apollo1three

[apollo1three]

my type is whatever this is

[apollo1three]

You sure this is just water?

Multiple character headcannon

Authors note: In my active era again!! Y’all know the deal; F!reader, sub(ish) character, m!receiving, yall r in the bathtub.

Summary: bathing with hubby doesn’t always go as planned.

The sound of bubbling water splashed around the tiled room, mingling with the soft hums and whispers exchanged between each kiss you shared with your husband. You found yourself nestled between his legs in the snug confines of the bathtub, but to both of you, it felt just right. It was the perfect amount of space to fulfill your urgent desires.

Your intention was to help him unwind after a long, exhausting day at work, yet it seemed you both had become sidetracked from your primary objective, as his fingers glided from the curve of your back down to your hips. With his eyes tightly shut, he concentrated solely on your lips, mirroring your own focus before you pulled away slightly.

He was quick to chase back your lips again with his own, causing you to giggle as you press a finger against them. “I thought you were tired…” you teased. He simply gazed at you before drawing you back in for another needy kiss. I suppose that was his way of answering you.

Your hands seem to develop a will of their own as they explore down from his chest, eliciting a hitch in his breath and a slight furrow of his brows. His grip on your hip only tightened as your wandering hands continue to move lower along his body, following the water's gentle ripples. He knew what you were planning and by no means did he want you to stop.

This time, he was the one to break the kiss, responding to your previous question, “I am…but having a beautiful wife to come home to changes things.” You respond with a smile at his words before your hand glides over the tip of his cock, causing a soft moan to leave him, the wetness of the head concealed by the surrounding water.

Your voice turned low as you whispered in his ear, “You should just relax and let me take care of you…” And who was he to argue with that?

Your fingers then begin to gently trace up and down his length, harmonizing with the swirling water, causing him to shiver slightly. He releases a breathy laugh, his neck tilting back slightly at your touch. “It’s kinda hard to…especially when you tease it like that, you know?…” you hum softly, leaning in to place a kiss at the corner of his lips while ensuring your fingers remain just barely on him.

"Sorry... thought I'd take it slow for you to get used to it..." you pause for a moment, and just as he was about to voice his frustration over the lack of movement, you firmly grasp his cock and twist around its length in a swift motion.

God, the little smirk that adorned your face as you watched his mouth fall agape, words leaving his mind with nothing but moans escaping. “Ah…b-baby, you—mh…” He could feel his face begin to heat up a sign of his growing blush and he swore he thought he was about to cum right then and there.

And then there was the way you spoke to him, the tone of your voice—fuck it did something to him especially when you asked, “This better for you, baby?”

He tried to answer you, he really did, but every time he attempted to speak, it turned into a whine or a broken stutter. He couldn't even meet your gaze, his head leaning further back against the bathroom wall tiles, leaving his neck exposed for you. "F-fuck... so f-fast..." was all he could manage, mixed with a few incoherent sentences that sounded like "thank you's."

Perhaps it was due to how exhausted he felt after today, or maybe it was the stress he had been under at work lately. It could also be because you were caring for him like this, but the moment you pressed your face against his neck, a loud whimper escaped his lips as he buried his head into your shoulder to muffle it a bit. “M’sorry— babe, I-Im gonna cum…G-God m’cummin!…” Suddenly, you felt the warm release of cum leaving his tip in the bathtub, along with the twitching of his cock in your hand.

You gradually slowed your movements, allowing him to regain his composure after his climax, before pulling back with a teasing smile, “That good?” You felt a surge of pride for making him cum with just a few flicks of your wrist and so quickly too.

He shot you a glare for a moment. God, he felt like a teenager. He had never cum this fast before, especially from a handjob! What was wrong with him? "I was... I was just pent up. That’s all..." the perfect excuse if you asked him, but you weren’t buying that.

"So if I were to touch you again..." you lightly brushed your finger over the tip once more, causing his breath to hitch “you sure you won’t cum?”

A soft, "Don’t," slips out from his lips, a warning sign for you to not start something you couldn’t finish.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction before retreating back to your corner of the bathtub. There’s a comforting silence from a minute before he speaks up, “…thank you for that.” He looks at you with genuine sincerity in his eyes, something you would only see during his most vulnerable moments. “I really…I really did need to destress…”

You smiled at his words before standing up to leave the bathtub, water rippling around you. "You know... you could always help me destress too...”

His eyes momentarily widen in response to your remark, a clear indication of surprise. Almost immediately, a familiar smirk begins to form on his lips, “God, you’re such a tease…”

He really was in love with you.

Characters: REIGEN, Sanemi, TENGEN, Rengoku, JEAN, Eren, Kageyama, UKAI, KUROO, IWAIZUMI (heavy on him), Suna, Osamu, GETO, NANAMI, Toji, LUCIFER, Satan, Diavolo, SOLOMON, AYATO, Diluc, Wriothesley, Sylus, Zayne, Zoro, LUCCI, PAULIE, KAKU, SHANKS, SMOKER

[apollo1three]

Sweet Spot 🍓*.•°

Their demon-related erogenous zones - nsfw Incl: lucifer, mammon, levi, satan, asmo, beel, belphie

LUCIFER

-Lucifer is definitely sensitive, but he’s better at fighting the pleasure than the others.

-He’s too proud to show any signs of enjoying it when you touch his horns, but if you wrap your hands around them like you would his cock he can’t hide his blush at the pure debauchery of it.

-His wings are the most sensitive of all the brothers. Since they’re the only feathered ones, they have much more sensitive nerves, especially the underside.

-Preening is a whole other thing. When he asks you to help him with it and forgets to tell you not to touch those spots, the feeling of your gentle hands massaging them has him groaning.

-When you rush out apologies; asking if you hurt him, he just guides your hand to the bulge in his pants and answers “not quite.”

MAMMON

-Mammon is Mammon, so you could do as little as smiling at him and he’s already hard.

-But what really gets him going? his horns. Grab onto them even just lightly and he’s already a mess in your hands.

“hngh- ah! Shit, grip them harder.. .”

-His wings are also pretty sensitive, but only the edge and ridges of them. They get increasingly more sensitive the closer they get to his back, so rubbing where his wings first sprout is what has him twitching in pleasure.

-Has asked you to give him a back massage before just so he could feel your hands on that sensitive patch of skin where his wings start. You quickly caught on when you noticed him desperately humping the mattress under him.

LEVIATHAN

-Levi isn’t used to being touched, so his body is just sensitive in general.

-His horns are definitely sensitive, but less so than you’d think. This works out tho since his horns have branches, making it harder to get a good grip on them.

