Arthur Morgan | drunk sex + thigh riding - 333 words
“N-no, sweetheart, I ain’t gon’ take advantage of you..” Arthur was trying his hardest to keep his hands to himself, but the way you were rubbing all up on him like a kitten in heat? He wasn’t sure how long he’d last.
“Sweets, you’re— you’re too out of it. No,” Arthur muttered, unable to stop you when you climbed into his lap.
So now, instead of fucking you properly, he stripped your lower half naked, discarding everything but your panties, and rocked your hips against his thigh.
“Arthur..nngh…need more..” Your face was flushed no thanks to the alcohol, slight drool dripping from the corner of your mouth. He thought you looked so cute like this, all messy and needy for him. It pained Arthur to not be able to do more.
“My needy baby…who told you it was a good idea t’go out and get all shitfaced, hm?”
Your puffy clit dragged against the rough material of his jeans, sending jolts of pleasure down your spine with every movement. You felt so sticky, your pussy was leaking juices through your panties and all over his thigh—he was not complaining in the slightest.
You meweled at his words, nodding eagerly. You silently cursed at yourself for getting drunk in the first place since Arthur was always such a gentleman with you. Your grip on his shoulders tightened when you felt the leg under you bounce.
“F-fuck! Arthur— please, s’good but not enough..” he chuckled at your whines, pulling you down against his bouncing leg harder. He could feel his cock throbbing in his pants, knowing he’d have to take care of himself in private while you slept. This was very tough for him, the same as it was for you.
“I know, baby, I know. But good things come to those who wait, no? You just sit pretty on my thigh, get yourself off, then tomorrow when you can think properly outta that pretty little head of yours, I’ll make love to ya.”
synopsis: arthur morgan returns from hunting, and you watch how effortlessly he carries carcasses to and fro. you greet him to find he's brought something back for you.
contains: whole lotta fluff, whipped arthur, fem!reader, awkward arthur
wc: 1.6k!
The morning at Horseshoe Overlook was already warm, sunlight spilling through the trees in honey-colored streaks. Camp was slow and quiet - just the soft murmur of someone shuffling cards and the distant clink of pots as Pearson fussed over breakfast.
You were rinsing your hands at the bucket, rolling your shoulders loose, breathing in that dusty summer air - when the sound of heavy footsteps and rustling brush pulled your attention.
Arthur emerged from the treeline, and damn if he didn’t look like he belonged to the wild and claimed it too.
A deer rested across his shoulders, tied firm and balanced like it weighed nothing more than a sack of flour. His shirt was pushed up at the sleeves, tan skin catching sunlight, muscles shifting beneath it with each steady step. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple - he wiped it with the back of his arm and kept walking, jaw set in that determined, effortless way of his.
He saw you first.
And just like always, his face softened the second his eyes landed on you, just enough to make your heart feel like it tripped over itself.
“Mornin’,” he drawled, voice warm as the breeze.
You tried - you really tried - not to stare at the whole display of strength and surety in front of you. But your eyes lingered, caught somewhere between admiration and that fluttery feeling you refused to name.
“Morning.” You echoed, a little breathless. “Successful hunt?”
He shrugged like it was nothing. “Reckon so. Figured Pearson might actually stop complainin’ for an hour.”
You laughed, and he looked just a little too proud of himself for making you do it.
Pearson came bustling over like a man possessed, praising the meat and already planning dinner. Arthur let him yap, then turned back to you, thumb hooking absently into his gun belt.
“Didn’t expect you awake this early.” He admitted, eyes lingering on you like he was committing the sight to memory.
You brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Nice mornings like this? Hard to sleep through ’em. Besides,” you added, heat rising beneath your skin even before the words fully formed, “good company helps.”
It slipped out so soft you almost hoped he didn’t catch it.
But he did - and the look he gave you in return was slow, warm, and dangerous in the sweetest kind of way. A smile tugged at his lips, quiet and pleased, like he wasn’t sure whether to tease you or hold the moment close.
“That so?” He teased, voice turned low and rich.
Pearson yelled something unintelligible at him, breaking the spell. Arthur cleared his throat and adjusted the deer on his shoulder.
For just a second - one warm, golden-lit second - his tough, steady composure faltered. His ears went a little pink. Then that ghost of a grin returned, curling at his mouth like he couldn’t fight it if he tried.
“Well,” he said, tipping his hat, “good to know.”
He walked off toward Pearson, but not without looking back once more, like he couldn’t help himself.
Arthur emerged from the trees carrying the deer like it weighed no more than a coat slung over his shoulder, sun catching on his arms, sweat glinting off the warm bronze of his skin. Camp chatter softened as he passed - even the horses lifted their heads like they knew a man worth noticing when they saw one.
He crossed the clearing at that steady, grounded pace of his, boots sinking into dirt, muscles working in smooth, practiced motion. If strength had a sound, it’d be the quiet confidence in his steps. You pretended not to stare, yet every line of him pulled at your eyes like gravity.
He dropped the deer beside Pearson’s wagon with a heavy, final thud.
Pearson spun, wide-eyed. “Arthur, that there is—”
Arthur didn’t stay long enough to hear the praise. He’d already turned - not toward his tent, not toward camp work, but toward you.
His gaze found you easily, like it always did. Like maybe it was looking for you before he even got back.
“Hold up a second.” He grumbled, cutting Pearson off mid-breath.
Pearson blinked, baffled. “Arthur? Don’t you wanna—?”
