#arthur is a simple guy

[tiodolma]

Arthur: hey if i marry the love of my life Guinevere Leodegrace, i will get to see that cool round table in Carmelaide too

Merlin, internally: this is like the sword and scabbard situation isnt it.

[izel-scribbles]

if someone makes fun of/criticizes arthur i will agree and laugh along. if someone makes fun of/criticizes john i will rip their arms off, put them through a wood chipper, and feed them to the person raw 🎀

[hopelesslyprosaic]

Was watching Soviet Holmes E1, where Watson starts off thinking that Holmes is actually a master criminal and thief, and was like "oh, that would be cool, a Holmes adaptation where actually it's Holmes who's a gentleman master criminal and Watson goes along as the accomplice and documents his adventures."

And then of course I realized I was reinventing freaking RAFFLES.

Which was literally written by ACD's brother in law, 125 years ago, basically to be that exact thing. A series of stories that literally includes Hornung's own version of the Reichenbach Fall and subsequent return.

Maybe I need to watch a Raffles adaptation. Or just reread Raffles.

[strohller27]

Yes Hello to all my fellow Miss Lemon fans out there:

If you love her as much as I do, then 6.2 Hickory Dickory Dock is the episode for you

Now let us all just take a moment out of our busy day to bask in her glory:

That coat with those hats?? ICONIC she has such a flawless style

and this little scene where she's like 'this is just a quirk of Mr. Poirot's, don't worry about it' fellas help she's so cute

also HELP lads she took Poirot's comment about Inspector Japp's 'healthy appetite' way too literally!! LEMON SOLE! she's so funny aagh

Also she looks really damn good in burgundy wow

Also you know I hate the trope where guys tell ladies to take their glasses off and let their hair flow in the wind because they'd somehow be 'sexier' or whatever. That is just simply not true. Case in point: Look at how cute Miss Lemon is in her glasses!!

Just. Everyone just. Look at my favourite girl. Look at her!!! Her filing system is perfect! Her filing system could kick your ass!!!

[yeehawpurgatory]

I’m just gonna say it, I don’t think Sean, Kieran, Hosea, or Lenny would’ve undoubtably taken Arthur’s side in the end. I know everyone says it, but I think there’s an argument to be made against that claim. It’s idealistic. It’s fun to think about, in every au I write they’re team Arthur—but I doubt it would’ve been that simple if any of them survived.

I see Lenny and Sean sticking it out with Dutch, and I see Hosea enabling bad behaviour until it’s too late to correct it. If Kieran somehow survived maybe Arthur would’ve lovingly throw him out as a mercy ( a la Strauss but positive), but even that I don’t know.

I don’t think Hosea’s death was the final nail in the coffin for Dutch, if he survived I think Dutch still would’ve pushed the gang the way he had, and I don’t see Hosea swooping in to save everyone last second, like the levelheaded good guy we seem to headcanon him as. He might’ve been more vocal in his distaste about the direction they were headed in, but I don’t know that it would do anything without direct actions against Dutch. Which I don’t think he would take tbh

Same with Javier. I hear a lot of “he only sided with Dutch bc of rdr1” “it’s only to keep his story consistent to the first game” I don’t think that’s true either. Never mind who he seemed to LIKE more, it’s about loyalty. That’s what his entire characterization comes down to. Similarly with Sean and Lenny, never mind how fond of Arthur they might’ve been, they’re loyal to Dutch.

Arthur is loyal too of course, but he’s more or less been given a sentence. Arthur’s tb hit him fast. He’s faced with the inevitability of his fate so abruptly that it kicks him into action. He could die any day, so he has to make every decision count. It drove him to question his core beliefs. Hosea was sick too, but it was slow and lingering, not enough to be a conduit for change the way Arthur’s was.

Without an inciting incident of that impact, I don’t see any of the other men mentioned above reaching a point where they actively choose disloyalty to the man that ‘saved them’.

Thank you for coming to my Ted talk

[jungwnies]

F1 GRID | being caught together

୨ৎ : featuring : lando norris, oscar piastri, kimi antonelli, ollie bearman, and yuki tsunoda (click here for part one) ୨ৎ : synopsis : being caught together after telling everyone you guys weren't even dating...

୨ৎ : genre : comedic romance ୨ৎ : tws : cursing ୨ৎ : word count : 1853

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : part one will always include: verstappen, hamilton, russell, sainz, and leclerc. part two will always include: lando norris, oscar piastri, kimi antonelli, ollie bearman, and yuki tsunoda! <3 (every f1 grid story is released on saturdays @ 8pm and @ 10pm est)

ʚ・lando norris

you and lando had spent months insisting that you were just friends.

no one believed it, of course. but you had managed to dodge the questions, ignore the teasing, and brush off the lingering stares.

until you ruined it.

it happened during a casual lunch with some of the grid. the conversation had been normal enough—until oscar, of all people, asked a completely harmless question.

"if you had to order for someone without asking them, do you think you'd get it right?"

carlos shrugged. "depends on the person."

charles nodded. "i’d get arthur’s order right, but no one else’s."

lando scoffed. "none of you would get mine."

and before you could think, before you could stop yourself, the words just came out.

"that’s not true," you said. "oat milk flat white, extra hot, one sugar if it’s before noon, but no sugar if it’s after."

silence.

the entire table went dead quiet.

lando blinked at you, stunned.

carlos raised an eyebrow. "…what."

you felt every molecule in your body freeze as realization hit.

you had just exposed yourself in the worst way possible.

lando, still looking at you like you had just unlocked a deeply personal secret, tilted his head. "how do you… know that?"

you scrambled for an answer. "lucky guess?"

charles let out a low whistle. "ohhh, no. that was too specific."

oscar smirked, clearly enjoying the situation. "and she didn’t even hesitate."

lando, still way too amused, leaned in slightly. "what else do you know?"

you needed to get out of this. "nothing!"

lando narrowed his eyes. "favorite post-race meal?"

you swallowed. "chicken pesto pasta."

"pet peeve?"

"when people scrape their utensils against the plate."

"favorite childhood movie?"

"shrek."

the moment the word left your mouth, you knew it was over.

carlos choked on his drink. "no way—"

charles leaned back, laughing. "you are so in love with him."

your face burned. "i am not!"

lando, looking way too smug now, crossed his arms. "well, you definitely pay attention to me."

you grabbed your drink, taking the longest sip of your life to avoid looking at him.

lando leaned closer, his voice low, teasing, just for you. "kind of cute that you know me so well, though."

and that was when you realized—you were never living this down.

ʚ・oscar piastri

you had been so careful.

for months, you and oscar had kept things lowkey. no public outings that looked too couple-y, no obvious flirting around people who would catch on, and definitely no social media slip-ups.

until, of course, you accidentally exposed yourself.

it started with something so innocent—a simple café photo for your instagram story. a well-framed shot of your latte, a book, and the warm, aesthetically pleasing lighting of a cozy melbourne café.

it was perfect.

until someone noticed the hand in the background.

at first, you didn’t think anything of it.

until your phone blew up.

@/f1updates: so uh… who’s hand is that, bestie? 👀 @/mclarenfan99: guys that’s so oscar’s watch wtf @/piastristan: wait i zoomed in that’s his hand @/lando_norris: oh. oh this is good. @/oscartheferrari: you fumbled your own soft launch 😭😭 your stomach dropped.

you clicked on your own story, staring at the very obvious, very identifiable hand resting on the table—wearing oscar’s exact watch, with oscar’s exact freckles, positioned in a way that very clearly suggested you weren’t just hanging out as friends.

and then, just when you thought it couldn’t get worse, oscar texted you.

oscar: so i guess we’re soft launching now?

you: i didn’t mean to

oscar: try telling that to the entire internet.

panicking, you deleted the story—but it was far too late.

because minutes later, lando reposted it on his own story with one simple caption:

"nice watch, mate. 😉"

you wanted to die.

by the time you saw oscar again, he was way too amused, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. "so," he said, biting back a smirk, "want me to post a hard launch?"

you groaned, burying your face in your hands. "i am never living this down."

oscar just chuckled, reaching over to steal a sip of your drink. "well, at least now we don’t have to hide it anymore."

and that was how you learned—there is no such thing as an accidental soft launch.

ʚ・kimi antonelli

you hadn’t even noticed.

really, you hadn’t.

the group hangout had been easy, casual—everyone sprawled across couches, floor cushions, and bean bags while watching a random movie none of you were actually paying attention to.

and somehow, at some point during the night, you had ended up practically wrapped around kimi.

it wasn’t intentional. you had just been sitting next to him, and then someone shifted, and you moved a little closer, and then it was just comfortable.

your legs were tangled, his arm was resting behind you on the couch, and every so often, you felt the slightest pressure when he leaned into you.

it wasn’t a big deal. until someone pointed it out.

george, ever the observant one, was the first to notice.

"not to ruin the moment," he said, smirking, "but are you guys going to explain what’s happening over there?"

you frowned, pulling your attention away from the screen. "what?"

george raised an eyebrow. "you two are practically—" he motioned vaguely between you and kimi. "intertwined."

you glanced down—and oh.

yeah. your entire lower body was tangled with kimi’s.

one of his legs was slotted between yours, your calf was resting against his, and his hand was literally on your thigh like it was the most natural thing in the world.

you froze.

kimi, meanwhile, just blinked. "what about it?"

lando, now noticing, wheeled around to face him. "what do you mean, ‘what about it’?!"

kimi shrugged. "she’s comfortable. i’m comfortable."

george exchanged a look with oscar, who looked one second away from laughing. "but you’re literally cuddling," george pointed out.

you felt your entire body heat up. "we are not—"

kimi, completely unfazed, adjusted his position slightly, hand still resting on your leg like it belonged there. "i don’t see the problem."

you turned to look at him, betrayed. "kimi!"

"what?" he asked, eyes flickering to yours, lips twitching just slightly. "you don’t seem to mind."

lando lost it. "oh my god, they’re actually worse than charles and his denial phase."

george smirked. "i give it two weeks before they admit it."

your entire body was on fire.

kimi, still completely unbothered, leaned in slightly, voice low enough for only you to hear. "you don’t actually want me to move, do you?"

you swallowed hard. no.

but there was no way you were admitting that out loud.

so, instead, you groaned, covering your face. "i hate all of you."

kimi just chuckled, leaning back like nothing had happened. but his hand?

yeah. he never moved it.

ʚ・ollie bearman

you had been so careful.

for months, you and ollie had managed to keep whatever this was completely under wraps. no suspicious glances, no unnecessary touches in public, and definitely no getting caught leaving each other’s places at odd hours.

until, of course, you did.

it was way too early—the kind of early where the streets were still quiet, the sky barely waking up, and the world felt like it belonged to you and ollie alone.

you had slipped out of his apartment, hoodie pulled over your head, moving casually like you weren’t trying to look suspicious. it was fine, really. no one was awake to see you, and you had made it almost all the way down the hallway.

then, the worst thing imaginable happened.

the elevator doors dinged open—and standing there, fully awake and looking way too amused, was none other than george russell.

your soul left your body.

george took one look at you, at the way you were still in last night’s clothes, at the very familiar hoodie you were wearing—ollie’s hoodie—and his entire face lit up with realization.

"ah," he said, stepping out of the elevator, his smirk growing by the second. "good morning."

you froze. "uh—hi."

george raised an eyebrow, glancing over your shoulder at ollie’s door. "interesting place to be leaving so early."

you wanted to die.

"don’t say anything," you blurted out, already panicking.

george crossed his arms, absolutely thriving in this situation. "and why wouldn’t i say anything?"

before you could think of a good excuse, ollie’s door swung open behind you.

and there he was—sleepy, shirtless, hair a mess, looking far too comfortable as he leaned against the doorframe.

and then he saw george.

ollie blinked. "oh."

george’s grin tripled in size.

ollie, still half asleep, looked at you, then at george, then back at you. "well."

you buried your face in your hands. "we are so screwed."

george clapped ollie on the shoulder, barely holding in his laughter. "i’ll let the others know you’re both alive," he said, walking away. "have fun explaining this one."

ollie sighed as the elevator doors closed behind him. "well, that could’ve gone worse."

you looked at him dead in the eye. "really? how?"

ollie just smirked, reaching out to tug on the sleeve of his hoodie—the one you were still wearing. "at least now you don’t have to sneak out next time."

and, honestly?

you hated how much you liked that idea.

ʚ・yuki tsunoda

you and yuki had been so sure that no one suspected a thing.

sure, you spent a lot of time together. sure, you had an obvious soft spot for each other. sure, yuki always found some excuse to touch you—whether it was an arm around your shoulder, a hand on your waist, or an absentminded head leaning against yours when he got tired.

but that didn’t mean you were dating.

or at least, that’s what you had convinced yourselves.

until you absolutely blew it.

it started when pierre—who had been grilling you both for months—finally asked, "so, when are you two just going to admit it?"

you immediately scoffed. "admit what?"

pierre leaned back, crossing his arms. "that you’re together."

yuki, sitting beside you, snorted. "we are definitely not dating, okay?"

pierre and charles exchanged knowing looks. "right."

"we just spend a lot of time together," yuki continued, waving a hand casually. "because we’re friends."

pierre nodded, clearly holding back a grin. "friends."

"yes!" yuki huffed. "and, okay, maybe we cuddle sometimes, but that’s just, like, a comfort thing. it’s not a big deal."

you blinked, glancing at yuki. "yuki—"

he kept going. "and, sure, maybe we kiss—"

silence.

your soul left your body.

pierre choked. charles’s eyes widened.

yuki froze, realizing way too late what he had just said.

pierre grinned like the devil himself. "you… kiss?"

yuki’s face turned bright red. "i—that’s not—what i meant was—"

pierre turned to you, smug as hell. "is there anything you’d like to add?"

you groaned, covering your face. "i hate it here."

pierre leaned forward, thriving in your misery. "so when’s the wedding?"

yuki, now fully spiraling, just muttered, "i am never speaking again."

but it didn’t matter.

because the damage was done, and neither of you could deny it anymore.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 13: February 2024 - Part 2

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, Me trying to write therapy sessions.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Daniel Ricciardo, Carlos Sainz, Lewis Hamilton)

Lando: ok wait, are we sending flowers??

Oscar: flowers seem good

Daniel: FLOWERS YES but like what KIND of flowers

Lando: nothing too funeral Lando: nothing too romantic Lando: nothing too "you almost died but like in a chill way"

Lewis: you guys are the worst crisis team I’ve ever seen

Oscar: YOU’RE IN THIS TOO LEWIS

Lewis: i’m saying it with love.

Daniel: ok no roses…roses feel wrong

Carlos: no lilies either, too funeral

Lando: sunflowers??

Oscar: too happy Oscar: feels like "yay you survived!" party energy

Daniel: small soft bouquet?

Lewis: yeah Lewis: something like daisies Lewis: baby’s breath Lewis: stuff that feels gentle

Oscar: Lewis Hamilton out here secretly a florist

Lando: I KNEW IT

Lewis: I just have better taste than you idiots.

Carlos: confirmed.

Daniel: ok so like gentle happy survival flowers

Oscar: can we also send cookies?

Lando: yesssssssss

Lewis: i’m ordering them now Lewis: no glitter. Lewis: no weird colors. Lewis: keep it simple.

Daniel: who’s writing the card???

Lando: "Dear Belle: Sorry the world is trash. Love, some idiots who are rooting for you."

Oscar: perfect.

Carlos: send it.

***

Text Messages: Daniel Ricciardo & Max Verstappen

Daniel: Hey mate. Daniel:  Just heard from Lewis what happened last night. Daniel:  Wanted to check — is Belle okay?

Max: Yeah. Mild concussion. Some bruises. They kept her overnight for observation. She’s home now. Resting.

Daniel: Fuck, man. Daniel:  I’m glad she’s alright. Daniel:  That must’ve been scary as hell.

Max: It was.

Daniel: If you need anything. Daniel:  Or if she needs anything. Daniel:  You know — groceries, errands, new car — whatever. Daniel:  We’re all around.

Max: Appreciate it. Thanks, mate.

Daniel: Seriously, anything. Daniel:  Give her a hug from all of us, yeah? We’ll send flowers. Oscar insisted on Cookies too. 

Max: I’ll tell her. She’ll appreciate it.

Daniel: Good. Tell her we’re all thinking about her. ***

Leclerc Family Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Lorenzo and Pascale)

Arthur: Hey, can you grab croissants on your way over?

Charles: And coffee. Please.

Lorenzo: Maman needs flowers for her lunch today.

Pascale: Isabelle, mon ange, if you have time, could you pick up some things from the market?

Isabelle: Yeah, no. Can’t. I was in a car accident last night.

Arthur: ???

Charles: WHAT.

Lorenzo: What do you mean you were in a car accident???

Arthur: This better not be a joke.

Isabelle: I’m fine. A drunk driver ran a red light and hit me. I spent the night in the hospital for observation, but I’m okay.

Pascale: WHY AM I ONLY HEARING ABOUT THIS NOW?

Arthur: Yeah, kinda rude to just drop that on us.

Isabelle: EXCUSE ME???

Charles: Were you driving too fast?

Isabelle: NO.

Arthur: Were you on your phone?

Isabelle: IT WASN’T MY FAULT.

Lorenzo: But are you sure you weren’t distracted?

Isabelle: I swear to God.

Charles: Okay, okay. Do you need anything?

Isabelle: Just rest.

Arthur: Sooo… no croissants?

Isabelle: ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW.

Arthur: Just asking.

Pascale: Isabelle, you should have told me immediately.

Isabelle: It was the middle of the night!

Lorenzo: You still could have texted.

Charles: Next time, at least let us know sooner.

Isabelle: Next time??? Do you think I PLAN to get hit by a car???

Arthur: …so that’s a no on the croissants?

***

Isabelle was curled up on their couch, a blanket over her lap, her hair still a little messy from sleep and bruises peeking out from under the neckline of his hoodie. She was nursing a cup of tea when Max came in from the kitchen with her breakfast.

“Here,” he said softly, setting the tray in front of her. “Eat something.”

She smiled up at him, touched. “Thank you.”

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, but as he sat next to her, she noticed his eyes drift toward her phone, still open to the Leclerc family group chat.

Max squinted.

“What’s that?” he asked, his tone already shifting.

Isabelle blinked. “Oh. Just my brothers being… them.”

Max, already suspicious, plucked the phone gently from her lap before she could stop him.

Scrolled. Read.

And then he went absolutely still.

When she finally looked at him, his entire body was tight with anger. Not explosive. Not loud.

Cold.  Sharp.  Deadly.

“They’re asking about croissants?” Max said, voice low and dangerous. “After you spent the night in the hospital?”

