ugh ive been reading your other arthur stuff for a while and WOAH????? self taught writer??? ok LIAR 😤😤 (affectionately)
anywaysss imagine arthur being away from camp cause of some mission n writes to his wife from wherever they're staying at for the night how much he misses her n everything. lowk starts sweet, reminds her to do little things at camp he knows she'll forget, refers to her as mrs morgan because he's proud like that but then it gets dirty REAL fast.... like he's describing what he's imagining about her, telling her where to touch herself etc.. then ends the letter like nothing happened lmfaoo
thank u in advance!!!
xoxo, 🍄
content : Arthur Morgan, fem!reader, smut in letter form; mainly dirty talk and anatomical descriptions, yearning
author’s note: AHHHHH i struggle so much with letters but it’s such a fun challenge and they perform so well on Tumblr, so if you insist— wish granted 🪄 thank you so much for the compliments and love x i really hope you enjoy this !
Valentine had seemed to quell the anguish that was caused by the Blackwater job and the frigid adventure of Colter, so when Arthur was sent to Blackwater to rescue Sean, you felt his absence a lot more.
You had a routine in place— wake up gently against the wall of your man, mill through your day with chores and duties around camp, then return back to your shared tent where Arthur was already waiting to resume the physical affection that you both longed for all day.
Rescuing Sean in Blackwater was a multiple day endeavor, so you were anxious about it Arthur leaving. Not that Arthur couldn’t handle his own, but you had your own anxiety about having a few days without him.
As you watch Arthur mount Buell with the intention to ride into the outskirts of Blackwater to rescue Sean, you approach him. He looks to you with those blue, knowing eyes, and says, “Just a few days, darlin’. I promise.”
“Will you at least write me?” you ask while taking one of his hands into your’s, “Just so I know you miss me.” He chuckles, his smile barely visible from the brim of his hat, “I will write you, sweetheart. I promise.”
He leans down from his horse and pulls you into a kiss, cupping your face as to add another layer to his promise. When he pulls away from the kiss, you press your forehead onto his and caress his face. “Don’t get into too much trouble, cowboy.” you say before letting him go.
“Yes ma’am,” he says with a grin. He then straightens his posture in his saddle before heading into the thicket near Horseshoe Overlook, starting his journey to Blackwater.
A few days pass and a letter is posted for you at the post office. You had a few errands to run in Valentine, so you didn’t get to read your letter until you got back to camp later that night. You believed that it would be a delightful end to your day.
After dispersing the supplies from town throughout camp, and eating a portion of stew for dinner, you return to the tent to finally read the letter that Arthur had written you.
Dear Mrs. Morgan,
It is with great pleasure to let you know that the rescue went well, and that I will be back to you in a few days. It’s hard refusin’ to head straight back to camp after a job is done, but it’s what’s best for the gang to not lead the Pinkertons on our trail.
I hope camp hasn’t been too busy so that you are able to take it easy while I’m away. I hope you have had time to do your sewin’ because I know that’s one of your favorite things to do ‘round camp. I’m sure Jack has some pants needin’ hemmin’ if y’wanna check with Abigail.
If you have the time, will you please get me a new blade from the shop in town? It has only been a few days and I look like a bush child with all this hair on my face. I also know you like me clean shaven. I left some money in that green chest in the wagon— go ahead and get that razor as well as somethin’ nice for yourself for being so kind and patient to me.
You would be happy to know that I’m holed up near that clearin’ we stayed in that one night. You might not remember it as well as me because I think that was one of the best nights of my life. We split that bottle of bourbon, retold stories from before we were blessed with each other, and held each other close. Then after chattin’ you up, I did my part as a man to make you feel like a woman.
Do you remember how I pulled you into my lap and kissed all over your beautiful face? I remember how you giggled and begged me to stop but you said it in that way that I knew you wanted more. I miss feelin’ the warmth of your cheeks after a few drinks.
I can’t stop thinking about how beautiful you looked against the firelight and under the moonlight as I started undressin’ you. Every piece of clothin’ gone was a memory forged into my mind. I can’t ever stop thinkin’ about you sprawled in the grass, bare for me, beggin’ me to make you mine.
I love that sound you make when I push myself inside of you— like you’re gonna split open on my cock if I’m not careful. And how you wrap your arms around me and rake your nails in my back. But good God, do you take my cock so well. I love watchin’ your breasts jump and your cunt glisten around my cock. It gets me riled up just thinkin’ about it.
Do you miss the feelin’ of being full of me? Do you miss my tongue ropin’ into your’s? Do you miss my mouth suckin’ on your breast like a man starved?
I’ve been holdin’ back from touchin’ myself in hopes that I get my way with you when I get back. I want you so full of me— on top of me on that squeaky cot, down below on the ground as I ravage your sweet cunt. Any way that you’ll have me, I want you.
S’pose this letter got a bit raunchier than intended, but I’m havin’ one of those nights where all I think about is you in a carnal way. I hope y’know that I don’t see you as a piece of meat and that you are woven into my actual bein’. My heart needs you so badly that my cock follows suit.
I am headin’ back tomorrow, so I will be back a day after this letter is posted. Would you be a doll and not wash until I get back? I am hungry for the taste of your natural self. No need to get all prettied up down there for me.
Mrs. Morgan, you have me so untamed with the beauty you have in your heart and on your body. I really hope I didn’t come off too strong.
I love you more than anythin’. I will see you soon.
A SWEET N TENDEE THREESOME ARTHUR MORGAN AND CHARLES SMITH FIC PLSSSS no general plot or nun that’s all up to u genius :DD pls n THANK U 🧡🧡🧡
(Also ik you’ll laugh if I tell u that on instinct I spelt “charli” instead of Charles 💀💀)
the ending is a little clunky but i think this turned out not half bad 😏 thanks for the suggestion my dearie 🩶 i hope you enjoy x
as always, content below the cut. MDNI !!
“Unh, yeah,” Charles groans as he pushes deeply into your cunt, “Like that, sweetheart.” You wince as Charles’ cock hollows you out, stretching the sticky, pink veil that frames your entrance. Charles takes you from behind, the arch of your back angling just right so that his cock reaches *that* spot so easily.
You feel two fingers tap your chin upwards and are met with Arthur’s cock; thick, throbbing, and crowned with an unruly bush of hair that runs down from a stream in the middle of his stomach. “Mind if I fuck that pretty mouth of your’s, darlin’?” Arthur asks while Charles continues the deep work into your cunt. You nod shyly before Arthur glides the tip of his cock into your mouth and over your tongue.
Charles eases his cock into you as far as it could go as you suck the tip of Arthur’s cock, tasting the pre-cum that pearled at the end. As you rock back and forth fucking yourself onto Charles’ thick cock with one guiding hand on your hips, Arthur entangles a guiding hand into your hair as he fucks your face.
You are completely full of outlaw cock as Charles takes you from behind while Arthur uses your mouth for his pleasure.
Each thrust from Charles’ cock is then counteracted by Arthur’s cock sliding into the back of your mouth, damn near your throat. Just when you think you have run out of stamina for those two, Charles would deliver a playful slap onto your bottom to perk you up.
“Mmm, she likes that,” Arthur mewls while he watches his cock slide in and out of your mouth, “Felt a dribble fall from her mouth. Dirty lil’ thing.”
Charles chuckles before slapping your bottom again, causing a stream of arousal to leak from both your cunt and your mouth. “Yeah, she likes that,” Charles groans, “Felt her quiver around my cock.”
They continue using you up before Charles’ rhythm begins to falter; a sign that he was about to cum. He thrusts a few more times before pulling out to send a load onto your ass with a low groan.
As he gathers himself, he tells Arthur, “Looks like it’s your turn, partner.” Arthur looks down at your deliciously helpless eyes as you suck his cock like an absolute slut. Charles shuffles out of the tent after he is dressed, and Arthur pulls out.
Before you could get too comfortable on the bedroll, Arthur gently pushes you down into the prone position. “Still feelin’ up for the challenge?” he asks while pumping his cock.
You smirk into the bedroll as you say, “Of course.”
You shimmy your bottom a little more upwards so that Arthur could have more access to your cunt. He immerses himself on top of you, one trunk of an arm on either side of you. He slides his cock into the sweet spot of your entrance before slamming inside of you. You squeal before he shushs you gently in your ear from behind.
“Little lady likes it from behind, huh?” Arthur teases as he breathes a low groan into your ear, “You suck a mean cock too.” His hips slam into the meat of your ass as he fills your needy cunt to the brim. You catch glimpses of his arms and the veins popping from his muscles as he sustains his own body weight above you.
“Arthur, I-,” you whimper, “Not sure how much longer I can take.”
You feel his thrusts become more calculated and passionate, he then says, “Wanna finish for me, angel? Don’t want you to feel left out.” You breathe out an acceptance before riding out your high together with Arthur. He slams into you a few more times, each with a tired but satisfied groan into your ear.
You feel him hit the back of your cunt and explode into you as you climax. Your spends mix together into a creamy, sticky messy.
Arthur takes a moment to savor the moment before kissing your shoulders and back, thanking you for such a unique experience.
Hopefully it wouldn’t be talked about amongst the campers tomorrow. ;-;
I think we need to come together and finally acknowledge that Arthur Morgan has no ass. It’s from the years in the saddle of course, he can’t help it. But I do love when he’s drawn with a dump truck nonetheless, I just think it’s crucial for us to recognize that that’s not the reality we’re in 💔
⠀✘ Arthur Morgan/Cis F Reader who menstruates (Hellcat) ✘ modified canon ✘ Mature 18+: smut with feelings, no major warnings, menstrual sex, cunnilingus, piv sex ✘ high honour Arthur Morgan ✘ ✘ <5,000 words, one-shot, part of Cowboy & Hellcat ✘✘
"You know, I—" Arthur's hand paused in the circles it was rubbing on your lower back and you glanced at him, surprised to note a flushed line across the bridge of his sun-marked nose. It wouldn't be easy to see if you didn't know him so well.
"I know what," you growl from between clenched teeth, the cramps still giving you hell. Arthur's big, warm hand starts moving again. The relief it bought was little, but not nothing. Which was more than you could say of most things.
"I heard from some of the women at camp…" Arthur broke off again and scowled at himself. You were liable to bite his head clean off at this rate, and who could blame you? He grit his teeth and blew a breath out through them before pressing on. "I think I know a way t' help you with the pain."
You glance up at him sidelong, teeth clenched and mouth grimacing from the vicious cramps that came with your monthly indisposition. "How's that," you press, the words coming out harsher than you'd intended.
Arthur kept rubbing at your back. Kept your gaze too, that flush on his cheeks deepening. He leaned in close, the smell of him familiar, intoxicating. Horse and gunsmoke and leather. Kissed your throat, then pecked a pathway of kisses to your ear. "If I make you come," his breath was heavy, lips tickling your skin, stirring the little hairs around your ear as he breathed then nuzzled against you.
Your mind needed time to catch up, even though his words had sent a jolt right through to your core. "I'm bleedin'," you say haltingly, feeling a little stupid. You knew he wasn't— stupid, that is— but… he knew, didn't he?
In response, he chuckled. Nodded between kisses pressed against your ear and the hinge of your jaw, the fingers of his free hand gently taking your chin, lifting your face so he could kiss along your neck. "Ain't afraid of a little blood, Bede." He nuzzled your throat, speaking low once more. "Might be nice, to get all covered in it and be causin' pleasure in place of pain."
Read the full work on AO3 or....
