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chubbysciencenerd · 10 months

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∘°♡ Making It Up ♡°∘

Oral!fem/male receiving, fingering, rough sex, hair pulling, degrading slightly, nature/public/ outdoors, fem!first oral

̇ ̟ ෆ︵‿୨♡୧‿︵ෆ ̟ ̇

╭─ ⋅ ⋅ ─ ✩ ─ ⋅ ⋅ ─╮

Javier promised to take you out fishing because you hated being cooped up at camp with nothing fun going on. You were talking to Sean as javier comes over and places a hand on your waist, “you ready to go fishing?” You answer excitedly “Yeah! Of course lets go!” You look at Sean and mumble a “sorry gotta go” and give him a apologetic smile before following Javi. He brings you to his horse, he stores the poles and bait on the horse before he gets on then proceeds to help you. You wrap your hands around his waist enjoying the connection between you two, he starts to ride out of camp. “So what made you want to go fishing of all things?’ He asks glancing back to get a glimpse of you. “Mainly because you’re always talking about it and its a nice time alone.” You knew you still had to pay him back and I thought that this could be the perfect opportunity. He laughs before speeding up.

Soon enough you were there, he gets off the horse then carefully helps you down. You look around and the spot was just absolutely beautiful. He comes up behind you with the polls. “Gorgeous isn’t it?” He says softly in that sweet voice of his. “Yeah, yeah it is.” You look at him over your shoulder before placing a soft kiss on his lips. “So answer me something mi amor, {my love} did you really want to come out here to fish?” You blush a little knowing damn well that was kinda true, at the same time you did honestly want to learn how to fish. “Half and half” He smiles kissing you again. He pulls away from you as he puts the rods and bait back on the horse. He tells you to stay there as he takes the horse into the trees a bit before tying him up to the tree. He comes back down and pulls you into a kiss placing his hands on your hips. You start walking backwards, as your back hit a tree Javier pushed you against it keeping you locked in place as the kiss starts to turn sloppy.

You slide your hand to his chest carefully feeling it before slowly dragging your hand down. You reach his heat as he pushes against your hand. You break from the kiss and move your head into his neck before you start leaving soft kisses, eventually turning into love marks and you didn’t care who saw them. Javier groaned as he took his hands to unbutton his pants, he was clumsy but made great haste. He slides them down with his boxers, and you quickly got to work stroking his length. He pulls his neck away before grabbing the back of your hair and dragging your head into a kiss. You push him forward a little staying with him, you turn him around and push him against the Tree. He lets go of your hair and pulls away. He stares you in your eyes panting, “please querida {darling}…” You kiss him before sinking down to your knees looking up at him as you tease him by slowly stroking his length teasing the tip with your thumb. He gasps before covering his mouth and trying his best to not toss his head back. He watches you full of lust.

You place a kiss on the tip before trailing kisses down his shaft. You drag your tongue on the under-side of his length up to the tip, you take most of him down your throat quickly he laces his finger through your hair as he unexpectedly starts bobbing your head on his length you squeeze your eyes shut as you bring your hands to his thighs gripping them tightly. You gag a few times when he first started but you quickly got decently used to it. You look up at him with tears in your eyes and god did he love it, watching you choke on his girth helpless. You both knew that if you needed to stop you tap his leg but you were more than fine as of now. He throws his head back mumbling some Spanish curses into the back of his hand, he soon after quickly pulls you off of him before pulling you back up to the ground. He spins you to where you are now in front of the tree, you knew exactly what was happening as this is what you guys had done a while outside of camp. You bring your hands and hold onto the tree as he drops your skirt down to your ankles, before you can even realize he shoved his full length in and started thrusting at a fast and hard pace. You could tell he had been holding back for a while with the way he was ramming into you, the thrust were sloppy and with no rhythm. He laces his fingers in your hair pulling your head up to hear your sweet sounds clearer.

“Di mi nombre! {Say my name!}” Javier shouts speeding up the pace slowly starting to lose whatever little rhythm he did have. “Javi! Javier~! You reply shakily, you were growing close and starting to grow overstimulated. With a few more sloppy thrust javier finishes quickly pulling out to avoid a pregnancy, especially with you two not knowing how far you want to take this relationship. You felt empty as he pulled out but he was quick to pulling you up and you burry your back into his chest. He places a soft kiss on your head and a few by your ear before whispering, “Did you finish mi amor? {my love}” You tiredly shake your head. “Let’s fix that then, shall we?” You look up at him over your shoulder as he kisses you before turning you around to face him. He picks you up as you wrap your legs around his waist he carries you to a nearby large rock, he sets you down on it before he gets on his own knees in between your legs. You didn’t know what he was about to do as all of the men you had been with in the past had no care about your own pleasure. He kisses up your thighs switching thighs each kiss before he gets to your heat, your face was beet red and oh did it get redder as his lips connect with your skin.