Isabelle opened her mouth. Closed it. Shrugged helplessly.

Max stood up abruptly, pacing a few steps across the living room like he needed to physically shake off the fury vibrating through him.

“They’re angry at you?” Max said incredulously. “For not calling them? After you got fucking hit by a drunk driver?”

Isabelle flinched. Not because he was yelling — he wasn’t.  Max’s voice had dropped into that awful, simmering tone he only used when he was one second from completely losing it.

“They’re blaming you?” he said, his voice rising just slightly, like he couldn't believe the words as they left his mouth. "Like you did something wrong?"

"It’s not that bad," Isabelle said automatically.

Max spun to face her. His expression was something brutal and raw.  "Don't," he snapped. "Don't defend them."

Isabelle curled tighter into herself, clutching the tea like it was a shield.

"They don’t mean it like that," she said weakly.

Max crossed the room in three strides, crouching in front of her again, his hands gentle even when his voice wasn’t.

"Belle," he said, fierce and low. "You could have died. You could have been killed. And their first reaction was to demand coffee and flowers and fucking croissants? To scold you like a child?"

Isabelle looked down, her throat burning.

Max caught her chin lightly, forcing her to meet his eyes.

"You are not their errand girl," he said, every word knife-edged. "You are not an afterthought. You are not disposable."

Tears slipped down her cheeks before she could stop them.

Max’s face softened instantly.

He pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe — but she didn't want to breathe anywhere else anyway.

Max let out a breath through his nose, still fuming. “Next time something happens, you tell me before you tell them. Actually—just always tell me first.”

“I did.”

That made him pause.

She looked up at him, soft smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “You were the first and only person I called.”

The fight in Max deflated just a little. His jaw relaxed, and his shoulders slumped as he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because I’ll never make you explain why your pain is valid.”

Isabelle pressed a kiss to his jaw, and despite the aches and bruises, she felt lighter somehow. Safer. Seen.

Max kissed the top of her head again, his voice low against her hair.

***

Text Messages: Sebastian Vettel & Max Verstappen

Sebastian: Hey, Max. I heard about what happened in Monaco. Isabelle okay?

Max: ... How do you—

Sebastian: Lewis.

Max: Of course.

Sebastian: He didn’t say much. Just that it was bad. And that you were with her. I figured I should check in.

Max: She’s alright. Concussion. Bruises. Scared the hell out of me, but she’s recovering. Resting at home now.

Sebastian: Good. I’m glad she’s safe. And I’m glad she has you.

Max: Thanks. Really.

Sebastian: Brave of you, keeping it from Charles. Man’s got a temper.

Max: So do I.

Sebastian: 😅 Fair enough. Sebastian:  But seriously — that’s not an easy line to walk. Sebastian:  Keeping something that important private.

Max: It’s not about him. It’s about her. She’s not ready for them to know. I’ll wait until she is. Whatever it takes.

Sebastian: Good. You’re doing the right thing. Sebastian:  (And honestly... I don’t think Charles deserves to know until she’s ready to make him see her properly.)

Max: Agreed.

Sebastian: If you need anything — if she does — let me know. Tell her I’m thinking of her.

Max: I will. She’ll appreciate that. She always liked you, you know.

Sebastian: I like her, too. Always thought she was the strongest Leclerc. Even if no one noticed.

Max: I noticed.

Sebastian: I know. That’s why she’s with you.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Max: Hey. Wanted you to hear it from me. Belle was in a car accident last night. Drunk Driver T-boned her. 

Emilie: WHAT. Emilie: WHAT DO YOU MEAN. Emilie: IS SHE OKAY???

Max: She’s okay. Bruised, mild concussion. No serious injuries. She’s home now. Resting.

Emilie: Max. You can’t just DROP that on me. I nearly had a heart attack.

Max: Sorry. Didn’t want you finding out through someone else.

Emilie: Thank you for telling me. Is she... really okay? I mean, really?

Max: She’s shaken. But the Volvo did it’s job. It could be so much worse.  

Emilie: Good. Emilie:  Protect her, Max. Or I’ll break your kneecaps. (With love.)

Max: Would expect nothing less from you.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW.

Isabelle: Hi??

Emilie: DON'T "hi" me. Emilie: I just found out you were in a CAR CRASH??? Emilie: A drunk driver hit you?? Emilie: AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME???

Isabelle: I was going to... Isabelle: I just didn’t want to worry you. I’m okay. Isabelle: Bruises, concussion. That’s it. I promise.

Emilie: Isabelle. Emilie: You’re literally my favorite human being on this planet. Emilie: You do not get to almost die and then not tell me.

Isabelle: 🥺

Isabelle: I’m sorry. Isabelle: I really am. Isabelle: It was just a lot last night. And Max was already there and—

Emilie: WAIT. Emilie: Max was there?? Emilie: You called him first???

Isabelle: ... Yeah.

Emilie: 😭😭😭😭 Emilie: Okay. Fine. Emilie: At least SOMEONE was looking after you. Emilie: (Still a little bit furious tho.)

Isabelle: I deserve that. I’m sorry.

Emilie: You are not allowed to apologize for getting hit by a drunk driver you absolute gremlin. Emilie: I’m just glad you’re okay. Emilie: (And also kinda glad Max is apparently ready to physically fight Monaco if needed.)

Isabelle: He’s very serious about it 😅

Emilie: Good. Emilie: You deserve people who take your safety personally. Emilie: And you deserve better than people who think you should apologize for surviving.

Isabelle: 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 Love you.

Emilie: Love you more, Belle. Emilie: See you soon. Emilie: (Also, Max better share the couch or I will fight him.)

Isabelle: 😂 I’ll warn him.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: Hey. Need to tell you something.

Victoria: Everything okay??

Max: Yeah. Now it is. Max: Belle was in a car accident. Drunk driver hit her.

Victoria: WHAT. Is she okay????

Max: Yeah. Concussion. Some bruises. She’s home now. Safe.

Victoria: Oh my god. Max. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?

Max: Took a few years off my life. But yeah. Better now.

Victoria: I can’t even imagine. Seeing something like that happen to someone you love... Victoria: I remember when you crashed in Silverstone…For a moment it just…that feeling. That helplessness.  Like the world could just... rip the person you love away from you at any second. I know what that feels like.

Max: Yeah. Exactly that. One second everything’s normal. Max: Next second you’re standing in a hospital room wondering how you’re supposed to keep breathing if they don’t.

Max: Feels like everything inside me cracked open at once. Max: I’m never letting anything happen to her again. Max: I don’t care what I have to do.

Victoria: You can’t protect her from everything, Maxie. I wish we could. But you’re doing the most important thing already. You’re there. You love her. You make her feel safe. That’s more than enough.

Max: Sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough.

Victoria: It always feels like that when you really love someone. It’s the cost. But it’s worth it.

Victoria: She’s lucky to have you. And you’re lucky to have her.

Max: I know.

Victoria: Give her a hug from me. And Max?

Max: Yeah?

Victoria: Give yourself a little grace too. You’re allowed to be scared. You’re allowed to love her that much.

Max: Thanks, Vic.

Victoria: Always.

***

The apartment was dim and warm, the only light coming from the small lamp in the corner. One cat was sprawled across Max’s legs, purring softly; the other had wedged itself stubbornly against the arm of the couch.

It was quiet, comfortable — but Max barely noticed.

He was too busy keeping an eye on the hallway, listening for any sound of her.

Isabelle finally padded into the living room, wearing one of his hoodies and soft pajama shorts, her hair damp from a shower. She carried a mug of chamomile tea between her hands like it was a lifeline.

Max’s chest tightened when he saw the bruises — angry marks along her collarbone, a purple smear near her temple just so peeking out from underneath the bandage that covered her stitches — but she looked a little better.

Softer around the edges.

Steadier.

She settled in beside him without hesitation, leaning lightly into his side.

“Hey,” she said, voice gentle and tired but still teasing, still her. “What are we doing for Valentine’s Day tonight?”

Max blinked down at her like she had asked him if he wanted to fight a bull barehanded.

He set the remote down and turned fully toward her.

“Nothing,” he said firmly. “You’re resting.”

Belle blinked, surprised. “Nothing?”

“You got out of the hospital this morning, Schatje,” Max said, brushing his knuckles carefully along her jaw. “You’re bruised, concussed, exhausted. You’re not putting on a dress or pretending you have the energy for anything.”

She smiled sheepishly. “I wasn’t thinking restaurant. I was thinking… I don’t know. Candlelight? Dessert? A dumb rom-com?”

Max’s heart softened instantly.

“That’s different,” he murmured. “That I can work with.”

For a moment, there was a lull — the safe kind — until Belle sighed quietly and looked down at her tea.

“I’m sorry I ruined it,” she said.

Max froze.

“What?” he asked, sharper than he meant to.

“Valentine’s,” she said, voice even quieter now. “We were supposed to have a real night. You always say you don’t care about this stuff, but you still try. And instead, I ended up in a hospital bed, and you had to spend the night watching me sleep in an awful chair.”

Max blinked at her.

Once.

Twice.

Then, without a word, he took the mug gently from her hands and set it on the table.

“Belle,” he said, low and serious, “you are absolutely insane.”

She frowned. “That’s not—”

Max cupped her face in both hands, his touch achingly tender, like he thought she might break if he wasn’t careful.

He looked at her like she had just split the world open and made everything new again.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he said, voice rough with the force of it. “You scared the hell out of me. That’s all. The only thing — the only thing — I cared about yesterday was that you were still breathing.”

Belle blinked, stunned.

Max leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against hers.

“You’re here,” he whispered. “You’re breathing. You’re safe. That’s all I want.”

Belle closed her eyes tightly, a tear slipping free before she could stop it.

“I just wanted it to be special,” she mumbled.

Max pulled back just enough to see her face, his thumbs brushing lightly along her jaw.

“It is special,” he said, fierce and quiet. “You’re here. You’re with me. There’s nothing more special than that.”

He exhaled hard, trying to keep himself steady, but the fear — the pictures his mind supplied, of her bleeding and dazed in that broken car — hadn’t really left him.

“You could have died, Belle,” he said, voice shaking despite himself. “And if you think I give a fuck about Valentine’s Day after that—”

He broke off, swallowing hard.

“You’re sitting here apologizing because I didn’t get to give you overpriced flowers and a chocolate box?” Max shook his head, breathing out a shaky laugh that was half disbelief, half heartbreak.

Belle let out a breathy laugh too, her voice cracking.

“Well, when you say it like that, I sound ridiculous.”

“You are ridiculous,” Max said fondly, his voice dropping to something unbearably soft as he kissed her forehead.

“You’re my Valentine every goddamn day, Belle. You don’t have to do anything except be here.”

And as he tucked her into his side, wrapping an arm around her, Max made himself a quiet, blistering promise:

Whatever it takes — he would make sure she always had a safe place to land.

***

Alexandra Saint Mleux had always loved Valentine’s Day.

Not for the grand gestures, not for the over-the-top declarations, but for the little things.

 The small, specific ways Charles made her feel seen every year.

Last year, it had been a bracelet with a tiny charm that matched a doodle she'd made in a notebook once.

It was never about the price or the spectacle.

It was the way Charles remembered the quiet parts of her — the parts no one else seemed to notice.

Which was why she knew, before he even handed her the gift this year, that something was... off.

The box was beautiful — simple, elegant, wrapped in gold paper.  But when she opened it, it was a generic necklace. Pretty, but impersonal.

Something anyone could have picked out of a catalog.

Charles was smiling at her expectantly, the way he always did, waiting for her reaction.

And she smiled back — because she loved him, because she didn't want to ruin it — but a small, quiet ache bloomed in her chest.

It wasn't about the necklace.

It was about the feeling that something had slipped, unnoticed, between them.

They went out for dinner after — a cozy little restaurant tucked away from the paparazzi, candles flickering between them — but even there, Charles seemed... distracted.

 Tense in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

It wasn’t until dessert, when she asked casually about his family, that she got a piece of the puzzle.

"Isabelle was in a car accident," Charles said offhandedly, swirling the last of his espresso.

Alexandra's heart stuttered. "Oh my God — is she okay?"

He shrugged, too casual. "It was just a little fender bender. Nothing serious. She’s fine."

Alexandra frowned slightly. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Charles said, waving it off. "She said she was fine."

He didn’t elaborate. Didn’t offer any more.

And Alexandra — who had seen the way Isabelle seemed to fold herself smaller whenever the family swirled too loudly around her — felt that same ache twist sharper.

Something told her Belle wouldn’t have made a fuss even if she wasn’t fine.

Something told her that Charles hadn’t really looked.

She said nothing, just smiled and let Charles change the subject back to racing, back to schedules, back to anything but the sister who maybe, just maybe, needed him to see her.

Alexandra tucked the necklace back into its box when she got home that night.

 It was beautiful.

 It just wasn’t quite hers.

***

The apartment smelled like coffee and something sweet.

Max had gotten up early — not because he was particularly good at mornings, or baking — but because Belle deserved something warm and comforting.

He’d managed toast, burnt only slightly, and found the last few frozen chocolate croissants buried at the back of the freezer.

Small things.

Safe things.

Belle was curled up on the couch in one of his old hoodies, knees tucked beneath her, Lilly on her lap, while Jimmy was laying on her legs and Sassy sat next to her like this was all beneath her, but was slowly inching closer, jealous to at she wasn’t getting any attention.

She looked small.

Tired.

Healing.

Max was wiping his hands on a dish towel when a knock came at the door.

He frowned, crossing the apartment in a few quick strides.

When he opened it, a delivery man stood there — arms full.

Two enormous bouquets, one a soft explosion of yellow and white, the other a careful arrangement of pink and cream roses, and a box tied up with a silky ribbon.

Max blinked.

Took the flowers and box with a muttered thanks.

Kicked the door shut behind him.

Belle looked up immediately, eyebrows lifting when she saw what he was carrying.

“What’s all that?” she asked, sitting up straighter.

Max set everything carefully down on the coffee table, tugging the little notes free from between the stems.

He read the first card — his mouth curving into a small, real smile, the kind he barely remembered how to make before her.

“This one’s from my family,” he said, tossing the card onto the table for her to see. “Flowers from my mom. Chocolate from Victoria.”

Belle’s mouth fell open slightly. “They didn’t have to—”

Max shrugged. “They wanted to.”

He kissed the top of her head before reaching for the second card, tucked between the wild, chaotic second bouquet and the neatly wrapped box underneath.

He read it, and let out a soft huff of laughter.

“And,” he added, setting the card down, “these are from the idiots.”

Belle blinked. “The idiots?”

Max leaned back against the couch, stretching his legs out lazily. “Lando, Oscar, Lewis, Carlos, Daniel. Group effort. They sent you flowers and a box of cookies.”

Belle stared at him, completely thrown.

“They said,” Max quoted dryly, “and I’m reading here, ‘Dear Belle: Sorry the world is trash. Love, some idiots who are rooting for you.’”

Belle let out a small, incredulous laugh — the first real one he’d heard from her since the hospital— and covered her face with her hands.

Max just watched her, something warm and achingly fond spreading through his chest.

When she lowered her hands, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes suspiciously bright.

“They’re ridiculous,” she whispered.

“They are,” Max agreed. “But they mean it.”

He shifted closer, resting his hand lightly against her thigh.

“Victoria sends her love, by the way,” he added. “Said next time you’re in the Netherlands, you’re not allowed to leave without a girls’ day.”

Belle laughed again — a softer, breathier sound this time — and toyed absently with the edge of her sleeve.

There was a pause.

A shift.

And then, almost too quietly to hear, she said:

“Your family’s starting to feel like mine too.”

Max stilled completely.

He turned, reaching for her hand instinctively, finding her fingers and curling his own around them.

Belle looked up at him, vulnerable in a way she almost never let herself be — open and a little raw, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to say it out loud.

Max melted.

Utterly.

He cupped her face gently in both hands and kissed her — slow, deliberate, reverent — like he had all the time in the world just to love her properly.

When he finally pulled back, his voice was rough with emotion.

“They already think of you that way,” he whispered against her forehead. “You’re one of us, Belle. You always will be.”

She blinked fast, trying and failing to fight the tears burning her eyes.

Max just pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight.

Not too tight.

Just enough.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Victoria Verstappen

Isabelle: Hi Victoria, Thank you so much for the flowers and chocolates. It really meant a lot to me. You didn’t have to do all that.

Victoria: First of all: YES I DID. Second: you’re welcome. Third: you’re stuck with us now. No returns. No exchanges. No refunds. Family policy. Love you.

Isabelle: 😭 I love you too.

Victoria: Tell Max if he doesn’t keep spoiling you, I’ll show up and do it myself. (And make it VERY public and VERY embarrassing.)

Isabelle: 😂 I’ll warn him.

Victoria: Good girl. Rest up. Heal. And when you’re ready, come visit — Lio made you a "Get Well" card and it’s mostly just glitter but the intention was pure.

Isabelle: I can’t wait to see it. Thank you, Vic. Really. For everything.

Victoria: Always, Belle. Always.

***

Text Messages: Sebastian Vettel & Kimi Räikkönen

Sebastian: You’re not going to believe this. (Or maybe you will. You’re hard to surprise.)

Kimi: Busy. Make it fast.

Sebastian: Max Verstappen is dating Isabelle Leclerc.

Kimi:  Huh. 

Sebastian: That’s it? Huh??? I just dropped a nuclear paddock secret on you!

Kimi: Not my business. If they’re happy, who cares.

Sebastian: I mean. True. But still.

Kimi: Good for them. Hope she can handle him. Not many can.

Sebastian: I think she’s the only one who can.

Kimi: Makes sense. Quiet ones are dangerous. Good match.

Sebastian: Also apparently no one in her family knows yet. Including Charles.

Kimi: Charles will cry about it. Not my problem.

Sebastian: 😂

Kimi: Tell Max if he breaks her heart I’ll run him over with a snowmobile.

Sebastian: Will pass along the message.

Kimi: Good. Busy now. Kids want ice cream. Tell Max congratulations.

Sebastian: Will do. (Enjoy the ice cream.)

Kimi: Always.

***

Max hated this.

He wasn’t even trying to pretend otherwise.

He stood by the door, suitcase packed, keys and phone in one hand, looking like someone had asked him to do the impossible instead of board a plane for pre-season testing.

Belle watched him from the couch, a blanket wrapped around her, her bruises faded now but still faintly visible under the soft lamplight.

"You have to go," she said gently, reading his mind like she always did.

Max grimaced, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I don’t like leaving you."

"You’re not leaving me," she corrected immediately, voice calm, steady.  "You’re going to work. You’re doing what you love."

Max ran a hand through his hair, visibly struggling.

