#arthur morgan x m reader

[livingdeadmlm]

Back from the dead

OKAY SO…Werewolf Arthur Morgan x reader ??

Probably just fluff and maybe an overprotective Arthur?

TEEEHEEE

-🌶️

Welcome back!!

He keeps his ears tucked away in his hat, he dosen’t want it too clear when he’s trying to hear what people are talking about around him

He comes back to the camp and tries his hardest to keep his tail from wagging like crazy when he finally catches a small smell of you throughout the camp leading back to your tent.

However he is always exposed when you peek around a corner and hear his name sung out to him, it does get some giggles from the women in the camp and the kids when big ol Arthur's stoic face and tail are going 100 miles a minute

Heading into town he makes sure to be half a step behind so he can make sure no one sneaks up on either of you and maybe take your or his wallets and run off.

He makes plenty sure that when talking to folk they don’t attempt to scam you out of any of your money

When taking jobs he tends to consider his safety more now yet still finds himself in the middle of the woods talking to strangers he’s never seen before.

He wont get jealous if people come up to talk to you but when its at the bar, and the other person is getting much to close his ears are pinned back under his hat

You don’t entertain the attention much but the other person tends to pick up on Arthur’s no longer wagging tail and the tension that could be cut with a knife

He’s never had to get loud unless someone grabs at you then he dives in and holds back no bite or punch

You’ve specially sown his pants in order to fit his tail through them, before he would just rip a line in the hem and fit is tail in it.

If you find a hat that accompanies his big wolf ears it exposes just how often he gets confused but plays it off like nothing

As a wolf I think he’d have a much bigger appetite and gets a little embarrassed when he’s downed his whole meal when you’ve just started eating

[willryist]

♢ Troubles Washed in the River ♢

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Male Reader

Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

1,053 words

AO3 Post

Masterlist

ALSO DON'T KILL ME FOR THE WRITING THIS IS THE FIRST FULL FANFICTION THAT ISN'T A JOKE IN YEARS.

»--•--«

You rub your eyes, taking in the bright sun that shone through them. Sat in your bedroll, you feel the same dreadful feeling you have for days now. You’ve had no motivation to even get yourself out of bed, let alone do anything productive. You stare down at your crossed legs, struggling to muster up the drive to pull yourself up and get some coffee. You hoped it might help you through this, as stupid as it felt.

You had to fight yourself just to wake up and start your morning. It took everything in you to not just sleep through the day. It took everything in you not to cry. You had no idea why you felt this sad. You’d been doing so much better these days, why you went back to this was beyond you. 

The sound of a familiar voice caught your attention. “Hey, you alright there?” 

Arthur leaned against one of the wooden poles that held up your tent, his hand rested on his belt.

Leaning back with your hands resting on your thighs, you give him a shrug. “I guess.” 

“That don’t sound like a guy who’s alright. Not to mention you’ve been glued to that bedroll for ‘bout three days now. What’s on yer mind?”

You looked off into the distance, contemplating his words. The last thing you wanted was for him to worry about you, but it seems like it’s too late now. You wished that if you didn’t answer he’d leave you alone and go on with his day, despite how unrealistic it was. The camp was anything but private, which had you even more bothered about telling him anything.

After a few moments of silence, Arthur spoke up. “How’s about we take a ride down to the river? It’ll get ya outta this tent.”

“Sure.” You used your hands to help you up on your feet. You felt heavier than you thought. Once up, you felt a throbbing pain in your head. Trying your hardest to ignore it, you trudged over to the hitching posts with Arthur.

Everything that you never paid any mind to now feels so tasking. Just getting on your horse feels impossible. You grip onto the saddle horn, foot lodged into the stirrup to help yourself up. You almost stumble and fall in the process. 

You notice Arthur gripping his reins, waiting for you.

“Sorry for makin’ ya wait, Arthur.” 

“Don’t pay it any mind. Let’s just get on.” Arthur’s horse trots through the wooded trail. You squeeze your horse’s ribs to cue it forward, following behind Arthur’s.

It wouldn’t be long before the two of you reached the Dakota River, riding down the hill that connected Horseshoe Overlook to the land near the water. 

Arthur pulled his horse to a stop at an open spot of grass near the river, a bit north from the town of Limpany. He unmounted and went to rest on the dirt, sat with his arm slung over his knee. He looked as if he were waiting for you to join him. 

You hop off of your horse and tie the reins to a nearby tree before going to sit by Arthur. A herd of deer gathered by the other side of the river, lapping up the flowing water. The tranquility of the scenery distracts you from your current situation. All you could focus on were the sounds of the chirping birds and leaves rustled from the faint wind.

“So, what’s been yer problem? I’d say you ain’t pullin’ yer weight around camp anymore, but you ain’t even eatin’. All anyone’s seen ya do these past few days is sleep or lie in your bedroll.” His gaze fixed on you. You couldn’t even look in his direction. 

You didn’t know how to put what you felt into words. You didn’t know how to explain to him why getting up in the morning felt like a constant fight, how you felt weighed down to the bedroll. That feeling of being so tired yet unable to sleep. You feared Arthur might not understand, or say that you were overreacting. 

“I don’t know, Arthur. I haven’t found the energy to get up. I feel exhausted but I can only get a couple hours of sleep, and I constantly feel on the verge of tears. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I haven’t felt like this in such a long time and it makes it extra upsetting that I’m back to this.” You choke back stray tears. The more you speak, the more you feel the waterworks come on.

“Back to this? It’s happened before?” 

“Yeah.” You wiped your eyes, vision turning cloudy from the tears. “Was on and off a lot. Used to have to get forced to eat or drink so I wouldn’t starve. I’ve done better for myself and it hasn’t happened in a few years. I have no idea what brought it on again, but now it feels worse than any other time.” 

You feel a hand rest on your shoulder. The touch was hesitant and awkward, yet the warmth still soothed you. “Well I’m.. not very sure how I can help ya. Whatever ya need, just holler for me, okay?” 

“Okay.” You nod and lean into his touch, head resting on his shoulder. Arthur tensed up from the sudden movement. His shoulders unbunched as he relaxed, his hand trickling down from your shoulder to your upper arm to pull you closer. Taking a quick glance at his face, you notice the faint red on his cheeks.

The two of you sat in silence, enjoying the soft embrace of one another. Above everything, you were glad to know Arthur would be there to support you. You knew this episode wouldn’t go away just like that, but having Arthur might lighten the load.

“Don’t tell a soul about any of this, y’hear?” 

“Don’t plan on it. Thank you, by the way. For gettin’ me up and out. Felt useless and guilty for rotting away like that.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself for it, now.” Arthur’s thumb rubbed against your upper arm in slow strokes. “We should be headin’ back to camp, don’t want people suspectin’ anything.” 

“Can’t we stay a bit longer? I only just got comfortable.”

Arthur sighs. “Only for a bit.”

»--•--«

[herbatalover]

Hello, hope your having a good day/night?

I dont know if your still taking requests but if you are could I request HH Arthur Morgan x LH Male S/O

A/N: I'm sick, so I might write more fanfics now. Hopefully you'll enjoy <3 I'm sorry if it's not what you had in mind!

HH Arthur Morgan x LH Male Reader

"Crazy bastard"

You were sitting by the fire late at night, drowning your sorrows in some whiskey. It was the usual time where dark thoughts came over you. You were a bad man. A horrible one. You lived a bad life. Not by choice... You had to adapt to the life you were thrown into.

Taken in by a strange couple and their unruly son when you were just a kid. Saved from getting shop by an angry shop lifter. What an interesting day.

"Hand them over boy..." The man growled at you. You hugged the two cans of beans closer to you, glaring at him. You were desperate, starving. You didn't know how to use a gun, how to hunt, so you had to steal. This time however, you got unlucky.

"Piss off" you hissed at him. The man looked furious, pulling a gun out, pointing at you. You froze, feeling like a caged animal. Nowhere to go, getting killed over some food... Not exactly how you wanted to die. Your pa would be disappointed.

No, he'd be disappointed if you gave up. You won't. You held the cans tighter, only raising one hand slowly. The man watched you, hoping you'll pass the cans over to him, and instead was greeted with a middle finger. You gave him a grin.

"I am not dying yet partner" you pushed down the fear, getting ready for a bullet. If you're going to die, then at least with some honor.

There was a gunshot.

But the bullet never came. Instead, the man fell on his knees, wide eye, blood slowly leaving his mouth. He fell on the ground, face first. You looked at him confused before noticing a hole in the back of his head. There was a quiet chuckle behind him.

"Nice work Arthur" said a black haired man, you soon-to-be leader, walking over the man, approaching you. "Now who do we have here?"

From that day on you joined Dutch's boys, becoming their second son. You grew close with Arthur, akward conversation turning into late night talks. But, it wasn't a family you hoped for.

You killed many people. Men, women, children sometimes too. Robbed people, both wealthy and poor. Became an errand boy, especially when Herr Strauss joined, having to go around collecting debts. Beating the crying people who begged for mercy.

You were there when the Backwater mess happened. When John got brought back from being torn apart by wolves. When they brought the woman, Mrs. Adler and the "not O'Driscoll" in. When they brought Sean back home.

And now you were stuck near Rhodes, staring at the fire, thinking how your life would look if you'd try to be a good man. If you tried to behave. If you didn't stole those damn beans.

You got up, sighing heavily, feeling the alcohol go into your blood. You headed over to your tent, passing Dutch. You could've stayed quiet, but something pushed you to open your mouth.

"There he is... When are we going to Tahiti, boss?" You scoffed at him, only to get a confused look. You narrowed your eyes "we both know you plan is bullshit, so how about you tell everyone the truth that we're fucked?" You growled. Dutch, now turning irritated turned to you.

"Cut it out, son. I get you're stressed, but we don't need that right now."

"oh I ain't stressed... I'm just seeing clearly" you grinned, but got yanked away to the side. You blinked confused and turned to yell at whoever grabbed you, until you realized it was your beloved Arthur Morgan.

"What are you doing Y/N?" He frowned and looked at Dutch with a sigh "he's been drinking again.... Don't mind him. You'll work it out, you always do" he nodded to him, pulling you away. You rolled your eyes, pushing him away, yet going in the same direction he was pulling you to - his tent.

"Why do you have to lick everyone's ass?" You muttered, walking in. Arthur frowned, following you.

"We're in a tough situation, no need to steer up more commotion" he walked closer to you. You turned to him, glaring at him.

"Of course, because you're the high and mighty Arthur 'Perfect Son' Morgan, aren't you?!"

He looked at you surprised. To be honest, you yourself wasn't quite sure where that came from.

You loved him. He was the love of your life, you'd never hurt him. But you were jealous. Jealous about how he was better than you. How he was nice to everyone, how they all adored him. How he got smiles and pats on the back while you got scowls and scoffs. You were a bad man, you knew that. But you wanted to be adored. To be known.

Yet being nice seemed to be pathetic.

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows, placing his hand on your cheek. You let out a quier sigh, turning your head away. He was looking at you a bit, then cupped your face, turning to him.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing" you pushed his hands away "go be adored. Go find someone who won't ruin your reputation. Go suck everyone's dick so they love you"

"The hell are you talking about?" He laughed, but stopped, noticing you were serious. He frowned, taking your jaw, turning your head to face him.

"I am not leaving you."

"I'm not good for you, Arthur!" You glare at him. "I'm a monster! A good for nothing killer, I don't deserve you, I'm not good for you!"

"Horseshit" the man rolled his eyes. "You're perfect for me"

"I'm not! Maybe you're perfect, but I-" you couldn't even finish because Arthur captured your lips in a soft kiss. You wanted to push him off, but sighed, melting into it. He snickered quietly to which he earned a hit (more of a tap) on the chest. He slowly broke the kiss, looking you in the eyes.

"That's not true" he smiled. "You're everything I could ask for"

You were staring at him quietly, before burying your face in his chest.

"... You smell like cigarettes" you changed the subject. You always did when you got embarrassed or didn't want to face the truth. He sighed softly, petting your head.

You stayed like this for a bit, before you could hear his voice again, jumping a bit as you didn't expect it.

"Hey Y/N?"

"Yes?"

"Have you had the dark thoughts again?" He placed his head on top of yours, petting you softly. You blinked.

".... Maybe a bit"

"You know what it means~" he hummed, one of his hands sliding down, grabbing your ass. You tensed up surprised before chuckling quietly.

"Crazy bastard...."

[revolversandlace]

The Dangers of Summer

Dutch/Arthur/John x f!Reader

Warnings & Tags: Explicit, Smut, Swearing, M/M/M/F, f!Reader, Plot? What Plot? DubCon, No Y/N, Minors DNI

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: Dutch asks you to rob a homestead, unfortunately the loot isn’t what you expect. 

A/N: I’m sorry I got horny and this happened. It is what it is.

AO3 Link

You’d been with the gang some weeks now, and not a day had gone past without the men trying to break you.

You weren’t even sure why they brought you into the fold, except for them to tease you with dead end goose chases or some impossible challenge even they couldn’t complete.

One day after the other, you were just as keen as the last to prove yourself fit for the gang. And just when you thought you were on a job to prove yourself, it turned out to be another waste of time.

‘Miss,’ Dutch called, beckoning you to his tent, the dramatic classical music playing softly in the background and he puffed on his fat cigar.

You marched over, as your boots crunched over the leaves.

He leaned back in his chair, hands folded behind him, watching your every move. You could feel his eyes boring into you. His face was impassive but his gaze held you in place. You stared back at him, throwing your hands in the air.

'What is it now, Dutch?'

'It'd pay you to show some more respect around here, Miss.'

You pursed your lips taking in a deep breath. 'I'll try my best,' you said coolly.

He nodded slowly. 'Good girl. Now I have a job for you.'

You arched an eyebrow. 'Another one? I'm getting tired of these endless jobs that don't go anywhere.'

'This one will be different.' He took off his hat and placed it on the table. His hair was disheveled, falling over his forehead and he looked like he hadn't slept in days. 'It's a homestead in south Leymone, not far from Braithwaite Manor.'

'Am I supposed to find anything there or will it be like the last one?'

Dutch laughed, a low and filled with danger. You really were beginning to think that perhaps this gang wasn't the right fit for you. But then again if you didn't want to join them maybe you shouldn't have come along with them in the first place.

'I expect there to be the usual wares. Jewellery... Cash,' Dutch waved his hand dismissively. He reached to the inside of his waistcoat, pulling out a silver pocket watch. 'If you leave now, you might make it for sundown.'

'Is that all?' You asked surprised. You felt like you should have been doing something more than stealing jewellery and money.

'That's enough for now,' Dutch said looking at you intently. 'Now gear up and let me see what you can do.'

You did as he instructed, quickly putting on your hat and grabbing your gun belt from where it hung in your tent. As you walked towards your horse, Arthur stepped in front of you, blocking the path between you and your mount.

'Finally got a job, I hear.' Arthur said, his smug smile plastered all across his face. Since being within the gang, Arthur had barely said more than four words to you, usually opting for silence and grumbles.

'Get out of my way,' you sighed, already exhausted with the men of the gang.

'Not until we talk about how you're going to repay us for saving you from those bandits.'

'You saved me? That's news to me.'

'You know we did,' Arthur snorted, placing his large hand on your shoulder and leading you towards your horse.

'Arthur, if you've got any issues, take it up with Dutch, okay?' You said, your voice tight as you shook his hand from you.

'Oh I will,' he said with a smirk, tugging at the brim of his hat as you hoisted yourself onto your horse.

You rode away without another word, wanting nothing more than to get out of there. You were sick of their constant teasing and taunting and wanted to be left alone. You didn't care much for Arthur but at least he was easy to deal with compared to the others.

You rode hard, reaching the homestead just before sundown. The sky turned to a bright orange hue, bathing the trees in a golden light as the birds began to sing their evening song.

Hitching your horse and throwing a sack over your shoulder, you checked your revolver and opened the barrel to see six rounds nestled in the metal. You flicked the gun with your wrist, closing it back up and you made your way to the house.

One by one, you checked the windows to make sure the house was empty. You heard nothing and saw even less, as you rattled the back doorknob and pushed it open.

You raised your gun and you pulled up your bandana over your nose and mouth, your skin prickling with excitement. Finally, a job where you could show your worth to the gang.

You checked the drawers, every cupboard you could see and a pair of pearl earrings and a wad of cash later, you made your way from the back room into the hallway.

