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nexamoon · 2 days ago

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you ain't even seen my dark side ♪‧₊˚

pairing : arthur morgan x fem!reader

summary : arthur always shied away from asking you to give him head. you decide to take matters into your own hands ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

tags : nsfw content under the cut so MDNI!!!, smut, oral sex (male receiving), pre-established relationship, suggestive ending

wc: ~2k words

a/n: finally, the gods of creativity have spared me and i finally found my way with words again!! this wasn't the smut one shot i originally planned to post at first... (so another one should be coming soon hehe) i'm kinda proud of this one, so i hope you all enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it (๑ > ᴗ < ๑)

to your mind, the closest thing to heaven was the feeling of arthur's mouth eating you out.

his tongue expertly teasing your folds, his beard tickling the inner part of your trembling thighs, the tip of his nose accidentally—or was it calculated?— nudging your clit and almost making you come right then and there.

but what absolutely drove you insane, was how he ate you up like a man nearing starvation... the sheer desperation and want he displayed, even when he wasn't being the one currently pleasured, was what tipped you over the edge most times. it made you feel enamoured with him, and enabled in you the urge to make him feel just like that too.

only problem is... you never got the chance to return the favor.

arthur never explicitely asked you to give him oral, nor did your lovemaking sessions ever lead you to that.

you thought you only had to give him a bit more time. maybe by then, you'd finally get to make him feel the way he does you. but unfortunately, that time never came.

in truth, arthur just couldn't bring himself to ask you. he went on for a very long time without having any romantic nor erotic need satisfied, that is, until you came along.

he felt blessed that he could get another chance at love, real love, with you. and at his age, you start to worry less about sexual intimacy than you do about the comfort, stability and peace the relationship gives you.

nonetheless, he always enjoyed satisfying your desires, and by that, he felt fulfilled; your pleasure before his.

so, as much as that persistent thought tortured his mind whenever he was away from you while he had to deal with a certain predicament, he never had it in him to ask you to help make the vision come true at his return.

═════════════════════════════

waiting any longer wasn't an option anymore, since arthur was not going to straight up ask you to suck him off, and your urge to only grew overtime.

so you decided that next time you two would initiate something intimate, you'd suggest it right then and there. and good thing you were making out in the privacy of his tent right now.

you sat on his lap, his lips hungrily chasing after yours everytime you pulled back for air. his big hands settled on the curve of your ass, stroking your hips with his thumb.

this is it, you had to ask him, to see if he wanted you to take care of his growing bulge in a way other than the squeeze of your tight walls.

"arthur, w-wait..."

instantly, arthur pulled away from you, his eyes darting around your face to read your expression. did he do something wrong? did you not want this anymore?

"what is it, sweet thing?" he murmurs in between pants.

now, you had to figure out how to tell him that you wanted to suck the ever-living fuck out of his cock. you trace his jaw, feeling his stubble.

"you always... you always make sure i'm taken care of and satisfied."

"well, yeah. that's the point of all this, ain't it? want to make you feel good darlin'."

"yes, but... you never...", you gulp, "you never really let me return the favor."

he blinks a few times, confused.

"i think letting me have the privilege to have you is compensation enough."

yeah because, that's what he thought about all this. that it was a privilege. that you were way above his league. you sigh and shake your head.

"i was talking more about..."

you lick your lips and eye his bulge which was painfully straining against his denim pants. once arthur catches your drift, you could've sworn he blushed a little. he would've never imagined you to ever bring this up. an awkward smile forms on his lips.

"sweet thing... you don't have to do that."

"but i want to... you never thought about it?"

"with you? hell nah..."

you sensed nervousness emanating from him, but you couldn't deny that to hear him say that kind of made your heart drop.

"i mean-" he tries, "... i mean that i always felt like you were above that. a woman such as you, on her pretty knees, on the dirty ground for lil old me? don't be ridiculous. besides... your sweet cunt does the trick anyway."

his praise makes you sit a little higher and you press a kiss on the corner of his lips, murmuring.

"please?"

he was a bit taken aback to see you plead for it. he shrugs, stroking your hips.

"well if you insist, y'know i can't ever say no to you..."

you unbuckled his belt with excitement barely concealed that betrayed just how eager you were to do this. you unbuttoned his union suit just enough to let his cock spring free, hard and aching to be touched. that sight alone was so delectable.

you slowly lower yourself on your knees in front of him, a scene almost surreal. he instinctively spreads his thighs further to leave you enough space, his body giving him away.

nevertheless, arthur needed to make sure you were comfortable with this, that you didn't do it out of some sort of "moral obligation", however immoral the act itself is, ironically.

he lifts your chin so his ocean eyes could meet your own, his hand lingering on your cheek, absentmindedly tracing hearts with his thumb.

"baby... you certain you want this?"

