polite society, valentine style

You can call me True 🤠 ☆ 24 ☆ They/Them ☆ Extremely 18+ (my main is @onedaymyhappinesswillcome ) 🫧

[onedaymyhappinesswillcome]

Hii 🫧

my name is cait (they, þei, or she is finee)

I love fandom, history, literature and fashion 🩷

I'm autistic and flit between accounts depending on my current fixation, but I am always available to nerd out over something

my other blogs (+ao3) :

🫧 @sideblogwhoa 🫧

Personal side blog with no theme. Swing by and have a chat!

🤠 @we-loved-once-and-true 🤠

Red Dead Redemption blog. Call me Cait, or my username, True. 🔞

🍄 @astarionwasrightthere 🍄

My Baldur's Gate 3 blog. Call me Cait, or refer to me by my Tav, Mao! 🔞

🩷 @victorian-barbie 🩷

My (mostly historical) fashion blog! Hey, Barbie! or just cait is fine too

My AO3 is: welovedonceandtrue

I don't just post rdr fics, I'll be branching out into more soon!

[we-loved-once-and-true]

🤠

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

Three words like honey

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader ✦ Summary: This is the answer for a request from some time ago of an anon asking for Arthur being so in love with his girl that he forgets to pull out and finishes inside of her 🫣 For the life of me, I can't find said ask in my inbox!! Sorry for that little anon, and for how long it took. ✦ Warnings/tags: MDNI!! 18+ p in v, super fluffy, idiots in love, Arthur is so so smitten, coming inside, St Denis. ✦ Words: 2k Arthur's pic belongs to @/delliebre on Pinterest! Past events are written in italics.

St Denis. The windows of one of these rich hotels overflow with lewd noises, threatening to collapse under the weight of obsenity. The night outside doesn't absorb them and let them fade, all the contrary. And inside, those silk sheets and fluffy pillows are probably the only good thing this damn town has to offer, Arthur thinks to himself. Especially when he can have you all to himself, lying under him, his large hips spreading your thighs so widely, your back sinking into the mattress at every thrust of his.

"A-Arthur!"

"Jesus, y'feel so good."

Hearing you call his name like that. It's too much, an unthinkable oasis he would never dare imagine for a second, considering the arid desert that is his life. The sound of your voice, so soft and feminine, murmuring his name, crying out with pleasure, whispering to him during intimate nights when only the two of you existed in the world. It was the greatest gift of all.

He remembers the very first time your eyes fell on him. A look he would never have deserved even if he had repented for centuries. A look that not even the most pious of saints would deserve. The second your pupils caught his, he knew it was too late. He'd never see the sky the same way again, because no stars would ever shine as bright as you.

"Oh please, like that!" You pleaded, the pace and angle he had found spreading waves of pure pleasure through you with every move of his.

He groaned deeply in reply, strong arms encircling you on either side as his hips pounded relentlessly, a slow but steady rhythm. His cock plunges deep, all the way in, striking that spot inside of you that makes life worth living.

He stares down at you for a few seconds, your breasts bouncing thanks to his thrusts, making his muscles tighten and that itch in his balls burning.

The first time he had caught a glimpse of them, the blouse you were wearing that day was soaked after a banter with Sean that ended up in the fresh waters of the lake. Walking out of it on the shore, he had confirmation that mermaids did indeed exist. The droplets of water running down your chest, like pearls of diamonds. The swell of them, barely hidden by the damp fabric sticking to your curves, teasing his sanity. You were a test made for mortal men about the sin of Lust.

He had been quick to steal glances from you. From across the campfire. When you were both feeding your horses. When he was cleaning his gun. And you had been looking back. At first, he couldn't believe it; his thick, stubborn skull convinced him it was a trick of the light. But you were. And he loved it. He could feel his neck turning red, his cock getting hot against his will when you would stare at him for too long. Especially when he was chopping wood, he had noticed.

"Arthur don't stop!!"

