#a note from arthur morgan

[marstons-angel]

I wanna suck Arthur off so bad

paradise, providence

arthur morgan x fem!reader.

✧ tags : fem!reader (no description of genitals, just the mention of nipples but gendered language used), deep-throating, cock-worship, praise, religious imagery. 18+

✧ wc : 1.3k

✧ a/n : me too anon. me too. got carried away thinking about arthur morgan getting blowjob and then .

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡��

If you weren't on your knees, hands shaking at the button of his slacks - Arthur would assume that this something happening in the sanctuary of his dreams.

You're a sight for sore eyes. Pretty feels a little juvenile for a woman like yourself. Beautiful feels too flowery. He'd only describe you in such a romantic way in the privacy of his journal, or into the dark night while you sleep in his tent.

He wipes his thumb against your cheek as you undo the button at the top of his pants, palms rubbing along the printof his cock slow. Your lashes flutter, lovesick and lusty in a way that makes Arthur's breath hitch. He makes a promise in the back of his mind that he'll return the favor to you ten fold.

"Gorgeous," He mutters, tongue laving over the split of his lips as you kiss his erection. You smile just a touch at the word he lands on. "Don't force yourself,"

"I already told you I ain't," You say steadily. Arthur gets swept up in the conviction as easily as he gets swept up in you. "I want too,"

"That's what I'm having a hard time with understanding, sweetheart."

You flash him a smile that makes his heartbeat pick up. Coy and pleasant. "Then stop trying too and let me do as I please. Alright, Mr. Morgan?"

He can't find words to respond with so he shakes his head and keeps his hands at his sides. Despite your trembling, your hands are practiced. You take his all the layers off of him in one go, though you do it slowly. His cock springs free all at once.

Too heavy to stand on it's own and half hard, he twitches at the warmth of your breath near his skin. There's something real dirty about the way you look at him. You're a good girl most of the time. Not prim but polite.

Yet you're breathing soft, bent at the knees in your nightgown and eyeing him like it's all you've ever wanted. You push your cheek up against his shaft and Arthur feels all the blood rush south. Hard as nails, his eyes can't focus anywhere but on your lips. Plush and full, you press a kiss to the base of his cock real sweetly.

"You're a real tease," He murmurs, edging on frustrated. "I'll remember that."

"I know it's not your strong suit, but patient, alright?"

It's a tall order he thinks, asking him to be patient when you've got your lips pressing kissing along the underneath side of his length. Wet and opened mouth, both hands on his thighs. He groans deep from his chest when your tongue finally touches his skin. He worries about how he tastes but you barely looked fazed and not at all displeased.

You lick a long stripe from base to tip, tracing the vein running on the underneath side of his cock with a sultry moan. You let yourself left linger ocne you're at the end, tongue flick underneath the head as pre-crum dribbles onto the surface. It's vulgar to look at it and sends a shiver down his spine. You don't react to that, either.

You make it look like it tastes good, shuddering as your hands grab tight and keep you anchored. He lets out a breath, trying not to close his eyes. He wants to keep the sight of you in his memories for any nights anyway, worshiping his cock like a well-paid working girl.

Arthur is apparently a luckier man than that. Getting this sort of service from someone so beautiful can only be a testament of that despite his rotten life. He's so stiff it hurts, hard enough that he can feel himself on edge with your every move.

You close your mouth around the tip and Arthur groans like he's been hit. The inside of your mouth is scorching hot. Feels too damn good for words. You slide your tongue around, getting used to the way he sits in your mouth before hollowing your cheeks out. You ease your down so slowly.

If he were a more discourteous fellow he'd hold you by your face and fuck your throat. In the effort of being patient, he keeps his hands at his sides and watches instead. His chest heaves in a breath, guttural moaning as the blood rush makes him lightheaded.

"Fuck, sweetheart,"

You blink up as you descend down slowly, spit and saliva pooling at as he stretches you open. Lips split at the corners, you look up with a mouth full of cock and Arthur nearly shoots his load down your throat right there. He ain't a man of worship but the sight of you on your knees is as close to paradise he could ever imagine.

He feels so mortal with the heat of your mouth. The stickiness of your saliva coating him down the base. You gag as you go deeper, eyes watering, but don't stop taking him down your throat even as he tells you not to force yourself.

"Don't deserve you, baby." He hums, unable to keep quiet. "You're too good to me."

You say something that makes your throat vibrate around his cock and his hips stutter, nearly thrusting himself even deeper. You slow down until you've swallowed all seven inches to base like it's easy. Watery eyes and your runny nose pressed to the hair neat at the base. You take a deep breath around it, swallowing all of it - tightening so much he might as well be fucking you.

He puts a hand on the back of your head head gently, not sure of what else to do with his hands. Your nipples are hard underneath your gown, arousal makes your eyes shine like gems.

It's a funny feeling Arthur gets seeing you like that. You start to move after you get him down once, cheeks still hollowing, sucking him in dutifully. You've got his cock so far in you he can see the outline of it from the outside and he can hardly think of anything else. Something ties tight in the base of his stomach, arousal flowing through his veins molten.

The private room fills with the sound of you going to work. Throaty gags and soft whines of appreciation every time he twitches, seemingly elated when filthy praise pours from Arthur's mouth like gospel. Ain't anything else he can think to do when you're take such good care of him but tell you. Gorgeous little thing you are, make him feel damn lucky, such a good girl.

He feels himself cumming hard and heavy, a sharp twist - heat flaring through his spine as he puts both hands on your head trying to pull you off of him.

"Shit, sweetheart - slow down, I'm gonna—"

The words die on his lips as you grip onto his thighs tight and swallow him down all the way again, sucking harder and deeper until Arthur feels his cum shoot right down your throat. He grunts aloud.

"Fuck!"

You make an appreciative noise as you swallow all of him down and wait for him to stop twitching before pulling off. Then, like you're being assessed - you open your mouth to show him that not a drop left.

He feels so damn dizzy he might die.

"You're more of a danger to my life than the barrel of any gun I've stared down. D'ya know that?"

Your throat is raspy as you smile and stand up, arms around his neck as you bat your eyes again. "Mm. Did you like it?"

He scoffs. "Did I—you know what, I ain't gonna give you an answer," He whispers, hands at your hips sliding down to squeeze the soft swell of your ass with a promise at his voice. "You get up on the bed and I'll show you. How's that sound?"

You grin sweet. "Sounds good to me."

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

[deadly-kalopsia]

“charles, will you ride with me?”

“always.”

I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE

[reddeadsredhead]

What if the tobacco fields Sean and Arthur burned had been marijuana crop instead and bros got baked as fuck midway through

[purgatorygrl]

I can't help but express how much I love your soul and your pure heart. Since I met you, I have admired your fighting spirit and the way you face every challenge with courage and determination.

In you I find an inexhaustible source of love and peace, which surrounds me and gives me strength every day. You have become an extremely important person to me, the refuge I turn to when I feel sad or discouraged.

Thanks to you, I want to fight and be the best version of myself. You are a gorgeous man, and you have a very special place in my heart that no one else could occupy.

I am deeply grateful for having met you, because since then my days have improved significantly. Your presence has illuminated my life in ways I never imagined possible.

Love you Arthur ♡

[cloggedarteri]

*arthur getting back to camp with swanson over his shoulder after he nearly gets runover by a train*

John: you're too easy on him

And

Abigail: I always knew you had a soft spot for the old fool

I'm bout to cry omg

I really didn't appreciate swansons and Arthur's relationship the first playthrough

[zae-heeyyy]

Causerie

Summary: You send Arthur a letter. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female!reader Word Count: 2,185 Tags: Male Masturbation, solo handjob, mentions of oral and unprotected p in v, dirty talk, long distance relationship, high honor Warnings: 18+ MDNI

an: So this came out of nowhere LMAO It's a bit different from what I'm used to, but I ran with it. The mentioned photo was heavily inspired by @sir-walton-goggins's under-the-cut sketch of their OC, Kris Blake. 😍😍😍 I hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading!

Causerie: an informal conversation

Channeling the self-control of a brigade of soldiers, Arthur willed his unruly cock flaccid as he left the post office. An envelope addressed to Tacitus Kilgore in familiar dainty cursive teased him from inside his satchel. The nagging twinge in his gut could only be satiated by his fist wrapped tight around himself in the solitude of his tent. 

He didn’t know how he’d make it through the rest of the day without losing his sanity. Once you’d unknowingly planted the seeds, his thoughts of you grew wild and untamed like the weeds at your feet. He’d never seen something so ridiculous—a woman in her day dress, the lacy hem stained with dirt, trying to repair a loose fence post on her own.

“No man ’round here?” he had asked, holding his hand out for the hammer.

“There is now.”

You beamed, your smile stunning him like a camera flash. Unbeknownst to him, that grin was a brand, marking him as yours for a long time to come. 

Every time he passed by the quiet homestead, he found himself lightly pulling on Boadicea’s reins and scoping out something to fix. Your ways of showing gratitude, like a hug or kiss on the cheek, turned his neck to shades of crimson, yet he’d still come knocking again some time later. On his last visit, you were dragging him to your room by cotton suspenders, mouth attached to his before he could get a word in.

An innocent lamb you were not—he was sure of it now in a half-daze, hypnotized by your breasts as you bounced on top of him. Matter of fact, you must’ve been a witch or a succubus; he’d never felt so used, drained, and perfectly satisfied.

And guilty, too. He couldn’t even look at you as he confessed to his life of criminality, finally admitting what he’d come to tell you in the first place. After this job, he was leaving for good.

To his surprise, you didn’t put up a fight—just wished him well—and dammit, that made him want you even more. You didn’t follow him outside—only watched from under the blanket as he said his last goodbye and promise.

“I’ll write t’you.”

Receiving your letters kept his heart ticking and dick aching. What started as a pile of polite notes quickly transformed into a library of erotica. His hands trembled in anticipation as he opened the latest letter. 

Dear Arthur, 

Are you still alive? I hope you haven’t gone and gotten yourself killed. I’m sorry if I kept you waiting. A new photographer opened up in town, and I stopped by the studio one evening just before he closed. I may have batted my lashes and stood a little too close when I asked for his help. A special photo of me would be the perfect gift for my dear husband, who was about to be shipped away to war in the Philippines. You should’ve seen how red he got when I dropped my blouse. I tried to sit pretty. Did it work?

A photo? Arthur checked the discarded envelope, searching for the supposed gift. A small photo was still tucked away in the envelope. He took it out and held it up to the lantern to get a good look.

Christ.

You were directly in the center of the camera with a lazy smile on your face. Pearls adorned your neck, and velvet cloth draped over your shoulders, just barely covering those twin humps on your chest. Fuck, he wanted to rip that photographer’s head clean off his shoulders for capturing you like that, but goddamn, he wanted to shake the man’s hand too. This slip of paper was a slice of heaven on Earth.

And for what he was about to do with it, he was going straight to hell. Setting the letter aside, the gunslinger undressed down to his union suit with the ardor of his twenty-year-old self. As he settled back onto the cot, he locked on to your sultry eyes and sighed contently.

I had a dream about you. Do you ever dream about me?  

The bulge in his pants begged for attention, and he appeased it, palming himself idly while his eyes stayed trained on the photograph. He’s too old and weathered for this—pining over some girl and touching himself like he’d gotten a second wind of puberty. 

But he couldn’t help it. Even after deafening gun fights and vicious animal attacks, he’d find a letter to re-read, and now he had this picture to accompany his fantasies. His gaze shifted from the photo back to your words on the page. 

We were in this beautiful room in a palace or someplace like that, swimming under blankets. It was far from my humble bed, but it felt like paradise. 

If only you knew, that little bed was his paradise.

Dream you tasted like whiskey and ash and smelled like leather and gunpowder. I don’t think it was too far off from the real thing. We weren’t wearing any clothes, of course, and your head was tucked between my thighs. 

Breath shaking, his hips shifted upward, the memory of your thighs on either side of him overwhelming his senses. Arthur sucked in his bottom lip and didn’t waste any more time undoing the bottom two buttons of his union suit. His cock sprung free, twitching and yearning. Flicking his eyes to your photo once more, his right hand moved on its own, kneading his leaking tip. He peeked over the edge of the paper, watching precum drizzle down his shaft, imagining it was you leaking around him. 

Oh, Arthur, I could feel your lips on every part of me at once, kissing up my stomach, bosom, arms, thighs, legs, all over. But when you found my lips again, I don’t know how my pounding heart didn’t suck me out of the dream. Has anyone ever told you how gorgeous your eyes are or how heavenly your hands feel? And your back, Mister Morgan, is like a brick wall. How I wish I could’ve dug my nails into it.

Arthur’s fisted pace quickened as he stifled a groan, trying his very best to keep the sounds of his sin quiet. He urged himself downward into the cot, hoping the friction could mimic the sting of your nails dragging down his spine, but it was no use. Tightening his grip in frustration, he turned his attention back to the photograph of you. He wanted to study your hands, to imprint them in his mind’s eye so he could imagine them scratching his back and pleasuring his cock.

But the photo was too close up, only your face and a peak of your breasts captured at that moment in time. Would he be too brazen to ask for another? To request a pose? Hell—he’d stuff the money in an envelope with a list of the depraved positions he’d like to see you in. Your hands on your bust, legs spread open, on all fours, one with your pretty fingers in your mouth, and a full body shot with just the pearls. Dammit—he’d kill for it. 

But then, at the very end of the list, he’d ask for a respectable one. One of you with your hair pinned up under a fancy hat, dressed in your finest, wearing a necklace, earrings, and a bracelet with your hands folded politely over your lap. One that was sweet and proper. One that he could tuck in his journal, frame, or pin up on the wagon. One that he could take out in broad daylight and pretend, just for a moment, that he really was that war vet admiring a photo of his loving spouse.

His hips moved involuntarily again, jutting up into his fist—the placeholder for the pussy of the woman he’d one day make his wife.

I didn’t plan to get you in bed that night, as unbelievable as that may sound. You were just so damn handsome and so so kind. I couldn’t help it. I needed to know how you’d feel inside me. I hope you don’t see me as just some Jezebel.

“No,” he gasped out. Wet sounds of his strokes accompanied his declaration.

I really did and still do have feelings for you, Arthur. It’s quite scary, actually. Maybe that’s why my dreams about you are so vivid? I realized just how much I cared that night, looking down into your eyes. I don’t take you as the type of man to just give yourself away on a normal day like that, so I hope you feel the same way as me. Did I ever say thank you? Thank you for being such a giver. I have a tendency to take, take, take when I’m on top, but you got payback in my dream. You had me pinned under all of your weight, damn near suffocating me. It was the good type, though. When you pushed into me, I forgot all about it. I never took you for an eager man either, but you were drilling me into those blankets with the fervor of a threshing machine. Are you an eager man, Mister Morgan?

He answered in shallow pants, twisting his fist around his length and rocking his hips. 

I have a curse of waking up right when I’m on the edge, so as you can imagine, I had a wet problem to take care of. My fingers just don’t quite do it like you. I wish we could’ve had more time together. I get the feeling that you do a lot of taking care of other folks and don’t get that in return. Am I right? I’d take care of you, Arthur. I’d keep your belly full and drain your balls all in a night.

They tightened at the thought, and his hips were a piston now, going up and down on their own accord.

I know you’d never ask because you’re too nice, but I’d get on my knees for you and take care of you in that way. I’m sad we never got to try it, that I never got to taste you. The thought gave me the silliest idea. Are you looking at my picture? Imagine that pearl necklace is your spend on my chest.

Jesus—the perverted imagery hit him like a train. He looked at the pretty pearls atop your chest. Goddamn, minx. 

Don’t think me too crass, but do you touch yourself to my letters like I touch myself to yours? Yours are more well-mannered than mine. But still, I wonder, is your fist wrapped around your cock?

“Yes, darlin.” 

Goddamnit, he was talking to himself now, arm cramping as he pumped feverishly at his engorged dick, his orgasm waiting to explode behind his eyes.

Do you imagine it’s me instead? I wish it was me. I wish I was on top of you again, milking you for everything you’ve got. Would you give it to me this time, Arthur? Would you spill inside of me?

And spill he did, teeth gritted and grunting, as hot ropes of lust spurted out over his hand. Once again, he’d made a mess of himself on account of you.

