cassidylynnj

[cassidylynnj]

BITE ME

pairing: Vampire!Arthur Morgan x Human!f!reader word count: 4091 words warnings: 18+ minors DNI, explicit sexual content, explicit language, piv intercourse, fingering (r receiving), biting and blood play, vampire feeding authors note: happy halloween my loves! this is a day late, but time isn't real anyway so we can all just pretend it is yesterday... right?? anyway, this au is now living rent free in my mind. i'm obsessed.

taglist:@cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @elifsukirdaghehe @reaveries@delilah-grimes@mrsarthurmorgan7 @twola@the-marsh-harrier @wildfloweroutlaw @photo1030 @luvliewriting@pine4pple-b0i @sickvictorianangel

beta read by @cowboydisaster, divider by @saradika

The wooden panels nailed to the broken windows of the manor allow for tiny slats of moonlight to invade onto your skin, bathing you in a white glow. Peering through the gaps, you can see the distant campfire those bastard Pinkertons set up down by the swamp, but you know they’re surrounding you, boxing you into Shady Belle like fish in a barrel. 

It’s been three days of a stalemate, the Pinkertons keeping their distance, brave enough to come with guns and firepower but just cowardly enough to not advance towards the monster they’ve heard only legend of, lest he rip their throats out and drain their life away. No, they’d rather wait around until they can drag his starved body out and be hailed heroes.

That “monster” sits mere feet away from you leaning against the wall, pale skin paler still, his chin tilted upwards as he fights the weight of his own skull. It’s killing you, watching your Arthur grow weaker by the hour. Three days of hiding out in Shady Belle, unable to leave for fear of being hunted for sport, but it’s been much longer since he last fed. They have you trapped, completely and truly. If Arthur held even half his usual strength, it would have been so easy to escape. He’d have overpowered them in seconds, no matter their numbers or firepower. But for that, he’d need to feed on the blood of another, which has made things much harder.

You try to relax your worried features when you see him start to wake, rubbing the crease out from between your eyebrows formed by the frown you hold whenever you watch him sleep, too scared to look away in case he stops stirring. 

“Arthur…” You whisper on an exhale, quickly moving to sit beside him on the little bed. As always, his skin feels like marble, cold enough to seep through his shirt and scatter goose pimples over your arms. You’re used to the cold, what you don’t like is the thin layer of sweat coating him. Vampires shouldn’t sweat, but they also shouldn’t go so long without feeding, and the thought of this being a symptom of time running out terrifies you more than any number of monsters out camping in those woods.

“Hey, sweetheart…” Arthur shuffles to make room for you, guiding you to rest your head on his hard chest. There’s normally more muscle here cushioning you from his ribcage, but with Arthur so sick you can feel every bone beneath you.

“You get any sleep?”

There’s always the option to lie so he worries less, but Arthur knows you too well for that, so only the truth will have to do.

You shake your head, “Was keeping watch. They haven’t moved, think they’re still shit-scared of you, actually.” 

Absent-mindedly, Arthur’s hand gravitates to the top of your head, stroking your hair in such a way that sends tingles down your spine. Even now, in the midst of perhaps the most danger you’ve ever been in together, his very touch has the power to calm you instantaneously. 

He huffs a laugh, though you notice the slight wheeze to his breath when he does and another pang of worry hits you, “Course they are. Call themselves goddamn hunters, couldn’t catch a cold in Colter…” A pause, where you fill the silence with that tiny little laugh you’ve barely been mustering lately, then, “You should get some sleep, darlin’.” 

“Not tired.” You protest, almost childishly, burying yourself further into Arthur’s chest. In truth, you’re exhausted, and even though he already knows it, you won’t admit it. You can’t tell him that you’re too scared to fall asleep in case you wake up alone, that there’s no point anyway because nightmares of him withering away to nothing here beside you will drag you back awake soon enough. 

You both know this can’t go on for much longer. Something has to be done, and you know you have to be the one to do it. It’s just the convincing… 

“C’mon, baby…” He starts, but you won’t hear it. You’re not going to sleep. You’re going to fix this.

“You have to feed on me.” You blurt out, glad to be nuzzled into your beloved’s shirt so you don’t have to see whatever expression your statement has pulled from him. 

It’s not spontaneous, no sudden solution that has sprung into your mind this very moment. You’ve suggested it before, albeit never so forcefully, Arthur brushing you off like the idea is unfathomable. Explaining that he would never feed from you, terrified he’d lose control and hurt you. He could never hurt you. If there are such things as absolutes, that is one of them, you know it.

“No.” He’s blunt, clearly hoping his tone had enough force to end it there. But you’re strong, your will to keep fighting for him an everlasting force enough to match his. 

“Arthur-” You unravel from him to sit up and meet his eye, yours pleading, his hardened. 

“Darlin’, I said no. I mean it. I promised you I would never hurt ya’, and shit have I broke a lot of promises in my life… but not that one. N-Never that one. No.” 

“You’re going to die, Arthur. If you don’t do this you’re going to die and you’re gonna leave me all on my own to face those bastards a-and,” Dammit, when did you start crying? “And I can’t do it without ya, Arthur you know I can’t-”

“Yes you can-”

“Well I don’t want to!”  You shout, bursting the bubble of quiet around the Manor, your echo riding the wave of birds flocking out of the trees. Sobs threaten to break your strength, but you have to say this. It’s the very last card you have to play. After a few moments, tension between you growing palpable enough to cut with a knife, Arthur closes his mouth, letting you continue. 

“Arthur, you’re all I have left… You think I’m a sharp enough shooter to get by them? Fine. But say I kill ‘em all, then what? Find somewhere to live and carry on? I ain’t… I can’t lose you, Arthur. But I can save you, if you let me. Please.” 

Time feels as though it stops entirely when you see Arthur actually considering your words. Tears streak your cheeks, but your boots could ignite right on your feet and you might not notice in this moment. He looks so tortured in thought, no doubt imagining the life you would lead if you left him behind. He’s sure you’re strong enough, he knows you can do anything, but his heart breaks thinking of you all alone. 

You reach for Arthur’s hands, feeling his cold skin tremble. 

“I… What if I lose control? What if I hurt you? Sweetheart, you know what I get like when I-”

“But you won’t. You know how much blood I can afford to give you, and I know you, Arthur. You’d never hurt me.” 

You elect not to tell him that any blood that runs through your body belongs to him already, your heart pumping it through your veins only for him. 

You don’t tell him you’d die for him, because you know he’d never let you. 

He’s silent, contemplating. 

Please.

Please.

“...You start feeling faint or anything, you fuckin’ tell me, alright?” His tone holds an attempt at sternness, but it bothers you none. You can hardly hear him for the rush of relief flowing over you. 

“I-I will. I promise.” And you mean it. The two of you are two entwined souls, neither trusting the other to have enough will to keep fighting if anything happened to them. 

Arthur takes a deep breath in, almost like he’s giving himself an extra few seconds to back out of this, before sighing it out. 

“Alright.”

The breath that hitched in your throat an age ago releases and you wipe your tears away hurriedly with the back of your hand. 

“Oh, thank you, Arthur…” You’re so ecstatic, so grateful that he’s letting you save him that all you can do is launch yourself over to him, kissing him with all the passion the universe has offered you to gift him. Your hands fall to either side of his face, caressing his marble skin in a way that emits a tiny groan from him. Over the last few days, you’ve cuddled up to him a lot, but there hasn’t been much contact like this. Needy and wanting, loving and layered with everything from I Love You to Let Me Save You. Arthur is a starved man, but not just for blood. For you, body, blood and soul. 

Arthur snakes one arm around your waist, even with his reduced strength still able to pull you over to straddle his lap. You’d have protested, citing that he’s too sick to be holding your weight like this, but now that this is really happening you’re getting kind of nervous, and the thought of being so close to him, arms wrapped around your frame while he feeds on your blood, comforts you hugely. And there’s no backing out, not from this, so straddle him you will. 

Despite everything, Arthur’s cool touch sets you aflame. He trails his fingertips up and down your spine, his other hand firmly gripping your ass. His tongue teases your bottom lip until you open up to him, tasting him as he does you. He tastes…like Arthur. He might argue that he’s some monster, committing evil acts in the name of survival, but you know better. He’s your Arthur, he always has been. 

The world melts around you, leaving just you and Arthur, loving each other, saving each other. That one long kiss breaks into smaller ones, until Arthur is peppering your lips, cheeks and nose with tiny kisses, glistening red eyes welling with emotion.

“It was always gonna be you, wasn’t it? You were always gonna save me…” He whispers, almost like he doesn’t quite believe it’s real.

“Always. And you’re gonna save me right back, cowboy. But first…” You look down between your two bodies, to the arm you’re holding out to Arthur. 

“Are you ready?” 

“Does it hurt?” You surprise yourself with your answer to his question, though you stand by it. You’re not scared, you could never be scared with Arthur. But nervous?

“A little. But I’m right here with you. And if you need to stop or take a break or you start feeling off, tell me or tap my arm.” You nod slowly, placing your hand into Arthur’s, “I need a yes, sweetheart… I can’t do this to you unless you’re sure.”

“Yes, Arthur. I’m sure. Please.”

There is one final, apprehensive glance in your direction, which you reply to with another tiny nod. He raises your flesh to his mouth, flashes of his white fangs visible now in the moonlight as he parts his lips. 

It’s… strange. A small scratching feeling when his teeth puncture the skin of your wrist that pinches your brows together. There’s a second of nothing, before Arthur starts to feed and steals the breath right out of your lungs. 

It’s like you can feel every vein in your body, all connecting and tugging your lifeforce through to your wrist for Arthur to feast on. You can tell the second the first drop hits his tongue, the shudder that wracks through his shoulders and down his spine. His eyes roll back in… pleasure? You’ve seen him feed before, usually such a violent affair, but this is different. You feel vulnerable to him, and as though you hold every ounce of control all at once. 

When he groans, deep carmine eyes locking onto yours, you feel it all over, your thighs clenching around your suddenly wanting pussy. 

… An unexpected side effect. 

Maybe it’s the adrenaline, or the blood rushing around your body, or even the downright ravenous way Arthur is looking at you while he feeds on your blood, but you seem to be physically squirming on the bed, desperate for any kind of friction you can get. Fuck, you’ve never seen anybody react to being fed on like this… Then again, you’ve never seen feeding look or feel like this.

From even the smallest drop of you, what little colour that remains after his change has returned to Arthur’s skin and he looks much closer to alive than just minutes before. He looks himself again, right down to the cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. It does maddening things to you, not at all helping your growing state of arousal. 

When his teeth sink out of your wrist, you watch crimson beads pool at two tiny punctures. Without breaking eye contact with you, Arthur lifts your hand back up to him, running the very tip of his tongue agonisingly slowly over the skin, pulling an honest to god whimper from your parted lips.

“You did so good, my good girl…” Arthur coos, an undeniably pleased look upon his face. He’s told you before, that with his heightened senses, Arthur knows when you want him. You also know how energised he gets after feeding, and how all of these factors are leading to a tension so intense between you you’re almost scared of the outcome.

There’s a smudge of blood on Arthur’s lip, one that you reach out to rub away with your thumb. Quick as the predator he is, he grabs your wrist before you can pull away, slipping your thumb into his mouth and sucking the blood gently off. Upon release, he drags one sharpened fang across the pad of your thumb and you shudder, craving that feeling of the bite more than you truly understand.

