𐔌 cw: pregnancy, children, minor anxiety and birth mentions, breeding and baby fever .ᐟ
there's wood carved dolls gathered in a neat row upon the hallway table, standing atop a delicate lace napkin, shaped as various wild animals your daughter so enjoyed playing with, shaking them eagerly in her tiny fist or attempting to gnaw and slobber all over the polished timber
these toys were the proud result of arthur’s labor, a task during which he had sliced his calloused, already scarred fingertips more than once, collecting numerous splinters that you were forced to pull out. frowning at his carelessness but smiling all the while, after all, how could you possibly fault him for wanting to craft something so beautiful for the baby?
you were brushing away the dust when the front door swung open, heavy boots thudding against the wooden floorboards, arthur stood there. the brown hair at his temples slick with sweat from the sweltering summer heat, collar of white and blue blouse hanging askew at his collarbones, fine hairs dusting sun tanned skin along scars and freckles.
your handsome man, holding a bag packed tight with baby clothes, the very items you had explicitly told him to stop buying since the trunk was already overflowing. the baby was only a few months old, yet here he was again, flinching playfully the moment your voice boomed across the hallway, his aquamarine eyes widening in guilt, plump lips stretched into a crooked, sheepish grin.
“mister morgan! what did i say about stop wasting money?” you pitched out, abandoning the dust cloth on the table as you braced both hands on your hips. the curves remaining striking even beneath the fabric of your dress, pregnancy was not that long ago, leaving behind a soft fullness he couldn't tear his eyes away from, not even if he were facing a scaffold.
setting the bag against the wall, arthur began to step toward you with an agonizing slowness, a predator by nature, gait loose and hips swaying as his hands outstretched. wrapping those corded, muscular forearms securely around your waist, large palms flattened against your plush ass without a shred of modesty.
face breaking into a wide, cat like grin, leaning in to press a slow peck to your scowling lips and let out a low, content purr, his dense eyebrows arching in amusement.
“guilty, darlin, aah'm so guilty.. just couldn't hold back, but she would need 'em anyways, ain't she?” he whispered against your earlobe, pressing a wet kiss against warm skin there. you leaned into his frame, rolling your eyes even as you nodded in agreement, because yes, she would, even if you already possessed enough garments to clothe the entire neighborhood.
arthur smelled of pine wood, heat, and honest sweat, with an underlying trace of something spicy. his beard feelt coarse and rough as you nuzzled the old scar on his chin, swatting playfully at his side the moment you felt his broad palms knead into your ass. a raspy laugh escaping him, brawny chest rumbling pleasantly against your own bosom.
as without another word, he began to guide you backward, away from the mundane chores and toward the sofa standing in the center of the living room. and you knew, by the sharp gleam in his squinting eyes, that you wouldn't be getting any work done anytime soon.
ever since the day you told him of the pregnancy, your palm cupped protectively around your womb, mind resolute that this child would see the world's light and hear the birds' song, arthur had been anxious. possessed by restless need to dote on you, he rarely left your side, pressing his chapped lips against your belly to whisper sweet nothings while you napped.
as you lay with heavy lids, fingers carding idly through the hair at his nape, knowing with absolute certainty that he was a man who would keep you and your child safe. and so it was, there were no more robberies, no more dangerous schemes from which one might not escape alive.
there was only honest, grueling work that he was healthy enough to endure. he delivered packages, unloaded crates of fresh produce at the general store, and helped repair everything around town from broken pens to heavy wagons, fetching whatever was ordered or crafting it with his own two hands.
refusing to let his child grow up without a proper, present father, a stark contrast to his own young years. the memory which haunted him still, as he stood watching your daughter sleep peacefully in the crib he had built for her from scratch, scars silvering on his palms.
arthur had been arguing with you for the simple reason that you worked far too much around the house, cleaning, cooking, and even trying to tend to the garden beneath the blistering sun while your body was still so weakened. his lips pressed into a thin line, arms crossed over his chest, sinews bulging as he watched you work.
he never told you that he still remembered the terrifying way you had screamed during labor, or how your skin had gone cold and clammy. yet, every single time, he would reach out to pull you tight against his side and plead “darlin', jus'... lemme do it instead, alright?” until you would eventually sigh and nod.
tugging him down into a kiss with your fingers twisted firmly into his belt loops, waiting for his stubbornness to melt until his shoulders sagged and his broad back bent to your will. you showered every mole on his chiseled face with kisses, giggling aloud when he scooped you up.
utterly unbothered by the rich soil from your hands and skirt that stained his own clothes. the quiet bubble shattered when your daughter began to babble demandingly from the open window of her room. not letting you turn around without another shared kiss, his mouth far more demanding this time, bruising and deep. leaving your lips swollen and heat pooling lower than your belly.
he held her close to his chest, having changed into a fresh brown shirt that smelled like clean laundry rather than the grime of hard labor, her wispy hair was the same rich brown as his own, sweet with the scent of milk. eyes wide and a pale, powder blue, yet to deepen with age, though she was bound to grow into a startlingly beautiful girl if she inherited arthur’s exact coloration.
she murmured softly in her sleep, clenching tiny fists, and he smiled down at her with a serenity you had never before seen upon his face. every harsh line of his features had softened, the very hands that could master not only a man but a bear now cradled her body as though she were the finest porcelain.
so impossibly small in comparison to her father as he lulled her back to sleep with gentle swaying and low, gravelly croons. arthur always insisted on putting her to bed, not merely to grant you a moment’s rest, but because he simply could not get enough of holding her.
whispering to her, counting down the days and months until she reached her first year. she was his little sugar, and watching them from the armchair in the corner, your gaze made him flush a deep crimson, climbing hurriedly from chest to hairline, still too proud to admit how tender parenthood had made him.
there were always flowers upon the dining table, their stems stretching tall from a glass vase while a few loose, purple petals drifted down to catch upon the wooden floor. arthur brought a fresh bouquet every couple of days, and there had never been a day where he failed to do so, purring flirtatious “pretty flowers fo' pretty missy”
the flower selling ladies in town recognized his face without looking twice, eagerly telling him about the newly gathered blossoms they knew his wife would adore. surely you did, bending to inhale their fragrance as you set the dinner on the table, tilting your head just so as arthur approached to place the salad down.
one large hand wrapped around your waist, giving a tender squeeze before he pressed a smiling kiss to your temple. you swayed back into his solid embrace, never doubting that he would ever let you fall. and once dinner was finished and the baby was tucked safely into her crib, he refused to let you touch the dirty dishes.
whisking you away toward the bedroom instead, his teeth nibbling at your shoulder blade playfully along the way, palms cupping the warm weight of your breasts, fingertips grazing the underside curve, and you sagged into the feeling.
arthur is a devoted man, carrying your sighs and the very taste upon his own lips as he traced a path from your toes up to your pleading mouth. pressing countless heavy kisses along your skin, marks destined to fade into long lasting bruises and teeth indents, leaving your flesh tingling and sensitive as you squirmed beneath him.
you shook when his rough beard chafed the inside of your thighs, legs parted and draped over his flexing shoulders. calloused fingertips sinking deep into your malleable flesh, thumbing up and down in agonizingly slow, small circles while his crooked nose dragged down your wet, puffy folds.
sucking down at your clit with a lewd pop, rolling the swollen nub against his curling tongue until you drenched his jaw, the moisture gleaming brilliantly under the lamp's amber glow. your fingers weaving frantically through his hair, clutching and mussing the strands, a few tresses falling across his intensely furrowed forehead.
eyes hidden beneath the fan of long eyelashes, but his pupils were saucer wide, brimming with adoration and filth he chooses not to say aloud. whispering them against the soft skin of your belly, lips ghosting reverently, tracing every silver line of the stretch marks that had not yet faded, teeth plowing across sensitive places.
“wanna have more with ya.. fill the house with babies, would build another one if needed..” he pleads, swears on a rumbly moan, kissing each your knuckle while his throbbing cock stuffs inside you, soaking in rivulets of your flowing slick, dragging through gummy walls with ease.
reaching so deeply everytime, fluttering pussy slicking further, dripping everywhere, hole clenching in pulsing waves. voice breaking into a barely stifled moan, quickly tamed into barely a garbled hum against arthur's kiss swollen lips. eyes glazed wet, shimmering with clear tears gathered at the corners, as you look into his irises.
blue and green turned turbulent, his broad hips snapping forward, angled to elicit more erotic sounds, see how your eyes roll and fingers clench into his scarred biceps. thumbing peaky nipple until it dribbles milk, running down the digit that he suckles into his mouth, humming with a canine grin.
skin slapping with squelch, your fingernails digging deep, leaving thin scarlet lines across the broad expanse of his pecs, where a solid layer of fat covered dense muscles beneath. arthur's hairy abdomen flexing, every slow, plunging thrust making your legs tremble, roughhewn thumbs digging into your hipbones.
bed frame groaning and creaking, and you only hoped the baby would not wake, as he rearranged your pussy anew, thrusts faltering to sloppy and uncoordinated humping, scalding pressure scrabbling it's claws in your belly, and you begged, voice cracking “yes — please. . fill me up, arthur”
it takes one bottoming out thrust, your pussy clamped down vice tight around his jerking, gorged girth. tip spilling jets of cum after hitting your sweet spot, cumming alongside him, spine arched sharp as slick mixed with other fluids, frothing out in clear milky globs.
his heart rate kicked up, thumping against your chest. calloused palms cupping your warm cheekbones as you melted back into the sheets, surrendering to the slow path of his lips as they traveled across your face. your arms looping around his neck, fingers gliding over the bumpy geometry of his old scars.
urging him even closer until you were clinging to him with every ounce of your strength, a raspy laugh escaping him, large hands snaking beneath your damp back, cradling your frame to hold you tight against his heaving chest.
𐔌 cw: age gap but it's not specified, innocent reader with low honor arthur, mild corruption thoughts, he eats his own cum out your hole, breeding and very mild pregnancy .ᐟ
the gang knew arthur was hiding something, something they had no right to see, touch, or sniff across the western plains. it wasn't a grand mansion ripe for a robbery or a score that would net them a pretty dollar. instead, it was a secret that kept him absent for long hours and busy days, forcing him to ride out at dawn before the fires were even stoked and return long after the kettles went cold.
by then, everyone was too occupied to interrogate, and the air in the camp no longer carried the warm scent of stew and beer. he would arrive humming softly under his breath, smelling like clean linen, homemade roast, and floral perfumes. the sinews of his shoulders no longer bunched in tension beneath pristine, clean blouse, but melted away.
he had a pretty thing out there who cared for him, it was impossible to miss. they could see it written all over his weathered face, in the defensive scowl he slipped the second anyone teased if he’d found himself a fancy lady.
the house lay tucked in a valley where flowers bloomed in full season and grass grew long and unconstrained, a sanctuary where no horses passed with thundering hooves that dragged rattling wagons, and no loud voices shattered the peace. travelers passed the other way, drawn toward a weathered wooden sign welcoming them to strawberry, a town nestled between towering pines and lush, emerald meadows.
yet it stood apart where timber walls looked in silence, adorned with lacy curtains and a fence rails mended by arthur’s own gritty hands, splashed with fresh white paint. kitchen hot with working stove, slow roasting the choice cuts of an elk he’d brought down on his ride back, wild sage and lavender bundled to hang from the rafters, the crisp scent filling every corner.
gathering into a heavy, fragrant trail that seeped through the propped open window panes and drifting out to timber line, teasing the hungry bellies of wolves and foxes that lurked behind. it was a place he could find blindly, as no matter how many hundreds of miles of trail lay between you, his horse would always find the way back.
he comes to the porch where you stood waiting, framed by the flower pots lining the wooden windowsill, the dress hemline caressed by the summer breeze in the very same way it stirred the petals. he dismounted his horse, offering an ever so gentle pat to its mane. his guns rattled softly within their leather holsters with the heavy, rolling sway to his broad hips, spurs catching slightly on the grass below.
you threw your arms around his strong neck the moment he came within reach, finding his sun bronzed skin still warm and rich with the scent of woodsmoke. chestnut brown beard prickling your plump lips as you pressed a kiss to his mole dotted cheek. that high pitched squeak escaping you when his large palms found their familiar place upon your tempting ass, fingers kneading into the pert globe with a tight, shameless grip.
he flashed a dopey, affectionate grin that depeened his crows feet when you chastised him with a flustered “arthur!” yet made no attempt to escape his embrace, choosing instead to lean deeper into the solid weight of his brawny chest.
arthur’s cerulean eyes snagged to how your hips shimmied as you arranged the dinner, eyelids drooping hooded. his tongue slipped lazily across his upper teeth, catching for a brief moment against a sharp canine before he sucked it back in, gaze utterly devouring you. plated on painted porcelain beside his broad arm resting across the tablecloth was a rich spread, mashed potatoes and juicy meat that had soaked in fresh herbs and vegetables.
he rolled his tattered cuffs up past ropey forearms to burly biceps, allowing you to trace the sight of veiny, hair dappled skin before you moved to pour him a glass of lemonade, fussing over him to ensure he was well fed.
within moments, his ruddy cheeks were stuffed with your cooking, weathered fingers wound tightly around the fork as he mixed the food on his plate. tawny eyelashes fanning low over chiseled cheekbones when his eyes fluttered in pure delight, chewing mouth letting out nothing more than a muffled, appreciative hum that vibrated through his chest as contented rumble.
younger than him by an age that would raise far more than mere questions, one had to wonder, what business did a man like him have beside a doll like you? why a hardened outlaw was sharing a bed with a girl who looked like porcelain? he had seen blood, he had spilled blood, he was a man built from violence, his hands had broken jaws and triggered the guns that populated shallow graves.
you, on the other hand, were born to wear whispering silk and win over rooms with nothing but a glance. you were meant to never know the face that violence wears, huddled beneath his arm in bed, the eiderdown comforter slipping down your tangled, naked bodies, tracing a gentle fingertip across the bullet scar on his shoulder and whispering “why would they do that to you?”
arthur would only close his eyes with shaking head, a lopsided, tired smile breaking his rugged features and curling at lips corner with a tut “beh'cuz the world’s full of bad men, sweetheart” his scarred knuckles descending over your curved hipbone with a slow, stroking caress, chapped lips leaving a featherlight touch against your hairline.
there were no concealing the evidence of his devotion upon your skin, bruises that lingered from the ankle bone and moved an upward patch, mottled hickeys and teeth bites that were sharp enough to make you keen in the way that got him even more hard. they're at your breasts, around sore nipples that get peaky when the dress fabric catches on them, provoking a tiny hiss.
your supple inner thighs, tender skin rendered to aching at even littlest movement, at your plump butt, where he laved a teasing tongue before sinking his fangs in and gnaw. but those are places where only you and him can see, while some are also a warning to other people, graced upon your form.
delicate throat looking mauled but keeping people at distance from trying anything funny, from approaching what's arthur's when he's not close to guard it with ferocity.
even though you squirm in fluster when women and men alike raise their eyebrows at those, you always trace them with slow fingertips when getting ready for bed, sitting by the mirror and shuddering once remembering his every greedy rasp. heart racing with anticipation for his inevitable return, knowing you'll arch for more.
you loved him beyond measure, giving him free rein over your body and space. welcoming him just as he was, even when he arrived with heavy boots caked in thick dirt that ruined your welcome rug, or with fresh blood splattered across the already burgundy collar of his new blouse. carrying the raw, heavy scent of sweat and the unforgiving open road upon his skin, yet it brought you no disgust.