"You just—" he started, then stopped.  "You just got hurt, Belle. I should be here. I should be with you."

"You are with me," she said, rising slowly from the couch and padding over to him.

She reached up and cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.

"Every time you call, every time you text, every time you think about me — you’re here," she said softly. "I’m not alone."

Max closed his eyes, leaning into her touch like he physically couldn’t help it.

"And you’ll be home before you know it," she whispered, brushing her thumbs over his cheekbones. "Then you can hover and fuss and drive me crazy again."

A reluctant, broken laugh escaped him.

"I don’t want to leave you," he said again, more quietly now.

Belle smiled, tears prickling her own eyes — because even now, even with the whole world pulling him in a thousand directions, he was still here with her first.

"You’re not leaving me," she said again. "You’re just chasing your dreams. And I’ll be right here when you get back."

Max bent his head, resting his forehead against hers.

"You’re my dream too," he whispered.

Her breath hitched.

"And you’re mine," she whispered back.

They stayed there for a long moment — just breathing together — until finally, finally, Max exhaled.

He kissed her slowly, thoroughly, like he needed to memorize her, and she kissed him back just as fiercely.

When he finally pulled away, it was with visible effort.

"Promise me you’ll rest," he said, brushing his knuckles down her cheek.

"I promise," she said. "And you — promise me you’ll drive safe. Listen to GP. Don’t try to out-stubborn the car."

Max huffed a quiet laugh. "Bossy."

"Someone has to be," she teased, smiling.

He kissed her forehead one last time, squeezed her hand, and finally — reluctantly — turned to leave.

Belle watched him go, feeling the ache of missing him before he’d even stepped outside the door.

But it was okay.

Because he would always come home to her.

And she would always, always be waiting.

***

Text Messages: Lewis Hamilton & Max Verstappen

Lewis: Mate.

Lewis: Did you just drop off a bag of stuff at my motorhome?

Max: Yeah.

Max: Belle made something for Roscoe.

Lewis: I just opened it.

Lewis: A handwritten note. And homemade vegan dog treats???

Max: She insisted.

Max: Wanted to thank you properly.

Max: Even though she’s supposed to be resting.

Lewis: I don’t even know what to say. The note made me emotional and Roscoe is probably going to try and mug me for the biscuits.

Max: Good. He deserves them.

Lewis: Tell her thank you.

Lewis: Seriously.

Lewis: She didn’t have to do anything.

Lewis: I was just in the right place at the right time.

Max: You stayed.

Max: It matters to her.

Max: It matters to me too.

Lewis: You’ve got a good one there, Max.

Lewis: Also, if Roscoe explodes with happiness, I’m sending you the vet bill.

Max: He’ll be fine. Belle double-checked the recipe three times.

***

GP had known Max Verstappen for a long time.

Long enough to recognize when something wasn’t sitting right under the surface — even when Max didn’t say a word about it.

He noticed it that morning, before Max even climbed into the car.  The slight tightness around his mouth.  The way his hands flexed once, sharply, before putting on his gloves.  The way his answers in the pre-session briefing were short, mechanical. Efficient, but colder than usual.

GP filed it away. Max would tell him when he was ready.

And he did — just after the second run of the day, in the shade behind the Red Bull garage, water bottle in one hand, telemetry printout in the other.

“She was in a crash,” Max said, his voice flat enough that if GP hadn’t been paying attention, he might have missed it.

GP frowned, stepping closer. “Who?”

Max didn’t look up.  “Belle.”

The name hit harder than GP expected.

“What happened?” he asked, more sharply now.

Max’s jaw tightened. “Drunk driver ran a red. T-boned her car. Hit the passenger side, just behind the front wheel. Sent her spinning into a light post.”

 Quiet. Clipped.  Words that barely scratched the surface of the horror GP could hear pulsing beneath them.

GP stared. “Christ. Is she—?”

“She’s alright,” Max said. “Bruised. Concussion. Hospital kept her overnight.” He paused. “But it could’ve been a lot worse.”

GP’s stomach twisted sickly.  He couldn’t — wouldn’t — let himself imagine Max getting that phone call in the middle of the night. Wouldn’t let himself imagine what it must’ve felt like to walk into a hospital room and see Belle curled up in a stark white bed.

And then Max said, in that same low, steady voice that somehow carried more weight than shouting ever could:

“The Volvo you helped me pick out for her? It saved her life.”

GP went still.

The memory flickered: Max months ago, texting him…asking for his opinion. 

Just buy her a Volvo. Safe. Reliable. Built to last. Also one of the best crash-tested brands in the world. You did say you were thinking about kids, right?

And now — thank god — Belle was still breathing because of it.

GP swallowed thickly, feeling a knot loosen somewhere deep in his chest.

“Thank fuck,” he said hoarsely.

Max gave a short nod.  No dramatics. No sentimentality.

But GP could feel the magnitude of it radiating off him like heat off the tarmac.

This — this — was the side of Max Verstappen few people ever saw.  The side that loved without conditions.  That protected without compromise.

“Thank you,” Max said quietly. 

No dramatics. No fuss.  Just that heavy, quiet sincerity Max reserved for the rarest moments.

GP reached out and clapped a hand to his shoulder — a solid, grounding gesture — knowing Max didn’t need anything else from him right now.

"I’d do it again tomorrow," GP said.

Max nodded again, and GP watched him turn back toward the data screens, pulling his headset on, ready to work like nothing had happened.

But GP knew better.

Max had always raced like he had something to prove.  Now, this season, he was racing with something to protect.

And GP would make damn sure everything — the car, the strategy, the team — was ready for that fight.

Then there was no margin for error anymore.

Not even a sliver.

He pulled his headset back over his ears and keyed into the comms with a calmness he didn’t entirely feel.

“Let’s run another systems check before lunch,” he said smoothly.  “And someone triple-check the safety settings while you’re at it.”

The comm crackled to life with quick affirmatives.

***

Text Messages: Gianpiero Lambiase & Eloisa Lambiase

GP: We’re getting you a new car.

Eloisa: ???

Eloisa: Good morning to you too?

Eloisa: What’s wrong with my car?

GP: Not safe enough.

Eloisa: You’re the one who picked it out, love.

GP: Doesn’t matter.

GP: We’re upgrading.

Eloisa: Did something happen?

GP: Yeah.

GP: Belle — Max’s Belle — she was in a crash last week.

GP: Drunk driver ran a light.

Eloisa: Oh my god.

Eloisa: Is she okay???

GP: Shaken. Concussed. But alive.

GP: Because she was driving the Volvo Max bought her.

GP: The one I told him to get.

Eloisa: Oh.

GP: Yeah. That’s why we’re getting you a better car.

Eloisa: Gianni…

GP: No arguments.

GP: Please.

Eloisa: …okay.

Eloisa: But only if I get to pick the color this time.

GP: Deal.

GP: Something with five stars on every crash test rating.

GP: I’m sending you options this afternoon.

Eloisa:  (And coffee. You owe me coffee for giving me a heart attack.)

GP: Already on it.

GP: Triple order.

GP: Love you.

Eloisa: Love you too, you giant overprotective marshmallow

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Max: We need to get you a new car.

Isabelle: Max, I’m fine.

Isabelle: The Volvo did its job.

Max: Exactly. Which is why we’re getting another one.

Isabelle: You’re serious?

Max: Volvo customer for life now. I’m about to put their logo on my helmet at this point.

Isabelle: You’re ridiculous.

Max: Not taking chances, Schatje.

Max: Same model or you want to pick something else?

Isabelle: …I did love that car.

Max: Same brand, non-negotiable. Colour’s up to you. Same as before or something different?

Isabelle: Honestly? I liked the old one. That dark green felt like me.

Max: Then we’ll stick with it. Dark green it is.

Isabelle: You don’t have to do all this, Max.

Max: I do. I’m not letting you drive anything that isn’t built like a tank.

Isabelle: You’re going to spoil me until I forget how to function on my own.

Max: That’s the plan.

Isabelle: You’re impossible.

Max: You love me.

Isabelle: Very much.

Max: Fortunately, it’s mutual.

Isabelle: Fine. Dark green Volvo. But I’m picking the air freshener this time.

Max: Deal. As long as it’s not something that smells like cupcakes.

Isabelle: No promises. And it was strawberry. 

Isabelle: Consider it payback for forcing me into an indestructible Swedish fortress.

Max: Best decision I ever made. Second only to falling in love with you.

Isabelle: You’re dangerous when you’re sweet.

Max: Only for you.

***

Alexandra wandered the halls, pretending to admire a modern art installation while covertly people-watching — one of her favorite pastimes when the pace of life let her slip out of the Ferrari bubble for a few hours.

She was standing near a collection of minimalist sculptures when she caught snippets of a conversation between two women nearby, both well-dressed, deep in quiet, intense discussion.

"I still can't believe it," one woman murmured, her voice low but urgent. "She could have been killed. Did you see the photos? That car was destroyed."

Her friend nodded, wide-eyed.  "Near the tunnel, right? Total mess. And poor Isabelle  — I mean, she's so sweet. She did that whole project for our office last year."

Alexandra’s heart stopped.

She took a tiny step closer, pretending to examine the sculpture in front of her.

"Isabelle Leclerc," the first woman said again, confirming what Alexandra already knew. "Such a shame. She's so talented. And to walk away from something like that — it’s a miracle, really. They said the drunk driver didn’t even hit the brakes."

Alexandra felt her stomach churn.

Destroyed.  Miracle.  No brakes.

That didn’t sound like a fender bender.

That didn’t sound like "nothing."

Another man chimed in, sounding grim. "I heard the paramedics said it was a miracle she didn’t have internal injuries. They were worried about a collapsed lung at first."

Alexandra blinked hard, the art blurring in front of her.

Collapsed lung.

Not a fender bender.

Not nothing serious.

She pressed her lips together, hands curling slightly at her sides.

The women moved on, voices fading into the low hum of the gallery, but Alexandra stayed frozen in place for a long moment.

When Charles had told her about the accident, he’d been so casual. So dismissive.

Alexandra swallowed hard against the knot forming in her throat.

Isabelle hadn't been fine.

Isabelle had survived something horrific.

And Charles — either through ignorance or unwillingness — had looked the other way.

Again.

Alexandra didn’t know what bothered her more: the fact that Charles hadn't seen it, or the gnawing fear that maybe he did — and just didn’t know what to do with the parts of his sister that didn’t fit into the neat, tidy picture of the world he needed to believe in.

She glanced down at her phone, thumb hovering over Isabelle name in her contacts.

For a moment, she debated it — reaching out, saying something, offering something.

But what could she offer that wouldn't sound hollow?

Her family saw her as nothing more than background noise and Alexandra loathed to admit that she was guilty of the same on more than a few occasions. 

It was just…so easy not to think about Isabelle. Which sounded horrible, the longer she examined that thought. 

Isabelle was so happy in the background, so sweet and kind in a way that never seemed to want any kind of attention for it. 

 So easy to overlook. 

***

Text Messages: Alexandra Saint Mleux & Charlotte Di Pietro

Alexandra: Hey, random question. Did you know how bad Isabelle’s car accident actually was?

Charlotte: ?? I thought it was minor? That’s what Lorenzo said when I asked.

Alexandra: It wasn’t. I overheard people talking at the gallery tonight. Paramedics thought she might have had a collapsed lung. Car was totaled. Impact was bad — drunk driver didn’t even brake.

Charlotte: No one told me any of that. Lorenzo made it sound like a dented door and a headache.

Alexandra: Yeah. Charles too. He brushed it off like it was nothing.

Charlotte: …They’re acting like it’s an inconvenience.

Alexandra: Exactly. It’s been sitting wrong with me all night. Like there’s something broken there that no one’s talking about.

Charlotte: Maybe. But I do know they love her.

Alexandra: I don’t doubt that. But love isn’t the same as seeing someone. I’m not sure they know how to see her properly.

Alexandra: I am not sure we know how to see her properly. None of us thought to invite her to lunch…you know, when we ran into her. 

Charlotte: You are right…They aren’t the only ones guilty of forgetting her…

Charlotte: Speaking of forgetting. 

Charlotte: Guess who forgot about Valentine’s Day until the morning off. 

Alexandra: Oh? (Spill.)

Charlotte: Valentine’s Day. Lorenzo didn’t plan anything. Literally nothing.

He said, "Well, it didn’t feel like a big deal this year."

Charlotte: Later he grumbled that "normally Belle helps" and "everything feels off without her."

Alexandra: Wait, what?

Charlotte: Yeah. Apparently Belle used to remind them, plan ideas, even organize half the stuff so they wouldn’t forget.

Alexandra: …Oh my god. Alexandra: That tracks. Alexandra: You know, her friend once joked that Isabelle was the one who bought all my birthday presents from Charles.

Charlotte: Wait, seriously??

Alexandra: Apparently. Alexandra: I didn’t take it seriously at the time — Alexandra: Thought it was just teasing. Alexandra: But now… Maybe it was true.

Charlotte: She shouldn’t have to carry everyone. Charlotte: It’s not fair.

Alexandra: No, it’s not. Maybe it’s a good thing they’re feeling the consequences now.

Charlotte: Let them sit in it. They need to learn.

Alexandra: Agreed.

Charlotte: (Also. Are you ready for Arthur's dramatic downfall?)

Alexandra: LOL. The girlfriend disaster?

Charlotte: The girlfriend disaster. At this point, I’m tempted to bet how long until he posts a sad song on Instagram.

Alexandra: 100 euros says it’s before Thursday. Bonus points if he posts cryptic black-and-white stories too. With quotes he definitely doesn’t understand.

Charlotte: You’re on.

Alexandra: God help us all.

***

The Bahrain paddock buzzed under the heavy sun — mechanics shouting, tires rolling, the faint scent of burning rubber hanging in the air.

Charles leaned against the barrier separating the hospitality areas, sipping from a bottle of water as he chatted with Pierre, both of them still in their race suits, unzipped halfway down against the heat.

Pierre had just casually asked, somewhere between a joke and genuine concern, "Hey, by the way — your sister’s alright, yeah? Heard she had some kind of accident?"

Charles waved it off immediately, flashing a small, tight smile.  "Ah, yes. Isabelle is fine. Just a little fender bender."

Pierre nodded, a little relieved but still wary. "Good. Glad she’s okay. Monaco drivers, man."

Charles laughed lightly. "Exactly. Probably more dangerous in the city than on track."

But before he could say anything else, a voice cut through the air, calm and deliberate.

"It wasn’t a fender bender, Charles."

Charles blinked, turning instinctively toward the sound.

Lewis Hamilton stood a few feet away, gloves dangling loosely from his fingers, expression unreadable.

Charles frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

Lewis shifted his weight, crossing his arms over his chest. "I was there."

The words dropped like stones into Charles’ stomach.

"I saw the crash," Lewis continued, voice low and even. "Drunk driver ran a red light. Slammed into her side full speed. Spun her into a pole. The car was totaled."

Charles opened his mouth — but no words came out.

Lewis wasn’t finished. "Isabelle was trapped in the car. Shocky. Barely able to talk. I called the ambulance. Stayed with her until they got there."

Charles’ heart kicked hard against his ribs, cold and sickening.

He tried — for a second — to picture Isabelle in that moment.

 Tried to imagine her small body pinned in a wrecked car, blood trickling down her forehead, gasping for breath.

It made something twist inside him — sharp and ugly and guilty.

"She’s lucky she survived," Lewis said quietly. "Don’t call it a fender bender."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Lewis gave him one last look — not angry, not cruel — just disappointed.  And then he turned, walking away toward the Mercedes garage without another word.

Charles stood frozen in place.

Pierre cleared his throat awkwardly after a beat. "Uh," he said lightly, "maybe you should... check on her properly. Yeah?"

Charles didn’t answer.

He just stood there, staring after Lewis, feeling — for the first time in a long time — the uncomfortable, foreign sensation of having missed something important.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Daniel Ricciardo, Carlos Sainz and Lewis Hamilton)

Lewis: Guys. GUYS.

Oscar: uh oh

Lando: what happened now

Lewis: Charles just called Isabelle’s crash a "fender bender." fender bender. LIKE. MINOR. INSIGNIFICANT.

Daniel: ...oh no.

Lewis: IT WAS BAD. Lewis: Bad enough that the car was crushed against a streetlamp. Lewis: Bad enough that she couldn’t even get the door open. Lewis: Bad enough that she was shivering and barely breathing and covered in cuts and glass.

Lando: Lewis is going full caps lock. This is bad.

Oscar: It’s worse than bad. He’s spiraling.

Lewis: I WATCHED HER BLEEDING IN A BROKEN CAR. Lewis: I HELD HER HAND UNTIL THE PARAMEDICS GOT THERE. Lewis: AND CHARLES IS OUT HERE LIKE "lol oopsie minor incident"????

Daniel: Breathe mate Breathe

Carlos: Yeah, deep breaths. We need you alive.

Lewis: HE CALLED IT A FENDER BENDER. I AM GOING TO LAUNCH HIM INTO THE SUN

Oscar: Not before Max does.

Lando: Max is gonna find out eventually and we will ALL need to evacuate Monaco

Lewis: I literally saw it. Lewis: I thought she was dead for a second. Lewis: And Charles didn’t even know how bad it was. Lewis: Didn’t even ask. Lewis: Didn’t even CARE.

Daniel: You okay mate?? Do you need snacks?? Or wine??

Carlos: Or a punching bag???

Oscar: Or a very large blunt object???

Lewis: I need Charles to grow a brain cell.

Carlos: Welcome to the nightmare brother.

Daniel: We have t-shirts.

Lando: and wine Lando: lots of wine

Oscar: and emergency stress snacks

Lewis: I’m bringing tequila next meeting. Lewis: We’re gonna need it.

***

Leclerc Siblings Group Chat

 (Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, and Lorenzo)

Charles: Isabelle. Why didn’t you tell me the accident was that serious??

Isabelle: Because you didn’t ask.

Arthur: Wait what? Serious?? I thought it was a little crash?

Charles: It wasn’t. Lewis told me today during testing. He was THERE. He said the car was totaled. You got spun into a post. You were trapped in the car, Isabelle.

Lorenzo: What do you mean, trapped?!

Isabelle: I didn’t want to worry anyone. I’m fine now.

Charles: You said you were fine. You made it sound like you got a scratch and drove home.

Lorenzo: That’s not the point.

Charles:  You lied to us.

Isabelle: I didn’t lie. I said I had a concussion and bruises. And spent the night in the hospital. Which was all true. I said I was okay. Because I am.

Lorenzo: Isabelle, why didn’t you say anything?

Isabelle: Because I knew this would happen.

Isabelle:  Exactly this.