“A-Arthur…” You whimper, shuddering in pure anticipation and need. 

“I know, sweetheart… Christ, I knew you’d taste good, but this? Fuck, you’ve ruined me, baby…”

You can’t wait a second longer, certain you’ll perish unless he is kissing you in the next moment. Entangling your grip into his collar, you find Arthur only too malleable to your touch, all but pouncing on you, locking your lips together. His tongue demands entrance as he easily positions you to be laying under him, Arthur covering the entire length of you and thensome. 

“How do you feel, angel?” He asks between kisses, large hands roaming your body, tugging your clothes out of being tucked into each other to make it easier to take them off, “Y’alright? Don’t feel faint?”

“I’m okay. I just- I-I need you, please.” You’re pleading again, this time for very different reasons, “Did you get enough?” 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you, sweetheart…” He growls, pulling the buttons of your shirt open feverishly. And then his lips are back on your skin, kissing your neck, licking at the skin whilst his hands work your zipper. You moan again, some wanton part of you wishing he would bite down again, marking you all over. 

Arthur is losing control in the best way, growling and grinding his erection against your leg as he tries to pull your jeans down. With a little help, he manages, tugging your undergarments with them so you’re completely bare for him. 

“So fuckin’ beautiful… my perfect little feast. Fuck, I’m tortured by every second I’m not buried deep inside that weeping cunt of yours,” At that, he runs a finger over your slit, drenching the tip of his finger in your slick, “but I think you deserve a treat for being such a good girl for me…” 

There’s no time to consider his offer as he plunges two thick fingers deep inside you, curling them, curling them to hit that sweet spot he knows so well. You scream, absolutely loud enough for any Pinkerton vampire hunters to hear.

“That’s it, huh? That what you needed? That pretty little cunt filling?” He taunts, thumb swirling over your already soaking clit. You can’t speak for crying out, but you manage a nod, feeling yourself stretch around a third finger in a way that has your heart racing even faster.

With your pulse pounding, you can really feel the wounds on your wrist starting to ache and burn. It's a strange sensation, but one that seems to blend into everything else in some twisted bout of pleasure.

Arthur must notice your eyes flickering to it, as he guides your hand back up to his lips with the hand not inside you, pressing the softest kisses over the holes in your skin. 

“Look what you did for me… My saviour, my perfect girl…”

“I’d die for you, Arthur.” you confess, the sweetness of his kisses and the languid circles of his fingers pulling you so close to the edge you can feel tears forming behind your eyes.

“It’d never come to that, beautiful. I’d burn the world down before I let your life ever hang in the balance.”

You believe him, too, and the emotion is suddenly too much. You’re hurtling towards an orgasm and you need him closer and all you can seem to think to do is untangle your wrist from his grasp and slip your thumb into his mouth.

He knows what you’re asking for instantly, and you swear you see his inky pupils blow until his eyes are nothing but a reddened void. 

“Oh, my pretty little feast…” He groans, pricking your thumb with a fang and sucking gently at the blood. It isn’t nearly as intense as your wrist, but you still feel that tugging everywhere and you can’t stop the lewd moans that fall from your lips as you come undone. 

Writing, screaming his name, you feel Arthur suck harder on your thumb, moaning himself at the taste of you. It’s not nearly as much as he was taking before, but enough that your blood blooms over his tongue and fills every one of his senses. He is a man obsessed, and it’s the most beautiful sight as you cum for him. 

The waves of euphoria crash over you, each more intense and wonderful than the last. Arthur orchestrates your orgasm through his own pleasure, drawing perfect patterns on your clit in time to his thrusts. 

When you come down, he’s there, releasing you from his fangs again to free his lips for yours. Your lips lock together, his body crushing yours into the mattress. You love the feel of all his weight on you, especially when you can feel every pulse of his throbbing cock through the denim of his jeans. Jeans that must go, so you snake a hand into what little space you can between your bodies to reach for his buttons. Arthur helps you, and he’s soon naked on top of you. Wrapping nimble fingers around his shaft, you run your thumb over the rosy head of his cock, swiping at the bead of precum already leaking. He’s desperate for you, and it drives you wild. 

You’re already guiding him to your soaked entrance, grinding your hips pathetically, needily. Arthur chuckles softly, taunting you with the smallest of hip movements to slide his tip into you, but stopping there. 

“Arthur.” You whine, eyes pleading, cunt dripping for him. Your hands roam the expanse of his back, feeling each muscle twitch under your touch, scratching at the cool skin like a cat in heat. 

“I know, baby, I know… I’ll make it better.” He purrs, finally sliding the entire length of his cock into your heat. It stretches you in that beautiful way only he can and you moan, deep and visceral. Your nails leave white scratches across Arthur’s back as your hands float up to cup his cheeks, pulling him into a deep kiss as his groin presses hard into yours.

“Oh, my beautiful girl… I’m gonna fuck you so hard they’re gonna hear you up in Saint Denis… them Pinkertons out there are gonna think I’m draining every last drop of that sweet blood out of your precious little body.”

Such a violent image, but somehow… you enjoy the thought. You’d bleed for him till the end of time, gladly… you’d lay down your life on a slab and be Arthur’s for the taking. 

You can’t think of the words to tell him how much you want what he’s telling you, letting the passion guide you to bite down on Arthur’s lower lip. A taste of his own medicine. He has no blood of his own to give, but you’re biting down hard enough to have drawn some if he did, dragging another feral grown from the depths of his throat. 

True to his word, with just a few perfectly timed thrusts, you’re screaming his name, cunt fluttering around his thick cock and squeezing every inch of it. That full feeling is so wonderful, so bone-deep and euphoric you’re on the precipice of another orgasm in seconds. He can tell, slowing down and hanging you right over the edge with a wicked grin on his face. You whine and whimper, clawing at the back of his neck to pull him even closer.

“What do you want, little feast? Use your words.” He pushes, still dragging his cock up against your walls in the most torturous of ways. 

“I want… I-I need… I-I… urgh!” You cry out in frustration, each syllable leaving your lips earning another thrust that dizzies you to the point of cock-drunk stuttering. Fuck words. You’ll show him. 

With a strength you didn’t even know you possessed, you pull Arthur closer, guiding him to the crook of your neck. 

“Angel, I don’t know if I can control myself if I taste you agai-”

“Please…” you whimper, rocking your hips up to meet Arthur’s movements, clit grinding deliciously against his pubic bone. 

Arthur’s eyes meet yours and you’re lost in them, convinced you’ve never been held so close to climax for so long before, but your body knows what it wants, what it needs to get there with Arthur. 

“Fuck, if I could die, you’d be the death of me…” Are the last words he speaks before sinking his teeth into your neck, in perfect time with a deep thrust of his cock. You scream, in pain, in pleasure, all of it, finally falling over that cliff and crashing into the waves below. You drown in your orgasm, dragging Arthur down with you as he sucks the sweet ichor out of your veins. With your blood on his tongue and his name on your lips, you cum together. The vibrations of his carnal moans tickle your neck, layering yet another juxtaposing sensation onto you. 

He releases, only to whisper sweet words of praise into your bleeding skin, “Look at you, giving me this… you’re doing so good for me, ain’t ya? My little angel, my good girl…”

And he’s biting down again, and you’re chanting his name, legs wrapped tight around his hips, tears you don’t remember shedding streaking down your cheeks. It feels like you stay there for an eternity, connected mind, body and soul. You would stay there for an eternity with him, if he’d only let you. But that’s another story…

It stings a little when Arthur unleashes his teeth from you, and you wince. His hand is there instantly, caressing the surely reddened skin as his brows pull together, “You okay? I didn’t go too far, did I? Y’feelin’ alright?” 

You shake your head softly, a blissful smile gracing your lips, “I’m perfect.” 

“Damn straight you are.” He remarks, slowly sliding out of you and lowering his weight onto the bed beside you. 

“What about you? How are you feeling?” You ask, entwining your fingers together and holding them up into the moonlight. There's a streak of your blood crossing over a few of Arthur’s knuckles. It suits him. 

“Never better.” He says honestly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Thank you, darlin’. I’ll never be able to thank ya’ enough for what you did, but I promise you I’ll get us out of here alive. Well… y’know what I mean.” 

You giggle, sure you may never get used to the fact that the love of your life is dead. 

“You don’t need to thank me, Arthur. You’ve given me your life a million times, it’s only fair I get to do the same.”

And you mean it. You would do it a thousand times over, giving your life to Arthur while he gives his afterlife to you, saving each other until the end of time. 

[cassidylynnj]

Mental Crop Rotation

When farmers grow the same crop too many years in a row, it can leave their soil depleted of minerals and other nutrients that are vital to the health of their fields.

To avoid this, farmers will often alternate the crops that they grow because some plants will use up different minerals (such as nitrogen) while other plants replenish those minerals. This process is known as “crop rotation.”

So the next time you find that you need to step away from a project to work on something else for a while, don’t beat yourself up for “quitting” that project. Give yourself permission to practice “mental crop rotation” to maintain a healthy brain field.

Because I’ve found that when that unnecessary guilt and pressure are removed from the process, a good mental crop rotation can help you feel more energized and invigorated than ever once you’re ready to rotate back to that project.

[cassidylynnj]

[cassidylynnj]

SEBASTIAN STAN as Bucky Barnes in THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER (2021, Disney+) // 1.04 'The Whole World is Watching'

[cassidylynnj]

Evil biology facts that fill me with Fear :)

hey, I heard y’all like evil biology facts like knowledge about horse blood types.

well! today I was researching alternative biochemistries extraterrestrial life could use and. man. I think Earth life is fucked up enough for me thanks

biological dark matter. WHAT DO YOU MEAN MY BLOOD HAS DNA IN IT FROM NO KNOWN SOURCE. YOU CAN’T JUST SAY THAT COME BACK HERE

One specific cave that has been sealed for 5.5 million years and has developed an ecosystem completely dependent on chemosynthetic bacteria.

Was anybody going to tell me that bacteria have decided iron is yummy and are eating the Titanic, or was I supposed to just read that myself

Terrible Berry (yes, that’s what the genus name means). This whole thing is so fucked up. These scientists were testing whether radiation could be used to kill pathogens in food, so they dosed a tin of meat with enough radiation to kill any known living organism (as one does) but guess what, it still fucking spoiled because of THIS BASTARD FUCKER.

(seriously, why is it like this? WHY has a bacterium evolved to chill in radioactive waste like it’s a soothing Jacuzzi tub? What does it know that we don’t know?)

(ANSWERS. I WANT ANSWERS, YOU CHERNOBYL ASS BITCH.)

Cursed worm, which has no mouth or digestive system and depends entirely on five (5) different species of bacteria, which consume hydrogen sulfide, hydrogen monoxide, and carbon monoxide, for food. How do you, a worm, even...figure out how to do...all that?

Bone worms. At least they like their bones already dead. I still could have gone without knowing this was a thing.

“Oh, parasitic plant, that sounds c—WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT THING”

I am like half convinced this is made up. Seriously, bacteria grow their own electrical wires and we just let them?