instead, you melted into his every touch, allowing his rough, calloused thumb to press firmly into the hinge of your jaw, tilting your head back to accept the sloppy kisses he teases against your mouth seam. gentle palms flattened to the hard, broad planes that are his back, rippling as you clung to him, mouth close to ruddy ear, moaning arthur's name in a way that made gooseflesh erupt all over his corded forearms.
spine curved into a deliberate, pretty arch, rocking back and impaling yourself further on his gorged cock, as he pulled back until nearly losing the gushing heat around him, then thrusting in again, hips slamming to jolt you, breasts bouncing with the movement.
cunt pulsing around stretching intrusion, swallowing him from root to swollen tip, spongy walls clenching hot and tight, mewling a cry when his hips grounded in deep, slow circles that had your pussy fluttering and tightening, slick sopping.
teeth closing around your skin, tongue running soothing line across the pinched edge as you choked, the tension gathering at the base of your spine and making it rigid, hips rolling in slow, grinding arcs that lose their rhythm to uncontrollable. you tighten your legs around his broad hips, fingers trembling across his scarred shoulderblades and nails digging into the sweat salted skin.
every sound that get's punched out your crumpling lungs by merciless pounds goes straight to his cock, throbbing within your clamping gummy walls. “gonna give ya a babe that looks lak ya, make ya pregnant, would have to stay then” arthur panted against your forehead, ample chest vibrating through with a husky growl, and you whined a fractured “yes, yes arthur, please!”
whole body arching as he railed into your wet, eager heat, cunt snug and walls clamped with needy, wavering pulls that milked his girth and demanded it's release. roughened thumb chafing clumsy circles at your puffy clit, rolling and pinching the nub until you're creaming the flowery linens and coarse tuft at his groin.
he was right there, spilling hot ropes against the rounded lump of your cervix, seed spreading and dribbling in frothed mess between your quaking legs. his pudgy abdomen flexing, warm palms cupping your calves, holding them with immense care. and when you reached out to brush away a sweat drop that beads from his brow, he leaned into the touch, nuzzling your palm with a dazzling smile and a sweet, lingering kiss.
you wriggle when arthur tries to clean you up, face tucked to dewy cunt, licking a fat stripe from your cum daubed hole right to the ass, your fingers scrabbling against his scalp, twisted in umber brown tresses. trying to tug him away, eyes tear glazed with either fluster or utter mortification, cheeks burning hotter than they ever would from the sunburn.
yet he persisted, burly arms bracketing, tongue sweeping deep and tasting his own seed until a violent tremor seized your thighs, clamping together tightly as the sudden rush of your sweet release flooded his mouth with slick. he departed just as the sun dipped into its deep orange hue, casting a golden glow across the meadow and cooling the breeze that caressed your bare legs.
you stood at the threshold, draped only in his light brown tartan shirt, its hem hanging long enough to shadow your thighs, though the sight remained undeniably seductive. his goodbye kisses were agonizingly drawn out, lips lingering over every contour of your face, dragging past the slope of your nose to the curve of your jaw, breath faint with the honey tea you had brewed for him before his departure.
holding his worn hat firmly atop his head so it wouldn't be stolen by the wind, which seemed to howl a desperate plea for him to stay. hand drawing from your waist with heavy reluctance, finally falling limp to his side, fingertips twitching with the tales of your warmth, but he had to go.
it would not be for long, this time. when he returned, carrying a few groceries he knew you would need and a bouquet disheveled beneath his arm, you opened the door with a caution that had never been there before. lake filling the meadow with it's rush, your eyes fluttered round with pure joy as you chirped his name, a sound he had grown so deeply accustomed to.
standing with your palm carefully pressed, as if cupping something precious, right against the curve of your lower belly, which was far more rounded than before. it was not weight, nor was it the result of eating well, it was the life of a child, his child, growing right beneath your heart. you looked up at him with simmering nerves, lips bitten raw, tremors already wormed deep.
“ain't 'unna leave ya now, honey, aah swear” arthur rasped, a sudden lump in his throat scratching sharper than any serrated blade. abandoning everything he had brought, not caring where it lands, he pulled you close to cradle your dainty figure against his chest. broad, heavy palm pressed over yours, squeezing your hand against the small swell of the belly, making you feel safer than you ever had, your forever man.
Contents: Taking a midnight stroll after a restless night, Arthur passes your tent and hears you yell his name. He rushes in to find you helping yourself to the thought of him. SMUT, p in v, masterbation, etc.
The moon was high in the night sky as Arthur rose from his bed holding his head in his hands, he couldn’t catch any sleep no matter how hard he tried. He signs, deciding that he’s going to take a walk to clear his head, he dresses quietly, and steps out the tent breathing in the cool air. WIth every step he can’t help but think back to the woman camped across the clearing next to the shimmering lake. It had been one of your bathing days. Careful as always, you refused to wash too close to camp and asked the only man you truly trusted to stand guard for you. He agreed, the thought of any other man seeing you so exposed churned his inside something fierce, especially Micah. At first, Arthur had flushed at the mere idea of glimpsing you in your underthings, feeling like you were the most innocent and delicate flower that he'd be ruined by even thinking dirty thoughts. As the weeks passed and the two of you grew closer, his guarded politeness turned into something more. He admired your kindness and generosity, the easy way you shared what little you had, and the quiet glow that seemed to follow you wherever you went. He noticed the way your eyes narrowed against the bright sun, the curve of your genuine smile, and the softness of your voice when you spoke.
He found himself appreciating your physical beauty as well. When you believed his attention was fixed on the treeline, he would quietly glance your way as you eased into the water, sunlight dancing along the surface around you. There was something captivating in the curve of your figure, in the natural sway of your hips as you moved. To him, they carried a quiet strength, the kind shaped for endurance, for nurturing, for bringing life into the world. He liked the soft mounds on your chest, perfect globes that he would worship all day if you let him. He noticed how your nipples always hardened when you entered the water, he always wondered how your breast would feel in his hands and your nipples pinched between his teeth. He wondered how’d you sound when he entered you and the lewd sounds that’d follow. Would you have a silent gasp or would you be praising him, saying his name over and over, begging him not to stop while your fingernails raked across his back. These were the thoughts that were plaguing him tonight.
The camp lay hushed beneath the night sky as he wandered through it. The fires had burned down to glowing embers hours ago, casting a low, amber light across the clearing. Above, the sky stretched wide and clear, and moonlight shimmered over the distant water, silver ripples catching his eye as he passed. Almost without thinking, his steps carried him toward your tent. He told himself it was harmless, just to make sure all was well. He had fallen into the habit of it, these quiet walks at night that led to you. More often than not, he’d find you inside, seated near the soft glow of a candle. Sometimes you sang to yourself, your voice low and soothing in the stillness. Other nights you bent over your journal, pen moving steadily across the page, your brow furrowed in thought. He never lingered too long. Just enough to glimpse the warm light through the canvas, or to catch the faintest thread of your voice drifting into the dark. And then he would turn back toward his own tent, carrying that small comfort with him into the night.
When he reached your tent and stopped some thirty paces away, he noticed at once that no light flickered within. The canvas of your tent was dark and still. Around him, the only sound was the steady chorus of crickets filling the night air. He paused, hesitating, then began to turn back toward his own tent. That was when he heard it, a faint, broken sound drifting from your direction. It sounded like you were crying. His chest tightened. You’d had nightmares before and he knew how fiercely they could grip you, he had woken up to your screams a couple times. Without another thought, he moved closer. Five steps from the entrance, the sound of heavy, uneven breathing penetrates his ears. He stood just outside the flap listening, when suddenly you cried out his name. The sound jolted straight through him, panic flared in his chest. He seized the canvas flap and threw it open, stepping inside in a rush. But what he found stopped him short.
You were lying on top of your blankets, wide awake, not tangled in sleep, but staring straight at him. Your eyes were wide, startled, and your hair clung damply to your flushed face, beads of sweat tracing along your temples. The candle was out, the tent dim in the spill of moonlight from the open flap, and for a moment neither of you spoke the silence thick with confusion and concern.
“Arthur!” you gasp, snatching a shawl from the chair beside your bed and pulling it tightly to your chest. “What are you doing?” He freezes where he stands, the flap still clenched in his hand. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammers, turning his head sharply toward the tent wall as though it might offer him some refuge. “I heard you cry out. Thought you were hurt. I didn’t mean to barge in.” His voice is rough with worry and with something else he can’t quite steady. He tries to look away, truly he does, his gaze fixated on the lantern hook, the small table, anywhere but you. Yet despite himself, his eyes flicker back. You’re flushed from whatever had gripped you moments before, breath still uneven, strands of damp hair clinging to your face. The moonlight spilling through the open flap traces the curve of your cheek, the rise and fall of your chest beneath the shawl. There’s something disarming about the sight of you like this, vulnerable, startled, real. He swallows hard and forces his gaze down to the ground. “You called my name,” he says more quietly now. “I thought you were in trouble.” The panic that had sent him rushing inside lingers in his posture, in the tight set of his shoulders. Whatever embarrassment he feels is tangled up with genuine concern and the undeniable pull he can’t seem to shake whenever he’s near you. But, he also feels something else at the same time.
For a moment, he can hardly focus on what’s going on around him. All he can think about is what he witnessed the moment the flap came open and he saw what you were doing. Your delicate legs were spread open, resting against the canvas of the tent and the other lazily flopped to the side, holding your bodyweight with your left arm as your right arm was placed on top of your right thigh and your hand was resting on your cunt. It wasn’t resting, It was moving, making your naked breasts shake with it. That’s when a slow change comes over Arthur. The tension in his shoulders eases, and when he finally lifts his gaze back to you, there’s something different in his expression. The worry fades, replaced by a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He’s just realized something. You called his name. You called his name while your fingers were deep inside your cunt, trying to reach the spongy spot that sent electricity through your whole body while your palm was rubbing the little exposed button that sat between your folds.
That realization straightens his posture. There’s a quiet confidence in the way he stands now, hat tipped slightly back, eyes soft but undeniably pleased. Not arrogant exactly but aware. “Well,” he says, voice low and edged with a faint smirk, “seems I was the one you were lookin’ for.” The cockiness isn’t cruel. It’s lighter than that, a man recognizing, perhaps for the first time, that the feelings he’s been wrestling with might not be his alone. Not if you were here laying under the cover of night pleasuring yourself to the thought of him.
You sit there, speechless, the shawl clutched tightly at your collarbone. Whatever sharp retort you meant to give him dissolves before it ever reaches your tongue. He watches you for a beat longer, that faint, confident smile still lingering. Then, without breaking eye contact, he reaches back and lets the tent flap fall closed. The soft thud of it shutting muffles the outside world, sealing the two of you inside the quiet, dim space. His boots cross the ground quickly, two, three long strides and in seconds he’s kneeling on your mat. Your breath catches in your throat as he lowers himself, one knee to the ground, then the other, moving with slow, deliberate intent. The bed mat shifts softly beneath his weight as he comes closer, closing the small space that had remained between you. You can smell the faint woodsy scent that always clings to him, pine smoke, worn leather, the clean sharpness of night air. It wraps around you as solidly as the shawl in your hands. His eyes never leave yours, steady and intent, searching your face for something unspoken. He stops just in front of you, bracing one hand beside your hip on the mattress, careful not to crowd you yet close enough that you feel the heat of him.
He keeps moving until only a breath separates you, close enough that the warmth of him seeps through the thin air between your bodies. His gaze drops briefly to your lips, then returns to your eyes, searching, asking without words. Slowly, giving you every chance to stop him, he lifts his hand. His fingertip brushes lightly against your shoulder, barely there at first, testing the space between you. Then, with a gentle, steady pressure, he nudges you back against the pillows. It isn’t forceful. It’s a question disguised as a touch. “Lie back,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, though his expression remains careful. Attentive. He hovers there, only centimeters away, waiting for your reaction, watching to see if you’ll push him away or let him stay.
You ease back into the pillows, heart pounding, eyes never leaving his face. The mattress dips as he shifts forward, and then his hands come to rest on either side of your head, braced carefully against the plush surface not trapping you, but surrounding you with his presence. He hovers there, looking down at you.
For a long moment, he simply studies your face, the rise and fall of your breath, the way your lashes tremble, the flush that hasn’t yet faded from your skin. The moonlight spills across his features, carving shadows along his jaw, catching in his eyes. There’s confidence there again. Not careless but sure. His thumb brushes lightly against a stray strand of hair near your temple before his hand settles back beside you. His gaze drops briefly to your lips, then lifts again to meet your eyes. “You want this, darlin’?” he asks, voice low and edged with that familiar smug warmth. But beneath the tone there’s something steady. A pause. He waits for your answer, holding himself still, giving you the space to choose. You slowly nod your head trying to catch your breath.
After he gains your consent, something in his expression softens completely. He doesn’t rush. Slowly, giving you time to change your mind, he lowers his head. His hand shifts slightly beside you, steadying himself as he closes the final inch of distance. His lips brush yours, gentle at first, almost tentative, like he’s testing whether the moment is real. For a heartbeat, you hesitate. The world seems to narrow to that single point of contact, the warmth of his mouth, the faint scent of pine and smoke, the steady rhythm of his breathing. Then your eyes fall closed. You lean into him, your hand lifting to curl into the fabric of his shirt, and the kiss deepens. What began soft and careful grows more certain, more searching. He exhales quietly against you, surprised and pleased, and no longer restrained by doubt. His left hand slides from the mattress to your shoulder then across your collarbone sending shivers from your scalp down your spine. As he presses his tongue pushes past your lips, dominating you in the kiss, his fingers brush over the fabric of your shawl silently asking to take hold of it. Your fingers loosen your grip, allowing Arthur to teasingly slide the cloth down brushing against your perk nipple as he does so. A growl reverberates from his chest to throat as he slides his hand to cup the side of your breast, his palm large and warm against your flesh. He takes your bottom lip in between his teeth and gently bites it as he pulls away from you to look down towards the exposed globes.
His mouth fills with his saliva looking at your breasts, your nipples are so hard yet so soft at the same time. Arthur can’t tell you the amount of times he thought about playing with them, rolling and pinching one while he sucked on the other. No warning and he wraps his mouth around the bulb, your back arching at the wet sensation. He groans, flattens his tongue, pressing the muscle into the soft mound tasting your sweat and inhaling your sweet scent. You throw your head back further into the pillows when he swirls his tongue causing a low buzzing to arise in your lower belly. “Fuck Arthur.” you moan, bringing your hands to your hair, fingers tangling themselves in the strands. “Please don’t stop.” He releases your nipple with a whine from you, smirking with the knowing of what he was doing to you. “Oh I wasn’t planning on stopping anytime soon, sweetheart.” Putting your other nipple in his mouth, he releases your breast and starts to slowly trail down your side. His fingers ghost over your ribcage causing you to twitch from the sensitive region, moving down your side with a controlled crawl, you flex uncontrollably when his fingers pass your belly button.