Your heart had started to race. Was he serious? You'd never considered it as an option. You look at him, so dumbstruck by his suggestion that you were able to overlook the cramps twisting knife-like in your gut. Momentarily, at least.
Between your confusion and the cramps you must have looked angry, because the light in his clear blue eyes faltered and he looked away. "'course if you don't want to, I don't— it were just somethin' I overheard and seein' you suffering as you are, I thought—"
You silence him with a kiss. "I do want to. I was just— I—" your words falter, your hands trailing up Arthur's suspenders, till you're toying with them, looking into his eyes without your habitual confidence. "You really want—" he didn't let you finish, covering your mouth with his as he pulled you gently into his lap. He was already hard, you noticed, little thrill of delight and desire unfurling in your belly.
"I really do," he rumbled between kisses, taking your hand and placing it over his eager length as if to demonstrate his honesty. You squeeze him through his pants, and he groans into your mouth, surprising you when he pulls away.
"C'mon, I got a nice place." You watch him gather up some blankets before reaching his hand to you, grinning eagerly. You can't quite return his enthusiasm— the cramps really were giving you hell— but you smile as well as you could. As you take his hand, feeling the strength in his rough fingers, you look at him, a little stunned. It wasn't that anything he'd said is so hard to believe of him; it's more the way he's so unlike any man you've known.
It wasn't far, and as you look around you wonder just how long he'd been thinking about this. If he'd planned it, somehow? You resolved you had best stop basing your expectations for how Arthur was going to be on what you'd learned of other men. In a valley, surrounded by trees tall and silent, was a little lake bordered all around by large, flat slabs of granite. Arthur held your hand as the two of you tracked down the sloping side of the valley, his eyes on you.
You lay back on the blankets he'd spread out over a large, flat boulder, but pause, biting your lip. "It's a lot," you murmur, watching him as he settles beside you.
"Lot of what?" The sweet man looked so innocent as he asked, you could almost be talking about something else; something less carnal and taboo; like puppies. Or flowers.
"Lot of blood," you reply, trying to be as fierce as was your custom, but feeling you've fallen short. You bite your lip, embarrassed, and Arthur cocks his head to one side.
"I ain't really got—" He trailed off, bringing a hand to the side of your neck, the other returning to rub circles on your lower back as he shifts himself closer to you. "—much notion of, uh… how much—" Arthur rubbed the back of his own neck, mulling over his words. "Pretty sure it ain't gonna be the most blood I've seen. Damn sure I ain't gonna mind."
You nod. At least half of that was true, and about the other half, well, you'd see.
It didn't take him long to get you naked, practiced at it as he was. At least until he got to your bloomers, seeing the belt under them slung around your hips. You were blushing, though not really from arousal— it had leaked, of course it had, the white linen marred by splashes of red. It always did, but you'd hoped that maybe—
"Oh, darlin'," Arthur murmured, kissing you as he gently pulled the bloomers down and off your legs, "no wonder it hurts." You close your eyes, feel him unbuckling your belt— one of them fancy Hoosiers, you'd bought it hoping it'd work better, leak less— but finding yourself unable to watch at first. You peek at him, cracking one eye, and see him carefully remove your bloodied things, no hint of revulsion or displeasure to be seen. Really, he looked at you with something close to worship. Still, as his hands smooth along your hips, up your tender belly and over your breasts, you close your eyes again. Squeeze your knees together even as he kisses you; feeling self-conscious and bare. The idea that he could still want you like this was so alien that even though it was Arthur, you didn't quite believe it.
You hear him removing his clothing too, and as you crack one eye open again, you find some of your doubts dissipating. Even if you couldn't plainly see the proud erection grazing his belly, hard and eager, you'd see the way he can't keep his eyes from you. Just the same as always; he looks at you like you're holy and he profane.
He settles in front of you, his hands on your knees where you've drawn them together, hiding from him. "I want to make you feel good." You open your eyes at his words and his touch, and can't quite hide the apprehension on your face.
Arthur searches your eyes, looking for approval or dismissal. His next words are soft as old silk. "I wanna stop you from hurtin'." His thumbs caress your knees, the movement of his rough fingers a whisper on your skin. "If I can."
You let your legs fall open under his touch, eyes locked with his. Your heart races, even as you know— you know— he won't pull away from you.
He utters a low moan when he looks at you, desirous as ever, and something wound tight in you relaxes. A warm hand smooths its way along your thigh as he brings his mouth to yours once more, leaning over you, his weight supported on one hand. "Luckiest man alive," he rumbles, kissing you hungrily as the strong hand on your thigh edges closer to your sex.
He breaks the kiss earlier than you expected, pressing his forehead to yours as he speaks. "You tell me if it hurts," you nod with his words. "Or if it ain't good, or y'just don't—" You kiss him again, heart full to bursting with fondness.
"I will."
He's quick to settle between your thighs then, face intent as he runs a finger through your bloodied slit. A thick digit presses into you, his touch expert, and you both groan at the wet slide of it.
He doesn't look away, doesn't seem repulsed as his finger reemerges coated in red. Far from it, he leans in, open mouthed, to lap at your clit as he pushes his finger back inside, adding another. You mewl as he sucks at you, the warm press of his digits releasing some tightly-wound thing within you. Arthur curls his fingers, finding that place inside you that makes your toes tingle, and you moan, louder than you usually would.
"That good, huh?" He's grinning at you like he's won a prize. You can't look away from the red staining his mouth and beard, your own mouth open, gasping, as he pumps his fingers in the tight warmth of you. You nod, falling back against the blankets, one hand over your eyes. The other reaches for Arthur, twines into his hair. He chuckles. Sounds delighted as he lowers his mouth back down to your wet cunt.
Usually, he takes his time. Meticulously winding pleasure from you in a myriad of touches tentative and bold, a musician playing a fine-tuned thing. Today, he moves with single-minded purpose, working as if you held a pocket-watch in your hand instead of a fistful of his hair.
Writhing under his ministrations, you gasp and shiver, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter until you can hardly bear the pressure of it. "Arthur," you gasp as he licks another line of pleasure through your labia. You can feel him try to turn his head to look at you— checking if you were actually trying to speak— but you tighten your grip on his hair and he laughs and shivers against your skin. "Don't stop," you beg, and he doesn't, looking up at you, mouth on your clit, as his fingers strike that place inside until he has you coming undone. Tingling pleasure running down your legs and over your face, spiraling out from low in your core. You'd forgotten about the cramps. Utterly, as you lay there panting.
Until he asked.
The look on his face was so hopeful, hilariously incongruous with the red painting his jaw. "Did it help?" He wiped his mouth with a forearm, leaving both bloody.
You nod, bringing both hands to your face as you pant, looking up at him from between your fingers. He clambers up the rock to lie pressed up beside you, laying one big hand across your belly. "Ain't hurtin'?"
"No," you sigh contentedly, turning your head to look at him. The smile that spreads slowly across his face is transformative, blooming like a sunrise as the idea of it settles over him.
"Ain't that somethin'," he murmurs, rolling onto his back, feeling a curious warmth pool in his chest. He'd taken away your pain. Not just made you feel good; you'd been hurting— hurting bad— and he'd stopped that. It was an unfamiliar feeling. One he found he rather liked.
"Arthur," you purr, and he turns his head to face you, eyes drawn first to where your hand splayed against his bare chest, "we don't have to stop."
At that he rolls fully towards you, immediately alert, little smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Ain't tired?" The warm hand on your stomach moves in a slow caress, an echo of the way he soothed you earlier, among the business of camp.
Holding his gaze, you shake your head, biting your lower lip. Your hand comes to rest on his much larger one, your fingers tracing the ridges of his knuckles, feeling the tackiness of dried blood across them.
"Hungry?" Arthur whispers, moving so he's hovering over you, a breath away from your waiting lips.
"Not for food," you answer, and he groans as you kiss him, just like you knew he would. Just like he always did, like he's been waiting for this kiss all his life. A sound of need and surrender, you muse as you snake your hand between your bodies, wrapping it around the hot length of his cock. Arthur breaks away from your kiss to gasp and grunt at the feel of your hand skimming up and down his length.
You squeeze him gently, luxuriating in his shameless moans and the softness of his skin. Arthur bucks into your hand, rocking his hips back and forth minutely so your fingers catch the ridge of his head over and over. He covers your mouth with his, tasting of you and iron, tongue pressing pleadingly against yours as he lets out the most decadent little sounds of pleasure.
You turn your head, breaking the kiss. Watching him as you pump your fist up and down him, listening to the way his breath stutters and hitches. "Arthur," you whisper, and his eyes open. A little dazed as he watches you, a little less alert than usual. "I can't—" you bite your lip, suppressing a growing grin. "—get pregnant, like this."
He stilled, going so far as to take your wrist in hand, stopping the way you stroked him so he could think. "What're you sayin', Hellcat?" His gaze was all focus now, those gold-flecked blue eyes questioning. Questioning, because he didn't quite dare to want what you implied to offer.
In response, you pulled his lips down to yours. Kissed him slow and deep. Long, until he finally settled himself down over you, the warm pressure of his body welcome against your skin. Having freed your hand from between the two of you, you now traced your fingertips over the contours of his broad back. Here, the soft plateau of skin dipping over hard muscle, there the twisted gnarl of an old scar. Your fingers ambled across the map of his life until they found the curve of his spine above his hips, moved finally to the rounded muscle of his ass. Arthur's hips twitch as you grip him, pulling him harder against you. His rock-hard cock pressed between your bodies, a hot line against your mound.
"Fuck me, and don't hold back."
He pulled in a hard breath, perhaps surprised by your choice of words. When you looked up at him, his pupils were blown with desire. "Yeah?"
In answer, you lift your hips against his. "I want to feel it when you come."
The sound that escaped Arthur then was something of an enraptured, heady moan. He'd never— not once— asked that of you. Not when he knew so well that a moment's bliss could cause so much trouble. Not when there was bliss enough between you already. But he'd wanted it all the same. Wanted to come undone with you around him.
Arthur's next kiss was ravenous. His hands skimmed up your sides and down again, till his left hand anchored at your shoulder, his right at your hip. His thumb pressed little circles into your flesh as his tongue dipped into your mouth, warm and yearning, the taste of you on his tongue. His hands cradled your face as he broke the kiss to look at you.
You can see the question in his eyes before he opens his mouth. "If I don't like it, you'll stop." It's not a command, but reassurance; reaffirmation of your trust.
He nods, holding your gaze. It makes your heart flutter; the way he always checks in with you. Not just in sex— he'd locked eyes with you and nodded in that way more times than you can count. Always checking, affirming that you understood each other.
Like every other time, you can almost see the shadow of doubt fall away from him after, banished from his features to be replaced— this time, less like those others— with lust.
"You want it?" He growls against your mouth, breath shaking, peppering your lips with little kisses. Distantly you wonder if his kisses leave smears on your skin. Arthur rocks his hips against you only once before reaching between you to guide himself into your waiting cunt.
Arthur is wordless at first, unable to verbalize anything but a groan, shuddering and lustful, as he seated himself into the wet warmth of you. You hiss out a wordless affirmation, hooking your heels behind him as your hands find his shoulders, your lips his cheek. It didn't take him long to recover, and as he started to move inside you, words of praise dripped like honey from his lips. "Y'feel so good," he gasped, pulling your hips up toward him at a different angle, "so tight and… so wet."
You grin a little shyly at that, lip caught between your teeth, looking up at him. You see he's smirking, looking down at you all sweet like he wasn't buried as deep inside you as he could go. "Said it was a lot," you murmur, fighting the urge to look away from his intense turquoise eyes.
