A/N : writers block has been genuinely whipping me so i am sorry to serve up this shit with a side of ass. But its all ive got
WC : 1k
TAGS : m!reader, established relationship, reader likes all the little details about arthur, bashful and useless arthur, arthur cant take a compliment, high honor arthur, pre-sick/no TB au
WARNINGS : none other than implied suggestiveness at the end
The little things. They're what you liked the most about Arthur.
When you first saw him, it hadn't been the big picture that'd caught your eye- it'd been the littlest thing. The way he leaned on the bar when talking to the barkeep.
You don't know if you would've noticed him if it wasn't for that.
For a long time, Arthur was a stranger in a memory, that little snippet of the way his body had moved with that one singular moment occasionally revisiting you. But, eventually, you got tangled up with the Van Der Linde gang, and the sight of him became much more frequent.
The carvings he got done on his favorite guns. The unintentional coordination in the outfits he picked out. The way he put his hand on his horse's neck when he fed it. The way his hips moved when he carried hay bales or sacks of grain.
The little things.
Then they became even smaller.
The thin scar on his chin. The two moles on his cheek, near his nose. The face he made when spoken to- specifically by Dutch. The way he rolled his eyes.
The closer you got to Arthur, the more you found to love. He noticed, too, and it made him bashful. You liked that. You still remember, first time you got to kiss him all those months ago, the way he'd grumbled when you'd pulled back and just stared at him, admiring him in the firelight.
"Yer beautiful." You'd told him, thumbing dirt off of his cheek to get a better look at his skin, spotted by sun damage.
He'd just scoffed.
Tonight, it really was just you and Arthur. Far away from camp, far away from anything, really. Laying by a lake after you'd spent all day fishing. Or, should you say, after Arthur fished all day, while you watched. You'd bullied him into taking off his shirt. It was your favorite show.
You were laying on top of him, feeling his skin on yours. Your head against the top of his chest, your fingers tracing the way the hair on his forearms grew. Of all the little things...perhaps this could be your favorite.
"S like...how tall grass blows in the wind, y'know?" You murmured, thumbing at the slight swirl of the pattern.
"You ever gon' stop sayin' crazy things like that?"
"Don't think so."
You pulled his arm closer to you, then shifted over to press your lips to the back of his wrist, moving up to his knuckles.
"So special, Morgan. That's what you are."
"Yer a god damn fool..."
"Don't mind it. Least I'm a happy fool."
He clicked his tongue, but you could hear the smile in it. You put his arm down, and leaned over to kiss him, slow n' gentle, just like he liked it. Once, then again, before you moved down to his chest, trailing your lips and nose down over his sternum.
"Jus'...can't get over how beautiful you are." You mumbled, mostly to yourself, but Arthur was listening. "An' how I'm so lucky..."
"Ah, come on.."
"If yer gon' be self deprecatin', shut yer mouth."
"...Fine."
You ran your hands over his abdomen, and over the sides of his waist, then under his back to feel the line of hair between his shoulder blades. You nuzzled under his jaw, felt his stubble scratch at your skin, kissed the freckle over his right brow. You knew every little part of him.
"My pretty boy." You cooed to him, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear with one hand while the other toyed with his belt loop, watching a flush creep up his neck.
"Talkin' to me like I'm some animal." Arthur grunted, perfect blue eyes trying to avoid your admiring gaze.
"Ain't we all animals, Morgan? In some way..." You leaned in to gently brush your nose against his. He huffed against your lips.
"S'ppose so. But we ain't the soft kind- I ain't a dog..."
"You ain't?" You teased, and his eyes immediately snapped onto you with a little frown. "Just messin' witcha."
You sighed, and leaned back down, cupping his jaw and smothering him in kisses again, pressing your chest flat to his. As you did, his hand found your waist, and he used the leverage to roll you both over so he could be on top of you.
"Yer special too." He murmured, ever so terrible at paying compliments. Almost as bad as he was at receiving them.
"Am I?" You asked softly, while he brushed his nose against yours.
"Yeah. Stronger than y' give yerself credit for. And..." He paused, and grumbled out a bit of embarrassment when he saw you watching him intently, with a little smirk on your face. "And a good man. Brave man."
"Thank you, Arthur."
You threaded your fingers through his hair, and tugged him down for a few more kisses, before you pulled apart, his forehead resting on yours.
Your hand slid down his nape, and over his shoulder to his front, trailing past his collarbones and over his chest and abdomen to the waistband of his jeans, which you plucked at.