A yelp leaves you when he pinches the soft skin with his teeth, his thick warm finger rubs against your clit at the same moment making you jolt your chest pushing away from your blankets. The buzz in your belly becomes stronger, making you crave more of him, his touch, his smell, his cock. Two thick fingers border the sides of the sensitive nub, the rough callouses reminding you Arthur was a man, a strong man covered in tight muscles that flexed on top of you. A man that had known hardship, long rides, rough fights, cold mornings, and he was here holding you like you were going to break if he breathed wrong at you. You’ve waited for this moment for months, you had him near you as you bathed trying to get his attention, you could have only dreamed of being in this exact position and Arthur ruining you with his cock. Forbidding Arthur to treat you as fraglike as a piece of china, you grab his wrist guiding him through your folds, teasing yourself, pinching your clit with the strong digits. Allowing yourself to feel the intense zap penetrate deep into your skin, you clench around nothing, the empty feeling frustrating you with each second that passes. You direct his hand lower, reaching your weeping cunt, wet juices coating Arthur’s middle and ring fingers as you slowly enter them inside you. He watches as you use his hand to fuck yourself, eyes lowered to your tight pussy as you clench down on him, swallowing him deep inside you striving to keep him there.
He can’t take it anymore, it feels like his cock is going to burst from his pants spilling his seed all over you. A snarl leaves him as he removes his hand from your grasp, grabbing your waist, the movement hurried. He holds you down firmly leaving bruises the shape of his fingertips as he tries to compose himself, not wanting to lose control and hurt you. He watches as you snake your fingers from your stomach to your mound to find your clit yourself, erotic wet sounds fills the silence in the air as you massage your clit, taking Arthur’s place as you finger fuck yourself. Your small fingers don’t have the erotic sting of when he splits you open but you’re so desperate for relief you don’t care whose it is. Hearing you mewl his name and hearing his name whispered from your lips snaps the hold on his control, he uses his grip on your hips and his strength to flip you onto your stomach. Your face is pushed into the mat as he pulls your hips up, bringing you up on your knees, now on all fours as you feel his strong thighs flex against the back of yours. He unzips his pants, the sound exciting you and sending another flood through your pretty pussy. He shoves his pants down and pulls out his hard cock, the angry pink tip leaking precum leaving a damp patch on the front of his jeans. Arthur presses against your entrance, brushing himself up and down gathering all your slick, using it to lube himself so he doesn’t hurt you. Not too much anyway.
You shiver as he slides his length back down against your quivering hole, his head tilting back as he pushes himself forward. Having to put in a little more effort from the way you’re gripping him so tightly. You wail at the way you feel every inch of him, your fingers gripping the blanket beneath you as he pushes through the tight ring of muscle. Reaching the end, Arthur stays seated in you for a second, letting you adjust to his size. Rubbing your hips provides comfort as he waits. When you’ve finally adjusted, you look back at him and nod, giving him permission to have his way with you. You’ve wanted this for months, since the day you met him if you’re honest. A smirk plays on his lips as he pulls his hips back, dragging his cock out leaving just the tip inside, then without warning he slams back into you. You shriek at the sudden movement, biting down on the blanket attempting to silence yourself as the man behind you drills into you.
Your vision goes black as your eyes roll to the back of your head, Arthur’s cock is stretching you to your limit, his tip kissing your cervix. He’s molding every vein, every bump, even the slit into you. Turning you into the perfect pussy just for his pleasure. You feel the buzz inside your womb growing more with each second, sending ecstasy through all of your limbs. Arthur’s holding onto you, grounding and steadying himself on your hips as he pounds into your tight pussy. He feels a spark flicker at the base of his spine as his balls start to rise into him, his thighs shake and his breathing becomes shallow. He’s about to cum, but not until you clamp down on him, and he definitely wasn’t pulling out of you when you did. Why would he deny himself the one thing that was made for him, the one thing that was truly his, why would he deny himself you. Arthur moved his hand from your hip, snaking it around pressing his pointer and middle finger back on your clit, earning a high pitched squeal. Feeling the buzz inside you shrink into a ball, you knew you were about to cum around his cock. You pull your hips forward to rock yourself against him, keeping the brutal pace he set. You couldn’t think straight anymore, your mind so fogged from the way he was fucking you into your bed, your cheek pressed into the bed and your hair sticking to your face. Arthur rolls your clit harder between his fingers sending erotic pleasure throughout your entire body, from your pussy to your fingers as you finally cum. Your mind goes blank as he fucks you through your orgasm, the intense shock making your eyes roll and any strength leave your body.
Watching you cum all over him, Arthur knows he’s next and picks up the pace, slamming into you even harder. He leans down, pulling you up to his chest, your back now flush to his shirt. His right arm stays wrapped around you and his left is placed between your breasts allowing him to wrap his hand around your throat. “Fuck.” Arthur growls in your ear, “I’m going to fill you up.” Moaning you focus on the way your shared heavy breathing fills the tent the same way skin slapping against skin, making you dizzy against him. You’re brought back when Arthur quickly slaps your clit. “M’ gonna fill this perfect cunt up to the rim, get so round and full with my baby. M’ gonna to make sure every man who dares to look knows you're mine.”. His words send a shock to your womb and you nod, “Please Arthur, make me yours. Fill me with your seed.” The damn breaks as he cums, shooting ropes of himself into you just as you asked. He pumps into you, his head thrown back. When his high comes down, Arthur stalls his hips, keeping you both upright as you catch your breath. After a moment, he finally slips out of you kissing the back of your neck. He gently lays you down and slowly pulls the blanket from under you, placing it over your naked body. Abandoning his pants and shirt before slipping under the blanket with you, he brings you into his chest, his arms caging around you in a protective hold.
The tent falls quiet again, the world outside reduced to the steady hum of crickets and the distant, soothing rhythm of water brushing the shore. The night feels softer now, wrapped around the two of you like a blanket. Your cheek rests against his chest, his heartbeat strong and even beneath your ear. The warmth of him seeps into you, steadying your breath. “I love you,” you whisper into his chest, the words small but certain. You mean every syllable. He flinches at first, just slightly, the confession catching him off guard. You feel the shift in his breathing before he pulls back enough to look down at you. His expression unguarded now, something vulnerable breaking through the usual confidence. “I love you too,” he says, voice rougher than before. A faint tremor slips through it. “I always have.” You lift your head, smiling up at him, and place a gentle kiss on his lips. Softer this time, unhurried and full of quiet certainty. When you pull back, your eyes drift closed as you settle against him again.
“You have worn me out,” you murmur, a sleepy smile tugging at your mouth. A low chuckle rumbles in his chest, the sound warm and content. He tightens his arms around you, drawing you closer until there’s no space left between you. His chin rests lightly atop your head as his breathing begins to slow. Outside, the night carries on undisturbed. Inside the tent, wrapped in his arms, you both let the quiet take you and drift together into sleep.
Contents: After a break up you decide to go the the bar with your friends and find yourself in the alley way. Being pressed into the brick by a professional bull rider named Arthur Morgan. SMUT, sex in an alleyway, fingering, p in v, etc.
“Come on.” Kara, your best friend since high school is sprawled dramatically across your couch, feet dangling over the armrest like she owns the place. “Forget that fucking loser. He was terrible for you anyway.” You shake your head, trying not to smile, but a laugh slips out anyway. Kara has always been your louder, braver half, more loyal than any man has ever managed to be. “You think every guy I date is terrible,” you point out. She sticks her tongue out at you and blows a raspberry. “That’s because I’m supposed to be your lover.” You roll your eyes and sink deeper into the cushions as she blows kisses at you. “You’re unbelievable, truly.” you say throwing a pillow at her. “He really was awful,” you admit a second later and it sends you both bursting into laughter. It really wasn’t hard or took too long for you both to start your bullshit.
Kara then suddenly gasps in that overly dramatic way she does, clutching at invisible pearls. “Oh my God. We should go out tonight!” Before you can protest, she shoves her phone inches from your face. “There are cowboys at our favorite bar right now. Look at what Nicole just sent me.” Nicole, Kara's coworker from the bar, agrees with her life obsession, cowboys. You squint at the photo. Boots. Hats. Belt buckles. A suspicious amount of denim. “You two and your awful cowboy obsession,” you mutter. They’ve always had a thing for them. You? Eh.
“I don’t know, Kar…” you say a little nervous. Going out has never really been your thing. Sweatpants and takeout feel much safer than tequila and strangers. In one swift movement, Kara swings her legs off the couch and stomps toward you. She grabs your wrist and pulls you to your feet. “Pleaaaassssse,” she drags out dramatically. “It’ll be fun. You need fun. And maybe a hot rebound with a southern accent.” You try not to laugh. You fail. “Fine,” you say before you can overthink it. Kara squeals like she’s just won the lottery, releasing you and immediately darting around your apartment, grabbing shoes, purses, makeup, anything she deems essential for “Operation Save My Best Friend.” You stand there shaking your head, already regretting it a little… but smiling anyway. This was either going to be a disaster or a really good story.
~
After an hour of curling, straightening, re-curling, outfit changes, and Kara declaring “No, that top is emotionally devastating, in a good way,” you’re finally stepping out of the Uber in front of your favorite bar. The place is already buzzing. It’s full on western themed, neon beer signs glowing in the windows, loud country music spilling out onto the sidewalk, boots thudding against wood floors inside. Through the open doors you can see line dancers moving in perfect sync and girls of every shape and size rocking short shorts with the kind of confidence that makes you breathe a little easier. Okay. Maybe this won’t be so bad. You weave through the crowd toward the bar and immediately spot Nicole and her two friends posted up near the corner. “Hey!” Nicole shouts over the music, waving both arms like you might miss her. “You guys made it!” You laugh and pull her into a hug. “Yeah, Kara somehow convinced me to leave my apartment.” Nicole snorts, wrapping Kara in a hug next. “Yeah, that’s like her magic trick.”
“Excuse me,” Kara says proudly. “I am a gift.” Drinks are ordered. Tequila appears. Then another round. You all fall into that easy rhythm, talking over each other, laughing too loud, dramatic retellings of terrible dates, compliments flying back and forth. Just girls doing girl things. Hyping each other up, stealing sips of each other’s drinks, fixing lip gloss in the reflection of a beer tap. Then Kara gasps. Your stomach drops. That gasp always means something. Her favorite song comes on and she squeals like she’s been personally summoned by the DJ, immediately grabs your wrist. “COME ON.” You shake your head, already laughing. “Absolutely not.” She pulls harder. “I don’t line dance!”
“You do now!” And just like always, you lose. How could you say no to her. You’re dragged to the dance floor in a blur of boots and denim. The lights are dim and golden, the music loud enough to rattle your ribs. Surrounded by boots scuff against the floor around you. Someone whoops as your skirt catches the air as you spin awkwardly, then less awkwardly, then actually kind of… good? You start laughing. Really laughing. There’s something about it, the music, the movement, the way nobody’s really watching because everyone’s too busy having their own fun. Your hips sway easier. Your hands lift. Your skirt twirls again. You feel light, unbothered and free without a bum ruining your mood. That might be the alcohol talking. But honestly? You don’t care, you’re having fun for the first time in months.
Unbeknownst to you, the front doors swing open again. A group of cowboys steps inside, boots heavy against the wood floor, laughter loud and easy. They’ve just come back from the rodeo that’s been in town for the past couple of months, bull riders, bronc riders, sun-worn and swaggering like they know exactly how they look walking into a place like this. There’s one with a thick, dramatic mustache. A blond with sideburns so long they deserve their own zip code. Another with three distinct scars carving down the side of his face. And then there’s the biggest of the bunch. Broad shoulders, worn denim, dark scruff shadowing his jaw, and a pair of striking green eyes that seem almost too bright under the bar lights. When they reach the bar, the green eyed one leans against it casually, scanning the dance floor while waiting for his drink. His name is Arthur Morgan, professional bull rider, fresh off a ride that probably should’ve thrown him. He’s high off his win and surviving another 2000lb animal.
His gaze drifts lazily over the crowd… and then stops. There you are. Front and center under the warm glow of the dance floor lights, laughing mid-spin. Your smile is wide and unguarded, the kind that reaches your eyes. You’re a little off-beat, a little clumsy, maybe a little tipsy. Clearly not someone who line dances every weekend, and somehow that makes you stand out even more. You look real. Not polished. Not trying too hard. Just having fun. He turns briefly to grab his drink when it slides across the bar, but his eyes find you again almost immediately. Like he didn’t mean to look back, but he knew he absolutely meant to. When the song ends, he watches you collapse into a hug with your friend, both of you laughing like you just survived something heroic.
Back at your table, you and Kara rejoin the girls. Only to find them suddenly very engaged in conversation with what appears to be the exact same group of rowdy cowboys who just walked in. Kara lights up like it’s Christmas morning. You smile politely as she launches into conversation, she might be slightly drunker than you at this point. You order another drink, mostly for courage, mostly because why not. That’s when you feel it, a presence to your right. Solid. Close. You glance sideways, first noticing a broad chest beneath a worn button-down. Your eyes travel upward slowly, and - Oh.
Sharp features. Scruff that looks intentional but effortless. And the greenest eyes you’ve ever seen. “Hey,” he says. His voice is deep, smooth like honey over gravel. You catch the faint scent of pine smoke and whiskey when he shifts closer. “Hey,” you reply, turning your body toward him and leaning your left arm casually against the bar. The tequila humming pleasantly in your veins gives you just enough boldness. “Arthur Morgan,” he says, extending his right hand. There’s that confidence again, not arrogant, just sure. Smirking slightly, you take his hand and give him your name. His grip is warm, firm, calloused. “Come here often?” he asks. You laugh immediately, rolling your eyes. “I bet you say that to all the girls.” He ducks his head, grinning, and lets out a quiet chuckle before looking back up at you. “Yeah,” he admits with a small nod. “Reckon that might not’ve been my best line.” And there it is, that southern drawl. Slow. Warm. A little dangerous. You suddenly understand Kara’s cowboy obsession. Just a little.
No man has ever captivated you the way the one standing in front of you does. There’s something about him, the steadiness, the size of him, the way his green eyes pierce into you. “So,” you say, straightening a little and stepping closer, closing the space between you, “what’re you doing here?”
“I ride with my buddies in the rodeo,” he answers casually, like that’s something people say every day. Your eyebrows lift. “Oh, wow. A real cowboy.” You take a slow sip of your drink, letting your eyes roam over him without much subtlety. “What do you compete in?” Up close, he seems even bigger, broad chest stretching his shirt, hands that look like they’ve actually worked for a living. You’re trying to be a lady but you can’t help but admire the man. Looking at his hands, you wonder if he’s as big below the belt as he is above. You quickly pull yourself back, mentally scolding yourself. Focus. “I’m a bull rider,” he says and you laugh, shaking your head. “What?” he asks, amused but slightly confused. “I grew up around guys like you,” you reply, glancing down at your drink before looking back up at him. “Tall, attractive, pretty eyes.” You gesture vaguely toward him. “You’re all trouble.”
The latest round of alcohol hums warmly in your veins, making everything feel lighter, floatier. Without fully thinking it through, your hand drifts forward and rests against his stomach. His body is solid under your palm. His eyes immediately drop to where your fingers lightly hook at one of his buttons. You look up at him through your lashes. He looks from your hand… back to your eyes. A slow smirk curves across his mouth, then he leans down, close enough that his lips brush near your ear. His voice low and gravelly in a way that sends heat straight to your pussy and tingles down your spine. “Why don’t you find out how much trouble I can be?” He pulls back just enough to look at you again. Your eyes widen slightly, heart thudding harder now. You’re dangerously close to saying yes without hesitation. Before you can answer, you glance past him, spotting Kara deep in conversation with the blond cowboy, laughing a little too hard at something he just said. She looks very occupied. Very content. You turn back to Arthur. Well, it seems like your ride home might have changed.