Slanting his head down to kiss you, he shook his head slightly, having seen the apprehension in your face just now. "Don't you go thinkin'—" He broke off with a little sound as he ground himself deeper into you— "that I don't like it."
You nod, closing your eyes the better to feel him. He's cautious at first, like always. Almost too gentle. Like always, he shivers as he holds back, a coiled spring. His shoulders tight as he holds on to his self-control. Like always, it's a sound from you, a soft "oh," against his ear as he strokes deep, that coaxes him into moving with more confidence. Like he's suddenly remembered he knows what you like, what you need. Arthur kisses and nips at the shell of your ear as his slow, careful presses build into hard thrusts, his hands at your hips warm and steady against your heated skin.
Arthur moans wordlessly as you move your hands to clutch around his neck. Presses kisses against your ear with tender lips as he pistons his thick length in and out of you, making you gasp and shiver, your legs tightening around his hips. The wet, carnal sounds of the pace you'd asked for filling whatever space exists between you on the sun-warmed stone. Your fingers dig in to the flesh of his shoulders as that winding coil of pleasure deep and low in your body twists and builds until you're gasping once again, arching your back, the cramps of earlier a miraculously distant memory. He kisses you through your release, moaning himself at the feel of you clenching around him.
"Ar-thur," you pant, a stuttering breath punctuated by his hard, rhythmic thrusts. "Don't stop." One of your hands finds its way into his hair, your fingers twisting into the dirty blonde strands as the other flexes at his shoulder, nails leaving crescent-shaped claw marks. You press your eyes shut, lifting your hips to meet him. You wanted him to let go; he was always so intentional, so careful. "Harder."
Arthur groans at that, kissing you again needily as he gave you what you asked for, holding your hips tighter in his big hands as he fucks himself into you desperately. His cheeks are flushed as you look at him, though he doesn't let you for long, closing the space between your faces to kiss you hungrily, thumb of one hand caressing your hip bone as he pulls you closer, the other cradling your face. "My girl," he breathes against your mouth, a prayer not meant for sound, the soft words incongruous with the force of his desperate, erratic thrusts. "Bede, I'm—"
"I want it," you growl, reminding him, turning your face to nip the calloused palm against your cheek, watching him from the corner of your eye. The pads of his fingers are rough against your skin as you nuzzle your face into his palm, crying out as he strikes deep inside you.
Gently, Arthur turns your face back to look at him, his fingers stroking the ridge of your cheekbone. Mouth slightly open, he watches you as he comes, his eyes holding yours as you feel the warm spend of his pleasure inside you, hear him moan, enraptured, euphoric.
His other hand finds your other cheek as he settles down on top of you, hips giving a few more lazy thrusts as he comes down from his high. "Bede," he murmurs between kisses, cradling your face in his hands. "God, you're… I don't de—"
You cut his words off with a kiss, pulling his face down to yours urgently, shaking your head as his mouth meets yours. "You do." Your fingers work their way through his hair before one of your hands wanders back down to take one of his big hands in yours, holding his palm against your cheek.
"I love you, Arthur." It's not the first time you've said it. Even so the words lance through him just like it was, his eyes coming to meet yours full of unspoken wonder, like you'd just pointed out some mythical creature come to earth. It never stopped surprising you, when Arthur had so much love to give, that it seemed he'd so rarely been handed any to hold for himself.
He kisses you, desperate again, like he's on borrowed time. His hands on your face caress the softness of your cheeks, and he shakes his head slightly between kisses, looking at you almost shyly only after kissing you at least half a dozen times. These words came difficult to him, but you didn't mind; if all of this hadn't been one long declaration of his love, you didn't know what would be. "You're everythin' to me, Hellcat, I—" Arthur, perhaps trying to hide the sudden tightness in his voice, pressed his face into the space under your chin, kissing your throat. "I love you," he says from there, deep voice muffled by your skin, lips brushing against your pulse.
The two of you lay like that for a time, twined together on the sunbaked rock, marveling in gentle touch and affection whispered soft as the wind that played through your hair and the shifting leaves above. Of course Arthur noticed when the tightness from earlier returned to your brow, his own crumpling in concerned sympathy. "Hurtin' again?"
You nod, but reassure him with a smirk he knows well. "Ain't nearly so bad." Arthur's answering smile was soft in a way that was unusual; and you supposed that made sense. He'd not known many opportunities to heal hurt rather than deal it.
"C'mon, let's get cleaned up." He reached a hand to you as he stood, nodding in the direction of the nearby lake. Of course you took it, looking him up and down with your lower lip caught between your teeth. The two of you really had made a frightful mess.
The urge to apologize for it builds uncomfortably in your chest, until it's almost like a physical thing pressing on the back of your tongue. You keep it trapped behind your teeth as the two of you traipse down the tumbled hunks of granite that lead to the water's edge, slowing as the rough stone grew slick with algae and mud. Every now and then Arthur would glance back at you, grinning boyishly as he checked your footing. Your lip remained between your teeth but you grinned around it all the same, till Arthur leapt down the last stone to land calf-deep in the water's edge. "Christ," he half-yelped, half-laughed, refusing to let you tug away from his grip as you stopped. "C'mon in, the water's great," he drawled, clearly lying, tugging at your arm a little as you paused to scrutinize the water.
It was deeper in the middle, and the bottom looked mostly to be silt. Grinning at Arthur wickedly, you took his hand that held yours, adding your free hand to his wrist, and pulled the two of you full-bodied into the water. You'd not normally have been able to unbalance him so easily, but between the slickness of the floor and his utter beguilement by your nakedness, he fell with a yelp. The two of you surfaced the frigid water, spluttering and laughing, him in disbelief and you with mischief.
"Hellcat," Arthur admonished fondly, pulling you into his lap, his forgiveness never a question.
In reply you kissed him briefly, rubbing your hands over his bare chest in a playful reminder of why you were there. As your thumb wiped a smear of something in most cases unmentionable from his cheek, you cock your head to one side, a question supplanting your earlier urge to apologize. "Did you enjoy it?"
Arthur turned his own head to meet your lips, his "What?" breathed against your lips as his hands, warm even in the coldness of the water, came to rest on your back.
"Gettin' all covered in blood, an' causin' pleasure in place of pain?" You nipped his lip, unable to resist feeling the way he'd shiver all over from desire as your teeth played with his skin.
"Oh, darlin'," Arthur murmured, pulling you closer as he clearly forgot that you'd gone into the water to wash. "Ain't no finer feelin' in the world."
------------------------------
Lol well here... is that. I've been writing it since August? *folds hands academically* er hope you like it or whatever i'm totally not nervous about this one lads. Definitely shot myself in the foot with the timezones on this one but whatever
also apologies in advance if i take ages to reply to things i am going through it, where it is my ability to manage my time has vanished
I’ll forever love Arthur but I’m currently having a lustful affair with another character I’m too afraid to name but ……. It’s ok it’s ok he’s still in there just…. Pushed to the side now : ) for a bit only…. Arthur is still the ONLY one for me
AUTHOR'S NOTE: So uh… this is a bit raunchy. Like… it's probably not-so-canon because of the vulgarity of some of it but idc. In my universe, Arthur is a horny freaky fuck who loves his woman. I'm also trying to force myself into posting my works even when I don't think that they're worthwhile. That being said, I'd love to hear what you guys think of this as I don't think I've shared any of my Arthur letters before.
These darling, vintage dividers were found here.
CONTENT: Arthur Morgan, x fem!reader, letter, 1899 Canon, established ldr, anatomical terms, pussy pronouns, mentions of cunnilingus and piv, yearning, idk what else
Content below the cut. MDNI.
You and Arthur had been writing to one another ever since the night he left Southbound from Blackwater following the incident on the ferry. He had told you to sit put until things were safe enough for you to join him in his travels. As much as it hurt you to be away from him after nights of consistent, quality time with Arthur for the last few weeks, you obeyed his order because you knew he meant well. And you think that he is a man of his word.
Still, Arthur found time to send you written correspondence in the form of letters delivered every other day, if not everything day. His letters mostly consisted of how his day went, Reverend Swanson's drunken ramblings, odes sung by Uncle and others by the fire, and plans loudly spoken into their fragile existence by Dutch. In his actions, Arthur is brazen, but he is vulnerable in his words to you— expressing uncertainty for the future ahead but the anticipation to be with you again.
Each envelope is addressed as follows— your name complimented with a Ms. prefix, decent cursive handwriting. The sender is addressed as Tacitus Kilgore, the current alias for camp mail.
Every so often, Arthur places a small token of his travels; usually a newspaper clipping from the town he currently resides outside of, or a flower he collected while riding the trails. Each of these little treasures you place into a lockbox next to your bed alongside the letters he has sent before.
You run into Blackwater to collect your mail just as you finished work for the day at a laundering business. You are beaten down after a day of scrubbing, ringing, and powdering the more fortunate of people's clothing. You are excited to see if you have a letter waiting from your dearly beloved.
You walk into the quaint post office and approach the clerk with the scent of lye soap trailing you. The clerk finishes the transaction with the patron ahead of you before giving you a friendly smile.
"Ah, good afternoon, ma'am," he says while looking through the mail catalog, picking up your stack before handing them to you through the bars of the desk "I assume you're here for these."
"I am," you smile "Thank you very much."
The clerk tips his hat to you, as if to say See you same time tomorrow. He too had become accustomed to you receiving letters frequently.
You thumb through the mail as you walk into the street from the door of the post office being held open by an incoming patron. As you step away from the post office, you read—
West Elizabeth Co-Operative Bank; most likely the bank sending you a reminder of a past due payment on your small home in Blackwater. You pushed it to the back of the mail pile as you continue walking home and going through the mail. That's an issue for another time.
Then there it is.
Tacitus Kilgore.
You approach your home on the outside of town before pushing your way in the door with the letters still in your hand, excitement beginning to build inside of you.
You tear open the letter and begin reading. You could already tell this letter was different than any other he has written thus far.
My Beloved,
Ain’t a night gone by I don’t find myself thinkin’ of you. The fire dies down to embers, and I catch myself starin’ into it, seein’ the shape of your face, the way you looked at me that last night we shared. There’s a quiet out here that ought to be peaceful, but it ain’t. Not without you beside me.
I keep reachin’ across the bedroll like a fool, expectin’ to find you there. Damn near hurts, that empty space. I halfway wished I coulda taken you with us. The stars don’t shine quite the same without your eyes twinklin' hopefully under ’em.
Every town I ride through, I look for somethin’ that reminds me of you. The way the trees whisper their secrets through their coolin' breeze just like how you whisper sweet nothin's into to my ear. The way that the river runs through the caverns and canyon like how my blood runs hot when I get a whiff of your scent or a glance of your complexion. None of it comes close.
You got under my skin in ways I never thought anyone could. And I reckon when I do make it back, I ain’t lettin’ go of you for a long while.
I know you're quite the lady, and you're doin' me a service just by lettin' me into a place in your world, but I want you somethin' fierce, darlin'. I have these feelins of wantin' you in every way but ladylike ones when I get back to you. I've been thinkin' of you lately in a more libidinous fashion.
I think about little things at first; how your skin looks under the warm candlelight in your home and in my arms. Or how your hair falls over your shoulder as you lay across the bed while you do everythin' to seduce me into givin' you every single thing you want for as long as you want. How could I hunger for anythin' else when I have felt the curve of your breasts as I engulf myself into the valley between them? The thought of you givin' yourself to me night and night again feeds me more than any stew, wild game, or canned provision could ever.