"That was a lot of romance for you, cowboy. You gon' take yer pants off now?" You teased softly, and he scoffed, turning his head away with a smile on his lips.
"Shut up."
You grinned, before pressing your lips to his again. And, as you did, holding the kiss longer than the last few times, parting only for a second to suck in a breath and adjust the angle, his hands joined yours at the fly of his pants, sliding up a little to flick the button free.
"'S it okay if I do?" He asked quietly, in the millimeter of space between your lips when you pulled apart.
"'S more than okay."
You lived for nights like these. Kissing his lips raw with a hand down the front of his jeans, with no one to watch, no one to interrupt. Cause when you were so far away from civilization, there really was no need to rush.
You could take your time, savor your favorite parts. Pick apart every little detail, til you lay side by side, catching your breath while watching lanternflies criss-cross the stars.
thanks for reading my slop likes, comments and reblogs very appreciated. also send me reqs my reqs are open Give me ideas
the ten arthur morgan fanfics in my drafts begging me for scraps like victorian children. Please father please! We are so hungry please stop spending all the coin on drink! Oh father!
hate when fics describe the outfit the reader is wearing. no i am not wearing a skirt i am an adult man wearing jeans and a big belt with my white wifebeater tucked in and you are breaking my immersion
Im so tired of seeing extremely submissive FtM reader who just cries and begs whenever he's fucked it makes me feel so icky. I want to see trans man reader who isn't a whiny little puppy boy pleasseee let me have big muscular reader who's been on T for years and doesn't whine and cry every time he's in range of a dick. I want dominant trans man reader who actually tops instead of just getting penetrated all the time. Give him bottom surgery, a strap, anything, I'll do anything I'm just so tired of this bullshit.
hate being into some niche shit all while being gay like wat do you mean theres no m!reader caressing arthur morgans back hair for 10k words fanfic. What do you mean
A/N : i yearn for arthur so bad its not funny anymore
WC : 1.6k
TAGS : gang member!reader, arthur is drunk, arthur is a clingy drunk, high honor!arthur, pre-TB or non-sick AU
WARNINGS : suggestive so 18+ mdni. but no actual smut
You had never seen Arthur drunk. Not in camp, at least- usually, he only got deep in his cups when he went out, and then, he got so drunk, he became such a rowdy fool, you could not recognize him.
This was...a new kind of drunk Arthur.
You'd noticed before, that when Arthur would get drunk drunk, he always passed by this phase where he got a little quiet and just fumbled around with his drinks for a little. But he often got past that stage and into the giggling and hiccuping and stumbling all over himself stage within a few minutes.
It seemed, tonight, he hit a sweet spot.
In this limbo, Arthur was...strange. He was staring at you. Guiltily. You tried to act like you didn't notice, sharing a cigarette with Charles and exchanging a quiet conversation with him. But you kept getting distracted by the sheer intensity in the way Arthur stared at you over the campfire.
At one moment, you had the cigarette hanging loosely between your lips while listening to something Charles was telling you- and you saw, out of the corner of your eye, Arthur lean forward slightly. Like he was invested. He rested his elbows on his knees, and pensively thumbed at his own lower lip- all while staring at yours.
You cleared your throat slightly, taking the cigarette between your fingers and passing it to Charles before standing up. You saw Arthur make a face like a disappointed pup, eyes following you closely.
"Gonna head to bed now, I think." You said, stretching slightly.
"Sure." Was all Charles said, before politely adding, "Goodnight."
"Night, Charles. Arthur."
Arthur let out a dumb little mumble that sounded like acknowledgment.
You headed off to your tent and, after a few moments, you heard heavy footsteps following you. You knew it was him- he sounded uncoordinated. And when he caught up, the first thing he did was grab onto your sleeve.
"Hi." He muttered, and you stared at him, baffled by how different he was when drunk.
"...Hey Arthur. What's...What's goin' on?"
"Nothin'."
"... ...Can I go into my tent?"
"Yeah...okay."
And he followed you in. You'd never seen him more useless.
You weren't too sure what to do about him. He'd wobbled his way around to your back, and wrapped his arms around you tight, face tentatively nuzzling into the crook of your neck.
"Did y' take a bath?" He whispered, beard scraping against your shoulder. "Smell so good..."
"Arthur-"
"Yer...warm n'...n' soft...makes a man wanna...make a fool o' himself..."
"Arthur."
He was not listening. With a few more little fumbles, he managed to stick his hands under your shirt, pressing his palms to your stomach.