Shame crept in as he floated back to reality and stared up at the canvas of his tent. He brought the letter back to his face to read the last paragraph. The least he should do was finish it—dirty old bastard. But when he landed on your words and processed them, he was left with a numb, longing ache in his chest.

If we were together, I’d help clean you up, then maybe we could spend the rest of the night all tangled up in each other. I’m sorry I’m not there to touch you for real, but I hope these letters bring a little light to that hard, lonely life of yours. If I can make you feel good, even from far away, that’s enough for me. I miss you. Any chance you could come see me soon? 

Yours.

Arthur sighed and folded your letter back up neatly, tucking it away in his now hollowed-out copy of Rambles Through Woods and Plains. Though your photo and letter were out of sight, his mind refused to wander from the subject of you.

An assortment of motion pictures flickered in his memory: the way your head tipped in laughter at his dry sarcasm, how you so graciously welcomed him to that sitdown meal, the way you worried about him just as much as he worried about you, and how your words, even from afar, brought him unmeasurable comfort. Making it back across the Upper Montana could be a brutal fight, but he’d outrun the law and take a few bullets if he had to. He’d bare it all to bring you back with him. 

As he relaxed into the cot, another thought drifted by, small and almost weightless like a dandelion seed in the wind: maybe he wouldn’t have to bring you back at all. Perhaps he could stay right there with you.

[thedilfdiaries]

Bottoms Up

bfd!Joel Miller x bfstepdad!Arthur Morgan x f!reader//7.1k

summary: a threesome sex pollen fic where two men kiss

warnings: mdni, 18+, 2 dicks one hole (I am not going for realism this is a sex pollen fic) reader is tipsy, oral m! and f! receiving, alcohol, sex pollen, age gap (reader is in college, make the men however old you want but they are dad's to a college-age girl), Arthur is married Joel is not, shitty moodboard

notes: this is for @yxtkiwiyxt 's nhie challenge. My prompt was never have I ever hooked up at a party with Joel Miller. If any of these warnings or the summary put you off, please move on and do not put yourself through this. A big huge thank you to my baby @thundermartini for holding my hand big on this one, sitting with me through my always never-ending moodboard crisis, helping with the title last minute, cheering me on, reading the smut, listening to me talk about this in between the other 5 million fics I have going for like a month and a half, and just being such an amazing human always I love you more than you know <3 A massive thank you to @arcanefox207 for beta-ing this bad boy on such short notice, being such a wonderful human and hyping me up, and an equally massive thank you to @itwasntimethatdidit40 for reading this as well, being a huge cheerleader always for me and the sweetest lovebug. And of course thank you a million times to @almostempty for giving me the entire sex pollen idea and how to incorporate it. I love you all so very much!! <3 And tysm @/keerysquinnpage on pinterest for the pictures of naked men

masterlist

The evening air is cool, slipping through the cracked kitchen window as Joel rinses a coffee mug under the faucet. The quiet hum of the fridge is the only sound in the house, a rare moment of stillness since Sarah moved in for college. He doesn’t mind the mess she brings with her—the stray notebooks on the kitchen counter, the piles of laundry that seem to multiply like rabbits—but it means his nights often end like this, cleaning up after her, one piece of chaos at a time.

He glances toward the trash can, where the lid doesn’t sit flush. With a low grunt, he tugs the can out, ready to take it to the curb, but as he reaches for the liner, something crumpled catches his eye. His brows knit together as he pulls out the wadded piece of paper. Smoothing it against the counter, his frown deepens.

It’s a flyer. Bright neon colors advertise a college party—cheap beer, loud music, and the promise of bad decisions. His gut tightens as he reads the details. The address is printed at the bottom and the date and time stand out like a glaring warning sign: Tonight. 9 PM. Joel glances at the clock on the microwave—it’s already past ten.

His stomach tightens.

Sarah hasn’t mentioned anything about going to a party. She’s been quiet all evening, coming home from class and heading straight to her room, earbuds in, barely mumbling a “hey” when he asked if she’d eaten dinner.

Joel runs a hand over his beard, staring at the flyer like it might offer some explanation. A dozen thoughts flood his mind- the packed rooms, the loud music, the drunk kids stumbling into each other. He can almost see Sarah in the middle of it all—maybe drinking something she shouldn’t be, maybe with a boy who has no business being near her.

“Dammit, Sarah,” he mutters under his breath, tossing the flyer back onto the counter. His fingers itch toward his phone, and before he can second-guess himself, he hits the contact for her mom.

The phone rings twice before she picks up, her voice warm but wary, the way it always is when Joel calls unexpectedly. “Hey, Joel. What’s going on?”

“Have you heard from Sarah tonight?” he asks, skipping past the pleasantries.

There’s a pause. “No, why?”

Joel exhales, gripping the edge of the counter. “She’s not here. Found a damn party flyer in the trash. Looks like it’s tonight. Think she’s there.”

Another pause, followed by a sigh. “Joel, she’s in college. Going to parties is part of the experience.”

“Yeah, and it’s part of the experience to make dumbass choices, too,” he shoots back, pacing the kitchen. “You know what these things are like. Cheap booze, god knows what else floatin' around. She doesn’t belong there.”

“She’s not a kid anymore, Joel,” her mom replies, her tone calm but firm. “She’s responsible enough to know her limits.”

“Responsible?” Joel lets out a sharp laugh. “She didn’t even tell me she was goin' out. Doesn't sound responsible to me.”

“You can’t hover over her every second,” she snaps, her patience clearly thinning. “She’s figuring things out. You need to let her.”

Joel clenches his teeth, his grip on the phone tightening. “You call carin' about her hovering? I’m just tryna make sure she’s safe.”

“And I’m telling you she is,” her mom says, exhaling sharply. “Joel, you’re gonna drive yourself crazy with this. Let her have her fun.”

Before Joel can respond, she hangs up. He pulls the phone from his ear and stares at the screen, his jaw clenching as frustration boils in his chest. Let her have her fun. The words echo in his mind, making his stomach churn. Maybe her mom can sit back and hope for the best, but Joel can’t. He won’t.

Pulling his jacket off the back of a chair, he grabs his keys and heads for the door. If Sarah is at that party, he’s going to find her. And she damn well better have a good explanation.

_____________________________

Arthur shifts in his chair, the leather creaking softly as he glances over the edge of his book. He isn’t much of a reader—hell, Sarah’s mom teases him often enough about that—but every now and then, he likes the quiet. The house is calm tonight, the kind of calm that doesn’t come around much these days.

Across the room, she scrolls through her phone, half-watching one of those reality shows she claims to hate but never misses. It’s nice, Arthur thinks, this kind of simple peace.

Then her phone rings.

Arthur watches her pick it up, her brow furrowing slightly as she glances at the caller ID. “It’s Joel,” she mutters, swiping to answer.

Arthur sets his book down, leaning back as the conversation begins. He raises an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. He can’t hear Joel’s words, but he can imagine them—gruff, insistent, probably pacing a hole into the floor on the other end of the line.

When she finally hangs up, she lets out an exasperated sigh, tossing the phone onto the coffee table.

“Let me guess,” Arthur drawls, his voice tinged with amusement. “Joel’s got his panties in a twist?”

Her lips twitch, but she shakes her head. “He found some party flyer in the trash. Thinks Sarah’s there and is acting like it’s the end of the world.”

Arthur snorts, rubbing a hand over his chin. “Sounds ‘bout right. Man’s wound tighter than a spring.”

“It’s exhausting,” she admits, leaning back into the couch. “I told him she’s fine. She’s not a kid anymore.”

Arthur nods slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Maybe. But Joel’s got his reasons for worryin'. Can’t say I don’t see his point.”

She gives him a sharp look. “Don’t tell me you’re siding with him all of the sudden.”

Arthur shrugs, standing and stretching as he grabs his jacket from the back of the chair followed by his hat. “Ain’t about takin' sides. But if he’s worried enough to call, maybe there’s somethin' to it. Kids these days, parties like that—” He shakes his head. “Best not to assume it’s all harmless fun.”

Her frown deepens. “You’re not seriously thinking of going, are you?”

Arthur shoots her a crooked grin, pulling on his jacket. “Well, somebody oughta make sure Joel don't storm in there like a damn cavalry charge.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue, muttering something under her breath as he grabs his keys.

As he steps outside, the cool night air hits his face. He slides into his truck, glancing briefly at the dashboard before starting the engine. Joel is probably halfway to the party already, tense as a coiled snake. Arthur can’t help the smirk that tugs at his lips.

Guess I’ll have to make sure he doesn’t make a damn fool of himself.

The closer Joel gets to the party, the more his unease builds. He can hear the music from blocks away, the thrum of bass vibrating through his chest. His gut twists, each beat of the song an irritating reminder that his daughter, his baby girl, is likely in there somewhere. He parks his truck and steps out into the loud, chaotic scene.

The house is a mess from the outside, students drunkenly spilling out of the door and onto the front lawn, some of them barely keeping their balance. The closer he gets, the worse the place is—loud and cluttered with more students than Joel can count. He can already feel his blood pressure rising. As he reaches the front steps, a wiry kid in a tank top and backward cap blocks his path. The kid can’t be older than twenty-one and is clearly drunk, his glassy eyes scanning Joel with exaggerated scrutiny.

“Whoa, whoa, dude, hold up,” the kid slurs, holding up a hand. “You can’t just storm in here lookin' like that. You’re way too tense, man. Party vibes only.”

Joel frowns, his patience already running thin. “I ain’t here to party. I’m here to pick up my daughter.”

The kid squints at him, shaking his head with mock disappointment. “Nah, nah, can’t let you in all mad like that. House rules, bro. You gotta chill first. Like, take a shot, loosen up, and then you can go find whoever.”

Joel stares at him, his expression hardening. “I don’t have time for this. Move.”

But the kid holds firm, producing a tray of bright green jello shots with a flourish. “No shot, no entry. That’s the rule. C’mon, man, it’s just jello. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Joel exhales sharply through his nose, his patience worn to a thread. The kid in front of him sways slightly, the jello shots jiggling on the tray as he grins like he’s just presented the best damn solution in the world.

Joel doesn’t have time for this. He’s about to shove past the guy when a familiar voice cuts through the noise behind him.

"Well, ain't this a sight."

Joel turns just as Arthur steps up beside him, hands in the pockets of his jacket, that damn cowboy hat sitting low on his head like he owns the place.

Joel hates that hat. He’s hated it since the first time he saw it, sitting smug as hell atop Arthur’s head like some declaration of personality. The damn thing makes Arthur look too at ease, too comfortable in any situation—including this one.

The kid grins wider, apparently delighted by the addition of another older man to his party obstacle course. “Ayyy, two-for-one deal! Y’all both gotta take one. House rules, bros.”

Arthur glances at the jello shots and then at Joel. “You gonna play nice, or you plannin’ to deck this poor bastard?”

Joel glares. “I ain’t here for games.”

Arthur hums, clearly entertained. He plucks one of the tiny plastic cups off the tray, holding it up like he’s appraising fine liquor. “Hell, Miller, might as well get in the spirit.”

Joel’s jaw tightens. He is not in the mood for this nonsense, but Arthur’s already tipping the shot back, his expression unreadable as he swallows. A beat later, he clears his throat, grimacing. “That’s awful.”

The kid cheers like Arthur just won some kind of prize. “Hell yeah! Your turn, grumpy dude.” He shoves the tray toward Joel again, jiggling it obnoxiously.

Joel eyes the tiny cup like it personally offended him. His fingers curl into fists at his sides. Every second he spends out here, Sarah could be getting into trouble inside. He doesn’t trust these kids, doesn’t trust the booze, doesn’t trust any of this.

Arthur nudges him with an elbow. “C’mon, Miller. Ain’t gonna kill ya.”

Joel exhales through gritted teeth. Fine. If it gets this dumbass out of his way faster.

He snatches a shot from the tray, tilts his head back, and swallows it in one go.

Immediately, regret slams into him.

It’s sickly sweet and burns in a way that doesn’t belong in jello. His face contorts, and beside him, Arthur lets out a wheezing laugh. “Oh, that’s just nasty.”

Joel coughs once, shoving the empty cup back at the kid. “Happy?”

The kid fist pumps like a proud parent. “Vibe check complete, my dudes! Go forth and party.”

Joel doesn’t waste another second. He brushes past him, Arthur following close behind. The second they step inside, the heat and smell hit him—cheap beer, sweat, and something suspiciously skunky in the air. The bass rattles his ribs, and the sheer amount of people crammed into the space makes his pulse spike.

Arthur whistles low, glancing around. “Damn. Brings back memories.”

Joel ignores him. 

Arthur sighs, rolling his eyes. “Right, then. Let’s go huntin’ hound dog.”

“Have you seen Sarah Miller?” Joel asks a couple of people milling about the entryway, but no one knows where she is. Some give him blank stares, others are too drunk to respond properly. His patience is thin.

He scans the crowd, eyes darting from room to room, trying to catch sight of her. The music pulses in his ears, every movement around him only adding to the feeling that everything is spiraling out of his control. Where the hell are you, Sarah?

A few steps into the living room, Joel freezes. His name cuts through the noise like a knife.

“Well, well. Joel Miller, at a college party. Never thought I’d see the day.” The voice is unmistakable—playful, familiar, and laced with just enough teasing to make his jaw clench. Joel turns, his eyes landing on you, Sarah's friend.

You’re leaning casually against the wall, a red plastic cup in hand, looking far too amused for his liking.

“What the hell are you doin’ here?” Joel demands, stepping closer, his tone sharp but quiet enough not to draw attention.

You shrug, a sly smile tugging at your lips. “Same thing everyone else is doing. Relaxing, having a good time. You should try it sometime.”

Joel’s scowl deepens. “I ain’t here for that.”

“Figured.” You sip your drink, your gaze never leaving his. “Lemme guess. Sarah?”

He nods tightly. “You seen her?”

“Maybe.” You tilt your head, there's a playful glint in your eyes. “What’s it worth to you?”

Joel lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand over his face. “This ain’t the time for games, darlin’.”

You laugh softly, setting your cup down. “Relax, Joel. I’ll help you find her. You know,” you say, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you lean in slightly, “you clean up nice. Didn’t realize you’d turned into such a hot daddy.”

Arthur immediately coughs—more like chokes—his hand flying to his mouth as he fights to hold back laughter. “Oh-ho, now this is gettin’ good.”

Joel’s jaw drops slightly, his ears burning. “The hell did you just say?”

“You heard me,” you reply, unfazed. “Hot. Daddy. Don’t act so surprised—it’s a compliment.”

Arthur slaps a hand on Joel’s shoulder, grinning like a damn fool. “You know, Miller, I've been sayin’ you were gettin’ a little too soft in the middle. Guess the young folks got a name for it now.”

Joel looks like he wants the floor to swallow him whole. “You’re both somethin’ else, you know that?”

Arthur leans in slightly, smirking. “Yeah, well, guess that makes you Daddy Miller now.”

Joel’s groan drowns out your laughter as he rubs his face. “I swear to god—”

“Oh, c’mon, Daddy,” you tease, winking. “Let’s find your kid before you have an aneurysm.”

Arthur, still grinning, tips his hat. “Lead the way, darlin’.”

Joel barely has time to recover from your teasing before you grab his arm and start weaving through the crowd. His gruff protests are swallowed by the thumping bass and the loud laughter of drunken college kids. He follows reluctantly, still fuming but unable to shake the warmth spreading over his cheeks from your earlier comment.

“Where’d you see her last?” he asks, his voice low as his eyes dart around the chaotic scene.

You glance over your shoulder, smirking. “Patience, Joel. I’m working on it. You’re like a bloodhound, you know that? Just sniffing out trouble.”

He shoots Arthur a glare. “You comin’ or just standin’ there lookin’ smug?”

Arthur’s smirk widens as he follows. “Wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Joel pushes through the crowd with Arthur close behind, his jaw clenched so tight it’s a miracle he hasn’t cracked a tooth. The bass rattles the floor beneath his boots, the house packed shoulder to shoulder with college kids shouting over the music, some already sloppy-drunk and stumbling. Every second that ticks by without finding Sarah makes his chest tighten, but what’s almost as frustrating is the bastard at his side.

Arthur, the smug son of a bitch, is clearly enjoying this way too much.