-In his demon form certain parts of his body have scales. They’re sensitive to the touch, but especially the ones on his neck. Press some kisses to those while you’re sucking hickeys into his skin and he’ll cum right in his boxers.

-Next; his tail. It has scales, but they’re smooth to the touch. His tail is so sensitive that if you so much as brush it while you’re walking by he has to stifle a moan.

-You don’t even need to touch his dick, just do the same ministrations you would on his tail instead and it feels just as good for him.

-Between you and him, he often fantasizes about you grinding against his tail to get off (๑>؂•̀๑).

SATAN

-Unfortunately his tail is way too sharp for your hands to touch, but he doesn’t mind. That isn’t his most sensitive spot anyway.

-Yet in a similar way to the others wings, the skin of his back where his tail starts has his eyes rolling back. Sparks of pleasure shoot up from his tail bone all the way up his spine when your hands touch there.

-Nothing makes him hornier than when you rub the tip of his horns tho!

-Like coming up behind him and touching them while he’s trying to read his book? In a blink of an eye he’s got you under him, teasing your most sensitive spots until you were shaking in pleasure.

“Poor thing, reverse the roles and all of a sudden you can’t handle it?”

ASMODEUS

-He’s asmo..where isn’t his erogenous zone (¬_¬")

-Okay but for real, of course his horns and wings are sensitive! He’s the avatar of lust, you would be surprised if touching any part of him didn’t elicit a response.

-It didn’t take you long to find out about this sensitivity—he wasn’t exactly discreet when he kept asking you to rub his wings for him, claiming they were tense and only you could help.

“Huh? that was a moan of pain, you know..cause they’re so sore!”

-If your hands aren’t gripping his horns during your make out sessions he will pull away and pout until you do.

BEELZEBUB

-Beel’s wings are too rough and delicate to receive any pleasure, so it all comes from his horns.

-Grip onto them like handlebars while you’re sitting on his face and he will immediately cum untouched. Does he stop? no. Does he tell you to stop touching them? also no. Guess you’re both going into overstimulation.

-While his actual wings aren’t an erogenous zone, the skin where they meet is.

-Since his wings sprout pretty high on his back, if you dig your nails into his back while he has you in missionary, his body will literally shake with the pleasure shooting through his veins.

BELPHEGOR

-You can’t exactly grip his horns because of the twirled shape of them, but rubbing the very start of them where they sprout from his head is what gets him going.

-He also likes when you pull the hair around his horns; the pain only adding to the pleasure.

-The soft and fluffy end of his tail can’t feel any sensations. The rest of it can, but that part is actually really prickly with tons of thorns. You learned that one the hard way.. “(ノ _ <,, )

-Sometimes while fucking you until you couldn’t form a single thought, you would grasp the soft strands of the end of his tail while he ruined you, earning a cruel chuckle.

“Playing with my tail? I guess it’s the only thing that fucked-out brain of yours can think to do.”

I probably used the word ‘sensitive’ at least 20 times in this but I couldn’t think of a better word..anyways take this because I have no ideas for smaus! sorry (｡ᵕ ◞ _◟)

[apollo1three]

How they treat MC while on her period

Lucifer

Notices the change in your mood before you even say anything and quietly adjusts his schedule to avoid stressing you.

Makes sure you have access to high-quality pain medication, tea, and whatever snacks you like, claiming it’s “just practical” but secretly fussing.

Will sit with you while you rest, working on paperwork in silence, his hand occasionally finding yours.

Mammon

Panics at first because he doesn’t fully understand what’s going on, but once you explain, he tries really hard to help.

Shows up with an armful of junk food, a heating pad, and maybe some random plushie he “won” from somewhere.

Offers to “protect ya from everyone” so you can have peace and quiet — even if that means glaring at his brothers all day.

Leviathan

Gets flustered about the topic but dives into “period comfort research” online to be helpful.

Brings you cozy blankets and sets up an anime or game marathon so you can stay distracted from the cramps.

Will 100% rage-quit a game if he thinks it’s upsetting you and switch to something relaxing.

Satan

Immediately has a list of herbal teas and remedies ready, even if you didn’t ask.

Reads to you, tells you interesting facts, or just talks softly so you can rest.

If someone bothers you, he’s the first to step in with sharp words — protective in a very calm but scary way.

Asmodeus

Treats it like a self-care spa day: face masks, bubble baths, and pampering galore.

Checks on your mood constantly and isn’t afraid to give you long cuddles if you want them.

Brags about being “the best at knowing how to make a girl feel better,” but he really is doing it out of care.

Beelzebub

Immediately offers to share all his snacks with you, no questions asked.

Carries you (if you let him) so you don’t have to walk when you’re tired.

Stays nearby in case you need anything, even if it’s just a hug or warm presence.

Belphegor

Declares that the only cure is napping together and makes you his cuddle prisoner.

Massages your stomach or back without complaint when cramps hit hard.

Gets cranky if anyone interrupts your rest and will literally kick them out.

Diavolo

Finds the whole thing fascinating in an innocent, curious way, but takes your comfort very seriously.

Clears your schedule at RAD so you can rest, promising no one will give you trouble.

Brings gifts — exotic teas, soft blankets, and even little trinkets from the castle — to brighten your mood.

Barbatos

Anticipates your needs before you say anything; snacks, tea, heating pads are already waiting.

Keeps the kitchen stocked with whatever you might crave, prepared perfectly.

Speaks in a calm, gentle tone and checks in subtly throughout the day.

Solomon

Knows plenty of magical remedies for cramps and fatigue, some of which actually work.

Jokes to lighten the mood, but is surprisingly attentive and careful with you.

Will happily run errands or cook if it keeps you comfortable.

Simeon

Treats you with almost angelic gentleness, making sure you feel safe and cared for.

Offers to pray for your comfort and health, if you’re okay with it.

Always has warm tea and soft words ready.

Raphael

Tries to act like it’s not a big deal, but still adjusts his schedule to help you.

Keeps his voice quiet and calm so you’re not irritated.

Will silently do things for you (fetching things, tidying) without asking for thanks.

Mephistopheles

Pretends he’s above it all, but still grudgingly asks if you need anything.

Complains dramatically if you request something, but does it anyway.

Avoids irritating you — not out of fear, of course, just “common sense” (or so he says).

Thirteen

Hands you a heating pad like a weapon and declares, “Let’s fight these cramps together!”

Keeps you laughing with silly antics or pranks to distract you.

Brings comfort food and insists you eat, even if she has to feed you herself.

[apollo1three]

The teacher and student sorcerers duo

P/s: my HC on Solomon's pact mark 🤞

[apollo1three]

nsfw arthur drabble

— ʚɞ

Just thinking about how warm and cozy it gets under the covers when you’re cuddling with Arthur after sleeping all night. He can’t help the way his hands roam your impossibly soft thighs. The way he also can’t help but gently paw at your ass over your nightgown.