"are you?"

arthur gulped, feeling too ashamed to admit that, in fact, he wanted it and so badly, that it made his desire feel like a sin far too depraved to seek redemption after committing it.

his eyes kept lingering on you, how one of your hands tentatively rested on his thigh, how you eagerly leaned against his touch on your cheek, an action so innocent compared to the lustful, downright wicked glint that filled your gaze.

you were no chaste angel at all, no. you were a sultry demoness so articulate at what you do that you naturally disarmed him of any sense of righteousness he pretended to have. a siren whose chant made him want to tap into his every whim and temptation as obscene as they may be. it almost felt like you were created for and accustomed to him, and only him.

sensing his hesitation to say it, you decide to spurr him on. so your fingers gently trail down his hardened length, guiding his tip to your mouth so you can press a soft kiss on it, some of his precum smearing on your pretty lips, all while holding eye contact with him.

you're only further confirming his thought. how utterly mistaken he was about you.

his hand clenches the side of the cot. hard.

"christ darlin'...", he inhales sharply, his voice barely louder than a whisper, "you're killing me here..."

"oh i could be doing a lot more than this, my love... i just need to hear you say you want it."

your response came out so naturally, like you had rehearsed so many times for this specific moment. but maybe this was just the deviant side of you he had yet to witness.

he bites his lip and nods to himself after a few moments, albeit with some reluctance.

"fine. i do want it..."

the moment he gave you the green light, your fingers wrapped around his cock, and started stroking it up and down. he tried so hard to stay quiet, to seem unaffected, a cocky way to convince you that no, he didn't need this; that he didn't dream of it sometimes, and that the thought of your pretty lips wrapped around his dick wasn't what made him finish hard when he was trying to relieve himself some other times.

but once your mouth finally latched on his tip, unhurriedly engulfing a big part of his length, he knew he was gone.

"f-fuuuck... already out to fucking get me, huh..." he mutters lowly.

you start bobbing your head, though at a pace so agonizingly slow, but already coaxing so many delicious sounds from arthur's mouth. he was not usually very vocal, apart from the occasional grunt from time to time. so to see him like this, acting like a raw and unfiltered mess... you couldn't deny it did something to you. it made you want to give him more, to see how far you could push him.

his head was thrown back, his eyes shut tight, a trembling clenched fist settled on his thigh. you take his hand and place it on the back of your head.

he shifts his gaze on you to find glossy wide eyes looking up at him, silently inviting him to use you. his heart skips a beat and he huffs in between labored breaths.

"you little devil...", he clears his throat and shakes his head, his fingers tenderly running down your hair, "can't use you like that baby... prefer to see how you do it anyway..."

you'd smile if you didn't have his thick length in your mouth, but his praise definitely stroked your ego. and so with a newly found motivation, you speed up your pace, making sure to apply some pressure with your tongue on that popping vein on the underside of his cock. you tried to take more of him each time but he was big... almost gagged a few times. you watched him like a hawk, you needed to see how he'd react.

you were sure your ears didn't fail you when a moan slipped past him.

"oh, yeahhhh.... just like that sugar..."

shit, he was real close. and a bit faster than you'd imagined...

more grunted praise rolled out his lips, so filthy it could rival with the sucking and slurping noises that filled the tent.

with a specific swirl of your tongue, you felt his cock twitch and you stilled, feeling his thick and hot load fill your mouth, a string of curses escaping his.

he was completely out of breath. beads of sweat dripping down his forehead reflected the light of the poorly lit tent. and when he watched you swallow his load, he almost felt like he'd cum again just from the sight.

you release his saliva-coated length from your mouth with a lewd pop, a string of drool still connecting the two. you wipe away the tears that rolled down your cheeks, and you felt a rough thumb gently remove some semen off your lips.

he guided you off the ground and onto his lap, holding you close.

"you alright, sweet thing...?"

you nod and take a second to admire how fucked out he looks.

"i don't think i need to ask how you feel..."

he chuckles.

"guess it's pretty obvious huh..."

he smooths down your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear.

"you're a real wicked woman, darlin'... this was better than i ever thought it'd be."

you perk up and a victorious smirk adorns your lips.

"aha. so you do admit you've thought about it before."

"can't deny the thought striked me...", he shrugs, "... maybe once or twice."

"liar."

he chuckles roughly.

"either way, the real deal was way better than whatever my mind could make up."

a shy smile graces your lips and all of a sudden, it seemed like you morphed back into the nothing-but-angelic girl he knew. but, he knew he could make this only momentary. he knew exactly how to make your unashamedly lustful side return to the surface.

"only problem now is,..." he starts, trailing his fingers up your arm, spreading goosebumps on your skin, "... i have no clue how to repay you."

your fiesty gaze reemerges as you shift to straddle him.