And then I begin to think about more intimate things like the way she has those beautiful, pink folds that hold your spend as I suck and kiss your sweet pussy. The way your fingers dig into the roots of my hair as if to anchor you to this world, as my eyes find yours as you lose every bit of your inhibition to me.
I also think about how allurin' you look with my cock in your mouth and how your lips crown it with the most insatiable look in your eyes. I think about your hands milkin' my cock while you give him kisses as you smile at me with a devilish smirk donned with your shiny, wet lips.
I think about how your hips spread wide as I push your legs into your stomach as you lie helplessly against the bed so that I can split you open on my cock. I can almost hear the gasp you let out as I push in and hollow out your molten hole that I've claimed time and time again— but can't get enough of.
I think about the sounds you make as I claim your body as mine in a ritual, as now practiced as breathin'. Your Oh's and Aw's make headway into my mind more than the Word of God in the many-a-year's it has been preached to me. Your praises lift me into a higher bein'. I feel like God when I'm makin' love to you. Your body's calls are the only hymns worth listenin' to.
There is so much I want to do for and to you, darlin'. How crude of me is it to think about fuckin' you senseless while findin' all these places I want you to be. Do you like that I have these depraved thoughts as much as I have the sweet ones for you? Can I devour you whole while buildin' you everythin' you could ever want?
Thinkin' about these kind of things about you along with all the other off color things I've done and said in my life has probably damned me to hell. Still, I will go through an eternity of burnin' flesh and damnation if it meant I had another night between the legs of my angel of a woman.
I'm not sure what has gotten into me other than missin' you. I just thought I'd put it in words how badly I need you this way. As much as I want to ravage you, I want to be in the safe haven that is your presence. I want to always be yours, if you'll have me.
I'm tryin' my best to wrap things up so that I can come back to you and so that we can have these exceptionally deviant and criminally romantic nights once again together. Dutch has his plans and I owe it to him to carry on until it is all complete so that I can make my safe and prompt return to the woman I love.
Till then, keep a candle burnin’ for me, would you?
EEEK I COMMISSIONED THIS!! Thank u so much again, u were an absolute pleasure to work with and your art is AMAZING! Thank you 4 sharing ur man temporarily w/ my oc, u can keep Arfur after dis, u more than deserve him ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ hehehe
hiii!! since i know you like arthur morgan… could you maybe do him for kinktober with rough sex?? 🥺🙏 i just KNOW you’d absolutely kill it, your writing is always sooo good 💕
Ain’t foolin’ me, girl
// Arthur Morgan (Low Honor) × Fem!Detective’s Assistant!Reader
// Summary: You crossed paths with Arthur Morgan in Valentine, sharp-tongued and stubborn, and the two of you clashed hard enough to end up in a hotel bed.
// CW: NSFW, smut, hate sex, rough dynamics, pussy eating, face-sitting, spanking, choking, doggy style, creampie, cum eating, dirty talk, sharp-tongued reader.
// A/N: I had the biggest crush on this man when RDR2 was first released!🫠
The Valentine hotel stank of whiskey and stale tobacco, but you’d smelled worse.
You’d come here on business, shadowing your employer, taking notes, doing the work no one credited you for. You weren’t expecting Arthur Morgan in the lobby—and you sure as hell weren’t expecting him to follow you upstairs.
“You keep sniffin’ around like a hound,” he drawled, leaning in the doorway of your rented room, “but you ain’t no detective. Just a girl writin’ in someone else’s book.”
You crossed your arms, glaring. “And you’re just an outlaw rotting on borrowed time. Surprised you can still count the days.”
His grin showed teeth, equal parts amused and mean. “Sharp tongue. Let’s see how long that lasts.”
You should have thrown him out.
Instead, you shoved him back onto the bed and straddled his face before he could gloat. His laugh was muffled under your thighs, but when his tongue dragged through you, that sound turned into a hungry growl.
“Goddamn,” he rasped between licks, “taste better’n whiskey.” His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you down while his tongue worked relentless circles.
“Don’t get lazy now,” you snapped, grinding down against his mouth. “Outlaws aren’t worth much if they can’t keep up.”
Arthur slapped your ass sharp, making you jolt, before licking rougher, dirtier, moaning like a man starved. “Keep ridin’, girl. Drown me if you can. I’ll still come back for more.”
You cummed hard on his tongue, trembling as he lapped it all, his beard slick with you. When you slid off him, trying to catch your breath, he sat up, eyes dark and wild.
“You think you’re runnin’ this,” he growled, hauling you by the wrist. “But I’ll show you how this ends.”
Before you could quip back, he bent you over the bed, yanking your skirts up. His cock pressed hot and heavy against your soaked pussy, and then he shoved in one brutal stroke that knocked a cry from your throat.
“Detective’s helper, huh?” His voice was low and mean, his hips already pounding into you. “All that note-takin’, but you didn’t note how quick you’d spread for me.”
You clawed at the sheets, gasping, but managed, “Better than spreading your legs for a noose, outlaw.”
His hand wrapped around your throat, choking off your next retort. He leaned close, breath harsh in your ear. “Careful. I like it when you fight me. Makes it sweeter when I ruin you.”
His pace turned savage, the bed rattling under you, his free hand spanking your ass and then your pussy until you sobbed. Each smack made your cunt tighten around him, slick gushing down your thighs.
“Listen t’that,” he groaned, grinding hard. “Soakin’ me, beggin’ for more, but still tryin’ t’sound proud. You ain’t foolin’ me, girl.”
Your moans tore free, sharp and helpless, your body giving in even as your mouth refused. “Go on,” you spat between gasps. “Show me how long before you choke on your own pride.”
Arthur snarled, shoving two fingers into your mouth while fucking you harder. “Suck,” he ordered, watching your eyes water. When you did, he nearly lost it, cock twitching deep inside you.
You shattered first, clenching around him with a cry. Arthur groaned, grinding deep as he exploded inside of you, hot and thick, rutting until he was sure you were stuffed full.
He pulled out slow, smirking at the cum spilling down your thighs. With a wicked glint, he scooped it onto his fingers and pressed them against your lips. “Detective’s assistant,” he taunted, “time t’file your evidence.”
You glared even as you swallowed, licking him clean. “Hope you’re worth the paperwork.”
Arthur chuckled low, collapsing back on the bed, chest heaving. “Sweetheart, you’ll be investigatin’ me every damn night.”
.˚○ • ° CONTENT: Arthur Morgan; lh!chapter two, fem!reader, no established relationship, 18+ /MDNI; smut including piv, degradation kink, semi-public acts, bath
.˚○ • ° AUTHOR'S NOTE: I literally cannot keep this man away from the bath (I'm sorry), however this is loosely inspired by Two Mules for Sister Sara, a 1970's Western film starring none other than Western icon Clint Eastwood. I love the dynamic between Sara and Hogan in this film that this piece has a lot of nuance to that. I really hope you guys enjoy!
Around camp, there were whispers of something that piqued your interest immediately, and it was that Arthur loved getting deluxe baths— at least that's what all the men in camp would whisper around the campfire. For majority of the men in camp, baths were very occasional and almost never included a bath-girl unless it was a special occasion. But for Arthur, it was something more; a break in his brute and abrasive nature to feel human contact that wasn't made with malice.
For Arthur, he kept up with his hygiene and felt as though the touch of a woman briefly swept away his life's solace. With every reverent and practiced touch of the woman who had designated herself to wash the grime from men from near and far, a little bit of Arthur's stress and solitude also circled the drain once the bath was over. It wasn't genuine physical affection from someone who truly loved Arthur, but it was enough for the rolling stone as he was. This was something that the men in camp would never understand about him.
You had thought about how a bath in an actual, warm basin would feel about now. You had been worked to the bone by Ms. Grimshaw after an even more grueling winter while hiding in the cold hell that was Colter— you suggested to yourself that you would take a page from ol' Arthur's book and visit the hotel for the night for a bath.
Once your duties for the day were done, you piled yourself and a change of clothing onto a horse and headed to Valentine. You had been anticipating this bath for the last few days, so you kicked your heels into the nag as much as you could without being inhumane so that you could quickly arrive to the hotel in Valentine.
The Saints Hotel smelled faintly of soap from the bath suites, as well as whiskey as bar-goers begin to saturate the street on their way back home for the night, as well as that familiar mix of the respectable and the seedy that clung to its walls. Upstairs, the hallway stretched quiet, lined with doors that all looked the same.
You had never taken one of these baths before, though you’d heard plenty of stories from camp. Stories that Arthur, of all people, wasn’t shy about paying for one now and again. It was silly to dwell on it, maybe, but curiosity had gotten the better of you. You told yourself it was about comfort — about finally seeing what all the fuss was about — but deep down, some restless part of you wanted to know what it was like, the way he must’ve experienced it.
Steam clung to the air as you stepped into the private room you had paid for with the money from a long day's work, the clatter of the tin tub already filled and waiting. The water shimmered with heat, a little cloud rising from its surface. You slipped free of your clothes, letting them fall into a careless heap, and lowered yourself into the bath.
The warmth wrapped around you instantly, chasing away the ache of trail dust and saddle wear. The hotel might’ve been far from luxury, but in that moment, with hot water lapping against your skin and the faint creak of the building around you, it felt close enough.
You sank deeper into the water, until it lapped at your collarbone and kissed your throat. The tin walls of the tub groaned faintly under the shift of your weight, but the sound only made the moment feel more private, more indulgent.
Heat seeped into your muscles, loosening the knots in your shoulders, curling warm fingers around your spine. It felt sinful in its own way — not for what it was, but for how good it felt, how rare it was to have such comfort to yourself.
You tilted your head back against the rim, letting your eyes flutter shut, steam curling against your damp lashes. Every sense sharpened. The faint smell of lye soap clung to the air, mixing with something sweeter — lavender, maybe — carried on the water’s surface. Droplets slid down your bare skin, racing toward the waterline. You let your arms float just beneath the surface, the weight of them gone as the heat swallowed you whole.
And yet, in the back of your mind, the rumors lingered. Arthur and his taste for the hotel baths, for the women who sometimes came with them. You thought of his rough voice, the way it rasped when he spoke, his eyes dark and unreadable under the brim of his hat. What did he look like in a place like this? Relaxed? Vulnerable? Or still carrying that same edge that made people wary of crossing him?
The thought tugged at you unexpectedly, sending a little shiver through the heat. You slid a little deeper into the water, until it rippled just beneath your chin, as if to chase the idea away.
The quiet creak of the building lulled you, half-drifting into a daze, until the latch on the door suddenly gave a sharp click.
Your eyes flew open just as the door swung inward.
Arthur unexpectedly stepped in, shoulders hunched like he was expecting nothing more than an empty room. His hat was tipped low, a cigarette hanging lazy from his mouth, boots thudding against the floorboards. He froze mid-step when he saw you.
“...Ah, hell,” he muttered, jerking upright. Smoke curled from his lips as his eyes went wide, then darted away as quick as they’d landed on you. “Sorry—damn door was unlocked. Thought this one was—” His words stumbled, caught in his throat. He half-turned as if to leave, though his broad frame lingered in the doorway.
Water lapped softly against the sides of the tub as you straightened, heat blooming in your cheeks that had nothing to do with the bath. Arthur, the very man camp whispers had filled your head with, standing there like some guilty boy caught where he didn’t belong.
“Thought this one was empty, did ya?” you asked, tilting your chin just enough to watch him squirm. The steam clung thick around you, curling up past your shoulders, but you didn’t sink down to hide.