But Arthur was already stepping away. You watched as he wiped his palms on his trousers, cleared his throat like he was preparing for a duel, and walked straight toward you.
You blinked. “For me?”
He nodded, then immediately seemed to regret nodding, because now he looked awkward as hell. “Just—wait here.”
Before you could say a word, he turned sharply, pacing toward his horse like a man on a mission and yet somehow embarrassed to be seen doing it. You watched him rummage in his saddlebag, shoulders tense like he was bracing for impact. Then he hesitated… winced… and pulled something out.
It was a little wildflower bouquet.
…Well. Mostly a bouquet.
A few petals were bent, some stems twisted from the ride back: a handful of summer blooms in shades of pale yellow and soft white, tied together with a bit of twine. Clearly gathered by hand. Clearly meant for you.
He stared at it with a tiny grimace, thumb brushing over a crushed petal like he could magically fix it by sheer willpower alone.
Then he sighed under his breath, squared his shoulders, and headed back - bouquet held behind him like it might explode. When he stopped in front of you, he cleared his throat again. Twice.
“So, uh… this’s for you.” He muttered, finally holding the flowers out.
You looked at them - imperfect, sweet, heartbreakingly earnest - then at him. His eyes flicked to yours and away instantly, a pink flush climbing his cheeks.
“They were nicer before.” He mumbled, visibly annoyed at the betrayal of nature. “Got a bit squashed comin’ down the ridge.”
You accepted them gently, careful like they were a gift worth more than they looked - because to you, they were.
“They’re beautiful.” You said softly.
He lifted his head at that, searching your face like he needed to make sure you meant it. When he saw the truth there, his whole expression softened - relief, warmth, something tender he didn’t know how to hide quick enough.
“Yeah?” He asked quietly.
“Yeah.”
His jaw worked, like he wanted to say something else but couldn’t find the words. Instead, he just nodded once - slow, almost shy - and tugged the brim of his hat down.
“Figured you might like ’em.” He murmured.
A beat passed. Summer air between you, bright and gentle. Your fingers brushed his as you tucked one flower behind your ear, and he froze - breath catching just a little.
Behind him, Pearson’s voice cracked across camp like a frustrated rooster: “Arthur Morgan, that deer ain't gonna skin itself!”
Later, camp settled into that soft evening hum - the clink of plates being washed, the crackle of the fire, somebody humming a tune just off-key enough to make it human. Lantern light flickered across wagons, and fireflies drifted like tiny sparks caught in the warm twilight.
Arthur sat at the edge of camp with his journal open but absolutely not writing a damn thing. He kept pretending to scratch the page, but he wasn’t fooling anybody with eyes.
Especially not Dutch.
“So.” Dutch drawled from across the fire, swirling his drink like he was born dramatic, “I heard you rode back with quite the… spring in your step today.”
Arthur’s jaw ticked. “Don’t start.”
“Seems to me,” Dutch continued, voice like a smug cat stretching in the sun, “our dear Arthur’s been feelin’ inspired by nature. Flowers and all.” He smirked. “Romantic sort.”
Arthur’s ears went pink instantly. “Ain’t nothin’ like that. Just saw ‘em, figured… somethin’ nice. Nothin’ more to it.”
Dutch lifted a brow like he didn’t believe a single word. And truthfully? Neither did Arthur.
He tried to go back to staring at his blank journal page. Tried to breathe normally. Tried not to think about how close he’d come to makin’ a fool of himself handing those flowers over.
But then he looked up.
And froze.
You were walking toward the fire, lantern light catching your hair - and there they were. His flowers.
Braided into your hair, woven through like they belonged there all along. Little, soft, wild blooms threaded between strands, glowing in firelight, making you look like summer itself had chosen you.
Arthur forgot how breathing worked.
His fingers curled slowly into the paper of his journal. His shoulders stiffened. His heart - traitor that it was - kicked hard enough that he felt it in his throat.
Dutch followed his line of sight, then grinned like the devil himself. “Ahh.” He realised, low and pleased. “And there she is.”
Arthur swallowed. Hard.
You met his eyes briefly, shy little smile tugging at your lips when you caught him staring, and he had to look down at his boots before he did something stupid, like stand up and pull you into his arms in front of half the camp.
Dutch leaned closer, voice just loud enough for Arthur to hear. “Son, if you’re tryin’ to hide it, you’re doing a terrible job.”
Arthur grunted, voice strained. “Ain’t hidin’ nothin’. Ain’t anything to hide.”
Dutch’s laugh was knowing, quiet but wicked. “Mhm. And I suppose the sky ain’t blue either.”
Arthur tried to ignore him. Tried. But when you settled by the fire, flowers glowing in your hair, soft smile just for him, he felt something in his chest tighten, soften, and break open all at once.
He ducked his head, tipping his hat low to hide the way his mouth betrayed him with a tiny, helpless smile.
Dutch saw it anyway and clicked his tongue. “Lord help him.” He teased cheerfully. “The man is gone.”
Arthur didn’t look up. He didn’t trust himself to.
All he managed was a quiet, rough, “Shut it.” and even that sounded more like a prayer than a threat.
And across the fire, with your flowers in your hair and moonlight catching your eyes, you looked at him like maybe, just maybe, you were gone too.
a/n: arthur is such a cutie.. he just like me fr.. this is also my first post on this account what do we think chat
Imagine Arthur Morgan riding you... Top AMAB Insert 18+
Content warning: Reader is referred to as "Girl"
Arthur...oh Arthur.