"oh, well. i have a few ideas..."

thank you so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed it and until next time!!! ʚ(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )ɞ

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #rdr2 x reader #nana writes #arthur morgan smut #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan x female reader

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nexamoon · 3 days ago

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happy happy happy 11th birthday to the game that absolutely changed my entire life forever- five nights at freddy’s. this game will forever and always have a very special place in my heart, and i will forever be grateful for the impact it had on me ❤️

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nexamoon · 3 days ago

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Imagine...

Joel knew he fucked up the moment he saw that clock hit 12. The drive from his work was excruciatingly longer than usual. He thought maybe flowers could help ease some of your anger, just barely, but that was enough to make him feel a little less guilty. He drove to several different gas stations after noting that every grocery and florist store was indefinitely closed for the night.

He was lucky to find one gas station that had bouquets. They were a bit pricey but he disregarded that fact, putting his stinginess aside and picked out your favorite kind. He promised he’d be home early tonight, and he broke that. Money was the least of his worries in that moment. He quickly drove home, and upon arriving rushed inside.

—

You sit up in bed and sigh at the sight of him, in complete disbelief. His eye bags more visible than ever, his clothes dirty and wrinkled, but he had still managed to remove his boots before coming up the stairs knowing how much you hate dirty shoes into the house.

He walks up to you holding a bouquet of roses, his breathing a bit heavy to show that he hurriedly climbed the stairs. “Happy Anniversary” he spoke gently with sunken sorry eyes. An expression so guilty yet soft, that it was difficult to remain upset with him. “It’s past midnight Joel. It already passed.” You mutter in a quiet yet sulky tone. Joel runs his hand over his face with a sigh and nods, “I know, I tried everything I could to get out of work baby, I really did” his voice loaded with honestly.

You look down at the flowers with a soft hum, “How did you get flowers this late at night, everything’s closed..” your expression turning a bit more confused as you looked up at Joel awaiting his response.

He simply shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it.” he responds, and you take them from his hands. You sniff them and look up at him more intently, realizing that he must have gone through even more hell today just to get flowers at nearly 1 in the morning. Just for you. You place the flowers down on your nightstand and hold your hand out to Joel. “Com’ere” you whisper.

Joel’s body is hesitant, “M’sweaty, I’ll go wash up first-“

“I don’t care” you say, this time it didn’t matter.

With that he climbs into bed and lays in your arms, you hugged him tight as he buried his face into your neck kissing it gently. “I’m sorry baby.. I really fucked up tonight” he mumbled against your skin. You shut your eyes and hush him, “Shh you didn’t.. I appreciate the flowers” you spoke lightly with a forgiving kiss to the top of his head.

Joel sighed at the feeling and continued to pamper your neck and jaw with soft apologetic kisses. His hands rub at your sides as he continues to whisper “I’m sorry”s against your skin, promising that he’ll make it up to you.

#soft joel 🥹#nana's faves #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x you

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nexamoon · 4 days ago

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now you'll make me bawl my eyes out 😭 thank you so so so much for reading <3 and man... completing rdr 2 is never easy i feel you 💔

all thanks to you 𖹭.ᐟ

pairing : arthur morgan x fem!reader

summary : it was no secret to you that arthur was insecure about his looks. only he didn't expect you to get emotional over it.

cw : sliiight angst (?) but good ending, fluff, arthur is insecure, reader tries to comfort arthur, happens after they made love

credits : got the header from pinterest, i have no clue who the artist is i'm sorry :(

wc : 1.6k (i keep writing short stuff help)

a/n : i doubted posting this at first because i lowkey hate it, but then i remembered the purpose of my blog is to share my writings and not let them rot away so.... here we are. (ó﹏ò｡) i didn't know how to tag this tbh, it isn't too angsty but eh, it's not all fluff either... but anyway. thank you so much for the support on my last post, every note means the whole world to me ♡⸜(˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝

For once, you felt at peace.

In your life as an outlaw, this was a rarity. But all thanks to him, the impendence of an uncertain tomorrow blurs, and whatever turmoil held your heart hostage at the moment instantly faded.

All thanks to Arthur Morgan.

You were laying on his chest, both breathless after an intense lovemaking session that served as stress relief for both of you.

What initially started as friends sticking together through thick and thin soon turned into something more. Something beautiful that none of you were expecting, but welcomed warmly nonetheless.

Well, how could anyone blame you? The man was handsome, and kind. Had the right amount of sass to keep things interesting. You should've known this would be a brew deadly for you; or maybe you were simply in denial to avoid another heartbreak, unnecessary added turmoil.

Your eyes were closed, your expression so peaceful and full of bliss that anyone who saw you would think you ascended to heaven and returned anew. Which you sorta did. All thanks to him.

You feel fingers running through your tangled locks, tenderly reaching for your scalp, scratching it gently.

Oh, how you adored the way his rough hands would soften just for you.

"You okay?"

Another thing you adored about him. How attentive he was, making sure your every need was met.

It was nice, to feel like the center of someone's world. Even more when that same person was the center of yours.