"I -Oh, God damn it,- I ain't stopping sweetheart, I ain't." Balancing his weight on only one arm, he swiftly grabbed your right leg and brought it to his shoulder, making you cry out, the new angle even better than before. "Ah- Not until you had it all."

And you would get it too fast for your liking. His abdomen rocking back and forth, bending his belly in this hypnotizing movement every time he sinks into you. The veins on his shoulders and neck as all his muscles are used to fuck you good and proper. His big, rough hand holding your thigh up against him. His eyes fixed on your face. It's all too much for you.

"I'm… I'm going to-"

"Yeah, give it t'me, girl." He orders between gritted teeth, his fingers digging into the flesh of your leg.

The first time you had made love together. Oh, how he wanted to please you. To show you the love he had been hiding for so long, his journal the only witness to his secret. Because behind the baser instincts and forbidden desires already laid a stronger, much more powerful feeling. Oh, he should have known from the start. He should have known himself after all these years. Sexual attraction was just the tip of the iceberg and always hid something else. The affection he felt for you and still feels for you today has never stopped growing. His need to protect you, to make you happy, to have you all to himself bordered on obsession. The way he had held you that night, touched you. Like it was a privilege. Like you were an angel who'd spread its wings and disappear, far, far away from him in the morning. Slow, and tender, and so different from what you had expected. The roughness had come later, once he was sure he wouldn't hurt you. Once he was persuaded you wanted it. Then, and only then, he had started really letting all out, both of you eager and rough and wild.

You cry out in pleasure, and he fucks you through it, whispering tender praises at you, cock filling you just like you need it, steadily pumping in and out until the very last drop of your orgasm.

Oh that clench around his cock —that sweet, warm and tight pressure all around him. He had almost forgotten all about it. He wanted to feel it every goddamn day of his miserable life, but most of all, he wanted to make you feel this good every holy day of yours. He loved you, so goddamn much. So much it was almost frightening him. So much he could move mountains for you, dive the deepest Ocean, kill anyone you'd tell him to. Damn it he felt like a goddamn dog you'd keep in leash. But so, so proud he was the one able to push you to that edge.

"Yeah, that's right, that's my girl." He sighs, voice getting desperate as he looks at your pleasured and disheveled face, hair a mess and mouth open, high-pitched moans of pleasure escaping softly from your throat again. Now that he has accomplished his mission, he isn't going to last long.

The way you mended his clothes just like you patched up his heart. The softness of your caresses. The way you were taking care of him more than anyone had before. That night you had kept him completely against your heart so that he could fall asleep. The way you were always standing up for others. That look you gave him when he was being sarcastic. Your words covering his when he said shit about his look in front of the mirror. Your laugh shattering through all the other ones in camp. The way your lips felt. Your perfume still filling his nose when he fell asleep alone. Oh, how he loved you.

He's so close it's becoming almost painful. He can't take it anymore —the feeling of your naked skin everywhere against his once again, the warmth of your pussy welcoming him in this unholy embrace he shouldn't be granted with. All those memories filling his enamored brain as he keeps on rutting you, unable to stop himself, wanting to do one with you. The pleasure you're giving him is just too much for his poor sanity, and he let go of your leg to snake both of his arms around your middle section, pressing you all against him as his ass contracts and swells to keep on thrusting inside.

He's almost there, but he keeps his cock inside, the hard line of his so firm he's almost impaling you now.

And as he is losing himself in you, one of your hands gently runs through his hair from the base of his neck all the way up to his messy hazelnut strands, touch so gentle, so loving, so perfect, your statisfied blissed state contrasted with his phrenetic one, and you whisper all against his ear,

"I love you."

He moans so deeply it turns into a growl, his head buried in the loop of your shoulder and neck, his cock letting everything go as if you just had ordered him to come. You can feel it, deep inside, his thick and hot cum filling you up for the first time, and you could have been thrown over the edge once again too if it wasn't so soon. His embrace is almost suffocating as he's holding you stronger than ever.