To be one with the sweet outcast you two are never truly alone. Always forced to endure the presence of people or the whisks of mother nature, time together is always stark, never there when it needs to be, and infinity not enough.
By the time you two have just enough of it, you spend minutes fumbling around eachother, re-learning how to unbuckle eachothers clothes , taking time to feel his beard on your skin and hear his defendless sounds when you tug at the new growth on his scalp. You nip at the scars on his body, kissing the old and learning the new. Finding birth marks and discoloring on eachothers body's is something time can never take from you.
Arthur sinks deep. Poor baby is always so tired, body calibrating to a different, but near exact and very specific frequency, cerebrum forced to acclimatize. Aburn eye-lashes glow from the light's reflection and dilated pupils roll back as his eyes flutter close. His hips are raised, tingling and desperate to fall and cushion against the hair around your cock. He moans when you meet him half way, the air ripples with runaway whimpers and the sickening clap of something that's supposed to be private.
He memorizes your trying stride, remembers your rhythm, the pauses you take when he clenches around you, the shudder you experience as he falls back, gripping your thigh and dropping exactly as you rise; just like he would with any ride.
Again, again, again and again. You twitch all the way up, then twitch again all the way down when he throws his head back with a chest-clenching whine. The claps turn into soppy slaps, he can feel the stick and pull against his skin as he catches every beat.
His body stays vigilant, working him closer and closer to the peak, but his mind drifts light and inconspicuous like he hadn't noticed the lack of oxygen. He falls into the sea of endorphins, floating across streams of forest greens and rocky trails, tasting its salty release. He feels the sea breeze cooling the sweat rolling down his skin and breathes in the fragrance of grass, musk and mud.
"Yeah girl..." He rasped, the name of his horse edging his tongue. Your buck falters and He shudders, mind nudging against the inside of his skull, unable to distinguish the adrenaline of riding his horse and the rush of sucking in your cock. Arthur doesn't realize his mistake, taking his hand and featuring down the planes of your live chest, searching for the reins.
He makes a sharp noise from between his teeth, disapproval. "I ain't your damn horse Arthur." You breath between clenched teeth and loose lips, but he squeezes at the fat of your chest regardless, nudging at the bare of your thighs with the heel of his foot like he was consulting a restive animal.
His eyes are slow to roll open, blood gathering into bigger blotches of red particularly across his cheeks. "Then stop acting like her." He breaths, his thighs give and he flops back down on your lap with a wet splat, stopping you mid trot. Your vocal cords contracts and releases a winded groan, he hums deep in his throat, soothing you.
Arthur folds over, hand grasping at your jaw in a practical grip. Your lips tremble with the energy to breath and effort to restrain as he feathers his own against yours. His tongue licks at your lips, nibbling the flushed meat and sucking your tongue when it comes to play. He doesn't give you the honor of a kiss, the pleasure of feeding your addiction, and you know better than to take it.
You feel your way between his spread cheeks, you marvel at the wet slide, and your hardness. Your cock pulses at your own touch, veins bulging and constricted at his twitching rim. His moans vibrate through his teeth, shaking your lip as you rub at his rim, trying to slide a finger into the mess. Suddenly, he makes another sharp sound from between his molars, and with the quickness of a trained dog, you remove your hands. He chuckles. "Mmm...Look at you." He teases, kissing your neck when you flop your head back in defeat. "That's my girl."
You get drunk on the praise, losing yourself in his lips and try to catch them between yours. He hums again, disapproval, covering your disobedience with his palm, and leaning back when you try to persist. This time he takes to riding you. A reward, your mind moans but it's quickly suffocated by the swirling drain of need.
His thighs tense and sore with his own weight, carrying him up and down, then grinding foward and back, side to side until he comes delirious with his own pace. The rest of his body is just as twitchy, overwhelmed and trying to distinguish tacticals while his mind conjures fallen logs and sunshine through canopy leaves from the feelings he absorbs from your skin; Until you're achy and failing to lick sugar from his fingertips.
You warm the palm with drool and teeth and shaky moans. He doesn't even look at you, too focused on staying in the saddle. His palm rest on your chest after you raise your hips to follow the pull of his pulsing cunt. "Easy now girl..." He whispers, voice curled rough. As much as it has your cock jumping and release nudging at your bladder, your brain recognizes its desire and sends irritation nudging at your heart.
You bite his hand, hard. Beads of flesh and veins slide from between your teeth as he jolts back. He flops down hard on your lap, tingle between his webbed fingers overshadowed by the tingling in his spine. He's distracted, a untethered keen in the back of his throat, you manage to hold yours in and take the opportunity to grab the thick of his thighs and flip him over.
In the movement you squeeze out, tip snared on his rim before digging out with a dehabilitating, throbbing pop. The skin of your arm dents with the force of his grip, fingernails leaving twinge in their wake, but its merely that compared to the burning of your cock stretching open the gape of his hole, curling and scraping his hot, squishy walls exactly the way you want.
In, in, out, then In. "Wait, wait." He swallows, voice pinched thin and cracked, but still strong enough to carry far with gluttony. Arthur breathes your name, letting it waft from his shiny lips, fluttering under your nose, tickling your senses and drawing you in like a famished rodent. He whines, full of complaint, but his body was alot more forgiving than his mind.