“Well,” Arthur drawls as they push past a couple making out against the staircase banister. “If ya told me you wanted to relive your youth, I’d have suggested a saloon instead of a damn frat house.”

Joel shoots him a glare, but Arthur just grins, scanning the room like he’s actually enjoying himself. “This ain’t a joke, Morgan.”

“Didn’t say it was. But you gotta admit—” Arthur gestures at the chaos, some kid throwing up into a plastic cup a few feet away, “—it’s pretty damn funny.”

Joel exhales sharply, fighting the urge to deck him. “Only thing funny is how I keep puttin’ up with your shit.”

Arthur smirks. “Aw, you’d miss me if I was gone.”

“Like I’d miss a damn splinter.”

Their back-and-forth is interrupted when a girl stumbles into Joel’s side, nearly spilling her drink down his shirt. She blinks up at him, eyes glassy, then lets out a breathless laugh. “Oh my god. You guys are, like, way too old to be here. Are you professors?”

Arthur lets out a barking laugh before Joel can answer. “Somethin’ like that, sweetheart.”

Joel shakes his head, muttering under his breath, and keeps moving. Arthur follows, still smirking, but then you step into their path, that mischievous glint in your eye returning as you block their way.

“Boys, please.” you say, arms folding across your chest. 

Joel exhales sharply. “You know where she is or not?”

You hum, tilting your head, letting the tension stretch just a little longer. “Maybe.”

Arthur snorts. “She’s messin’ with ya.”

You flash him a grin. “Maybe I just like seeing Joel all worked up.”

Arthur laughs, shaking his head. “You ain’t the first.”

Joel rolls his eyes.

You step closer with a knowing grin. “Pretty sure she went upstairs.”

Joel stiffens, scanning the crowded staircase. His gut twists. Upstairs could mean anything—she could be safe, just hanging out, or she could be caught up in something way worse.

“I’ll check,” he mutters, already moving toward the stairs.

Arthur’s about to follow, but Joel shakes his head. “We cover more ground if we split up. Keep lookin’ down here.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow. “Oh, so I get to stumble ‘round in a damn sea of drunk fools while you get to skulk off someplace nice and quiet?”

Joel shoots him a look. “You’d rather deal with the mess up there?”

Arthur considers, then sighs dramatically. “Fine. But if I get puked on, I’m makin’ you buy me a new damn coat.”

Joel just grunts, already halfway up the stairs, while Arthur turns back to the party. The moment you reach the second floor, the thumping bass fades slightly. The air is cooler up here, the chaos of the party reduced to muffled echoes below.

Joel glances back at you, suspicion in his gaze. “Where?”

You nod down the hall. “Last door on the left.”

Joel doesn’t waste a second, pushing forward. You follow, letting him step inside first. The moment he’s over the threshold, you swing the door shut behind you with a quiet click.

Joel turns, frowning. “What—?”

“She’s not up here.”

His brows knit together, realization settling in. “What the hell, darlin’?”

You take a slow step forward, and Joel—big, brooding, and absolutely clueless—actually takes a step back and sits on the bed.

“You seemed stressed,” you say lightly, tilting your head. “Figured you could use a break.”

Joel exhales sharply, shaking his head. “This ain’t funny.”

“Who’s joking?” You step closer, close enough that he can smell whatever sweet perfume clings to your skin. “Arthur can keep himself busy for a little while. And you… you look like you could use some help loosening up.”

Joel’s jaw ticks, his hands flexing at his sides. “Ain’t happenin’.”

You smirk. “Sure about that?”

Suddenly, the room tilts—not in a drunken, careless way, but in a slow, creeping blur. Joel sits on the edge of the bed, broad shoulders rising and falling with unsteady breaths. His shirt hangs open at the top, sweat beads at his temple, and his fingers dig into the mattress like he’s holding onto the last thread of his sanity.

Something is wrong.

You stand in front of him, warmth blooming in your chest—not from alcohol, but from the way he looks at you. His pupils are blown wide, his lips parted, his entire body wound so tight he looks ready to snap. He looks wrecked.

“Joel,” you murmur, stepping between his knees. Your fingers trail along his jaw, feeling the heat radiating off his skin. “You feeling alright?”

His throat bobs with a hard swallow, his whole body rigid beneath your touch. “Somethin’ ain’t right,” he rasps, voice thick with strain. “Shouldn’t be feelin’ this way.”

You smirk, dragging your fingers lower over the pulse hammering in his throat. “Feel what way?”

His jaw flexes, eyes darting away, searching for an anchor—something to ground him. But control is slipping through his fingers like sand.

“You,” he grits out, voice thick and strained. “You smell so damn good.”

Your grin widens, emboldened by the way his hands twitch at his sides, like he’s resisting the urge to grab you. “Maybe that’s just you finally admitting you want me.”

A low, ragged growl rumbles in his throat. Before you can tease him further, his hands shoot up, gripping your hips with a desperation that wasn’t there before. 

“Don’t play with me, darlin’,” he warns, though the heat behind it is fading fast, cracking into something more vulnerable. His chest rises and falls unevenly, his pupils dark pools of hunger and confusion. “I—I can’t think straight.”

You lean in, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Then don’t think.”

Joel exhales sharply, body trembling beneath your touch, every muscle wound tight like a drawn bowstring.

Then the door creaks open.

“What in the hell?”

Arthur’s voice slams into the moment like a bucket of ice water.

Joel curses under his breath, hands jerking away from you like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. You turn to find Arthur standing in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, his expression shifting rapidly from bewilderment to something sharper, more knowing. His sharp gaze flickers between you and Joel, taking in his disheveled state—the sweat at his temple, the way his chest heaves like he’s run a mile.

Arthur’s frown deepens. “You wanna explain why Miller looks like he’s ‘bout to keel over?”

Joel groans, squeezing his eyes shut, like he’s fighting off some invisible force. “Somethin’ was in those damn shots.”

Arthur’s face darkens. His jaw tightens, his hand dragging down his face as the realization clicks into place. “Oh, for fuck sakes.”

For the first time, you notice it—how Arthur's fingers flex restlessly at his sides, the faint flush creeping up his neck. The way his throat bobs when he swallows, like something is catching there, thick and unshakable.

You bite your lip, watching as Arthur exhales sharply. His usual composure cracking, just enough to reveal the heat flickering behind his gaze, the same one you just saw in Joel’s.

Arthur clenches his jaw, shaking his head like he can force away the sensation clawing its way up his spine. “This ain't happenin’,” he mutters under his breath, pacing in short, jerky steps, his boots scuffing against the floor.

But you see it. His fingers flex like he’s itching to touch. His gaze flickers to you, then to Joel, then back again, lingering just a second too long. He’s trying—god, he’s trying—to hold himself together, but his breath comes faster and his muscles tense beneath his shirt.

“Arthur,” you murmur, stepping toward him. Your fingers ghost over his arm, stopping his restless pacing. His muscles jump beneath your touch, his jaw locking tight as he flinches back like you’ve burned him.

“Are you feeling it too?”

A sharp inhale. A pause.

Then, in a voice stretched thin with restraint, he rasps, “Don’t.”

But there’s no real bite to it—just a desperate, fraying edge. His pupils are blown wide. His nostrils flare as his gaze flickers around the room—searching for control, finding none.

"You say that," you murmur, dragging your fingers down his chest, slow, teasing. "But you feel it too, don't you?"

Arthur’s pulse throbs under your fingertips, hot against your skin. His breath is uneven. “Can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you.” The words break off, swallowed by a tightness in his throat that says more than he can put into words.  “‘Bout—” He cuts himself off, like just the thought of it is too much.The way he trembles, the way his eyes darken—they’re confirmation enough.

You trace his torso before feeling the undeniable bulge beneath his jeans.

He tenses. A sharp inhale punches out of his lungs. His hips jerk forward instinctively, the thick heat of him twitching under your touch, seeping through the denim.

Arthur lets out a low, muttered curse, his resolve shattering like glass. Before you can say another word, his hands are on you.

It’s sudden—like a dam breaking. His grip is firm, almost bruising, as he yanks you in, crashing his lips against yours. Heat ignites in your veins, scorching and insatiable. You melt into him, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him closer. He groans into your mouth,his hands anchoring you to him, pressing you flush against him.

Behind you, Joel makes a strangled, guttural noise—something raw, something starved.

Arthur finally pulls away, his breath ragged. His forehead presses against yours, hands locked around your hips like letting go isn’t an option. His grip is possessive, claiming.

But Joel isn’t about to be left behind.

He exhales shakily, hesitation flickering in his gaze for only a second before he’s on his feet.

He closes the distance in a single step, his fingers threading into your hair, tilting your face up. And then his mouth meets yours. It’s different from Arthur—deeper, rougher, edged with something raw and desperate. His grip is sure, his hands sliding down your body, pulling you flush against him like he needs to feel every inch of you, needs to brand himself into you.

Arthur shifts behind you, a low scoff slipping past his lips. “Oh, come on, Miller.” His voice is rough, breathless, and laced with utter need. “You kissin’ her or tryin’ to romance her?”

Joel pulls back just enough to glare at him. “Least I know how to take my time, Morgan. You just gonna stand there and watch, or you gonna do somethin’?”

Arthur’s smirk is sharp as a blade. “You askin’ me to show you how it’s done?”

Before you can blink, Arthur’s hands are on you again, gripping your hips so fast your head spins. He tugs you against him, chest flush to your back, his breath hot against your ear.

“You wanna be handled right, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your skin. “You come to me.”

You feel it—the heat, the desperation, the all-consuming ache that quickly becomes unbearable. This isn’t just lust. It’s chemical. Something unnatural coils through their veins, winding tighter and tighter. Their hunger intensifies until it borders on agony.

“Sweetheart, you gotta tell us—" Arthur's hips jerk forward rolling against you and a strangled grunt slips from him. "—gotta tell us it’s okay, ‘cause I can’t, won’t be able to stop."

Your stomach clenches. The sharp spike of arousal sends a pulse of heat straight between your legs. They’re breaking apart, and it’s because of you.

You swallow hard, “I don’t want you to stop.”

Arthur hands are on you in a flash, tearing at your clothes like patience is a thing of the past. His lips scorch a path across your skin, demanding and relentless as his tongue explores every inch of you. He pants like he’s drowning and needs you to breathe.

Joel is no better. His large hands roam over your body, shoving under your shirt, his fingers greedily grabbing and kneading your skin.

“Darlin’, we gotta get this off,” Joel mutters, voice thick with need.

Arthur growls, yanking your shirt up and ripping it over your head in one rough motion, fabric flying to the floor. Your bra is next, unclasped in a single tug, his calloused hands immediately covering your bare skin, kneading your breasts, thumbs swiping over your stiffening nipples.

“You’re so goddamn soft,” Arthur rasps, voice wrecked, his palms mapping every inch of you.

Joel presses his lips to your skin, tongue teasing your nipples with slow, deliberate flicks before sealing around them with a hot, insistent pull. His hands trail heat down your stomach, fingers hooking into the waistband of your jeans. He pulls back with a wet pop, breath warm against your skin. “Ain’t fair, Morgan. Can’t let you have all the fun.”

Joel growls, shoving your jeans down, gripping your ass, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp.

Arthur’s fingers skim lower, finding you already soaked. His grin widens. “Fuck, sweetheart, you really want this, huh?”

“Yeah? How wet is she?”

Arthur drags his fingers through your slick folds before flicking his gaze to Joel, smug. “Why don’t you feel for yourself?”

Joel doesn’t hesitate. His hand joins Arthur’s between your legs, their fingers brushing, both of them feeling just how desperate you are.

A sharp inhale escapes you. The sensation—both their hands on you, teasing, possessive—sends a shock of pleasure straight through you.

Arthur chuckles, thick with satisfaction. “Damn. You feel that?”

Joel exhales sharply, grip tightening. “Oh yeah,” he grits out. “Feel that sweet cunt droolin’ for us.”

His fingers slip inside you, stretching you open, coaxing a moan from deep in your throat. Arthur watches, dark eyes hungry. “Gotta admit, I like hearin’ you make those sounds sweetheart.”

Joel scoffs. “Least I’m makin’ her moan.”

Arthur growls, fingers moving faster, pushing Joel’s aside like he’s reclaiming what’s his. “Let’s see who gets her beggin’ first.”

Both men grin, dark and satisfied, fingers still teasing through your slick folds. “Think she likes bein’ between us.”

Joel’s eyes burn as he watches Arthur’s hand disappear between your thighs. His jaw tightens. “Quit runnin’ your damn mouth and do somethin’.”

Arthur just smirks, fingers hooking into your panties and yanking them down, damp fabric sliding over your thighs.

“You’re a fuckin’ dream.” Joel murmurs.

Arthur scoffs. “Ain’t just gonna tell her. She deserves to feel it too.”

Joel steps back, eyes dragging over your body, chest rising and falling heavily. Arthur does the same, lips parted, a groan slipping from his throat.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” Arthur mutters, fingers tracing the swell of your breasts, down the curve of your waist. “Ain’t never seen anythin’ prettier.”

Joel hums in agreement, hands following the same path, like he needs to memorize every inch of you.

Arthur’s the first to move, unbuckling his belt with a swift pull, letting it drop with a heavy clink. He shoves his jeans and boxers down, stepping free. Your breath catches.

Not to be outdone, Joel shrugs off his shirt, muscles flexing as he makes quick work of his jeans. When they fall, your mouth goes dry.

They’re both… big.

A nervous thrill rushes through you, anticipation crackling along your skin like a live wire. Arthur smirks, catching the way your eyes widen.

“Somethin’ catch your attention, sweetheart?”

Joel exhales sharply, a ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Bet she’s wonderin’ how she’s gonna take us both.”

Heat floods your cheeks, but the pulsing need between your thighs overpowers any hesitation. You reach for Arthur first, fingers wrapping around the base of his length, feeling the sheer weight of him. His head tips back slightly, but his eyes never leave you.

Not wanting to leave Joel waiting, your other hand wraps around him, fingers curling, testing. He sucks in a sharp breath, muscles tensing beneath your touch.

“Fuck,” Joel mutters, voice strained.

Arthur chuckles, breathless. “She’s got a good grip, huh?”

You lick your lips, heart hammering as you stroke them both, hands moving in slow, deliberate motions. The power of knowing you’re the cause of their unraveling sends a rush of arousal straight through you.

You lean in, taking Arthur first, tongue flicking against his heated skin. His hips jerk, a low growl slipping from his throat.

Joel’s hand slides into your hair, fingers threading through the strands—not to control, just to feel, to anchor himself as he watches you.

Arthur exhales a shaky breath, fingers flexing at his sides. “Hell, sweetheart… keep that up, and I ain’t gonna last.”

Joel chuckles, rough and strained. “Guess I gotta see what all the fuss is about.”

You glance up, meeting their hooded gazes before switching—lips leaving Arthur to wrap around Joel, your hand still working him as you take him deeper.

The sounds they make—needy, desperate, barely held together—send heat pooling between your thighs.

Arthur strokes a hand down your back. “You look so damn good like this, sweetheart.”

Joel exhales sharply, grip in your hair tightening just slightly. “Yeah, she does,” he agrees, voice ragged. “Come on, darlin’. Need you on the bed. Now.”

You barely hit the mattress before Arthur is on you. His mouth is hot, insatiable, kissing you like he’s got something to prove. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, messy and frantic, like he’s trying to erase every other man you’ve ever kissed. His hands grip your skin with urgency, mapping out every inch of you for himself.

Joel isn’t far behind. He crawls onto the bed, big hands sliding up your body. “Goddamn, baby,” he rasps, “you feel so damn good.”

Arthur drags his mouth down your throat, biting at your collarbone, fingers flexing against your hips as he grinds against you, shameless and eager. “Can’t stop touchin’ you,” he mutters, breath coming in heavy, hungry bursts.

Joel watches Arthur roll against you, sees the way your body arches for him, and lets out a low, frustrated sound. His cock twitches. His fingers dig into your thighs, possessive, patience unraveling.

“Goddamn,” he grits out. “I need you.”

Arthur’s head snaps up, eyes dark and burning. His chest heaves. “We need you,” he corrects, voice rough, daring Joel to challenge him.

