Fancy Arthur Morgan 😊😁
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✦ 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!
Can you show us some speed paints from one of the dutch van der linde drawings I really look up to those
suree. well, i draw in photoshop, it doesn't record timelapse. so, I don't have any of my previous paintings of him except for one. it is on this acc. i think i tagged it speedpaint.
but, i recorded a new one for you. grayscale headshot.
i didn't have a reference.
i usually do not draw dutch for my speedpaints because he is my least favorite character 🥰
Arthur Morgan x Curvy!FemReader, High Honor, Established Relationship, Fluff, Smut, Angst | 18 + | MDNI (Minors DO NOT Interact) |
Doc says you've come down with a nasty cold. He says there's no cure for such an ailment, but Arthur has a trick or two up his sleeve to remedy your needs.
Warnings: longer read, dabbles in fluff/angst/raw desire, Arthur taking care of his lady, mentions of sickness (No TB), bodily fluids, nudity, genitalia, and mutual masturbation. Word Count: 11k+ (I'll come back and add the official count soon!)
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A/N: Oh my goodness!! I'm so sorry that it's taken me to get this out to ya, @photo1030!!! Shew, it's been over a year in the making and lemme tell you that all of my passion has been poured into this project over the last 13 months. I don't think I've worked this long on a project in quite some time and although difficult it has been, I wouldn't change anything at all! So, thank every single one of y'all for being patient with me and continuing to enjoy my growing work!
Ah, y'all know I'm long-winded as hell, so go read and lemme know what ya think before I keep ya any longer 😂
First and last photos found on Pinterest but have been color-altered! Middle photo is by the lovely @zae-heeyyy (thank you for posting such a magnificent photo, my dear!)
Our boys 💖 collaboration with @szalalalaj
Here is my part of this year's #RDRSWE, where the prompts used were "Modern" and "Game Time".
Happy Holidays @sad-sweet-cowboah!! I hope you enjoy this as much as I had fun writing it! @rdrevents Modern Arthur x F!Reader MDNI (18+), Smut
Catsitting for Christmas
1,4K+ of fluff. Dedicated to all the lonely girls this Christmas or just those in need of a big modern Arthur Morgan in their life <3 hope you like hehe (vibes inspired by this song) <33
You've accepted the cat lady title for a long time now. Even though it did take a while to come to terms with.
It's not that they're wrong. The not-so-little-anymore cat shelter that you run has your entire heart. Just hurts sometimes to read between the lines.
Pairing: High Honor Arthur Morgan x Female reader
Word Count: 2939
Tags: Fluff, Shy Arthur
Summary: Arthur finds himself tongue tied when trying to tell you how he feels.
Author's Note: I wrote this rather quickly because I wanted to do a fluffy Christmas special type thing. Way different from my typical low honor content, but I still hope it's enjoyable!
...
Behind the flaps of Arthur's canvas tent, he brushes his calloused thumb over a small, velvet box. His heart thrumming like guitar string as he opens the delicate case.
He's had it for months now.
A pretty, little locket he had picked up after a job gone well.
Perhaps he was feeling a little too cocky that day, walking into that fine establishment fixing to buy something nice to impress the woman he was after.
And after his wallet lost a considerable amount of weight, he was able to secure the locket as his own.
He then strolled down the road to the barber, treating himself to a nice clean shave and a fresh cut. Then he made his way to the photographer that evening, requesting a portrait - one small enough to fit inside the locket.
A week later, when the portrait he had requested had been developed. Arthur wasn’t feeling as sure as he once had.
His heart still burned for you, but that same evening he saw you chatting playfully with Charles, much the same way you joked with him. And that’s when the thought settled. That maybe he was just a fool, a fool that was wasting time.
But as months passed, the flutters everytime he saw you never dissipated. His nerves never settled when you playfully swatted at his arm, his heart never stopped beating wildly everytime you threw him a kind smile.
Arthur could murder men in cold blood, climb mountains in the dead of winter, kill wild bears with only the knife strapped to his hip. But God forbid Arthur Morgan work up the courage to tell you he wanted you. To tell you he wanted to court you proper. That when he was in your presence, he felt like nothing more than a young virgin trying to work up the courage to speak to a woman for the first time.