[cassidylynnj]

@mcuchallenge tournament - 2nd Semi-Final Moon Knight vs. The Falcon and the Winter Soldier

[cassidylynnj]

THE GREATEST GIFT

you give Arthur the greatest gift of all: his daughter. the three of you live happily ever after

➵ The Greatest Gift A Cowgirl Could Ask For smut, fluff, 18+, Arthur returns home from a long trip and the reunion becomes one you'll never forget

➵ The Greatest Gift A Cowboy Could Ask For fluff, you and Arthur give each other your Christmas gifts ➵ Uncle Dutch fluff, Dutch meets his Goddaughter

➵ She Sleeps fluff, Jade Morgan's first night in the world

[cassidylynnj]

The Greatest Gift A Cowgirl Could Ask For

a @rdrevents Valentines gift exchange for @cowboydisaster

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader word count: 4,400 words warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, explicit language, sexual themes, vaginal sex, mentions of death, unprotected sex, throwing up (TW EMETOPHOBIA), very brief mention of SA in the past, unexpected pregnancy, mentions of Micah Bell a/n: am I britney spears in her 2000 grammy award winning song??? because oops, i did it again. i don't know how I managed to get Bea as my recipient for a SECOND time, but it only felt right to carry on building this universe I've made for her and lying to her about it all week. Whoops.

Bea, my beloved, Happy Valentines Day. You deserve the world and Im so glad I could dedicate this fic to you. Honestly I probably couldn't have gotten the motivation to get back on my feet and write again if it wasn't for you. Thanks for everything you do bby and I hope this lives up to your 'if by some miracle you get me for your gift exchange disregard my prompts and write a TGG prequel' (yes she actually said that) idea. Love you lots xxx

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @elifsukirdaghehe @reaveries @delilah-grimes @luvliewriting @mrsarthurmorgan7 @photo1030 @snobbybastard

My Darling Wife,

I’m writing to you from up near Tempest Rim. I’ve tracked this bounty all over the goddamn Grizzlies and I’m ready to come home to you. I miss you so much and I’m real sorry I can’t be home in time for St. Valentines. Hopefully I can catch this bastard soon and make it up to ya. We’ll go to the theatre and sit right at the back, how’s that sound? I’ll move heaven and Earth to be beside you soon, you know I will.

I can’t wait to see you, sweetheart. I’ll be there as fast as I can be with enough money to take you out on the town. Won’t be long, I promise. 

All my love, Arthur

All my love, Arthur

All my love, Arthur

Your finger runs over his looped script, over and over as if it will somehow will your husband out of the crumpled paper and into your bed. It’s been 2 months since the letter arrived, 2 months of the agony of not knowing if he’s dead or alive robbing you of sleep each and every night. You miss him, more than you could ever imagine one person could miss another and you honestly don’t know what you’ll do if he doesn’t come home. 

It’s a 600 dollar bounty, it’s sure to be a tough job you constantly reassure yourself, unable to focus on anything but the absence of half of your very soul in every waking moment. 

The day he comes home starts like any other. Time's arrow marches on, the sun rises and sets over your makeshift family as they work and plan and rob and hunt. You busy yourself planning a job with Karen, cushioned into your schedule between menial tasks so that it’s just that bit easier to not think about him. As usual, your efforts are in vain, but at least the chores are done, your steed Diesel is happy, and, all being well, you and Karen will have about 30 dollars to split between you when the week is out. 

An hour before he comes home, everyone retires to bed, save for John (who’s on watch tonight) and you’re left alone by the campfire. It crackles and pops, embers swirling the air around you. It feels like you stare at the twisting flames until your eyes blur and burn and you can’t tell which are tears of irritation to your senses and which are your heart breaking once more.

Moments before you’re reunited with the second half of your heart, you hear John yelling. It’s instinct that drives your hand into your holster, still resting against your hip despite the late hour, and you perk up like a startled deer, straining to decipher Marston’s words.

“Who is it?!” “Arthur, you dumbass!”

Arthur.

Arthur?

“Arthur?!” It’s a breathless shout, barely heard over the rushing blood in your ears as your feet take you to your husband before your mind can even fathom that he’s here. 

But sure enough, when you reach the edge of camp, heart racing, you see Arthur Morgan riding his chestnut mare straight towards you, spurring her into a gallop as soon as he lays his eye on his waiting wife. Marston probably makes some remark about who ‘decided to show up’, but to you, there is nothing but you and Arthur, two magnets parted by an unnatural force finally reaching each other again with a deafening crash. 

And it is. A crash, that is, when Arthur all but throws himself off his saddle and your bodies collide, great big arms wrapping around your frame. It is then that the tears fall down your cheek, soaking into Arthur’s coat that smells so much like him it truly feels like a dream.

You thought he was dead.

Only when you’re safely in his arms, when he’s pressing frantic kisses to your head, whispering your name over and over into your hair do you allow yourself to admit that fact. You thought he was never coming back, and yet here he is. Words fail you, the overwhelming emotion settling right in your throat.

“Oh, god… oh, darlin’ I-I missed you so much…” 

You feel two large hands cup your cheeks, pulling you in for a kiss that holds everything and anything the past 3 months could have been had you not spent it apart. But everything fits back into place, the world starts spinning again and you’re whole the second Arthur Morgan’s lips meet yours. It lasts a lifetime, it lasts a fraction of a second. You want to stop time, keep Arthur in your arms forever and never again have to go through the torture of being away from each other. The two of you only part to throw near identical scowls at John, who is amusing himself by telling you to get a room.

Unfortunately, as Ms. Grimshaw so often reminds you all, the Van der Linde Camp is not a hotel, so tonight you will not be afforded the luxury of a private suite as John so kindly suggested. There is only your tent, hitched against the gang’s weapons wagon, the old canvas pulled around to offer a little privacy when you and Arthur first started… well, needing the seclusion.

Calloused fingers intertwine with your own digits, Arthur’s other hand flipping John off before his weight pulls you towards your little corner of camp. There's so much purpose in his stride, the need to have you all to himself, not even share you with the lord above or wildlife below, driving him forward. Driving him home. 

When you’re finally, truly alone, the tears welling in your eyes glistening in the candlelight, no words are needed. Soon enough, you’ll talk for hours on end, catching each other up on every little detail of the last few months. But for now, all that there is and all that could matter is right this very second, when Arthur reaches for you, brushing a thumb over the tear tracks on your left cheek. His eyes, looking almost emerald in the dark of night, roam over each and every detail of you with such an intensity in him that you think he’s trying to remember this moment for the rest of time. You’re sure it’s one you could never possibly forget. 

Arthur snakes both arms around your waist, guiding you backwards until the backs of your knees gently hit the cot and you lay back onto it. He covers the full length of you and then some, making you feel so fragile and small. It’s nice to feel breakable for once, to let go of the need to be the strongest in the room, lest you be ridiculed for being too sensitive or too weak or too womanly. Arthur knows just how strong you are, you need to prove nothing to him, so you can submit to his embrace, allow yourself to just breathe for once knowing you can break and there’s re will always be somebody to put you back together.

He lowers himself to your lips, pressing a kiss to them that doesn’t last nearly long enough. Arthur then kisses your nose, then your cheeks and chin, before trailing down to the crook of your neck. Your skin feels as though it’s on fire, so starved for the man you cannot live without that now he’s finally here everything feels that much more intense. The tiniest scrape of Arthur’s teeth against your flesh shoots through every single nerve in your body and you moan right into his ear. You can actually feel him harden against your thigh at the sweet melody of your pleasure. 

Pushing Arthur’s hat off to the side, your fingers rake through his hair, nails scratching at his scalp encouragingly as he nibbles at your skin.

“Oh, Arthur… Oh, I missed you so much…” You breathlessly whisper, feeling your heart skip a beat when he pauses his movements to glance at you from under impossibly long eyelashes, jade green eyes glistening up at you.

“I missed you too, sweetheart. So so much.” His voice is soft, as if he’s handling the peacefulness around you so delicately and it causes the overwhelming emotion to well in your chest and choke up your throat. Arthur sees this, trying not to be too taken with his own surprising amount of emotion himself, and relieves you of your job of a response by directing his attention to the buttons of your shirt. You don’t remember him pushing your jacket off your shoulders, but there it lies on the floor beside the entrance to your tent, so he must have.

Despite the juxtaposition of such dainty buttonholes and such large fingers, Arthur expertly undresses your top half until you’re bare to him. He takes no time at all to take one of your nipples into his mouth, kissing and sucking at it with a hunger you feel right in your toes. You moan loudly, unable to stop yourself after yearning for this very feeling for so long. 

Arthur coos and shushes you and it vibrates across your skin, not helping you stay quiet in the slightest. The hand not tugging on his dirty blonde locks reaches between your two longing bodies to begin to unbuckle his belt. You can feel your own heartbeat throbbing between your legs, your coil growing tighter and tighter by the second. It’s been almost 3 months since your bodies have joined like this, and yet you’re not sure you can wait another minute. 

You’re purring for Arthur, twitching and grinding as your hand fumbles desperately at the belt. His absence from your skin is agony the second he pulls his hips back to sit up straight. Spotting your downright bratty expression, bottom lip protruding in a pout, Arthur chuckles lowly, “Patience, baby… I gotta get these damn clothes off us.” He gestures to his belt, still very much buckled around his waist. Definitely not your fault. He was being far too distracting.

He’s quick, you’ll give him that, shedding his clothes without taking his eyes off you. You burn under his stare, even more so when he crawls back on top of you to slide your boots off one by one and peel your pants and undergarments down your legs.

The heat radiates off his huge body, his cock pulsing with need. The way he’s putting his weight into his arms to stop from crushing you with his weight adds a definition to his already beautifully sculpted body. Reaching down, you brush the tip of your finger oh so gently over his rosy head, finding a bead of cum already leaking, and you snap. You can’t wait a second longer, scratching and gripping at him like he’s the air you need to breathe.

“Please, Arthur, please I need you. S-So long, it’s been so long-” “Shh, I know, princess, I know. I’m gonna take care of you, okay? Gonna take care of your pretty little cunt, I promise.” He soothes you, though his own voice is shaky from the very effort of restraining himself, maintaining his control to not drive into you and ruin you. While he whispers to you, he lines himself up at your entrance and you quiver in anticipation.

In all your years before you met Arthur, you never really saw sex as anything but something to give, or worse, something to be taken from you. You never truly understood, not until you met Arthur, who taught you it’s something to share, to experience. With Arthur, it’s different. It is connection and pleasure and it’s wonderful and god damn it, it’s addictive. So when Arthur slides into you, letting out a visceral, guttural groan as he does, everything is right in the world.

You feel so full, especially when Arthur pushes all the way to the hilt, connecting you completely at the pelvis. The moan that escapes your lips is downright obscene and Arthur crashes down into your mouth to swallow it. 

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s been so long, or the emotion of it all, but you swear you can feel everything. Every vein and ridge, every twitch and movement of his perfect cock as Arthur slowly starts to move in and out of you. 

“Fuck… s-so good, darlin. So tight- y’feel so fucking good, princess…”

You’ve never hurtled so close towards a climax so quickly in your life. His torturously slow, deep thrusts drag into your sweet spot every fucking time and trying to hold back brings a blur into your vision. Your own hips grind against his, Arthur gripping into your flesh to guide you perfectly in time with him.