A few seconds pass, and his pace finally slows, his softening shaft moving slightly and sloppily inside your pussy with wet and filthy noises, like a spoon twirling into honey —wanting to put off the moment he'll have to pull out. And that feeling, God. Every last move from him is answering your words. "Me too. Me too. Me too." He's a mumbling mess, words just grunts of pleasure and bliss and desperation against your skin.

Both of you spend and euphoric, you moan and sigh for a few more seconds suspended in time. He then rolls to one of his sides and is about to snuggle against you with that pleased smile he has after sex, when he suddenly goes straight up in a quick and clumsy move. He looks straight at you, eyes wide, mouth opening in an almost panicked expression, not the hint of a smirk on his lips.

"Oh, shit! Shit, sweetheart, I'm sorry I-" His hands fly over your body without daring to touch you, as if he were going to make things worse.

"It's okay, Arthur."

"God, you should have yelled to me, you should have pushed me back!" His throat feels like someone is strangling it. How could he have been so stupid?! He couldn't even stop himself; he had completely forgotten. Not better than a fucking animal in heat. "Damn it Morgan, goddamn bastard y'a are!"

"Push you back, with your full weight on me?" You chuckle, but he doesn't. You sigh softly with a small grin of your own. "Arthur, look at me." You add, one of your hands reaching for the side of his face, stubble slightly prickling you.

He does as you ask, his eyebrow up in a deep expression of regret. His chest rises and falls quickly. The guilt and shame of what he just did are twisting his guts. The fear of what it implies and what he did to both of you even worse. Goddamn dog he is.

"It's okay. I don't mind."

There are a few seconds of pure silence, and you can almost see the gears turning behind his forehead as he processes your words.

"You… Ya don't?"

"No. I just told you, I love you." You hold his gaze, deeply. Having been with him for some time now, you know that the words that follow will be important, decisive even. "And I wouldn't mind starting a family with you, if that happens."

Arthur burst out in joy, which, of course, only shows by the way he smirks from one ear to the other and looks down, sighing through his nose. He then turns his head to put a quick kiss on your forehead. He doesn't answer right away, but you need him to. The way all of his worries seem to have vanished forever is more than enough. He gets up from the luxurious bed, searching for a towel or anything else to clean you up. You lazily stay there, not bothering to look at his naked body walking in the room as if he was the master of the place, his cock, still big and heavy even softened, swaying as he moved.

"That's the first time." He says when he comes back with a white, fresh, and perfumed towel. God, being rich was really something else.

"What do you mean?"

"First time you say it t'me." He explains as he sits beside you, carefully cleaning your cunt he had just filled up. There's a wild and savage side in him, hidden between the shame and the guilt that feels so pleased to see his cum dripping out of it like that. What a sight.

"You never said it either, as far as I know."

"'s better when you say it," He chuckles lowly.

"Better for you, dummy."

"Hush now, or I'll crush you under my 'massive weight' again."

You both laugh together. You stay naked for the rest of the night, cuddling, talking, dreaming. It's only when you're on the verge of falling asleep, the comforting warmth of his body against yours shielding you from the freshness of the night, that Arthur answers,

"I love you, too."

a/n: as always, english isn't my first langage, please reach out to me if you spot any spellings! Thank you so much for reading all this to the end, please consider reblogging or commenting if you liked, it would mean the world to me!

[cowboysoupbowl]

cowboy kisses

[floraltarts]

sorry i forgot this existed lmao 😭

dutch van der linde holding an apple (his ego, his “plan”) while a rat 🐀, a wounded wolf 🐺 and a marked deer 🦌 circle him… and if you look close arthur’s watching from inside the apple 👀

[cryptidcr3ature]

This came to me in a vision at 3 AM. Mr. 0-100 Charles Smith. I love him so bad.

[cryptidcr3ature]

This came to me in a vision at 3 AM. Mr. 0-100 Charles Smith. I love him so bad.