You whimper, heat pooling low as Joel meets Arthur’s stare, something dangerous passing between them. Then Joel moves, fast, gripping your chin, tilting your head back into a deep kiss. His tongue sweeps against yours, stealing your breath, swallowing your sounds like he owns them.

Arthur watches with an intense gaze, his chest rising sharply. “Shit,” he mutters, voice strained.

Joel chuckles darkly. “Ain’t no stoppin’ now, Morgan.” He smirks, taunting, then glances down at you, his touch slow but deliberate. “She needs us.”

Arthur swallows hard, gaze flickering over you, taking in your wrecked state. His cock is flushed, leaking, aching. The sight of you between them, desperate and wanting, nearly drives him insane. “Then let’s give her what she needs.”

Joel’s fingers trail over your breast, rolling a nipple between them. You arch, whining, and his voice drops to a rasp. “Look at you. So goddamn beautiful.”

Arthur groans in agreement but refuses to let Joel take the lead. He moves lower, mouth dragging down your stomach, hands gripping your thighs, pushing them apart. He inhales sharply at the sight of your slick heat. “Christ, sweetheart,” he murmurs, stroking through your wetness. “All this for us?”

You nod, breathless, fingers tangling in his hair. “Please,” you whisper, wrecked with need.

Arthur doesn’t hesitate. His tongue flattens against you, moving with slow, devastating precision, determined to ruin you for anyone else.

Joel shifts beside you, watching, stroking himself. “Fuck,” he mutters, his free hand tracing over your trembling thighs. “You like that, darlin’? Like him eatin’ you out while I watch?”

Your answer is a broken moan. Your fingers tighten in Arthur’s hair as he sucks your clit, sending sharp jolts of pleasure through you. He pulls back just enough to rasp, “Wanna feel you come on my tongue, sweetheart. Be a good girl for me.” Then he’s back on you, relentless, holding you down as you writhe.

Joel grits his teeth, watching you fall apart, his strokes turning rougher, breath ragged. “Goddamn it.” His gaze burns at the way your body shakes, how your moans break into gasps.

It doesn’t take long. Pleasure coils tighter, spiraling until it snaps. You cry out, thighs trembling as you come. Arthur groans against you, licking you through every wave, refusing to stop until you’re shaking.

When you finally sag against the mattress, panting and wrecked, Arthur pulls away, wiping his mouth. His jaw is slick, eyes dark with satisfaction. “Think she liked that.” His fingers stroke over your inner thighs, teasing. “Sweet as honey.”

Joel clenches his jaw, his cock thick, heavy, flushed a deeper shade than normal. “Fuck,” he growls, gripping your thigh, spreading you wider. His voice is rough, raw with hunger. “Need to be inside ya, darlin’.”

Arthur chuckles, breathless. “That so?” He shifts up, hovering, smug. “Think I should get a turn first, Miller.”

Joel’s eyes flash. “Like hell you will.”

They hold each other’s gaze, both rock hard, both determined. Neither will be satisfied until they’ve both had you.

Arthur shifts back, but not in surrender. A challenge. He lets Joel take his place between your legs, then leans in, his breath hot against your ear. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmurs, fingers teasing down your stomach. “Tell him whose cock you wanna feel first.”

A needy whimper slips past your lips. Your legs spread wider in silent invitation. Desperation threads through your voice. “Joel—please.”

Joel groans, victorious, guiding himself against your entrance. “That’s a good girl.”

With one brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, knocking the breath from your lungs. You whimper, still trembling from your release, but Joel hushes you, voice softer now. “You can take it, baby. You want it bad, don’t you?”

The stretch burns, but it’s a sweet, aching pain drowned out by the desperate pulse of need. Joel presses his forehead to yours, his breath ragged, his hips already snapping into a deep, unrelenting rhythm. He’s relentless, making up for lost time, proving something with every thrust.

Arthur exhales sharply, his cock twitching at the sight of you unraveling beneath Joel.

A deep, broken moan rips from your throat, your fingers digging into Joel’s biceps.

“Hell baby feel so good,” he grits out, head dropping to your shoulder. “So goddamn tight.”

Arthur watches, smirking. “Damn, sweetheart. Feels good, don’t it?” He tilts your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Bet you’re squeezin’ him so fuckin’ tight.”

Joel’s jaw tenses. “Ain’t gonna last if you keep talkin’ like that.”

Arthur chuckles darkly. “Then I better make it worse.”

His hand drifts lower, brushing featherlight over your swollen clit. The jolt of sensation sends a wrecked moan spilling from your lips.

Joel curses. “Son of a bitch—”

Arthur grins, circling slow, lazy strokes, watching you shudder. “What’s wrong, Miller? Too much for ya?”

Joel growls, slamming deeper. “I can handle my fuckin’ business.”

Arthur doesn’t stop, his murmured praises filthy and relentless as Joel fucks you harder, driving you into his hold. “That’s it, baby,” Joel rasps. “Takin’ it so fuckin’ well.”

Arthur presses a kiss to your jaw, fingers working you over. “Come again, sweetheart. Let him feel you clench up nice ‘n tight—then it’s my turn.”

Pleasure coils in your belly, overwhelming, consuming. Arthur watches, his grip tight around his cock, stroking in quick, eager pumps. His jaw flexes, frustration flickering in his dark gaze before he moves.

No hesitation. No warning. Just action.

His hands grip your hips, shoving Joel’s hold aside like he’s claiming you for himself. Joel doesn’t even glance back—but his fingers tighten, sensing exactly what Arthur’s about to do.

Arthur spreads you wider, pressing in beside Joel, the stretch sharp and immediate. Your body struggles to take them both.

Joel curses, breath wrecked. “You feel that, baby? Takin’ both of us like you were made for it.”

They move in tandem, one pulling out as the other pushes in, a brutal rhythm that has you seeing stars. The pressure, the stretch, the way they fill you—it’s too much, too good.

Joel’s head falls back, a guttural moan tearing from his throat as his cock grinds against Arthur’s with every deep thrust. Skin slaps, breaths tangle, and they stretch you to your limit.

Then Arthur grips the back of Joel’s neck, crashing their mouths together. It’s rough, desperate—teeth clashing, tongues fighting for control.

Joel groans into the kiss, hips snapping harder, like he’s trying to fuck you so good Arthur can feel it too. He fists a hand in Arthur’s hair, yanking him closer, deepening it with a low, wrecked sound.

The sight makes your head spin. The way they lose themselves in each other, needy and ravenous, it’s intoxicating. You reach between them, wrapping your hand around Arthur’s cock pulling it from its warm home, slick from where he’s been inside you.

Arthur jerks, gasping, his eyes blown wide. He moves, shifting toward your head, his cock brushing your lips in silent demand.

You take him in, hollowing your cheeks, sucking him deep. Arthur curses, fingers twisting in your hair, guiding your movements.

Joel’s thrusts stutter, then recover—harder, relentless. “Jesus christ,” he grits out, watching the way you take Arthur. His cock twitches inside you, throbbing. “Fuckin’ perfect.”

Arthur groans, hips jerking. “That’s it, sweetheart. Takin’ us so damn good.”

Joel’s mouth crashes back to Arthur’s, their kiss messy, desperate. They groan into each other, bodies moving in perfect rhythm—Joel stretching you open, Arthur hitting the back of your throat, pleasure spilling over in waves.

The tension builds, unbearable. Joel’s grip tightens, thrusts turning erratic before he shudders, spilling deep inside you with a wrecked moan, forehead pressed to Arthur’s.

Arthur isn’t far behind. His grip in your hair tightens as he comes, thick and hot down your throat, his moans swallowed by Joel’s mouth as they kiss through it. His free hand flexes against Joel’s neck, holding him close even as his hips still.

For a long moment, the only sound is ragged breathing, the slow cooling of sweat-slicked bodies. Joel presses his forehead to yours, fingers smoothing over your waist, grounding himself. Arthur trails lazy patterns over your skin—unexpectedly gentle after the desperation of moments ago.

Joel finally breaks the silence, voice low and hoarse. “What the hell was in those shots?”

Arthur lets out a breathless chuckle. “Just know I ain’t never felt somethin’ like that before.”

You hum, fingers threading through Joel’s damp curls as he nuzzles into your neck, his body still half-draped over yours. “Guess that makes three of us.”

Arthur’s fingers ghost along your hip, voice quieter now, but dark with something possessive. “Y’think it’s outta our system?”

Joel’s hand slides over your stomach, flexing like he’s already thinking about round two. “Hope not.” His smirk brushes against your skin before he nips at your shoulder. “Ain’t done with you yet, darlin’.”

Arthur chuckles, warm and dark against your ear. His teeth scrape your pulse, his hand gripping your thigh. “Reckon neither am I.”

taglist:

@harriedandharassed @syd-djarin

[stottlemorgan]

Mid Honour Arthur Morgan NSFW Headcanons (Female Reader)

Author's Note: I wrote these to help with my writing, trying to figure out what Arthur's like, and I really liked these so I thought I'd share 'em! Go wild! Tags: 18+ smut MDNI, sex, oral, the whole shebang. Low Honour Version x Ao3 Link.

⟡ He's actually a bit of a challenge to turn on. He may be a bit touch-starved but he's controlled. He loves a bit of PDA and showing you off, but he isn't one to get hard instantly. He can deal with sultry glances and smirks from you, if anything it makes him chuckle to himself and shake his head.

⟡ In order to get a more pronounced reaction from him, you have to tease your underclothes or brush your ass against his hips as you make your way past him in camp. He's a lot more receptive to physicality. And sound, if you run up behind him, wrap your arms around his midriff, yank him down a bit and whisper in his ear, he's gone.

⟡ He tends to end up smothering you if you're smaller. Sometimes by accident, sometimes not.

⟡ He starts off more reserved but as he grows hotter, his language and sounds start to slip. A "Jesus..." here and a "Shit..." there. He'll start groaning, his nose scrunching, baring his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. The majority of his sounds are heavy breaths, grunts, groans, the occasional growl. When he comes, he'll sometimes let out stuttering "Oh-"'s that get louder before melting into laboured panting.

⟡ But he'll also murmur silly, cheesy things in your ear through his ragged breaths. "You make me believe in Heaven." "I musta done somethin' right in life to have you fall in my lap."

⟡ He sweats like a pig. Post-orgasm, he's huffing and grabbing his shirt from where he threw it to wipe his face and neck.

⟡ He loves pleasuring his partner, and looooves eating women out. Kissing, sucking, lapping, making you squeal and whimper. He savours your sounds, wanting more and more. He'll keep at it until you're overstimulated and batting at his head, or until he has to come up for air, beard soaked. He'd happily drown in you.

⟡ And when you give him head? He's a little nervous having the focus be on him but once you start, he's sucking in shaky breaths, eyes fluttering shut, jaw slack, in heaven. He'll grab at the air a little, fingers twitching before he paws at your head gently. He'll cradle your face in his palms and moan when your dreamy gaze meets his whilst you lap at the underside of his cock. He'll thrust into your mouth nice and slow, his veins flooding with arousal and his muscles tingling with utter disbelief that he's lucked out so highly with you.

⟡ He's an ass man, but just loves your body in general. He loves gettin' a handful of you; Ass, hips, waist, thighs, breasts, all of you. "You're a first-rate stunner." He'll growl softly, a smirk curling his lips, his thick fingers dipping into your warm flesh, "My girl."

⟡ If he needs you to be quiet during sex, he'll shove his neckerchief in your mouth out of necessity. "Sh, shh, shhh, darlin'. Can't be wakin' up the whole camp with those pretty sounds of yours. Here now, open up."

⟡ If he's sans neckerchief, he lets you bite his shoulders or have you suck on his fingers. "You gotta keep quiet, sweetheart." He'll whisper against your skin as he cups the back of your head and brings your mouth to his shoulder or pushes two thick fingers into your mouth.

⟡ He'll instinctively support you; holding your hips, wrapping his arms around your waist, grabbing your shoulders to stabilise you. He loves being pressed against you, feeling your heart against his chest or back, relishing the connection.

⟡ He's also always checking that you're enjoying yourself, whether it be by asking you outright or watching you for signs of discomfort. "That feel good?" "Y'alright, darlin'?" "Looks like that feels good, hm?" "Yeah? Like that?"

⟡ He gets unsure about leaving marks on you via biting, sucking, spanking, not wanting to hurt you too much or mar your skin. You have to convince him you want it. He feels a bit guilty until he sees how much you enjoy it. And he can't deny the way the sounds you make when he does it strikes lightning through his loins. "You really are a little hellcat, ain'chya?"

⟡ He doesn't mind being marked himself though, not at all, doesn't matter. He's marked all over anyway, what's one more mark? Especially from you.

⟡ He love love loves kisses. All over him, all over you. If you pepper kisses about his face and chest, he'll very quickly flush a gorgeous crimson and look at you, dazed. He'll pull you into his lap and kiss you all over until you're laughing loudly.

⟡ He'll click his tongue at you gently like click click click "Sh, shh, shhh. Easy, girl, easy."

⟡ He'll also tut at you if you're being bratty or feeling overwhelmed. Tut, tut, "Now now, girly. Don't get shrewish with me." or tut, tut, "Oh, sweetheart. I know, I know, c'mon, sweetheart. Keep going, just a little longer."

⟡ He's a soft dom/switch mostly, but if you can get him aroused enough, he relaxes into being a little more dominating.

⟡ He occasionally enjoys being dominated but more so enjoys either a relatively equal sexual dynamic or he naturally falls into a soft dom, caring, cooing role.

⟡ He's not immune to losing himself in the moment, though. He'll breathlessly mutter a "God..." or his breath will hitch like he's been winded before his movements will become rougher, more desperate, like this blissful feeling will slip through his fingers if he doesn't grab you. "C'mere." "Gimme more, girly." "Un-unh, don'chu move now."

⟡ He naturally praises you, not giving it much thought other than wanting you to feel incredible. "That's it, darlin'." "Lookatchu." "Good girl." "Atta girl." "Ain'tchu a picture." "Pretty lady, takin' it all." "That's it, girly, keep on, keep on." "Yeah, more'a'that, baby. Oh, you're so good."

⟡ And when you praise him? Most of the time, he'll duck his head down and wince. "Naw, shut up." "Quit all that." Before trying to divert the focus back onto you by squeezing your ass or rubbing your waist.

⟡ But if he's lost in pleasure? It'll drive him mad. His grip will tighten on you and he'll hiss and huff. He won't respond to the praise verbally but he'll flush red and let out soft "Oh"'s as he holds onto you for dear life.

⟡ If you put his hat on, he will automatically want to have you ride him (But not before barking out a laugh). "Y'think y'can be a cowgirl without ridin', hm?" He'll say before spreading his legs and patting his thighs, "Giddy up, girly." He'll say with a sarcastic lilt, his eyes aflame with excitement.

⟡ If he's particularly tired, you can ride him hard enough to draw a whine from him. His head will fall back, his hands falling from you, his hips jerking into you messily. "Oh, darlin'."

Hope y'all enjoy! I love writing Arthur smut Xoxo

[stellasdrafts]

Girl Dad Headcanons - Arthur Morgan

“[Mr. Gillis] treats his daughter like a possession to be mistreated and abused as he sees fit. Strange creatures, men. I don’t know.”   -RDR2, Chapter 4, Fatherhood and Other Dreams

Notes: I was playing RDR2 the other day and his journal entry (above) after seeing Mary for the second time stood out to me. I think his relationship with women and feminism in the story is worth writing about. afab reader. 1.1k words.

Thinking of Arthur Morgan’s reaction to you birthing his little girl. It’s a surprise, naturally, given the time period. He isn’t disappointed by any means – God, no. He considers himself a blessed man as long as the little one looks like you. He’s concerned. Terrified of the world his little girl will have to live in, of the hardships she will be forced to face.

It isn’t something he’s thought of in such depth before. Sure, he’s had conversations with the women at camp -  he’s not naïve. Prejudices never even made logical sense to him.

Arthur, who didn’t bat an eye when Mary Beth told him she wanted to be a writer. He got her that pen without thinking twice because why shouldn’t women be able to write? Ain’t they people just like everyone else?

Arthur, who didn’t question Tilly for a second when finding out she killed that Foreman. He was told the asshole deserved it and sided with her in a heartbeat, assuming she had acted in self-defense. He would speak to her like a friend, too. Not like she was some inferior woman.