You give him a tired, raspy hum, opening your eyes to see his blue ones already waiting for yours on the other side.

"Mhm... Very okay."

He gave you a soft smile and his chapped lips met your forehead.

"Good..."

You couldn't help the giddy smile that graced your face, an overwhelming surge of affection taking over you.

You keep quietly gazing at him. You often did that, to Arthur's incomprehension.

Don't get him wrong; he absolutely loved studying you, like he would study the next sight that would find itself captured with controlled pencil strokes in his journal. And well, you often were the sight in question.

But him? Why would you admire him as if he had hung the moon, and all the stars, just for you? (Not that he wouldn't have done it if given the chance, but that's besides the point.)

He was confident in many things about himself... his physical appearance though, wasn't one of them.

You'd often tease him about how you'd let him stare at you as long as he wanted, but that he'd often shy away and make you stop when it came to him. Told him it was not fair. To you. To him too.

"You're quite the sight yourself." You'd tell him.

But no matter how many times you'd repeat these words, or use other words to convey the same message— that he was the most handsome outlaw in all of America... that will never even begin to crack his thick skull. Just like now.

You noticed a faint rosy color bloom on his cheeks before he pulled you closer, hiding your face in his chest so you couldn't see him anymore, so you wouldn't realize how much of an effect your unabashedly loving gaze had on him. That didn't please you though. Your mumbled words come out muffled.

"Arthur... wanna see you."

"You've seen me plenty enough, darlin'."

You try to lift your head from his chest but his grip felt like iron. He tried diverting your attention with words.

"Just lemme hold ya like this. Ain't it nice?"

"Mmm yeah but I wanna be able to look at you too."

"There ain't nothing to see, hun. Same old face, same old me."

His words make you groan. Not of annoyance, but more of exasperation. How could you make him see what you saw? Hell— even you weren't the most confident person but... God. If the way he looked at you didn't make you feel like one of those antique goddesses, muses to many who carefully carved them in stone to preserve their beauty. And in many ways you were his muse.

If, regardless of words, Arthur didn't see himself through your eyes, doesn't that mean you're failing your duty as a lover? Do you not make him feel beautiful enough? Are your words empty echoes your actions do not mirror?

Your mind was actively searching for a reason why, a pout adorning your lips and the usual peace in your eyes troubled.

Your silence must have perturbed him because you could've sworn you've never heard his voice sound so small.

"Hey... You mad at me?"

You blink a few times, pulled away from your reflexions and contemplating how to explain how you feel to him instead.

You sit up on your elbow and let your gaze wander down his body; littered with enough scars to scare away your average person. But not you.

"I'm not mad at you... I'm just sad to see you think so unfairly of yourself."

You trace down some faint scars he had on his left rib. Bullet wounds, stabs... He'd seen it all.

"Do you know what I see when I look at you, Arthur?"

He shrugs.

"Some sour-faced idiot?" He attempts to lighten the mood. But your unimpressed glare made it clear he had failed at that.

"No", your gaze drifts back to the old wounds on his side.

"I see a strong man, who's carrying much more than he should."

Your eyes meet his.

"Your body, your scars, your hands, your wrinkles... every possible little thing you could hate about yourself I love with all my being."

You feel Arthur tense up, his body unvoluntarily shifting away from you. He wants to escape this conversation; your words would only mitigate him more on his stance about himself.

His mind screams hate, and your words whisper love. Much softer but all the more powerful.

You shake your head and hold his hand in yours.

"No, you're not escaping this Arthur. Because seeing you loathe yourself tears me apart."

His gaze leaves yours as the realization hit him: you're blaming yourself.

That would explain how sad you'd seem whenever he'd make a self-deprecating joke, or when he'd brush off your compliments about how his new haircut suited him well, or on how nice his new clothes fitted him.

Now all he feels is guilt gnawing at him, reaching for his throat, tightening the hold on it, almost choking him harder than any opponent he'd face ever would. His voice comes out hoarse.

"Sweetheart... y'know I don't mean to hurt you."

You nod and try your best to reign in the emotion that bubbled within you and threatened to spill. But it broke your voice too to hear him sound so pained. You could only manage a whisper as your eyes got glassy.

"I know, baby... I know. It's not your fault... Just wished you'd believe me, y'know? Like I believe you."

The hand of his you were holding starts stroking reassuring circles on the back of your hand. Was it to calm himself? To calm you? Both, probably.

He presses his lips in a thin line as he takes a deep breath, taking a few moments to collect himself.

"... If I had not found you, I know men out there who would fight themselves to death just to have ya. Can't say the same 'bout me. I was lucky enough to experience this at all-"

"Stop it, Arthur. You say that as if you were some... some monster!"

"Well aren't I? Look at me", He shows his bruises as he retorts, "I've killed countless people for God's sake. These ugly scars... they not proof enough for ya?"

You wipe away a tear that had fallen down your cheek without noticing.