And the locket. The one he was fixing to give you months ago as a token of his affection, sat lonesome in the bottom of his trunk.
Until today.
...
Arthur was never big on the holidays.
Growing up, he never had much of a family to celebrate with. But as the gang grew larger each year, Dutch turned Christmas into a time for celebration. It hadn’t always been that way, but ever since young Jack Marston had made an appearance, Hosea in particular had made a point to make it extra special for the young child.
It was never too much.
Just a few nights of rest and drinking, maybe trading a couple of gifts here and there, a bit of dancing too if there was music to played.
This year in particular felt a little fancier than usual, Hosea dragging Jack just outside camp, the two of them hauling a pine tree back in together. They decorated it with strings of popcorn and half lit candles, placing it right in the center of camp - for all to enjoy. The women played into it too, crafting wreaths to hang off the backs of wagons, and singing along to any Christmas songs Javier could learn on his guitar.
Arthur couldn’t complain.
Jack was getting more of a Christmas than he ever had as a kid, and in some ways it was healed him too. But as snow gently sprinkled over camp on the eve of Christmas, Arthur still hid away behind his tent flaps; feeling utterly torn.
After several long minutes of deliberation, holding the locket in his fists, he made his decision.
It would be tonight.
He would give you the locket tonight.
He would work up the courage to find you, get you somewhere private, offer you the gift, and then tell you how he feels. He would be confident and tenacious, he would place the locket over your neck, leaving you not only with with some new jewlery but with the taste of his lips on yours...
"Arthur," your soft, angelic voice rings from just outside his tent, breaking him from daze. "You in there?" You ask as he remains frozen. He glances down at the locket still tangled in his fingers, and suddenly he's not as confident as he was just moments ago.
"Give me a moment," he shouts back frantically, shoving the locket inside it's box and carelessly throwing the case underneath his pillow. "Come in."
He turns around and there you are; pretty as can be.
You hesitantly pull the canvas flaps back, entering his tent like it's a foribidden place. Snowflakes adorn your hair like jewels, vanishing quickly from the heat inside. Your face is a deep rouge, cheeks flushed with a cherry stain from the chill of winter's grasp. You're bundled tight with several layers: a nice warm jacket, a scarf pulled tight around your neck, a pair of wool mittens hugging your fingertips.
Arthur just stares: completely bewildered.
"How'r you Arthur?" you ask with gentle grin, the same one he fell in love with all those years ago.
He reaches up and scratches the back of his neck anxiously, eyes shifting to the corner of his tent out of nervousness. "Fine," he replies, coming off much colder than it meant to be.
Your eyes dart to the ground for a split second, suddenly feeling awkward at Arthur's sharp response. You grin anyway, reaching into your coat as you look back up at him. "Got you somethin'," you say hesitantly, pulling a quaint gift wrapped in parchment and twine out of your pocket, handing it to him like it was a peace offering.
He stares at you warily, one brow raised in curiosity as he lifts it from your palm. "Whats' this fo'," he asks as he cautiously stares at it.
You giggle, voice responding as sweet and innocent as anyone ever could. "For Christmas silly."
Arthur's heart pulses in his chest.
You'd gotten him a present?
He freezes, trying to remember the last time someone had gifted him something. Let alone that someone being you.
"Well," you say impatiently. "Open it."
Arthur's eyes stare wide and hesitant into yours for a few seconds before he pulls at the twine, unwinding the rope in his fingertips. The parchment gently opens and Arthur stares down at his palm.
He's reluctant to show any emotion, but his heart feels like it's going to beat out of his chest.
"Like it?" you ask cheerfully, like a child begging for any ounce of validation.
Arthur stares down at his palm, where a fancy canister of colored pencils lay gently.
He knows the brand, some French name he can’t quite pronounce. He knows they’re expensive. He thought about buying them for himself months ago, back when the gang was down in Lemoyne, after wandering through that high-end art supply shop once or twice.
In a way, the colored pencils are just what he wanted. But at the same time, he felt guilty.