His mouth made quick work exploring your soaked folds adoring the taste, he groans into it sending vibrations to your body. You fall flat against the rock as he continues, you bite your hand knowing anyone nearby would hear you if you didn’t. His tongue starts to focus on your clit, your thighs tighten around his face as he found a new way to please you. You bring your free hand up to grope your breast almost to distract yourself so you could feel the pleasure longer.

Javier soon adds two fingers quickly curling them in and out to hit your sensitive spot, all of the things combined were driving you crazy. You felt like you were in a complete different reality, one where it was only you and him. Your toes curl as your thighs tighten around his head once again, your legs start to shake right as you finish on his face. He doesn’t stop but he slows down, your juices are too hard to resist. After he cleans you up as best as he can, he gives one last lick on you sensitive bud and your legs twitched as he did and he chuckled looking at the mess he made of you.

He gets back up picking you up and kisses you quickly on your forehead. “Are you alright? Was that too much?” You gave him a soft smile, “it was amazing.. I’ve never had a guy do that before. Thank you Javi.” He places a soft kiss on your lips before taking you back over to the tree. You hold onto it as Javi helps you back into your skirt, it was difficult when your legs felt like jello. He put you on his horse and rode you back to camp, he carries you to your guys tent as your half asleep. He puts you in your cot and covers you with his blanket, “I wish I could stay with you but I have.. things I need to deal with in town” You look up at him softly and nod as if you’re telling him that its fine, you were too tired to talk and it didn’t take long for you to fall asleep.

╰─ ⋅ ⋅ ─ ✩ ─ ⋅ ⋅ ─╯

(Im sorry if this isn’t as good as my first one, I’ve been having trouble sleeping pls lmk if you have any request for characters, kinks, etc. I do not write mlm as I would feel uncomfortable writing it as I am not a male. Ty for understanding and plssss tell me what i can do to improve!!<33)

P.s.[I love you and thank you for reading :)]

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twola · 4 months

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Devil's Backbone - Owanjila V

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC/Reader POV

Tags: Longfic, Slow Burn, Smut (18+), Violence, Canon-Typical Injuries

Limpany’s burning was a lot more than meets the eye. Deception, greed, and murder follow everyone touched by Leviticus Cornwall. A story where the Van der Linde gang gets even more inescapably involved in Cornwall’s dealings, with the survivor of the massacre at the heart of it all. Slow burn. Pre-Blackwater and beyond.

Owanjila V: Respite in the Valley

After the return to Owanjila, settling into a routine proves to be difficult for several members of the gang.

cw: smut, post-traumatic stress, heartache (a lot of that last one)

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Previous | ➵ Next

You awaken softly in the morning light, not all at once, like the blooming sun far in the eastern horizon. Birdsong wafts through the window, even through the pane of somewhat cloudy glass, the chirps of tanagers and cardinals fill the air.

You stretch your back in the bed, blinking as you feel the rumble of your bedmate behind you, the long, warm line of a body curled up next to yours, an arm thrown around your waist.

Chapped lips touch the back of your neck and you smile against your pillow. A calloused hand moves under the sheet from your waist up, up, to cradle your breast, thumb brushing across your nipple as it hardens.

A breathy moan escapes you as you press yourself backward against him, the both of you bare under the sheet, skin running hot, and against your rear, you can feel him stirring.

“Ruth…” A sleep-hoarse groan of your name is whispered into your ear as the hand slinks downward to the meeting of your thighs, and your legs open of their own accord to welcome him in.

“Mmm…” You moan as strong fingers press against your folds, parting them and tracing the seam of your body. You jolt as he finds that little nub of your pleasure, circling it as you begin to pant.

He’s thick and ready with arousal behind you, and your slick begins to come, readying yourself for him as you press your small hand over his own, guiding him to press harder against you, then guiding him the blessed few inches from your clit back to your entrance. He slides a long, thick finger inside you and you do not even attempt to suppress the high, flighty moan, accompanied by his low one as he begins to work his finger in and out of you. His hips press against your rear in time with his thrusts.