"That's right," You swooned, ignoring his whimpers of protest and licking your way into his mouth. The sound of wet skin on wet skin has a different tone when it's you making the melody, untamed, untrained. "Its me, me. Me." you chant, feeding him your name, stuffing his mouth with every syllable until his abs soften with its meaning and bulge with more than your cock.
Prompt - “There are rumours about us.” “I know. I spread them.”
Arthur was a Prince, born as the heir of Uther Pendragon and expected to rule as King of Camelot one day. Arthur was a man with expectations heavier than the world thrust upon him and he bore it with honour, without complaint.
You were nothing but a servant, your only expectations were to complete your duties and bring enough money home to make sure there was food on the table at night. You weren’t destined for greatness, you were not even a footnote in the lives of the richer and yet somehow…somehow you’d manage to capture the Prince of Camelot’s attention without even meaning to and now you were somebody.
You still weren’t destined for anything legendary but now you had the eyes of those with a legacy to make on you. Arthur was intrigued by you, for what reason you hadn’t figured out yet but Arthur liked you enough to add you to his personal staff, trusting you as much as he did Merlin and you recognised that for the honour it was.
Right now you found yourself hiding away from your duties in Arthur’s chambers with Merlin, both of you had made yourself comfortable on Arthur’s bed, picking at a bowl of grapes that lay between you.
“When are you going to tell Arthur you’re pathetically in love with him?” Merlin asks lazily before popping a grape into his mouth and you roll your eyes, knowing the peace couldn’t last long.
“Why must you always ask this stupid question?” You sigh but there was no real heat to your voice, not after years of hearing and answering it. “Arthur is a Prince and I am a servant, there will never be anything between us.”
“Well I heard differently.” Merlin grins and you can feel a smile tugging at your own lips.
“Just because we can’t ever be together doesn’t mean I can’t have fun with it.” You laugh but before Merlin can say anything the door opens and you both look over to see Arthur standing in the doorway, an unimpressed look on the man’s face as he looks between you and Merlin laying on his bed.
“You two are insufferable.” Arthur says exasperated, closing the door and entering his chambers, shrugging his cloak off. “Really, how the two of you have a job is beyond me.”
You just beam at Arthur and Merlin laughs, standing from the bed and helping Arthur out of his chainmail.
“I heard something interesting today, YN.” Arthur says conversationally once he was in his regular clothing. “There are rumours about us.”
Arthur gives you a look, raising his eyebrow at you like he knows you were somehow involved and daring you to deny it, though as you beam over at him, still having not moved from your place on his bed, his face softens.
“I know. I spread them.” You tell him with a grin, watching as a smile pulls at his own lips despite how much he tries to fight it.
“You’re insufferable, you know that, don’t you?” He told you, coming over to lay on the bed next to you and Merlin takes that moment to politely excuse himself, grinning at you like the idiot he was as he left.
“Is it such a terrible rumour?” You laugh and Arthur rolls his eyes, though his smile falls slightly as he shifts closer to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and you froze for a moment before letting yourself relax against Arthur’s side.
“It is when we both know how we feel,” Arthur murmured and you felt your eyes widen, glad that he couldn’t see your face. “It is when I hear the maids whispering about me and you and I want nothing more than for their words to be real.”
You blink once, eyebrows knitting together as you shift so you’re still pressed against Arthur but now you can look up at him and he softens as he looks at your expression, reaching out to cup your face gently in his calloused hand.
“Tell me you don’t wish their words were true too.” Arthur murmured, his head dipping closer to yours and you felt your breath htich.
“Arthur,” you breathed out, your gaze falling to Arthur’s lips before meeting his eyes.
“Tell me you don’t feel the same way I feel, YN. Tell me it doesn’t kill you everytime my father brings a Princess to the palace for me to meet, tell me you don’t think about me when you’re dragged to the tavern, tell me you don’t wish I wasn’t a prince or that you were a princess.” Arthur murmured and you couldn’t tell him any of that because he was right, you wished it all but apparently so did he.
“Arthur,” You whispered, apparently the only word you were capable of saying but Arthur didn’t seem to mind.
“Tell me not to kiss you.” Arthur whispered and you stayed silent, mentally pleading with whatever god was out there to have mercy, to let you have this, whatever this was, even if it only lasted for this moment.
Arthur smiled at your silence, bringing your face up to meet him halfway and you let him. You let yourself have what you’d been dreaming about for years, let yourself forget about titles and destinies and let yourself sink into the kiss, practically melting against Arthur and kissing him back, smiling slightly into the kiss.
“Wanted to do that for so long.” Arthur murmured against your lips and you nodded slightly.
“I’ve wanted you to do that for so long.” You laugh slightly, blinking up at Arthur, still not able to believe he’d actually kissed you but you knew the moment couldn’t last and so did Arthur.
“In another life I’d make you mine, I hope you know that.” Arthur told you, voice heavy with regret. “In another life the rules would be damned, in another life, Gods YN, we would be so happy.”
“But not in this life?” You whisper and you already knew the answer because despite how much love you felt for Arthur, despite how much he seemed to like you, it didn’t matter.
“I want nothing more, believe me when I say that. But it would not be fair to you, you deserve to be loved loudly, to not be hidden away as a secret. You deserve somebody who can give you the world and I can’t do that.” Arthur told you, voice shaking and you felt your own eyes stinging.