Just as you were about to open the door to the next room, you heard an unmistakable clatter.

Shit.

Walking slowly towards the room that the sound came from, you lightly put one foot in front of the other, as your hand gripped tighter around the gun.

You tried to listen through the wall but couldn't tell what was happening. Was someone still there? Or was it just some noise from outside?

You took a deep breath and held it in your chest as you slowly opened the door.

What you saw however, was the last thing you expected.

'Told ya she didn't know the shortcut,' Arthur said, sitting in a chair with his foot on his knee, rolling a cigarette between his fingers.

John was sitting beside him, with a wide smile.

'I'm surprised she made it at all,' he said

'What the fuck is going on?' You said, searching both of their faces as you pulled down your bandana. 'What's this all about?' Your voice rose as your heart began to speed up in your chest.

They said nothing, as they stared at you with boyish grins on their face.

'I don't have time for this,' you said, turning away from them.

'Don't worry about her,' Arthur called after you. 'She'll come round.'

'You can say that again,' John laughed.

You stopped in your tracks, your temper rising.

'I can't believe you've done this again! Why can't you just give me a job and leave me be?' You waved your gun at them, in half your mind to shoot them where they sat. They both laughed, clearly not as threatened as you'd thought they'd be. Although if you were expecting anything from either of them by now you were mistaken.

'We're sorry darlin' we didn't mean to scare ya,' Arthur said, standing up and putting his hat back on. 'But you know how it is with us.' He smiled down at you.

'Yeah, I do. You're real shits you know that.' You said, folding your arms across your chest. 'Wait until Dutch here's of this.'

The men looked at each other smiling as you heard a laugh from behind you. Spinning round you nearly collided with Dutch as he towered over you, his black mustache twitching.

'Who's ideal do you think it was?' He said and you slowly took a step back. 'Now, missy. I've had a word with these two and they both agree. You're attitude is...'

Dutch licked his lips hungrily, staring down at you as your chest became tighter.

'Unwelcomed.' He said, his face turning to a near snarl.

You didn't know what was happening, but you didn't like it. You felt uneasy and you wanted to get out of there but you knew that would only make things worse for yourself. So instead you remained quiet, staring at Dutch.

'You need to learn your place,' Dutch growled, stepping closer to you.

You could feel his hot breath against your neck as he whispered, 'You belong to us now.'

You swallowed hard as he grabbed hold of your hair, pulling you off balance. He turned you around to face both John and Arthur, who looked at each other with excitement.

You tried to struggle from Dutch's grasp but his fingers just dug further into your scalp.

'Now we won't hurt,' Dutch said into your ear as he marched you towards the table, 'as long as you behave.'

You were scared, but not as scared as you should have been. You would have been lying if you said you weren't excited at the thought. You'd thought about the men before, although not at the same time, in the late hours when your hand would drift lower to pleasure yourself.

You didn't want to admit it but even then you were curious about the way they treated you. The way they talked to you and the way they acted around you.

Dutch let go of your hair as the back of your thighs met the edge of the table as all three men stood around you. You could feel your cheeks burning red as their eyes roamed over your body like a pack of wolves.

Arthur stepped forward and lifted you up onto the table, placing himself between your legs. He pressed his hands against your breasts, kneading them roughly.

'Now boys, take good care of her,' Dutch ordered as he pulled out a half-smoked cigar, lighting the thick end.

'Get her ready for me,' he nodded, pulling a chair away from the table and sitting down to watch the show.

You swallowed hard, as Arthur's large, rough hands worked over your body as he made his way to your shirt buttons.

'Make sure you share, Arthur,' Dutch said, leaning back as Arthur started to unbutton you.

John joined him, kissing your neck and running his tongue along your skin. You moaned at the sensation as the two pairs of hands continued to roam over you. Your cunt was throbbing, as you ran your leg up Arthur's side, whilst John continued to kiss you.

Helping Arthur shrug off your shirt, the cool breeze hit your nipples as he took one of them between his thumb and index finger, giving it a pinch.

'You like it rough girl?' He growled as you whimpered, all words caught in your throat. All you could give him was a weak nod as he applied more pressure on your nipple as your wetness grew.

'Good,' he grunted, squeezing harder on your breast. 'This is going to be fun.'

He released your breast as both he and John began to work at your trousers, unbuckling you and pulling the jeans and your boots from you as you sat on the edge of the table completely naked.

Arthur pushed you back onto the table and kissed you roughly, pushing his tongue inside your mouth as you kissed him back, feeling John's hands run over your thighs and towards your sopping wet heat.

You gasped as you felt a finger slip inside you, making you buck your hips as Arthur continued to work his tongue in your mouth.

'She's already wet, Dutch' John said, pumping his fingers into you, stretching you out as you moaned into Arthur's mouth.

Arthur pulled away from you, his lips glistening with your saliva as John continued to bury his fingers in you, curling them around deep inside of you. You continued to moan, and rock your hips.

'Think I'm gonna use that mouth some more,' Arthur growled, as he began to undo his belt.

You looked up at him with mewls falling from your lips as he pulled out his thick cock. Giving it a few pumps, he grabbed the top of your hair, and pulled your head onto his cock, and shoved it into your mouth.

You sucked hard, taking it deep as you tried to swallow it. You gagged and choked as you tried to keep up, as the other two began to laugh.

'You're going to have to learn to take it all,' Arthur grunted, as he pulled your head away giving you a second to breathe.

'I'm sure she will,' Dutch said from the chair, watching you intently.

'Open up, darlin', and try and take the whole thing,' Arthur said as you forced yourself harder onto John's fingers, the coil already beginning to tighten in your lower stomach.

You nodded, opening your mouth as Arthur shoved his cock back into your mouth with no mercy. Using his grip on you, he moved your head roughly onto him and you tried your best to breathe as your throat became fuller and fuller.

'Come on, girl,' Arthur grunted, 'take it all.'

You tried your hardest, but you couldn't. You could feel his balls tighten and his cock swell as he continued to thrust into your mouth.

You gagged and spluttered, but he didn't stop. You kept your mouth open as he used you, whilst John pushed another finger into you. Moaning onto Arthur's cock, you felt your own orgasm building.

You were desperate for release; you needed it badly. His cock was too big for your mouth, and it wouldn't stay still. It seemed determined to stretch you to breaking point. As he pounded your mouth mercilessly, his breathing picked up as his grip got tighter on your head.

You felt John remove his fingers from you, as you looked down, he pulled his cock from his trousers and shoved the thick head into your dripping cunt.

You moaned again, both your holes filled as the men ravaged you. You felt your toes curl as you arched your back, your cunt growing tighter around John's cock as he thumbed at your clit.

It was almost too much as a wave of pleasure crashed over you as you screamed onto Arthur's cock whilst John fucked you harder. You came quickly as your orgasm ripped through your body leaving you weak.

Arthur withdrew his cock from your mouth and grabbed hold of your hair, forcing you up onto your feet as you felt your legs struggling to hold you up.

'Think she's having a good time, Dutch' Arthur mused as you panted, desperate for air as the bliss tingled over your skin.

'It does appear that way,' Dutch said, nodding as he stood. You could see John stoking himself as Arthur grabbed you by the wrist, pulling you on top of him onto the table.

'I wanna see you how tight you are,' he said, his hands digging so hard into your hips you know they'd leave bruises for days.

He speared his cock into you as you mewled again, your eyes scrunched tight as Arthur fucked himself into you. You felt John's thumb circling your asshole, as he spat onto you letting the liquid drip down.

'Please,' you whined, as you felt the head of John's cock push into your other hole, the pain and pleasure melding into one.

You were full, stuffed and revelling in ecstasy as the two men fucked you.

'I can't last much longer,' John groaned, pressing his hands against your hips and rocking his hips forward as you cried out loudly.

'Don't let me interrupt you gentleman,' Dutch said, making his way over to the table removing his hat as he removed his belt.

'Why don't you come see how a real man tastes,' Dutch chuckled, stepping out of his trousers and wrapping his hand around his hard cock.

You wasted no time in obliging, wrapping your lips around him and now every single one of your holes were filled. Dutch pumped himself faster into your mouth while his hands played with your breast.

He leaned in close and whispered, 'good girl,' as he slapped your cheek.

You felt his hot cum splash across your tongue and into your mouth as you gulped it down greedily. You could hear him panting above you, as he pulled you from his cock. You felt John thrust faster into your ass, bruising you further as he grunted, his cum filling you and spilling out, dripping down onto your cunt.

Arthur wasn't far behind, as you continued to bob on his cock, the last drops of cum dripping down your chin as Dutch wiped his brow.

John pulled himself from you as you now felt empty, except for Arthur who continued to pummel you hard. The familiar feeling rose again, as you ground your hips into Arthur, as the slaps continued to fill the room.

Another orgasm erupted, as you screamed into the air, the pleasure almost unbearable as Arthur, unrelentingly chased his own as you were filled up one last time.

Arthur stopped, holding himself deep within you as you collapsed onto the table next to him panting. You rolled onto your side, looking at the mess you made and seeing the satisfied smile on each of their faces.

Covered in cum and sweat, the men dressed as you lay there on the table, legs shaking and the pain of having three men inside of you started to settle in.

'That was certainly an experience,' John smiled, picking up his clothes from the floor.

'I certainly think Miss here will behave herself from now on.' Dutch said, as the three men left the homestead leaving you there naked and beyond content. 

[arthuristhetargetdog]

It's My Turn to Take Care of You

MINORS PLEASE DNI!!!! Pairing: Arthur Morgan x m!reader | NSFW

CW: Swearing, sexual intercourse

Contains: smut, handjob/blowjob (Arthur receiving) , anal sex (Arthur receiving), anal fingering (Arthur receiving), dirty talk, fucked to sleep

Word Count: ~ 3,204

Summary: After a long day, Arthur comes home exhausted and horny. Y/n wants to take the initiative and finally be the one to fuck him.

Alrighty, gang, it's sexy time! I have been working on this for a while because I wanna get it just right. I'm not an expert on writing sex, but I really wanted to try. Anyway, enjoy the story!

The day was going by as any other, which meant it was dragging on for what seemed like forever. You sigh to yourself as you bend down to lift up another bucket, once again filling it with water and sending it off to Pearson for the sixth time today. It was starting to become repetitive, and all you really wanted to do was relax in your tent; but doesn't everyone else.

You fill the bucket with water by the pump, your arms sore from continuously doing this. You puff and wipe your brow before picking up the bucket and carrying it back to the butcher's table, setting it down there.

Pearson turned around to you at the sound of the bucket being placed. He gave you a short smile before he spoke,

"Alright, you've helped enough. Go relax."

A wave of relief goes over you, and you flash him a quick smile before going on with your day. With Arthur gone, doing whatever task someone else asked him to do, there's only a little for you to do around camp besides just sit around. By this time of day, most everyone is doing their own tasks, so you decided to help one of them.

Running your gaze through the camp, you see John over by the wagon, struggling to get the wheel back on. Knowing how much of a pain it is to put a wheel back on by yourself, you head over, ready to offer your help.

"Let me help you there, Marston."

John struggles to keep the wheel up in the right place while he hammers it back in. He grunts and lets the wheel fall on the ground before he turns to you.

"Yeah, just...hold this wheel up and I'll hammer it."

A slight nod is all you give before bending down and lifting the wheel up. You make a small grunt as you push it up and against the wagon and line it up with the base. You move your body out of the way so John can access the desired hammering location, and he starts away.

It takes a few hits before he stops and wipes the sweat off his brow. You remove your body from the wagon, and it shifts a little at the loss of your support. Against your and John's best efforts, the wheel doesn't look right, looking loose and bound to fall off if ever used again.

"It's gonna fall off again, but as long as I ain't the one who broke it, it ain't my problem...Thanks for your help, Y/n."

"Really no problem. I'm all for a half-assed repair job."

John scoffs at you with a small smile stretching his lips, before he walks away, probably back to his wife, or to drink by the campfire.

By sunset, you were beginning to wonder just what was taking Arthur so long? What kind of job was he off doing that he had to be gone all day and night? It's not something that bothered you because you wanted him all to yourself, even though you most certainly do. It was bothering you because you wanted him to be back and safe. It's unusual for him to be gone from camp for so long, and the day has never gone by slower.

You sit by the campfire, whiskey in hand, listening to Javier play his guitar when the sound of fast hooves is heard clamping with the ground. Arthur is back. You put your bottle down and excused yourself from the fire, trying to make it look like you weren't rushing over to Arthur.

Arthur gets off Meadow, and when he turns around, you're right there. And god, does he look exhausted. Even in the dark, you can see the paleness covering his skin like a white sheet, he has bags under his eyes, dark and enormous, looking as though he hasn't slept for days, and if you didn't know better, you would have believed he hadn't. He doesn't even flash you a smile when he sees you, probably too tired to do so.

You knit your brows in concern and put your wrist to his forehead, checking to see if he had a fever. When he didn't, you pulled your arm away.

"How are you doing?"

You quietly ask him. His face doesn't change. You know the question was a pretty stupid one. You just had to hear him respond with words.

"I'm fine, jus' a lil tired s'all."

Your concerned face goes flat, not believing a single word he just said. Crossing your arms, you look at him unamused, hoping it will guilt him into telling the truth.

"C'mon Y/n, really, m'fine. Can we jus'...go in the tent?"

With a heavy sigh, you comply and make your way over to your tent, Arthur following in suit. You step into the tent and turn around, ready to talk to Arthur about how he truly is, but before you can get a word out, Arthur holds you close to himself and kisses you.

He's sloppy with it, unlike he usually is, most likely because he's exhausted. Quite wet noises arise from the kiss, his tongue licking around your mouth. He sloppily bites your lip, stretching it out before letting it go. You can feel the teeth marks forming on your lips. You both groan, and you put your hands on his shoulders, pushing him back to get some air.

The both of you are gasping, and you wipe some spit trickling down your chin. Arthur takes a deep breath and brings you close again, his mouth right next to your ear before speaking.

"I've been thinkin' 'bout you al' day, boy. Even when I was s'pposed to be workin' hard, helpin' folk...Al' I could think 'bout was puttin' you on that bed and takin' you."

Though his confession made your pants tighten, that's not really what you wanted for tonight. Arthur is exhausted and needs to be taken care of, which you will do without hesitation. You bring your lips to his ear, nibbling on it a little.

"Why don't I do that to you?"

Arthur lets out a short grunt at your offer, his pants were already tight, but now you can feel his cock touch your leg. You smirk to yourself as you slide your right hand off of his shoulder, down his chest, and stop at the bulge. You massage it a bit, teasing him. Arthur sucks in his breath, his eyes halved-lidded.

You remove your hand, Arthur's dismay, and pull your head back, smirking at him.

"Go sit on the bed."

Arthur takes no time to question and immediately plops himself onto the cot. You put yourself on your knees and take off his shoes. You then stand up and push Arthur's chest, making him fall on his back. Arthur takes a hitched deep breath as he shuffles around, trying to get comfortable.

You get on top of him and kiss him again. Arthur has never been on the bottom before in your relationship, and by the way he tensed when you rub your hand on his arm, you can tell that he's never ever been on the bottom.

Arthur reaches his hand up to the back of your head, gripping your hair as you let your tongue run around his own. You pull away from your little make-out sesh, making Arthur whimper, his torso lifting up so he can kiss you again. You crane your neck back more and push him down back on the cot by his chest. Arthur falls back with a, pathetic whine. You look him in the eyes, brushing some hair out of his face.

"Are you okay with this? With...me being on top?"

"Well. I didn't say no, did I?"

"You also didn't say yes. If you want me, then tell me. If you don't, that's okay too."

Arthur takes a minute to think, looking away from you, his cheeks nice and flushed. His eyes make their way right back into yours. He takes a deep breath, then he talks.

"Y/n...I wan' ya. I wan' ya to fuck me so hard that I won' be able to walk t'morrow. Please, I need ya."

Your brows raise at Arthur's begging. All you really wanted was a simple yes or no, but that...that was way better. You almost came in your pants right then and there. You smile at this, and rub a thumb on his stubbled jaw, you hand on his cheek.

"Ohh, Arthur...what a good boy you are. I didn't even have to ask you to beg...You deserve a reward."

Arthur shivered at the dominance in your voice, not used to having such power on top of him. You lower your face back down to his and start making out again. Arthur let out a small groan into your mouth from the roughness of it.

