#Arthur finally makes a choice

[say-hwaet]

High Sierra: A Red Dead Redemption Story

Chapter Thirteen: Awaken Previous Chapter Summary: Eliza receives a call as to Arthur's whereabouts, and she seeks to find him. What has happened to Arthur? And how will this change things? Word Count: ~7,200 words Next Chapter: Fourteen

Eliza's heart pounds in her chest as she rushes through the sterile, fluorescent-lit hallways of the hospital. Her mind spins with worry and fear. What happened to Arthur? Why didn’t he answer her calls, the calls she made to warn him about Micah Bell—the man responsible for the killings in the woods?

The hospital feels like a maze. Though she’s been to the High Sierra Regional Hospital almost more than she’s been at home lately, she’s only ever been at Labor and Delivery and the Cancer Wing.

Taking a moment to look up, she sees the sign that says Burn Unit with a distinct arrow pointing to the right. She nearly slides around the corner and almost bumps into a nurse on her way down the hall. “I’m so sorry…!” she calls out behind her but keeps going.

The hallway opens up to a waiting area and she spots a nurse at the front. Reaching the front desk, Eliza rams into the counter as she gasps for breath, her hands trembling as she grips the counter. "Please,” she pants. “My name is Eliza. I am here to see Arthur Morgan. Where is he? I…I need to see him."

The nurse looks at her with kind eyes, understanding the urgency in her voice. “We’re glad that you could make it so quickly, Ma’am.” She turns to look at a computer and reads something off the monitor. "He's not awake, at the moment, but you can see him for a minute.” The nurse extends her hand and points towards two double doors. “He's in room fourteen."

Eliza can feel her body relax. Asleep is better than dead and by the tone of the nurse’s voice, nothing is to severe that you can’t wait for the doctor to explain the situation. She nods softly and releases her white-knuckled grip on the counter. "Thank you." Backing away, she holds her purse tightly to her breast and heads down the hall.

On her way to room fourteen, the smell of disinfectant hung in the air, mixing with her fear and anxiety. Just as she spots the number of Arthur’s room, she sees a tall man in a white coat open its door. He must be the doctor and he begins to head in her direction. Their eyes meet and she tries to signal him. "Doctor, I am Eliza. How is Arthur?"

The doctor gives her a grave expression, his eyes filled with sympathy. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he says softly. "Arthur is unconscious. The smoke he inhaled was a dangerous amount and he took a large blow to the head. The chances of him making it are slim right now. These first few hours will be crucial."

Eliza's legs turn weak beneath her, and she fights to remain standing. Why didn’t the nurse say anything? She sounded so calm, like nothing could possibly be wrong! She can’t lose Arthur. Not now, not when she has so much to say to him.

But she has to keep calm. She can’t let the doctor see her cry. “Can I still sit with him?”

The doctor nods. “Of course you can. Just don’t expect him to wake up for a while. We will continue to monitor him and give him oxygen.”

“Can he…?” Eliza struggles to form words, the lump in her throat growing larger. “Can he hear me?”

The doctor shrugs his shoulders softly. “It is difficult to say, ma’am. Some believe that patients can hear loved ones when they are unconscious, and it may even help them in their recovery. But scientifically, it's still uncertain."

Eliza nods, swallowing hard against the emotions threatening to overwhelm her. "Thank you, doctor. I'll just... I'll just talk to him then."

The doctor nods, stepping to the side and continues on his way.

Eliza stares at the door for a moment, clutching her purse tightly. She’s afraid of what she might see behind that door. She’s tried to prepare herself before, when anytime Arthur would go to work. His job hasn’t ever guaranteed safety, but she had never felt so connected or so responsible. If she hadn’t stuck her neck where it didn’t belong, and never shared the information she uncovered with him, he wouldn’t be where he is now.

This is her fault. She knows it.

And she won’t blame him if he opens his eyes and never wants to see her again.

But here is her chance. Her chance to see him, to maybe say goodbye before closing the door forever.

With a shaky breath, she cautiously enters his room, her heart heavy with anticipation and fear. The stark white walls and sterile smell of the hospital room hit her senses, making her feel small and insignificant in the face of the machines that surrounded him. As she approaches his bedside, her eyes blur with tears as she sees him lying still, connected to countless beeping monitors and tubes. She can no longer hold back the flood of emotion as she sinks into a nearby chair, the hard plastic digging into her skin.

"Arthur," she chokes out, her voice barely a whisper. "Please, fight. Stay with us." She reaches out a hand, brushing her fingertips gently against his cheek, feeling that prickly stubble that used to make her squeal when he’d rub against her face. He knew she didn’t like it, but he’d do it anyway before kissing her incessantly. She’d give anything to have that now.

She sniffs and swallows before continuing. "I know you can't hear me...but...I love you," she whispers, her voice trembling with emotion. "I'm sorry for being so closed off to you. I'm sorry I am not good enough. Please, come back to me. Isaac needs you...I—I need you."

With each passing moment, she feels more and more helpless, like a tiny bird trapped in a cage. But she refuses to leave his side, holding onto the slim thread of hope that he will wake up and everything will be okay again.

Unbeknownst to Eliza, Hosea had just arrived at the hospital. His kind eyes clouded with concern as he had heard her heartfelt plea to Arthur.

Hosea lingers in the doorway, his own heart heavy with the weight of seeing his son in such a state. He watches Eliza, noting the raw emotion etched across her face, an uncharacteristic openness that he has rarely seen from her. Slowly, Hosea steps into the room, his presence gentle and patient. In this moment of raw vulnerability, he catches a glimpse of the untold depths of her love for Arthur and the weight of the pain she has been silently carrying. His heart twists with empathy and longing for them both, wishing to ease their burden and bring them solace.

As Eliza sobs, a sudden vibration from her pocket pulls her back to the present. She wipes her eyes and digs in her purse, retrieving her cell phone. Bring it up to see the caller ID, she feels a heated anger build in her heart.

It is her boss and the owner of the restaurant: Mr. Bronte. She knows why he was calling, and it isn’t out of concern for her wellbeing. With a mixture of anger and determination, she answers the call.

"Mr. Bronte," Eliza begins, her voice laced with bitterness. "I'm not coming into work today. I have a family emergency…What do you mean? …I've rarely ever taken time off—No. I'm not coming in…Oh really? …Well, how about I report you to the authorities for harassment then? I think it's about time I said something…Well, You know what? I quit. Go find someone else to order around."

She hangs up with a firm tap on “End Call” and raises her hand to throw her phone, but hesitates. She lets out a long exhale and shoves the phone back into her purse.

She brings a palm to her forehead, and begins to listen to the steady beeping of Arthur’s heart monitor. She lifts her eyes and studies his form again. There’s still residue of ash and whatever he had ended up on his skin.

Now she has no job, but that can’t be further from her mind.

What if he doesn’t wake up?

She tucks her chin, covering her face with her hands, and she sobs. She tries her best to stifle her cries, so as not to disturb anyone else in the wing.

“Get a hold of yourself, Eliza!” she sighs and finally lifts her head. That’s when she decides to turn to look about the room.

And that’s when she notices Hosea standing there. She gasps, and while surprised, his presence is a comforting balm amidst the chaos of her emotions. Hosea gently motions for her to approach him, and after wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she rises from the chair and walks calmly over to him.

When close enough to whisper, she asks him one question, clearly embarrassed. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough," he smiles empathetically. He looks over her to his son, his brow pinched in concern. His eyes meet Eliza’s again and he gestures towards the door. “It doesn’t feel right to talk about him while he’s laying there. Can we step out for a minute?”

Eliza looks back towards the sleeping patient. She doesn’t want to leave him, but she trusts the doctor. They’ll keep monitoring him. She turns back to Hosea and nods. “Alright.”

They move away quietly out of Arthur's room and close the door just a bit to have their conversation in the hallway.

“Did you see the doctor on your way in?” Hosea asks.

“Yes, he said that Arthur isn’t expected to wake up any time soon. He’s…he’s in a bad way.”

“Nobody will tell me anything,” Hosea says with a hint of agitation. “I’m his father for God’s sake, and they can’t even tell me how it happened.”

The guilt comes back. It fills Eliza’s stomach like a hot pit of ache. “I think I know.” Her voice trembles as she begins, each word weighted with regret. “Arthur was investigating those televised hunting accidents. Only, they weren’t accidents.”

Hosea’s eyes study her intently. “He told you this?”

She nods slowly. “I…I even helped him. I spoke to the first victim’s widow. We are friends.” Eliza feels Hosea staring at her. Is it anger? Disappointment? She can’t bear to look up at him and see. Instead, she keeps her gaze fixed on the sterile, white tiles of the hospital floor. "Arthur got too close, I think. Someone didn’t want him sniffing around." She feels her eyes water, the sting a reminder of the trouble she has caused. The pain she has inflicted on the man that she’s loved for ten years. “He could die because of me. I should have stopped him.”

At her words, she feels a hand take her arm and she looks up. Hosea's voice matches the softness in his eyes as he speaks to her. “Stop him? Eliza, you of all people know that you can’t get that man to do anything he doesn’t want to do.” He pauses, offering a smile. "You did what you thought was right, helping him. I know it meant a lot to him.”

She shakes her head. She wants to believe that, but there are now bigger things than wants. "I just...I can't lose him, Hosea. Not like this. Isaac needs his father."

"I know, Eliza."

Her mind begins to reel, thinking of all of the times that she could have affected their relationship for the better. Times where it would have mattered more than it ever could ."I should have told him how I felt about him.” She hugs herself tightly, looking back at the tile floor. “Maybe if I had been brave, maybe he wouldn't be so non-committal. He has been good to us. He risked his life tonight and perhaps saved all of us."

Hosea’s brow pinches and he tilts his head. "Eliza, how far does this investigation go?"

Eliza fears she’s already said too much, but she can’t bring herself to lie to her child’s grandfather. “Deep, I fear. I know Arthur was going after the man who killed those two people.”

Hosea’s eyes widen. “Oh my.”

"Yes. I don't know if he succeeded or not, but I am just glad he is alive...for now..." Tears continue to flow down Eliza's face as she feels the need to pour her heart out to Hosea. “When I met Arthur, my life was so linear. I was going to college. Going to study history and teach one day. But that woman had bumped into me, causing food to fly everywhere…” She lifts her eyes as though she sees it all before her. Her in her work uniform, hair pulled tight in a bun, hollandaise sauce all over her shirt. She lets herself smile at the memory. “He was so kind, despite how sad he was. He didn’t really see me. He just got his heart broken into pieces…” Hosea continues to listen attentively, letting her relive something that is not as grim as the past few years of her life. “And then you all came to the restaurant for his graduation party. He was so handsome…so…” She tucks her chin, hardly able to speak. "I love your son, Hosea. I always have."

Hosea reaches across the small space between them, placing a gentle hand on Eliza's arm. "I know, Eliza. Now, let me tell you something." He waits for her to lift her eyes to look back at him before speaking. "You are brave. And you have to believe he'll make it through this. You are his other half. Anyone who can't see that is a fool." His voice is soft, carrying the weight of understanding forged through years of beauty as well as hardship.

Eliza's heart flutters with a fragile sense of hope. Hosea's words, though simple, carry the weight of truth.

In this moment, she has a sudden realization that she has let anger and hurt overshadow her love for Arthur in the past. Memories of seeing him with Mary at that party a few months ago flood back and confirm her feelings for him, filling her with a burning resentment towards herself for not speaking up sooner. Despite all of her actions showing her love, she knows now that words are just as important. Every fiber of her being longs to be by his side at all times, soaking up every moment they have together. However, with more time on her hands, she could potentially live at the hospital if given permission. The thought fills her with a glimmer of hope and determination to make the most of every opportunity to be near Arthur.

"If he wakes up,” she says with resolve and devotion. “I want to tell him."

"You mean when,” Hosea corrects with a smile.

Eliza sniffs. "Right. When."

He removes his hand from her arm and relaxes his shoulders. "Where's Isaac?"

"My neighbor is watching him. Susan Grimshaw. I was going to head back home in time for his treatment."

Hosea thinks for a moment and offers an alternative. "How about Bessie and I take him? We can keep him at our place while you remain here.” He grins. “I think he wouldn't mind."

Not that Susan is terrible with Isaac, but the comfort of having Bessie and Hosea around him might just ease his heart a bit more. She knows Isaac adores them, their ranch with its sprawling fields a perfect escape for a boy who dreams more of the outdoors than of hospital rooms. Eliza nods, tears gathering at the edges of her eyes, grateful to have people so readily in her corner. "Oh, would you?"

Hosea nods. “Of course.”

"Thank you, I will call Susan and let her know you're coming."

"Great. I'll call Bessie. I left my phone in the truck.” He turns to walk back down the hall and waves to Eliza softly. “I'll be back."

"Okay."

Hosea turns the corner, leaving Eliza alone to gather herself. Her heart aches as she reenters the room and sits by Arthur's bedside in that extremely uncomfortable chair, taking his hand in hers.

She brings it close to her face, feeling the warmth of his skin against her cheek as she gently kisses his palm. Her gaze lingers on his face, searching for any small sign of life or hope that he will make it through. But there isn’t none. His eyes still closed, his breathing shallow. The beeping of the heart monitor still sounding off every other second.

She knows that the journey ahead will be filled with challenges and obstacles, but she also knows that their love is unbreakable and worth fighting for. With tears still glistening in her eyes, she bows her head and offers up a heartfelt prayer for Arthur's recovery, promising to stand by his side no matter what trials may come. The room is filled with a sense of love and determination, as Eliza clings tightly to Arthur's hand, willing him to hold on and not give up.

***

Eliza anxiously bobs her right knee as she sits down in the sterile hospital corridor, her heart pounding in her chest like a caged bird desperate for freedom. Beside her sits Hosea, his comforting presence providing a much-needed anchor in the storm of uncertainty. The lingering scent of antiseptic mingles with the anxious whispers of other waiting strangers, creating an atmosphere charged with tension. The weight of the situation presses down upon Eliza's shoulders, threatening to crush her spirit.

Two, long, agonizing days have passed since Sadie had discovered Arthur amidst the charred remains of the forest fire. The flames had licked at his body, leaving him battered and broken, fighting for every breath. The fire had claimed his consciousness, trapping him in a labyrinth of darkness from which he had yet to emerge.

A flickering television screen mounted on the wall of the waiting room draws Eliza and Hosea’s attention, its brightly lit news report telling a tale of treachery and justice.

“Good morning, High Sierra, this is Tilly Jackson coming to you live from the studio. We have some more updates on the recent wildfire and the apprehension of the state’s most wanted fugitive: Micah Bell.”

And without another second, the image of Micah Bell appears on the screen. It is a mugshot, his face filthy and his eyes dark.

The news anchor, Tilly, continues. “For just a recap, Micah Bell III, also known as Michael Barnes, has several criminal charges, all dealing with drug possession and selling narcotics. But now, he has added murder to his list.”

She goes on to explain just as Eliza had learned, he was the criminal responsible for the deaths that were initially dismissed as tragic accidents.

“An unnamed game warden was discovered unconscious along with Bell when Lieutenant Sadie Adler and a select group of hotshots were putting out a large forest fire. This fire, discovered to be started with accelerants, took four days to fully put out.” Eliza and Hosea exchanged knowing glances; they knew it was Arthur who had unraveled the sinister truth lurking within the woods. As the reporter details the vile acts committed by the criminal, and that he is being guarded while he recovers at the hospital, Eliza can’t help but shudder, her mind consumed by the horrors Arthur had faced and by the knowledge that Micah Bell is somewhere in the hospital.