"Those scars are a testament to your loyalty... Means you've endured so much yet survived it all."

A soft "tch" escapes him, but the argumentative heat he felt within him died down when he saw how truly affected you were.

He wraps an arm around you and pulls you back to lay against him. His hands, so calloused from his revolver, idly traced shapes on your back.

He felt a tug on his heartstrings when your glossy eyes looked up at him.

"Arthur Morgan, you are no monster and I am no deity of beauty. We're just... We're just us."

He snorts.

"That makes a whole lotta sense darlin'."

"Shut up, smartass", you wipe your nose with the back of your hand, battling the smile that so badly wants to form on your face. "You get what I mean."

"Uh-huh, sure do."

Your glare earns you a chuckle from him.

"Well you will, cause we have some work to do on ya mister. I ain't letting this slide."

You hold him tighter and press a gentle kiss on his cheek, his beard tickling you in the process. So you tickle his ear with a few whispers, each one punctuated with a kiss.

You're beautiful. So handsome. Could stare at you all my life. Can't believe how lucky I've got to be with you. I love you, Arthur.

You feel a new found heat radiating off him, his hands rubbing your sides.

Arthur knew it would take more than a few words and kisses to change his perception of himself. And you knew that too.

But seeing how worked up you've got over it made him realize that he was only hurting the two of you more than anything by being so sour.

It'll take work sure, but he's willing to be more accepting of your words, your unashamed gazes and appreciation. He's willing to open his stubborn mind just a teeny tiny bit.

He's willing to try. For him. But mostly, for you.

And that's all thanks to you.

thank you so much for reading!!! i'm working on a longer nsfw arthur oneshot which hopefully will be my next post, soooo until next time ( ˶˘ ³˘)♡

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nexamoon · 10 days ago

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Sorry boss can’t work rn I’m talking to the wall about old men <3

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nexamoon · 11 days ago

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thank you to @arthur-morgans-wife for tagging me (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

here we go!!! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

currently reading : understanding human nature by alfred adler

last song : hot by cigarettes after sex

last film : just watched superman today at the cinema!! loved it

last series : law and order svu

sweet/salty/savory : sweet alllll the way

tea or coffee : y'all need to know that it ain't blood running in my veins, it's tea. cannot go a day without drinking it. i only drink black coffee when i'm too tired to properly function. with great reluctance.

currently working on : hmmm i've been looking for ideas but i still have an arthur morgan nsfw one shot and a dutch one in my notes... might have found other fluffy ideas for arthur but i wanna try my hand at smut first

well i feel like everyone i kinda know got tagged in these so i'm sorry if i retag you

(╥﹏╥)

no pressure tags; @heartsickspider @javierssombrero <3

#nana talks

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nexamoon · 20 days ago

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Arthur Morgan has the most gorgeous eyes.

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nexamoon · 22 days ago

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My hobbies include reading, writing and doing neither of those things

#real

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nexamoon · 22 days ago

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The frustration of aching to write but having no words to say.

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nexamoon · 24 days ago

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Alright but the tragedy of falling in love with a man like Dutch?? He’s confident to no end, headstrong and skilled. A leader through and through. It’s a no-brainer that he pulled you, hell he could pull anyone he wants. But he chose you.

It’s a love story told a million times. He spots you at a bar and his heart stops, sending over a drink with a wink and a smile. You excuse yourself from the group you’re with and take the drink with you.

“This from you?” You ask with a smile, knowing well the answer.

“Yes ma’am. Pretty little thing like you oughta know just how pretty she is." He takes a slow sip of his own liquor, making eye contact with a knowing look.

Your heart was racing out of your chest, heat rising to your cheeks. Never before had anyone been so bold with you. With his eyes and voice alone, he had you wrapped around his finger. The worst part? He knew.

That was the day you fell in love with Dutch Van Der Linde.

You don't see him the day after that. Or the next. You're not really sure how long it is until you see him again, only that you keep thinking about him until you do.

You're walking out of a tailor shop, clothes in hand. Eyes scanning the busy town around you. Before you could take another step, a familiar deep timbre reached your ears.

"Been awhile, hun."

You spin around, your confusion morphing into elation. There he stands, leaning against the building, cigar in hand. His eyes are playful, like he just knew you’d come running up to him, unable to keep your arms from wrapping around him and pulling him into a hug. He laughs, giving into you and placing a kiss on the back of your hand.

“How—where did you-”

“I’ve been busy, doll. You know my work makes me travel.”

You nod. A banking manager, he told you. He owned banks in many different states, and as such spent most of his time on the road to check that they were safe and free from robbers.

“But I’m back for now. Couldn’t miss seeing my favorite girl now, could I?”

You couldn’t help the stand of giggles that escape you. He was here. It was all you had dreamed about. All you had prayed for.