“I-I’m so close already, Arthur… fuck…” You breathe out, your breath tickling Arthur’s ear and sending a visible shudder down his spine. He looks proud at your admission.

“You missed me that much, huh? Gonna cum for me already, darlin’?” 

He gives you no time to respond, pressing a thumb to your clit and rubbing in time with everything else. You implode, pulling Arthur down to catch the scream you’re about to wake everybody up with. It has never felt so intense, and with every thrust Arthur fucks into you it only grows and grows, shattering you to pieces for Arthur to fix back together again. 

When you return, a rhythmic thudding in your ears, the first thing you see is Arthur, of course. His jaw is fluttering madly, a bead of sweat clinging to his forehead but the candlelight makes him look ethereal. You still can’t believe he’s here, alive.

Tears start to glisten in your eyes. You’ve never cried during sex before, not for anything positive, at least, but somehow this doesn’t feel wrong. Arthur slows again, watching you, and you spot an extra shine to his own jade orbs. He knows. He feels it too. 

He’s right there with you. As he always is.

He brushes a piece of hair stuck to your forehead away, and the gesture is enough to send the tears falling down the same worn path on your cheeks as before.

“I love you, Mr. Morgan…” “I love you, Mrs. Morgan…” 

It seems to become too much for Arthur to stay still, and you’re glad for it. You’re desperate for the friction, already flying towards another orgasm. He’s really fucking into you this time, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in. He’s groaning and growling and you decide in that moment that it’s your favourite sound in all the world. 

“I… I ain’t gonna last much longer, baby…”

“C-Cum in me…” “Huh?” He slows, shuddering at the exertion required to control his movements, “I-”

But you’re not listening to his protests, your nails digging into the skin of his back and ass and anywhere else you can reach to urge him forwards again.

“Please Arthur, I-I need you… I need you to cum with me, I need you with me…” you plead with him, not truly understanding your need but honouring it. You’ve been without him for so long, you deserve him with you now.

He appears to consider you for just a moment, before diving down to lock your lips with his. His tongue delves into your mouth, tasting every bit of you and he starts to pump into you unreservedly. His body grinds against yours and the friction is perfect and you’re so fucking full and before you can even try to hold back, you’re cumming again, stars scattering your vision, heart pounding out of your chest to find release from it’s mortal, physical cage. Your inner walls twitch around Arthur’s length and this time, he doesn’t hold back either. 

His eyes fly open and lock onto yours as you both climax together. It’s vulnerable and strange, but perhaps more connected than you ever thought possible for two people to be. 

Arthur’s cock twitches inside you, pumping out his spend as he groans viscerally, completely losing control of his rhythm as he thrusts into you one last time, harsh and deep. You’ve never experienced this before, with Arthur or any other man, normally erring on the side of caution when it came to such matters, but even as you come down you can’t bring yourself to regret it. Whatever you and Arthur just experienced together felt spiritual, and worth much more than a little risk.

Arthur collapses, even as depleted as he is still considerate enough to collapse onto his elbows and not crush you. He slides out of you, earning a little wince, and rolls to the side so you can rest your head on his chest. It’s like a locket that’s been ripped apart, finally fixed together with the most satisfying click. 

═══════☆═══════

Two months later, life has returned to its equilibrium. You and Arthur are perhaps clingier, still in a sort of second honeymoon phase where you just can’t seem to keep your hands off each other, more so than usual. It’s a side effect of prolonged solitude, you’re sure.

The first time it happens, you blame Pearson and think nothing of it. It’s pretty early in the morning and you’re sitting with Tilly and Abigail, peeling potatoes for the stew tonight. Abigail is venting her frustrations about when John did this and John said that, and everything feels so normal. Pearson arrives, throwing a rather large, rather dead fish onto the table you’re leaning against and you feel the thud from the weight of it vibrate against your back. 

It isn’t until the smell invades your senses that everything starts to feel off. It smells exactly like all the other fish Pearson has ever slammed onto that poor table, which doesn’t explain why you immediately lurch forwards, grabbing an empty bucket and throwing up your breakfast. The fish stench is suffocating and all you can do is get the hell away from it, not noticing when Abigail’s brows knit together almost… knowingly?

You skip the stew that night. 

―

The second time it happens, you try not to think about it. You’re riding Diesel and almost don’t make it off him in time. There is nothing to set you off, no horse shit or rotting animal at the side of the road, and yet in an instant your stomach feels like it has been flipped upside down. 

The sheer volume of your retching catches Arthur’s attention and he tugs on the leather reins in his hands to steady his mare. 

“Darlin’? Y’alright?” 

His concern is evident in his tone and in the tight line between his brows, which deepens when he finds you unable to respond in anything but a frantic nod. He dismounts, spurs clicking against the dusty ground when he approaches you. 

“Oh, sweetheart… that’s it, easy, easy… you’re okay…”

You feel gentle circles rubbed into the tense muscles of your back as you try to get through this again. It’s not lost on you that Arthur is speaking to you like a spooked horse, but it actually really does help. (You decide to prioritise peace of mind and not psychoanalyse why that is). Eventually, it relents and you regain your composure, albeit somewhat less gracefully than you’d have liked. 

“Sorry… I don’t know what’s gotten into me, maybe I ate somethin’.”

Your apology for something you can’t help earns you a sad smile from your husband, who places a loving kiss on the top of your head before reaching for your discarded hat and putting it back on for you.

“Y’don’t gotta apologise. I gotcha, darlin’.”

You know he does.

He always does.

―

The third time it happens, the luxury of denial is stolen from you. It’s early enough that your view while you sit with Abigail drinking coffee involves glorious hues of orange and pink scattered around the rising sun. It’s peaceful, tranquil. The warmth of the little metal mug in your hands and Arthur’s jacket around your shoulders is enough to ward off the fresh morning chill in the air.

There is absolutely no warning when it hits, when it happens again. You’re so goddamn sick (no pun intended) of hurling. Your eyes water and your throat hurts a little and you curse under your breath when it’s over. Abi is beside you, rubbing your back in an attempt to soothe you. She waits until it’s over before speaking hesitantly.

“Uh, can I ask you somethin’?” 

You nod, eyes still red and glistening as you swirl coffee around your mouth to take away from the awful, acidic taste lingering. 

“When did you last bleed?”

“What, like an injury? Uh, I cut my hand couple days back, but I don’t see what-“

… Oh fuck. 

═══════☆═══════

The anxiety bounces around your body and you decide that you’ve become far too acquainted with the concept of nausea. You can actually tell the difference between nerves  twisting your stomach and… well, let’s say it as it is:  morning sickness. This is the former, you deduce, spinning both your engagement and wedding ring around your finger to give your hands something better to do than carve fingernail-shaped moons into your palm. He should be home any minute now. Any minute now and it will all change forever.

It’s quite late, but the poker game Arthur was scoping out for potential jobs is known to last a while. You’re the only one still awake, poking the embers of the campfire to keep yourself as comfortable as possible. 

You hear hooves hitting dry dirt first, and it seems to trigger your fight or flight response. God, you’d love to run away from this, but that is pretty much impossible, so fight it is. It’ll be the greatest fight of your life, you’ll soon learn, one you’re privileged to be a part of. But right now, it feels like an all-consuming unknown. 

Arthur can tell something is wrong the second he sees you. You’re terrible at hiding things, especially from him. He always reads you as though you have a poster advertising your feelings printed on your forehead. Arthur dismounts, kissing you tenderly on the temple and wrapping his arms around you.

“What’re you still doin’ up, darlin’? Is everything alright?” You can feel his worry vibrating in his chest as you nuzzle into his embrace. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I just… Can we talk? I kept the fire goin’.” You say it into his shirt, reluctant to move from this hold.

“Of course…” there’s something in his voice, a tense apprehension that really doesn’t help the knot contorting itself in your gut. 

While you’re more than capable of keeping a fire going, Arthur is an expert, and has it healthily burning within seconds of you sitting down on the overturned log the gang has fashioned into a bench. You’re back to spinning your beautiful gold bands around your finger, trying to remember to breathe in and out every so often.

“What’s goin’ on, sweetheart?” His voice is so soft, so kind that it makes you want to cry. But you promised yourself you wouldn’t until you’d told him, because this might just be the most important conversation you’ve ever had, and you definitely won’t get through it if you’re a blubbering mess.

“I, uh… I… somethin’s happened.”

You hear his breath hitch in his throat and Arthur leans towards you, completely enveloping your hands in his. They’re sandwiched in now and you can’t fiddle with your rings anymore.

“What? What happened? Was it Micah? If he’s said somethin’ to you, I’ll kill him, the rat bastard-”

“No, no, it’s… as much as I’d love to see that, it’s not him.” 

The tension releases. Just a little bit.

“I’m pregnant.” 

Oh wait, there it is. 

The silence is deafening, even though you’re almost certain it isn’t actually silent out here right now. There's a fire going and crickets are just metres away, you’re just shutting down with nerves. 

The normally so often tense, fluttering jaw of Arthur Morgan is slack, his eyes wide and gaping at you, occasionally flicking down to your so far bump-less belly. (You should know- you’ve been obsessively looking in a mirror any chance you get for some sort of sign that this is really happening). 

Say something. Please say something. Please don’t be angry. Oh, God please don’t hate me. 

“I-I… You’re pregnant?” He repeats, reassuring you that you haven’t actually gone deaf, though his tone holds no indication of anything but shock. That’s probably fair…

You nod, hands instinctively reaching over your belly. It feels… weird. Holding your hands over your baby. Yours and Arthur’s baby. 

“It happened a couple months back, when you got back from The Grizzlies, I think… I-I’m sorry, Arthur. I shoulda’ been more careful and-and…” You’re rambling, filling a silence that probably should just be allowed to be a silence.

“There… There’s gonna be a baby?”

There. Right there, adorning Arthur’s beautiful features, is the pull of a smile. It chokes you up instantly, so far deep in nightmares of arguments and unhappiness that you hadn’t even considered the good. You start to nod, a little bit of your fringe falling in your face.

“Yeah… There’s gonna be a baby. Our baby…”

“Our baby…” He repeats, his arm raising to brush the hair away from your eyes in such a natural manner it feels like it’s just his instinct to care for you. It is his instinct to care for you, Arthur has shown you that in every minute of every day of your marriage, and suddenly you’re not sure why you’ve been so scared. 

“I’m gonna be a dad?” He still seems in disbelief, but that’s normal. It’s taken you a few days to come to terms with it, and even then the fingernail marks in your palms are still red raw. 

“You’re gonna be a dad.”

It hits him. Really hits him and he all but throws himself into you, scooping you up and spinning you around as he laughs unreservedly.

“Well goddamn, I’m gonna be a Daddy!” 

You laugh with him, worries and anxiety a distant memory as your feet swing around in the air. You’re probably waking the camp up, but you don’t care all that much. Right now, you’re the happiest girl in the world.

A baby. There’s gonna be a baby. Arthur’s baby.

Really, it’s the greatest gift a cowgirl could ask for.