“I hope we get everything we really deserve in that other life.” You whispered, voice soft and small and Arthur pressed a kiss to your forehead and stayed like that for a little while because what else was there to say?
Arthur Morgan meets a strange man, and does something even stranger.
Entering my Arthur Morgan phase. Dw, I still have some Joel miller planned but right now I’m playing red dead so you know I had to do it. All fluff, hope you like
꘎♡. ━━━━━. ♡꘎
"Oh, thank you sir, thank you," said the man as Arthur returned his horse.
"No problem."
He'd only been riding out for a day or so, intent to explore the land more. He'd already seen enough to send him back to camp but he couldn't ignore a man desperate to retrieve his horse.
He could, but if you found out and somehow you would- because you always do- you'd be very upset with him.
When you found out he'd let a man walk home after he was robbed, he had to sleep on the floor of your tent like a dog curled up close to his owner.
"Please, take this," the man pulled a thin golden chain from his pocket, dangling it in front of Arthur. "I'm from Europe, you see. Came here to make my name in America. I'm a jewellery maker. I insist you take it."
Arthur watched the gold glint in the sun. The chain was long and thin, a heart dangling at the end of it, decorated with intricate designs of flowers and swirls and such.
He took it, gently, it seemed expensive, genuine. Could fetch a pretty penny. "All for helpin' ya, sir, but i'm a takin man."
"Give it to her," the man insisted. "Do you have romance in this country."
Arthur stared at it, holding it up like it was some prey to examine.
Sure, he knew romance. Sometimes after a hard day he'd sit you down around the fire, pull of your old worn boots and rub your feet. That was romance right?
Or the way you'd always have a cup of strong coffee for him in the mornings when he doesn't sleep well.
Or how, though he hated it, he let you play with his hair. Sometimes braid it.
"It is a locket," said the man, he was French, Arthur thought. "You can put a portrait inside. Of you. Give it to her and she can carry it next to her heart. Now I must go sir! Thank you!"
Arthur hardly waved a hand goodbye as he still stared and still thought about it.
He liked to give you things, never passed a field of flowers without picking a bouquet for you. Never had he gotten you something quite so extravagant.
Him? Inside?
Arthur could count the pictures he had of him. Two. One of him, Dutch and Hosea when he first joined them. The other of you and Arthur sitting around the campfire, just talking.
It was look of love, Charles called it when he took it. Now it was tucked in his pocket and he looked at it every night and morning.
Look of love, he was a damn puppy dog for you.
He would never sully that picture just to put one of himself in a locket. He could just give it to you as is, maybe you'd want a picture of your horse in there? Or Dutch? Or John or someone else you cared about?
Who was he to hold your heart?
But the very idea had him wanting to throw it into a lake if it wasn't him going to be in there.
Arthur patted his horse with an absent mind, rubbing his thumb over the gold. "What you think, girl?" he showed his horse the locket, waiting for approval. "You think she'll like it?"
Now, how would he fit inside your heart?
꘎♡. ━━━━━. ♡꘎
That night the stars seemed bright and the air was warmer as you lingered at the lake, staring out at the moon that glittered on the surface. You were nursing a cup of coffee, waiting on Arthur's return. It had been two days and he said he wouldn't stay away long.
Your idea of long was an hour. His a week.
"Hey!" Abbigail called, dragging Jack to bed. "Your boy's back!"
You grinned instantly, setting your coffee cup into the rocks at the lake.
Arthur was already making his way down to you, his horse not even hitched at the post before he was jogging over.
"Arthur?" you could tell he was agitated by how rushed he was. Was it a quick stop? A quick peck then a run off again.
He wrapped his arounds your waist, lifting you quickly. "You alrigh'" he sighed into your hair, body relaxing into you.
"Missed you."
"I weren't gone long," he said, setting you down on the stones again. "I-I got you somethin."
"Me? Somethin'?" you mocked his accent and the roughness to his words.
Arthur grunted an acknowledge of your teasing, hand fishing around in his satchel. "Well, I helped this man, he was from France, I think. He gave me somethin."
He was still looking down at his satchel though you could see something in his hand, balled up there and hidden. Yet, he didn't show you.
You looked at him, a waiting smile on your lips but a furrow in your brows. What was it? Your mind dared conjure up several things, some better than others.
The back of Arthur's balled up hand tipped back his hat as he rubbed at his forehead. "If you don't like it, you don't have to keep it."
"Well, I don't know what it is yet," you teased.
Arthur un-curled his fist but kept it low and for his own gaze. You watched as his jaw ticked and a thousand thoughts ran through his mind. "It's nothin- silly really-"
You reached up to tuck the growing strands of his hair back, your fingers trailing along his cheek until he relaxed, leaning into the touch ever so slightly. "Arthur."
He hummed, eyes looking up to you un-sarcastically quiet.
"Can I see?"
He sighed heavily and you were almost tempted to take it back when his fingers uncurled and you caught the golden chain in hand.
Your eyes widened, your heart rose. You held onto his wrist. "Oh, Arthur."
"You like it?" he asked, still un-sure about it.
It felt like giving you his heart all over again.
"It's beautiful." Gently, you picked it up, looking close at the heart and the engravings.
Arthur shrugged of some un-ease as he shifted his weight to one foot, holding onto his belt. He watched you admire it. "Fella was a jewellery maker, said he wanted me to have it."
"And you didn't sell it of, I am so proud of you," you teased.
"Thought of my pretty one at home who would only look prettier wearin' it," he smiled.