Arthur cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one boot to the other. “Yeah. I mean… usually is. Ain’t tryin’ to… intrude or nothin’.” He gestured vaguely with his hand, cigarette bobbing between his fingers, eyes fixed firmly on the floorboards instead of you.
You arched a brow. “Funny. Heard you were no stranger to these baths.”
That made him glance up, just quick, before his gaze snapped away again. The tips of his ears went red beneath the brim of his hat. “Camp talk, huh? Figures.” His voice carried that familiar gravel, but there was something unsteady beneath it.
You let a small smile tug at your mouth, leaning an arm over the rim of the tub, drops trailing down your skin. “So, which is it then? Accident? Or habit?”
Arthur dragged a hand over his beard, exhaling smoke slow as if buying himself time. “Lady, I don’t make a habit of walkin’ in on folks takin’ their damn bath.” His tone was firm, but his eyes betrayed him when they flicked — just once — back toward you.
The air hung heavy between you, steam and silence pressing close.
You swirled your fingers lazily through the water, pretending not to notice how tightly Arthur’s jaw worked as he stood there. “Well,” you said lightly, “can’t say I mind the company. Suppose if you were lookin’ for a bath, you could always pull up a chair and wait your turn.”
Arthur made a low noise in his throat, something between a grunt and a laugh, though he didn’t look amused. “Don’t tempt me. I’ll be outta your hair.”
But he didn’t move.
“Funny,” you went on, tilting your head. “You’ve got one foot pointed toward the hall, but the rest of you’s glued to the floor.”
That earned you a quick look — sharp, but not unkind. “You always this mouthy when you’re sittin’ naked in a tub?”
You grinned, heat prickling at your cheeks though you refused to let him see you flinch. “Only when a man barges in uninvited. Thought you were the polite type.”
Arthur huffed through his nose, cigarette burning down between his fingers. “Ain’t got much to say for myself right now.” His eyes flicked your way again, just a breath too long before they darted back to the smoke curling from his hand.
You leaned back against the rim, letting the water lap higher up your chest, teasing him without needing to say it outright. “Reckon you’re more flustered than me, Mister Morgan. Didn’t think I’d ever see the day.”
Arthur muttered something low — probably a curse — and raked his hand through his hair beneath his hat. His ears were burning red now, and the sight of it only made your smirk widen.
Arthur’s growl of a curse trailed into silence, smoke drifting in the space between you. For a long moment, he didn’t speak — didn’t move — just stood there with his shoulders tight, as if the weight of the room pressed down on him.
And then, slowly, his gaze lifted.
Not the quick, guilty glance he’d been giving before, but steady. Heavy. His eyes swept over you, lingering in a way that made the air grow hotter than the bathwater. There was no hiding the way his throat worked as he swallowed hard, or how his grip on the cigarette tightened until ash flaked to the floor.
Your smirk faltered, not out of shame, but because of the way that look sank into you — sharp, hungry, like he’d already stripped you down in his mind a dozen times before this.
“Y’oughta stop lookin’ at me like that,” you murmured, your voice softer now, the teasing edge caught somewhere between nerves and want.
Arthur’s jaw flexed. He took one step closer, boots heavy on the wooden floorboards. “Ain’t lookin’ at you any way you don’t already know.”
The water rippled around you as your breath caught. Steam curled thicker in the small room, wrapping both of you in it. Neither of you spoke, the silence a taut wire between the rim of your tub and the man looming near its edge.
Arthur’s boots creaked against the floor as he lingered just out of reach, smoke curling from the cigarette still dangling between his fingers. His eyes didn’t waver this time, and it left your skin prickling hotter than the bath itself.
“You’re a damn minx,” he said finally, voice low and rough. “Always teasin’ folk at camp. Smilin’ at me like you don’t know what it does. Reckon you been workin’ me over since the day we met.”
You arched a brow, your pulse thudding in your throat. “So it’s my fault you can’t keep your head straight?”
Arthur let out a humorless huff, tossing the spent cigarette into the water bucket by the door. His hand raked over his beard, then fell uselessly to his side. “Don’t play coy. You know exactly what you’re doin’. You get under my skin worse than anyone else ever could.”
The way he said it — part accusation, part confession — set your heart pounding. He took another step toward the tub, the wood groaning under his weight, the scent of tobacco and leather cutting through the lavender steam.
“And here I am,” he went on, voice darkening, “stumblin’ into your damn bath like a fool, starin’ at you like I ain’t got no shame left.”
You leaned back against the rim, letting the water lap higher across your chest, daring him with nothing more than the slow curve of your smile. “Then maybe you oughta stop stumbling and decide what you’re gonna do about it.”
Arthur’s eyes narrowed, the muscle in his jaw ticking as the silence stretched thin as wire between you.
Arthur’s fists clenched at his sides, the tendons in his forearms taut as if he were holding himself back with every ounce of willpower he had left. His gaze stayed locked on you, burning, but he didn’t move closer.
“Shouldn’t,” he muttered under his breath, almost like he was reminding himself. “Ain’t right. Not here. Not like this.” His voice was low, ragged, but there was no conviction in it.
The steam curled between you both, carrying his scent across the space, leather and smoke and something warmer beneath. You could see the struggle written all over him — the way he shifted his weight like a caged animal, the way his jaw worked as though grinding down words he couldn’t let slip.
You leaned forward in the water, droplets spilling over the rim of the tub, your eyes never leaving his. “Then why are you still standin’ there?” you asked softly, the edge of a dare in your tone.
Arthur’s breath caught, shoulders stiffening. “’Cause if I get any closer,” he rasped, “I ain’t walkin’ outta here without what I want.”
That was all you needed. You reached out, your wet fingers brushing the rough denim of his thigh, then curling into the fabric to tug him forward. He stumbled the half-step willingly, bracing his hand against the wall beside the tub as you drew him closer, heat radiating off him in waves.
His breath came hard, his chest rising and falling quick, and you could see the storm behind his eyes — every line of restraint ready to snap.
Arthur’s hand flexed against the wall, knuckles pale as if he could hold himself back by sheer force. But the moment your grip tightened on his thigh, his resolve broke like glass.
In a sudden, rough motion, he leaned down and caught your mouth with his. The kiss was searing, desperate, his beard scratching against your damp skin as his lips claimed yours. Water sloshed violently against the tin tub as you gasped into him, your hands rising from the bath to clutch at the front of his shirt.
He groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating against your lips, and deepened the kiss, tasting you like he’d been starving for it. His other hand left the wall, broad palm bracing the back of your head as if he couldn’t stand the thought of letting you slip away.
The steam wrapped around you both, thick and suffocating, every sense narrowing down to the heat of his mouth and the press of his body crowding the tub’s edge.
“Damn you,” Arthur muttered against your lips, though he didn’t stop kissing you, didn’t even slow. “You don’t know what you’ve gone and started.”
But the way his tongue slid past your lips, the way his hand fisted in your hair, betrayed that he was already lost to it.
Arthur didn’t give you a chance to answer. With another hungry kiss, he braced one hand on the tub’s rim and swung a leg over, boots clattering against the tin as water sloshed up in protest. The bath wasn’t made for two, but he didn’t care, his broad frame forcing its way in until he was straddling the narrow space, water soaking into his clothes instantly.
You gasped as the tub rocked beneath you, your body pressed back by the sheer weight of him crowding in. His hands were everywhere — rough palms skimming over your wet shoulders, sliding down your arms, then cupping your face before dragging to your throat. He kissed you like a man drowning, like every rumor you’d ever heard had only scratched the surface of how badly he wanted.
Water spilled over the sides, pooling across the warped floorboards, but neither of you gave a damn. His mouth left yours just long enough to trail hot, biting kisses along your jaw and down to the damp hollow of your throat.
“Hell with it,” Arthur growled against your skin, voice hoarse and breaking. “Ain’t walkin’ away now.”
You pulled at his shirt, clinging to him with both hands as the steam wrapped tighter, hotter, until it was impossible to tell where the bath ended and his heat began.
Arthur’s soaked clothes clung to him, heavy and dark from the water, but his hands never faltered as they roamed over you. He kissed down the slope of your neck, the scrape of his beard rough against your skin, his breath hot in the steam-thick air.
Your fingers worked quickly at his shirt, tugging the clinging fabric up over his chest. It peeled away with a wet slap, plastered and heavy, and you tossed it aside without caring where it landed. Arthur grunted, the sound low and primal, as your hands spread over his chest, the heat of his skin radiating through the damp.
“Minx,” he muttered again, lips grazing your ear, though the word came out more like a groan than an accusation. His mouth caught yours, slower this time, dragging and needy, while his hand traced down your slick stomach beneath the water, following the curve of your body with reverence that didn’t match the roughness of his grip.
You arched into him, breath catching, as his fingers teased lower — not quite touching where you ached most, but close enough to make your body clench in want. He smirked against your lips, feeling your reaction.
“Thought you were just here for a bath,” he rasped, pulling back to look at you, water dripping from his hair where his hat had long since fallen aside. “But you been waitin’ on me, ain’t ya?”
You answered by tugging at his belt under the water, your fingers fumbling at the buckle until he caught your wrist, his eyes dark with warning and hunger all at once.
The silence between you was deafening, broken only by the steady drip of water onto the floorboards and the rush of your shallow breaths.
Arthur’s grip on your wrist lingered, the weight of his stare pressing into you, but then he let out a rough breath and released you. Without another word, his free hand dropped to his belt, tugging the leather strap loose with a wet snap.
The sound alone sent a rush of heat curling low in your stomach.
His eyes never left yours as he worked the buckle open, slow and deliberate, as though daring you to look away. You didn’t. Your gaze followed every movement, the scrape of metal, the clink of buttons, the dark fabric peeling down his thighs heavy with water. You reached out to help, fingers slipping against the soaked denim until you shoved it down, past his hips, freeing the hard length already straining for you.
Arthur hissed through his teeth, water rippling as he stepped out of the last of it. Naked now, his body was all heat and muscle, broad shoulders gleaming in the steam, scars catching the dim lamplight.
“Christ,” you whispered, unable to stop yourself.
He smirked, low and dangerous, before leaning down to capture your mouth again, the kiss hard and claiming. His hands slid beneath the water, shoving at your thighs until they parted for him. He settled between them, the weight of his body forcing the tub to groan under you both.
The head of his cock brushed against your slick folds, the barest tease, making you jolt against the water. Arthur groaned into your mouth, his forehead pressing against yours as he forced himself to hold still, savoring the feel of you.
“You’re playin’ with fire, darlin’,” he rasped, voice broken with want.
Arthur lingered only a moment longer, cock pressing heavy against you beneath the water, before he suddenly pulled back with a sharp curse.
“Not like this,” he growled, voice rough and ragged. He braced both hands on the rim of the tub, pushing himself upright, water streaming off his chest. His eyes cut down to you, dark and hungry, before his hands slid beneath your arms and hauled you forward.
You let out a startled gasp as he guided you toward the side of the tub, water sloshing violently as your body shifted. His strength was overwhelming, rough but steady, as he bent you forward over the rim until your chest pressed against the cool tin and your ass was lifted from the water, slick and exposed to him.
“Goddamn tease,” Arthur muttered, his large hands gripping your hips, kneading possessively as he spread you open. His breath hitched at the sight of you bared for him, steam curling between your bodies. “Ain’t gonna be gentle now… you hear me?”
Your answer was a breathless whimper, your fingers clawing at the rim of the tub for balance.
He didn’t wait any longer. With a guttural groan, Arthur pressed the thick head of his cock against your entrance, pushing past your folds in one slow, forceful thrust that made the tin walls creak under your combined weight. The stretch was deep, overwhelming, water spilling over the side with the sheer force of it.
