the void; you crave the connection that you both share. He meets your pleading gaze, and the sincerity in his eyes sends warmth flooding through you.

With a steady, commanding hand, he guides himself to your entrance, hesitating for only a moment as he seeks your permission. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly, a mix of concern and desire lacing his words.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you reply, breathless, your heart racing as you nod fervently. The moment stretches, the tension palpable as the air between you thickens with promise and anticipation. Arthur doesn’t need to be told twice.

In one fluid motion, he fills you, pushing deep within with a slow, deliberate intensity that leaves you gasping. Every nerve in your body ignites, overwhelmed by the sensation of him surrounding you, overwhelming you with pleasure. You feel fullness, desire, and unyielding connection as your bodies meld together as one.

“Shit,” he breathes, his voice strained as he begins to move within you, the rhythm developing as he finds a pace that balances urgency and sweetness. Each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure erupting inside you, a blissful spiral that pulls you closer to the edge.

You dig your nails into his back, urging him on, pushing him deeper as waves of delight crash over you with every plunge, every grind of his hips against yours, the sounds of skin meeting skin echoing in the quiet tent. Your breaths mingle, chaotic and desperate, amplifying the heat that races between your bodies.

“God, you feel incredible,” Arthur gasps, his forehead pressed against yours as he moves, each thrust igniting your senses, the pressure building within you. You can feel the heat between you boiling over, a feral need surging through you, driving you closer to the precipice.

“Arthur, I’m so close…” you cry out, the urgency of your release bubbling over as you cling to him, urging him on. With each powerful thrust, he drives you higher, pushing you toward the brink of ecstasy.

“Let go for me, darlin’,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “Let it all happen.”

That encouragement is all it takes. With one final thrust, your body shatters in bliss, waves of passion crash over you as you cry out his name, the world around you dimming into nothing but pleasure and warmth.

“Yeah, just like that,” he groans. He pulls out at the last minute, spilling rope upon rope of warm, white cum over your skin, his own ecstasy evident in the way his body tensed against yours. The two of you crashing together in a flurry of shared ecstasy that sends both of you spiraling into pure delight. 

As the waves of pleasure ebb away, you both lie tangled in each other’s arms, breathless and elated. The world outside fades into an echoing silence as the fire crackles softly, illuminating the tenderness of the moment shared between you.

Arthur holds you tightly, your bodies entwined beneath the warmth of the blankets and the remnants of the heat you’ve both created. In the aftermath, an intimate silence settles between you, the sound of your breathing mingling with the gentle crackle of the fire outside, a calming cadence that feels sacred in its intimacy.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with a mixture of concern and tenderness as he brushes his fingers along your skin. He grabs his shirt, his long, strong arm reaching it with ease, and gently wipes his cum from your thigh and stomach, the gesture both intimate and caring.

You nod, a soft smile playing on your lips, feeling cherished in this vulnerable moment. “Yeah, I’m more than alright,” you reply softly, your heart swelling with a warmth that eclipses even the fire’s glow. You glance up to meet his piercing blue eyes, shimmering with sincerity and a hint of vulnerability that makes your chest tighten. It’s a contrast to the fierce man you had known; in this moment, he’s not just rugged and wild, but tender, caring.

A shy smile breaks upon his lips, and you can’t help but mirror it. “Good,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a gentle kiss on your forehead. The sweetness of the gesture sends a wave of warmth flooding through you, solidifying the bond that had cemented itself in the fiery passion of just a few moments ago.

The quiet feels different now—less charged with tension and more filled with understanding—a blank canvas where something beautiful can unfold. The shadows in the tent off the flickering light dance around you both, echoing the intricate tapestry of emotions woven from the intimacy you just shared.

He leans down, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss that speaks of more than just passion; this was special, it meant something. You both share a lingering smile before settling into the quiet once more, a sense of peace enveloping you amidst the chaos of the outside world.

As time drifts lazily onward, you let your eyes wander deeper into the safe haven of his presence, the warmth of your intertwined bodies gradually creating a sanctuary against the chilling night air. The crackle of the fire outside serves as a soothing soundtrack to the warmth surrounding you, and you revel in this moment—a blissful interlude that feels entirely yours.

“Let’s rest,” Arthur murmurs, stealing another kiss before pulling you closer, cocooning you in his embrace. You nod against him, content to let the exhaustion of reality slip away for a while.

As sleep intertwines with the serenity of the night, you feel his heartbeat against your cheek—a steady reminder that, for now, you have everything you need. Together, you drift into dreams, the warmth of each other’s presence cocooning you as the chill of the world outside feels light years away.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated ♡

[utterlyazriel]

to see you just right

word count: 5k... my freakin sweet spot apparently synopsis: Shooting practice reveals your less than stellar vision. Arthur determinedly hunts down some glasses for you and you realise what details you've been missing out on. mutual pining, friends to lovers (almost) set during horseshoe overlook ! this is my first rdr fic so... be nice <3

Times like now, squinting at the bottles in the distance, the question of why the gang still kept you around bugs at you like an incessant horsefly.

I mean, you knew why—you've been running with the Van Der Linde gang for a couple years now. If you hadn't already proved yourself as resourceful and sharp-minded, you would've been kicked to the curb quite some time ago.

But you certainly weren’t a hunter. Nor a shooter.

You weren't even very good at picking pockets.

What you had was keen ears; good for picking up leads and the hushed conversations of businessmen with deep pockets. Not to mention your adeptness at stitching up bullet wounds, better than anyone else at camp.

Yes, yes, you weren't useless by any means.

But still... that didn't mean you could shake the envy of others' skills. It didn't take away that simmering, uneasy feeling as you stared down the targets in the distance, helplessly blurred to you. The shot from your last bullet still rings out.

You can already tell it hasn't hit its mark.

Just hit the fucking target. You think to yourself scoldingly.

You're not sure why this is so much harder for you than just about anyone else in the gang. And as much as it isn't your job, you've grown determined to be able to handle yourself if trouble ever comes knocking.