A blush crept to your cheeks as you looked at him. "Thank you, Arthur."
You held his shoulder as you reached up to kiss his cheek. Like he was a gentleman and like you were falling in love for the first time. Still, ever little touch between the two of you sent sparks, made him feel alive.
Your fingers went to the locket, ready to unclasp.
Arthur grabbed your wrists like you were handling a gun. That awkward shyness coming back to him. "Don't laugh."
"Laugh?"
Arthur rolled his head back, looking to the lake. "I had to... get somethin' to put in there," he grumbled.
That was how a locket worked, you wanted to tell him but he looked just about ready to crawl out his own skin or jump on his horse and run away.
Had he put a lock of his hair that you loved so much? A tooth of his? A pressed flower?
You peeked inside at the small heart. Your lips pursed into a thin white line.
Don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh.
"You wanna laugh, don't ya?" he grunted, shaking his head.
"No," but you answer came out in a cough.
Arthur may have been given the necklace but he wasn't given the opportunity to make it special.
Inside laid a roughly cut and small picture of Arthur. It was small but close up. He'd taken his hat off so you'd always see his hair. You wondered if he asked someone to do it, or if he'd somehow done it all alone himself. His eyes, your favourite colour because they're his, didn't meet the camera but more so looked past it and he seemed shocked and slightly confused to be there.
"Arthur," you tried to keep your voice steady. It wavered.
"Ah- get rid of it!" Arthur threw his arm out to the lake.
"No!" you held it close to your chest like he might snatch it and get rid of it for you. "No, Arthur."
He groaned and turned back to you. "I needed a picture, I hate pictures, you know that. Much rather have took one of ya but, didn't know if... well, I wanted you to have-"
"You," you finished for him, cutting his rambling. "The only person who my heart belongs to."
Arthur hid his bashful gaze under his hat. "Well, I like to hear that."
You had the locket cupped in your hand like it was a dying flame to protect. "I love it. I do. It's sweet. And I love you."
You knew Arthur didn't find those words easy, that love was not something he was accustom to. It never stopped you from telling him and he never had you doubting his care for you.
The holds, the flower, the locket, the small and sometimes big things were enough to tell you how much he loved you.
You held the locket out to him. "Help me with that thing then, would you?"
Once the chain was held between his fingers you scooped up your hair and turned, offering your neck to him.
There was grumbling on his end. Not protests, you could tell, just his own muttering under his breath. Something about 'too dang pretty,' and he was 'too damn lucky.'
You felt the lucky one.
The cold metal dangled down your chest and you closed your eyes, familiarising yourself with the weight and never wanting to feel without it.
Arthur fiddled with the clasp. "This dang thing."
Once he had it and it dangled freely, Arthur bent and kissed over where the clasp met your neck. His hands, rough to the touch but forever careful with you, drew down your arms. His body pressed into yours, an arm curling around your waist and holding your back into him.
He rested his head where your neck met your shoulder. "You never takin' it off?"
You shook your head, his hair tickling against you. "Never."
He hummed, satisfied, squeezing your waist and dragging his lips up your neck, in no rush to be quick with loving you.
Your held onto his arms. "Did Hosea help you with the picture or did you do it by yourself."
Arthur huffed. He pulled back, his hands still rested at your hips but he forced you to turn, holding you there. His thumbs were making small circles, almost of absent mind that he was doing it. "I ain't need Hosea help for takin' a damn' picture. It's only for you. Ain't no one else needa see."
Hi can I please request a fluffy Arthur Guinness x fem!reader ?
One where reader and Arthur are married. Arthur is in a bad mood, stressed with the campaign etc and just being grumpy with everyone around him. People get sick of it and it falls to reader to calm him which he does because he's just a man in love blah blah blah 😍
In the good and in the bad
Pairing: Arthur Guinness x F!reader
Summary: the request
AN: this is my first Arthur Guinness request, I hope you like it! Also, requests remain open, if anyone wants to send anything, don’t be a stranger!
The sounds of Arthur’s yells were reaching all of the rooms in the Guinness household, making all members stiff and ready to flee if they were to be encountered with the furious firstborn son of Benjamin Guinness. Ever since the funeral and the reading of the will, Arthur Guinness and his wife, Y/N Guinness née McCallister were still trying to adapt to not being the only people in their home. After five years in London, the couple of Dubliners were remembering how boring this city was, as opposed to the capital they had been living in. It was an undeniable fact that Iveagh House was far larger than the home they had bought in London, but it was theirs, decorated how they wanted, and with the staff they wanted.
Y/N, after listening to the reading of the will beside her husband, had decided to show a strong front for the sake of their sanity. Arthur was counting on taking his father’s seat in parliament, going back to the home they had made on their own and starting with kids (more for the entertainment he found in outspoken children than the idea of heirs), but that had been completely shattered when Benjamin had shackled both sons together, intertwining Arthur and Edward for the foreseeable future. Y/N had decided to take the radical change with as much grace as she could muster, but it was true that some days were harder than others. Luckily for her, today she had woken up in good spirits, counterpointing her husband's outbursts on the other side of the building.
Sitting on a chaise lounge with knitting needles in her hands, she had been working on a small blanket for Anne’s baby, whose existence had been known a few weeks prior. The white wool was a perfect color for the child, but the piece kept wrapping into itself, making her somewhat frustrated at the shape it was taking. While she was stretching the knit, Anne barged into the room, closing the door as quickly as possible. Both women looked at each other, the older one shaking her head and the younger smiling softly.