"Take off yer clothes." He finally said, drowsily.
You stared ahead. Baffled. Was this really Arthur Morgan? Was he really saying these things? You should pinch yourself.
He seemed to sober up for a fraction of second, letting out a groan of embarrassment. But he did not let go of you, instead squeezing you tighter to his chest.
"Ah...am sorry...'s just...'m real drunk..." He said slowly, rocking you both from side to side.
"It's fine, Arthur. You just gotta let go o' me, partner." You coaxed him, like you were talking to a dog.
Wrong choice of words.
"Nah...nah I...can't do that." Arthur just seemed to hold you tighter. "Just want ya...to be...to be comfortable. Wanna love ya..."
"Okay-"
"And I'm gon' love ya...so right..."
You did not have very many choices here. He was stronger than you, and somehow, even stronger when he was drunk. He smothered his face into the crook of your neck, pressing kisses all over every inch of your shoulder he could reach. And his hands were up your shirt, rubbing your abdomen first before lazily, and with a lack of coordination, slithering up to your chest.
You were surprised with Arthur- you'd seen this man with Mary, back in the day. Not a romantic bone in his body, mostly just a nervous little heap covered in muscle and masculinity. But, apparently, he knew how to put his hands to work- so much so that you almost fell for it.
You leaned your head back, lips parting slightly as he shifted his stance, standing a bit more steadily- kissing under your jaw, sucking slightly while making these breathy little grunting noises near your ear.
"C'mon..." He breathed against your ear, one hand sliding back down your stomach. "C'mon boy, please..."
Where did he learn this? You were thinking of a hundred things but, at the same time, of nothing at all. He thumbed at your navel. His hand went further down. Your pants pushed down slightly, his fingers rubbing against your pubic bone-
You finally gathered your senses enough to catch his hand. Were you about to let Arthur- what, jerk you off? You did not like that you considered it for a second.
"Yer drunk, Arthur." You told him, even if you were slightly out of breath, even if you were getting real hard in yer pants. "That's...that's enough. Lay down."
He held on to you for a moment longer, acting like a god damn kicked puppy, mumbling into your shoulder like he was a grumbling old dog. You were glad he was behind you- because one look of those bright turquoise eyes would probably make you succumb to him. Then, he stepped away, and shuffled around, til he dropped his weight onto the bedroll.
You put a bit of distance between you two so you could gather your wits, while Arthur plucked at the fastenings of his clothes and half-heartedly started wiggling out of his shirt.
"Have I been a fool?" He finally asked softly.
Oh, dear. He sounded almost sad. You couldn't bare it- Perhaps Arthur should try this as a new technique to get money out of people. The intimidation worked, but you're sure the puppy eyes and pathetic murmur would work wonders, too.
"No, Arthur. No. Ain't yer fault."
He let out a little mumble, and you turned around to look at him. His shirt was half undone, his hair sticking to his forehead due to a fine sheen of sweat. He was looking at you through his lashes- This grown, adult man was giving you puppy eyes. This grown, adult outlaw, actually.
You sighed, and resigned to walking over to him, kneeling down to help him get the rest of his shirt off. He did not touch. He just quietly watched. You slid it off his shoulders, then wiggled about removing your own shirt. The moment your shirt was off, he pulled you to him again. You realized he wanted nothing more than to feel all of you- so you lay next to him, and allowed him to run his hand over your chest, nuzzling his face back up against your neck.
"'M sorry..." He said again. "Jus' wanna love ya..."
"It's fine." You reassured. "Yer just drunk. It'll pass."
He let out a little huff. After a few minutes of letting Arthur explore quietly, he shuffled closer- threw a leg over your lap. You never thought you'd ever lie down like this with Arthur. He was back to kissing your shoulder, but now, with tiny, barely there kisses that he just peppered where ever he could reach.
"Wanna touch ya." He said quietly, once he'd settled in to your side.
"When yer sober, Arthur."
"Tha...tha's gon' take ferever..." Arthur complained. "I ain't even...drunk...in the first place..."
"If you're sober, I'm Jesus Christ. Come on, partner, get some sleep."
You pulled him in closer, just to get him quiet. He put his whole hand on your left pec- presumably for comfort's sake- and allowed himself to be bundled up for the night, thin blanket haphazardly thrown over you both.
"Bit more time." He breathed softly. "Gotta tell y' a secret..."
"Tell me." You figured that pushing back would just drag this on for longer.