Arthur, who considered marrying Abigail when John left, because no woman should be shunned for being an unwed mother when it’s a deadbeat man who left in the first place. He always thought John took her for granted.

Arthur, who was always in awe of Sadie’s raw courage and determination, and who didn’t question her lead when she asked him to come along on her escapades. A good idea is a good idea, and a good shot is a good shot, no matter whom it comes from. She was a better fighter than most of the men in the gang, anyway.

Arthur, who saw Karen’s femininity as a strength rather than a weakness. She was clever and ambitious. She knew how people perceived her and used that to pull off outrageous heists. Plus, she wasn’t half bad with a shotgun. He never thought anything about her was weak.

Arthur, who despite enjoying teasing her, noticed everything Susan did for the camp. It secretly irritated him when he heard the others whining at her when she asked them to do chores because he knew the place would’ve fallen apart within days if it weren’t for her leadership.

Arthur, who immediately discerned when Molly started acting off. He checked in on her even when the rest of the camp villainized her as this spoiled, ungrateful girl. Sure, she had made mistakes, but most of the men had done worse.

A wave of dread washes over him as he admires his daughter, her little fingers wrapping around his finger, and he feels sick. He shouldn’t feel like this. He should be overcome with joy. Well, he is, but his upbringing will never allow him to be immersed in a moment without thinking of the harsh realities surrounding it. He looks at you and the fragile baby bundled in your arms. His whole world sits in the bed before him. Everyone and everything he values most in this miserable world – are women. Women who have and who will inevitably be mistreated and underestimated, despite having the power to create literal life. Despite being ten times more rational, intelligent, and kinder than almost all the men he’s known even with the challenges thrown at them. He makes a vow to himself the minute his daughter is born. A vow that he’ll never let anything happen to her or you as he did Eliza and Isaac. He’s never known his purpose in life, but from that moment on, he knows exactly why he was put on this earth – to care for the two of you, his family.

Arthur, who overheard how Micah would speak to and of the women at camp, and never so much as entertained his delusions.

Arthur, who always offers a hand to help women off or on their horses and wagons.

Arthur, who excuses himself when he bumps into women, as opposed to telling off men when he does them.

Arthur, who rides around Rhodes some weeks after your daughter was born, searching for any women he might recognize from the suffrage protest he crashed with Beau all that time ago.

Arthur, who stops in his tracks when he hears the voice of the woman in Saint-Denis who pickets for her voting rights – the same voice he’s heard twenty times before, but it feels different now. He drops a few bills into her hat because he’s never been a particularly political man, but he’ll be damned if his daughter doesn’t get a say in the kind of world she’ll live in when the time comes.

And you can be sure he’ll teach her how to handle a firearm when she’s older. It brings back unpleasant memories, and he wishes for a better life for her than what he had, of course, but he knows the type of men there are out there. Hell, he used to run with them.

Arthur, who sees the two of you as his redemption.

He doesn’t know how he’s been handed such goodness. Surely, he was undeserving after everything he’s done? But every time he lays eyes on his precious baby girl, he grants himself a smidge of forgiveness. Something all bad couldn’t produce something so perfect, right?

He listens to her babbles and he can’t understand a thing. He thinks back on every good thing he’s ruined in his life – he’s a destructive man. He destroys everything he touches, but his baby reaches out to him with a sleepy smile and the utmost trust. When she looks at him, she sees her father, not a killer but rather safety, not the blood of every man he’s killed but a warm embrace. She’s his, not in the sense of Mr. Gillis treating Mary like his property, but in the sense that he now has the privilege of having the responsibility to love, protect, and care for this angel of a being.

He's scared shitless. His father hadn’t stuck around much, but he’s determined to be the best version of himself for his little girl. He would never leave like his dad did. He would never give up on her as Dutch did him. He would teach her to be clever and to think on her toes, like Hosea did – without all the deception, of course.

Arthur, who starts a second journal to write solely about his girl, just to have something to leave her when the time comes. Until then, she’ll never know how good of a writer her father was.

He would gladly be a soldier one last time. One last time to give you and his daughter the life you deserve.

[kiana12113]

JEALOUS HEADCANONS

For most of the Van Der Linde Gang ୨୧

➤ Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Micah Bell, Dutch Van der Linde, Hosea Matthews, Josiah Trelawny, Kieran Duffy, Charles Smith, Sean MacGuire, Lenny Summers, Sadie Adler, Karen Jones, Mary-Beth Gaskill, Molly O’Shea x F!Reader

Note: you ever just pull something out of your ass and it… works?

ARTHUR MORGAN

He can’t help it sometimes. The way he handles his jealousy varies, but most of the time, he would want to bottle it up - thinking it’s a silly thing. You weren’t making him jealous, he knows that. He’s making himself, due to the severe lack of self-esteem he has.

At first, the man would watch silently, observing how happy you looked. Sure, he could use some attention, too — he thinks, but there isn’t any harm with you having fun. Although the man can’t help but frown at the sight.

He doesn’t want to confront you. If he ever decides to stop watching you like a hawk — he would stand beside you and flash a raised eyebrow. “Hey, honey.”

“Who… ya talkin’ to?”

It’s pretty obvious, even though he likes to believe it isn’t.

JOHN MARSTON

He notices your prolonged attention and time spent with someone, and he doesn’t mind — at first. He convinces himself you’ll stop soon, and you’ll be left alone. But it doesn’t.

He spends the whole day sulking, trying to do other things, but his thoughts still linger. He wishes it was him, why couldn’t it just be him? He was right there.

The man, who tries to talk, is kind of stubborn. “Think that’s enough, talkin’ to my wife.” He states simply. But there’s something deeper within his words.

He has a stupid-looking scowl on his face, whispering to himself and crossing his arms. “I don’t like how he’s lookin’ at ya.”

MICAH BELL

He won’t admit it — but under that façade of not caring, there’s a sliver of it under his thick skin. But he wouldn’t act on it, no, you could do whatever the hell you wanted.

He’s quiet, like always, but a little bit more this time, looking at you with simple glances occasionally as he sharpens his knife. The man lets out a groan of pain when he accidentally cuts himself. “Great.” And he realizes, he won’t stop thinking about it, will he?

“Who were ya talking to?” He asks. When you ask him why, he avoids the question. “No reason.”

He’ll never admit he gets jealous, however, his tense mood looms over wherever he goes.

DUTCH VAN DER LINDE

When Dutch is jealous, he’s jealous. A marathon of thoughts run in his mind like a train. Why would she be smiling and laughing with another man’s presence, rather than his? No, it’s unacceptable.

The man approaches you immediately. No time for dilly-dallying, and he just can’t take in the sight. “Wat’cha doin’, sweetheart?” There’s something amusing about the way he’s placed a hand on your hip, trying his best to be able to smile, at least.

Dutch who doesn’t really explain why he’s acting this way, but it’s obvious with his actions alone, taking you away for himself and his attention all on you.

HOSEA MATTHEWS

He knows and trusts you enough not to get jealous. He knows you love him as much as he does. Although, maybe, in his most vulnerable times, he does — just once.

He looks at you from afar, with an uncertain look in his face. He’s gotten a little uneasy, sipping a cup of coffee that doesn’t even taste like anything. He tries to read newspaper, but the words just look like gibberish. The man shakes his head, how silly of him. He hasn’t felt this in a while.

He waits until the end of the day, trying his best to shake the feeling off. But it doesn’t, and you notice. “Can you believe it? I actually got jealous.”

Just kiss him, and he’ll be alright.

CHARLES SMITH

He isn’t jealous, he convinces himself. But there’s something about it. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like feeling this way — after all, he knows you were merely talking withs someone else.

Someone else who isn’t him.

He shakes the thought off. You’ll later find Charles oddly pushing himself with hunting and chores, glistening in sweat and heat.

He’ll be quiet, at first, when asked — appearing calm. But his thoughts are the complete opposite. It doesn’t take a genius to realize his inner turmoil.

He’ll tell you the truth, though. He always does. He just needs a little reassurance.

JAVIER ESCUELLA

It’s hard to mask his jealousy when his face uncontrollably grimaces. He’s upset, walking around, in a bad mood. He’ll tie his hair messily. He’ll strum the strings of his guitar with irritation. He’ll twist the pegs, completely absent-minded, trying to tune it, as the string snaps directly on his nose bridge.

He curses under his breath. He gets up, holds your hand tightly, and leads you away, without explanation.

“I’m jealous.” He says, blood running down his nose. “And I’ve made it obvious, you know.” Javier looks like a wet cat.

“What was so important with him, anyway?” He asks, with a scoff. He’s trying to act tough, but he’s currently got himself buried in your arms, with a bandage on his nose.

SEAN MACGUIRE

There’s no one more dramatic than him. A day without interaction would, and does drive him crazy — if he already isn’t. A jealous Sean jokes around, teases you, tries to get your attention. This trick usually works.

But it doesn’t, today. He’s walking, following you around, watching you talk to everyone except him. Times are busy, he’s afraid, you’ll find someone else who’s better than him.

For once, he’s a little serious. Nervous, on his toes. He’s murmuring, and laughing awkwardly as he stands there. “Me? Jealous? No, no. I don’t get jealous, hah.”

“I am…”

LENNY SUMMERS

He’s had his hands tucked in his pockets for a while now, trying to understand what he was feeling, exactly. He waited around, kicking some rocks. He didn’t want to seem upset, but he was. No doubt.

Poor boy. Lenny doesn’t want to say anything, he doesn’t want to talk to you about it. He didn’t want to seem selfish, or come off in that way. But he couldn’t stop stealing glances at your figure, his thoughts may as well eating him up alive.

His actions are off — uncoordinated, distracted, thinking endlessly. He can’t help it. “Are you busy?”

His jealousy is silent, but not towards you, specifically. He’ll open up, when he’s holding your hands tenderly, but won’t reveal the thoughts of uncertainty that once skipped in his mind.

KIERAN DUFFY

It’d be hard for him to accept the fact that he’s jealous. He’ll deny himself most of the time. But he was, and he knew it. He’d been brushing Branwen’s mane for about fifteen minutes now, unable to tear his eyes away.

He’s not sure what he’s doing, exactly, when he coughs behind you and looks at whoever you were with. “Hey, ah… Who’s this?”

For now, he’ll have to push away his own needs, and he understands that. But he’ll be beside you, curling his fingers between yours, interlocking it tightly.

JOSIAH TRELAWNY

There’s enough confidence in him to reassure himself and let you be, most of the time. Although that doesn’t mean he’s not needy. That, he will be.

There’s a loneliness that creeps up his chest when he isn’t with you, when he’s away. He’ll think about you. Trelawny squints his eyes at the person in front of you, taking a bit too much of your time for his liking. As he says, it ‘pains him not being near you.’

“My dear, why don’t we go ahead now?” He coos sweetly. He’s trying his hard, and his best, to be cute. He grins when he wins, celebrating like a child and taking your hand in his.

SADIE ADLER

It’s not often she’ll get envious, while it is easy to provoke her. She’ll say a word, or two, or a few sentences — when it’s needed.

She’ll cock a brow, place a hand on her hip as she watches for a moment. Maybe she’ll wait a staggering one minute before she goes and joins the conversation. The woman smiles at you, and asks. “Hey, honey. Who’re you talking to?” And look at the man in front of you with a now neutral expression. She has no interest, whatsoever, only to you.

“Well, we really have to go now, sir. Surely ya won’t mind if I take her back, right? I know ya won’t. ‘Cause she ain’t yours.” It’s hard to prevent whatever spews out of her mouth.

KAREN JONES

“So yer gonna talk to her the whole night, that it?” You hear from behind you, Karen says to who you’re talking to. It’s not common for her to get jealous, but she’ll let you know. It’s a little scary, really, the way she can be so blunt.

Expect her to be, initially, in a not so bright mood.

Maybe she’ll even drink a bottle or two, in nights without you beside her. Jealousy’s a nasty thing, and she tries to keep in check. Her tongue is loose, though, she can’t do much about it.

MARYBETH GASKILL

She’s been peeking, looking around who you were with the past hour. The book in her hands, suddenly becomes a little harder to read. She wants to talk to you, be with you — but that apparently can’t be done.

She’ll come to you, a little shy, smiling a little. “Who’re you talking to, [Reader]?” Pretty please will you go and talk to me instead? It’s written all over her face. She doesn’t really understand why not, you see.

It’s not along before you’re eventually dragged away. Sometimes you don’t even notice. She’s sneaky like that, has a penchant for averting your attention to her. Although with good intention.

MOLLY O’SHEA

She understands, you’re a busy person. And that means you lend a lot of time to other people, and talk to them, and go with them. Your attention, love, and care has always been enough for her. But she always thinks, and thinks.

Molly notices the little things. The way your body is close, the way your elbows and hands slightly brush against some people. It upsets her to an extent where you’ll find her huddled away, just waiting for you to visit her.

“It’s nothing.” But she’ll crack the next moment and tell you all about how she’s been lonely, and how she missed you. “Do you still love me? I do.”

Tell her you do. All she needs is a little reassurance.

[midgarangel]

ꗃ snowed in | arthur morgan ⭐️

summary: arthur finds you out all alone without your horse in the middle of the grizzlies during a bad snow storm.

contents: nsfw! arthur morgan x fem reader, good honor arthur, pre tb, both of them are the definition of touch starved, penetration, reader squ**ts?? hell yeah.

words: 3.5k (?) i have no clue

—

Up in Mount Hagen west of the grizzlies, the fire was going while he set the tent up. It hadn’t snowed in days thankfully. Arthur could tell it would in the morning just by how the temperature dropped severely throughout the night.

“You’re alright..”

His beloved horse Boadicea, shook off the chill in the air and neighed. Arthur got some sleep as best as he could, deciding to wait till dawn to set off.

—

Tracking a bounty all the way up here might not have been the smartest idea. Some lowlife criminal with a fine price on his head, wanted dead or alive. Arthur hoped he would stumble upon the man frozen while out riding. Instead he was met with endless amounts of snow ahead of him.

He couldn’t even get a cup of decent coffee going, day was already off to a bad start. It was now around eleven a.m based off the pocket watch he kept in his satchel. Boadicea kept trekking as best as she could.

Arthur loved to get away from camp whenever he could. None of Dutch’s nonsense, no Micah, no nothing. Only now he wished he could turn around and see greenery and meadows instead of pure white.

Boadicea snorted, the snow seemed to be falling heavier. Arthur couldn’t see ahead of him and it seemed like a blizzard was approaching.

“Just a little more girl cmon..”

The wind roared far out as they continued. The path below them was still visible. Yet, deep in the grizzlies now it was no use going back. He fed Boadicea a carrot hoping her stamina would improve.

Best to keep going, he thought. No way I’m gon make it out of the range till it calms down.

With the storm calming down a bit, Arthur took note of his surroundings. Near the now frozen lake, lake isabella. The trail that adorned the body of water had footprints that looked fresh. Footprints that belonged to someone smaller than Him. His suspicions were about to be confirmed.

He heard sniffing and shuffling up ahead. Rounding the corner he laid eyes on you. On tbe ground picking up the contents that were on e in your basket. Your outwear covered in snow. The basket you were carrying blown across from you, and your crops on the ground.

“Er, you alright there?” He asked cautiously.

You turned around frazzled.

“Who’s there?”

Arthur threw his hands up in defense coming into view, not wanting to scare you.

“Woah there it’s okay ma’am I don’t mean you no harm.”

You nodded. He seemed harmless, you were hoping he kept his word.

“Well it makes no difference now…if the snow doesn’t let up, nothing will grow for the rest of the month.”

“If an outlaw or wild animal doesn’t get me then starvation will.” You continued defeated.

He watched you dust off the snow from your shoulders. Noticing you didn’t have a horse.

“You walked out here all alone?”

Shaking your head yes, you explained to him that you left your horse home knowing how harsh the weather would be.

“She’s too old to be out here in weather like this…thought I could make it before it got real bad.”

Arthur thought that was a stupid idea, you could tell from his face. He felt sorry for you.

“Is your home nearby? I could take you there.” He pointed to Boadicea.

You eyed him wearily. A handsome stranger in the middle of a snowstorm offering to take you home? Too good to be true. He had to be trouble, but something about him seemed honest. His blue green eyes sparkling in contrast to the white all around you two.