You thought that with a gunslinger as fine as Arthur Morgan himself, you'd learn a thing or two — a foolish idea that's dissipating quickly before you.

Adjusting your clammy grip on the pistol cradled between both palms, you shift your stance and squint again, rolling your shoulders back.

Empty lungs. You pull back the hammer and line up your best shot, feeling the kick of the recoil.

The lack of shattering glass is answer enough, but even so you lower your extended arms an inch or so to see closer. Scrunching your eyes to try focus, you wince at what you can make out.

No bullet holes on any of the crates, all six bottles still standing.

You're beginning to sorely regret asking for shooting practice when it only seems like a surefire way to prove yourself a fool. And in front of Arthur no less.

Arthur who—well, you'd be lying if you said you weren't fond for.

Quick to boil, your frustration wells, an itch behind your eyes. You drop your arms, lowering your gaze to the ground with another sigh.

"How you do this every damn day is a miracle to me."

You force a half-hearted laugh into your words. It's better than letting him hear that wallowing, pitiful feeling you can feel rising up your throat.

"It's jus' lots 'n lots of practice," Arthur says gently, his voice somewhere behind you.

Christ knows his intense, watchful gaze isn't helping you either.

You can't help but feel it burning into your back every time you raise the pistol—and every time you fail miserably.

Your frustration rises again and you finally lift your head, turning back to the cowboy.

"I'm sorry, Arthur," You say sincerely. "I— this was a mistake." You begin to hold the pistol out in your outstretched hand, grip lax.

You don't get very far before he's stepping in closer, his hand reaching up to yours and pressing your fingers to close around the grip again.

"C'mon now," He rasps. "Yer not just gonna give up 'cos it's hard, are ya?"

Skin against skin is enough to draw your heart up your throat, rabbiting fast and all too revealing. You pointedly ignore the spike in your pulse and let him manoeuvre you, his hand moving up to nudge your shoulder. You face the targets.

Six bottles in the distance glint tauntingly beneath the afternoon sun, as if teasing you for your failure.

"Arthur," You sigh dejectedly.

It's kind of him to keep offering encouragement but you only need ten minutes of this to realise it's a severely lost cause. "It's not use, I'm awful—"

"Hush," Arthur cuts you off, voice gruff this time. "You ain't no such thing. Just—"

He hovers just behind you, the heat of his body blazing against your back. With a quiet hum, his fingertips square out your angled shoulders, fixing your stance. They trail down to minutely adjust the twist of your hips, pressing one further forward gently.

The sun seems to burn brighter suddenly. You fight to keep your face forward and pray Arthur can't heart the traitorous inhale you give at his touch.

"'Kay. Shoot again." He murmurs lowly, his hands retreating but staying close. "Lemme watch closer this time."

You're not brave enough to tell him that you're even less likely to hit the target with his close proximity.

Instead, you just follow his instruction, raising the pistol to the bottles once more. Slowing your breath as much as your racing heart will allow, you squint.

"Wait," Arthur's voice interrupts.

You falter, suddenly unsure. Moving out from behind you, his hand comes up to push the gun down, barrel facing the dirt.

Standing close, he tilts his head up, his eyes assessing you intently from beneath the brim of his hat. It's as though he's looking at a puzzle he can't quite figure out.

After a moment, his eyes cast out to the shooting range he's set up for you. You get a stolen glimpse of his chiselled jaw before he's stepping forward, broad shouldered, with one hand resting on his gun belt.

Turning to face you, he takes a few wide steps back, then halts, raising his hand.

"How many fingers?"

Brows raised, you will yourself not to scoff. "You bein’ serious?"

Arthur doesn't move, only his head tilting forward an inch, the brim of his hat dipping lower. He smiles wryly. "Humour me."

Dropping your arms, you let the gun swing idly to your side. With a shrug, you focus on his hand.

"Two."

Arthur nods. He turns and paces back til he's in line with the bottles this time. It's far enough from you that the details of him begin to blur out, but you can still see his figure just fine.

"And now?" He calls out, voice raised to reach you over the distance.

Your careless shrug from before is nowhere to be found. A sudden sheepishness crawls up within you as you quickly try to strain your gaze.

God, is he even holding up a hand at all?

You don't get a moment to guess before he's approaching you once more, his features getting sharper as he draws closer. You can see his smile, a rare sight. He seems to have solved his puzzle.

"What was that for?" You question curiously.

"It ain't yer aim, that's for damn sure," Arthur says, coming to a stop before you.

His blue eyes assess you once more, before he extends his hand out for the pistol at your side. You hand it over wordlessly, waiting for his explanation. A dragonfly swoops by you with a loud hum.

"It's yer eyes." He says, holstering the pistol without a glance.

You blink, confused at the implication. You're sure if there was something wrong with your eyes, you'd know about it at your grown age.

Your confusion must be clear on your face because Arthur continues, resting his hands on his gun belt casually.

He nods to you. "Not all bad. 'Betcha can see just fine up close. But in the distance, not so much."

"Oh," The word escapes in a soft breath.

It hadn't really been something you had considered—that your poor performance shooting was due to that blurriness surrounding the targets. That it was due to anything other than you being utter shit at shooting.

Turning your stare out to the bottles again, you blink and squint, as if to check. You realise he may just be talking truth.

"Lord, I think you might be right." You admit, a relieved laugh colouring your tone. The frustration you felt from earlier drains rapidly, taking with it your souring mood.

A different part of you deflates at the knowledge you'll never get better at shooting. Cursed vision. You wrinkle your nose in distaste, pushing down your bitterness.

Arthur gestures to the horses with one hand, lesson clearly over.

The pair of you begin to meander back towards your horses hitched in the treeline. Side by side, it doesn't escape you the nearness you're inclined to, drawn to him, a flower facing the sun.

The leather of his jacket brushes your bare arm. You think you must be suffering sunburn, considering how your skin seems to burn in response.

Eyes flashing in his direction, you think you see a hint of colour on Arthur’s face.

He’s tilts his head, his features covered by the brim of his hat, so you can't be sure. You chalk it up to a wishful imagination.