[cassidylynnj]

⥽ MISS MARGO FIORE ⥼

⤜ 22, she/her virgo, infj ⤜ spotify, goodreads, ao3 ⤜ buy me a coffee ⤜ archive blog @margofiore (all my works together in one place)

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⤜ Fate: A Word Meaning Destiny (Arthur Morgan x reader) ⤜ The Meaning of the Scar (Arthur Morgan) ⤜The Long Night (Arthur Morgan x reader) ⤜ Romeo and Juliet II (Arthur Morgan x reader) ⤜ Vedova Nera (Dutch van der Linde x reader) ⤜ Blood On His Hands (Dutch van der Linde x reader)

[cassidylynnj]

Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?

pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 2150 words

warnings: disgustingly cute fluff

anon requested: okay okay i have two!!! 1) “when it comes to you… i’m weak” and 2) a sweet and simple “may i?” so so hot omfg. Arthur just being a big strong man but so very careful and gentle with you because he has the biggest soft spot for you <3

a/n: sorry this is so late anon! hope you enjoy. I ended up really loving this, i've been feeling dead romantic lately so here is some disgustingly cute arthur morgan. I listened to this song a lot while I was writing it- for some reason my arthur x reader ideas often remind me of amy winehouse songs?

tagging: @cowboydisaster @cassidylynnj @musicallisto @reaveries

The whiskey burns your throat and causes you to force back a splutter. You’re sure you’re never gonna get used to the damn drink, but that and beer were all the Van Der Linde's stock and… well, you are a Van Der Linde, now. Arthur looks on at you from across the campfire wearing an amused grin and you know instantly that he’s noticed your grimace. Of course he has; nothing gets past him when it comes to you and your little nuances. If it wasn’t for Javier’s sweet melody, joined with Micah’s somewhat less sweet, awfully sung words, you’re almost certain he’d be teasing you right now. It is a strange feeling, disappointment for lost jokes at your own expense, but strange feelings had been a staple of your life since you had started seeing Arthur in secret.

3 feet, a campfire, Javier, Micah, and John separate the two of you, but every time you catch his eye, everything and everyone melts away. The warmth in your cheeks each time he silently speaks to you through a raise of his brow or a cocky smirk puts the campfire to shame. You take another sip of your drink. It doesn’t go down any smoother, but you get a little better at hiding the fact. You look over to see if Arthur has noticed, but he’s turned to John, hunched over and speaking passionately, most likely about the latest job or the next one. Micah’s singing gets louder, completely drowning out Javier’s guitar just as his improvised song gets onto the topic of whores. You flinch as his drunken voice booms loudly in your ear, vibrating your skull. He smells like strong liquor, but not in the way that Arthur often does. This kind seems to make you feel nauseous. 

“Back off, Micah, y’hurting my ears.” You glare at him, before realising your mistake. You’d caught his attention, practically dragged his eyes to you, so he was serenading you personally now, his whiskey doused breath overtaking your senses completely in all the worst ways. Your not-so-gentle shove to the arm stops his song mid-sentence, his harsh laughter splitting what little peace is left in the moment.

“Oh, c’mon, baby, I-“

“Micah!” 

You’d never know how Micah was going to justify himself, as Arthur’s voice cut through the air like a knife thrown at the speed of light. He almost jumps out of his skin, like a rat caught in a crossfire, before attempting a recovering, forced laugh.

“Oh, calm down, cowpoke. I’m just messin’ with her. She ain’t yours.” The jab of his bony elbow into your side actually hurts, but not nearly as much as the beating Micah would have surely gotten had Arthur not worried he’d out your little secret before you were ready. He appears to weigh up the best course of action for you and your comfort, just barely managing to keep his fists to himself. You see the muscles flex in his hands as they ache to pummel the rat’s nose into his face, which you wouldn’t exactly hate to see, but appreciate the lack of a huge scene caused. 

“She ain’t no-ones but her own, jackass, and she wants her space, so get lost.”

And after a lifetime of eye rolls thrown at the kinds of women who swoon, you finally get it. 

But Arthur’s wrong. He’s so wrong. You are his, completely and truly. You love him, you’ve known that for a while now, even if you haven’t told him yet, but it isn’t until this very moment that you realise just how unfathomable it is. It hits all at once, the revelation that you will never again experience the banality of an ordinary life, could never again be one of those folk who settle. It can only ever be this: the bliss of a life with Arthur Morgan, or the torture of a life without. This would consume you, for better or worse, for the rest of your existence. 

And what an existence it’s turning out to be.

It knocks you, taking all the breath from your lungs when the intensity of it all truly sinks in. You hate that you’re sitting next to Micah Bell when it happens, especially considering his stench is spinning your head more so than it already is. You need air. You need space. You need… to get away from Micah.

You’re pulled apart like opposing magnets, the euphoria of your revelation and the discomfort of your physical situation fighting inside you. A brief smile is thrown in Arthur’s direction, a silent thanks, as you stand and turn your back to the fire and the people surrounding it, making a path straight for the lakeside.

There’s a purpose to your walk as you stride past the table, where Hosea and Lenny are in heated debate, past Dutch’s tent, all closed up with the glow of subtle candlelight bleeding through the canvas, all the way to the overturned log so many of the Van Der Linde’ found sanctuary at when they needed the space to think. It could never be considered ‘your’ spot, but there is something about the way the moonlight shines in the water and the trees rustle in a gentle wind that makes you feel like you could be the only person who has ever felt this particular way on a night like this. 

Crickets are chirping and you’re just far enough away from the hubbub of camp that Micah’s voice is wonderfully distant. You breathe in through your nose, beautifully fresh, cool air filling your lungs and leaving with a sigh. You can’t seem to stop the smile pulling your lips upwards when you think of what this profound love with Arthur Morgan will entail, all Micah-caused discomfort dissipating into the peace. 

Footsteps rustle the grass behind you. You don’t know how you know, but you do. It’s him. Your love. The smile he throws your way when you turn to him brings back the warmth inside you that you’re missing thanks to being so far away from the fire. You return it with ease. 

“Darlin’.” He greets, tipping his hat to you as he approaches the log, stepping over it and sitting right next to you, pulling his tobacco tin out of his pocket and popping it open, “Y’alright? I’m sorry about Micah, y’know I would’ve done more if-”

“I’m okay. Really.” Oh, how could he not know? He did everything. The smell of dried tobacco reaches your nose and you feel that rush of comfort that only something so inexplicably Arthur can bring. You watch as his expert hands roll up a cigarette. They work subconsciously, following Arthur’s little routine you’ve gotten mesmerised by so many times now. 

“He’s a jackass. I don’t know what’s gotten into Dutch that he thinks he’s any good for any of us. I’m just sorry y’have to put up with him.” His tongue darts out from between his teeth to run a quick line down the roll, placing it right between your teeth. You keep still while he takes a match out from the tin and cups his hands right against your face, lighting the cigarette. You inhale, coughing a little and handing the smoke back to Arthur, who is chuckling at you. You rarely smoked, but always seemed to ask to bum one whenever you’d drank too much whiskey. Arthur found it adorable, it was one of your little quirks, and apparently has started to anticipate your craving. It doesn’t go unnoticed, just how in tune he is with you. If anything, it confirms everything all the more. Arthur takes a long toke of his cigarette, exhaling with an ease you don’t think you could ever master. 

“Well, that much is true: he is a jackass. But you… You did more than enough, Arthur. Y’always do.” Your hand reaches to hold his, cupping over it and squeezing. His light laughter subsides, the tip of the cigarette glowing brighter and lighting his smile up each time he takes in the smoke. 

He looks as though he’s about to respond, wave off your compliments like they’re nothing, but before he can, your attention is captured by the music. It’s coming from Dutch’s tent, which isn’t too far away, so it’s loud enough that you can hear every crackle in the record as it softly plays. Arthur’s cigarette is stubbed out against the wood, flicked away in one swift movement. He stands, extending a hand to you.

“May I have this dance, m’lady?”

“Why of course.”

You’re quick to oblige, feeling that warmth in your belly only Arthur can heat. He’s so sweet, that man you’ve watched crack a nose with one swift punch. Those hands that have hunted and killed and robbed and hurt fit oh so beautifully cupping your own. He helps you up, pulling you a little closer to the source of the music before placing his free hand on your waist. 

Dutch’s tent is shielding you both from view of the camp, so you take advantage of the fact you can fully nuzzle into Arthur, your head falling to his chest. It's a perfect fit, your height against Arthur’s meaning he can fit his chin atop your head as he sways you both. 

The heat of him radiates through his shirt and your blouse, covering you in a comfort unmatched by anything on this earth. In his arms, you feel the safest you’ve ever felt in your life, despite the fact that you’ve never been in so much danger. Tensions were so high in the gang, the price on all your heads increasing with each job messed up by some dodgy tip off. But in this embrace, dancing with the man you’re sure you were made for, none of it matters.

“Arthur?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“I… I got something to tell ya.”

Arthur pulls his chest away from you to look down, his eyes roaming you, a hint of panic mixed in with the curiosity. 

“Is everything okay? You’re not… you’re not ill or anything are y-“

“I love you.” 

The worry evaporates instantly, Arthur’s formerly knitted brows and forehead untensing as those three little words register. He stammers silently, mouth moving but no words reaching you.

“You don’t have to say it back.” You add quickly and honestly, not wanting to pressure him into reciprocation of the sentiment. “But I wanted you to know that I do. I love you. And if you’ll have me, I would love to spend the rest of my life with you, Arthur.” 

Both your hands rest on his chest now, the pair of you still swaying. The candlelight seeping through the tent behind you lights Arthur’s glistening eyes. You could stay in this moment forever, feeling your heart hammering against your chest, flushed against Arthur like it’s trying to break free and join his.

He's quiet for a second and your breath hitches. You mean it, he doesn't need to say it back, you just need him to know it's true. You’ll love him today and tomorrow and forever, if he’ll let you. 

“I love you too, darlin’. God, I love you so much. You’re… you’re everything t’me.” Before he can carry on whispering those sweet nothings, you’re on your tiptoes, arms flung around his shoulders to press a passionate kiss onto Arthur’s lips. His arms snake around your waist, pulling you even further into him, returning every bit of emotion in each and every movement. 

You only pull away when it absolutely cannot wait any longer, the declarations spilling out of your lips like you might explode if they don’t. 

“I wanna do this. Properly, I mean. Stop hidin’ because I love you and I don’t care who knows it.” 

Arthur raises a brow, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side as he considers you, “Alright. If y’think you can handle those idiots back there, then let’s do it. Properly.” 

“Oh, I’ll be fine, cowpoke. And so will you, you’re the strongest man I know.” Your hands, previously splayed on his chest, hold onto Arthur’s collar as he shakes his head.

“Not with you. When it comes to you… I’m weak.” It’s so cheesy, but Arthur being cheesy is one of your favourite things in the world, so you smile up at him and close your eyes, letting the purest of emotions soak into you and the music sway you. Arthur takes your hand, pulling it over your head and spinning you. You giggle, clumsily returning to his embrace. You both stay like that for a while: interlocked, Arthur occasionally humming to you quietly or spinning you around. It’s perfect. And when you return to the fireside, fingers intertwined, everybody looks, but nobody is really that surprised. They’ve all known it from the start. 

It was inevitable. The two of you are made for each other.