Isabelle:  You’d all get angry or guilt-trip me or turn it into something about you.

Charles: Of course we’re angry!

Arthur:  You scared us, Isabelle.

Lorenzo:  Do you think Maman could handle hearing you almost died?

Lorenzo: We are not going to tell her.

Lorenzo:  I’m serious.

Lorenzo:  It would crush her.

Lorenzo:  Better she thinks it was nothing.

Isabelle: So let me get this straight.

Isabelle:  You’re mad at me for not telling you…

Isabelle:  And now you’re also deciding for me that Maman shouldn’t know?

Isabelle:  Because you think she can’t handle it?

Lorenzo: Exactly.

Isabelle: Okay. Noted.

***

Raymond Vermeulen prided himself on knowing everything about Max Verstappen’s career — both on and off the track.

It wasn’t arrogance. It was necessity.

You didn’t manage Max Verstappen successfully by being two steps behind. 

You stayed ahead. You anticipated. You knew.

Which was why, when Jos Verstappen of all people leaned over during a quiet moment at a post-testing dinner and casually said: "Max is serious about a girl,"

—Raymond almost dropped his fork.

He blinked, slowly, suspiciously.

Jos didn’t do casual. Jos didn’t mention Max’s girlfriends unless it was a complaint. Normally, the subject was treated like some embarrassing injury you didn’t talk about in polite company.

Raymond cleared his throat, playing it cool. "Oh? New?"

Jos grunted. "No. Been a while."

Raymond narrowed his eyes. "And you’re... okay with this?"

Jos shrugged. Shrugged.

Like Max Verstappen — his pride, his legacy, his entire life project — dating someone was just fine and normal.

Raymond was officially in uncharted waters.

"Who is she?" he asked carefully.

Jos reached for his beer, nonchalant. "Isabelle Leclerc."

Raymond froze mid-sip of his wine.

Isabelle. Leclerc.

As in Charles Leclerc’s little sister.

As in Ferrari’s golden boy’s little sister.

As in political nightmare fuel if the media ever got hold of it.

"You're telling me Max is dating Charles Leclerc’s sister," Raymond said slowly, like he was trying to defuse a bomb.

Jos grunted again. "Mmh."

"And you’re fine with this?" Raymond pressed.

Jos actually — God help him — almost smiled. "She's good for him."

Raymond sat back in his chair, stunned.

Not just because Max was apparently neck-deep in a secret, long-term relationship.

 Not just because it was Isabelle bloody Leclerc.

 But because Jos — notoriously impossible to please, allergic to softness — actually liked her.

Jos approved.

Raymond processed that for a long moment.

The earth hadn’t split open. The sky wasn’t falling.

Miracles did happen, apparently.

"Well," he said finally, recovering some professionalism. "That’s... good."

Jos nodded, unbothered. "She makes him happy."

Raymond exhaled slowly. If Jos was using words like happy, it was serious. Monumentally serious.

And suddenly, Raymond understood something deeper:

This wasn’t a passing thing.

This wasn’t a fling.

This was real.

Max had gone and fallen in love — quietly, stubbornly, like he did everything else — and somehow, without anyone noticing, built himself a life outside the machine of Formula One.

Raymond reached for his phone under the table.

Because if the media ever got a sniff of this, he was going to need a very detailed contingency plan.

And maybe a drink.

Or several.

***

The office was quiet.

Soft light filtered through gauzy curtains.

A pot of chamomile tea sat untouched on the side table.

Isabelle sat curled into the corner of the couch, sleeves of her sweater pulled over her hands, staring at the stitches in the rug instead of at Simone.

Simone waited.

She always waited.

Finally, Isabelle exhaled a shaky breath.

"It’s so stupid," she said quietly. "I shouldn’t be this upset. I didn’t even get badly hurt."

Simone didn’t flinch at the deflection.

She just tilted her head slightly.

"You’re allowed to be upset, Isabelle. Something frightening happened to you."

Isabelle bit her lip, fingers tightening in her sleeves.

"I didn’t even want to tell them," she said. "My family, I mean. I knew how it would go. And it did."

Simone’s voice stayed soft. "Tell me what happened."

Isabelle shrugged stiffly. "I mentioned it. Just… dropped it into the family group chat. Like ripping off a band-aid. Thought maybe they’d be a little worried, and then we’d move on… " she admitted softly. 

Simone waited again.

Isabelle’s mouth twisted bitterly.  "Arthur and Charles kept asking if I was distracted or speeding—like it was somehow my fault."

Simone’s brows furrowed slightly.

“And then a few days later, Charles found out that it wasn’t just a little fender bender. And suddenly they were angry with me. Because I didn’t tell them how bad it was. But I did. I told them that I was…I told them I had a concussion and bruises…And then Lorenzo," Isabelle continued, voice tightening, "he said—he said he wasn’t going to tell Maman. Because it would 'crush' her."

She laughed, a thin, broken sound.

"Apparently, I’m a bigger problem for them if I exist hurt than if I just… pretend everything’s fine."

Simone stayed silent, letting the words hang in the air between them.

Isabelle blinked hard, willing herself not to cry.

"It’s always been like that since Papa died," she said eventually, quieter now. "Maman either sticks her head into the sand—pretends bad things aren’t happening—or she panics. Makes everything about her fear."

Her voice cracked slightly on the last word, and she pulled her knees tighter to her chest.

"So I learned to make myself smaller. Easier. Less trouble."  She smiled bitterly. "Invisible, sometimes. That’s the safest way to survive it."

Simone leaned forward slightly, her voice still low, but firm now.

"Isabelle, what happened to you wasn't your fault. Not the accident. Not your family's reaction."

Isabelle closed her eyes.

"It feels like it is," she whispered.

"It isn’t," Simone said. "You are allowed to take up space. You are allowed to be hurt. You are allowed to need help, without carrying their feelings on your back."

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Daniel Ricciardo, Carlos Sainz Jr. and Lewis Hamilton)

Lando: okay Lando: hear me out

Oscar: this is already a bad start

Lewis: absolutely not

Daniel: proceed Daniel: i love bad ideas

Lando: what if Lando: instead of everyone panicking about charles finding out Lando: we just... Lando: tell him softly???

Carlos: what the fuck does "softly" mean

Lando: like, we ease him into it Lando: drop hints Lando: plant the idea Lando: subtle Lando: caring

Oscar: you're insane.

Lewis: he'll kill us all.

Daniel: ok but i kinda wanna see where he's going with this

Carlos: no Carlos: lando’s plans never end well

Lando: NO LISTEN Lando: like maybe Lando: i casually say Lando: "hey charles did you know belle’s been hanging out with max lately" Lando: and when he starts freaking out Lando: we just Lando: soothe him Lando: with like Lando: positive reinforcement.

Oscar: you think he's a puppy???

Lewis: lando. Lewis:  this is the worst plan anyone’s ever had.

Carlos: you’re going to get us murdered.

Daniel: actually i’m free next thursday if we wanna die then.

Oscar: i vote no. Oscar: hard no. Oscar: hardest no of my life.

Carlos: softly = we still die  Carlos: but maybe slower and more painful

Lando: NO NO Lando: like Lando: we sit him down Lando: give him snacks Lando: maybe a hug Lando: and then just... you know... gently mention that max is in love with his sister

Oscar: lando.  be serious.

Lando: I am serious

Lewis: this is the worst idea i've heard in a long time

Daniel: give him snacks???  what is he, a wild animal???

Oscar: you’re going to get us killed.

Lewis: softly telling charles is still telling charles.  he’s gonna go full Leclerc rage no matter what.

Daniel: AND THEN MAX IS GOING TO KILL US

Lando: ok but hear me out again Lando: what if we tell him Lando: and then IMMEDIATELY leave the country

Oscar: i'm already packing my bags

Carlos: dibs on Spain

Lewis: i'm going to pretend i don't know any of you

Daniel: same

Daniel: i’ll be in australia by the time charles processes step one.

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

✧ All the graces from Heaven

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Summary: Arthur and you enjoy a steamy morning at Strawberry's Hotel, much to the outlaw's delight. ✦ Warnings: SMUT 18+, MDNI! Oral (both reader and Arthur receiving), 69, a bit of fluff if you squint, porn without a plot, Arthur is more of a high/mid honor but loses it and gets a little bit rough, established relationship. ✦ Words: 2,6k ✦ a/n: Yeeeaah so. This is basically a 69 fic, it's pretty filthy and a bit less figurative than my usual works. Just pure smutty smut. I hope you'll enjoy it still! Pic is mine, not proofread! And as English isn't my first language, prepare for some misspellings.

The bedroom of Strawberry’s Hotel is filled with chuckles, and full of scattered clothes on the floor. Leathered boots, two shirts tangled together, jackets and holster belts thrown away messily on furniture. As a lighthouse in the middle of the sea, a black gambler hat stands tall hung on one of the bed's huge footboard legs over this tide of abandoned clothing.

Above it, the old wood creaks as two people mess with each other under the blankets, threatening to make the worn hat fall from its perch. Both are nude as the day they were born, and glued to each other as if they were wearing the other one’s skin.

You and Arthur had quite a time, last night. And since you had woken up, it was nothing but sweet words, cuddling and tickling. Teasing each other had become a private religion between you both, his sarcastic comments always met with a witty answer from you. It made him love you even more.

“Come on darlin’, stay.” Arthur’s deep voice asks you, as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, his nose impregnating with your smell, eyes closing on their own.

He feels good, there. It's in these simple shared moments, those laughs you sew together, those fingers and body you intertwine, those deep and dreamy conversations about your brighter future you share that Arthur finds his remedy. As if after all this life of surviving and fighting for a greater cause, a bigger picture, it was the simplest of things that appeared like an epiphany to him when it came to happiness.

You being the main source and Messiah of most of these humble pleasures, of course. His personal angel.

“You know I can’t. You may have the morning off for once, but I have somewhere else to be. Hosea needs me at the Tracker’s Hotel for a job.”

Arthur doesn’t hide his annoyance and grumbles against your skin, something about “Damn jobs always in the way” and “ The old man can wait a lil’ bit more.”

It makes you smile. As tempting as staying in bed all morning with a naked Arthur seems, especially considering how you can feel his fat cock feeling so soft against your hip, you feel self-conscious about leaving Hosea alone on your mission. You turn your head to the side to kiss your lover’s head, his sandy locks tickling your nose.

“Alright tough guy, time to go.” You decide before getting up in a sitting position, then crawling to the end of the bed to grab your ungarments.

“Not so fast, lil’ missy.” He objects with a low chuckle, obviously enjoying this little chase after you.

Before you can reach your aim, Arthur snakes his hands around your thighs and pulls you back to him in a quick and powerful motion, handling you as if you were the lightest feather, which makes you let out a squeal of protest mixed with surprise.

His laugh resonates for a second and then, he freezes. You had ended up on all four on top of him, but usually, your face was turned to his. This time, Arthur's nose is met with your plump rear, your chest to the other side, just above his crotch. You can feel his body, underneath you, getting tensed. This gigantic, massive, muscled body, so big and tall that his chest feels larger than a tree trunk between your spread legs. What was innocent playing for him just seconds ago had turned into a needy tension between the both of you. The air suddenly feels thick and a silence settles, a tense calm on the shore before a Maelstrom.

Your blouse and Hosea are a long time gone when you realize you can feel his breath on your pussy, the sensation making you shiver. You try to get up from the position, thinking he wouldn’t like to have his face shoved in your intimate parts, but his hands grip tighter and stop you, grounding you in place. You turn your head to him as much as you can considering your situation, taking an interrogative look at his face above your body.

His cheeks are red. Dark red. His eyes are fixated on your entrance, throat swallowing with difficulty. His bust rises and falls heavily, pectorals muscles swelling up before relaxing and rising again. He sighs, and you feel it again, hot air all against you, all against your now aroused and needy slit.

“We hum… We never tried like this…” He starts, voice low and suggestive about what he's implying, his hands traveling from your thighs to grab your ass, one hand for each cheek. They’re so big and firm, and feel so good there, as he squeezes, again and again, driving himself crazy as he admires how the perfect heart shape of your rear looks all squished under his fingers.

“You sure you want-”

Before you can even finish your sentence, Arthur answers it by pressing his lips to your pussy, exhaling through his nose and tightening his fingers on your flesh. This man always had such huge self-control for every dangerous situation known to mankind, but right now, it seems like he couldn’t resist taking a bite when having your perfect cunt under his nose…

A sharp and depraved noise leaves you, making his body burn like redden coal, his mind consumed more and more by your whole being and the simple feeling of your wetness all against his face. His whole universe reduced into this touch, lips against flesh, saliva mixing with arousal. Your sinful nectar and his.

“God, honey!” You whine, back arching without your permission, body moving backward to him, searching for more, needing more.

“Taste so goddamn good… Never gonna have enough of ‘this…” He rasps between a few more kisses to your folds, as a praise or a statement, you’re not sure, and he’s not either as words just flow through him and he lets them out without a drop of restraint or reflection. A rough, unstoppable river. That's how he feels every time he eats you out.

His tongue slowly slips out of his filthy mouth and licks your folds, slowly, tortuously, from bellow aaaall the way up to the inside of your ass. You could have been scared of not being clean enough for him or feeling nervous about his face almost buried in there, but the sound, the moan he had made suppresses all these anxious thoughts all at once.

You have to face the obvious: he’s loving it.

“Aah- Arthur…” Your hips roll against his face, desperate for some more friction, unsatisfied and so aroused by his teasing.

“You go on moanin’ ma name like that and am gonna come without ya even touchin’ me, darlin’.” He warns you, voice hoarse, lips mumbling against your folds, his beard and mustache tickling you just the right way.

You answer his words with a deep sigh, the filth of them burning you to the core. He laps at you the same way again, in one then two long and slow licks, as if savoring you like the finest whiskey he would have tasted. A mewl leaves your lips after each one of them. You’re starting to get impatient, and he knows it, he knows you after all those intimate moments. He stops his lips right at the entrance of your core and gently slides his right hand between your thighs.

The way he has to fold his arm to touch you there isn’t comfortable for him, his bicep being way too big to be crushed like that; but hearing you, feeling your thighs clenching and the appreciative words you let out when his fingers land on your sensitive bud is worth this slight pain. Always putting other’s needs before his own, always being devoted and loyal, always finding happiness in being useful, that was Arthur’s nature. And the bed was no exception to it.

“Was you not supposed to go somewhere?” He asks cockily in a falsely innocent tone, brimming with sarcasm and smugness.

“P-please, Arthur… Quit the teasing, for God's sake…” You ask, trying not to sound too pitiful, probably failing at it.

“A lil’ needy after all, ain’t ya? Ma sweet girl…” He coos, and you can feel his lips stretch into his usual grin, his heart gorging with pride and excitement to have this sort of impact on you.

Bending to your wishes, his fingers start to rub and trace tight circles on your clit as his mouth makes love to your pussy, his tongue delving in as deeply as he can, and the pleasure finally hits you like an earthquake. It feels so good, so damn good, your breathing quickly turning into loud moans.

Your head snaps back forward, and your body pushes your rear up all against him as a cat who would stretch after a nap. Arthur hums in delight and appreciation, unable to speak but encouraging you still. He increases his pace, his digits quick and sharp and so precise against your sensitive spot.

Your face falls down as every fiber of your body hardens, and that’s when your gaze is caught on his cock. Your pussy clenches hard around his tongue just by the sight of it.

It looks so hard and swollen that it must be painful for him. His hips buck forward into nothing, his member almost hitting your chin, with every lick of his tongue inside you. His round and reddish tip is leaking, pre-cum spurting out even more than usual, flowing all the way down into his dark curly pubic hair. His pants would have been completely soaked if he was wearing them.

You're salivating.

It would have been cruel to let him like this, right?

Focusing on him to try and not collapse from your own pleasure, you suddenly press your chest against his belly and take his cock inside your mouth without any warning. The taste of him, this strong saline flavor, fills your mouth.

“Damn!” Arthur shouts in surprise, momentarily parting his lips from yours, fingers slowing their pace. “Jesus, girl!”

This time, it’s your turn to grin, as much as you can, considering how big Arthur is between your lips. You don’t let him any time to think or protest, knowing he would insist that you’d come first.

The way you're crawling on top of him makes it even simpler for you to suck him off, your head naturally placed at the right angle on top of his crotch, and you take advantage of that. Finding support on the mattress with your arms, hands gripping his legs, you bring your mouth up and down hard and fast, sucking his shaft with such vigor you can feel his body squirming underneath you.

“Ngh-! Darlin’! S-stop, slow down! I ain’t gonna last like this!” He tries to plead but his words are drowned in a flood of groans and harsh sighs.

Despite what he’s saying, his body acts in the exact opposite way, hips jerking, cock shoving into your throat at the same time you’re working him. He tries, he really tries to keep on pleasuring you back while you work him, but he feels like he’s completely losing himself, unable to do anything else, to focus on anything else at all.

Your breasts pressed against his belly, his face buried in your pussy and ass, each of your thighs surrounding his head, and your goddamn mouth around his cock, this devilish tongue sliding all around it… He's completely losing his head. It's like being drowned in an Ocean of You. It’s too much. It’s way too much at once for a simple man. A simple, weak, mortal man feeling like he’s receiving every grace of Heaven all at the same time.

His basic instincts win the best of him. His arms are now wrapped around you, pulling you flush against his body, a hand back on your ass cheek, the other on your neck, spurring you into moving your mouth just like he needs to.

“Oh, shit! Yes, go on, go on, take it!”

You've rarely seen him losing his temper like this. He's usually gentle and soft, patient with you during sex, savoring the moment, making it last as much as possible, playing you like an Andante movement from the most sophisticated piece of a symphony.

Right now, he's unchained and rough, rushing to the Grand Finale without minding about false notes, drunk from you and the sensation of warmth he is feeling on every edge of his body; face, chest, cock, every inch of him merging with every inch of you.

He groans all against your pussy, as your saliva drools from this erratic pace. His fingers grip your head and ass tighter as he chases his high carelessly, already coming, way too soon and fast for him. His cock stiffens even more as he fucks your silky mouth, veins gorging with blood, tip throbbing in the back of your head.

“Aaah- Damn… Good… Girl!” He growls loudly with a thrust of his hips after each word.

The last one is followed by a loud and throaty whine, higher-pitched and vulgar, the kind of sounds he would usually let out when being hurt.

He shuts his eyes in a pleasured-filled frown as he pushes his face even deeper between your legs and, more from instinct than anything else, sucks hard on your cunt while he comes, lost, so lost in a sea of primal bliss and pure organic pleasure. His large body burns and tenses one hard final time, and you can feel the path of his cum traveling along his length against your lips as he releases inside you.