Breaking through her inner musings, a nurse glides towards her, her crisp blue uniform popping against the dull and sterile surroundings. Eliza and Hosea, their faces etched with concern, turn their gazes to the approaching figure, filled with hopeful anticipation. The fluorescent lights above cast a harsh glare on the scene, intensifying the anxiety in the air. Each tick of the clock mounted on the wall seems to echo louder than the last as they’ve waited for any news, good or bad.

"Are you Mrs. Morgan?" the nurse inquires, her voice gentle and welcoming.

Eliza's heart skips a beat, caught off guard by the unexpected question. "No... no, I'm not. We're...we are not married," she stammers, taken aback.

The nurse's eyebrows furrow as she glances down at the clipboard in her hand, her fingers tapping against the paper in confusion. Her gaze shifts back up to Eliza's face, a mixture of surprise and curiosity dancing in her eyes. "I apologize, but he listed you as his emergency contact and listed your relationship as 'wife'. We assumed..." Eliza's heart swells with emotion, a newfound warmth spreading through her veins as she processes the words. She had always seen herself as simply the mother of their child, but this revelation hints at something deeper, something that stirs her heart and makes it flutter with hope.

Eliza leans forward in her seat, looking up at the nurse with earnest. "When did he do that? When did he list me as his wife?" she questions, a mix of emotions swirling within her.

The nurse's eyes flicker with hesitation as she takes in the delicate circumstances. After a moment of contemplation, she finally answers, her voice heavy with empathy. "It was a couple of months ago," she says softly.

A small smile creeps onto Eliza's lips, but her eyes fill with tears. The weight of the nurse's words settles on her shoulders, and she realizes the true depth of Arthur's feelings for her. Despite his gruff exterior and complicated past, had he chosen her to be his person? She couldn't help but wonder, feeling a mix of joy and apprehension at the thought. Her heart fluttered in her chest, a warm sensation spreading through her body as she allowed herself to consider the possibility.

The nurse's eyes, filled with empathy and understanding, soften as she recognizes the significance of this pivotal moment. Despite knowing that the information the hospital was given isn’t entirely accurate, she chooses to let it go, realizing the importance of providing comfort in a time of uncertainty. With a gentle tone, she asks, "Would you be willing to grant permission for a pulmonary treatment?" The small spark of hope in her voice offers a glimmer of light amidst their overwhelming despair. It was moments like these where compassion and understanding made all the difference in the world.

Eliza nods, a sense of determination radiating from within her. "Yes, of course. Anything to help him recover."

The nurse brings the clipboard down, presenting it to Eliza. She signs the necessary documents and passes it back to the nurse, who accepts it with a nod. "You'll be able to see him soon," she says and she turns to leave.

The nurse's footsteps echoed in the waiting room, leaving Hosea and Eliza alone in the corner. Hosea's aged and wise eyes, lined with wrinkles from a lifetime of experience, gaze upon Eliza with a mixture of empathy and affection. He reaches out, his hand trembling slightly as he gently places it on her arm, offering a comforting touch. "Eliza," he says in a tender tone, his voice filled with understanding and compassion, "I know this is overwhelming, but you have been steadfast for Arthur. You have shown great strength in the face of adversity." The pale light from the window cast a grey brightness on their faces, emphasizing the weight of the situation and the bond between them. Despite the heaviness in the air, there is a sense of warmth and comfort in their shared moment.

Tears well in Eliza's eyes as she looks at Hosea, seeing the genuine kindness in his wrinkled face. The weight of her circumstances begins to settle upon her, the knowledge that she doesn’t have a job anymore and that her financial security crumbling beneath her.

With a shaky voice, Eliza whispers, "Hosea, I don't know what to do."

A flicker of determination sparks in Hosea's eyes as he squeezes her arm gently. "You are not alone, my dear," he assures her. "We'll figure this out together. Arthur and you, you deserve happiness."

His words bolster her spirit, filling her with a renewed sense of purpose. Eliza takes a deep breath, finding a little bit of courage again.

***

As the soft morning light seeps through the blinds in the hospital room, Arthur stirs beneath the crisply starched white sheets. His eyes flutter open, momentarily dazed from the remnants of being asleep for so long and his mind still foggy from the smoke. All he remembers is falling to the ground and everything going black.

Now he is in a white room. He doesn’t remember being brought here.

When did he get here? How long has he been here? He feels something attached to his nose. Bringing a hand up to his face, he notices the IV in his hand. He’s in a hospital. All that happened, when he encountered Micah amidst the wildfire, must have been pretty severe. He continues to bring his hand up carefully to his face to the object tickling his nose. Tubes. Oxygen. He takes a deep breath and coughs.

As he turns his stiff neck he sees a bouquet of flowers stand proudly on the bedside table, a vibrant pop of color against the sterile surroundings. Then as his other senses begin to awaken, he can hear a gentle jingling.

And a waft of vanilla floats his way.

Arthur's gaze drifts downward towards his feet, where a familiar figure stands at the foot of the bed. Mary, dressed in a flowing summer dress the color of the ocean, exudes grace and elegance. As he takes in her appearance, a flicker of recognition dances across Arthur's face, followed by a glimmer of warmth that replaces the lethargy in his tired eyes. "Mary," he murmurs softly, his voice raspy and filled with exhaustion from his injuries. A sense of comfort washes over him as she stands there, a beacon of light in his darkened room.

Her voice quivers slightly as she tries to maintain a composed facade. "Arthur," she sighs and after clearing her throat, she points to the bouquet. "I brought you these. I thought they might brighten up the room."

A small smile tugs at the corner of Arthur's mouth as he turns his head slowly to look back at the flowers. "Thank you, Mary," Arthur replies, his voice filled with gratitude.

Confusion clouds Mary's face, causing her usually smooth brow to furrow in concentration. Her lips part slightly as she searches for the right words. "Where's Eliza?" Her voice is filled with worry and a touch of annoyance. “Shouldn't she be here with you?"

His heart aches at the mention of Eliza's name. In this moment, he realizes that although he still cares for Mary deeply, their relationship belongs in the past. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his emotions before responding. But no matter how much he tries to control it, there's a bittersweet ache that lingers within him. Seeing how quickly and instinctively Mary asks about Eliza's whereabouts only confirms what truly matters to her.

"I don't know where Eliza is," Arthur admits, his voice laced with a hint of sadness. Truth is, he wants to know.

He wishes he could say Eliza was just outside, grabbing a coffee or speaking with the doctors, but the reality gnaws at him more painfully. She’d been distant lately, more so since Isaac’s latest rounds of treatment started. It weighed on Arthur heavily, the unspoken fears and frayed nerves stretching their already tenuous relationship.

And then they drew even further apart, only talking about his investigation or about Isaac. That was weeks ago. Well, weeks before the fire. He doesn’t know how much time has passed.

“So, you haven’t seen her?” she asks. “At all?”

Arthur shakes his head. “No, I haven’t. I haven’t seen her even before the fire.”

A glimmer of hope dances in Mary's eyes, mingling with a sense of triumph that radiates from her. She takes a determined step forward, her voice rising with excitement and possibility. "Arthur, if you're finally letting go of Eliza, then maybe there's still a chance for us..."

Arthur pauses, unsure of how to approach such a sensitive topic. He knows that any wrong move could push Mary away forever. But he also knows that he can't keep living a lie. With a deep breath, he speaks the words weighing on his heart. "Thank you for the flowers, Mary, but you shouldn't have come here."

Instantly, Mary's expression shifts from hopeful to crestfallen. Her usually vibrant features are now clouded with confusion and hurt. "What do you mean? Arthur, I thought we—"

Arthur, ever the gentle soul, reaches out to touch Mary's hand as she stands by his bed, trying to prevent her from saying something she might regret. "Mary, what we had…it belongs to the past," he says gently, his voice filled with a hint of sadness.

Anger flares in Mary's now glistening eyes, overshadowing her earlier hope. "How can you say that, Arthur?" she exclaims, her voice rising with frustration. "We were meant to be together…! Fate is giving us another chance, and now you're pushing away what we could have...?"

Arthur's heart aches as he sees the pain etched on Mary's face. He has always cared for her, but their paths have diverged, they have never been meant for each other. "Mary, you know that's not true," he replies calmly. "We've both moved on. Eliza…she's become an important part of my life."

Mary's temper flared, her words dripping with bitterness. "Eliza? But she’s not even here…!” her voice is pleading, emotional and she takes a quick step back. “She was just a waitress when you met her when we ended things. You were sad and lonely, any pretty thing with soft eyes would be understandably pleasing. When you kissed me, you could have stopped, but you didn’t. You’ve agreed to see me. To talk to me. If she was more than a waitress, wouldn’t you have told me off by now?”

Arthur feels his chest tighten and he coughs again. “Don’t…don’t talk about her like that. You kissed me. You keep callin’ me. You are the one startin’ all this. I’ve never stopped carin' 'bout you, Mary, I care about a lotta folks, but things change. Folks change. I've got responsibilities now, and they ain't just 'bout me," Arthur explains, his voice strained as he tries to rein in his frustration. He can feel the old wounds opening up, the scars of their past relationship pulling tight.

Mary's brow furrows and she crosses her arms, her lip trembling with hurt and frustration. Her heart aches at the thought of losing Arthur to someone else. "So you'd choose her over me? It's only because she has your son that you want to be with her, can't you see that?" Her voice cracks as tears well up in her eyes.

Arthur's eyes blaze with anger, but he maintains a calm demeanor. "Eliza is more than just a waitress, Mary, or even the mother of my son," he says firmly, his tone laced with determination. "I care for her deeply, but it's not just about that. She's carin’ and selfless, always puttin’ others before herself. She loves Isaac more than anythin’ in this world. Can you honestly say the same?"

As Mary looks into his intense gaze, she realizes that there is truth in his words. Eliza may have his son, but she also possesses qualities that Mary cannot deny. And in that moment, she understands why Arthur has chosen to be with Eliza instead of her. A tinge of regret fills her heart, but she knows deep down that she cannot compete with the love between Arthur and Eliza.

And the result of that love is what makes her bitter.

Mary's once pleasant features now twist with a mix of anger and disbelief. Her voice trembles as she speaks, "Isaac? Your son? Do you know how much pain it brings me to acknowledge that he's your son? He should have been my son instead of...of hers!" Hot, salty tears spill down her face, betraying the depth of her emotions. As a widow, childless and alone; the man that had devoted himself to her once had gone off to start a family without her. The sting of betrayal had burned deep in her heart, adding fuel to her simmering anger. Ever since, she’s been desperate for a new beginning, one where she could pick up where she left off, not have to start completely all over. When her husband died, he left her with only money, not something—someone—to remember him by.

So that is what this is all about, Arthur thinks. She is angry. She's angry that I moved on and didn't wait for her.

Arthur's voice is laced with determination as he confronts Mary's selfishness head-on. "If bein’ with me means embracin’ my son, Mary, would you do it?” He pauses for a moment, studying her eyes as she avoids his gaze. “Could you look past how he came to this world, or maybe you should just realize that a life with me ain’t what you really want?"

She shakes her head. “I want you, Arthur. I…I love you.”

Arthur shakes his head slowly and when she looks up at him, he offers her an empathetic smile. “You love who I used to be. An idea that weren't really there in the first place. I ain’t that person you want. Never was.” He shrugs his aching shoulders. “I just happen to be the man still alive.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” Arthur says, the truth now more apparent than ever. "And I reckon it's time you start acceptin’ that." His words hang heavy in the chilly air between them, each one a tiny, unyielding anchor pulling down on the remnants of what could have been.

The room falls into a sobering silence, each heartbeat echoing in the stillness. Mary's eyes glisten with unshed tears as she fights to find the right words, her pride and emotions warring within her. In the end, she can do nothing but storm out of the room, her heart heavy with aching regret. The sound of her retreating footsteps echoes off the walls like thunder, a reflection of the emotional storm raging within her.

Arthur leans back into his pillow, exhaling slowly. The room feels suddenly larger, emptier, as if Mary's departure has sucked the air from it. Arthur's mind reels with the confrontation, his heart aching with a mixture of relief and sorrow. He knows he's done the right thing, standing firm on his ground, but the cost of it wears on him heavily.

Mary is gone now, maybe not completely erased from his life, but at least for a while. It is an odd feeling, to not have that weight anymore. But what continues to bear down into his soul is the question of Eliza. Where is she? Will he ever see her again? Was Mary the only one to come and see him? He hasn’t seen any evidence of anyone else being here, and that thought alone is enough to tighten the knot in his stomach.

Arthur turns his gaze toward the small window in his room, watching as the early morning light begins to seep through, casting long shadows across the floor. He thinks of Isaac, asleep at home, or maybe playing with Hosea. He hopes the boy isn’t worried about him, he hopes that if anyone knows where he is, they spared his son the news of his battle with fists, flames, and smoke. The poor boy has been through enough.

Maybe that’s what this is. Maybe that’s why Eliza isn’t here. Perhaps, she has further distanced herself to shield their child from his foolishness.

Odd, that. To be completely alone, for the first time in a while.

***

Hours pass and Arthur finally had fallen back asleep. The room was quiet almost to drive him to madness, with nothing but the solitary beeping from the machines he’s hooked up to and the oxygen tank puffing air into his nostrils. Sleep is the only escape he has.

His dreams are chaotic, happy moments all scattered. He chases after each one, hoping to relive those memories long gone. The day he got Boadicea. The day of his graduation from the academy. When he met Eliza. Isaac’s birth. Any threat to wake him, he fights to stay in those dreams, where everything seems perfect, where the harshness of reality can't reach him. In those dreams, Isaac is healthy and laughing, Eliza's eyes don't hold that shadow of sorrow, and Mary's departure is just a bad dream within a dream.

But dreams, like all good things, come to an end.

He’s startled awake when someone takes his arm. He opens his eyes to see the nurse, Nurse Amy, who has been tending to him for the duration that he’s been at the hospital. With only offering him a smile, she begins to check his vitals, starting with his blood pressure.

“You scared me,” he says gruffly, his voice still affected by the smoke.

“Thought nothing scared you, Mr. Morgan,” she teases.

He lets out a soft chuckle. “You’d be surprised. I just happen to be human like everybody else.”

“Well, the way I hear it, you took on a notorious criminal all by yourself.”

Arthur chuckles bashfully. “Ain’t true. Charles helped—” Wait. Charles. What happened to him? Arthur looks up at the nurse, eyes wide and pleading. “You don’t happen to know where a Charles Smith—”

She grins. “He had a good burn, but was released a couple of days ago.” Then she lowers her voice. “And that is all that I am allowed to tell you. Doctor-Patient confidentiality, you know.”

He will take it. Knowing that Charles is safe and sound gives him comfort. He will have to reach out to him soon, see for himself that Charles is alright. But for now, he's stuck in this sterile room, the beep of the heart monitor more rhythmic than the ticking of a clock, marking time in life or death increments.

Arthur turns his head away as Nurse Amy adjusts an IV, his thoughts drifting back to others he hasn’t seen. His parents. John.

Isaac and Eliza.

And coming behind him, a gentle creak gathers his attention and Arthur's heart begins to race, knowing the source of the noise.

The door has opened.

He turns his head, following Nurse Amy’s gaze as they befall the figure who has stepped into the room.

It is Eliza.

He would think that she is an angel, the way she’s standing there. This is the first time he has seen her since the fire, and his heart swells at the sight of her.

She smiles at the nurse and then her eyes fall upon him. "Arthur! You're awake…!" Eliza gasps, her voice laced with a mixture of relief and excitement. "When the doctor called me this morning, I couldn't believe it!"

Nurse Amy begins to gather her things. “I will be back in a little bit.” And with a gentle wink to Arthur, she excuses herself.