Always unknowable. Maybe it's his private nature that's part of what allures you to the man.

Pushing forward, you approach your mare, Dragon, with a gentle greeting. You're rewarded with the butting of her muzzle against your palm, a smile curling onto your lips instinctively.

“Y'know, chances are, you're not nearly as awful as ya think.” Arthur says, his tone softer than usual—perhaps sensing your blue mood.

Despite talking to you, he keeps his gaze steadfast on his own horse, Hypatia. He dotes on her with a loving pat, hands usually meant for violence, now gentle.

After a moment, he says. “I’ll see what I can do fer you at the general store.”

Pleasant surprise curls up in your stomach in a sharp bloom.

“Arthur,” You say with a smile, sounding a bit awed. He does look up at you this time, blue eyes bright from beneath the edge of his hat. “That’s very kind but, well, you needn’t do that—“

"I ain't makin' you any promises," He cuts your rambling response off. "I'll just have a look. That alright?"

Feeling your face glow warmly, you force yourself to meet his strong gaze. "Alright."

Then after a moment, you say, "I guess I'll allow it."

Arthur guffaws lightly at that. He pushes up on strong legs to mount Hypatia in one fluid motion, one he's done countless times before. You watch, pretending you aren't staring at the powerful flex of his thighs as he settles into the saddle.

Christ alive. It takes effort to avert your eyes, stepping up to sling yourself into your own saddle.

“If she allows it…” Arthur repeats, almost incredulously, his head tilted toward you. There’s a tug on his lips, like he’s holding back his smile, even as he shakes his head at you.

A laugh titters out of you and you nudge Dragon forward, if only so he can't see the grin on your lips.

And if you spend the ride to camp lingering on the feeling of his hands covering your own hands, adjusting the twist of your waist?

Well, that was your own damn business.

—

After your shooting lesson, Arthur leaves camp for four days.

Some bounty given to him by the sheriff in Valentine that he was tracking up into the mountains — at least that’s what he’d said as he bid you a polite goodbye, early in the morning light, the day after your lesson.

You’d murmured your drowsy goodbye over your coffee cup, eyes barely open — making Arthur snort quietly — and then watched intently, your sleepy gaze softened, as he disappeared between the trees on Hypatia.

Perhaps you’d been too spoiled with his company in these last couple weeks.

He hadn’t taken any longer jobs, always back at camp for the evening, with a tip of his hat to you. Always prepared to lend a helping hand or to escort you and the girls into Valentine. You'd almost call yourselves friends. The familiarity of his presence was something you'd gotten used to.

It was one of the good reasons you found yourself particular afflicted with him — Arthur Morgan was far kinder than he ever gave himself credit for.

And far nicer to look at than he seemed to think so too.

To say you’re a bit put off by not having your usual pretty-boy cowboy to provide somewhere nice to rest your eyes wouldn’t be a lie.

“Someone’s head in the clouds.”

The jeering words from Karen pair with a playful nudge to your shoulder.

Distracted, the dish in your hands slips and lands back in the water-filled basin with a splosh. Narrowing your eyes at Karen, you fish it out and resume your abandoned scrubbing.

“Ain’t sure what you’re talking ‘bout,” You hum, nonchalant as you can manage.

Liar. You’d definitely been casting your gaze towards the trail that leads into camp and slipped away into a daydream, sweet as the cowboy’s eyes you were imagining. Surely he wouldn't be away much longer, right?

“Mmhm,” Karen says, telling you exactly how much she believed you.

At her side, Mary-Beth smothers a giggle in her palm. Clearly your attempts at subtlety are wholly ineffective.

Despite your intent glances as you work your way through the remaining chores of the day, none prove to be fruitful. The sun lazes across the sky and sinks toward the horizon and even then, Arthur is absent.

Your lovesickness abates with a sigh. The outlaw could be gone for weeks at a time, you knew that. If it was a shorter trip, he'd be back already. Tonight, you depart from around the campfire earlier than usual, heading back to your shared tent with Mary-Beth.

It’s with an absentminded hum that you potter around, straightening out the space as the sunlight dwindles. You had worked hard today and it’s filled your bones with a weariness ready for sleep.

An oil lamp burns on the crate acting as your bedside table, casting a mellow, amber colour through the tent. The idle sounds of the wildlife of Horseshoe Overlook fill the background, mixing with the crackle of the campfire.

Maybe you should journal a bit, before bed. Eyes narrowed, you scan your cot for the little book you keep nearby—you had used it just last night.

Coming up blank, you huff and crouch to your knees to hunt for it. Countless times you’ve fallen asleep with it in your hand and found it gone in the morning. It worms its way down the edge of the tent with a mission to escape you, you swear.

Peering beneath your cot, the red leather of the book gleams back at you. You smile and reach out, having to duck a little further to reach it, giving a victorious little aha! when you close your fingers around it.

Shifting back, you sit on your heels, right as someone clears their throat behind you.

Spooked and not unlike a deer, you startle with a violent jump. Whipping around, pulse jumping, your panic recedes as you narrow your eyes at the cause of your panic.

“Christ, Arthur,” you seethe at him. You put a hand over your racing heart to calm it. “You damn near scared the mickey out of me.”

“My apologies, miss,” Arthur says, tipping his hat. He sounds sincere but even so, you catch the glimmer of amusement on his lips. “Weren’t my intention.”

He’s lingering at the entrance of your tent, not quite entering. His big hands rest of his gun belt, hovering somewhere between casual and proper.

How Arthur manages both is a mystery to you; every bit at home amongst the rough of tumble of camp, yet ever-so polite to you.

He treats you like a gentlemen treats a proper lady; though both of you are neither.

Pushing to your feet, you let your journal drop atop your cot. Then you regret it, wishing you had something to occupy your hands. The all too familiar buzz of nerves that come with being sweet on someone makes you prone to fidgeting.

You brush down your skirts just to do something. “And just what was your intention?”

Amusement abiding, a different expression skitters across Arthur's face. He raises one hand to scratch the back of his neck.