For what he lacked in spending most of his time away, he was present every moment he was with you. He took you out on dates, showered you in lavish clothing, fed you the most divine foods, listened to you talk about your favorite books, read you some of his. He was a passionate man of ideals, you learned. Incredibly bright and well spoken, everything he was drew you to him.

It was only a matter of time, really, before he bedded you. He whispered the sweetest nothings in your ear, lips worshiping every inch of your skin. He made you feel things you didn't know you could feel, your bodies and souls combined in the most delicious way. He created a monster, he thought, because after that first time you clawed at him any chance you could. He was far from complaining, though.

You wake early one morning to find him getting dressed. You whine, sleepily calling out his name in the darkness.

He's surprised to see you awake, awkwardly looking away from you, "Business calls, dear. I don't know how long I'll be gone for."

You pout only for him to coo at you. He makes his way towards you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"I'll come back. I always do, don't I?"

You sleepily nod. He runs his hands through your hair, avoiding the three little words he knows you've been dying to hear. With a final kiss to your lips he's gone, and your heart is unwhole again.

The next time you see him, half a year has passed. You spot him first. He's in an intense conversation with a tall, well-dressed man. Before you have the mind to stop, your feet carried you towards him.

"Dutch!" You shout, expecting him to reach out to you the way you do to him.

But he doesn't.

He looks over to the man, "Uh, just a minute, Arthur."

Dutch grabs you by the arm, pulling you around the building and scolding you for interrupting him. How could you be so thoughtless? He asks.

Tears reach your eyes. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. I just was so happy to see you."

He sighs, pressing a kiss to your hair. "I know you are, dear, but I'm on business right now and I need you to understand that."

You nod quickly, mad at yourself for making him upset. His tone has an air of finality to it, like you couldn't argue with him even if you wanted to. You chalk it up to stress from work.

Arthur appears behind Dutch, quietly waiting on the older man to notice his presence. Not a second later Dutch turns around, an almost-smile on his face as he introduces the two of you.

"This is my business partner," he says.

Arthur tips his hat politely, kind eyes taking you in. He turns to Dutch, "We can talk later. Lovely to meet you, miss."

As he walks away Dutch visibly eases, all the tension from earlier somehow already forgotten. Like a switch has been flipped, he's back to the Dutch you remembered.

"Why don't we get a drink, doll?"

He takes your hand and a warmth spreads through you. One you've been longing for all these months. You squeeze his hand and don't have to wait long before he does the same.

It's a different bar than the one you met in, a bit nicer. There's a band playing and you barely make it in the door before pulls you into his arms, spinning you around and dancing to the upbeat rhythm.

He's back, you think. My Dutch is back.

When you both are thoroughly tired he finds you a table to sit down at, only returning when he holds two drinks in his hands.

You ask him questions about his work, only for him to fold in a way you didn't expect him to. The truth finally comes out. He’s an outlaw and had been in a gang for quite a long time. Matter of fact—he’s the leader.

And you? You can’t find it in you to care, if anything it makes you more attracted to him. Hell, you never fit in anyway, why keep playing by the rules? You know you should be mad that he lied to you, but you aren't. You're too infatuated with him. Too infatuated with the fact that he’s giving you his attention.

“It’s you and me, love. You’ll have the best of everything with me.” He whispers in your ear. His eyes glint like he already knows what you’re planning on saying.

“Let me join.”

And so you do. You’ve been the pretty little thing on his arm for a while now. Now it was official.

When he introduces you to the group and watches as you help stage robberies and thefts, he shakes his head in disbelief at how easily you become family to everyone. It was a whirlwind romance, now that the truth was out. Sure, with his group he had purpose. But now? He thrives. Everyone with a pulse could see the way you brought each other to life.

After every successful mission he's bending you over and making you scream his name until you can't stand, only to make you beg for more. He knows just as well as you do that you'd do anything for him, even more so when he learns how obedient you are when he finally says I love you.

When moments come that the group questions him, you’re the first—even quicker than Dutch—to tell them to have faith. He knows more than all of us, you chide. He knows what he’s talking about. That utopia? It’s almost in sight.

Only for his illness, his sanity, to give way, leaving you no choice. His outbursts become more frequent, towards you, towards everyone. Everyone else is to blame, never himself. You try, you desperately try to fix the pieces, to get back to when everything was new and you both were happy.

You come to Arthur as a last resort, surely he can help? But he can't. No one can. Everything falls apart as though it were fated and the group shatters.

And once again, you’re left behind.

#nana's faves

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nexamoon · 25 days ago

Text

needed this reminder 🫶🏻

REMEMBER!

YOUR CREATIVE WORKS ARE NOT DEFINED BY ITS SOCIAL ENGAGEMENT!

LOVE YOUR ART AND WRITING FOR YOURSELF NOT OTHERS!

YOUR WORKS ARE VALID, DO IT FOR YOUR LOVE OF IT. I SEE YOU! YOU ARE AMAZING!