[morganscampfire-deactivated2026]

✮ rodeo dust (18+ mdni) - modern!arthur morgan x reader summary: arthur says he doesn’t care much for rodeos anymore. then he gets back on a bull, catches you staring, and decides the night doesn’t need to end at the arena. 3.5k words cw: explicit sexual content, dirty talk, semi-public truck sex, possessive language, rough sex, unprotected sex, creampie. a/n: i know absolutely sweet nothing about rodeos & whatever this is mainly based on tv shows lmao. apologies! it's been so long (like a week lmao) since i've been here! ao3 did see it first, but it made it's way to tumblr! i hope you all enjoy my first modern arthur! 🤎

arthur morgan had a habit of acting like romance was something that happened to other men. not because he was bad at it. that was the irritating part.

arthur could be romantic without seeming to know he was doing it. he remembered how you took your coffee. he kept an old blanket in the back of his truck because you got cold easily, even in summer. he checked the weather before you went anywhere, though he would rather die than admit it. if you mentioned liking something in passing it had a way of appearing again later, offered with a shrug like it meant nothing.

but if you called it sweet, he got embarrassed. if you called it romantic, he looked at you like you’d accused him of a crime. so when you asked him to take you to the rodeo, you expected grumbling and that's exactly what you got.

“a rodeo,” he repeated from the kitchen, one hand on the fridge door. “in this heat?”

you sat at the table, chin in your hand. “yes.”

“it’ll be loud.”

“probably.”

“full of folks.”

“that is usually how events work.”

arthur gave you a look and you smiled sweetly right back at him.

he sighed like he had suffered greatly. “parking’ll be a nightmare.”

“you have a truck.”

“so does every other fool in the county.”

“arthur.”

“what?”

“i want to go.”

that did it. you watched the argument leave him in real time, slow and reluctant, his jaw shifting like he was annoyed at how easily you had won.

“fine.”

you grinned. “fine?”

“don’t make me say it twice.”

“you want to take me to the rodeo.”

“i did not say that.”

“that’s arthur for ‘i’d love to.’”

he pointed at you. “watch yourself.”

you laughed, and despite himself, his mouth twitched.

by saturday, for someone who supposedly did not want to go, arthur had filled the truck, checked the tires, packed water, and thrown an old blanket in the back seat.

“you’re awfully prepared,” you said, watching him shut the tailgate.

“heatstroke ain’t cute.”

“you think i’m cute?”

he looked at you from beneath the brim of his hat. “that what you got from that?”

“mhm.”

he shook his head, but his eyes were warm. “get in the truck.”

he opened the passenger door for you, hand steady at your waist as you climbed in. you had changed twice before deciding on a white skirt, boots, and a soft top that had made him look at you for half a second too long when you came downstairs.

on the drive out, the windows were cracked, country music played low from the radio, and arthur’s hand rested warm on your thigh like it belonged there.

“you’ve been to rodeos before, haven’t you?” you asked.

his eyes stayed on the road. “few.”

“few as in watched, or few as in rode?”

he was quiet for half a second too long.

you sat up straighter. “arthur.”

“what?”

“you rode?”

“long time ago.”

“and you didn’t tell me?”

“never came up.”

“i’ve been talking about this rodeo all week.”

“you were excited. didn’t wanna interrupt.”

“with the fact that my boyfriend used to ride in rodeos?”

his mouth twitched.

you narrowed your eyes. “bull riding?”

his silence answered before he did.

“arthur morgan.”

“don’t start.”

“you rode bulls?”

“a few.”

“a few?”

“more than a few.”

you laughed, delighted, and his hand squeezed your thigh once before returning to the wheel.

“are you riding today?”

“hell no.”

“why not?”

“because i ain’t twenty-two and stupid anymore.”

“you’re still a little stupid.”

he glanced over. “sweetheart.”

by the time you reached the rodeo grounds, the sun had dropped low enough to turn everything gold. trucks lined the field, dust lifted beneath boots, and the air smelled like fried food, livestock, summer heat, and beer. music drifted from somewhere near the stalls, mixed with the announcer’s crackling voice and the low, restless sound of cattle behind the chutes.

arthur was right about the parking. naturally, he mentioned it.

“told you.”

“you did.”

“oughta listen to me more.”

“i listen to you plenty.”