Eliza steps closer to the bed, her eyes scanning him, noting the bandages and the tubes—a sight that makes her brow furrows with worry. Arthur tries to muster a smile, attempting to ease that concern marked on her face, but he finds it difficult. The room feels suddenly too small, filled with all the things said and unsaid. She carefully sits at his bedside. "How are you feeling?"

Her words wash over Arthur, soothing his wounded soul. At this moment, he realizes the power she has over him. It isn’t just her physical beauty that captivates him; it is her unwavering support and genuine care that draws him closer. His heart yearns to be honest with himself and embrace the love that Eliza has offered so freely.

But at this moment, all he can manage is another weak smile. "I'm on the mend, thanks to you," he replies, and then he starts to cough harshly.

Eliza leans toward him, reaching out to take his hand. "Should I get you some water?"

He nods, the slight movement causing a ripple of pain to course through his body. She rises from his bed, the heels of her sandals clopping softly against the cool tile floor. A small sink and counter are situated close by, adorned with various bottles and containers. She reaches out and grabs a paper cup, the crisp sound of its edges crinkling in the stillness of the room. With swift movements, she fills the cup at the sink, the water splashing and swirling inside before she returns to his side. Gently placing her hand behind his head, she brings the cup to his lips, tilting it carefully so he can take a few sips at a time. He sips slowly, each drop soothing and refreshing to his parched throat. As he finishes, she sets the cup down on the end table by his bed. The simple act of drinking has exhausted him, but he is grateful for her care and presence.

"That cough sounds horrible," she says, her voice filled with concern.

He nods, but he doesn’t want her to worry about that. He has questions of his own. "I have to know, no one will tell me."

She turns to him and looks at him knowingly. "About Micah?"

He blinks slowly, sinking back into his pillow. "Yes."

"They got him. You beat him up pretty good."

He looks at his hands as they rest in his lap, knowing what they are capable of, what they have done. "He tried to kill me, and I almost killed him. I would have killed him."

She leans forward and lets her hand slip into his, taking his hand with a firm but gentle grasp. "But you didn't. He will be taken into custody once he recovers, and will face the consequences of his crimes."

Arthur shrugs his shoulders and sighs, coughing again.

Eliza’s eyes soften, her brown pinching. "That cough worries me."

"If that's the worst to happen to me, I'm not worried."

Eliza clicks her tongue, sighing slowly. "Well, I'll worry for the both of us, then."

"The worst they could call me at work is Black Lung."

"Oh, stop it," she giggles, playfully tapping him on the arm. He quickly winces.

As he groans, a small, pained whimper escapes from his lips. "Oof!" He winces and clutches at his side, trying to ease the sharp ache that radiates through his body. His face contorts in discomfort and he takes a deep breath, trying to push through the pain.

She lifts her hands away from his bruised ribs and leans in closer to him, her expression filled with concern. "Oh Arthur, I'm so sorry…!" she apologizes, her voice laced with worry.

But as she reaches out to soothe him, he suddenly starts to laugh. "Gotcha," he says between gasps of laughter. A small coughing fit overcomes him, causing him to double over in a mix of amusement and discomfort. She quickly hands him the cup again, her eyes filled with both amusement and relief.

"You're terrible," she chides.

His heart swells, realizing the depth of her care and devotion. Despite everything that has happened between them, she has only cared about his well-being. Arthur now has the confirmation he needs: he knows he has made the right choice.

"It's good to see you again, Eliza," he sighs. When she takes the cup back from him, their fingers brush against each other and a jolt of electricity seems to pass between them. They met each other's gaze, lingering in the moment.

A smile spread across Eliza's face, lighting it up like the sun breaking through dark clouds. "It's so good to have you back, Arthur.”

Thank you for reading!

Tag Requests: @photo1030 @cassietrn

[niriaveil]

you know, i know there's some grumbling regarding how the drifter tends to have their very personal conversations in the KIM messenger rather than face to face with the Hex (talking about the Zariman Incident, talking about Duviri) and not to mention the whole animating, voicing, and playing out the scene in a development standpoint.

But. but. but.

Do you know how much easier it is to have a serious conversation about trauma when there's a screen between you and the person you're talking to? How even when you're baring your heart open to the other person, at least you can do it. How many times have you choked up, unable to speak the words that you know you can articulate but there's so many emotions just caught up in your chest and your throat and tangling up everything you say? How many times do you start to talk about your own trauma before you just break down into tears, crying and unable to talk about it?

I think the KIM messenger talks make sense for the Drifter (for mine in particular, at least) because they can talk about Duviri. We all know the Drifter downplays what happened to them, laces their words with sarcasm and laughs it off, but it still happened; the intensity of how it weighs on them is known only to them, and even though they could talk to the Operator, Ordis, or Lotus - why? Why bother? ("You're the me that got rescued from this shit. I'm the you that did not. Not sure which of us got it worse.") There's bigger things to worry about, more battles to get ready for, and honestly... who would care. The kid got their shit together, they've got a parental figure in Lotus, a caretaker in Ordis, and the Drifter...

Well. They're the Drifter for a reason.

So, the Hex are curious. They want to know. Why is the Drifter called the Drifter, what happened in Duviri, what happened on the Zariman. And the Drifter, so lonely and so sad, and so very envious of the counterpart that got to escape, to get to have a family, to get to be loved and wanted and adored - and the Drifter, so used to being forgotten and abandoned, sits down at their keyboard and says, "Well. You know the top level story."

It's easier to talk about Duviri when you know that if, at any point, you can't do it anymore, you can log off. Shut it down. A power plug on that trauma buried down so deep in your brain you tried forgetting about it - and how'd that go, kiddo? - and the other person can say, "Hey. I see this is hurting you, we don't have to talk about it."

Putting the ball in the Drifter's court. Giving them control over how they approach what happened to them. Giving them control over how much they want to share. Giving them some fucking agency and control over something in their life that is profoundly theirs. But the Hex - as the ranks goes up and the chemistry gets higher - won't let the Drifter hide in their pain, they'll push and pull and say, "Hey, I care about you. Let me help. Please, let me help. Please trust me enough to let me try to help and care for you."

So... yeah. I just think Drifter talking about their problems through the KIM messenger is pretty good and a good idea for delving into their character, because we've seen how they downplay their trauma when you talk to them face to face.

[liliavalley]

listening to malevolent ep 41 after previously stopping at ep 19 is so funny because i have no idea what's happening or who half of the mentioned characters are but i know i can trust that these two will always be having some fucking argument about trust and working together (they will get along again in 10 minutes)

[iamthepulta]

!!!!!!!! This outline feels good. It feels good and the outline actually has the epilogue and I'm happy with the epilogue and it all feels good and it's just hitting me right in the feels and it means so much

[mooremars]

I can't sleep so I'm doing some reading and had a realization.

Now that my media consumption has become dominated by all the Arthurian legend stuff I have managed to avoid up until now, it turns out that more I read and watch, the more I become completely convinced that removing magic is actually the only way to make specifically Arthur's character work in Camelot for me. I already thought it was the right call for story and thematic reasons but turns out it also solves the mystery of why I keep hating this character that by every metric I should really love.

[livwritessometimes]

F1 Drivers & Their Couples Halloween Costumes

: Max Verstappen, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, George Russell, Lewis Hamilton, Pierre Gasly, Alex Albon, Franco Colapinto, and Daniel Ricciardo

: Main Masterlist

: Author’s Note - Ik I’m a little late, but I had terrible migraine and just could not bring myself to finish this. But here we are! Here are some costumes I think that F1 Drivers will wear with their girlfriends

…

Max Verstappen

- Was absolutely against any stupid costume but the moment he saw this, it was over for him.

- For someone who was not interested in dressing up, Max took an awfully long time to make the cat’s head.

- Tried to show his outfit to Jimmy and Sassy……ya let’s just say, it did not go as well as he would have liked it to go 🤭

Lando Norris

- I mean….do I even need to explain this one???

- Lando was the one who came up with the idea (shocker)

- Put more effort and dedication into making the boobs than he does in race strategy! (He’d like to call this costume his life’s best work)

Oscar Piastri

- After rejecting several costume ideas (which included salt & pepper, socket & plug, jam & toast) he finally gave in to this costume (not that he had a choice)

- Decided to be Pete (totally called McLaren to get the orange hoodie set)

- Wanted to truly understand the essence of the character (spent 20+ hours trying to memorise the rap)

Charles Leclerc

- Honestly….even Charles has no idea why he suggested this costume.

- He wanted to do something fun….so he asked Arthur for help (this actually explains a lot why he was dressed like The Simpsons)

- This costume really grows on him, especially the headpiece (the expression reminds him of his years in Ferrari)

Carlos Sainz

- Tbh he has no idea what he’s doing! He’s just happy to be included.

- He doesn’t have many opinions about the costume; he just likes the fact that he gets to be close to his girlfriend.

- Gets so many compliments that he’s already started planning for next year’s couples costume.

George Russell

- Made a bet with Alex about who can become the most iconic Disney duo….hence Darla and Nemo 🐟

- Is more than happy to wear an orange wig, plaid skirt and glittery sweatshirt…🤨

- Even called Toto and asked him to play the dentist as a way to gain bonus points.

Lewis Hamilton

- He would rather die than be caught in these tacky outfits….which is why he found the best costume to wear!

- Got the suits custom made from the best designers (yes the alien is also custom made 👽)

- Won the best costume award (are we even surprised tho 🤷🏻‍♀️)

Pierre Gasly

- Just don’t ask why….this is what Pierre came up with!

- Now you might think the girlfriend is dressed as the chicken. Well….YOU’RE WRONG!!!

- Pierre insisted on dressing up as the chicken (bonus: he even asked Yuki to dress up as a knife)

Alex Albon

- Made a bet with George and he knew exactly what he wanted to become!!

- Truth be told, Alex made one hell of a Vector.

- He was surprisingly good at putting on the bald cap for Gru….which makes you wonder this isn’t the first time he’s done this 🤔

Franco Colapinto

- He had no intention of dressing up but got invited by the other drives, so he had to come up with something QUICK!

- Voila! Did a quick google search and decided to dress up as the first thing he saw.

- Not the best costume but 8/10 for his efforts and last minute planning 🥉

Daniel Ricciardo

- Does this not look like a pose Daniel would 100% do!!!!

- He said #Green&Proud

- Tried a lot to convince Max to dress up as the donkey 🫏….ya it didn’t happen!

…

Tags: @wobblymug | @evasmlp | @ln8118 |

[contact-guy]

Hi I'm really confused. Professor Moriarty's first name is James, but your comic says his brother is Colonel James Moriarty. Does he have the same name as hus brother? Is this a mistake or is something else going on?

I love the webcomic! Have a nice day!

Okay I think it probably IS a mistake, but it's one that is over a hundred years old. Quote from THE FINAL PROBLEM:

"My hand has been forced, however, by the recent letters in which Colonel James Moriarty defends the memory of his brother, and I have no choice but to lay the facts before the public exactly as they occurred."

We only get the Professor's first name also being James later, both in chronology and publication order, in THE EMPTY HOUSE:

“Well, well, such is fame! But, then, if I remember aright, you had not heard the name of Professor James Moriarty, who had one of the great brains of the century. Just give me down my index of biographies from the shelf.”

Is Holmes making a mistake? Is Watson? Was Arthur Conan Doyle so fucking done with writing Holmes that he didn't proofread? Did the Moriarty parents just decide to give all their kids the same name? Currently accepting theories.

[the-medieval-husbands]

Does anyone else think about how Arthur gets upset when the visiting nobles pay just a little too much attention to Merlin?

As a sign of respect Uther lends the prince's servant to the visiting Duke. Arthur doesn't want too, but his father doesn't give him a choice. He can make due with one of the other servants, and Merlin is to attend to their visitors.

Arthur spends the next 3 days watching the Duke stand just a little too close, put his hands on Merlins shoulders, and stare when he thinks nobody is looking. Poor Merlin looks as if he's going to jump out of his skin. Sending alarmed glances at Arthur.

By the third night Arthurs just about had enough. He's tired of strange people in his chambers. He's tired of having to dress himself, because no way does he want to be touched by people he doesn't know. But most of all he's tired of being alone. He's grown accustomed to Merlin always being one step behind him, laughing, smiling, and backtalking him. He hasn't seen Merlin truely smile since the Duke arrived.

As the Duke's carriage was prepared for his departure that evening, Arthur stood at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for Merlin to finish loading his luggage. As soon as the last bag was secured, Arthur, having already said his goodbyes, grabs Merlin by the back of the neck and steers him inside the castle. Merlin goes willingly, melting into the touch.

After a short walk, they reach Arthurs chambers. The door is shut and secured, and finally Arthur feels at peace. Merlin is back in his space where he belongs, and nobody is coming to take him.

They make eye contact. Neither speaks. Merlin slowly embraces Arthur, sliding his hands into his hair. Everything is okay.

[justaz]

merthur marriage of convenience. arthur is complaining that his council is on his ass about marrying and siring an heir and they keep trying to arrange marriages but arthur doesn't fucking want any of them. merlin knows that arthur would like to marry someone he loves but he also knows that arthur has shown no interest in like anyone except when he was enchanted so like...who tf is he gonna marry? he needs to marry someone to get the council off his ass so he's just like "why not marry a friend? ik it wouldn't be a marriage of love but at least you'd have some control and choice in this." and arthur is like "hm. but who tho?"

anyways they make a list of everyone they know who can bear children (bc arthur will need an heir eventually). then they narrow it down, crossing off names like gwen bc she is happily married to lancelot and in a loving relationship with morgana (she has two hands and i love morgwencelot) and morgana (she's literally arthur's sister but they were just putting every name they could think of down first) and elyan (he may be able to bear children but they know he wouldn't be happy going through it bc of medieval dysphoria). eventually it's down to two names, mithian and merlin and arthur looks at merlin's name then up at him and is like "you're literally a trained physician so you should know this but you were literally born a man...how tf are you gonna bear children?" and my beloved genderfluid magic incarnate emrys just shifts her form to female and is like "don't be an idiot. anyways, mithian or me?"

dumb idiot whipped and in love arthur is like "you" and dumb idiot whipped and in love merlin is like "bet". anyways they marry but they're very insistent it's just as friends. lol they have to consummate the marriage the losers. they insist they did that as friends too. the entire round table has way too much fun with this. anyways they remain married "as friends" as they slowly morph into a very loving and touchy relationship "as friends" until they're like casually kissing as greetings and farewells and have that moment of "oh shit we're like actually married and in love" bc they're stupid dumb idiots.

anyways they unite albion and are recognized as high king arthur and high queen merlin and finally have an heir - the high prince/princess whatever you prefer. uhhhh anyways merthur happy ending bc i'm a sucker for it.

[themultifandomgal]

Tommy Shelby- I’m Not Doing That Again

“Every woman has one” Polly argues while flitting around YN and Tommys shared bedroom getting everything ready for when YN go into labour

“I had one with Charlie, I’m not doing that again. If I shit then so be it” YN cross her arms stubbornly over her large stomach “tell her Ada”

“I’m not involved in this conversation” Ada holds her hands up shaking her head. YN looks over to Esme who’s smiling

“Polly I don’t want an enema”

“Love it stops infection”

“It’s embarrassing that’s what it is, having your husbands aunt shave you then stick a tube in your arse to make you shit. I’d rather just shit the bed while pushing. Ada didn’t have one with Karl”

“He didn’t leave us with much choice” Polly mutters “right I’ll be back later with supper. Please try and relax”

“See you later” Ada gives her sister in law a weak smile before leaving. Esme walks over to her with a mischievous look

“Where has she put the enema kit?”

“Over there” YN frowns pointing towards the box on top of the dresser “why?”

“Well it would be a shame if it went missing wouldn’t it?”