“Gotcha somethin',” He murmurs, dragging his hand forward, across his beard. Rather hastily, he stuffs his hand into his satchel.

He digs for a moment and then pulls his hand out, extending it out. Something shiny glints in the low light of the tent, resting in his big palm.

You step forward and squint for a moment, realising with a jolt of unexpected delight that it’s a pair of round spectacles.

An infectious smile tugs the corner of your lips up, your eyes brighter upon seeing the gift he’s brought you. Your hand reaches out, then halts in mid-air, glancing back up at him.

“May I?”

“‘Course. They’re for you.” Arthur grunts, feigning nonchalance even as he beckons you to take them from him.

Smile turning to a grin, you pluck them out his hand, stepping closer as you do. You turn them over in delicately, drinking in the details greedily. They’re finely made.

With an ebb of guilt, you realise they must’ve cost him a fortune. If he paid for them, that is.

“Took me all the way out past Emerald Ranch to find a fella who did them.”

Gaze snapping up, the ebb of guilt grows. He hadn’t just got them for you, he’d gone out of his way to find a spectacle maker specifically.

There’s a silver lining to the guilt — the feeling sprinkled through your chest like gunpowder, kicking up sparks. He certainly had to be keeping you in mind, to some capacity, to do such a thing for you.

The thought of being more than a passing thought in Arthur’s mind is enough to set the gunpowder alight. Your chest glows brightly like a firework.

“What happened to just having a nosy in the general store, hm?” You ask.

“Well, now,” Arthur begins, giving a hesitant cough as if it’ll cover the sincerity of his actions. He tilts his head down, the brim of his hat covering his eyes, as he always did when he felt too seen.

After a pause, he says lowly, “I know how much you wanted to shoot.”

“That’s... mighty kind of you, Mister Morgan.” You say, hoping your voice doesn’t betray the racing of your treacherous heart. “Though, I’d hate for you to go to all this trouble if they don’t even work right with my eyes.”

Holding the pair of spectacles up, you unfold the arms and peer through the lenses. They’re certainly magnifying something—Arthur looking further away in the one lens you peer through. It’s almost like a funhouse mirror. The smile on your face widens, cheeks nearly aching.

“That don’t matter,” Arthur says. He pats his satchel gently. “If those don’t work, I got three more pairs in here.”

“Three?” You lower the glasses, bewilderment colouring your voice.

“Where the devil did you get so many?”

“Turns out, folk rich enough to take the stagecoach can usually afford ‘em.” Arthur chuckles.

Somehow the image of Arthur out there, picking through the loot box, then demanding folk hand over their eyewear is enough to inspire a laugh out of you.

You stifle your laughter behind your hand, endeared even more when he opens his satchel to prove it, a shy smile on his lips.

Sure enough, he draws three more pairs out. Even the thickness of the glass even varies from pair to pair — god, who knew one could be so thoughtful whilst robbing?

“You know, that might be the most sweet thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

The words come out softer than intended, your affections surely obvious.

You don’t risk a glance up at Arthur’s face, too fearful your feelings are written over your own, plain to see. In doing so, you miss the dusting of pink across his own cheeks.

Arthur clears his throat, sending a single prayer for strength to a god who’s surely abandoned him. The way you sound, he’d almost believe you’re sweet on him.

“Cmon, then,” He says, adding a touch more gruff to his voice. “Better try them on after all the damn time I spent hunting them down.”

You roll your eyes at his faux annoyance. There’s no real heat to his words.

Tilting your face down, you bring the pair up to tuck over your ears hesitantly. The world around you shifts as the lenses settle. Your sight is sufficiently more blurry than it was a second ago.

“Woah.” You murmur, looking up just to check.

Arthur’s figure swims before you, entirely out of focus. You blink, unbeknownst of the way the glasses magnify your eyes to a comically large size. It makes Arthur's smile grow, teeth peeking out, knowing for sure you can’t see for shit.

“Not those.” He says decidedly and when you slide them off, he’s already holding out the second pair, arms unfolded this time.

You mutter a quiet thank-you, feeling warmth creep your neck at the simple, polite motion.

This pair, when you slide them on, has a rather different effect. Instead of the blurriness alike to being underwater, the entire world sharpens.

You inhale at the difference. The sounds of the campfires and people around you dims and you blink rapidly, eyes jumping from detail to detail. There's something new to notice in every corner.

Head dipped down, you can pick out the individual blades of grass underfoot. The stitching on the hem your dress, the same as on the sleeves, you can see properly now. As in, see the stitches.

You swish you dress, watching, entranced.

Arthur’s comment during shooting practice may have been wrong —saying there was nothing wrong with your vision up close — because suddenly everything seems so much more. Maybe you’ve been blinder than you think.

Swinging your head round, you survey the inside of your tent with a renewed interest.

The fraying hole in your blanket, scribbled words in your opened journal, the splinters in your wooden crate bedside table — things you normally need to see up close, clearer than ever.

“I take it those ones are workin’ just fine.” Arthur says amusedly, having watched your wide-eyed and wandering gaze.

At the sound of his raspy voice, your head jerks up — and then your heart lurches forward with a hiccup, nearly tripping over itself.

Arthur is… He’s… Holy heaven, has he always been that handsome?

A dozen new details spring out at you, little secrets you've been missing. You can see the crook in his nose from being broken too many times. A scar you’ve never noticed on the edge of his chin, given away by the small patch in his beard.

He has freckles, dozens of little ones, from all his time spent under the baking sun. They gather at the edges of his eyes, blending into the crows feet. You can trace the cupid's bow of his lips.

It occurs to you that you should totally, definitely say something. You’ve been silent too long, just taking in the lines of his face, awed, but your throat has dried up.

Lord above, he’s pretty.

How are you expected to continue your day with the knowledge that Arthur Morgan might be the prettiest man you’ve ever laid eyes on?

Lord, if you’d been fond of him before, you’re surely smitten with him now.

Arthur shifts uncomfortably under the attention, taking your prolonged silence for the worst. His already jittered nerves fry under your stare and he ducks his head to hide himself from you.