He’d nibble the shell of your ear and gently lick it, teasing you to get you to lift up your gown and open those pillows you call thighs just enough so he can slip his morning hardness between them. The way he’d groan when your plush, warm, fleshy thighs would encase his throbbing length. How you’d be slightly awake, hearing his soft grunts as he’d roll his hips into your thighs, his happy trail grazing your ass.

Arthur always tried to be gentle in the morning. Usually he was because he didn’t wanna wake up anyone in the camp. He wanted to be gentle with you since you were truly a sleeping beauty. He’d squeeze your hips a bit as he rolled his own into your thighs, getting more desperate by the second. His smooth hardness just caressing your flesh, making your clit throb. His grunts would turn a bit more breathy as he got closer to his release.

He’d always pull his hips back a little before he came, so that he could release his sticky seed completely inside your thighs. He wouldn’t want to make a mess of your pretty sleepwear or your favorite (only, lets be real) set of sheets, after all. The hotness of his release would warm your thighs instantly, and the wetness made them slick and slightly stick together.

When you tried to pull your thighs apart because of the slightly weird sensation, Arthur would gently hold them together in place whispering,

“Keep it safe for me, honey.”

— ʚɞ

[apollo1three]

how i feel after searching for hours for fluff but all i can find is sucking their soul out of their dick.

[apollo1three]

They shop at a small supermarket

[apollo1three]

How do you think the Obey Me guys would handle an MC that's already a single mother? Like, having a young human child (Luke's age or younger) from a relationship years before the Devildom. The father's either dead or otherwise not around, so her son / daughter only has Mama. She wouldn't have even agreed to come to RAD or the HoL if it meant being away from her baby, and she's naturally quite protective of him / her

Lucifer — son

Initially concerned about the danger of bringing a human child to the Devildom, but once he sees you’re serious, he personally ensures extra wards are placed around the HoL.

Your son warms up to him after a while, and Lucifer secretly enjoys the boy calling him “Mr. Lucifer.”

He’ll never admit it, but sometimes he lets paperwork pile up just to spend an evening reading to him.

Mammon — daughter

“Don’t worry, MC! The Great Mammon’s gonna be the best stepdad ever!” — says it from day one.

Tries to spoil her rotten with little trinkets from the human world and Devildom markets.

The two become little partners-in-crime, which drives you insane but warms your heart.

Leviathan — son

Nervous about being around a kid at first, worried he’s “too awkward” to be liked.

Your son loves his game collection, and suddenly Levi has a mini gaming buddy.

He secretly makes a custom kid-friendly Ruri-chan video for him.

Satan — daughter

She’s shy at first, but Satan’s calm voice while reading stories wins her over.

Introduces her to picture books from both the human and demon worlds.

Loves seeing how much she lights up when she learns something new.

Asmodeus — son

Immediately starts fussing over how “cute” your boy is and takes him shopping for adorable outfits.

Always insists on skincare and sunscreen before taking him outside.

Becomes the “fun uncle” who always has snacks and games.

Beelzebub — daughter

Treats her like she’s made of glass at first, always making sure she’s safe.

Shares food with her without a second thought — and if she likes something, he’ll make it his mission to keep it stocked.

She adores climbing up to sit on his shoulders.

Belphegor — son

Low energy but surprisingly good with kids because of his protective streak.

Your son often naps on his chest while Belph snoozes, and the sight melts your heart.

Sometimes pretends to be annoyed, but secretly cherishes it.

Diavolo — daughter

Overjoyed at the idea of a human child in the Devildom.

Makes sure she has the safest environment possible and spoils her with little royal treats.

Loves hearing her laugh during visits to the castle.

Barbatos — son

Very gentle and polite toward your boy, always mindful of manners.

Prepares small tea sets and snacks specifically for him when you visit.

Seems to always know exactly what will make him smile.

Solomon — daughter

Already experienced in magic, so he’s quick to create protective charms for her.

Tries to teach her little “party tricks” with magic, though you sometimes have to tell him to keep it simple.

Loves the idea of “family adventures” in different realms.

Simeon — son

Gentle and warm, your boy takes to him immediately.

Reads bedtime stories with voices and expressions that make your son giggle.

Becomes a quiet, reassuring presence in your home.

Raphael — daughter

At first, he’s not sure he’s the “kid type,” but he quickly adapts.

Protective in a quiet way, always making sure she’s never left alone in unsafe areas.

Sometimes she coaxes small smiles out of him that no one else gets to see.

Mephistopheles — son

Complains about the noise at first but… never actually leaves the room when your boy’s around.

Your son thinks his hat is hilarious and keeps trying to steal it.

Eventually becomes a strange sort of big brother figure.

Thirteen — daughter

Overly enthusiastic about showing her “fun” things in the Devildom, which means you have to keep an eye on them.

Your daughter loves Thirteen’s energy and giggles at her dramatic storytelling.

Protective like an older sister, quick to threaten anyone who even looks at her wrong.

[apollo1three]

Would jump on that dick like a trampoline gold medalist and not even the guillotine could stop the head that I'd give him.

[apollo1three]

ᴛʜᴏʀᴏᴜɢʜꜰᴀʀᴇ °˖⋆ ℧

“i met you there in texas, somewhere on the thoroughfare”

“on the side of the road in the same torn up clothes with a pistol in my pocket”

arthur morgan x fem!reader x joel miller

| masterlist | 4.4k words | picture doesn’t depict the appearance of the reader just for aesthetic |yearning, tension, kissing, oral f!receiving, gettin tossed around by two burly cowboys, praise, unprotected piv sex, cuddling fucking from mr miller, aftercare !

summary- Two rugged ranchers, lifelong friends Arthur Morgan and Joel Miller, find their quiet world upended when a younger woman arrives to work their land—and slowly works her way into their hearts. As desire grows into something deeper, the three of them cross the line between friendship and longing, discovering a love too wild and tender to tame.

They didn’t talk much, and that suited them both just fine.

Arthur had always said the land did most of the talking anyway. The wind in the grass. The lowing of cattle at dawn. The metal clang of fence wire tightening under calloused hands. After years of gun smoke and ghosts, the quiet wasn’t so much peace—it was penance. And Joel understood that better than anyone.

They’d run the ranch together for nearly a decade. Fifty head of cattle. A weather-beaten barn. Long days spent working fence lines or chasing down strays in the hills. Evenings filled with whiskey and silence by the fire. Arthur cooked. Joel carved. They didn’t need much. Just the land, the dogs, the horses, and the kind of friendship you didn’t have to label.