Chewing your lip, you make a decision. Before you can second-guess yourself, you reach for his wrist. His skin is warm beneath your fingers, solid and steady. He glances down at your hand, then back up at you, one brow lifting in amused curiosity, but he doesn’t resist. Not even a little. You turn and start leading him through the bar. Past the dance floor where boots are still stomping, past the bar where the bartender is too busy pouring shots to notice,down the narrow hallway lined with old concert posters passing the bathrooms. Arthur follows easily, long strides matching yours. There’s a quiet confidence in the way he moves, like he knows exactly where this might be heading and is more than willing to find out. You push through the exit door and step into the warm night air. The sudden quiet feels electric, crickets hum in the distance and the bass from inside vibrates faintly through the brick walls. The air smells like summer and dust and a hint of smoke drifting from somewhere nearby. He lets you pull him a few more steps before gently tightening his grip, stopping you just enough to turn you back toward him. There’s that smirk again. “Well,” he drawls softly, green eyes catching the glow from the bar’s neon sign, “You always this bold… or am I just special?” He asks as he grabs your waist with his left hand, his large warm palm rests against the bare skin under your shirt. Breathing hitching as he pushes you back until your back hits cold and scratchy brick, he lifts his right arm to lean on the wall, covering you with his large frame.
“Maybe I just like you,” you admit, tilting your head up at him. The cold brick wall contrasts against the slow burn building in your chest. Liquid courage? Maybe. But this feels steadier than that. His smile softens, less cocky now, more pleased. His hand settles at your waist, thumb brushing gently along your side in slow, absentminded strokes. The touch isn’t rushed. It’s exploratory. Careful. You lift your hand to his chest, feeling the solid warmth beneath his shirt. Your fingers travel upward over worn cotton, up the line of his throat until they reach his cheek. The scruff there grazes your palm, rough in the best way. You cup his face lightly, tracing the sharp angle of his jaw beneath your fingertips.
For a second, neither of you moves. Then you both lean in at the same time. Your lips meet and it’s instant. Electric. Not tentative like you expected. Not awkward. Just right. Like you somehow find the same rhythm without trying. His hand tightens slightly at your waist, pulling you a fraction closer, and your fingers curl into his jaw as the kiss deepens. Your heart pounds hard against your ribs, fast and reckless. Butterflies don’t just flutter, they riot, tearing through your stomach like they’ve been waiting for this exact moment. You kiss him again, slower this time, savoring it. He tastes faintly of whiskey and something warm and smoky. His lips are firm but patient, matching your pace, adjusting to you like he’s been doing it forever. When you finally pull back for air, your forehead rests lightly against his. This man is entirely too good. And you’re already in trouble.
As you melt into each other once again, the world narrows to nothing but shared breath and wandering hands, his grip at your waist tightens. Slowly, giving you time to react, his hand slips beneath the hem of your shirt. His fingertips brush warm skin first, then lace. The delicate edge of black fabric beneath his rough fingers makes him pause for half a second, like he’s savoring the discovery. You can’t help the small, private smile that tugs at your lips. In your head you thank Kara and her aggressive insistence on the matching set. His thumb traces lightly over the curve there, reverent but confident, and a low sound rumbles from his chest. It travels from him to you, vibrating through the space between your bodies. The sound sends heat spiraling straight through you. When he pulls back from the kiss, just slightly, you can’t stop the soft, needy whine that escapes your throat. Your hands tighten in his shirt instinctively, like you’re afraid he might actually step away. His forehead rests against yours again, breath heavier now, eyes darker. “Easy,” he murmurs, though it sounds like he’s reminding himself just as much as you.
Wanting more from the cowboy, your hands reach for his belt, grabbing the front loop making the metal of his buckle jingle against itself. His head dips into your neck, his lips connect with that sensitive spot under your ear, sucking the skin leaving bruises in his wake. You’re going to be pissed about those in the morning, but right now you just want more of him on you. Fingers slipping through the opened jeans your fingers come in contact with his trimmed mound of pubic hair when you feel his rough calloused fingers snake from your hip, across your thighs, to the center of your core. His fingerpads ghost over your delicate nub through your lace thong, slowly working up then down your folds before he comes in contact with soaking wet lace. “You really this wet for a guy like me?” he asks, voice low, “A trouble making cowboy?” His finger taps your slit a couple times before he hooks his fingers around the thin fabric, pulling your thong to the side, using his finger to tease your opening.
You throw your head back, earning a small thud against the wall when his thick digits prod into you, stretching you better than any past man could. Head throbbing in sync with your cunt. He pulls back out slowly, teasing, a whine slips feeling empty. Arthur chuckles then enters his middle and ring finger back into your sopping hole. Spreading them as he watches your face, your mouth wide open letting soft moans loose, your perfectly styled hair sticking to your face from your sweat and your rosy cheeks. All proof of how much he bothered you, inside and out. You weren’t the only one that was bothered. Fortunately, Arthur was harder than he had ever been with a woman, he could feel his tip leaking, slightly leaving a wet spot on his jeans. His cock jumping desperate to just be touched by you.
He slips his fingers out of you then leans down slightly, placing his hands on the underside of your thighs tapping them like he’s asking permission. You jump slightly and he pulls you into him keeping your back against the brick with your legs around his hips. His right hand moves from your hips,carefully tucking your leg into his elbow. Using the same hand to pull your thong back to the side before snaking his hand over your cunt, teasing you even more. You're instantly hit with cold air as your pussy is now exposed to him. Arthur then grabs his cock stroking it before pressing the tip to your slit, brushing it up and down trying to grab as much of your juices as he can to lube himself up.
Your hands wrap around his neck, grabbing onto the longer hairs at the back as he slowly pushes forward, entering you. The head of his cock forcing tight walls apart inch by inch, he grunts, placing his forehead on yours as he feels you clench around him,suffocating his length. He stills, waiting for you to adjust to his size, your face contorting in pleasure. “Arthur, you gotta move. I can’t take it anymore.” You moan, flinching at the sting of your walls being split for the first time in months by a real dick. Your fingers nor your favorite dildo can compare to this feeling of fullness and ecstasy. He pulls out until only his tip is the only left inside you. Allowing you take a couple breaths before slamming into you, he pulls himself back out and does it again, having to put in more effort from the way you’re squeezing him. You tug tighter at his hair, feeling the warmth grow in your womb, letting Arthur slide his hard cock in and out of you in a brutal tempo. Chills run through your legs, goosebumps rising on the skin of your legs as your eyes roll to the back of your head, feeling your legs and breasts bounce against him. Your nipples are so hard you feel like it’s going to cut through the top you’re wearing, sending even more electric pleasure through your spine to your greedy cunt. Arthur starts to harshly fuck you into the brick behind you and you don’t care if it leaves scratches on your back, you want to return the favor by leaving some on his back.
Using the same hand that was holding onto your thong, he moves his thumb to your clit and starts rubbing in circles around it. It makes your pussy clench around him, you can feel the pressure in your belly start to tighten as you shut your eyes. Stars in your vision as you come closer to your limit, It’s only been 10 minutes since you entered the alleyway and this man was going to make you cum.
Arthur notices the pitch of your breathing getting faster, your moans getting higher and the way you pulse around him. He begins rubbing your clit faster to match the pace of his hips, he leans down to your ear, his breath tickling your neck. “Cum on me sweetheart, I know you want to.” Your chest tightens at his command and you grip harder onto his scalp as you feel your stomach get tighter and tighter until your head is pressed further into the wall, your walls gripping onto Arthur feeling yourself quiver with every thrust, oxytocin spreading through your veins at the same time as your cunt clamps down on his cock from your finger tips, to your hard nipples, and all the way to the top of your scalp. There’s white cream spreading from your abused cunt all over Arthur’s cock, making it easier for Arthur to glide into you faster, pretty soon you won’t be able to tell what belongs to who.
Arthur groans into your neck as his pumps get quicker, there's no longer any rhythm to the snap of his hips. “Fuck baby, you’re about to make me cum.” Your hands move down from his hair to his broad back, feeling the heavy muscles flex on top of you while your fingers grip onto the soft fabric of his shirt. “Cum in me Arthur, I’m on birth control and I’m clean.” He groans as he feels his weeping slit skim the plush opening at the back of you, “Hm, I’m clean too. Just got checked.” He says fingers gripping onto so tight, there’s bruises in the shape of fingertips starting to form your hips. Having gained your consent, he pushes you further into the wall, holding you steady as he continues to snap into you. He feels a ball of energy start to form at the base of his spine, his balls are tightening back into him, two more strokes against your spongy walls and he feels something break inside of him. His vision goes black as it feels like a wave run crashes through his entire body.
He fucks lazily into you, riding through his own orgasm, white thick ropes of cum coating your pink walls filling you to the brim. He stalls his hips after a couple of pumps breathing hard into you as he feels the aftershocks spreading through his spine. Then, after a few breathless minutes, you force your feet back onto solid ground, willing your legs to stop feeling like jelly. Cum leaking out of you onto the concrete before Arthur moves your thong back over your naked pussy .The night air cools your flushed skin as you steady yourself against him. He’s looking at you differently now. Softer. His green eyes search yours, no teasing for once, just something warm and thoughtful. He reaches up, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek.“Do you maybe want to come back to my place?” he asks. One eyebrow lifts immediately. “You have a place here?” you tease. He chuckles, glancing away almost shyly. “It’s more like the hotel they put me up in, but… still.” You grin and take his hand in yours, squeezing it lightly. “You could just come back to mine. It’s an apartment. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen one of those before.” You tilt your head playfully. “Different from campgrounds and one-room hotels.” He lets out a full, genuine belly laugh, the kind that makes his shoulders shake and your heart squeeze in your chest.
“And you say I’m trouble,” he shoots back, shaking his head. “But yeah… I’d like that. We can take my truck if you want.” You nod, letting him guide you back inside the bar. The music hits you again as the door swings open, but this time it feels distant. Like you’re already somewhere else. You make your way to Nicole, noticing Kara is nowhere in sight. “She left with one of the guys,” Nicole says immediately, grinning. “Said she’d be at his place. She texted you the address.” Of course she did. You laugh, thank Nicole for the night, while Arthur checks in with his friends. There’s a few claps on his shoulder, a couple knowing looks, but he handles it with an easy shrug.
When he returns, he takes your hand again like it’s the most natural thing in the world and leads you outside to his truck. You climb into the passenger seat, giving him your address as he starts the engine. The interior smells faintly of leather and something distinctly him. As he pulls onto the road, his hand finds yours across the center console, fingers lacing together without hesitation. You lean back, watching streetlights blur past the window. A small smile tugs at your lips. Somewhere between the dance floor and this quiet drive, you might’ve just bagged yourself a bull rider.
I hope you enjoyed! I'm still learning to write so thank you for picking my fic to read. I'm also debating if I should make a part 2 back at the apartment. Also, this was supposed to be short and somehow came out to 4,203 words. I don't know how this keeps happening. 😭
pent up Arthur Morgan uses you like it’s routine (it is)
Mdni! 18+ nsfw
I'm stoned and I haven’t written anything in YEARS (wasnt very good then either hahaha) and I did this in like 30 mins be nice to me…
word count: like 700 lol
exhibitionism warning? John hears y’all. I mean.. the whole camp can but John is just mentioned bc he’s hot.. i wanna write a reverse harem w him Arthur n Dutch lmfao (shhhhh there is no abigail here)
size kink? If u squint? bc i will always write Arthur with a big dick sorryyy
Earlier gang days with horny outlaw Arthur Morgan were wild times when the sun already beat down on you and he showed back up from a job with Dutch and/or John, fire in his eyes when he’s ushering you behind something, anything, breathing; ‘‘Need you,’’ hot and heavy down the back of your neck while his belt clinks open and his big hands jerk your skirt up over your ass, pulling your soaked-through panties to the side.
Arthur couldn’t ever help but to just bend you over and start working himself inside, knowing you’d already be slick enough from waiting for him it wouldn’t take long for his too hard cock to stretch you open. Over time, your body had grown more accustomed to taking him, but the stretch was still so good and it was still always so obscene, that loud wet sound from between your legs when his thick tip starts jutting into what’s been so ready for him.
“There she is,” Arthur’s grunting against your ear, his mouth’s open and watering like a dog, adrenaline from whatever Dutch had him doing turning him into something you alone saw the most of; him without control. He doesn’t take it slow in these moments, his hips piston short and hard, working deeper inside of you just as fast as your slick seeping down the length of him would allow. Until you’re both hissing under breath and his large, sweaty hips mold into the plump flesh of your ass and you swear he’s touching the bottom of your stomach from the inside, splitting you wide open underneath him while his hands bruise your hips and his voice is rattling out, dripping with something primal; “that’s where I need to be.”
Large hands are holding your hips down, in place against the bed of someone’s wagon before he’s pounding all the way in from behind fast and right against the spot that makes it near impossible to keep from screaming. Sounds slip of course.. whines, breaths, gasps, his name; oh, Arthur, drawn out of you and into drool-covered wood beneath your mouth while his hips smack into your hind and his balls smack against the rest of your ruined pussy below; a symphony playing between the two of you.
You’d always thought what a miracle no one heard while John’s pants grew tight across the camp because you thought you weren’t loud but you were. Arthur wasn’t quiet either, because fuck, he didn’t care. Not what time it was. Not who could hear him taking you like an animal. Not when Dutch had him getting so worked up his cock was throbbing and rubbed raw in his jeans by the time they rode in and nothing made him feel better than wrapping you around it and fucking you until whatever surface he did it on shook from the sheer force of his hips.
You’re gone, a mess, mumbling nothings while Arthur takes everything until you’re squeezing him tight and gushing wet and hot around him. He hooks meaty arms around your body to pull it tight against him as he stuffed you deep as he could go. “Fuuck, yeah like that..” southern drawl coarser than gravel in your ear while you spasm around him, and he can never take it long when you do that; hips slamming flush against you, he growls when he spills inside, his scruff buried into the side of your neck. He’s breathing like a caged thing, listening to you gasp every time his cock pulses as his breath steadies enough for him to pull back slightly and watch the way his seed spills out of you and onto his cock.
He pulls his bandana from his throat and wipes himself as he pulls out of your mess with a quiet, awe-filled ‘God..’ at the way you drip and clench with the loss of him; bent over so sweetly, red-faced and panting. His heart thuds at the wrecked sight of you as he makes a note to love you proper later.
Arthur murmurs a ‘thank you’ when he’s leaning in to kiss your cheek, pulling your skirt down and putting another bandana in your hands before sauntering off like nothing happened, buckling his belt as he went.
OUTLAW ⭑.ᐟ ARTHUR MORGAN..’s name replayed through your mind, racing your every thought as you scrambled to place where you had heard it in all of its entirety before. your hands hurried to gather a collection of luxuries while the bath water was running behind you. warm and inviting, it was soon to be fragrant and filled with the handsome stranger once more. his face and name had stayed with you unlike all of the other participants— he was different. ‘arthur’ you thought of again, reminiscing the replay of your initial meeting. he’d just told you a week or so ago, his voice raspy in his first name reveal to you, but where.. where had you known him from .ᐣ the anticipation of the unsolved puzzle and new opportunity with him brewed your nerves, bubbling them with a buzzy interest to learn more about him— and how you were about to.