“Probably can see what an ugly bastard I am, now you can see proper.” He huffs offhandedly, scratching at his beard and keeping his gaze low.

It hadn’t occurred to him, this downside of fetching this gift for you. You’ll see him clearly now — flaws and all.

“What?”

You sound a mixture of bewildered and crestfallen and it draws Arthur’s gaze up.

Your eyebrows have knit together in the middle and you take another step, bringing you closer together still.

Arthur forces himself to keep breathing, even as his nerves flutter. It’s an awful lot like one of Mary-Beth’s books, where she talks about romantics getting butterflies.

It feels more like a hive of bumblebees, Arthur thinks, trying to shove the feeling down. ‘Sides, the two of you weren’t romantics. You didn’t see him that way.

“Not in the slightest.” You say, eyes never leaving his face.

Arthur isn’t sure what your expression means but even as the attention makes him shift, something within him more selfish preens. Having your undivided attention when he’s surely unworthy of it has him standing a little taller, chest puffing out more.

“Say, has anyone ever told you that you have…” Your voice trails off, your words soft as the dawn’s first rays of light. Arthur forces himself to meet your eye again. “A little bit of green in your eyes?”

This time, you don’t miss the flush of colour that creeps up Arthur’s neck.

He clears his throat, breaking your stare so he can rub the back of his neck; a futile attempt to cover his nervousness.

How in the hell else is he supposed to react to you all but waxing poetic about his eyes? You, enigmatic and more beautiful than a mayflower in the spring?

He’d wanted your attention, getting you the glasses, but now he has it, he’s melting beneath it like butter in the sun. He's a grown man for heaven's sake. How is it that you can make him nervous like nothing before?

“No, er, can’t say they have.” He says, stealing a glimpse back at you.

God, Arthur was a fool. You look even more beautiful in the spectacles. He’ll surely embarrass himself with his besotted stare, unable to curb his fondness for you.

There’s something new in your expression too. Your smile turned more feline, as if you’ve clued in to something he hasn’t.

His hands fall to clutch his gun belt, prepared to retreat and perhaps spend his evening drowning himself in the river to escape the mortification of feelings. He's giving himself away — and if he isn't, the heat colouring his cheeks sure is.

“Right, well,” He nods, clearing his throat once more. “If they workin’ jus’ fine, I’ll leave ya be.”

“Will you let me thank you first?” You ask tentatively.

Arthur doesn’t know what that means but he nods nonetheless. He tries to keep himself from fidgeting, his hands flexing on his belt all the while. Blue eyes dart from you, to the ground, then back to you.

You only need another half-step to get close enough to do what you wish. Pressing up onto your toes to reach, you bestow a gentle kiss onto Arthur's cheek, just above the scruff.

It takes a great deal of courage to keep your eyes steady, heart in your throat, as you sink back down onto flat feet. You don't relent your closeness.

For one long moment, you drink in the politely stunned expression on his face. This close, you can smell the scent of cigarettes and woodsmoke on his clothes. It makes your head spin. Makes your heart tremble. Your lips still sear from the kiss.

Though your heart threatens to bruise your ribs with how hard its beating in your chest, you refuse to regret your boldness.

Besides, as Arthur seems to grapple with what's just happened, his smile and blush return in equal measure.

"...Why'd you think she left dinner so early? She's probably—oh!"

Mary-Beth's voice cuts through the charged air.

Snapped from your tender reverie, you tear your eyes from Arthur and take a timid step back. You're well aware it's too late and both Mary-Beth and Tilly had seen the nearness you had been sharing with Arthur. You'll be hounded about it tonight, no doubt.

"Sorry, didn't realise we were interrupting." Tilly finds her voice before Mary-Beth does, the latter spluttering her agreements. Before they can retreat, Arthur cuts in.

"Weren't—" His voice comes out rougher than usual and he clears his throat, hat tipped down. "—interrupting nothin'. Don't worry bout it, I was just leavin'."

He takes a few steps back and then pauses, heaving a heavy breath as if he was gathering his strength. Still lingering just beyond the entrance of your tent, you wait with baited breath.

Arthur's eyes dance over to the other girls. If you could be bold, hell, so could he. He finds your gaze.

"Shootin' tomorrow? You 'n' me?" He asks, voice low.

If you didn't know him so well, you might miss the slight apprehension in his tone. As if you'd say no.

You have to sink your teeth into your bottom lip to try contain you smile. Your fervent nod betrays your excitement anyway.

Arthur smiles then, more brazenly than you've seen before, before he bids you a goodnight with a final tip of his hat.

—

The crates where targets once stood are now gloriously empty, the six shattered glass bottles banished to a life in the dirt.

You stand, pistol still smoking in your grip, and grin triumphantly. The sun glints off the delicate frames of your new spectacles. Your vision is clear and your aim is true.

Hovering just behind you, as he had some days ago, Arthur hums his contentment. "'Atta girl."

You turn, looking over your shoulder at him, and in an instant, your smile in reflected back. More reserved than your own, but entirely for you. Arthur nudges you to look forward with a gentle hand, gesturing to something out in the field.

"See if you can hit just the edge of the crate next. We might make a gunslinger of you yet."

You huff, leaning back an inch to feel more of his warmth. Arthur smiles to himself, well aware of your tactics.

His hands drop to your hips, twisting them in a minute adjustment they don't need, just to hear the slight stagger in your breath.

"Why, Mister Morgan," Your voice is threaded with humour, exactly the colour of sunlight. "I'd nearly think you're just making excuses to put your hands on me."

With a low hum, Arthur lets his hands drag up an inch to rest on your waist. Your skin is warm, as is your smile. He can pretend the hot buzz of the day threatens make his knees buckle, though he knows it's entirely your effect.

"Maybe. That a crime?"

"Even if it were," You say, gaze slicing back to meet his. The taunt of a smile on your pretty mouth rivals all the beauty Arthur's ever seen. "Thank heavens you're an outlaw."

—

i get the privilege of bugging @illyrianbitch @wildfloweroutlaw with this new fic <3 heheh thanks for the hype that lead to this actually getting finished n posted !!