They were men who’d lost too much to ask for more.

The work was hard, and that was good. It gave their hands something to do. Their thoughts are something to drown in. Neither of them said it, but the house felt too big for two men their age. There were extra bedrooms no one stepped foot in. An empty porch swing that never moved. Sometimes, Joel would glance at the seat across from him at dinner and imagine someone laughing there.

Arthur would look out across the pasture at sunset and feel the ache in his chest like a ghost pressing a hand to his ribs.

Then came the girl.

She rolled up in a truck that coughed smoke and looked like it hadn’t seen an oil change in ten years. It was early spring—the thaw barely settled. Joel had just come back from hauling feed when he spotted the dust cloud and narrowed his eyes at the figure stepping out.

Boots in the mud. Soft flannel. Strong arms. A stubbornness set to her jaw.

Arthur stepped out onto the porch, wiping his hands on a rag. “You lost, darlin’?”

You shook your head. “Looking for the Lyle property.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed. “Old George Lyle’s place?”

You nodded. “He passed a few months ago. Left it to me.”

Joel leaned against the post, arms crossed. “Didn’t know he had any kin.”

“I’m not,” you said simply. “Just someone he trusted. Taught me everything I know about cattle and fixing fences. I owed him.”

Arthur blinked, then smiled faintly. “That man was a hell of a card player.”

You smiled back. “So I heard.”

Joel muttered, “Place’s damn near falling in.”

“I can handle it.”

You didn’t ask for help. That was what caught their attention first.

────🌾────

Arthur watched you from the hilltop as he lit a cigarette. Joel noticed the way your back stayed straight, even when your shoulders shook from exhaustion.

By the end of the week, Arthur brought you a wheelbarrow and a fresh pair of gloves without a word. Joel handed you a water bottle and said, “You’re stubborn.”

You grinned. “So are you.”

You worked from sunup to sundown, bandaged your own blisters, and cursed loud enough to make Arthur chuckle into his coffee. You shared dinner with them one night, then two, then a week’s worth.

Eventually, Joel fixed the plumbing at the Lyle place. Quietly. Arthur rewired the porch light. You thanked them both with a smile that made something shift behind Joel’s ribs.

Then the rain came. And the roof leaked.

Joel stood in your doorway with his arms crossed, dripping wet. “Get your things.”

Arthur leaned in the truck window. “Spare room’s open. Ain’t much, but it’s dry.”

You moved in that night. One duffel bag. One quiet “thank you.”

────🌾────

Weeks passed like molasses, slow and sticky and sweet in their own strange way.

You never expected to stay this long.

The old Lyle property was half reclaimed from the brambles, but the rain had done a number on the roof, and more than once you’d found black mold in places you didn’t want to name. Arthur had patched what he could. Joel came over one morning with a cordless drill and never really left after that.

Eventually, they offered you the spare room in their house. Said it was temporary. Said it just made sense.

But after a while, no one brought up the word temporary again.

You all slipped into rhythm without meaning to. Mornings started with coffee and bare feet on cool wood floors. Joel took his black, Arthur loaded his with too much sugar, and you drank yours leaning against the counter in a sleep shirt and shorts, eyes half-lidded. One of them always made eggs. The dogs—Boone and Lady—sat at your feet, loyal and lazy, with their heads in your lap.

You fixed fence posts beside Arthur, sweat beading on your skin, nails between your lips as he handed you the hammer. He liked the way you didn’t flinch around mud, the way you cursed like a 70-year-old rancher and sang old songs under your breath.

Joel taught you how to ride his favorite quarter horse. Big, quiet gelding named Shimmer. Said you had good balance. Strong thighs. His voice always got rougher when he said thighs.

Sometimes he’d linger behind you in the saddle, correcting your grip with a hand on your waist. Sometimes his breath would hit the back of your neck, and you wouldn’t move. Wouldn’t even breathe.

You rode fence lines together at dusk. Swam in the creek on hot days. Played cards and drank beer on the porch at night. You started calling Arthur cowboy when he got bossy, and Joel sir just to see his jaw twitch.

They teased you back, sure—but never touched. Not really.

They were good men. Older. Quiet. They didn’t want to scare you off.

But something was shifting.

Joel caught himself looking at your hands. Your neck. The soft line of your spine when you bent over to stack feed bags. He started lighting his cigarettes farther from the porch—so he wouldn’t be tempted to sit too close.

Arthur got quieter around you. His laugh lingered a little longer, but so did the way his eyes drifted lower when you walked into a room. He fixed things that didn’t need fixing. Made excuses to be near you.

They never talked about it.

But you felt it.

Like that one night you were in the stables brushing Shimmer’s mane and Arthur joined you.

It was late. The horses were fed, the sky painted in fading streaks of gold and mauve. You were still brushing Shimmer down in the barn, sleeves rolled, boots muddy. Arthur stepped in, quiet as always, carrying a mug of tea like it was just something he’d thought to do.

“You keep brushing that horse, she’s gonna shine like polished silver,” he said in a low tone.

You smiled without looking up. “She likes it.”

Arthur leaned against the post. “So do you.”

You paused, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He stepped forward and handed you the mug. You took it, your fingers brushing his—rough against your smooth. He didn’t pull away.

“You work too hard,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “So do you.”

He gave a soft laugh, but didn’t move. He was close now. You could smell cedarwood soap and old tobacco. His eyes dropped to your lips, just briefly, and that alone made your breath catch.

“Got dirt on your cheek,” he murmured, lifting one hand.

His thumb brushed your skin. Slow. Careful. You swore he lingered. His hand didn’t drop right away. Instead, it cradled your jaw for just a second too long—his thumb ghosting over your bottom lip.

You didn’t speak. Didn’t dare.

He held your gaze like a man about to say something dangerous—but instead, he only stepped back, knuckles brushing yours as he whispered, “Night, darlin’.”

You stood there in the hay dust, heart pounding, wondering what would’ve happened if you’d leaned in.

Or

That morning with Joel in the kitchen.

The house was quiet except for the soft clink of dishes. You were in the kitchen rinsing out a coffee mug when Joel came up behind you—close, not touching, but close enough that your body noticed.

“You always leave your mugs in the sink?” he asked, voice low and dry.

You smirked. “You always hover behind people in the kitchen?”

Joel didn’t laugh. Didn’t move.

“You been wearin’ my flannel all day,” he said instead, voice rough.

You glanced down and shrugged. “Yeah. It was on the hook.”

He reached past you, slow, grabbed a plate from the drying rack. But his body brushed yours just slightly—his strong chest at your back, his hand ghosting near your waist.

You stayed still.

“I like how it looks on you,” he said, almost to himself.