“could stand to do it a little more.”

you rolled your eyes, but when he came around and opened your door, you still let him take your hand. inside, he kept close without making a show of it. his hand found your lower back when the crowd thickened. he bought you lemonade and complained about the price. he wiped dust from the bleacher before you sat down. every time someone passed too close, his body shifted subtly nearer to yours.

the rodeo started with roping, then barrel racing, then bronc riding. you cheered more than he did, but he watched everything with a quiet, assessing eye. now and then he leaned close to explain something over the noise, his voice low by your ear, his knee pressed against yours. you were having a good time. arthur noticed.

“you’re starin’,” you said, catching him looking at you instead of the arena.

“am not.”

“you are.”

“just makin’ sure you’re enjoyin’ yourself.”

“that’s staring.”

“that’s supervision.”

you laughed, and his expression softened before he could stop it.

then came the bull riding. the crowd changed for it, louder and sharper, hungry with anticipation. down by the chutes, a bull slammed hard into the rails, making the metal rattle. arthur’s posture changed beside you. his shoulders drew back. his gaze sharpened. his hand flexed once on his knee.

“you miss it?” you asked.

he did not look at you. “miss what?”

“that.”

he watched as the first rider settled onto the bull’s back.

“sometimes,” he said.

the answer surprised you. then the gate opened. the bull exploded out, twisting hard enough to throw the rider in a few seconds. the crowd shouted as men ran in to draw the animal away. arthur watched with a faint curve to his mouth.

“he leaned too far back,” he said.

you looked at him. “you’re judging?”

“observin’.”

“you are absolutely judging.”

“little bit.”

before you could answer, a man near the chutes spotted him and started grinning. arthur went still.

“do you know him?” you asked.

“unfortunately.”

the man made his way over, far too pleased with himself. “morgan?”

arthur sighed. “tom.”

“i knew that was you. damn, boy, you got old.”

“you got loud.”

tom laughed, then looked at you. “and who’s this?”

arthur’s arm shifted along the back of the bench behind you, casual but unmistakable.

“my girlfriend.”

your stomach fluttered at the simple certainty of it.

tom tipped his hat. “ma’am. you know this man used to ride?”

“i just found out.”

“shameful, keepin’ secrets like that.” tom looked back at arthur. “we’re short one rider for the exhibition round.”

arthur’s answer was immediate. “no.”

“i ain’t even asked.”

“i heard enough.”

you sat up a little and arthur noticed instantly.

“don’t,” he said.

you blinked innocently. “i didn’t say anything.”

“you got that look.”

“what look?”

“the one that gets me in trouble.”

tom laughed. “she wants to see it.”

“she does not.”

you tried to keep your face neutral. and you failed terribly arthur looked at you.

“no.”

“i didn’t ask.”

“you’re about to.”

“you don’t have to,” you said, which was true. then, less helpfully, “but i would like to see it.”

his jaw worked.

“course you would.”

“only if you want to.”

“that ain’t fair.”

“what?"

“sayin’ it sweet.”

in the end, arthur went. grumbling the whole way.

he stripped off his jacket near the chutes, accepted a vest and gloves from tom, and rolled his shoulders like his body remembered before his mind could complain. watching him down there changed something in the air. he looked different with his hat low and his jaw set, broad and calm among the noise, pulling on a glove with his teeth as if fear was something he had met before and never much liked.

your mouth went dry. oh. that was inconvenient.

arthur swung himself down into the chute, settling onto the bull’s back with a practiced ease that made the crowd around you murmur. the animal slammed against the gate beneath him. arthur adjusted his grip, head bowed, one hand tight around the rope.

then he looked up. his eyes found you. and smiled. not sweetly. not softly. a small, knowing curve of his mouth, like he knew exactly what this was doing to you.

the gate opened. the bull came out like a storm. everything happened at once. the roar of the crowd, the announcer shouting, dust kicking up beneath the arena lights. the bull twisted hard left, snapped right, dropped and surged with enough violence to make your stomach lurch.