"I thought of ya...like this...for a long time..." Arthur admited softly, thumbing at the curve of your chest. "So long...I couldn't even tell ya..."
He trailed out.
"...Don't tell anyone."
"I won't, cowboy."
He murmured in relief, then gave you one last lazy kiss on the jaw.
When you woke up, Arthur was up, too. Sitting with his face in his hands like he was absolutely mortified, perhaps trying to figure out how he could possibly salvage this.
"Good morning, mister Morgan."
You'd never seen him flinch, but flinch he did, looking back at you with a slightly reddened face.
"Oh...mornin' to ya." He said awkwardly, itching at his beard.
"How's the hangover?"
"Had worse."
You both sat in complete silence, trying to piece together what to say next. Even you weren't sure what to say- should you comfort him? Reciprocate? ...Did you reciprocate?
"Listen I- I don't know what that was, I hardly remember...-"
"It's alright, Arthur. Y' told me a lot o' things. But...I can wait til ya say em all again sober. Figure if you really mean it."
"Just remind me to keep away from the bottle, around you." He said, sounding utterly defeated.
You couldn't help but smile a little.
"I dunno. You had yer moments where you was real cute, Morgan."
"Aah...shut yer mouth."
You'd never seen him bashful. But there he was, rubbing the back of his neck as it burnt up. He snatched his shirt up, and began to stand.
"I'll...go."
"Say g'mornin' to everyone for me."
"Sure."
You watched him slip out of your tent, and sighed, laying back to stare up at the canvas. That night gave you things to think about.
Many things...
mmm...artur morgant....likes reblogs and comments always appreciated thx for reading
sorry for all the arthur lately, im almost done a fairly long leopold fic. i wrote it in two parts for some stupid reason and need to find a way to finish the first part to connect it to the second.
A/N : when i say i want to rub his belly i mean i want to RUB. his BELLY.
WC : 979
TAGS : m!reader, ranch hand!reader, high honor arthur, reader coddles arthur, arthur is shy and useless, early chapt 4/saint-denis setting
WARNINGS : none
Arthur Morgan was not a dog.
He was not a child, and he was not something soft, to be coddled.
This is what he kept trying to tell himself.
But after you'd bullied him into taking a bath in the luxurious Saint-Denis saloon, and after you'd paid him a room...he was not so sure.
"This is ridiculous." He grumbled.
"Shut up, Arthur."
You were swaddled up in bed together, all of his weight on top of yours, his face smothered in the crook of your neck. You were rubbing his back, and he was trying his absolute hardest to hate it.
There was a million ways this could be considered wrong. He was an adult man, for one. And an outlaw, a murderer, a killer. And you were a man too.
He was an adult murderer, shirtless, in bed with another man, who was petting him like he was a cute animal. Oh, and he was enjoying it, not that he'd say so.
You'd know Arthur for a long while, though you came from different walks of life. You were just a regular farmhand- you'd met Arthur years ago when he took a job at your farm.
He'd never changed. "I'm a bad man," he'd say, when you could get him to talk. "I don't deserve much more than I got." "I'm an outlaw!"
He'd be like a broken record every time you tried to offer him something nice, though in recent years, he'd gotten too tired to fight. When you told him to shut up and go take the bath you paid for him, he just gave you the eyes of a disgruntled old dog and lumbered off to do as you said.
You had always felt strongly for Arthur, and he knew this- of course, when a man cares for another like he should for a wife, it raises questions. Only, Arthur never bothered to ask questions. Whatever you two had going on, was best described as an unspoken agreement.
There was just something about him that made you want to make sure he was well. Once, you'd met Dutch Van Der Linde, when you bumped in to Arthur while he was with the man. You'd felt nothing but distaste towards him. Why? Because he worked Arthur too hard.
You were a fool.
"Y'got big muscles." You murmured dumbly, while rubbing at Arthur's biceps absentmindedly.
"All the more the reason I should not be layin' on you like this-"
"Let me admire you, Arthur. Don't make me tell you to shut up again."
He let out a little huff through his nose, like a horse, but relented none the less. Your hands moved up his biceps to his back, feeling up the muscles there and the smattering of hair between his shoulder blades. Then up to his neck, to rub at a tight spot near his spine, before reaching up to his hair, where your fingers gently tangled to scratch and comb at his scalp.
When you began to touch at his hair, his body seemed to decompress, and he let out a little grumble into your neck. You smiled slightly, turning your head to brush your nose against his hair.
"You like that?"