“God damn, Ruth.” He groans into your ear, pressing his middle finger into your cunt and you mewl, grasping the sheet for dear life between your fingers.

“P-please.” You whimper, feeling as if you’re going to burst, that you need this burning desire quenched in your very core.

“I gotcha, I’ve gotcha-” He pants, extracting his hand and moving it to tilt your hip, pressing his cock to your weeping entrance and gently pushing inside.

You moan outright at the feeling of being filled, stuttering breath on your neck from behind you as he begins to thrust.

“God,” You cry out, causing him to groan aloud as he moves his pelvis against yours, hand tight over the curve of your hip.

“Ruth… Ruth. Here we’ll build our town,” He rasps, his voice hoarse as he pants with exertion, “Here we’ll build our family.”

Wait…

His arms clutch around you as you stiffen, unable to turn around, feeling like you’re swimming in molasses. Your heart thumps like a war drum in your chest, less from arousal and more from the sense of dread building up in your belly.

He whispers in your ear, throwing his hips against yours in finality, driving himself into you and shuddering.

“Right here in Limpany.”

You rocket up from your bedroll, hand splayed over your sternum, gasping for air. You look around, the camp on the hillside is still dark, and the other women are all still fast asleep in a line next to you under the protective awning. A campfire several feet away glows softly, down to embers before the breaking of the dawn. Far to the east, the sky begins to burn red.

You get up, grabbing your checked shawl and wrapping it over your shoulders to stave off the morning chill, harsh once you shed the blankets of your bedroll and quietly pace away from where the women sleep. Your bare feet collect morning dew as you descend down the hillside, unable to stop the flow of tears down your cheeks, trying at least to stifle the sob trying to claw itself from your throat. You try to ignore the damp feeling of the seam of your bloomers against your skin.

You’re breathing heavily, eyes overflowing by the time you reach the lakeside, bare feet freezing as cold lake water flows over them.

The sob you were trying to hold back works its way out, and your shoulders heave as you wrap your arms around yourself. All of this, the death and the misery and being alone, for Christ’s sake, why can’t you just wake up from this nightmare?

You weep, standing there ankle-deep in the cool waters of Owanjila. You weep for your child, your husband, your friends. You weep for your former life, never to be lived again.

Above the sound of your shuddering breath, unheard by you, a match is struck in the night to light a cigarette. Arthur Morgan stands back on the hillside, observing your shaking shoulders and the soft sound of your cries.

He thinks of how he wrapped himself around your small frame, how you sank back into him, and how he seemed to assuage your tears. How you looked at him like he was some heaven-sent savior pulling you from the fire. He wants to walk down there and draw you in, to pat down your sleep-addled hair, and whisper words that could tamp your shaking shoulders.

But nothing good can come of this desire - Micah’s words slither into his mind like a snake, ready to strike at the remnants of his beating heart.

You ain’t different than any of us - rotten to the core. And all you want is her sweet little cunt.

No, Arthur Morgan simply takes a drag of his cigarette, nothing good would come of it indeed.

The widow Adler is in a fugue state of grief. Staring blankly ahead, eyes red and bloodshot, there along the hill overlooking Owanjila.

Fortunately, the girls were able to scrape enough clothing together for her. Mary Beth tries to offer her coffee, but it is two days before she even accepts. She gazes out at the lake, silent in her suffering, not speaking to any of the other women who try to keep her company. Even Grimshaw gives her a wide berth as her bruises and cuts heal.

You will certainly admit to yourself it is far too long before you approach the woman alone, her silent stoicism near standoffish as she does not acknowledge your presence as you sit down on the hill next to her, some yards away from the shoreline.

“Missus Adler-”

“Sadie.” She croaks, not turning toward you at all.

“...Sadie,” You are corrected, and pull your knees up toward your chest to loop your arms around them, “I know there’s nothing any of us can say to make it better or get your husband back-”

“My Jakey - he was a good man- and they butchered ‘im.” Sadie’s voice goes low, hoarse, and angry as you can tell she is gritting her teeth, “God damn O’Driscolls…”

You swallow, staring ahead at the still waters of the lake. Sadie sniffles next to you, wiping angrily at her eyes.