Those pencils. Those damn, french colored pencils crafted from the finest pigments were not cheap. And he knew you didn't make a lot of money. Hell, you must've spent months worth of savings on them.
He looks up at you, his expression blank. You're smiling wide, as if you're waiting for a response from him but he remains impassive.
"Thank you," he says all too flat, all of a sudden feeling guilty about the gift.
He doesn't notice at first, but your smile instantly fades at his response. You expected something more than just a cold, stoic reaction from him. But deep down you knew that had always been Arthur, never really letting off much emotion in the first place.
Softly sighing, you shake your head back and forth, mentally berating yourself. You grab at his arm, squeezing it tightly, brushing your thumb over his bicep in a caring manor. “Merry Christmas....Arthur," you smile, fake like you've lost some game. Nodding your head and ducking back out of his tent.
Arthur remains stiff, the ghost of your touch lingering on him like an ancient magic calling out to him. He just stands there far too long, trying to savor the feeling of your touch as well as he could.
It’s not that he wasn’t grateful.
No.
He’d certainly put good use to those colored pencils.
There was just something in the way you smiled at him with those wide eyes that had always made him freeze. Something in the way you gently touched him - softly - like he rarely got to feel. A woman's touch - even if it's a simple grab of shoulder.
But contrary to the popular belief, Arthur was also not an idiot.
He'd seen that look of chagrin glaze over you when he responded flatly, when you left his tent all too quick. Like you were coming in there for more than the excuse of giving him the gift.
And that didn't sit right with him either.
He mentally berates himself as he gently rests the canister of colored pencils on his bedside, pulling the locket out from under his pillow. He brushes his thumbs against the velvet box once more, jaw tight like he was finally ready before pushing it into his pocket.
If he were a smarter man, he would have given you the locket right then and there. When he was already somewhere alone and private with you.
But you had caught him by surprise, and Arthur found himself speachless, words failing him like they always had when it came to you.
But now you probably think him rude.
Disinterested.
And worse of all ungrateful, which he was the opposite of - you had to know that.
He ducks underneath his tent flaps, scanning the camp for you.
Most everyone sits around the fire, singing renditions of christmas carols Arthur had never bothered to learn.
But you - you're standing under the awning of the provision wagon, bottom lip tight between your teeth, strugging to pop the cap off a nearly frozen beer.
He gulps, nervously as he struts towards the wagon. Stopping only when when he stands directly behind you. His large shadow swallowing your figure like a mountain hiding the sun.
You stop fiddling with the bottle the moment you feel him looming over you. Turning around, your eyes widen as he snatches the bottle from your hand without word. His eyes don't leave yours as he slowly reaches toward his gun belt, fingers finding his knife, pulling the blade from his hip and popping off the cap with swift motion.
Your thighs tighten at the sudden action as he pushes the beer back into your hands, suddenly feeling all too warm in places you know you shouldn't.
Arthur's eyes don't leave yours as you take a sip, his mouth opening as if he's about to say something important but is interupted by a cacophony of children's laughter.
You both turn your heads to see Jack Marston a few yards away, staring at the two of you. He’s bouncing in place with all the restless energy of a child, letting out an excited squeal as his knees pump up and down. One mittened hand is pressed to his mouth, the other pointing at something just above you both.
You and Arthur tilt your chins upward in unison, his throat bobbing with an awkward swallow as he stares at the mistletoe hanging just overhead.
He had forgotten it was there.
Days earlier he had witnessed Hosea help Jack hang it there, surely explaining to the young boy what it meant. But Arthur never thought twice about being caught underneath of it someone, especially you.
Jack doesn't run off, he continues to squeel loudly and point, surely excited to finally catch two people beneath it.
Arthur finally looks back down, his eyes meeting yours as his face flushes a deep, unmistakable red. His pupils dilate, and he goes completely still, caught somewhere between fear, shock, and surprise.
You can’t help but giggle.
At him.
At how a big, bad outlaw like Arthur Morgan can stand utterly petrified over something as simple as being caught beneath the mistletoe with someone.
Especially when a small child is the one egging it on.
You giggle once again, shaking your head as you lean up on your tippy toes. Placing a small peck on Arthur's left cheek, all while Jack Marston watches.