“I swear he has become worse as time passes.” Anne moved away from the door, walking to sit on the other side of the chaise. “How have you been doing this for five years?” Y/N left the knit on her lap, shifting to face her sister by law and her closest friend in Iveagh.
“This has just started, London has been completely different.” Anne scrunched her face, confusion evident in her pale features.
“He is the same as he was before you left, but somehow worse.” Y/N shrugged, not fully knowing what to say.
“I mean- We had a low-stress lifestyle in London, his only possible chance to anger was cricket or the result of the horse races. Now he feels suffocated, none of you have gotten out of the will what you expected.” She picked up a small piece of lint from her skirt, black thread that was possibly his. “And now the campaign isn’t going as he expected, so this is how he is externalising it.” Anne looked at her with a bewildered look. “I will talk to him.”
“Honestly, the Guinness name is only alive because of the two of us. Leave it to the three of them, with Rafferty, to destroy the family.” Y/N picked up her knitting again, starting to twist the yarn in the familiar fashion her mother had taught her.
Comfortable silence engulfed them, Anne taking out of her small pouch a book of prayers that she had gotten from the church. Not long had passed before a sound of something coming into impact with a wall made both women look up from their distractions. They looked at each other and sighed. Footsteps that were moving at a quick pace became louder by the second, the owner of such movements clearly running down the hallway.
Edward stormed into the room, looking at both women and then focusing on her brother’s wife. “He has lost all control.” Closing the door behind him and standing in front of the woman, he crouched down to meet her gaze. “Between the election and the brewery, he has lost it, Y/N, I swear.”
Y/N looked at Edward, knowing what he was asking of her. “You want me to go?” He nodded solemnly. “Where is he?”
“In dad’s office.”
Standing decisively, Y/N left the baby blanket on the coffee table beside the chaise, walking to grab the door. Once her hand was touching the handle, she turned to both siblings. “If we don’t show up for supper, don’t expect us.” She smiled one last time and swiftly moved to where the sounds of crashes were coming from.
On her way there, she encountered one of the maids walking away from the office, and she gently stopped her. “Mary, how is he?”
Big brown eyes met hers, doe-like with shock coating them. “He demanded I leave the room. I have never seen him this angry.” Nodding, she gently thanked Mary and left her to keep walking towards her objective.
The tall mahogany door was closed, but in its state it couldn’t stop the sounds that were coming from the room. She wondered if she should knock, but she quickly got rid of that thought – what help would that be? Opening the door, she was met with her husband’s back, shoulders pulled back and his upper body moving to his deep ragged breaths.
“I said to get out.” His tone had progressively gotten louder with every word he said, ending the sentence with a shout.
Y/N rolled her eyes and sat on one of the chairs near the entrance, beside the world globe that showed perfectly New York and Dublin. “It’s only me, Arthur.” Recognising her voice, the man turned around to face her.
“Oh.” He walked tentatively closer to her while he was visibly trying to calm down. Finally nearing her, he spoke again. “We live surrounded by idiots.”
Usually, when Arthur would speak like this of his family, Y/N would first negate that thought, pointing out the virtues of his siblings, but this time, something told her that that wasn’t the subject of importance. Noticing the poster split in half, she stood to walk to it, passing Arthur in the process.
“Why do you have an Abe Lincoln propaganda poster on the floor?” Even if that had been one object of his ire, the fact that his wife had thought the same exact thing made Arthur smile gently. “It's not Lincoln.” Moving her head to the side to get a better view, she snickered, “It’s you?”
She turned only her head to look at him, a soft laugh leaving her mouth. He walked forwards to stand behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist and leaning his head on her shoulder. “My thoughts exactly.” Y/N responded by putting her hands over his, which were placed on her lower stomach. “This Byron bastard is not as competent as he sold himself to be.”
“Well, I have eyes that work and I think I know the basics for a good campaign poster, we will fix that eventually.” She was about to move to reach for the discarded piece of paper, but her husband’s tightening grip stopped her movements. “I only want to get it, love.”
“Leave it there, it doesn’t deserve your attention.” Y/N felt his lips move against her shoulder ,muting slightly the sound of his voice. “But I do.”
“Do you?” She felt his nose and moustache tickling her neck, the result of him pressing her face deeper against her skin.
“Don’t be like that.”
“Like what?”
“Mean.” She shifted in his arms, moving completely to face him. Arthur moved to place his head where it was, but Y/N held him away from her by his shoulders.
“Mean is what you have been to everyone in this house.” Arthur groaned, rolling his eyes. “You have made the atmosphere stiff and unwelcoming for your siblings and our staff.” He shrugged her off him to go and sit on the loveseat near the table with the bottle of whisky. Once he was sat, he patted the space beside him, signaling that he wanted her to join him.
She crossed her arms, unknowingly emphasising her bust more, which made Arthur smile at her attempt to be imposing. Taking a deep breath and letting a small smile reach her lips, she moved forwards to join him. Immediately after she sat down, Arthur was already moving to place his head on her lap, using her legs and her skirts as a cushion. Making himself comfortable, Y/N thought of the similarities between Arthur and a cat, but didn’t bother vocalising them. Once he had stopped moving his head to find the perfect spot, she placed her hand in his hair, playing with the brown curls that had already broken from their brushed state.
“I miss home.”