“Dutch thinks it was O’Driscolls that killed my husband… I never saw who did it…” You say softly, your chin on your drawn-up knees, not trying to discount her loss, but trying to establish a connection through your own.

Sadie sniffles again, her jaw setting hard as she swats at her eyes, remaining quiet at your admission. Her ill-fitting clothing and bruised face are a reflection of her frightful state in the morning light.

Several moments of silence sit between the two of you before you stretch out your legs again to get up.

You stand up, dusting leaves and dirt off your skirt. “I know it isn’t going to change anything, but I’m here, Missus Adler, if you ever need anything.”

Sadie doesn’t reply, staring off at the lake once again. You hold in the sigh you feel like letting loose until you are far enough away that she won’t hear you. Walking back up the hill, you move straight towards the tent to the side of the camp, just past the bubbling coffeepot over the main campfire.

You let another sigh out as you sit down in an empty chair, rubbing at your eyes tiredly before turning to look at the person occupying the next seat over. Hosea inhales deeply over his steaming cup of coffee as he sits in the rickety old chair next to you. “My dear…”

You frown, looking back toward Sadie as she stares off into the distance, northward into the Grizzlies, to the life she used to have. You know that stare, should you travel back toward the ice-blue waters of the Dakota, you would have that same grief in your eyes.

“I was like that… the first few days.”

“Better than I was when my Bessie passed,” Hosea continues to sip his coffee, “Stayed drunk for the better part of a year.”

You frown, looking down at your hands. It was humbling, though you knew that certainly, you weren’t the only widow in the world, that you are now surrounded by people who have keenly felt that kind of loss. Part of you feels silly for your breakdown the other morning, thankful that no one saw that moment of weakness.

“Missus Adler will have to work things through her own way,” Hosea continues, “All we can do is try to offer her some kind of solace.”

“Indeed.” You reply, watching forlornly as you see her shoulders crumble into sobs.

“Sure you don’t have anything to tell us about Colm?” Dutch eyes the prisoner with disdain. The poor man, unkempt and unshaven is a frightful mess, terrified and stumbling against the rope tying him uncomfortably to a tree along the edge of the camp.

“Jus- jus that he’s hittin’ the train in Ambarino - I s-swear, that’s all I know.” He sputters, wide-eyed and fearful, surrounded by men who look like they’d love to torture him in any bodily way possible.

“I dunno, Dutch,” Arthur blows smoke in the young man’s face from his cigarette, “He ain’t entirely convincin’ me.”

Dutch runs a hand over his mustache, exaggerating the idea that he is mulling over the prisoner’s fate, “Bill, what do you think?”

The slide of metal on metal pierces the air as the prisoner’s wide eyes move from Dutch to the larger, burly man beside him.

“I think he don’t need some parts on ‘im, Dutch.” Bill replies, the large tongs in his hands loudly opening and shutting.

“Please- please, I don’t know anything more!” He screeches as Bill gets closer.

Dutch gleams with a predatory glare.

“That’s a shame there, O’Driscoll. I am running out of reasons to stop ol’ Mister Williamson from gelding you.”

“You’re goddamn lucky you have people that give a shit whether or not you die.”

John wishes he could escape. But he’s bedridden still, nearly a week after the journey down the mountains and his unfortunate run-in with enemies of the canine variety. The long ride did his body no favors, keeping him in the cot in the sick tent for days longer. His stitches itch across his face, and his bruised and bloody body still wracks in pain when he tries to move.

Abigail breathes out heavily in frustration as she wrings out the warm water from the rag over the steaming bowl of water set at the side of his cot. She leans over him, pulling back the blanket to expose his bruised chest.

“Hell if I need you to bathe me, you damned-”

“You smell worse than horse shit, you worthless-”

John curses aloud, lurching upward as Abigail swipes the rag across his collarbone, not exactly gently, over red and inflamed skin.

“Jesus Christ, Abigail, that shit hurts.” He snarls up at her, and for a moment, her eyes flash with something that looks like regret before they harden again.

“Stop your bellyachin’.” Abigail sneers, and turns back to the bowl to dip the rag in the water again, muttering under her breath as she wrings it out. John’s scowl deepens as he can’t make out what she’s said.

“What now, woman?”

“You’ve got a son, John Marston. Y’cant… you can’t be goin’ off doing shit like you have a deathwish.” Abigail sighs, dabbing the rag more gently over his collarbones and shoulders.