A burst of laughter erupts from the small child as he places both of his hands over his mouth in shock. Squeeling and bouncing like he'd witnessed something scandelous before charging away out of sight.
Arthur is completely frozen in place, eyes wide and transfixed, while you can only shake your head with a grin. You rest your hand against his bicep once more.
“Merry Christmas, Arthur,” you murmur softly before turning and walking away.
Arthur gulps, his heart beating down his throat as he turns around and works up the courage to yell, "wait."
“I-I got you somethin’ too,” he blurts out. His voice wavers as his hands fumble in his pockets, pulling out a small black, rectangular box, holding it out like he’s trying to gently coax you back.
You turn and walk toward him again. Careful, not out of fear, but confusion. He presses it into your hands, his voice steadying as he exhales.
“Should’ve given it to you earlier.”
Your fingers glide over the fine fabric of the box, opening it with simple flick of your thumbs.
It's a necklace - a locket.
A pretty silver heart that looked like it easily cost an arm and a leg.
Your eyes dart back to him as if you were looking for answers, but once again he's staring blankly.
"Oh Arthur," you coo. "This is too nice, I -I can't accept-"
"Open it," he commands in a way that he won’t let you object to.
You gulp as you lift the locket from it's box, unclasping it with hesitancy.
And there it was, a handsome picture of him on the inside. His hair swept back with pomade, his face shaved clean. You stare at it for a few moments, admiring the photo, but all so confused at what it meant.
You look back up at him, the locket tangled in your fingertips. Waiting for answers, completely baffled.
Arthur takes a step closer, towering over your small frame like a sturdy tree. His fingers reach for a loose strand, pushing it behind your ear in a way he never did, making your knees go utterly weak.
“I’m sorry I ain’t never been good with my words,” he gulps. “And I’m sorry I didn’t say this sooner..... but what I’ve been meanin’ to tell you is-” He pauses, searching for the right way to lay it bare. “Bein’ around you makes me feel like a boy again. When I’m with you, it’s like there’s a knot in my tongue, like I can’t get the words out right. And when you ain’t around….” His voice drops, quieter now. “You’re all I can god damn think about.”
Your heart pounds out of your chest, looking back down at the locket and then back up at him.
"I got this for you a while back," he admits as he looks down at the locket between your fingers. "I just ain't never had the courage to tell you that I want you to be my girl....t-to court you proper."
As you stare up at him. He searches for any hint of emotion behind your eyes but fails to read any.
But then you flash him a soft smile, cheeks blushing a deeper red than they already were. With a giggle you push the locket back into his hands and for a moment his stomach drops in dissapointment as if you were rejecting him.
But instead you turn around, dragging your hair over one shoulder.
And then he realizes what you want him to do.
He takes another step closer, breath heavy, as he drags his knuckle over the warmth of your nape. Shaking slightly as he lifts the locket over your head, clasping it together behind your neck.
You turn to face him, your eyes locking with his, a shy, teasing grin tugging at your lips. Your fingers linger on the locket resting against your chest, coaxing it open slowly, looking at the photo inside for just a moment longer before you let your gaze drift back up to him.
Your bottom lip finds the space between your teeth as you bat you lashes at him, pupils pointing upwards towards the mistletoe that still hangs silently above the two of you.
And suddenly Arthur feels a wave of confidence rush through him like he's never had when it came to you.
Gently, he lifts his palm, cupping your cheek as he pulls your face towards his. And in that moment, when snow gently falls from the sky, and a mistletoe hangs above him. He pulls you in - to kiss you proper this time.
His other arm wraps around your waist, drawing you close, and his lips connect with yours softly, only for a few seconds, like a gentleman would. When he pulls back, a confident grin spreads across his face for the first time, lighting up his whole expression.
"So Arthur Morgan wants to court me proper huh?" you say with a raised brow, breaking the silence before turning around and taking a few steps toward the center of camp.
He just snorts, shaking his head, utterly bewildered at his woman.
With a few long strides he catches up to you, slipping his arm around your waist and pulling you tight against his side. "Well I can court you improper too if that's what you’d prefer."