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nexamoon · 26 days ago

Note

Would you do a HC of what it would be like to kiss Arthur for the first time?

Eeeek, my first ask! I gave it a go - I hope you like it <3

When you kiss him for the first time, it’s as though his entire body tenses. He almost pulls back. Almost. He stares at you when you pull away after the brief kiss, a thousand things he wants to say swirling around his mind, but he doesn’t say them, not one. Instead, he stays frozen like that, plump lips slightly parted as his eyes flicker between your averted ones. When you ask him if that was okay, he pauses for a moment, and when he finally speaks, his voice catches a little and he has to stop and clear his throat softly before continuing. “Yeah”, he’d say quietly, the roughness of his voice cracking a little.

The air feels tense and awkward, the sound of both your breathing suddenly all too loud against the stillness. With your heart pounding, you make to move away, stumbling through a murmured apology, but just before you can rise, a hand grabs your wrist. His touch is light, the roughness of his calloused fingertips grazing your skin so delicately as he stands with you. Refusing to look him in the eye in case he sees the blush rising from your collarbone, you keep you face turned down, eyes fixed on the buttons of his shirt, on the broad expanse of his chest.

Slowly, a hand comes to wrap around your waist, his touch hesitant and gentle, and you willingly allow him to guide you that fraction closer. The hand holding your wrist drops, the back of his knuckles trailing up your arm, across your shoulder, until they unfurl at your throat and tenderly curl around the back of your neck as you slowly lift your head. Your body is pressed so tight against him that you swear you can hear his heartbeat, your eyes catching his for only the briefest of moments before your lips meet again.

This time, he moves. Fingers wander to thread into your hair. Lips part just a fraction as he runs his tongue across your bottom lip. The hand around your waist slides with ease to cradle the small of your back. He tastes like tobacco and whiskey and warmth. Your skin tingles at the softness of his lips, at the gentle pressure of his hands against you.

I hope that was okay <3

#cute cute cute #nana's faves

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nexamoon · 26 days ago

Text

A Quiet Life

about: you're arthur's muse for a quiet evening at camp. then he catches himself dreaming of a life that couldve been. tags: mostly fluff, slight angst, dreams, wishful thinking wc: <1,000 an: i wrote this about a full figured woman with brown hair and eyes because i want more representation of women with my body type! hope you enjoy!!!

Evening settled slow over camp, casting long golden fingers through the pine branches and dappling the worn tents and wagons in the kind of soft, forgiving light that made everything feel a little less harsh. The kind of light that made a man want to sit still and just… watch.

Arthur Morgan leaned his shoulder against the cool bark of a tree just off the main path of camp, half-hid in the shadows. His journal lay open in his lap, the familiar worn leather comforting beneath his rough fingers. A stub of pencil tapped lightly against the page, as if impatient.

But Arthur wasn’t drawing yet.

He was looking. Searching.

Across the camp, just near the fire where Miss Grimshaw usually held court, you sat on a low wooden crate, back to the setting sun, head bent, a shirt spread across your lap like a map. Mending. Needle flashing between the fabric, steady, efficient. Your hands moved with purpose, graceful, but sure, like you’d done this a hundred times over.

Arthur squinted a bit, watching as a lock of your dark brown hair slipped forward from the loose knot at the back of your head. It curled slightly at the ends, just brushing your shoulders. You huffed, frustrated, and pushed it back without missing a stitch. Brown eyes narrowed in concentration, mouth tugged into a small line of focus. You weren’t smiling, but you weren’t frowning either. You were just… in your own world.

You always looked like that when you were working. Quiet. Peaceful.

Content.

Arthur’s chest tightened, sudden-like. He didn’t like that feeling, not much. Made his jaw clench. He looked down at the blank page in his journal, muttered something low under his breath, then pressed pencil to paper.

The first few lines came slow, tentative. The curve of your back as you leaned over the shirt. The slope of your shoulders. The way your dress, soft, worn cotton pulled snug across your full figure. He tried not to think about how his eyes lingered there, how he appreciated the roundness of your hips, the way your chest moved just slightly as you breathed. That weren’t proper. Not for him to dwell on, anyhow.

But still… he stared a little too long.

He sketched the set of your face, the roundness of your cheeks, the curve of your nose. He gave special care to your eyes, those warm, earthy brown eyes that always seemed like they were looking through people instead of just at them. Even if they didn’t meet his often.

Your hair came next, that tumble of loose strands and gentle waves and curls. He made sure to sketch how a few wisps clung to the sweat along your temples—real detail, honest work. He wasn’t trying to make you picture perfect. Just real. Just… you.

Arthur paused, looked up again.

You shifted, rolling your shoulders, stretching a little with a soft groan like you’d been hunched too long. The way your body moved was natural, un-self-conscious. He caught himself admiring the way your arms looked strong from years of lifting and working. Not delicate, no, but something better. Real strength. Womanly. Comforting.