OUTLAW ⭑.ᐟ ARTHUR MORGAN.. closed the door behind him, he listened for the handle’s mechanics to click in confirmation before he began to speak slowly. “evenin’.” he started, sure not to startle you with quick words or movements. his posture was still and tall, he was testing the mood of the room. you smiled at him, showing him that it was safe, that he was welcomed here. “mr. morgan.” you met him with before abruptly being interrupted. “arthur.” he corrected you, not to be rude or proper, but stern in showing that he wanted to skip the formalities, and for you to speak to him friendly. and that’s when it finally connected. your smile had fallen as quickly as it had come and your mental correlations told on you to him— silly girl, how could you have not noticed it all sooner .ᐣ he silently watched on as you decided how this was going to go.
OUTLAW ⭑.ᐟ ARTHUR MORGAN.. was more relevant than either of you had thought him to be. his name was the very one that was plastered on many posters around town, stuffed in traveler’s suitcases, the pockets of bounty hunters and among the riches that you would often swipe. he had earned himself some reputation, like a rain-filled cloud full and ready to fall, it follows him everywhere. “are you afraid .ᐣ ” arthur asked, his back against the wooden wall. he could sense it in you, it was written on your face. words were unnecessary in a moment like this. still, your head shook in a small and silent way, shifting left and right to signal a simple ‘no’. quiet, as if someone were listening through the walls; just waiting to turn you in for harboring. “good.” he said, relaxing his shoulders. “no reason to be.” arthur reassured, shifting out of his coat before tossing it to the rung of the nearby chair, discarding it along with his satchel.
OUTLAW ⭑.ᐟ ARTHUR MORGAN.. shied your eyes away from his figure, forcing them to look at the floorboards as he continued to undress. he was owed his dignity, you tried to gift him that in the very least. yet, there was still something that flushed your skin with a warming curiosity to peek. he stood in your peripheral vision, stripping the stenching and stained clothes from his body. your core’s fuzzy pit grew tinglier, he was a stranger. you reminded yourself; not that it had mattered. you’d been in this position before, but was never interested in seeing what your guests endowed— it was wrong, gross. but again, there was something different about him. you tilted your head ever-so slightly, your body never moving. it was somewhere in the stage of the in-between; soft enough not to scare you away, but blood-rushed to a point of obvious attraction. it was thick and lengthy, details difficult to make out without a clearer look; but you were content with what you could see. you swallowed sharply, looking all the way left to cough in an attempt of clearing your throat and hiding it— uninterested, you played it off.
OUTLAW ⭑.ᐟ ARTHUR MORGAN.. sunk into the tub, exhaling deeply to let you know he’s settled and that you could begin. he didn’t know where to start, struggling with a topic of conversation to reckon with— you’re not acquainted with enough for him to ask how you’ve been, but he was possessive enough to make you exclusively his. a grand gesture, that was. one that made your cheeks run hot and your blood vessels tighten. he made you nervous in a way, shy— bashful, timid. he was so handsome, tall and fit. his weight was equal, strong and defined. his muscles flexed under the water and candlelight, age playing no factor in their shape. you wanted to know what he did to make them that prominent, taking note of how well he’s kept his form over an obvious amount of years.
OUTLAW ⭑.ᐟ ARTHUR MORGAN.. spoke first. “you’re awful pretty.” he confessed, and that one got you in more places than just your cheeks. a small, scoffing laugh left your lips, his remark taking you by an unexpected surprise. “thank you.” you said, and he smiled at your innocence. “your dress’s frilly.” he stated, more comfortable and confident this time. “that it is.” you agreed, joining him by his side you sat on the grey, round rim. your face was as warm as when you drank whiskey, pinched with a rosy pleasure. still, you had work to do.
OUTLAW ⭑.ᐟ ARTHUR MORGAN.. relaxed when your hands sink into the water with a rag, soaking it wet before setting it on top of his shoulder to rest. like a sponge, overfilled it seeps out on its own, running down his back, arthur’s skin folds under the feeling of coziness, like he’s just returned home. the process had begun. scrubbing the cloth across his back, small cuts and scars became more noticeable in the smoothness of his skin. “what’re these from .ᐣ ” you gently asked, close to his ear in your speech. “thickets, mostly. branches.” he could feel your nails tracing them, his hands gripped the side of the tub momentarily. “few cuts here and there.” he left it at. broken bottles in saloon brawls tended to leave them, but he wasn’t sure on if you should know all of that. “hmm.” you hummed, amused by the shallowness of his answer but honesty in his words. he gave you just enough to work with, to wonder more about. “and this .ᐣ ” you continued to question. “knife fight.” he admitted, looking into your eyes to search for surprise. with little to none, the room’s read became more clear; arthur felt a little more welcomed than he thought he’d be. a spry smile left your lips, biting your bottom lip before lightly laughing at him. “you sound like a bad man, arthur.”
OUTLAW ⭑.ᐟ ARTHUR MORGAN.. was amused, entertained even. “depends on who you ask, i s’ppose.” his comment went ignored, knowing you were prancing around in dangerous territory depending on your responses; and some things were better left unsaid. “did i hear it right, a three day’s stay .ᐣ ” you changed the subject, stating so rather than questioning him about it. the rag hard at work, scrubbing soot from his chest off. “mmm.” arthur hummed in amusement— debating on whether or not to let you get away with listening in on him, and you’ve just reminded him of doing so. his chest rose as your hand worked across it, his heart was humming. you could feel it beating in your hold if you resting there long enough.
OUTLAW ⭑.ᐟ ARTHUR MORGAN.. longed for your eyes to look at his again before he spoke. “you’re a curious thing, huh .ᐣ ” arthur said in a low tone, his voice was full of gravel. his words were drenched in more meaning than what was said. his sight was knowing; like he could see right through you, see you for what you were. “depends on who you ask.” you met him with, bantering back with his own vagueness. he wasn’t going to get any more than he gave. “mouthy, too.” arthur said, closing his eyes to rest his head alongside the metal headrest, enjoying the massage you had since moved on to.
OUTLAW ⭑.ᐟ ARTHUR MORGAN.. folded his hands together and over his sternum, relaxing to his fullest extent. he couldn’t remember the last time he took such a chance on someone he didn’t know. he knows better by now, vulnerability often turns him into a victim. from being flung from his horse’s saddle to being held up at gunpoint, arthur’s experienced it all. but he yearned for this to work, and the mercy of your healing hands washed his trim-needing strands of hair, washing it before his cut tomorrow morning. moving on, you returned to kneading his skin like a soft baker’s bread, rolling and rubbing out any knots he has since built back up. arthur was sensitive in certain spots, groaning when you dug your fingers into the base of his neck; a short preview of what he sounded like intimately. a sweet sound that shot right into your heat, forcing your spine to straighten up.
OUTLAW ⭑.ᐟ ARTHUR MORGAN..’s upper half was finished, cleansed and cleaned. he took the offered flute of french champagne, the name being too difficult for either of you to try and pronounce it properly. he spun the glass around, unsure of what to really think of it. he was used to drinking his choice of poison from a bottle, not a glass. but secrets were being shared, and he figured you’d keep this one, too. he eased into the pool of the unknown, trusting you until you gave him a reason not to. next was arthur’s legs.
OUTLAW ⭑.ᐟ ARTHUR MORGAN.. propped his left heel up and over the bath’s edge. you started at his foot, gracing your fingernail along the bottom. arthur retracting his leg instantly in a serious budge. he was ticklish. “now, sweetheart—” arthur sounded as if you were in trouble, the pet name gently redirecting you. his stern glare was one of telling you not to do it again, but your smirk led him to believe it wouldn’t be the last time it happened. you were sure to note the small detail about him before placing it back yourself, like you were helping him. the yellow and textured sponge scraped against his natural leg’s hair, scrubbing down to his knee and back up to his ankle. inch by inch, you grew closer to the inner thigh. your eyes watched your hand’s movements, sure not to get too close, as his eyes watched yours, studying them to see any signs of uncomfortability. repositioning, arthur spread his legs for you to get a better feel. his placement pool of iridescent circles was dwindling and dying down. cold water kills bubbles, after all. arthur pulled his leg back down, sliding into the tub where his back lie flat against it, flashing his hardened cock under the water for just a moment. the sight plunged into your pussy; you would not soon forget what you saw. a part of you was disappointed in his turn away. still, you acted oblivious to what you had seen.
OUTLAW ⭑.ᐟ ARTHUR MORGAN.. wasn’t trying to so outwardly show it to you, force it in your face or try and grab and guide your hands down onto it, not like other clients have tried to do so before. he was shy, too. modest, even. “other one.” you said, tapping the opposite side of the tub. arthur listened, resting his right leg now. the proper way to do it would have been to walk around, sink to his level and lather his limb with soap there. but, why not have a little fun with the wanted man .ᐣ you leaned over arthur’s view wholly, making sure to accentuate your ass in his eye level. plump round, bent over, and draped with the prettiest silks, arthur loved everything feminine about the view before him; so much that his hand instinctively came up and out of the water to reach for the back of your nearest thigh, stopping himself right before he were to connect the touch. his dick throbbed even harder, pushing the bounds of his tightened skin. arthur’s thick member pulsed under the water, begging to be touched; driving his next intentions.
OUTLAW ⭑.ᐟ ARTHUR MORGAN.. settled for tracing the tips of his fingers onto the sewing of your dress, tugging it slightly to imitate a friction that he was starting to starve for. it was a small and gentle plea, one causing you to look back at him. “you alright, arthur .ᐣ ” you hummed to him, sincerely; adding a little note in saying his name. your hands still worked while awaiting his response, applying the lightest bit of pressure into his calf with your thumb.
OUTLAW ⭑.ᐟ ARTHUR MORGAN.. was sure that you were toying with him, singing his name again so soon. he was slipping into an undeniable trance, one that he knows is hard to escape out of without a certain and highly-anticipated reward. he had to control himself. “‘m fine, darlin’.” he said, falling into the tempting tease. his chest rising in hard heaves, he was clearly excited. “good.” you paused. “you’re all finished, mr. morgan.” you said, sure to make it stick.
OUTLAW ⭑.ᐟ ARTHUR MORGAN.. looked to you with a particular hunger in his gaze, it was cruel what you were doing to him. he wasn’t sure if you were trying to, or if you were aware of what you were— so how could he protest about it .ᐣ ask you to stay .ᐣ even dare to think of telling you that it wasn’t going to wash itself .ᐣ “you’re leavin’ me .ᐣ ” is what he mustered up instead, a croak in his voice that he’d think was pitiful, but you found alluring and attractive. “for now.” you smiled at him, leaning down once more to kiss him on the forehead before excusing yourself; leaving the big, bad outlaw to handle himself if he wished to do so.
NEXT. ➠ ★ MAIN SERIES ML. ➠ ★
WHO'S MY GIRL .ᐣ TAG LIST. ➠ ★
REPLY MASTERLIST ➠ ★
★ 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡
note ➴ old low honor arthur draft i tidied up a little bit. cw hurt / comfort, dom / sub dynamics, piv sex, codependency, maybe mildly toxic undertones but he means well ! smut under the cut
“you're still awake?”
arthur states the obvious. the cut of the crescent moon looms over camp like an open sore, bleeding warbled pools of opal ichor to damp dirt. heavy footfalls send all the fuzzed critters in the forest scuttling in his ill-omened wake. sidestepping away from the iron pressed path of horseshoes in the winding trail, arthur approaches the hissing, honey split of the fire bearing all the indelible stains of a man who knows he's done wrong. gone for too long of a grievous stretch, his bullets and blades embedded in the hollowed, rotted husks of corpses, pockets heavy and saddlebags stuffed full.
a smothering of treacle-sticky shame deluges over him when you startle. soft earth squelches beneath his boots. the tinny tinkering of spurs jostling together seems to stir you from your tremulous state, desolation slashed across your timid face like a birthmark. damning, too, teeth marks indented in your tender bottom lip, dimples burrowed deep into your wobbly chin. he often tells himself his barbarism never touches you. silver-capped toes twinkle in the diffused amber glow when he sits on the opposite log, silent. you look small. arthur takes up all the air.
“i can't sleep without you,” you splutter, strained and pinched, your sluggish gaze flittering over the gore glued to the worn fringe of his chaps, the scarlet stippling. frustrated fists scrub at the wet hollows of your eyes, poppy-red and salt-swollen. you choke back on a stunted sob like a rough whiskey shot, it goes down sour and sharp. your gait is pure gelatin. just a lamb-legged thing, shuffling unevenly by the swarm of sparks and toasted timbre, all the way to him. past pine needles and knurled branches, shivering in spite of the growling heat, your confession a cracked cry. “you scared me.”
a grimace quickly sears its sizzling stamp to his face, tugging at his thick brows and pulling at the corners of his chapped lips. a good, god-fearing boy he is not. these days, the only thing that seems to rattle arthur any are the tears trespassing across your cheeks.
“i didn't mean to.” he grits plainly, smoothing a hard palm over his thickly stubbled face in ire, though it slips out crueler than he intends. cuts clean into your worries with the callous blade of a cleaver, and splits your stupidly sweet affections over the iron spike. you crumple. drowsy footsteps come to a stiffened stop, dolor swelling star-crested droplets to your lash lines, your twitchy fingers fumbling at your sides. he dares not let you sit with it. grumbling under his cool breath, the nothings crystallising to misted clouds in moist air, guilt glowers in his gut and hardens his gallbladder to lead.
he catches the curve of your waist in two tight hands before you have the chance to bolt. you bleat, blinking winsome while he wrangles you to straddle against the muscled bulk of his lap. his second skin of petrichor and copper is potent. smells like a fresh kill, clashes bittersweet with the soot and salt on yours. but he's warm. blood-hot and humanly so, not like the burnt brassy flickers you flocked to before.
“i didn't mean to. really.” he states once more, honest as the day is long, softening his syllables and swallowing all the bile and blood which always worms its way into his tone. his rough lilt rumbles like a brush of velvet, his heavy-lidded eyes soft as cerulean silk. you tremble, a shuddering, shaky chest rubbing into his, both from the frost-tipped chill swathing the flooded heartlands and the curse he has so unkindly bestowed upon you; to love a butcher. dainty arms loop around the nape of his neck, and he knows home is where the heart is, your cardiac chambers thrumming steadily through the beaten leather of his coat.
with a feathery touch, arthur strokes the pad of his thumb across the moon-kissed slant of your mandible, up to the pillowy flesh of your sore lip. parts the bruised petals with a tentative push and slips it inside, glitter-dotted drool pooling around the wide base of his knuckle when you hollow the satiny lining of your cheeks and suck lightly. he pumps his digit back and forth inside your plushy mouth, pressing the callus firm to your tongue. teeth graze his tough skin. a little glimmer of defiance, gone as quick as gun smoke. he knows it's not hardwired in your anatomy to bite. unlike him.
sugar was not something arthur had a taste for. too cloy. no good for gunslingers, no use, but then there was you — your soft underbelly, blunt teeth and fluffed lashes. honest kisses over his whiskery cheeks, the weight of a slow breathing body in his bed, smaller interwoven fingers in his at peach-dusted gloamings, neat stitches in the rumpled linens of his shirts. arthur doesn't know much about love. can't make sense of it. he certainly knows why fellers call it a sickness, though. the coagulated film of perspiration on clammy hands, a cotton stuffed skull, and cardolium unfurling in his burly chest like a rancorous cancer when you cry. crying for him, you sweet girl.
blood thunders in his temples. your pupils are blown wide and wanting, dusky, coal-black and lax below the slow sweep of your eyelids, your whisper-soft suckling. if you were anyone else, not his, a misstep might make him maul you to vermillion ribbons. bay bitterly, sink those curved claws of his into the warm fat and exsanguinate you for sport. he'd shove you into the dirt and rip your skirts open at the seams if you weren't so good at rousing the gentleness in him. it does not come naturally. he had to learn how to be soft. how to be mild and muted, force a triggering reflex that was never there in the first place.
doggish as he be, dripping in his grime-dappled degeneracy, he's a sorry, love drunk bastard. he pulls his tacky thumb from your mouth, a slippery pop, spit string snapping over your chin like spider silk. his darling, honey-glazed with melancholy but needily nuzzling the heat of your cunt over his hardened bulge, thin linens draped loosely over your legs. with all the starvation driven impulse of a ravenous mutt, arthur skims his gunpowdered fingertips and blood-washed palms across the tops of your clenched thighs, past the embroidered petals on cotton. he can't help but think he's wrecked you just as fragile as the threaded flowers, daisy dew on your cheeks, your wispy, waterlogged lashes tinkering slow at him.
he lifts the muddied, rain-damp hem of your pastel skirts to settle around your hips, gooseflesh spotting your sensitive skin in the biting zephyr, mellow breaths stretching thin when dulled metals and cracked leather click together. your bashful palms work the dirty denim of his pants wide open, gun belt clattering against bark and forgotten, just a dulled glitter in the low fuse of the spluttering fire. a low susurrus of gruff praises spill freely from arthur's throat then, his leaky tip blushing cherry and dribbling hot through your slick slit, soiling your silken delicates. twitching over his tense thighs, you breathe a pretty hiccup, his swollen cock catching on the cleft of your dewy cunt.