"Wha' makes y' think that...." He mumbled into your skin, barely audible.
You chuckled slightly, realizing just now that he'd made himself comfortable. His palms were tucked under your back, and his chest was so flat against yours, you could feel every beat of his heart. It was beating fast.
"Relax, Arthur." You whispered to him. You felt his face scrunch up against your shoulder.
"I am relaxed."
"Can feel yer heart beatin' hard..."
Maybe you shouldn't have told him, because you could swear it'd picked up a bit more speed. You felt his beard scratch at you as he turned his head, before pulling back and pushing himself up to try and put some distance between you two.
"I'm makin' a fool o' myself..." He complained.
But before he could escape, like he always did, you yanked at him, surprising him enough to let you manhandle him onto his back.
"Here." You said, laying your head on his chest this time. "This make y' feel better 'bout yerself? If we lay like this?"
He made the face of an embarrassed puppy- but agreed.
"Alright. Then we lay like this."
You aren't sure why Arthur decided this was better, because you could now hear firsthand how fast his heart was thumping in his chest. You were almost fearful he'd give himself a heart attack.
When his heart would not calm down despite the changed position, you heard him fumble for something on the nightstand, and eventually, light a cigarette.
You chuckled to yourself, and adjusted the way you were laying on him so you could put your hand on his chest, thumbing at his chest hair.
He let out a little grunt.
"You always gotta twiddle my body hair, don't ya?" He asked, and you smiled.
"I like it." You said, glancing up at him.
He rudely blew smoke directly at your face, forcing you to wave it away.
"Sure you do." He said, once you managed to clear the smoke cloud he'd blown at you.
"What, you don't like me touchin' it?"
You let your hand roam down, tracing the trail of hair that went down to his navel. Arthur didn't say anything, but he did put out his cigarette, while you kept tracing patterns on his abdomen, before finding your way under his navel, where you rested your hand- right above the waistband of his ranch pants, which you hadn't been able to convince him to change out of.
"You make me feel like a fool." He grunted, putting his hand over yours as though to make you quit your fiddling.
"Is that really such a bad thing?"
"...Guess not."
thank u for reading, comment, likes and reblogs always appreciated
A/N : im on an arthur grind sorry....i have like 3 other wips waiting
WC : 2.4k
TAGS : m!reader, artistocrat!reader, chapter 4 arthur, internalized homopbia (reader) a little, high honor arthur
WARNINGS : none
"'S just a bunch o' yankees runnin' lose. Have ya seen 'em? Dirty horses, dirtier clothes...there's this big one, saw him sprinting through town like a lunatic..."
"Yes, I saw him too."
You were distracted in your answers, tracing circles on the table top with the condensation that had dripped all over it from your glass.
Because you knew that big one. You knew him in a way you did not exactly wish to tell others.
Your first encounter with Arthur Morgan had been strange, the stuff of fairy tales and romance novels. He'd burst into the bar you were at and, as he was walking up to the bartender, he glanced at you.
He'd had the most striking turquoise eyes you'd seen in your life. Blue under the shadow of his hat but green when he tilted his head up and let the sunlight hit them.
You'd turned your head to look at him so quickly, you woke up the next day with a pulled muscle. You'd never seen a man like that. With shoulders like that, with a waist like that, with legs like that! It took you til the woman you'd been talking to moments earlier scoffed loudly and began fanning herself in offence to realize you'd been absolutely gawking at him for much longer than necessary.
"Sorry, madame," was the best you could manage. "you know we don't get men like that often, in Saint-Denis."
He drank a shot of whiskey without batting an eye, put his glass down harder than was proper. He argued with the bartender, left in a huff, but not before getting hassled by a drunkard- who apparently told him what he'd come to hear, because he walked out the bar looking rather resolute.
Something possessed you to stand and follow him out, much to the chagrin, once more, of the woman you'd been entertaining. By the time you made it outside, he had disappeared into an alleyway.
Your words were true- you did not get men like him in Saint-Denis. Ever. Herders never came into the city, either hating the civilization or simply not needing to, for their business was in the countryside. Outlaws were only ever here to be hung, otherwise they avoided the place like the plague- too much law. The closest you'd ever seen were the sailors, but they were always drunk and buried in the nearest brothel for you to care particularly.
This, you deduced, was a real, authentic American cowboy. Hat and all.
The next time you met Arthur, it was he who spoke to you.
"'Scuse me, mister." He said, coming up next to you as you mounted your horse, leaving the theater after viewing a show.