You turned to face him, breath caught halfway. He was too close now. His eyes dipped to your lips, then back up. His hand rested on the edge of the counter beside your hip.

“I’m not tryin’ to start somethin’,” Joel said roughly.

“Then don’t stand so close,” you whispered.

But neither of you moved.

His knuckles brushed yours. You swallowed hard.

“I do things slow,” he said finally. “But when I want somethin’—I want it all the way.”

Then he stepped back.

And your knees nearly buckled.

────🌾────

It became too much. The two men took over every single thought. Before you’d go to sleep at night you would replay memories and little things they both have done.

You hadn’t meant for this to happen.

At first, it was just about survival. About fences and feed and early mornings with dirt on the window. You were too busy trying to patch the roof and clear out the barn to think about anything else. Joel and Arthur had been kind—quiet and rough around the edges, but kind. You respected them. Trusted them.

But something changed.

It was in the small things. The way Arthur always made your tea just right. How he’d linger near you in the barn, his warmth close enough to touch. The way he looked at you like you were soft, like you were some delicate thing he didn’t dare grab with dirty hands.

And then Joel—God, Joel. That man carried tension like it was sewn into his spine. Everything about him was hard angles, clenched jaw, calloused hands. But the way he watched you in his flannel, the way his voice dropped when he was near—it made your whole body buzz.

You liked being near them.

Too much.

Sometimes you caught yourself comparing them. Arthur’s steadiness, Joel’s intensity. The way Arthur said darlin’ with that gravel-deep gentleness. The way Joel’s hand would rest on your lower back for a second too long, fingers twitching like he was holding himself back.

It was starting to keep you up at night.

You’d roll over in bed, heart pounding, wondering what would happen if you reached out. If you chose.

But the truth was, you didn’t know if you could.

Because they were both slipping under your skin.

And then—

One night, it all cracked open.

You were curled up on the couch, legs tucked under you, a throw blanket pulled to your chest. The movie playing was old and slow—some western Arthur liked. Joel had fallen into the armchair, nursing a beer, and Arthur sat beside you, closer than usual.

You said something about the sky, about how it was turning purple outside. Arthur hummed.

And then you felt it.

Joel’s eyes on you. Arthur’s hand against your leg, heavy and warm. The silence between all three of you stretched, pulled thin.

You turned your head—and both men were looking at you.

Not casually.

Not kindly.

But like men who had been trying not to want you for a long, long time.

Joel’s gaze dipped to your mouth. Arthur’s thumb traced a lazy circle against your thigh. You didn’t stop him.

Your breath caught.

No one spoke.

But the silence was loud.

And you knew—without a doubt—that this thing between the three of you wasn’t quiet anymore.

It was burning.

Still no one spoke.

Arthur’s thumb was still brushing circles against your thigh, slow and patient like he was memorizing your skin through the blanket. Joel hadn’t moved, but his eyes were darker now—hooded, jaw clenched, fingers tight around the neck of his beer bottle. The air in the room was charged, thick with heat and breath and something unspoken.

You swallowed hard.

And then, just barely above a whisper:

“…what are we doing?”

Arthur’s hand paused. Joel leaned forward.

You looked between them—at Arthur’s calm, unreadable face and Joel’s gaze flickering over your lips like he was already imagining what they’d feel like against his.

Neither of them answered.

So you pulled the blanket back, just enough to show the curve of your thigh, bare under the hem of Joel’s old flannel.

Arthur’s breath caught.

Joel stood up.

He crossed the space in three slow steps and knelt in front of you on the rug, large hands bracing on either side of your legs.

“You really want this?” he rasped. His eyes were locked on yours—hungry, hesitant, already gone.

You nodded, whisper-soft. “I do.”

Arthur let out a breath behind you. You turned slightly, meeting his eyes.

He was leaning close now too, hand still on your leg. “You sure, darlin’? Once we start this…”

“…we’re not stopping,” Joel finished.

You let your knees part between them.

That was all the answer they needed.

Joel leaned in first—slow, deliberate. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing your lower lip before he kissed you. It was careful at first, his lips warm and slightly chapped, tasting faintly of beer and restraint. But when you sighed into him, he deepened it—tilting your face up, tongue sweeping into your mouth with a hunger he’d clearly been holding back for weeks.

Behind you, Arthur’s hand slid higher on your thigh.

“You two gonna make me sit here and watch?” he murmured, voice thick with heat.

Joel pulled back just enough to glance over his shoulder. “Thought you liked watchin’, Morgan.”

Arthur chuckled low, and then his hand moved beneath the hem of your—Joel’s shirt—his palm warm and rough against your bare skin.

You gasped, turning toward him, and his lips were already there—softer than Joel’s, slower, his kiss all patience and promise. He kissed you like a secret. Like he wanted to keep you.

You moaned softly, body caught between them, and Joel let out a sound from deep in his chest.

“Bedroom,” he muttered.

Arthur didn’t answer—just stood and lifted you effortlessly into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. Joel followed close behind, one hand guiding your back, the other grazing your hip.

You were dizzy with it—wrapped in warmth and want, floating somewhere between them, their hands anchoring you. They moved like they’d talked about this before. Like they’d been waiting for the moment you’d fall into them.

And now?

They had you.

And they weren’t about to let go.

Arthur laid you down with care.

The mattress dipped beneath his weight, creaking softly under the solid strength of his body. Joel stood at the edge of the bed, watching—his eyes burning dark, like he was trying to memorize you just like this: flushed and breathing heavy, hair mussed, legs parted slightly on the sheets.

“You’re beautiful,” Arthur murmured.

His hands were on you already, calloused palms sliding up beneath the borrowed flannel. You gasped when his fingers brushed over your ribs—feather-light at first, then firmer as they moved up to cup your breasts, thumbs stroking lazy circles over your nipples.

“God,” you whispered.

Joel leaned over, hands braced on either side of your thighs. “Look at you,” he muttered. “Fuckin’ perfect.”

Arthur was kissing your neck now, his beard rough against your skin, lips soft. He moved slow, like he wanted to savor it—each kiss dragging lower as he pulled the shirt higher, exposing your bare stomach inch by inch.

Joel’s hand slid up your thigh, spreading your legs wider. “She’s shakin’,” he rasped.

“I know,” Arthur murmured. “I got her.”

He kissed the curve of your hip as Joel leaned in and kissed your mouth again—this time harder, deeper. His tongue met yours with raw hunger, his grip on your thigh tightening. You moaned into him, your hips twitching upward, aching for more.

Arthur moved between your legs now, dragging his mouth lower, slower, lips brushing your inner thigh.

You whimpered.

“Patience, sweetheart,” Arthur said, voice low and warm. “We’re gonna take care of you.”