“Yes..just a couple of miles. Near the frozen waterfall.”

You watched the gears turn in his head. He was glad he found you before you had froze to death.

“Well, ill erm,” He gathered up his supplies making sure Boadicea was ready to go. Offering a stretched out arm to you.

“Cmon, I gotcha.”

On the way to your tiny cabin of a house you attempted to make small talk. It was a ways to go, a few more turns down the trail.

“So, why’re you out here?” You asked, hands on his lower back hanging on.

“Bounty huntin.”

You took a mental note of that. If he had any plans of robbing you once you got home you were done for. Yet you found humor in this predicament.

“Sure I can trust you?” You chuckled.

“Not a bounty are you?” He rebutted.

A comfortable silence settled over the two of you, halfway through the ride.

“Your horse is beautiful..reminds me of mine when she was younger.”

Arthur smiled, you couldn’t see though.

“My pride and joy. Don’t know what i’d do without her, how long have you had yours?” He asked.

Looking back on the time you first got her it seemed like a lifetime ago. Your Dad made one of his wishes come true before he died, bringing her home from an auction. She was just a foal when you were twelve.

Now twenty eight, Olive got sick last year. You vowed to take care of her as best as you could. Even if that meant coming out in a snowstorm as bad as this one in search of herbs for her.

“Sixteen years and counting I hope.” You said.

“She’ll pull through, long as she’s got ya.” Arthur meant that. You sounded sincere, he respected that.

“I’m right here.” You pointed to the brown wooden cabin hidden by flower bushes. Your house was in front of the waterfall you mentioned earlier.

Arthur got off Boadicea first to help you get down. He rounded the corner to help you. The steadiness of his grip, the way his other hand comes to your waist when your legs wobble slightly upon landing, had you besotted. You were grateful for his touch, even if it burned.

A bone chilling wind came through ruining your moment, almost blowing you away. You stumbled a bit, Arthur grabbed your wrist before you could fall.

“Careful there.” He said smirking under his hat.

“Thanks.”

Gathering yourself, you wondered where he’d be off to now. One side of your brain saying to invite him in, the other saying give him a couple of dollars and send him on his way.

You hadn’t had company in god knows how long. Living out here in the mountains wasn’t for the weak, you considered yourself strong. Especially after your parents passing. It’d be nice to hear someone else’s voice for a while over some tea and bread.

“Hey um, wanna come in for a bit? Just till the snow-”

“Oh ma’am it’s alright you don’t-”

“No no I insist, I only have a few dollars, it’s the least I could do to make up for it.”

“Unless you have somewhere to be.” You added.

Arthur hesitated. He didn’t have anywhere to be. He was probably gonna go back to camp once the storm was over, the last place he’d want to be these days.

“Well, as soon as it stops i’ll be out your hair.”

“Come on in.”

—

Arthur sat at your small dining table taking in your home. Kitchen full of spices, teacups on the shelves, flour on the apron hanging up by your counter. Honing in on the fireplace across from your bed, it was a small space but you made it look big and full of life. Out the window he noticed a small barn behind the house. That must be where Olive is he thought.

“Here’s some fresh bread, made it this morning.”

You set the plate down in front of him. His mouth watering at the sight.

“Want some honey and butter?” You asked while rummaging through your cabinets, back turned to him.

“I’d love some.”

You smiled warmly at him grabbing the honey and butter.

“Hope you haven’t been eating just plain ol bread all the time, where’s the fun in that?”

Guilty.

“Can’t really fit that kinda stuff out here, gotta make room for my coffee.”

You shook your head.

“Foods more important but I understand. My Dad was a coffee drinker, traded anything for a good batch.”

“He’s a good man.” Arthur said as he took a bite of his bread.

“Before he passed he told me where his secret stash was.” You laughed.

Arthur chuckled lightly.

“You can have it if you want. I should’ve offered you that before I asked you to come in.”

“I’m happy you decided to come in though.” You added.

He nodded in agreement. He could tell you meant that.

“This is a nice space you got here. It’s remote, but you can survive here alright. Can do without the snow though.” He said looking around.

“Why thank you. That means a lot. You’ve probably lived your whole life outdoors.”

“A lot of it, that’s for sure.”

“I barely left the city before coming here ya know. People always talk about the simplicity of country life but it can be hard at times.” You said.

“I guess we only know what we know, city life sounds awful.”

“Oh it is. A truly empty and boring existence…but an undeniably easy one.”

“I bet.”

“So what about you? Where are you from?” You inquired.

As the sun sets with no signs of the snow stopping, you settle in for a evening full of stories of Arthurs escapades and card games. Getting to know a bit about the people he calls family.

He tells you about Dutch and Hosea, how much they mean to him. He mentions a man by the name of John who he sees as a brother. He also tells you about Tilly, who he saved a few weeks ago from some bad people. Then he mentions Charles, the man who taught him how to use a bow properly.

“You know... I had a son once. Years ago. I don't talk about him much.”

He didn’t usually open up to people like this. He’d only known you for a few hours yet somehow you now knew little parts of his story.

“Good kid.” Arthur took a sip of his bourbon then handed the bottle to you.

You took a sip. The warm amber liquor burning as it went down. Finding solace in the fact that you guys shared similar experiences.

“I’m so sorry Arthur.” You passed it back to him.

“S-all good. I’ve made peace with it. Miss em like hell though.”

Another instance of comfortable silence settled. The fire crackled in front of you two, warm enough to forget about the cold outside.

“How about that Horse?” Arthur nudged his head towards the window.

“You wanna meet her? We can keep Boadicea in the barn for the night too.” You said giddily.

Arthur took in the excitement from your face. You had a pretty smile.

“I have some medicine in my satchel. Happy to share. Just gotta lead me to er.”

“You’re a good man.”

“You don’t really know me.”

“I know enough. Theres always more to find in ourselves…you helped me to see that.”

“Reckon you’ll be just fine.” He said getting up.

When you get outside the air is a lot calmer with the snow up to your ankles. Arthur offers his arm for you to hold on to as you walk to the barn.

“She’s in here.”

You open the door slowly. Revealing a frail mahogany horse with white spots. She stands slowly after hearing you approach.

“Heyyyy there girl. Sorry I’ve been gone for a while.” Olive neighs in response, receiving the pats you give her.

“She’s a stunner.” Arthur says as he watches you with her.

“Should’ve seen Ol when she was in her prime. I love her even more now though.” You say cooing at her.

“Stallions bring out the best in people.”

Arthur takes the medicine out of his satchel, walking up to her. It’s late night and the orange glow from the barn lights makes him look impeccable. He gently coaxes Olive into taking the medicine, looking totally in his element.

“You’re so gentle with her.”

Arthur smiles at that comment.

It makes you dizzy. Spending the entire day with him was amazing though it went by so fast. The last time you “talked” with someone was at your local butcher about meat prices. Arthur had saved you from getting hypothermia, ate your bread, provided stories, and now he’s helping your horse. Maybe it was the two sips of bourbon but before you could stop yourself-

“Would you be that gentle with me?” You say suddenly with want on your face.

Arthur glances at you and chuckles. He’s been thinking about how your hair looks so soft and how your freckles show up the most when you smile. He can’t forget about how warm your personality is, or your hospitality. That’s all enough for him to entertain you.

“Did I hear you right?” He asks, still tending to her.

You wait with bated breath turning your head to the side in anticipation.

“There you go girl..” Making sure she’s alright, he turns to you walking closer.

He places his hand on your face smoothing his thumb over your cheek. You lean into his touch.

“Only if you’ll have me. And if you want me to be gentle.”

You nod slowly in the palm of his hand, pulling yourself closer into him. Your noses rub together hesitant in wanting to kiss. He takes your chin in between his fingers.

“It’s been so long…”

“Y‘need this as much as I do. Hm?”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and whispered in his ear.

“Badly.” Was all that you said.

He took a deep inhale, inhaling your scent.

“I…It’s been a while darlin.”

Your chest ached at the rawness in his voice. You cupped his jaw and pulled him back enough to see his face—eyes needy yet earnest.

"You’re here now," You murmured. "I’ve got you."

That was all the permission he needed.

When his lips finally touch yours, he kisses you, really kisses you, it’s slow, and deliberate at first, like he’s aware of how delicate this moment is. His breath hitches, just barely, but you feel it in the way his hands dig into your clothed hips, dragging you flush against him, no space, no air, just him. He kissed you like a drowning man who just then realized where you two stood.

“Wait a sec. Gotta do this properly.” Arthur said still holding you.

You look confused at first, then you understood. You both couldn’t do this in the barn.

“Such a gentleman.” You laughed, the both of you making your way back inside the house.

So as fate wanted, your bed creaked at the force from Arthur sitting down. Straddling him now, your knees press into the cushion, chest light against his, the steady rise and fall of his breath meeting yours. He marveled at your beauty silently before kissing you again.

The second kiss is different. Sloppier. Needier. His tongue pushes past your lips, dragging deep and wet into your mouth like he’s starving for it, like he needs to savor the heat of you just once before he lets you leave the house. He licks into you slowly, unhurried, groaning softly as he swallows your breath like it’s something sweet on his tongue. You gasped, grinding your hips against the hard length straining in his pants.

“Arthur…” you moan, rubbing your thinly covered core against his rough jeans.

“This darn skirt. Getting in the way of things.”

Helping both of you strip down, clumsily giving up on his own clothes since he was more focused on you. You pressed kisses anywhere you could reach in between.

He dropped to his knees between your thighs on the bed, hands gripping them like he needed to hold on. He wanted to feel every inch of you.

He kissed the inside of your thigh, mouthing at your skin, leaving messy, open-mouthed kisses all over your hips, your stomach, your chest.

"Been dying to taste you," he admitted shamelessly. Breath hot against your core.

“Can I?”

You nodded, and he dove in, tongue lapping at you smoothly, savoring you. Hearing your light airy moans egged him on. He was trying to memorize every inch of you all at once. You felt like a small animal with a predator’s teeth on her neck with the way he looks at you.

"Could stay right here forever.”

His rough hands reached the curls of your most intimate part, running his fingers there as if he were petting it while you watched in amazement. He was a real man.

You whimpered, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging sharply out of embarrassment or something softer. Imagining what it would be like if he did stay here forever.

“So goddamn pretty.” He groaned into you, couldn’t help himself. You gasped.

“Your clothes..wanna see you.”

Arthur lets out a soft chuckle as he straightens up. You watched him undress while you lay on the bed. He could tell how much it was for you, all naked while he was still clothed, the spontaneity of it all. No blankets covering you yet. You felt shy but you were too lustful to show it.

His front and back were rippled with meat and muscle, the type of figure one can only attain through constant hard work and running. His skin littered with scars in different shapes and textures, some fully healed and others jagged. You've never seen a man quite like him. You wanted to ask him about each scar.

“Come here..” You beckoned him. He crawled up your body, his dick rubbing slick and heavy against your thigh. The both of you were drunk off of each-other at this point.

“Still want me to be gentle?” He asked while kissing your neck.

“Do whatever you want.” You moaned when his tip softly went in. Your breath hitched, feeling finally full in who knows how long.

He pushed himself completely in you, noticing your eyes roll back momentarily. Cunt split open and stuffed, you adjusted to his size.

“You don’t even know what you’re askin’ for,” he says quietly, like it’s just between the two of you and always will be. “But I’ll give it to you anyway.”

Your mind was a daze, you just wanted to feel him all around you. Completely enveloping you, all your senses locked on Arthur.

“So good," he choked out. "You can take it darlin.”

He kisses you. Filthy. Deep. His tongue pushes into your mouth before you can breathe, and you melt into it, whining into the hot slide of it as his hands roam low, gripping your ass like he’s already imagining how it’ll feel when you switch positions.

You repeated what he said in a daze. “I can take it…” Wrapping your legs around his waist, meeting his thrusts, each one a little more tantalizing than the last.

He gently takes your legs and puts them up so you could wrap them around his torso. You melted deeper into his body, submissive flares. You weren’t even aware of him moving your hair out of your face. You bit your lip at the gesture

“Jus’need to see you sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

The new nickname had your heart jumping. So happy that you had moved up from being called “ma’am” to “darlin” to now sweetheart. If he stayed he’d come up with even more names.

Suddenly he flipped the two of you over so he’s behind you, shutting you up with another kiss before you can protest. It’s slower and heavier like he’s savoring your desperation.

Legs spreading automatically to make room for him, you look up and bat your eyelashes. The room smells like want. The sweet aroma of honey, wood, sweat and sex. You’re glistening, shimmering under the dim lighting of the cabin. Leaking warmth like a prayer meant only for him.

His growl rumbles up from deep in his chest, a sound that vibrates through the bed beneath you and takes root in your spine. There’s nothing gentle in the way he moves.

Your thighs tremble and a choked, broken moan punches free of your lungs before you even realize it’s coming. Your hand flies to your mouth instinctively, fingers splayed across your lips like you can hold in what he’s tearing out of you. Arthur doesn’t stop.

“Let me hear ya.” He rasps, eyes locked between your legs like they’re tracking the center of the universe. Your hands grip the sheets, as you fuck him back. Begging him without words but with whimpers to never stop.

He groans against you, deep and wrecked, and the vibrations pulse through your cunt like an aftershock. Pounding into you at this rate, your mind goes blank at one point, he’s relentless. He taps your hip with the back of his hand and looks at you like you’re God.

“Not yet sweetheart. Gonna ride me,” he pants, dragging the words out low and rough as you crawl on his lap. Breath hitching as your thighs spread over his, the air between your bodies sharp and electric. Your cunt drags over his shaft, slick and hot. The sound that leaves his throat is pure hunger as he grabs himself in one hand, smearing your arousal down his length. Dragging the head through your folds with purpose, watching your face twist with need.

“Don’t run,” he breathes, his voice barely more than a growl, forehead pressed to yours. “Be good.”

And you are good.

You lower yourself inch by devastating inch, the stretch slow and punishing, your body fighting to take him as your nails dig into his shoulders, your breath coming out in little gasps that sound more like worship. You feel your walls part around him for the third time tonight. Feeling every ridge, every vein, every delicious ache as you sink down and bottom out.

He hisses, biting at your throat. Arthurs hands clenching around your waist like he’s anchoring himself in place.

“Look at you. Fuckin’ perfect.”

You moan into his mouth when he kisses you again, sloppier now. More tongue than lips. And then you move rolling your hips, building the rhythm that will destroy you. Every bounce draws a new groan from his throat, every grind makes your clit drag against the coarse hair at the base of his cock, sending jolts of pleasure through your spine. Your thighs burn but you couldn’t care less.

The bed rocks with the momentum, each thrust pushing the air from your lungs, each slap of skin against skin driving you closer to the edge. His hands find your ass, pulling you down harder, making you take him, and when you whimper, he chuckles dark and low against your throat.

“Yeah, darlin. That’s it. You hear that?” he grunts, pressing his palm to your lower belly, feeling the bulge where he’s buried so deep inside. “That’s me right there.”

You practically wail out, your high and aching body pulsing around him as your thighs tremble from the stretch. The slick of your cunt dripping down him. The musky sound of your bodies slapping together filling every inch of the cabin like heat pressed into fogged glass. Was it even snowing anymore?

Arms wrapped tight around his neck, your face buried against his temple, your fingers tangled in his hair like you’re trying to fuse your body to his. You can feel him panting against your collarbone, open-mouthed and desperate, like he’s biting back something loud, something animal, something barely tamed.

“Christ,” Arthur breathes against your skin, the sound more of a broken moan than a word. His voice wet and trembling. His teeth find your neck again, grazing the sensitive curve where shoulder meets throat, biting down just enough to make your pussy clench around him in response, and he feels it.

He groans against you, lips dragging along the line of your jaw as he grinds you down harder, deeper, every upward thrust punching the air from your lungs.

You’re babbling now, nothing coherent, not even words, just gasps and little broken sobs of pleasure, your hips moving on instinct, chasing something bright and unbearable as his dick grinds right into that perfect, dizzying spot inside you.

“That’s it, ride it out, sweet girl. You sound so fuckin’ pretty when you cry like that.”