"Yes sir, how can I help?" You'd said, leaning down to make sure you'd hear him well.
He set a hand on the neck of your horse, as though to make sure you weren't going anywhere, then tilted his head up to look at you past the brim of his hat.
"You wouldn't mind pointin' me to the stables, would'ja? 'M new in town, my horse needs some carin' for..."
"It is not so far from here, sir. If you only continue down this street, towards the boardwalk- it will be on your left." You told him, gesturing slightly to help him orient himself.
"Mighty kind of you." He said, tipping his hat slightly. Then, he added, "Feels like I know your face, mister."
"You might. We met eyes in the saloon, a day ago, but only briefly. What is your name?"
"Arthur Morgan."
You told him your name, and he offered you a quick handshake- a firm one, almost startling you with the strength in his grip, before he thanked you again and was on his way.
You stared at your hand, as though amazed, for an odd moment. You then shook yourself out of it. This strange man had you all out of sorts, acting like a blushing virgin before him! Embarrassing behavior for an adult man, you told yourself, before being on your way.
But then you saw him again. And again.
The longer Arthur stayed in town, the more your paths seemed to cross and the more you heard about him. You liked to talk to the people in the streets, and they all had something to say about him. The more you heard, the more you liked. The more you liked, the more you questioned.
You were not a man of...of alternate romantic persuasions, you did not think. But when you thought of him, you got hot under the collar- and you thought of him a lot.
Yes, he was a large, fairly...attractive man, but he was also a very kind one, so you heard. At least, kind of heart, while maybe a little bit rough around the edges.
Eventually, you found yourself sharing a drink with him.
"You're making a name for yourself in Saint-Denis, mister Morgan." You told him.
"That so? Well, it ain't on purpose..."
"Not in a bad way. They say you're quite the good man."
He scoffed at that, and downed his glass. "Nah, nah...Not a good man at all. You don't know me."
Something, once more, possessed you to do something stupid, and you murmured around the lip of your glass, "I would not mind knowing you, mister Morgan."
Luckily, he did not hear you well- or perhaps he pretended not to.
You and Arthur met up for drinks a few more times after that. You also took him up to the tailor to fit him for a new shirt. You showed him around town, and he took you out into Rhodes' environs to show you what he rather see.
You were much too weak to him, and being around him so much rendered you weaker. Seeing him on the saddle, watching him set up camp for you both, observing the way his back worked- it was becoming the object of your daily fantasy, and, try as you might, you could not find a logical explanation to this sudden illness of the mind you had been attacked by.
This fascination that bordered on obsession- or worse, on lust- was unnatural. A man should not look at another, a man should not wish for another!
But Arthur Morgan was not any man. He was one in a million, you told yourself, something you may never see again, once he leaves Saint-Denis and returns west, like he keeps telling you he wishes to do.
Slowly, as though pulled out of a drowsy trance, your eyes dragged back up to meet Arthur's. Only now did you realize, that the whole time you've been sitting across from him, you've spent looking at the flesh exposed by the undone buttons at the top of his shirt, and the slight smattering of hair you could see poking out of there.
"Sorry." You murmured, placing your chin in your hand and turning your gaze away to stare, instead, at the floorboards in shame.
"Fer what?" Arthur asked, thumbing at the side of his glass.
"For ogling you so indecently, my friend. There must be something in the air, I have been acting most strangely, as of late..."
"Indecently?" He repeated, before glancing down at himself, and clearing his throat slightly. "S not like I'm naked. Yer fine."
For once, you managed to hold your tongue.
It was after a sleepless night spent in deep reflection that you chose to confront Arthur about this illness of the mind you'd been attained by.
You almost felt guilty, putting the blame on him for how you felt after spending such lovely moments with him. After all, it was not his fault he was unbearably attractive. He was only born that way.
Alas, you finally told him, while you both sat together off the side of a trail, watching a river flow.
"I have something I must tell you, mister Morgan." You said, and his head turned, so he could look at you.
He gave a grunt of acknowledgement.
"You make me feel a strange way." You said slowly. "I don't know...what I am meant to think."
"My lifestyle often has that effect on people."
"No. Not your lifestyle, mister Morgan. You. I feel for you as I should for a woman. And I do not know what to think."
That, he did not answer for a long moment.
"Well I...You seem pretty clear on what you think. You uh. Feel for me as y' should for a woman, or whatever y' said." He shrugged. "That's...fine."