“She will know it was one of us. Thanks though”

“Not if the kids run wild in the house” Esme winks at YN and then takes the enema kit with her.

“I’M GONNA CHOP HIS DICK OFF AFTER THIS!” Tommy hears his wife scream while she’s upstairs in their room giving birth

“Thats what you said last time now where’s the enema kit? I put it up here” Polly stands with her hands on her hips looking at the dresser. She then turns to YN lying on the bed with Esme holding her hand “YN where have you hidden it?”

“I haven’t” not a lie, but YN knows where Esme has hidden the tube

“Well I suppose we will have to do this the old fashioned way, we just need to find….”

“No please Polly, i don’t want one, please I’m begging you”

“Pol look she’s gonna want to start pushing soon, let’s just leave it”

“Fine” YN finally relaxes looking over at Esme.

Downstairs Tommy paces the living room with a whiskey in hand. Arthur, John, Finn and Micheal all sit with their own drinks on the large sofa. All that can be heard is the shouting of profanities and cursing Tommys name

“Bloody hell, she’s a true Shelby’s ain’t she Tom” Arthur chuckles

“Where’s Charlie?” Finn asks

“YN’s mums” Tommy replies still pacing around, then stops when he hears feet running down the stairs. Ada runs past her brothers and cousin and goes straight into the kitchen to get some more warm water

“Are they here yet?” Micheal asks

“D’you think I’d been here running around if they were”

“THOMAS FUCKING SHELBY YOU BETTER RUN ONCE THIS CHILDS OUT OF ME” YN Shelby, the only person Tommy is afraid off. This makes the Shelby’s all chuckle, but Tommys pacing continues

“Will you sit the fuck down? You know YN will kill ya if you wear out her carpet” John says before drinking the rest of his drink. Tommy finally sits down on the sofa as Ada makes her way back upstairs with the water.

After hours of pacing and drinking, the screams go quiet, that is until the cries of a baby can be heard. Tommy lifts his head up as John slaps him on the shoulder

“Congratulations brother”

“Tommy” Polly says walking down the stairs “come meet your daughter” in an instant Tommy is up and making his was to his and YN’s bedroom.

Walking in he sees Esme and Ada tidying up and putting some sheets in a bucket. His wife sat up in bed with a baby in her arms suckling on her breast

“No more Tommy. I’m not doing that again”

“Whatever you want, as long as you and our kids are happy I don’t care if we don’t have anymore” Tommy walks over and places a kiss on his wife’s head.

[clauscielo]

⊰⊹ pure, uncorrupted

pairing: arthur morgan & virgin!reader.

summary: you are too pure, too naive. and he hates to see other men fantasizing about tainting you. so, before someone else does - he decides to do it himself.

warnings: mentions of rape/sexual abuse, past physical/psychological abuse, corruption kink, arthur takes reader's virginity, arthur is protective, but lonely and hates himself. legal age gap, oral sex (fem receiving), p-in-v sex, loving sex, creampie - english is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes!

he would never forget that day. trelawny had told them a few weeks earlier that, southwest of valentine, just a mile from the village, there was a farm: two houses and a barn. trelawny claimed there was a large amount of money hidden there, illegitimately earned by the family.   

that's why they went. micah, bill and arthur set out into the night, riding toward that farm. thieves robbing thieves.   

the family consisted of a father and two sons. they had no choice but to wipe them all out. arthur had never liked to take the lives of innocent people, but these people... they didn't feel right.   

the house was very untidy inside, grimy, and there was a padlocked door on the upper floor. while micah and bill ransacked the downstairs, he took a look at the bedrooms, and of course, kicked in the locked room door.   

you were in there. cowering on the bed, pressed against the wall, shivering and sobbing. you had heard gunshots and banging, you had tried your best not to make any noise, but they had found you. arthur was perplexed. he studied you for a few seconds, processing the situation: this family had you locked in this room. you were wearing torn and dirty rags, and your room was even more neglected. there were flies, food from days ago, and only one bed in the room.   

“it's okay, it's okay. i ain't gonna hurt you,” he finally said, slowly approaching you.   

micah arrived shortly after, and a crooked smile came across his face.   

“well look at this, morgan! i say we have some fun. bill, get up here!” his cruel words irritated arthur deeply.   

“get out of here, you foul thing! wait downstairs!” he raised his voice, and micah only let out a challenging laugh. still, he obeyed, after arthur shot him a menacing glare. 

you, still shaking and weeping on the bed, watched him. the thought that the man in front of you had protected you from the others, soothed you a little.   

arthur couldn't kill you. how could he kill you? it wasn't an option.   

“what are you doing here, girl?” he moved a little closer and noticed that one of your legs was covered in bruises.   

“i-i was... grounded,” you mumbled, between sobs. arthur frowned and clicked his tongue.   

“were those your father and brothers?” he asked, his hand hesitantly stroking your forearm, seeking to calm you.   

you nodded, hot, copious tears streaming down your flushed cheeks. he sighed.  

“they're dead. i'm sorry,” he began, and his heart shrank at your obvious expression of relief. “you can come with us, we won't hurt you. we'll take you to valentine,” he added.  

you nodded, raising your arms toward him. arthur accepted the gesture, and with his strong hands on your armpits, he lifted you and carried you in his arms, heading for his horse.   

you refused to stay in valentine that night. you begged again and again to be taken with them. and this snarling, distrustful outlaw, softened at the image of you, a forlorn young woman alone in this world that had so embittered him over the years.   

“we're taking her,” arthur said to the other men.   

“morgan! we can't afford another mouth to feed!” bill protested.   

“we're taking her,” he insisted, his tone firm and intimidating, and the others snorted.   

 it had been months since that night. you were accepted into the gang of outlaws arthur lived with, but you had a hard time adjusting. you developed an unhealthy attachment to the man who had rescued you, who you considered your hero. whenever arthur was in camp, you followed him, trying to talk to him. being close made you feel better. but he was very cold most of the time.   

“girl, really, you need to leave me alone. what d'ya want now?” he said, his tone showing irritation, when you approached to talk to him for the tenth time today.   

 your smile vanished, your expression transforming into one of pain and embarrassment. you blushed and lowered your gaze, and before you could say anything, he snorted heavily.   

 “i'm sorry. i'm sorry, i just like to be alone, you know that,” he replied, exasperated. 

 you fiddled anxiously with the edge of your blouse, pursing your lips sheepishly.  

“i just wanted to be with you for a little while,” your voice came out shaky and low. arthur's heart almost melted.   

“come,” he said, curtly, sitting down on his bed.   

“no, n-no need. i'm sorry to disturb you.”   

“come,” he repeated, louder now, as a demand.   

 you shrank back but obeyed and sat down next to him. he looked at you, his blue eyes scrutinizing your sad, anxious expression, his frown easing.   

“i can't be with you all the time,” he explained. your lip quivered, and you nodded.   

“i know. i know. i'm sorry.”  

“it's not because i don’t want to. it's because this... this thing you got with me, it can't go on,” he said, his hand stroking your hair, tucking a lock behind your ear, his actions contradicting his words. “you're gonna have to leave here someday. and if we don't stop this in time...” his words trailed off.   

“i don't want to leave.”   

“you're absolutely gonna leave. don't be silly. you don't belong in this kind of life. when you get your strength back, i want you out of here.”

 you looked at him, wide-eyed, silent.   

“don't look at me like that,” he spat, annoyed. but a second later, he sighed. “we're not doing you any good. not me, not anyone here. you understand that, don't you?”   

“i don't have anyone else. i'll be alone,” you said, your heart racing with fear.   

 arthur stroked your cheek, thoughtfully. he had grown so fond of you these past few months, that he could hardly imagine his life without you anymore. but the rational part of him knew you had no future here, not with someone like him.   

 that's why he pushed you away. that's why he tried to ignore you. he couldn't stand seeing the way you looked at him, like he was a hero, a savior. because arthur was nothing like that. arthur was a criminal, a murderer, a ruthless, bitter, outlaw with no future, someone who only brought tragedy into people's lives.   

“i don't like it when you're this mean to me,” you muttered, pouting, still hurt by how he had greeted you when you came.   

“i know. forgive me,” he whispered, looking at your hand. he wanted to take it, to feel it, but didn't dare to.   

 weeks passed. arthur hated the way the men looked at you. micah, especially. that sick, deranged bastard. he mocked your innocence, your naivety.   

“well, i've been dying to deflower that little lassie, the new one. ever since we saw her at the farm i been saying we have fun with her, but morgan won't let us,” protested micah, sipping from his bottle of whiskey, one night by the fire.   

“do you think she's a virgin?” javier replied with curiosity.  

“please!” interjected bill, laughing. “that girl doesn't even know what screwing is.”   

 “of course she doesn't. i told her to blow me the other day and she just looked at me with those dopey eyes of hers,” micah cackled.   

 arthur overheard the conversation and felt his insides boil. listening to those nasty old men, talking so crudely about a young, proper lady like you, made him sick.   

 “what the fuck are you talking about?” arthur snarled. he snatched the whiskey bottle from micah's hand and faced him, with an annihilating glare. “if you ever talk about her like that again, you better make sure i don't hear. or i'll cut that throat of yours so you never say a fucking word again,” he said, his voice low and intense, getting micah to turn away, letting out a nervous laugh.   

 he retreated to his tent, furious, and was startled to find you there. he put his hand to his chest and shook his head. “what are you doing here, you want to scare me to death?” he wheezed, anger still boiling inside him.   

 you looked at him with a smile and showed him a flower crown in your hands. “look what i did,” you declared, proudly, your eyes on his, perhaps seeking approval in his expression. he eased back and couldn't hide a soft smile, gentle and loving. he took the floral diadem and placed it on your head.   

 “beautiful,” he whispered. you blushed heavily and pressed your lips together, excited.  

“i was reading and in the book, it explained how to make it and what flowers were ideal for it. i think it turned out really pretty,” you explained.   

 “yes. it looks very pretty. but you should be sleeping,” he scolded you.

 “i'm sorry. i was excited and wanted to wait for you to come back,” you defended yourself. he smiled.   

 he couldn't help but bring his hands to your face. you were so precious, so candid and credulous. and those abhorrent men were talking about deflowering you just a few minutes ago... it made him feel like throwing up.   

the affectionate gesture surprised you. your cheeks grew warmer. “what's wrong?” you asked, uneasy, and he dropped his hands to either side of his body.   

 “nothing. nothing,” he huffed, rubbing his face with his hand, frustrated, confused.   

 he knew he didn't do you any good. but how could he let you go? the world was full of disgusting men like micah. men who wouldn't hesitate to hurt this girl he had come to love.   

 he pushed past you and sat down on his bed.   

 “i want you to keep away from micah no matter what, do you understand? whatever he says to you. you stay away. and if he bothers you, you come and tell me immediately,” he said, without looking at you, his tone stern.   

 you didn't answer, you just nodded. you would do anything this man asked of you.   

 “are you sad?” you asked, moving closer to him. arthur was slow to answer, still not looking you in the eye.   

 “yeah. i am,” he admitted, sighing. you sat down next to him, and hugged him, trying to comfort him and also, seeking solace.   

arthur wanted to push you away, to scold you for invading his space, to urge you to leave him alone. but he couldn't do that anymore. he didn't want you to leave, and each and every time he had asked you to stay away, he had betrayed himself. he let himself enjoy your touch, your scent, and your warmth for the first time. he closed his eyes and leaned in slightly, sliding his arms around you.   

 “forgive me for being a sorry son of a bitch to you,” he whispered, very remorseful.   

“it's okay. forgive me for always being annoying.”   

 “you're not annoying. don't ever say that again,” he replied, his chest vibrating against yours every time his husky voice made itself heard. “i've been a real jerk.”   

 you fell silent. you didn't understand what this was about. and arthur was grateful for your ignorance. he wouldn't know how to comfort you, how to make you forget those nauseating words if you had heard how you were spoken of before.   

 “i need to lie down, sweetheart. i'm very tired,” he mumbled, pulling away a little. the affectionate nickname made your heart skip a beat. you nodded, watching him lie down, his expression one of displeasure.   

 “can i stay with you?” you whispered, fearful that he would say no. but he nodded without hesitation, and you settled in next to him. his heart was about to burst out of his chest. he let you snuggle up to him, and his arm slipped loosely around your waist.   

 “gonna stop by saint denis tomorrow to run some errands. wanna come with me?” he asked, and you looked up at him, your eyes widening with excitement.   

 “really?” arthur let out a chuckle and confirmed. “yes, please. i'd like that very much.”   

your excitement stirred something inside him. he felt a warmth in his chest that he had never felt before. such a sweet being like you...and your father and brothers had you locked in a filthy room, only to be discovered by men who just wanted to fuck you and leave you stranded. what would have become of you if he hadn't gone and robbed that farm with the others that night?   

“okay, sweetheart.” he used the nickname again, which made you grin like a fool. “i'm gonna sleep now, okay?” he said, and stretched his arm over you, reaching over to the bedside table to put a glass over the candle to put it out.   

 you pouted, and rested your head on his chest. “okay,” you whispered back, closing your eyes.   

 arthur was trying to hide it, but he was so nervous. it had been ages since he'd been this close to a woman, let alone a woman such as yourself. his pants had started to tighten since you first curled up with him, though he tried to act normal, his heart pounding in his chest.   

innocently, you ran a leg over his thigh, sighing. his arm tightened around your waist. he was restless, tense, and kept shifting his posture every few minutes.   

 inevitably, his eyes opened in the darkness. he couldn't sleep.   

“i like being like this with you,” you whispered when you noticed he was still awake. “it gives me... this nice, funny feeling in my tummy,” you added, and arthur let out a shaky sigh.   

“oh, yeah...?” he replied, absently, your words replaying in his mind.   

 “yes... it always happens to me when i'm around you,” you confessed, your candid statement making his cock grow harder in his pants.   

“don't get used to it,” he growled. you looked up, saddened.   

 “don't you like being like this, together?” you asked, your voice low and apologetic. arthur exhaled hoarsely.   

 “too much, darlin'. too much,” he admitted, without looking at you. he was getting carried away.   

 you slid slowly onto his lap, and his breath hitched.   

 “what in the world are you doing?” he whispered. he panicked, feeling your pelvis right on top of his erection, which he had been trying to hide all this time.   

 “i want to be real close to you,” you whispered. “do you mind?”   

 he looked at you with pleading eyes and shook his head, he was speechless. he tried to push you away, but his hands wouldn't move.

 “the book talked about this too... about men, women...” you began, your voice shy as you explained.   

 “no. we're not doing this, girl,” he protested. but he didn't really mean it. the least he wanted right now was for you to get off of him.   

 “please...” you begged. “i just want to know how it feels.”   

 his face was burning, his cock throbbing desperately in his pants, needing urgent relief. so you were indeed a virgin.   

 this wasn't right. he wouldn't take advantage of you.   

 “why?” you wanted to know.   

 “you're a virgin,” he declared, in a low gasp. you didn't respond, just shrank back a tiny bit, with shame. “my god, you're a virgin... no, i... i can't. i can't.” he covered his face.   

 arthur had never been with a virgin before. let alone a virgin with a life like yours. were you even aware of the importance of what you were asking? 

 “oh, don't do this to me, please,” he whimpered, his hands sliding over your thighs, down to your buttocks. you blushed and let out a sigh of pleasure, rolling your hips against his, trying to ease the burning between your legs. arthur let out a low moan, his eyes half closed, his cheeks red.   

 “baby... we can't... not with me,” he whispered, desperate.  

“i want it to be with you,” you murmured. and he had no more strength to resist.   

“do... do you want me to put it inside you?” he asked, pressing his pelvis against yours, making you feel his whole erection, warm and big against you.   