“i'm sorry,” he rasps hoarsely, canting his wide hips hard into your sappy heat, slow and strong thrusts against the curves of your ass, throbs running along the vein webbed length pulsing inside you. “i missed you somethin' fierce, darlin'.” a coarse moan catches in arthur's chest. he's nothing but utterly gentle and startlingly tender in the splay of his broad grip encircling your little waist, your tight hole struggling and fluttering at the thick intrusion. matching his pace, small, syrupy sounds spill out from your pounded pussy while you scrub sloppy ruts over his pelvis, your lower halves locked together and sticky, his fat cockhead grazing the pudgy give of your cervix.
fucking you open for him, your translucent slick trickling over his furred, heavy balls, plapping into your glossy folds. you scramble at the broad bulk of his back, bulging muscles rolling beneath your weak grip, dragging your nails across his sweat-soaked shirt and mewling a broken melody. it spikes the lining of his eardrums like a stalking wolf. he near salivates at the pitch of your stifled squeaks, speeding his pummelling thrusts, thickened pearls of precum smearing over the plug of your womb.
your fire shined face pants his name softly. parted lips, sweet as the spring bloom of a buttercup, your sopping pussy a snug snare bouncing on his rigid cock, puffy clit chafing circles over his dark drenched curls. the friction of his toughened jeans bands angry, ballet-pink lines to the backs of your trembly thighs. warm sweat dewy on his wrinkled forehead, his sun weathered cheeks flushed a ruddy hue, arthur huffs ragged, raspy groans, your stuffed walls squeezing his girth. his sharp-fanged maw scrapes over the junction of your jaw. all tongue and teeth, sloppily mouthing scratchy smacks, sinking hard into the slope of your neck, his canines at prickling tender skin.
sugary sweet tension in your tummy snapping, you bonelessly slump over like a bitten bunny, breathlessly babbling through his hilt-deep jackhammering, milking every ridge and vein of his strained cock. spurred on by your tearful keens, the tight coil of your cunt and your steady gush of warm, shimmery slick, arthur follows not far behind, his ‘i love you’s on your feverish skin a drawling slur. his pulsing tip jerks and spasms at your achey insides, shooting sticky, thick pulses, heavy hips grinding your raw cunt over his spent length. your plush cheek slots into the wide crook of his shoulder, his ravaging slams slowing down to lazy, languid pistons. adoring touches caress the meat of your sides, his blunt digits leaving behind lilac and lavender kisses, while he gently fucks his spilled spend back where it belongs.
“don't go.” comes your pitchy plea. puffing a slew of strained, wet whimpers, your forearms finding solace flattening against arthur's back, fingers curling into his sweated traps. sniffling, you beg him to stay, a sting similar to pressing on a bruise. he draws some sick satisfaction out it. feels good to be wanted. tightened sinews shift in his stocky arms as they shift to cup your thighs, curling your pliant body into a possessive, tender carry to his tent. and when dawn sings out her lullabied, sun-shined song to the hushed overlook, you're both stripped bare. your shiny syrup still staining his streaked shaft, your dozy breaths brushing over his bicep, his corded chest moulded to your spine just like the morning dew.
the calm amidst all the chaos, sunny mornings in the april of 1883. some snippets from the daily life of the van der linde gang, back when they were younger, the sun was brighter and the bird songs sang a little louder over the valleys of the wild west
Tags: No use of y/n, reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns, medium to high honor Arthur, first time ass eating, tongue-fucking, fingering, and oral sex (f!receiving and m!receiving). If I missed any tags, please let me know!
Word count: ~1.2K
Read on AO3
A/N: My first time writing for Arthur! Shout out to the anon that said "Arthur Morgan ass eating" in my inbox and nothing more. Love your mind. Lightly proofread (by that I mean I skimmed and barely so). All typos/spelling errors are on me. As always, likes/reblogs/comments are appreciated. Divider by @/saradika-graphics.
On the rare occasion that you and Arthur are able to sneak away for a night, he takes his time with you.
First, it was the languid yet sensual touches in the bath. Hands, hidden underwater in dim candle light, roaming aimlessly. Squeezing, caressing, rubbing. You felt dizzy, almost high, from Arthur’s touch, his calloused hands deliciously exploring you like he’s trying to make a map of your body.
Then, it was his cock in your wet, hot mouth. His hand rested gently on the back of your head, guiding you with restraint and patience. You knew he wanted to slam into the back of your throat, but he’d never let himself lose control like that out of fear of hurting you. Instead, Arthur let you take the lead, using your hand to assist where your mouth couldn’t reach. He was whispering soft praise to you as you hollowed your cheeks, sucking with determination. Eventually, he had to pull you off with a pop to stop himself from unloading in your throat.
And now, he’s making a mess of you. With your face pressed into the mattress, Arthur is devouring you. As thoughtful as ever, he pauses to fold a limp pillow and slide it under your belly to make you more comfortable as you become weaker and weaker from his tongue working your clit. You wiggle your ass towards him, begging for him to resume. Instead of giving you what you want, he spread your pussy wide, watching it drip and pulse with need.
“My sweetheart,” he coos behind you. Being this exposed makes your face grow hot. “Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Please, Arthur,” you whine, pushing your hips back again to tell him exactly what you’re asking for.
Leaning in, Arthur sucks your clit into his mouth, groaning against you. The vibration makes you feel delirious and pulls a breathy moan from you. That only encourages Arthur who lets go of your clit and drags his tongue slowly down to your opening, dipping his tongue into your entrance. You reach back, tangling your fingers in his hair that’s been getting long, nearly brushing his shoulders now. It’s the perfect length to grip and you use it to push his tongue further in you.
Arthur snakes his hand around your plush thigh so that he can have access to your clit, rubbing tight circles on the sensitive, swollen bud as he fucks you with his tongue. The pleasure is nearly overwhelming and you let your eyes flutter shut, succumbing to the feeling. You’re beyond dazed, lost in it, that you don’t notice Arthur’s tongue leaving your core. Oh, but you notice when he makes contact with your tight ring, the one that’s never been touched by anyone before, circling it with his eager tongue.
You squeak as your eyes widen. “Arthur!”
“‘M sorry,” he slurs, resting his cheek on your ass. “I just”—he experimentally licks you again, fast this time—“wanna taste every part of you.”
Much to your surprise, you find yourself aroused at the thought of Arthur doing something so taboo to you. Something entirely new. In some way, you think it would be an act of devotion, a way of promising yourself to him and him to you. Still, there’s part of you that feels embarrassed, shy even. Maybe Arthur can sense this because he begins to leave soothing kisses on the plump cheek of your ass, the crease where it meets your thigh.
“I don’t know, Arthur.”
“You can trust me, y’know that,” he reassures you. Sliding his thumb from your clit to your entrance, he slowly slips it inside of you and you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips. “But we don’t gotta do anything you don’t wanna do.”
Of course you know this. Arthur has never once pushed you to do anything—sexual or otherwise. As his hot breath fans over your hole and his sweet words echo in your hazy mind, you decide you do want this. The embarrassment, the shame seems to go out the window. It’s just Arthur. Your Arthur. Hard on the outside, brutal with others, but ever so loving with you. It makes your chest tight with affection.
“Okay,” you all but whisper, voice impossibly small and timid. It’s unlike you, but this whole situation is unlike anything before. “You can…do that.”
Arthur peppers your backside with kisses, finger entirely still within you. “Are you sure?”
“I am. I-I..want to try it,” you admit sheepishly.
Immediately, he obliges, letting a string of spit fall from his lips onto your asshole before fully committing. Arthur licks and laps at you with the ferocity of a starving man. Your whole body is tense as you try to adjust to the new sensation. With his unoccupied hand, he massages your hip. It’s like a gentle command, urging you to relax. When that fails, he replaces his thumb with his index finger and begins to fuck your cunt in earnest. The feeling of his tongue on your ass and his finger prodding at that sweet spot deep inside of you is divine.
Bucking your hips, begging for more with your body, seems to send Arthur into a frenzy. He quickly inserts another finger and fucks you hard, dragging moans from you that interrupt your panting. A particular loud whimper earns a groan from Arthur and he tightens his grip on your hip. Reaching back, you place your hand atop of his and squeeze in encouragement.
This must embolden him, the non-verbal praise, because he slips his tongue into your hole.
“Oh!” you cry out, shocked by the intrusion, but not at all upset. “That feels—oh my god—so good, Arthur.”
Fucking you with his tongue and fingers, Arthur brings you closer and closer to the edge. It’s not long before he coaxes an orgasm out of you. Your pussy clenches around his fingers while your asshole tightens around his tongue. Not for a moment does he stop, working you through your orgasm until you’re squirming away from him, too overwhelmed to handle anymore. With a shameless moan, he pulls away and leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses from your ass to your neck, burying his face there before flopping next to you.
Arthur gathers you into his arms, all loose-limbed and pliable, and kisses your temple. “Weren’t expecting you to like that so much,” he whispers. Ear pressed to his chest, you can feel the quiet rumble from his soft chuckle. “You did good for me, darlin’.”
Humming at the praise, you nuzzle your face into his solid chest that’s peppered with hair that looks golden in the candlelight. Arthur strokes your arm with the sweetest tenderness. The experience was nothing like you expected. No, it was so much more. The vulnerability has instilled a new trust between the two of you, you think.
“Arthur?”
“Hm?”
“Can we do that again?” you ask.
He laughs softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Sure we can, but I think y’need some rest after that.”
Though you don’t want to agree, you feel your eyelids grow heavy. Arthur drapes the blanket over both of you. Before you know it, you’re asleep in your outlaw’s arms.
Tags: No use of y/n, reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns, medium to high honor Arthur, first time ass eating, tongue-fucking, fingering, and oral sex (f!receiving and m!receiving). If I missed any tags, please let me know!
Word count: ~1.2K
Read on AO3
A/N: My first time writing for Arthur! Shout out to the anon that said "Arthur Morgan ass eating" in my inbox and nothing more. Love your mind. Lightly proofread (by that I mean I skimmed and barely so). All typos/spelling errors are on me. As always, likes/reblogs/comments are appreciated. Divider by @/saradika-graphics.
On the rare occasion that you and Arthur are able to sneak away for a night, he takes his time with you.
First, it was the languid yet sensual touches in the bath. Hands, hidden underwater in dim candle light, roaming aimlessly. Squeezing, caressing, rubbing. You felt dizzy, almost high, from Arthur’s touch, his calloused hands deliciously exploring you like he’s trying to make a map of your body.
Then, it was his cock in your wet, hot mouth. His hand rested gently on the back of your head, guiding you with restraint and patience. You knew he wanted to slam into the back of your throat, but he’d never let himself lose control like that out of fear of hurting you. Instead, Arthur let you take the lead, using your hand to assist where your mouth couldn’t reach. He was whispering soft praise to you as you hollowed your cheeks, sucking with determination. Eventually, he had to pull you off with a pop to stop himself from unloading in your throat.
And now, he’s making a mess of you. With your face pressed into the mattress, Arthur is devouring you. As thoughtful as ever, he pauses to fold a limp pillow and slide it under your belly to make you more comfortable as you become weaker and weaker from his tongue working your clit. You wiggle your ass towards him, begging for him to resume. Instead of giving you what you want, he spread your pussy wide, watching it drip and pulse with need.
“My sweetheart,” he coos behind you. Being this exposed makes your face grow hot. “Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Please, Arthur,” you whine, pushing your hips back again to tell him exactly what you’re asking for.
Leaning in, Arthur sucks your clit into his mouth, groaning against you. The vibration makes you feel delirious and pulls a breathy moan from you. That only encourages Arthur who lets go of your clit and drags his tongue slowly down to your opening, dipping his tongue into your entrance. You reach back, tangling your fingers in his hair that’s been getting long, nearly brushing his shoulders now. It’s the perfect length to grip and you use it to push his tongue further in you.
Arthur snakes his hand around your plush thigh so that he can have access to your clit, rubbing tight circles on the sensitive, swollen bud as he fucks you with his tongue. The pleasure is nearly overwhelming and you let your eyes flutter shut, succumbing to the feeling. You’re beyond dazed, lost in it, that you don’t notice Arthur’s tongue leaving your core. Oh, but you notice when he makes contact with your tight ring, the one that’s never been touched by anyone before, circling it with his eager tongue.
You squeak as your eyes widen. “Arthur!”
“‘M sorry,” he slurs, resting his cheek on your ass. “I just”—he experimentally licks you again, fast this time—“wanna taste every part of you.”
Much to your surprise, you find yourself aroused at the thought of Arthur doing something so taboo to you. Something entirely new. In some way, you think it would be an act of devotion, a way of promising yourself to him and him to you. Still, there’s part of you that feels embarrassed, shy even. Maybe Arthur can sense this because he begins to leave soothing kisses on the plump cheek of your ass, the crease where it meets your thigh.
“I don’t know, Arthur.”
“You can trust me, y’know that,” he reassures you. Sliding his thumb from your clit to your entrance, he slowly slips it inside of you and you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips. “But we don’t gotta do anything you don’t wanna do.”
Of course you know this. Arthur has never once pushed you to do anything—sexual or otherwise. As his hot breath fans over your hole and his sweet words echo in your hazy mind, you decide you do want this. The embarrassment, the shame seems to go out the window. It’s just Arthur. Your Arthur. Hard on the outside, brutal with others, but ever so loving with you. It makes your chest tight with affection.
“Okay,” you all but whisper, voice impossibly small and timid. It’s unlike you, but this whole situation is unlike anything before. “You can…do that.”
Arthur peppers your backside with kisses, finger entirely still within you. “Are you sure?”
“I am. I-I..want to try it,” you admit sheepishly.