"It's more complicated than that. It isn't natural...I should not feel this way. Perhaps...I am afraid..."
"O' me?"
"Yes." You said, guilty. "Of you. And how you make me feel."
He let out a gruff "Mm", ever a man of few words, then turned his body to face yours.
"Don't gotta be scared o' none. Don't s'ppose I ever heard anyone ever call love scary."
"Love is not scary. It is the novelty of loving a man. What am I to expect? Will it all be the same as a woman? And what will society think of me?"
Though you would not cry, distress was evident in your voice. Arthur kindly put a hand on your shoulder.
"I ain't a good man, and I certainly ain't a good lover. I don't think I can...can offer you much. M' sorry."
He then patted your shoulder, and stood, walking a few steps away towards his horse before you scrambled up to follow him.
"Arthur, please." You said, catching up to him at his steed- he seemed to startle at the first name basis.
Still, he turned to face you. It took you much courage to so much as grit out your final request- but Arthur heard it. And, after glancing up and down the trail to make sure no riders were coming, he cleared his throat, took his hat off- shielding you both, momentarily, from the world- and pressed your lips together.
Neither of you said anything after that, as he pulled away, fixed his hat back on, and got in the saddle, putting a rapidly growing distance between you two.
So, now here you were. At the mayor's garden party, talking to some factory owner or other, about that big one. Gods damn it, Arthur, was all you could think. Leave it to a cowboy to ruin your life- it was like all the romance novels said.
"Please, excuse me." You murmured.
The fireworks had started, and you needed a break from all the noise. Inside you went, hoping to escape to the upstairs balcony, which had recently been deserted. But on your way up the stairs...
"Scuse me."
"Oh, excuse me, sir, I..."
Good lord. He cleaned up beautifully. So beautifully, you thought you might vomit, so quickly did your heart seize.
"Mister Morgan, I...Hello."
He nodded curtly, mumbling out a polite greeting in return. His ears were red, so you noticed.
"You're dressed nicely." He commented lamely.
"So are you. You look...very..."
You were also rather lame.
Then, after a very long moment spent in stupid silence, you decided that you'd made enough of a fool of yourself around this man as it was. You could not possibly do worse.
And so you grabbed him by the lapels, and yanked him to your chest, kissing him as hard as you could manage.
He scrambled to grip your blazer at the back, much to your surprise, and you both stumbled down a few steps, before Arthur managed to press you up against a wall, stopping your clumsy decent.
You could taste cigar smoke on his lips and he could no doubt taste champagne on yours- his body was so warm, only a solid wall of man pressed to yours that you could, inexplicably, not stop touching, your hands running up the sides of his neck, then back down the front of his suit.
It took a ridiculous amount of time for you both to wrench away from each other, Arthur immediately glancing back to check the bottom of the stairs while you looked up to check the top. Coast was clear.
"The hell was that?" Arthur finally managed, pulling away from you as though being hit with a wave of clarity of sorts.
"I...I am not sure." You babbled, adjusting your collar like a moron. "I must've...I was..."
"Utterly stupid, that's what," He grunted, wiping his brow. "You know how many people-? Ah...hell..."
You both stood there, dumbly, before he glanced sideways at you, over his shoulder once more, then stooped back down to kiss you. You wrapped your arms up and around his neck, and you ran your fingers through his hair. He squeezed you tighter when you did so- like he liked it.
Maybe it'd go on forever. By now, you were past tracking time. You didn't care for much else other than how he felt...
"Arthur!"
You both jumped, and Arthur turned around incredibly fast. You noticed his hand reach for his hip, as though for a gun. You blinked in surprise.
Three men were at the bottom of the stairs, staring at you and Arthur quizzically. But then, they smiled. It was not good natured, but clearly friendly, and mocking.
"Need a minute?" The one with an impressive mustache said.
"No, no. I...uh.." Arthur glanced back at you- you'd never seen such a large man look so embarrassed. "We was..."
"Did you at least find anything?" Another asked, this one with a nasally voice and a few years more than the first.
"Yeah. I did...I..." He patted his breast pocket awkwardly, then glanced at you again, and gave you a little 'I am so sorry, I will see you later' kind of wave. "I think we're done here." He finally said, before making his way down the stairs to rejoin his...friends?
You stood, shell-shocked, on the stairs, while you heard the fourth man mock Arthur about being a "sly dog", while Arthur grumbled for him to shut up.
You managed to regain your senses enough to make your way all the way down the stairs, and watch them leave down the long hallway and through the open doors. When they reached the entrance gates, all four men retrieved guns from the guard at the front.