“I ain’t doin’ anything like I’ve got some deathwish, Abigail.” He retorts, laying back on the cot and wincing as he tries to get comfortable again.

Abigail pulls the blanket down further, exposing his lean waist. John has always been skinny - half-starved and hunger panged through his difficult life.

“I told you, you don’t need to-”

“John, ain’t like I haven’t seen it before. Numerous times.” Abigail cuts him off, pulling the blanket further down his torso against his protests. He immediately looks at the pitch of the tent as the blanket moves over his hips, trying to think of anything other than Abigail stripping him down to bathe him with that rag.

“Yeah but-”

“Just be quiet. Ain’t gonna submit any of the other women to have to deal with you stinkin’ like shit.”

John wishes he could escape. He wishes he could not feel Abigail’s hands on him. He wishes he were anywhere else… and god almighty, he wishes he could see something else behind his eyes when he closes them than Abigail climbing over him like she used to.

Arthur grumbles to himself as the old Walker trots back up the hillside along Owanjila before the afternoon sun dips behind the cliffs. He knew better than to trust one of Micah’s leads. But no, he went along with this one - robbing a stage outside of Riggs Station - too damn close to Blackwater. And the stage had guards that Micah hadn’t planned on.

So of course, it turned into a mess that Arthur was forced to remedy by emptying his revolver. At least the lockbox on the stage had a decent amount of cash and a large bag of jewelry. Also, Micah had the good sense to slink away to Strawberry instead of riding the whole way back to camp with him - Arthur was vexed enough as is to have spent any more time next to that snake.

The golden light of the setting sun glints off the lake as Arthur glances toward it before he pats the Walker’s mane, pulling a sugar cube from his satchel and feeding it to the horse. The horse had a good temperament - maybe Arthur wouldn’t sell him and keep him around camp and just spring for a new mount. He needed to get over toward Valentine at some point.

He swings himself down from the saddle before tying the reins of the Walker to the makeshift hitching post on the edge of the camp. Tapping the horse’s flank, Arthur grimaces as he rolls his shoulder, the tightness in it betraying his aging body. He clears his throat before readjusting the hat on his head, walking through the camp toward Dutch’s large tent and the gang’s cash box to unload his ill-gotten gains.

“Oh, Mister Morgan - do you mind if…”

The outlaw looks up to find you standing a few feet away from Dutch’s tent, fiddling with the wrist of your blouse nervously, staring at your feet.

“Missus Shaw?”

“I was wonderin’-”, You stumble, “wonderin’ if you might be able to spare a chain from that pile of jewelry you’ve got there.” You nod upwards at the large bag in his hand, hovering over the camp’s cash box.

“It’s just the chain I need, no pendant or anything.” You finally make eye contact with him and he curses himself that he finds the blush dusting your cheeks endearing.

“Course, Missus Shaw.” He places the bag down on Dutch’s table and pulls out a necklace with a delicate gold chain. Dangling it out toward you, you step closer and grasp it. You undo its clasp and slide off the pendant, a solitary pearl drop you place back in Arthur’s gloved hand. As you stick your hand into your skirt pocket, you try to ignore where this necklace came from.

Arthur tosses the pendant into the box, turning back toward you as you find what you’re looking for in your pocket.

“Thank you, Arthur. I’ll find a way to pay you back.”

“Don’t worry abou’ it.” He says softly, his eyes on your hands as you thread the chain through something small between your fingers.

When he finally sees what you’re working with as you move to hang the chain around your neck, he feels as if he’s been shot in his chest, trying to maintain composure as you lay the gold around your neck and clasp the necklace.

A gold wedding ring adorns your throat, and your delicate fingers press over it quickly before you let your hands fall back down to your sides. The pit of his stomach opening up becomes too much to bear.

Arthur nods, stepping toward his own tent, trying desperately to escape the situation unscathed. “Missus Shaw.”

“Thank you, Mister Morgan.” You call out softly as he retreats.

By the time he reaches his tent and yanks the canvas shut, he breathes out an angry, frustrated breath out his nose as he yanks his hat from his head, throwing it on the side table next to his cot.

Running his hand through his hair, he closes his eyes, letting out another breath that sounds suspiciously like a sigh. He looks back to the table where he set his hat. A piece of paper lies on the table. He grasps at it, unfolding what he sees as a letter, with proper, looping handwriting.

His arrow-shot chest cracks again.

Dear Arthur…

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