Immediately, he obliges, letting a string of spit fall from his lips onto your asshole before fully committing. Arthur licks and laps at you with the ferocity of a starving man. Your whole body is tense as you try to adjust to the new sensation. With his unoccupied hand, he massages your hip. It’s like a gentle command, urging you to relax. When that fails, he replaces his thumb with his index finger and begins to fuck your cunt in earnest. The feeling of his tongue on your ass and his finger prodding at that sweet spot deep inside of you is divine.
Bucking your hips, begging for more with your body, seems to send Arthur into a frenzy. He quickly inserts another finger and fucks you hard, dragging moans from you that interrupt your panting. A particular loud whimper earns a groan from Arthur and he tightens his grip on your hip. Reaching back, you place your hand atop of his and squeeze in encouragement.
This must embolden him, the non-verbal praise, because he slips his tongue into your hole.
“Oh!” you cry out, shocked by the intrusion, but not at all upset. “That feels—oh my god—so good, Arthur.”
Fucking you with his tongue and fingers, Arthur brings you closer and closer to the edge. It’s not long before he coaxes an orgasm out of you. Your pussy clenches around his fingers while your asshole tightens around his tongue. Not for a moment does he stop, working you through your orgasm until you’re squirming away from him, too overwhelmed to handle anymore. With a shameless moan, he pulls away and leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses from your ass to your neck, burying his face there before flopping next to you.
Arthur gathers you into his arms, all loose-limbed and pliable, and kisses your temple. “Weren’t expecting you to like that so much,” he whispers. Ear pressed to his chest, you can feel the quiet rumble from his soft chuckle. “You did good for me, darlin’.”
Humming at the praise, you nuzzle your face into his solid chest that’s peppered with hair that looks golden in the candlelight. Arthur strokes your arm with the sweetest tenderness. The experience was nothing like you expected. No, it was so much more. The vulnerability has instilled a new trust between the two of you, you think.
“Arthur?”
“Hm?”
“Can we do that again?” you ask.
He laughs softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Sure we can, but I think y’need some rest after that.”
Though you don’t want to agree, you feel your eyelids grow heavy. Arthur drapes the blanket over both of you. Before you know it, you’re asleep in your outlaw’s arms.
Tags: No use of y/n, reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns, medium to high honor Arthur, first time ass eating, tongue-fucking, fingering, and oral sex (f!receiving and m!receiving). If I missed any tags, please let me know!
Word count: ~1.2K
Read on AO3
A/N: My first time writing for Arthur! Shout out to the anon that said "Arthur Morgan ass eating" in my inbox and nothing more. Love your mind. Lightly proofread (by that I mean I skimmed and barely so). All typos/spelling errors are on me. As always, likes/reblogs/comments are appreciated. Divider by @/saradika-graphics.
On the rare occasion that you and Arthur are able to sneak away for a night, he takes his time with you.
First, it was the languid yet sensual touches in the bath. Hands, hidden underwater in dim candle light, roaming aimlessly. Squeezing, caressing, rubbing. You felt dizzy, almost high, from Arthur’s touch, his calloused hands deliciously exploring you like he’s trying to make a map of your body.
Then, it was his cock in your wet, hot mouth. His hand rested gently on the back of your head, guiding you with restraint and patience. You knew he wanted to slam into the back of your throat, but he’d never let himself lose control like that out of fear of hurting you. Instead, Arthur let you take the lead, using your hand to assist where your mouth couldn’t reach. He was whispering soft praise to you as you hollowed your cheeks, sucking with determination. Eventually, he had to pull you off with a pop to stop himself from unloading in your throat.
And now, he’s making a mess of you. With your face pressed into the mattress, Arthur is devouring you. As thoughtful as ever, he pauses to fold a limp pillow and slide it under your belly to make you more comfortable as you become weaker and weaker from his tongue working your clit. You wiggle your ass towards him, begging for him to resume. Instead of giving you what you want, he spread your pussy wide, watching it drip and pulse with need.
“My sweetheart,” he coos behind you. Being this exposed makes your face grow hot. “Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Please, Arthur,” you whine, pushing your hips back again to tell him exactly what you’re asking for.
Leaning in, Arthur sucks your clit into his mouth, groaning against you. The vibration makes you feel delirious and pulls a breathy moan from you. That only encourages Arthur who lets go of your clit and drags his tongue slowly down to your opening, dipping his tongue into your entrance. You reach back, tangling your fingers in his hair that’s been getting long, nearly brushing his shoulders now. It’s the perfect length to grip and you use it to push his tongue further in you.
Arthur snakes his hand around your plush thigh so that he can have access to your clit, rubbing tight circles on the sensitive, swollen bud as he fucks you with his tongue. The pleasure is nearly overwhelming and you let your eyes flutter shut, succumbing to the feeling. You’re beyond dazed, lost in it, that you don’t notice Arthur’s tongue leaving your core. Oh, but you notice when he makes contact with your tight ring, the one that’s never been touched by anyone before, circling it with his eager tongue.
You squeak as your eyes widen. “Arthur!”
“‘M sorry,” he slurs, resting his cheek on your ass. “I just”—he experimentally licks you again, fast this time—“wanna taste every part of you.”
Much to your surprise, you find yourself aroused at the thought of Arthur doing something so taboo to you. Something entirely new. In some way, you think it would be an act of devotion, a way of promising yourself to him and him to you. Still, there’s part of you that feels embarrassed, shy even. Maybe Arthur can sense this because he begins to leave soothing kisses on the plump cheek of your ass, the crease where it meets your thigh.
“I don’t know, Arthur.”
“You can trust me, y’know that,” he reassures you. Sliding his thumb from your clit to your entrance, he slowly slips it inside of you and you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips. “But we don’t gotta do anything you don’t wanna do.”
Of course you know this. Arthur has never once pushed you to do anything—sexual or otherwise. As his hot breath fans over your hole and his sweet words echo in your hazy mind, you decide you do want this. The embarrassment, the shame seems to go out the window. It’s just Arthur. Your Arthur. Hard on the outside, brutal with others, but ever so loving with you. It makes your chest tight with affection.
“Okay,” you all but whisper, voice impossibly small and timid. It’s unlike you, but this whole situation is unlike anything before. “You can…do that.”
Arthur peppers your backside with kisses, finger entirely still within you. “Are you sure?”
“I am. I-I..want to try it,” you admit sheepishly.
Immediately, he obliges, letting a string of spit fall from his lips onto your asshole before fully committing. Arthur licks and laps at you with the ferocity of a starving man. Your whole body is tense as you try to adjust to the new sensation. With his unoccupied hand, he massages your hip. It’s like a gentle command, urging you to relax. When that fails, he replaces his thumb with his index finger and begins to fuck your cunt in earnest. The feeling of his tongue on your ass and his finger prodding at that sweet spot deep inside of you is divine.
Bucking your hips, begging for more with your body, seems to send Arthur into a frenzy. He quickly inserts another finger and fucks you hard, dragging moans from you that interrupt your panting. A particular loud whimper earns a groan from Arthur and he tightens his grip on your hip. Reaching back, you place your hand atop of his and squeeze in encouragement.
This must embolden him, the non-verbal praise, because he slips his tongue into your hole.
“Oh!” you cry out, shocked by the intrusion, but not at all upset. “That feels—oh my god—so good, Arthur.”
Fucking you with his tongue and fingers, Arthur brings you closer and closer to the edge. It’s not long before he coaxes an orgasm out of you. Your pussy clenches around his fingers while your asshole tightens around his tongue. Not for a moment does he stop, working you through your orgasm until you’re squirming away from him, too overwhelmed to handle anymore. With a shameless moan, he pulls away and leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses from your ass to your neck, burying his face there before flopping next to you.
Arthur gathers you into his arms, all loose-limbed and pliable, and kisses your temple. “Weren’t expecting you to like that so much,” he whispers. Ear pressed to his chest, you can feel the quiet rumble from his soft chuckle. “You did good for me, darlin’.”
Humming at the praise, you nuzzle your face into his solid chest that’s peppered with hair that looks golden in the candlelight. Arthur strokes your arm with the sweetest tenderness. The experience was nothing like you expected. No, it was so much more. The vulnerability has instilled a new trust between the two of you, you think.
“Arthur?”
“Hm?”
“Can we do that again?” you ask.
He laughs softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Sure we can, but I think y’need some rest after that.”
Though you don’t want to agree, you feel your eyelids grow heavy. Arthur drapes the blanket over both of you. Before you know it, you’re asleep in your outlaw’s arms.
— Lana Del Rey, Father John Misty / "Let The Light In"
⟢ pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader
⟢ warnings: smut (18+, mdni), yearning, gentle Arthur Morgan, handjob, consensual sex, p in v, bathhouse girl!reader, mutual pining, high honor Arthur Morgan, hair washing, emotional smut, praise, tender intimacy, he fell first and harder, caretaker reader, acts of service, Arthur Morgan being treated right, i'm biting my fist it's so cute
⟢ word count: ~2.1k
Arthur Morgan's got a bad habit.
He stops in every other day, asking for you and only you.
Nevermind that he comes in fresh as a daisy from the last, barely a speck of dirt on him to warrant a washing.
He still comes.
Takes his clothes off real neat. Folds them and sets them aside. Takes extra care sinking into the tub while he waits, careful not to get any water on your seat.
Nobody takes care of him better than you do. He figures he ought to do the same.
Entering the room, mid-speech with one of the other girls, the sight of him stops you dead. Sends warmth fluttering through your chest, cheeks burning something awful.
You heard tell of a man who resembled him wandering around these parts again. Didn't think it'd be the man himself come to see you.
"M-Mr. Morgan," you stammer softly in greeting, shutting the door quietly behind you.
"Miss," he says after a moment, unable to meet your gaze.
His fingers tighten around the tub's edges, tips of his ears going pink.
You smile to yourself, reaching for the jar of rose petals you keep in case he comes by.
"Good for the skin," you say every time he asks. Really, you'll take just about any excuse to pamper the man.
Sprinkling a couple in, you watch his eyes follow them as they drift about.
"I brought you somethin'," he says, just as you settle in behind him.
"Again?" you ask softly, already pouring water over his hair, careful of his eyes.
Last week was peppermints—the kind you loved as a girl.
The week before that were some wildflowers he picked not far from the edge of town. They were a bit wilted, damn near crushed to death, but you were flattered nonetheless.
Bringing the soap bar to his head, you work it into a lather, scrubbing in gentle circles. "You ought'a stop bein' so sweet to me. The girls are gettin' all manner of jealous."
His head tilts back onto your lap, getting suds on the front of your dress. You find you don't mind it one bit.
"Don't care none," he mutters, eyes shutting as your fingers massage his scalp. "Only want you."
You duck your head, a bashful smile turning up your lips.
"Go on, then, tell me," you murmur, staring down at him. "What'd you bring this time."
He looks at you, dries his hand on the towel draped over the edge of the basin, and reaches for his things. Without a word, he pulls out a delicate ribbon in that shade of cream you love so much.
You gasp, eyes going wide. "Like the one I—"
"Lost," he finishes, grunting in acknowledgment. "Yeah, I know."
You swallow, drop your head once more, fixing your gaze stubbornly on the porcelain.
"You— I mean, that's real thoughtful of you..."
And just before the audacity can leave you, you utter a quiet—
"Thank you, Arthur."
Any thoughts you might've had about addressing him by his first name leave you entirely.
One look at those cheeks of his—beaming the prettiest shade of red as he rubs at the scruff of his jaw—and you're gone before you can think better of it.
You bring your lips to his temple, fingers stalling where they run along his nape. "Now, just you relax. Lemme take care of you."
He sits still as can be, the tension easing itself from his muscles with every pass of the washcloth.
While you're busy cleaning his legs, scrubbing gently at his skin, your arm grazes something—hard, heavy, and hot like fire between them.
He goes stiff as a board, brows drawn tight as he looks away from you.
"Sorry," he says quiet, gruff, shifting in the water like he's committed a grave sin worth apologizing for.
"It ain't a problem," you mumble, staring blankly at the bubbles in the water as his hands go white-knuckled where they grip the edges.
Your gaze finds his face, a sheepish look on it you'd kiss right off if given half the chance. "Oh, Arthur. Won't you look at me?"
"Ain't right of me," he says then. "Takin' advantage of the kindness you've shown me."
"That ain't what you're doin' now, is it?" you chide softly, a quiet exhalation leaving your chest as you cup his cheek, turn that handsome face toward you.
You're fussing over him—you know it. Can tell by the way you brush the wet hair clean from his face, thumbing away a stray droplet of water before it can careen down his forehead.
"Been an awful long while, ain't it? That why?" you ask curiously, voice soft with understanding. Gentle as you run your hand comfortingly along the length of his arm.
He glances at you then, searches that serene expression of yours, those eyes filled with an adoration he's too cowardly to give name to.
"...Yeah," he says finally, swallowing with an effort, jaw working. "Been some time."
It takes you a moment to gather the words—to get them right on the tip of your tongue before they spill out in a blur.
"I don't mind," you murmur, reassurance lacing every syllable. "If that's what you're wantin'. Ain't no trouble at all."
He looks at you with something akin to disbelief and an affection so severe, it sinks right down to the heart of you.
"I ain't earned that kinda treatment," he says then, shaking his head like it sits heavy on his shoulders.
"I wanna," you say in reassurance, resting your hand over his heart. It thuds a quick rhythm against your palm, his own coming up to lace your fingers with a hesitation that makes your face warm.
"Alright," he relents, eyes fixing onto you.
You smile, bring your joined hands to your lips and press a tender kiss to his knuckles, still scarred from whatever fight he must've been in last.
Your opposite one slips into the water, taking him between your fingers, not making a fuss of it.
It's just comfort.
Something to cure him of his stresses and that air of melancholy he carries about himself.
You tell yourself that's all it is, and he tells himself he ain't attached to the way you touch him—the way you move your wrist just so and give him pleasure like he's never known, the way you card through the soapy tresses of his hair and let him doze off with his head on your lap most days.
You know better. So does he.
He groans real quiet, head tipping back just enough to show the effect your grip has on him, the length of him throbbing steadily between your fingers, growing impossibly harder still.
"Show me what to do," you murmur, voice a sweet lilt in his ear. "Show me how to take care of you."
He sucks in a sharp breath through his nose, letting it out slowly as he allows his eyes to shut and yield to the feeling, to your words looping themselves around him, driving him damn near out of his mind.
"Jesus, woman," he mumbles to himself.
But his hand moves to cover yours, tightening your hold around him with a careful squeeze of his fingers, helping you stroke him in long, slow drags that have his hips bucking.
Water splashes, creeping ever closer to the edge of the tub, threatening to spill over.
But you don't stop him. You wouldn't dare.
Instead, you stare, all kinds of mesmerized that a man like Arthur Morgan could be reduced to this—overflowing with desire, eager for the slightest touch that doesn't result in pain or hurt.
"That alright?" you ask quietly, peppering gentle kisses down his neck, lifting your head to meet his gaze.
He stares at you then, breathing rough, chest rising and falling with the effort it takes him.
"C'mere."
His fingers curl loose around your nape, drawing you in close to press a kiss to your lips.
You smile against his mouth, at him eagerly taking all he can when he kisses you harder, tongue dragging against yours like he's starved for it.
He tries to coax you over, onto his lap. With a quiet laugh, you pull the hem of your dress away just before it can touch the water.
"Gonna get my dress all soaked," you say, drying your hands to undo the buttons down the front.