You rub your hands against Arthur's clothed chest before reaching down to the buttons, doing them one by one, playing with the hair that gets exposed after each one. Once the buttons were all unbuttoned, you put your hands back on his chest, rubbing it around letting his chest hair run though your fingers.

You bring your fingers up to his left peck and brush them over his nipple, one by one. Arthur moaned in your mouth, his back arching slightly at the sensitivity. While one of your hands is teasing his nipples, you bring your other one down his stomach, right to his pants, where you palm him.

Arthur jolts a little and moans at the touch, grinding in your hand the best he can. You move your mouth away from his and down to his neck, suckling and biting on his skin.

"Y'know for-ahh-being on the bottom...you sure know what your doing."

You smirk at him against his skin before removing your hands and lips from his body. Arthur whines and bucks his hips, hoping to hit some friction, but it's no use.

"I've learned from the best."

You crawl down to his knees, resting your own between his legs, and reach over to unbutton his pants. Arthur looks at you eagerly as you slowly unzip his jeans. You hook your fingers around the waist of his pants and underwear and slowly drag them down. Arthur moans as the fabric brushes against his aching cock.

As you pull them down, Arthur lifts his hips, so you have no struggle taking them off, throwing them on the ground when they finally slide off his feet. You take a moment to admire Arthur before anything else.

Bright red in the face, panting, unbuttoned shirt barely hanging of his shoulders, no pants, and a nice thick, red, cock standing proud in front of you face, precum just beading at the tip. You smile at the mess you made of him before you continue to please him.

You take your hand and bring it right up to Arthur's cock, teasing the motion of grasping it. You flick your eyes back to Arthur and see him looking right at your hand, breathing heavily, eyes wide with anticipation. Although you would love to tease him like this for hours, you told him you would give him a reward.

You grab the base of his cock, squeezing it a little. Arthur rested his head back down and the bed and moaned a bit louder than you had expected. You let out a small chuckle at his reaction before you slowly start to move your hand up and down his entire length.

Arthur's moans seem to never cease, and you continue to pleaser his most sensitive spot. You bring your thumb up to his tip, which is now pooling with precum, and rub it around. Arthur whines at this, but you continue, using it as lubricant to slick up his cock.

You continue rubbing him up and down until Arthur starts to buck his hips into your hand, setting his own pace. You know he's close to cuming so you take your hand away. Before Arthur can even make a noise of protest, you lower your head and lick his tip with your tongue. Arthur's moans become louder as you work your tongue around his cock, putting it entirely in your mouth.

You have sucked Arthur's cock a multitude of times, and you know exactly what gets him off the fastest, yet you've never seen him react like this. His back arches with pleasure making his tip tickle the back of your throat, you gag at this but keep your composure. Arthur's hands find their way into your hair, tugging at it something fierce.

"Uhg-Boy...I-I gonna-ooh yeah-cum soon..."

You don't cease even at Arthur's warnings and, if anything, you go even faster, bobbing your head up and down as fast as you can.

"Goddamn, boy...ahh-don't stop!"

You hear Arthur hiss and moan out, his cock twitches and his hips rise off the bed, hot liquid shoots through your mouth. Arthur rolls his hips into your face as you swallow all of his cum. You continue to lick his cock through his orgasm until he whimpers over the sensitivity.

You pull your head away and sit upright again, licking your lips as you look at Arthur, who still seems to be enjoying himself and looks even more tired than before. You must admit the wet spot on the front of your pants, enjoying pleasuring Arthur a little too much. You bend over and reach for his face, rubbing his cheek while smiling.

"Are you ready for me, darling?"

Arthur looks alive again and nods quickly. You giggle at his excitement and start unbuttoning and unzipping your pants. You shuffle them off your thighs and struggle a bit when taking them entirely off, letting out a sigh of relief as your hard cock springs free.

"Alright, now take your thighs and spread your legs for me, while I go grab something."

You remove yourself from the bed and walk over to the wooden chair in the corner of your tent. There, your bag rests, and inside it is a bottle of oil, a perfect lube to use. You turn around and see that Arthur has done precisely what you've said.

Arthur rests, knees bent in the air, with his hands clutching the back of his thighs and his legs spread apart, his cock standing tall once again between his legs.

You go back over to the bed, sitting in your previous position, and open the oil bottle, putting some on your index finger. You take your finger and rub the oil around the rim of his hole. You look up at him to make sure he's alright so far. He looks straight at you, lust in his eyes, as he lets his mouth hang open, a small, quiet moan coming from it.

You slowly push your finger in, rubbing it around the inside, feeling the wrinkles of his hole. Arthur grunts and you see him grip his thighs a little tighter, his skin bending in on itself at the pressure.

After letting him get used to just one finger, you push your middle finger in. At this, Arthur moans and pushes his hips into your fingers, wanting more. You move your fingers around in a circle, moving them in a scissoring motion, feeling every part of him, until Arthur is begging for more, his cock twitching now and again.

"Ahh yes! Please, boy...I-I need you inside 'f me."

Your own cock twitches at his begging, and you decide to just give him what he wants right away. You slowly pull your fingers out, leaving Arthur to whine, and you line your hips up with his own, resting your hands on his hip bones.

"This will only hurt for a moment."

You look right into his eyes as you slowly push yourself into him, moaning at the heat and tightness that wraps around your cock. You stop once you are a little more than your head in and just sit there, letting Arthur groan in pain and pleasure for a moment.

Arthur bucks his hips into yours, pushing you deeper into him. You both moan at the feeling. He starts to rock back and forth fucking himself, and you take that as a sign that he is ready. You start moving your hips, taking your cock in and out of him, always going a bit deeper with each thrust. Arthur reaches up and grabs his hair, tugging it with a moan, eyes closed and mouth hung open. You go at a slow pace, but still enough to give him pleaser until he's begging for more.

"Could you please-mmm. Go a little faster, darlin'?"

Your fingers press harder into his hips as you pick up the speed, your hips crashing into his. Your own speed takes your breath away, barely being able to let out a moan. On the other hand, Arthur is moaning like there's no tomorrow, brows furrowed in focus.

You remove one of your hands from Arthur's hip and bring it back to his cock, aggressively stroking it up and down. Arthur arches his back a little at this and bites his lip, trying to keep his louder moans at bay.

"Yeah-hng-you like that?"

You huff at your speed and squeeze Arthur's cock in your hand, some precum beading at the slit. Arthur is completely lost in himself, eyes closed with his mouth hung open, winded, soft, moans, the only thing pushing themselves out of his throat.

Your head feels as though it's floating. As that oh-so-familiar burning feeling pools inside of your pelvis, pushing you to thrust harder. You pump Arthur's dick aggressively, trying to get him close along with you.

You're breath hitches in your throat as your cock spills out cum from the slit into Arthur's ass. You slow down your hips, but don't stop to ride out your high.

"Goddamn, kid!"

Arthur breathily moans out as cum spills on your hand and down his shaft. His arms fall you his side along with his legs, and his body comes to a full stop, slow breathing is all you hear from him.

You pant as you slide yourself out from inside Arthur and chuckle at him.

"Damn...Are you asleep?"

No response. You shake your head and groan as you move your stiff legs around Arthur and plop yourself down next to him. The work of the day and the sex seem to catch up to you as your body starts to hurt.

You put an arm around Arthur's chest and bring yourself close, kissing him on the nose before resting your head on the pillow and closing your eyes.

"Good night Arthur."

You quietly mumble before letting yourself fall asleep.

Arthur grumbled as yet another person from camp teased him as he limped his way to Pearson's stew. This time it was Sean, of course, which only pissed off Arthur even more.

After getting his stew, he sits right next to you, jolting with a hiss before being able to sit down. You look at him with a shit-eating grin, and he responds with an unimpressed grin.

"Just wait till tonight, boy."

[strvberrydoll]

Rosemary

Summary: who would have thought that a small piece of paper could be the very thing that would crush your dreams with Arthur ? part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

AO3 link (better rewritten version of this fic on ao3)

pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

content: suggestive, angst, hurt/no comfort (for now) probs grammar errors srryy

wc: 2k

a/n: hear me out, I thought about writing a jealous!reader oneshot with Arthur but,, I got a bit carried away and so many ideas came into my mind so I was thinking about making this a mini series with a pt.2. Let me know if you’d be interested in a pt.2 <33 (gif from pinterest)

Nothing was more relaxing to you than fixing some of Arthur’s shirts and pants while sitting outside your shared tent.

Seated on a small cushion placed on the ground with your back against one of Arthur’s chests your hands worked delicate but precise movements mending the cotton of his favorite black shirt. The rays of light sparkling from the east coast of the flat iron lake at Clemens Point casting a golden halo around you and the usual buzzing of camp making you feel at ease, letting you loose yourself in your thoughts.

During these moments your mind often drifted to thoughts about you and Arthur, the way he would make you feel all warm inside like a young naive teenager with just his soft glances and loving touches, how he would make you dream some of the craziest things for a couple of outlaws like yourselves like having a proper family with him, getting proper married before god and maybe even owning your very own ranch at some point.

Your dreamy stream of thoughts was soon interrupted as Mary Beth’s light footsteps on the dry grass could be heard coming towards your direction, with a strange expression you couldn’t quite decipher on her face and a small letter in her hands. As she saw you sitting down near yours and Arthur’s tent her fair features twisted into an anxious manner, her expression resembling the one of someone who just ate a whole lemon in one go, her steps faltering almost imperceptibly before continuing her path towards your shared tent.

“Hiya Miss,” she said in a chirpy tone, her voice higher than usual as she stopped in front of you, her eyes looking around avoiding your confused gaze as she played with the paper edge of the letter in her delicate hands.

“Arthur hasn’t come back yet ?” Strange. Her voice cracked a little at the end. She quickly cleared her throat with a small smile. Mary Beth's usual cordial and friendly façade cracked the more she was near you, letting you see her unusual unease.

“‘M afraid not, he said he was going into town for some ‘deputy thing’ with the Grays, why ? Did something happen ?” you replied imitating Arthur’s low voice and accent as you put down his shirt which was now fixed and your sewing kit. At your failed attempt at imitating his accent Mary Beth let out a small laugh, covering her smile with her free hand, relaxing just a tiny bit before regaining her previous composure.

Smoothing out the white envelope in her hands she handed it over to you, as you took it you couldn’t help but notice the sender’s name written in what you called a ‘fancy cursive’. You weren’t exactly good at reading or writing but the fancy ink swirls made out a familiar name.

The sender was Mary Linton.

“It’s for Arthur, it arrived this morning,” she told you looking at you with something in her eyes you couldn’t quite make out. Was it a shared distaste for the woman in question or was it perhaps pity toward you what you could see reflected in her eyes ?

You weren’t a stranger to who Mary Linton was, having joined the gang when you were eighteen and Arthur fresh of twenty-six you knew who Mary was, how she was Arthur’s first love, the woman he almost married if it wasn’t for her strict father not approving his lifestyle. The woman who completely shattered his heart.

You knew that after his breakup with Mary he was distraught, drinking and sleeping around almost every night before eventually getting one of the girls he slept with pregnant with his son Isaac. How he, from time to time, went to Eliza’s cabin and visited them, never failing to bring sweets and shiny toys for his Isaac who met him with a toothy little smile every time Arthur visited them until one day the only thing Arthur was met was an empty robbed cabin and Eliza’s lifeless body hugging Isaac’s one.

For almost a year you helplessly witnessed Arthur, the gang’s main enforcer, spiraling more and more into a toxic lifestyle. He began to drink more, often found sitting near the campfire drunk every night, his actions during jobs sloppy and reckless not sparing a single ounce of mercy for whoever dared to wrong him. His mood around camp bringing everyone down until one day you decided you had enough.

He had just come back from a job went wrong with Hosea, the older man's sour mood perceptible from miles away as he hitched his horse and quickly walked away to his tent, leaving Arthur behind talking pretty much to himself how it wasn’t his fault and he didn’t do anything wrong, the pungent scent of alcohol surrounding the space around him. Seeing the scene in front of you you quickly put down your cleaning rag and marched towards him giving him a loud earful in front of everyone in camp not caring that he was a 6’1 massive killing machine of an outlaw and eight years older than you and that you were the last addition to camp making you a nobody in the eyes of what was basically Dutch’s golden child. You simply had enough.

From that moment onwards Arthur started to get better, letting go of his usual whisky bottle and surprisingly starting to pay attention to you rather than avoiding or despising you, eyeing you with respect each time you expressed your opinion around camp, coming to your tent almost every night for advice or just to talk about life opening up to you about his family and past love building day by day an unexpected friendship which blossomed years later into your current relationship.

Seeing her name now again after so many years left you with a sour taste in your mouth.

You took the letter and placed it on Arthur’s nightstand as you thanked Mary Beth and began to tidy up your things.

The sky was beginning to lose its rosy color making space for a deep blue when Arthur came back, the gallop of his and Dutch horses announcing their arrival into camp.

You were chatting with Karen and Javier at the round table near the fire when you felt his hand on your shoulder, the scent of wood and gunpowder filling your nose letting you relax under his soft touch. He bent down to quickly kiss your cheek, a small show of pda which left you all warm inside, almost letting you forget about the letter. Almost.

“Hello sweetheart,” he said in his usual low tone near your ear, a shiver traveling down your spine at his vicinity a soft blush making its way into your cheeks.

“Miss Jones, Javier” he greeted your company before taking your hand in his calloused one letting you up from your seat and guiding you towards his tent leaving Karen and Javier sharing knowing glances between them.

As soon as you walked into your shared tent he made quick work of closing the flap before taking your face in his hands and kissing you. His soft kisses soon turned into hungry ones as his right hand left your soft cheek to trace down your neck then your collarbones before settling on your hips using your hips to guide you to lay on the bed.

“missed ya a lot today sweetheart,” he breathed on your neck as he positioned himself on top of you before kissing your sensitive spot, your eyes closed as your soft hands traveled onto his hair, tugging at his dirty blonde strands.

“got you in my mind the whole day, damn near made Dutch real name slip in front of them Grays. Jus’ couldn’t help but think ‘bout your pretty face.” he continued to kiss your sensitive skin, his words and his lips working like magic on you. His hands exploring your body inch by inch toying with the buttons of your white shirt.

As you open your eyes to look at Arthur you couldn’t help but remember the envelope sitting on his bedside table.

“Arthur,” you sighed trying to keep your voice stable but failing miserably as his teeth playfully bit your neck. The pleasure and the warmth of his body on top of yours was heavenly making you melt like butter under his touch but you were too curious to see what was in that letter to continue, your hands came on his shoulders to try and get the man off of you. “darling you, fuck, you’ve got a letter.”

As soon as you finished your sentence Arthur stopped his actions at once, his hands dropping on the soft mattress before getting up into a seated position beside you. He sighed as he ran his hands into his hair before taking the letter, his eyes quickly scanning the sender’s name before opening the envelope.

As his eyes read the elegant handwritten letter of Mary you couldn’t help but feel your heart beat out of your chest with anticipation, you knew it was stupid to feel this way but you couldn’t help but worry. Why is she mailing him after all these years of radio silence ? What did she want from him and how exactly did she know how to contact him ?

Deciding it was best to feign ignorance than to straight up get defensive and be viewed as possessive with Arthur you scooted closer to him, your head resting on his shoulder as you asked, trying your best to keep your façade, from who was the letter.

“Mh, nobody jus’ a sorry fellow I met.”

Your heart sank.

He lied to you. He lied to you without even an ounce of hesitation. A small ‘Oh’ left your lips as you didn’t know exactly how to respond, mind racing with many thoughts, the knowledge of his lie felt like an iced bucket of water was thrown at you, freezing you in your spot unable to move. A sense of nausea overtaking your body.

With a swift movement, he folded the letter and put it in the bottom drawer of the nightstand where other papers filled the small space. Turning back to face you he put one of his large hands on your cheeks caressing you with a delicacy that in that moment only made you further nauseous about the situation. His lips met your forehead, then your nose descending further down to your lips, too caught up in your thoughts you sat there unmoving. Arthur sensed your unusual attitude.

“y’alright sweetheart ?” he asked, you internally scoffed at his seemingly concerned expression. The nerve he had to be asking you that after he blatantly lied to your face.