The pressure mounts, unbearable. You can’t even fight it anymore. The pleasure barrels through you like a lightning strike, brutal, hot, and fast. You throw your head back as you moan deeply. Completely wrecked and shaking. Your thighs lock around him as your cunt spasms violently, clenching down on his dick like it’s trying to keep him.

And then wetness. Heat. Everywhere.

It’s not just an orgasm. It’s something more. Something primal. You squirt around him, the gush soaking his thighs and the sheets below you. The sound obscene as your slick pours out uncontrollably, drenching his lap as you collapse against him with a sob.

Arthur growls, so loud and feral it rips through the cabin like thunder. He slams into you one final time, cock pulsing deep inside your fluttering heat as he comes, thick, hot, and endless!groaning your name into your shoulder as his body trembles beneath you. He doesn't pull out. Doesn’t even try. Just stays buried to the hilt.

He wants to keep you twitching, leaking, falling apart on top of him until you forget what it feels like to breathe without his dick inside you. Eventually, your hips go still. Your head drops onto his shoulder while his arms curl around your waist like armor. One hand stroking slowly up your spine, the other resting flat against your thigh.

Your walls are still fluttering, milking him gently, your cunt wet and stretched and full, and neither of you move. You cockwarm like that, breathing in sync. Sticky skin with the wind howling outside.

Arthur presses a kiss to your temple. Another to your shoulder. One more just beneath your jaw, slower this time, reverent.

He murmurs something into your skin. Something low. Something that sounds like your name.

“Reckon you could stay for a while? You say looking at him tenderly.

He takes your hand and kisses your knuckes. His touch is soft. He just fucked you like a goddamn animal but is still the only man alive who knows how to hold you after. He just might be.

“I’ll stay till you get tired of me. I have no where else to be sweetheart.” Arthur laughs heartily.

You can’t wait to make coffee together in the morning.

—

first arthur fic!! i love rdr2 so much it had to be done. ty for reading xx <3

[twola]

I have one simple request, getting back from a successful mission with Arthur , reader and Arthur are all excited and happy about the job and can’t wait to get their hands on each other with reader trying to discreetly suck him off behind a wagon at camp. Or something along those lines, I’m a sucker for keeping that man quiet when others are near. Work your magic girl!

Uh. *checks notes*

Filthy. I hope you like filthy.

Success

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

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

“Reckon that’s a winning combination,” you laugh, swinging down from your horse and tying its reins to the hitching post. 

Arthur swings down from his horse as well, grunting in agreement, patting his mare’s flank before he follows you deeper into the camp, past the folks cleaning up their dinner, breaking into their first (or fourth) drink of the night—Dutch’s gramophone lilts in the background.

As the two of you walk closer to the table where the contribution box is set out, Arthur opens his satchel to pull out the ill-gotten gains.

“Course, like anyone would believe a pretty little thing like you could rob a man blind.” Arthur places the overflowing jewelry bag into the camp’s money chest, but not before nicking a pair of earrings that he knew would look good on you. 

“Are you being facetious, Mister Morgan?” You smile overly sweetly at him and move quickly ahead of him, walking backward toward your destination of his wagon.

“Reckon I don't have the brains to be so, Miss.”

“What did you tell that man that he was so damn excited about getting in a room with me?” You continue slyly, playing with the ends of your hair in a flirtatious manner.

“Told him ain't nothing ever been sweeter than your mouth on my cock.” Arthur rumbles lowly, his tone teasing.

Oh, it was one of those nights.

You push his shoulder. Once. Twice. You know you could never move the mountain of muscle that he is. But he allows it, letting you push him backward until he smacks against the side of his wagon. He smirks as you press yourself against him and he eagerly meets you as you lean up to kiss him. 

What he doesn’t expect is those warm little hands of yours deftly unfastening his gunbelt and immediately working at his pants.

“What are you doin-” he harshly whispers and immediately shuts up as you wind your hand through his hastily opened buttons and encircle his cock.

“Shit-” he hisses, leaning back against the wagon, watching you draw out his engorged cock from his pants and stroke it gently, teasingly.

“Can you be quiet for me, cowboy? Can you hold yourself together as I suck you off?”

Arthur smashes his hat onto his head to block his vision as you sink to your knees, biting his lower lip.

“Look at me, Arthur Morgan,” you whisper before kissing his shaft, your nose tickled by the wiry curls on his pelvis.

He looks down at you, hand coming off his hat, his other arm braced against his wagon.

Loudly swallowing, he looks around for anyone who would be able to see. The rest of the gang were mulling about- only steps away, 

“Watch me, dearest.” You smile, sickly sweet, before your tongue darts out and licks a warm, wet stripe from base to head.

He whines, whines, trying to keep quiet. Arthur’s breath comes out in hurried pants as you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock. You look up at him again, bright-eyed as you lap at the sensitive skin of his member.

“Fuck, honey, I -” he grits his teeth as you lick again, the tip of your tongue probing against his slit, tasting the first bitter, salty drips of his arousal.

You frown up at him, hand wrapped around his base, and pull away, “You want to be caught? Be quiet.”

His jaw immediately clamps shut as he nods dumbly, following your order. Arthur cannot help but to spread his legs further, his spurs jingling, as his head passes into your mouth. 

“Hah-”  he wheezes, watching you slide your mouth further down his shaft. Each inch of him disappearing into the warm, wet cavern.

“Oh, Jesus-”  he throws his head back against the wagon, his hat falling to the ground, as the very tip of him hits the back of your throat and begins to arch downward as your nose presses against his pelvis. He knows he’s leaking like a dripping faucet, blinking up to the stars, breathing out through his nose loudly like a bull to stud.

Your mouth is perfect - wet and warm and your tongue presses against the underside of his cock insistently. You make a small noise around him and he looks down at you. His entire cock is in your mouth, prodding the back of your throat, and you blink up at him with doe eyes.

He’s a goner, even before you hollow your cheeks and suck.

Arthur barely has enough time for his hands to find your head, holding you still as you groan, and with one half-aborted thrust, he comes, hot and sticky down your throat. You gag a little, and he realizes he’s choking you, and his hands move down to your shoulders, gently pushing you back.

You gasp, coughing a little as his cock leaves your mouth, bobbing slightly in front of your face. For a moment, a pearly string of saliva and spend is suspended between your lower lip and the head of his cock. He grits his teeth again, fighting off the moan that he wants to let loose into the night air.

The string breaks as a large drip of pearly spend escapes his cock, falling to your chin.

You blink away tears as you look up at him, gasping for breath, his spend bright on your skin in the moonlight.

“Oh honey, here-” he’s wincing as he tucks his sensitive cock back into his pants before stooping over to take your shoulders and help you up.

You press your hands against his chest to steady yourself.

Arthur’s hand leaves your shoulder and his thumb wipes slowly across your chin, collecting that last drip of spend.

You grab his wrist, preventing him from moving, as you take his thumb into your mouth, sucking off the last drop of spend from him as he gazes upon you dumbfounded.

You let go of his thumb and suddenly he’s crashing into you, his arms thrown around your body, crushing you to him, his lips insistent against yours, his tongue pressing into your mouth. He kisses you like he needs your love to breathe.

You melt into his embrace, kissing him back with equal fervor. He swings you around to change places, with you leaning against his wagon, the boxes of bullets inside clinging as he pushes you against it.

“Christ alive-” he grits between kisses.

“If I ain’t-” Arthur’s hand paws at your rear and you gasp. “The luckiest man-” Your skirts are drawn up.

“West of the Lanaheechee-” Your bloomers puddle around your boots. You bury your head into his shoulder as you gasp, his fingers zeroing between your legs with a practiced ease.

“Look at my hand, honey.” Arthur teases as you squeeze your eyes shut, your knees shaking as his other arm wraps around your waist, keeping you upright.

You heed him though, looking down between you and grabbing at your skirt, lifting the fabric enough so that you can see his hand cupping the entirety of your cunt, where just the smallest tuft of dark hair is visible where his palm ends. You suck in another breath as his middle finger parts your folds and presses against your opening.

Arthur is looking down at you with a confident hunger as the first part of his finger slides into your cunt. Your eyes squeeze shut as your hands clench at his strong trigger finger pushing behind the first, both sliding into your body.

He crooks those fingers and a cry escapes you. His other hand covers your mouth and he shushes you, lowering his head to yours as he whispers lowly,  “You want to be caught? Be quiet.”

Your eyes widen as you nod your head, but he doesn’t remove his hand from your mouth, instead leaning in and taking your earlobe between his teeth as he starts his ministrations in your cunt again.

His hand muffles your sounds as he begins to thrust those fingers roughly. His tongue traces up the helix of your ear before he harshly whispers into it.

“You may play the whore but ain’t no man ever gonna touch you but me. Ain’t no man ever gonna make you come, right honey?”

You nod vigorously, about to trip over that precipice.

“Good girl, now come for me.” Arthur orders, pressing his thumb hard against that bead of nerves above your cunt and curling his two fingers inside.

Your knees shake as your eyes squeeze shut, moaning into his hand as you obey, a small gush of your arousal coating his fingers and dripping down his knuckles.

Arthur slowly removes his fingers from your body, and your skirts drop as his other hand uncovers your mouth. You pant, leaning heavily against the wagon. He looms over you, and as he also breathes heavily, a smile cracks across his weathered face.

“Reckon any more and we’re really gonna get caught.” He nuzzles his forehead against yours.

You smile, laughing softly, “Any more and neither of us will be able to stand up.”

Arthur snorts as he holds out his hand for you to take and hold on to. “C’mon, let’s show our faces a bit before disappearing again.”

[noctunis]

hi love!! i saw that your requests are open and im here to help🫡

can i request some red dead headcanons/blurbs? maybe what their affection/kisses are like? arthur, john, javier and charles are my pookies (especially charles oh my god i love him so so much) but i would love to hear your thoughts on anybody really!!

hope you’re doing well <3

AFFECTIONATE - VAN DER LINDE BOYS

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ notes - for some reason i cannot post rdr2 with my manga headers or cutesy pink dividers it feels so off to me i have no idea why 😭 but thank you for sending this request in, i love it sooo much!’ it’s nice to see another charles lover in this fandom lolol— you take care as well!! 🫶

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ warnings - mentions of injuries in kieran’s and charles, kisses and kissing (?), hispanic!reader / spanish speaking!reader in mind for javier’s, intended lowercase, alcohol and drinking in sean’s, lmk if i missed anything!! 🫶

ARTHUR MORGAN who will put calloused hands around your waist when you’re alone in your tent at night, burrowing his nose in your hair as he lays behind you. you can smell his musk, the scent of the outdoors and faded linen, as it clings onto you with its tight grip and lingers. you don’t mind though, and neither does arthur; simply basking in your warmth as the crickets chirp in harmony with your soft exhales.

“‘ve missed you.” you say, your right hand crawling to interlock itself with his own draped over your waist as it fiddles with the soft skin there.

“missed y’too, darlin’.” you can feel his chest rumble with his voice, tone deep and gravelly from the lack of use. you let your eyes close as you savored the feeling of his hands caressing the small chub that gathered itself in his hands when he squished too much. you would give anything to have moments like these with arthur whenever you could.

JOHN MARSTON who’ll scoff as you pressed kisses along his face, sitting on his lap as the campfire graced your bodies with its warm glow. his affections held a more stand-offish tone to them but on the off occasional that he got a little too tipsy, you could never pry him off of you.

“if i’d’a known any better, i’d have thought you was in love wit’ me,” he huffed. regardless of his dumb comments, his hands never failed to find their way upon the dips of your hips, rubbing circles over the fabric of your clothes.

you bumped your head into his head as he chuckled, raspy voice rumbling throughout his chest as you halted your kisses and instead rested your head on his shoulder. your foot, bare and tapping against the ground in tune with the distant strums of javier’s guitar and karen’s drunken singing kept you grounded — kept you remembering that this was real, this was all real; and you were alive.

“why? you complainin’?”

you felt john’s cheeks widen with his grin. “naw,” was all he said.

two things that JAVIER ESCUELLA cherished most in this world were family and freedom; and he knew that he felt at peace knowing he had both of these things in that moment. you by his side, as neither of you had a care in the world. the sun glimmered and lazed around, taking its place on your backs and replacing the cool, dawn air with its heat. affection with javier is passionate and it’s scary, you never know what you’ll get or suffer the next day but it doesn’t matter — you persevere knowing you’ll find home in his arms a night more, you’ll live long enough to seek refuge and if you died in the process; it’d be okay knowing you died with who you loved.

deft fingers came to slide up and down the wooden fretboard along with his other hand plucking on the strings. you hadn’t realized you’d been staring until he peeked one eye open from under his bowler hat, a teasing smirk on his face as he mumbled, “no me miras con esos ojos, corazón.”

you rolled your eyes, “que quieres decir, javi?”

he hummed, he knew you knew what he meant — and you knew that he knew. but for now, you’d continue to stare, admiring your beloved that sat so prettily on that log; simply playing his guitar. he had his freedom, and he had his family right here.

loud laughs erupted from the obnoxious irishman known as SEAN MACGUIRE, a jug of alcohol in his hand and his darling in the other.

“i’m tellin’ ya, luckiest man alive—! they said they loved me, can y’believe it?” his accent only got thicker by the minute as he raved to everybody that walked by about how you had suddenly professed your love once more as you two sat on the barrel circling the rounded, wooden table. you smacked his arm to which he let out a rasping cackle. “shut up, will you?”

“ah, never. y’know ya love me,” he puckered his lips dramatically as you scoffed. giving him a chaste kiss, he groaned as you pulled away too quick before you went in deeper, seeing his eyes widen in shock before yours fluttered closed. he laughed out the side of his mouth before his hand, ever so gentle, buried itself in your hair. sean was a loud lover, one you’d typically be embarrassed by — but that only meant he loved you more than anything. a drunk man’s words is a sober man’s thoughts and he had you on his mind all the time.

CHARLES SMITH who’ll treat your wounds silently, as he always did except this time would be different. a tense silence would fill your tent other than murmured hisses and apologies due to the peroxide and other various natural remedies he preserved for your care. charles would always keep a level head, warning you not to go on jobs that micah would egg you on yet charles would always wait for you to return.

he never said anything during these times, charles loved silently. instead of telling you he loved you every second or having you on his lap like others, he’d bring you a trinket you remembered wanting from a storefront window or he’d take you out hunting with him; teaching you how to properly set up bait ( not in the reckless way that sean or bill would attempt to mansplain about ). he’d take care of you and he’d listen to you. so when you’d gasp and bite your fist from how badly he had to stitch your leg up, his hand would grab yours and bring it down to rest on your thigh — intertwining fingers as his thumb grazed over the crescent shaped marks your teeth left.

you really did love KIERAN DUFFY, seeing the way he’d try to puff his chest out when the guys at camp would look at you when really, he’d get all shy and blushy when you babied him. he wasn’t so used to this sorta thing, you know, relationships. everybody in camp looked at you like you were crazy, but they knew better than to tell that to you ( or him ), knowing they’d only get an earful from you about how sweet kieran really was.

you’d dress his wounds and in return, you’d find your horse prepped and groomed all pretty in the mornings — already fed and provided with water. and when you’d ask arthur or tilly, they’d always shrug and say, “must be that o’driscoll boy.”

you treated him with care, like no one had ever had, and that was the greatest gift in itself to kieran. he saw you as an angel, he’d even try telling you sometimes although backtracking a bit just to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable. kieran duffy’s affection was careful and nervous, stiff gestures presented to you although all of his worries melted away once he heard your sweet laugh. he didn’t know much about this stuff but that was okay, he’d learn just for you.

𐙚 taglist ; @ch3rryfiles @maskedteaser

𐙚 requests are closed — june twenty eighth, 2024

[blackenedsnow]

The saddlebag prompt is so silly! I love it! I have a fluffy child reader idea too!

The child convinces Arthur, John, and some of the others to play pretend a passenger train robbery. While they play, John surprises the child by picking them up and taking them over to the "loot bag" Arthur is holding for the game.

The child is all giggly when John puts them in it, and Arthur hops on his horse to escape with the "loot".

the loot's alive

WARNING: None

PAIRING: Arthur Morgan & Child! Reader, John Marston & Child! Reader, Sean MacGuire & Child! Reader, Javier Escuella & Child! Reader, Hosea Matthews & Child! Reader, Charles Smith & Child! Reader

NOTE: I'm so glad you liked the saddlebag idea! Thanks for requesting this fluffy, fun story. I hope this one brought a smile to your face!