“Christ Almighty…” Arthur rasped, his voice breaking into a growl as he sank fully into you, his hips grinding flush against your ass. “Tight little thing… drivin’ me outta my goddamn mind.”
He pulled back just enough to slam forward again, the tub rocking violently beneath you, his groan low and guttural as he set a relentless pace.
The tin shrieked under the rhythm of his thrusts, each snap of his hips rocking you harder into the side of the tub. Water splashed in violent waves over the rim, soaking the floor, but Arthur didn’t give a damn — his whole world was narrowed down to the feel of you wrapped around him.
“Fuckin’ knew you’d be trouble,” he growled, his voice a rasp in your ear as he bent over your back. His beard scraped your damp skin when he nipped at your shoulder, his thrusts deep and punishing. “Struttin’ ‘round camp like a tease, smilin’ like you don’t know what that sweet little ass does to me.”
Your hands slipped on the slick tin, knuckles whitening as you fought to keep your grip. Arthur’s hands tightened at your hips, bruising, dragging you back into every brutal thrust as if he couldn’t get you close enough.
“Beg for it,” he snarled, his breath hot against your ear. “Let me hear you say it. That you wanted me in here, that you wanted it like this.”
Your answer came out choked, high and desperate, and his answering groan was pure filth, the sound of a man too far gone to care who might hear.
“Good girl,” Arthur spat, slamming into you so hard the tub shuddered. “Gonna ruin you, darlin’. Gonna have you remember me every time you hear water hittin’ a basin.”
His pace grew ragged, brutal, the room filled with the slap of wet skin, the crash of water, and his guttural curses spilling into the steam.
Arthur’s thrusts came hard and relentless, each one slamming you against the rim of the tub until the metal bit into your ribs. The sound of water crashing over the sides mixed with the ragged growls tearing from his throat.
“Look at you,” he panted, dragging one big hand up your back until it tangled in your wet hair. He yanked your head back just enough to make your spine arch. “Bent over this damn tub, takin’ my cock like you were made for it. Nothin’ but a needy little thing.”
Your cry echoed against the tile, swallowed by the thick steam. Arthur snarled in response, the sound guttural, raw, as he snapped his hips forward harder.
His other hand slid from your hip down between your thighs, his calloused fingers finding your swollen clit. He rubbed in rough circles, matching the savage rhythm of his thrusts. “Soakin’ me through,” he rasped, his voice strained. “Hot little cunt’s got me losin’ my damn head.”
The tub rocked violently under his weight, the floorboards beneath groaning with every slam of his hips. His chest was pressed to your back now, every breath a hot scrape against your ear, every word broken with want.
“Gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t stand straight,” he growled, nipping at the soft curve of your shoulder. “Mark you up so bad, camp won’t need rumors no more. They’ll see for themselves who you belong to.”
The words sent heat spiraling through you, your body clenching tighter around him, drawing a vicious curse from his lips. He fucked you deeper, harder, chasing the sound of your cries with every savage thrust.
Your cheek is pressed against the cool porcelain of the tub, the sound of the water sloshing with every movement making the moment feel dirtier, more forbidden. Arthur’s big hands grip your hips tight, dragging you back onto him with an authority that leaves no room for questions. His thrusts are deep, steady, and filthy, making your body jolt against the rim of the tub with each snap of his hips.
“Christ…” Arthur mutters through gritted teeth, his voice low and raw, forehead damp with sweat. “Knew you were a damn tease… struttin’ ‘round camp, lookin’ at me with those eyes… Knew you’d feel this good.”
The blunt force of his body against yours steals your breath, your nails scratching against the side of the tub as you struggle to hold on. His words dig into you just as much as his cock does, every sharp roll of his hips pulling a shameless sound from your lips. Arthur leans forward over your back, his chest pressing to your damp skin, his breath hot against your ear as he growls,
“Minx. You like this? Bein’ taken like some whore in a bath you had no business gettin’ into?”
Your body quivers under him, the mix of his rough words and relentless pace tearing you open in the most delicious way.
Arthur doesn’t soften—if anything, he doubles down. His grip on your hips is bruising now, dragging you back to meet every ruthless snap of his hips until the wet slap of skin echoes louder than the splashing water.
“Yeah… that’s it,” he growls, voice low and jagged against your ear. “Ain’t so high and mighty now, are ya? All it took was my cock, bendin’ you over like you been beggin’ for.”
Your cry gets swallowed by the steam and the creak of the tub as Arthur drives into you, relentless and raw. One of his hands slides up to the small of your back, pressing you down just enough so he can slam deeper, harder, forcing you to take every inch whether you can breathe through it or not.
“Always knew you were trouble,” he mutters, the words half a groan, half a curse. “Walkin’ ‘round camp, batin’ me… now look at you. Nothin’ but my little tease, finally fucked the way you deserve.”
The sound of his voice and the savage rhythm of his body leave you shuddering, every inch of you alight with the filthy reality of being taken exactly how he wants you.
Arthur’s pace grows ragged, heavier, like a man losing the last threads of control. His chest heaves against your back, every thrust harder than the last until he’s pounding into you with raw, unrestrained need.
“Goddamn… can’t hold back…” he grits out, the words spilling rough and desperate from his throat. His grip on your hips tightens, pulling you flush against him as he drives in to the hilt, burying himself so deep you swear he’ll never let you go.
The water splashes over the rim of the tub as he slams forward one last time, groaning low and guttural into your shoulder as his release floods you, hot and heavy. His body trembles with the force of it, his hips jerking against yours as he empties himself inside you, each pulse of him matched by a growl you feel all the way through your bones.
For a moment, the world is nothing but steam, sweat, and the sound of Arthur’s rough breathing filling the small room. He stays there, pressed deep inside you, holding you in place like he can’t stand the thought of letting go.
Arthur lingers for only a breath before he pulls out with a wet, lewd sound, leaving you aching and open in the cooling bathwater. He exhales hard through his nose, adjusting his belt with rough hands, jaw tight like he’s trying to reel himself back under control.
“Hell…” he mutters.
No tenderness follows. He doesn’t kiss your shoulder, doesn’t soften the sting of his words—he just snatches his hat from where it tipped on the floor and sets it back on his head, eyes burning into you with something unreadable.
“You wanted t’see what all the fuss was about?” His voice is gravel, low and sharp. “Now you know.”
Arthur then turns toward the door, leaving you sprawled over the side of the tub, still catching your breath, skin marked by the proof of what just happened.
Arthur doesn’t look back. The door creaks open, boots heavy on the wooden floorboards as he steps out. A draft rolls in from the hall, replacing the steam with a bite of cool air, and then the door shuts with a solid thunk.
Silence fills the bathroom, broken only by the soft ripple of water around you. The only trace of him is the sting of his grip on your hips, the ache low in your belly, and the ghost of his rough voice still echoing in your head.
He left you there exactly as he found you—only now you know the truth of those rumors, and just how dangerous giving in to Arthur can be.
Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader
Word Count: 2.1k
Tags: fluff, smut, oral sex (f!receiving), soft!arthur, early relationship dynamics, skinny dipping, summer vibes, lake setting, aftercare
A/N: The way I wanted to finish and upload this in like July because it's such a summer-y one-shot 😭 Technically, tomorrow is the last day of summer (at least in the Northern Hemisphere), so it still works! Hope y'all enjoy <3
Divider Credit: @dollywons (+ all pics from pinterest!)
The amber sun unfurls across the edges of camp, warm and lazy, bringing the kind of heat that makes the air feel thick and heavy with the promise of a sweltering day. Arthur finds you sitting on the edge of your bedroll, nightgown clinging like a second skin while you try to pretend you're not already miserable.
"You wanna get outta here for a while?" he asks, voice still rough with sleep.
You blink up at him. "Where to?"
He glances past the trees surrounding camp, scuffing the dirt with his boot. "Know a lake a ways off. Not too many bugs, nobody else around." There's a pause in his words. "Figure it's too damn hot to be doin' much else today."
A sly smile spreads across your face despite the flutter in your stomach. "Are you tryin’ to court me, Arthur Morgan?"
He snorts. "Ain’t askin’ for your hand, just your company."
"Mhm," you hum while getting to your feet. "You're bringin' lunch."
He grumbles something about you being a demanding little thing, but goes off to start packing anyway.
By the time you're both saddled up, the sun's even higher and burning at your skin. The trail stretches quiet except for the melodic trill of meadowlarks and the few distant caws of crows. It winds through tall grass and scattered trees while your mares move at an easy pace through dappled shade.
When the path finally opens into a hidden clearing, you see Arthur wasn't lying. The spot lies well-hidden behind a stand of cottonwoods, where soft earth gives way to glistening blue water that reflects the cloudless sky like a mirror.
You dismount and stretch your arms overhead, limbs cracking slightly. Arthur ties off the horses with practiced efficiency. His large, calloused hands work the knots with surprising gentleness. He watches you with that look he always gets when he thinks you're not paying attention: eyes half-lidded, softened with something like affection. You pretend not to notice, but warmth spreads throughout your chest anyway.
"This is nice," you murmur, settling into the tall grass and twirling at the slender blades with your fingers. "Real nice."
Arthur grunts in agreement as he lowers himself down next to you, hat tilted low and one leg bent. His shoulder brushes yours on the way down, and the familiar scent of him floods your senses. You don't move away.
A slight breeze picks up, carrying the sweet fragrance of wildflowers from across the lake as sweat gathers at the base of your neck.
"Bring a lot of girls out here?" you ask, half-joking.
Arthur huffs, his expression tightening. "No."
You can't help but grin, pleased with his response, as you lean back onto your palms and tilt your head toward the sun. "Pretty little place like this… thought someone might’ve beat me to it."
He stays quiet for a moment too long, fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves. When he speaks again, his voice comes softer, almost vulnerable. "Only brought you."
The words hit differently than you expected and settle somewhere deep in your chest. You turn to look at him, but his eyes are still hidden under the brim of his hat.
A comfortable silence stretches between you, filled with the hazy buzz of bees working the clover and the distant splash of a fish breaking through the water. You sigh dramatically, flopping back onto the grass with a soft thud.
“Too hot to sit still,” you mutter. “Think I’m gonna melt into the dirt.”
Arthur lets out a chuckle, the sound rumbling low in his chest. "Wouldn't want that."
You lift your head and squint toward the lake, its surface glinting in the sunlight like scattered diamonds. “Reckon that water’s callin’ my name.”
“That right?” he drawls lazily.
You’re already unlacing your boots, fingers working quickly at the worn leather. “Damn right.”
He watches as you stand and dust off your skirt before sauntering toward the water's edge. The lake laps at your toes, bitterly cold at first, but soon blissful. You step in deeper, lifting your hem as you go.
“You’re welcome to join me, y'know,” you call back to Arthur, water up to your knees now, sending ripples across the surface.
Arthur shifts in the grass. “Ain’t got nothin’ dry to change into."
“Who said anything about comin’ in with your clothes on?”
That gets his full attention. He sits up straighter, like he’s not sure he heard you right. "You serious?"
Your heart hammers against your ribs, but you force your voice to stay steady as you glance over your shoulder with a smirk. "What? You said no one's gonna find us out here."
His mouth opens, then closes. A pink flush creeps up his neck. The sight only feeds the bold, reckless fire already burning within you.