It fills you, his saline and strong taste blinding your other senses, cum as hot and sinful as his state, and you exhale with satisfaction as you swallow both this remnant of his ecstasy and the last drops of his sanity.

Arthur falls back heavily on the mattress, completely spent, his sweat staining the white sheets, his hands loosening their grip. Before removing them from your body, he allows himself a playful little spank on your butt as he speaks again, a revenge not strong enough to his liking for your sneaky move.

“Jesus, you’re… completely wild...” He sighs, his heart slowing after having beaten like war drums.

He’s still panting, mouth open and covered with a mix of this sweet cocktail of saliva and arousal. He licks his lips, feeling so satisfied, the sensation of your body everywhere on his skin still vivid and present. Like a stamp of black, indelible ink that has left its mark on a blank sheet of paper.

“You really enjoyed all this, didn’t you?” You ask back while getting off him, legs a bit shaky, your throat starting to feel a bit sore from the intensity you had chosen to go with. “I haven’t heard you whine like this for a long time…”

“I don’t “whine”.” He scoffs, knowing damn well he did, and suddenly feeling ashamed of the sounds he had made and guilty for the rough behavior he had displayed. His negative feelings are soon brushed off though, thanks to your beautiful and mischievous smile enlightening him.

“Yeah yeah, keep telling yourself that. I’ve still got ears to hear, Mister.”

“Hush. Now come here, 'gonna make ya feel as good and miserable as me from finishin’ that fast.”

His eyes burn with that fire he has. The one reserved for you and the excitement and adrenaline of action. You already know there's no way you'll walk out of this bedroom without being completely satisfied.

“Tonight. I’m already way too late to-”

“Now.”

The piece of clothes remains abandoned on the floor as the bed creaks again, that old gambler's hat only witness of Arthur's payback to you.

After all, he never liked leaving a job unfinished.

--

tagging some people who were interested in the scenario! : @amyispxnk @a-court-of-valkyries @fleouris

[georgeclarkesgf]

shush, it's a secret | george clarke

it's not unusual for you to be over at george's flat considering you and him met at university and both moved to london around the same time. but about four months ago, your relationship changed from close friends to just that, a relationship.

you'd both decided to not tell anyone, despite how difficult it was proving to be to not be all over each other 24/7. the fans knew of you, to an extent. you'd appear in the backgrounds of videos or tiktoks posted by the boys. your social media was public, however, none of your accounts included your name, making it less likely for fans to find you.

tonight, you're over at the flat again, legs strewn over george's lap and eating some of the dominoes he'd ordered. a movie chris had picked out plays on the tv, but was now long forgotten about since a debate has broken out amongst the boys. over what? you don't know. you're too focused on the way george's hand is subconsciously trailing up your thigh, dangerously high for a 'close friend'. he honestly hasn't noticed that he's doing it, too engaged in the ongoing debate. so, you pick your phone up from your chest and message him.

too high x

his phone dings and he leans forward, grabbing it off the table before noticing it was from you. you watch as his brows furrow in confusion, before sending him another message.

your hand x

realisation hits george and he squeezes your thigh gently as an apology, moving his hand back down to rest above your knees. he mouths 'sorry' at you, to which you can't help but giggle and shake your head. arthur (hill) looks between you two in slight confusion, going to say something but deciding to keep his mouth shut.

it wasn't that you didn't want to tell people, you'd both just agreed it would be easier figuring things out and adjusting to this shift in dynamic without other people prying their noses in. it didn't make the thrill of getting caught any less exciting though. even the simple things such as him wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing your shoulder made you get an adrenaline rush.

you can feel your eyes growing heavy, despite it still being relatively early, and decide to call it a night.

"sorry guys but i'm gonna head to bed," an echo of boos fill the room while you shrug, laughing, "i'm tired guys leave me alone. mind if i crash in your bed george?"

it feels weird having to ask your boyfriend if you can sleep in his bed, but it seems to be doing the trick of keeping the relationship a secret. there are only three bedrooms and you've known george the longest, so it makes sense you'd stay in his room.

"no go for it, i probably won't be long." you give him a smile and climb off the sofa, heading to his room.

george's eyes widen when he next checks the time, not realising it was so late.

"shit." he mumbles to himself, gaining a weird look from the boys.

"you alright george?" arthur (hill) questions.

"yea i'm fine. just didn't realise it was so late that's all, got stuff to do tomorrow. i'm gonna go to bed though, night guys." he was lying right through his teeth, he had nothing to do tomorrow.

what george had meant to be ten minutes or so had turned into an hour and a half. arthur (tv) ended up coming over and they'd gotten so caught up in conversation that time seemed to fly by. he knows that you hate falling asleep without him and feels guilt seep into his skin. especially since he knows you won't ask for him to come to bed, not wanting it to come off weird since to the others, you're 'just friends'.

you're staring at the ceiling when he shuts his bedroom door, having fallen asleep for all of twenty minutes before you woke up to an empty bed over an hour ago.

"i'm so sorry baby, i didn't realise it had been that long," you turn to look at him, enjoying the way he starts stroking your cheek with his thumb, "have you been waiting for me?"

"mhm, fell asleep for about twenty minutes and been awake since. it's okay though, kept myself busy," george's jaw drops slightly, clearly misunderstanding your words, "oh my god george, no! i meant by reading some more of my book you perv. get your mind out the gutter."

he laughs and goes in to kiss you but you push his forehead away before he can. you scrunch up your face in disgust.

"ow, what was that for?" he's rubbing his forehead like you just hit him with a bat, making it much more dramatic than necessary.

"brush your teeth, you have pizza breath." he tries to do it again and catch you off guard but fails, "i mean it george."

"yes ma'am."

he disappears into the bathroom and returns a few minutes later. his teeth are brushed and he's wearing a pair of grey joggers. your arms open wide, inviting him to lay on top of you so you can run your nails through his hair and up and down his back. a feeling both of you love.

"can i kiss you now?" he teases, grin widening when you nod your head.

several kisses are planted on your face and you know he's purposefully missing your lips. you frown, wanting him to kiss you properly, not having felt his lips on yours in what felt like years. realistically, it's been a few hours.

"george, kiss me properly." you whine.

and he does just that. one hand holding himself up to hover over you, the other stroking your cheek and bringing you in closer until your lips finally meet. the kiss starts off slow and loving, until he presses you further into the mattress, his hands beginning to roam your body. every ounce of sleep you were feeling disappears, suddenly becoming hyper aware of what's happening.

pulling away, you mumble, "we can't, everyone's here. they'll hear us."

"never stopped us before." george whispers against your mouth, connecting your lips once again.

well touché.

a/n don't ask where the inspiration for this came from at 2 in the morning cause i don't have an answer. not proofread either sorryyy. shall i make a part two? i feel like i'll end up doing it anyway but what do you guys think??

[mrtelevisionlover]

can i request a chrismd one where you where one if the girls in the 20 women vs 1 youtuber football edition and fans start to ship you two? even the guys haha! loving your work btw!!

Yes!! Loved writing this, enjoy!

(Can you tell I know nothing about football?)

words: 1500+

Style

When Y/n got a DM from Chris’ manager asking her to be in this video, she wasn’t too sure what to think. She wasn’t very lucky in the dating scene, only going on a few first dates, and had never had a boyfriend. She didn’t really want to embarrass herself in front of his millions of subscribers but she had been a fan of his work for a while and had always wanted to meet him so…why not?

The morning of, she was very nervous. She had bought a new shirt to wear, and paired it with some shorts. She braided her hair into a simple french braid and stepped into some worn out trainers. She decided to go without makeup, as she was probably going to sweat it off. Also the weather outside was horrible and she didn’t want mascara dripping down her face…And she was late for the train.

When she arrived on the pitch, she saw 19 other girls, all very pretty. She suddenly felt insecure, especially as no-one was talking to her. She decided to go over her pickup line, seeing as that would be his first impression of her.

Soon, the cameras started rolling and one by one, the girls would introduce themselves to Chris and his two friends, Calfreezy and ArthurTV. Eventually, it was just her left. She watched Chris say goodbye to Loretta, who she eventually learnt had been on a few dates with Chris already. Once his manager gave her the green light, she walked over to the table.

“Wow-Hello!” Chris smiles. He takes a moment to look at her face, admiring her.

“Hi! I’m Y/n and uh…Can you be your striker? I'm only aiming for your heart.” Y/n giggles slightly, and the sound brings blush to Chris’ cheeks. 

“Aww, that’s quite sweet.” Arthur coos.

Freezy pauses, then points, nodding his head. “You know what, I like it.” 

Chris shakes his head slightly, and presses a hand to his cheek. “Are you any good at football?”

“I play with my dog sometimes?...” She shrugs, embarrassment painting her cheeks slightly.

“Oh…Okay. Well, I wish you the best of luck.” He smiles.

“Thank you!” She takes a few steps away from the ball before running towards it and kicking it with all her might. Unfortunately, the ball narrowly misses the goal, and goes over the top.

“Ooh! That was good, I’ll give you that.” Chris exclaims, clapping his hands together in celebration.

Cal sighs, “That almost made it too.”

“I’m actually surprised I got it that close. I thought it’d end up behind me.” Y/n gasps as two hands cover her mouth. She was quite awful at football and really surprised herself.

“So, what’s the verdict?” Arthur looks towards Chris in anticipation. He knows Chris already likes her, he can see the look in his eye– it was the same in school.

“Yeah, you’re through.” He smiles. Freezy takes note that this is the widest he’s smiled so far.

“Really? Thank you!” Y/n does a little jump before waving goodbye. She walks over to the rest of the girls where they actually start to talk to her. She starts talking to Rose, an American streamer who flew all the way over to be on this video. She seemed to really like Chris and Y/n started to get a little nervous, Rose was very pretty.

“She seems really sweet.” Arthur whispers to Chris as you walk away.

“She’s really pretty too.” Chris blushes, sending a shy smile towards him.

Freezy perks up, “Uh-oh, Chris is falling already.” He laughs.

Soon after, they moved into round two. Twelve girls remained, Y/n included, and they had three free kicks. Chris, Freezy, and Arthur stood in a line a few metres in front of the goal while the girls aimed for it, the 3 of them often getting hit. 

“Hello Y/n.” Chris beams. Cal laughs at him while Arthur nudges his shoulder. 

“Hi again.” She smiles, waving to the 3 of them. She’s incredibly nervous. She worries her luck has run out and has a bad feeling she’s going to hit one of them.

“Any technique you're aiming for?”

“Um…To score? Hopefully” She laughs. Chris giggles, Arthur and Freezy give each other a look

“Okay, Well…Best of luck.” He smiles.

Y/n steps back from the ball, lets out a little breath, and kicks the ball. It goes over their heads, and misses the goal. “Aww, come on!”

“It’s alright, you got two more!”

She kicks the ball again, she uses less power and it rolls towards the goal slowly. Arthur lets out a little laugh and Chris hits his chest with a scowl. 

“One more, give it some power!”

“Okay.” She mutters to herself as she walks back to the line. “Just score one, please.” She whispers, closing her eyes.

Y/n lets out another little breath before kicking the ball with all her strength. She watches the ball fly through the air and…Hit Chris right in the groin.

Arthur screams, “OHH!” as Chris falls to the floor, Calfeezy struggling to breathe from laughter. 

“Oh my-Are you okay!?” Y/n quickly runs towards him, leaning down to check on him.

“There goes my ability to have kids.” He groans, rolling on the floor.

“I am so sorry, I didn’t even know I could do that-” She apologises as her face is flooded in guilt. 

“It’s okay, I’m okay.” Chris slowly gets up, Y/n helping him.

“Are you sure? I’m just gonna go-”

“No! You’re through.”

“Wait, what!?” Cal exclaims as Arthur gives the camera a look of bewilderment. 

“Really?” She gasps.

“Yeah, you’re really sweet.” Chris rubs his hand down her arm, soothing her slightly.

“Oh, thank you. Again, I’m really sorry.” Y/n face plants as she walks away, her face flushed with embarrassment.

“You are insane.” Arthur mutters.

“What can I say, I really like her.” Chris shrugs, then wincing

 For the third round, the nine remaining girls had to show a talent. Y/n watched girls throw and kick footballs, recite poems, and participate in an arm wrestling contest. She decided to do some gymnastics, as that was the only thing she could come up with. 

“Hello Y/n, what will you be showing us today?”

“I will be doing some gymnastics.” 

“Oh cool! Ready when you are.” 

She starts by doing a handstand, then holding it for a few seconds before falling into a bridge. She stands up and does a simple cartwheel, then falls into the splits. She hears the guys cheering her on and she giggles slightly. She decides to finish it off with a few flips, landing in front of the table. 

“Wow…” Chris stares in awe.

“That was so cool” Arthur exclaimed, shaking Chris slightly.

“It’s a yes!” 

“Really? Thank you! See you later.” You wave them off. Chris watches you walk off, subtly checking you out. Freezy notices this and laughs at him, smacking him over the head.

 Now onto round 4. There were only five girls left and they were to be interrogated by Chris’ two friends. 

“So Y/n…What is your biggest turn off?”

“Uh…Not telling me how they’re feeling. I think it’s really attractive when a man tells me how he’s feeling — whether if he’s happy or sad, I think it’s really important.” She nods.

Arthur smiles. “That’s a really good answer.”

“Yeah. I’m really open about mental health on my YouTube, I like to use my platform for good, sometimes.”

“Really? Men’s mental health is so important, I think a lot of guys watching your channel would really benefit from it.” Y/n praises.

“Thank you.” He blushes.

“Chris…What makes Y/n different to the other 4 girls?”

“She’s really sweet, and seems very genuine. She’s…alright at football and…she’s beautiful.”

“Aww” Both Cal and Arthur coo.

Y/n covers her face, her cheeks feeling warm. She peaks between her fingers to see Chris smiling nervously. 

“And Y/n, what’s your favourite thing about Chris?” 

“I love how much he cares. He clearly cares so much about his friends, his videos, his fans. It makes him so enjoyable to watch and honestly? He’s such an inspiration.”

“Oh wow.” Chris breathes, his heart skpping a beat. 

“Right were running out of time but quickly—rate each other out of ten.” Calfreezy interrupts, turning to the two.

“Ten.” “Ten!”

“Really?” “Really?” They both stare at each other in surprise, blushing blooming on their cheeks.

“Chris? A ten?” Arthur teases.

“What? I really like his hair, and his freckles.” Y/n tuns to Chris and takes a moment, looking at all his features. “And he has a really lovely personality.”

“So…It’s Y/n and Rose, right? Those 2 you were smiling the entire time.“

“Yeah…Yeah, it’s them.”

“So…We’ve made a decision and we’ve decided to put Y/n and Rose into the final.”

“Woo!” The rest of the girls clap.

Both girls did rock, paper, scissors to decide who was starting first and Y/n won. Chris held an Umbrella over her head as he led her to the goal.

“So uh…What baby names do you like?”

“I like classic ones like Charlotte, or Henry.”

“Oh nice. I like Heather.” 

“Aww, that’s really cute. How many kids do you want?”

“As many as my wife will have, I don’t mind.”

Y/n smiles and realizes she's at the line. She says a little goodbye and watches him walk away. 

Eventually, Rose had scored 2 out of her 4 tries, and Y/n only had scored 1 out of her three. If she wanted a chance, she’d have to score. Y/n stands in front of the ball and closes her eyes, and slows down her breathing. She shakes her hands, stretches her neck, and kicks the ball.

She watches the ball fly through the sky, miss the goalie, and hit the net! She hears the guys celebrate behind her and realises she’s back in the game. 

She then watches Rose hit the ball for the final time, and watches as it narrowly misses the goal. Y/n hears gasps next to her as someone shakes her shoulders.

“If you score this, you win! No pressure though.” Arthur smiles at her sheepishly. She nods, still in shock. Y/n turns to Chris as she walks away and he gives her a reassuring smile, and a thumbs up. 

Y/n turns to the ball and eyes up the goal. She lets out one final breath and kicks the ball. It feels like everything is going in slow-motion, and she can’t watch anymore. She turns around and covers her eyes, only opening them when all 3 guys scream in excitement. 

She turns back around to see the ball in the goal and she gasps. “I did it!” Chris runs over and gives her a hug, congratulating her in her ear. She hugs him back, and squeals in surprise when he picks her up. Chris then gives her a gold envelope with a lot of money inside.

“No-I can’t keep this.” Y/n tries to give him back the envelope but he puts up his hands

“Yes you can, you won.”

“No-” She tries.

“Yes.”

“A date with you is the prize.” She pleads.

He smiles, before pushing the envelope back in her hands.

The video then cuts to them both skipping into the distance, with cute music playing over the top. It then fades, the video ending.

Comments: usera: Hello!? The chemestry between the two? SO glad she won

userb: rose was robbed tbh

userc: DOES ANYONE KNOW IF THEY ACTUALLY WENT ON A DATE I NEED TO KNOW!!

userd: who's wating for arthurs ai generated comment?

usere: you could see how much chris liked her from the start. who knew he was such a blushy boy!?

userf: so cute! Hope to see her in other videos

userg: him picking her up at the end? they better be together

userh: her talking about men's mental health? chris, she's a keeper!

Well, I hope you like it. My first real fic, done!! also, ignore any mistakes, i'll go over them tomorrow x

[tammyjackson50-blog]

No so secret anymore || G.C

George x reader

1/2

Summary: You and George have been dating for a few months, but you weren't as careful as you thought, and fans started to suspect, and your friends weren't helping either...

(Pictures are not mine)

You'd think that keeping a relationship secertly among a group of friends who are also YouTubers would be pretty easy because they will understand how things are going right?

Think again.

Today, you were all set to film a reaction video, each from your own setups.

The plan was simple: watch some TikToks, have a laugh, and entertain the fans.

But with the recent surge of fan edits shipping you and George in the last few weeks, you had a feeling this session would be anything but simple.

As you joined the call, George's familiar grin filled your screen. "Alright, lads and lasses, ready to dive into the abyss of TikTok cringe?"

Arthur (Hill) chuckled. "Always, mate. But before we start, have you seen this?" He shared his screen, showing a TikTok compilation titled "George and Y/N: A Love Story."

You closed your eyes. "Oh, for the love of-"

Chris smirked. "The fans have been busy. Look at this one." He played another edit, this time highlighting every time you and George had shared a look or laughed together in past videos.

George laughed, a hint of nervousness in his voice. "They're really reaching, aren't they?"

Max raised an eyebrow. "Reaching? Mate, even Stevie Wonder could see there's something going on."

George laughed. " Oh man, are we that obvious?"

You felt your cheeks heat up. "Guys, we're supposed to be filming."