arthur moved with it. one hand locked around the rope, the other lifted loose in the air, his thighs tight, his body snapping with the motion and finding its balance again. hat still on. jaw clenched. shoulders strong.

you forgot to cheer. you forgot to breathe.

the buzzer sounded.

arthur released and threw himself clear, hitting the dirt hard but rolling with it. the bull kicked past him, men running in to draw it away, and for one terrifying second you lost him in the dust. then he stood. the crowd went wild. arthur pushed his hat back, breathing hard, dirt streaked across his jeans and one sleeve. tom slapped him on the back. arthur shook his head like he was annoyed by the attention, but even from the stands you could see the grin he was failing to hide.

then he looked up at you. you were absolutely staring. he noticed. by the time he made his way back, you had not recovered. arthur climbed the bleacher steps slowly, dust on his boots, sleeves rolled to his forearms, shirt clinging slightly at the collar from sweat. there was dirt along his jaw and a faint flush high on his cheekbones.

“you alright?” he asked, his tone casual. his eyes were not.

“fine.”

“fine,” he repeated.

“yes.”

he rested one hand on the rail beside you and leaned closer. “you got real quiet.”

“i was watching.”

“yeah,” he said. “i noticed.”

heat rushed up your neck.

“you were good.”

arthur’s mouth twitched. “good?”

“very good.”

“that all?”

you looked back at him. that was a mistake. he was close enough now that the dust and sweat and adrenaline of the arena clung to him, sharpening every familiar thing about him into something almost unbearable.

“what do you want me to say?”

arthur’s eyes dropped briefly to your mouth.

“nothin’.”

that was a lie. you stood because sitting still had become impossible.

“you’re being smug.”

“am i?”

“yes.”

“maybe i just like knowin’ my girl enjoyed the show.”

my girl. your stomach dipped and arthur saw it happen. his expression shifted, not into a grin exactly, but something quieter and far more dangerous.

“you did, didn’t you?”

you swallowed. “maybe.”

“maybe,” he repeated, unimpressed.

his hand moved to your waist, thumb pressing once, slow, against the fabric of your top.

“you wanna walk?” it sounded innocent.

the two of you ended up wandering the edge of the grounds, where the crowd thinned and the lights glowed warm against the evening sky. you tried to look at stalls. belt buckles. leather bracelets. anything that was not arthur.

“you been awful quiet since the ride.”

“i’m tired.”

“liar.”

he stepped closer behind you, chest nearly brushing your shoulder. “you mad i rode?”

you almost laughed. “mad?”

“you look bothered.”

“i am bothered.”

his hand settled at your hip, guiding you out of the path of people passing behind you.

“bad bothered?”

you turned your head and found his face much closer than expected. the teasing slipped back just enough for something gentler to show through.

“no,” you said softly. “not bad.”

his gaze lowered to your mouth.

“good.”

eventually, you stole his hat. mostly because he bent to pick up the straw you’d dropped from your lemonade, and temptation presented itself. when he straightened and saw it sitting on your head, he went very still.

you smiled. “what?”

his eyes moved over you slowly. the hat. your face beneath it. your mouth trying not to smile. the rest of you in jeans and boots and soft evening light.

“give it back.”

“no.”

“that’s my hat.”

“i know.”

“you got your own.”

“i like yours.”

his jaw shifted. you had meant to tease him. you had not expected that look. arthur stepped closer, the crowd noise fading around you until there was only him.

“you like testin’ me tonight?”

your pulse jumped.

“maybe.”

there was that word again. his eyes darkened.

“careful.”

“or what?”

arthur looked at you for a long moment. then he took your hand and started walking.

“arthur,” you said, trying not to laugh. “where are we going?”

“truck.”

“why?”

he glanced back at you once, expression unreadable beneath the lights, his hand warm and firm around yours.

“because you’re wearin’ my hat and lookin’ at me like that.”

your mouth went dry.

“like what?”

he gave a low laugh.