SUMMARY: The camp is quiet until you convince Arthur and John to play a pretend train robbery.

It was a lazy afternoon at camp, the kind where even the wind seemed to have decided to take a break. You, however, had far too much energy to sit still. After spending half the morning running around, you had an idea that just couldn’t wait. You found Arthur sitting by the campfire, sharpening his knife while John cleaned his guns nearby.

“Uncle Arthur! John!” you called, running up with wide eyes and a mischievous grin.

Arthur raised his head, his brow furrowing in curiosity. “What’s goin’ on, kid?” he asked, putting the knife down.

“I wanna play! Let’s rob a train!” you announced with dramatic flair, throwing your arms up.

John grinned and glanced over at Arthur. “Well, sounds like we’ve got ourselves a criminal mastermind.”

Arthur chuckled softly, shaking his head. “A train robbery, huh? Alright, kid. Guess we’ll need a loot bag then.” He got up, grabbing an old saddlebag from his horse. “What’s the plan?”

Your eyes gleamed with excitement. “We stop the train and take all the treasure! You, Uncle Arthur, carry the loot bag, and John, you handle the passengers!”

John played along, giving a mock serious nod. “Passengers, huh? Alright, kid, you’re the boss.”

As the two of them got into position, you ran around as the "passengers," pretending to be someone very rich. “Please, sir! Don’t take my treasure!” you cried, clutching an invisible pile of jewels.

John crept toward you, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’m afraid we gotta take everything you got.”

Just as you were about to run, John grabbed you gently, scooping you up into the air. “Look what we’ve got here! The real prize!”

You squealed with laughter as John swung you around, making you feel like you were flying. He carried you over to Arthur, who stood there holding the loot bag.

Arthur looked down at you with a smirk. “Well, well. Looks like we found ourselves some valuable loot.” He held the bag open, and John carefully placed you inside, your giggles echoing as your legs dangled out of the bag.

Arthur grinned, lifting the bag with you still inside. “Better hold on tight. I’m takin’ off with the goods.”

Before he could start his "getaway," though, Sean came strutting into camp, his wild red hair bouncing as he caught sight of the scene. “Now what in the name of all things holy is goin' on here?”

You peeked out of the bag, giggling uncontrollably. “We’re playing train robbery!”

Sean’s face split into a wide grin. “Aw, shite! I love me a good robbery! Count me in!” He ran up beside John, rubbing his hands together. “So, who’s the unlucky bastard we’re robbin’?”

John shook his head, still smiling. “Already got the best loot right here.” He pointed at you, still giggling in Arthur’s loot bag.

Sean threw his head back and laughed. “Ah, but ya gotta watch out for them sneaky lawmen, Arthur!” He made finger guns and started shooting at imaginary enemies. “Bang! Bang! The law’s comin’ for ya!”

Arthur played along, hopping onto his horse. “Better outrun ‘em then!” He spurred his horse into a slow trot around the camp, with you laughing from inside the saddlebag.

By now, Javier had wandered over, his guitar slung over his shoulder. “What’s all the noise about?” he asked, amusement in his voice as he watched the scene unfold.

“Train robbery!” you yelled from the bag, waving your arms.

Javier chuckled and shook his head. “Ah, so that’s what I’m missing.” He strummed a few chords on his guitar, playing a lively tune. “Well, no robbery’s complete without a good getaway song, right?”

As Javier’s playful melody filled the air, Charles, who had been quietly sharpening his tomahawk nearby, couldn’t help but join in on the fun. He walked over, arms crossed, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You need any help making your escape, Arthur?”

Arthur snorted. “Could use some muscle to back me up.”

Charles nodded and jogged beside Arthur’s horse as he continued his slow “escape” around camp, giving you a reassuring grin as you peeked out of the bag.

But then came Hosea, who had been watching from the sidelines with a bemused expression. He sauntered over, shaking his head. “I see you’ve all lost your minds.”

John grinned. “Come on, Hosea. You know you want in.”

Hosea chuckled softly, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose someone has to play the lawman. You folks are in big trouble now,” he said, raising his hands like he was ready to arrest you all.

Everyone burst out laughing, even Arthur cracking a grin as he slowed his horse and “surrendered” the loot bag. “Alright, Hosea, you caught me,” he said, carefully lifting you out of the saddlebag and setting you back on the ground.

You wobbled slightly, still giggling as you dusted yourself off. “You got us all, Hosea!”

Hosea winked at you, his eyes full of warmth. “You’re lucky I’m feeling merciful today.”

Sean came over, lifting you onto his shoulders with a playful grin. “Well, we may have lost the loot, but that was one hell of a robbery!”

They all laughed, Javier strumming his guitar as Charles, John, and Arthur looked on with soft smiles. Even Hosea shook his head with a chuckle.

“All thanks to our little mastermind,” Arthur added, tipping his hat toward you.

You grinned from your perch on Sean’s shoulders, beaming at all of them. “We should rob another train tomorrow!”

[ubeb0nes]

Gen. Sevika HCs (& Romantic!)

Brainstorming little thoughts on big mama to help me characterize her for a story i wanna write!

She is actually very slow to anger, it’s just that Jinx is very gifted at pushing her buttons and she’s been dealing with Silco letting it slide for years. It’s part of what makes her such a scary opponent in a fight, she (usually) never loses her composure.

And on that note, i feel so bad that poor bbg had to lose most of her fights for the plot, especially in S1 😭 she definitely helped train Vi a little when she was younger

She's Silco's right hand in all ways. Whether someone needs to be beat down or a hand needs to be shook, Sevika is equipped in body and mind. Her physical presence lends itself well to subtle intimidation when she's cutting Silco's deals. Her default isn't to direct, brutish threatening actually, she avoids fights where she can especially as she gets older.

She's a very thoughtful person, spending a lot of time within her own mind or picking apart other people's. She's not as direct as Silco, who pushes people's buttons to get a sense of how their mind works, she just intently observes them. Honestly, she gives me similar vibes to Arthur Morgan in temperament the more I think about it. Honorable version, of course.

Continuing on her thoughtful trait, she had to learn to be very intuitive about people's emotions to avoid the wrath of her step-father. She appreciated her dad too late, spending more time butting heads with him than realizing how alike they truly were; so goes the theme of eldest daughters, though.

I imagine her as being very timid as a child. Not quite meek, but she wasn't as brash as teen Vi. She toughened up out of necessity, per the usual for kids growing up in Zaun, in order to defend her younger siblings (she has two) from her step dad once her father died.

Her father died in a mining accident. They never found his body, and even now sometimes Sevika hopes that he'll walk through the door and just… forgive her, for everything she has and hasn't done.

She was also pretty slight as a kid until about seventeen, where she proceeded to shoot up to 6'1" and started putting on muscle when Vander took her in under his wing. Her step dad never put his hands on her or her younger siblings again.

She was always closer to Vander than Silco. It truly did hurt her to turn her back on him, but she couldn't live with the slow death of complacency that he'd chosen for Zaun. She never goes through the process of fully grieving him, she simply pushes forward and carries on.

Romantic

Loyal to you like she's loyal to Zaun. Seriously, this woman doesn't know how to cheat. Not that the other women of Arcane are 'more' likely to cheat, but Sevika is the least likely imo. If she doesn't want you anymore she'll just break it off, anything less is cowardly and she is anything but.

She gets very cuddly and needy when she's tired which is often. She never asks for cuddles, just kinda uses her size to her advantage and pins you on the couch while she squeezes you like a stuffed toy.

"Mm… stop whinin', just five minutes…" She'll relent if you actually don't wanna be smothered, but unless you express that, you're hers until she says otherwise.

Calls you 'baby', 'sweetheart' and 'princess' the most. The last one started as a jab for either giving her attitude or being prissy, until she realized the flush on your face wasn't from anger. To others, she refers to you as her girl or says things like "no, me and the lady got plans" or "i promised the lady I'd be home on time Silco, you wanna piss her off too?"

Definitely got more where these all came from, lmk if you'd like me to continue!

[messrmoonyy]

-What they’re like as your bf/gf (Hcs) 18+

Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Dutch Van Der Linde, Sadie Adler, Molly O’Shea

Request- Hi if it’s okay could I ask for some hcs of some of the gang and what they’re like dating with you? NSFW ones toooo🙈🙊 could you include Arthur, John, Dutch, Sadie, Javier and maybe any of the other girls Mary-Beth or Molly or Karen? Thank you 🙏🏻

A/N- I didn’t include Javier cause I like barely speak with him in camp or anything idk I don’t vibe with Javier tbh. And I saw my chance to word vomit my Molly brain rot and ran with it so she’s the girl I picked. Hope this is okay! Enjoy :)

Masterlist - requests are open :)

Arthur Morgan

- We’ve all seen how he was with Mary. He’d be besotted with you

- His journal would be filled with sketches of you, entries talking about how much he adores you, little notes about how you looked that day or musings about his plans for your future together.

- Definitely doodles a little heart with your initials too <3

- He’s touch starved. So he loves physical contact. A hand to your knee, your back, arm around your shoulders or your waist. He likes keeping you close.

- Brings you stuff from his little travels. Picks flowers for you, finds little trinkets for you.

- Keeps a picture of you by his bed.

- Forehead kisses!!!!!

- Kisses your hand. And kisses to your wrist. He loves when you reach up to cup his face and he can turn to press his lips against your wrist.

- He’s so much more than a tough, burly cowboy. He’s quiet, caring, considerate. And he adores you

NSFW

- takes his time. Likes to work at you until not a single tense muscle is left in your body. Worships you.

- Loves any positions where he can see your face, needs to be close enough to constantly kiss you and tell you how good you are for him

- “ there’s my girl, doin so good for me darlin “ “ jus’ like that darlin, let me take good care of ya “

- Not incredibly vocal, but the noises he does make he ensures are right by your ear.

- Refuses to finish before you ever.

- Loves to finish inside tho. He knows it’s risky, but he loves the closeness. And if he’s feeling particularly risky he’ll definitely push his come back into you with his fingers “ don’t waste it now “

- Grips The headboard.

John Marston

- he’s stupid. He really is. He’ll be head over heels for you, with you clearly reciprocating those feelings and he’d still think you didn’t like him like that.

- Like. You could kiss him and he’d still be like ‘ what are we? ‘

- When he does finally put two and two together he’ll have no shame or cautions in showing you off.

- He’s handsy. Likes coming up behind you when you’re washing dishes for Pearson to rub at your shoulders.

- Or pull you down to sit on his lap before you can even think about taking the empty spot on the log next to him by the fire.

- Overprotective. One tiny snide comment from anyone and he’s ready to start swinging.

- Definitely knows how to push your buttons and wind you up, and will do it just for fun and to get a rise outta you.

- And then spend the rest of day grovelling and apologising.

NSFW

- Loves going down on you. Like. Loves it. The man could spend hours there if you’d let him and Lord has he tried.

- Not very serious most of the time.

- Pretty vocal. And doesn’t really care if anyone’s listening either.

- Like i said, he’s handsy. His hands are restless and will grab at whatever part of you they can.

- Loves when you ride him and has absolutely made a cowgirl joke more than once.

- Will grab at your hips and guide your movements as you do. Told you he’s handsy.

- But also isn’t opposed to you on your back, legs over his shoulders. Presses kisses to your ankles and makes jokes about how good the view is.

Dutch Van Der Linde

- he’s not the most attentive of people at times. He’s constantly in his head and constantly thinking about things that aren’t you.

- But when he does allow himself time alone with you he is disgustingly charming.

- He always knows what to say, always knows the right words to have you melting into a puddle at his feet. You could be in the worst mood with him but a few whispers in your ear and it’s all forgotten.

- Has a million terms of endearment for you. My angel, my dear , my darling. He rarely ever uses your actual name, only when he’s mad.

- Loves to give you gifts, the more expensive the better. And he likes you to show them off too. He likes to show you off.

- Reads to you a lot.

- PDA is afraid of him. He doesn’t care where he is or who’s watching him, he’ll loop an arm around your waist to kiss your neck, pull you onto his lap when he’s reading beside his tent and kiss you. No shame.

NSFW

- will take his time with you but in a far different way to, say, Arthur

- He’ll edge you and overstimulate you for hours, because be gets off on the fact that you simply let him. That you obey his every command.

- Degrading and humiliating 🤝🏻 Dutch Van Der Linde

- He’s never too mean. And his degrading comments are more often than not laced with something sweet.

- Dacryphilic. 100000%. He loves watching you cry because he’s worked you into such an overstimulated mess.

- He’ll swipe your tears away or kiss them from your cheeks “ well isn’t that just a pretty sight? “ “ those tears for me, my angel? “

- Definitely has some kind of authority kink. Likes you calling him sir for sure.

- Loves you giving him head. Just loves you on your knees. It’s a power thing. And he’s a cocky son of a bitch.

- Sat back in his chair and won’t lift a damn finger to help you out, won’t even unbuckle his belt. And don’t tell me he doesn’t smoke whilst he watches you.

Sadie Adler

- She is absolutely not shy about her feelings when she finally accepts she has them.

- Shes just so sweet to you.

- Around camp she’s stuck to you like glue. Her arm is permanently around your waist or your shoulders, or her hand laced with yours and is ready to snap at any intrusive questions from anyone else about it at the drop of a hat

- Love language is gift giving. Just taken in a bounty but found a shiny lil necklace in his pocket? Well. It’s hers now. Or should I say, yours.

- If your hairs long enough she’ll braid it like hers, any excuse to be able to sit close to you and whisper sweet things in your ear.

- Would teach you how to shoot better, she wants to make sure you know how to defend yourself. but also wants the excuse to stand behind you and show you how to hold her rifle properly.

- Big spoon.

NSFW

- Sadie’s gained control over literally everything else in life, and it doesn’t change in the bedroom

- She trusts you whole heartedly but she’s not about to give up any sort of control to you for a While

- Makes sure she can see your face at all times, loves watching your face contort and relax in pleasure that she’s giving you

- Full of praise “ ain’t you just the prettiest thing? “ “ oh look at you! D’ya know how pretty you look from here? “ “ always such a good girl for me “

- Has a thing for putting her fingers in your mouth. Especially after she’s just fucked you with them.

- Having you on your knees eating her out drives her crazy. Will pull at your hair a little too hard but will soothe the sting with a thousand words of praise about how good you make her feel.

- And now hear me out. Loves to watch you. Will book you a hotel room together just so she can sit across the room and watch you touch yourself for her, encouraging you the entire time

- It’s never long before she absolutely has to have her hands on you though in the end.

Molly O’Shea

- sheeeee has some trust issues. And abandonment issues. She’s just… she’s a lot at times.

- But she is fiercely loyal and will love you with every fibre of her being

- And she wants to be loved as fiercely in return. She’ll spiral without constant reassurance “ d’you even love me anymore? “ “did I do somethin wrong? Haven’t told me you love me today “

- She knows deep down you do love her. She’s just afraid.

- She is such a romantic. She loves holding your hand, sitting close to you, doing your makeup like hers and stealing kisses in between painting your lips red

- She’ll write you sappy romantic poetry and leave you lil notes

- You’ll often overhear her gushing to other people about how in love she is too. She just loves to talk about you and how deeply she adores you.

- Likes when you give her forehead kisses.

NSFW

- Pillow princess. End of story.

- She’s not completely submissive though. She’ll tell you what she wants and what she likes

- She just wants to be taken care of okay. She needs to be taken care of.

- Makes the softest, sweetest sounds and will tell you she loves you a million times over.

- Enjoys when things just… naturally happen. Cuddling with you at night, but pushing her hips lightly back against you. Which usually ends with your hand slipping past her waistband and making her come on your fingers.

- Likes to be on top of you sometimes, simply so she can show off whilst she strips. Not to really do anything. Shes really not that much of a giver. She likes being watched. She likes to know she’s desired. And usually it ends up with you dragging her to sit on your face.

- You have to shower her with praise. She wants to know she looks beautiful, that she’s doing well, worship her. Which is incredibly easy for you cause like fucking look at her she’s gorgeous.

- Wraps herself around you when you cuddle after, legs intertwined and arms around you, head buried in your chest or neck. Pls my sweet baby needs to be held.