“yeah just tired that’s all.” you dismissed him shifting on the bed and laying down on your side of the bed. You needed space to think, your mind going haywire. Was this the first time she mailed him ? Why was that as soon as you mentioned a letter he seemed to already know it was from her ? Why did Mary Beth act so strange when giving you the letter ? Why did he lie ? Why.

You wished you could let this go, forget about everything and melt back into his warm embrace, but you couldn’t. You had to find out what was going on.

Later that night when the outlaw was fast asleep beside you and the only sounds that could be heard were his soft snores that filled the space in your tent you found out that the other papers in the drawer were not random papers.

The drawer was full of Mary’s letters.

[feinv]

what petnames do u think arthur morgan would use for fem reader,,

mmmfffgghhhfff... mr morgan.... 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

- 🎀

ᡣ𐭩 arthur morgan x fem!reader. — arthur morgan masterlist.

please you don't need your name anymore because he will just stick to pet names. all day every day.

ᯓ angel/darling/sweetheart/love.

this man physically needs to use those. that’s part of how he shows his appreciation and love for you and those pet names are like engraved on his tongue whenever he speaks to you. he will never fail to compliment you and tell you how good you look. but he never has the reason to do so either. he will bath you in sweet remarks just because!!

“how you doin’, sweetheart?” always making sure to check up on you.

“darlin’, you look so beautiful.” “‘m gonna head out for a ride. care to join, angel?” and so on!!

ᯓ sweet/pretty thing.

"ain't ya just a pretty thing? turn 'round, lemme see you," holding your hand above your head for you to swirl and show him your cute look. and his pupils are literally heart shaped staring back at your figure. he is just so madly in love with you. he can’t help himself <3

ᯓ my x girl

don’t get me started on this one. he loves loves loooovvveeessss using “my.” it makes him go insane. he still can’t believe you chose to be with him, out of all men who he believes deserve you better. so every time he implies that you are, in-fact, his, and you always confirm by blushing, he literally gets weak on his knees.

"look at ya, my pretty girl," and you look up at him, your cheeks burning with red at his praise. yeah. he is a goner.

he would steal you away from the camp during the day to just have some alone time before he went to town for hours. and you would laugh and call him crazy, so paranoid of ms. grimshaw noticing your absence. “needed to see my sweet girl, can you blame me?” pinning you to the nearest tree and kissing you like teenagers sneaking around for make out sessions.

ᯓ good girl

yeah. about that one. yeah…it’s literally canon. he would call you good girl in daily life whenever you tried yourself in something new and succeeded. and he is just there like a proud husband cheering you.

during the night, however… *mischievous smirk*

he knows it does things to you, and he makes sure to praise you as much as he can and tell you how good you are doing for him ;)

[javier-pena]

embers

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Word Count: 9.5k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You're engaged to be married to a man you've never met. Arthur Morgan is supposed to escort you across the country to meet him. You should keep your distance, but the dangers of the road bring you closer and closer together with each passing mile.

Warnings: smoking | drinking | canon-typical violence | allusions to rape | reader is a virgin | loss of virginity | descriptions of injury and medical procedures (Arthur gets stitches) | reader has hair that can be pulled | hand job | oral (m receiving) | masturbation (f and m) | mutual masturbation | dirty talk | voyeurism | exhibitionism | praise kink | fingering | (unprotected) p in v sex

Notes: So there's this post ... and It has been on my mind for months so I had to write this exact scenario with Arthur, naturally. Again, this is way longer than it was supposed to be, but working on this fic allowed me to daydream a lot, so I can't complain. As always, I wouldn't have been able to do it without Dani @alexturner, who pushed me in the right direction and came up with the ending (because I'm not good at writing those)!!

***

You’re not pretty. At least that’s what everyone told you from the moment you could understand those words. Your mother, the maid she hired to look after you, the boys working for your father, the marm, the people in town. Since you were little, you’ve been hearing it over and over again. “It’s such a shame she ain’t pretty, what’s she gonna do with brains?”

The thing is, you also don’t feel very smart. If you were, you’d have found a way to leave your godforsaken town for one of the big cities in the east as soon as you could read the timetable down by the train station. You would’ve found a way to get out of this marriage your father arranged for you. Ambrose Longabaugh was his name. Ambrose Longabaugh. From what you have heard, he shares your lot: anything but handsome, but at least he has money.

No one was sad to see you go, save for your little brother, who held you tight and made you promise to come back if you didn’t like your betrothed. You had promised, knowing you were lying. It didn’t matter if you liked him or not, he was the man you were going to marry. You weren’t getting out of this. Your father had made sure of that.

Mr. Morgan is riding ahead of you, sitting in the saddle with his shoulders slumped, a cigarette dangling between his lips. You can smell the smoke on the crisp fall air, even though you’re trying to keep your distance. It’s not that he scares you – not as much as other men do, not as much as your future husband does – but you don’t like him very much. Your father is paying him to take you out west where Ambrose Longabaugh will one day take over his father’s cattle business. And Mr. Morgan is doing it without complaint, hardly acknowledging your presence. He talks more to his horse than he talks to you.

You let your eyes wander across the mountains around you and sigh. The first time you had seen them, your mouth had hung open in awe. Now you feel trapped by them. You can’t go back, and there’s only one way forward. You sigh again. No, you’re neither pretty nor smart.

“Break?” Mr. Morgan asks from up front. It’s only the fifth word he has said to you today; the others were good morning and let’s go.

“Yes,” you agree, not because you need it but because it gives you something else to do.

You stop near a small river with a shallow bank where Mr. Morgan can refill your waterskins. While he’s busy, you stretch your legs and pick up a few rocks from the riverbed to toss them into the water. The rushing of the water fills your ears, drowning out both thoughts and sounds. You take a deep, calming breath and close your eyes.

When you open them again, Mr. Morgan has taken off his lambskin coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He’s washing his face and neck in the cold water of the river, a wet stain forming on his collar, drops running down his lean, muscular forearms that are still tan from working outdoors all summer. Your face heats up with an emotion you don’t quite understand, and you turn away from him, pretending to be interested in some moss-covered rocks. You’re not supposed to look.

He startles you when he touches your arm lightly, making you turn around. You hadn’t heard him coming over the sounds of the river. His coat is back on, but you can see his neck glistening in a few places still.

“You shouldn’t wander, ma’am,” he says. That’s four more words for today.

You look around. “Indians, right?” you ask with a small laugh.

His face remains serious. “No. White men. Gangs. They like to hide out here.”

You watch his Adam’s apple move as he swallows and your throat immediately mimics his. “Then why are we taking this road if it’s so dangerous?”

He shrugs. You realize he hasn’t let go of your arm yet. “It’s fast.”

“My father –”

“Your father planned this route.”

You swallow again. “I’ll be careful, sir. Thank you.” He lets go of your arm then, and you walk back to your horse, your face now heating up with an emotion you definitely recognize: embarrassment.

You make camp later that day where the trees are standing close together. While he builds a fire, you pick at a pine cone you found on the ground. Somewhere in the distance you hear a howl, but you’ve learned that if it’s not loud enough to make Mr. Morgan look up from his task, then it’s nothing to be worried about. And he stokes the fire, eyes fixed to the flames.

After dinner, he hands you a small bottle and when the sharp taste of whiskey makes you cough, he smirks. So you take another sip, holding his gaze. He looks away first, pulls a torn-up pack of cigarettes from his coat, and offers you one. You accept, surprised.

“Don’t let my father find out you’re corrupting me,” you tease.

He only makes, “Hm,” in response.

The smoke from the cigarette burns your throat, just like the whiskey, but this time you manage to suppress the cough. “Do you have family, Mr. Morgan?” you ask, watching how he uses a branch to stoke the fire.

“No,” is his simple reply.

Now it’s your turn to make, “Hm,” before you add, “No one you’re sweet on?”

You don’t really care about the answer, why would you? But when he gives you another, “No,” a careful one, it makes your heart pound faster. Until he turns the tables.

“What about you?”

“Oh,” you say, “I don’t know, I haven’t met my fiancé yet.” And you don’t want to be thinking about him right now.

Mr. Morgan looks at you, his head cocked to one side. “Come now,” he pushes, as if you’re being evasive on purpose. “That ain’t what I’m askin’.”

You sigh. “It’s not? I’m spoken for. I have no business thinking about other men.” You don’t mean to be so frank, but the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. And you can tell from the look on Mr. Morgan’s face that he still thinks you’re not honest with him.

“Hm,” he makes, and you dread what might be coming next.

“I’m going to bed,” you tell him, putting an end to your conversation. He opens his mouth to add something, but you don’t give him a change. You lie down and pull your thin blanket over your body, face hot with embarrassment. The last thing you see before falling asleep is Mr. Morgan staring at the flames, a quiet smile on his lips.

Later that night, you wake up to shouts. What pulls you from your sleep entirely is a gunshot that reverberates through the forest. “Mr. Morgan?” you shout, because he isn’t sitting next to the fire anymore and you can’t see him anywhere. Then you hear a sound that makes your blood run cold, a snarl, a growl, but animalistic, wild, unlike anything you’ve ever heard. You jump up from your bedroll, ready to run, but then you remember Mr. Morgan’s warning. It’s better to stay here, in the light of the dwindling fire, than to take your chances out there. “Mr. Morgan?” you try again, this time a hiss, as you frantically search the darkness beyond your camp. It gets so dark out here at night.

A shout is your answer, a deep, “Hey!” Short and fast. The horses whinny, and you’re only now realizing they’re stomping the ground, tearing up the soil with their hooves, the whites in their eyes visible, ears pressed tightly back. You try to swallow your panic, but it gets harder with every passing second.

Then something moves between the trees and Mr. Morgan stumbles back into the camp, a gun in one hand, a torch in the other. He has a wild look in his eyes too, just like the horses, but when they land on you, he relaxes, his face assuming its usual, stoic mask. “Mountain lion,” he says. “It’s gone.”

“What does that mean?” you ask, your voice trembling.

“Chased it off,” he explains. “It ain’t coming back here.”

“The horses …,” you start.

But he walks toward the fire, toward you. “You did good,” he says, dropping to his knees next to you, so close, too close. You can smell the gunpower on him, and the sweat; you’ve never been so close to a man before, not even your own father. “Here.” He hands you the whiskey again. “It’s gone, I promise.”

You wish your hands wouldn’t shake so much. He grabs yours with one to steady, his warm skin like fire against yours, unscrews the stopper with the other, not with impatience but oh so gently. You manage to take a sip on your own, but he watches you intently for any signs of distress.

“You’ll have to get used to it,” he says, stowing away the bottle. “This land out here … it’s wild.”

You nod. Now that the initial burst of panic is dulled, you feel tears sting your eyes.

“But you’ll manage.” His voice is so calming. “You’re a brave girl.”

*******

The hooves of your horse pound out a slow, steady beat against the hard ground. You’re tired, every muscle in your body is sore, but you push on without complaint, following Mr. Morgan up a winding mountain and back down on the other side. The days are so similar they’re bleeding into one – the mountain lion … did it attack three nights ago? Five? You don’t remember. All you know is that your heart picks up speed when he looks at you, that every evening your conversation around the fire becomes a little bit longer, that you wish you could go on like this forever, never to arrive at your destination.

Sometimes at night, when you can’t sleep but you pretend to, you can hear him sing, sometimes to himself, sometimes to the horses. Your heart almost flies out of your chest when he does it. He hasn’t touched you anymore since the night of the mountain lion attack, but you wish he would. Even though everything else about him confuses you, you wish you could feel his skin against yours again; such longing, it almost consumes you.

Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? Did your cousin feel like this when she ran off with that cowboy? Did your mother and father feel like this; is that why they got married? Are you supposed to feel like this when you meet your fiancé? Or is this something else entirely? Is there something wrong with you?

“Break?” he asks once the ground is beginning to even out.

“You know, you keep asking for breaks so much I’m starting to think you don’t want us to reach our destination,” you tease.

He just shrugs and stops his horse. You halt too and climb off, your legs steady when they hit the ground. It wasn’t like that in the beginning; the first few days he had to help you off your horse and you could barely stand. It’s astonishing what a difference a few weeks can make.

You stretch, then begin to walk up and down the path. It’s cold, sitting so still up on that horse, and you flex your fingers, trying to get some feeling back into them. Mr. Morgan, meanwhile, sits down on a tree stump to write in a leather-bound notebook. You’ve seen him use it before but you don’t quite know what it’s for. He’s probably tracking your progress or taking notes on the weather.

Careful to keep him in sight, you veer off into the underbrush, looking at the trees and the different kinds of plants growing on the ground. You pretend you can read the language of the forest, looking for tracks of animals or some mushrooms you might be able to eat. Just like you’ve seen Mr. Morgan do countless of times. When you do find something, you’re not sure what to make of it.

“Mr. Morgan?” Your voice is raised as you try to keep it steady.

You hear his footsteps immediately but you don’t dare to turn around, your eyes fixed on the sight before you. He stops next to you, and you can hear his steady breathing. The knot in your chest immediately dissolves.

“Hm,” he makes.

“What happened here?” you ask. Now the tremor in your voice is all too audible.

He hesitates just for a second, weighing his options, but then he says, “Some people were camping here, a family by the looks of it.”

“Where are they?” you ask, finally turning toward him. The cold, calculating look on his face sends a shiver down your spine.

“Ma’am …,” he says slowly.

“You can tell me. I can handle the truth.”

You look back at the burned-out wagon, the torn clothes hanging from tree branches, all that blood on a log next to a cold fire pit. You don’t need him to tell you. You just want him not to confirm your suspicions.

“They’re dead,” he answers. “Killed. For money.”

“All of them?” you ask.

He winces. “If there were women …”

“Can’t we help them?” You know you can’t, but you wish there was something you could do.

“Stay on the path next time,” he growls. “No more wanderin’ ‘round … ma’am.”

“Mr. Morgan …,” you try, but he’s already trudging back toward the horses.

You spend the rest of the day in silence, riding next to each other but avoiding each other’s gazes. You shouldn’t have called out to him; it was obvious what had happened in that camp. They were a group, and you’re just two people … your father couldn’t have known about the dangers of this journey, or he wouldn’t have made you go. He would’ve found another way. At least that’s what you’re telling yourself. Because you don’t want to even consider the other option and what it would mean. When the sun slowly disappears behind the mountains around you, dread settles onto your heart, the heavy kind you haven’t felt since you were a little girl, afraid of the dark.

Finally, Mr. Morgan stops his horse. “We camp here tonight. No fire.”

“It’s so dark,” you whisper.

“The darkness ain’t what’ll kill you,” he growls.

You can’t sleep; of course not. So you watch him all night, sitting up straight next to you, not so close that you could touch him, but close enough so you’ll always see he’s there. He doesn’t sleep either but he sits very still, keeping his eyes on the path, making sure nothing evil comes out of the dark. And you wish all you had to worry about were mountain lions.

*******

Two days later, Mr. Morgan’s face is pale and you’re frozen through. You haven’t had a warm meal since you found that destroyed camp, and Mr. Morgan has barely slept. You haven’t talked at all, apart from the necessities. And still you haven’t left those mountains and woods behind you. At least the daylight makes you feel less afraid.

“Is it far still?” you ask when the silence becomes unbearable.

“A week,” he answers, looking up at the sky, “if it doesn’t snow.”

The weather is the least of your worries. “And how long before we’re past the mountains?” You hate them now as much as they awed you at first.

“Three days maybe.”

Three more days without warm food. You straighten your back. “Have you come this way before?”

“Yes.”

“Has anything ever happened to you?” You don’t know if you’d prefer confirmation or denial.

“You’re safe with me, so don’t you worry about that.” There’s something in the way he says it that makes your grip tighten on the reins.

“I’m not worried,” you lie. “Just curious.”

“Hm,” he makes before going back to observing the surroundings with caution. “Bad people are everywhere. Not just here.”

“That’s a grim way to look at the world.” You try for a teasing tone, but it sounds like you’re reprimanding him instead.

“You ain’t seen much of it then,” he replies.

“More than you know.”

He looks at you curiously, just for a moment. “You –” he starts, but a shout ahead on the path interrupts him.

“Hey!”

You almost jump out of your skin and stop your horse reflexively. That’s your first mistake. The second one is to shout, “Arthur!” Because it costs him valuable seconds, that distraction. He turns around to look at you, and then suddenly two men are on him, pulling him out of the saddle. Two more appear next to you, a young, handsome one with a dark mustache and darker eyes, and a man your father’s age, but scrawny, with a mouth full of yellow teeth that he exposes to you in an ugly grin. You pull on the reins and your horse dances nervously, ears pressed tightly against its head. And then you hear a shot.