Joel’s hand came up to cup your jaw, turning your face back to his. “Gonna treat you so fuckin’ good. You hear me?”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes.”

Arthur’s mouth pressed right where you needed it, hot and open, licking and sucking on your clit, and your back arched. Joel swallowed your gasp with another kiss, his hand sliding under your head, cradling you there, grounded and worshipped all at once.

They worked in tandem—Arthur’s tongue slow and methodical, like he was learning every response you gave him, every tremble. Joel’s lips at your ear, whispering things that made your skin burn:

“Can’t believe you’re lettin’ us have you like this.”

“Such a good girl.”

“Never gonna forget the way you sound, takin’ us like this.”

You reached down blindly, fingers threading through Arthur’s hair, and he groaned low against you, the sound vibrating through your core.

“Joel—please,” you breathed.

He growled softly, undoing his belt with one hand, kissing along your jaw with the other. “You want both of us tonight, baby?”

You nodded frantically. “Yes. Please, I want—”

Arthur’s mouth dragged up your body again, kissing your sternum, your throat. “Then you got us, darlin’. Every fuckin’ inch.”

Joel’s mouth met yours one more time, possessive and rough.

And as they undressed—hands and mouths and quiet praise—you realized something:

This wasn’t just desire.

It was need.

Arthur kissed you again—slow, steady—his mouth hot and tasting faintly of you. He’d shed his shirt somewhere between the bed and your thighs, and now his body was pressed against yours, warm and solid. You could feel every inch of him, every deliberate drag of his chest over your nipples, every reverent pass of his hands over your hips.

Joel was behind him now, kneeling on the bed, jeans tugged halfway down. His eyes never left your face.

“You want Arthur first?” Joel asked, voice low, almost a growl.

Your breath caught.

“I—yes,” you whispered.

Arthur groaned. “Good girl.”

He kissed down your body again, this time moving slower. Not teasing—just devoted. He wanted to feel every shiver. Wanted you pliant beneath him when he finally slid into you.

You reached for him, fingers threading through the back of his hair as he nudged your thighs apart again, lining himself up with practiced care. You felt the thick press of him at your entrance, and your whole body tensed in anticipation.

Arthur cupped your face with one hand, brushing his thumb over your lip.

“Breathe for me, darlin’.”

You did.

And then—he pushed in.

A long, slow slide that made your toes curl and your jaw drop, gasping as he filled you inch by inch. He held himself there once he was fully seated, forehead pressed to yours, both of you panting softly.

“You feel that?” he whispered. “How good you take me?”

You nodded helplessly, overwhelmed by the fullness, the stretch, the heat.

Joel sat beside you now, one hand stroking your hair back from your damp forehead, the other trailing down to your chest. He cupped your breast, watching Arthur move inside you with a hungry, reverent stare.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Joel muttered. “Look at you.”

Arthur started to move—slow, deliberate thrusts that rocked your body up the bed. He kissed your neck, your collarbone, whispered soft praise as your fingers clawed at his back.

Joel leaned in, kissed your cheek, then your lips—deep and lingering, tasting every moan Arthur pulled from your throat.

“You’re so good,” Joel murmured. “So fuckin’ good for us.”

You were unraveling, every nerve lit up, caught between Arthur’s steady rhythm and Joel’s mouth and hands. You felt possessed, held, worshipped.

And then Arthur pulled out slowly, pressing one last kiss to your sternum.

“Think she’s ready for you,” he murmured, looking at Joel.

Joel didn’t wait. He was on you in seconds, flipping you gently onto your side, spooning in close behind. His chest was slick with heat, breath ragged against your ear.

“You okay, baby?” he murmured, lining himself up.

“Please,” you whispered.

He pushed in with a groan—deeper than Arthur, thicker, dragging a broken cry from your throat as he filled you completely. Joel’s hand curled around your waist, holding you in place as he began to move—grinding slow and deep, his mouth pressed to your shoulder.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he hissed.

Arthur knelt in front of you now, brushing hair back from your face, kissing your mouth sweetly while Joel fucked you slow and unrelenting from behind.

“You’re ours now, ain’t you?” Arthur murmured. “Both of us.”

You nodded, tears at the corners of your eyes from how full you felt, how overwhelming it was to be held between them.

Joel’s thrusts grew harder, his breath turning rough against your skin. “Say it,” he growled. “Say you’re ours.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped. “I’m—yours.”

And when you came—loud, shaking, completely undone—they didn’t stop holding you. Didn’t stop whispering how good you were, how beautiful you looked, how they’d never let you go now.

You belonged to them.

And tonight, they made sure you knew it.

────🌾────

The room was quiet.

The kind of quiet that settles in after a storm—soft and sacred, broken only by the sound of three tangled breaths.

You were between them again, your body boneless and glowing, cheek pressed against Arthur’s chest. His heartbeat was a slow, steady thump beneath your ear, and one of his hands ran lazy circles along your spine, grounding you.

Joel lay behind you, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist, his body flush against your back. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, the heat of his skin, the quiet way he breathed your name like a prayer.

“You okay, baby?” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

You nodded, lips brushing Arthur’s skin. “Yeah. Just… wow.”

Arthur chuckled low in his throat. “That a good ‘wow,’ or a we-gotta-run-away-and-never-talk-about-it-again kinda wow?”

You laughed softly. “The first one.”

Joel hummed, and you felt his lips move against your shoulder. “Good. ‘Cause we’re not lettin’ you go now.”

Arthur shifted just enough to cup your face, thumb brushing over your cheek. “Didn’t hurt, did it? We didn’t push too much?”

“No,” you said, voice thick and quiet. “It was perfect.”

They exhaled together, that tension in their bodies finally melting all the way out of them.

Joel sat up first, kissed your shoulder, then leaned over to grab a warm cloth from the bedside. He was slow and gentle cleaning you up, murmuring quiet things like I got you, just relax, you were so good for us. Every motion was careful, reverent. Like you were something fragile. Something theirs.

Arthur pulled the blankets up, letting you settle again between them.

You felt completely safe. Wrapped in warmth and worn flannel and calloused hands that held you like you were the softest thing they’d ever touched.

“You always this quiet after?” Arthur asked, his fingers trailing along your ribs.

You shrugged, half-smiling. “Not always. But I’ve never… done this before.”

“With two men?”

“With two people who actually care.”

They both stilled.

Joel leaned forward, brushing hair from your face. “We do,” he said quietly. “Care.”

Arthur nodded, resting his forehead against yours. “This wasn’t just a one-time thing for us. Not if it ain’t for you.”

You looked between them, your heart thudding louder than it had all night.