[skyeconch]

Y/N : *unbuttoning shirt* god it’s so hot in here

Arthur : I know that but why are you unbuttoning my shirt?

[mentally-ill-simp]

Trusting the RDR2 men to hold your drink

Tw: mentions of alcohol, mentions of Micah Bell

Arthur Morgan:You walked up to Arthur at the camp looking at him you were a bit tipsy but you really had to go off and pee and didn't want to leave your drink unattended "Arthurrr..could you do me the biggest favor" you slurred your words slightly and Arthur smiled softly at this thinking it was cute "sure what do you need" his southern accent thick and deep as he spoke you melted at the way he spoke "could you hold my drink for me?" You asked smiling wide knowing he would, the man took the drink from you "I can absolutely do that" he smiled holding the cup close to him like his life depended on it..he would protect it like it was a small child guarding it with his life until you came back.

John Marston: You stumbled over to John. "Marston!" You shout trying to get his attention he looks up from whatever he was doing "what do you want" he groans pretending to be annoyed but he did really like you "hold my drink I gotta go do something" you hand him your drink "why do you need me to hold your drink?" He asks confused still taking the drink anyway "so people don't touch it or put weird things in it" you look at him like it was obvious and at that he nods getting protective...he now had a mission and he was damned if he'd fail at it. He holds the drink waiting for you to get back glaring at anyone who even looked at the drink, at one point he forgot it wasn't his drink and he took a sip but when he realized he stopped. Would 100% gaslight you if you asked if he took a sip

Javier Escuella: The man sat by the fire with his guitar when you approached him "Javi could you do me a huge favor?" You ask him softly "anything mi amor just say the word and I'll do it" he smirked at you his playful flirting mixed with his thick accent was enough to make any person weak at the knees "could you hold my drink?" You asked him nicely, and he immediately grabs the drink from you, putting his hand over top of it. He sits there in silence, and if anyone comes up to him to ask about it, he'd start a string of Spanish swear words and insults (mainly Micah or Bill). He guarded that drink with his life until you came back to claim it

Lenny Summers: The poor boy is just trying to have some time to himself and read when you come up to him "Lenny my favorite friend in the whole entire world" you smile at him and he just looks up from his book knowing you need something "what is it" he looks at you and you laugh lightly "I really have to go to the bathroom could you watching my drink for me?" You ask him nicely, hoping he'd say yes. He sighs but agrees after a while. He's upset that he'd have to put his book down but also happy to help, he just sits at his tent the whole time hoping no one else would come up and ask him any other favors while he was doing this. After a while, you come back and thank him, and he just nods and goes back to reading his book

Charles Smith: You walked up to Charles, he was a bit intimidating due to his size but you knew him better "howdy Charles" you say with a small smile and the man gives you a small nod "could you possibly hold my drink for me?" You ask him wondering if he would,"of course I can, " he says softly, putting his hand out to take the drink from you. No one really goes up to him to try to test his patience, and if they do, he just glares at them. Your drink is very, very safe with Charles

Hosea Matthews: When you walk up to Hosea, he gives you a loving smile immediately. "How can I help?" He asks his voice soft and warm, you smile at his friendliness "Hosea would you mind holding my drink for a minute, please?" You ask him nicely, and he nods."Of course I can, " he smiles, taking the drink. He sets the drink down next to him, keeping his hand over the cup the whole time a book in one hand and his hand over the drink in the next until you get back

Kieran Duffy: When you walk up to Kieran he's all alone by himself hanging out with the horses "hey" you give him a small sweet smile and he jumps a little at your voice not knowing you were there "h-hey (y/n)" he says shyly "would you mind guarding my drink for a quick moment?" You ask him softly, and he nods. Of course, he would no one ever ask him to do anything around camp, and he just wants to be helpful. He makes sure to keep your drink really close, scared, anything might happen to it.. he just really does not want to mess this up. When you get back, you thank him so much. He is left feeling really good about himself afterward, like he helped someone out

Micah Bell: I'd rather die

Women Version here

[08melancholie]

me and him literally

he'd call me a slur and i'd thank him profusely

[frillydolle]

ok idk if u have done this before but what abt low honor arthur x shy/easily flustered reader…been thinking abt this for awhile

lowhonour arthur x shy female reader

꒰ 𝝑𓏲 ꒱ arthur is a little pervy , suggestive themes? , mdni

he was terrifying, mean, and even sadistic man. those rumoured whispers explained a lot about him in that way. there was no remorse from a man like him, no mercy, either. to be one of the worst men that's involved with the infamous gang. the most wanted man within the states, there wasn't a day that he didn't come back with someone's blood on his hands.

he was disgusting and vile. probably the most perverted man u have ever come across, too. his unannounced touching would often catch u off guard. the women in the camp always gave him a sort of a dirty or death state, knowing that kind of man arthur is now ever since the relationship ended between him and mary. that took a toll on him more than people thought.

not with u, though. he knew that gaze made u feel uneasy, made u squirm, almost like a coyote watching its prey. it's like he enjoyed it, too. u weren't the social butterfly. u kept to urself or the small group of girls u would do chores with or u would be often see talking the only man, arthur. to be honest, u were even sure how he felt about u, it's not like many spoke to u.

he made the man stay away from u, but that's a different conversation...

u didn't even need to turn around, knowing who it was coming towards u by their hard footsteps. “hey, babydoll. missed my favourite girl while i was away.” he says with that cocky smirk on his face, leaning against the pole behind u, totally not looking at ur rear while u hand washed some clothes.

“hi morgan, I've been okay.. keepin' busy like-” “good girl. as y'should be. wouldnt want ms. grinshaw gettin' mad atcha.”

she was a terrifying woman, ms. grinshaw.. but not as terrifying as arthur, of course. he was the worst. but arthur liked her a lot. he wasn't sure how to tell, and so he often showed her through his actions... like his weird, perverted touching and words.

he told u to come here, and once u were finished cleaning, of course, u made ur way over to him before he took u round the wagon, no one was there. this was strange but u did sort of like him.. u didn't know why. he was always odd with u, but u did find a small sense of comfort in him every time he brings a small gift to u as he comes back to camp.