What exactly had you gotten yourself into?
thank you for reading, likes reblogs and comments are always very appreciated.
i think the reason i cant write smut is not because i am chuddy and useless but instead because when i find a man attractive its always some gay shit like his back or the way he walks. Oh he has a big dick? Yeah but have you seen the way he puts his hands on his knees when he crouches down
A/N : ive become so emotionally attached to arthur that everything he does makes me cry
WC : 809
TAGS : m!reader, gang member!reader, injured arthur, reader is in love with arthur
WARNINGS : spoilers for a chapter 3 mission
You were a silent vigil. A violent one. You were unnecessarily protecting something that had been disturbed, even long after it had been brought back to its den.
You sat there, hugging your shotgun to your chest, hardly blinking- let alone doing anything else, like eating and drinking.
If Pearson, or Dutch, or god forbid, Micah, got too close, you'd rack that shotgun. And you'd stare them in the eyes til they walked away.
Arthur wasn't better. Not yet. He was feverish, he kept thrashing and hurting himself all over. He was still scared, no matter how many times he came to and realized, for but a moment, that he was home. Then he'd get bad again.
You'd only let miss Grimshaw and the girls get behind you, let them check Arthur's shoulder and feed him. Anyone else was kept a barrels length away- and then some.
For some reason, you couldn't find shame in yourself, not when it came to Arthur. In any other situation, you'd have been embarrassed, treating a man like this weak thing that has to be protected, that you have to keep safe, and away from anyone that ain't you. You felt like an animal, a sick one, protecting the last thing it had.
When the night fell and everyone would head to bed, you'd stay awake. You'd stare at him and wait for him to wake up, cause he always did, wake up with a gasp and a babble of "Where 'm I?". You'd help him lay back down. And you'd tell him he was home.
Part of you itched to shoot Dutch in the arm and string him up, too. He was the one who'd told everyone Arthur would just roll back in. He was the one who couldn't tell something was horribly wrong.
You looked for him, leastways you tried, best you could, but you were a livewire when you lost something so important, and most men who just said they didn't know what you were talking about weren't standing no more.
When Arthur came back, it was like a lead weight in your stomach, when you saw him drop off his horse like that. What you could've done to make sure he got home safe that day, you'd never stop beating yourself over it.
"M'h par'ner..."
You startled out of your spiral, turning to look at the source of the mumble. He'd woken up again.
"Partner..." He rasped, waving his good hand at you weakly, before grinding out your name, too.
You got off your chair, kneeling at his bedside in less than a moment, pressing your hand to his feverish forehead.
"M here, Arthur. Right here."
He grasped your wrist, head turning to face you while his eyes were still closed. "I'h hurts..." He told you, and you nodded your head, thumbing away the sweat pearling at his brow.
"Okay. I'll get you yer medicine. Gon' be alright, Arthur, it wont hurt for long."
Like a fool, you stooped down, kissing between his brows like he was some soft thing to be cared for. At least he let out a little mumble of appreciation.
While you prepared a ridiculous mix of every opiate a man could get his hands on- half stolen from Swanson, half bought from the doctors- you thought on what this meant for you. The camp members must suspect something, the way you're protecting Arthur like he's the most important thing in the world.
For once, you don't care.
So long as Arthur gets better, you don't care one bit.
You chose not to dwell on them. You turned back to Arthur, sitting him up while careful of his shoulder. You sat by his bed and you gave him his medicine- soon enough, he was dozing off again.
You hated it, having to keep Arthur this out of it so that he wouldn't be in pain.
"'M sorry, Arthur." You whispered to him, tucking his head into the crook of your shoulder. "'M sorry. 'S gon' be all better soon."
He couldn't answer, already unconscious. His beard, grown past the length he usually kept it at, scraped at your shoulder whenever he moved even a tiny bit, like when he'd take a deep breath. But you wouldn't move, not if he'd gotten comfortable there.
You let him sleep- and you slept, too.
In the morning, you woke up to miss Grimshaw jostling you lightly. Arthur was still asleep on your shoulder, and you were reluctant to move- but glancing past her, you saw some funny looks that immediately made you shuffle away from Arthur, easing him down into the sheets.
It wasn't for your dignity you did that. It was for his.
"Someone should shave him." You mumbled to Grimshaw, before snatching up your shotgun and sitting at the front of his tent again.
You'd eat later.
thank you for reading, likes comments and reblogs always appreciated