A fifth man stands in the middle of the path, a smoking gun held high over his head. His thick, gray beard quivers as he shouts, “Everybody stay calm and no one is gonna get hurt!”

You look at Mr. Morgan for guidance and see him struggle against the two men who are restraining him by holding his arms tightly pressed against his back. His pants are dirty from where he hit the ground when they pulled him off his horse.

“Get her down from there,” the man with the gray beard barks, and before you can do anything, thin but strong fingers have closed around your arm and you tumble out of the saddle with a shout.

The man who is holding you stinks of rotting things and nicotine. He twists one of your arms until it is pressed flush against your back and uses his other hand to hold your chin, so you’re forced to look straight ahead at the man with the mustache.

“Pretty little thing, ain’t she?” he snarls, and the other man licks his lips.

“We just want your valuables,” Graybeard says to Mr. Morgan.

“We ain’t got any,” he growls.

“I’m sure you don’t,” is the calm answer as Graybeard starts going through the saddlebags of Mr. Morgan’s horse.

You roll your shoulders but the man with the rotting teeth only tightens his hold on you. His companion takes a few careful steps toward you. A lump is forming in your throat as you begin to realize just how dangerous this situation is. You try to kick back, like a horse, but you miss your captor. It only earns you a cruel laugh and a pinch to your cheek.

Somewhere to your right, you hear a dull thud and a pained groan coming from Mr. Morgan. You try to look at him, but you can’t move, not because you’re being restrained but because fear has taken over your body and you can’t do anything but relinquish control.

“Check her horse,” Graybeard orders, but the man with the mustache doesn’t move. He’s only a few steps away from you now, his eyes hungrily roaming over your body. “Now!” Graybeard barks.

“There isn’t -,” you start, but the man who is restraining you clamps a hand over your mouth. You could vomit when you taste his skin.

“There’s this,” the man with the mustache says, holding up a cheap necklace your mother gave you as a parting gift.

“Take it,” Graybeard orders.

“What about her?” the rotting man asks and shakes you.

“Her too,” Graybeard answers with a nod. “Shoot the man.”

“No!” you shout, even though it makes the disgusting man get more of his fingers in between your lips.

The man with the mustache stuffs your mother’s necklace into the pocket of his jacket, then walks over to you. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears as he grips your skirt and begins to pull it upward so your boots and then your drawers are slowly exposed. A hot tear rolls down your cheek but it only makes him smile.

“I bet you’re lovely.” His voice is deep, almost as deep as Mr. Morgan’s, but hearing him speak only fills you with revulsion. “I bet you’re all tight …” He lightly strokes your cheek, then uses his free hand to unbutton his trousers.

“No!” you shout again, but it’s muffled, and your feeble attempts to free yourself are met with an evil snicker.

Then you hear a shot and all the life goes out of your body. It’s done. You’re alone now. And if you’re lucky, you’ll soon be dead too. Two more shots ring through the forest, each one as painful as if you’ve been hit by the bullets yourself. The man with the mustache doesn’t even flinch. His trousers hang open now, and you can see dark hairs peek out from between the fabric, before he cups one of your breasts hard and licks a broad stripe up your neck.

The other man moans, low, wetly, and it’s the most disgusting sound you’ve ever heard. He lets go of you, but it’s too late; you can’t run anymore. A wet, dull sound is followed by another moan, and you know exactly what he’s doing. You’ve heard people talk about it, even though you don’t quite know what it means when a man touches himself. All you know is that you feel bile rise at the thought of it.

The man with the mustache freezes and looks behind you, his eyes wide with shock. Maybe they have a different bargain, maybe he wants to keep you for himself and feels threatened. But then, so fast he’s only a blur, Mr. Morgan rushes past you, grabs the man by his collar, and pulls him off you, landing a punch against his jaw. You blink a few times as both men go down, not sure if what you’re seeing is real or if it’s a vision your panicked brain conjured up to calm you. The man with the mustache lands a kick between Mr. Morgan’s legs, gaining the upper hand. He pulls a knife from his boot while he straddles your companion to pin him down, but Mr. Morgan doesn’t hesitate. He grabs the man’s arm and bites down until he lets go of the knife. You catch a glimpse of Mr. Morgan’s eyes and where you expected him to be all feral rage, he’s cold and calculating. It sends a shiver down your spine and you stumble back a few paces until you step into something soft that squelches on impact. You don’t have to look down to know what it is.

Despite the loss of his knife, the man with the mustache is putting up a good fight. He lands a blow in Mr. Morgan’s face, then scrambles off him, grabs the knife, and pushes himself upward. Mr. Morgan moves faster than you’ve ever seen him move, jumping up while dodging the glinting blade of the knife.

“Stay down, big boy,” the man sneers.

Mr. Morgan shoves into him with such force the knife ends up in the dirt again, right next to the two men. But this time, Mr. Morgan has the upper hand, landing blow after blow in the face of the other, grunting with grim satisfaction when he draws blood, continuing even when the man retches up blood and spits it in Mr. Morgan’s face. He doesn’t stop until the man doesn’t move anymore and his face is nothing more than a bloody pulp, entirely unrecognizable. Only then does he grunt in pain and rolls off his opponent, lying on the forest floor, breathing labored and hard.

*******

You make camp that night as far away from that spot as you could travel before the light faded. Mr. Morgan gets a fire going while you sit on a log, trying to hide your trembling hands in your lap. You haven’t cried yet but you know it’s coming. He hasn’t said anything yet, and you’re not sure he will.

In the flickering light of the fire, you can see the cuts and bruises in his face, the sleeve of his shirt drenched in blood. And when you close your eyes, you can see the five dead men, their broken bodies left in the dirt for scavengers to feed on. He did that, all on his own.

You force yourself to stand up and walk over to him. He’s not the man who calmed you down after a mountain lion attack anymore; you’ve seen him beat a man to death today with his bare hands. No, he’s someone new now, someone you have to get to know first. And when you crouch down next to him, he looks at you with dark eyes like he’s never looked at you before and you feel all the air being pressed out of you.

“Let me take a look at your arm,” you say, pulling it toward you by his hand. The dried blood on his knuckles is rough against your skin.

He doesn’t protest, just watches as you carefully roll up his sleeve to expose a deep cut, undoubtedly left by the knife. It must have happened so fast you missed it. Even though it’s not bleeding as much as it used to, each pump of Mr. Morgan’ heart pushes some more blood out through the cut.

“You need stitches,” you tell him.

Before you can second-guess what you’re doing or change your mind, you’re next to your saddlebag, looking for the sewing kit your bother gave you. Only you’ve never used it for something like this before. You don’t even know if it’ll work, only ever having read about it in books, but it’s better than doing nothing. You also grab the bottle of whiskey from Mr. Morgan’s bag.

“Drink this,” you order, handing it to him once you’re next to him again.

He takes one big swallow, then another one, his throat working to get the liquid down. You pretend not to notice. Then he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand while you stare at the cut with much more focus than necessary. Taking back the bottle, you pour some of its content on the cut, drawing a low groan from Mr. Morgan that heats up your cheeks.

Your hands are shaking as you try to thread the needle. “Have you ever done this before?” Mr. Morgan asks, his face stoic as if he’s ready to accept his fate no matter the answer you give him.

“Technically, no,” you answer, finally pushing the thread through the eye.

“Huh,” he grunts.

“But I’m very good at mending stockings.” You offer him a feeble smile and he nods. “This might hurt a little bit,” you warn before pushing the needle through his skin. Holding his arm in place with your other hand, you can feel his muscles flex at the intrusion, and a short burst of breath tickles the top of your head. He doesn’t complain.

“Have you ever been stitched up before?” you ask him to distract him.

“No,” he replies through gritted teeth.

“Oh, good. Then you have to believe me when I tell you I’m doing a very good job.” What’s wrong with you?

He grunts again, but maybe, possibly that sound could be hiding a laugh.

“Still, when we arrive at our destination, you should have a doctor look at this,” you instruct.

“Eager to hear from a professional how good of a job you did?”

Your cheeks ignite and you drop the needle. “Shit.” He is laughing now, a low chuckle, as you try to locate a glint in the flickering light from the campfire. Luckily, you don’t have to look far – the needle fell straight down and is lying between Mr. Morgan’s boots. You wipe strands of hair from your face, then wipe the needle clean on your dress before getting back to work.

“No,” you answer his question, forcing your voice to sound steady. “Because I have no idea how to prevent an infection. Or if I’m even doing this correctly.”

Mr. Morgan leans down, his big hand closing around the bottle you discarded earlier, and he unscrews the cap with his thumb and forefinger. “Looks to me like you’re doin’ fine.” A big swig, then another one.

You glance up at him just to see his face looking unusually pale. “Does it hurt a lot?” you ask carefully.

“I’ve had worse,” he answers, but flinches when one of your stitches comes too close to the wound.

You blink fast a couple of times, trying to shake the image of him on top of that man, punching and punching until no trace of life was left. The memory of the sheer brutality makes your hands feel clammy. No, this wasn’t his first time getting hurt, just like it wasn’t his first time killing someone. And now the same hands rest peacefully in his lap, cut and bruised, yes, but a far cry from the deadly weapons you saw today.

“Thank you for what you did today,” finishing up with two final stitches, then quickly add, “There,” and pet his arm before he can acknowledge your words of gratitude.

He lifts his hand from his leg and flexes his fingers. “Thanks for this,” he replies, examining the stitches.

Your gaze lands on his knuckles that are covered in blood, his own and that of the men he killed. “Do you want me to take a look at your hands?” you ask, your throat tight all of a sudden.

“I’m used to that.” He stretches out one of his legs so it rests next to you, close enough that you feel the ghost of a presence next to your hip.

“I’ve never met a man who was used to so much violence.” Your eyes are still on his hands, bruised darkly.

“It was either them or us.” He shrugs.

Us. “I was sure they had killed you when I heard that first gunshot,” you tell him, lowering your gaze to your own hands that have some dirt on them, some streaks of Mr. Morgan’s blood, but that look so clean compared to his.

“And break the contract with your father?”

You laugh. “A father who selected this route knowing full well about the dangers we would face?” The silence that follows your question is filled only by the crackle of the campfire and by the sounds of creatures moving through the woods. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you,” you finally say.

“This ain’t the first time I had to save someone,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“And how did those other people repay you?” you ask, eager for his answer. Being indebted to him puts you on edge.

“Money,” is his short reply.

“I don’t have any,” you say, feeling a tug at your heartstrings. But maybe that doesn’t matter; maybe when you arrive, you could talk to your fiancé. He’ll want to reward the man who defended your honor and saved you from a horrible fate. Still, you wish there was something you could be doing for him right now. “There’s also other ways,” you say, very slowly.

“Hm,” he makes, a sound that has started to fill you with a certain warmth for reasons you can’t quite explain. Then he shifts, moves his legs a little further apart. And you’re there right between them, looking up into his face that betrays nothing except for the smallest glint in his eyes.

You’ve never even kissed a man, but you’re not stupid. You know what certain gestures and movements mean. You’ve watched your father’s hands when a woman walked past them, you’ve attended dances where everyone around you was getting drunk … growing up on a farm, you’ve seen things. But you also know that those things are wrong and they should only be happening between husband and wife behind closed doors, no matter what everyone else is doing.

It's getting harder to breathe, and you feel a tug low in your stomach, almost like an ache. You’ve never felt anything like this before and you can’t quite place it, but the way he looks at you, mouth slightly opened, his eyes deep and dark, only fuels that sensation. And when you think back to this afternoon, it becomes so strong it makes you shift on your knees.

“You’re a pretty little thing.”

It’s the second time today someone has said that about you. Whereas the first time made your skin crawl, the second time makes your cheeks heat up and your breath get stuck in your throat. You notice that Mr. Morgan unbuckles his belt, eyes locked to yours, and you make sure your gaze stays on his face. It’s only when he groans and his eyelids flutter shut that you look down and see he has his hand wrapped around himself, moving it up and down his length with sure strokes. Something in you is released at that sight.

“Here, let me,” you offer, shuffling closer on your knees until you’re trapped between his legs.

Before you can think better of it, you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock. It’s warmer than you expected, feels heavier than you thought when you move your hand up in the same move you saw him use. He groans again, louder this time, and removes his hand, resting it on your arm. You tremble.

Back home, you were taught that what a wife does in the bedroom is fulfilling the duty to her husband. It sounded neither pleasant nor enjoyable, and so far, you’ve managed to push the thoughts of what is awaiting you at your destination from your mind. But your mother couldn’t have meant this, because this doesn’t feel like duty at all. You stroke the tip of his cock with your thumb, he tightens the grip on your arm in return, and you feel a surge of pride well up. No, your mother couldn’t have been talking about this.

Eager to try more, you twist your wrist on the downstroke, then lower your head and kiss the tip of his cock. He growls this time, and his hand lands on the back of your head, pushing you down. You have no choice but to open your mouth further and take him in. The weight of him presses down against your tongue, the tip of him brushing the back of your throat makes you gag as tears shoot to your eyes. He grips your hair, pulls you off, then pushes you back down again, and you got it. It’s not so different from the hand.

Steadying him at the base with a tight grip, you pull off him again, but let your tongue run along the underside, the sharp taste of him filling every corner of your mouth. It will take some getting used to, but you’re determined to get this right, and from the way his hand trembles at the back of your head, you have a feeling you might be.

You close your eyes, focusing on taking him as deeply inside as possible because he seems to enjoy that. Sometimes, when you think there isn’t any room left, he pushes you onto his cock that little bit further and then groans contently, a sound that tightens parts of your body you didn’t know could tighten. You run your tongue over the tip of him, hum around him when your mouth is full of him, just to find out what kind of sounds you can draw from him. If this is what it’s like, you can’t imagine why anyone would call this a duty.

Mr. Morgan stiffens and pushes his hips upward so you take even more of him into your mouth. This time you can’t help the gagging sound pushing past him. But instead of forcing you to take more, he grips a handful of your hair and pulls you off. Your mouth feels strangely empty for a moment, even though his taste lingers, and you blink in confusion. Was that it?

You lick your lips and look up at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something. But he’s quiet, only placing his forefinger under your chin to tilt your head back a little more. For some reason, that gesture leaves you breathless. And you know why a second later when his lips lock onto yours and your breaths mingle, and you suddenly understand why people would kill for this. Why he killed for you.

You can’t help the moan that comes out of your mouth, don’t even realize at first that the sound is coming from you. His hand glides to the back of your head to grip you and hold you in place, and you push yourself toward him, one hand on his arm, the other on his thigh. He licks into your mouth and you try to mirror him, feeling a strange sense of pride when he opens up for you.

He pulls away, holding you in place by the hair at the nape of your neck. “Did you like havin’ me in your mouth?” he asks and his voice is so low you barely recognize it.

“Yes, Mr. Morgan,” you answer, and you also almost don’t recognize your own.

“Oh, you’re somethin’,” he says with a wicked smile, then stands and pulls you with him.

Your legs are trembling and your knees threaten to give way when he kisses you again, pressing his entire body to yours. Just when you think you could spend eternity like this, he closes his arms around your backside and lifts you up, so you don’t have any chance but to sling your legs around his middle. You squeal against his lips, but he just carries you past the campfire toward your bedroll. Beneath your palms, you can feel the muscles in his shoulders and arms flex and tighten with each step. Something in your stomach flutters as you remember he's strong enough to beat a man to death.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re kissing his jaw and neck, biting down on a tendon that’s jutting out with the effort of keeping you in his arms. When he rumbles deep in his chest, you flick out your tongue to lick across the spot in apology, but he drops you to your feet. You both stand there for a second, looking at each other with heaving chests. His hands come up to grip the neckline of your dress, and he pulls, a tearing sound echoing through the trees. Your torn dress crumbles to the ground around you, exposing your undergarments, and even though your first instinct is to cover up you don’t because he pulls his shirt over his head to expose his naked chest beneath, and that sight is enough to distract you from any embarrassment you might be feeling.

His pants are next, and then he stands before you stark naked. You try to touch his stomach with a trembling hand, but he grabs your wrist and pushes you down to the ground. With precise movements, he pulls off your drawers, taking your shoes with them, then tears open your corset to expose your breasts. Your breath hitches when he cups one in his calloused hand and squeezes, making pleasure spike through your body.