[cassidylynnj]

What's Mine is Mine

pairing: lh!Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 1159

warnings: possessive Arthur, spit kink, low honour Arthur, shameless filth, very suggestive, mentions of sex

moodboard

a/n: i simply Cannot Write Drabbles... thank you so much @elifsukirdaghehe for the spit kink request and anon for the low honour Arthur request! I hope this lives up to your expectations! This is very heavily inspired by this bc its one of the hottest things ive ever seen lol

also click the link at the end for a wonderful surprise and say thank you to @cowboydisaster

tagging: @cowboydisaster @cassidylynnj

“I do believe these belong to me…” Arthur quips, a cheeky grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he pulls the pile of chips towards him. A relatively old guy with a fantastically twisted handlebar moustache throws his cards down, cursing as he walks away from the table empty handed. A low chuckle reaches your ears when you squeeze Arthur’s shoulder, proudly standing behind him while his winning streak continues.

“Baby, we’re in the money!” He smugly exclaims, completely ignoring the grumbles of his fellow players. You roll your eyes playfully, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. The action gives your outlaw a pretty fantastic view of your chest, if only for a brief moment, but of course he catches it. The envious eyes of every other man at the table follow you back up to a standing position.

“I’m gonna grab a drink. You want a whiskey?”

“Thanks, darlin’.”

You catch the coin that is expertly flipped through the air, winking a silent thanks to Arthur and swaying your hips just a little more than usual when you strut to the bar. You know all eyes are on you, as does Arthur, and you know how crazy and possessive that drives him, usually culminating in mind-blowing sex that sends you dumb to everything but screaming his name. He loves knowing how much everyone wants you, knowing that he’s the only one who will ever have you. 

It’s only a few strides to the bar, the next hand in Arthur’s game already being dealt by the time you lean one hip against the wood. 

“What’s a pretty lady like you doin’ with a dog like that, huh?”

The unpleasant feeling settles in your stomach almost instantly as the worst kind of booze breath reaches your senses. Rolling your eyes, your gaze falls to the origin: a man, probably in his 30’s, with a clean shaven face and a suit that didn’t quite fit right. He isn’t completely unfortunate looking, you’d have to give him that, but the invisible layer of slime coating him from head to toe is enough to send women running for miles. That, you’re sure of.

Glancing back to the table, you see Arthur engrossed in the game. Maybe it’s the devil on your shoulder, or the promise of the kind of fucking that can only be fuelled by the fiercest jealousy, but you subconsciously decide what simply has to be done. The buzz of four drink and the electricity in the air only found in a packed saloon of an evening spurs you on, dragging your fluttering eyes back to the stranger and plastering a sickly sweet grin to your plump lips. 

“Why, you reckon you could show me a better time, cowboy?” Your drawl is sickening, but it does the job as a flash of false hope ignites the man’s features. 

You place your elbow on the cool bar, sliding down to place some of your weight on it. Naturally, your chest never rises and falls so dramatically with each seductive breath, but you can smell a free drink a mile away, and this one is much closer than that.

“Oh, don’t you know it, baby, I-I could show you the time of your life.” He’s nervous, clearly not used to making it this far without having a drink thrown over him.

What’s more, Arthur has noticed, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds with the most delicious frown on his face. You can practically hear the territorial growls being ripped from the depths of his throat, low and gravely and vibrating your very being.

The bartender finally arrives, glancing awkwardly between yourself and the other man, not knowing who was there first and who to serve. Luckily for him, and for your grand plan, your slimy admirer speaks up.

“I’ll have a beer. And whatever the lady likes.” He gestures to you, all bravado and ego as he places two coins onto the countertop. 

“Whiskey, please. Neat.”

The bartender nods and turns to get the drinks, leaving you alone to be gawked at.

“Oh, I love a woman who can handle her drink.”

“Really? Do you know something, mister, that is just fascinating.”

Every nerve ending in your body is set aflame as you feel a hand snake around your shoulder, resting just above the hem of your low collar. Arthur’s sarcastic drawl has dropped about three octaves. He’s mad. 

“And who might our new friend be, sweetheart?” His theatrics boom around the room, earning a few sideways glances from curious patrons, most certainly hoping for a bit of evening entertainment. One wrong word from your ‘friend’ might just make their dreams come true.

Standing beside Arthur, the once-hopeful devotee is realising just how large the outlaw is, how his strong arms fill out the sleeves of his duster coat and how one of those sleeves is hemmed with a bloodstain you just couldn’t seem to get out. 

You’re saved from having to introduce your pawn to your king when the bartender places two drinks between the three of you, one beer, one whiskey. 

“Aw, for us? Y’shouldn’t have.” The arm draped over your shoulder wraps tighter, twisting around so that Arthur’s thick fingers cup your jaw and squeeze your cheeks. You’re tucked so close into him that the movement forces your neck to crane up to look right at Arthur. You’re putty in his hands, his dominating stance moulding you to his whim. The action is enough to brand you as completely and utterly his, but it’s Arthur and that just isn’t enough.

He tips his own head back, throwing the whiskey into his mouth in one swift movement. A firmer squeeze on your jaw opens your mouth and you lock eyes with Arthur as the fiery liquid is spat from his mouth into yours. It burns your lips and warms your throat. You feel it all the way from your head to your toes, and you’re not talking about the drink. It takes you a second to catch your breath after you swallow, Arthur’s thumb wiping a little droplet of the spirit off your chin and popping it back into your mouth. You suckle on his thumb, just for a second, letting the rest of the busy saloon melt away. In that moment, it is just the two of you, your plan falling oh so cleverly into place. You’re gazing lovingly, seductively at each other, which Arthur only breaks to turn to the man kind enough to pay for the drink he’d just spat into you.

“Hey, cheers, pal. Real nice of ya’ to treat the lady.” He pats the man just a little too hard on the shoulder, sending him stumbling a few steps. You don’t notice, too entranced by your possessive cowboy to notice anything else. 

“Let’s get you home, missy. Seems I gotta teach you some manners about talkin’ to strangers, huh?”

God, yes.

[cassidylynnj]

YO WHAT THE ENDING 😭😭😭😭😭

your favorite pairing rn baking holiday treats. them realizing theyre both in love and having a kiss covered in flour 😭❤️❤️❤️

a/n: oh bloody hell this... this was supposed to be a little fluffy piece and it got SAD. sorry not sorry (but kinda a little bit sorry). thank you for the request my love, it was a lovely challenge for me!! (also 3 posts this week who AM I)

═══════☆═══════

A Bit of a Mess

pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 785 words

warnings: Big Sad

Two failed batches of biscuits lay discarded on the countertop as you try your absolute hardest to get the new set evenly placed on the tray. Arthur is keeping his distance this time, watching your dainty digits with an almost timid air about him. You glance over your shoulder to see him practically at the other side of the room, which makes you laugh softly.

“They don’t have the plague, y’know. You can still help, just don’t… well, maybe just watch.” You struggle to push the amused tones out of your voice, another laughing fit waiting in the wings of the conversation as Arthur feigns an offended air. 

“Look, I said I’m real sorry, but how was I supposed to know-” “-That biscuits don’t have 3 cups of salt in them?” Your eyebrow twitches and your hands find their way to your hips as you begin to lose the battle with laughter. 

“Well sorry that I spent my childhood on the streets, robbin’ for scraps instead of this Baking School for Ladies you seem ta’ have been raised in, missy.” He folds his arms, but the ever growing smile tightening those wonderful, kissable lips of his gives his amusement well away. 

“Oh hush your mouth, Arthur Morgan, it don’t take a genius to tell sugar from salt.”

“Well, apparently it does…” His voice turns low, almost seductive, as he begins to approach you slowly. He looks like a predator, stalking his unassuming, doe-eyed prey. You know this look all too well: you’re either about to get catapulted into ecstasy or tickled to oblivion. You hold your hands up, part in surrender, part to remind him of the masses of flour stuck to your skin. Neither option phases him and he steals a loud squeal from your throat, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you closer. You giggle uncontrollably as he pinches at anywhere he can get his hands on, not caring a jot about the start white powder coating his shirt, pants and face. 

“Arthur! Sto-op!” You shriek, your giggle evolved into full-blown laughter. Somehow, you manage to reach over to the bowl of flour sitting next to the uncooked treats, grasping a handful and throwing it over the pair of you. A little goes on your dress, but it’s a necessary damage to stop the tickling enough to catch your breath. Arthur stands, slack jawed in shock, absolutely covered. It is a sight to behold, to say the least.

“Oh, you’re done for, sweetheart.” He threatens, leaving you only a single second to register before breaking out into a run. You attempt to bolt off, around into the living room or even yours and Arthur’s bedroom, but his strong arms barricade you in, pulling you up against his hard, large frame. He engulfs you, and while you expect another overload of touch, he stays still, biding his time. 

You look up at him, watching specks of flour fall from his eyelashes every time he blinks. He smirks down at you, enjoying the rise and fall of your chest as apprehension takes over. Instead of tickling, however, Arthur pulls you even close into him so your cheek is flush with his chest. It coats you in flour, a final act of revenge, you’re sure, but it’s worth it. So so worth it. 

You stay there for a while, wrapped in the strong arms of your cowboy, feeling the safest you’d ever felt. Everything is falling into place. Everything is going to be okay.

A kiss is pressed to the top of your head as Arthur runs his fingers through your hair soothingly. “I love you, y’little minx.” He whispers, placing two fingers under your chin to lift your gaze to him, “C’mere.”

You have to reach onto your tiptoes, but when Arthur’s lips tenderly meet yours, it is perfect. Standing here in your kitchen, safe, protected by your cowboy, everything is as it should be.

Until it isn’t.

The flour falling from the top of Arthur’s head, splattering your nose like white freckles turns wet and cold. The heat from the oven against your backs disappears, replaced by an awful draught through decaying wood. Arthur melts away, slipping through your panicked, grasping hands like liquid smoke.

Your eyes snap open, the breath dragged out of your lungs in a strangled cry. The noise echoes out into the empty, abandoned cabin. 

You’re awake, clutching onto a dusty jacket, your only proof that it was ever real in the first place, as reality hits you like a tonne of bricks falling from the sky.

He’s gone. You’re all alone. It never fell into place at all, never was going to be okay. 

Oh, your sentimental mind…

[cassidylynnj]

Good Girl (pt. 2)

pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 1565 words

warnings: explicit, cunnilingus, praise kink, use of the word daddy, penetration, rough sex

a/n: this is probably my filthiest smut to date???? idk, but i bloody enjoyed writing it

tagging: (i can't find my taglist!! i'm so sorry- please do drop me a message if you'd like to be added)

It isn’t a long ride after all, due to the heavens opening above you and Arthur about 15 minutes after you’d set back off. You’d both decided it was best to set up a tent in the woods, despite only being about an hour out of camp. (Well, you’d decided it was best to set up a tent, and how could Arthur refuse that look you’d mastered so beautifully?) It was far too wet to set up a fire, so you had to huddle up close in the blankets. All in all, everything was going precisely to the plan you didn’t know you had until it all fell into place, laying on the blanket, feeling Arthur’s cock twitching to attention into your ass cheek.

A sultry, accomplished smirk pulls at the corner of your lips before you roll over in the tiny tent, finding your way right into Arthur’s strong hold. He consumes you, both in the way his huge arms wrap around your frame and the way his lips crash against yours. The second his tongue seeks entrance your lips part for him and you moan softly at the distinctly Arthur taste dancing on your pallet. 