He looks away, averts his gaze as the fabric goes slack against your form. You sigh, head tilting, eyes soft as can be.
"Don't gotta look away," you assure him, reaching out to turn his head toward you. "Don't mind you watchin' none."
His jaw tightens, reaching for you the moment your undergarments fall away. Before he can pull you onto him and into the tub, you reach for the ribbon.
He watches as you loop it around your neck—once, twice—tying it off with a delicate bow that reaches down your collarbone.
You nearly slip, a startled squeal bubbling out of you as you settle in the warm water, thighs either side of him.
"Easy now. Atta girl," he says, reaching out to steady you. You hardly fit, him all but filling out the basin beneath you.
Still, you manage—hands on his shoulders as he lines himself up with your entrance, his at your waist rubbing in slow, lingering sweeps up your sides.
"How's it look?" you ask softly.
He stares at you like he's got heaven in his arms.
"Real nice, darlin'. Prettiest thing I ever did see."
He arches up just enough for you to feel him, the head of him pushing inside making a shiver run up your spine.
"You're alright," he murmurs, fingers splaying wide along your back as he guides you down. "That's it."
It doesn't take long before he's got his face tucked in your neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses along your skin, his beard scraping as he goes.
His breathing grows ragged, hold on your hips tightening despite himself.
All the while, you whisper encouragements in his ear, letting his name tumble from your lips like a prayer.
A timid little moan escapes you when he sinks into you proper, striking something sweet enough to pull a shudder clean through you, toes curling tight against the porcelain.
His rhythm starts slipping, growing more and more unsteady with every thrust. Your fingers slip into his damp hair, nails scratching lightly.
"Arthur?" you whisper.
"Mm," he hums, a low, gravelly sound that has your thighs trying their best to clench around him.
He notices the change in your breathing, the way they've gone shallow and uneven, his hand slipping between you to give you the attention you need.
"C'mon. Lemme have you," he says, his eyes gone storm-dark.
The moment his fingers find what you need, circling just there with a firm pressure, you're coming apart around him.
It feels like lightning singeing you from the inside out, burning you up entirely, sending your pulse crazy where it thrums beneath your skin.
His own breath catches hard as his release finds him, his forehead dropping against your breast, a deep groan knocked loose from him.
You feel the moment his body goes taut, a shiver wracking through him at the sheer intensity of it.
He goes heavy beneath you, all at once, sinking further into the tub like the effort stole every little bit of strength right out of him.
"You okay?" he asks, his touch gentler now, more careful than it's ever been.
"Yeah," you whisper, dropping kisses to the top of his head before resting your weight on him, your cheek to his chest. "You?"
He huffs a laugh, hand running along your spine.
"Sweetheart," he says, voice wrecked. "Ain't been this good in a long time."
You beam, lifting your head to meet his gaze.
"Say you'll come back tomorrow," you murmur, hopeful eyes searching his face for an answer.
He brushes your hair back, idly winds a strand around his finger.
"I'll come back," he promises. "Maybe not tomorrow, but..."
His hand rises to cup your cheek, thumb running tenderly along it. "I will. Don't you worry."
You believe him. Not one bit of you doubts it.
He doesn't do things half-way, doesn't say things he doesn't mean. That knowledge alone brings you a comfort second only to being in his arms, just like this.
After all, if there was only ever one man you'd happily spend all of the hot water in Valentine on, you know without a doubt it'd be Arthur Morgan.
Him and his gifts, his sweet words, and the way he holds you like you're worth more than anything in the whole goddamn world.
Seems you've both got a bad habit.
a/n: gentle Arthur strikes again, but with SMUT THIS TIME! i had so much fun writing this, so i hope you love it. and thank you so so so so so much for helping me reach my second follower milestone 🤍🤍🤍 i can't believe i get to write like this as a hobby and people actually enjoy it, so thank you for continuing to support me and my little musings. love you!!!!!
arthur x f!widow - just a little something that's been brewing in my mind lately
arthur noticed the first time he stepped inside her home, how still it was. like the air had settled and decided not to move unless it had to. he noticed how carefully she lived, everything was measured and light, everything had a place, nothing ever out of place. arthur didn’t ask why she was so careful, he never did. he wasn’t a man for questions that didn’t have answers he could fix.
so he fixed what he could.
it started small, with a loose hinge on the door, which then turned into the fence that leaned just enough to give way when winter came. he would stack her firewood neat, the way hosea insisted on back at camp. he always made sure it would last, which reminded her of how her husband had been.
she'd watch him sometimes from the doorway, like she wasn’t sure if she was meant to interrupt. and when he caught her eye, she’d offer a small smile, the kind that didn’t ask for anything in return.
“don’t have to do all that,” she said once, her voice soft.
arthur just shrugged. “reckon I don’t mind.”
and that was the end of it.
he began to stay longer than he meant to, or should have. he told himself it was just until the work was done, just until she didn’t look quite so alone in the doorway. arthur always found a reason to stay.
when the sun dipped in the evening, they would sit on the porch, side by side but not too close, watching the light fade through the trees. she’d talk sometimes, about small things, about memories of her husband she was brave enough to share. sometimes neither of them said anything at all. arthur didn’t mind the silence.
one evening, when the air turned cooler, she wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders. arthur noticed, of course he did, he always noticed.
he shifted just a little closer, without saying anything. not close enough to presume, it was just enough that the warmth of him might reach her if she wanted it, and she didn’t move away. he didn’t reach for her. he didn't say anything that might break it. but when she spoke next, her voice was softer than before.
“you don’t have to keep coming back, you know.”
arthur stared out at the trees, watching the wind move through them like a slow breath.
“yeah,” he said after a while. “i know.”
he came back anyway, and every time he returned, the house felt a little less still. a little less like it was waiting for something that wasn’t coming back.
and maybe, just maybe, it had found something new to hold onto.
⁂ arthur morgan x female reader, established relationship
⁂ summary - currently having a heatwave where i stay, and my mind went here... the heat in rhodes is getting to you both
cw, p in v sex, fingering, finishing inside, unprotected sex
the heat in rhodes was suffocating. it felt like a wet blanket that clung to every breath and turned the camp into a slow, sticky hell. the air was thick with the smell of dust and sweat. even the usual camp chatter had died down to lethargic murmurs, the men sprawled in any sliver of shade they could find. you were no exception, lying on your cot in the tent, the thin cotton of your chemise plastered to your skin, every inch of you slick with perspiration.
arthur pushed through the tent flap, his boots heavy on the dry ground. he was stripped down to his undershirt, the fabric dark with sweat across his chest and under his arms, clinging to the broad muscles of his shoulders. he had his hat in his hand, fanning his face, but his eyes found you immediately; a low, familiar smolder that cut through the heat like a blade.
“this goddamn heat,” he muttered, dropping his hat on the crate by the entrance. “can't think straight.”
you shifted on the cot as you watched him kick off his boots. he unbuckled his belt, letting his trousers hang loose, the waistband dipping low on his hips. the trail of dark hair below his navel disappeared into the waistline, and you felt a pulse of heat that had nothing to do with the weather.
“c'mere,” you said, your voice rough from the humidity.
arthur didn’t need to be told twice. he crossed the small space in two strides, the cot groaning as he lowered himself beside you, his weight dipping the mattress so you rolled toward him. his skin was hot and his arm slid under your neck as he pulled you close.
“you're burnin’ up,” he said, his thumb tracing your collarbone, leaving a wet trail.
“so are you.”
he grunted, a low sound that vibrated against your back, and his hand slipped down, fingers hooking the hem of your chemise and pushing it up your thighs. the fabric gathered at your waist, bunching damply. arthur's palm flattened on your bare hip, rough and calloused, sliding lower until his fingers found the slick heat between your legs.
“soakin’ already,” he said, not a question, just a statement of fact. His voice was gravel, low in his chest. “that the heat, or my doin'?"
you arched into his touch, your breath catching as he parted your folds, his index finger circling your clit with a lazy, deliberate pressure. “you,” you managed. “always you.”
he chuckled, the sound rumbling through his ribcage against your back, he leaned in to press a wet kiss to your shoulder. his stubble scraped your skin as he kissed along your neck, teeth grazing the tender spot behind your ear, while his finger worked you slow and deep. he pushed one finger in, then two, the stretch familiar and welcome, your hips rocking against his hand.
“want my mouth on you,” he murmured, his beard rough against your ear. “but I ain’t movin’. too damn hot.”
you turned your head, catching his mouth with yours, a clumsy, open-mouthed kiss that tasted of salt and hunger. his tongue slid against yours, and his fingers pumped deeper, his palm pressing against your clit with every thrust. you broke the kiss, gasping, and reached back to grab his hip, pulling him flush against your ass.
he was hard, you could feel him through his trousers, the thick length of his cock pressing into the cleft of your cheeks. he groaned into your hair, his rhythm faltering for a second as he ground against you.
“arthur,” you breathed. “need you inside.”
he didn’t answer with words. he pulled his hand free, wet and glistening, and used his other arm to roll you onto your back, the cot creaking in protest. he loomed over you, his breathing heavy. he hooked his thumbs into his waistband and shoved his trousers down just enough, his cock springing free, thick and flushed and slick with his own sweat.
he lined up, the head nudging your entrance, and pushed in with one long, smooth stroke. the stretch was perfect, filling you completely, and you both groaned together, the sound swallowed by the stifling air.
he set a slow, deep rhythm, his hips rolling into yours with each thrust, his balls slapping against your wet skin. the sweat made his chest slide against yours, slick and hot, and he buried his face in the curve of your neck, his breath ragged against your pulse point.
“fuck,” he muttered, his voice wrecked. “feel so goddamn good.”
you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and your fingers dug into his back, leaving red on his skin. the heat was a furnace around you, the camp sounds fading to nothing. there was only arthur, his weight, his rhythm, the wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of your cunt.
he reached down, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing in tight circles that matched his pace. the pressure built slow, coiling in your belly, your nails raking down his spine.
“come for me,” he said, his voice a growl. “now.”
the command snapped something loose. your back arched, a ragged cry tearing from your throat as your climax crashed through you, your walls clenching around him. he followed immediately, a harsh grunt against your skin, his hips stuttering as he spilled hot and deep inside you, filling you with pulse after pulse.
He stayed there, buried to the hilt. the air was still thick, still suffocating, but the tension had broken. he kissed your shoulder, a soft, tender press of lips, and slowly pulled out, the wet sound of him leaving you making you shiver.
he rolled onto his side, pulling you with him, his arm draped over your waist. “should do that more often,” he mumbled, already half asleep. “good for circulation.”
you laughed, a breathless sound, and settled into the curve of his body, the heat no longer a burden but a cocoon.
thank you for reading, it means the absolute world to me! remember to stay hydrated in this heat 🙂↕️☀️
summary: arthur's back from hunting, your doing laundry by the river. 𓍼 ོ☁︎ cw: smut, p in v sex, slightly dom/rough!arthur, unprotected sex, finishing inside.
the dusk had settled thick and heavy over the river, the last light bleeding through the trees. you were bent over the water, the chemise damp and clinging to every curve, the thin fabric nearly transparent in the dying light. you had come to wash, but then you felt him behind you.
arthur's boots made no sound on the mossy bank. he moved like the hunter he was, silent and patient. his hands found your waist first, fingers spreading wide over the damp cloth, pressing you hips back against him. you felt the hard length of him through his trousers.
"you keep bending over like that," he murmured, his mouth brushing your ear, "and i'll have to do something about it."
you tried to turn, but his hands held you in place. one slid down your thigh, bunching the chemise upward, baring your skin to the cool evening air. he pushed the fabric higher, exposing the curve of your ass, the soft skin of youe inner thighs. the chemise stayed on, twisted and gathered around you waist like a makeshift harness.
"i was just washing," you breathed, voice cracking
"were you now." he knelt behind her, his hands spreading your cheeks apart, and your felt his breath hot against your wet cunt. his tongue dragged through your folds, slow and deliberate, collecting the slick that had been building since he first touched you. you gasped, your knuckles whitening on the stone you'd been leaning on. one of his hands left your hip and grabbed the bunched fabric at your waist, tugging it higher, pulling the chemise taut against her stomach and ribs. The tension made you arch, and he used it, yanking the cloth again, hard, so it strained across your chest, nipples rubbing against the damp linen.
he ate you with a calm, devastating focus: lapping at the clit, dipping into your hole, circling back up. you bucked against his mouth, and he chuckled against you, the vibration making your knees buckle. one arm hooked around your thigh, holding you open, while his fingers replaced his tongue, two of them sliding inside you with ease.
"you're so wet already," he muttered against your skin. "'this from washing, or from knowing i was watching?"
you couldn't answer. he curled his fingers, pressing deep. he worked you like that. fingers fucking you slowly, his mouth teasing you clit, until you wete trembling, your legs barely supporting. he pulled back just as you neared the edge, leaving you shaking and empty.
"not yet."
he stood, his hands sliding up your sides, gripping the chemise at your ribs. he tugged it higher, baring your cunt completely from behind. his cock nudged at your entrance, thick and hot, and he held there, just the tip, until you whimpered.
"please."
"please what?"
you pushed back, but he grabbed your hip, stopping you.
"please fuck me," you gasped.
he didn't make you wait longer. he thrust in, one smooth, hard push that buried him to the root. you screamed, the stretch almost too much, and he stayed there, letting you adjust, his teeth grazing your shoulder through the damp linen.
"that's it," he growled. "take it."
he set a punishing rhythm from the start, pulling out almost entirely and slamming back in, each stroke driven, brutal, his balls slapping against yoir clit. you braced yourself against the rock, nails scraping stone, your moans turning into ragged sobs with every thrust. he grabbed a fistful of hair, tangling it around his hand, yanking your head back so her spine bowed.
"you're going to come for me," he ordered, his voice harsh in your ear. "now."
his other hand slid around her belly, fingers finding your clit, circling hard and fast in time with his thrusts. he was still gripping your hair, pulling it tight, the chemise bunched and twisted around your torso like a second skin. the orgasm hit like a shockwave, violent and consuming, your body clenching around his cock. he didn't stop. he fucked you through it, driving deeper, his own groans turning into a low, guttural roar.
he came with a final, savage thrust, his cum flooding you in hot, thick spurts, filling you so full she felt it dripping down her thigh before he even pulled out. he stayed inside for a long moment, breathing hard, his forehead against the back of you neck. rhe grip he had on your loosened, and the chemise sagged, no longer taut.
he withdrew, slowly, and you felt the emptiness like a loss.
you leaned against the rock, legs trembling, your body slick with sweat and his seed. the chemise hung off in a crumpled mess, soaked and twisted, barely covering anything. he looked at you, then at the basket where the wash lay forgotten, damp and crumpled. he picked it up, slinging it over one bare shoulder, and turned back to you.
"you comin'? or do i have to carry you too?"
you laughed, weak and breathless, and tried to stand. he watched you struggle for a moment, then walked back, scooped you up with one arm under her knees and the other around her back, carrying both her and the basket.
"you'll drop me," you said.
"no, i won't." he started up the narrow, winding path, the basket bumping against his shoulder. the hill was steep, rocky, but he didn't slow down. halfway up, he looked down at you, a glint in his dark eyes.
"next time, bring less washing. 've got better things to do with you."
you buried her face in his neck, your body still humming, his cum still leaking from you. the campfire's glow was just visible over the ridge, warm and waiting.
thank you for reading! hope you enjoy. means the absolute world to me that you've read it! 💞
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