 “yes, please...” you begged.   

 “oh, sweetheart...” he swallowed, flustered. it had been so long since he'd last had sex, and now he had a beautiful, untouched woman in his lap, begging to be fucked. it felt like a goddamn dream. and he felt disgusting about it, but he was so turned on by the idea of taking your virginity. he felt like a hypocrite.   

 his hand slid down your ass cheek and under your nightgown. his fingers reached for your panties, his arm around your leg to touch you.   

 “you're so wet,” he murmured. he closed his eyes for a moment, the heat feeling a little overwhelming. “take off your nightgown, baby.”   

 obedient, you removed the garment slowly, remaining in his lap, your body covered only by your bra and panties. arthur exhaled, salivating, his gaze gliding over every inch of your exposed skin.   

 “you are exquisite,” he said to himself, almost as a reproach. he shouldn't have to be doing this. but he couldn't stop. he just couldn't. he began to unbutton his shirt. “can i see your tits?” he asked, rhetorically, since he knew that without complaint you would take off your bra. and so you did.   

 his lips and tongue immediately landed on the soft skin of your breasts, after having devoured you with his gaze for a few seconds. his lips left kisses, his tongue caressing and frolicking around your nipples. you moaned and stirred on his lap, immersed in pleasure and desperate for more.   

 he removed his shirt, and eagerly, unbuckled his belt. 

 “gonna get on top, it may hurt a little this way,” he whispered between kisses. you nodded, and let him grab you by the thighs, your arms around his neck as arthur changed position.   

 he laid you down gently, and his hands crawled up your thighs, spreading your legs. his eyes lowered to your crotch, the fabric of your underwear was visibly wet.   

 “darlin'... i'm not gonna last. haven't done this in a long time,” he said, his hands shaking a little, he was so horny he could barely think coherently.   

 “i-it's okay,” you murmured sheepishly.   

 he knelt between your legs, and placed soft, warm kisses on the sensitive skin of your thighs, moving closer and closer to your center. he kissed your pussy over your underwear, and pressed his face to it, inhaling your scent.  

“delicious,” he purred, closing his eyes, sucking and kissing over the fabric. his hands, big and strong, squeezed your flesh, eager to feel you. his right hand traveled down to your crotch, pushing aside the annoying material of your panties. “what a pretty little pussy,” he growled, and glued his mouth to it, licking between your warm wet lips, sucking on your clit, devouring you like a hungry man.   

you moaned, your legs trembling. his hands pressed against your thighs, spreading them wider, and when his fingers left your panties, they again came between you and his touches.   

 “fuck,” he hissed in frustration, and roughly, he yanked them off you, sinking his face back between your legs, parting you wide and devouring you with both intensity and desperation. 

 “i'm going to put my fingers in, okay?” he warned, looking down at you, his beard wet with your juices, his cheeks red. you nodded, your gaze clouded with pleasure. his ring and middle finger teased your sensitive, dilated entrance. slowly he slid them inside, feeling the rough texture of your insides tightening around his thick digits. he moved them slowly inside you, curving and massaging your insides lovingly, while his tongue and lips fed on your juices and moans, sucking on your sensitive, sweet spot.   

 “you're so tight,” he gasped. he pulled away briefly, to pull down his pants. his cock sprung, flushed and swollen, eager for the delicious relief only you could bring him. “look how you got me, baby...” he whispered, wrapping his member in his left hand, squeezing it slowly. “how you get me, always.”   

 your pussy clenched around nothing, feeling emptier than ever. “please... arthur,” you whimpered. he looked at you, unsure, was he really doing this? you deserved better than this. something so much better than this.   

 but the urges in his body were too strong, they absolutely ruled him. he placed his cock against your center, gripping it firmly, and rubbing its tip between your lips, pressing lightly as it met your entrance, tiny but eager.   

 “darlin’... what the hell are we doing?” he said, sliding in just the tip, which was thick enough to make you whimper. “ow... baby.”   

 you felt so full. you looked down, and you could see his thick member, disappearing inside you. your pussy throbbed and squeezed him, unable to adjust to his size. he was huge.   

 before he got it all in, arthur had to pull it out a little. “you're too tight,” he let out a pitiful whimper. “i'm gonna cum.” he added with embarrassment.   

 he pulled out, taking a deep breath. he leaned down to kiss you. he kissed your lips lovingly. god, he'd been so rude, not kissing you all this time. he relished your lips, and you could feel the wetness of his beard against your chin and cheeks. he penetrated you again, and this time he entered you somewhat more easily.   

 “enjoy, sweetheart... just enjoy,” he whispered, watching your face contort in pleasure. he had to close his eyes, imagine the horses, the flowers, the bees, the smell of the barns, or he would cum right there, inside you. he pushed it all the way in, his tip pressing against your cervix. “does it hurt, honey?” 

 “no, no... i... it feels so good...” you moaned. you felt so full, his cock was so thick you felt like there wasn't an inch of you he wasn't touching right now. every little movement of his hips, pressing against yours as he nestled his face into your neck, made you shudder.   

 “fuck... yes, squeeze me like that,” he begged, closing his eyes tighter, starting to move his hips, his hands squeezing your thighs and pressing them against the bed, spreading you wide to penetrate you deeply. “thank you, thank you...” he gasped hoarsely.   

 your small hands clung to him, your nails sinking into the flesh of his back, his big, strong back, as his whole body enveloped and filled you.   

 one of his hands slipped between your bodies, and he began rubbing your clit, each thrust making his member bury itself deep and hard inside you, your tight body giving him no respite.   

 “please tell me you're close. i can't hold on much longer,” his voice sounded strained, cracked. the bed creaked beneath you, his hips slapping against your ass every time he bottomed out inside you. 

 “yes, yes, please don't stop,” you whimpered. his hot, sweaty skin clung to yours, the heat under the sheets thick. his smell, salty and masculine flooded your nostrils, and his cock filled you, again and again, your snug cunt squeezing, sucking him deeper and deeper inside.   

your orgasm was intense. you trembled beneath him, your cries and mewls getting louder, and you writhed, your pussy milking him dry. arthur frowned in concentration, letting out soft grunts and whimpers as he moved within you. he came too, couldn't help it, his legs quivering as well. his thrusts became ragged and desperate, his eyes rolled back slightly as his cum filled you, hot and thick. "oh, god," he whined quietly. his strong arms hugged you closer, pressing you tighter to him as he left you completely full of him.   

 “d-darling,” he gasped, shuddering on top of you, his strokes slowing, until he stopped. his hands, scratchy from work and guns, slid over your sweaty skin and squeezed your breasts and hips, before holding you tight. “don't leave me, please.”

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Hello everyone! Thank you all for your support for the "Arthur misunderstands what a warlock is" au! Here's part two! You can find part one here!

As a quick recap, is this au Uther spread propaganda that warlocks were soul-eating demons in order to justify killing young warlocks. When Merlin finally reveals his magic to Arthur, Arthur's fairly chill with it, up until he realizes that Merlin's a warlock. Then, Arthur thinks that Merlin needs to eat souls in order to survive, and orders Merlin to kill a prisoner who was going to be executed the next day to make sure that Merlin was "fed".

And without further ado, on to the new stuff!

In the days following the... meal that Arthur had provided him, Merlin still wasn't looking any better, much to Arthur's dismay. Arthur agonized over the situation for many nights, unable to come up with any solution. They didn't have any criminals currently being held in the dungeons, and there weren't many bandits left in the woods for Merlin to feed on.

However, despite Merlin still looking tired and restless in the days following his "meal", he started to slowly look better after a week had passed, so Arthur, with a heavy heart, counted his plan as a success. Eating the criminal's soul really had reinvigorated Merlin, and wasn't that just terrible? As guilty and sick as Arthur felt about the whole situation, he could only imagine how Merlin had felt, carrying this burden for his entire life.

Merlin was such a gentle and kind soul, crying over unicorns and sick kittens! Arthur knew that this terrible burden must haunt Merlin like nothing else, being forced to devour the souls of others in order to keep himself alive.

Based on his observations over the past months, Arthur could see that Merlin never went actively hunting for prey, only waiting until an enemy of Camelot showed up for him to quietly dispatch. Arthur could see plainly that Merlin would rather starve than seek out a meal, and that most certainly was a problem.

Arthur wasn't sure what would happen if Merlin starved himself, if he would either lose control over himself and devour whatever poor souls he could find or would simply weaken and wither away, but Arthur wasn't keen on seeing such a thing happen. Merlin seemed to be able to go several weeks in between feedings, and there generally was one execution a month with how many bandits, assassins, and vengeful sorcerers came to Camelot, so if he...

Arthur swallowed dryly as guilt and self-disgust welled up in this throat. He... he didn't want to do this. Hell, he knew that Merlin surely wouldn't want to do this, even if it is for his sake!

But what other choice did he have? As awful as it was to admit it, Merlin's life meant far more to Arthur than any enemy's soul. If Merlin wasn't going to actively seek out souls, then Arthur had to hand them over to him, whether Merlin liked it or not.

Meanwhile, Merlin wasn't having a very good time.

He had thought that he was prepared for any negative reaction from Arthur to the news of his magic. And Arthur had been so accepting of Merlin's magic when they finally sat down together and talked about everything! Arthur had even become accustomed to seeing Merlin use magic for his chores! Arthur was comfortable with him, magic and all!

But Merlin had been so, so naive and hopeful. He had hoped that showing Arthur the softer, more mundane uses of magic would give him a new perspective on magic, teaching him that magic was not just the fearsome weapon that Arthur had been raised and conditioned to view it as.

And Merlin had thought that he was doing so well. Arthur didn't so much as bat an eye when Merlin used magic to scrub the floors or polish his armor! Arthur was comfortable with eating magically-heated food and sleeping in clothes covered in protection enchantments!

Arthur was clearly still comfortable with Merlin, and he still trusted Merlin! Merlin had shown him the softer side of magic, and yet...

Yet Arthur had taken him down into the dungeons and ordered him to execute a prisoner with his magic.

Arthur had looked him dead in the eyes and told him to kill the imprisoned noble in cold blood, and then was too disgusted with Merlin to even watch as his loyal manservant carried out his orders, harshly twisting the noble's neck with a simple spell.

Merlin couldn't fall asleep that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he either saw the noble's blank, dead stare or, even worse, Arthur's stern expression as he ordered Merlin to take a life with his magic.

It wasn't the first time Merlin had killed someone with his magic, not by far, but it was the first time he had done so outside of battle, on an unarmed enemy. It was the first time he had killed on Arthur's orders, and he wasn't sure who he was more disappointed in: Arthur or himself.

But the worst part of it all was that it proved Merlin wrong: he hadn't made as much progress with improving Arthur's opinion of magic as he had thought.

Arthur clearly still thought of magic and now, by extension, Merlin himself as a weapon, one that could be harnessed against his enemies. One that had been used against his enemies for years, without his knowledge.

Merlin felt helplessly stuck. He had done all he could to show Arthur how wonderful magic could be, yet the only use Arthur saw for it was as an executioner's blade!

Was that truly the only use Arthur saw for Merlin now that he knew the truth? The very thought of it hurt, it made Merlin want to curl up on his bed and sob and never have to face the world ever again.

Still, despite Arthur ordering Merlin to execute a man with his magic, Merlin persisted in his efforts to show Arthur the more wonderous side of magic. He doubled down on showing Arthur all of the useful littler enchantments that he knew and all of the beautiful things he could create with his magic.

And once again, for several weeks Merlin had thought that he was making progress! That was, until an assassin targeting Arthur was caught by the knights and sentenced to die the next day.

That night, when Arthur sent for Merlin, he knew exactly what Arthur wanted.

Once again, Merlin slowly followed Arthur down to the dungeons, he was fighting tears the entire way down. Was this supposed to be his punishment for lying to Arthur for ten years? Forcing him to commit atrocities with the magic he was trying so hard to show was not a thing to be feared?

Arthur slowly led him to the same cell as before, with the assassin tied to a chair in the middle, just as the noble had been. Merlin turned to Arthur with tears in his eyes, only to be met with grim determination from his king.

"Please," he nearly sobbed out, hoping his friend would take pity on him, "please, I don't want to do this. My mag- I'm not meant to do this. This is not what I was made for, what I was born to do."

Merlin thought that he saw tears gathering in Arthur's eyes as well for a split second, but they were gone in an instant, replaced with cold determination.

"I know that you don't want to do this, but despite what any of us may wish, this is what you are meant to do, Merlin. You must do this."

Merlin lowered and shook his head slowly, unable, or perhaps unwilling, to process the awful things that Arthur was saying. How could he possibly think that? He really did think so low of Merlin that he would claim all Merlin was good for was for, all his magic was good for, was senseless violence.

"No, Arthur, I won't- I can't do this!"

Merlin looked up again, ready to plead with Arthur, to try and make him see reason, only to see Arthur at the door of the cell, blocking the only exit.

"I'm sorry, Merlin." Arthur's voice was thick with sorrow and remorse, and Merlin didn't know why. Why was Arthur doing this? Why would he feel so remorseful over something that was completely unnecessary?! Merlin stared at his friend in shock and disbelief as Arthur cleared his throat and spoke again.

"I'm sorry, but you need to do this. Neither of us are leaving until it's done."

Merlin choked back more sobs and slowly turned to face the prisoner, wondering how Arthur could be so cruel.

Merlin made the deed itself quick, not wanting to make this any longer than it needed to be for everyone involved. A simple flash of gold in his eyes, and the assassin was dead.

Merlin was unable to sleep that night, too haunted by the anger in Arthur's eyes to find any rest.

What was perhaps even more disturbing for Merlin was Arthur's insistence on still acting normal, like nothing was wrong at all, in the days following the execution. Arthur's willful avoidance of the topic was confusing and frustrating in equal amounts.

Still, Merlin continued serving Arthur. He had to hold out hope that things would get better, that Arthur would learn that magic was more than just violence. What other choice did he have? He had gotten this far with his destiny, he couldn't stop now, not when they were so close to the golden age!

The weeks went on, and Merlin thought he saw more improvement in Arthur's opinion of magic, but doubt was always present. Merlin held his breath now whenever Arthur sentenced criminals, praying that none of them would be sentenced to execution, as he knew what would happen next.

However, as more weeks went by and no executions were scheduled, Merlin slowly let himself relax. Perhaps Arthur had seen reason after all!

Merlin carried this hope with him into the spring, which brought with it more frequent hunting trips and patrols. And when he and Arthur went on a hunting trip or a patrol, trouble was always found.

In their current situation, "trouble" took the form of an angry Sidhe, which still held a grudge against Merlin for murdering two of their own and ruining their plans to take over Camelot.

The good news was that Merlin was able to beat the Sidhe, banishing it back to Avalon. The bad news was that the Sidhe had managed to land a rather powerful spell on Merlin, which left him with several broken bones and various injuries.

Merlin groaned where he laid prone on the ground, glad to see that everyone else was unharmed, but unable to ignore the pain burning throughout his body. Anyone else would have probably died from his injuries, but even now he could feel his magic mending his bones and flesh. But despite his magic already trying to heal him, everything hurt like hell.

As Merlin tried to sit up, Arthur rushed over to his side, supporting him as his back protested his every movement. Merlin smiled at Arthur gratefully, trying to alleviate his friend's worry, but he soon became concerned that Arthur took a blow to the head while fighting, as Arthur started rambling nonsense at him.

"Merlin! You haven't eaten in week! It's no wonder you got so hurt, you've been starving yourself you idiot! You... you'll recover, right? You have enough energy and magic to heal yourself?"

Merlin groaned in pain as he tried to make sense of what Arthur was saying. What did it mater how long it had been since he ate?