“have i ever told ya how pretty y'look? 'course i have.." he says, his tone laced with roughness. his big hand soon glides down to ur waist, gripping the flesh so hard that it light leave a mark later, curse him.

“thank you, arthur-” u reply, feeling ur face rise with heat, squirming slightly under his intense gaze, all embarrassed. “y'know what else would make ya prettier? some little hickeys on yer neck, my girl.”

was he being honest?... well, of course he was. he was a very serious man, not the type to be funny unless it was one of sick jokes. anyway, he could do not that, the two of u were in camp! someone might see u both, ms. grinshaw might catch u or even dutch! and that woukd be a lot more embarrassing than how red ur face is right now.

“arth- we cant, i- we'll get caught- arthur!” ur gentle protests mean nothing as he took a hold of ur wrists, making u back up against the wagon. he inhaled ur scent of lavender and pine, made the man almost crazy.

“lemme mark ya up, so everyone can see how I feel 'bout ye. c'mon sugar, i might be gentle but dont count on it.”

god it was like u couldn't move or couldn't talk, u didn't know what to say, how to react. ur face was all flushed with his words, it wasn't a surprise that he'd be flirting with u now.

and soon, he began toying with the collar of ur blouse. soon that felt to unbutton the top few buttons before he inched closer to mark u up.

[bigboy-lovers-unite-writes]

do this with whatever rdr/rdr2 characters you like!!

But what's some pet names/nicknames you think said characters would call their s/o?

I WANTED TO DO SOME FROM PURE REMEMBRANCE SO I THOUGHT ABOUT 8 (please enjoy this took me a while to write <3)

Kieran Duffy; Will call you honey, sweetheart, just the usual ones. Will perhaps name his favorite horse after you. 'Baby' is his most used one for you, it just comes to his mind when he thinks of you :)

Bill Williamson; Drunkenly may call you a slur, but it was an affectionate one, he didn't mean it. 🙏 His usual nicknames for you are Babycakes and Hun. He's not big on pet names sadly imo

Javier Escuella; Latin nicknames all dayyyy, that was he can compliment you all day without the others knowing what he's saying. Cariño, and might call you something to make fun of you playfully if you messed up on something :) (THANK YOU TO THE PERSON FOR POINTING THIS OUT IM A BIT EMBARRASSED ILY THO🙏)

Arthur Morgan; this man will not call you a singular thing bad. Every sweet and sappy nickname in the book, honey, sweetheart, darling, you name it and hes called you it! Will occasionally call you a nickname based on your appearances, like if you're short or clumsy

Dutch Van Der Linde; Will unironically call you 'sugar tits', even if you don't have any. Will point things out about you and makes them into (affectionate) pet names. Curly hair? Your nickname is Curly Fry. Short? Short-stack. Tall? 'Goddamn giant'

John Marston; Usually just calls you by your name, but occasionally calls you things in nature <3 not that big of a fan of pet names, but will say some occasionally to show he loves you and ur his

(I WAS GONNA DO MICAH AND CHARLES BUT I CANT THINK OF ANYTHING RN ITS SO LATE)

[johnpriceslamb]

Saw your requests were opened so here is just something I’ve been thinking about !

Arthur Morgan getting sweets/gifts and all from a secret admirer. Girlie is a sneaky one too. Her goal is to just see him be a bit happier because she finds him cute and handsome.

No need to do this! Just think it’s a cute idea.

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍 𝐗 𝐅𝐄𝐌! 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

˚₊‧꒰ You notice the way his gaze softens entirely when he looks at you. You shyly smile at him. To which he smiles back, ever so faintly. ꒱ ‧₊˚

BEFORE YOU PROCEED ! hyper-feminine! reader . fem! reader . reader is implied to be physically shorter than characters mentioned below . love sick Arthur . 1.2k words . Very quick mention of wlw Sadie . ok yes ik that teddy bears were originally made in the 1900s but this story says OTHERWISE !!

A small, bow-tipped teddy bear rests upon his bed roll.

Arthur was amused to say the least at the sight of the miniscule, stuffed version of a bear sitting quite cutely on the fabrics he slept on. This was the third time he's been gifted a little decorative trinket from goodness knows who. First time, a small pink tulip with a little bow tied at the start of its stem, the second time- a tiny sweet wrapped like a ribbon encasing something.

At first, he genuinely thought this was a sick prank played by one of the men to piss him off even further to the max. But with the constant treats he's been getting, Arthur comes to a conclusion that he has a secret admirer.

Each item he’s been kindly offered had a little correlation, he noticed. A bow.

He instantly knew it was from one of the ladies in the gang, since… well, no cowpoke would ever give him anything so delicate, better yet gifts bow-tipped in pink.

“— Arthur?”

A soft, dainty voice was heard from behind which pulled him away from his thoughts. The grizzled man turns his head slightly, away from the small teddy on his bed and to the young lady near the entrance of his tent.

You notice the way his gaze softens entirely when he looks at you. You shyly smile at him. To which he smiles back, ever so faintly.

It was obvious amongst everyone that he’s grown to have a soft spot amongst the women in camp- specially you. How his hand rests upon the small of your back to guide you away from trouble, or the way he visibly becomes stressed at the rumours of you away from camp to visit a shop in a town nearby. The only time he relaxes completely is when he hears that squeal of yours when coming back, showing off the jewellery or such you bought to the other ladies.

In your hands rests a small bowl of stew, the scent of it makes him light up just a bit.

“..F’ me?” He asks— almost shyly.

“Mhm,” you nod sweetly, offering it to him. You can’t help the faint giddiness at the sight of the tulip you secretly gifted him in a little glass of water, which rested near the ledge of his bed.

“You didn’t have to.” His large hand engulfs yours in the process of taking it, “Thank ya kindly, sweetheart.”

“Anything for you,” You give him a toothy smile. He looks at your face for a tad bit too long, before reluctantly glancing away with a deep hum.