Chris leaned back, feigning innocence. "Oh, we're just getting started. The fans ship it, Y/N. Who are we to deny them?"

You groaned, rubbing your temples. "Look, if you keep this up while we're recording, half of this is gonna have to be cut,either because I'll be laughing and getting red too much or because you idiots are gonna make it too obvious."

Despite your best efforts, the teasing continued.

Every shared laugh, every accidental overlap in speech, every mirrored reaction was met with exaggerated "oohs" and "aahs" from the boys.

As you prepared to sign off, Arthur grinned mischievously. "So, when's the official announcement? You know that there is no way that the fans would stop this shipping thing anytime soon."

George smirked, "Guess they'll just have to keep watching and find out."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. Keeping this secret was proving harder by the day, especially with friends like these.

As soon as the recording ended and the others kept chatting, you and George signed off.

"Alright, lads, enjoy talking shit. I’m out," George said, stretching.

"Yeah, same," you added. "Try not to plan our wedding while we’re gone."

Arthur snickered. "No promises, Mrs. Clarkey."

You laugh and shut off Discord, flopping onto your bed with a deep sigh.

The teasing had been nonstop, and while it was funny, it was also a bit exhausting in some way.

You knew the boys weren’t gonna let up anytime soon.

You barely had a second to collect yourself when your bedroom door creaked open.

And there he was.

"Mrs. Clarkey, " George grinned, stepping inside like it's his room.

You groaned, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at him. "No, give me a break."

He caught it with ease, laughing.

"What? I thought you liked me."

"Not when you've spent the last hour making me look red like a freaking tomato."

"Oi, don’t blame me! They started it."

He closed the door behind him and climbed onto the bed, lying on his side to face you. "Besides, you gotta admit,it was funny."

You rolled onto your back and turned your head to look at him. "They’re getting worse, you know."

"They’re just having fun," he said, nudging your side. "We did throw this on them outta nowhere."

"Yeah, and now they think it’s their life's mission to make me feel embarrassed like a little girl every time we’re on camera together."

George laughed, draping an arm over your stomach. "Would it be so bad if they did? You look cute when you’re flustered."

You pushed him not seriously "You love pissing me off, don’t you?"

"Absolutely." He leaned in, "But you love me anyway."

You sighed dramatically. "Unfortunately."

He grinned and kissed you, "Lucky me, then."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have another part for this, tell me it you like it:)

[sdmnpact]

Hello I was wondering if I could do a request for Harry like reader and him on holiday together haveing a nice time and also there friends are there like something based on that vibe

Holiday.

Wroetoshaw x Reader

~~~

You woke up to the sound of your alarm. You reached for your phone and looked at the time. 7 am. You were due to meet up with a few friends soon and you wanted to get up early so you could get ready. You looked over and saw your boyfriend, Harry, still sleeping, even through your blaring alarm.

You laid there for a couple seconds admiring his features. His mouth was slightly open and his hair was especially messy. You brushed a hand on his cheek, oh how you loved this man. You didn't want to wake him up so you carefully got out of bed, slowly removing the blanket you two shared. You made your way towards the bathroom and quickly hopped in the shower.

You, Harry, and a couple of friends decided to go on holiday to a snowy location since you guys loved the snow. It was winter time too so it was really cold, you didn't mind because you enjoyed this type of weather anyways.

You finished your short warm shower and did your morning routine. You were brushing your hair when you heard a loud yawn from the bed. Seconds later you felt a pair of warm arms wrap around you. You turned your head and you were faced with a groggy but adorable Harry.

"Mmph, you're so warm." He said sleepily. "Well looks like you slept well then." You said with a chuckle, turning your body to face him, wrapping your own arms around his waist. "Yes, because I had the most gorgeous human next to me all night." You blushed a bit at the compliment and let him go turning back to the mirror.

"You're so cheesy." You mumbled. He kissed the back of your head. "But you like it." He said as he hopped into the shower. You rolled your eyes playfully and went back to getting ready.

You finished and sat at the bed, checking your phone. You scrolled mindlessly until Harry was finished getting ready. He was wearing some snow pants and a puffy jacket that made him look absolutely precious. You two made your way down to the dining area of the resort you were staying at and met up with the group. The group consisted of Ethan, Faith, George, Chris, Arthur tv, Arthur Hill, Issac, Liv, and Becky.

You met up with the ones who were already down. You all sat at a large table and grabbed some of the breakfast from the buffet. You were sat between Harry and Becky.

"Looks like a great day for snowboarding!" George buzzed while everyone agreed. "It's gonna be great out there." Harry beamed towards you, bringing a smile to your lips. You ate your omelet with mash along with some orange juice chatting with the group. You were excited for the day because you were finally gonna spend some quality time with Harry besides the group activities planned. Harry was working very hard the last couple of months, so there wasn't much time for date nights or day outs, so you were going to cherish this free time together to the fullest.

After breakfast, the lot of you made your way towards the trails on the top of the mountain by chairlift.

"Are you warm enough?" Harry asked grabbing your gloved covered hand rubbing it with his own, trying to warm you up more. "Yes, are you? Your eyelashes are literally frozen!?" You chuckled slowly pulling at his lashes removing the frost that formed on them.

"I'm fine, I just wanna make sure you're comfortable." He said quietly looking at his feet danging in the air. "You're so adorable, but yes I'm fine, thank you for caring so much." You said, feeling your cheeks burning hot at the sentiment.

"Of course, I'll always care alot about you darling." He said turning his face towards you. Along with his frozen lashes, his nose was as red as a tomato and his cheeks almost the same. He was wearing a thermal face mask and a few hairs were peeking out curling upwards. You, on the other hand were just wearing a simple beanie and some cute earmuffs that were certainly doing a good job at keeping your ears warm.

A comfortable silence surrounded you two as the ride up continued, Harry kept warming your hands, not wanting to let you. As you reached the top, you guys hopped off the lifts and went towards the line. There weren't many people, so it wasn't a long wait.

Harry is excellent at snowboarding but you, on the other hand, had your difficulties. He knows you can do it with ease but you weren't as confident in your own abilities.

"You're gonna smash it babe, if you need help, I'm here." He reassured as you were up next. You smiled widely at him, quickly pecking his cold lips. You squeezed his hands to let him know you understood and then you were off. You went down the mountain, steering the board as well as you could. The rush of quickly going down the mountain filling you with excitement and you felt your heart pounding rapidly. The bits of snow flying up, hitting your face lightly as you made your descent. You tried your best maneuvering around rocks or small hills, hoping you didn't look as silly as you thought you did. You finally reached the bottom of the mountain and slowly slid to a stop, almost falling over.

You turned around and watched as Harry made his way down. You felt like he was outshining you on purpose as he slid down effortlessly. You admired that though. You loved watching him do anything, from this to golfing, to even just filming videos. He was your personal entertainment.

He maneuvered around a rock probably showing off at this point. But you realized, if he's showing off, then it's probably for you. You blushed at the idea that he still wanted to impress you after years of dating. Your eyes followed him as he finally reached the bottom point and slid to a stop spraying snow everywhere. You rolled your eyes playfully as he held a cocky grin. Your heart fluttered at the sight of him as he walked over towards you. He did his job well, you were fully impressed and enamored.

"You did amazing baby!" He said excitedly wrapping one arm around your shoulder as you began walking towards the lift again. "Me? You're the pro here! I'm so jealous!" You exclaimed flailing your arm showing your enthusiasm. He stopped in his tracks causing you to almost stumble but he held onto you tightly.

"You did so well! I'm so proud! You really shredded it out there!" He said, reassuring your insecurities. You felt your heart patter again. "Thank you, I'm so happy you believe so much in me." You said getting slightly sappy. "I will always believe in you." He said pecking your cheek. He began walking again but this time you stopped him. You pulled him close and placed your lips on his. You passionately kissed him wrapping your arms around his waist.

"What what that for?" He asked with a goofy smile as you pulled away. "It was an 'I love you so much'" You said beginning to walk away without him towards the lifts. You didn't look back but you heard him chuckle as he hurried to catch up with you.

You, Harry, and a couple of your group members kept snowboarding on the mountain for a while. It was such a good time, it just flew by. You were learning a lot, especially from Harry. He made sure to give you tips, praise, and basically everything in between. You two had so much fun and spent a lot of time cuddling together while waiting in line.

You guys got hungry after this and went to the nearby town that was having some sort of event. It was lit up with beautiful lights and snow sculptures, you were in awe at the sight. You guys walked around for a while trying to find what you wanted to eat. There were a lot of different food options as there were different types of food stalls around. You guys decided on some warm ramen from a nice anime styled food stall. You might have inhaled it because you were hungry and it was delicious or maybe it was delicious because you were hungry. Either way, it was good.

"So glad you didn't choke on it, I wouldn't know how you save you." He joked as you two finished your meal. "I don't choke, you should know that by now." You responded cheekily as you walked up to throw away your bowls. You heard little 'oohs' and 'ahhs' from some people in the group and you just know Harry's face was red without looking.

You walked back and of course, red as a tomato. He doesn't like talking about your sex life in public but he doesn't mind if you do it, he just gets a little embarrassed and you love how red his face turns. You sat next to him. "You're so cute." You gushed grabbing his arm, hugging him tightly. "Yeah yeah." He mumbled, pretending to be annoyed but you know he loves it.

After a nice meal, Harry had arranged for you two to go to a hot spring for a bit to relax. There was going to be a light show later by the snow sculptures so you two wanted to relax a bit before you met up with the group again for the festival.

Hand in hand, you two headed for a little hot spring lodge and walked in. You were greeted by a nice lady who gave you guys bathing suits and towels. You went to take a brisk shower before getting in. "Ready?" Harry asked coming out of the shower next to you before grabbing your hand. He was wearing some swimming trunks without a top. You couldn't help and stare at his topless body, his prominent vline catching your attention.

"You know, you can stare at my body anytime, right?" He said smugly catching you off guard. You blushed grabbing his arm. "Stop" You said playfully as he just let out a breathy laugh guiding you towards the spring. He had rented it out so it would just be the two of you. You were really happy about it because you wanted to spend some intimate alone time with him. Nothing sexual, just time in each other's company.

You both slowly got in. The water burning hot, not too hot where it's melting your skin but still extremely hot. Once you two got used to the heat, you sat down next to other enjoying the relaxing warmth on this cold day. Your hands in his, underneath the water. You sat in comfortable silence for about five minutes just listening to the bubbling noise.

"You know- I just wanna say, you make me extremely happy." He said suddenly. You opened your eyes as you had them shut since the warmth had you in a comfortable state.

"You make me happy too." You responded back turning to look at him. "I know we haven't had much time to spend together lately but I just want you to know that, I love you deeply and I would spend every second of the day with you if I could." He said pulling you on top of him. You floated onto his lap and got comfortable quickly. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

"I know that. I get that your busy. I don't mind it. I know you're passionate about the things you do, I'm just happy I get to see you live your dream." You said brushing his cheek. He pecked your lips, staring at you and letting out a deep breath. "You're just amazing." He said pulling you closer. "So are you." You said, your forehead against his. You two sat in eachothers arms for quite a while just enjoying being near eachother.

Your body was as wrinkled as a prune once you were done. You didn't want to leave the warmth of the spring or Harry for that matter but it was time to head towards the festival and meet up with the group. You dried off and watched as Harry dried himself with a towel. "You can't stop staring at me, can you?" He said with a chuckle as he noticed you staring again. You blushed and rolled your eyes.

"Well, can you blame me?" You said cheekily pointing at his body. "I mean I'm not that fit." He said with a huff. "What!? Have you seen yourself!? You're literally sculpted like a god!" You exclaimed walking over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. "Only you could see me as perfect." He said wrapping his arms around you, kissing your forehead lightly.

After that little moment, you two hurried, putting on your clothes and drying your hair. You made your way back towards the small town where the festival was being held. You were lucky that you guys went on holiday in time for this festival. Once you arrived you saw the spectacle that was the light show. The snow sculptures were lit with lights inside, creating a beautiful effect and there were fairy lights all over the place, creating a nice, warm atmosphere. The sun set quickly and darkness took over, leaving you in an array of vibrant colors illuminating the way.

You eventually found the group and you guys sat around a small campfire. You bundled up with Harry as a few others went off to bring some beers for the group. It was cold, but the roaring fire in front of you guys warmed you up quickly. You guys, sat around chatting about anything and everything. Harry had his arm wrapped around you the entire time, not wanting to let you go, even for a second. You drank your beers, the cold liquid matching the cold temperature nicely. You were becoming slightly tipsy so the night began becoming a blur.

What you do remember fondly is the way Harry kissed you when the fireworks went off towards the end of the night. As you two walked around the path, taking in the large snow sculptures in their entirety, fireworks began setting off, causing you to jump. Harry placed his hand on your lower back, reassuring you. You turned to face him, his face illuminated by the colorful fireworks. "You're so beautiful." He said caressing your cheek. You smiled widely at him as his arm made his way around your waist pulling you closer.

His lips on yours as firework abruptly not only above you but inside you. An immense feeling of happiness overwhelmed you as you continued kissing. Your lips moved against his passionately as your hands found their way towards his golden locks. You heard a picture being snapped and pulled away turning towards the sound. Ethan had taken a picture of you two kissing.

"Such a lovely picture of the beautiful couple! Dont you think, Faith?" He said showing his phone towards his wife.

"Absolutely stunning picture. This is definitely a keeper." She snickered. You rolled your eyes at them feeling the blood rush towards your cheeks. You looked at Harry, as red as you and you two just laughed it off.

There was also a nice moment where you two stumbled upon a snowman making area and you were raving about how yours and Harry's looked way better than anyone elses. Realistically, it was a lopsided mess that looked as if it were in a car accident but it was made with love so you didn't care. Harry had named it 'Ronald' and you, of course took many pictures of your precious child.

The night quickly ended after that and you all retreated to the warm, comfy beds of your rooms. You dressed in warm, comfy pjs and Harry into some pj pants and a random tshirt. You both plopped into bed, putting on a random film. The night ended as sleep took over and you laid there in the arms of the love of your life.

~~~

A/n

Hey guys, sorry for taking such a long break. I've realized that I think I get writers block every other month since this is the second time this happened. If this continues then maybe I'll have to take a month off every other month to refresh. Sorry again for this request taking forever but I finally got ideas again and I will be updating this entire month!

Another thing is, I had decided on a Dubai holiday but after speaking to my coworker who is an actual author (that was so crazy to learn), she said I should make it a cute winter holiday and I loved it. Most of the activities are based off the sims 4 snowy escape expansion because I had no clue what actual activities one does as I've never gone on holiday. The festival of lights and the hot spring was heavily inspired from that so I hope it was alright!

Okay, well thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!

[cryptidcr3ature]

Sadie and Charles friendship headcannons bc they barely interact in the game and that’s a CRIME:

Charles carved her a little flower when she first came to camp. He didn’t say anything just a simple gift.

Sadie always goes up to Charles and tells him “I could take you in a fight.” And he always just nods and says, “I know Mrs. Adler.”

Sadie will complain about anything to Charles. Charles get into it too. One time Sadie was saying some awful shit Micah said and Charles literally gasped and said “That bitch!”

Sadie overheard Charles say that he forgot how to braid his hair, and so she got a couple of the girls together (Karen and Tilly especially) and they had a whole night of it.

One time Sadie was being harassed in a bar and Charles (can’t handle his alcohol, has a temper, and respects women) kicked the guy square in the dick and screamed at him that no one talks to his friends that way.

They are both WAY too competitive. They once played FFF for 3 days STRAIGHT because neither one would accept a loss. Arthur eventually had to intervene.

Sadie calls Charles the most insane nicknames. “C Smitty,” “Carls Smoth,” and “My guy Chucky” being notable ones. No one else can call Charles a nickname.

[im-so-normal-iswear]

HELLO!!!

I saw your request are open so I decided to request about yandere Sonic where he is in the SaTBK (Sonic and The Black Knight) and when he became the Excalibur Sonic and technically King Arthur, he falls in love with a normal citizen of Camelot and he's contemplating whether he would go back to his own world or stay in Camelot.

Yan! Excalibur Sonic x reader

The clash of steel against steel echoed through the kingdom of Camelot, a sound that had become all too familiar. The legendary knight, the one who had been summoned from another world, had fulfilled his duty. The tyrant King Arthur had fallen. Peace had been restored. And now, the knight stood at a crossroads.

You had heard of him before you ever laid eyes on him. Everyone in the kingdom had. The mysterious blue warrior, faster than the eye could follow, who wielded a blade with unmatched skill. The rumors painted him as both a savior and a force beyond comprehension. Some whispered that he was a spirit, others that he was a god of speed given form. You hadn't believed any of it. Until you met him.

It had been by chance. A quiet evening in the marketplace, tending to your usual errands, when he arrived. He hadn't worn his golden armor that day, just his simple tunic and gloves, the sword strapped to his side as if it was just another part of him. He was laughing, carefree, joking with a merchant about the price of apples. You hadn't known what to expect from the supposed knight from another world, but it certainly hadn't been this.

And then he noticed you.

At first, it had been nothing more than a glance. But something in the way you carried yourself, the way you moved through the streets, caught his attention. He had stared for a beat too long before grinning, as if he had already decided something in that moment. He had approached you without hesitation, striking up conversation as if you had known each other for years. His confidence had been overwhelming, his energy infectious.

After that, he kept appearing in your life.

He sought you out whenever he had the chance, dragging you along on adventures through the kingdom, showing you sights you had never dared to explore. He had made a game out of making you laugh, flashing that cocky grin whenever he succeeded. He had been unlike anyone you had ever known, so alive, so unshakably sure of himself.

But then, he became king.

The transformation had been breathtaking. The golden armor, the sheer power radiating from him. He had fought for justice. And he had won.

Yet in the aftermath, a question loomed over him.

Would he stay.

You hadn't thought much of it at first. He spoke often of his home, a world so unlike your own, a world of sprawling cities and boundless landscapes where he could run forever. He had never seemed like someone who could be tied down.

But then he started lingering.

He spent more time at your side, more time watching you when he thought you wouldn't notice. He talked less about leaving. The carefree knight who had once only chased adventure now hesitated, caught between two worlds.

You hadn't realized it at first, but the people of Camelot had. They had whispered about it, speculated about why the great knight delayed his return. Why he lingered in the streets instead of the throne room. Why his eyes followed only one person.

And now, you could feel the weight of it in the silence between you.

He stood in front of you, golden armor catching the last light of the setting sun. His sword was planted in the ground, both hands resting on the hilt. He wasn't smiling.

"Hey," he said finally, voice quieter than usual.

"Hey."

He looked at you for a long moment before glancing away. His grip on the hilt tightened. "I should go home."