“don’t play innocent now.”

the rodeo grew softer behind you as he led you through the rows of parked trucks. the sky had darkened fully, stars faint above the field, dust lifting beneath your boots. arthur’s truck sat near the back, half-shadowed beneath a tree. he opened the passenger door for you out of habit, but when you turned to climb in, he did not step back. instead, he stayed close.

one hand on the open door, the other on the truck beside your waist, not touching you yet but boxing you in just enough to make your breath catch. you looked up at him from beneath the brim of his hat. his eyes dropped to it again.

“you know what that does to me?”

your voice came out softer than intended. “the hat?”

“you in it.”

your stomach flipped. arthur lifted a hand and adjusted the brim, pushing it back just enough to see your face properly. his fingers lingered there, then traced lightly down to your cheek. there was still a streak of dirt near his jaw from the arena, and you reached up before thinking, brushing your thumb over it.

“you’re still dirty,” you murmured.

his mouth curved. “you complainin’?”

“no.”

“good.”

his hand slid to your waist then, warm and certain, drawing you closer.

“you were showing off,” you said.

“little bit.”

“for me?”

his gaze held yours.

“who else would i be showin’ off for?”

your hands found the front of his shirt, fingers curling lightly into the fabric.

“you looked good,” you admitted.

“yeah?”

“you know you did.”

he leaned in slightly, his nose brushing yours.

“wanted to hear you say it.”

you inhaled, but it caught somewhere in your chest. arthur kissed you before you could answer. it started slow, almost controlled. that was the dangerous thing about him. even when he wanted, he held himself back like restraint was built into his bones. his mouth moved against yours with a heat that built gradually, his hand tightening at your waist as you leaned into him. then your fingers slid up into his hair, knocking the hat slightly back. arthur made a quiet sound against your mouth.

after that, the restraint thinned. he pressed you back against the side of the truck, one hand braced near your head, the other firm at your waist. the metal was still warm from the day. he was warmer. you could taste lemonade on him, dust, summer, something unmistakably arthur. when he broke the kiss, he did not move far.

his forehead rested against yours. both of you were breathing harder than before.

“we should go,” he said.

you opened your eyes. “home?”

his thumb moved slowly at your waist.

“unless you wanna go back and watch more bull ridin’.”

you laughed breathlessly. arthur’s eyes warmed, but the heat in them did not leave. you touched the brim of his hat, still on your head.

“can i keep this on?”

his expression changed so quickly you almost felt powerful. arthur opened the passenger door wider.

“get in the truck.”

you grinned. “bossy.”

he leaned close, mouth brushing your ear.

“sweetheart,” he murmured, low enough to send a shiver through you, “you ain’t seen bossy.”

then he stepped back and helped you into the truck like a gentleman, as if he had not just kissed you senseless against the passenger door. because that was arthur.

half tenderness. half trouble. all yours.

the truck had barely cleared the rodeo parking lot before arthur’s hand tightened on the wheel. you noticed.

“arthur?”

he glanced over, eyes dropping once more to the hat still sitting low on your head. then he looked back at the road and exhaled through his nose, almost like he was trying to behave and losing the fight.

“you keep lookin’ at me like that,” he said, voice low, “we ain’t makin’ it home.”

your stomach dipped.

“like what?”

arthur gave a quiet, rough laugh and pulled the truck onto the shoulder, dust lifting in the headlights as he brought it to a stop.

“there you go again,” he murmured, killing the engine. “playin’ innocent.”

before you could breathe, his hand shot across the console, gripping your waist and hauling you over the center console. you gasped, your legs sprawling across the leather as you landed straddling his lap. the hat tipped forward, nearly covering your eyes, but you didn't move to fix it. you liked the way he looked at you from under that brim.

arthur’s large hands clamped onto your hips, bruisingly tight, pinning you against him. he could feel you soaking through your clothes, and a low, guttural sound escaped his throat.

“look at you,” he murmured against your throat. “been teasin’ me all damn night and actin’ like you don’t know it.”