“I don’t want it to be,” you whispered.

Joel smiled—soft and warm and rare. “Good. Then stay.”

“I'm already here.”

Arthur kissed you again—slower this time, with all the gentleness in the world. Joel tucked himself closer to your back, his hand slipping under your shirt to rest flat over your heart.

You fell asleep wrapped in both of them.

And when the sun rose through the dusty window panes the next morning, they were still there—one hand in your hair, the other tracing your spine, like they’d never let go.

And maybe they wouldn’t.

tags: @zevrra @xodilfluvr @whimsydoe

[apollo1three]

Mid Honour Arthur Morgan NSFW Headcanons

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, sex, oral, the whole shebang. Word count: 1.1k. 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

[apollo1three]

ARTHUR MORGAN has an impressive cock. You'd always figured a man who carries himself so surely would have one like that. Thick and heavy, crowned with hair a bit darker than what was on his head. The way it would always be half hard anytime he was around you was flattering. The way he'd take up all the space in that hotel room, striding around, parading naked, he'd steal the air from your lungs. The way it'd pat against his thighs as he took heavy steps through the room. You'd stare and he'd look away, flush in the face. There was an inherent sense of boyish charm about him, how he could be so rough and callous, but the second he was alone with you he was nearly shy. Intimacy with Arthur was earned, a privilege, not a thing to trifle with. He'd given it to you and you hadn't even realized how hard it was to earn this from him.

He blushed bright red when you'd seen it the first time, that breathy "Oh, Arthur.." had sent a chill down his spine. Arthur was extra careful with you, fearing he'd split you right in half on his cock. There was no hiding it. The way his ranch pants would be fuller around you, the obvious bulge of denim stretching around it. He loved that you could try to swallow it all you wanted and you could still grip fingers worth of it as his tip touched the back of your throat. He loved being able to have you seated on top of him and see his dick fucking you from the outside. A firm hand pressed against you, making you tighter and he could feel the way he so lovingly damaged your sweet pussy.

He would torment your guts almost effortlessly. He'd have you gripping the sheets, choking back moans and sobs and all manners of pretty noises in a hitched tone without even trying. He wasn't an egotistical man, but he knew it couldn't be like this for every man or no job would ever get done in the world. It'd come to a stand still as everyone would be lined up to fuck the next man. No, no he had to have something special with you. He was easily enamored with you and how you'd feel wrapped all warm and tight around him. How snug you were.

Each time felt like the first with Arthur. The way he filled you and would have you swollen and sore the next day. Even after the bath you'd end up in together, he'd keep you there, wet and sudsy against him and his thick member until you had pruny fingers. He loved that you were a whiny mess just from being near his cock.

You were made for him by God, he wasn't religious but he was sure of it. You fit better than any glove or shirt or saddle he could have tailor made. You were just as addicted to him. The way his flared head could take up residency inside you made you know that there was some higher power and they were merciful in such a way for you to have a taste of heaven on earth with your Arthur.

[apollo1three]

Takin’ It ♡

Finally wrote down an improved version of my sex dream with Arthur I had from weeks ago 🧍‍♀️ I am still recovering 💔 my first proper Arthur smut (and first boy smut ever????) cause you could say I got first hand experience 😋😋😋😋😋 in the dream it was more LH! ish Arthur but I’m not good at writing that so yeah (a bit shy abt this tbh *dies*)

(nasty, filthy pwp 🧍‍♀️ afab, f!reader, p in v, overstimulation to the point of crying 😨, delayed ejaculation, multiple orgasms, biting, I think that’s all)

divider: @aquazero / Arthur photo credits

Full.

It was all you could think about with how deep his cock is buried inside you, straining your voice and sending your body rigid as another orgasm rippled through you.

An exhale left your mouth in bits, chopped by your shaking. You thought that was the last.

But he doesn’t relent.

With a groan, Arthur lifted you off him by your ass and pierced into you again, still suspiciously hard if the stretch is any indication.

“Arthur!” You yelped, trying to push him away. He held your hips tighter, ignoring how your legs and your walls squeezed him out.

“Somethin’-” cut by an immediate set of pace, your nipples roughly rubbing against his chest hairs everytime he bounced you on him. “Somethin’ ain’t right,” you breathed out, a lilt to your voice, the three, four? Orgasms dizzying you.

Like a rabbit in heat, he’s been at it since he got back. You don’t know what possessed him. Just said he needed you and his cock hasn’t softened since.

“I know darlin’,” he rasped, lips trying to stay latched to your neck as you kept squirming. “’S why I need you to help me come,” with his wicked, calloused fingers landing on your clit, pulling a whine out of you that will surely wake up residents of nearby tents. That is, if the slick and slap of your skins haven’t done that yet.

“Won’t you, sweet girl?”

“Can’t,” you squeaked as he battered that spot inside you again and again. He chuckled. Though the way his jaw hung agape and the way his brows furrowed told you he was just as tortured. How did a Goddamn gorgeous thing like you let him use you like this?

“Just a bit more darlin’, hm?” he slurred, selfish, needing. Kisses melted into licks, softening the previous burns of his stubble all over your warm neck; a contrast to his ever bruising pace as his arm wrapped around your middle, keeping you flush against him.

“Ar-Arthur!” You hiccuped before you’re suddenly jolted by another wave of pleasure.

He gently shushed you, holding you tight as your limbs stuttered. “That’s it, that’s a good girl.”

Your body must be close to shutting down because once you’ve regained your breath, you realized he hasn’t stopped at all. Only slowed. And the friction of his cock slipping and sliding past your rim, occasionally grazing your clit, almost made you drool.

He’s still fucking hard.

“Hey,” he called. A weak whistle from him sobered you. “Still with me darlin’?” He nudged your chin up, facing you to his sweat sheened face. Blushing red with labored breaths leaving that crooked smile. A strand of hair fell over his eyes and you can’t help but push it aside.

Well. You’re still soaking wet.

Heart weakened and any remnants of a brain fucked out, you nodded.

“Atta girl,” coupled with a deep rut of his cock that spilled a scream out your lungs and tears from your eyes.

“‘S t-too much,” you sobbed, leaning away from him, fists languid against his chest as he continued splitting you open deep and slow. His grip on your hip remained, tightened, pushing you down, down, down.

But so did the one on your chin, gliding to your cheek and caressing you there.

With a plunging thrust, “‘M bein’ gentle here darlin’,” he exhaled, eyes desperate, hot breath on your lips before he captured them against his own. Thrust. “You can take it like a good girl, can’t ya?” Thrust.

You whimpered, his words only fanning a growing flame in your lower stomach. Your arms snaked around his neck as you kissed more fervently. He took this to move his hands to the underside of your thighs, pulling you even closer and picking up speed, causing you to gasp.