You kiss him again, lean into his touch, and then you discover you can make him tighten his hold on you by licking over his bottom lip. You can make him press his hard length against you by moaning in pleasure. It feels so, so good to have this effect on him, to be able to do that to him without words. Never, in a million years, would you have expected that giving yourself to a man would feel like this, would make heat blossom at the base of your spine, would make you ache between your legs. You shove your fingers into his hair, deepening the kiss, and he sighs against your lips, a sound that makes your knees weak. How can all of this make you feel so good yet fill you with a hunger you don’t know how to satiate?

You run your nails over his scalp, testing to see what other sounds you can elicit from him, when he suddenly shifts both your bodies, pushing you to the ground while caging you in with his body. Your heart hammers in your chest so hard it’s almost painful, but even when your back is uncomfortably pressed against your thin bedroll, you still crane your neck to keep kissing him. God, why can’t you get enough of him?

With a sharp slap against your knee that sends another spike of pleasure through your body, he pushes your legs apart, then draws back to look at you. His lips are red and swollen, and both shadow and light are dancing across his face in quick succession. You reach up to touch his cheek, but he catches your wrist and pins it down next to your head with so much strength it steals the breath from your lungs.

“You’re the prettiest little lady I’ve ever seen,” he mumbles.

You feel your face heat up, but he doesn’t notice how flustered you are. With his free hand, he grabs himself, then lines himself up between your legs. You watch, eyes wide, breathing so fast your head is starting to swim. What comes next is a pressure that is not painful but not quite pleasurable either. And the more it pushes, the more it hurts.

“Stop,” you say, your voice not more than a whisper.

Either he doesn’t hear you or he’s ignoring you, but he continues to push up into you, and now it’s so painful you’ve lost all sense of pleasure entirely.

“Stop,” you try again, bracing your hands against his shoulders, trying to push him off you. He’s too strong for you. “Arthur, stop!” you bellow.

And he hears you. He immediately withdraws, and you scramble to sit up, pulling away from him as best as possible on the small bedroll.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, and the concern in his voice makes you look at him.

“Yes,” you answer, hugging your knees to your chest. You wish you weren’t so naked.

“Have you ever …?” He doesn’t need to finish the question for you to know what he means.

You shake your head.

A deep, red flush creeps up his chest and neck. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t –”

“It’s alright,” you interrupt him, his apology embarrassing rather than harming you. “You didn’t know.”

“The way you were kissin’ me …” He trails off again.

Your ears prick up at the compliment. “It all felt … good,” you stutter. “More than good. It’s just …”

“I can … we can slow down,” he offers. “If you still want …”

You look at him, kneeling before you, his skin glowing orange in the light from the fire. His dick is slowly softening between his legs, goosebumps are covering his arms, but he is showing you all of himself without shame. That bold display of his body makes your blood heat up again, but you hesitate. Touching his naked skin is one thing, giving yourself to him entirely is something you’ve been warned of your entire life. And yet … now that you’ve pushed through the initial shock, you slowly realize your body is demanding to feel him again.

You nod. “Yes. I still … I want you.”

Your cheeks are fever-hot, but the way his eyes light up is worth the embarrassment you feel. Arthur moves toward you, loosening the hold you have on yourself, and you relax, dropping your knees, letting him come even closer. He smirks, his eyes darting to your lips and then back up again before he leans in for a searing kiss, and it feels like the last few minutes didn’t happen at all. Without breaking the kiss, he reaches for your wrist, then slowly guides your hand between your own legs, while you tremble in anticipation. He doesn’t touch you, but when he presses your own fingers against all that heat and wetness, you moan deeply.

Arthur breaks the kiss first. “I want you to play with yourself,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

“I don’t …,” you start, suddenly unsure.

“Yeah, I know.” He kisses your neck. “You’re gonna figure it out though.”

You take a deep breath and nod, and when he captures your lips for another kiss, you move your fingers over yourself in a motion that makes pleasure shoot through your entire body. A shaky pant escapes you and lands on his mouth, turning his lips into a smirk even while he’s kissing you.

“There you go,” he whispers.

You find a rhythm and pace that makes you feel like you’re about to explode but that doesn’t light the final fuse, and he continues to kiss you for a while before drawing back to watch the hand between your thighs. Any shame you could have felt is replaced by pure lust when you see the arousal in his eyes; you shift to open your legs further, and he raises his eyes in surprise. You shift under his searing gaze and moan when you notice his hand closing around the base of his cock.

You’ve never felt like you’re feeling right now, completely in control but also like you’re surrendering yourself to him. It’s so addictive it makes you wonder how people don’t want to feel like this all the time. “It feels so good,” you groan, struggling to get the words out because your teeth are clenched.

“You’re so pretty,” is Arthur’s answer as he moves his hand up and down his length.

You can’t help but believe him. “I love you strong you are,” you return the compliment, and before you can think better of it, you raise your free hand and cup your breast, squeezing your nipple.

His eyes lock onto your chest. “Fuck.” Pleasure shoots through you from the tip of your toes to the top of your head. “You’re such a good girl,” he adds, and it makes your heart flutter so painfully you feel like it’s about to fly out of your chest.

“Say that again,” you demand, not recognizing yourself at all.

Arthur shifts closer until he’s right between your legs, fisting himself eagerly. You can smell the sweat and arousal on him, a scent so overpowering you wish you could bury your nose in his skin and inhale it forever. “My pretty, brave girl,” he says, and when you lower your gaze, too overwhelmed by what his words make you feel, he grips your chin and lifts your head. “Oh no, you’re gonna look at me.” You blink once but don’t lower your head again. “Yeah, that’s it.” He smirks. “Look at you … so eager to please me. You should see yourself right now … goddamn prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

You do lower your gaze then because it feels like too much. Your eyes land on his cock, on the tip that’s glistening wetly, and you lick your lips, remembering the feeling of him in your mouth.

“You want me inside of you, don’t you?” Arthur asks, and you nod. His rough, calloused hand closes around your throat and you can’t help it – you move your own hand faster, a crescendo building in the pit of your stomach. “Use your words, pretty girl. I know you can.”

You swallow hard, knowing he can feel your throat move against his grip. “Yes, I want you inside of me.” Your face doesn’t heat up this time as you realize you’re not only saying that to please him. It’s exactly what you want.

He rewards you with a deep kiss, then mumbles against your lips. “Are you ready?”

You hesitate. “I’m not …”

But Arthur doesn’t let you finish. “Let’s find out together.” He leans back. “Finger yourself.” The way his eyes darken when he says it isn’t lost on you.

You shift and move your hand lower, his eyes fixed to your movements. He has stopped moving, his hand grabbing his cock, holding it between his legs. You feel yourself flutter against your fingers in anticipation at the same time as he licks his lips. And then you push the tip of your finger inside of you, past the initial resistance, deeper and deeper until you can’t go any further.

“Breathe,” he instructs and you exhale sharply. “Did that hurt?”

You shake your head before remembering he likes to hear your voice. “No.”

“How does it feel?” he wants to know.

Carefully, you pull your finger out until only the tip remains inside of you, then you push it back in. “Good,” you manage. “Really good.”

“You’re sweet when you can barely talk,” he says with a smirk and the muscles inside you clamp down on your finger. You moan and close your eyes, unable to keep them open. “You like that, don’t you?” You hear him shift closer. “You like hearing my voice. Bet you’d like me to talk you through it, too.”

Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you feel something building inside you. It’s like a wave that will drown everything out. You lean back further and further until your back connects to the ground, until you can raise your hips to meet your finger, trying to get it as deep inside you as possible.

Then his hand is covering yours and he pushes you to the ground, stilling you. When you open your eyes, you’re met with his, dark with lust, and you’re rewarded with the sight of his chest, flushed so deeply red it looks almost purple. His cock is leaking onto his fingers. “Not yet, sweet girl,” he says in a voice that sounds familiar to the one he uses to calm down his horse. “You’re doing so well, but wait until …”

Arthur removes his hand from yours, but then you feel the tip of his finger right where yours is disappearing inside yourself. You steel yourself for the pain you’re about to feel, but when his finger joins yours, stretching you open, all you feel is pleasure so intense it makes it hard for you to stay conscious.

“Fuck,” you groan, a short outburst, almost like a bark.

“You can say that again.” Arthur’s voice is so husky it’s almost impossible to understand. He cups your hand with his, and then moves the both of you in tandem, pulling back out and pushing back in. You tentatively meet his thrusts by rolling your hips and he growls. “Look at you, spread open just for me.”

You don’t know why his words make you feel like they do, but the muscles between your legs are working hard to keep both your fingers buried as deeply as possible. That earns you a smirk from him and you smile back in return.

“I think you’re ready.” He grips your hand tightly and pulls the both of you out, making you sob. To calm you, he cups your cheek and presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna fill you right back up again.” All you can do is nod.

He positions himself above you, stroking himself a few times, then lining himself up. It’s easier for you to relax this time because you know what to expect, but when he breaches that resisting wall of muscles, you still feel a burn and hiss.

“Shhhh,” he makes and kisses your forehead. “You’re doing so good.”

And then he’s inside of you, stretching you open as much as you can take. His eyes flutter shut and he groans, shifting to adjust himself. “You feel perfect.”

“You’re … you’re big,” you manage, drawing a chuckle from him.

He shifts again, then pulls back out before slamming back into you, making you see stars. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he apologizes immediately.

“No,” you press out through gritted teeth. “Do that again.”

He does, and you grip his arm, burying your nails in his muscle, slinging your other arm around his back. There’s a strange taste in your mouth and you only slowly realize it’s blood from biting down on your bottom lip. He kisses you, licks over the wound, pulls a sharp moan from you. And then he slams into you so hard you scream, clawing at his skin, leaving bloody streaks down his arm and back. The pain only seems to spur him on and when you pant, “Harder,” he doesn’t hesitate.

You clench around his cock in return and he whispers, “I like you like this.” You feel yourself clench again and he groans. “You’re perfect,” he repeats. You kiss his neck, then bite it, until he pushes you back down. “I bet you’ve never had an orgasm before, have you?” You shake your head and he mimics that motion, tapping your bottom lip with his thumb. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“No,” you manage to say, your voice hoarse.

He rocks into you, not as hard and fast as before, but it makes you pant helplessly nonetheless. “Yeah, I thought so,” he mumbles more to himself than to you.

“Please,” you whisper.

He smirks down at you, then shifts his knees ever so slightly to change the angle. Suddenly, he’s brushing against something deep inside of you that makes a sob erupt from deep in your chest.

“Do you even know what you’re asking for?” he teases, but there is a strain in his voice now, as if he’s struggling to hold onto something.

“Please,” you repeat louder, unable to fully grasp the meaning of his question.

Arthur’s thumb is back on your lip and then he pushes it inside your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the tip eagerly, then suck on it, grazing your teeth over his skin. His breathing turns ragged, and the warmth of pride erupts in your chest. With a wet sound, he pulls his thumb out from between your lips and pushes his hand between your bodies until it comes to rest on that small spot you were toying with earlier. You howl and twitch and your whole body erupts. You spill over, you lose sense of where and who you are, you’re shaken by forces beyond your control. All the while, Arthur pounds into you, strokes you inside and out, and you think you hear him say, “That’s it, just let go. You’re so fucking beautiful – just let go.”

As soon as you feel like you can breathe again, he pulls out of you, leaving you aching and empty and cold. Through hooded eyes, you watch as he moves his hand up and down his cock fast until he spills all over his hand and the edge of your bedroll, gaze not directed downwards, but staring at you with insatiable hunger in his eyes. And you return that gaze just as hungrily, wondering what it would feel like to taste his release on your tongue.

Arthur stands unsteadily and retrieves his coat from the other side of the campfire. You feel the cold of the night now and hug your knees to your chest, still trying to make sense of the world. “Now, no more of that,” he says when he gets back, draping his coat over you, the weight of it making your limbs grow soft. He lies down next to you, pressing his front to your back, one arm possessively slung over your chest, the other shoved under your head for you to use as a pillow.

*******

The morning sun is warm on your face as you ride through a slowly thinning forest. The plains and your destination cannot be far from here. Your thoughts are though; they’re still somewhere behind you, stuck at a campfire, busy chasing the feeling of the man next to you between your legs.

When you reach a fork in the path, you stop your horse and look off to your right, back into the forest and the mountains. “What’s back there?” you ask.

Arthur stops his horse next to yours and looks down the path. “Never been over that way,” he answers.

“Do you want to find out?” Your voice is firm, but you don’t look at Arthur.

He’s quiet at first. “Your father –”

“– already paid you,” you finish the sentence.

Arthur nods. “Alright,” he says, then looks back at the path you just put behind you, then off to your right again. “Let’s find out what’s over there.”

***

arthur morgan taglist: @cjillian97 | @hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmsstuff | @imaginativefanatic | @joelmillers-whore | @misspearly1 | @spacecowboyhotch | @tortor-mcgee | @wickedscribbles

perma taglist: @alexturner | @amneris21 | @din-jarhead | @harriedandharassed | @martellthemandalor | @nyfeeer | @nobodys-baby-now | @od-ends | @pedrorascal | @radiowallet-writes

[anna-proxx]

♡ 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐬

pairing: arthur morgan x fem!reader

summary: you and arthur are occasional lovers with no strings attached, except you caught feelings.

word count: 2613

tags: fluff, suggestive, love confession, high honor arthur, friends with benefits, fem!reader

warnings: nsfw/explicit content

a/n: I’ve been battling writer’s block due to perfectionism and decided to write a spontaneous oneshot as an attempt to pretty much break through it. It's not really a smut, just a fluff with suggestive aspects and nsfw setting. Found this idea sweet, hope you enjoy!

✮ masterlist

You and Arthur first met when he was drunk and while you usually steered away from drunk men, this one in particular caught your eye. For some goddamn reason you decided to take care of him as he sang to himself in the saloon, alone, almost picking a fight with one of the regular customers, if it weren’t for you getting involved.

He hadn’t even tried to touch you and overall he seemed to be safe to be around. You made him eat some food (though he protested, saying he’d rather dance with you) and drink some water, to make his hangover at least a bit better the next morning. Then you made sure he was sound asleep before leaving him in the hotel room, putting a little note on the nightstand saying his adaptation of the song about Otis Miller was by far your favorite.

The second time you met in the same saloon. Though this time he was still sober, with a beer in his hand, looking quite worn out after the day. He didn’t remember you that much but you explained and after realizing you were the stranger who took care of him and left his sick, disoriented self the note, he opened up to you more.

And after sharing a few drinks, that he insisted to pay for you, and some loose conversation, you ended up in that same room, this time with you both being tipsy and making out, after you made the first move and kissed him.

It was like you were obsessed. With the way his rough hands treated you so gently, how he towered over you with your back against the wall, how you found yourself enveloped in his strong arms or the deep low groans in your ear that sent tingles into your belly.

It progressed into something more regular. Both of you helped each other release all the pent up tension and forget about everything that was going on outside the bedroom. What happened in that hotel room stayed between the walls. The desperate kisses, muffled whines and hot touches, your bodies intertwined like stems of ivy. The hungry look in his eyes stayed ingrained in your mind, keeping you company during the nights you spent alone.

Arthur felt safe with you. After Eliza he was reluctant to do this type of thing again, but there was just something about you that set his whole self on fire and made it impossible to resist you.

There was a good hunting spot nearby and he liked to return there for that reason, or maybe, just maybe, it was also the way he stopped by at the saloon every time, searching the room for a familiar face as soon as he stepped inside.

This sort of relationship was unusual for you as well, but his touch drove you crazy. He was so gentle and rugged at the same time, so big and mysterious while having a soft side you got to see anytime he let his guard down.

You knew he was no saint. Though he never told you details, you assumed the law was after him, but your intuition let you relax in his presence and you leaned into the comfort, trusting that if anything, he would protect you rather than hurt you.

The connection was mostly physical but slowly, one night after another, he was taking a hold over your heart, as much as you denied it to yourself.

Until you were finally ready to accept it.

— ∽ ♡ ∼ —

“You… seemed… angry today,” you said between your breaths, lying with your back against the soft mattress and covered only by the thin layer of a blanket.

His eagerness today was really something, clutching the headboard as he pushed his hips against yours, making you lose your breath with every thrust. It seemed personal, like there was more tension to release than usually – and you were more than happy to give him the freedom.