“You are home.” Arthur moved once again, this time to look into her eyes.
“I mean our home, the house we bought and put so much time into it for it to be ours.” He grabbed her hand to play with her fingers. “Every single time I wake up in the mornings, I can’t stop thinking about this not being what I promised you.” He kissed her knuckles. “I told you that we were going to leave Dublin, that we would live in London, that we would travel the world before we settled down to have kids.” He grabbed her other hand and shifted again to his side, so that she had her arms wrapped around him. “I feel like I have trapped you. I know I have trapped you. And I always think I should send you home, where you belong, but then I realize that that would take me away from you, and I selfishly make you stay with me.”
“In the good and in the bad, Arthur.” Now he laid perfectly still. “That’s what I promised you, darling. In the good and in the bad.” She took back one of her hands to gently stroke his face, just like her mother would do to her when she was in distress. “Even if I wanted to go back to London, which, surprisingly, I don’t, I would not leave you here. Arthur, we are a team, and we stick together.”
Her husband started absentmindedly playing with the fabric of her skirt. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Now you are just being foolish.”
“I don’t. Look at you, gentle, patient, kind. And here I am, crashing over a harp logo and a campaign poster.” She stopped her stroking, which made him lowly whimper.
“I am proud, stubborn and unsubmissive.”
“You are beautiful, smart and interesting.”
“You are funny, loving and fair.” This made Arthur shift to look at her, the small wrinkle between his brows making itself visible. “Why do you think my dowry was so large?”
“I don’t remember your dowry. I was too focused on other things.” His suggestive smile made her laugh.
“Well, to remind you, my father was desperate to marry me off. I had had four courtships before you.” The frown came back to his features.
“I don’t know how that is supposed to make me feel better.”
“What I’m trying to say, you jealous man, is that no one wanted to marry me, and father was growing desperate.” His arched brow showed that he was still having a hard time seeing what she was trying to say. “You, Arthur Guinness, showed up at my father’s home and asked for my hand. Knowing that I talk back, I stand my ground and that I was never going to yield to you.”
“Anyone with a brain would have married you.”
“Evidently not. And yet you did. And you have given me the happiest six years of my life.” He finally sat back, both of their faces to the same level, and coming impossibly close to the other. “So what if we’ve had a small setback? So what if we have to start all over again in Dublin? We will do it together, like we have always done.”
“I love you.”
“I love you most, Arthur Guinness.” The kiss was unlike the ones they were used to giving each other, passionate with crashing teeth and world-shattering. This one was soft, tentative, as if they were doing it for the first time again. And somewhat, they were.
A.N: I hope you liked it Anon! I had so much fun writing this!
Hi!! I love your work. Could I please get High honor Arthur Morgan headcanons in contrast to the low honor headcanons 👀
High Honor Arthur Morgan Headcanons
Is reminded of Eliza and his son sometimes and gets the urge to bash his skull in, he gets so upset but forces himself to hide it.
He misses Mary but he's just glad she's not roped into his life as an outlaw.
He likes floral smells. Sometimes he literally stops to smell flowers. He's got a bit of shit from the other gang members for this but he's not embarrassed by it.
He loves to watch the sunset. He never goes to sleep without watching the sunset. He looks straight into the sun and burns his eyes but doesn't regret it, he finds the sun to be so beautiful.
Animals like him and dogs and cats naturally gravitate towards him and follow him around.
Constantly gets songs stuck in his head and the only thing that helps is to hum or sing the whole song.
Smells like pine, smoke, and sweat. He tries to keep as clean as possible.
He's not dumb, he just lives under a rock. He's confused by things like racism, sexism, politics, and small social norms.
Says he won't do something but you can bribe him to do nearly anything with a twenty-dollar bill. Also can't say no to a dare.
Nsfw (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)
Nice and slow. Real slow. Real gentle. At least at first.
He loves kissing you all over your body, no mole or scar or mark is safe from his soft lips worshipping your body.
He's got a huge cock and he has to be careful not to hurt you. He pets your hair and whispers sweet words into your ear, kissing you and telling you it's okay, telling you how good you feel wrapped around him.
He's so good at giving head. If you have a pussy, he's gonna suck and lick your clit for hours, fingering you while he does it. He groans as he does it, completely drunk on the taste of you. Sloppy and messy and practically making out with your cunt. If you have a cock, he can take it real deep in his mouth. He's not too experienced with giving blowjobs but he gives it his all. Spit runs down his chin and he doesn't bother to wipe it away. His eyelids flutter as he feels your dick slide into his throat.
Could probably cum while giving you head. He sits up, looking sheepish, and there's a huge wet spot on his pants right next to the huge outline of his cock.
He makes love rather than fucks. He holds you close and kisses your lips as his cock fills you over and over.
He can be rough if you want it. He's staring at you the whole time, groans and small whimpers falling from his lips. He stops immediately if he thinks he's hurt you. He never gets carried away unless you've made it clear to him that that's what you want.
He always makes sure you cum first, he'll even try to make you cum multiple times. He praises you and touches you so gently as he begs you to cum again. "Good girl/boy, it's okay, c'mon, do it again, cum on my cock."
He loves to cum inside you or on your belly. It turns him on to know his cum is inside you, he loves to pull out and watch the cum slowly dribble out of you. He cums a lot, his balls are always so heavy and full and he just needs someone to help him empty them.
He holds you afterwards. He loves to cuddle after sex. He's so heavy and strong.