"I- I can recover, yes. My magic is doing all it can for me right now, but it'll be slow. I'll probably be fine, I've come back from worse."

Merlin tried to give Arthur his most reassuring grin, but Arthur only paled further.

"But you were... you say that your magic is doing all that it can, but it can't fully heal you right now, can it? You need..."

Merlin watched, confused, as Arthur paused to blink back tears. What on earth was going on?

"You need to eat, Merlin. And there's no- there's no bandits, no assassins, no criminals anywhere around for us to use but you need one!"

Merlin just stared at Arthur, still unable to grasp what was going on. He glanced behind Arthur at the knights, and while Gwaine, Elyan, and Percival looked just as lost as he felt, all of the other knights looked upon Merlin and Arthur with looks of shocked horror.

"Arthur, what are you-"

"No, this needs to be done. Merlin, Camelot needs you. I know that we face much adversity despite accepting magic now, and Camelot needs its greatest protector. There will only ever be one Emrys. But a king? A king is replaceable. Should I fall, Gwen will take my place, and I have np doubts that she will be a fair, just, and wise sovereign for Camelot.

It is fitting, as I have condemned others to this fate for the sake of my kingdom, that I should bare the same end."

"What are you even talking about?! Did you hit your head while I wasn't looking?"

Arthur shook his head, tears now flowing freely down his cheeks. Yup, Merlin decided, Arthur definitely had a concussion. He'd have to get Gaius to check him over once they returned to Camelot.

"No, Merlin, please stop denying the situation. You need a soul to eat if you're going to recover, and I am offering you my own!"

Merlin blinked, wondering if perhaps he was the one that had a concussion instead of Arthur. Because there was no way that he had heard that correctly.

Following Arthur's tearful outburst, Leon rushed forwards, grabbing ahold of a weeping Arthur's shoulders. Good, Merlin thought, Leon was a very sensible man, he would surely make Arthur see reason!

"No, sire! You can't! The kingdom needs you just as much as it needs Merlin! I will offer myself in your place! Merlin, you must take my soul instead!"

... Or not.

Had everyone hit their heads? Perhaps the Sidhe had cast some madness-inducing spell before he had banished it? And why were they going on about souls?

"Hold on now, what are talking about? Why would I be taking anyone's soul?"

Leon and Arthur stared blankly at him, as if he was the one spewing nonsense, until Leon cleared his throat and responded in a hesitant voice, "But... but isn't that how warlocks like you fuel their powers?"

There was a brief pause as the air held still before Merlin finally forced words past his dumbfounded lips.

"YOU IDIOTS THOUGHT I DID WHAT?!"

And that's a wrap on this au for now! Thank you all for your support and your patience! This turned out to be much longer than I anticipated!

A big thank you to everyone who requested this continuation! I'll try to tag you all here, my apologizes if I forget anyone, there were quite a few of you! @veryroadpartystatesman-blog, @cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu, @that-nerd-who-writes-fanfiction, @keitorin3, @chaosofbelievers, @stateofdreaming14, @melodymeddler, @arrowlovesdragons, @notquitehumanwrites, @caraspud, @ikol-art, @linotheghost, @murder-drones-4ever, @error-username-not-available, @theroundbartable, @magicalmischel, @skatercashew, @xxv2axx, @tobythetrashytrash, @auldsusie, @everything-but-the-not-natural, @ramadiiiisme, @idk-anymore-mydudes, @tamaha, @kissme-withyour-cherrylipstick, @merthurogies

Once again, thank you all for exploring this au with me! I'll be back soon with a new au idea! Until next time!

And, as always, thank you for reading through my ramblings! :D

[johnpriceslamb]

— 𝓙𝓐𝓝𝓤𝓐𝓡𝓨

You are to be wedded by the end of the year. Upon travelling, you’re met with a group of pesky bandits.

𝓑𝓔𝓕𝓞𝓡𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤 𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓒𝓔𝓔𝓓 : age gap . fem ! reader . afab ! reader . hyper feminine ! reader . reader is mentioned to be physically smaller than chars mentioned in story . reader is in early 20’s . arthur is in late 20’s - early 30’s . fighting scenes . gore . traditional gender stereotypes heavily mentioned .

At the end of the year, you’ll be married off to a man.

Someone strong, handsome, clever, and gentle in heart. You hope.

“Marriage is the ultimate goal for a woman.”

Your corset is tightened by your nanny from behind. The tightness of it makes your breath hitch slightly, hands curling up unconsciously.

In the late winters of 1892, the rolling plains of Lemoyne were no match for nobility. You were dragged along by daddy who was on a grand tour in the west, despite not being keen on the idea. He insisted on seeing the rails and trains he invested in, so you didn’t have much of a choice other than to tag along.

She ushers you to stand up so she could fit the petticoat around your hips. The bands of the voluptuous under-skirt were stretched, allowing you to titter in the large hole and shape your figure again. You’re thankful that it’s a lightweight cotton fabric, considering that all the other layers you adorned added a bit more unnecessary weight to your small frame. Then comes the underskirt, adding another layer of volume and structure.

“If a man stares at you, avoid direct eye contact by using the fan your grandmother has gifted you.” She instructs, remembering the lessons your governess taught you. Her frail hands place the soft, silk evening bodice over your tightened corset. A beautiful little thing which accentuated your curves even more so, kissed with ribbons and flares below the piece.

The burning wood which crackled near the fireplace left a smell around the changing room which you longed for. You’ll be leaving in just a few more minutes, having to face the harsh winter storms outside. You wonder to yourself if the amount of beauty products delicately touched on your face was really worth it, considering that the weather outside will most likely dishevel it. And of course, you’ll be spending most of the day travelling by carriage.

Finally, the skirt. The main part of your outfit. Nanny brushes off the remaining particles on the skirt with her wrinkled hands. You couldn’t help but admire the beautiful little thing, pleated with satin which ended with small bows. She repeats the steps like for the other underskirts, stretching the band, allowing you to step in, and lifting it up to shape your figure.

Upon the stool you sat, you squirm uncomfortably because of the amount of layers you had to wear. She notices, and kisses her tongue.

“A woman should not squirm uncontrollably in their seat.” She hisses, lightly tapping your hands with a ruler as a way to discipline you. “Repeat what I have said.”

A sigh escapes your tinted lips. You hold out your hands.

“Marriage is the ultimate goal for women,” You repeat, “I must not stare back at a man and avoid direct eye contact.”

“Why must you not stare back at a man?” She asks.

You hesitate. The ruler comes down to your skin and places a stinging kiss. You hiss at the pain.

“B-because—” Another hit.

“No stuttering.”

You take a shaky breath, enduring the soft whimper which begs to escape from the bottom of your throat, “Because returning a man’s gaze could interpret as an invitation or a sign of interest.”

“What must you do if they stare?”

“Avoid eye contact by using my grandmothers’ fan.”

“Good.” She nods her head in approval. You place your hands neatly on your lap, looking down to avoid eye contact.

You’re ready to leave as soon as she ties the delicate satin bonnet on your head, ensuring that your face is covered with enough shade provided by the head piece. With the helping hands of the maids in daddy’s manor, all of your luggage was carried to the boot of the carriage. You bid your goodbyes to a few of your selected favourite maids, lightly kissing their cheeks before tittering away.

As soon as you walked outside, you knew that the cold winters of ‘92 would affect you much more than you’d expect. Suddenly, you appreciate the amount of layers you adorned. You could hardly feel the cold winds blowing even if you stuck your head outside the carriage’s openings.

The old man who drives the carriage around hops out of that tall seat in front to open the door and lend a hand for you to enter in. Upon entering in, you can see that there was a small lit candle; your only source of warmth.

You feel really glad for all of the layers.

You vaguely remember daddy boasting about all of the railroads built all over this part of America. ‘The Central Union Railroad’, a camp made up by working men who were in charge of building all railroads— daddy owned that camp. Some parts of you feel grateful for being raised in wealth and comfort, while the remaining parts felt guilty for seeing others having to slave away just to get ends meet.

You’re not convinced that all the men in that camp were capable of working. You’ve seen a good litter of youths labouring here and there. You pitied them greatly but alas: you were a woman. The most you could do was provide them more food rations and safety gear.

But as time slowly passed by, you’ve noticed the laws overseeing the amount of child labour happening in businesses. Daddy wasn’t too happy seeing a slight decline of workers in his company, nevertheless it did make your lips curl up a bit.

You’re not particularly interested in watching the railroads daddy invests and funded in, only because your thoughts immediately go back to the amount of workers that barely get payed to slave away in building these roads.

On the other hand, it was also how you’re able to sleep in a large manor everyday.

The roads slowly turned more bumpy and rough when leaving Lemoyne territory. You’re quite surprised that your carriage hasn’t been robbed considering the amount of warnings of raiders being littered across this part of territory. Your beady eyes boredly peer out of the windows of the carriage, watching the distant white-tipped evergreen trees pass by.

There wasn’t much to do other than watch nature unfold or perhaps pester the driver. You’d rather the former since you don’t even know the drivers name.

You can still feel the stings from that stupid ruler your nanny punished you with. They catch onto the fabric, which makes you twitch a bit at the abrupt pain. The more bumpier the road was, the more it caught on.

It’s been a few hours since you’ve left home. If you remembered correctly, you’d be arriving to a town somewhere in Chicago. You peak out to the driver up front, politely asking him what the time was. You left during the early hours of the morning, and you could see the sun rise much more.

His warm, honey-dew tipped voice replies back with a frail ‘9 in the morning’. Just a few more hours until they reach to Chicago. Maybe even another day is to be filled with travelling.

You can’t help but sigh, “Could we take a break and rest somewhere in a few hours time?”

The old man hums, “We may, if that is what you wish.”

You smile sweetly. Of course, being told no was quite foreign to you. “Thank you kindly.”

You rest back onto the velvety cushions, heaving out another deep sigh. You look out of the openings again, and for the first time in a few months you lay eyes upon a long stretch of natural snowy land. It’s a vast difference between the usual scenery you’d see back in Lemoyne. There was no puffs of dark grey smoke in the sky, the heavy scent of engines and oil running wasn’t to be smelt, the bellowing of officers directing a crowd, no city life around.

Sometimes you’d see a few run-down stables with a few animals. Other times you’d just see landmarks with just the never-ending cold covering in it. On one occasion around noon, you saw a dead animal with its bones protruding out. Your nose scrunches up at the sight before looking away to the other opening of the carriage. Not much of a difference in scenery.

You tinker your lashes out of boredom, now playing with the satin-tipped bows on your bodice. The travel becomes much slower and difficult because of the amount of snow which catches onto the wheels of the carriage. It’s excruciatingly difficult to be entertained in these types of situations, considering that you left your novels back at home. You scoot back to the front seat of the carriage, peaking out to the man who lead the vehicle.

“May we please take a stop over there?” You ask with a shy smile, gesturing towards the small town from afar. You wonder if there’s any pastry stores nearby. The last time you ate was a few hours ago, a bowl of porridge and a few thin slices of bread. The man acknowledges your polite request with a gruff.

There’s been a bit of a food problem because of the cold winter, more snow meant less crops being able to grow and lesser animals being produced. You’ve been stuck on porridge and bread for a while now, and you’re hoping that it’ll change.

Once the driver stopped near the town, you’re greeted with the wind yet again. You unconsciously curl inward to protect yourself from the cold, peering at the people who lived in this little area. It’s humble, isolated, quiet.

Cold. Too cold.

You take a few steps, the bottoms of your shoes caked with snow. The man beside you takes ahold of your arm in case of any danger which falls upon you. He coughs a bit when the air hits his lungs. You pity him, asking if he needed a hot cup of tea or anything of the sorts to get him to warm up again.

His old eyes light up at the mention of tea.

“You mustn’t fret over me, my lady.” He whispers lowly.

“I insist.”

He takes a slow breath before sighing. “ If you must.”

Another pause to take a deep breath, “Your attitude is nothing like your father’s.”

You quirk a brow, “Pardon?”

He grabs onto your arm for support, mindlessly dawdling. “It’s a shame that you’ll be married off soon. When you see potential candidates during this trip, take a look at his attributes rather than his looks.”

What?

You tilt your head, “I thought this trip was a tour around the West.”

He grunts slightly, flinching a bit. “Perhaps I’ve spoken too much.”

Before you utter out another word of disbelief, you’re met with a click of a gun.

“Another step from either one of ye’,” A hoarse voice from behind grumbles like a predator, “One of yer head’s gon’ be rollin’.”

You’ve never been in situations like these before. Your nerves are getting to you. A soft sob escapes from your mouth as the tip of the gun threatens to puncture the back of your head. Your hands are immediately up in defence, beady eyes staring back at the frail man who could not do anything but mimic your actions.

You croak, “Please, sir. We don’t have anything valuable for you—”

Many more of them pop up. As if a litter of ants come and pour, the man behind scoffs before kicking your knees to buckle and kneel on the floor.

“Bullshit,” He snarls, “Look at what yer wearing. Pretty lil’ thing like ye’ ought to have somethin’ hidin’ under that skirt of yers.”

“What do we do with this one, boss?” One of them knocks the nozzle of his gun into the old man’s head. An old wail of pain escapes him, and your eyes water even more as you helplessly look around.

“Get rid of ‘em.”

“Wait, please! Don’t harm him! He hasn’t done anything wrong!” You sob, trying to reach out for him— only to be held back by these bandits, “No- stop, stop!”

The man who holds you back cackles, mocking your high-pitched pleas and sobs. The old man is knocked out with another blow to the head with the end of the bandit’s gun. You could see the back of his head starting to bleed.

“I’m telling you, a pretty girl like ‘er would sell real well in the markets.”

“How much do you think we could make?”

Another tug on your bodice gets you to raggedly gasp. Before your eyes peer to the Heavens above and beg for mercy, bullets from afar ring past and alert the others. You can hear gallops of multiple horses coming your way, and a heap of other outlaws.

“Shit, ‘s the Van Der Linde Gang!” The leader of the group- who currently holds you captive in his arms, yells at his group to gun them down. A bullet zooms past and catches onto his shoulder which allows you wiggle away and squirm to hide.

With the remaining strength you had, you drag the driver’s unconscious body with you and behind a barrel. He’s cold, everything is cold, you’re cold.

He’s dead.

The impact of the gun’s end must of cracked his skull. Tears pour down your beauty-tinted face, mustering up quiet prayers for him. Bullets are the only thing you can hear, accompanied with loud bellows and curses.

You have never in your life witnessed anything like this before.

You peak from the barrel, watching the man who gunned your driver down drops dead to the floor from one bullet which hits his head. Another array of shots are fired, and soon enough the litter of bandits are all gone.

Your ears perk when you hear them converse lowly, “Who the hell were those guys?”

“I don’t know, son. John, you ‘n Bill find supplies ‘round this town. Rob, steal, or be law abiding citizens— I don’t care. Just get as much as you can.”

You stifle a soft sob at the rowdiness. The man who was recently talking hears your soft whimper, before sauntering over to where you were located and crouched down in front of you.

“Arthur,” He seems to be calling for one of his men. He looks like he was born from wealth like you were. His clothes are tinted with jewellery and his vest looked like red velvet fur, “Come over here ‘n escort this girl!”

He lends you a hand. He sees the hesitation in those eyes of yours which lead him to a more softer approach.

When his eyes focus onto your face, he squints. He sizes you up and down quickly, the clothing you adorned clearly catching his attention. “Oh, you poor thing.”

Your small hands are held firmly by his as he hoists you up. Burdened with trauma and shock, you could only hear him murmur soft words of encouragement. You see a younger man strolling towards him, only for him to blink in surprise when seeing you.

There was something about him which sparked your interest greatly.

He scratches at his light stubble, barely visible yet. His breath seemed to hitch at the first sight of you.