His pencil moved quicker now, like it had a mind of its own. He added the shape of your hands, the way your fingers curled around the fabric. He shaded the patchwork shadows cast by the firelight dancing along your figure, letting it frame you in warmth.

Then, near the top of the page, where he sometimes scribbled names or little notes, he paused.

He didn’t write your name.

He just wrote: "Camp, Evening. Mending."

Plain and simple.

Arthur stared at the sketch for a long time after he finished it. His gut felt strange, tight and warm all at once, like he’d swallowed something that didn’t sit right. But he knew better. He wasn’t sick. Just… stirred, maybe.

He knew you were beautiful. He thought it every damn time he looked at you. But it wasn’t the kind of thing a man like him admitted haphazardly.

So instead of words, he closed the journal, slid it back into his satchel, and stood slowly.

He watched you a moment more, just a heartbeat, before heading toward his bedroll, pretending like he’d just been walkin’ through.

He never said a word about the drawing.

But that night, when he lay on his side, journal tucked in his saddle and the soft hum of camp drifting in the air, he didn’t dream about shootouts or past regrets like he usually did.

He dreamed of those brown eyes and that soft smile.

He fell into sleep slower than usual, like his mind refused to settle. The hum of the crickets and crackle of the campfire blurred into a low lullaby, and the smell of pine sap drifted in on a cool breeze.

And when sleep finally did come, it brought you with it.

At first, it was the camp, but softer somehow. Dream-washed. Firelight flickered like candle glow, the shadows less sharp, the cold bite of the evening replaced by a warmth that didn’t come from the fire. You were there, sitting across from him, not mending now, but laughing, your head tilted back slightly, that brown hair of yours falling in soft waves and curls around your cheeks. The dress you wore was different—lighter, something with little flowers stitched near the neckline. You looked comfortable. Happy.

Arthur found himself leaning toward you, elbows on his knees, heart thudding slow but heavy. His voice felt thick in his throat, like it always did when he hesitated.

“Y'er real beautiful, y'know that?” he asked, in that low, gravelly drawl of his. Hesitant. Honest.

You blinked, caught off guard. Then smiled. A slow, warm, crinkling-at-the-corners kind of smile that made him feel like maybe the sun had decided to rise just for him. You didn’t laugh at him, didn’t scoff or look away like he feared. Simply smiled. And that was more than enough for him.

He chuckled in the dream, rough and sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck like he always did when nerves got the better of him. You reached across the space between and touched his hand--soft, steady fingers against scarred knuckles.

That’s when the dream shifted.

The camp disappeared, and he saw flashes of another life--a different one.

A little log cabin tucked in the trees, smoke curling from the chimney. Not fancy, but sturdy. A garden out front, your herbs and vegetables growing in neat rows. He saw himself chopping firewood, shirt sleeves rolled up, sweat beading on his brow, but there was no pressure behind the work. Just peace.

Inside, there was light. Warm walls, a table with two chairs, dishes drying by the basin. He saw you at the stove, hair tied back with a faded red kerchief, humming a tune while stirring something rich and warm in a pot. The smell of stew and fresh bread filled the place.

Then another flash. Your hand in his as you walked into town, skirt brushing his boots, the two of you laughing at some dumb thing he’d said. People looked at you like any other couple. Normal. Settled. You didn’t have to look over your shoulder anymore. Neither did he.

Then he saw himself brushing hair from your eyes by lantern light, kissing your forehead while you leaned into him by the fire. And later, falling asleep with you curled against his chest, your body warm and real in the dark.

He dreamed of children, though he didn’t see them clearly--just heard the patter of little feet, the echo of laughter through the woods. He saw you carrying a small blanket over one shoulder, turning back toward him with that same soft smile.

He felt it all. The ease. The quiet joy. The belonging.

But even in dreams, some part of Arthur knew it wasn’t real.

The dream faded, the log cabin dissolved and the warmth slipped from his hands like smoke, he saw himself standing outside in the snow, watching that little home from a distance, as if it belonged to someone else. Someone better. Someone who hadn’t done the things he’d done.

You stood in the doorway, silhouetted in firelight, calling to him. Reaching out. But he didn’t move. He just watched. Hand at his chest. Heart heavy because he couldn't run to you like he wanted. His feet cemented to the floor around him.

Then he woke, breath caught in his throat, the stars above him too bright, the makeshift pillow beneath his head too hard. The fire was down to embers, and camp was still. Quiet.

He stared up at the sky for a long time.

He would never say the words aloud. Would never tell you he dreamed of a cabin and soft smiles, of calloused hands brushing yours, of a future wrapped in flannel and wildflowers.

But in his journal, tucked behind the sketch of you mending that shirt, he wrote:

"A quiet life, if I could. With her, maybe I would’ve tried."

In the morning, he left a fresh spool of thread and a new needle by your tent, without a note.

#nana's faves

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nexamoon · 27 days ago