Turning your back to him, you pull your blouse over your head, the fabric catching briefly before coming free. The humid air kisses your now bare shoulders. You work at the buttons of your skirt, slow and steady despite the slight tremble in your fingers. Arthur's gaze is heavy and warm as the sun on your back.
You fold the clothes neatly on a dry patch of rock before stepping deeper into the lake. The water curls around your hips, and a soft sigh escapes your lips. You’re down to your underthings now, sheer and clinging to your curves.
Behind you, you hear the clink of a belt buckle and the sharp hiss of a zipper. The thunk of his hat hitting the grass. A low curse as he fumbles with the buttons of his shirt before the soft rustle of clothes being shed. You can't help but giggle at his sudden clumsiness.
Looking back again, you catch Arthur stepping into the water, fully bare. Heat curls low in your belly.
Amusement dances in his blue-green eyes when he notices your expression. “You starin’?”
“Maybe,” you reply, trying to sound innocent. “You gonna complain?”
“…Didn’t say that.”
You lift your arms, resting them lightly on his shoulders as he stops in front of you. His hands hover at your waist, not quite touching, while his eyes flick to yours for permission.
You nod, barely, breath caught in your throat.
His fingers find the damp fabric at your hips, slow and careful as he eases the drawers down beneath the water. He takes his time, like he’s unwrapping something precious. The fabric peels away, weightless in the lake, and drifts free as he lets it go.
Then his hands rise again, fingertips brushing your ribs through the soaked camisole.
“This too?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
You nod again. “Yeah.”
Soon you’re standing bare, chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths, skin kissed by sun and lake. His breath catches as if he’s seeing something holy. The reverence in his expression makes your knees weak.
"You're something else," he murmurs, voice low and raspy.
You try to hide your pink-tinted cheeks behind your damp hair. "That so?"
He leans in, just a little, close enough to feel his breath on your face. “It is. Could spend the whole damn day lookin’ at you.”
You roll your eyes, but smile shyly. “Charmer.”
Before the moment can get too heavy, you splash a handful of water right at him.
Arthur sputters, wiping at his face with his hand. “You little—!”
You’re already laughing, the sound bright and clear across the water as you wade deeper into the lake. “What? You looked like you needed coolin’ off.”
He follows, slow and prowling, eyes glittering under his wet lashes. “You keep on like that, I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson.”
You smirk as you back away teasingly. “I might like that.”
Arthur catches you by the wrist, his grip firm but gentle. For a moment, you're both still grinning from the game. But then his thumb brushes across your pulse point and your laughter dies in your throat. His expression changes into something more serious and intent.
He pulls you slowly toward him as his other hand comes up to cradle the side of your face. You lean in without thinking, drawn to him like a moth to flame.
The kiss is warm, open-mouthed, and tastes faintly of salt and longing. His hands anchor at your hips while yours tangle in his hair.
Eventually, you breaks away. He leans his forehead against yours, and the two of you breathe together. “Haven't had a day like this in a long time.”
You’re about to say something back, but he nudges your nose with his, voice going low again, intimate. “Let me take care of you.”
You let him guide you slowly through the shallows toward a flat rock just above the waterline, smooth and warm from the sun. He helps you up and you lean back on your elbows, legs still submerged up to your calves.
From the shallows, Arthur starts to slowly slide his hands up your thighs. He kisses one knee, then higher, and the scrape of his stubble draws a twitch from you, which he doesn't fail to notice. “Don’t want to push… You just say if it’s too much.”
You shake your head as your eyes fall shut. "No... keep goin’.”
His quiet smile curls against your leg.
Arthur continues by kissing along your thighs with lazy devotion. He licks teasing stripes and leaves little love bites while his large hands roam.
And then his mouth is exactly where you need it: hot and eager, like he’s been thinking about this for longer than he’d ever admit. He works slowly, testing what you like and learning every little sound you make. One hand spreads you open further. The other keeps you steady as the lake breeze ghosts over your flushed skin.
You arch, fingers scrambling for grip on the slick rock. "Arthur... Oh, yes..."
He groans at your pleading moans. Now that he’s found the rhythm that unravels you, his tongue begins to move with more pressure and focus. As he moves deeper, his nose brushes against your swollen clit, and profanities pour from you in a breathless rush.
It’s all too much and somehow not enough. The heat coils tighter, pleasure mounting with every graze of his teeth, every breath against your warmth. The world narrows to the slick slide of his mouth. The pressure builds slow and sharp, cresting higher with each stroke, until it breaks. Suddenly, your release rolls through you like summer thunder. You're gasping and weightless in its wake.
Arthur doesn’t stop. He drinks from you like a man starved. It's as if you’re something rare, sweeter than candy, and meant only for him.
He only lets go when you go soft beneath him, weak from his ministrations. One last kiss is pressed to your trembling thigh before he rests his cheek there. "You alright?"
You reach down with a dazed little laugh and slot your fingers into his damp hair. “More than alright.”
Later, you're both sprawled out on a patch of sun-warmed grass, bare bodies still damp in places. The lake glints nearby while cicadas hum lazily in the trees. Arthur lies beside you, propped on one elbow with the tin of wild strawberries he packed between you.
He picks one up and holds it out to your lips.
“Open,” he says, voice gentle. The pad of his thumb brushes your bottom lip.
You let him feed you, tongue catching just the edge of his fingertip as the berry bursts sweet in your mouth.
"Could stay like this forever," he muses. He's not looking at the lake or the sky. Just at you.
“You mean that?” you ask, a little unsure.
His brow furrows a little. “’Course I do.”
Something shifts in the quiet between you once more.
He stretches out flat beside you, arm curled under his head, and you rest your cheek against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. The fiery sun starts to dip low in the sky.
A minute passes as Arthur runs his fingers through your hair. Then another.
“Y’ever think about… after all this?” you whisper.
Arthur hums, then nods. “Sometimes.”
“What’s it look like?”
He glances down at you, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Looks a whole lot like this.”
You let yourself smile wild and unguarded.
Before long, your breathing slows, and his does too. The wind rustles the tall grass, the frogs begin their evening symphony, and the two of stay tangled together in warmth and the weightless kind of love that makes the world feel simple.
. ݁₊᪥⋆. ݁ AUTHOR'S NOTE: There is something really easy for me to write about an estranged marriage being temporarily mended by some love-making. Some may call it personal experience, I call it using pieces of my lore to entertain others. Enjoy this moody, and somewhat dreary piece of mine— there will eventually be a companion piece to this.
"It'll be temporary, darlin'," your lover had promised you now years ago.
From the beginning, you knew the cost of courting a dreamer turned outlaw. There had been so many chances for you to run, and to leave with no trace, but your devotion to Arthur was set in stone; you would be whatever and wherever he needed you to be. So when it became apparent that you needed a life less nomadic, Arthur made it happen by scrounging up the money needed to put you in a home for him to return to when he wasn't out running with the gang.
At first, you were stupidly optimistic, as young lovers tend to do. Arthur built the small shack outside of the East Grizzlies with promises that he naively didn't think he would be breaking to you— like that the time with the gang was almost finished, and that the two of you would be settling down soon enough. But that was some years ago now, and you were still waiting.
Years went by since the house of promises was brought up, and Arthur would only come back every few months and only for a few days. Each time kept him away even longer, and you hadn't seen him in two years by this point. He did what he could without sacrificing his pledge to the gang, including adopting a farm dog, Hank, who became something like the family that Arthur had promised years ago. But now, even Hank was running on fumes, as we're you.
In years past, Arthur had given you everything— a home, love, small luxuries and money that would make a debutante blush— all in an attempt to woo you when things became stagnant between you two due to the time apart. All the gifts that Arthur would bring to show you he had missed you began to feel invaluable. It began to feel like you could ask Arthur for nothing at all, and he as still wouldn't have it so long as he felt the gnawing tension of knowing that he has and will continue betraying his duties as a husband to continue his devotion to Dutch.
You knew Arthur meant well by keeping you out of the violent haze of gang life, but it still hurt as much knowing that he was stuck in his position of an evil man's right hand man, and you often wrestled with yourself trying to make sense about if it was his choice or not.
So while you don't work as a working girl anymore, and all of your bills are paid, you still feel the unhappiest you've ever felt as you sit on the porch of the tiny shack you have called home for seven years now.
The storm rolling in from across the mountains has bludgeoned the starch, hellish summer air from the afternoon.
The wind carries the smell of rain as you sit on the porch steps, skirts tucked beneath you to keep from catching the dirt. The boards creak every time you shift, worn smooth by years of boots and summers past. Beside you, old Hank lies with his chin on his paws, tail thumping lazily against the wood now and again. He’s grayer than he used to be, slower too, but still keeps watch like he always has.
Your eyes linger on the line of the mountains, watching the storm build and roll closer, dark as spilled ink across the sky. The first low growl of thunder reaches your ears, vibrating through the ground, but you don’t move. You’ve always liked the quiet before a storm—when the air feels heavy, charged, alive.
Hank lifts his head suddenly, ears pricking. You glance down at him, and that’s when you hear it too—the faint, familiar rhythm of hooves on the dirt road. Your chest tightens, breath catching, though you tell yourself it could be anyone passing by, some traveler looking for shelter.
But as the shape breaks from the trees and the horse slows at the edge of the yard, your heart stumbles. Even at a distance, you’d know that silhouette anywhere. Broad shoulders, the curve of his hat brim, the way he swings down from the saddle. Two years of silence fall away in an instant, and all you can do is stare, rooted to the steps, as Arthur Morgan starts toward you through the rising storm.
You stay where you are, frozen to the step as though the storm itself has pinned you down. Hank is already on his feet, tail wagging slow but steady, ears perked high with a low whine rumbling in his throat. He remembers him too.
Arthur doesn’t speak, not at first. He just walks, each heavy step carrying him closer across the yard. His boots crunch over the gravel, his coat catching in the wind, his hat shadowing eyes you can’t quite see yet. You should say something—anything—but the words lodge in your throat, and all you can do is watch.
The air between you feels thick, charged with more than the storm. When he finally stops at the foot of the steps, you can see the years etched into his face, the rough lines, the weariness sitting in his shoulders. But under it all, he’s still him. Still Arthur.
Hank lets out a soft bark, tail beating faster now, as if trying to bridge the space you can’t. Arthur glances at the dog, the corner of his mouth twitching, and then his gaze lifts to you.
Two years of silence sit between you, and yet somehow it feels as if everything you left unsaid hangs there in the air, waiting for the storm to break.
For a long moment, neither of you moves. The storm rolls in closer, the sky bruised with thunderclouds, and the smell of rain thickens in the air. Then Arthur shifts his weight, his voice low and rough, as if unused to speaking your name after so long.
“Evenin’,” he says.
The single word is simple, almost awkward, but it lands heavy in your chest. You hear the scrape of gravel in his tone, the same voice that once filled every corner of this porch with laughter and arguments and half-muttered apologies.
Hank noses at his boot, whining softly, and Arthur leans down to scratch behind the old dog’s ears. His eyes never leave you. When he straightens again, you see the stormlight catch on them, that familiar mix of guarded and gentle.
You can feel your throat tighten, your hands clenching in your lap to keep steady. It has been two years, yet it feels like no time at all, and your heart hammers in a way you cannot control. He is here. He is standing right in front of you.
You do not feel surprised to see him. Somewhere deep down, you always knew he would come back when the weight of it all grew too heavy. Arthur has always carried his sins until they dragged him low, and then he found his way to you.
He does not rush to explain. He stands there, the storm shifting behind him, the wind tugging at his coat. His hat shades his face, but you know his eyes are fixed on you, searching for something he cannot name.