A ghost of a cheeky smile etches on your face. You feign curiosity, peaking over his shoulder to peer at the small bear on his bed.

He notices your curious gaze. “Was a gift, if you were wonderin’.”

“Oh? by who?” Innocence feigns in your eyes. Cheeky girl.

Wispy lashes tinker softly as he eats a spoonful of the food you brought with a soft grunt at the end, indicating that the food was rich with flavour he had taken a liking to.

He hesitates for a moment, before answering. “I uh.. I don’t know.”

“…You don’t know?” You quirk a brow, giggling softly.

Something about that giggle makes his knees buckle.

“Yeah. That’s the thing— I don’t know,” He grumbles, “Been gettin’ gifts from someone in the gang. ‘S like I got some secret admirer or sumthin’.”

The light pink bow in your hair makes his eyes squint a bit.

“May I see?” You ask with a small smile.

“Go ‘head.” He gives you full permission with a slight nod to his head, the hat he adorned concealing those blue eyes.

You toddle to his bed, sitting oh-so prettily near the edge. The teddy bear was now in your lap, as you played with it for a bit. You rub its ears with the pads of your thumb and index finger.

He has a faint grin at the sweet sight.

“You gonna name it?” You ask.

“I ain’t a child,” He grunts, only to tighten his lips at the way your face meekly droops at his comment. He lets out a soft sigh, pondering for a moment.

“I dunno.. Uh.. Coco?”

“Coco?” You brighten up at the interesting name. He sees the way your smile widens at the choice of title, happy he indulged in your silly sweetness. You coo out a little ‘hi, Coco’ to the stuffie as if it was alive

Damnit, you were far too cute. He has to tilt his head down a bit to the floor so you wouldn’t see the way his temples became a soft red colour.

“Coco is so, so cute!” You prattle, taking one of his little limbs and moving it side to side to symbolise the teddy waving at him.

“Mmhm. It’d be nice to know who’d be giving me these things, so I could thank em properly. I got this.. underlyin’ sense of guilt for not being able to say thanks.”

You smile at his words. Arthur was a gentleman to women, and you were no exception to his gentle behaviour. A soft flicker in your doe eyes was apparent. Perhaps from the light, or from the way your heart melts at his sincerity. No man could compare to him in your eyes.

It takes you a bit to reply. “You’re sweet, y’know that?”

He takes one more spoonful of the stew.

“I ain’t, sweetheart.”

⋆˚🐾˖°

Arthur was gone. Gone from camp and away within the everlasting greens with another— probably Charles to go hunting for food. Food supply was running low as of now- which you made a mental note to buy some food if you ever went back to town, that is.

The perfect time to give him his little gift.

You cheekily look left and right.

Delicate flat-soles heels clicked gently on the grass beneath, tip-toeing towards his tent. With the gentle sounds of ruffled fabrics coming from your sleeves leads to the slight rustle of the wrapped-up sweet that was placed gently on his bed.

You look around to see if anyone was close by, only to toddle away sneakily- albeit a bit clumsily.

Just a few hours later, you see his figure coming back to camp, lazily hunched on his horse with game behind him. You see Charles behind on his horse— Taima. Pretty thing she was, very friendly to you.

You can’t help but admire the two men whom stroll in with said game lurched over their shoulders as they approached the area of the make-shift kitchen Mr. Pearson was lounging.

You tinker your long lashes, giving them a shy wave. You beam as they both return a wave, with Charles noticing first and giving a small nod in return as well as a faint smile.

The hunter whom adorned a feather earring was close to you, he took upon the role of a big-brother to you. You can’t help but admire him.

A nudge to Arthur’s arm gets his attention and immediately has a smile on his face as he catches a glance at your pixie-like figure from near by.

You turn around and leave the sight, probably to go help with some other chores.

Arthur’s eyes narrows a bit at the light pink coloured bow attached to the back of your head, seemingly pondering about something before going back to skinning the animal.

He feels like he knows who his little secret admirer is, but he won’t comment just yet.

⋆˚🐾˖°

He was a fool, but he wasn’t ignorant.

Each present he’s been given was obviously from a lady, someone with a good taste in perfume— considering that the teddy that he kindly received was laced with a sweet, feminine scent. Not to mention the light pink bow Coco had wrapped around his little neck.

He knew it wasn’t from Karen, she’s not quite interested in the colour pink nor did she enjoy stuffed animals.

It wasn’t Tilly either, she was more of a little sister to him, and she wasn’t a fan of sweets anyway.

Mary-Beth, perhaps? No.. That girl was smitten with the former O’driscoll member.

Abigail was taken, and Miss Grimshaw.. no way.

Sadie did not even come to his mind. He knew very well that the gunslinger would probably pick you over him in a heart beat.

All that was left was.. you.

Your acting skills were top-notch, he had to give you that. It took him almost an entire week to figure it out. Quite so did he question himself if it was you who bestowed these lovely trinkets to him- you acted so clueless when you first saw that teddy.

His blue eyes stare at the sweet that was placed on his bed. He looked like a fool, giddy feelings rushing up to his stomach as he picks up the small treat. It just had to be you.

He savours the taste of the dark chocolate candy, stuffing the wrapper in his pocket once he was done with it. The bitter-sweet flavour bursting in his tastebud once he chewed on it.

Should he confront you? He’s not sure himself. Confrontation wasn’t the best when it came to you, he’d guess that you’d probably stammer like a little bunny and squeak away.

He turns his head just a bit— and there you were, sly smile with that sweet little dimple that accentuated your bunny-like features. You were sat with the other ladies, mindlessly joining in their conversation as the eye contact you both held seemed like an eternity.

That dumb smile was on his face again.

It was you.

And he was glad it was you.

“Damn woman,” he grunts under his breath. It wasn’t in a derogatorive way, oh- absolutely not. He’s smitten. He’s quick on his feet, trudging up towards you from behind in a rapid pace. That damn smile you gave him got him feeling so shy.

You don’t expect the big smooch coming your way in the matter of seconds.