“Can she talk?”

The other man who holds you closely scoffs, “‘Course she can. She’s just shocked.”

“Huh. Okay. What do we do with her?”

The man looks at you, “Hm. What’s your name, miss?”

You sniffle a bit, shakily replying with a meek babble of your name.

“Lovely to meet you, my dear. Dutch. Dutch Van Der Linde.” He squeezes your shoulder a bit, “Where were you last heading to before.. all of this?”

“Ch— Chicago,” You stutter, either from the cold or from the scene which unfolded beneath your very eyes.

“Damn.. That’s a long way away.” The man who eyed you with interest mumbles, not taking his kind eyes away from you.

You stare back of course.

Some sort of spark in you flared up.

He could feel it too.

“We ought to take her back to camp. She doesn’t seem like she’s in good condition.” Dutch makes you step forward out to Arthur, who grabs you and hoists you in his arms and to his horse, a soft grumble of annoyance escaping his lips, before murmuring a low ‘up you go, girl.’

“When she’s settled enough, we’ll ride ‘er to Chicago. We’re headin’ north aren’t we?”

“Indeed we are.”

“Not much of a problem, then.”

You needily paw at him before he could settle you on the large saddle of his horse, “W-wait but my luggages..”

He quirks a brow at you, “What about it?”

You meekly look around, stammering. “I need it. ‘s— ‘s important, I just—”

He cuts you off, “Where is it?”

You gesture to the carriage from afar. You watch his built figure stroll down thataway to retrieve them. You’re still surprised that the bandits from earlier didn’t manage to spot it. But nevertheless, you profusely thanked him before he left to go grab it from the boot.

You watch Dutch’s other men grab your old driver’s body and sling it on the back of their horse, probably to bury it somewhere. You deeply thank them in your mind, only for a chuckle to interrupt your thoughts.

“The boy’s smitten, Hosea! Look at ‘im,” The man who found you nudged an older looking man’s shoulder, pointing to his bulky figure which held onto your absurdly large luggages, “Never did that with any of the other men we saved. Didn’t even protest when I said that we’re bringing her back to camp.”

Dutch titters to you with that beautiful stallion of his. You couldn’t help but envy at how gorgeous that mane was. You remember back home your horses were used for training and educating rather than for show. “You’ll be staying with us for a while until we can get you on your feet again.”

You slowly nod, sniffling a bit. You rub your arms for comfort, hoping that they won’t do anything funny to you, “Th—thank you..”

Hosea— if you recalled, only looked at you with eyes as warm as the fireplace back home. He pitied you too, but in a sense that wasn’t belittling like how Dutch pitied you.

Arthur grunts as he heaves the luggages on the back of his horse, securing it with some rope to not make it fall. He mounts from the left and settles behind you, before kicking his spurs gently which makes his horse start walking in a slow pace.

A comforting hand is placed on your shoulder. He leans in a bit and murmurs, “You’re safe with us.”

You wonder if your family would condemn you for riding with a man you're not acquainted with.

You also wonder if they'd punish you by ostracism if they caught you riding with a group of outlaws.

The loud thunks of the horse's feet galloping through the snow was a sound you've heard before but not from this close. Usually, you're situated in a carriage with a dim light and windows, and then the horse at the front. You could listen to the soft tittering of the horses from inside. When you're walking down the street with your brother, you could also hear the horses gaits on carriages pass by.

The thick, southern drawl of an accent is also another thing you can hear. A vast difference between the usual whisper of educated, middle class accents within the streets. The men who rescued you are quietly conversing between one another. You're curious, but you feel as though your eyes will close as soon as you try to bother.

The young outlaw behind you catches onto your sleepy behaviour, a low wisp of that southern drawl is heard yet again but far more closely.

"Y'alright, miss?"

You stiffen a quiet sniffle. You want to go back home. But then again, you're glad that you aren't back home. You miss the feeling of comfort, the soft yet creaky beds, the dim chandelier which radiated such a warm light. A rush of emotion comes over your demure figure, and you can't help that sniffle which is emits through the cold air.

You don't answer. The silence is what confirmed his question. Your sniffles, more-so.

A hand comes to rest on your shoulder, before gently pulling your form back to his broad chest. A quiet sign that you were welcome to take a little rest on him for the rest of the ride.

You sniffle once more, before a murmur of a little 'thank you' is etched out of your dry throat. You flutter those long lashes of yours shut, before taking a snooze on him.

[babybearnation]

privacy sign on the door

⎇f1 drivers x gn!reader ; your relationship is about to be leaked (reactions) ⎇contains: alex albon, arthur leclerc, charles leclerc, dino beganovic, george russell, zhou guanyu, kimi antonelli, lance stroll, lando norris, liam lawson, logan sargeant, max verstappen, mick schumacher, ollie bearman, oscar piastri, paul aron, pierre gasly, yuki tsunoda ⎇author's note: fics for friends :D if you enjoyed this long ass fic, maybe considering supporting me over on my kofi. ⎇content warnings: suggestive (alex, liam, oscar), mentions of hate (charles, liam, pierre), arguments (kimi, yuki), mentions of logan's shitty time in f1 (logan) ⎇word count: 2.2k

alex albon:

he's angry in a way he rarely ever is. why can't people just leave you and him alone for once in their lives? when you share the many, many tweets gossiping about the pair of you, he's just so angry. he doesn't care about the publicity - it's part of the job - but you're just trying to live your life and it's not fair that people keep invading your privacy.

when you suggest exposing your relationship, gaining the upper hand on the media and giving a big fuck you to everyone trying to forcibly invade your privacy, alex is hesitant. are you sure you wanna do that? when you say yes and that you're positive in your decision, he finally agrees and you two post a cute lil cuddling pic which is received (mostly) fondly by the many.

y'all fuck straight after tho :D

arthur leclerc:

he wasn't expecting there to be so much media attention when it came to him and his relationship. sure, he's charles' brother and ferrari's development driver, but did people really care that much about him and his love life? well, clearly so, if all the rumours flying about are anything to go by.

when you ask if he wants to go public, he finds himself torn. on the one hand, he'd get to spend all his time with you without having to be sneaky. on the other hand, it'd be a lot of media attention for you. he ultimately leaves the decision in your hands, so when you say you want to, arthur posts a really cute photo of you two together before putting his phone on DND and spending all night with you.

the media storm he wakes up to the next day is surprisingly kind.

charles leclerc:

he's tired. so fucking tired. the media is so obsessed with who he's dating and who's he seeing and this and that and the status of his love life and honestly, he probably saw the gossip stuff before you did, prompting him to bring it up when you ask him what's wrong. you can't help but chuckle fondly at him and his exasperation.

your offer to go public has him stalling, eyes wide and cheeks flushing. it's adorable but you worry you've pushed him too far so you start stammering apologies that he silences with a soft kiss. he asks if you're sure that you want to go public - all too aware of the kind of hate you may receive - but when you affirm that you do, he's immediately pulling you into a kiss and posting a pic of it to his story.

everyone teases him for such a bold hard launch lol.

dino beganovic:

dino's a massive softie so he's been basically soft launching you this entire time. when the rumours start to swirl about the mysterious person in his life being you, the two of you laugh about it, making jokes about how long it had taken for people to realise the truth.

eventually, things get more serious as you shyly, sleepily ask him if he wants to go fully public. he hums and thinks it over before saying he wouldn't mind, but it's ultimately your choice. when you say yes, you want to go public, he picks the very best photo of you (just you) and shares it to his social media, a teasing comment or two referencing the rumours in his captions.

social media goes a little bit wild about it, tbh.

george russell:

media king. knows how to subtly deflect all the questions about you and him and your (potential) relationship together in a way that makes all his astute fans frustrated but unable to really get the concrete answers that they want because he just has such a way with words.

when you tease him about his responses, showing his fans thoughts on the matter, he smirks and suggests maybe going public and you laugh and agree and before long, there's a whole post on his instagram about you that makes literally everyone fawn over him because how is he so sweet!?

f1 couple goals, tbh.

zhou guanyu:

he's pretty private so when the rumours start to swirl about your relationship, he's blaming himself. he never wanted to thrust you into the spotlight without your consent, and now he feels like he's done exactly that. you, meanwhile, had already accepted this as a potential outcome of dating him.

so when you share that you're comfortable letting the world know - that you love him too much to care what anyone on social media has to say - he falls for you all over again, agreeing to post a simple, soft, faceless photo of you two together, tagging your account on the post and making everyone go crazy.

he doesn't regret it at all.

kimi antonelli:

as much as he tries to pretend he's super confident and not at all bothered by the rumours surrounding you two, he's actually very upset and annoyed by all the media attention his love life is getting. he can handle all the attention about his f1 career but his love life? nope. that's a step too far.

when you suggest maybe going public to shut most of the rumours down and let everyone have what they want, he gets angry. why would you ever sacrifice your privacy for him? which of course, makes you angry and you two end up having a very stupid argument that eventually ends in you and him agreeing to go public.

literally no one is shocked at the truth lol.

lance stroll:

he's one more awfully worded article away from paying every damn motorsports news page to shut the fuck up about the pair of you. why did they even care so much about who he was dating? he gets so upset about it that it nearly scares you, not used to such riotous fury from him.

the only thing you can think of is going public, taking the decision from their hands before they can expose you two. lance thinks it over in amidst a billion kisses before deciding its your call. hours later, you two are watching movies together and ignoring the many responses you are getting to your relationship announcement.

lance continues to stay off of social media, though.

lando norris:

lando is used to this. not a single day has gone by throughout his entire f1 career where someone hasn't questioned him and his love life and who he's dating and who his exes are. it's infuriating, sure, but in that way where its bone deep. it's just a part of him now.

you, however, are refusing to let him stew in silent anger about this and you tell him you want to go public. end the speculation and the theorising. go public and be fucking happier for it. it takes a while to convince him but eventually he agrees and instantly, he realises you were right. he feels lighter and happier now that you two are public.

and now, he can get a good luck kiss from you before every race without worrying about being caught!

liam lawson:

there's so much media attention on him right now that he knew his relationship status would become a topic of interest soon enough. so, when it does, he's almost relaxed about it. unless you're expressing great distress and concern, he's really not bothered about the rumours.

but when you express that you're not distressed and are instead much more interested in giving the fans what they want - hopefully turning some of the negative watchers away from him as well - he's gleeful. pictures and instagram stories are being posted almost instantly and sure enough, it's enough of a distraction for the haters.

you get thanked for that later on..

logan sargeant:

he just wants to delete his existence from the universe. pretend he never existed. seriously. he's so tired of the media constantly barging into his life and now they're trynna get you involved too? like, come on... he's just a dude trynna survive in the world of motorsports. you are his literal saving grace. he doesn't want that taken from him as well.

when you offer to take it public, beat out the paparazzi and the gossip blogs and finally give him control over what he does for once, he says yes, posting a picture that dalton had taken of the two of you giggling and laughing together, practically collapsed against each other.

literally everyone is just glad to see him so happy.

max verstappen:

this man is a 4x wdc. he's used to the media. he's used to the prying questions and poking and prodding paparazzi. he's used to it. is he really fucking upset that you've been dragged into this? of course. but you've comforted him multiple times that you knew what you were getting into, and you'd embraced it ages ago.

when he asks if you wanna go public - as blunt as only max can be - he's not at all shocked that you say yes. you two love each other, you want a future forever together, why wouldn't you say yes? so he shares you with the world and he doesn't look back in regret.

just your typical iconic max behaviour, tbh.

mick schumacher:

mick cannot escape the media and it sucks. of course, there's a legacy attached to his surname, but he's his own person and you don't share his surname, so why are you being dragged by the media? when you tell him that people are spreading rumours about you two being together, he gets a bit shy.

"we could tell people?" mick shyly suggests and you agree. why wouldn't you? you're serious about him, he's serious about you and it doesn't make sense to hide it. so he posts a really cute photo of you two together and the internet kinda goes crazy about it.

suddenly, he finds media is not that difficult to handle!

ollie bearman:

why him? poor baby bear just wants to curl up in a ball and sleep forever when he discovers that people are starting to suspect you and him are together. like please, just leave the sleepy bear alone :(. you can't help but tease him for how cute he is throughout his entire mini breakdown though.

but really, you wouldn't mind going public. that makes him perk up, eyes wide and sparkly. "you wouldn't?" "of course not." well that settles that. ollie's posting about you within the very same hour, his favourite photo of you and him together being the main image, with some of his self-taken photos of you being visible in the same post.

the caption? "my fave." nothing more, nothing less.

oscar piastri:

he's trying to remain calm, and outwardly, it seems like nothing is wrong. but internally, a storm is brewing. you can tell something's wrong and when you ask him, he angrily vents about people invading his, and more importantly, your privacy. he's so passionate and defensive, you can't help but find it charming.

you calm him down before suggesting going public. "we control the narrative, yeah?" he sees the wisdom in what you're saying and lets you pick out the pictures for him to post. he posts them with a simple red heart emoji for a caption (your account is tagged, of course). the entire f1 fandom seemingly explodes, but you two don't care.

after all, oscar still has some pent up emotions to deal with ;)

paul aron:

the rumours that he could be in a relationship with someone seemed to have lit a fire under everyone's asses and now everyone was scouring the internet for hints and clues as to who paul was dating. it seemed like everyone had forgotten about his alpine news. great.

you, ever the comforting presence in his life, soon shakily confessed that maybe... maybe you two should go public about it. end all the theorising and speculation and let it be a source of excitement for a week or so before diverting people back to the news of paul in f1. he agrees and before long, there's an announcement made.

paul kisses you in thanks because he's positive no words can reflect his gratitude.

pierre gasly:

he's honestly not sure how to feel. like... he's pretty used to the media attention, therefore it doesn't really bother him when people start talking about him again. but you're involved this time and he doesn't want you to get hurt or attacked because of your relationship with him.

when he finds you reading through speculative tweets one day, he decides to broach the subject. what he isn't expecting is for you to shove your phone into his face, a drafted instagram post exposing your relationship lit up on the screen. "whaddya think?" he laughs and posts it for you.

he's just a chill dude who's in love tbh.

yuki tsunoda:

another private one, yuki is very determined to ignore the rumours until they go away and leave the pair of you alone. can't he just kiss his partner in peace and quiet? why did the media always have to be involved? you end up having to feed him food and give him kisses to calm him down.

when you try and suggest going public, he reacts negatively, starting an argument between the two of you. it reaches almost catastrophic levels before he realises that, actually, going public isn't that bad of an idea. you two end up agreeing on that before a new, smaller, less serious argument forms on what picture you should post.

it takes a while, but eventually you two go public and yuki falls asleep happily in your arms.

© all rights to babybearnation 2025.

[russellbby]

There's always pressure || Pt.3

parings: charles leclerc x sister!f2 driver!reader, arthur leclerc x sister!f2 driver!reader

in which: the leclerc family are absent for the F2 finale, even when their youngest family member can create history if she wins the championship..

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

twitter

//

Y/n knew she needed to focus on the race ahead, it was the most important race in her career so far. If she won the championship, it would give her a huge advantage of trying to get on the grid in formula 1 next year.

Her family not being there did hurt her, however after what happened yesterday she was quite glad that they weren’t there as she didn’t want to face them.

Her face lit up when she saw Toto, Susie, Lewis and George and Carmen entering her garage. The young girl ran straight into Lewis’s arms.

“Hey kiddo!” Lewis laughed as he caught the girl who threw herself at him.

“Hi!” Y/n giggled as she pulled away before hugging the other four there.

“How you feeling?” Carmen asked.

“Just nervous, but I think that’s just normal” Y/n said.

“You’ll do amazing Y/n, just think of it as a normal race” George added.