Hank settles back at your side, giving a huff as if the reunion is already settled. You reach down to rest your hand on the dog’s head, steadying yourself more than him. Arthur’s silence is not uncomfortable, not anymore. It is the same kind of silence that once filled your evenings together, when words were not needed.
You lift your chin, watching him. He looks older, wearier, but still so achingly familiar. He does not move closer, does not speak again, just waits. And in that waiting, you feel the storm press tighter around the two of you, as if holding its breath.
Arthur finally moves. His boots thud against the first step, then the next, until he is standing before you with the storm curling at his back. The porch boards groan beneath his weight, a sound that feels almost like memory, like every other night he had climbed these same steps.
Up close, you see him clearer. The lines around his mouth, the tired set of his shoulders, the way his hand lingers near the brim of his hat as though he is not sure whether to take it off. For all the miles between you, for all the silence, he is still the man you once knew, and your chest aches with the truth of it.
Hank leans against your knee, tail thumping slow, sensing the pull in the air. You keep your eyes on Arthur, steady and unflinching, even as the stormlight flashes against his face and makes his expression unreadable.
He does not speak. Neither do you. The world holds still, waiting for someone to give in first.
Arthur’s hand lifts at last, fingers brushing the brim of his hat. He pulls it off slowly, as if the gesture carries more weight than he knows how to bear, and holds it against his chest. Without it, his eyes meet yours in full, and the guarded look slips away just enough for you to see the man beneath all the years and distance.
Rain begins to patter against the roof, soft at first, not yet the downpour that is coming. The sound fills the quiet between you, steady and familiar, like an old rhythm you both remember.
Arthur’s jaw works as though he wants to speak, but no words come. Instead, there is only that look, heavy and raw, the kind that says more than any apology could. His eyes search yours, and in them you see the storm he has carried with him since the day he left.
Hank sighs and settles down at your feet, as if nothing has changed at all. You feel the weight of Arthur’s gaze and the rain gathering around you, and for the first time in two years, it feels as though the distance is beginning to close.
You rise slowly, smoothing your palms against your skirt to keep them from trembling. Arthur does not move, his eyes following every inch as you stand before him. For a long time you thought this moment might never come, that if it did you would meet it with anger or bitterness. Yet as you look at him now, all you feel is the quiet rush of relief.
The storm presses harder against the porch roof, the rain finding its rhythm, but none of it matters. What matters is that he is here, flesh and bone, close enough to touch.
Your breath shakes as you let yourself smile, small at first and then wider, unsteady but true. The joy catches you off guard, sharp and sweet, a feeling you had buried so deep you forgot how much it hurt to go without it.
Arthur’s shoulders ease when he sees it. His lips part, his grip loosens on his hat, and for the first time since stepping into the yard, he looks like a man coming home.
You do not try to stop yourself. You let it happen, the warmth spilling into your chest as you give in to the truth of it. You are happy he is home.
Arthur sets his hat down on the railing, his hand free now and trembling just enough that you notice. Slowly, as if giving you the chance to pull away, he lifts his fingers to your face. His knuckles brush your cheek, rough and warm, carrying the weight of miles and years.
The touch is gentle, almost reverent, and it steals the breath from your chest. You lean into it before you can stop yourself, eyes closing for just a heartbeat as if your body remembers what your mind tried so long to forget.
When you open them again, he is closer, his gaze softer than you have seen in years. His thumb traces your skin, and his voice follows, quiet but steady.
“Been dreamin’ of this,” he murmurs. “Of you. Nothin’ ever felt more like home.”
The words settle into you like the first warm fire after winter. For all the silence, for all the time apart, he is still the same man who could cut you open with the smallest kindness.
Your hand lifts to cover his, holding it against your cheek as though you are afraid the moment might slip away. His touch is rough from the trail, but it feels steady, grounding you in a way you have needed for far too long.
Your voice trembles when it comes, but the truth in it is unshaken.
“I’ve always been here,” you whisper, your eyes locked on his. “Never left. Never will.”
For a moment, Arthur simply stares, his breath catching like the words struck something deep inside him. His brow creases, not with worry but with the kind of ache that comes when a wound is finally touched. His thumb strokes your cheek once more, slower this time, as though memorizing the shape of you all over again.
The storm grows heavier around you, rain drumming against the roof, but it feels distant compared to the weight of his gaze and the promise you just gave him. You see the way his chest rises, the way his lips part, and you know what will come next.
Arthur leans in, slow enough that you feel the warmth of his breath before his lips touch yours. His hand stays at your cheek, steady and certain, holding you like something too precious to lose again. When his mouth finally meets yours, the years fall away.
The kiss is not hurried, not desperate, but it carries every mile, every lonely night, every word left unsaid between you. You taste the trail dust and the storm on him, and it feels like home all the same.
You press closer, your fingers curling in the front of his coat, needing the weight of him solid and real beneath your hands. Arthur deepens the kiss with a quiet sound in his throat, rough and low, the kind of sound that makes your heart ache with how much he has missed you.
The rain drums harder on the porch roof, the thunder rolling above, but you pay it no mind. All that matters is the man in front of you, his lips on yours, and the way it feels like nothing in the world could part you again.
Thunder crashes overhead, loud enough to shake the boards beneath your feet, but you do not falter. Neither does he. The storm becomes nothing more than a backdrop to the way his mouth moves against yours, insistent and full of longing.
Rain sweeps across the yard in heavy sheets, carried by the wind, and a fine mist sprays against the porch. You feel the cool dampness kiss your skin, but Arthur’s warmth chases it away. His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, while your fingers clutch at his coat as if you could anchor him here forever.
Another crack of thunder rolls through the valley, deep and unyielding, yet the only thing that shakes inside you is the swell of emotion you can no longer contain. After two years of silence, his lips are on yours again, and it feels like a vow.
Arthur breaks away only long enough to rest his forehead against yours. His breath is ragged, his voice rough when he speaks.
“Missed you every damn day.”
The storm answers with another roar, but still you do not move. You stay pressed to him, your lips trembling with the urge to kiss him all over again.
Arthur’s mouth finds yours again, harder this time, and you melt into him, letting the storm fade into nothing but sound and fury behind you. His arms wrap tight around your waist as though afraid you might vanish if he lets go. You press back with equal force, your lips parting for him, your breath mingling in quick, hungry bursts.
The need is overwhelming, a tide that sweeps you both toward the door without either of you thinking. His hand fumbles for the handle, still kissing you through the stumble inside. The cabin greets you with its familiar warmth, firelight flickering low, but you pay no mind to anything except Arthur.
His coat slips from his shoulders with your help, heavy and wet from the rain, and falls to the floor in a heap. Your fingers find the buttons of his shirt, tugging them free as his hands roam your sides, tracing the shape of you like he is memorizing every inch all over again. His mouth never leaves yours for long, each kiss rougher, deeper, more desperate.
You tug at his shirt until it parts, revealing skin warm and solid beneath your hands. Arthur groans into your kiss, a sound that vibrates straight through you, and in the next breath he is pulling at the ties of your dress, unsteady but determined.
The storm rages outside, thunder rolling over the valley, but in here there is only the two of you, tangled in heat and longing, shedding the years of distance with every piece of clothing that falls to the floor.
Arthur slows before the last tie gives way, his hands pausing at your waist as though the weight of the moment finally presses down on him. His forehead rests against yours, his breath uneven, and you feel the tremor in his touch.
His voice is low, almost breaking.
“Don’t wanna rush this. Not after so long.”
The urgency that had driven you both through the door lingers in the air, but it softens under the truth in his words. You lift your hands to his face, framing his cheeks, your thumbs brushing against the stubble that scratches your skin. He leans into the touch, eyes closing for a moment like he is starved for it.
You press a gentle kiss to his lips, slower now, savoring the warmth and the closeness. His arms encircle you, pulling you into his chest, the kind of embrace that speaks of years of missing what was once so easy to hold.
The storm outside beats against the cabin walls, the wind howling through the eaves, yet in here it is quiet. Arthur lays his forehead to yours again, his lips ghosting over yours with every breath, and the heat between you shifts into something deeper, something steady.
Piece by piece, you help each other out of what remains, not with hurried hands but with care, as if every button, every knot, is part of remembering who you are to each other.
When you finally stand bare before him, Arthur’s eyes soften in a way that makes your heart ache, as though he is seeing you for the first time all over again.
Arthur leads you to the bed with a care that makes your chest ache, his large hand wrapped around yours as if he fears you might slip away if he lets go. When you sit back on the edge of the mattress, he leans in to kiss you again, deep and lingering, before lowering you gently against the quilt. His body comes over yours, heavy and warm, his weight a comfort you did not realize you had been starving for.
He takes his time with you. His lips trail from your mouth to your throat, leaving slow kisses that burn against your skin. His beard scrapes lightly across the tender places, and you gasp at the sensation, your fingers threading through his hair to keep him close. His hands move over you, rough and calloused, sliding over the curve of your waist, your hips, your thighs, touching you as though he is mapping every inch of you all over again.
When his mouth finds your breast, you arch into him, the sound of his low groan vibrating against you as his tongue circles your nipple. He cups you with both hands, worshipping the softness, and when you sigh his name it only spurs him further. His hand slides lower, between your thighs, parting you with reverence. His fingers find you wet already, slick with need for him, and he strokes you slowly until your breath turns ragged and your body lifts into his touch.
When he finally pushes inside you, after climbing on top of you rather suddenly, it is slow, deliberate, his body pressing into yours until you are filled completely. You clutch at his shoulders, your nails biting into his skin, overwhelmed by the stretch of him after so long. Arthur stills for a moment, kissing you deeply as if to steady both of you, before he begins to move.
His pace is unhurried, every thrust deep and controlled, his forehead resting against yours. You feel each inch of him, the slow grind of his hips, the way his chest brushes yours with every movement. He whispers against your lips, fragments of words—how much he missed you, how good you feel, how he never stopped thinking of you.
You wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer, and the rhythm builds between you, tender but insistent. Every slide of his body against yours sends sparks racing through your blood, and you cling to him, gasping his name as the pleasure builds until it consumes you.
Your release comes like the storm outside, shattering through you in waves that leave you trembling beneath him. Arthur groans, his mouth pressed hard against your neck, and follows you over the edge, his body tensing as he spills deep inside you.
Afterward, he does not pull away. He stays with you, still inside you, his chest heaving against yours. One hand smooths your hair back, the other anchoring you against him. His lips press to your temple, his voice a rough whisper.
“Never lettin’ you go again.”
The storm rages on outside, but within the quiet of your bed, all that exists is Arthur, the heat of his body, and the steady beat of his heart against your own.
The storm raged around the cabin, thunder cracking so close it shook the walls, but neither of you faltered. Your mouths clung together in a fevered kiss, the heat of your bodies drowning out the cold and the noise outside. His hands slid along your waist, gripping tight as if to remind himself you were real. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, both of you desperate, breathless, and unwilling to stop.
Every layer of clothing that came between you was tugged away, left forgotten on the floor. Skin met skin, warm and wanting, and for the first time in a long time, the world outside didn’t matter.
Arthur kissed you again, slower this time, lingering like he couldn’t get enough. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. His voice was low, rough with feeling.
“You’re all I need,” he murmured.
And despite the sincerity in his voice as he claims you yet again, you know that this is all just temporary— and will be replaced in a predictable heartbreak once the life comes calling back to him. But for now, you lay in the certainty that he is home now and cling onto him with the anticipation for him to leave again.
ARTHUR TAGLIST : @photo1030 @stottlemorgan @fxndxm-axg
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