He swiftly flips you to your back, nipping at your bottom lip with his teeth once before pulling away to slip your buttons out of their holes and pushing your sleeves off your shoulders. You’re practically writhing under him, a sight to behold as a cocky grin appears on Arthur’s features. He pulls off your boots and peels down your jeans. You’re naked now, save for your panties, the cold air around you puckering your nipples to an almost painful point. He hasn’t even touched you and yet you ache for him. He knows it, a low chuckle emitting from deep in his throat while you twitch and mewl.

“What do you want, darlin’? Tell me what you want.” He breathes out, that same gruffness from earlier dripping from his voice as a single finger trails over your naked skin, down your chest, hovering just above your quivering heat.

“You. I need you, Arthur, please…” You whine needily, bucking your hips up to meet his finger. It brushes too briefly over your clit, sending a jolt right through your spine, escaping as a moan. Arthur’s eyebrow raises as his head tilts. 

“Such a needy girl. You’re gonna have to be patient while I get these clothes off. You think you can wait for me?” You nod, biting down on your bottom lip, a picturesque brat laying below your cowboy. 

“Good girl.”

Your eyes widen and you clench around nothing, feeling the cotton of your pantied soak through and cling to your swollen, twitching flesh. Ever the expert on your every tiny detail, Arthur watches your reaction with a satisfied countenance.

“I knew it… y’just wanna be my good little girl, don’tcha, sweetheart? My beautiful, filthy girl.” One hand reaches to unbutton his shirt, his duster coat long discarded on the floor, while the other hovers back over you, Arthur rewarding your good behaviour with deliciously slow circles with his thumb over your clit. You nod in response, watching Arthur slip off his suspenders with those doe eyes he loves so, grinding hungrily against his hand.

“Y-Yours.” You mumble, barely able to get the word out from your reddened, bitten lips. Arthur’s thumb against your little bundle of nerves is sending you dizzy, the corners of your vision fizzling as he slowly takes you right to the edge and then stops, pulling his hand away to unbuckle his belt. You whine again, much brattier this time, earning another chuckle just as Arthur’s thick, rigid cock springs free of his jeans, slapping up against his stomach. You can see him twitch, his rosy head slick from a bead of cum leaking out of you; he needs you just as much as you need him. 

“Y’gonna be good for me?” He drawls, stroking himself slowly, his eyes never leaving you. You can barely breathe, nevermind speak, so you respond with actions rather than words, crawling to Arthur and kneeling before him. In a swift movement, you lick up his shaft, having to sit up to get to the top, before taking him in your mouth and suckling. 

“Fuck.” He groans through gritted teeth, fingers tangling into your hair, thumb resting on your cheek sweetly as he rocks his hips into you slowly. He gives you the control, just long enough to get used to the feeling of your throat being filled, before grasping at your hair and fucking into you. He groans again, a carnal, visceral moan as you take as much of him as you can. You feel a tiny tear run off your cheek and onto Arthur’s thumb just as your lungs begin to burn for air. The noises that come from the pair of you are utterly filthy: the low groan from Arhur, your gasps and cries for air, his cock slipping out of your mouth with a loud pop. 

“That's my girl,” Arthur praises, wiping your tears and spit away from your cheek with his thumb. You’re almost certain that if he doesn’t take you soon you’re going to ruin the blankets, all but dripping out onto the floor for your outlaw. You whine, scratching gently at Arthur’s muscular thighs to let him know just how much you need him.

Before you can register, your back is hitting the floor for the second time today, this time with Arthur’s strong arms to break the fall. His lips crash against yours with a fiery passion, his tongue demanding entrance to lick over your own. The tightening coil inside you is almost at breaking point as you pull and scratch at Arthur’s back to bring him closer. 

In one swift movement, without his lips ever leaving yours, Arthur pushes into you, right up to the hilt. You’re so full and it takes a second to adjust to the wonderful invasion, which Arthur gives you by staying right where he is. You’re twitching around his stiff cock, which seems to drive him dizzy. His arms tense around you and you see his jaw flutter, a sure sign he’s trying to hold back for you. The nip of his bottom lip between your teeth is enough permission from you, as he pulls his hips back agonisingly slowly. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, I… I can’t hold back, you feel too fucking good…” you feel his gravelly tone right in the bottom of your stomach, “Y’think you can take it?” 

You nod passionately, physically unable to speak as the air is stolen from your lungs time and time again by the outlaw. 

“Good.” It’s the last syllable he can manage before pounding into you, forcing a squeal from your lips. He fucks you hard, your hands gripping into his back to try and anchor yourself to the world, lest you drift away. He hits you right in that spot every time and you feel yourself winding closer and closer to the edge. You don’t know when the tears started falling again, but when Arthur reaches with his thumb to wipe them away, you catch it in your mouth. 

He raises an eyebrow almost smugly, pushing his thumb a little further into your mouth as you suckle. The harder he fucks you, the more your teeth bite into him. Arthur’s free hand grasps your hip, pinning you down so you can’t write beneath him.

“Look at you, taking me so well… my girl.” He leans in closer so his hot breath tickles your neck. You feel his tongue flick over your jawline, just as his hand leaves your waist to smack the side of your ass. You bite down harder onto his thumb, moaning around it as Arthur’s nails dig into your flesh. 

“Good-“ thrust “fucking-“ thrust “girl.”

His thumb pulls out of your mouth, letting you moan loudly and freely as it pushes down onto your clit. Your own spit, along with the slick you and Arthur had worked up together, is rubbed up and down your swollen nub until you can barely see, barely breathe, from the intensity. Arthur’s hips slam into you as he grunts and moans.

“Y’gonna cum for me, beautiful? Cum for daddy.”

You just about manage to reach the back of Arthur’s neck to pull him into a hungry kiss just before you cum together. He catches your cries and moans in his mouth as he uses expert movements to have you clamping and twitching and flooding onto his cock. It’s a rushing feeling, falling over your entire being like a white hot waterfall. Arthur’s thrusts are fast and hard right until the end, where he slams into you and grips your sides with a bruising force, spearing you into him. You can feel the twitches of his cock as he pumps his seed into you, coating your insides beautifully.

“Fuck, baby…” He groans against your lips through gritted teeth, just as the last drop of adrenaline leaves him and he collapses onto you, sliding out with ease as both of your slick starts to run down your leg. 

A tender kiss is pressed to your forehead with loving intention, while Arthur runs his fingers over your glistening forehead, wiping away a stray piece of hair. 

“I love yah, y’know that?”

“I know.”

“Never forget it.”

“I won’t.”

“Good girl.” 

[cassidylynnj]

𝟏𝟎𝟎 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

omg omg omg we did it!!! THANK YOU!! i know 100 isn't all that many, but before i made this blog i daren’t even let my own boyfriend read my stuff and now???🥹 anyway, i wanted to celebrate!! this will be open for a lil while, anyone can participate and i will do as many as my muse will allow!! thanks so much for all your recent support on everything i’ve done lately, it has truly meant the world❤️ -margo

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒

𝐨𝐧𝐞 choose a character from the first list and a theme from the second list. if you want specific details, please let me know. the more specific you can be, the more specific i can be!

𝐭𝐰𝐨 please read my rules for requesting before submitting

𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 please be patient- i will try my best to get to as many as i can but if something isn't working for me i reserve the right not to post it!

𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 not a rule but if you do request, please like/reblog! it really helps me out as a creator. if you leave feedback i'll love you forever <3

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

Arthur Morgan (Red Dead Redemption 2)

Benedict Bridgerton (Bridgerton)

Anthony Bridgerton (Bridgerton)

Eloise Bridgerton (Bridgerton)

Jessica Jones (MARVEL)

Matt Murdock (MARVEL)

Wanda Maximmoff (MARVEL)

Ten (Doctor Who)

Anakin Skywalker (Star Wars, ep. 3)

Tristan Thorne (Stardust)

Sirius Black (Harry Potter, Marauders Era)

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 (named after some of my favourite things!)

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐮𝐬𝐭 - write a love letter from my chosen character (the more specific you are about this one the better i can make them!)

𝐑𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰 - do the NSFW a-z challenge for my chosen character

𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐬 - do the SFW a-z challenge for my chosen character

𝐂𝐨𝐳𝐲 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 - write a list of 'a _____ with my chosen character would include' (you choose the scenario!)

𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲 𝐒𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬 - a short, fluffy drabble for my chosen character (you choose specifics)

𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐧 - a short spicy drabble for my chosen character (you choose specifics/kinks)

[cassidylynnj]

☾MISS MARGO FIORE✧

⤿ 22, she/her, uk, virgo, infj

⤿ spotify, goodreads

➵masterlist

➵fandoms

➵rules for requesting

LATEST

⤿ Ghosts and Smoke Arthur Morgan x reader

⤿ Some Company Arthur Morgan x reader (18+)

⤿ The NSFW a-z of a Mr. Benedict Bridgerton  Benedict Bridgerton x reader (18+)

CURRENTLY... ➵ reading Stardust by Neil Gaiman, watching A League of Their Own, playing Red Dead Redemption 2 ➵ writing- my requests are open! ➵ preparing for my 100 follower celebration!! (only a few followers away!)

[cassidylynnj]

[cassidylynnj]

reading work by highly talented people is so inspiring ❤️🥹 love u

Ghosts and Smoke

*i wrote this with this song in mind, so please feel free to listen for extra vibes!*

pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 2791

warnings: SPOILERS FOR THE END OF RED DEAD REDEMPTION 2, angst, death, smoking, suggested post-sex scene

a/n: y'all i am GONE. it killed me. the end of red dead killed me and all i've done since is cry and write this damn angst. i'm sorry, but i'm also not. hope you enjoy!! also, thank you for all the love on my latest piece! im so glad youre as into this silly cowboy man as much as i am rn.

My requests are currently open!

It was so quiet. You were used to the quiet lately, going it alone, but not here. Not Shady Belle, which was always full of laughter and fire and swearing and gunshots. The leaves rustled and your broken heart beat every so often but other than that, there was nothing. No laughter, no fire, nothing. You’d hitched your horse about a mile away, careful to keep her hidden well, so you were well and truly alone here. 

You looked up at the house, still somehow standing tall amongst the ghosts and smoke and tried your best to take a deep breath. It was about 30 paces away from you, past the campfire, your old tent and the fountain. A twig snapped under your boot as you took the first step, fingernails digging little moons into the palm of your hand. You could do this. Just past the campfire and you’d be halfway there.

═══════☆═══════

“What’re you always lookin’ at when I do this, huh?” Arthur asked, meeting your eye and wearing that amused smirk that suited him so well, sending your heart fluttering each and every time. 

That awful feeling people only get when they realise the other knows you’ve been watching them churned your stomach for a second. Honestly, you hadn’t even realised you were staring. 

“Nothin’. I just… my daddy used to smoke those things. He always tried to teach me to roll them for him and I never could. You seem so good at it.”

Sat around the fire with some of the camp, Arthur had been rolling some tobacco into a cigarette. You always found yourself watching him, finding the way his fingers expertly knew what they were doing somewhat hypnotising. And then there was that moment his tongue darted out from his teeth to lick the paper, which was… a sight to behold, to say the least. 

“I’ve got years of experience… I can teach ya sometime, if you’d like.” 