You nodded. "I know."

He exhaled sharply, as if the words frustrated him. "But I don't want to."

The admission hung in the air between you.

You opened your mouth, but he beat you to it.

"I've never been the kind of guy who stays in one place," he said, voice tight. "I run. I keep moving. It's what I do." His fingers curled into fists. "But when I think about leaving, I can't, I can't do it."

"Sonic-"

His head snapped up. His eyes burned with something raw, something desperate. "Say my name again."

You hesitated.

"Please."

"Sonic."

He closed his eyes, like he was savoring the way it sounded coming from you. When he opened them again, something had shifted.

"I don't know what to do," he admitted. It was the most vulnerable you had ever seen him.

You had seen him fight monsters, defy fate itself, but this? This scared him.

You took a breath. "You should go home."

His expression flickered. "Should I?"

"You don't belong here," you said gently. "Camelot isn't your world."

His jaw clenched. "You're here."

"That's reason enough to stay."

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 4: THE MYSTERY THAT IS ARTHUR MORGAN

synopsis: you and arthur head into valentine with uncle, tilly, karen, and mary-beth.

word count: 4.6k

ships: Arthur Morgan/Modern!Reader, Van der Linde Gang & Reader

notes: (crawling out of grave) hey guys.. i've started playing rdr1 recently so the cowboy spark has been reignited within me LOL

TOSoA taglist: @one-green-frog , @photo1030 , @mavenhavenn , @its-yummi , @fatherbangboo , @shackspossum , @swedesfics (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask <3!!)

THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA MASTERLIST

Not much time has passed since that night where you and Arthur had that conversation about the stars. Well, it wasn’t really a conversation, but it was talking, which was an improvement from the glances and stares.

Hosea has regaled you with many a tale with Arthur as the main protagonist, about how he’s not the big scary man he pretends to be. From your perspective, though? The front isn’t a front, but a truth intrinsic to Arthur’s very soul. He’s a man from 1899, through and through – and unfortunately, not all men from 1899 are to be trusted.

But Hosea seems hellbent on making you at least okay with Arthur’s presence. Just a few minutes ago, he pushed a tin cup of coffee into your hands and sent you towards Arthur’s tent. As a challenge? You’re not too sure, but it sure as hell feels like one.

“Excuse me,” you say as you round the corner of the wagon that props up the canopy over his cot. “Arthur?”

He’s sitting on the edge of his cot, writing in his leather-bound journal. He looks up from whatever he’s writing, then puts his pencil in the fold between the pages and closes it, tucking it away in his satchel.

Arthur nods at you, greeting you with a simple utterance of your name. “What is it?”

You carefully hold out the hot tin mug. “Hosea figured you’d want some coffee. I, um… I didn’t know how you’d like it, so I just put in some sugar.”

He stands from his cot and takes the coffee from you. “Thank you.”

You smile and for a moment you panic, thinking you’re showing too many teeth. (Why do you have to overthink everything you do?) “Hopefully it’s not too sweet.”

Arthur takes a sip and shakes his head. “No, it’s fine.”

A nice silence falls over the two of you as you stand somewhat-near him, watching people move about camp. Well, it would be nice if you were alone and didn’t have Arthur beside you, but you have to make the most of everything you can.

Let’s try to initiate a conversation, you think to yourself. What does Arthur care about? Guns? Meat? Uh… beard oil? No, he has, like, grown-out stubble – why would he care about beard oil? What the hell does watercooler talk even look like in 1899?

“It’s nice out,” you say. “Out west, it gets really hot this time of year. The summers are even worse.”

“Are they now?” Arthur says. “What, are you tryin’ to… deter us from encroachin’ on your Mojave?”

“Huh? No, no,” you say. “The Dead Horses and Sorrows would happily have you. Zion Canyon, it’s – it’s big enough for a few more people.”

You look away, embarrassed for some reason. You hate this elaborate song and dance – you say something, Arthur takes it as an insult and/or just insults you outright, and you have to cover for yourself before awkward silence takes hold.

“How’s Marston?” Arthur asks. “I understand that you’ve taken over carin’ for that fool.”

You glance over at him. He’s looking at you, blue-green, piercing eyes just watching you, waiting. The treeline is suddenly very interesting.

“There’ll be scars, for sure,” you say. “And he picks at the scabs. He says he doesn’t do it on purpose, but he can’t keep his hands away from his face for five minutes.”

Surprisingly, that elicits a soft chuckle from Arthur. From the corner of your eye, you can see him shake his head and sigh, a slight smile on his face.

“That sounds about right.” He brings the tin cup to his lips and takes a drink. “That idiot’s always makin’ trouble for himself.”

You listen to the sound of people milling about and the early morning birds singing with Arthur for a few minutes. Hosea was right – exposure therapy may actually be working when it comes to Arthur. He doesn’t really seem so big and so bad now that you’ve seen what he’s like when he’s quiet and contemplative. (He’s still a big motherfucker that you’re sure could wreck your shop if given half the chance, so it’s not like you’re willing to lay your neck on the line just yet.)

You glance to the side when you see someone approaching. It’s Hosea, a smile on his face as he greets you and Arthur.

He stretches his arms out, arching his back a little. “Quite a day.”

“Mhm,” you hum.

“There’s a bunch of the boys already in Valentine – Bill, Charles and Javier,” Hosea continues. “And Swanson found something down at the train station by the lake, apparently. And Strauss came back with that creepy little smile on his face! I’m sure there’s a whole list of unfortunates he’s forced money upon.”

You and Arthur laugh along. You’re glad there’s at least something to laugh about that isn’t you.

“And you?” Arthur asks Hosea.

“I’m gonna read a book,” he says decidedly.

“That sounds nice,” you say. “Can I join?”

“Join me in reading a book?” Hosea laughs. “That sounds unproductive.”

“Well, uh – no, I meant, um…” You let out a nervous chuckle. “Never mind. I’ll find something else to do.”

Hosea shrugs it off. “If you’d like to join, I’d be glad for the company.”

With that, he turns and leaves. You don’t really feel inclined to follow him. You don’t really feel inclined to do camp chores, either, but you know Miss Grimshaw well enough to not skimp out on what you’ve been assigned.

“I’ve gotta go chop firewood.” You point over at the stump that became the designated chopping block. “I can take your cup, if you’re done.”

Arthur knocks back the rest of his coffee like a shot, then hands the still-warm tin mug to you. His fingers – big, calloused – brush yours as you take it, and he offers a soft “Thank you.” A small shock runs up your arm as his skin touches yours.

Did he just shock me from static electricity? You ask yourself. Probably. Or maybe the tin did something… I don’t know.

You drop the mug in the wash basin as you pass by and make your way to the chopping stump. You dig in the inner pockets of your jacket and pull out your gloves, tugging them on before you grab the axe handle.

The axe dislodges from the wood easily, and you set up a log to split. You bring the axe over your head (ignoring the ache and whine in your side) and swing it down on the log, letting gravity do most of the work.

By the time you’re done, your shoulders and upper arms are aching, not to mention the literal hole in your side that’s still healing. But the chore is done, and there’s split firewood in a pile next to the stump. You’re spared from Miss Grimshaw’s scrutiny for a couple hours more.

You swing the axe down into the stump and leave it there. With a deep breath, you step back and tug your gloves off, tucking them into your inner jacket pocket again.

“Ain’t a surprise you got soft hands,” a voice says behind you, the tone dripping with sleaze.

You turn, stiffening up and locking eyes with Micah. His hands are resting on the belt that’s hanging off his hips and he’s sizing you up like you’re prey. It makes your stomach turn even though you know he wouldn’t try anything near camp. (Or would he? You hope not.)

“Can you get off my ass?” You ask. “I just don’t want blisters.”

“Oh I apologize, I apologize.” Micah holds his hands up, sauntering closer. You stand your ground even though you’d like nothing more than to pick up the axe again so you’re not completely defenseless.

He rounds the stump, looking down at the pile of firewood. “They’re split uneven.”

You roll your eyes and look to the side, away from Micah. That thought from earlier – whether he would try anything this close to camp or not – still has your stomach in a knot, like a spring wound tight.

He’s not worth it. You would much rather spend your time worrying about things that matter, like how fast and loose people play with their guns and how likely you are to get cholera.

And, as if on cue, someone shouts your voice, giving you an excuse to leave. You look to the source – it’s Karen, waving you over to the wagons. You leave Micah by the firewood pile without a goodbye.

Tilly and Mary-Beth are waiting by the wagon along with Karen, almost circling Arthur like wildcats. Arthur, on the other hand, is smoking, looking relatively unbothered, given the women. Uncle is near the front of the wagon, checking the horses’ equipment.

“Hey,” you say. “You called for me?”

“We’re tryin’ to get Arthur to take us into town,” Mary-Beth says. “Ain’t you tired of seein’ the same treeline, the same people?”

“Uh, sure, but…” You shrug. “I don’t really care.”

“We can get you some new clothes.” Karen picks at the shoulder of your jacket. “You ain’t exactly… fashion-forward.”

Right, because a trenchcoat with a low-cut blouse is so much better, you think to yourself. Woah! That was really mean. I need to put more effort into avoiding Micah – he’s infecting me. Not that I wanted to hang around him in the first place…

“I guess,” you say. “But I don’t have any money.”

“Valentine ain’t exactly a city teeming with riches,” Tilly points out. “We can get you some clothes cheap enough.”

You give a half-shrug, glancing at the women. “If my clothes are really that bad…”

“‘Sides, Karen’s ‘bout ready to murder Grimshaw,” Mary-Beth says.

“Well, can Miss Grimshaw spare you?” Arthur asks.

“Can Miss Grimshaw spare you?” Karen parrots, exasperated. “What’s happened to you, Arthur? You’re worried about house chores? C’mon, let’s go!”

Arthur looks to the side, then takes the cigarette from his mouth and gestures at the four of you. “Fair enough, you got me. C’mon, then.”

The women whoop and cheer as they climb up onto the wagon. You end up settled across from Tilly, smiling despite the pool of nerves still bubbling in your stomach. Maybe their excitement has infected you? (You’d much prefer to be infected with her excitement rather than Micah’s rudeness.)

“I can’t believe we’re gonna see civilization,” Tilly says. “It feels like weeks since we did.”

“Yeah, Valentine,” Uncle grunts as he climbs up into the front seat. “The very embodiment of civilization! You folks are gonna love it.”

“Okay then.” Arthur hauls himself up into the front seat and takes the reins from Uncle. “Let’s go.”

Uncle directs Arthur out of the camp and onto the road toward Valentine. The ride is bumpy and, even though you do enjoy bitching and moaning about them, you’d much prefer a car right now.

Mary-Beth calls you to attention by saying your name. “I’m curious – what’s the Frontier like?”

“What’re you curious about?” You ask.

“You got any family out there?” Tilly asks, then leans a little closer to you, dropping her voice a bit. “Any sisters Arthur’s age?”

“I can hear y’all,” Arthur calls from the front of the wagon, sending the women into a fit of laughter.

You smile and laugh, leaning back in your seat. “I’ve got a sister, yeah. But she’s too young for Arthur.”

“What’s her name?” Karen asks.

“Serendestiny,” you say. “Our parents were, um… creative?”

The women are sent into another fit of laughter and giggles, echoing “Serendestiny?” and various confused phrases of disbelief. Laughter bubbles up in your throat before you can help it.

“She hates her name, she hates it,” you assure them. “She just goes by Sere.”

“I’d hope so!” Karen laughs. “I wouldn’t know how to live my life with a name like Serendestiny.”

“I don’t know, it’s kinda pretty,” Mary-Beth says, hiding a smile behind her hand. “Is it a combination between serendipity and destiny?”

“I think so,” you say. “I never put that much thought into it.”

A shout from up ahead makes you snap your head towards the front of the wagon. A coach is careening on and off the road. One of the horses kicks and breaks free, bucking and going wild.

“Is one of you gonna get that feller’s horse?” Tilly asks.

“Oh, I got lumbago, it’s very serious,” Uncle says.

Arthur groans and pulls the wagon to a stop, then hops off. “Alright, I’ll see what’s goin’ on…”

You watch as he speaks to the driver, then starts walking over to the horse that broke free. It rears and tosses its head, clearly distressed. But Arthur pays that no mind, instead approaching it with his hands outstretched. You can barely hear him talking softly to the horse.

He’s soft. For once, you see Arthur being soft. He’s gentle as he strokes the horse’s neck, patting it and shushing it. He’s not irritated or annoyed that he has to go out of his way to help someone. Or maybe he just has a soft spot for horses? Who knows. Arthur is slowly turning more and more into a complete mystery.

He moves patiently and slowly as he leads the horse back to the coach driver. The horse doesn’t kick or toss its head – just walks at the pace Arthur set. You’re sure you’d be more impressed if you knew more about horses.

“You’re a gentleman, sir,” the coach driver says. “A true gentleman!”

Arthur mumbles something and climbs back up in the front seat of the wagon. He snaps the reins, and the horses start moving again.

“You’re turning into a regular old fairy godmother there, Arthur,” Uncle says.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Arthur asks.

“It means you’ve got a heart,” Mary-Beth says.

Karen nods along. “A small one, perhaps, hidden deep inside, but a real one.”

“And you haven’t, you repulsive old lizard,” Mary-Beth chimes.

Uncle turns and leans over the back of the wagon seat. “Lizards have hearts!”

“Well, Arthur,” Tilly says. “I’m proud of you.”

“To be honest, if you lot hadn’t been here…” Arthur rubs the back of his neck and leans his head back. “I prolly would’a robbed him.”

That elicits a laugh from everyone, and you laugh along even though you don’t really find it funny. You mirror them just to fit in.

“Well, you didn’t!” Mary-Beth says.

Arthur guides the wagon over the train tracks and passes a freight station, officially passing into Valentine. You’re immediately hit by the smell of shit and exhale sharply, your nose wrinkling up on instinct.

“Whew!” Tilly waves her hand in front of her face. “Smell those sheep.”

Karen laughs under her breath. “Or is that Uncle?”

“If Micah were here,” you say, “I’d wager it being him.”

The women and Uncle roar with laughter, and you’re pretty sure you can hear Arthur give a chuckle. You smile and laugh along – genuinely, this time. Micah makes for a good target when he isn’t around to hear it.

“Ain’t that the truth.” Mary-Beth looks around at the houses and buildings. “This looks like a decent little town.”

“Other people,” Tilly agrees. “Finally.”

“Look at all that snow on the mountains.” Karen points to the peaks that cut up into the sky. “Sure don’t wanna be back up there.”

“You think we should’ve asked Molly to come with us?” Tilly asks.

“Oh, no,” Karen immediately says. “Miss O’Shea is far too high and mighty now for the likes of us… or to do any real work. She’s a society lady now.”

You look over at Tilly and sort of feel bad for Molly. You haven’t been able to talk to her much in these past two weeks, but she does seem kind of… disconnected from the rest of the gang. Like she gets her dose of everyone else through Dutch. Maybe you should check on her when you get back.

You half-listen as the women talk about finding work and discuss how gullible and desperate the men in this town must be when their only option besides whores is the ewes. Arthur says something about keeping a low profile.

“Will you remember that, though, Arthur?” Karen teases.

Arthur grumbles. “Probably not.”

The wagon pulls to a stop beside the stables. Men are milling about, guiding horses and carrying saddles.

You hop down off the wagon first and fight back the urge to cringe when you feel your boots sink a quarter of an inch into mud. Instead, you turn and hold out a hand, helping the women down one by one. You figure that they don’t really need it, but it’s still the polite thing to do.

“Here we are, just like I said,” Uncle says as he hops off the front wagon seat. “The cultural center of civilization – man at his finest.”

Karen jabs her thumb over her shoulder. “We’ll start at the saloon, see what we find.”

“Okay,” Arthur says. “Just stay outta trouble and don’t get yourselves noticed.”

“Right, I need to get somethin’ from the stores,” Uncle says. He starts walking, and Arthur falls in step with him, so you just follow.

“We’ll see you at the general store when you’re done,” Arthur calls after the women.

You look around as you follow Arthur and Uncle, not really listening in on their conversation. (You find yourself doing that a lot these days – keeping your head on a swivel like you’re a kid again, zoned out and only focusing on your surroundings.) There’s a hotel, a gunsmith, a law office, a bank… If you didn’t know you were actually-maybe-possibly in the actual year 1899, you’d give props to whoever cultivated a town frozen in time like this.

“This’s the place now.” Uncle slows in front of the general store and opens the door. “C’mon.”

You file into the store after Arthur. The walls are lined with shelves and cabinets stocked with goods, along with a table in the middle with even more items for sale.

“Here.” Arthur hands you a ten dollar bill. “Get yourself somethin’ new. You been livin’ in those clothes for a while now.”

“Oh.” You take the money from him. “Yeah, I… I guess I have. Thanks.”

You peruse the limited stock of clothing while Arthur and Uncle talk some more. You keep a careful eye on the price and pray that sales taxes aren’t a thing yet. And if they are, you pray that they’re included on the price tag.

Eventually, you decide on a nondescript, grey button-up, along with an extra pair of jeans. It makes you feel bad that you’re spending extra money, but you add on a belt because the jeans honestly seem a little too big.

The clerk hands you your change – $2.35. You tuck it in your jacket pocket.

“Do you have a changing room?” You ask. “I wanna get out of these clothes.”

The clerk shrugs. “You can use the stockroom, I guess.”

You thank him and head into the stockroom behind the till. It’s not much bigger than a janitor’s closet. Still, you do the best you can to change without knocking anything over.

When you’re done, you shrug your jacket back on and feel something poke you in the side. You reach to feel it, and… it’s your wallet. You completely forgot about your wallet.

You open it, and sure enough, it still has everything you kept in it. Credit card, debit card, health insurance, COVID vaccination card… money. There’s a ten and a five jammed behind your credit card, and a few coins. Enough to pay Arthur back.

You fold your clothes and tuck them under your arm, then exit the stockroom. You thank the clerk again, then turn to Uncle.

“I’m gonna put these back on the wagon,” you say.

“We’ll be done soon enough,” he says. “Just wait for us outside.”

You nod and exit the store. The walk to the wagon is short. You hop up on the back and tuck your clothes in a small chest underneath the seat.

When you return to the general store, Arthur and Uncle are outside, sitting on a bench next to the front door. You take a seat next to Arthur – not that you have much of a choice regarding that.

Uncle leans his elbow on his knee and looks over at you, holding out a bottle. “You want some whiskey?”

“No, I’m good.” You wave it away.

“Well, I’ll drink to your health for you.” Uncle takes a hearty drink from the bottle.

You exhale sharply in a lazy laugh. “Thank you, Uncle.”