“Stay with me baby, c’mon,” he whispered, hoarse. A string of spit still connected him to you.

He’s pushed up to the hilt, it almost feels like he’s trying to bully into your cervix. The sounds you let out were getting louder and louder, you had to bite on his thick shoulder.

“That’s it,” he hissed. “Doin’ so good for me, I’m almost there.”

You moaned as an answer, nearing the edge yourself. He must’ve felt it, his thumb moving to rub your clit again, making you still for a split second as if shocked by his touch.

“So good for me pretty girl, ‘M so close,” he repeated, sounding strangled like a plea. And that did it for you, tensing throughout as you came.

Finally, finally, he followed soon after, still sheathed as he held you chest to chest, falling on top of you. The sounds that erupted from his throat could have made you come again.

Your eyes stayed closed, seeing sleep around the corner as your breaths returned to you. Arthur chuckled, thoroughly relieved and you felt the warmth vibrate from his chest as he rolled to your side, his softened member slipping out. Infected by his smile, you turned to face him. And then gave him a harmless smack to his chest.

He only pretended to wince, draping an arm around your waist and pulling you close as he faced you.

“Guess I deserved that,” he sighed, all smiles, content.

“Cause what’s gotten into you?” You asked, still drunk sounding as you come down from your high. He huffed, equal amounts of amused and sheepish.

“‘M sorry darlin’, I hope it won’t happen again,” a kiss to your forehead to accompany his apology, widening your smile as you dozed off.

“I wouldn’t mind if it did.” And the last thing you heard before falling asleep was the sound of his laugh.

thank you for reading! 🫶🏼

my masterlist

[apollo1three]

arthur morgan loves putting you in a full nelson. truly, nothing beats it. ૮ ྀི◞͈ ˔ ◟͈ ྀིა

it’s effortless for him, the way his thick arms brace your legs against your chest, the weight of you on top of him barely a disturbance. he’d make you think it was your idea — not because he was trying to manipulate you, but because of the way he adored how you begged.

you’d been pressing him about it earlier in the week, hounding him about his sex life before he met you and what kind of ridiculous scenarios he got himself into. he had years of experience, probably sexually active before you were even born and you couldn’t help but be curious.

“well now there was this one pose, but i’m not too sure you’d like it. s’a little advanced.” he sticks his thumbs in his belt loops, leaning against the wall as he finally gives into your prodding. he thinks it’s adorable the way your brows pinch, all determined to change his mind as you rush over, standing on your toes and grabbing at him.

“oh please go on arthur. satisfy my curiosity, i beg you!” you whine and he swallows down a chuckle.

“c’mere.” he walks you to a chair and you follow without further prompting. arthur sits, before pulling you onto his lap. fully clothed, he easily lifts your legs making you gasp. calloused, weathered hands slide up the back of your legs until they were hooked under your knees, keeping them high before he mimicked the act of thrusting into you from below, jean clad crotch thudding against you softly. “a little like that. now i’m sure you can use your imagination and picture that without clothes on.” he lowers your legs and taps the side of your ass like you’re a horse. “go on now, up y’get — we got things to do today.”

as expected, you don’t forget about the conversation and demonstration, infact you’re weak in the knees for the rest of the day — clinging to his strong arm, whiny and submissive to his every calm command. you could only imagine what had got you in such a state, and arthur knew just how he’d fix it.

now in a candlelit hotel room arthur’s got you totally in the nude, holding the same leud, split open position he had you in earlier as he stuffs your cunt with his thick length.

“shh shh shh shh now.” he chides, voice warm and gravelly as he slows his thrusts to a deep and firm rhythm. “this is what you wanted, remember? begged n begged me.”

“j’st — s—so much!” you shudder, head lulling forward weakly and helplessly, glossy folds fluttering around the man who held you open.

“well you’re bein’ a very good girl. keep takin’ it, there we go.” he hums, working you toward that sweet release.

[apollo1three]

a man who's intimate.

a man who adjusts to your every need. who kisses you every morning. who never lets you go to sleep angry with him. a man who knows every inch of you, every scar, mole, bump.

a man who never raises his voice at you. who lets his body language talk when he's angry. whose skin bubbles with heat as he crosses his arms and tilts his head, listening to your rant before nodding. "you're right, sugar. im sorry."

a man who practically begs you to let him make it better, kissing from your toetips all the way up to where your night shorts stop, barely covering any of your brown skin. who takes them down with his teeth because even though he's sorry, he's still got his pride.

a man who doesn't let up on your pleasure. who stays nursing on your clit like he's a baby. who makes you cum three times before even thinking about fucking you, your thighs sticky with sweat as he settles between them.

a man who fucks you in heavy, slooooww strokes that drag every vein through your walls. whose groans are low and sensual, driving fire to your clit and ovaries as he sweats, his body hot against yours. he notices how your stomach twitches softly as he lays his hand over it, how your walls suddenly close tight enough for him to halt his movements.

"like it when i lay my hand here, honey? when i feel my cock inside you? you like that?" his voice is taunting. he knows you like it. he knows because your moans suddenly pick up in volume, and your feet next to either of his ears nearly fall from his shoulders. he doesn't let you run from him, though. he wraps one of his arms around your knees, keeping your feet hopelessly in the air as he thrusts into you with debaucherous vigor.

a man who overstimulates every nerve in your body at once, sending you floating off as you come. who holds you through it, watching as your eyes roll like you're possessed. he can't get enough of it, not until you're practically choking, stumbling over how good it feels, how you can't take it anymore. the screams of his name into the heavy air of your bedroom just egging him on to make you cum again. to push your limit. to watch your soul wander from your body for a moment.

a man whose job and life purpose is to please you, a man who's intimate.

[apollo1three]

SADISTIC ft. lucifer (obey me!) x female! reader

⟢ content warnings drabble, sub! reader, fingering, edging, dacryphilia. minors do not interact.

reupload from my old account ☻

archive of our own

lucifer is such a sadist.

he has been fingering you for what it felt like hours, slowing down when you felt the pit in your stomach gradually growing, removing his fingers from you when he notices you were getting closer. “i didn't tell you to cum, now did i?”

what's worse is that you can't even feel his arms, his body… your wrists were tied up onto the headboard, so you could only look up at him desperately.

“p-please! i'll be good! please, please, please! let me cum!” you blabbered, feeling the tears welling up your eyes when he slowed down once again. a sadistic smile appeared on his face, letting out a low chuckle.

“you'll be good... is that so? let me think...” you looked up at him eagerly with tears rolling down your face. he then grabbed your wet cheeks, shaking his head. “no. not until i tell you to.”

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