A soft groan left his lips in an agreement, his lungs still trying to fill with air as he lay beside you, exhausted but satisfied.

You yourself were still in that sweet daze, your heart pumping warmth into your whole body and tingles dancing all over your stomach, a smile on your face you couldn’t hold back.

The soreness between your legs somehow felt so good, a reminder of this night that would stay even after he’s gone.

After a moment you rolled to your side, watching Arthur’s glistening face as he was covered in sweat, as much as you were. The loose strands of his hair were sticking to his forehead and a familiar warmth spread in your stomach as you imagined reaching out and brushing those strands back, gently caressing his cheek and planting a kiss on the little scar on his chin.

Yes. You were pretty much screwed.

He turned his head to look at you and caught your gaze, silently reciprocating it and giving you a perfect view at his greenish blue eyes. He looked so vulnerable in that moment it tugged at your heart, wanting nothing but to embrace him in your arms.

But you had no idea how he felt and you didn’t want to make a fool out of yourself.

“I uh…” Arthur cleared his throat, turning away to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks. “Lemme clean this up.”

Your soft gaze followed him as he held onto the cloth and as his eyes asked for consent before he lifted the blanket and gently wiped the stickiness from between your thighs.

You didn’t even try to hide your red cheeks, the situation making it seem more than understandable. You wondered whether he realized how sweet this was of him, how much it made you fall in love even more.

You were both silent and the air felt thick between you two, as if there were many things left unsaid and it made the silence louder.

You never knew but always wondered what ran through his mind after your shared intimacy, how he felt, what was the mysterious gleam in his eyes as he watched you hot and sweating beside him.

When he was done, you sat up with the blanket over you again, watching his flexing muscles as he turned away from you, giving you a perfect view at his back.

Arthur lit himself a cigarette, breathing out soft clouds of smoke that floated up towards the ceiling. He sat back, feeling nothing but lightness and comfort inside.

He turned his head to look at you and found you already watching.

“Ya want a drag?”

“Sure,” you accepted, holding the blanket over your chest as you leaned forward. Instead of taking the cigarette from him as he expected you to, you left it between his fingers and simply wrapped your lips around its end while he held it out for you.

You gently put your fingers around his wrist instead, letting him watch you a little surprised.

Leaning away, you fought back the irritation in your throat and turned away from him, tears forming in your eyes. With your mouth at the crook of your arm, you broke into a violent cough.

“Not used to it, huh?” Arthur lightly mocked you, bringing the cigarette back to his own lips as he watched you struggle to gain composure.

You turned to him with teary eyes, laughing at his snicker. “I can’t be good at everything, cowboy.”

After a few moments your breath finally steadied and you found Arthur lost in thought when you looked back at him. Studying his side profile without him taking notice as he continued to smoke, something occupying his mind.

You caught yourself wishing for those hands to hold your hips instead like they did just half an hour ago. For his bare chest to be pressed against yours again, to have his lips on your own. It was like an addiction.

Having him sit beside you like that, naked, turned you on all over again.

He had no idea how much he had you wrapped around his finger.

You cleared your throat, moving your gaze before he could catch you drooling over him.

“So uh… I’d like to ask something of you.”

He looked at you with surprise in his face, curiously turning his whole body towards you.

“Huh, what is it?” he asked in a relaxed tone, shifting closer to you.

You chuckled under your breath as you turned to reach for your satchel lying beside the bed and pulled out a folded paper.

You slightly shook your head at how silly this was, but handed Arthur the paper along with a pencil nonetheless, a grin on your face.

“I’d like an autograph please,” you said playfully, making sure he knew this was a harmless request from you. Lying back, your eyes followed him as he unfolded the paper with one hand, a wave of shock stunning him as he stared at his own wanted poster.

He immediately searched for your eyes, puzzled by the gesture, frowning in confusion. But the soft features of your face and relaxed body language calmed him. You were just playing around.

Now amused, he chuckled, looking back at the paper in his hand. “Where did ya get that?”

There was a hint of insecurity in his voice. Now there was no doubt you knew about him being a criminal. You had an evidence in your possession and yet you were still here, in the same bed, naked, your skin still hot from his touch.

“On a business trip. Seems you’re quite a celebrity.” You grinned, moving closer as you looked over his shoulder at the drawn outlines of his face.

“You’re prettier in real life, trust me.”

He softly huffed at the compliment, hoping you wouldn’t notice his flushed cheeks. But you did and found it endearing.

“So… you gon’ collect that reward?” he asked, a joking tone in his voice though he kept his gaze fixated on the poster.

You chuckled. “No, no, I don’t think I’d stand a chance against someone built like you, besides, I don’t usually sleep with people I plan to turn in to the law.” You kept the playful attitude, pointing to the pencil in his hand. “Come on, sign it. I’ll keep it as a memento.”

“This?” He seemed amused by the idea, not grasping why you’d possibly do such thing.

He turned around to stub out his cigarette, his thoughts an entangled mess. Did you really not mind? He almost spiraled into overthinking as he stared back at his effigy, paired with a ‘wanted’ and a fair sum of dollars in bold. He wished he could make this part of him disappear, especially around you.

“Sure. I don’t have your photo, so…” You were clearly still joking with your lighthearted tone, little did he know there was truth in it. You planned to keep that poster, safely hidden away, as a way to keep something as a reminder of him. Was that silly?

He chuckled again as he put the pencil against a corner of the poster, scribbling down his name in neat, pretty letters.

Arthur trusted you, knew you wouldn’t misuse it. Your eyes were too honest and your physical intimacy too passionate for that.

You thanked him as he handed it back to you, giddily putting it aside and giving him a big smile.

“I must assure you,” you started teasing him, “that this is my first time being involved with an outlaw. You’re not a threat to me, are you, Mr Morgan?”

“Well that depends,” Arthur answered with the same kind of mischief, a playful gleam in his eyes as he turned to his stomach and lay close to you, his breath warm on your face.

“Depends on what?” You held back a laugh, enjoying the mood of the conversation.

“I’ve made ya scream before.”

“Oh, shut up.” You gently hit his arm with your palm, a laugh escaping your lips this time, making the outlaw laugh with you.

“You know, you’re not quite that threatening,” you said, still smiling, purposefully teasing Arthur who furrowed his brow in confusion.

“Am not?”

“No. Unless you attack me with your kisses, that is.”

“You haven’t seen the things I’ve done, woman.”

“No, but I’ve certainly felt some other things.” Without thinking you hurriedly planted a kiss on his scrunched nose and turned your bare back to him, sitting on the edge of bed as you reached for your clothes scattered around the floor.

Arthur lay back with his arms behind his head as he continued to rest in bed, watching you put on your clothes, though quite messily, and your hair that stayed tangled despite you running your fingers through it.

You let out a soft sigh as the room got filled with comfortable silence, yet it made you nervous to the core.

You were in love and you usually weren’t afraid of expressing your feelings. But now it felt so intimidating, so risky.

“Arthur…” you said with seriousness in your tone this time, quiet and hesitant enough to pique Arthur’s interest. He sat up straight in bed and you looked back over your shoulder, catching him as beautiful as ever.

Lit by warm candlelight, you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander over his bare skin. The broad shoulders, though slouched in relaxation, his chest and flat stomach, small scars all over his exposed arms. The way the blanket lay casually over his lap brought warmth into your cheeks and you bit your lip as you remembered the events of just a little while ago.

You looked at his hands, his knuckles bruised and his fingers holding the sheets. And finally his face, curiously watching you with something in his eyes that you couldn’t quite identify. His light brown hair that you loved seeing this ruffled and messy. He really was so beautiful.

“I think…” You tried to swallow the dryness in your mouth, your palms sweating as you struggled to hold eye contact. “I caught feelings for you, Arthur.”

There. You said it. And you felt like a fool.

Your cheeks were now red and you felt a pit in your stomach, not quite believing you just said it out loud. You knew you wouldn’t have it in you to say it again.

You avoided his gaze, having no idea what his reaction was, the little moment of silence felt like an eternity to you.

“You… did?” There was disbelief in his voice and it made you shift nervously, taking a deep breath as you seemingly forgot to breathe.

“Yes.”

The silence became unbearable. You didn’t know how he looked at you, too scared to see the expression of his face and too embarrassed to meet his eyes.

“I have feeling for you as well, (y/n).”

Your eyes widened in surprise and your heart jumped in your chest as you turned around, joy spreading through your veins.

You searched for any sign of deceit in his face, but there was none. He sat there looking completely vulnerable, honest, defenseless, his cheeks pink as he watched you back.

You rushed towards him, cupping his cheeks before connecting your lips in a long sweet kiss. Arthur wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his body as he lovingly pulled at your lips, softly breathing into the kiss with a sense of relief.

Slowly you put his weight on him, making him fall backwards little by little until his head lay on a pillow underneath you.

He broke the kiss, looking up at you with dilated pupils and flushed cheeks. “‘M the only one undressed here.”

You grinned at him, not moving a single inch as you kept him locked under you. “I don’t mind.”

With a kiss you muffled his laugh, a wide smile on your own face.

“So… how ‘bout I join you on your hunting trip tomorrow?” you proposed, hope in your eyes.

“Sure.” Arthur chuckled at your excitement, finding the spark in your eyes adorable as he caressed your cheek. “But I ain’t much of a good hunter.”

“That’s okay.” You kissed the corner of his mouth. “Me neither.”

[johnpriceslamb]

…. wud u gaiz want a whole collection of husband Arthur morgan stuff •_•

[twola]

Cartography

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

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

You bite your bottom lip to stop the moan bubbling from your chest out into the room - with the broken windows and rotting walls of the old plantation house, there was little doubt of noise carrying. You shudder at the stimulation occurring in your core, stretched delightfully around several inches of hot, hard flesh.

Arthur grunts in appreciation of your tightening around him, “Look at you-” he half whispers in the bright light pouring in from Lemoyne outside.

The quiet of the morning is serene, interspersed by the lazy chirping of birds outside - but within the room, it’s heralded by deep breaths and choked-off moans, the wet slapping of skin on skin.

You arch your back, pressing down on your forearms on the table, sighing in bliss as it changes the angle of where your lover spears into your body ever so slightly. You’re rewarded by a groan and the tightening of his warm hands around your bare hips, the only part of your skin bared to the world.

It was supposed to be an early morning, and indeed, the two of you had gotten out of bed, dressed, ready to get on with the day. Until you leaned over the table on one elbow, scrutinizing the map of several states spread out on it. Evidently was far too much for Arthur, and before you knew it, he was upon you, nibbling at your earlobe as he worked your pants and bloomers down your thighs, pushing them down just enough to access your dampening cunt.

With one hand pressing against your core, the other worked at his own pants, fishing his cock out of his union suit and pressing the swollen head against you with a speed and necessity akin to breathing.

“Wer- ahh- weren’t we supposed to be goin’ somewhere?” You stutter as his hips bounce against yours, your forearms spread over the Kamassa valley, and your fingers draw into your palms to make fists just south of the Ambarino line.

“Later. ‘M fine right here.” Arthur puffs, continuing to thrust into you, his cock ramrod hard and covered in your wetness. He breathes out loudly from his nose, like a beast, and one of his hands creeps around your hip to pat at the little nub of your pleasure, fingers tangling in your dark pubic hair.

Your mouth hangs open, eyes wide as he continues to rock into you, the head of his cock pressing so deep into your body you swear you feel it in your guts.

Trying not to scream, your eyes flit to that old map spread beneath you, and your hands splayed out on the table again.

Your pinky brushes against the far north reaches of the Lanaheechee.

“A-Annesburg?” You groan out, the text of the town’s name underneath your wrist.

He grunts out in the negative, “Naw, too dirty - mmph, all that coal dust.”

“No Van Horn neither then-” You breathe out before gasping as he thrusts his hips into yours with a little more force.

“No Van Horn.”

You glance down again, knowing how much he hated the large city on the map hidden by your breasts - Saint Denis was out of the question.

“R-Rhodes,” underneath your elbow.

“Not after that shootout - oh darlin’-” Arthur grunts out, panting as he spreads his legs a little further to ground himself as he rocks into you.

The mountains past your pinky finger, “Strawberry? Gonna, mmph, go to that fancy hotel finally?”

“Not this time-”

Closer to your wrist, “Not back to Val-”

He cuts you off with a punishing thrust, and you drop your question and can simply mewl in response.

Arthur grunts, folding himself over you completely, smothering you against the table, framing his forearms on either side of yours, his breath in your ear as his thrusting slows into a full, slow rocking, the table squealing underneath the movement of your bodies.

“H-here,” he taps empty space north of Wallace Station with his forefinger. 

“Wha- oh god - what’s there?” You whine as he presses completely into you, his hips pressing hard into yours, pinning you to the table completely.

“A cabin ‘m gonna lock us in for the next week.” He grunts out beneath gritted teeth, and you moan at the thought, loudly before his other hand moves to your chin and tilts it to the side to give himself access to shove his lips against yours.

His hips stop their languid rolling, and a grunt charges up from his chest into your mouth as his cock spurts his release into you, the warmth blooming in your cunt sending you over the edge, clenching around him, making him gasp as your body milks his for all he’s worth.

You shudder, taken by your orgasm and the feeling of him buried so deep inside you, stretching you to the dual threshold of pain and pleasure.  The room’s spinning slows as you and he both catch your breath.

Arthur hisses as he pulls out, and you wince slightly at the dribble of him that starts to trek down your thighs before he yanks his neckerchief off and presses it against your cunt, stymying the flow of his spend from between your legs.

As you catch your breath and lean back up on your forearms, you glance down at the map where he said the two of you were going. 

“That really what we’re doin’?”

Arthur pats the fabric against the rim of your cunt again, blotting against your wet skin. Tossing the dirtied fabric to the floor, he leans over you again, pressing his lips against your temple as his arms frame yours once again.

“Reckon we can take the scenic route there too.”

[wisteriadumster]

Sunny Ride ❥Arthur Morgan

･｡ﾟ☆:*.☾ ·☽.* :☆ﾟ.

ARTHUR MORGAN X FEMALE READER

CW➻❥ outdoor sex⋆ smoking ⋆cowgirl position ⋆ making out ⋆ somewhat handjob ⋆ f! & m! orgasms ⋆ teasing ⋆ outdoor nudity ⋆ rough sex ⋆

WC➻❥1071➻❥ this isn't well proof read so any mistakes or odd things are purely accidental

Summary➻❥ while out relaxing with Arthur you get a mischievous urge to tease him. You stand above him with only a skirt and shirt on, your skirt scrunched up to your knees. One thing leads to another and you ride him like you saved a horse.

A/N ➻❥ sorry that I haven’t posted I’ve been on a summer hiatus, I’ve been enjoying and soaking up all the summer I can get. But I should start posting fics regularly again soon <3

･｡ﾟ☆:*.☾ ·☽.* :☆ﾟ.

Do Not Steal Or Translate My Work!

You looked over your shoulder, the man who was practically your husband laid in grass. His hat was slightly tilted over his forehead, and cigarette smoking was dancing into a mix with the warm summer air.

You brushed through your horse's mane once more before setting the horse brush into your saddlebag.

A mischievous smirk curled at the corner of your mouth as you began walking towards Arthur. You scrunched and curled your skirt in your hands, slowly pulling it just over your knees. You stood above him, your cowboy boots just next to his shoulders. You looked down, Arthur’s eyes just barely peeking open.

“What are you doin’?” Arthur mumbled, you didn’t answer, instead giggled. “I swear woman, you may just be the death of me.” He pulled the cigarette from his mouth, you felt hot smoke crawl up your legs.

You dropped your skirt, and walked around Arthur’s big build. You sat on his stomach, a bright grin on your face as you looked at the man you loved. “Oh darlin’ don’t hide your mischief behind that smile.” He saw through you, “oh shut up you big dummy.” You leaned down and kissed him, letting yourself be gentle. He wrapped his arms around you. “I’m gonna burn through your clothes with my ash,” he removed an arm, the smell of cigarette still burning. “Well I can fix that problem,” you pulled yourself away.

Arthur seemed anxious as you removed your shirt, “what if someone sees us?” You smiled as his worry had answered that he wanted this just as bad as you. “We’d put on a good show.” You pulled your shirt over your head and it fell beside you.