“What a generous man you are,” Arthur chimes.

“It’s a funny world,” Uncle says. “This time in my career, I pictured myself being married to an heiress.”

“Oh, that reminds me.” You pull the ten dollar bill from your pocket and nudge Arthur’s arm. “I found this in the stockroom.”

There’s a pause. You nudge him again, harder. You can almost feel the warmth of his skin through his leather jacket. “I… I don’t like feeling indebted. Just take it.”

Arthur takes the money and tucks it into his satchel. “You know you didn’t have to do that, right?”

“It’s nothing.” You set your hand in your lap, away from his. “Just call us even.”

“Even we are, then,” he says.

You hum and lean against the back of the bench. The men talk while you people-watch. It’s barely noon, but some men are already stumbling around, tipsy, if not drunk entirely.

You’re not sure how long you’re sat there with Uncle and Arthur, but Mary-Beth quickly snaps you out of your stupor. She’s walking fast, and the smile on her face tells you how excited she is. She prattles on about sneaking into a rich house and hearing about a train passing through soon.

“O…kay,” Arthur says.

Mary-Beth rolls her eyes, exasperated at his apparent thick-headedness. “A train laden with baggage, passing through a bit of deserted country at night, as to get to the docks in time for the tides, in someplace called Scarlett Meadows.”

Uncle raises a hand. “Yeah, I know it… It’s right out near New Hanover. It’s real quiet out there.”

“Sounds good,” Arthur says. “Where’s Tilly and Karen?”

“I think at the hotel,” Mary-Beth says. “They were pickin’ up some drunken fellers that they was gonna rob.”

A cold shock runs down your spine and your eyes snap up to Mary-Beth. She looks unconcerned, but the only thought in your mind is the possibilities of them being dead or nearing death. Bloody noses, whimpering, pleading for their lives.

Arthur feels the same, you can guess. His tone is stern and his voice is clipped as he spits out a “Why?”

“Seemed easy.” She checks over her shoulder at the hotel. “They have been gone for quite a while…”

You quickly get to your feet. “We’re getting them.”

You scan the other side of the street and see the skirt of a yellow dress disappearing around a corner, down an alley. It’s Tilly – you’re sure of it.

“Give me your gun.” You look at Uncle. He’s just looking back at you, bottle of whiskey still in hand. You leer closer, your lip curling. “Your gun, Uncle. Now.”

He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a revolver. You snatch the gun by the barrel and ready it in your dominant hand.

You step down from the porch of the general store and almost storm across the street. You can hear Tilly’s voice, panicked and shouting. Nobody else seems to be paying her any attention.

“You can go kiss a damn snake for all I care,” you can hear her yell. “Get off me!”

You round the corner to see a man holding Tilly up against the wall of a building, grabbing at her. You stride up the stairs and shout: “Hey!”

You point the revolver at the man, tilting your shoulders and looking down the barrel like you were taught. The iron sights find his chest.

“Who the hell d’you think you are?” You spit. “Get your hands off her!”

“Who are you?” The man drawls, still holding Tilly against the wall.

“You think that matters?” You grit your teeth, your lip curling into a snarl.

The man moves away from Tilly, letting his arm fall and freeing her. “You really think you’re so high and mighty?”

You pull the hammer back with your thumb. “I think that you need to run while you still can.”

The man takes a step back, glancing at Tilly. He points at her like it’s meant to be threatening. “You’re making a big mistake, Tilly Jackson.”

“Just get lost,” she says.

He turns and walks away. You keep your gun trained on his back until he turns the corner. When he disappears, you exhale heavily and close your eyes. Your hands are starting to shake. Your whole body is starting to shake.

“Take the gun.” You hold the revolver out to Tilly, holding it by the barrel. “Tilly, please take the gun.”

She takes the gun and decocks the hammer. You take a few steps back until your back meets the wall of the store, then slide down until you’re squatting. You breathe out a sigh, rubbing your hands over your face. You’re still shaking, and the adrenaline drop is making you feel like shit.

“Thank you.” Tilly puts a hand on your shoulder. “Are you feelin’ okay?”

“No,” you say. You bring your hands away from your face and look over at her. “Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“I’m fine,” she says. A soft smile crosses her face. “Y’know, for such a bundle of nerves, you sure handle yourself well when it comes to unpleasant men.”

You breathe out a laugh. “Don’t mention it.”

You close your eyes and tilt your head back until it hits the wall and rest there for a moment. You feel like absolute shit. You’re lightheaded, you’re exhausted, and you can feel sweat dampening your new shirt.

You rub a hand over your chest and hit your sternum to wake yourself up. You stand up and take the revolver from Tilly, tucking it in your belt.

“The others are waiting.” You jerk your head to the side.

Tilly follows you towards the wagon. You glance over at the hotel, where Karen is following Arthur down the steps. The corner of her mouth is bloody, but apart from that, she looks relatively untouched.

“You okay?” Tilly asks.

“Sure, he only punched me.” Karen flexes and massages her jaw. “Arthur punched him a lot harder.”

“Hey.” Mary-Beth looks over your shoulder. “Who’s that guy over there looking at us?”

You check over your shoulder and, sure enough, there’s a man atop a horse, staring at your little group.

“Weren’t you in Blackwater a few weeks back?” He calls to Arthur.

“Me?” Arthur says. “No, sir. Ain’t from there.”

“Oh, you were,” the man says. “I definitely saw you! With a bunch of fellers.”

“Me? No. Impossible,” Arthur says. He starts walking towards the man. “Listen, buddy. Come here for a minute.”

“I saw you…”

“C’mere.”

The man spurs his horse and takes off. Arthur looks back and points at Uncle.

“Go get all ‘em home.” He approaches a random nearby horse and puts his boot in the stirrup. “I’m gonna go have a word with our friend.”

“Be careful, Arthur,” Tilly says as he mounts up.

Arthur takes off with an exclamation of “Just a word!”

There’s a moment where you and the others just stare after him as he rides, his figure rapidly retreating as he chases the man from Blackwater. Then, you look away and move towards the wagon.

“Let’s go,” Tilly says. “I think I’ve had about enough of Valentine for today.”

You take her hand and help her up into the back of the wagon. “I couldn’t agree more.”

[dutchiepoo2]

How it Should've Been

Arthur x Fem!Reader

hi, this is me working through my issues! please read the content warnings, dearest -Jelly

cw: nsft intro, unhealthy attitudes surrounding sex, intimacy issues, references to past sexual trauma (no detail) and responses/emotional flashbacks relating to said non-detailed trauma, angsty with a not-happy ending

uses she/her pronouns & she has a pussaaaaayyyyyyyyy

i couldn't figure out how to end it so it's shit oops!! 2.5k words. mdni.

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Finally, they'd gotten a moment of peace. After weeks of high tensions within camp, and then Arthur being away, finally, they had time alone. Arthur had been wanting her for ages, and vice versa.

Now, they had a moment to get away. The chaos had calmed down a bit, and Pearson had been hounding Arthur to go out hunting. He figured he'd kill two birds with one stone and take his lover along with him.

Yes, it was a hunting trip, but they weren't doing much hunting. Arthur knew of an old, abandoned cabin that wasn't too decrepit. He knew it wasn't exactly romantic, and to some, might have been down right disgusting. Next time, he swore, he'd take her to a nice hotel and buy her a hot meal first. He'd slide his hands over her shoulders and kiss her reverently between declarations of her beauty, of his appreciation. He'd make sure she was relaxed and comfortable and take her how she should be taken.

But, that was for next time. Both of them were far too pent up for something as sweet as that. Arthur was frustrated with how busy he'd been lately, and he just desperately wanted a release. She was just plain frustrated she couldn't have him. There had been too many mornings spent quietly grinding against each other, too many sneaky wandering hands at the camp fire. They were craving each other, plain and simple.

And so, within ten minutes of Arthur laying his tent canvas over the old, dusty bed, he was inside her. This was unusual in the sense that Arthur typically took his sweet time. He was big, and he knew it, so he almost always spent ages stretching his lover open, getting her worked up enough until she's dripping, pulsing—past the point of ample preparation.

But that's not what happened today. Today, she was already wet and eager, kissing him hard and gripping at his suspenders. He was a starved man, so he laid into her with the same passion and then some.

First, he had her bent over that creaky old cot, his hands running along her waist and petting at the soft skin of her back. There was an undeniable power behind each thrust that had her singing praise and gripping hard onto the canvas blanket. He fucked into her like that for a while, just to get some of their energy out, until he decided he needed to see her face and maneuvered her onto her back.

Her legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he crawled over her, grunting and growling against the crook of her neck. The humidity of the summer air did little to ruin the moment, instead encouraging a shine to form over his body, little droplets of it rolling down Arthur's nose. She licked at his neck between staccatto'd pants, addicted to the taste of salt on his skin.

Then, her head was thrown back, spine arching to meet each thrust as best as she could with his weight on her. She was so full, more than normal it seemed, so needy for more. It was like he was scratching an itch she couldn't reach, no matter how many times she'd shoved herself full of her fingers on the nights he was away. Nothing could compare to this, she thought, as he ground down against her clit.

The prettiest noise Arthur ever heard escaped her throat, and he knew he needed more. Suddenly his weight was gone, and he was standing above her, collecting her legs and folding them against her chest.

"Want me like this?" He rasped, gaze intense and pupils blown.

As their eyes met, she felt his cock twitch inside her, relaying just how desperate he was behind his tough guy facade. Her cunt fluttered around him before she could answer verbally, but she gave an eager nod either way.

His next thrust punched the air from her lungs, her mouth falling open and hands flying to his wrists. A high, flighty gasp escaped her throat, trailing off into a shuddering hum of approval.

Again, and again, and again, he thrusted hard into her like that, slowly descending his weight down onto her. Again... and again... and—

A sharp pain radiated across her abdomen, her eyes flying open and her nails gripping tight against his skin. She yelped and reflexively tried to jump back, but Arthur held her in place as he extracted himself from her.

"Sorry—" he puffed, cradling her face immediately as he leaned over her. "You okay, girl? Too much?"

The pain wore off almost immediately, the only proof of its existence the small tremble in her thighs. She forced herself to relax, embarrassment bubbling up her chest.

"'M okay," she mumbled, leaning into his hand. "Keep going?"

Arthur breathed out in relief, leaning down to this time to press his lips to her crown. His grip on the back of her thighs loosened, letting her maneuver them as needed. He slid back into her, carefully, gently.

This time, he moved at a much slower, shallower pace, watching her face intently. His concern won over his lust for the moment. He just wanted his lover to feel comfortable, pleasured. His pace only picked back up when he felt the tension begin to melt from her thighs, and he could tell from her noises and expression that she was obviously feeling good again.

It didn't last long, though, before he pushed too hard or too deep or something, somewhere, and she jumped again. She'd been more prepared this time, so her pained reaction was much smaller, more subtle. Either way, Arthur noticed, of course he did, and paused.

"Okay?" He asked, disquiet evident on his face.

She nodded quickly, her cheeks flushing red.

"Yeah, sorry. Just... maybe this position...? I don't know..."

A deep sigh puffed across her bare chest, and she swallowed thickly, worried that she'd annoyed him. He released her legs and let them wrap back around his hips.

"Here," he mumbled, patting her calf. "You seemed to like this one earlier, yeah?"

Would he stop if she asked...?

She agreed, holding her breath. Silence. Why was she nervous? He'd obviously not meant to hurt her.

"Y'gonna tell me if you're hurting?" He scolded softly. His big fingers carded through her sweaty hair.

Right. Of course he would.

Again, she nodded, feeling awkward and embarrassed and annoyed that she was even hurting in the first place. They'd been having a good time. Her teeth grabbed at her lip, and she stared up at the cobwebs on the ceiling. Suddenly all she could smell was the musty, moldy smell of the old cabin, and any remaining arousal she was feeling drained from her body.

Arthur called her name gently, bringing her attention back to him.

"What'chu want, sweetheart," he asked gently, petting her ribcage with his thumb. "Anything you want."

What she wanted was to get out of this cabin. But she didn't want Arthur to be disappointed in her, or mad, or frustrated that he couldn't finish during the first time they'd had sex in weeks.

A few more minutes wouldn't kill her. She could do it, for Arthur.

Her hips rolled against his, hands pulling his shoulders down so she could hide her face in his neck. She knew how to fake it well enough.

"More," she breathed against his heated skin, "Take me."

Would he stop if she asked...?

Why couldn't she ask?

Arthur huffed, but began moving again, still heartbreaking-ly gentle. A soft noise escaped her lips, and she continued rocking her hips against his, encouraging him to speed up, to use her.

It did still feel good, physically, with his pubic bone grinding against her clit and her body stretched taut around his girth, but all she could focus on was how much she wanted to go home to her own tent, how hot it was in here, how bad it smelled, the sound of the single fly buzzing at the window.

She loved Arthur, so why was this suddenly so difficult? Why couldn't she do this for him?

He picked up the force of his thrusts, still going slow but getting stronger, snappier. That's usually how she liked it, so why was she so tense? Either way, she moaned into his ear and gripped him tight with her legs, despite her belly beginning to ache again.

Then he changed his angle minutely, and there was that sudden, radiating pain again. Her breath caught, but he seemed to think that was a good reaction, an honest mistake, because he did it again, and again, and again, and harder, and harder, and he started groaning again like he was close.

She could bear it until he finished. It wasn't that bad.

A few more seconds. Just a few more. Just—

Would he stop if she asked?

All her muscles went rigid, and she burst into tears, hands flying up to her face. Dread flooded her system, crushing all the trust she had in herself in an instant.

"Shit!" Arthur barked, as he flew back, startled by her outburst. "Shit... What's wrong?! Look at me, girl. What hurts?"

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, shame stealing her voice and forcing her still. Despite the summer heat, her skin rippled with a chill, a cruel reminder of the fact that she was stark naked and crying, legs still lifted awkwardly in the air.

Silence. Long, humiliating silence as she slowly curled around herself like a dying insect, quickly retreating into her own mind.

Arthur's big, calloused hands attempted to smooth out her messied hair. He called her name again and settled on his knees next to her.

"What happened, sweetheart?" He asked in a voice softer than she'd ever heard before.

Her chest rose in a short, stuttering breath, escaping her throat as a weak apology. When her eyes finally cracked open again, she immediately recognized Arthur as her love, and reached her arms out to him with wide, begging eyes, a pitiful, wet gasp. He didn't hesitate, and cradled her tight against his chest.

Worried and put off by her apologies, Arthur chose not to speak. He didn't think she seemed able to give him any answers right now, so he just held her.

And boy, did he feel like a right bastard. Nausea burned at the pit of his stomach as he considered what just happened. Did he hurt her? Scare her? She'd seemed into it. His eyes wandered down to where they'd been connected, searching her thighs and his now limp dick for any traces of blood or answers. Nothing.

He didn't spend much time getting her warmed up, he realized. Did he push her too fast? He'd have gone down on her if he'd known, would've had her come on his fingers until he knew she was ready. She had just seemed so eager.

He could feel her trying to calm herself down. Shaky sounding, hot puffs of air brushed against his stomach, her face buried in his chest, fingers clutching at his skin. Strong arms wrapped around her, a broad palm smoothed up her spine. He forced himself to be steady, despite the dread building in his gut.

In the tiniest voice he ever heard, she apologized again, directly over his heart. It clicked then, and Arthur's chest collapsed as the pieces fell together.

Oh.

Pieces of conversations past echoed in his skull, about no-name men and their sins. Memories of how she'd shy away in the beginning of their relationship when he came on too strong, even though he'd always been a gentle, gentle lover. Strange bouts of insomnia and poor sleep that always seemed to align with nights they'd indulged in each other more passionately than was typical.

Shit.

His nose pressed into his lover's hairline, his blood turning to ice. Amidst his onset of guilt, cradled in Arthurs arms, she was beginning to come back to the world. His familiar embrace, smell, brought a comfort she could never describe.

The anxiety fizzled out into emptiness as the minutes ticked by, and eventually, she was still. Awake, but still, half missing from her body. Arthur, meanwhile, was buzzing with energy.

He pulled back, searching her face, zeroing in on the tear tracks drying against her cheeks. He felt sick at the way she peered up at him, eyes wide and owlish.

To her fuzzy brain, it felt like a year that they stared at each other, resting together in that old, gross cabin. He broke the silence.

"What happened, sweet girl," he whispered, voice thick. "I hurt ya?"

It took a lot of time for her to process the question. She supposed it was true, but it didn't feel true. She made him hurt her. She let him believe she was having fun. God, why did she do that? She wanted him to enjoy himself.

Her expression began to crumble as she shook her head, no, emphatically. It wasn't his fault. She didn't want him thinking that.

Arthur sighed deeply, not convinced in the slightest, but willing to put it aside for the moment. His thumb brushed against her cheek, eyes soft.

"You forget it was me?"

That didn't feel true, either. She knew it was Arthur, and she realized with a sinking feeling that he knew. What would he think, if he thought she saw him as some sort of... that kind of man? She knew he frequently felt like a monster already. She'd put so much effort into building him up. What would it do to him if he thought she was afraid of him?

No.

She forced it down. She'd protect him from this ugliness that made her question him. What was she thinking? Of course he would stop if she asked. He always did. Usually, he'd stop before she'd even get to asking.

"No," she croaked. "Just... I don't know what happened, Arthur. I'm sorry."

He wouldn't let it go, though.

"You gotta tell me if it hurts, little girl," he chided gently. "I don't wanna hurt'cha. Don't matter to me if we gotta call it. You know th—"

"Can you get my clothes?" She interjected, eyes glassy again. It was too much. "Please?"

Arthur's jaw went rigid in frustration. Guilt, shame, annoyance. With a kiss to her forehead, he separated himself from her body and sat up to search for her layers.

The moment had passed. She'd shut him down in fear of hurting him, and he was losing patience by trying to figure out what he did wrong.

Slowly, gently, he helped her dress back up. Arthur helped her return to modesty, and only then began dressing himself. She sat motionless on the edge of the cot, watching him with a little frown.

They watched each other, distantly, carefully. This was unusual, unsettling.

He didn't blame her. She didn't blame him.

He wondered if she trusted him. She wondered if he'd forgive her.

He beat himself up for not noticing. She beat herself up for not holding out.

Arthur hated that, maybe, he unintentionally reminded her of something so awful. She hated that her body couldn't react to anything else, especially with someone she trusted with her life.

Neither uttered a word.

When Arthur was clothed, she reached out to him again, seeking the solace she'd found earlier when he'd brought her back to her body. They wrapped around each other, murmuring apologies and declarations of love, each touch and each whisper poisoned by guilt.

Next time would be different, for sure.