"“that ride get you all worked up, sweetheart?” he asked, mouth brushing your ear. “or was it the hat?”

he reached down, fumbling with his belt and zipper with an urgency that bordered on desperation. when he freed his cock, it was thick and pulsing, straining against the air. he gripped the base of his shaft, guiding the head to your entrance, and then, with one powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside you.

you screamed into the crook of his neck, your fingers digging into the dusty fabric of his shirt. the fit was tight, stretching you open, filling every inch of you.

"fuck," arthur groaned, his head falling back against the headrest. "you're so tight... like a vice."

you began to move, lifting your hips and sliding down onto him in a slow, grinding rhythm. every time you sank down, the brim of the hat wobbled, but it stayed firmly on your head, a constant reminder of who you belonged to in this moment.

arthur’s hands moved from your hips to your breasts, squeezing them hard through the fabric, his thumbs rubbing your nipples into hard peaks. he started talking dirty, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated against your chest.

"ride it, sweetheart. just like a pro," he teased, his hips bucking upward to meet your descent. "take it all. I want you to feel every inch of me stretching you out. you like being my little rodeo girl, don't you? taking this big cock while we're right here in the dirt?"

the pace quickened. the truck rocked on its suspension, the rhythmic thud-thud of the chassis matching the wet, slapping sound of your bodies colliding. you were breathless, your vision swimming, the scent of leather, dust, and raw sex filling the air.

"i'm gonna... i'm gonna fill you up," arthur gasped, his grip on your waist tightening until his knuckles were white. he began to thrust upward with violent intensity, driving himself into you with a force that threatened to break you. "i'm gonna cum so deep inside you that you'll feel it for a week. you're mine. every fucking bit of you."

the friction became unbearable, a white-hot tension building in your core. you felt your walls clench around him, milking him, and that was the breaking point. with one final, devastating surge, arthur let out a loud, guttural roar, his body stiffening as he blasted hot ropes deep into your womb.

you collapsed against him, sobbing for air, your chest heaving. arthur held you there for a long time, his heart hammering against your ribs, his breath ragged. he reached up, gently tipping the brim of the hat back so he could see your flushed, ruined face. he kissed you deeply, tasting the salt and the heat, before whispering against your lips.

before he started the truck again, arthur reached across and fixed your shirt with a gentleness that made your chest feel strange after the heat of him. then he adjusted the brim of his hat on your head, thumb brushing your cheek.

“you alright?” he asked, quieter now.

you nodded. his eyes searched yours for another second before he leaned in and kissed you once, slow and soft.

“good,” he murmured. “let’s get you home.”

you leaned back in the seat, still wearing his hat. he noticed every time

thank u all for reading! i hope you enjoy some tasty modern!arthur! i enjoyed writing this one and exploring this! all feedback is welcome🥺💕

taglist: @anotheroutlaw

[lupusbaby]

Say it with me! Wheelchairs aren’t sad! Mobility aids aren’t sad! Mobility aids are instruments of freedom!

[goth-princess-gwennie]

Forgive me if this is inappropriate but

So are

colostomy bags

Diapers

insulin pumps

Oxygen systems

Braces

[cuntpunkop-ed]

catheters

rollators

hearing aids

compression garments

prosthetics

FREEDOM AIDS

[seraph1c-mo0n]

- canes

- service animals

- noise cancelling headphones/ear defenders

- wheelchair attachments

- fidgets

IT’S DISABILITY PRIDE MONTH YALL

BE UNAPOLOGETICALLY DISABLED AND TAKE UP ALL THE SPACE AND TIME YOU NEED!!!!!

[pailiky]

1998. is javier wearing a cropped tank in late autumn or is charles in a winter coat during the dog days of summer? the answer may shock you. commissions

[champuraddo]

Yknow what yeah

[pinep-ne]

and the earth is warmer when you laugh

[electricmarshal]

A: hey there, Charles

C: 😚👉🏾

[izel-scribbles]

Who can blame him

[addislillywoo2]

[hopkinz-z]

some modern Charles + Arthur sketches <3

inspired by @irotbeautifully ‘s modern au:)

[miiwiis]

familiarity

[sip-a-mule]