The opportunity to spend more time with Arthur dangled in front of you, shining like a medal. You reached out and grabbed it, nodding at him eagerly, “I’ll warn ya, my daddy tried real hard. I’m a difficult student.” 

Arthur’s head tilted, a cocky grin dominating his features beautifully before he pulled the masterfully rolled cigarette to his lips and licked down the length of the paper. You tried to remain composed while the air was stolen by an outlaw straight from your lungs. 

“I guess I’ll just have t’work you real hard then, won’t I?”

═══════☆═══════

The camp always smelled like smoke, so the fresh air felt wrong as you stepped past the plot that was formerly the fire you’d spent so many nights beside. The logs and stumps repurposed into chairs still sat around the burnt blackened circle, waiting for people who would never again be together. 

You kept walking, jaw clenched so hard your teeth ached. Your old tent caught your eye, at least what was left of it, singed and ripped canvas still hanging pathetically, tangled in a branch. In and amongst the ruins of your former home, your eye is caught by a piece of metal catching the dappled sunlight above. Kneeling down briefly, you pushed damp soil and leaves out of the way to reveal a metal cup trodden into the ground. For a silly little cup, it hurt far too much.

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“God damn it!” You swore, watching the tobacco scatter across your legs. Arthur chuckled, low and throaty, leaning against the tree your tent was hung around and taking a long, leisurely sip of coffee out of his cup. Gathering the tiny leaves back together on your skirts, you scowled at Arthur before starting to load the paper back up again.

“You gotta loosen up. Your fingers are too stiff.” He advised, watching his student intently. Easier said than done, really, hunched over a lantern in a tent, but you didn’t want to sound like you were making excuses. 

“Right, yeah... Got it.” You mumbled, your tongue poking out between your teeth, a sure sign of absolute concentration. It was all in vain, though, as the paper crumpled at a funny angle and sent tobacco flying once more onto your person. 

“Shit!” You hissed, flexing out your hands in a futile attempt to 

“Alright, easy now…” he cooed, earning another glare when you realised you recognised the phrase and tone of voice from when a snake spooked Arthur’s horse.

“I give up. This is hopeless.” You tried to reach up to hand him the paper to roll his own damn cigarette and he stepped forwards towards you. Expecting him to take it, you were surprised when he instead handed you his mug and sat down right up next to you. You hadn’t been this close since he first rode you into camp and you felt so small flushed against his broad shoulders like this. 

“Hold that, warm your hands up and I’ll show you again.” You obeyed your orders, doing just as Arthur said as he rubbed his own hands together, occasionally blowing into them. Without another word, he covered your hands, sandwiching them in between calloused palms and heated metal. The unexpected contact knocks you pretty hard, but you somehow manage to find the composure to mutter a thank you and hope you weren’t blushing too hard. 

You looked up to Arthur, only to find he was already looking at you. When your eyes met properly, it felt as though someone had just lit a fire right beside you. The air felt… heavier? No, lighter. Both? You didn’t know and couldn’t quite seem to figure it out, feeling the fuzziness of 4 whiskies that you hadn’t actually drank.

All from the touch of a hand?

The moment was weighted now, and you both knew it. The quiet between you twisted and grew and almost became palpable, but you physically couldn’t talk, not knowing if any actual words would leave or lips or some incoherent murmurings.

“Here. Let me know you.” Arthur took his hands away and the lack of contact had you almost… pouting? You didn’t have time to examine why you were so disappointed, though, as Arthur sat behind you, his chest right up against your back. His legs pressed against the outside of you and you were worried that he was close enough to hear your heart, beating right out of your chest. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Y’have t’make sure you get it nice and tight, so the bottom doesn’t fall out…” His arms wrapped around yours and his hands cupped yours again. The contrast was stark, his tanned, hardened skin making your hands look even tinier. You couldn’t breathe, wedged between the smell of dried tobacco and coffee on one side and smoked tobacco and Arthur on the other. Your fingers so naturally followed what he was doing, and before you could even register it, you had a perfectly rolled cigarette in your hands.

“Oh shit! I did it!” You twisted slightly, only to see the excited grin on Arthur’s face as he watched you squeal proudly. He took the roll from you, placing it right between your teeth and pulling out a match. A questioning brow raised as he lit a match, suspending it in front of the cigarette until you nodded your permission and he lit it. You coughed. He laughed, chest still pressed firmly against your back.

“I’m real proud of you. Now y’gotta learn to smoke the damn things.”

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You left your first tent for the last time, vowing to never look back. Wet leaves clung to your boots, dragging across the floor past the crumbling fountain and some other tents being reclaimed by nature, muddy and covered in ivy. The final path up to the house was so familiar after so many hours watching it, waiting for your beloved to return from a job, wringing your hands with worry. The porch creaked as you stepped on it, the site of so many tear-filled reunions. The door was no longer on its hinges and fell with a bang at your touch, echoing out into the forest and sending the wildlife running. 

You were home. For the last time.

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“I’ve got a surprise for you-uuu.” you sang out, hands held behind your back as Arthur stepped the threshold into the abandoned manor. He looked tired, but still managed a sleepy smile as you reached up to kiss him on the cheek. He caught the kiss, snaking a hand around your waist and pulling you closer for a more tender moment. You hadn’t seen each other in 3 days, Arthur off near Strawberry following a lead, so being back encased in his arms felt like home had come back to you.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, gentle smile tugging on his lip, “A surprise? For me? Y’shouldn’t have, darlin’.” The humbleness that appeared whenever you tried to do something nice for Arthur reared its adorable head and you shook your head, one hand still pinned to your back, clutching your gift. 

“Close your eyes!”

“Alright, alright…” Arthur chuckled, holding his hands up in a mock surrender as he closed his eyes. You waved at him a few times, just to be sure, before pulling a single, wonky cigarette out from behind you and tapping Arhur on the chest.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that. Nonetheless, his face lit up with pride as he realised what exactly it was that he was looking at.

“You did it?”“I did it!”

“Yes!” He was so excited for you, more so than you’d ever seen him and your heart swelled. This big, scary cowboy, pulling you into a hug and spinning you around because you finally managed to roll something smokeable.

“I’m so proud of you.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and never told you that it fell apart before he had the chance to light the damn thing.

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The stairs groaned under your weight miserably, each step feeling more and more likely to collapse. It always was the loudest staircase you’d ever heard, impossibly difficult to sneak around on when trying not to let a whole camp know that you and Arthur were both going upstairs. Tears threatened to spill down your cheeks, but you knew if you started now you’d never make it upstairs. You couldn’t break, because there was nobody left to put you back together.

Every step required a more laboured breath, splinters half-heartedly brushing your fingertips as you traced them over the rotting bannister. You were alone, but the ghosts ran up and down around you, laughing and teasing and smiling and kissing and loving and taunting just how alone you really were. 

A few more strides and you were there. His door was closed and for some reason that made it all that harder to breach the barrier and enter Arthur’s room. A shaky hand reached for the handle, twisting agonisingly slowly and pushing through.

Arthur always, always stole the breath from you, but it was always in the best way. Not like this, not how winded you felt seeing the empty, abandoned room. It was never exactly a palace, Arthur being the first to admit to that, but whenever you used to be there it had this… energy woven into the air. You realized, standing there in that moment, that it wasn’t the place at all. The place was… just that. A place, dying where it stood, rotting and filled with ghosts. The air was clean, but it couldn’t fill your lungs. You needed the fire, built by your soulmate, keeping you warm every night. You needed the cigarette smoke he breathed, tickling your lungs and coating his lip. But it was gone, stamped out and extinguished by God’s great plan. It hurt so much that you laughed, just once, harsh and loud, before your back fell into the wall of Arthur’s bedroom and you slid downwards, your legs finally giving in. Your lungs burned for the cry that just wouldn’t come as you pulled your languid legs towards your chest. 

You hugged your legs close for a second, before the exhaustion reached your arms and they dropped to your sides. One hand hit the damp wooden floorboard, where the other hit something much colder, the ring on your finger clanging against it loudly. The sudden break of agonising silence shocked you for a second, instinct and past trauma screaming at you that you were in a shootout, but you managed to calm down quickly as soon as you figured out the cause of such a volume. 

The floor fell out from under you. Not physically, though you wouldn’t have been surprised, but everything around you seemed to fall when you laid your eyes on the little metal box beside you, rust embellishing the corners and hinges.

Arthur’s tin.

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You felt the rise and fall of Arthur’s bare chest, your head resting on it as you tried to gain control of your own breath. The blood was still rushing in your ears as you came back down from the intense high what you’d just experienced with Arthur gave you. Limbs jelly, vision fuzzy, you pressed a lazy kiss to his skin. The fingers mindlessly running through your hair stopped, Arthur in a momentary contemplation that resulted in him reaching over and grabbing a cigarette from the table beside his bed.

“Pass the matches over will ya’, sweetheart? They’re in with my tobacco.” 

You nodded, rolling over to your other side to reach over to your side of the bed, where Arthur’s stash tin sat. While Arthur waited, cigarette hanging limply from the side of his lip, you opened the tin and froze. There was the usual hit of the strong scent of tobacco, the little box of matches, and papers, but those were to be expected. What you didn’t expect to see was a charcoal sketch stuffed in there, staring back at you. It was a remarkable likeness, though you were sure you’d never looked as beautiful as how Arthur had drawn you, laughing in a way that lit up your whole face. The emotion was all too much, sitting in your throat and filling your eyes with wet tears.

“Y’alright? Are they in there?” A concerned voice asked, forcing you to swallow the overwhelming happiness for a moment or two, nodding, handing Arthur the matches and closing the tin. You nuzzled back into his chest, swirling a finger around the little hairs that trailed down his abs.

“I love you, you know that?”“I know. I love you too.”

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The tin was so cold in your hands, that cold that you could feel it through your shirt as you held it close to your chest, so hard it was though you were willing more into existence than was there anymore, as if Arthur himself was in there. One last deep breath to find the courage and the tin popped open. The smell of tobacco hit your nostrils and infiltrated your lungs and it hurt. The scent was so undeniably Arthur that it felt so wrong that he wasn’t there with it. He was gone, you knew that, but there was some hope in you that you’d find him hiding in the smoke, just like he always was. 

Clumps of leaves were a little damp in your fingers, attacked by the elements, but you managed to gather enough dry bits and pull out one of the papers. It was cold, but your hands didn’t seem to notice. You had to do this, there was nothing else left. No leads, no job, no Arthur. Just you, alone in an empty room in a lonely house.

Your nimble fingers worked slowly, savouring the ritual of sprinkling in the grind, rolling it up and sealing it, just as he taught you.

That’s it. You got it, sweetheart.

Take your time.

You pictured him, arms closing you in as he guided the paper over with you. 

Just one step at a time.

Soon enough, there was a cigarette wedged between your fingers. 

See? Look at you.

The first few matches were duds, ruined by the water, but eventually you got one lit. You remembered Arthur, cupping his hands over the match as he lit to protect the flame from the weather. You did the same, not trusting the hole where a window once stood proud. 

The tip lit and you breathed in. You coughed. You cried.

The last cigarette of Arthur Morgan. 

You got this, darlin’.

You inhaled smoke. You exhaled ghosts, swirling and wisping around you, caressing your cheek just like he did.

I’m so proud of you.