“How did I manage to get such a lustful woman?” He stared at you, enjoying each part of your exposed skin. “You’re not much of a saint yourself.” Arthur stuck the burning bud of tobacco in his mouth for a final drag, he held his breath as he crushed the end of the cigarette into the ground.

You leaned back down, taking in Arthur’s exhale of smoke that twisted around your kiss. The kiss was savory and sweet, Arthur touched you with a deliciously you craved for every time. His rough and dirty hands running up your body as they touched your carved and sculpted body. “How do you always touch me in the right places?” You smile and slowly grind yourself on his hips, “every place is the right place sweetheart.” His voice is low before he kisses you again, his hands holding your hips, assisting you as you grind against his hardened pants.

You pulled yourself away from Arthur's gentle pink lips. Your hand trailed down your body, Arthur watching as it disappeared under your skirt. Your fingers struggled and fiddled with the lonesome button of Arthur's pants. “Jesus baby,” Arthur mumbled as he let his head fall back, waiting for whatever was to come.

You brought your hand to your mouth, gently letting spit land on it before you brought it under your skirt again. Arthur focused on undoing his shirt buttons.

You wrapped your hand around Arthur’s cock, twisting and pumping your hand around it to get it evenly wet. “Shit,” you could hear Arthur’s quiet groan, a smirk on your face as you continued.

You adjusted yourself until you were perfectly hovered over Arthur’s cock and slowly guided yourself until his tip entered. Your body tensed, you noticed Arthurs abdomen tighten as well. You lowered yourself and more, gasping as his cock filled you. “Darlin’” that’s all he could whisper as you both got comfortable.

Your hands pushed against Arthus ribs as you rose and fell. Arthurs hands on your thighs, helping you to ride him. “Fuck,” you bit your bottom lip as you moved your hips around, grinding yourself with Arthur as he thrusted.

Your nails dug into Arthur’s hairy chest as your climax grew, your body wanting to hit its high. Arthur’s eyes watched as your breasts moved with you, bouncing as rode him. “You’re so pretty darlin.” Arthur’s head fell back again as his own climax was hit.

You mixed your own moan with Arthur’s groan as his cum warmed you. Your nails dug harder and deeper as your body tensed at the high of your orgasm before your muscles relaxed.

You were both panting, your chests rising and lowering from exertion. You rubbed your hands softly around Arthur as you came back to yourself. “Why don’t we do this more often?” You smile through breathing, your fingertips set just at Arthurs

V line. “I have no idea darlin’.”

You sat on Arthur’s hips again. Admiring Arthurs bare chest. “We should get back, Dutch will start wondering why it took so long to go shopping.” Arthur held your waist, his hands rubbing up and down your body. “He can wonder all he likes.” Your hands traveled up Arthur and cupped his cheeks as you went down to kiss him.

The kiss was nearly as intimate and passionate as before, but it tasted just as good and bitter. “I could do this everyday.” You pulled back, your faces just inches from each other. “You’re quite addicting, ya know that sweetheart?” He smiled and ran his hands over your back, bringing them to your shoulders. “Maybe we should get going.”

You had both somewhat had redressed, your shirt was roughly buttoned, Arthur hadn’t even buttoned his.

You passed the cigarette back to Arthur, watching over one of the many ridges and cliffs in New Hanover. “Can we do this once a week?” You asked, still admiring the sunny day. “We can arrange that.” Arthur exhaled the tobacco smoke, his arm over your shoulders as he admired the same view. “Should we go after this?” You asked, though you wished you could stay in the moment forever. “It would be for the best.”

You took the final puff on the shrinking bud, enjoying every last second before you crushed into the grass. “I’ll ready the horses.” Arthur stood, his hat in hand. “What a gentleman you are.” You joked before taking Arthur’s aged gambler hat, and setting it on your head. Arthur looked as the hat was loose on you, “I’ll see you by the horses.”

You handed Arthur his hat, before getting onto your own horse. “Every week.” You smiled, “every week.” Arthur tipped his hat and you began riding out of the meadowed cliff.

[lottiies]

THE ART OF SHARING A COWBOY HAT

⇢ arthur morgan x gn!reader + leon kennedy (rdr2 au) x gn!reader

cw: fluff, lighthearted smut, drinking + implications of throwing up, confessions, mentions of children but it’s still gn friendly, prone to typos

note: um i originally wrote this with only arthur in mind but lowkey think it could apply to leon as well, i thought this was a super cute idea !! these are just rambles and written for fun, so excuse any typos eee (⩾﹏⩽)

i. A GENTLEMANLY ACT

you’ve lost count of how many hats you’ve lost over the years — it wasn’t your fault! just a small bicker with a tiny group of o’driscolls usually resulted in your hat being knocked off while you rode your horse and shot at them.

was buying a new one even worth it? with dutch on everyone’s ass about contributing money, not really. as if the bastard actually helped out.

plus…you’d grown to rely on a certain man who always shared his hat with you as if it were co-owned.

amidst a camp out in the open with the sun pouring in through the leaves of the tall trees that surrounded, your eyes were often squinting. everytime you sat in the shade, it moved over within a couple minutes and left you back in the sun. how frustrating.

“you’ll burn to the crisp by letting the sun beam on ya like that.”

before you could look up to face the familiar voice, the bottom of a hat blocked your view and was placed on you. okay, that felt real nice.

or maybe that one time you stumbled out of the saloon, clutching your stomach with your cheeks all puffed, awaiting the harsh liquor that was begging to be thrown out of your system.

it was night time, the dusty dirt paths were still lively with people walking past. but you needed fresh air, so it would have to do.

being the secret softie that he was, he followed you when he noticed that you had practically limped your way out. geez, he’d been in your position too many times — throwing his guts up with his mind swirling.

“lightweight.” he teased, laughing a bit, placing a hand on your back and rubbing it to comfort you.

“oh gimme a break.” you slurred back, already hunched over. “and stay away…’m bout to burst.”

you weren’t kidding.

he placed his hat on you, keeping your face hidden from any passerby’s. because what kind of man would he be if he just let everyone see your pained face? a foolish one, that’s what.

everyone knew he was sweet on you, it was painfully obvious.

ii. SILENT CONFESSION

the air felt still as the two of you stood beside each other, each leaning against the balcony of a hotel. you guys were close, a little too much to be considered just friends.

his elbow was touching yours, and his gaze didn’t stray from you even once. you captivated his entire attention, more so than the clear stars glimmering in the moonlit sky hanging above.

he couldn’t hide his feelings for you, he couldn’t afford to with how unpredictable life was. he didn’t think much of himself, but he’d be damned if he let some other fella swoop in and woo you.

you didn’t need to be helped. there was no sun in your eyes, or rain pouring onto your face, nor was there any need to hide your face.

his eyes strayed to your lips once before looking back into your eyes, trying to read you. the fondness you held gave him some courage.

he took his hat off, his tousled hair now on display, maybe you could run your fingers through it later.

no words were spoken.

he placed his hat on your head, hoping that would convey his message: he wanted to be yours, and for you to be his.

iii. EASING ALL DISTRESSES

having a lover who’s constantly away isn’t for the weak. it has you feeling like a character out of a book who’s described as melancholic, solemnly gazing out into the distance, awaiting the person who sets your soul ablaze and gives you that fuzzy feeling in your stomach.

him.

but he always spends time with you before he leaves, duh.

after he preps his horse for another long journey away, he makes his way over to your worried form. whether you act nonchalant or downright show how concerned you are, it doesn’t matter, he treats you the same, not wanting you to sulk.

“c’mon love, don’t give me that look. i always come back relatively unscathed, don’t i? you’ve got nothing to worry yer pretty little head about.”

you purse your lips. yeah, he was strong and mighty, but you couldn’t get rid of all the thoughts in your head. “yeah, but being worried ain’t a crime.”

with an amused smile, he takes the adornment perched on his head off and puts it atop your own, adjusting it so it fits more properly. “there ya go.”

he always thought you looked awfully beautiful wearing something of his, his hat had always been dear to him, having scratches and flaws here and there from the encounters he faced. it looked perfect on you, and it felt accomplishing, like if the hat itself was some sort of wedding ring.

he cups the side of your face, using his pinky to lift your jaw while his thumb caresses your cheek. “hold onto this for me, okay? keep it on yer head all the time.”

the act alone had you smiling, returning the adoring gaze he looked at you with. he leaned in closer, pressing his lips against yours for a sweet and temporary goodbye.

iv. TANGLED UNDER THE SHEETS

the chilliness of the harsh winter weather seeped through the wood of the cabin. there were plans to get moving somewhere warmer, but it would be a rough journey. maybe you should be resting instead, but you weren’t.

labored breaths and grunts emanated from the room, accompanied by occasional fits of laughter and whispered words. the two of you were going at it like rabbits on your cot, making the room heat up — no chance you were shivering even with the way it was pouring outside.

his hips were snuggled between yours, his cock slowly pumping into you inch by inch. he was going slowly, trying to make the most of the time you guys had here at this cabin.

“i’m getting a cramp, hold on.” you whine the complaint out, needing to get in a different position.

he laughed, peeling himself off you and laying on his back, his chest heaving heavily.

“what are ya laughing at? you try having your legs up in the air for that long.” you huff as you moved over to straddle him.

“i think i’ll pass on that.”

he always thought you looked amazing on top of him, his eyes sparkling with utmost devotion. naked, vulnerable, so willing to show him every part of you. he loved it.

“ya gonna ride me? i think you’re missing something.” without missing a beat, he reached up for his hat, taking it off and sitting up to place it on you. his free hand snaked down to your ass, giving it a couple pats. “that’s better, now you’re ready.”

you grinned, pressing your hands against his chest to push him back down towards the surface of the cot.

he held onto the back of one of your hands, his other one reaching to hold his cock, letting you sink down onto him. he couldn’t take his eyes off your face though, watching as it contorted into one of pure ecstasy.

v. FAMILY HEIRLOOM

he’s a romantic at heart, he liked the idea of having a hat just for the two of you. he has plenty of others though, that can be passed onto any children you two have or take in as a part of your family — ones they could grow into.

that longing came into fruition. his arm was wrapped around your waist, pulling you close. your eyes were trained on your two children, just a couple years apart, running around aimlessly because the hats their pops put on them were so big it covered their eyes.

“careful…” you mumbled under your breath, not wanting them to fall on any branches or injure themselves. not like they heard you, obviously, but your lover did.

“they’re tough as nails already, jus’ like us..” he reassured you, but it was met by a skeptical glance from you, rightfully so.

“i know, i know…they’re so tiny though, i don’t wanna see even a small scrape on them.”

“worrywart.”

[djarincore]

sub! arthur x femdom! reader

or

service top athur x power bottom fem reader!!

I will kiss your feet if you make these my savior

TAGS: smut, oral (m receiving), gags, edging, sub!arthur

A/N: howdy anon here it is! I've never rly written m!subs so I hope it's alright :)

18+ MINORS DNI

—

Arthur tried being quiet so the others beyond the tent wouldn't hear him, but it was so damn hard when you were stroking his cock agonizingly slow. He lost count of how long its been, five, ten minutes of this torture—you bringing him close to the edge just to pull him off at the last second with that coy, little smile.

You'd be the death of him.

He bit back a moan, but couldn't hold back the groan that rumbled low in his chest. He burned beneath all the loose fabric of his summer clothing. You were too impatient to undress him, all eager hands and hungry lips.

“Thought I said to be quiet,” you hummed, trailing your finger up toward his lips and tracing the pink flesh.

His lips parted, nearly whimpered at the loss of your touch on his aching cock. You stoped any noise with your fingers dipping past his lips and smearing his precum across his tongue. “Do I need to gag you, baby?”

He moaned around your fingers, neither a yes or no, just pleasure.

You popped your fingers out of his mouth and moved down to loop your hand through the bandana around his neck and yanked him close. Your noses touched, hot breaths melding together, and eyes locked.

“I need a better answer than that, Mr. Morgan.”

“N-No,” he said, but couldnt deny that the thought of being gagged only turned him on further.

You clicked your tongue and eyes narrowed. “Can I really trust you to be a good boy for me and stay quiet?”

When he didn't answer again, you tugged off his bandana and stuffed it into his mouth. He could already feel his saliva dampening the cloth.

You slipped back down to his cock, using your tongue this time to swipe over his weeping slit and a hand wrapping around the base of his cock, squeezing ever so slightly.

He released muffled whined and moaned around the fabric. Having the bandana in his mouth made him feel safe enough to make noise, and you no longer seemed to care.

You worked your mouth on him, taking him deep until he hit your throat. Your mouth was hot, wet, and tight. Your perfect lips were wrapped around his cock, working up and down at the same agonizing pace your hand was before.

He gripped the blankets on his cot as his chest began to heave, feeling his orgasm creeping up. He rocked his hips in your mouth and begged behind the bandana. Please, please, please…

Your mouth popped off his cock, and he could've cried. Your swollen lips curled into that cruel, little smile.

“You think I’ll let you come this easy?” You crawled onto his lap, grinding yourself against his sensitive cock. The harsh fabric of your jeans made him flinch. “You gotta work for it, cowboy.”

[mrm0rgansw0man]

Hellooooooo!!!! Can I please request a scene with Arthur and female reader who is sick and is lying in her tent with Arthur caring for her and checking up on her. Just fluff and Arthur being really sweet. Arthur massaging her hips and shoulders.💓💓💓💓

you got it! Xx

let me take care of you (arthur morgan x reader)

"Darlin'? What 're ya' doin' out here?"

You woke with a jolt, you looked up at the man who was speaking to you, and smiled when you recognized Arthur. He's knelt down next to you with a hand on your shoulder, his concern clear.

You cleared your throat, which hurt like hell but needed to be done.

"I wanted t-to get some sun." You rasped out, you coughed into the crook of your elbow. "I was s-so cold and I'm in so m-much pain Arthur..."

"And yer' shivering now, sweetheart." Arthur said softly. His placed the back of his hand against your forehead, and frowned when he felt you still had a bit of a fever. "C'mon, let's getcha to bed."

Arthur scooped you up into his arms bridal style, holding you close. Your throbbing head fell against his chest, and you found tears welling in your eyes. God, you hated being sick. Your body ached , and your head throbbed. You felt like such a burden not being able to do anything for yourself.

"Y'know, ya' scared me outta my wits when you weren't in yer' tent." Arthur said with a small chuckle. "I was runnin' around like a headless chicken til' i saw you over there. Lookin' so pretty in the sun."

Your eyes were closed, but you still smiled up at Arthur. He planted a gentle kiss on your forehead as he stepped back into your tent. Arthur set you down gently on your cot before going and securing the flaps of your tent shut again. He sighed when he looked back at you to find you shivering again. Arthur slipped off the black leather jacket he was wearing and sat you up and wrapped you up in it. It was all you could do to open your eyes and wearily smile at him again. Arthur laid you down in your cot and covered you in your quilt, and he practically felt you relaxing. You turned and laid down flat on your stomach, reasting your head on your arms and sighed. The jacket smelled like Arthur, it was nice.

You felt that Arthur sat down on the cot next to you, he ran his hands through your hair. He gently began to massage your head.

"Thank you s'much for taking care of me Arthur.." You mumbled sleepily.

"Of course, darlin'." Arthur said softly, using that tone of voice he knew made you feel safe and sound. He moved his hand from your hair down to your shoulders. Arthur used both hands to massage all the stress from your shoulders, your lower back, and your hips. He paid special attention to your shoulder and hips, he knew that's where your pain gathered the most.

"I love you.." You whispered to Arthur. He barley even heard it through the layers of his jacket and your hair.

Arthur stood up and adjusted the quilt back over you, he bent down and kissed your head softly.

"I love you too, m' sweet girl." Arthur whispered back, he kissed your cheek and quietly made his way to leave your tent. Arthur took comfort in the fact that you were fast asleep, all cozy and warm. For now he'd let you rest, he could never last too long without checking on you though.

"You still takin' care of your patient Doctor Morgan?" Karen teased, Arthur had passed her on the way back to his tent.

"Course I am." Arthur said simply. "I gotta take care of my woman, Miss Jones."

Arthur could get teased all he wanted, he didn't care. Not one bit. He'd do whatever you needed him to do. He'd take care of his best girl.

<3

hope you enjoy the fic!! also i hope you didn't mind the bit i added in the beginning lol i love being in the sun when i'm sick i couldn't help myself! xx :)