George and Carmen become quite fond of the young girl, ever since she joined the junior team. They took her under their wing and were always there when she needed them, which Y/n was very grateful for.

“Don’t worry about your family, they are just idiots for not being here” Toto said which let to Susie hitting him lightly and everyone chuckle.

“What he is trying to say, don’t think about any of it. All of us will be here for you when you finish the race, no matter what the result” Susie told her softly.

“I appreciate you guys being here so much, so thank you” Y/n said.

//

instagram

y/n_leclerc

Liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc and 318,629 others

y/n_leclerc: One final time❤️ @prema_team

view all 21,926 comments

username Go get that championship Y/n!!

username Charles and Arthur liking this is crazy💀

username You ain’t getting the championship😂

username None of your family being there just sums up how much they don’t believe you won’t win😭

prema_team One final time, let’s go❤️

username No way she’s winning💀

username None of her family are there🤣🤣

username I love that Toto, Susie, Lewis, George and Carmen are them in the garage with her!

mercedesamgf1 We will all be cheering from our garage!!

username Awh, Mercedes are like a family to Y/n💗

username C’mon let’s make history today Y/n!!

username No chance she’s winning this😭

username I think we all know who is the black sheep in the Leclerc family💀

//

The formation lap of the F2 finale was about to start in a few minutes, Y/n was started a solid P3 and with her fellow championship contenders starting lower down, she had the advantage.

“She’s going to win, I just got a feeling” George said.

“We will welcome her to formula 1, if she does” Toto replied which made his two drivers look at him.

“I think she’s perfect choice to replace me,” Lewis added.

“Well let’s hope she wins then,” George said.

“C’mon Y/n, focus..” Susie whispered to herself as the cars just finished the formation lap.

“5 lights out and Formula 2 goes racing for championship!”

[mx-pastelwriting]

RDR2 HC - Running away together & what would it take

RDR2 x GN! Reader

Summary: Running away together & what would it take for them to.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Established Relationship, Running away, Some Happy Endings

Characters: Dutch van der Linde, Arthur Morgan, Javier Escuella, Charles Smith, Bill Williamson, Hosea Matthews, John Marston, Josiah Trelawny

Dutch van der Linde

- A hard task in itself, prying Dutch away from his power over the gang, it's an almost impossible task. Though echoing Hosea's words to lie low would earn you some time in having a voice over Micah's, he would consider it.

- Nightly talks cuddled up in his arms, imagining life away from the one you have aloud; he entertains it, but not without saying some doubtful scenarios. Having to change your ways, almost manipulating him into taking that life as a real thing.

- Never leaving his side, hearing every thought, not giving Micah a chance to talk to him in private, in turn driving you crazy. Doing anything for that good life, leaving your intentions to change just to get your Dutch safe.

- Every day drained you; all that work had finally caught up to you. Slowly, you lost faith as the gang came into more trouble, making you come to a realization. You made your choice.

- A night of loving Dutch one more time, cuddled up into his arms, then having to leave them. Leaving him in a deep sleep with a final kiss. Taking your horse he had gotten for you a long time ago and what little clothes you had left from all the years of running. Finally leaving in the cold night, not daring to look back.

A year had gone by, and still you dreamt about that day and its many outcomes, but all you could do was smile at the memory of his messed hair loving him for that final night. Telling yourself over and over that it spared the both of you, there was no use to keep trying. Leaving to build your own life, living out your dream that you tried so hard to convince Dutch of so many times.

He would have loved it, just the two of you; he just couldn't see it. Getting up from your bed, dressing up for the day, and having to live off of the small land you fought to get months after. Making your way to the kitchen, readying breakfast before your day of work, but a knock interrupts you from the task.

Grabbing your old weapon, hoping it still worked, then walking slowly to the door, pointing the weapon from your hip. Upon opening the door, your mind and body went blank. Dutch was standing at your front door, looking like shit. "Dear," he says, voice cracking. Even after all this time, he charmed his way into your heart, igniting your love again.

-

Arthur Morgan

- You both have always talked about that kind of life and what it would be like, but it always ended as a joke and never as something to look forward to. Until you really thought about it, hearing Hosea's story of him and his wife fed into your dream.

- Bring it up to Arthur one night, making sure he took it seriously, not knowing what to say, only he couldn't leave the gang just like that. Over time, you pushed the matter, and he always listened but never said anything.

- Being with the gang for a long time, you watched it change as Dutch came into more trouble. Finally, it hit a breaking point when Arthur went missing from the meeting with Colm O'Driscoll. The camp had to calm you down, but it didn't stop the tears every night, fighting your mind to just leave, but it turned to worry that if he'd come back, you needed to be there for him.

- After days of the gang searching, you finally spotted Arthur's house with him on top, thinking you had just gone crazy. Hearing his groans of pain, you ran to him, crying aloud, causing the camp to spring into action, with some having to hold you back so the rest could work.

- After an hour of working on him finally letting you see him, never leaving his side as you waited for him to wake. Hosea brought you something to eat every day, knowing what you had been going through.

Snapping from your exhausted state as a groan came from Arthur, watching as he stirred from his rest. Tears once again spilled from your eyes while grabbing his hand and placing it to your cheek. Waking fully, he whispered your name, running a hand through his hair earning a hum from him as he rested his eyes once again.

"I thought you were dead," you whispered, kissing his hand earning another hum. "Okay," he whispered weakly, making you look at him meeting his blue-green eyes. Taking a minute for you to understand, you nodded, "Tonight." You responded, getting only a weak nod back. Quickly getting up to then plant a kiss on his lips before preparing your leave.

-

Javier Escuella

- Being so loyal to Dutch, as soon as you'd bring that idea of life up, he'd tell you of the time he tried to find that kind of life, with it ending with Dutch saving him, in turn needing to repay Dutch with his life. A life for a life.

- Still, of course, you stayed with him, but it didn't stop you from trying. From mentioning small things, such as telling him to look at the homesteads as you passed them or talking to couples who owned their land, hearing the stories of home life making sure Javier was near you to hear.

- Wishing aloud to love him behind closed doors, but he brought up the suggestion of a hotel quickly you shot it down with wishes of loving him in your own home. Unknown to you, it wasn't till the end that he would change his mind.

- Seeing as he buddied up with Micah breaking your heart, seeing what Micah did to Dutch, there would be no way he would sink his claws into your Javier. Realizing it even more after hearing Arthur's words confirming your Javiers changed, solidifying your thoughts. Having to do the only thing that was left.

- Grabbing a bag, you started to stuff your things into it. Hearing footsteps come closer, you didn't look up, knowing who it was. When asking what you were doing, you told him you were leaving him. Shocked, he begged, but you gave it to him in the end, giving him an ultimatum. You or Dutch.

Pain washed over his face. He looked to the floor, hoping it would have the answer, but you continued packing. "Amor," he begged, but you kept your back to him as much as it pained you. "I can't do this, Javi," you say, tears stinging the brim of your eyes. "Tell me," he says, putting a hand on yours.

"All of this, you hate Micah. What changed?" You asked, making him look away, but you brought his face back softly with your hand. Cupping his face, "I know you see it. He's not well. I'm not going to stick around anymore, Javi," you say, turning to zip up your bag.

"It's your choice," you say before grabbing a few more things. "I can't," he says weakly. "Okay," saying your final words before walking to the horses, putting your things onto yours before hopping onto your horse.

Taking a last look at the camp, not caring who chose to look. Hearing as the horse next to you stirred, looking to see Javier hop on his with his belongings behind him. Smiling at each other, you turned away from camp, taking off quickly to start your new life.

-

Charles Smith

- Having been in the gang for a small amount of time, he had never shut down the idea, though never did he start to make plans on it. Figuring it was from his friendships with Arthur and John or him just settling in having run with him before the gang, you were of course thankful for them taking you both in, but shaking off the idea was never going to happen.

- Taking long rides on the days he got off, hugging his waist while resting your head on his back, talking about many things: camp gossip, your past travels, the future. Sometimes passing by a homestead watching as the people worked away at their land, imagining out loud how that would be, it would be better than always running.

- He loved you dearly; it pained him whenever leaving you to do a job with the gang, but you hated it more when he came to you from a watch stumbling on his tired feet to then crashing into your arms falling asleep before he could even mumble, "I love you.".

- Making his choice after the bank job that had gone wrong, having to bury Hosea and Lenny's bodies, the both of you talked about the decision ending with a kiss and the start of packing your things. Though quickly interrupted by the law, causing you to run once again, making you both stick around the gang a little longer.

- Knowing it put the both of you in more danger, he tried to make it quick by using the gang to help the tribe, only meeting them once by going with him, you understood. Finally, the day came telling only Arthur and John and those closest to you, getting hugs and wishes of luck to your new life.

Waking to the cooing of birds wrapped in the warmth of Charles's arms, hearing him snore softly, kissing his scared cheek, waking him from his slumber earning a smile. Looking at you with tired brown eyes, taking a moment to admire your well-rested faces.

Wiggling out of his arms with an objection as he tightened them, making you both laugh before you headed off to the kitchen in your homestead, but not without getting dressed first from the night before. Having been years since that day, leading to a new life, though the past caught up a year later, causing Charles to go with John just to make Dutch and Micah pay for all those years ago.

Of course, coming back to you with a bullet in the shoulder and a promise to never leave you again, from John's home, you both made it up to Canada, living out your dream of a homestead. Ending your reminisce on the past as Charles wraps his arms around you once more, kissing your neck softly while you readied the morning drinks.

-

Bill Williamson

- It had never been an idea to the both of you from all the years you ran with the gang until going into town. Seeing how a couple talked about their lives after getting that first taste of that kind of life, you never looked back.

- Not telling Bill at first, wanting him away from Dutch a bit before springing it upon him after one of your hotel nights away, he entertained your thoughts, though laughing at some parts until he realized you were serious.

- His first feeling was anger at how he could never do that to Dutch, but you argued that Dutch doesn't control your lives. Finally, he calmed down, telling you he looked up to Dutch. Knowing how he wanted the limelight that Arthur and John had, you convinced him that even if it was painful to say and hear, he would never be them. His obsession can't control him.

- Even though he listened with understanding, even agreeing, he told you the time wasn't right. Giving your understanding back to his reasoning, you stayed with him. But things didn't stay still for forever.

- The bank job had gone wrong with the law running you out of Shady Bell, feeling as if it was years before you got Bill back in your arms after hearing tales of him on Guarma. Having enough, you started to pack your things, causing Bill to freak. Hearing none of it, you gave him a choice. Hoping he would pick the right one.

Standing in front of your horse, holding your bag tightly, "I've hit the end, Bill; I-I can't. I can't stay up every night hoping you're alive; it's not fair to me or you." You choked through your words, causing a scene for the whole camp to see, but you didn't care; you were done.

Seeing his hesitant look back at Dutch, who watched on calmly, you had your answer. His continuous seek for approval from Dutch would never stop, and you weren't going to be around to watch it kill him or you.

-

Hosea Matthews

- Having left before he would hear the idea once again, not shooting it down immediately though ending your talk with how his story ended, right back where he started.

- As time went on, his coughs had gotten worse, as well as his attitude towards it, helping with his cough fits earned a hand wave and a choked-out "I'm fine." But you kept pushing, knowing if it was the end for him, it should be anywhere but running with the gang.

- Bringing it up more, he entertained it a bit more, but other reasons would always pop up after, trying to understand you let it go after every talk. As the gang settled into Shady Bell slowly, you noticed that he became even worse; he barely came to bed, but when he did stumble in, smelling of booze, giving you a slurred "I love you" before snoring away.

- Not waiting for his final say any longer, you slowly packed your things over the days, making sure both of your horses were ready to go in the night. Thankfully, you met a couple who knew of a cabin not too far away at a cheap price. Saving up quickly, you bought the cabin, leaving it to wait for you. Taking note of when the watch shifts change and when the camp dies down for the night.

- Finally, you made your move. As Hosea stumbled into being his familiar drunk self, you went into action, calling his horse over by the back door quietly loading on what little you had left. Then, waking Hosea leading him to the horse with false words, finally, you were ready with Hosea in a drunken sleep on your back, fleeing into the dark swamp.

Riding through the night, keeping Hosea on the horse, with luck, you made it through the swamp and into the forest on your way to the cabin. Not knowing how long this would last not even sure if this was a new life. "Just enough for you to rest," you whispered into the cold night air.

Making it to the cabin, using all your strength to get him in the cabin, laying him on the bed, tucking him. Going back out, taking your things from his and your horses, then letting them rest in the small stable for the next few days.

Waking into the morning still hearing Hosea's snores with his warm arms around you. Slowly, you get up, readying his medicine, hoping he'll understand your actions. Being all for him in the end.

-

John Marston

- Having entertained the idea only came up two times. The first was for one of Hosea's cons, having you and John play as a married couple that lived on a farm just for another couple who actually lived on a farm to come along to buy into Hosea's con.

- As years went on, seeing how the gang dwindled, thankful for not taking your John, but not without a scare and a promise to stay with you. Getting out of the snow, helping John to Horseshoe Overlook, fighting to keep him down, and resting. John made a joke about you being his spouse and having a little farm. That was the second time.

- John wasn't the only one with that joke; being protective over him, Hosea started to joke about how the con act ended long ago, but you were still acting the part.

- Finally, John was ready for jobs again, so you loosened your protection, though you weren't afraid to give it to Dutch if he came back with so much as a small scratch. Furthering that joke in the camp led you two to talk. John agreed to the possibility, but it was different in his mind. You saw it coming sooner than him.

- Sadly, it wasn't until the very end you could live out that idea. The gang fell apart, pushing you both towards Strawberry, but not without making a rule for yourself. Never to live that life again. It was easier said than done. John helped the framer, and you fled, leaving your John behind.

Reading the letter over again as the carriage hit every bump on the road, making your impatience worse. Finally stopping, not wanting to look out the window, needing to see him up close, you hurried out.

Standing there face-to-face with your John, having been gone for so many months, your eyes stinging as you wrapped your arms tightly around him. "It's over," he whispered into your ear, making the threatening tears spill, tightening your hold, not wanting to let him go again.

-

Josiah Trelawny

- Living that dream already in Saint Denis, but unbeknownst to you, Josiah had dealings with a gang. Hearing the name of the gang from officers around town yet not thinking anything of them. Not even questioning his absence at home as his "office work" makes him travel a lot.

- Loving the stories of his travels made you susceptible to listening for things, but never did you think you'd hear about your husband from an officer's mouth on the street. Then the next day, another questioned you on your doorstep, being very hostile and pushing past you just to find nothing, but before leaving, accusing you of dealing with the "Van Der Linde Gang.".

- Hearing nothing from your Josiah in the few passing days got you worried—maybe you didn't know the man you married. Though finally, you saw him as he crawled up the stairs of your Saint Denis home, the sight brought you to tears.

- The damage to him was heartbreaking. He groaned and hissed through his teeth as you cleaned up his bloody wounds, then bandaged them up. Saying nothing, you let the silence fall with his story quickly following, but you didn't let him finish.

- Saying the name of the gang, seeing how his face turned pale. Telling him of what transpired days before, hit you hard speaking of what you knew out loud to him. Starting with a sigh, he told you everything with a voice filled with shame.

"Stop," you said, interrupting his explanation, doing as you said, looking to you. Not being able to handle the sight of him knowing every cut or possible broken bone was because of his deals with the gang. You started to question whether the life you built was even real; was the love you got from him even real?

"Love," he pleaded, placing a hand on yours looking into the eyes you fell in love with so many times. Still, you held your ground. "No more J," you say, making him look down watching as he nodded. Slowly, you wrapped your arms around his upper back and shoulders, hugging him as he sat in your home, where he belonged.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!